Unity

by Kim Knox

  Her mother had instructed her, all of them, on the rites of the coronation with clinical precision.

  The ritual will change you, as it changed me, make you over into the empress the city needs.

  The empress’ smooth, unemotional voice echoed in her head.

  Alena’s gut twisted, but she put one foot in front of the other. Nothing could betray her feelings. She was the very last Dubov, the last with the distorted set of genes that could boost the city, her people. Her mother, her sisters, had fallen in battle, and her city stood on the edge of extinction.

  The Talar wanted Rodin’s numerous and rich territories and their advanced technologies. Armed with a ruthless drive and overwhelming numbers, the Talars had taken all but the city of Rodin, the heart of the empire.

  Alena put it from her mind. The ritual was about to begin. She had to start her reign with a clear head and a strong heart. For a brief moment, her chest tightened. Yet more of her mother’s words.

  She pulled in a steadying breath and willed herself to match Sacha’s steady pace.

  Vadim’s dark figure, masked by the drifting clouds of incense, stood steady, his face fixed on the golden throne. Flight-captain’s braids decorated the shoulders of his jacket, and a white-gloved hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Sacha had lied. Vadim wasn’t a short man, he stood tall and lithe, like all of the house of Volkov. A small smile pulled at her mouth. The Volkov beauty breed true every time, it seemed. Sometimes her interfering ancestors were kind.

  Alena stopped, and her hand dropped from Sacha’s arm. She straightened her shoulders and willed her gaze to remain fixed on the gleaming throne straight ahead of her. Vadim’s profile caught on her peripheral vision, and she ached to see the man bonded to her for her coronation.

  The senior minister strode up the steps, his plain black gown sweeping over the gold tiles. Dark eyes narrowed on her, and his stern expression threw her back to her childhood … so she grinned at him.

  “Uncle Ilya,” she said, the grin growing.

  The frown pulling at his mouth deepened. He looked beyond her to the crowded hall, his chest swelling before his voice boomed over the gilded walls. “We congregate here today to anoint our empress, Alena Petrova Dubov. Today we shall witness the birth of a new power, one which will support and bring new life to our homeland, our armies, our hearts.”

  Murmurs flowed over the crowd, and she willed her spine straight. Did they doubt it as much as she did?

  “Majesty.” Ilya held out his hands, and she lifted hers to him. His strong, warm hands gave her fingers a light squeeze. It eased her rush of nerves. He led her up to the throne, and she sat, the gold cool through the silk of her gown. The long history of her family swirled through her mind … and hastily she clamped her will on scattering thoughts. “Do you accept the bond formed with the two branches of the House of Volkov?”

  Alena lifted her chin. “I do.”

  “Knowledge-giver, Sacha Ivanovich Volkov.”

  Her friend stepped forward and knelt before her. Ilya offered her hands to Sacha, who took them in his warm, gloved grip. A grin lurked on his full lips, and Alena wanted to smack him. The ceremony was important. As a scientist, he knew better than anyone that her stupid genes had to be activated in the right sequence.

  “I offer the branch of knowledge.”

  The ring on his right hand gleamed, the red stone a sudden flare of blood-red light.

  Heat surged down her left arm, and her hands gripped his. Light burned across her eyes, blurring his face, neurons firing and crackling in her brain. Her mother had warned them all, said that they must stay calm, relaxed, and let the readiness the rings wrought flow over them. But with her heart ramping, sweat coating her skin, and her brain a mass of fire, she knew her mother had lied.

  Alena fought to take even breaths. Fought and won. The surge of activity in her brain stilled, and she met Sacha’s concerned gaze. Twitching a smile, she blinked the sweat from her eyes. “Interesting,” she murmured.

  Sacha let out a slow breath and released her hands to Ilya.

  “Strength-giver, Vadim Caethes Borodin.”

  The enemy’s blood ran through him. That thought surged forward. And then anger mixed with the uncomfortable, almost trivial knowledge that she had been denied her full rights as an empress. He hadn’t been groomed for the role. Alena cursed. She was being stupid. What did it matter who he was, what he looked like? So far, the Volkov genes had held strong, thanks to her picky ancestors. He had the lithe grace of his house—

  Strong hands took hers from the minister’s hold, and he turned her to face him.

