MasterGhandalf

Chapter Thirty-One

Carann, Royal Palace

Artakane I, Queen of the Dozen Stars, returned in triumph to Carann following the Battle of Tantos and the defeat of the rebel dukes. As she descended from orbit, she saw the cheering crowds that had gathered outside the palace and found herself overwhelmed by the scale of it all in a way the battle itself, in the heat of the moment, had failed to do. Leaving her shuttle on the landing platform, she found herself surrounded by reporters and holocameras; she managed to wave to the crowds and give a short, prepared statement promising that the rebellion was over and peace had been restored; reporters pressed in, shouting questions, but Mardoban put a hand on her shoulder and gently led her away and into the palace. There would be time for public appearances soon; for now, Arta just felt like she needed to rest.

Once they were inside, Mardoban turned to Arta – and to Latharna and Karani, who were following close behind – and smiled. “You did good, Your Majesty,” he said to her. “You faced your first test as queen – one that most monarchs will never have to deal with – and you passed it. You defeated your enemies and restored peace. Your mother would be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Arta said. “You knew her better than almost anyone, and that means a lot from you. Still, I feel like I didn’t really do all that much. It seems like everyone else did the hard work.” She wasn’t even entirely sure how Respen and Sateira had died; the captain of Sateira’s flagship remained closemouthed about it, though he’d let slip enough that Arta could guess it hadn’t been pleasant.

“A good leader knows they don’t have to do everything,” Mardoban said. “More often, they need to find the right person for the job and let them do what they’re best at. But Arta, you escaped assassination, defended your home, rescued your father, helped overthrow a tyrant and kept your head under fire the whole time. That’s definitely something to take pride in.”

“Yeah, you can second-guess yourself later,” Karani said. “For now, just enjoy the compliments.”

Mardoban turned to look at Latharna. “I hear Miss Dhenloc comported herself well, too,” he said. “I’ll have to pass my complements on to Ambassador Preas.”

“It’s Lady Dhenloc, actually,” Arta put in as Latharna blushed. “Latharna’s a knight now.”

“Really?” Mardoban asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t want to be the one to explain things to Ceana after all.” He shook his head, chuckling.

“I didn’t ask for it, Your Grace,” Latharna said. “But I intend to serve Her Majesty as best as I can, for as long as she needs me to.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Arta told her. “I have no doubts that you’ll be just fine.” Latharna blushed again, while Karani looked to be snickering behind her hand at the sight. Arta shot her sister a disapproving look.

The sound of footsteps interrupted them; Arta turned to look down the hall and saw a familiar looking young man approach. “Father, Arta!” Pakorus shouted. “You’re back!” He ran forward and caught Arta in a hug, then coughed and step back. “Er, that is, I’m glad to see you’re safe, Your Majesty.” He turned to Mardoban. “And you as well, Father.”

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Arta said, turning her head to the side to hide her blush. Hold on, there, she told herself. You’re already sort-of involved with Latharna. You don’t need to complicate things any more. Even so, she noticed that there was something new in the way Pakorus held himself, a sense of purpose, maybe, that wasn’t entirely unattractive.

“I saw what happened on the news when I got back,” Pakorus said. “That was quite a victory, Arta. Congratulations.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot,” Arta said. “But thank you anyway. And where have you been, anyway? Your father told me you’d just gotten back from some sort of secret mission with Midaia? Where is she? And what have you two been doing, anyway?”

Pakorus’s expression turned serious. “I don’t know where Midaia is,” he said. “She ran off as soon as we landed; I think she was looking for someone. But we were both trying to find out what we could about the Commander, and that’s how we… ran into each other. We ended up going to the Empire, and what we found there… well, it’s best if I showed you.” He held up a small drive in one hand. “Come with me. We need a computer terminal.”

///

Arta’s mind was still reeling from the information Pakorus had showed her on his drive. She’d thought she’d passed through the worst of the conflict, but now it seemed that things had only just begun. But she was beginning to see the shape of things, now. Pakorus had given her the final piece. There was a hand that had been moving pieces against her since before she’d even been born – and that hand belonged to a man who lived in this very building, a man who had the gall to dance with her at the New Years party before the Crown Tournament. Had Publius Vedrans Quarinis even known who she was, then? He very well might have.

Well, now Arta knew him for what he was. And the Queen of the Dozen Stars had one more enemy left to face.

She marched into the small receiving room near the palace’s main hall where a passing guard had informed her that Latharna, Karani, and Mardoban had retired to after Pakorus had taken her aside; he was following close behind. When she saw who else was there, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Three figures stood in the room who she hadn’t seen since Katanes and who were now being warily regarded by everyone else. Two of them hung back cautiously, but the tallest and most handsome turned towards her. Darius ast Sakran gave a small, embarrassed smile and bowed from the waist.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I just wanted to say that I deeply regret my father’s actions and am truly sorry that I didn’t do anything to stop him sooner. I know that personally, I have done nothing to earn your trust, but I wanted to extend my sincere apologies and promise that Sakran Duchy will do all in its power to atone for its role in starting the rebellion and to prove its loyalty to the Crown.”

“Darius,” Arta said coolly when she thought she could speak levelly, “I wasn’t aware you had come planetside. I had thought that the Sakran delegation remained in orbit until tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“He said he wanted to talk to you alone first,” Latharna said, regarding Darius with a cool hostility. “We didn’t think that was a good idea.”

“I threw a muffin at him,” Karani admitted; indeed, the plate of pastries that rested on the low table in the room’s center appeared to be one muffin short.

“Which is not an appropriate way to greet an Acting Duke,” Mardoban said, frowning. “Even one whose duchy was recently engaged in open rebellion against the Crown.”

“He helped kidnap my father,” Karani muttered. “You ask me, he deserved to be hit with something a lot worse.”

“I probably do, at that,” Darius said; behind him, his siblings remained quiet. Galen in particular was glaring at Arta and she had a feeling that he, at least, had not abandoned his personal hostility despite allying with the Crown. She remembered suddenly that he had been one who had called for an attack on Katanes after she’d escaped the failed negotiations. “But for now, I wanted you to know that I am willing to do everything in my power to make things right. Whatever it takes.”

“Really?” Pakorus asked, folding his arms. Arta suddenly remembered that he and the ast Sakran siblings had gone to school together; that added another dimension to the hostility in the room, one that she was in no mood to deal with.

“Enough!” Arta said, holding up her hands. “Everyone, calm down. We have other matters to worry about now.” She turned away from Darius and towards the other side of the room. “Latharna, Mardoban, come with me. There are things I need to tell you – and I think I may need your help.”

“So, what, we’re just going to be brushed aside like nobodies?” Galen demanded angrily. “Darius did not have to come here personally and put himself at your mercy like this, and this is how you’re going to treat him?”

“Darius is lucky he’s not been thrown in jail for the rest of his life,” Karani muttered. “As are you.”

“Quiet, Galen,” Darius said, raising a hand; he didn’t acknowledge Karani’s remark at all. “This is Her Majesty’s home, and we wait on her pleasure.”

“Wait,” Arta said, turning to Darius and regarding him critically. “Were you serious about being willing to do anything to prove your loyalty to the Crown?”

“Yes,” Darius said bluntly; Arta searched his face, and found herself believing him. And after all, his defection had turned the tide at Tantos III…

“Then, you come with us, too,” she said. “Some new information has come to my attention, and I think I may need all the help I can get. And your skills might just come in handy.”

///

That evening, Arta marched down a palace corridor at the head of a guard squad, flanked by Latharna at her right hand and Darius on her left. The explanation she’d given Darius seemed only to strengthen his resolve, and upon hearing Quarinis’s name, he’d nodded as if he suddenly now understood many things. Latharna was grimly determined, face set and shoulders squared. Arta had the two best duelists in the Kingdom by her side now, but she still couldn’t feel completely safe – for they were heading to confront perhaps the most dangerous man in the Dozen Stars.

They reached Ambassador Quarinis’s door, and Arta stepped forward and knocked once; beside her, Latharna and Darius put their hands on their swords and the guards – including both Gilgam and Rehan – gripped their rifles tightly. To Arta’s surprise, the door slid open at once; she glanced at her companions and nodded, and then stepped inside.

Quarinis was seated at his desk and looked up when they entered; the lights of the capital city gleamed in the dusk through the window behind him. “Ah, Your Majesty,” he said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Allow me to congratulate you on your victory at Tantos III, by the way. Most impressive. And may I inquire as to the reason for such a… heavy escort?”

“Publius Vedrans Quarinis,” Arta said, resting her hand on her sword and stepping forward, “by the authority of the Crown of the Dozen Stars, I hereby place you under arrest.”

If Quarinis was at all impressed by this announcement, he gave no sign; he merely raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Indeed?” he asked. “My I inquire as to the charges?”

“You know them as well as I do,” Arta said, voice low. “Murder and regicide, piracy, sedition. I have evidence directly tying you to the creation and activities of the Commander and his assassins, and reason to believe that you were responsible for hiring mercenaries to attack my half-sister and Duke Mardoban’s son when they were investigating you, and stoking the recent rebellion to advance your own gain. And that you have done all of these things not in defiance of, but at the behest of your government and its Emperor. Do you deny it?”

Quarinis spread his hands. “I cannot,” he said. “I am guilty of all you say and more, Your Majesty.”

Arta drew a sharp breath through her teeth; beside her, Darius tensed. “Are you saying,” he said slowly, “that it was you who was manipulating my father into rebelling against the Kingdom? Was Her Majesty right?”

“Indeed,” Quarinis said. “Though honestly, your father and the others required very little encouragement from me. I merely offered… incentive.”

Darius growled and stepped forward, preparing to draw his sword, but Arta put a hand on his arm. “Calm,” she said quietly, then raised her voice. “Then your own words condemn you. Take him into custody.”

The guards fanned out around the room and Gilgam stepped forward with cuffs in his hand, but Quarinis simply shook his head. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “Have you honestly thought this through? I am an Ambassador of the Empire, handpicked by Verus Licinius himself. I have committed crimes against your Kingdom, and I do not deny them, but I am not subject to its laws or its Crown. Arresting me here, now, would be an act of war. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

Gilgam stopped and looked at Arta, but her will remained firm. “Your assassins murdered my mother in her own throne room, along with anyone else who got in their way,” she said. “Then you tried to have me killed, and my sister, and my friend, and if you didn’t start the rebellion, you stirred the pot. An act of war? It seems to me that we’re already at war, Quarinis. We just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Quarinis smiled thinly at stood. “Perhaps,” he said. “But so far, it’s been a rather gentlemanly war, don’t you think? Fought in back alleys and with proxies. Your people haven’t really suffered, not yet. But if you do this, they will. The Dozen Stars rules less than fifty systems; Realtran, who you can doubtless count on as allies, about as many. The Empire commands more than a thousand. Do you understand the difference yet? We may be far past the peak of our strength, true enough – but we are still stronger than you, by a magnitude I don’t think you’ve considered yet. When the war comes – and it will, if you arrest me now – and all the Empire’s fleets and legions bear down upon you, you will lose.”

“Your threats are empty,” Arta said. “The Empire has wanted the Dozen Stars back ever since we broke away, but you’ve never been strong enough to reclaim us before and you won’t be now. And you have enemies at your back as well as your front now. The Dozen Stars may not be your equal, but between our Kingdom and Realtran and the Alaelam Alliance the story might be different. You can’t fight a war on two fronts, Quarinis.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But it may also be that there is news out of the Empire that you haven’t heard yet, and that the Alaelam Alliance may soon cease to be a factor.”

“Arta, what do we do?” Latharna asked quietly, leaning in. From her other side, Darius also shot her a questioning look.

Arta considered for a moment, then looked up at met Quarinis’s eyes. “I think you’re lying,” she said. “Or not telling the whole truth. If the Empire was as strong as you say, we’d be the Emperor’s slaves already. I’ve heard enough. Gilgam, take him, please.”

Quarinis sighed. “Then you leave me no choice,” he said. “But don’t forget – I tried to give you a way out.” He stepped back from his desk, and one of the office’s walls suddenly hissed and slid open, revealing a concealed chamber there. From inside it came the echoing sounds of pounding metal feet, and then two towering mechanical figures strode out into the office.

“Praetorians!” Gilgam shouted, taking cover behind the desk and drawing his rifle. Arta snarled and drew her sword, flicking it on; Darius and Latharna did the same. She’d seen Quarinis’s praetorians before, had known to expect them – that was why she’d wanted the two best knights she had by her side when she came here tonight. But somehow seeing them again, knowing that they had the brains and skills of some of the finest warriors in the Empire built into those monstrous mechanical shells and that they were about to attack, the Praetorians seemed far more terrifying than her imagination had made them.

From behind the desk, Gilgam opened fire; Rehan gave the order, and the other guards did the same. The beam bolts only glanced off their gleaming armor, leaving scorch-marks behind but doing no appreciable damage. The Praetorians ignored the attacks and levelled their arms; the beam-pistols built into their wrists rose to the surface and they unleashed a barrage of their own. The guards shouted and took cover as the blasts tore through the office.

Arta threw herself between her subjects and the Praetorians and slammed her sword into the floor; there was a brilliant surge of blue light and a wall of energy erupted from her, shielding the others from the attacks. The Praetorians paused, seeming to consider what this new development might mean, and then continued forward, their feet pounding the ground. They held their fire, knowing it wouldn’t penetrate the barrier, but Arta knew the cyborg warriors themselves would be able to pass through effortlessly. Then they could simply crush the life from their enemies with their bare hands if need be.

Neither Latharna nor Darius intended to give them the chance. No sooner had the Praetorians resumed their advance than both knights sprang forward, blades at the ready. Darius aimed straight for the center of the left Praetorian’s chest; his sword struck and hissed as it was buried deep, but not deep enough. The Praetorian batted him away, sending him flying into Rehan and knocking them both down, and then kept coming, sword still protruding from its chest.

Latharna, meanwhile, grabbed her Praetorian by the arm and hauled herself up its side. The creature made a grinding noise that might have been irritation and began swinging its arm back and forth, but it couldn’t dislodge her. She pulled herself up to its shoulders and grabbed her sword’s hilt with two hands, holding onto the Praetorian with her legs. Her blade flared brightly as she increased its power to the highest setting and then swung with all her might. The Praetorian’s head went flying, clattering to the floor.

But unlike a normal foe, decapitation was not enough to stop it. Praetorians’ organic brains, the only remnant of their humanity, were buried deep inside their torsos, not in their heads. Latharna’s opponent could no longer see, but it didn’t need to; seizing the Realtran with its free hand, it picked her up and threw her across the room.

Arta gave a loud cry of surprise and dismay. She leaped to her feet, letting her barrier fall, and jumped onto Quarinis’s desk. There was a brilliant flash of blue light as she propelled herself forward, and the force of that leap carried her onto the Praetorian’s shoulders herself. There she could see the hole in its neck where its head had once been; she couldn’t see far inside, but she could see enough to know that its impenetrable armor didn’t cover here; Latharna had exposed a weakness. Raising her sword high, giving a tremendous shout, she coated her blade in blue light, focusing all her Adept’s power upon it, and then slammed it down into the hole. There was a blinding flash and a terrible sound of screaming metal, and then the Praetorian blew apart. Arta was flung backwards and barely managed to land on her feet, panting for breath. The remains of the Praetorian fell to the ground across the room, still smoking.

Now the second Praetorian turned towards her, ignoring the guards who shot at it or Darius’s sword sticking out of its chest. Arta swayed on her feet, uncertain of how long she’d be able to hold her barrier this time as the Praetorian levelled its weapon at her, but then Latharna was there, throwing herself between them like an angel from the Canon, sword held high. “You will not have her,” she hissed. “I am Latharna Dhenloc, knight and Queen’s Champion, and I say you will not have her!”

The Praetorian regarded her; its metallic face unreadable. Then, finally, it spoke in a deep, echoing voice. “That,” it said, “is irrelevant.” Then it advanced, its arm lowering to focus its weapon on Latharna instead of Arta.

The Praetorian fired but Latharna was ready, catching the bolt on her sword, and she leapt forward, launching into a flying kick. Arta almost called out a warning – no human foot could possibly inflict damage on the creature’s metal shell – but then she saw that wasn’t Latharna’s intent. Her foot slammed into the hilt of Darius’s sword, burying it deeper and causing the Praetorian’s internal mechanisms to whine and spark. Falling to the ground, she dropped her own sword and grabbed Darius’s, pulling it out, revealing wires and darkness beyond.

“Now!” Arta called, waving to the guards. “Shoot the opening! Do it!” Gilgam and Rehan needed no further prompting; raising their beam rifles, they took aim at the Praetorians exposed insides and unleashed a barrage. Many of the shots bounced harmlessly off the armored torso; several more found their mark. Arta could hear what sounded like machinery breaking, and then something that might have been glass shattering. The Praetorian’s glowing eyes flickered and dimmed, and then went out. With a metallic whine, it pitched forward and lay still.

Arta ran to Latharna side where she crouched by the fallen Praetorian and wrapped her in a fierce embrace. “Are you all right?” she whispered into her ear.

“I am,” she said, “knowing that you’re safe.” They both stood, looking around the wreckage of the office and their fallen enemies, to where Rehan was helping a battered Darius to his feet, and then turned back to the window, where Quarinis stood with his arms crossed, seemingly unconcerned by what had just happened. Arta stepped away from Latharna, bent to pick up the handcuffs that Gilgam and dropped, and approached him slowly.

“Now,” she said, “I believe we were in the middle of something.” Reaching out, she grabbed Quarinis by the arm – or tried to. Her hand passed through him, meeting no resistance, and Arta stumbled backwards in horror.

“You are, perhaps,” Quarinis said. “I, however, was never here. Remember my warning, young Queen. This was only the beginning.” His image flickered briefly and then vanished; from beneath the desk, Arta saw the gleam of light, and realized what it meant.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no no!”

“What happened?” Darius asked. “Did I hit my head harder than I thought?”

“He knew,” Arta whispered. “He knew we were coming for him; there’s a holoprojector on the underside of the desk. He was gone before we got here. He got away!” She sank to her knees, muttering curses under her breath. Latharna put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He got away,” Arta said again after a long silence. “And he was right. This isn’t over. Tonight, was only just the beginning.”

///

Quarinis sat back in the cockpit of his personal yacht and deactivated the holotransmiter that had been recording his image for his conversation with Artakane. He’d been anticipating that he’d need to make a clean escape ever since Al’Aymar Alaen had warned him that his trail was being followed; Artakane’s return from battle had been his signal that it was time to go. He’d left earlier in the day, concealing his ship behind a false ID transmitter so that the Carann flight records wouldn’t reveal that he was gone, setting up his holoprojector to begin transmitting when Artakane approached his rooms and leaving the Praetorians behind to delay her. He felt someone sorrowful at that; they were a valuable resource and served the Empire well. But then, dying gloriously in battle was what they were made for, after all.

He regretted ending his time on Carann; he had rather enjoyed it, rustic and barbaric as the Dozen Stars might be. But he’d always suspected this day would come; it was too much to hope that his scheming might go unnoticed forever. A pity Artakane had survived. He rather liked the girl, despite himself – she had fire, and dedication – but Verus Licinius had demanded her death above all else. Quarinis had weakened the Dozen Stars with the rebellion he’d fostered, but would that be enough to appease his Emperor? In any case, it was out of his hands now, and he’d delivered his message, and warning, to the young queen. What came next would be on her head.

Taking the controls, Quarinis turned his ship away from Carann and entered jump, away from the Dozen Stars and into Imperial space, and the judgment that would await him there.

Chapter Thirty

Tantos System

On Tantos III, as on Aurann, unrest was stirring. Duchess Kallistrae, as instructed by Naudar and Sateira, had presented a public message to her people, disavowing her previous message calling for action and insisting that Tantans submit to their occupiers and in time all would be well. Her delivery, however, had been so stiff and lifeless that few had found it compelling; many guessed, rightly so, that she had been forced into making this speech and it didn’t reflect her actual wishes. That the duchess, like her people, was a captive only seemed to fan the flames of resistance and give the people a symbol to rally around; rather than being quelled, acts of rebellion increased. Aurannian troopers and guild security officers found themselves attacked if they ventured too far into Tantos City alone, and several guild offices were mysterious burned. Rebellious slogans began appearing on the sides of buildings, of which “Free Kallistrae!” and “Down with Aurann!” were the least inflammatory.

