by Eric Thomson
“You mean she advised Joback that rebellion would entail nothing but negative consequences for the citizens of the Coalsack Sector. And she was right, as Mykonos proved. Not to mention the many star systems you abandoned to their fate, such as Arietis, Peralka, and Lyonesse. They too will suffer in due course, just as the original subject of our discussion might be suffering as we speak. Even if Rear Admiral Manard won the battle, many of his people will have died at the hands of their former brothers and sisters from the 2nd Fleet. Did you ever consider Katlynne might have been counseling Joback to consider a third option, one that involved neither rebelling nor proclaiming renewed loyalty to Dendera?”
Zahar’s eyes briefly shifted to Custis while he fought off a sour grimace.
“And what could that have been, Highness?”
“Come now, Admiral. Surely a man who reached your high rank knows how to weave a path around competing interests without offending any of them. Joback had many weaknesses, but he took his responsibilities toward the people of this sector to heart.”
Custis, who saw Zahar’s patience was rapidly evaporating under Marta’s scathing arguments, dropped to his feet.
“As do we, Highness. Debating the right or wrong of decisions made before you and I arrived on Yotai, while interesting in its own right, will remain nothing more than an academic exercise. We now carry Joback’s burden and must do our utmost to stabilize what remains before correcting past mistakes. And part of that means rejoining our guests to seal the compact between our new sovereign and her people.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
Knowing she’d crossed the line of propriety by goading Zahar about his guilt in ordering the deaths of many thousand Void Brethren, Marta agreed by rising from her chair. It would be unwise to antagonize the man who commanded the most significant naval forces for dozens of lights years in every direction.
“Certainly, Devy.” She faced Zahar and met his gaze without a shred of embarrassment. “Admiral, please accept my excuses. I should not address you in such an inconsiderate manner.”
He bowed stiffly at the neck, face still hard with suppressed irritation.
“Your Imperial Highness need not apologize for speaking her mind. It is a prerogative of her rank.”
“And yet I must do so anyway, Admiral.” Marta let a faint smile cross her lips. “A sovereign who knows herself should be confident enough to show contrition when necessary.”
If Zahar noticed Marta’s careful choice of words, he gave no sign, though she read approval in Heloise’s watchful eyes.
“Thank you, Highness.” Zahar turned to his aide. “Warn them we’re coming back, Colonel. They’re to pass out the champagne now.”
— 31 —
The deafening cries of ‘Long Live Marta’ still echoed in her ears when she and Heloise finally entered their private apartments on the palace’s top floor, which had become the future empress’ exclusive refuge.
“If I never live through such nonsense again, it won’t be too soon.” Marta removed her crimson, gold-trimmed tunic and carelessly tossed it over the withdrawing room sofa. One of the housekeeping droids would take care of the garment in due time. She pulled a small sensor from a hidden pocket in her ankle-length skirt and glanced at its screen.
“We’re clear.”
The instrument, liberated from 16th Fleet HQ stocks by one of Marta’s friends in the senior non-commissioned officers’ mess, would tell her if someone reinstalled the surveillance devices she’d ordered removed a few weeks after their arrival on Yotai.
“It was a tad overwhelming, I agree,” Heloise replied after dropping into one of the deep, sinfully comfortable chairs. “But the energy in that room… I can’t recall ever experiencing the like before tonight. How did you perceive it?”
“As waves of sound and emotion threatening to knock me over, if truth be told.” Marta sat across from Heloise and sighed. “I can’t help but feel sorry for them. Their hope I’m able to bring back that which vanished forever saddens me because nothing will restore what once was. At least not in our lifetimes and not even in those of our children’s children. I don’t know why I’m so certain of it, but tonight reinforced my fears Devy’s scheme will end in fire and blood no matter what we try.”
“You had visions during the evening.” It was not a question. Somehow Heloise always knew when Marta experienced mental turmoil.
“Several.”
She described them, ending with the brief flash of a planet, she assumed it was Isabella, under orbital bombardment.
“Why do I see these things, Heloise? And why always images of death and destruction, never of joyful events. Is my mind misfiring and showing me artifacts of my imagination born from a belief the worst is still to come? I remember reading somewhere a person’s two brain hemispheres can go out of sync. Is this what’s happening?”
“Are you asking me whether you’re going crazy? Perhaps. Everyone has a breaking point. You saw your partner executed in a barbaric manner, you lost your children to an unknown fate on a world recently devastated by Dendera’s navy. And now Devy Custis forced you to become his figurehead empress in a doomed scheme to revive the empire. Combined, those stressors can push many humans to the limit.”
A wry grin lit up Marta’s face.
“Wait until Devy figures out he’s replacing Dendera with another psychotic bitch.”
Heloise smiled back.
“Hardly. You’re still far from madness, and you cannot ever turn into Dendera’s species of sociopath, my child.”
“Then what is my problem, O Wise Sister of the Void whose head is filled with eldritch knowledge?”
She studied Marta for a few seconds with compassionate eyes.
