A Conspiracy of Whispers

by Ada Harper

  Ideas were about all she had. It took another couple days for Lyre to keep her promise about Yoshi. By then, Olivia had grown used to filling her days with exploration and idleness. Galen was busy, increasingly busy with the demands of state on his shoulders. But he still made a point of catching her at breakfast—he’d usually already eaten, but he appeared to enjoy watching her pick at her food.

  Imperials seemed to think the best way to start a day was with the flesh of beasts—everything was meat, meat, and more meat. The smell and sizzle of grease was more than Olivia’s stomach could take in the morning. Between all the sausages, fried slices, and delicately presented patties, Olivia had finally found a mild custard that satisfied. For all the faults of Imperial cuisine, the bread here was glorious and seemed to be a food group all its own. The kitchen staff by now knew to pile a plate of that—along with the untouched proteins—and serve with a tea as dark and bitter as they could brew it.

  Still, she would have nibbled on pig feet to be able to see the way Galen’s shoulders eased. Olivia took a quiet victory in finding the inanest subjects they could argue about—arguing was an easy, familiar intimacy with Galen—and watch his shoulders dip inch by inch. Sometimes she even got him to smile again. Those were good days.

  And then Olivia’s tea would be empty, and CHARIS would remind Galen that his agenda was not. And he’d press his lips somewhere on her—knuckles, hair, cheek, lips when he could catch them—mutter “for proof” and be gone. He’d inquire if he could find her later. He never did.

  The hunt for the conspirators was swallowing him up whole. And while Olivia was here under the pretense of aiding the crown in the investigation, none of the investigators seemed to have time for her, even if she’d had anything more to tell. Olivia felt vaguely like a toy on a shelf—favored but forgotten. It rankled her, then it hurt, then it rankled that it hurt.

  Maris, with whatever sixth sense she had, found ways to distract and occupy Olivia. When she wandered, Kieran asked her to teach him how to fight. When Kieran begged for a rest, Maris was suddenly there enlisting her to roll her cigars. Insisting she learn how CHARIS operated. How to navigate the staff corridors of the estate. Eight thousand physical and mental diversions that Olivia suspected were designed to keep her from murdering senators out of boredom. Nobles kept wandering near the residence wing hoping to get a word with the novel Syn refugee who had the Red Wolf’s ear.

  Maris was doing a civic service, really.

  So when Lyre showed up, announcing that they’d found a way to get a line into the Syndicate, Olivia nearly hugged her. The spymaster led her out of the familiar parts of the estate to the far curve of Ameranthe that housed a warren of technical offices and labs. Olivia waited impatiently in the small antechamber while Lyre passed a series of biometric scans to get the doors open.

  Charged air enveloped her. The slight stir of breeze in the room had static fingers, pulling goose bumps down her neck as Olivia stopped to allow her eyes to acclimate to the lighting. The aetheric communication hub shared some similarities to the comm tower she and Galen had found in the Caeweld. Rows of translucent screens lined one wall, information streaming across paper-thin slices of crystal. The lighting was low without being dim, buoyed by the strong, shifting glow coming from the other wall.

  Olivia turned and took a breath. A maintenance panel sat open, revealing a solid core, nearly three meters across, where frosted crystals bunched like fruit. Olivia stepped toward it, peering up. It was the core of the aetheric tower, and the crystals ran straight up into a complicated lattice of metal. The feel of the air was even more significant here. The vibration fluttered against her skin, humming with contained purpose, a precipice. If it was possible for the air itself to hold its breath, this was what it would feel like.

  This is what I am to Galen. The thought rose through her with wonder. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Look at you, gawking like a tourist.” Lyre dropped a wink. “Thought you might like to see it. Course, aetheric tech is top secret, now—”

  “You might have to kill me,” Olivia finished the joke. Or...well, she’d chosen to interpret it as a joke by now. It was Lyre, after all. “But first I get my call.”

  Lyre gestured to an empty station. One of many, actually. The room was near empty, also probably Lyre’s consideration. Olivia took the seat indicated and Lyre gave her a rundown as her fingers glided over the wafer of clouded glass.