Duke Respen had returned from his strike at Katanes having brought further reinforcements from Aurann; the fleets of the three rebel dukes, supported by allied guild personnel, filled the skies above Tantos III. Out in the farther reaches of the system, however, the loyalist forces had also swelled, with additional forces from Carann, Orlanes, and Laodamia’s duchy of Nadar and Vashata’s duchy of Malakan joined by the new arrival of Duke Menandrus of Kern and his fleet. Between them, they represented a significant proportion of the military strength of the Dozen Stars, though Aurann’s forces were large enough, with Sakran’s not far behind, that this didn’t represent an insurmountable advantage of numbers.

Still, Duke Marbodan thought, he had a few cards left to play, and he had received a number of messages in the past day that bolstered his resolve. One was from Pakorus, insisting that he had returned to Carann and had news that was for Artakane’s ears alone; that his son was alive and unharmed filled the duke with a new fire. The other messages gave him hope that this conflict would soon turn in his favor, and against his enemies. Taking this information into account, he drew his plans and conferred with his fellow dukes, and they determined that the time was now. The loyalist fleet broke from the orbit it had maintained and began to move towards Tantos III.

The rebels rose to meet them, their warships fanning out above the planet in a wave of steel, with Sakran in the middle and Aurann and Tashir on either side. The rebel dukes had left the planet’s surface to take personal command, leaving the occupation under the direction of Guildmaster Madran. On the bridge of Right to Rule Duke Respen eagerly awaited for the coming of the battle and the imminent fulfilment of his destiny, though in the back of his mind doubt gnawed at him that he’d had no communication from Aurann for several days and he wondered what it might portend. On Sun-Sword Duchess Sateira sat back in her chair, pleased at this distraction from the worsening situation on Tantos III, and knowing that if she and her allies could defeat Mardoban here, the insurrection wouldn’t matter, and the Dozen Stars would be theirs. And on the Pride of Sakran Duke Naudar sat forward, tapping the head of his cane with one finger as he anticipated his young allies burning themselves out, leaving an empty throne for his taking, and he summoned his three children.

///

Kallistrae lay back in her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She and Mardoban had been passing messages back and forth through the mech he’d subverted, and she though none of her jailers had come to see her, she knew that today would be the battle that would decide the fate of her duchy, and perhaps of the entire Kingdom. She knew what her role in this drama was to be but waiting for it to begin galled her; she was a woman of action, and one not given to resting when there was fighting to be done. Still, if there was one thing she’d learned during her imprisonment, it was patience.

The door to her apartment hissed open and Kallistrae sat up expectantly. Serving mechs drifted in, carrying several large covered trays, which they then dropped unceremoniously at her feet. Taking the lids off each in turn, she found that they contained the pieces of her armor – and, underneath a heavy cloth, her dueling sword. "The duchess’s breath caught in her throat in anticipation. It was time.

One of the mechs’ holoprojectors shimmered to life, and Mardoban’s image appeared in front of her. “I can’t talk long,” he said. “We’re preparing to engage the enemy. Most of their forces are in space now; you know what to do. Lord’s grace be with you.”

“And you,” Kallistrae murmured as the holo vanished. Quickly she strapped on her armor with the ease of long practice and belted the sword at her side. Then, with the mechs floating behind her, she marched to her door and turned the handle; the lock clicked open. “Thank you, Mardoban,” she muttered.

The two guild security guards who stood watch outside spun to face her; their shock evident even behind their opaque faceplates. They raised their beam rifles but Kallistrae didn’t give them time to fire; her sword came up, energy crackling along its length; there was a flash of light, and both guards crumpled. Kallistrae walked on without breaking her stride, the mechs following her like an honor guard.

With the mechs tied into the palace tower’s surveillance system, Kallistrae was able to evade the security patrols and reach a lift that took her down to the tower’s prison level. There she found more guards waiting at a desk in front of the main cellblock, and once again, the sight of her took them by surprise and she cut them down effortlessly. With a wave of her hand, she ordered her mechs to plug into the computer system, and within seconds every door in the prison sprang open; the corridors flooded with Kallistrae’s loyal knights, officers and troops.

“Your Grace,” Kallistrae’s cousin Bastias said, stepping towards her with an expression of wonder on his face. “How did this happen?”

“No time to explain,” she said. “Grab your weapons and gear and arm yourselves as fast as you can. We’re taking back Tantos today.”

Bastias saluted. “With pleasure, Your Grace!” he shouted, and hurriedly did as commanded. Less than fifteen minutes later, a squad of loyal soldiers and knights had formed up, ready to fight for their duchy. Kallistrae smiled at the sight. She was a poor politician and a worse merchant, but she knew how to lead and how to fight – and today, she and everyone under her command had a score to settle.

Splitting up, they moved through the palace’s lower levels and each group took a separate lift up to the administrative levels. As Kallistrae had suspected, when they stepped out into the lobby there were more security troops waiting for them there, but they had received no warning of a prison break, nor were they expecting loyalist Tantos forces to suddenly poor from the doors of every lift. Kallistrae snapped her transparent faceplate in place and raised her sword before leading the charge straight into the massed security troops. Beam rifles spat and dueling swords hissed and sparked, and when all was done the guildsmen had broken, those who still stood either fleeing or throwing down their arms.

Kallistrae left Bastias to see to the guildsmen who had surrendered and marched up to a pair of ornate double doors at the end of the lobby, which she kicked in and marched through. There, seated at the large, intricately decorated desk that had been her cousin Hiram’s and, for a brief time, her own, sat Gaspar Madran, Security Guildmaster. The balding man gave a panicked yell and leaped to his feet, pulling a beam pistol from where he’d concealed it beneath the desk. He raised the weapon and fired, but Kallistrae’s sword pulled the bolt towards it and absorbed it harmlessly; before he could fire again, she struck the pistol from his hand. Madran fell back into his chair, eyes wide.

“What… how… where did you come from?” he spluttered.

Kallistrae smirked. “I’ve been here all along,” she said. “It’s my duchy, after all, not yours and certainly not Respen’s or Naudar’s or Sateira’s. She was the one who bought you off, right? Well, I’m afraid your payments aren’t coming for a good long while. But if you’re wondering exactly how I got here in this room, right now,” she gestured towards the serving mechs as they drifted in, “I had help.”

“I don’t understand,” Madran muttered. “Naudar and Sateira were sure you were up to something, but my people searched your rooms! You didn’t have a computer, or a secure dataport, or any means of communication! And you’re no Adept.”

“No, but I have friends,” Kallistrae said. “When Artakane was here – when you betrayed her and she just barely escaped, I’ll add – her aide managed to plant a device on one of these mechs that altered its programming and allowed Duke Mardoban to control it. That mech then began spreading the altered program to every mech in the tower – and from there, into the mainframe itself. We compromised your entire network, Guildmaster – or rather, I took back my network. By the time I left my rooms this morning, the entire palace was on my side. And with what’s probably going on in orbit, I think you’ll not be able to count on any help from your friends any time soon; they’re a bit preoccupied.”

“Fine,” Madran said, holding up his hands. “You win. I was never in this for their rebellion; Sateira made me an offer that was too good to say no to, but I know when I’m beaten. Whatever you want to know about them, I’ll tell you – just spare me, is all I ask.”

“Oh, I’m sure that you and I are going to have plenty to talk about later, Gaspar,” Kallistrae said. “But for now…” Turning on him suddenly, she punched him square in the face. Madran fell to the floor, swearing and holding his nose. “That was for everyone you and your Security Guild killed when putting down that riot last year.”

Leaving the Guildmaster cursing in pain behind her, Kallistrae stood in front of one of the mechs and activated its holo-recorder. “Transmit this message on every channel,” she ordered; the mech flashed a red light in acknowledgment. “People of Tantos,” Kallistrae began. “You know who I am, and I know who you are. I know you have little reason to trust or like my family, but I promise you, I am not my forbears or my cousin. For too long, House ast Tantos has surrendered itself to the Guilds – the Guilds who claim to represent the voice of the people, but who have in truth in their pursuit of profit worked you mercilessly, subverted your Assembly, and then when war came to our world, sold you out to the tyrants Sateira, Naudar, and Respen. Too long has House ast Tantos turned a blind eye, so long as our own comforts were not threatened. Today, that ends. Join with me, sons and daughters of Tantos, for the time has come to rise up! Our enemies have spread themselves too thin, and the time to strike is now! I speak to you from the palace tower, which is now back in my control, and I call on you to take back our world, from the occupiers, from the Guilds – and then to build a new Tantos III, one where neither the guilds nor the aristocracy shall oppress the people again! Rise and fight – rise and fight, for a free Tantos! And I will fight with you!”

Even through the high walls of the tower, and over the outraged mutterings of the Guildmaster, Kallistrae thought she could hear her people cheering – and taking up the call to arms.

///

Duke Naudar ast Sakran sat in his command chair aboard Pride of Sakran, leaning forward intently as he watched the holoimage of the battle unfolding before him. His bad leg was paining him again; the old war wound always seemed to act up when battle was at hand, and Naudar had never been entirely sure whether the effect was real or just in his head. It didn’t matter, in any case; at his age his days of charging into battle with sword held high would have largely been behind him with or without the injury. These days he won battles from the bridge of a warship, not from the front lines; his weapon was his mind, not his sword or gun.

And he intended to win this one. His allies’ forces held position above Tantos III, with Aurann’s ships to one side and Tashir’s to the other and Sakran’s in the middle. The loyalists were approaching now and were spreading out, hoping to catch the rebels in a pincher; Naudar clucked disapprovingly. Mardoban had miscalculated; he didn’t have the numbers to spread his ships so thin and sustain fire across the entire front. The rebels would break his lines and scatter them, and that would be the end of Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes and of organized military support for Artakane’s reign. The road to Carann would be clear.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, old friend,” Naudar murmured to himself as he watched the loyalists come into range and the first cannon blasts exchanged between the two fleets – for the moment, just testing each other’s defenses. “But you chose the wrong side this time.” Respen had assured Naudar and Sateira that Artakane herself had been neutralized; Darius had confirmed to his father that they’d taken the Baron ast Katanes hostage and the price for his return was the queen’s abdication. Mardoban was the last obstacle, then, and his defeat would clear the way to victory. Naudar knew what Respen and Sateira planned; Respen would declare himself king and marry Sateira to cement the alliance between their duchies. Let them play at it, Naudar thought. Respen was cruel and would make the people of Carann hate him, and Sateira was too selfish to bother restraining him. If he was lucky, they’d kill each other off for him, for neither of them was the sort who would easily share power with another; even if not, they would drive the Kingdom into the ground and then when things were at their worst, Naudar would turn against them and overthrow them, becoming a hero in the Kingdom’s eyes, rather than a traitor. His reign – and his dynasty – would be assured. So he and his secretive benefactor had planned.

The sound of footsteps roused Naudar from his reflections; he turned to see Darius crossing the bridge, Tariti and Galen behind him. “Excellent,” Naudar said, waving them over. “You have arrived just in time to see our triumph.” He gestured towards the holoimage of the battle. “See, Mardoban doesn’t have the strength to break our lines, not with how he’s spread his forces. But we can press against him. See, there’s Lion of Carann almost in our reach. All we have to do is break through his escort and we have him.”

“Father,” Darius said, his expression serious. “We need to talk.”

Naudar grunted. “It can wait,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something rather important.”

“Not more important than this,” Darius said; Naudar turned to look at him, and he knew his oldest son well enough to tell that he was troubled; behind him, his siblings shared his concern. Naudar frowned – he did not have time for this now – but something told him that Darius wouldn’t have interrupted him mid-battle if he didn’t think whatever was concerning him was urgent.

“Well, what is it?” he asked.

“Father,” Darius said, “you know that we captured Artakane’s adopted father with the intention of using him as leverage to force her to abdicate. Were you aware that Duke Respen had threatened to slaughter the entirety of Tantos Duchy – a war crime unprecedented in the history of our Kingdom – if she refused to comply?”

Naudar raised an eyebrow. “Not specifically,” he said. “But it doesn’t surprise me. The man’s a maniac. But it won’t come to that. Artakane is softhearted; she’ll give in. It’s only a matter of time.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Tariti asked. “What if you’ve misjudged her, Father?”

“Then Respen can try to kill a whole Duchy if he wants; I doubt he can manage it,” Naudar said. “I knew the risks when I allied myself with such a man. But it will only give me the more ammunition I’ll need to depose him in the end.” Across the bridge, several officers looked uncertain at that, but Naudar paid them no mind; he had a battle to win and a son to instruct. Everyone else could wait.

“Are you really that willing to ally with someone that evil in the short term just because you’ll win in the long term?” Darius asked, voice hard. “Where’s the honor in that, Father?”

Naudar scoffed. “Darius, honor an invention of storytellers and historians trying to clean up the past, make everything seem loftier and less dirty than it really was. It has no place in the real world, save for appearances, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to ensure our dynasty’s future in the long-term, even if it means giving Respen enough rope to let him hang himself. You’ll understand better one day, when you’re king.”

“Whatever it takes?” Darius asked, and Naudar had the feeling he was reaching a point he’d been building to this entire conversation. “Does that include selling out the Kingdom to the Empire?”

Naudar went cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“I think you do,” Darius said. “You know I overheard you talking with someone over the holo just after we took Tantos. Respen said he’d been promised a crown; Artakane said all three of you were working with the Empire. Is it true, Father? I’m your son, and your heir, and I think you owe me honesty. Is it true?”

Naudar was silent for a long moment, then let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said. “I didn’t know for certain that our ally was Imperial, but I suspected it; the resources and intelligence he was funneling to us seemed unlikely to have any other source. But he is my ally, not my master. I sold out nothing; once I am on the throne, he won’t matter any longer.”

“Except that you’ll be in his debt,” Galen said, speaking for the first time. “Do you really think he’ll let you go, Father? Is that how the great Naudar ast Sakran will end, a fly in the Empire’s web? You always taught me to win, no matter the cost, Father – I respected that about you. But it seems to me that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew now and gotten yourself entangled with our worst enemies. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound like winning anything to me.”

“Father,” Tariti said, “you know the Empire has never forgiven the Dozen Stars for rebelling against them; they’ve always seen our Kingdom as theirs, and they want it back. What possibly could have made you think this alliance was a good idea? Isn’t the fact that they also backed people like Respen and Sateira, who would be little more than tyrants, evidence enough? They don’t want a strong ruler in the Dozen Stars; they want to see our Kingdom burn.”

“Can’t you see, this is madness?” Darius asked. “No matter what happens today, we can’t win. Whether to Mardoban or Respen or the Empire, House ast Sakran is going to lose. You’ve gambled, and you’ve lost.”

“Not yet,” Naudar said. “I have plans you haven’t even guessed yet, boy. If you think I’m beaten, then you’re a fool.”

“There was a time I would have trusted in that,” Darius said sadly. “But no more. As heir to Sakran Duchy, I hereby invoke my right to have you declared unfit for office. Step down, Father. It’s over.”

Naudar barked a harsh laugh. “Really?” he asked. “You need the support of House ast Sakran and ranking officers of our duchy to invoke that right. Do you have it?”

“He has the first,” Tariti said. “House ast Sakran stands with Darius.”

“And he has the second, too,” another voice said, and Andros ast Vistus, captain of Pride of Sakran said, stepping forward with a pair of armed marines behind him. “Lord Darius told me what he was going to do; I didn’t believe him, but I said I’d listen. Your Grace, you have damned yourself by your own words. Your son is right; this is madness, and I’ve lost my appetite for war with our own people. Stand down.”

Naudar looked from the captain to his children and back again, feeling as though he’d just been struck. “Darius,” he finally said. “I was doing this all for you; you must understand that! I wanted to make our house a royal dynasty that would endure for centuries – you would have been a king, if you’d have let me make you one!”

Darius’s expression was hard. “Tell me, Father,” he said, “when did I ever give you the slightest indication that I actually wanted that? Your projected your own ambitions onto me, but I’m not you. None of us are.” He nodded towards Captain ast Vistus. “I’m taking command. Please escort Duke Naudar from the bridge.”

“As you command – Your Grace,” the captain said; his marines seized Naudar by the arms and hauled him to his feet, his cane clattering to the floor.

“This is a mistake, son,” Naudar said. “One you’ll rue someday soon.”

“I can live with myself, Father,” Darius said. “I don’t know if you can say the same.” He turned back to the captain. “Open a comm line to Lion of Carann; tell Duke Mardoban that Sakran fights for the Dozen Stars.”

“At once, Your Grace,” ast Vistus said, saluting sharply. Before he could do so, a shout came up from across the bridge.

“Captain, Your Grace!” the officer called. “We have a squadron of ships emerging from jump; at least three Equestrians and several smaller escort ships. They’re transmitting Aurannian ID signals.”

Naudar smirked. “It seems Respen had another card to play, at least,” he said. “Are you still so confident you made the right choice, son?”

Darius surprised him by smiling. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

///

As Sun’s Fury emerged from jump, Arta saw the battle unfolding in front of her and her breath caught in her throat. Even on the warship’s holodisplay, the scope of the battle was immense, more ships than she’d ever seen in one place before; they were exchanging beam cannon fire and several ships seemed to have already been destroyed. They loyalist forces outnumbered the rebels slightly, but the rebels were clustered together more tightly while the loyalists tried to envelop them, which their numbers didn’t seem sufficient to do. Already holes had been cut in the loyalist ranks.

Arta sat in the Fury’s command chair, flanked by Karani, Latharna and Digran like an honor guard. Acting-Captain Pythea, who had seized the ship from Respen’s men and lead the capture of the other two Equestrians, stood in front of her, issuing orders. Per the plan they’d worked out previously, they were still transmitting an Aurannian ID signal and slipped through the holes in the loyalist offensive and joined up with the rest of the Aurannian fleet. Right to Rule now filled their viewports, floating dead ahead.

Digran whistled. “damnation,” he said. “That’s a lot of ships.”

“Are you sure about this,” Karani asked, shaking her head.

“No battle was won without a little risk,” Arta said. Suddenly, a holoprojector shimmered into life and the image of Duke Respen appeared on the bridge; Digran growled angrily under his breath, and Latharna’s hand went to her sword.

“Sun’s Fury, you were charged with guarding Aurann,” Respen’s image said, anger clearly written across his face. “Why have you disobeyed my orders? Where is Captain ast Myrtus? I demand to speak to him at once!”

“Captain ast Myrtus is indisposed,” Arta said, echoing Pythea’s words from Aurann. “This ship currently flies under the colors of Free Aurann, and for the moment has been leant to the Crown as a gesture of goodwill. I trust you’ve recognized by now to whom you are speaking.”

Respen’s expression of shock was almost comical; clearly, his own ships flying under the command of his enemy was something he had never imagined. “How?” he finally asked. “You dare to commandeer my own vessels? Stupid girl; your father will pay for your treachery.”

“Treachery?” Arta asked. “You’re one to talk, Respen – you brought civil war to this Kingdom, tried to kill me under a flag of truce, attacked my home, kidnapped my father, and enslaved your own people. But as for the Baron, he’s safe and has been returned to Katanes. You have no hold over me any longer.” She flipped a switch on the command chair’s arm, broadcasting her words to the entirety of both fleets. “And you have no hold over them, either. Aurann has fallen; its people are free, no longer hostages to ensure the loyalty of your soldiers. And you, Duke Respen, are by the will of the Crown and the unanimous vote of the loyal members of the council, stripped of your title and your duchy, which have been given to a more worthy holder. You called yourself the true heir of the Dozen Stars, but you are now in the eyes of the Crown no more than an outlaw and a traitor. I call on all loyal subjects of the Dozen Stars to renounce all allegiance to the former Duke Respen and take him into custody.”

A second shimmering image appeared on the bridge; Arta recognized the handsome profile of Darius at once. “Sakran Duchy stands with the Crown,” he declared. “Duke Naudar has been removed from power, and as Acting Duke I would like to announce my deepest regret in my own role in this conflict and my desire to bring it to a speedy conclusion. Your Majesty, I am at your disposal.” The holodisplay of the battle flashed, and the dots representing the Sakran forces changed color from rebel red to loyalist blue.

“The Crown accepts your allegiance,” Arta said, fighting the urge to sink back into her chair in relief. In the two days since the fall of the Citadel, she’d been in secret communication with Duke Mardoban, drawing plans and confirming Respen’s deposing via council vote, and she’d also been told that Mardoban had received cryptic messages from someone high-placed in the Sakran forces, which he hoped he’d interpreted correctly. It seemed that he had.

Another holo appeared, this time of Duke Mardoban. “Congratulations on your safe return, Your Majesty,” the duke said. “What is the Crown’s will?”

Respen’s image was looking from Darius to Mardoban to Arta, his fists clenching and unclenching and his eyes hard. Finally, he spoke. “You think you’ve won?” he finally said. “I can defeat you all by myself! I will kill you all and burn your planets to their bedrock, so that future generations will know the cost of defying me! I spit on you all, and I reject your authority – and you, Artakane, will be the first to die!” The holo flickered and vanished.