“It’s simple. You’re becoming one of us. The talent was always there, inside you, but the stresses of the last six months, coupled with my tutelage, is freeing it from the mental prison of your upbringing as an imperial noblewoman. And it is strong. Stronger than any I’ve experienced.”
Marta did a double take.
“Um. What? Are you saying I should wear black robes now?”
A gentle sigh escaped Heloise’s lips.
“No. Nowadays, wild talents aren’t forced to choose between the abbey and having the ability wiped from their minds. Training is the preferred method for those who don’t wish to become one with the Void, and you’re learning faster than any other novice I’ve taught over the years.”
After a brief pause, Marta said, “Do you remember telling me you were looking for us when we first met in the ruined quarter of Petras?”
“Yes.”
“You said you sensed Sigrid and Stefan’s terror?”
“Of course.”
“Why were you looking for us?”
A knowing smile appeared.
“Finally, you think to ask the question. Because we already knew you were a wild talent. Sister Lioslaith, who led the Mykonos Abbey before her death, sensed it when she first met you, shortly after your husband became governor general. It is probable Sigrid will develop a form of it as well when she reaches adulthood, considering her emotions were so strong at the time that we could read them from a fair distance. You, on the other hand, already displayed an unusual amount of self-control.”
Marta gave Heloise an exasperated look.
“That’s nice and well, but it still doesn’t tell me why you were looking for us, or how you came close enough to home in on our emotions.”
“We track wild talents as a matter of policy, so we can intervene if they experience distress. When the troubles started, Lioslaith ordered me to watch you because she a vision, much like the ones you’re experiencing. She could not tell us what or why. Only that it was vital you survived.”
“This is getting a little too strange.” Marta hugged herself and shivered. “Visions, talents, sisters with supernatural abilities. And now you’re saying I’m a mystical seer like Lioslaith.” A pause. “You know,
I remember her studying me intently whenever she visited Government House, yet it didn’t seem intrusive at the time. So this talent you keep talking about, what is it? Precognition?”
“There is no such thing. We cannot know the future because it remains in constant flux until the moment it becomes the present.”
“Then it’s not so different from the past,” Marta replied in a droll tone. “Considering how often history is rewritten to support a particular social or political narrative. But—”
Heloise held up a restraining hand.
“Let me continue. Why do you think the Sisters of the Void are known as the best healers in history, especially when it comes to mental ailments?”
“Because you can sense emotions. You’re empaths. Right?”
“Yes, but there’s more. The abler among us can also project emotions. Not to override a person’s own feelings, let alone their free will. Not only is it forbidden, but we’ve thankfully not produced a sister capable of violating another’s mind in such a manner. Though we hear stories of a failed experiment, back before the empire was born…” Heloise’s voice trailed off before she caught herself.
“However, we can strengthen another’s resolve in the face of stress, anguish, despair, and any other mental hardship by sharing our own energy, though it can become dangerously tiring. We don’t discuss this second ability outside the confines of the Order, as you might understand, but we often use it to speed healing.”
“And I’ll bet you used it on me.”
Heloise nodded.
“In our early weeks together, before you opened your third eye and became able to gather your inner strength.”
“So that’s why you insisted on my learning and practicing a sister’s mental discipline.”
“For both our sakes. A talent as strong as yours without discipline would give me more than just headaches, and while we cannot override someone’s emotions or free will, it is possible for an unrestrained empath to reinforce negative feelings in others, albeit unwittingly. Considering the mood around here…”
“I see.” A contemplative expression relaxed Marta’s features. “Does this mean Zahar was right when he accused Void sisters of meddling with Dendera or Joback’s mind?”
“No. We can counsel, based on the emotions we read, and help those in need or distress, but the Order’s Rule forbids attempting to influence behavior. Besides, less than one in a thousand sisters are strong enough to do anything more than reinforce a person’s predispositions by helping strengthen his or her resolve. And those few become abbey healers who work with ailing fellow empaths — not an easy task at the best of times, as you might guess. When a psyche in pain broadcasts, the entire community hears.”
A shudder ran down Marta’s spine.
“It puts a whole new meaning on the expression clash of minds.” She looked up at Heloise again. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”
“I waited only until you asked the right question.”
“A test, then?”
“No. The decision to ask that question was always yours to make. You chose this time, and I respect that choice.”
“And if I’d never inquired?”
A knowing smile deepened Heloise’s laugh lines.
“You would have. Eventually. Your awareness is still growing, and with that growth comes an urgent need to understand why.”
Rather than a reply, the rumble of barely suppressed laughter rose up Marta’s throat.
“Can you imagine the reaction of my oh so loyal Admiral Zahar if he finds out his new empress is a Sister of the Void in everything but name? He and Custis already look at you sideways.”
“Which is why I spend a not inconsiderable amount of energy deflecting their suspicions.”
Marta sat up.
“You can do such a thing?”
“Yes, and I shall teach you how once you’ve mastered the last of the basic disciplines. But for now, I suggest we rest. It may not seem as if you spent a lot of energy tonight, but trust me, simply deflecting the raw emotions in that ballroom took as much of a toll on you as it did on me. You’ll sense it the moment your thoughts stop spinning in circles. Our talent comes with a cost, as such things do, which is why those who came before us locked themselves away in abbeys until they devised ways of dealing with the undisciplined minds of humanity at large.”
