A third Eerdish, with a shaven head and wearing a plain white robe that Sylvia suspected had specific ritual meaning, stood at the Sovereign of Sovereigns’ right hand. That, she guessed, was the interpreter.
Not irrelevant, but the etiquette required her to ignore the white-clad man as much as she ignored the guards and lesser Sovereigns. Her attention, from what Yonca had said, needed to be focused entirely on the occupant of the jade throne at the focal point of the room.
It was almost impossible to identify the actual appearance of the Sovereign of Sovereigns beneath their ceremonial garb. Their hair had been grown long and twisted through a ceremonial crown of gilded animal antlers, rising almost fifty centimeters from their head. Flowing robes, a mix of silver cloth and more jade scales, spread out across the throne and concealed the Sovereign’s figure entirely, and heavy makeup turned their face into a mask.
Without rising, the Sovereign spoke in the staccato syllables of the Eerdish language. A moment later, the interpreter repeated their words in Kem.
“Representatives of the United Planets Alliance and the La-Tar Cluster, you are greeted and welcome in the Palace of Palaces and before the eyes of the Sovereign of Sovereigns.”
Yonca stepped up beside Sylvia and made a small gesture, bringing the entire party to a halt five meters from the dais. She spoke in Kem.
“We are grateful for the Sovereign of Sovereigns’ welcome,” the Eerdish told them. “We know that your fleets guard your worlds against great threats and that permitting us to come here is a sign of great faith.”
The Sovereign leaned forward—Sylvia noted that they did not need their interpreter to render Kem into Eerdish for them—and spoke again, waiting for the interpreter to catch up and then continuing slowly.
“Eskala, the Sovereign of Sovereigns, says that they are aware of your actions against our shared enemies in the Moti System,” the interpreter said. He paused for a moment, listening to his Sovereign, then continued. “It is this action, combined with the blood we have shed together with the United Planets Alliance, that has permitted your presence here.
“We know both La-Tar and the United Planets Alliance are now allied with the Kozun.”
Yonca and Sylvia had agreed on a series of gestures for the Eerdish diplomat to use to let Sylvia know when she should speak. Both of them knew Sylvia was in charge of this mission, but Yonca knew the local rules.
This time, she was passing the response to Sylvia.
“Sovereign of Sovereigns Eskala,” Sylvia addressed the Eerdish leader. “Our alliance with the Kozun Hierarchy is strictly limited. We are no enemies of the Eerdish or your allies. We hope, in time, to build trade and permanent connections between our people.”
She hesitated, then mentally shrugged and continued.
“We of the United Planets Alliance are, in fact, prepared to act as mediators between you and the Kozun,” she offered. “While the Kozun have not yet agreed to any discussion, we would be willing to carry an offer of peace back to them.”
“But this is not why you are here,” Eskala said through their interpreter. “You speak of trade in time. You speak of being prepared. These are not why you are here. What brings you to the Sovereign of Sovereigns?”
Sylvia let Yonca field that one. She suspected that this was the most sensitive part of the discussion.
“We are here, Sovereign of Sovereigns, on a matter of justice and honor,” Yonca told their audience. “Until short months ago, the La-Tar Cluster was at war with the Kozun Hierarchy, as you remain now.
“The United Planets Alliance had committed to assist us, and fought alongside us, against the Kozun. They aided us in liberating La-Tar from the Hierarchy’s soldiers and in forming our new government.
“But we are not yet strong and we wished to make peace with the Kozun,” Yonca admitted. “The Terrans were prepared to defend us until we could stand on our own, but we did not wish to ask that of them.
“Therefore, we and the United Planets Alliance reached out to the Kozun and arranged a peace summit. A discussion between three states to bring an end to our conflict before more innocents died.”
Yonca paused, letting that sink into her crowd. She was good, Sylvia reflected.
“And at that peace summit, warships of the Blue Stripe Green Stripe Orange Stripe Drifter Convoy betrayed our faith,” she told them. “They attacked the meeting ship belonging to my people and destroyed it. They destroyed the entire Kozun contingent and heavily damaged the United Planets Alliance detachment.
