A Treason of Truths

by Ada Harper

  “I see.” Galen was quiet, brows furrowed in thought. His voice gentled. “You know I would do anything to see you and Sabine happy—anything at all—but I’m not sure if weighing you down with the trappings of House formality is going to help. I would of course vouch for you, and the military respects you, but these Houses only respect money, lineage—”

  “Or threat of prowess.” Olivia jumped in, a new kind of feral excitement that should warn anyone who’d spent five minutes with her. “We don’t need to make you a noble, Lyre, we need to make you a legend. Preferably a terrifying one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Splashes of colored light pooled and puddled against every pillar. Holo artists had kept to a nature theme at Sabine’s request. Now crown molding was transformed into a vine work of ivy. Historical battles carved up and down the walls had sprouted into gardens, lush roses and glittering irises everywhere one looked. The floor, by contrast, had a simple silver galaxy of stars projected upon it. Dancers and courtiers became light-dappled celestial beings as they moved across the ballroom. The air bloomed with soft fragrances to match the false flowers, and was filled with the polite hum of violins and ambition.

  And Sabine sat triumphant on the dais, swathed in stars and flowers, and quietly despaired.

  Lyre hadn’t come. Sabine had endured the first wave of courtier entrances. Senators bringing their most pretty, most charming, most eligible members of their House to foist in Sabine’s direction and hope for a miracle. As a result, it had been an hour before Sabine could gain the dais and scan the crowd from above. Every noble House in the Empire was here. Not the northern lords, but no one really expected them to make a serious bid for scion—every luminary, industry baron, even a few diplomatic observers. No one was risking missing the naming of a scion of the royal House.

  No one except Lyre.

  Sabine had a receiving line of nobles happy to take advantage of her isolation. Lady Anouk Wolvgang had dragged her sister out for introductions. House Wolvgang was, perhaps, one of the less perfidious members of senate. And Defense Chair Wolvgang had been awarded medals of valor—if posthumously—for his work in Galen’s ill-fated mission at Meteore.

  Clever Anouk. She’d done Sabine the favor of a younger sister at least. Sabine had been a little aghast at the number of teenage debutantes other Houses had trotted out as prospective matches. As if Sabine were a lecherous cradle-robber. Some Houses, uncertain of her preference, had presented two. A daughter and son. Just to cover their bases. It gave Sabine a horrid headache.

  The young woman before her didn’t look much more pleased with the presentation than Sabine felt. She was short and delicate in a sharp-edged kind of way, with a riot of red hair. Prickly and pretty. Sabine made a mental note to introduce her to Alais. “You are welcome to our court, Lady Rione.”

  “Thanks,” Rione said flatly. Yes. Definitely foist this one on Alais.

  Anouk nodded. “Where’s the Red Wolf? I should make my congratulations to him and his new mate.”

  That’s a very good question. Dammit, Galen. Sabine had been wondering the same thing for the past hour, but she merely smiled. “I’m sure he’s here somewhere, reminiscing with the rest of the war hawks. Please, enjoy yourselves.”

  Anouk knew her cues and departed with her sister. Sabine finally noticed Galen’s tall head moving amid the crowd.

  “Good of you to show, sweet brother.” Sabine didn’t attempt to hide her annoyance. Galen was one of the few who could have guessed what this night meant to her. She’d really expected him to be here and supportive, not elusive as he had been for the past day or so.

  “Sorry.” Galen straightened the collar of his suit, looking distracted even now. “Something came up.”

  “Do I dare ask what could be more important than your own sister?” And empress, Sabine’s mind sullenly added. She was in a sulk. She shouldn’t sulk. She was miserable enough as it was, and none of it was Galen’s fault, really.

  “Nothing. Liv just had a...thing.”

  Of course. That was what mates did, put each other first. A dull ache heated in Sabine’s chest. She ignored it. “Does my sister-in-law plan to attend her own House event?”

  “Of course,” Galen assured her, his gaze still roaming around the room before snagging on something. He began to smile. “But you know Liv, she makes her own kind of entrance.”

