Sunset Over Abendau (The Inheritance Trilogy #2)

by Jo Zebedee

  “I understand, sir,” said Baelan. Pride filled him, as dangerous as anger, and he gasped as his power surged and tried to escape. No wonder his father had killed and destroyed, if this was what flowed out of him unbidden. Would he, Baelan, kill innocents, too? His mouth went dry at the thought of being such a monster, and he sent a silent prayer to his Lady to protect him. He cleared his throat. “Sir, will our Lady teach me how to use my power to further the tribe?”

  Phelps smiled and, for a fleeting moment, Baelan wasn’t sure he liked the smile. Then his face softened and the moment was gone. Baelan smiled back.

  “Yes, she will,” Phelps said. “She’ll be glad to. Come, our ship’s waiting. It’s time to fulfil your quest.”

  They climbed onto their single-scoot, Baelan perched in front of Phelps, and headed into the desert, towards the hidden port.

  As he boarded the transporter, his mouth went dry. Phelps was right: his life-oath was his own, but his quest belonged to the tribe. He was lucky to be the one who would free his Lady’s powers.

  A butterfly of anxiety crossed his stomach. What would happen if he couldn’t? He pushed the doubts to the side; he would be able to, of course. He had to.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sonly walked through the compound, her eyes blurred. She tried to keep Kare at a professional length, but all it took was one instance of him dropping his mask, letting her see the Kare she missed so much, and she was back where she’d been when she’d split with him. She kept her head up, the steps of her security team and the swish of a cleaner reminding her every action would be picked up and analysed.

  She reached the office she used when she was at the compound and pushed through the door. Finally, she was able to brush her shaking fingers across her hot eyes. She sank into her seat, fighting the memory of the dark tiredness in Kare’s eyes.

  She dreaded watching him deliver a speech on the day he feared all year. She would have vetoed it, but the Senate were urging her to use the anniversary to put more pressure on the great families. Only when the families recognised what was being achieved would they begin to offer support. And Kare himself had demanded he give the speech, insisting it be held on his night of normally-private hell. He hadn’t taken the palace alone, he’d told her. Others had been prepared to lay down their lives. They deserved recognition, and that should come from their commander in chief.

  There was no getting out of it. She’d plaster a smile on her face and not give away any of her warmth for Kare, because that would be misconstrued, or her fear for him. Nor even her barely-acknowledged anger at him for accepting her relationship with Jake. Keep it off the news, he’d said, his only thoughts political. That Kare was a stranger to her, shaped by what had happened at the palace, a man with a cold core he’d needed to survive.

  Tears were falling now, properly falling. She couldn’t be like this tonight; she had to be strong for both of them, because today she was the one who could be. She reached for her comms unit. Lichio would understand. He worked closer with Kare than anyone – he knew how hard it could be. She let the comms unit connect, but quickly cut the call. Lichio had to face today, too. She turned the comms unit over and over, and jumped when it buzzed. Lichio, she assumed, returning her aborted contact.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Sonly?” The voice was familiar – not Lichio’s slight drawl, but polished, more assured – the product of expensive schooling and years of honing for the role of a family head. Her stomach jumped, part-dread, part-excitement, and with it came a wave of guilt, strong enough to make nausea rise and threaten to choke her. Jake – the last person she wanted to talk to today: after sitting with Kare, the betrayal was more vivid than ever.

  She bit her lip. “What is it?”

  “I want to come over.” His voice lowered, becoming intimate. “To see you.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. She should tell him she didn’t want to see him again, that she’d made a mistake. As long as she was married, she shouldn’t be doing this.

  The words didn’t come. They never had, no matter how often she’d built herself up to it.

  “I haven’t seen you in days,” he said, a low urgency in his tone.

  She wanted to see him. She wanted to see anyone who wasn’t cold and closed-off.

  “Come over,” she told him, and cut the comms before she changed her mind.

