Sunset Over Abendau (The Inheritance Trilogy #2)

by Jo Zebedee

  They reached the edge of the storm. The ship’s force-field repelled the worst of the winds, but the ship still sheared from side to side. Kare gave up all pretence at coolness and put his hands on the edge of the control panel, his knuckles white. The ship veered so much he bit back a yell, so hard he tasted blood.

  “You’re very good,” commented Farran. “Most passengers would be screaming by now.”

  “Don’t talk,” said Kare. “Just fly. Please. How long does this go on for?”

  “Not much longer.” The Roamer started to whistle, ignoring the pointed look from Kare: if it was supposed to be calming, it was failing spectacularly. The storm swirled, the vapours from the gas giant obscuring the visibility. The control panel flashed warnings, turning the control room blood-red. The ship dived, and now Kare did yell. They entered the centre of the storm.

  They flew on, the ship buffeted, alarms sounding, until they emerged above the small satellite, its thin planetary atmosphere dominating the viewing window. Kare gasped in a breath; gods, he never wanted to face that again–

  They dropped, falling towards the moon much, much faster than he’d expected: Farran must have carried a lot of speed through the storm. They reached the atmosphere, the sky lightening around them, so fast Kare was sure they’d burn up. The Roamer was still whistling, an aimless tune. Kare gritted his teeth, expecting the ship to pull out of its dive, but they hurtled towards the planet. Another blast of sirens sounded.

  At last, the ship levelled, streaking across an ocean, and started to slow, but there was no port ahead, only cliffs. Kare took a deep breath, determined not to scream. “Stop! You're going too fas–”

  Farran thrust to starboard and banked, taking them through a narrow crevasse, barely missing the edges. They slowed, the reverse thrust pushing Kare back against his seat, and the ship came to a stop in a stone-walled port, the largest Kare had ever seen. He leaned forwards in his restraints, gasping for breath, not able to speak.

  “Are you okay?” asked Farran. “I’m sorry. You need to have enough speed to carry you in, but you also have to keep her–”

  “–steady,” whispered Kare, hearing the echo of his dad’s voice. “I know.” He unclasped his restraints, his hands shaking. “Next time, warn your passenger about the cliff.”

  Farran looked guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think; you’re the first non-Roamer to come here.” He got to his feet, an easy smile on his face, and gave a mock-bow. “Welcome to Syllte, Karlyn: the planet of the Roamers.”

  Karlyn? Kare’s stomach knotted: he was right, this had something to do with his dad. The thought didn’t calm him; whatever lay between Ealyn and the Roamers, it wouldn’t be good.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The flagship landed in Abendau’s main bay, and the Empress waited as Phelps formed his squad into a guard of honour with himself at the head. The general had done well – the city had been taken from within once her bastard of a son’s fleet dispersed, any fighting sporadic and easily overcome.

  Baelan joined her. With his dark hair and green eyes, and a certain way he moved, economically, wasting no energy, he was more like Kare than she’d imagined any of the implanted children to be. Her eyes found Phelps. Had the boy been his doing?

  It was something she had vetoed. She didn’t want another Kare. She’d wanted the old powers – their rawness, their intuitive nature – and something of the new with its control and grace. Only Kare carried both – but it didn’t mean her successor had to be like him, only taken from him.

  And what of the other mothers? All chosen for their loyalty. Had they fallen as the city had, in Kare’s coup? Or had Phelps dealt with the others? Without her powers, it was impossible to know. He was capable of it, however. Until the boy found a way to release Kare’s block from her mind, she would need to watch Phelps closely – controlled, he was a tool, second to none; uncontrolled, a danger.

  A long walkway extended from the ship. In the bay, more soldiers waited, ranks upon ranks of them. Their uniforms were the black and red of her empire, the red a splash of colour in the darkness of the bay. It felt right, to see this again. It felt like, even without the return of her powers, she was on the path she’d promised herself. First, she’d retake her empire. After, she’d have her revenge.