  That was the awestruck dopey kind of smile her brother got when his mate was about to light a hundred fires for Sabine to put out. And she’d be doing it alone this time. Sabine closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “Whatever she’s done now I don’t have the time—”

  A murmur rose above the quiet hum of the hall. Heads turned toward the door where a knot of disagreement had broken out. Between the crowd and the knightsguard effortlessly shifting to place themselves between the throne and a potential threat, Sabine couldn’t see a damned thing.

  “Oi! Make a hole!”

  Oh sweet Lady, Sabine knew that voice. She sent a daggered look to Galen before the crowd finally began to part and she could see to the end of the hall.

  An unlikely cluster of newcomers stood at odds with the glamorous courtiers around them. Sabine saw Alais first, dressed in her trademark white. A tall lightning rod for scandal that made the nobles draw back on impulse. Next to her, of course, was Olivia. Olivia would be next to wherever trouble was. But instead of the perfectly nice party gown that Sabine had picked out for her, she was dressed in mottled black and greens. The Howl uniform. Behind her, Sabine could see another trio of nervous-looking Howls. It was a regular parade.

  “I will throttle her myself,” Sabine muttered darkly. Galen gave an uncomfortable cough.

  They were in some disagreement with the attendant of the introductions line. No wonder. Royal Houses were intended to approach the throne one at a time, and while Alais might have had right to approach, Olivia by rights should have already been by Galen’s side and most definitely not in uniform.

  Sabine’s headache grew.

  The rest of the introductions line was beginning to shift nervously. So when Olivia raised her voice enough to carry—“Gosh, Alais. Isn’t that where the wraicath took a bite out of old whatshisname?”—the heads of half the empire’s Houses skittered back. Olivia had that effect on people.

  “Oh look, it’s our turn!” Alais chirped as they swayed into the empty path created.

  “Lady Alais.” Sabine could be all ice and nettle when she wanted to. “How good of you to make it. But I believe we’re already introduced.”

  Alais, to her credit, did not flinch. Her smile only brightened. “Oh no, the only eligible bachelor is me. And though gold really is my color, I find the company of the royal House best enjoyed in small doses.”

  “That would be a mutual assessment,” Sabine said.

  The point, if caught, did not land on Alais’s face. “I’m here for introductions, however. It’s my pleasure to announce not a mere noble of my House, but a hero of the realm!” Alais raised her voice to carry in the hall, as if she didn’t already have everyone’s attention. “Yes, a hero. I dare say not a House present hasn’t been touched by this hero’s deeds.” Alais was warming to a bardic intonation of words, much to Sabine’s dismay. “The blade of the empire, and a mind such as hasn’t been seen in our generation or since.”

  Alais made a sweeping motion. She stepped aside. And Sabine’s breath snagged in her chest. “I present to you, the undefeated champion of House Vhehaden, Ser Lyre.”

  Lyre stood, flanked by an honor guard of scouts and Howl recruits. She wore her formal scout uniform, command rank polished like a brass star among the silver lights that lit her halo of hair. Her chin was up, her face was proud, and her eyes were full of a question Sabine couldn’t decipher.

  “Our champion,” Alais repeated with a cheeky grin. As she might have. House champion was a ridiculous, archaic ter
m. Even less used than naming a scion. With shuttles and bombs and war craft, no House needed a designated champion anymore. It was an entirely prestige title for a House, and Sabine couldn’t recall the last time someone had presented a champion at court. Champions were presented for a show of strength and receipt of tribute. She barely knew what the formal response was to a presented champion. It took a moment to dig up the words from her etiquette training.

  “Welcome, Champion,” she breathed. She saw Lyre’s eyes soften and strengthened her voice. Protocol, right. “State your deeds for tribute.”

  The pause was arresting. Even the violinists seemed to play quieter in an attempt to hear.

  “I bring secrets,” Lyre said lowly. An artful move that made the entire court listen closer. “From sky cities and dark towers and tavern halls. Every Imperial House and foreign country on which the suns set.” It was a strong starting gambit. An uneasy shift rippled through the crowd. Every noble House had secrets they thought kept safe from the crown. Lyre was reminding them they weren’t. “I hear every tale on feed, pulse, or wind. For my liege deserves a known empire.”