  Vadim Caethes hadn’t inherited the sleek beauty from his mother’s line. He had a hard, angled face, a pale scar tracing over his temple to disappear under his right ear. His mouth thinned, and silver eyes focused on her. He wasn’t pretty, but something about the man kicked in her gut. “I offer the branch of authority.”

  The ring on his left hand flared and shot white heat up her arm. Her body swirled in a vortex of fire. Alena bit at her lip until she tasted blood, her hands gripping Vadim’s as she willed herself to stay upright and not to slump into the throne. Damn it, whatever it was, was wrong. The pressure of his hands grounded her, and she clung to the strength he offered.

  Breathe. She had to breathe. In and out. Stay calm. Let the technology convert her insane, twisted genome into whatever it needed. Fear stabbed the pain deeper into her flesh. Alena fought it. The change had to happen; she had to surrender to the agony. But her mother had never described this riot of fire and pain … then the empress had been a dry, husk of a woman—

  “Majesty?” Vadim’s smooth voice wove though the torrent, coalescing with the tearing in her flesh and down to her bones, the heat and her need to scream out against the pain cutting her to the nerves. Alena grabbed onto his voice as she did his hands.

  Until, finally, the agony evaporated. She sagged, and only the gasps from the assembled nobles kept her head up. The mythical empress showed no weakness.

  “Thank you, Flight-Captain Borodin.”

  Alena straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Blood ran cool and wet against her lips, but she refused to wipe it away. She looked to Ilya. “I’ve passed the first test.”

  The minister let out a slow breath, and the lines on his forehead faded. “Yes, Majesty. The first ritual is complete. With the rising of the first moon, you must enter the second.”

  Alena nodded. She wanted nothing more than to get to her new bed and sleep … for the few hours she was allowed. “Thank you, Ilya.” Rising, she found the nobles and officers shuffling quickly to their feet. The hall filled with the creak of leather, clanking swords, and the soft rustle of too much silk. Every head bowed. One foot found its way in front of the other, and she followed the shimmering golden tiles from the throne room.

  Behind her, two sets of boots fell into step.

  Alena kept her head high. The dignitaries would file behind, follow her to her stateroom, and then thankfully disperse. The first rulers of Rodin had been crazy, but they’d left future empresses with some dignity. She wouldn’t have a gawking crowd witnessing the second and third rituals.

  Each step jarred her bones, and she pulled in every particle of strength she had. What the hell had that been with Vadim? Sacha’s change had swamped her, but she had borne it. Vadim’s? It had almost destroyed her. Her gut cramped, and she willed down the nervous fear. With the rising of the moon, she would cement her bond with Sacha. And on the next night, with the rising of the second moon, Vadim would bond with her.

  A wry smile pulled at her mouth. Bond. The nice euphemism the starched generals preferred to use. She’d reminded them that she was about to indulge in the best coronation service ever devised. What other ruler had two beautiful … well with Vadim … almost beautiful men pandering to her every need?

  Her skin itched, and she almost felt Vadim’s hard gaze on her bared shoulder. He was not the normal Volkov clone. Yerik, Sacha’s cousin,
had come straight out of the ancient Volkov mould, tall, lithe, achingly beautiful. She could’ve lived with his shitty personality for a few hours … but Vadim. Something about the man had her nerves straining.

  The colonnade curved around the domed hall that held the throne room and then dropped away in a series of steps. Alena set the pace, taking them slow and steady. She wore a gown, the white silk slipping over the smooth marble, and she didn’t want to trip and make a complete fool of herself. Not with her administration trailing behind her.

  Alena crossed the bridge connecting the imperial apartments to the dome. Cold air whipped at her thin gown, plastering it to her legs. She glanced through the open arches to the city far below. Sunlight cut through the thin towers, gleaming as it hit glass and metal. All that fell in shadow stayed in thick blackness, no artificial light flaring from the windows.