  She began to walk down, taking her time to savour the awed silence. This was her moment, the return to the Abendau she had built from a desert outpost.

  She passed through the waiting soldiers to the skywalk beyond, linking this bay with the palace. Ahead, the white walls of the palace stood unchanged. A smile broke – Kare may have taken the empire, but he’d changed nothing. What she had built was stronger than her father’s empire, stronger than any before. It had stood against him. She stepped onto the skywalk, more soldiers lining it, and began to pass across it, over the gardens.

  The giant abequs tree, imported at huge cost and nurtured from a seedling, carefully planted in the south-facing section of the garden most native to it, had flowers which were brown-edged. Its leaves drooped. She pushed to the edge of the skywalk, past two soldiers, and stared down. The moat was barely half-full, its stone walls dry and cracking at the top. The grass was brown in patches. Some of her deciduous planting, brought from planets across her empire, had been replaced with succulents growing freely in the desert oasis.

  He had changed her garden. She looked at the palace. What had changed within it? Within her empire? What else had he destroyed?

  She continued across, thoughts flashing, of the boy she hadn’t designed, the general not under her control and the son who defied her. She found her steps slower, not through deliberate intent to impress, as they once would have been, but through reticence. She didn’t want to see the changes wrought. She didn’t want to face the truth: that her empire may have changed and moved on. She didn’t know where to start to rebuild, or if she had time left to do so. She felt, for the first time, the full weight of her age.

  She lifted her chin, pushing her doubts away. She had been destroyed once, cast out as a child, powerless, orphaned. From there, she had built an empire that stretched through the systems. Her name had been revered, and it would be again. Once she was restored she would see that she took her place, above them all. And she’d see that each of them knew it. There was no room for doubts in her thoughts – she’d built an empire once. She would do so again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lichio leaned on the branch he’d been using for support and glared at the moat. Years ago, Kare had appraised it as the worst example of his mother’s excesses. Since then, the water level had been lowered until it barely irrigated the gardens. Right now, if Kare appeared, he’d hug him – knee-high water was bad enough; chest-high would be out of the question.

  Gingerly, he lowered himself into the water, gasping at the cold – this close to the ice-house, it was breath-taking. His ankle, numbed, stopped complaining and he waded to a barely-remembered conduit, ducking under its stone arch. Something was happening over at the port – soldiers were lining the skywalk – and this part of the garden was quiet. Except that he had an idea of what it might mean, the crowd on the skywalk. If he was right, and the Empress was back, he had even less time than he’d feared.

  The water flowed along a short tunnel, becoming a brook running along the back of the embassies’ gardens. He had no way of getting into the city – even if his ankle was up to the trek, he’d be picked up as soon as he made it into the open – but he might not be out of options.

  The garden noises – the rush of a small waterfall, the birds and buzzing insects – faded, and there was only the sound of splashing as he made his way along to a grille covering a small opening. Damn, he’d hoped the culvert would have been clear.

  He pushed against the grille, wincing at the pain in his ribs. It gave a little. The soil around the tunnel entrance was damp from the water, and the grille had washed loose. He wrapped his hands around the bars, moving the grille forwards
and backwards. At last, it popped forwards with a soft clang. He heaved himself out of the water and scrambled through the opening. The embassy garden was quiet. No wonder; if Abendau was changing hands, everyone would be dodging the fall-out, not doing their rose-pruning.

  He got to his feet, taking a moment to place the embassy whose garden he was in. The Al-Halads’, he decided, looking at the peaked turrets of the mansion. He kept to the back of the garden, following the line of the brook which had reappeared from the culvert, hurrying as best he could to the hedge separating the next garden. He could have wept at the sight of Josef’s conservatory overlooking the brook. He pushed through the hedge and emerged, blinking, into sharp sunlight.

  Slowly, he made his way up the garden. It would be better if he saw no one other than Josef, but he’d have to take the chance; the household staff knew him well and had proven their discretion over the years. He palmed his hand on the conservatory door, and it opened for him. The lock-system hadn’t been changed yet; Josef must still be in place. He paused, barely breathing. Either that, or he was walking into a trap.