  A moment later, a tap at the door made her look up, startled: he must have been close when he called. Damn, she’d hoped for a few minutes to compose herself. Now, Jake would know she was upset, and he’d know why – no one upset her the way Kare did, to whatever lay at the centre of her.

  “Come in!”

  Jake slipped in and closed the door after him. He was dressed in his uniform, boots gleaming, hair cut short and neat, smiling a smile that reached his eyes; eyes that were focused on her, taking her in.

  The familiar nugget of questioning nagged at her. A young military officer, dark-haired, of a certain height. He could be Kare before the attack on the Banned base. Was she with Jake because of who he was, or who he reminded her of? It was beyond her, how she could be so cool in every other part of her life, how she could run a Senate and a planet, and yet couldn’t understand this thing about herself.

  “I needed to see you,” he said, a slight emphasis on the need. In the palace, where she had her own suite, he’d have taken that further. Her cheeks reddened at the thought of just where he’d taken her, and how often.

  Not in the compound – it was Kare’s territory, not hers.

  “I’m glad you did.” She was. He was uncomplicated, so different from the hellish background of her and Kare. When she was with him, her doubts and how and why disappeared. It was enough that he was good company. Surely not everything had to have a deeper reason?

  He perched on the edge of the desk, leg against her thigh. The smell of his cologne reached her – spicy, like cloves. No hint of coffee. He ran a finger down her cheek. “Have you been crying?”

  She drew in a sharp breath, ready to deny it, but already her eyes were stinging as more tears threatened. “I – something upset me.” She fiddled with her comms unit. “It’s been a busy day and something blind-sided me.”

  “Your husband?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened?"

  She winced. Jake asked about Kare all the time, no matter how often she’d explained that they’d led separate lives for years. It was the only thing they argued about: her explaining the politics behind the marriage and how she couldn’t leave; him arguing that a relationship with the Peiret heir wasn’t to be dismissed in terms of influence. And it wasn’t, that was the hell of the thing. She could end things with Kare – admit in public what anyone who was important knew anyway and take the final step which, once taken, there was no way back from.

  So you want a way back? The mocking internal voice, asking the question she’d never been able to answer.

  “Sonly?” Jake leaned in, looking closely at her. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” Kare would never hurt her, she should say, but Jake wouldn’t understand that there were different kinds of hurt. It wasn’t what Kare had said, or not said, but how he’d been, that had pulled her in two. “We talked. It brought up some things from long ago.”

  He took her hand and stroked the back of it, his touch firm. “Why don’t you finish it, Sonly?” His stroking was steady, his eyes fixed on hers. He made it sound easy.

  “I can’t.” That, at least was the truth. Not today. Not this week when the press was all around, filling every reel with them. Maybe not ever.

  She knew what he wanted. She could feel it in the tenseness in his hands, in the firm circles he made. She wasn’t surprised when he turned her face to his, and kissed her, a questioning kiss. Here? Today? He let go of her hand and pushed her seat back. He pulled her to her feet, tight against him. This time, there was nothing questioning in his kiss, hard and demanding.

  She responded, back
arching, mouth opening. His jacket was warm under her hands. She slipped her arms under it, and around him, and could feel the muscles under his shirt, the strength of his back.

  She broke away. The door wasn’t locked or her do-not-disturb on. She ducked under his embrace and stepped back. A silence deepened between them.

  “I can’t,” she said at last. “Not here.” She drew a sharp breath, remembering Kare’s warning from earlier. “He knows about us.”

  “How?” His fists clenched by his sides. “Damn it, do you have any idea what he could do to my family?”

  She put her hand on his arm, seeking to calm him. “Kare won’t do anything. Our relationship is no business of his.”

  He shook her off. “Sonly, he trebled Hiactol’s duty to the empire because they supported one opposition event, one they didn’t know about directly. Who knows what he’d do to someone screwing his wife?”

  “You’re so romantic,” she said. She turned away. Hiactol had known exactly what they were doing, and Kare had been right: if a single great family got away with open opposition, he may as well hand the empire over now.