“We survived and learned of their treachery due to the intervention of additional Terran ships—and the skill of Commodore Henry Wong, commander of the surviving United Planets Alliance ship, and his crew.”
She gestured to Henry, who somehow managed to stand even straighter.
“This is concerning,” the Sovereign replied, the interpreter waiting for them to finish speaking before repeating. “But how is this the business of the Gathered Tribes of the Eerdish?”
“Our ships pursued the Convoy across the Ra Sector,” Sylvia said. “Commodore Wong himself followed them to the Nohtoin System, where they entered the space claimed by the alliance of the Gathered Tribes of the Eerdish and the Highest Principals of the Enteni.
“We seek the permission of the Sovereign of Sovereigns to pursue these murderers into your stars and bring them to the justice their actions demand.”
Sylvia’s attention, as she’d been instructed, was focused on Eskala. She could still hear the reaction of the Council behind and around her. Shuffling and whispered words in a language she didn’t understand rippled down the hall.
“It is not the nature or desire of the Gathered Tribes to break the oaths of hospitality or agreements made in good faith,” the Sovereign’s interpreter said swiftly, barely keeping ahead of Eskala’s rapid-fire staccato speech.
“The Drifters may have entered our space, but they are not allies with our enemies. Promises and agreements were made. You speak of treachery, but is the ally of our foe a trusted source on the deeds of our friends?
“You speak of honor, but our honor must also be satisfied.”
Yonca tried to gesture for Sylvia to remain silent, but Sylvia ignored her, intentionally stepping forward and pushing the distance she was allowed to approach the Sovereign of Sovereigns.
“We will provide any proof that the Sovereign of Sovereigns desires,” she told him. “We are not and have never been your enemies. We were not and had never been the Drifters’ enemies. The same treachery that betrayed us lurks at your back—and it is not honorable to leave a knife at our neighbor’s door.”
The ripple of conversation was sharper now—and Sylvia was absolutely certain the Council of Tribes had a way to issue instructions to the Sovereign of Sovereigns. Eskala was silent for long enough that they were definitely receiving some kind of communication that Sylvia couldn’t hear or see.
“The Sovereign of Sovereigns will consider your words,” they finally said. “A recess is called, until the sun rises again above the mesa. You will be shown to quarters and fed. By the honor of the Gathered Tribes, you are safe here.
“This audience is over.”
Chapter Thirty-One
A white-robed Eerdish woman with a shaven head met them just outside the hallway, another collection of eerily silent jade-armored guards with her.
“If you follow me, please, I will show you to the quarters the Sovereign of Sovereigns has requested for you,” the woman told them, speaking slow but understandable Kem.
“Of course,” Sylvia replied. “Do you have a name?”
The woman gave a half-bow.
“I am a Servant of the Palace,” she said firmly, the capitals clear. “My name is forgotten while I wear the robe.”
That was… Well, that was far from the weirdest thing Sylvia had dealt with for palace servants. She fell in behind the Servant with the rest of the contingent and mentally linked her network to Henry.
“The Drifters a
re still in their space, most likely,” she told him silently.
“So I gathered. Does this change anything?” he asked.
“Not yet. I need to learn more, but I don’t get the impression the staff will be cooperative.”
“What interesting people.”
The internal network communication didn’t carry much in terms of emotion or thought processes, but Sylvia knew her lover well enough to know that he wasn’t even being sarcastic. Eerdish culture was strange to them, but she also suspected that much of what they were seeing in the Palace of Palaces was ceremony and show.
The Sovereign of Sovereigns, after all, was very clearly not a supreme ruler.
The Servant stopped in front of a set of stone doors at least four meters tall. She produced a small bell from inside her robe and rang it. The doors instantly slid open, retreating into the walls on smooth bearings.
“In here, please,” the Servant instructed. “This is the Suite of the Morning Sun Garden. It has bedrooms for each of you. I will show you.”