  He slipped into the conservatory, boots trailing muddy water onto the tiles. Soft music played in the background, familiar and relaxing; he’d spent many evenings here with Josef, hidden from his responsibilities, able to relax and be himself in a way he couldn’t anywhere else. He wanted to sink onto one of the couches, take off his boots and not move.

  He slipped between the glass doors into the den, and through to the hallway. All was quiet, unusually so. Sunlight came through the leaded-glass door panes, glinting off the floor tiles, disorientating him in its brightness. Every part of him was alert, watchful, ready to run. Josef liked to keep his house-staff to a minimum, preferring privacy over being waited on, but the attachés should be buzzing during the day. Either Josef had dismissed them, or someone else had.

  Softly, Lichio crept down the corridor, using the wall for support, and made it to Josef’s office. Let him be in; he didn’t think he could stay on his feet much longer. Let him be in and alone. He felt naked without his blaster, too vulnerable. Gently, he pushed the door and it opened easily.

  “Who’s there?” The rich accent was unmistakable, and Lichio pushed the door fully open, relief washing through him. His worst fears weren’t true: Josef hadn’t been taken to the palace to face questions about his links to Kare’s empire. He hadn’t been found out as Lichio’s lover.

  “Lich?” Josef sprang to his feet, his dark eyes taking Lichio in from top to bottom. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but your comms unit is dead.”

  “I think it’s smashed somewhere in the vicinity of the palace.” Lichio tried to smile, but it felt closer to a grimace, and limped forwards. There was no one waiting behind the door for him, no soft movement in the hallway blocking his escape. They were alone.

  “By the goddess, you’re hurt.” Josef put an arm around his waist and helped Lichio to one of the seats. “Let me see.” He unbuttoned Lichio’s shirt, his touch quick. Their eyes met and Lichio put his hand over Josef’s familiar long fingers, pushing him away. He couldn’t bear his touch, not in the middle of the mess of this day.

  “You need to get out of Abendau.” Lichio lowered his voice, more from force of habit than any real security concerns. “What’s happening in the city?”

  “Later.” Josef freed his hand and finished opening his shirt. “Anything broken?”

  Lichio looked down and saw the darkening bruise on his chest, his right side puffed up. “I’m not sure. Bruising, I think.” He stretched his leg, wincing at the sharp protest. “And I can’t walk far.”

  “You need a doctor.”

  “To hell with that. What’s happening in the city?”

  Josef sighed. “It’s under martial law.” He went to his desk. “At the very least, you need meds.”

  “Do you know the status in Bendau?”

  “No idea. All external comms were cut hours ago. There are rumours the Emperor is dead. Is he?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Lichio noticed the tightening along Josef’s jaw. “Not because of security. I really don’t know.” His fists tightened. “I don’t know anything. I’m going in blind and I hate that.” He leaned forwards to rub his ankle but fell back as his ribs shifted, making him gasp. “I need my ankle strapped, and then to get in contact with my agents’ network.” He looked directly at Josef. Would this be the last time he saw him? Damn, but he’d been a fool not to take his opportunity with Josef, to be open about the life he’d yearned for. A lump came up in his throat, threatening to choke him, but he swallowed past it. Now wasn’t the time for regrets. They could come later, when the city was back in the right hands. “And you need to get off planet. If the Empress is back in charge, you’ll be expelled.” At best. “If it’s known we’re – friends… she may detain you.”

  “I need to get you fixed up.” Josef took a small med kit from one of the shelves behind him. He came over and worked Lichio’s boot off, and hissed at the wound. His top button was undone; under, his olive skin was visible, a faint sheen of sweat glistening. Quickly, expertly, he fixed a gel bandage. “Then we’ll talk about things.”

  The pre-soaked pain meds started to work, but Lichio still took the pain-tabs offered, swallowing them dry. He flexed his ankle. “You do good work.”