“Charming man, isn’t he?” Karani asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Digran muttered.

“Your Majesty,” Acting-Captain Pythea said, “what are your orders?” Gazing out the viewport, Arta could see Right to Rule reorienting towards them, but Sun’s Fury was still protected by its fellow Equestrian warships, and by the smaller Starflares Arta had picked up from Katanes. And with the defection of the Sakran fleet, the tide of the battle had turned in the loyalists’ favor, the heart cut out of the rebels’ formation.

Arta clenched her fists and opened them again and then looked up, gaze hard. “I want all guns oriented on Right to Rule,” she said. “Send Respen to hell.”

///

The tide of the battle had indeed turned. With the defection of the Sakran fleet, the rebels had lost a third of their strength; the fleets of Aurann and Tashir were now cut off from each other, islands surrounded by enemies on all sides. Furthermore, the Aurann fleet – the more powerful of the two – was now riven by internal strife. All had heard Artakane’s message and word of the overthrow of Respen’s power on their home world, and now some of the warships’ crew and marines rose against their officers. On most of the ships the revolts were quickly put down but left them at a reduced crew; on others, the mutineers were successful, and either turned their guns on those vessels that remained loyal to Respen or else simply turned and fled.

The Tashir fleet was the weakest of the three rebel forces, for Tashir Duchy’s strength was in wealth and connections more than in ships and weapons, and this battle did not play to their strengths. The Duchess Sateira preferred to win her battles with early shows of power mixed with underhanded dealings, as she had done when she had spearheaded the capture of Tantos III; now she found herself hemmed in by enemies, forced to fight a defensive battle with her back to the wall. Sateira watched from Sun-Sword’s bridge as her forces were slowly whittled down by the combined might of the loyalists and the Sakrans, and finally she turned away and summoned Captain Karas to her side. The two shared a whispered exchange and orders were given, and then Sun-Sword and the warships closest to it turned away from the main battle. Concentrating their fire on where the loyalist line was weakest, they broke through and fled the field, preparing to jump for Tashir and safety.

Right to Rule forced its way through the battle and turned its guns upon the Sun’s Fury and the rest of the squadron that Artakane had brought with her from Aurann. The mighty ship unleashed a devastating bombardment, but the Fury’s shields still held, and it returned fire with fire, as did its companions. Now it was Right to Rule that staggered, its shields buckling under the combined firepower of three Equestrians, while the smaller, more agile Starflares slipped around them and began unleashing their surgical strikes, slowly wearing the great ship down. Still, Right to Rule did not retreat, for Duke Respen was full of fury and had resolved not to go down without taking his enemies down with him.

Suddenly another barrage erupted, this time from behind. Lion of Carann had cut through the Aurannian lines and now unleashed its firepower on Right to Rule’s engines; the warship’s shields buckled and collapsed, and then the engines were hit. Aurann’s flagship was crippled, sitting dead in space with no shields and no mobility as its enemies surrounded it on all sides.

At last, Duke Respen realized that he was defeated; he turned and sprinted from the bridge, pausing just long enough to cut down an officer who tried to get in his way, and hurried to the bay where the Rule’s escape pods were housed. He managed to launch just ahead of the other crew who fled the doomed ship and looking behind him watched as Right to Rule broke apart under sustained bombardment, its pieces falling into the thick atmosphere of Tantos III, burning as they went.

Small enough to pass unnoticed by the loyalists’ scanners, Respen’s escape pod cut through the battle and towards the vector by which Sun-Sword had escaped. There he hailed Duchess Sateira, whose warship paused in its retreat long enough to pick up the pod and bring the Duke of Aurann aboard.

///

Sateira folded her arms in contempt as she watched her soldiers escort Duke Respen onto Sun-Sword’s bridge. His hair was disheveled, as was his once-immaculate silver uniform, but he still wore a dueling sword by his side and his gaze was as hateful as ever – perhaps more so, for desperation had stripped away the man’s veneer of culture and discipline, leaving his true self bare for all to see.

“And so, the mighty Duke of Aurann comes to me now as a beggar,” she said. “I had thought you would fight for your throne to the last man, but apparently not – you fled the battle before it was done, leaving your ship and crew to their fates. What an honorable lord you are!”

“Spare me your mockery, Sateira,” Respen snapped. “You’re no better – or what do you call this, fighting to the last?”

“I call it a strategic withdrawal,” Sateira said. “Unlike you, I never claimed to be the greatest warrior in the Kingdom, and I know when I’m beaten – and I’m beaten now. I intend to return to Tashir with what is left of my fleet and sue for peace. It’ll stick in my throat to do it, but it’s the only option your incompetence and the Sakrans’ treachery have left me.”

“You dare speak so to me?” Respen demanded; his eyes were popping from his skull, and Sateira thought he looked quite mad. “I am your king, woman! We will return to Tashir, yes, but only to regroup; I will not give up the fight until Artakane the Pretender is dead and the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine, as it always should have been!”

Sateira scoffed. “You’re not my anything, Respen – certainly not my king. I can’t believe I ever thought marrying you would be a good idea. The council, including my mother, denied you the throne when Aestera died, and if this is how you handle failure, I can see why! And now you come to me with nothing but the clothes on your back, and you think you can give me orders? I called you a beggar, and that’s what you are – the Beggar Duke of Aurann! You’re worth more to me now as a hostage than as an ally. In fact, I think that’s exactly what I’ll do with you. Perhaps Artakane will look more kindly on me if I hand you over to her when I sue for pardon.” She turned and nodded to Captain Karas. “Seize him and put him in the brig. I don’t care what else you do to him, so long as he’s alive and recognizable.”

Karas nodded and gestured for his marines, who stepped forward, but Respen was faster, drawing his dueling sword and activating it. “You betray me, too?” he shouted. “Traitors, all of you! But I will not go quietly to the gallows!” Raising his blade, he charged at Sateira.

The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise and she jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blow before drawing her own blade. Dueling swords flashed and sparked as they fought back and forth across the bridge; most of the crew leapt from their seats and drew their sidearms, but didn’t fire, whether because they didn’t want to interfere with the battling nobles or simply because they didn’t want to risk hitting their duchess by mistake.

Finally, Respen found an opening; his sword passed under Sateira’s guard and, its blade hissing at full power, penetrated her gilded armor and slid between her ribs. Agony flashed through her body and gave a cry of mixed surprise and pain; Respen grinned wolfishly and yanked his sword from her body, leaving her to fall to her knees to the floor, mortally wounded.

“Well, that’s settled,” Respen said, sheathing his sword and turning towards Captain Karas. “Now I believe that as the highest-ranking noble present I am in command; we shall resume our retreat towards Tashir, there to plan my next move…”

But whatever Respen’s next move was to be, Captain Karas never learned it. Sateira, lying on the deck and half-blind from pain, knowing that she was dying, fumbled for the beam pistol holstered at her thigh. Slowly, she drew it and slowly she aimed it. Hate gave her one last gasp of strength; she levelled the pistol at Respen’s back and fired. By luck or providence, the bolt took his squarely through the back of the head. There was silence for a long moment, and then the Duke of Aurann crumpled.

The sight of Respen’s corpse falling forward was the last thing Sateira ever saw. Her sight was darkening, her pain was turning to numbness, but she still managed to croak out a final laugh. “I win,” she gasped, and then the sound of voices around her rose to an incoherent babble, and the darkness took her and carried her away.

///

From the bridge of Lion of Carann, Mardoban watched as the battle became a rout. What unity the Aurannian forces had left had failed them when Right to Rule went down; some surrendered, others turned on each other, others fled. Duchess Sateira’s flagship had quit the field, and most of her subjects who remained had surrendered, though others had followed her example and fled. Based on reports from Kallistrae and her mechs on the surface, the occupying forces and their guild allies had largely been driven from the capital city by the duchess, her freed and re-armed troops, and significant help from local resistance movements, their leaders dead or captured; only a few holdouts remained, barricaded in their towers or guild offices.

Duke Naudar had been taken into custody by his son Darius, who reported that fact with a heavy heart; it had been what Mardoban had hoped for, but it still pained him to imagine what must have been going on in the young man’s mind. And he felt both sorrow and anger for Naudar, who had fallen far enough to let ambition blind him into throwing in his lot with Respen and Sateira, thinking he could ride their war to victory for himself. Of the Duke of Aurann and the Duchess of Tashir, there was, as of yet, no word.

Suddenly, as if summoned by his thought, Gilgam touched his arm. “Sir,” he said, “we’re being hailed. It’s the Sun-Sword.”

“Put Sateira through,” Mardoban ordered, but the holo that appeared before him was not the duchess, but a middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar to him.

“Your Grace,” the man said, “this is Captain Karas of Sun-Sword. I regret to inform you that Their Graces, the Duchess Sateira and Duke Respen, are both dead. In light of that fact, my crew and I can no longer justify continuing in our military actions against the rest of the Dozen Stars. We surrender ourselves to you, and to the Crown.”

The captain fell silent, and everyone on the Lion’s bridge looked at each other in wonder. “Does,” Gilgam finally said, “does that mean it’s over, sir?”

Mardoban didn’t know how Respen and Sateira had died, but the news struck him as both a shock and a terrible relief. “There’ll still be some mopping up to do,” he said, “but yes, Gilgam. I think by and large, it is.” He turned to a nearby communications officer. “Put through a line to Her Majesty. Tell her… tell her we won.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Deep Space

Pakorus found Midaia in Sister Night’s cockpit, slumped in her chair; her always-pale face was haggard, and she had a cut on her cheek from where she’d been struck during the fight and her hair hung lank, but her eyes were still bright and alert. “How are you doing?” he asked her.

“I’m exhausted,” she said, and he could hear the weariness in her voice. “And we just barely escaped certain death, so there is that. But we’re not being pursued. Fighting like that takes a lot of effort, and it left me drained, but I’ll recover.”

“This might help,” Pakorus said, and held out one of the cups of kaf he’d brought; Midaia’s eyes brightened at the sight, and she took the cup and then drank several deep gulps, ignoring how hot the drink was. Finally, she sat back and sighed.

“Much better,” she said. “That was some quick thinking back there, shooting the pipe. And you keep your head under fire better than most. I’m impressed. You may make a fighter yet.”

Pakorus shook his head. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. Right now, I just want to get back to Carann, tell Arta all about what we’ve found, and then stay there, forever.” He sipped from his own cup in silence for several moments, then raised his eyes back to Midaia. “Who was that man, anyway? You almost sounded like you knew each other.”

“By reputation only,” Midaia said, making a face. “And obviously that reputation was accurate – if anything, it undersold him. That was Al’Aymar Alaen, called the Prince of Night – among other, less kind names – one of the most dangerous Adepts alive.”

Pakorus frowned. “That sounds like an Alaelam name,” he said. “But I can’t imagine why an Alaelam Adept would help the Empire. The Alliance and the Empire have been at war on and of for centuries.”

“It’s an Alaelam title, actually,” Midaia said. “All Alealam clerics of a certain rank take titles to replace their birth names. It’s supposed to represent their advancement towards enlightenment. I don’t know the details of Alaen’s history; news from the Alliance is hard to come by in our Kingdom. But I know the gist; he was once a member of the Conclave of Disciples, one of the spiritual and political leaders of the Alaelam – what we would call a priest-king in our language. He had a falling-out with the Conclave though, decades ago. Word is that he came to believe that Adepts were a superior breed of human, inherently closer to the One – that’s what the Alaelam call the Lord – and therefore to enlightenment and deserved to rule over everyone else. The rest of the Conclave disapproved and censured him, so he launched a coup against them. It failed, and he and his surviving students were forced to flee.

“Not much was heard of him for several years after that, until he showed up at the Imperial Court and begged an audience. What passed between Alaen and the Emperor is, of course, deeply classified, but apparently, they worked out a deal, because Al’Aymar Alaen has been Verus Licinius’s quiet partner – and personal Adept hatchet man – ever since.” Midaia shook her head. “How appropriate that you were the one who got the better of him. An Adept who considers our kind superior, defeated by a boy with a gun and a good idea. He must be raging about that.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Pakorus asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Midaia said. “An Adept of Alaen’s talents isn’t killed so easily, I’m afraid. But I’m less worried about what he’ll do in the future than what his presence their meant. Alaen takes his orders only from the Emperor, from all I hear – and even then, he only obeys when he doesn’t consider the task beneath him. If he was there, at that base, at that time – well, all I can assume is that our little investigation had come to the attention of the highest levels of power. And that, I fear, means that the hands holding the Commander’s strings came straight from the top – from Licinius himself.” She regarded Pakorus intently, and her eyes were troubled. “We’re not just dealing with a conspiracy within the Empire, not anymore. The Empire itself is our enemy.”

She paused and drank some more kaf, seemingly lost in thought. “Something troubles me, though,” she said, half to herself. “When I began my search for the Commander’s origins, before you joined me, I tried to probe for knowledge on what we call the psychic plane, and there I was stymied by another Adept – a tremendously powerful one. I thought it might be Alaen. He is, after all, the most powerful and skilled of the Emperor’s Adept cabal. But when I encountered him at the base, I realized that it can’t have been. His touch felt different, and that other Adept was more powerful by far. Stronger than any I have ever encountered.” She frowned. “I’d wondered why Alaen would consent to bow down to a ruler with no Adept gifts, even grudgingly. You saw how he was; once he realized who I was, everyone else in the room might as well have not existed for him. Non-Adepts are less than nothing to him. So why agree to serve Licinius? To become the power behind the throne? Or perhaps something else… oh, Shiran, you and I are going to have words when I see you again.”

“I don’t understand,” Pakorus said. “Are you saying the Emperor is an Adept? And what does Shiran have to do with any of this?”

“At the moment, I only have guesses,” Midaia said. “Though my guesses are seldom wrong. And speaking of, I think it’s time we take a look and see exactly what we got, and if it’s something my sister can use.”

She carefully set her cup on the yacht’s dashboard and then drew her drive out of her robes and inserted it into a dataport. The nav computer’s screen flashed and then began to scroll past too fast for Pakorus to read; after several long minutes, it came to rest on a facsimile of an official looking document.

“Ah,” Midaia said. “Now this is interesting. Project Chimera, classified by order of His Imperial Majesty Verus Licinius, ships and armaments to prepared for covert squad, so on and so on, as approved by His Majesty’s designated representative…” her eyes widened, and her voice trailed off. “Well, now,” she said. “That’s very interesting.”

“What?” Pakorus asked, leaning in to read the name of the Imperial patrician who had approved the project as the Emperor’s agent, and when he saw it, his breath caught. It was a name he knew all too well; he’d been in a room with this man, running messages to him, too many times to count. “His Majesty’s designated representative Publius Vedrans Quarinis,” he read aloud.

“Quarinis himself,” Midaia said. “Of course, it was. The architect of my mother’s murder lived in her own house for years. And here I thought hospitality was valued in the empire.” She took the drive from the dataport and handed it to Pakorus. “You get your wish, Pakorus. We’re going back to Carann. From there, we can find out where Artakane is; if we’re lucky, she’ll be back there herself. Give that to her, personally. Don’t trust it to anyone else, not even your father.” She stared out the viewport into space, eyes hard. “I, meanwhile, am going to be having a long-overdue conversation with an old friend.”

///

In the lower levels of the Citadel, chaos reigned. A vast tide of humanity had risen from the underground mines and the ground-level factories and workshops and was now crashing against the forces of Duke Respen. They outnumbered the troopers many times over, for the military forces who remained on Aurann were spread too thin; the troopers had an advantage of weapons and armor, at least at first, but directed by Digran’s people, the rebels had broken into now-unsecured armories and taken beam rifles and dueling swords for themselves. They also now had an advantage of communication, for Digran had taken control of the primary computer hub, with Shiran’s help. Not only were the collars deactivated, but now Digran could observe the entirety of the Citadel and direct his people to key locations, while the troopers’ own communications had been shut down. The famed military of Aurann Duchy had one of its most important advantages stripped away, and now it was fracturing at the seams.

And that wasn’t the only problem facing Respen’s soldiers, for many of them had families among the rebels, and all had heard the messages from Digran and the Queen that had been broadcast throughout the entire Citadel. Some of them threw down their weapons and surrendered; others turned against their own commanders, so that now Aurann’s military was fighting itself as well as the uprising. Throughout the Citadel, the troopers found themselves besieged or cut off, and fell back.

///

Nobody paid much attention to Latharna, Karani and Arta as they hurried through the corridors of the upper tiers. Most of the soldiers and officers they passed were hurrying down to the lower levels to join the fighting there, while here and there altercations were breaking out between those loyal to the duke and those who’d decided to throw in with the rebellion. Amidst the chaos, three young women in the uniforms of rank-and-file soldiers apparently weren’t worth much attention. Finally, they reached a lift, which they were able to access without difficulty because of Shiran’s disabling of the security protocols and took it up to the Duke’s residential level.

Here, Latharna thought, they’d found what seemed more like what she would have expected for the residence of a tyrannical duke. Respen’s apartments were still severe in style, with art and decorations favoring military scenes – including a number of paintings and sculptures depicting Respen himself in heroic poses, standing above fallen enemies – but they were nonetheless far more lavish than anything else she’d seen in the Citadel so far. No one was around, save for the statues, in the corridor in which they’d found themselves, but Arta nodded silently and raised her hand. Latharna and Karani both drew their swords and followed slowly behind her, watching warily for enemies as they made their way towards the chambers where Shiran had indicated the Baron was being held.

“Nice,” Karani said at one point as they passed a painting in which a shirtless Respen held his sword high while planting his foot on the throat of a bestial humanoid Latharna recognized as a Csarag, a species of warlike alien who had invaded the Dozen Stars and been repulsed when Queen Aestera had been young. “Very tasteful. What sort of person would put something like that in their home, anyway?”

“Respen, clearly,” Arta said. “It’s not even accurate – Respen was a child when the Csarag War ended, and he never fought them. It’s just another monument to his ego. Now, keep your voice down. We’re not too far now, and there’re probably going to be guards. We can’t count on being lucky enough that they were all called away to fight.”

Karani nodded and fell silent. The three of them continued on and rounded a corner in the hallway, finding themselves in a sunny sitting room with a glass wall that let the light stream in and gave a view overlooking the desolate salt flats below them. But this room too was empty, and they passed through it and down another corridor. There, at the end, was a door that was richly appointed but also appeared to be heavily locked; seated at a small table in a niche in the hall were a half-dozen people in full armor; a set of playing cards and some mugs of kaf sat on the table, apparently hastily abandoned, while the guards themselves looked nervous and wary. They must have been playing, Latharna realized, and then gotten news of the revolt. They hadn’t left their post, though – a captive Baron must have been something they were unwilling to abandon and so risk their Duke’s wrath.

“Knights of Aurann,” Arta whispered. “This isn’t going to be easy, ladies.” Latharna drew a breath and steeled herself as they approached; the knights’ gazes fell on them, and the one who appeared to be their leader, a hard-faced man, stood.

“What are you three doing up here?” he demanded, looking their uniforms up and down. “You should be below, fighting the insurgents. We need every fighter down there we can spare. Are you deserting? Lord, did you pick a bad place to run to.” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you rebels yourselves? If you are, then your luck just ran out, girl.”

“I am not a rebel, or a deserter,” Arta said, her voice imperious and cold. “My name is Artakane ast Carann, and I am your queen. I am here for the Baron Katanes, and you will release him to me. And if you do not release him, I will take him. Stand aside now, if you wish you wish to survive this.”

The lead knight looked stunned, and beside him one of his subordinates, a woman, looked uncertain. “You know, it does kind of look like her,” she said. “Sir, what should we do?”

The leader shook himself. “Even if you are Artakane, you were a fool to come here,” he said. “I’ll kill you myself, and His Grace will be pleased with that, even if the whole Citadel falls. And then when he comes back, he’ll bomb the whole city from orbit until its nothing but a smoking crater if he has to. You’ve lost.”

Arta smiled coldly. “Have I?” she asked. “Maybe Respen will be pleased with you if you kill me, but you forgot one thing – that first, you’ll have to kill me.” She raised her dueling sword and energy crackled down the blade.

“Take them!” the lead knight ordered, and his fellows jumped up behind him, drawing their own blades. The air crackled with the sound of live dueling swords, and Arta, Latharna and Karani fell in close to each other as the enemy advanced. Latharna found herself breathing heavily, dread mixing in her chest with the rising anticipation that always seemed to presage combat.

Then the lead knight raised his sword to attack Arta, and something in Latharna’s chest broke. She remembered the words of Shiran, about dedication so strong it could cause people to rise above their lower natures, of Kassandra ast Tashir’s book on courtly love and of devotion so strong it would endure even unto death, of the touch of Arta’s warm hand on her own – and then as the stroke fell, Latharna was there to block it.

