by Kim Knox
Chae grinned at the pilot and the woman blinked, a slow flush burning under her cheeks. The pilot’s gaze dropped and the bright shine of fear in her thoughts swept, unwanted, over Chae. Fear? Of her? She wet her lips. She was the empress, able to command every Ladaian to her slightest whim. She pulled in a slow breath, chastened and unnerved. Dipping into the pilot’s mind opened her up to the others and the rush of emotions—fear, ambition, lust for her title—and the mix of garbled thoughts fired adrenaline through her flesh.
Shit, she didn’t want this. She had to move. Now. “Let’s get off this ship, Daned.”
“Majesty?”
Chae turned from the rail and stopped with a frown as the crew now rose from their stations to perform low bows. Hell, where was their irreverence? She’d never bowed to anyone in her life. She strode from the deck, her gaze fixed on the door. One of the nearby officers scrambled to press his palm to the doorplate and the heavy metal doors slid back into the bulkhead. Chae didn’t break her step. She hiked up her skirts and trotted down the stairs. The exit swung off to the left.
“Majesty?”
She wanted to get out, breathe in open air, not have the crush of the ship—and damn it—the nerves of the crew thick in her thoughts. Her palm hit the airlock plate and with a slow grind, the door rolled back.
“Chae?” Daned stood behind her as the inner airlock door thunked back into place. He was too close in the cramped space, his warm scent wrapping around her.
Chae’s fingers curled into a fist over the panel that would open the exterior lock, her heart pounding in her ears. She ached to feel the brush of his fingertips against the bare skin of the shoulder…but it never came.
His breath touched her hair. “You are the empress. People will always burn with fear and envy around you. You can’t open your mind to it.”
“Now you tell me.”
“This is new to me too, Majesty.”
Chae slapped her palm against the dulled metal and light flowed around her hand. The door whined, a low groan cut after it and, with a gust of air, the heavy door pushed out and back. Cold mountain air smacked her and she sucked in a startled breath. It tasted fresh after the warm, sanitized atmosphere of the ship. There were hints of pine, stone and other delicious scents she couldn’t recognize.
Steps formed from a rush of metal and hit the ground with a dull clang. Chae broke free of the ship. She wanted to run, feel the pull of the alien world’s gravity, escape the minds on the ship. Escape Daned. Mountain air pricked her skin, cold and sharp, and brought her to her senses. She couldn’t run. She was as bound to them as they were to her.
Chae gritted her teeth, suspecting the sunder-seld of implanting that last thought. She caught her fingers in her hair. Fuck, she didn’t even know where she ended and a sentient chair began. “This should’ve been you, Daned.” Her gaze flicked to him, the heavy shadow of the ship masking his expression. “Though possibly not with the frock.”
“I’ve worn stranger things, Majesty.”
The scent of living gold and his skin wrapped around her thoughts, a warm and bitter memory, and it exorcised her panic. He’d deliberately swapped her panic for regret. Nice. “You suited gold. Maybe you should wear it to celebrate your new position.”
“If that is your wish, Majesty.”
She wanted to smack him. She really did. Could no threat break him? The clunk of metal hinges dropped her hand to her hip, searching for the Sel-9 she no longer wore. Stark sunlight sliced across the plateau in front of her and cut shadows around the great arch of a wooden doorway. The wood moved, sliding over ancient grooves worn into the black stone.
“Your welcoming committee.” Daned’s whisper prickled her skin. He stood behind her, so close only hot millimeters separated them. “Stand straight. Empresses don’t slouch.”
“So funny.”
An entourage strode out onto the plateau, guards in the ceremonial colors of Ara surrounding a knot of dignitaries. Their boots clanked against the smooth stone, beating out in a fast rhythm that mirrored her thudding heart. The sunder-seld whispered names, labeling each man and woman. There really wasn’t anything the chair didn’t know.
She stared through the knot of soldiers to the tall man behind the prince’s left shoulder. The chair had said he was a Traern and curiosity had her wanting to see if Daned had spoken the truth. Were they really all bred for beauty? She caught a glimpse of dark hair, smooth, flawless features and vivid blue eyes. His gaze held her. A brief wickedness shone there and Chae felt her skin flush. Yes, Daned hadn’t been lying. Bran Traern was beautiful.
