by Rhonda Mason
Or further war, since her planet was already occupied.
The word “war” hung between them, separated them. When it all came down in the end, when swords were drawn or treaties were signed, where would Malkor stand?
Where would she?
“Carsov,” Malkor finally said. “We need Carsov.”
It took a second for her to follow his line of thought. “The soldier from the army’s Biomech Crimes division?”
“Yeah, the guy who freed you from the biocontainment foam at the last wedding. He knows who really supplied Trebulan with the TNV. If I can get that proof from him…”
“You think it’s the same people?”
Malkor nodded. She could practically see gears turning in his mind, plans being laid. “Has to be. How many intergalactic conspiracies can one empire have at a time?” The joke was so close to the truth of their crazy situation that it fell flat. How many people and factions and agencies were they up against?
The comm chirped. “Lady Evelyn, comm coming in from Princess Isonde.”
“Okay, send it through.”
It was a short call, Isonde requesting her immediate presence at the royal palace, dressed as smartly and as somberly as she could be.
Great. More politics. This ought to be fun.
Malkor pushed away from the table, back to full business mode as he stood. “I’m going to lean on Carsov, see if I can crack him.” He offered her a fleeting smile. “Good luck with Isonde.”
“Thanks, I’ll probably need it.”
* * *
Kayla arrived at the royal palace half an hour later and was ushered into what must be the official press room. A bevy of seats for media faced a podium, and behind the podium a giant screen displayed the seal of the Sakien Empire on one half and the seal of Piran on the other. The imperial seal—an indigo field bordered in brilliant jade, hosting a ship jumping to hyperspace surrounded by a ring of stars—paired perfectly with Piran’s deep violet field and the lighter, lavender embroidered pattern of a sheave of wheat topped by an elaborate crown.
Isonde saw her and hurried over, leaving behind the group of Piran’s councilors. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She was brisk and businesslike, dressed in a somber violet gown with her hair pulled back into a neat chignon. Who would have thought that she’d survived both a wedding and the assassination of the Low Divine a few hours ago?
“Ardin and I are making a statement as the imperial heirs. I wanted a strong contingent of Piranians here to show that both me and my people grieve the loss of the Low Divine, and support the Wyrds’ innocence.”
Isonde was amazing. The first book she ever read as a child was probably a treatise on politics.
“How can I help?” Kayla asked. Isonde seemed to be processing a million things at once. Her gaze darted between the media filling the room, Ardin speaking with his advisors, the Piranian councilors and the datapad in her hand, covered in scrawled notes.
Isonde locked her attention on Kayla. “We’re going to get a handle on this, you know that, right?” Her voice had absolute determination. “I won’t allow your people to be blamed for this.”
The sentiment touched Kayla. Most people who’d had a prominent religious figure assassinated at their wedding would probably call it a day. Not Isonde. Instead she’d ordered a press conference, staying on top of the politics, fighting tooth and nail for their agenda of Ordochian freedom and a cure for the TNV.
“I want you to speak,” Isonde said. “I’ve already written it so you’ll just have to read it and you’re done. It’s a small piece to reinforce our belief in the Wyrds’ innocence.”
Kayla nodded. That she could do.
Isonde’s gaze made another circuit of the room, stopping on Ardin. She watched him in silence a moment, and Kayla spontaneously took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.
“There will be better days with Ardin,” she said. “Happier ones.”
Isonde looked at Kayla with eyes full of regret. “Sadly, we all need to play our parts.” She gave Kayla’s hand a brief squeeze in return. “It’s time now. And… thank you.”
With that Isonde went to stand beside Ardin as the last of the media entered and the place filled with expectation. Kayla took her place with the Piranian councilors, feeling an odd sense of duality. She’d be speaking as Lady Evelyn, in the name of Piran, but she’d be speaking from the heart for the sake of her own people. Both of those voices had power.
The quiet conversation, coughing and rustling from the media section went silent as the sonic field was engaged, blocking the movement of sound toward the podium. Everyone at the podium would be heard by the entire room, and no one from the media could interrupt until the floor was opened for questions and the field turned off.
Ardin made the opening remarks, expressing their sadness at the events of today. His voice, low and sincere, held the right combination of grief and steadiness. The people could grieve with him and they could depend on him. Isonde spoke next, echoing his sentiments over the loss of the Low Divine. She even managed a quaver at one point and took a quiet second to compose herself while the media looked on, clearly forming their first questions.
“We must admit that there is more than one victim of this crime,” Isonde continued. “The death of the Low Divine is a blow we will feel for years to come, but the assassin, by falsely claiming to be working with the Wyrds, has injured them as well.”
Beyond the sonic field, the media stirred like a kicked anthill. Hands shot up with questions. Isonde ignored them and rolled on.
“This is the crime of one person, but he is trying to take so many down with him, and we can’t let that happen.” The princess seemed to be gathering steam. Maybe Kayla wouldn’t have to speak after all.