  “First field dressing since I finished conscription.” Josef crossed his arms. “You say I need to get off planet. What about you? If the rumours are right and Kare’s dead, there’s no future for you on Belaudii.”

  “I can’t.” But he wanted to. “Sonly’s in the palace and Kerra’s in the compound.”

  “So? Sonly has the political kudos to ride this out for both of them.” Josef’s eyes were unwavering, his mouth fixed and determined. It was one of the things Lichio loved about him – his sureness in his beliefs, his ability to focus on what he thought was right. “You don’t. If you’re taken, you’ll be a military prisoner.”

  It felt like the tablet had stuck in Lichio’s throat, but he knew better; it was fear, the same fear that was making his breaths shallow and his hands sweaty. A military prisoner in the palace; he doubted it was much of a step up from being a rebel prisoner. He remembered Omendegon’s long days and nights, spent waiting for more pain or the blessed relief of death.

  Josef moved onto the arm of his seat. “I can’t leave and not know you’re safe.”

  “I will be. I’ll have an army around me, remember.”

  “You were in an army last time.” He traced his hand along the length of Lichio’s arm, making him shiver. He took Lichio’s hand and it felt right, to be here in a quiet house, smothered in the desert heat. It felt like somewhere he never wanted to leave.

  “That was different.”

  “Come with me.” Josef’s voice cracked, just a little, but his touch remained firm. “You’ll be safe on Mersor, I’ll see to it. You’ll have asylum.” He faced Lichio, dark eyes intent, so deep they could be drowned in. “I can’t let them take you again.”

  Lichio closed his eyes. The temptation: to leave Abendau and be free. Josef was right, he might want to run back to the palace – limp back – and tear it apart until he found Sonly, but it was different for her, damn it. She was the President, with power and friends. She’d be better without an association with him.

  “I have the documents you need to get out,” said Josef, his voice tantalisingly soft. “My government have already recalled me.” He put his arm around Lichio and pulled him close. “If what you say is true, you should get out now.”

  Lichio gave a half-nod, the pain-meds making his thinking a little slow. “Maybe.” He drew in a deep breath and looked down at his hands, remembering tendrils of blood from the nail beds, the dragging pain. Remembering, too, standing in a cold cell, watching Beck set a group of men on Kare. There were ways to put pressure on someone, and they’d want Sonly to tell them where he was, and Kare. He thought of Perrault, who’d be struggling to hold Bendau
with no leadership, of his network of agents who’d have to find a way to get to safety.

  He squirmed out from under Josef’s arm. “I can’t go.” The words were wrenched from him. “Someone has to lead the troops who’re left.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Josef drew in a breath, the way he did when his mind was made up about something, and nothing would change it. “I’ll stay, too.”

  “No.” Lichio pulled away, sat further back. “I need you to go to Mersor.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Lichio grabbed Josef’s arm and gripped it hard. The scent of the spiced tea Josef enjoyed was all around, held in the hot, still air. The light curtains shifted, making him tense, but it was the slightest breeze, enhanced by the design of the rooms. What happened if next time that shift masked an infiltration squad? What happened when someone in the new administration worked out who Josef was? How would they use him? He drew in a breath. Josef was unmovable when he thought he was right. But he could be convinced of a different truth.

  “Without Abendau, I don’t have the army to hold the planet. I need support.” It was the truth, but more than that. A reason, one that had merit. “I need the middle zone to oppose the Empress. To do that, someone needs to tell the governments that I’m here, standing for the New Empire. And so is Sonly, even if they’ve silenced her. Tell them that Kare’s alive–”

  “You said you didn’t know.”

  “He might be. And if that’s what it takes to get support, use it. In fact, tell them whatever you have to, but get me some support. Can you do that?” Josef looked like he was going to refuse, but Lichio tightened his grip. “I need you to.”

  He waited, breath held. Josef was no fool; he knew that without a strong voice of opposition from the Abendauii Senate, the Empress would regain her former position. Slowly, Josef nodded, reluctance evident. “I can do it.”