The sunder-seld broke into her thoughts. “Bran is half brother to Daned. They share the same father.”
“Helpful as always, thank you.”
The guards stopped and the sudden silence broke her fixation on Daned’s brother. The men parted and Odgar, the Prince of Ara, strode toward her. He wore colorful silk robes that sallowed his skin and flattened to his lean body in the sharp winds. His bow was graceful and low and when he straightened a thin smile touched his mouth. Chae’s instincts screamed at her and, ignoring Daned’s advice to keep her mind shuttered, she teased her thoughts over the superior prince.
It was still alien to touch the mind of another, but Odgar had telepathy grown into his flesh. His mind was ordered, not the wild chaos of the crew. Hints of his belief that his descendents would occupy the sunder-seld still pricked her, though. Those thoughts he couldn’t contain. She slammed her mind shut. He thought that with her being Ara, the choice of him as the father of her dynasty was absolutely right and natural.
“Majesty.” His rich, round-voweled voice forced a shudder under her skin. “Welcome to your ancestral home.”
Shit, every flesh-pet was having his revenge on her. In her panic, Chae sought the sunder-seld. “Can’t they wank into a cup? Why do I have to have sex with them? With your technology, that has to archaic.”
“I need to understand how your energies merge—”
“That’s a load of shit.” Chae cut the connection, quick and sharp. She gave a brief nod to the prince. “Thank you, Odgar.” The liveried guards moved to surround them, and tension itched up her spine. Old habits died hard. And being surrounded by armed men had always meant trouble for her.
Daned stood at her shoulder. Hell, from the mass of useless history the sunder-seld had poured into her brain, she knew as imperial advisor he was Odgar’s equal. “Are the other princes assembled?”
Chae didn’t miss the slight narrowing of the prince’s dark eyes as Daned spoke. The lack of his use of title stung Odgar. Damn, these people were touchy. Had that been her problem too? She kept her pace even. Was she going to see her worst attributes reflected in every person around her? That would get old fast.
Odgar’s accent made a meal of his reply. “The throne room is prepared. Everyone is assembled. Greid is now Prince of the Enan.”
They also acted fast. Kynon still festered in the hold of the alpha-class, only just deposed. “Let’s get this over with then.” Her ears couldn’t tolerate any more of his voice. She wanted the ceremony over with, done. She frowned. And when he fucked her, she was going to gag him.
“Majesty?”
Daned’s voice echoed as they crossed into the cavernous entrance hall carved from the rock. The golden glow of hidden lights shone down over the smooth rock, and the subtle taste of cloves touched her tongue. Slender veins of black crystal threaded over the curve of the ceiling, and the mercenary in Chae itched for a pickaxe.
She glanced at her imperial advisor and found that vein jumping in his temple again. “Can you read my mind?”
“Yes.”
His thought in her mind startled her. She’d felt shapes, emotions, but the sunder-seld had been the only one to speak to her. Her earlier thoughts hit her. “Is that what has that little vein jumping? You think Odgar would enjoy being gagged?”
Daned’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t reply.
“You’re no fun, Daned.�
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He didn’t reply to that either.
“The ceremony will be short,” Odgar said. He’d used her title once and stopped. It irked him. He couldn’t help it. “Then the decision about who will father your successor must be made.”
The gleam of interest in his eye made her skin crawl. None of it was for her. He lusted for the title, not her body. “Yes,” she murmured. “The sunder-seld will examine you with interest.”
Odgar’s gaze narrowed on her and his thin mouth turned down at the corners. “Your blood is from Ara, Majesty.”
And there was her title again in an effort to coerce her. “My blood is how my mother made it.”
Liveried guards saluted and pushed open another set of heavy wooden doors onto a long open courtyard. Sunlight gilded a stone gallery lining the right, arches glittering with hints of gold from the veins of black crystal. The crags of the mountains loomed over the south terrace of the palace, and the shimmer of a force shield sparkled against the deep blue of the sky. Warm, still air wrapped around her, the scent of lush plants mixing with the subtle hint of cloves. Guards marched them toward a curved staircase lit by large lanterns.