  “No personal details, no names, no locations. Got it? I’ll be listening in—no, that’s not negotiable. We’ve got sixteen hops on the pulse end. But if the Syn twigs to us, that’ll still only give us a minute or two, tops. This may be Sabine’s orders, but I’m not starting an international incident for you, kitten. I give you the countdown, and we disconnect before it hits zero. Understood?”

  “Crystal clear.”

  If Lyre caught Olivia’s joke, she didn’t show it. She finished a series of commands as Olivia slid in her earbud. Oliva tapped in Yoshi’s pulse-ID and sat there as it ticked through.

  “Whozthis?”

  It took Yoshi longer than he usually did to pick up, but relief flooded that fact out of Olivia’s head. Yes, she’d have come up as an unidentified number if Lyre was avoiding a trace.

  “Hey, it’s—” She remembered Lyre’s rule and swallowed. “It’s me.”

  “Liv...” Yoshi breathed. Lyre winced.

  “Yeah.” Olivia sighed. “Look, I don’t know how long we have, but I didn’t want you worrying. I got...here. And I’m safe. Are you doing—”

  “They took them.” Yoshi’s voice was a croak.

  Olivia’s breath stopped in her chest. “What?”

  “They took them. They came to our place. They asked me questions about...things. Then they insisted Emeric had to go with them. Em—he said everything would be all right. He said... I thought they would question me, not him.” Yoshi’s voice faltered, coming back a little more cracked and broken. The words were barely above a whisper. “And then I couldn’t get any information. He’s not listed anywhere, the clerk I talked to won’t even admit he’s there, and then—”

  “Was it Whispers?” Olivia cut in, ignoring the signals Lyre was giving her. She had to know. “Were the agents who came law enforcement or Whispers?”

  “Uniforms just like yours,” Yoshi whimpered.

  Lyre caught her attention, mouthed the word trace. She held up five fingers and counted one down. Olivia’s mind raced. Bringing people in for questioning was too inelegant for Whispers. If they wanted information from Emeric, they would have monitored him, noted his habits. Emeric was too good to leave any incriminating clues behind, but they’d take note of his weaknesses...oh, no. She bolted up from her seat.

  “Yoshi. Yoshi.” She had to repeat herself twice before she could drag his attention back. The raw sound said it wasn’t the first time he’d been caught crying. “You said them. They took them. What did you—”

  “Jael.” Yoshi said his adopted son’s name like a sob. His voice began to break down again. “They took Jael. Same day, they went to school and took him, Liv. Gods, he hasn’t been screened yet, if he tests as altus while they have him, he’ll be—”

  “That won’t happen,” Olivia tried. Lyre dropped another finger as Yoshi talked over her.

  “Emeric doesn’t know anything. What if they’re—they could be torturing—it’s because I asked him—”

  “Stop. Yoshi, stop.” Olivia’s hand curled around a gun she didn’t have. Her fist came up over her chest. She needed to think, force her brain to step through it to the conclusion. “They won’t torture him, I promise. Him or Jael.”

  Lyre dropped another finger.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re not pressuring him. They’re pressuring you. They want you to lead them to me.” It was how Whispers did it. How Olivia had done it. Isolate and stress the target until they broke
. Lyre dropped a finger so only one remained. Her other hand hovered over the screen. Olivia tried to drive her off with a snarl. “Tell them whatever they want. I can handle this. I’ll get them out. I swear, this is going to be all right, just—Yoshi!”

  The screen went dark.

  Olivia ripped the earbud out. “You could have given me ten more seconds!”

  “I gave you ten more than I should have.” Lyre didn’t budge from her perch on the desk. “Rule was no names.”

  “They took them. My family. Fuck your rules.” It felt good to curse. It would have felt better to scream. Olivia tried to moderate her panic. “I need to see the empress.”

  “That’s not a request you get to make, kitten.” Lyre tilted her head. “And no way I’d let you in the same room as her with that look on your face.”

  Olivia’s last calm fizzled up. “I am not a fucking threat!”