What happened after that, she could never fully recall. In that moment of crystalized action, to which all her training, all her questioning and all her growing love seemed to have been leading her, Latharna Dhenloc vanished. She became the whirlwind, dueling three knights at once, their swords flashing and sparking but unable to land a single blow on her, for she was too fast for them, dodging their every strike. But they couldn’t evade her, her blade scoring blows upon their armor that left them damaged, sent them reeling back, unable to dodge or parry. Latharna was the whirlwind, and no mere mortal could withstand her.

She heard one of the knights give a strangled cry and fall to the ground, dimly aware that she’d cut his throat; he collapsed at lay still. The second, the woman who’d recognized Arta, stared in horror and then dropped her sword and fled, her battered armor hanging off her. That left the third, the leader, who regarded her with wide eyes but didn’t run. “What in hell are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Lady Latharna Dhenloc, knight of the realm and champion of the Queen,” Latharna heard her voice say as if from a distance. “And you should have surrendered when you had the chance.” The knight scowled and came on then; he was more skilled than the others, and he had an advantage on Latharna in terms of size and strength. She found herself unable to penetrate his guard, though he too was unable to land a blow on her. Behind her she was dimly aware of Arta and Karani also fighting, that Arta was facing two at once, and she scowled. She had to get to Arta’s side, and that meant she had to end this now.

Jumping back from the Aurannian knight, Latharna pushed herself off the wall with her feet and threw herself bodily at him. The knight’s eyes widened as she struck him full on and grabbing hold, she managed to swing herself up onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his neck. The knight gave a cry when he realized what was about to happen, but it was too late; she twisted sharply and there was a crack; the knight’s body collapsed to the ground. Latharna grabbed her sword where it had fallen and, paying him no mind, raced to her queen’s aid.

Arta’s eyes were glowing blue now, and she gathered energy into her free hand before slamming it into the face of one of the knights she was fighting; there was a brilliant flash of blue light and the knight was thrown back into the wall and slid down to the bottom; unconscious or dead, Latharna couldn’t hell. At the same moment, Karani drove her sword into the chest of the knight she was fighting, its energy crackling as it penetrated his armor. Arta’s final opponent stood alone now and seeing the defeat or flight of his companions dropped his sword and fell to his knees, hands in the air. Latharna snarled and rushed towards him, but Arta caught her wrist.

“Latharna, enough,” she said. “He’s surrendering.”

And so, he was, Latharna realized now as she looked at him; slowly, breathing deeply, she steadied herself. The whirlwind sank away, and she was Latharna Dhenloc again. Gazing around at the destruction she had wrought, and the defeated enemy she had almost killed, she found herself panting heavily, trying to reconstruct in her mind just what had happened. Finally, she turned to Arta. “Thank you,” she said, “for bringing me back.”

“I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall,” Arta said, smiling. For a single, wild, impulsive moment Latharna considered kissing her, but the she was interrupted by a loud cough.

“Excuse me,” Karani said, “but aren’t we here for something else?”

“Right,” Arta said, and turned to the knight who had surrendered. “If you would be so very kind as to open that door,” she told him. The knight nodded wordlessly and then hurried over to it and quickly entered a code; the door swung open.

Inside was a reasonably comfortable bedroom, thought its windows appeared to be reinforced – a room for holding important or noble prisoners that Duke Respen still wanted alive and unharmed, at least for the moment. The Baron ast Katanes was seated on the bed, looking haggard and somewhat worse for the wear, but otherwise unharmed. He looked up when the doo opened, and his eyes widened when he saw his daughters. “What in the Lord’s name?” he asked, but then both Arta and Karani had rushed forward and hugged him.

“We came to rescue you,” Arta said, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “We hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, Arta,” the Baron said, hugging her back, and then pulling Karani into his embrace as well. “I have no idea how you managed this, but I never in my wildest dreams expected it. I was sure Respen would kill me when he was through with me, and I never thought I’d see either of you, or Katanes, again.”

“We kind of overthrew Aurann on the way to see you,” Karani said. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

The Baron threw back his head and laughed. From the doorway Latharna watched the reunion; she could feel the tears in her eyes and didn’t bother to wipe them away.

///

They returned to the control room unchallenged and found Shiran and Digran still at their seats, watching the events playing out lower in the Citadel. So far as Arta could see, the fighting largely seemed to have died down, though there were a few places where Respen’s troopers were still holding out; what looked like an impromptu celebration had broken out in the main hall, and on a plaza outside the main gates, a towering statue of Respen was being pulled down.

“Looks like you did it,” Arta said as she shook her head, impressed. “Congratulations… Your Grace.”

Digran barked a harsh laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “Frankly I feel like a coward, sitting up here safely while everyone else was fighting down below – but then, I guess none of this would have worked if Shiran and I hadn’t been up here taking down the collars and security and taking over the comm network. There’s still some fighting going on, but the holdouts are scattered, cut off from each other. And Shiava says that a lot of the troopers defected when they realized what was going on, or just threw down their weapons and refused to fight for either side. Guess not a lot of people thought Respen was worth dying for when he didn’t have his foot on their throat. For the most part, the Citadel is ours.” He turned in his chair and saw the Baron. “And I guess that’s your dad, isn’t it? Guess we all came out ahead today. Not something that happens a lot around here.”

“Varas ast Katanes,” the Baron said with a half bow. “And you, I assume, are Digran Tassis. My daughters tell me they’d never have gotten to me without your help. I am in your debt.”

“That so?” Digran asked, grinning. “Never had a Baron in my debt before.”

“So, what happens now?” Arta asked. “The Citadel isn’t the only city on Aurann; does Respen still have forces there?”

“There are other cities,” Digran said, “but not a whole lot. Aurann’s environment doesn’t support a very big population. And there’s definitely nothing on the scale of the Citadel.”

“More to the point,” Shiran broke in, “the collars and security systems there were all tied into this network – Respen wanted it all where he could control it with a press of a button. That means that from here, I was able to shut down the entire network across the whole planet. Respen’s own desire for control worked against him.”

“So everywhere else is about to have the same problems we are here,” Digran said. “If they’re not already. I’ve been able to use the comm network to get in touch with some other rebel leaders I know in other cities, and they’ve agreed to at least work together long enough to throw the last of Respen’s forces out. We haven’t won yet, princess, but we’re on our way.” He regarded Arta with hard eyes. “And don’t you dare forget your promise to me.”

“I won’t,” Arta said. “I swear it on the Lord’s name. But I have another battle to fight – against Respen himself, and Naudar and Sateira, at Tantos III. They all have to be defeated before the Kingdom can know peace.”

“Not sure how much I can help you there,” Digran said. “But whoever kills Respen has won a round of drinks on me; that’s something I can promise.”

“We’ll see about that,” Arta said, and stepped away to stand beside Karani.

“You know,” she whispered in Arta’s ear, “for a scruffy guy, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Karani!” Arta hissed back. “Not the time!”

“What?” Karani asked, nodding at Latharna. “You and Dhenloc were making moon eyes at each other earlier; can’t I at least appreciate a good-looking guy?”

“We were not making moon eyes,” Arta said; before she could go on, she was interrupted by a curse from Digran.

“We’ve got trouble, everyone,” he said; they hurried over to the screens and saw what he’d been referring to. Arta’s heart sank as she watched a massive Equestrian warship descend from orbit and come to hover directly before the Citadel; it must have been one of the ones they’d seen when they’d arrived on the planet.

“Guess someone must’ve got through and told them what was going on,” Karani said.

“Attention traitors,” a voice announced over the comm network; Arta had a feeling it could be heard throughout the Citadel. “This is Captain ast Myrtus of the Aurannian Navy, commanding Sun’s Fury on behalf of His Grace. You will disperse and return to your homes at once. The rebel leader Digran Tassis will turn himself over at once, as will the pretender Artakane if she is indeed on Aurann.”

“This is Digran Tassis,” Digran said, speaking into his microphone. “Free Aurann doesn’t take your orders, nor do we accept the authority of Mad Duke Respen. What are you going to do if we refuse?”

“Then you will suffer,” Captain ast Myrtus said. “I will burn the Citadel to the ground if need be to keep it from the hands of insurgents, and to take the life of the Pretender Queen; His Grace has authorized this if necessary. But I am not without restraint. Turn yourselves over to me, and your people will live. Fail to do so, and not one of them will be spared.”

“Those knights we fought said that Respen would bomb the Citadel to ashes if he needed to,” Latharna said, her voice shaking. “I guess they’re just starting without him.” In his chair, Digran looked pale and clenched his fists tightly.

“You have five minutes to announce your surrender,” ast Myrtus continued. “Should you resist, or attempt to escape the Citadel in that time, we will begin the bombardment. Your time begins now…”

The captain’s voice cut off; the sounds of a scuffle echoed over the comm; Arta’s breath caught in her throat as she wondered what this meant. Finally, a new voice – younger, female – came over the comm.

“This is Lieutenant Pythea,” the woman said. “Captain ast Myrtus, we regret to inform you, is currently indisposed. The remainder of the officers of Sun’s Fury, having no wish to commit mass murder upon their own people, feel that it is their solemn obligation to cast their lot Digran Tassis and the fighters of Free Aurann.” The voice paused for a moment as everyone in the control room looked at each other in utter surprise, and then continued. “And you may inform Her Majesty, if she is present, that we are loyal subjects of the Dozen Stars and we are therefore, as of this moment, at the disposal of the Crown.”

The shocked silence hung in the control room for a long moment; Arta thought she saw Shiran smiling quietly behind his beard and wondered if he’d managed to get some message through to the warships in orbit while they’d been gone. Digran’s mouth hung open for a long moment, then he closed it and gave a wry grin. “Well,” he said, “how about that?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Aurann, the Citadel

The Citadel of Aurann bore down on Latharna like a physical weight, as if the entire vast construction of stone and steel was resting on her back and slowly crushing her into the ground. Based on what she knew of the man who ruled over it – and whose ancestors had built it – she suspected that this feature of the complex’s character was entirely deliberate.

Latharna stood in a vast chamber in the Citadel’s lower levels, with Arta, Karani and Digran nearby, amidst the lines of people who were even now being checked into the structure’s main body through a gate station manned by heavily armed guards. She was dressed in the grey uniform of a low-ranking Aurannian trooper, as were the others, and a thick black dust from somewhere in the mines had been rubbed into her hair to hide its distinctive color. She wore her sword at her side, but it was now in a tattered, utilitarian sheath designed to make it look like a trooper’s sidearm and no more. Pinned to her uniform shirt was a badge similar to the ones the others wore, which when scanned would confirm their identity as a squad returned from patrol and grant them passage through the lower checkpoints. Digran’s people had managed to hack into one of the less secured parts of the planetary network and use information found there to create the badges; Digran had made sure to make himself the sergeant of their tiny unit, and the others, privates. It seemed to amuse him.

He’d assured them that the rebels regularly managed to hack these basic checkpoints, and it was rare for them to get caught. The security higher in the pyramid, where the Aurannian military was headquartered and Duke Respen himself resided, was much tougher. According to Digran, they’d never managed to get someone up there.

Today, though, his confidence was greater – almost reckless, Latharna thought. But then, today, he had a secret weapon. Shiran walked behind their little group in his customary dark clothing, hands resting casually in his pockets and not even trying to blend in, and yet nobody outside of their little group seemed to realize he was there or acknowledge his presence in any way.

“Next,” the officer at the checkpoint called in a bored voice. Latharna’s heart hammered in her chest as Digran stepped forward, with the rest of them close behind. He held out his badge for inspection and the guard scanned it, and then each of the others in turn. She held her breath as he checked his results against his screen, and then let it out when he nodded. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said. “welcome home, sergeant.”

Digran saluted and walked through the checkpoint, Arta following close behind, and then Karani and Latharna herself in the rear, Shiran walking behind her with an air of complete unconcern. Past the checkpoint, Latharna now had an unobstructed view of the main hall, which soared high above her head and forward for hundreds of yards, the size of a sports arena at least. Windows lining the walls let the bright sunlight in, but the hall itself was oddly sterile, with alabaster walls and the only decoration large statues depicting abstract humanoid figures in martial poses. Between the statues were lifts that went to higher levels or down to the mines and foundries beneath the Citadel, and though the hall was busy with people moving from one place to another, it was also subdued. Many of those in the crowds appeared to be uniformed soldiers heading from one assignment to another, but even the civilians wore drab, nondescript clothing and walked quietly with their heads down as if trying to avoid attention. And as many people as there were, the hall was vast enough it could have held many more.

Digran waved them over beside one of the statues, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cape and a spear. “Well,” he said, “we’re in. And it looks like you were right. This place is usually a lot more crowded. Respen must have taken a huge number of troops and support staff with him to Tantos III. His mistake.”

“Are the rest of your people in position?” Arta asked.

“I checked in with Shiava just before we got inside,” Digran replied, tapping his wrist comm and naming the woman who’d been with him when they’d met. “She’s in the mines and has people all through there and the workhouses, getting people ready. Your woman Rehan is with her.” Lieutenant Rehan and her people had gone with Shiava on her mission, ostensibly to get the lay of the land, unofficially to keep an eye on the rebels and make sure they were holding up their end of the bargain. Much the same reason, Latharna thought, that Digran had insisted on coming with them. Rehan herself had wanted to come with Arta, but Digran said he only had four fake IDs and couldn’t risk bringing a spare. The lieutenant had grudgingly relented.

“Remind me,” Latharna said, “exactly where we need to go.”

“The control chamber is high in the Citadel, on the Duke’s levels,” Digran said. “Our disguises and IDs will get us most of the way, but not into the top-security sectors. We’ll need your friend here for that,” he nodded at Shiran. “The entire planetary slave network is controlled from the Citadel. Once it goes down, there’ll be anarchy. Luckily, Shiava and her people are standing by to make sure the mob targets the Duke’s soldiers – those who stay loyal, anyway. The princess’s dad is probably being held somewhere near the control chamber, but we’ll be able to know for sure once we get access to the network.” He turned back to Shiran. “You ready for this, old man?”

“Of course,” Shiran said. “Working with computer programs is largely working with energy, which is far less exhausting than working with matter.” He smiled coolly. “I’ve also been working this entire time to keep anyone nearby from overhearing our conversation. You’re welcome.”

Digran shook his head. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but I do like your style.” He turned to Arta, Karani and Latharna. “Our main job will be to keep anyone else from shooting the old man before he finishes the job. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” Karani said. “I want to rescue my father, and I want to make Respen hurt.”

“Music to my ears,” Digran said. “And you, princess?”

“I’m ready,” Arta said quietly, eyes hard. “Let’s move.”

///

They walked over to one of the lifts and waited for it to arrive; Latharna watched the rest of the hall furtively as they did so, certain any moment that they were going to be spotted for imposters. She breathed a quite sigh of relief as the doors opened and they stepped inside; Digran waved his ID badge over a scanner by the control panel and then punched what appeared to be the correct keys, for the lift began to rise. “This’ll take us to the highest level our fake identities are authorized for,” the rebel leader said. “Beyond that is the Upper Tier, where the nobles and high officers live and most of the top-security stuff is. That’s where we’ll need the old man.”

“Understood,” Shiran said. They then waited in silence as the lift rose, taking them high into the pyramid and far above the desert floor; finally, the door pinged and opened. There was a guard waiting in the corridor outside; Digran held up his badge and the guard saluted and let them pass.

This section of the Citadel seemed to be residential and commercial, and as they wound through its corridors and larger plazas Latharna noticed they passed a number of shops and restaurants, and even places where the entire ceiling was glass, letting the sunlight in and creating light-bathed avenues and parks. And yet even here, Respen’s character could be felt. There were more soldiers here than Latharna had seen on Carann or back home on Gearrach, and the businesses had a hard, to her eyes unfriendly look. The people here were well-off and seemed more relaxed than the ones down in the main hall, but still had an air of quiet wariness about them, as if they went about their business with a fear of being watched. Straining her ears, Latharna caught snatches of conversation, and though she never heard anyone go so far as to criticize Duke Respen directly, there seemed to be a general sense of discontent regarding the resources and manpower he was throwing into a war that seemed to have ground to a stalemate at Tantos.

At last, near what felt like the center of the pyramid, they came to a lift that would take them to the Upper Tier. Guards flanked the entrance, elite commandos like those who had taken Baron Varas, and they watched Digran with suspicion as he approached. Steeling himself, he walked forward and held up his badge; by his side, Shiran surreptitiously twitched his fingers, and a spark of pale blue appeared around his hand and around the badge. If the guards noticed it, they gave no sign. Digran pressed his badge to the reader, and for a long moment there was no reaction – and then the device pinged, and the lift door opened.

“You’re authorized,” one of the guards said, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Go on about your business, then, and don’t make trouble.”

“Thank you, sir,” Digran said. “Of course not, sir.” He walked into the lift, the others close behind him, and when they were all in, the door shut.

Digran took a moment to scan the directory that hung on the lift car’s wall before pressing a button on the control panel. “If I’m right,” he said, “this should take us out on the same level as the control room, and nearby. Of course, it’ll be guarded. Troops, even mechs. Respen doesn’t want just anyone getting into this room, and if we make one wrong move, the entire lot of them will be on us.”

“Don’t worry,” Arta said, trying to sound calm, though Latharna could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “We have the most powerful Adept in the Dozen Stars with us. And,” here she looked at Latharna, “one of its most gifted rising knights.”

“Really?” Digran asked, looking at Latharna appraisingly. “That so?”

Latharna met his gaze without blinking. “If Her Majesty says so,” she said, while internally praying desperately that Arta’s faith in her was not misplaced.

///

The Upper Tier, or at least the portion of it in which they now found themselves, had a cold, spartan style; here the open spaces of the main hall and the greenery of the middle levels gave way to long, narrow hallways with gleaming metal walls and rows of identical doors. The place seemed designed to give a sense of foreboding and menace to anyone who found themselves here without belong, and Latharna had a feeling that was entirely deliberate. It also, she thought, reminded her of pictures she’d seen of captured Imperial facilities in her schoolbooks. It seemed fitting, somehow, that consciously or not Respen was modeling himself on that regime that both the Dozen Stars and Realtran had once fought so hard to be free of.

Digran was leading them now, stopping every so often to consult with a directory on the wall but seeming reasonably confident they were headed in the right direction. Latharna wasn’t so sure; everything here looked much the same, and she could barely tell one steel corridor from another, save by the signs that bore numbers she had no hope of keeping straight. And yet, the deeper they penetrated into the headquarters of Aurann’s military forces, the more desolate it seemed; there were still guards stationed at various corridors and doors who regarded them with hostility as they passed, but they met no one else in the halls, and judging by the dark windows on their doors, few of the offices seemed to be occupied. This, more than anything else, hammered home to her that most of Respen’s forces were in the field, and those who remained were there to preserve the illusion of strength, more than its reality.

Finally, what felt like deep in the heart of the Upper Tier, they came to a long corridor with a single door at the end and a squad of guards blocking the entrance. Digran approached, holding up his badge while Shiran moved in behind him, preparing to perform the working that would, hopefully, grant them authorization.

“What’s your business here?” one of the guards asked.

“We’ve been sent to deliver a message, sir,” Digran said. “Colonel ast Kiros, from the garrison in the mines, has been having some trouble with the surveillance and security tech and can’t find a problem on his end. He wants the maintenance staff up here to look into it. Sir.”

The guard frowned. “The maintenance office is on the ground level, soldier. You got turned around. You shouldn’t even be up here.”

Digran shrugged. “That’s what I said, but Colonel ast Kiros was insistent that the guys at the main control hub check things out; he thinks that’s where the problem is. I don’t agree, but, well, you know how officers are. Especially noble officers. Best not to argue.”

“Why didn’t the colonel send a message first?” the guard said. “We could have cleared you that way without the hassle.”

“I thought he did,” Digran said. “Clearly, it didn’t go through. It sounds like he was right about the technical difficulties, anyway.”

“Sir,” one of the other guards said, “I’m pretty sure I saw that Colonel ast Kiros was deployed to Tantos with His Grace. He hasn’t been on-planet in weeks.”

The first guard’s face hardened. “All right then,” he said, “hold it right there. All four of you are under arrest until we figure out what’s going on here. Hands in the air, now.” The guards levelled their beam rifles.

“Well, so much for plan A,” Digran muttered. Before the guards could react he exploded into motion, ducking under the officer’s rifle and hitting him hard square in the face, sending him sprawling. The other guards levelled their weapons and opened fire, but none of their bolts hit home – a dark blue shield enveloped Digran and the bolts impacted it harmlessly. By Latharna’s side, Arta was standing with right hand outstretched, eyes glowing blue.