  The hall was most definitely silent now. Sabine was holding her own breath.

  “Second, I bring justice.” Around her, the Howls in her entourage dropped to one knee, cloaks billowing like wings. Olivia—who couldn’t even manage a proper curtsey for gods’ sakes—executed a whirling twist that brought her to Galen’s side, hand fisted over her chest. “I arm justice and set it free. The Howls serve. For my liege deserves a just empire.

  “Third, I bring arrows in flight.” The scouts behind Lyre kneeled, but out of the corner of her eye Sabine saw shadows depart from the column and descend. A company of spies bowed. Sabine’s heart lit up with the spark in Lyre’s eyes. “Blade and fire, for my liege deserves a safe empire.

  “Fourth, I bring truth.” Lyre raised her voice, startling the nobles who had leaned closer. “I was once a simple tool for another land. But my liege has turned me into fine steel. My liege deserves an empire which is known and safe and just and true, so I must be all and none of those things, to be wielded against the dark.”

  The words were so formal, but presented in an unadorned way that was all Lyre. No, not all Lyre—a new kind of Lyre. She held her chin up, as if bracing for a blow. Hope clogged up Sabine’s throat, and she had to force it down before she could remember to say the next formal words. “And who is your liege?”

  “Though I champion House Vhehaden, I am yours, Your Highness.” Lyre’s gaze seared, full of unspoken promise and suggestion in her next words. “I serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure.”

  Sabine took a moment to gather herself. Her fingers flexed on the arms of the throne, mostly to forestall her from running out of it. “You are aware this is a naming ceremony tonight. For these deeds, you wish to be named scion?”

  “I’ve got plenty of names. Enough to last me a lifetime,” Lyre said. “I just want you.”

  A ripple of delight and horror flushed through the crowd. Every house might have presented an eligible son or daughter, but no one was foolish enough to test their cold sovereign’s favor publicly.

  A bubble of pleasure fizzed on her tongue. Sabine forced a solemn expression. “You think your deeds so grand? That I am your reward?”

  “No. I don’t believe that there are deeds great enough to earn you. No secrets, justice, shields or truth to bend your will. I am not my deeds.” Lyre swallowed, and something of her natural drawl seeped back into her voice, like sunrise. “But I am your mate.”

  Sabine’s voice trembled. Even an empress had her limits. “You’re declaring a mate bond.”

  “Y’know, bond seems like such a sterile word. All chemistry and nonsense. Never understood it. Sure, I saw bond-addled couples—” Galen made a stifled sound at Sabine’s side “—and thought it looked darn inconvenient. Now that I’ve suffered it myself, I know it is. It’s a poison, a wildfire in your veins, that’s taken root in your chest. A goddamn addiction. Until all I can feel is you, you, you, and there’s no goddamn air unless you’re here. I’ve endured worse. That’s not why I’m here. This—this is what I want.” Lyre paused. Wet her lips and swallowed. “Loving you is the only master I choose. If you’ll have me.”

  Sabine’s breath was loud in her chest. False starlight whirled overhead and spun fireflies across Lyre’s wet eyes until Sabine’s own gaze blurred. Tomorrow, tomorrow this would be scandal and all the grist the rumor mill would want for weeks. But tonight...oh tonight. There was no murmur, no gossip, no churning wheel of intrigue to be heard as Sabine rose from the throne.

  She took a step. The knightsguard stepped away. And gods, Sabine hoped she didn’t have to take another because her knees were betraying her. She raised her hand—

  Warmth enveloped her before the first gasp from the crowd even registered. Lyre had dropped all pretense of respectability and vaunted up the dais before the knightsguard could blink. She ignored Sabine’s outstretched hand in favor of sweeping her arms around her. Faintly, she heard a delighted whoop which would only have come from Olivia and Galen. Sabine couldn’t pay attention, not with Lyre’s hands clutched at Sabine’s hips, a crushing embrace as Lyre’s breath sighed, wet and warm, against Sabine’s cheek.

  “Sabs, Sabs—” Lyre’s voice caught. She made a tiny, wet happy sound that Sabine immediately wanted to hear again. Several times. In private.