  “Moderate. Your. Tone.” Lyre dropped to her feet and stared Olivia down. She didn’t have the height that Galen and his sister did. In a better mood Olivia might have enjoyed glaring someone in the eye for once.

  As it was, she barely suppressed the urge to punch someone in the eye for once. She stalked for the door. “I’ll talk to Galen then.”

  “Doubt I could stop you from that.” Lyre shrugged and escorted her out. “If you can find him.”

  Olivia’s jaw clenched hard enough her teeth hurt. Her mind was still on Yoshi, his broken voice. She hadn’t heard him sound like that since the day she’d met him. She needed to plan. She would sneak back into the Syn and get Yoshi and his family out. Perhaps Galen could lend her a shuttle, soldiers. Hell, she’d take Zahira and a pointy stick. He would help. He would be there for her; he always was.

  She took a slow breath as they stepped onto the lift. Certain, taking comfort in that quiet hum that was there in her chest when she reached for it. “I can always find Galen.”

  * * *

  Galen’s problem was not that preparations for defense were going poorly; it was that preparations were suddenly going well. The requisitioned crafts were being generously supplied. Generals from every district not currently under siege would be contributing forces to the rally point. He’d had to turn some away, even, not willing to put all his markers on a single bet. In the end he’d coordinated with Ambrose. The man himself might disgust him, but Ambrose’s military retinue rivaled the knightsguard and dwarfed every other district’s. Every simulation he ran said with those forces they would blot out the treason at Meteore. The plan was to catch them unawares, but even in Lyre’s most paranoid algorithms, when the conspirators caught their approach, Imperial forces prevailed. It should have reassured him.

  Instead, he wondered what he was missing.

  Perhaps it was a product of too many years in the company of minds like Lyre and his sister. Galen never assumed he had superiority; strength could be drained, momentum could be turned. But he refused Lyre’s cynical view of things as well. He learned optimism could present the same benefits of confidence without leaving you soul weary.

  Every other part of him was weary enough. He’d spent most of the day reviewing updated intelligence from Lyre’s reports. He rubbed his eyes as he headed to the kitchens and fancied he could still see figures printed on his eyelids. The kitchens were dim at the late hour, only a single pastry chef working at a counter, kneading a thick pat of dough with a vigorous rhythm. The chef paused as he entered, but Galen waved him on. He was in search of caffeine, not conversation.

  He found a cup and a pot of coffee that had gone stale. His mind was still too far down the rabbit hole of troop movements to notice. It barely noticed the swish of the doors opening at the far end of the galley, but a familiar warmth plucked in his chest, like a string, one note he would always hear. He turned.

  Olivia stood in the doorway with the askew air of one who’d just barely stopped moving. Her eyes skidded over the kitchen before locking on Galen. He immediately set his cup down at the alarm he found there. “What is it?”

  “Where have you been?” Olivia crossed to him, and the minute she was in range he could feel her distress. It was an itch in his teeth, a demand to act. “I followed it to the lower levels, you were—somewhere, you were in there, but then the guards insisted you were indisposed—fucking liars when I could feel—but then they refused to let me through, then CHARIS summoned Kieran of all people—I think I scared him—but gods dammit, Galen—”

  Olivia had to be damn near panicked to talk about their bond with such bald-faced acceptance. Galen reached out a hand and skimmed his palm from her cheek to shoulder, just once, to reassure the agitated part of his mind. “I’m sorry. They should have let you through. I’m here now. What happened?”

  Olivia leaned into the touch rather than away. Her eyes closed briefly. She took a steadying inhale, and when they opened again her gaze was intense. “Yoshi’s in danger and your spymaster is a godsdamn bitch.”

  The steady violence of dough against counter paused a pregnant moment before stuttering up again. The chef’s shoulders worked up to his ears. Galen gave one mournful glance to his undrunk coffee, but Olivia’s cheek was warm and urgent under his hand. “Let’s find somewhere more private to talk.”