“What the-“ one of the guards muttered, but then the entire squad dropped their rifles and drew their blades, which hissed to life. They advanced slowly, swords crackling, but Arta, Latharna, and Karani were there to meet them. Swords flashed in the corridor as they dueled back and forth, but then Latharna found her way through her opponent’s guard and buried her sword in his throat. He collapsed with a rasping sound and died, but this time, Latharna didn’t have time to think about his death; beside her, Arta and Karani had just finished off their own foes, and the final two guards were slammed into the wall by a burst of light from Shiran and lay still.

“Come on,” Digran said, gesturing them forward. “Someone will have heard that.” They hurried down the corridor, but as they passed the officer he sat up slowly, groaning – then his eyes widened when he saw what had become of his squad and he pressed a button on his wrist comm. Digran cursed and turned back to shoot him, but the bolt wasn’t fast enough. Even as the officer crumpled, red lights began to flash, and sirens echoed through the halls. “They’re onto us now!” Digran shouted. “Let’s do this fast. Then they’ll have other things to worry about.”

They reached the end of the corridor and this time didn’t even bother with Digran’s badge; Shiran raised a hand and made a sharp gesture and the door handle, lock and all, burst into pieces and the door flew open. Inside the room was a large computer and a larger bank of screens which showed scenes from the Upper Tier, the main hall, and the mines on loop, but Latharna didn’t have time to watch them. Two more officers sat at the keyboards and jumped to their feet when the door opened; Digran shot one, and Latharna herself ran the other through.

“All right, old man,” Digran said. “This is your show.”

“As you say, it is,” Shiran said, taking one of the seats the two soldiers had vacated. “This may take some time, and I can’t say for sure how long, as I don’t know how complex the security measures Respen’s people will have put in place are.”

“Well try to do it as fast as you can,” Digran said, raising his pistol and turning back to the door. “We’re about to have a lot more company. The rest of us’ll try to hold them off.”

He crouched beside the door, holding his pistol ready; Latharna, Arta and Karani joined him, blades ready and expressions expectant. Latharna’s heart hammered nervously in her chest, and the continued flashing of the warning lights was putting her on edge. She readied herself for what was sure to come.

///

Arta could almost feel the tendrils of Shiran’s power teasing on her mind from behind as she stared down the corridor, waiting. She couldn’t even imagine how difficult his task must be, and had no idea how she’d go about doing it herself, but she knew that Shiran was the most powerful Adept she’d ever met – even, she believed, more than Midaia – and she had full faith in his ability to succeed. She was less certain about their own odds. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of booted feet and voices raised in command, and she knew that a squad of Aurannian troopers was coming, probably more than they could hope to handle. Probably they’d just rain fire down the entire corridor and put an end to everyone. Shiran might escape, but Arta, and her sister, and the girl she was increasingly certain she had feelings for, along with the leader of the Aurannian resistance, would all die, and by following her leadership. A ghastly legacy of failure for the reign of Artakane I to leave behind.

The first troopers began to pour down the corridor, beam rifles raised. Among them floated a number of mechs, squat and roughly ovoid, their sides bristling with weapons. Armed mechs of that sort weren’t common in the Dozen Stars; not technically illegal, so long as they weren’t self-aware, but so heavily frowned upon they might as well have been. But the Empire used them. Arta wondered exactly how long Respen had been doing business with them, and whether his “new” alliance was new after all.

“We have you pinned in,” a voice called from behind the front rank of the troopers. “You have no hope of escape. Surrender now and we will let you live. This is your last chance.”

“They want to know how we got through the security, I wager,” Digran said, then raised his voice. “I’ll never surrender to the Mad Duke’s dogs. Free Aurann!” He fired a shot down the corridor which grazed one of the troopers’ armor but didn’t seem to have done any further damage.

“Very well,” the officer’s voice called. “On your head be it.” His troops raised their rifles, and Arta froze. She could make a shield that would absorb the blasts, she knew, but she didn’t know how long it could stand up to a determined barrage. Did she have a chance to save her companions, or simply delay their deaths by a few seconds? At her side, she saw Digran, his expression defiant; Karani, who looked outraged, and Latharna, resigned to her fate and muttering a prayer under her breath. Arta’s resolve steeled. If she didn’t act, all of them would die, and for nothing. And she needed to save her father, and free Aurann, and for that Shiran needed more time…

Shiran. At the thought, his voice from the great hall came flooding back to Arta’s mind. Energy, he’d said, was easier to work with than matter, and computer programs were a kind of energy. Maybe Arta didn’t have what it took to untangle Duke Respen’s security systems, but she could still do something simpler…

Time seemed to slow as Arta gathered her will. The troopers raised their weapons at a fraction of their normal speed, and Arta reached out not for the living men and women… but for the mechs. Suddenly she found herself inside their minds, if minds they could be said to have. They didn’t think for themselves; the stigma against artificial intelligence was too strong. They just followed orders, protecting friendlies and destroying hostiles – and now, Arta had a hand directly on the core of their beings. She rearranged a few key elements of their programming, and then she snapped back to herself.

Time resumed its normal flow, and the troopers were just now pulling their triggers – but before they could fire, their mechs spun in midair and turned their weapons towards them, filling the corridor with a barrage of blast fire. Dozens of Aurannian troopers fell dead, slain by their own mechs, and then the mechs turned on each other, their blasts ripping each other to pieces. After a brief, violent moment, it was over, and the corridor was left littered with bodies broken remnants of machinery.

“damnation,” Digran said after a long, silent moment. “I mean… damnation. Glad you’re on my side, princess.”

Arta stared silently at the carnage she had wrought, and then sank to the floor, gasping in horror. She could feel Latharna putting her arm around her shoulder, and Karani quietly taking her hand, and she didn’t push them away; she just knelt there quietly, staring. Killing more than twenty people, she thought, shouldn’t be so easy.

“Don’t feel bad, prin – Artakane,” Digran said, his rough voice unusually quiet. “Those were Respen’s personal bully-boys and -girls, based on their uniforms. Plenty of blood on their hands. Don’t mourn for them.”

“They were still people,” Arta muttered. “And I still killed them all. They never even had a chance to fight back.”

“And that you care about that means you’re still human,” Digran said. “You surprise me. In more ways than one.”

Arta stood slowly, nodding first at Karani, then at Latharna. The Realtran girl looked on the verge of saying something, but before she could, Shiran interrupted. “Aha!” he said. “I have it.” The others turned away and hurried over to join him.

“As you can see, I’ve managed to deactivate the collars,” Shiran said, gesturing towards the screens, which now showed miners and laborers removing their collars with expressions of wonderment on their faces, while soldiers backed up apprehensively. On a few of the screens Arta caught glimpses of hard eyed people among the crowds who seemed to be stepping forward, and she wondered if they were Digran’s people. One of them looked like she might have been Shiava, though she wasn’t on-screen long enough to be sure. “I’ve also,” Shiran went on, “deactivated the defenses at the checkpoints, opened all of the Citadel’s weapons vaults, and taken down all military communications channels. The Ducal military forces are in disarray; now is the time for your people to arm themselves and rise up. I’ve also taken control of the Citadel’s communications network. If you would like to share a message with your people, now is the time.”

Digran swallowed and stepped forward. “My brothers and sisters,” he said, speaking into the microphone Shiran had indicated, “some of you may have heard of me, and some of you haven’t. My name is Digran Tassis, and eve since I was old enough to hold a weapon, I have fought for the freedom of Aurann. For too long has Duke Respen put his foot on our throats and called it his right. Too long has he worked our fathers and mothers to death in his mines and factories, or taken our brothers and sisters as conscripts for his armies. That ends today! Your collars have been deactivated and the Citadel’s defenses are down. Today is the day to rise up and take back what is yours! And to those of you who have fought for the Duke, I say to you now that if you can no longer live with yourselves, the time has come to join us! Join your people! Down with Respen! Free Aurann!”

“And I,” Arta said, stepping forward, “am Artakane ast Carann, your queen. Today I stand beside my friend Digran Tassis and I stand beside you, people of Aurann, to fight for your freedom. Too long has the crown turned a blind eye to cruel dukes and corrupt guilds, but we will stand aside no longer. Today, the Crown fights for you! Know that by our decree and the will of the loyal Dukes of the Realm, Respen ast Aurann is deposed and declared outlaw. What claim he had on your lives and your world is void in the eyes of the Crown. The time has come, sons and daughters of Aurann – sons and daughters of the Dozen Stars – to throw off your oppressors and stand. And now the Crown stands by your side! Down with Respen!”

On the screens, Arta could see the workers staring at each other in wonder; some looked disbelieving, while others were determined. On some of the screens the crowds were surging forward, forcing the troopers back; on others, troopers had turned against each other, beam blasts flashing. But even in the scenes where all the troopers seemed to have remained loyal to their duke, the rising tide of humanity outnumbered them.

“It’s finally happening,” Digran said, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Karani grabbed Arta and twirled her around, laughing. “I can’t wait to see the look on Respen’s smug face!” she said. “Nice speech, little sister!”

“Digran’s was better,” Arta said, flushing, and turned back to Shiran. “Did you find where they were keeping our father?”

“Yes,” Shiran said. “The Baron is being held two floors above us, in a holding cell in Respen’s private apartments. He’s alive, but under heavy guard – though perhaps less heavy now that the Citadel’s populace is in open revolt. I’ve disabled all the checkpoints on the way, so you won’t need me to get there; I feel like I should stay here, to prevent anyone from trying to regain control of the system.”

“I’m staying here too,” Digran said. “This looks like the best place to coordinate the uprising. Use Respen’s own tool against him.”

“Well I’m coming with you,” Karani said. “I’m going to make Respen’s men pay for taking Father.”

“Me, too,” Latharna said. “I’m your knight, aren’t I? I can’t let you go into danger alone.”

“All right, then,” Arta said; she glanced back down the hall and to the destruction she’d wrought and steadied herself. “We’ve already taken lives today. It’s time to go save one.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Imperial Base

Pakorus stood slowly, dropping his beam pistol to the floor and raising his hands. Beside him, Midaia rose to her feet as well, though she made no gesture of surrender, simply regarding the Imperial soldiers with cool disdain before turning to face the robed and masked figure of the man called Alaen.

He, in turn, regarded Midaia, his expression concealed behind his mask but his eyes intense. “Ah,” he said, as if in understanding. “Midaia ast Carann, if I am not mistaken. Now I understand how it is that you so easily pursued the Commander’s trail. The Dozen Stars have sent their most talented Adept to investigate their enemies. I am honored.”

“And you, if I am not mistaken, are Al’Aymar Alaen, the so-called ‘Prince of Night.’” Midaia smirked. “I’d say something about how a man who calls himself that is perhaps one overly fond of the theatrical, but,” she glanced down at her own sleek dark robes, “I don’t think I’m really one to talk, am I? In any case, your reputation proceeds you. One of the mighty Alaelam Disciples, now an Emperor’s lapdog – am I right? But considered powerful in our shared art, in any case. Though you are wrong about one thing – I didn’t come here on behalf of the Dozen Stars. I merely sought to satisfy my own… curiosity.”

Alen’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he showed no other visible sign of anger. “Indeed?” he asked. “And can you promise that your… curiosity… will not benefit the throne of the Dozen Stars – a throne your own sister currently occupies? You cannot. And you meddle in things beyond your concern, young one. In so doing you gain for yourself powerful enemies, regardless of whose behalf you do them on.” He turned to regard Pakorus. “And who is this – your accomplice? Your student, perhaps? Ah, but no – he is no Adept. A pet, then? Why shackle yourself to someone so… powerless? What a waste of your talents.”

Pakorus found himself bristling but thought better of saying anything with several weapons currently pointed at him. The tribune, on the other hand, seemed to be losing his patience. “As fascinating as this conversation is, sir,” he said, leaning close to Alaen, “I don’t think the Emperor would appreciate us casually chatting about our histories and methods with captured enemies. Do you wish us to escort them to the holding cells, or simply shoot them on the spot?”

Alaen casually raised a gloved hand and the tribune was shoved backwards, eyes widening in horror as a halo of shadow writhed around him. “Do not question me, little man,” the Adept said without looking at him. “The Emperor has placed this mission under my command, and I do not appreciate disrespect from my inferiors. Nonetheless, you raise a valid point.” He nodded towards Midaia and Pakorus. “Take the boy. I will interrogate him later. As for the woman…” he paused, regarding Midaia inscrutably with his hidden expression. “It is a shame for so gifted an Adept to go to waste. Tell me, Midaia ast Carann – what benefit is it for you to skulk in the shadows, running the errands of lesser beings who do not, and never will, appreciate you? Why put your trust in this youth you bring with you, who can provide you with nothing you would ever value? But the Empire honors its Adepts. Come with me, pledge your allegiance to Verus Licinius, and I will see to it that you are granted a position of honor at the Imperial court. All I ask in return is that you tell me all that you have learned in your search and leave the boy for me to question at my leisure.”

For a moment, all was silent. Midaia and Alaen stood regarding one another, eerily alike in their dark robes, one’s face hidden by a mask, another’s shadowed by her hood. Then Midaia laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that made the hairs on the back of Pakorus’s neck stand on end. “Oh, yes,” she finally said. “What a glorious offer! I am mistress of my own fate, Alaen. I have seen things that most of humanity can only dream of. And am I to give that up to become like you – a kept servant of a petty despot who refuses to acknowledge that his time has passed? No, thank you. You put a pretty face on your offer, but its heart smells rancid.”

Alaen hissed. “You understand nothing, girl!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “You speak of that which is beyond your feeble dreams! Take them both. I will deliver them to the Emperor myself.”

The Imperial soldiers raised their weapons and advanced; Midaia put a hand on Pakorus’s arm. “Stay behind me,” she whispered. She stepped forward, placing herself between Pakorus and the Imperials, and cast back her hood. Her eyes, he saw, were burning, solid red.

And then the room exploded.

A shockwave of red light burst from Midaia, tearing across the room and ripping the office apart, sending debris flying. The tribune and his soldiers were flung through the far wall; whether they were alive or dead Pakorus couldn’t tell. Standing close to Midaia’s side, he found himself standing in an island of calm amidst a sea of destruction, as if he stood in the eye of one of the immense storms that sometimes rocked the capital of his father’s duchy, watery Orlanes.

Then the red light twisted back inward, wrapping around Midaia’s hands in a tight lance that shot forward with incredible force. Al’Aymar Alaen stood unmoved, untouched by the chaos around him and seemingly unconcerned by the bolt now shooting towards him; he raised a hand and the red lance struck it and then burst apart into countless gleaming red fragments, which collapsed to the floor and vanished.

Shadows twisted around him now, dimming whatever they touched, seeming to be not of light, but darkness made visible, and then they lanced forward, a half-dozen questing tentacles of night. Hissing like serpents, they shot towards Midaia and Pakorus only to come to an abrupt halt as a hemisphere of red light formed about them. The tentacles skittered across its surface as if seeking a flaw and then retreated back towards Alaen and vanished into whatever darkness from which they’d come. “Well,” the Alaelam Adept said, sounding genuinely impressed. “It seems your skills are every bit as great as reputed.”

“As are yours,” Midaia replied. “But then, you must have known your tin soldiers would be no match for me. You wasted them for nothing.”

“You might have surrendered and chosen to fight another day,” Alaen said. “Though I do prefer it this way. No interference, Midaia ast Carann, nothing holding us back. Just you, and me.” Suddenly the darkness around him seethed again, reaching not towards Midaia and Pakorus but up, the dark tentacles seizing the ceiling and tearing tiles from it, then sending them spinning forward. The red hemisphere vanished – perhaps it was no use against purely physical attacks – and red sparks flickered from Midaia’s hands as she blasted one tile after another from the air. One after another – but not enough. A shard from one of them shot forward and struck her along the cheek, knocking her back against the remains of the tribune’s desk. Hissing with anger, she raised her head and made a sharp gesture with her hand. And just as had happened to the mercenaries who had attacked Specter’s lair, Alaen was suddenly haloed in crackling red lightning – but then he raised his arms and shadows erupted from the air around him, tearing the lightning to pieces.

Pakorus knelt down beside Midaia. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you beat him?”

“Perhaps,” she said, eyes still intent on her foe who now stood with his arms folded. “He doesn’t overmatch me, I don’t think – but he does match me. This contest could go either way. But he is older, more experienced in this sort of combat…” she shook her head.

“Do you surrender yet, ast Carann?” Alaen asked. From behind him, the sound of marching feet could be heard. “I do believe that my reinforcements are coming. I do not wish to kill you. Every Adept life lost is a waste. But I will if you make me.”

“Burn in the abyss,” Midaia hissed, and with visible strain wrapped the tribune’s entire desk in red light and sent it hurtling across the room. Alaen’s eyes widened in shock behind his mask and he threw up his hands. There was a burst of shadow and the desk was rent in two just before it hit, both halves flying to the corners of the room; when the dust cleared, Alaen was on his knees from the effort he’d expended. But Midaia wasn’t much better off, regarding him with wary eyes while panting heavily.

Pakorus’s knelt by Midaia’s side, steadying her with one hand while his other brushed the ground – and lighted on the handle of his dropped beam pistol. He glanced up at Alaen, who was gathered darkness around himself for another attack, and knew that no bolt would penetrate the Adept’s defense – but then he looked up, towards the ceiling where the tiles had been torn away… and the pipe that was now exposed there.

“Midaia, duck!” Pakorus shouted; raising his pistol, he fired before Alaen could react. The beam blast tore open a hole in the pipe, which burst asunder, releasing a massive blast of steam directly into the Alaelam Adept’s face. Alaen gave an awful howl of pain and rage and stumbled backwards; Midaia lurched back to her feet and thrust a hand at one of the already-battered office walls, which flickered red and then burst apart, revealing the next office beyond. Then she collapsed into Pakorus’s arms; holding tightly on to her, he ran through the opening.

This office was slightly smaller, though of similar design and still sparsely decorated; it had probably belonged to the tribune’s second-in-command. Pakorus didn’t have time to take it in, however, before Midaia pressed a small object into his hand – a silvery remote. “Press the top button,” she said weakly. “Hurry!” Wasting no more time, he did as she instructed; a light at the top of the remote began to flash. Behind them, what was left of the tribune’s office had fallen in. Pakorus thought he could hear soldiers on the other side cursing and trying to clear away the rubble, and a ragged voice that might have been Alaen’s giving orders.

“They’ll be through that in a minute,” Pakorus said, glancing worryingly down at his little pistol. “They’ll be more than a match for me. Do you have anything else up your sleeve?”

“I’m all but spent,” Midaia whispered. “Luckily, that means he is too. So, when the Emperor’s soldiers break through, he won’t be able to stop them from just shooting us both.” She chuckled weakly. “I would hate a drawn-out death, wouldn’t you?” Her eyelids fluttered and began to close.

“Stay with me, Midaia,” Pakorus said.

“Just a minute now,” she whispered; across the room, the rubble was shifting. And then, suddenly, something cut off the light from the office window. Pakorus’s eyes widened as he recognized Sister Night, apparently called by the remote. Midaia smiled thinly and raised a hand; with a final effort of will, she made the window give way. Barely aware of what he was doing, Pakorus dove out of it, landing roughly on the yacht’s ramp, which quickly closed behind him. Then the ship was away, darting between blasts from the base’s cannons under the direction of its autopilot before heading straight for space.

Pakorus set Midaia down and collapsed against the wall. “Well, that was closer to dying than I hope to ever come again,” he said. “I am not cut out for this sort of thing. Did you get what we went in for, at least?”

Midaia sat up against the opposite wall and held up a hand; the small drive rested in her palm. “I got something,” she said. “But it remains to be seen just what.”

///

Arta’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood still with her hands raised, inescapably aware of the dozens of beam rifles pointed directly at her and her companions. After a long moment of silence, one of the surrounding figures stepped forward; he appeared to be fairly young, though still older than Arta herself, and both his clothing and his face had a ragged, weathered look. He walked forward to face Arta and looked her up and down, then walked around her in a circle before finally nodding to himself. “Well,” he said. “You sure do look like Artakane does in the holos. Maybe you’re for real after all.”

“Digran?” Arta asked, trying as hard as she could to keep her nervousness from showing on her face.

“That’s me,” he said, giving her a wry grin. “As you can see, we got your message. Lucky for you, you were using Ceana’s channel and her code, or we wouldn’t even be talking to you. That lady’s done a lot of good for us over the years; if it weren’t for Realtran quietly supplying aid, we probably wouldn’t be here. Guess what they say about the enemy of my enemy and all that is true, at least some of the time.” He turned and gestured towards his men. “Stand down for now. I think they’re legit – and if they’re not, we still outnumber them three to one.” He looked back over at Arta. “But don’t pick up your weapons just yet. I still don’t trust you that much.”