  Perhaps Jake was worried about Kare’s response. He was young, he might not understand the politics simmering beneath the surface. Perhaps he truly believed Kare would move against his family on a personal matter.

  Except, he was his father’s heir, brought up in the cess-pit of their politics. He knew where the Emperor’s power began and ended. Personal vendettas had never been Kare’s approach.

  “I’m sorry.” He took her shoulders and she turned to him. The tenseness was gone, in its place a slight smile. He looked a different man. He hugged her against him, and rubbed the small of her back, teasing circles that hinted at more. Her breathing was shallow, her stomach light. There was no doubt that she was with him because of who he was, not who he brought back.

  “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “If Kare does know, I’ll face him and tell him he’s a fool for letting you go.”

  His hand brushed the side of her breast, sending sharp darts through her. Her head went back, and he kissed her neck, following the line of it to her chin, caressing her breast.

  A noise from the corridor outside pulled her back to reality, and she jerked away.

  “Not here,” she said. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice how she’d flushed, wanting him. “You have to go – I have to get ready for tonight.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said, his voice a low promise. “Watching you.”

  Oh no. “Jake,” she said. She turned to face him. “You mustn’t do anything tonight.” The flat voice came back to her, the steady look of Kare’s eyes. “He would have to react to anything public. I will not put him in that position.”

  He looked like he was going to refuse, but finally gave a sharp nod of bare acknowledgement. “Not tonight. But soon. I can’t stand having to hide how I feel about you.” He glanced at the door. “Are you going back to Abendau tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” His words were quick, almost teasing.

  “In the morning.”

  He gave her a smile, one she knew well, and her desire came rushing back. She might not be sure how she felt about committing to him, but being held by someone, being caressed by them, was something she hadn’t realised she needed until it had been offered to her again.

  “I miss you,” he said. “Call me when you can, and I’ll show you how much.” With a last smile, he let himself out.

  She sank into her seat. The smell of cloves lingered in the office. She stared at the door; nothing seemed easy. Nothing at all.

  ***

  Kare lay back, rehearsing his speech for the evening. He was always nervy on this day. Tomorrow, he’d feel better. That was the pattern it had followed in previous years. At the very least, it was something to cling to.

  His breathing started to deepen. It would be good to have a rest. Not a sleep, but a rest, that would be good….

  “Stretch them.”

  He moaned. He couldn’t – his fingers weren’t just broken, they were shattered.

  “Stretch them! Or I will…”

  He closed his eyes, the thought of moving them overwhelming him.

  “Open your eyes, Dog. Don’t hide, or I’ll stitch them open. You put yourself here.”

  His eyes snapped open. He had to obey the grating voice. He shuddered, but stretched one hand in front of him, face against the hard floor of the cell. He moved the other, too, sending a hot, agonised pain up his arm, so bad he almost, almost – please, let me not – passed out. He held on, gritting his teeth, knowing if he did faint he would be hurt so, so much more. His vision cleared.

  “Do it, straighten them, you fucking dog.”

  He forced his fingers to extend, to lie flat against the ground, waves of nausea and pain growing with each movement. Each joint seemed to take an age to move. He finished one hand, and Beck knelt, pressing down on it. Kare screamed, a long scream, wrenched from him, that echoed through the cell.

  “Hurry up.”

  He moved the next hand quicker, his breaths exhaling in moaning gasps, inhaling on a sob. He finished and felt Beck’s breath against his ear. “Tell me to do it.” Desperately, Kare shook his head against the ground, cutting his cheek, and he welcomed the fresh, clean pain. “Tell me, Dog. Last chance, or it’ll be worse.”

  Kare opened his mouth – tell him. The fear was too much. It wasn’t possible to go past this moment: the gnawing, all consuming pain, the cold, the hunger, were too much. He heard sobbing, and knew it was him. His voice, distorted by pain, turned in on itself. “Stand on them, Master.”

  “Louder.”

  He raised his voice to a croak. “Crush them.”