“The Wyrds are innocent of wrongdoing on Falanar—or anywhere else in the empire. The Low Divine was killed not by a foreign power out for blood, but by one of us, her own people.” Isonde bowed her head a moment as if personally struck by such a betrayal. Ardin moved to stand beside her, one hand on her lower back to offer support and comfort. Even from Kayla’s angle off to the side of the podium she could see that they presented the perfect image—strength, unity, empathy, grief, resoluteness.
“My husband and I,” Isonde said, “and all of Piran believe in the Wyrds’ innocence. We still believe that a peaceful withdrawal from Wyrd Space is our best chance to gain their cooperation in finding a cure for the TNV. That is why we have allied ourselves with Ordoch’s rightful ruler.”
Kayla froze. What the— When had she spoken to Natali? How?
Isonde turned to face Kayla. “You’ve known her as my dear friend Lady Evelyn for many months. We established that ruse to assure her safety.”
No.
She wouldn’t.
After all Kayla had done for her, surely Isonde wouldn’t—
Isonde drew breath to speak and Kayla felt the words coming from a light-year away, powerless to stop them.
We all have to play our parts.
Isonde’s eyes held that same regret of minutes ago, even as the words, half-truth, half-lies, tumbled out.
“I present to you Princess Kayla Reinumon, sole survivor of the Reinumon family and rightful ruler of Ordoch.”
19
“I present to you Princess Kayla Reinumon, sole survivor of the Reinumon family and rightful ruler of Ordoch.”
The words hit the room like a bomb blast, launching the media to their feet in a frenzy, made all the more frantic for the silence.
Kayla’s world lurched, canted to the right, everything off-center and cracked.
This could not be happening.
After all I did.
Isonde waited expectantly for Kayla to approach the podium.
Kayla couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Five years of hiding. Five years of poverty and pain and dubious safety, all for what? To be trapped on the enemy’s homeworld with her cover blown. Ripped away by a friend.
A bubble of sel
f-mockery burst in her chest. Friend? Isonde had never been her friend, not for a moment. Ally? Yes. Friend? The word burned in her mind like the lie it was.
The screen behind Isonde changed to two pictures, side by side. One of them was from the wedding this morning, Kayla in the scarlet dress Isonde had picked out for her, hair, still dyed black, braided and wrapped around her head like a coronet. Beside it was a five-year-old picture she didn’t recognize. It must have been from the day of the arrival of the imperials on Ordoch. She and her entire family were in attendance, arranged together in a formal grouping as her father and his ro’haar, the then leaders of Ordoch, had greeted IDC officials. Malkor had told her there were very few pictures from their time on Ordoch, as her people had been very concerned about that. What pictures there were were classified at the highest level. How had Isonde gotten this?
Had Malkor betrayed her as well?
No. Malkor would never have done this to her. Only Isonde was cold-hearted enough to use anything, anyone, to gain her ends.
In the Ordoch picture Kayla stood beside Vayne, looking solemn and distrusting, her blue hair braided and wrapped around her head, her dress a brilliant scarlet, so alike in color to the one she’d worn this morning.
The likeness was unmistakable.
The images shifted to a close-up shot from that same evening on Ordoch, a slight smile on her lips as she watched something out of view. A picture from this morning in almost the exact same pose appeared beside it. Each of the pictures from Ordoch was stamped with the official seal of the IDC and registered as highly classified.
When Kayla still couldn’t make herself move, either to flee the room or strangle Isonde, the princess continued speaking, her gaze back on the incensed media.
“Princess Kayla has been living in hiding since the coup on Ordoch and the murder of her family. The time has come for her to resume her rightful place as leader of the Ordochian people. She came to me and Ardin with the hope that we can, between our two peoples, engender a peaceful withdrawal from Ordoch.”
Kayla was neither the true ruler nor in a place to promise Ordoch’s cooperation in anything. Isonde had made her a liar before Kayla could even open her mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Isonde said, “Princess Kayla Reinumon, of Ordoch.” She and Ardin bowed very formally, and backed away to give her the podium.
The media fell absolutely still, everyone on their feet, everyone breathless, for once more interested in listening than shouting out their opinions disguised as questions.
Isonde waited patiently, knowing, as Kayla did, that Kayla would do nothing to refute her.
Kayla was trapped in a web that had been spinning for five long years.
She approached the podium in a daze, knowing as she did that the move put her smack in the middle of her two images on the screen, bridging the connection perfectly.
Isonde was a frutting mastermind.
Kayla looked down, and there, on a screen embedded on the podium, were the words Isonde had put into her mouth. She took a long breath. Another.
We all have to play our parts.
“It’s true,” Kayla said, lifting her head and facing the media. “I have come here to forge a peace between our people. I am truly sorry for the loss you have suffered today in the death of your beloved Low Divine.” And the words rolled on. Kayla read the speech confirming Isonde’s claims succinctly without really hearing the words.
To do anything else, to refute Isonde, would bring all they’d worked for to the ground in flames.
And Isonde knew it.
* * *
At the same time, in the center of the city, Malkor sat on a bench in the enormous Nicura Park. How had Kayla’s chat with Isonde gone? He was curious to learn what Isonde had commed her about, but that would have to wait.