Arta let her arms fall with a feeling of relief, though she could hear Karani muttering angrily to herself behind her. Digran now stood with his arms folded and regarded them warily; he’d been joined by two other rebels, an older man and a woman about his own age, both of whom looked just as ragged as he did, whose expressions were past wary and had entered outright hostility. After a long moment of silence, Digran shook his head and spoke. “So, tell me,” he said. “What brings the high-and-mighty Queen of the Dozen Stars down here to Aurann to parley with the likes of us, anyway?”

Arta spread her hands. “You said yourself, the enemy of my enemy,” she said. “I don’t know how much news you get down here, but you’re surely aware that Duke Respen has launched a rebellion against the throne, in alliance with Duke Naudar and Duchess Sateira. And he recently launched a raid on my home planet and kidnapped my foster father, who I now believe is being held somewhere in the Citadel. I’m here to rescue him; I think I could use your help.”

Digran gave a harsh laugh. “Now that’s funny,” he said. “Do you have any idea how many fathers, and mothers, and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters that bastard Respen has killed over the years to keep himself in power? And we didn’t hear a peep about that from the big names out on Carann, did we? But when one of your own gets taken, then the time comes for you to do something. And you just waltz in here and expect us to help you. Well I’m sorry, princess, but so far you’re not impressing me very much.”

“It’s not like that,” Arta said, but her voice sounded weak in her own ears.

“You want to know what it’s like?” Digran asked. “Well, let me educate you a bit. People always hear about how strong Aurann’s military is, and you know how Respen and his family built it? It’s because Aurann isn’t a duchy with an army – it’s an army with a duchy. Unless you’re from one of the old military families and get fast-tracked to officer school, everyone here works in the mines or the foundries, digging raw material and smelting it into weapons. The only way out is to enlist, join up with Respen to kill his enemies for him – even your own family if they step out of line or start complaining about the way things are. Doing your time in the army is the only way to get full citizenship here, if you live long enough, that is. And you know how Respen keeps everyone who isn’t in the army in line?” He pulled down the collar on his shirt, revealing a nasty-looking scar on his neck. “As soon as you’re old enough to work, they come and put a collar on you. damnation hard to get off without the right tools – speak up against Respen, and the collar tortures you until you fall back into line. Actually take up arms against him, and it blows your head off. You want to know why there’s so few of us, even though everyone hates our noble and glorious duke? Because you can’t fight unless you get your collar off – and even if you do, they can still hold the lives of your family, and your friends, and anyone else you care about over your heads. That’s what it’s like here, princess.”

“Lord,” Arta breathed, horror twisting in her gut. “I… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. How has this happened – why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Digran laughed again. “You think anyone cares?” he asked. “Everyone here knows you can’t fight Respen, at least not without risking your life, and the lives of everyone close to you. And those fancy nobles and guildsmen who visit from off world? They stay up in the top levels of the Citadel, never bother coming down here to see what a miserable pile of slag this planet really is. And even if they did, why would they care? A duke’s right to rule his duchy as he pleases is sacred – isn’t that what you nobles say? And so, who cares if the duke is a monster, when inconveniencing him might make things harder for them too.”

Arta barely managed to master herself – she wanted to scream and cry and throw something, wished she had Respen in front of her right now so she could take his smug head from his shoulders, wanted to do something but was torn in so many directions she ended up not doing anything at all. Looking around the chamber, she saw the dozens of rebel fighters watching her, saw their torn clothes and haggard faces and had a faint, terrible inkling of what they must have suffered to drive them to this point, and then she felt something like a fire kindled in her gut. “This is wrong,” she muttered hotly. “Aurann, Respen, this whole bloody Kingdom for letting this happen – it’s all wrong, and it has to stop. It will stop!”

Digran smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “And how, exactly, are you going to do that? Queen or no, you’re not throwing down Aurann duchy with a half-dozen friends. Sorry if I don’t think your promises are worth much.”

“Respen is weaker than you realize,” Arta said, half to herself. “He’s moved almost all of his forces off-world, to fight the other dukes – we saw it from orbit when we came down. The Citadel is as undefended as it’s ever likely to be. And… and maybe we can get the people on our side. You said everyone hates Respen?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Digran asked, snorting incredulously. “Respen doesn’t see people as people, but as things. Workers to build his weapons, soldiers to use them and die for him, officers to carry out his orders – but just things, tools to be used. He doesn’t really give a damnation about anyone, and so the only reason people follow him is because he’s got a boot on their throat. But it’s a damned big boot. With his collars, he’s holding most of the planet hostage for everyone else’s good behavior. What’re you going to do about that, princess?”

“Tell me,” Shiran said suddenly, stepping forward, “do you know if the collars are controlled from a central hub somewhere?”

“Most of Respen’s officers have remotes they can use to set them off,” the young woman with Digran said. “There’s a master control computer high up in the Citadel somewhere. We’ve never been able to get anyone in there, though.”

“As I suspected,” Shiran said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Respen would have wanted to have a central killswitch he could use to override the entire system – he wouldn’t trust anyone else with power over his own slaves. That desire for control can be used against him. If I can get into that room, I should be able to deactivate the entire network.”

“Sorry, but… who are you?” Digran asked disbelievingly.

Shiran smiled coolly and held up a hand with pale blue light playing along its fingers. “I am a man of many talents,” he said. “And, for the moment, a man willing to help you.”

“If Shiran says he can take the collars down, he can,” Arta said. “Can you promise the people will fight if that happens?”

Digran shrugged. “Most people probably wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “But if I had time to get some of my people slipped in among the work crews… give some warnings in key places… well, if nothing else, you’d have a huge riot on your hands, maybe something Respen’s troops wouldn’t be able to contain. Hell, most of the rank and file only enlisted ‘cause they saw no other way out. If their families’ lives weren’t on the line any more… honestly, a good chunk of Respen’s own men might turn rebel.”

“And so, Aurann is like a diamond,” Latharna said from behind Arta, half to herself. “Cold and hard – too hard to cut – but if you hit it hard in the right place, it shatters.”

“Of course, there’s one little problem with all this,” Digran said. “Respen himself. He’s not on planet right now, and neither are most of his troops. If they come back, he’ll just carpet bomb everything from orbit and that’s the end of us. What’s to stop that, exactly?”

“Us,” Arta said. “Me and the rest of the council defeating his forces at Tantos III. With Respen himself dead and Aurann in revolt, the rest of his forces will be crippled.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions that you can take him down,” Digran said. “And how can you promise that some cousin of his won’t take power and put everything right back the way it was? You nobles don’t like change, after all. What can you promise me, princess?”

“Respen’s time is done,” Arta said. “Centuries ago, our ancestors threw off the tyranny of the Empire, but now Respen has recreated his own little empire here on Aurann, with himself a petty little emperor with petty little ambitions. But it ends now. All of it – Respen’s tyranny on Aurann, and all of the complacency in the rest of the Kingdom that let him and his kind flourish. It’s high time the rulers of the Dozen Stars remembered what it is to lead with responsibility, for the good of the people and not for their own ambitions. But first, examples have to be made.” She looked directly at Digran. “How would you like to be the new Duke of Aurann.”

For the first time, Digran was stunned speechless. “Can you just… do that?” he finally asked.

“Technically, deposing a sitting ducal house requires a unanimous vote of the council,” Shiran said. “Minus the one being deposed, of course. But Respen has made himself very few friends and launching armed revolt against the rest of the Kingdom has cost him what support he may have once had, outside of his fellow rebels. So, as a practical matter, yes, Her Majesty can promise his seat to someone who helps to overthrow him.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Digran said, shaking his head. “But I don’t just want power for myself. Seems to me the real problem a lot of this Kingdom has is nobles who do whatever the hell they want, and don’t care whether that’s what the people want. If I’m to be duke, I want to make sure that’s something I can change.”

“You yourself pointed out that a duke gets to rule as they see fit,” Arta said. “Some duchies have elected assemblies where the peoples’ voices can be heard – and can even overrule their duke on internal matters with a big enough majority. Orlanes has one. Tantos, too, though that most of the seats in that one were bought out by the guilds.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem,” Digran said. “That’d still be a duke giving people power – and what’s given can be taken away. And it doesn’t do anything to help the Kingdom as a whole, so what’s to stop another Respen from showing up down the line?”

“In Realtran,” Latharna said, stepping forward, “we have a parliament that shares power with the monarchy. They are elected by the people and can pass laws that are even binding on the nobility – and can even hold the powerful accountable for when they break the laws. It’s not a perfect system, but… I do think it helps keep the worst excesses at bay.”

“You’re Realtran, right? One of Ceana’s people?” Latharna nodded. “Well, that counts for something, anyway – Ceana’s always been straight with us. And are you willing to promise to work for something like that?” Digran continued, looking to Arta now. “Or is all your talk about justice and responsibility just wind?”

“I promise,” Arta said. “I swear it on the crown of the Dozen Stars, and on the Lord’s name.”

“And is her word good?” Digran asked, now looking around the chamber at Arta’s companions.

“Artakane was my student,” Shiran said, “and I vouch for her character.”

“And she is my… friend,” Latharna said. “Me, too.” Beside her, Karani nodded vigorously.

“And you?” Digran asked, looking towards Rehan and her guards. “Nobles always stick up for nobles – what do you think?”

Rehan shrugged. “Permission to speak honestly, Your Majesty?” she asked, and Arta nodded. “Well, I’m common born – no ‘ast’ in my name, thank you - came up through the ranks the hard way, and I think the Queen is idealistic, and a bit naïve, and has the survival instincts of a Carannian hare with a death wish – but she’s got guts, and heart, and she means what she says. I think she’ll keep her word to you or die trying.”

“Thanks for that – I think,” Arta muttered, and then turned back to Digran. “Well, then? What will it be? Can we work together to raid the Citadel, to rescue my father and free your people and shove Respen off his throne for good?”

Digran paused for a moment to confer hurriedly with his two lieutenants, and then turned back to Arta. “Well, maybe you’re right, or maybe I’m crazy,” he said, “or maybe I just don’t have anything left to lose. But I don’t think we’ll ever get a better chance, and so I’m willing to give it a try.” His gaze hardened. “But if you betray me or go back on your word, I’ll make sure your dead if it’s the last thing I do. Got it?”

“Perfectly,” Arta said.

“Good,” Digran said, and waved some of his fighters forward. “Now then, we’ve got some maps of parts of the Citadel, except for the high-security zones, and we know the rotations of the guards. Let’s figure out how to get this done.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Imperial Legion Base 8162, Imperial Space

The planet was a cold and desolate rock, orbiting far from its star. Though its atmosphere was breathable by humans, it had little life to call its own – a few small creatures here and there, a scattering of plant growth along its sparse coastlines. It had no name, but only a number. It lay within the Empire, but had largely gone unnoticed by that mighty nation, which held thousands of more desirable worlds in its grasp and hungered for others still.

Its only significant Imperial presence was a small compound near the base of a craggy grey mountain; a walled enclosure surrounding a central steel tower. The base was little more than a listening post, manned by only a few dozen soldiers of the Emperor’s legions, almost entirely irrelevant save that it lay on the border the Empire shared with the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, adjacent with Tashir Duchy. And so it was that it was here that the Commander and his assassins had received their equipment and assignments, and here, hopefully, lay the records of just who had been responsible for their murderous mission.

Pakorus and Midaia watched the base from behind a rocky outcropping, having hidden Sister Night in a sheltered valley nearby; the young nobleman shook his head at the sight. “Not much there by the Empire’s standards,” he said. “But more than enough to deal with us. Looks like there’s beam cannons on the walls, and probably more I can’t see. I don’t know how many troops there are, but I’m not seeing how we’re getting in. I doubt your little lock pick is as good when there’s actual people on the other side, not just mechs.”

Midaia smiled under her hood and shook her head. “Oh, you of little faith,” she said. “Have you forgotten just who you’re traveling with? I know exactly how we’re getting in – we’re going to walk right through the front door. And I do believe there is our ticket in.” She gestured towards the dusty road that led towards the base’s main gates, and Pakorus saw the shape of a medium sized land vehicle approaching – a tank of some sort, he thought, squat and heavily armored, with tracks underneath and a long cannon mounted on its front.

“Coming back from maneuvers, would be my guess,” Midaia said. “Our lucky day. Now, follow me and stay close, or I won’t be able to protect you.” She stepped out from behind the rocks and began to walk towards the tank as if taking a casual stroll down a sunny avenue on Carann. Pakorus couldn’t imagine how she was so calm, but her tone had brooked no argument; he hurried out from the shelter himself and took up a position close behind her.

What followed was perhaps the most nerve-wracking minutes of Pakorus’s life. He and Midaia took up their position beside the tank and walked towards the gates as if this was perfectly normal; he kept fingering his beam pistol, certain at any moment they would be spotted and would have to make a very fast escape, but that moment never came. The base’s wall loomed large in front of them; the guards positioned by the door nodded in acknowledgment of the tank’s approach and gave a signal, and then the gate slid slowly open. The tank rumbled inside, Midaia and Pakorus walking beside it, and nobody paid them the slightest attention. Pakorus started in wonder, resisting the urge to stop in front of one of the guards and wave his hand in front of the man’s face, just to see what would happen.

When they reached the courtyard, Midaia seized his arm and pulled him aside, moving them both hurriedly towards the direction of the main tower. They didn’t head for the main entrance but for what Pakorus took for a small side door; once again, Midaia pulled out her lock pick and planted it on the door’s keypad, and a moment later, it clicked and swung open. They hurried inside, shutting the door behind them, and found themselves in a plain, deserted hallway.

Pakorus let out a breath he hadn’t been entirely aware he’d been holding. “How did you do that?” he asked. “It was like we were invisible. They didn’t see us at all!”

“We weren’t invisible, exactly,” Midaia said. “If there’s a way for an Adept to turn someone completely invisible, I don’t know how. What I can do is make myself – or someone near me – seem… beneath notice, if you will. People who see me won’t register it as being important and will ignore me, no matter what I happen to be doing. That is, unless they’re looking for me specifically – my powers won’t stand up to a determined search. Luckily for us, even if the lab’s mechs sent the base a signal alerting them to the possibility of intruders, it doesn’t seem they knew who they were expecting.”

Pakorus shook his head. “You amaze me,” he said with complete sincerity.

Midaia flashed him a sharp grin. “My, my. Don’t let Artakane hear you say that,” she said and Pakorus immediately flushed, muttering under his breath that he hadn’t meant it like that. To be honest, no matter how attractive Midaia might be, he found her far too intimidating to even consider in that light, not that he said that part out loud. The Adept herself merely ignored him and continued speaking. “I’ve had a lot of practice. I sneak around a lot of places.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a curious person by nature. Now, just give me a moment to catch my breath, and then we need to find a computer terminal – preferably one in an empty room.”

She took a long moment to steady herself and did indeed breathe in deeply before closing her eyes and nodding. Pakorus took that as a signal that they were concealed again because Midaia then turned and set off down the hallway, with him following close behind. Eventually they entered into a larger room where several armored Imperial legionnaires stood, holding cups of what looked like kaf; there was a map of the base on the wall behind them. Pakorus froze and let his hand slip to his pistol, but once again, the soldiers didn’t seem to see him. He wondered why Midaia wasn’t moving on, and then saw that she was watching the soldiers with a frown on her face. A moment later, he realized why. The soldiers had drinks, but they weren’t drinking; they weren’t talking with each other, either. They didn’t seem to be on duty, but they seemed nervous and kept glancing at each other or at the door at the front of the room out of the corner of their eyes. They’re afraid of something, Pakorus realized. I don’t think it’s us, because they’re not on alert for intruders, but something has them spooked.

Finally, Midaia shook her head and grabbed Pakorus’s wrist, pulling him towards another door that, it turned out, opened onto a flight of stairs. If the legionnaires noticed the door opening and closing, they gave no sign, but the stairs themselves were empty, and Midaia lead Pakorus up. When they reached a landing, though, he stopped and pulled away from her. “Before we go any further,” he said, “did anything about that scene strike you as odd?”

“Do you mean ‘all of it?’” Midaia asked. “They were on edge. Someone or something made them nervous. And there’s… something else,” she added, shaking her head again. “A… feeling I can’t shake. Something’s going on here, and it’s more than just us. Let’s get what we came for and get out. Did you notice the map of the building? Command offices are on the floor above us. That’s where they’ll have what we need. Come on.”

It also sounded like that would be the place that was most dangerous to be caught in, but then, Midaia had quite a bit more experience breaking into buildings than he did, so Pakorus decided to follow her lead. They reached the top of the stairs and came out into another hallway, one that was curved as if it rounded the tower and was lined with doors. Midaia began to walk down it, and Pakorus, following her, saw that though many of the doors were blank, some were labeled with a name and a rank. Finally, they reached a door that bore a more elaborate nameplate and the rank of tribune. Based on Pakorus’s knowledge of the Imperial military hierarchy he assumed that this was the office of the base’s commander; here Midaia stopped and took out her lockpick once again. A moment later, the door swung open and they stepped inside.

The room was moderately sized and sparsely accommodated, its severe style reminding Pakorus of Ambassador Quarinis’s office on Carann. The far wall was dominated by a window looking out over the mountainous terrain, but in the middle of the room was a desk with a small computer in blocky Imperial style. The desk was unoccupied; the tribune, whoever he or she was, wasn’t here.

“Excellent,” Midaia said, slipping around the desk and inserting the drive she’d used at the lab into the computer. “Now, then, keep your weapon sharp; I don’t want to be disturbed.” Pakorus nodded and drew his pistol as Midaia set to work on the computer; for several tense minutes he stood there, the only sounds the computer’s hums and his companion’s occasional murmuring. He glanced around the room, noting the display cases containing military honors and a moderately sized portrait of a handsome middle-aged man in resplendent robes he recognized as Emperor Verus Licinius, but there was little here to give much insight into the tribune’s character – or to quell Pakorus’s growing sense of unease.

When he heard the sound of the door handle turning, at first, he thought it was a symptom of his frightened imagination; then, to his horror, he realized it was real. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed to Midaia; reaching out lightning-fast, she grabbed him and pulled him down behind the desk. This time he thought he saw a flicker of red in her eyes as she wrapped her cloaking around them again. No sooner had she done so than the office door opened, and Pakorus raised his pistol slowly.

The first figures through the door were two armored guards – guards who looked, to Pakorus’s eyes, extremely nervous and uncomfortable. Next came an older man in a crisp uniform who must be the tribune, who was looking over his shoulder and talking to the figure that followed him – a figure straight out of nightmare. A tall man – was it a man? Pakorus couldn’t be sure – wrapped in long dark robes and a hooded cloak, face concealed behind a bizarre, elaborately patterned mask that revealed nothing save for a pair of glittering eyes. Beside him, Midaia looked the man up and down and gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

“-I assure you, sir, we have everything under control,” the tribune was saying anxiously. “There is no need to worry the Emperor with our situation, none at all…”

“That is not your decision to make, Tribune,” the masked man said – the voice was unmistakably male, deep and smooth. It also had a faintly Alaelam accent, which piqued Pakorus’s interest – the Empire and the Alaelam had been enemies for as long as the Alaelam Alliance had existed. Who was this man? “It is mine. The Emperor has received warning that your base’s connection to the work done here in your predecessor’s time has been compromised and has dispatched me to ensure that Imperial military secrets do not fall into the wrong hands.”

“Sir – Alaen – I do not mean to contradict His Majesty but I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the Tribune said. “We have had no trouble here of any kind recently. The troops are fond of joking that this is the most boring post in the entire Empire, and that seems highly unlikely to change any time soon.”

“Indeed?” Alaen asked, his tone amused. “In that case, let it be known that I am no happier to be here than you are to have me here, but I do not intend to shirk my duties. I will brook no interference in carrying them out – not from you, not form your men… and not from them.”

As he spoke those last words, Alaen turned towards the desk – and Pakorus realized with a start that the man was staring directly at him. He’s an Adept! He realized. He has to be! But no sooner had the thought formed than the tribune and his guards, their attention drawn by Alaen’s declaration, had drawn their weapons and pointed them directly at him and at Midaia.

///

Perhaps it was simply the result of everything she’d heard about the planet and its master; perhaps it was a side-effect of her natural antipathy for burning sunlight, but seen from orbit, Latharna couldn’t help but think that Aurann looked like a forbidding, desolate place. The planet resembled an off-white ball, baked in the light of its too-close sun without any trace of blue or green to break the monotony. A harsh, desert planet that had produced a man who desired the throne of the Dozen Stars badly enough he was willing to burn worlds to get it.