  The boot lifted, the heavy steel cap about to come down on his hands, crush them and grind them. He sobbed for anyone to come and save him: for Sonly, for his father, for his sister. The boot came down, and pain blossomed, beyond his ability to comprehend, beyond any thought. Kare howled. Blackness washed over his vision and he tried not to faint, knowing it would be punished. He pushed up against the pain –

  His scream faded in the quiet room. He sat upright, heart beating hard enough to be a low drumming in his ears. Sweat ran down his bare back. He clutched his hands to his chest and waited for the panic to ease. How could it could be so painful when it wasn’t real?

  At last, his heart slowed and the pain eased. A shower and he’d get changed. He paused at the sight of himself in the mirror, the white hair, the lines of long-drawn pain around his mouth. He looked old.

  Ten years. That’s what he’d promised himself the day he’d become Emperor. He’d stood at the front of the stage, hands clenched, trying to decide what penance he should pay for being too angry to walk away from Belaudii and his mother. He’d walked along a trail of rose petals, obscene on a desert planet, and the faces blurred, all except Sonly’s. The tranquillisers Sam had forced into him had given the day an odd focus, half-blurred, half-sharp, but he remembered Sonly watching him, having forced him to it.

  He’d known that to commit to the role forever would destroy what was left of him. Ten years, he’d promised himself, and not a day more. He’d focused on her, wishing she could hear him. Ten years to devolve the empire: that seemed fair. It still did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The scoot ate up the miles. Bomak kept his focus on the distant compound, running through the mission, taking his time to ensure each step was known and planned.

  A mile out, he swung the scoot to a halt close to some dunes. Two tribesmen rose to their feet, making him swear softly. He swore they were half-desert creatures, more of the sand than the planet. He jumped off the scoot and, silently, one took it from him and roared off. The other set off across the desert. He left no footprints, seeming to walk on its surface, and Bomak fell into step beside him, feeling impossibly clumsy.

  He pulled his goggles down over his eyes and tightened the clo
th around his mouth and nose, protecting himself from the worst of the sand shifting in the air. The heat was ferocious, even now when noon was long past. The sand scoured any exposed skin, making it burn, but soon night would fall, dropping with startling speed from light to dark.

  The compound was in range. He dropped to the sand and took out his scoper. The tribes had provided a spotter, but he wanted to do his own checks. Zooming in on the rear, he took in the long stone walls broken by force fields protecting the entrances. It matched the plans he’d spent days memorising.

  Inside the compound, Varnon dwelt: rarely seen outside it or the palace of Abendau, and never without a security brief. Taking him down in his own compound would send a message no public assassination could. One his wife might listen to when presented with the changes that lay ahead. Erode a person’s sense of safety, and much followed.

  The spotter patted Bomak’s shoulder and pointed over the sands to Abendau. The sun had continued its fall, and sunset spread over the top of the city, catching the palace’s domes. For one brief moment, they seemed sheathed in gold, and then the great disc fell.

  Lights started across the desert from the city: the dignitaries. Their ground-transports had already been subjected to a full security search before leaving Abendau – another would await them at the compound. The formation began to break as they homed in on their designated bays in the compound.

  One came in his direction. He stood, discarding the robes that had protected him. They were whisked away by the tribesman, leaving no trace of Bomak in the desert. Phelps was, if nothing else, organised. Bomak’s mouth tightened at the thought of the general – organised, yes, but not the same man as a decade ago. Now he was sand-weathered, his eyes harder than they had once been, but his command was as sure, if metered by the tribes.

  The spotter gave a quick bow and left, quickly swallowed by the darkness, leaving Bomak alone. His shoulders tensed and his leg muscles coiled. Adrenaline started to pump, the welcome adrenaline of a job underway. He watched the approaching ground-transport, assessing its speed, until it drew within feet of him. Too slow, and the compound would pick up a deviation; too fast, and Bomak was a dead man. The transport passed over him, its long lines stirring the sand so it whirled around Bomak, gritty and hot.