The darkness of the night was lit by hundreds upon hundreds of candles, and filled with prayer and song and tears. The people of Falanar gathered in the park for a memorial of the Low Divine, coming together for comfort and commiseration, in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all.
Good luck with that.
He was on the inside of the scheming and conspiring and he still couldn’t make much sense of it.
Malkor stayed far away from the main gathering, in the shelter of the greater darkness pooling beneath trees that lined a less-used path.
The number of mourners was truly astounding. As was the complete lack of fear over the TNV. Not a single soul wore masks or gloves, and no one seemed afraid to be near anyone else.
A raised dais stood at one end of the park, the center of the memorial. Dozens of pictures of the Low Divine’s ethereal face glowed on the dais, keeping company with the endless stream of people who took a turn saying a few words, leading those gathered in prayer, or offering a song that everyone joined in on. Thousands of mourners stood at the base of the dais, holding candles, holding each other. More people milled through the grounds, their candles lighting the way. Tonight everyone was brought together in Unity over their grief, everyone was a friend who had lost a loved one, everyone was safe.
Naturally, it was the perfect place to conduct a quiet, clandestine conversation with an imperial army soldier.
Carsov appeared out of the crowd, his civilian clothes blending him into shadow here at the dark end of the park. He held a lit candle in one hand. In his other he held a token of some sort that he quickly tucked away when he caught sight of Malkor. Carsov sniffed once, then cleared his throat as if to shift emotional gears as he took a seat on the bench.
They sat side by side in silence a moment, each holding a candle, watching the mourners. Malkor got the sense that the candle was more than a prop to Carsov.
“This is some crazy shit,” Carsov finally said.
That it was. “You check the assassination details out at all?”
“Not my area.”
Malkor shot him a sideways glance. “Not what I asked.”
Carsov kept his peace, eyes on the dais far away and the Low Divine’s images.
“Army’s got the investigation, IDC’s hands are tied,” Malkor said. “I thought, with your previous work on the TNV case falsely attributed to the Wyrds, you might have been curious about this one.” Carsov was too upright a soldier, too honest an investigator not to have suspicions.
“I looked.”
Of course he had. Malkor let the words sit. Carsov had something to say, something to offer, or some reason to agree to Malkor’s request to meet. He hadn’t had to ambush the man this time.
“It’s…” Carsov shook his head. “Something’s not right.”
“No shit. You know the only one capable of getting a weapon to the assassin was an army soldier.”
“Could be the actions of two ‘freedom fighters,’” Carsov countered, “one in the army, one ready to shoot and die for his cause.”
“Is it, though?” The question met with silence. “Sure, it could be a totally separate incident that happened to fit perfectly into an empire-wide conspiracy to frame the Wyrds as terrorists and incite a greater military presence in Wyrd Space. I could buy that.”
“Little heavy on the sarcasm.” The flame on Carsov’s candle flickered in a breeze and he shielded it with his hand. Malkor’s guttered, died. Carsov leaned over and relit the candle when the breeze had blown itself out.
The flames burned together in the dark while Carsov gathered his confidence and decided which way to leap. After the assassination, Malkor felt fairly certain he could nudge Carsov his way, but didn’t want to push too hard in case the man balked.
“Apparently the shooter was from the province of Geth,” Carsov said. “Wasn’t even supposed to be at the wedding. Somehow he made the list of guests.”
“A list the army vetted.”
Carsov nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“What if I told you another person from Geth, with connections to Geth’s ruler, tried to blackmail friends of mine recently. Friends in very high places.
”
“Frutt, Rua, what the void are you into here?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
“It’s deep,” Malkor said. Maybe too deep. They sat in silence, listening to the wails and prayers, the hum of gathered voices and the strains of tuneless songs. More candles lit the night.
“You a religious man?” Malkor asked, seeing the way Carsov stared at the memorial.
“Ask me that three years ago and I’d have laughed in your face. Now?” Carsov kept his sights on the giant image of the Low Divine as she had been at her last, and possibly most powerful—arms raised, giving the benediction over the royal wedding. “Now, Unity is the only thing that makes me feel close to my wife and daughter again. Unity of my spirit with theirs. The Low Divine taught me that.
“I met her once. She personally blessed my team before we headed to one of our first TNV extractions. No more than a girl, but damn if she didn’t radiate faith. Never seen the like and I doubt I will again. So yeah. I guess you could say I’m religious.”
It was on the tip of Malkor’s tongue to say, “Hey, whatever works.” Tonight wasn’t the night to be flippant, though. “Someone killed her, Carsov, killed that bright, shining girl as part of a power play. It wasn’t for love or morals or any shit like that. It was for power, plain and simple. They murdered her to frame the Wyrds, to incite the passion of the people for retribution.”
“It seems insane.”
“Does it?” Seemed all too logical to him. And it was working. Elements in the councils, the IDC and the army that wanted to annex Ordoch were gaining ground.
Carsov took a deep breath and blew it out on a sigh. “You called me because you think it’s the same people who provided the TNV to Prince Trebulan.” It wasn’t a question.
“Something big is going down and it’s starting to look like your people and my people are both involved.”