And the Baron Varas ast Katanes was down there now, somewhere.

“It’s odd,” Lieutenant Rehan said from where she sat in Artax’s Glory’s command chair. “I’m not picking up a whole lot of orbiting defenses – there’s some weapons platforms, and a few Equestrians at shipyards above the Citadel, but from everything I’d heard about this place, I expected… more.”

“Respen must be moving more of his forces to the Tantos system,” Shiran mused. He looked over at Arta. “He is certain of his victory – he expects you to give in, and so he prepares his forces to crush Mardoban, who he sees as a bigger threat.”

“Then let’s show him exactly why he’s mistaken,” Arta said, her voice cold. “Lieutenant, can you get us down to the coordinates Lady Dhenloc and Ambassador Preas provided us?”

Rehan snorted. “Of course, I can, Your Majesty,” she said. “Space is big, even the little bit of space around a planet – it’s hard to watch it all. And Respen’s defenses are thin enough right now – and we’re small enough – that I think we can evade them without much trouble. Not like we’re launching a full-scale assault on the Citadel or anything.”

“One thing at a time,” Arta said; Karani chuckled, but Latharna didn’t think Arta was joking. The queen had sent a message on a frequency the drive had provided, requesting a meeting and offering potential times, but they hadn’t heard anything back yet. Coming here at all seemed to be a gamble, but with her father’s life on the line, Arta had decided she could do no less. Latharna didn’t suppose she could blame her; she didn’t remember her parents, but if someone had kidnapped the Headmistress or Brother Ronall, she doubted she’d have been able to just leave them, either.

Artax’s Glory didn’t encounter opposition as she descended through the atmosphere; they were far enough from the Citadel or Aurann’s few other fortress-cities that there weren’t regular patrols. At last they came to rest in a depression located near the base of a foreboding mountain range, landing not far from a dim tunnel that opened into the ground and sank into darkness out of sight.

“That’s an old, played out mine, according to the information,” Arta said. “Straight down that tunnel is a cave that the resistance uses as a meeting place. Apparently, Ambassador Preas’s agents met them here to bring them supplies and weapons. Realtran doesn’t like Respen any more than we do, it seems.”

“All right,” Rehan said, unstrapping herself from her seat and standing. “Guardsmen Faradan and Augus, stay with the ship. The rest of you, with me. The people we’re meeting may be friendly or they may not be, or this might be a trap, and we are not losing Her Majesty on this fool’s errand. Understand?”

Her orders were met with a chorus of “ayes” and salutes; that division would leave the two guards the lieutenant had indicated with the ship, and four in addition to Rehan herself to come with the rest of them. Latharna slipped back into the prep room behind the ship’s small bridge and found the small bottle of sunblock she’d stashed in a locker there, taking the time to rub some of that on her face and hands. She didn’t plan to be out there any longer than necessary to reach the tunnel, but, well, she didn’t like the look of that baleful white sun and had no intention of being caught out under it without protection.

That done, she rejoined the others as they left the Glory and descended the landing ramp to the basin outside. The head hit Latharna like a sudden blast, but it was a dry, dusty heat. Shielding her eyes against the sun, and mentally thanking her lenses for protecting her sensitive eyes, she followed her companions as they crossed the burning white emptiness and finally arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. It wasn’t much cooler here, but every bit helped – and thankfully, the blinding brilliance was dimmed as they stepped inside.

Rehan motioned for her guards; two of them took point, along with the lieutenant herself, followed by Arta and Karani, then Latharna, and then Shiran and the last two guards in the rear. Once they were out of the sunlight, Arta and Shiran both raised their hands and summoned small balls of glowing light that hovered above them – hers a brilliant blue, his a paler blue – and illuminated their way down the tunnel, which stetched on straight ahead, sloping slowly downward. Then they set off.

“This is where the monsters show up,” Karani muttered as the tunnel entrance disappeared behind them. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Latharna walking slightly behind and fell back to join her. “You can walk by Arta, if you want,” she said. “Get closer to her little glowball, anyway.”

Latharna smiled. “I don’t need it,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “My eyesight is terrible, especially in bright light. But when I was a girl the Headmistress at the Dansa Academy had special lenses made for me. The technology in them can filter out the light and focus in a way my eyes don’t, normally. So long as I have them in, I can see better than you can. And they work even in very low light. I can see in here as well as I can in broad daylight.”

“Show-off,” Karani muttered, but her tone was good-natured. “Of course, that’s not the only reason you might want to walk near Arta, if you catch my meaning.”

Latharna held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “I actually want to talk to someone else right now. But thank you for the offer.”

Karani shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she muttered. “Just trying to be friendly.” She picked up the pace and caught back up with Arta; Latharna let herself fall back until she was walking beside Shiran.

She frowned, wondering exactly how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss; finally, she decided to ease into it. “Something I’ve been wondering,” she said. “Arta tells me you taught her those Adept tricks, but when she does them, her light is dark blue, and yours is lighter. Why is that?”

Shiran chuckled and looked up at his floating light. “Every Adept makes a slightly different color of light,” he said. “Nobody knows why. My best guess is that it’s like a… psychic fingerprint, if you will, a manifestation that’s unique to the person who summons it. If the colors themselves mean anything, I’ve not discovered it – and I’ve studied these things for a very, very long time.” He looked back at Latharna, gaze penetrating. “But that’s not really what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”

Well, there goes “easing into it,” Latharna thought. She took a deep breath. “How can you live with yourself?” she finally blurted out.

Shiran raised an eyebrow. “Is that an impugning of my moral character or a roundabout way of asking my age?” he said, though his tone, thankfully, was more amused than offended.

Latharna flushed. “Neither,” she muttered. “It’s just, well, Arta always speaks very highly of you, and says you give good advice, and I have a dilemma that I need help working out.”

“This isn’t about me, is it?” Shiran asked, tone soft but eyes penetrating.

“No,” Latharna said, shaking her head. “It’s about me. And what I can do, and how it makes me feel.” She drew another deep breath before continuing. “I’ve always been good at things. I grew up at the Dansa Academy and… didn’t have a lot of friends, and so I spent most of my time training and studying. But I was always best with the sword. Brother Ronall said I was a natural. But lately, when I’ve been in situations where I’ve actually been fighting, not just training or competing, I feel like something… takes hold of me. Like there’s a part of me that loves the violence, that can’t get enough of it. And I hate that part of me, because what happens if I lose control someday and hurt someone or kill someone? Someone innocent, I mean. But I can’t stop, because it’s what I’m good at, and what I love doing and what Arta needs me to do, and I just feel like I’m… caught. And I don’t see a way out. And I thought, from the way Arta talks about you, it sounds like you’ve been around a long time and done so many things, and you must have figured out a way to… to…”

“To be myself, without letting the darker parts of myself consume me,” Shiran said quietly. “Yes, I know what you mean, Latharna. Better than you realize. Let me tell you a little about my past. My mother was a Holy Sister; my father, a powerful Adept who had seduced her into breaking her vows. When I was younger than you, he found me, trained me in my gifts – but, as it happened, he was also a very wicked man who planned for me to continue his work. He’s dead now – he died a very long time ago – but for a long time, I thought that I was doomed to follow in his footsteps. I thought the fact that I had inherited his powers made us the same. And I hadn’t used those powers well to that point, I have to admit. I’d done things that still haunt me.”

“What happened?” Latharna asked.

“I traveled the galaxy, seeking peace,” Shiran said. “I studied with monks and read the philosophers. And I came to recognize that all people are flawed, troubled, make mistakes – even if my mistakes had been, perhaps, rather greater than most people’s. But, it seemed to me that it was possible to rise above our baser natures, to dedicate ourselves to something greater than ourselves – perhaps not a goal that is attainable, but one that is noble enough that even in the striving, we become better than we were. And part of that is to dedicate oneself to justice, to acknowledge one’s own weakness while dedicating oneself for the protection and service of those weaker than we are, for what fools like Respen and Naudar have never realized is that power isn’t meant to be seized but to be used – to be used to better the world, and those around us.”

He put a hand on Latharna’s shoulder. “You fear your own capacity for violence,” he said. “And that is understandable. To be unleashed, it would be a terrible thing, and could do incalculable harm. But perhaps you can come to direct it. Though there are those who eschew violence altogether, and while I respect those who choose that path, I have found that sometimes violence has its place – not as the aggressor, but as the protector. Someday, the day may come when the sword is not needed, but I fear that day is not today. So long as there are tyrants, there will be a place for those who are called stand between them and their prey.” He gestured towards Arta. “She is beginning to understand this, I think. This rebellion – it is the work of nobles who see power as their privilege and birthright. Even if Arta defeats them, her deeper victory will be to ensure that this kingdom learns to dedicate itself to a greater calling, that leaders should exist to serve the people, not to oppress them.”

Latharna paused as Shiran fell silent, trying to digest what he had said. “How?” she finally asked. “How do you know you’ve found something worth dedicating yourself to? How do you know you’re on the right path?”

Shiran smiled at her. “I think that is something every person must come to understand for themselves. But I also think, Latharna Dhenloc, that you are asking the right sort of questions.” He paused, looking ahead. “Ah. I do believe we’ve arrived.”

Sure enough, the small company suddenly emerged from the tunnel and found themselves in a large open chamber with a ceiling so high even Latharna with her lenses couldn’t make out its ceiling. The walls were lined with ledges and other tunnels like their own, and she remembered that this had been a mine. They paused, staring at the cavern around them for a long moment, and then Arta stepped forward, her guards fanning out around her.

The queen cupped her hands around her mouth. “Digran!” she called; that was the name of the leader of the resistance cell Ambassador Preas had been in contact with. “I am Artakane. I sent you a message earlier; I want to form an alliance against Duke Respen, our common enemy. Are you here? Are you listening?”

For a long moment, there was silence. Then the sounds of movement echoed through the cave, and from the tunnels and from behind the crags on the cave wall figures emerged, beam rifles at the ready. “We see you, Artakane,” a rough male voice called. “Now drop your weapons and put your hands in the air. You’re surrounded.”

A tense silence filled the cave, and then Arta nodded; Latharna unbuckled her sword belt and let it drop, as did Karani and Arta herself; the guards dropped their beam rifles. Then, as one, they raised their hands. “So much for a warm welcome,” Karani muttered.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Carann, Royal Palace

The flashing of a certain small light on his wrist comm was an alert that summoned Publius Vedrans Quarinis to appear before the secret holoprojector in its chamber within his office. No sooner had the door slid shut behind him, and he had fallen into a bow with his clenched fist held to his heart, than the projector hummed to life and the image of a man formed in the air above it. To Quarinis’s surprise, and no small discomfort, he found himself facing not the Emperor’s regal form, but the cloaked body and masked face of the Alaelam Adept, Al’Aymar Alaen.

“You do not appear to be pleased to see me, Ambassador,” Al’Aymar said as Quarinis hastily rose, a wry note entering his smooth voice.

“I intend no offense, Alaen,” Quarinis said, quickly regaining his composure. “I was simply surprised, seeing as this is, after all, a private channel that is only used by the Emperor and myself and I was, therefore, expecting His Majesty.”

“The Emperor is in the field,” the Adept said. “He and Admiral Decimus press their advantages against my former comrades. A great battle is being fought at Bahrina even as we speak. I, therefore, have been tasked with giving you an important message – and warning.”

“Warning?” Quarinis asked, a sudden stab of uncertainty piercing his chest.

“You have been sloppy, Ambassador,” Al’Aymar said. “The trail connecting you to the Commander was cold, but not cold enough – someone pursues it. The cybernetics lab was entered and compromised a short time ago. Reports received when the laboratory self-destructed indicate that the intruders recovered information regarding which Imperial base supplied the Commander’s ships and weapons. It is likely that they are headed there even now. That base’s records contain a detailed account of the project – including the one who ordered it.”

“I see,” Quarinis said; dread was rising in him now, but he was careful not to allow it to show on his face. He would not show weakness – not to this creature. “And what, exactly, does the Emperor expect me to do about it? I cannot leave my post here without arousing suspicion, nor do I have the authority to order the base’s records purged.”

“For now, you are to do nothing,” Al’Aymar told him sharply. “I, however, have been dispatched to the base in case our intruders should arrive there. It is for your mistake that I have been called away from the front, Quarinis – I am denied personal revenge against the Conclave to cover for you. Do not forget it! But have no fear, Ambassador. I will deal with our spies myself. Your error will have been corrected.”

“You seem quite confident in your abilities,” Quarinis observed.

“Experience has taught me that there are few – very few – in this galaxy who can stand against me,” Al’Aymar said. “However, the Emperor has instructed me to tell you that, in the remote possibility the intruders elude me, you are to know that you will have been compromised. And, if they are in the employ of the Dozen Stars as the Emperor surmises, then your position at their court will be in jeopardy. You are to make preparations to do what you must to ensure that you are not taken captive, and that the Empire’s interests are protected.”

“I understand,” Quarinis said. “You may inform the Emperor that, as always, he can rely on me.”

“Indeed?” Al’Aymar asked, his tone wry once more. “See that he can. And perhaps, if these intruders can be dealt with quickly, I will be able to return to the front before battle is done and claim some measure of vengeance for myself. You have your orders, Quarinis. Carry them out.”

The Adept’s image flickered and vanished. Quarinis remained standing in the dark room for several long moments, deep in thought, then walked back out into his main office and summoned his praetorians to him. “I have received warning that our work here may soon be endangered,” he told them without preamble; their metal faces regarded him impassively. “Should that time come, this is what you must do…”

///

Aboard the bridge of the Right to Rule, Duke Respen clapped his hand to Darius’s shoulder, grinning fiercely. “Well done,” he said. “I shall have to convey my compliments to Duke Naudar for the loan of you! You were right, Darius – Artakane is weak. She will not be able to stand against me when the Baron’s life hangs in the balance. She will capitulate, and then the throne will be mine, and you will be rewarded.”

Respen seemed more animated and pleased now than Darius had ever seen him, but the heir to Sakran duchy could only feel sick inside at the treachery he had been a part of. More than a part of; that he had suggested. At his father’s instruction, but still, the act – and the guilt – was his. “Thank you, your grace,” he managed to say. “And… forgive me, but what about your threat to the people of Tantos III? Would you really follow through on that if she doesn’t fall in line?”

The Duke looked vaguely irritated now and waved the question away with an airy gesture. “Does it really matter?” he asked. “I have the pretender’s father; that’s the leverage I need. It won’t come to a need to destroy Tantos. But yes, Darius – if she still refuses after I have taken her father’s head from his shoulders, then I will have all of Tantos Duchy – not merely the planet – slaughtered until she relents! Aestera was my cousin – the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine by right. It should have been mine when she died, but the council refused me. I will not be refused now, even if the Lord should personally attempt to deny me! I have been promised…” Respen’s voice trailed off, almost as if he realized he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. “You are a fine knight, Darius,” he said finally. “I would be glad to have you – and your siblings – by my side. So long as you do not stand in my way. Will you?”

“No, your grace,” Darius said stiffly.

“Excellent,” Respen said, turning away from him and walking over to a viewport, through which the planet Katanes could be seen receding into the distance. “Now, then, I suppose you – and your father – will want to be appraised of our next move.”

“That would be helpful, your grace,” Darius said.

“Baron ast Katanes is already being prepared for transport to Aurann,” Respen said. “There he will be imprisoned in my citadel, as I promised Artakane. There will be no recovery or escape from there. I have summoned the remainder of my fleet from Aurann to take up positions around Tantos III – if Mardoban does not acknowledge Aestera’s surrender, then we must crush him and his allies so soundly that they never attempt to defy me again. I shall be returning to Tantos as well to take personal command; you, I assume, will be accompanying us to report to Naudar that all went according to his plan – yes, I have no doubt that the plan to capture the Baron was Naudar’s idea. I do not object to his schemes, so long as he schemes for me. And when Artakane has surrendered and the battle is done, I will go to Carann, to take my rightful place upon the throne.” He sighed longingly. “It’s within my grasp, Darius – the throne that should have been mine long ago. Within a week, my destiny shall be fulfilled.” He gestured to Darius. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Darius said, giving a half bow and resisting the urge to flee from the bridge. But no; it wouldn’t do to let Respen see just how his words had shaken him. Managing to maintain his stride at a determined but dignified pace, Darius left the bridge and took a lift down to the cabin that he and his siblings had been given to share. Galen and Tariti awaited him there, looking expectant.

“Well?” Tariti asked. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Darius said heavily. “Respen sent his message. I was there when he did it. I saw Arta’s face – Father was right. This hurt her in a way nothing we’ve done before has.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Tariti said. “It sounds like we’ve all but won.”

Darius shook his head. “No, Tariti,” he said. “Whatever Respen thinks, I don’t think Arta is going to give up without a fight, no matter who he threatens. And there’s more.” He quickly filled them both in on Respen’s threat to Tantos III and his determination to carry it out.

Tariti opened her mouth and closed it again, then shook her head in disbelief. “He must be exaggerating,” she said. “He’s just saying that as a threat against anyone who’d stand up to him. He wouldn’t really destroy a whole planet, would he?”

“He would,” Galen said quietly, staring at his hands. “He’d do anything to win, I can tell. I know what that’s like, and at this point, there’s nothing I’d put past him.”

“Well, then, what are we going to do about it?” Tariti asked. “Tell Father? See if he can talk reason into Respen?”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Darius said. “Father’s counting on Respen and Sateira burning themselves out quickly, so he can step in and be a hero for restoring order. Maybe that would work in the long run, but it wouldn’t do anything to help all the people Respen kills in the meantime, will it?” He shook his head. “Do you remember during the fight on the platform? What Arta said about the Empire pulling Father’s strings?”

“She was just making it up,” Galen said. “Trying to get under your skin.”

“No,” Darius said. “I think she was right.” He told them then about the conversation he’d overheard back on Tantos III between their father and a faceless holographic figure promising him power, at the expense not only of the young queen but also his own allies. “And just now, Respen let something slip about how he was ‘promised’ the throne. Promised by who? Arta’s right, I’m sure of it. Someone is playing a game with us, and we’re the pieces. And if it is the Empire, then there may not be a Dozen Stars left for anyone to rule when they’re done.”

“We always knew Respen was a mad dog,” Tariti said. “But not how mad. And if what you’re saying is true, then maybe Father can’t be trusted either. Darius, this scares me. Everything you say feels true – it feels like this whole thing is spinning out of control. But what can we do?”

“We can’t get to Respen,” Darius said. “He’s always surrounded by Aurannian knights and troopers. And even if we could, he’s not the root of the problem.” He drew a deep breath. “There is something we can do, I think, that might be able to help stop the madness before it tears the Dozen Stars apart. But it will take all three of us.”

“I’m with you, Darius,” Tariti said. “The two of us, back-to-back – always.”

“Galen,” Darius said reprovingly, looking over at where his younger brother stood in the cabin’s corner. “I need your answer on this.”

Galen sighed. “Whatever you’re planning, I don’t think it will work,” he said. “Respen won’t give up while there’s still fight in him. I feel like I understand him a little – better than you, anyway. That same need to win? I’ve felt it too – how could I not, growing up in your shadow? After Arta beat me at the tournament, I had to get back at her, no matter what. I still feel that. But,” he paused and drew a deep breath, as if whatever he was about to say was incredibly hard for him to admit, “the Empire is the enemy of our entire Kingdom. If it really is using us, my revenge isn’t worth that. And the ast Sakrans stand together – always. What do you need?”

“Thank you,” Darius said, placing his hands on both his siblings’ shoulders. “It’s too late to reach Baron ast Katanes – he’s probably already been shipped off to Aurann. But we’re going back to Tantos III with Respen. And once we’re there, we’ll be in position to act.”

///

Arta sat alone at the palace’s dining table, staring at the hands folded in her lap, and felt numb inside. She was alone; Danash was in the infirmary, Shiran was resting, and Karani was in the training hall, apparently taking out her pain on a series of unfortunate mechs. Arta’s guards were waiting outside the dining room, by her orders, and Latharna had vanished to somewhere in the palace. All of that was fine by Arta. For now, she wanted to be alone.

She had failed – as a queen, as a commander, as a daughter. She’d let Darius trick her, foolishly thinking that if she beat him and his siblings in a duel, it would be enough to make Respen’s forces go away! How sure she’d been in the moment, and how foolish she felt looking back on it now. All she’d done was blind herself to the possibility that she was being tricked, and now the man who had raised her – her father not by blood, but in every other way that mattered – was in the hands of the cruelest and most ruthless of her enemies.