Chae lifted her skirts and followed the tramp of the entourage up the turn of the carved stairs. “Is this necessary? The guards, the attendants? Is someone going to try something here?” Her foot hit the last stair and the tide of people turned her along the gallery. The sunder-seld pushed deep into the hind part of her brain and stretched her nerves for a reason she couldn’t quite grasp. That, and her hatred of being hemmed in, curdled her thoughts. “And I swear, if you say it’s tradition, Daned…”
“Then I won’t, Majesty.”
More doors led them into a long hall, huge ornate images of ancient ancestors lining the walls. Their flat gazes itched under Chae’s skin. The sunder-seld filled in names, the murmur of its voice flowing over the heavy clatter of the guards’ boots against the flagstones, and there was an edge to its tone. The names grew more clipped as they approached the end of the dim hall. A shield shimmered over an archway. Her heart thudded. Memories of Ara emperors flickered through her thoughts. Beyond the arch was a throne room, a scaled-down version of the great throne room in the citadel on Ladaia-prime.
The entourage stopped and parted. Through the half haze of the shield, Chae stared at the throne in the center of the vaulted room. It gleamed a dull black, evidence that an imperial backside had claimed the sunder-seld. And she had to walk through the shield as another outward proof that she had the rightful imperial arse.
Fuck. She’d be skinned. Still, it wouldn’t concern the princes. They wanted her power any way they could get it. Fucking a skinless lump would simply be another unpleasant princely task.
“Majesty…” Daned broke aloud into the depressing spiral of her thoughts.
“I know,” she muttered. Her shoulders straightened. “This will hurt, won’t it?”
“Yes.” The smooth voice of the sunder-seld answered her, filling her thoughts. “But every emperor—”
“Seriously, the not mentioning it’s ‘tradition’ applies to you as well as Daned.”
“As you wish.”
She paused before the wide arch, the hum of the shield jarring her teeth. Her hand hovered over the haze. With a stinging touch of her fingertip, she set off a ripple of movement. Yes, that had hurt. “And if I just grabbed a gun, Daned, and hijacked a ship? What then?”
“Majesty…” The chair sounded world-weary. Was it already regretting her as a choice of empress? “You are the heart and soul of your people…”
Great. She was being guilt-tripped by a sentient slab of carved crystal. She’d had more freedom as a penniless runner with her mentor’s ship than she had now with planets of black crystal.
Chae let out a slow breath, directed curses learned on the streets of Ulan Bator at both the sunder-seld and Daned…and stepped into the shield.
Chapter Nine
Pain sliced through her skin down to the bone. Pain needled into every pore. She couldn’t move. The fucking thing caught her, held her trapped, immobile, despite the desperate power she pushed into her arms and legs. Why couldn’t she move? Was the bloody chair defective and she wasn’t the empress?
Sweat coated her spine and stuck the lining of the corset to her skin. “What does this prove?” The haze thinned and, through her agony, eight princes and their attendants watched her, their faces impassive as if they saw a woman fighting pain in the archway every day. “Really, what?”
“These men are powerful. They rule not simply through the loyalty of the castes but by strength, through fear. They have to gauge your strength…as I will gauge theirs.”
Chae wished she had the energy to roll her eyes. “If I’d known it would’ve been this much trouble…” It was hard to keep up her sarcasm, to think of anything other than the hot flicks of pain against raw nerves. Daned had hinted at the rituals on their trek to the citadel. That felt like a lifetime ago. But they were something he was meant to endure…not her. The stabs of hot energy sank into her bones and she ached to cry out, to curl into a ball and deny the pain burning her flesh. But she couldn’t.
She willed herself forward. Beyond the agony of the shield, she would find wealth beyond anything she could ever imagine—her mouth quirked upward and lanced pain under her cheek—and she had an excellent imagination. She’d be damned before she gave up her right to that opulence. Not exactly heroic reasoning, but whatever got her through was fine by her. And hell, she wasn’t a hero anyway.