The moment Heloise’s words registered, Marta felt an irrepressible urge to yawn.
“Do sisters also possess the power of suggestion?”
“All humans do in a fashion. Individual effectiveness either depends on sincerity or acting skills, except for yawning. Inexplicably, the mere idea forming in one’s mind is enough of a trigger.”
Heloise stood with the grace and effortlessness of a gymnast half her age, joined her hands below her chin, and bowed at the waist.
“Good night — Sister. May the Almighty watch over your immortal soul.”
Sensing Heloise’s unexpected formality conveyed something more than just the usual polite exchange before they retired to their separate rooms, she stood as well, imitating her gesture and intonation.
“And I too wish you a good night under the Almighty’s protection, Sister.”
For a moment, Marta read approval in Heloise’s eyes, and it warmed her heart to a surprising degree. She might not wear the Void’s black, but she belonged nonetheless, and that simple realization nourished her hope the future might not be one of fire and blood.
When she was alone in the withdrawing room, Marta realized Heloise never explained the possible causes of her brief, but troubling visions. And for a moment, she wondered whether they were images of possible futures if not necessarily ones preordained by fate, rather than mental misfires.
Perhaps she didn’t ask the right question, or Heloise thought her awareness needed more time to grow before it could encompass the whole truth. Or her statement there was no such thing as precognition was the only answer she’d hear. But it still both rankled and amazed her how easily Heloise deflected the subject.
— 32 —
Lyonesse
“Isn’t that Count Hallibrank?”
Ty Renlinger nodded at a man in his mid-fifties entering one of Lannion’s poshest restaurants. He was in the company of Speaker Rorik Hecht, easily identifiable thanks to prominently displayed portraits in various public places. They were accompanied by two expensively dressed, middle-aged women.
After Admiral Zahar’s spies couldn’t find any record of Tanith landing on Lyonesse, Jaimee Markov suggested they spend their evenings staking out restaurants and bars liable to be patronized by former members of the imperial nobility.
She and Renlinger were ensconced in a booth at the back of Tristan’s Table, the fine dining establishment touted as Lyonesse’s best. Befitting its status, Tristan’s occupied one of Lannion’s most exclusive street corners, within sight of Government House and many of the capital’s more luxurious private residences, such as the one owned by Speaker Hecht. Their colleagues, Bouras and Orobio, were across town at the Condor’s Head, another place favored by the colony’s upper crust.
“Yep.” Markov studied the foursome out of the corner of her eyes. “And the blonde woman is the former Countess Hallibrank — Cherelle Downes as she is now legally known. This place abolished the nobility, remember?”
“I remember, but the mission files they uploaded to our wetware memory banks list Tanith prisoners by their titles, and I’m having a hell of a time overriding the damned data feed with updated information.”
He tapped the side of his head with an extended index finger.
“But congrats if you can do so. And for the idea of stalking high-end places. I was afraid we’d run through our funds in the space of a week with nothing to show for it. But here we are, the second day of Operation Gluttony watching the most senior of the condemned courtiers hobnobbing with one of Lyonesse’s top citizens. It proves Tanith landed here and decante
d at least a couple of stasis stiffs. They’ll be pleased back home.”
“A shame they didn’t bother narrowing it down for us with a few names. They can’t be concerned about the whole bunch, common criminals, and hard core jailbirds included.”
“What’s the plan, now we spotted Severin and his Cherelle?” Renlinger drained his wine glass and grimaced. The local plonk had a distinct earthy tang he found distracting. Best stick with beer. “Approaching him, considering his social circles nowadays, will be a bigger problem than making friends with Lyonesse Defense Force drinkers while keeping our covers intact.”
“That’s Kamaal’s call. Our orders are to find Tanith and we just spotted two of its most important passengers.” She paused as movement by the entrance caught her attention. “Make that four. The former Earl of Hadley, Brady Apostolos, and the former Countess Hadley, Verity Apostolos, just walked in. Looks like they’re joining the Downes party.”
“And our plates are coming.”
Once the server left them to enjoy dishes picked from the menu’s cheapest items, Markov pulled a small, boxy device from her pocket, placed it on their table, and aimed it at Downes, Hecht, and their companions. She waited for the sensor to calibrate, then instructed it to concentrate its audio pickup on them.
“There. We can listen to the conversation later.” Markov picked up her utensils. “I hope this stuff is worth the price we’re paying. The wine sure as hell isn’t.”
They lingered as long as possible without attracting undue attention after finishing their meal and paying the bill. Unfortunately, their targets seemed to be settling in for the long haul, downing bottle after bottle of a much better vintage than the operatives could afford. Finally, Markov pocketed her sensor and slid out of the booth.
“Let’s go take a walk around the neighborhood to digest and find a nice bench from where we can see Severin and Cherelle leave,” she muttered in a tone pitched only for her colleague’s ears. “Kamaal won’t thank us if we come back without an address.”