  Nothing worked. The automated transports, the walkways, ventilation. The once shining city hung in the sky like a dry husk, held there on finite generators. The familiar beat of the city through her blood had died. She took a steadying breath, and the reminder of how she had lost all of her family rolled through her again. Four days since she she’d lost her mother and third sister. Thirty days since little Vana had died. And forty days since her eldest sister had been assassinated at the conference meant to bring peace to their two nations.

  More than any of them, she missed Vana. Her sister, her best friend… Alena pushed down the grief that swamped her with a hollow pain. Her duty now was not only to Rodin but to her family’s memory too.

  Guards saluted at the open doors to the imperial apartments, keeping the salute as the entourage filed past.

  Candles dripped wax onto the mosaic floor but flickered warm light along the arched corridor leading to the stateroom of the empress. The room had shuttered itself since the death of her mother, allowing none to enter. She stopped outside large doors, cast centuries before from the pure white-gold from the Nosgar mines. Yet another territory the Talar had wrested from them.

  Alena cursed. She had to focus.

  Sacha and Vadim stepped forward. Pressing a hand to the moulds in the centre of each arched door, the rings on their gloved hands flared and splashed a red glow over the pale gold. The hinges groaned. With a slow creak, the heavy doors swung inwards.

  Alena willed herself to move forward. Her mother’s stateroom had always been a rare privilege. She pulled in a steadying breath and stared around the familiar round room. Her mother’s—her desk—sat before a great curve of glass, interface pads still scattered across its wooden surface. She turned, watching the plain-clothed servants scuttle off to tidy and clean. She leaned against the thick edge of the desk, her hands gripping it. She almost let her head fall but remembered the watching host. And damn, she hadn’t thought. The servants would need to clean away four days of dust and grime from the normally immaculate rooms. How long would that take them?

  The senior minister standing in the doorway bowed, the bow sweeping back as the dignitaries followed his example. Ilya straightened. “The stateroom will lock, only to be opened once the second ritual is complete.”

  Alena bit back a wry smile and tasted the blood on her lip. They were locking her in a room with a Talar … a member of the people who had murdered all of her family. Her gaze fixed on Vadim as he stood at parade rest only a metre away from her. Servants had placed lamps on every surface they’d cleaned, and the soft golden glow flickered over his hard, immobile face.

  Was it fear of him that had her blood hot? Like Sacha had said—and should know—

  she was no blushing virgin, but Rodin men—the ones she’d chosen in the past—were smooth, pale, almost ethereal. The Dubov had bred them that way and bred her to want them. But Vadim Caethes … it was hard for her to focus on anything but him. Her fingers itched to trace the scar scoring his skin, to press her palm to the hard angle of his jaw, taste him…

  His burning silver gaze held her, but he didn’t speak. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  Alena’s mouth dried. She held that power over him; Vadim couldn’t speak until she did. Words burned on the edge of her tongue. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse jumped. Was he waiting for her to speak? Or wondering how she tasted? Tension coiled tight in her belly at the last thought.

  Something caught in the corner of her eye. Alena yanked her attention from Vadim and stared down at the kneeling Head of Service. “Yes, Franca?”

  “Your rooms have been cleansed, Majesty. Have we your permission to leave?”

  “Yes. Thank you for your work.”

  The man looked up, and a smile curved his mouth as he rose to his feet. “It was an honour, Majesty.”

  The servants melted away, and with a last bow, Ilya closed the doors with a final clang.

  “I thought he’d never leave.” Sacha sank into a couch set before the closed terrace.

  With a grimace, he unbuckled his sword belt and dropped the scabbard to the floor with a clatter. He threw his hated hat into a plant tub. Stretching out, his boots found the arm, his hands linking behind his head.

  “Sacha Ivanovich, what the hell are you doing?” Vadim’s sudden harsh bark surprised Alena. He strode across the room and yanked Sacha to his feet by the front of his jacket, braids straining across his chest. “Stand in the presence of your empress.”

  Shock flittered over Sacha’s face, and he clutched at Vadim’s corded hands. “This is hardly the time…”

  The flight-captain pulled Sacha close, his harsh face only centimetres from the other man’s. His voice was little more than a growl. “You may be a prince, but you do not lounge while your empress is standing.”