  “I’m here. I’m—” Sabine felt everything, the misery and uncertainty and monotony and hope all spill over into warm tears down her cheeks. “I’m here.”

  “Oh thank gods,” Lyre breathed. She leaned up and kissed away one of those tears before moving to her lips. “Because I am never doing that horse and pony show all over again. In fact, I might need to get rid of the witnesses.”

  That would be the entire senate. Sabine giggled against Lyre’s lips and indulged in the warmth. She tasted of licorice and mint. Heaven. “Please don’t. I need someone to tell me it really happened.”

  “I’ll be here.” The sound of murmured voices and applause had begun to intrude on the hushed pleasure of Lyre’s voice. She tightened her grip and dropped her head to Sabine’s shoulder with a groan. “Then again, you’re gonna see replays on half the holonet by night’s end.”

  “Excellent. Let’s give them something to talk about.” Sabine drew Lyre back by the shoulders. A giddy bubble of fondness rose at Lyre’s tear-red face. Her spymaster. Her mate. “You realize this means you’ll have to dance.”

  Lyre’s eyes flew wide. “I’ve been to these things but never—” Lyre looked like Sabine had asked her to storm the Syndicate. She might have faced that with less doubt. “Sabs, you know I can’t dance.”

  “You can with me.” Sabine clutched Lyre’s hand and smiled, bright and true. “Follow my lead.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The night was a whirl of rushed formality after that. There was dancing—oh yes, Sabine led and dipped and twirled Lyre, feeling the skin-warm slip of her uniform and laughing until they were both getting stares from nobles.

  And when the final strains of the last, delightful minuet were fading, Sabine leaned close enough for her lips to brush the shell of Lyre’s ear. “Are you happy?”

  Lyre gave her the incredulous look she deserved. There was still laughter in her eyes. Real laughter, bright and glittering and devoid of sharp edges. Like she’d laughed when they were younger. It’d been forever since Sabine saw that kind of joy in Lyre, and she was going to cherish it.

  But perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. A thought appeared to start in Lyre’s head and her smile tilted.

  “What is it?” Sabine asked.

  Lyre looked up, her cheeks were slightly ruddy. “I wanted to bring more.”

  “More?” Sabine giggled. “Your claim brought half the empire.” Some nobles were still standing in tight clusters, looking at the dark-clad Howls and scout
s uneasily. They weren’t the kind of polished military brass that senators were used to socializing with. Sabine approved.

  Lyre’s smile righted in place. Gods, Sabine could get used to seeing that. “Not everything.” At her questioning look, Lyre sighed. “No House, no torque. I don’t have a House torque to offer, unless you like creeper vines choking you alive.”

  “Oh.” Sabine hummed and tried not to look happy. A proposal torque, as if Lyre hadn’t made the grandest mate declaration the court had seen in decades. She was still trying to be so proper, for Sabine. “Is that all?”

  Sabine spun them to a stop in the middle of the ballroom. Dancers twirled around them, but she was aware that everyone was watching the empress and her new scion. No, not just scion. “Let’s fix that,” she said.

  “What—” Lyre started, then appeared to stop breathing altogether as Sabine slid her torque off. It caught on the pins in her hair, causing her chignon to come undone and tumble messily around her shoulders. Sabine didn’t care. It was worth it to see the flare of wonder in Lyre’s eyes as Sabine gently slipped the House Corvus torque around Lyre’s neck.

  “Your torque,” Lyre said quietly. Her hand came up and traced the skin-warm metal at her throat.

  “Fitting for the Imperial consort, I think.” Sabine grasped Lyre’s hand lightly. “Unless that wasn’t a proposal just now?”

  Lyre’s eyes darted up. The look on her face was like dawn breaking all over again. “It was.” Her voice was soft, husky. “It was. But—your torque—”

  “No one is going to mistake me for Houseless. Everyone knows what House to fear when they see the crown.” Sabine laughed and pulled Lyre close again, reveling in the starlights in her eyes. The hush of the assembled court around them. The way the future tilted and whirled like a dance with Lyre at the center. “You ensured that. I can have another one made. I like this one on you.”