Her foot stamped against the stone-flagged floor of the Ara throne room. The lack of pain in her foot, ankle, calf and knee bloomed excited heat through the rest of her body. She would not be caught like a living fly in the doorway. Her left hand broke free and she flexed her fingers. Obviously her obsession with money was working.
Her shoulder and whole left side escaped the shield and she sucked in a calming breath. Fire chased down her right arm, ribs, hip and right leg to a burning point in her toes. She shoved every ounce of her strength into yanking herself free, cursing her luck and planning a change in tradition. She would not put a child of hers through such an insane amount of pain.
“This tradition has—”
“I said no more.”
The sunder-seld stayed silent.
Chae broke free of the shield and staggered. She found her balance and straightened, running a hand over her hair. She pulled in a tight breath…and the constriction of her corset dug into her ribs, finding the dull echo of pain from the shield. Another tradition to forget. She didn’t think like a Ladaian. At that moment, she thanked her mother for it.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
As one, the princes and their attendants presented her with low bows. Behind her, the fizz of the shield died.
“Majesty.” Daned’s fingertips touched her spine, light and fleeting. A flash of color burned in his cheeks. Worry, quickly masked, shone in his eyes.
Her heart twisted and the sarcastic words died on her tongue. It hurt too much to be flippant right then. “I’m fine, Daned,” she murmured, knowing he couldn’t ask that question of her. She forced a brief smile across her mouth. “Thoughts of all that lovely black crystal got me through.”
His lips twitched. “It’s time for you to take your throne, Majesty.”
Chae focused on the black crystal throne in the center of the vaulted room. A baldaquin with pillars of crystal and gold formed a wide canopy. Soft synthetic light washed down over the simply carved chair. She willed herself to take strong strides toward it, stopped and sank against the cold stone. The heat of the sunder-seld flared out, warming the throne and making it gleam.
The princes straightened. Chae felt the turn of their thoughts, the push of ambition and the reluctant admission that she held the right to sit on the imperial throne. She stopped herself from wincing. She caught more than one dark streak of distaste. Didn’t the idiots realize she shared their thoughts?
The sunder-seld prodded he
r into action, filling her mind with the elaborate and long speeches from previous emperors. The themes of honor, loyalty, obeying the word of the imperial throne swirled through her head. Chae stroked the smooth curve of the throne’s arms, the warmed crystal almost humming under her fingertips. She let her gaze slide over the silent men. All wore an expression of polite attention and she willed herself not to sink into the mire of their thoughts. Her attention stopped on Daned. She let out a soft sigh and her lightly tapping fingers curled into her palm. To hell with this particular tradition. She wasn’t a speechmaker. Never would be.
“I’m not what you expected or want.” She pressed her lips together and swallowed, hating that her voice had cracked. She breathed, waiting for her nerves to calm, knowing that the men surrounding her were leery, but they had to hang on her every word. A smile quirked her mouth. “But the sunder-seld accepted me.” She waved her hand toward the clear arch, the shield now a dull memory. “And I walked through that archway.” She paused. “What traditions I choose to accept is up to me.”
More than one man’s eyes narrowed, and the surge of anger in the room rose.
Chae shrugged and her smile grew. “Now I need to find more comfortable clothes.” She rose, her bodice creaking, and the men swept into low bows, even as their emotions seethed.
“You must be careful not to antagonize these men, Majesty.” Daned’s thoughts broke into hers with a cut of censure. “Their loyalty is different from a caste Ladaian’s.”
“Fine.” She brushed her hands over the bronze silk of her full skirts. “I am agreeing to the tradition of the sunder-seld choosing my successor from a ranking prince.” She glared at Daned. “Happy?”
A frown touched his mouth, but he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, his mind shuttered. He spoke aloud. “The imperial apartments are this way, Majesty.”
Chae followed him from the hall, holding back a wince as they passed beneath the arch that had inflicted so much pain only moments before. Her skirts swished over the stone floor, that and the heavy, even thud of Daned’s boots the only echoing sound. “When?”