  Alena stared, her heart thudding. No one had ever taken Sacha to task for his irreverence … he was just Sacha. It was something she’d hardly given a thought to before. Alena swallowed and uncurled her hand. She rubbed her thumb tip against her fingers. “Vadim.” Her hand brushed his shoulder, feeling strong, bunched muscles. The warmth of his body seared her fingers, and she blew out a slow breath. “Let Sacha go, please.”

  “As you wish, Majesty.” Vadim released him, and Sacha staggered back, thumping into the arm of the couch.

  “Not the best way for the three of us to start,” her friend muttered. He tugged at his jacket, swore, and then snapped at buttons.

  “Do you want to get out of here alive?” Vadim’s face had an angry red flush.

  Sacha rolled his eyes as he unfastened the top buttons of his dress shirt. “What now?”

  A smile tugged at Alena’s mouth. “Relax, Vadim. This is what he does.”

  “And you allow it, Majesty?” The flight-captain’s hard gaze still fixed on Sacha, who had draped his jacket over the couch and was working on rolling his cuffs up his arms.

  The title grated. Her mother was the empress not her. She winced. No, that wasn’t true. Not anymore. But for a short time, she could pretend. “For the coronation, Vadim, use my name.”

  He blinked. “Your name?”

  Alena made a smile twitch over her mouth. Something about how Vadim focused on her stretched her nerves. His animal intensity had her mouth dry. The knowledge that he had the enemy’s blood in his veins twisted with the very real heat sinking low into her belly. “We’re going to become very familiar with each other. I think that warrants the use of a first name, don’t you?”

  That muscle jumped in his jaw again. He focused on the floor before lifting his gaze to her again. “Yes … Alena.”

  She felt as if a band had clamped itself to her chest; she couldn’t breathe. Her hand ached to frame his jaw, find the smoothness of his tanned skin, run her thumb tip over his lip and follow it with her mouth. A hand—his hand—burned against her bare forearm.

  His thumb stroked over her skin, weaving a slow, slow pattern over her wrist, and Alena swayed into him.

  Sacha’s soft chuckle broke over her. She almost stumbled back, only stopping herself when she remembered who she was. “Getting ahead of yourself, Alena
?”

  She gave him a sharp smile. “I’ve known you too long, Sacha.”

  Vadim’s touch slid from her, and cool air washed away his warmth. She resisted the urge to rub over her wrist where the ghost of his fingertips still imprinted her flesh.

  “I need to rest.” She stepped back, finding Vadim bowing. Damn it, he made her uncomfortable. “Try not to break anything, Sacha.”

  Sacha performed a florid bow, all flapping fingers and waving arm. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Vadim.” His silver gaze fixed on her. “Try not to shoot him.”

  A smile twitched over his lips, and her heart did an insane little flip-flop. “I will try, Alena.”

  She forced herself to turn away and walk on steady feet to the empress’ bedchamber.

  Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, candlelight, mixing with the final rays of the sun, washed over the ebony frame of the huge circular bed dominating the centre of the room.

  Pearl-grey sheets woven from the rarest silks draped over the bed to spill to the floor. A black fur throw half-covered plump pillows, and Alena ached to wrap herself up in its warmth. With a gentle push, the doors closed behind her.

  Alena shucked off her slippers and padded up the two steps of the bed’s dais. She flopped into the deep mattress and pulled the throw around her body. It smelled of fur and cool grass and brushed warm against the bare skin of her arms and shoulders. The hollow pain of loss constricted her heart again. None of the smells in the room drew her back to her family. Her mother had always been a distant figure, with little time for anyone but the heir to her throne. Now they were all gone, and the heavy burden of her duty pressed down on Alena.

  She turned, twisting her body to find comfort in the soft mattress. The long, narrow window curved around the room, looking out onto the darkening sky. The city shield glimmered, tiny points of energy that mixed with the emerging stars. Beyond it was the besieging Talar fleet. Alena pushed that from her mind and closed her eyes. She needed all of her energy for the second ritual. Her thoughts jumped to the memory of Vadim’s touch on her skin, and a liquid curl of heat had her pressing her thighs together.