Sylvia followed, obedient for now, as the white-robed woman gave them a quick and efficient tour. There was no kitchen, but otherwise the Suite had every amenity they could want, from a formal dining room to comfortable beds—even if the beds were set into recesses in the floor.
More chimes rang gently throughout the space, a slightly different but still beautiful background music to everything in the brick-built palace.
“A meal will be brought with the falling sun,” the Servant told them. “If you have any needs, ring the bell by the doors and I or another Servant of the Palace will attend.”
She gave the same strange half-bow and retreated out of the Suite with the jade-armored guards, the heavy stone doors sliding shut behind her.
Sylvia looked at the doors, then glanced over to meet Henry’s gaze.
“Those doors don’t appear to have controls from this side,” he said drily. “Are we guests or prisoners?”
“Can you communicate with Paladin?” she asked.
“Relaying via the shuttle,” he told her. “I’ve advised the pilot and crew to wait for us. The locals have offered them food and lodging as well.” He grimaced. “The pilot declined, since the shuttle has comfortable-enough spaces and rations for them. I hope that wasn’t a major error.”
“It should not be,” Yonca said in Kem, the Eerdish diplomat rejoining them in front of the door. Her understanding of English was clearly getting better. “Some paranoia on our part is both expected and tolerated. That we have been put up like this, while intimidating, is also a guarantee of our safety.
“The Council cannot permit anyone under the Sovereigns’ protection to be harmed without a grand trial and gesture.”
“Are we being kept for such a trial?” Henry asked, switching to Kem.
“Not likely. Most likely, the Council of Tribes is having a long discussion over whether they believe us or the Drifters,” Sylvia told them all. “Who knows what the Convoy has told them. We have the data records from Raven to prove the Drifters’ treachery—and even information from the Kozun’s scans and analysis of their missiles to prove that the Drifters managed to fire their weapons remotely.”
“It’s going to be an interesting morning,” her lover said grimly. “My network makes it three hours to sundown, eleven to sunrise.”
“We will be taken before the Sovereign of Sovereigns exactly at sunrise, from what was said,” Yonca told them. “The Sovereign of Sovereigns is theoretically bound to tell the truth, though they will conceal and deflect around things they do not wish to reveal.”
“Hence saying the Drifters may have come here,” Sylvia agreed. “We will need to watch what Eskala says closely.”
“We have the proof of the Drifters’ treachery, and I do not think the Council of Tribes will take the Drifters’ actions lightly,” Yonca said. “Honor and honesty are words to conjure with here, even if practicality has a weight all its own.”
“We shall see at sunrise, I suppose,” Henry said grimly. “But I warn you, we can’t break our way out of here. Not with five energy pistols against the guards of an entire palace.”
Sylvia concealed a mental chuckle as she traded looks with him. From the eyebrow he arched at her, Henry knew as well as she did that everything they said was being recorded.
As Yonca said, practicality had a weight all its own.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Several Servants came for them in the morning, different Eerdish though all in the same white robes and with the same shaven heads. More green-armored guards accompanied them as well, the escort enough larger than the prior day that it took Sylvia several minutes to realize they weren’t heading back to the grand hall.
“We’re going somewhere different,” she messaged Henry.
“I noticed. Neither you nor Yonca seemed concerned, so I was choosing not to be,” he replied. “Should I be?”
Sylvia had to think about that for a moment. They were still, so far as she knew, under the protection of the Council of Tribes. Wherever they were going, it was probably going to be safe.
“I don’t think so. I’m just not sure what we’re getting into, and that concerns me.”
She was entertained to see Henry shift ever so slightly closer to her, as if to reassure or protect her, whichever was needed.
Not that the energy pistol he wore on his hip—the reconfigured sidearm of a Kenmorad consort, taken as a prize of war long ago—would help protect them against a dozen jade-armored soldiers with energy rifles.
Eventually, they were taken down a set of steps that curved in a wide spiral, descending into the bedrock of the mesa. The stairs were broad and well lit, but it rapidly became clear that they were underground.