  * * *

  CHARIS and the staff had already prepared his rooms for the night: lights lowered, soft pillows arranged on the couch. If he peeked into the bedroom he would find the coverlet turned back invitingly. On any other evening, after a long day of strategic planning, Galen would have barely noticed before collapsing face-first into bed. Instead, he tried to see his quarters as Olivia saw them, her gaze ticking over the living room as she paced. The furnishings were comfortable enough, but Galen had never seen the sense in decorating. He wasn’t proud enough to display the shiny trinkets that the court was fond of leaving him. And he was too private to display more personal mementos. He learned long ago that sentimentality, yearning, emotion, none of it fit the Red Wolf image. The Red Wolf was what people wanted to see, so the other parts, the Galen parts, were confined to a small chest at the foot of his bed.

  But as a result the room looked rather spare. Hollow. Like him.

  Olivia’s sigh was relieved, not bored. “Finally a room I can breathe in. I spent all day caged in this place and I was beginning to think sheep must grow gold lamé instead of wool here. How anyone gets any work done—”

  The route of her pacing brought her past him and Galen snaked out an arm to guide her to the couch. “Liv, I’ve seen you calmer at gunpoint. What—”

  “The Whispers have Yoshi’s family.”

  Galen’s insides froze. “When?”

  “I don’t know. Yoshi, he sounded—they have Emeric and Jael and it’s my fault.”

  “They’re pressuring him,” Galen guessed.

  “Of course. It’s what I would do. What I did do.” All the color drained out of Olivia’s voice. “Before. Before I cared about anyone.”

  Galen’s heart wanted to chase that line, hold it between his teeth and treasure it, but it was wrapped in other, unspoken pains. He knew, at some point, he’d have to let Olivia tell him of what she’d done in the past to survive, as if he had any right to judge. As if it changed anything. It only made him want to burn the Syn to the ground. “We won’t let you lose Yoshi.”

  Olivia’s eyes focused on him again. “I need to get them out, immediately.”

  Fear settled like a stone in Galen’s mind. He could feel the ripples that would turn into destructive tsunamis, emotions that’d drown them both. He knew what she was going to say. Knew how Olivia never phrased a need as anything but something she’d do herself.

  “And we will.” It was a struggle to pick out words, took every part of his focus to keep from proactively forbidding her, tamp down the part of his brain that hissed a steady refrain of panic: You’ll lose her. It’s your fault.

  He’d allowed that voice to pi
ck his words before. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. “We will get them out,” Galen tried again. “After the conspirators are rooted out—”

  “Emeric and Jael don’t have that long to wait.” Olivia drew in a breath. “If you can lend me a shuttle or a few scouts I can be back before you know it.”

  “You’re a wanted bounty in the Syn. Don’t you think running off is what the Whispers want you to do?”

  “Maybe.” She lifted her chin and Galen felt the tension return, thrumming sharp through her skin. “You don’t think I could do it anyway?”

  “I think you do a hundred impossibilities a day. I just don’t want to see you do them alone anymore,” Galen said helplessly.

  “Then give me scouts and a shuttle to do it with.”

  “I would give you the world, but Lyre doesn’t have the scouts to spare. After the conflict is the safest—”

  “Life is not safe!” Olivia curled her fists in his chest, and Galen felt like they’d clenched around his heart. “Life is never safe. Not for me. I tried the safe option too long. And—” she searched Galen’s face, pleading “—I can’t give up anything else for safety. Not you, not Yoshi. Not anything.”

  Desperation drove the words out of his mouth, taking all his strength with them. “If you need to go, I will go with you.”

  Olivia stopped in place, and Galen had the disconcerting feeling he’d said precisely the wrong thing. “No. You have a war to win.”

  “So do you.”

  “You have an empire that needs you.”

  “You need me,” Galen breathed. The shock that flickered across her face made him press on. “That matters, more than anything. Haven’t I proven that yet?”

  Olivia’s expression was frozen, as though her thoughts were rabbiting in directions Galen couldn’t fathom. It felt like blind chess. Every word he said seemed to spawn two different conversations and he had no idea how to merge them together again.