Finally, they were led out into a surprisingly small square room with several rows of descending benches carved into it, like an inverted stepped pyramid. There wasn’t enough space for the entire Council of Tribes to be there.
The Sovereign of Sovereigns was seated in a simpler chair than their grand jade throne in the grand hall, though this seat was carved from a single piece of granite that was still attached to the ground beneath them. Everything else in the room might move, but the Sovereign of Sovereigns was rooted to the ground.
Their hair was done up in a meter-wide golden fan today, glittering in the mix of electric lights and literal torches that lit the room. Today, the robes were jade over deep blood-red fabric that took Sylvia several seconds to realize was silk.
For silk to have made it to Eerdish from Earth, it must have gone through at least a dozen middlemen. There was likely no more expensive garment on the entire planet.
The dozen Sovereigns of the Council of Tribes who surrounded Eskala were dressed only slightly less flamboyantly than their figurehead—though Sylvia realized there were no white-robed interpreters today.
The Eerdish weren’t alone, either. A contingent of five Enteni had been set up at the Sovereign of Sovereigns’ left hand, the dark-skinned flytrap-like aliens holding their mouths wide open to show their tentacled eyes as they watched Sylvia’s people advance.
To the Sovereign of Sovereigns’ right, however, was the delegation that Sylvia had half-expected—and half-wondered if they would exist. Wrapped in enshrouding black robes with only face masks visible, six Drifters also waited for Sylvia’s arrival.
There would be a grand trial and spectacle before any guest of the Council of Tribes could be allowed to come to harm. The question, Sylvia now knew, was which set of guests was going to be found at fault today.
The Sovereigns in this room would be the Eerdish’s true leaders. The Enteni ambassador would be an observer. If Sylvia wished to turn memories of a broken alliance into a future pact, she needed to not only convince those Eerdish leaders that the Drifters had betrayed the UPA and the La-Tar…but that they were going to betray the Eerdish.
And that was the job the United Planets Alliance had sent Sylvia Todorovich to do.
“Ambassador Sylvi
a Todorovich, be known to Ambassador Blue-Stripe-Third-Green,” Eskala said calmly in perfect Kem. It was hard to tell through the makeup and ceremonial garb, but Sylvia suspected that the Sovereign of Sovereigns was smiling at Sylvia’s surprise.
“There are times that ceremony and tradition must give way to the practicalities of power,” the Eerdish man sitting to Eskala’s right said. He wore a tight-fitted black bodysuit, either a spacesuit or intentionally intended to look like one, which had been covered in a whirling pattern of hand-inlaid gold leaf.
“We”—the man gestured to the Eerdish in the room—“represent the leading Sovereigns of the Council of Tribes. Between ourselves and the Sovereign of Sovereigns, we are capable of making decisions for the full Gathered Tribes of the Eerdish.
“In a private meeting such as this, the forms of ceremony must be laid aside for the simple words of truth and power.”
Sylvia doubted that the truth of the smaller meeting space and less-formal meeting was quite so simple, but at the very least, Eskala wasn’t speaking through an interpreter there.
There were, in fact, no Servants of the Palace in the room at all. Only the leadership of the Eerdish and the diplomatic contingents. The fact that Sylvia’s people’s bodyguards had been permitted into the room with them told her that there were still defenses present but the Eerdish Sovereigns were unattended.
“Ambassador Todorovich, also be known to Ambassador Passionate Iron,” Eskala continued after their companion had finished speaking. They indicated the Enteni sitting in front of their delegation, a redder-toned Enteni unlike any Sylvia had seen before.
“Ambassador Blue-Stripe-Third-Green, Ambassador Passionate Iron,” Sylvia greeted the other two diplomats with a small half-bow. “I expected the presence of the Enteni, given the Gathered Tribes alliance with the Highest Principals. I must admit to surprise at the presence of Ambassador Blue-Stripe-Third-Green, however.”
Drifter's Folly (Peacekeepers of Sol Book 4) Page 18