Her options were bleak. She could surrender her crown, give the Dozen Stars over to Respen and go hide for the rest of her life in a convent somewhere – but that would mean putting her people at the mercy of a tyrant who would burn whole planets to get his way. How long would the Dozen Stars survive with a monster like that on the throne? And if it survived, what would it become? Or… or she could continue fighting and let the Baron die, and then risk the lives of the people of Tantos III in Respen’s retaliation. Maybe she and Mardoban could defeat him before he managed to inflict civilian casualties on a large scale – maybe. And maybe not. Was risking millions of lives on a “maybe” something she could countenance?

Or, perhaps, she could avoid Respen’s trap entirely – go to Aurann, break into the Citadel, and get her father out. But could she manage that in a week? Aurann was a harsh, desolate world, its Citadel reputed to be a fortress? And if she failed, the Baron’s life would probably be forfeit anyway.

She’d gone over plans and counterplans in her head; she’d cried, and she’d raged. But she was no closer to a solution now than she’d been when she began. And so, she just sat here now, letting the numbness spread through her.

The sound of footsteps drew Arta from her dark thoughts. Looking up, she saw Latharna enter the dining room, a look of concern on her face; she was carrying something cradled in her arms. “Master Danash said you were here,” she said, taking a seat.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” Arta said, turning away.

“I’m not here to talk,” Latharna said. “Master Danash also helped me find this.” She set the object she’d been carrying on the table, and Arta saw it was a small harp. “He had a mech take me up to the music room. I didn’t know anyone in your family were musicians.”

“None of the three of us are,” Arta said quietly. “My grandmother was, though. The Baron’s mother, that is. She collected instruments of all kinds. We lend them out, sometimes. For concerts and things. Sometimes to the local university.” She looked up at Latharna. “So, you play the harp, too? An ambassador’s aide who can duel and play music. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t make you feel better, apparently,” Latharna said. “But maybe I can help a little bit.” Taking up the harp in her arms, she began to strum the strings with deft skill; a melody of heartbreaking beauty filled the room, and Arta watched, transfixed. Then Latharna began to sing. It wasn’t an arrangement Arta had ever heard before, but she knew the lyrics well – most people did. It was an adaptation of one of the most famous passages from the Canon – the Prophet’s Lament for Terra. It was a song of grief and terrible sorrow, the song of a people torn from their home world and condemned to wander among the stars – and yet there was an underlying strain of hope as well, that perhaps, on some distant day, Terra might be found again and the harmony of the cosmos restored.

Arta didn’t know how long she sat there, listening to Latharna’s music; when the song ended, tears were streaming down the young queen’s face. Latharna put the harp aside, and no sooner had she done so than Arta leaned over and wrapped her in a tight embrace, burying her head in her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Pulling back, her hand brushed her side, and she paused in sudden realization. Frantically, she reached into a pocket in her tunic and pulled out the small object she’d felt there – a tiny drive that Latharna had given her before they’d left Carann, which had been forgotten amidst all the chaos, until now. Her eyes widened. “Latharna,” she breathed, “do you realize what this is?”

“It’s the drive Ambassador Preas gave me,” Latharna breathed, “the one containing…”

“Contact information for rebels on Aurann,” Arta said. “People who are fighting Respen – people who will know how to get into the Citadel! With this, we can arrange a meeting, and, and…”

“And rescue your father before the Duke has him executed,” Latharna fished.

Grinning fiercely through her tears, Arta wrapped Latharna in an embrace again. “You’ve given me a chance, Latharna,” she said. “You’ve given me hope.” Standing, Arta began to pace back and forth. “We’ll need to leave right away to make sure we get there on time; we can take Artax’s Glory, send a message to the rebels from the ship, arrange a time and place for a meeting. I’ll need to bring my guards; Karani would kill me if she didn’t get to come. And Shiran. He can help us get past Respen’s defenses – I remember Midaia could disable technology, sneak past it. I don’t know how to do that – but Shiran does. And… and…”

“And me,” Latharna said, putting a hand on Arta’s shoulder. “If you’re going into danger, I’m going with you. You can’t keep me away.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Latharna,” Arta said, turning to face her. “You’re not my subject; I can’t give you orders. Having you go with me to Tantos was bad enough; I can’t ask a Realtran diplomatic aide to go marching with me into the very heart of Aurann. If you got killed… no, I can’t let you do that.”

Latharna took Arta’s hands in hers. “You can,” she said. “You need someone to watch your back, and I’m better than anyone else you have. And you’re trying to save someone you love; I can’t turn my back on that. And because I -” Latharna seemed like she was about to say something else, but the words never came, and she finally shook her head.

Arta sighed. “All right,” she said. “You win. But if you’re going to infiltrate an enemy planet with me, you can’t do that just as Latharna Dhenloc of Realtran. You’ve already fought with me three times, for no benefit to yourself. I don’t think I should let that go unrecognized. You deserve more.” Drawing her dueling sword, she held it up before her. “I’ve never done this before, but I think I know the basic idea. Kneel. Please.”

Latharna’s eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen; stepping back, she sank to her knees. “Do you, Latharna Dhenloc,” Arta said, “promise on your honor and in the Lord’s name to dedicate yourself to the ideals to chivalry, to serve justice and do mercy, to pledge yourself to the throne of the Dozen Stars until the throne should release you or death claim you?”

“I swear,” Latharna said, voice breaking. “In the Lord’s name.”

Arta tapped her sword first on Latharna’s right shoulder, then the left. “Then I bid you rise, Lady Latharna Dhenloc, Knight of the Realm, Champion of the Queen.”

Latharna stood slowly, an expression of shock and wonder in her eyes, and then she shook her head in amazement. “A Realtran knight of the Dozen Stars,” she said. “Somehow, I’m not entirely sure Ambassador Preas would approve.”

“If Ceana doesn’t like it,” Arta said, “she can take it up with me. Now, let’s find Karani and Shiran and get moving. We don’t have much time.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Katanes, Baronial Palace

The warning sirens were still blazing in Arta’s ears as she finished pulling her armor on and buckling her dueling sword around her waist. Glancing around the changing room, she saw Karani and Latharna doing the same, the latter wearing a borrowed suit she’d found in the palace armory that fit her. The three young women nodded grimly at each other and then stepped out into the corridor outside, where the royal guards fell into step around them as they hurried through the halls and eventually arrived at the palace’s situation room.

It wasn’t a room Arta had been in often – as Katanes had never been attacked before during her lifetime, it was generally kept sealed – and to be inside it now felt rather underwhelming. The room was fairly small, dominated by a central table above which now hovered a holographic projection of Tannen City. The Baron stood at one end, dressed in his own armor, something Arta had seldom seen him wear but which suited him surprisingly well; beside him was Danash, who not being a fighter or commander himself was dressed in one of his usual suits. Several officers Arta vaguely recognized from functions the baronial family had attended over the years were gathered around the table, and she wasn’t surprised to see Shiran standing quietly off to one side.

When Arta and her companions entered the room, all eyes turned towards them – and then, to Arta’s surprise and embarrassment, everyone bowed. “Your Majesty,” Danash said, seeming to speak for the entire group; Arta wasn’t sure how to react to receiving such deference from someone who’d known her when she’d been a toddler.

A sudden jostle at her side indicated that Karani had just surreptitiously elbowed her, and Arta straightened. “At ease,” she said. Lord, that sounded right, didn’t it? “Report. What’s going on here?”

“In short, Tannen City is under attack,” Danash said, gesturing to the hologram. “Having failed at direct frontal assault, Duke Respen appears to have decided to take another approach. Leaving his surviving Equestrians in hiding behind the farther moon, he dispatched a small squadron of fighters, gunships and bombers, which managed to circle around our own fleet and enter the atmosphere undetected. About half an hour ago, they began bombing runs on the city.”

Karani gave a sudden, sharp gasp, and it was all Arta could do to keep from doing the same. A queen is calm, she told herself. A queen is in control; a queen always knows what to do. Finally, she trusted herself to speak. “What sort of damage are we looking at?” she said. “What about casualties?”

Danash frowned. “That’s just it,” he said. “The casualties and damage are noticeably less than anticipated, according to our reports from the city militia. Even considering the small size of the bombing squadron and the fact that militia and city constabulary have scrambled flitters to hold them off, the invaders could be doing much worse than they are. According to reports, the bombings have mostly been limited to streets and open spaces – they’re not making much of an attempt to collapse buildings or government structures. And they don’t seem to have started the worst of the attack until after most of the population were in shelters.”

“That seems… odd,” Karani said, breaking in. “I mean, Respen showing restraint? Doesn’t seem his style.”

“It’s not,” the Baron said, frowning. “That’s why I doubt he’s with this squadron; whoever’s in command, they’re not nearly so bloodthirsty. Even so, I’m not sure what they’re trying to accomplish here. At this rate, they’ll never take the city or manage to force the local government to surrender…”

And suddenly, Arta understood. “Because they’re not trying to,” she said. “This is a diversion. They’re not trying to destroy Tannen City; they’re just trying to make us pay attention to what they’re doing there…”

“My Lord, Your Majesty,” one of the officers said suddenly, looking up from his wrist comm. “Local militia reports another squadron of Aurann and Sakran ships has entered the atmosphere near Tannen! They’re not reinforcing the ships at the city, though, they’re on a course that will take them… here.” He looked around the room, expression grim. “They’ll be here in minutes.”

“What sort of ships?” Danash demanded.

The officer had a hurried exchange with whoever was on the other end of his comm and looked up again. “Fighters, bombers,” he said, “and two larger ships that appear to be troop transports.”

“Activate the palace shields!” the Baron said, suddenly tense. “And order our troops to the landing platforms, now. I don’t want any of them to get through!”

“My lord, I don’t think we can raise the shields on time,” the other officer said. “And the palace has always been lightly defended – we’ve never had to hold off a determined invasion in its entire history. I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t know if we can hold.”

“We will,” Arta said, voice firm. “I will reinforce our defenses with my own guards. If Respen takes the palace, he takes Katanes, and as your Queen – and as a Katannen – I will not let that happen. The troop ships will have to dock at the landing platform at the north tower – it’s the only one big enough for them. I’ll take my guards and reinforce the defenders there.”

“Your guards and me,” Karani said firmly. “You are not leaving me behind; not again.”

“I’m going to,” Latharna said.

“And I,” said Shiran suddenly, his calm voice seeming to dominate the room without effort. “I’m no knight, but I might be of some assistance.”

“Your Majesty,” the first Katannen officer – Rossan, that was his name, Arta finally remembered, Colonel Rossan – said, “is this really wise? The enemy is here for you – are you sure you want to risk yourself?”

“I doubt Lieutenant Rehan will permit me to fight if it can be avoided,” Ara said. “But I’m not going to cower like some Imperial patrician and let others fight my battles for me. You’re right – I’m the one Respen wants. And if I can pull his attention towards me, then it’s taken away from hurting anyone else.” She smiled then, a strangely calm, cold smile that she thought must make her resemble Midaia. “And I’ll make sure he gets more than what he bargained for.”

From across the room, Arta could see Shiran nodding approvingly.

///

“We’re approaching the entry point now, my lord,” the pilot of the drop ship reported; from where he stood behind him, holding tight onto one of the loops that hung from the craft’s ceiling, Darius glanced at his siblings and nodded.

“Excellent,” he said; looking over the pilot’s shoulders, he could see the shimmering towers of the Katanes palace grow larger in front of them. It was a beautiful structure, he thought, and he found himself again regretting the part he and his family had played in bringing war to this planet.

Their target was one a landing platform on the palace’s northern tower – based on their reports, it was big enough to hold both of their drop ships and would therefore make an ideal beachhead from which to send their troops into the palace. It was also an obvious target, and so Darius knew to expect resistance. There would be battle soon.

“You really think Artakane will be there?” Galen asked from beside him, his tone dark and heavy with anticipation.

“I’d wager good money on it,” Darius said. “It’s what I’d do.”

“And we know the girl has courage, no matter what else you can say about her,” Tariti said. “Are we ready for this?”

“I am,” Darius said, giving a wry smile that didn’t entirely have his heart in it. “And remember, everyone – we need to make this look good.”

Even as he finished speaking, the small, stealthy craft that had been clinging to the drop ship’s underbelly detached itself; as the drop ships approached the north tower it hid in their shadow, and then dipped lower and turned vertical, attaching itself with its landing claws to the tower’s side. The lasers on the craft’s underbelly hummed to life as it began to cut an opening, and the handful of elite Aurannian commandos who rode within braced themselves for the mission that was now about to commence.

The tiny craft didn’t hold more than a half-dozen troops, in addition to the pilot. But for what they intended tonight, that would be enough.

///

Arta and her guard squadron reached the landing platform just as the first of the Aurannian troop ships touched down; a ramp opened in its belly and a squad of troopers marched out, fully armored and with beam rifles held at the ready. Under Lieutenant Rehan’s direction, the royal guards took up their positions on either side of the great doors leading from the platform into the main palace, keeping out of the invaders’ line of sight and raising their own weapons in silent expectation. Arta stood behind the lieutenant, having just put her helmet on and hand nervously drumming on the hilt of her dueling sword; across the way, she could see Latharna and Karani doing the same. Shiran stood beside her, holding no visible weapon but with his head bowed as if in deep thought; Arta didn’t know if anyone else could sense it, but she could almost feel the energy gathering around him as the old Adept prepared to unleash it.

The Aurannian troopers approached the doors warily, clearly expecting trouble. Rehan waited, allowing them to get close, and then nodded sharply to the other guards who waited on the other side of the doors. They returned her gesture, and then, as one, they leapt out into the corridor, rifles raised, and opened fire.

The landing platform dissolved into chaos. The Aurannians were startled for a moment but then returned fire, spraying the corridor with blast beams. Several of them had fallen, but Arta could see at least one of them pulling himself back to his feet, his armor having apparently taken the worst of the blast. The guards ducked back under cover, keeping the barrels of their weapons pointed around the edges of the door and squeezing off shots when they could; Arta felt a stabbing pain in her heart as she saw three bodies in guard uniforms lying on the floor, still. They had died so suddenly… had died for her. She would ask Rehan for their names later, she resolved, and she would never forget.

The skirmish had become a stalemate, the Aurannians unable to advance into the palace but the guards unable to drive them back into their ship. Then, suddenly, Arta felt her heart sink as she saw the second troop ship coming in to land beside the first; if the invaders doubled the number of troops at their disposal, they could sweep away the defenders with ease. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “Leave this to me,” Shiran said.

He strode out into the center of the corridor and approached the doors, as unconcerned as if walking down a city street on a pleasant summer day; several of the Aurannians opened fire, perhaps feeling that this old man would be an easy target, but their blasts impacted harmlessly on a shield no one could see, leaving only a faint, pale blue shimmer in the air. The troopers glanced at each other; though their expressions couldn’t bee seen behind their opaque faceplates, they seemed uncertain.

Shiran reached the doors and raised his hands; the second troop ship was just about to land when it was suddenly seized and held fast, pale blue tendrils of light wrapping around its landing gear. Shiran stood immobile, the faint sheen of sweat on his face as he exerted every ounce of his formidable will, and then he thrust both hands forward, palms out. The blue light flared brighter, and then the troop ship was hurled backward with incredible force, flying off the platform and slamming hard into the nearest of the mountains, where it exploded in a sudden burst of orange fire.

Arta stared, stunned – she couldn’t imagine the amount of force it must have taken to move something so large with such power. Around her, everyone else seemed to be even more astounded; not being Adepts, they had no understanding of what sorts of power Shiran might command. Karani was staring at her old tutor, open-mouthed expression clearly visible through her transparent visor; beside her, Latharna shook her head as if not believing what she’d just seen. Around them, the weapons of both the royal guards and Aurannians fell silent, as if they were trying to process what had just happened. Beside Arta, Lieutenant Rehan shook her head. “I’ll be damned,” she breathed.

Shiran, however, was not unaffected by his feat; he fell to one knee, breathing heavily. “That,” he murmured, “weighed rather a lot.” Slowly standing, he made his way back over to the shelter behind the door, neither side attempting to stop his passage. Once under cover, he leaned against the wall and sank to the floor.

“Are you all right?” Ara asked.

“Yes,” Shiran said, still breathing deeply. “Just tired. That took a lot out of me, I’m afraid.”

“That was impressive, I’ll admit,” a familiar voice said suddenly, “but I don’t think the old man has another of those in him, and there’s still enough of us that you’re not going to be able to win this without taking more losses. And I don’t think you want to do that, do you, Arta?”

Arta stiffened. “What do you want, Darius?” she called back; sticking her head around the door, she could see all three ast Sakran siblings emerging from the intact troop ship, red-and-gold armor gleaming and Darius in the lead. “Gloating isn’t really your style. You usually leave that to Galen.”

Galen started angrily at the comment, but Darius held up a hand. “I thought you’d be here, Arta,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d let your guards die for you while you stayed safe; honestly, that doesn’t sit too well with me either. So, I’ll propose a deal. We settle this like gentlemen and gentlewomen; you and two companions of your choice versus me and my siblings. I win, you surrender and come with us. You win, we leave and don’t come back.”

“And the attack on the city?” Arta asked. “Will that stop as well?”

“Of course,” Darius said. “Duke Respen has given me command of the ground mission; if I call off the bombers, they’ll retreat as well.”

After a brief pause, Arta nodded. “All right,” she said. “I agree. You have a deal.”

“I’m going with her,” Karani shouted. “It’s my planet too. And I owe Galen for a broken leg.”

“This is madness,” Lieutenant Rehan hissed in Arta’s ear. “Do you really think he’ll honor his word? It’s a trap! Let me go in your place.”

“No,” Arta said. “I don’t think so. Darius is honorable, or at least he wants people to see him that way. I don’t think that kind of trick is in his character. And I can’t back out now, or let someone else fight in my place, not in front of everyone. I’d be shamed in front of the whole Kingdom for the rest of my life if I did that.”

Rehan muttered something under her breath, a disgusted exclamation that sounded like it could have been “nobles!” Then she looked up at Arta and nodded. “At least let me be your third fighter,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but I need the best swordswoman I know,” Arta said, and looked across the hall. “Latharna, are you with me?”

Latharna nodded. “I am.” Together, she, Arta and Karani stepped out from the cover of the doors and marched forward onto the landing platform, where the ast Sakrans waited for them, surrounded by a semicircle of Aurannian troops.

“Three of them, three of us,” Karani said, drawing her sword and activating it. The blade came to life with a thrum. “I like those odds.” Arta and Latharna drew their swords as well; across from them, the ast Sakrans did the same. The flickering sparks of six dueling swords flashed in the Katannen night.

“It’s not too late to back down,” Darius said.

“Not today,” Arta replied, and then battle was joined.

Arta charged for Darius, but found her way blocked by a slighter figure; his sister Tariti, by reputation nearly as good. Arta had seen her fight at the tournament, though she hadn’t faced her in person, and she’d believe that assessment. Their swords met with a hiss and then they separated, dancing back from each other and circling warily, eyeing one another and trying to find each other’s weaknesses.

Nearby, Karani faced Galen, both of their expressions hard. Arta remembered the last time they’d fought – Galen had won, but Karani had insisted he’d cheated, using his sword on a higher power setting than tournament rules allowed. Tonight was no tournament, and there were no rules, and Karani intended to have her revenge. Darius and Latharna, meanwhile, simply stood facing one another, swords at the ready but as of yet making no move to attack – two prodigies taking one another’s measure, each regarding the other as a worthy foe. The cut on Latharna’s cheek from where Darius had struck her in their earlier encounter was just visible near the edge of her helmet.

Then Tariti was on her again, forcing her back with a series of swift strokes that Arta parried just in time. “Darius has a soft spot for you,” the ast Sakran girl hissed. “And Galen nurses a nasty grudge which keeps him from thinking straight. But not me. And that means you’re mine, Artakane.”

Arta locked her blade with Tariti’s and forced her back, both dueling swords hissing and sparking. “Not tonight,” Arta hissed. “Not tonight and not ever.” In terms of strength they were evenly matched, neither able to gain the advantage over the other as they struggled against each other. Arta could see her own determined expression reflected on her enemy’s face.

Then Tariti looked over Arta’s shoulder and her eyes widened. Forcing her around, Arta managed to see what had gotten her attention – Karani had forced Galen back and landed a hard kick directly to his torso, sending him sprawling to the platform. “That was for our match at the tournament, you cheating bastard,” she hissed, holding her sword to his throat.

“Galen!” Tariti cried, distracted, and in that moment, Arta slammed her shoulder into her body, knocking Tariti hard to the ground. She advanced slowly, sword raised, when Darius disengaged from Latharna and sprang in front of her, sword raised. Behind him, Tariti scrambled to her feet and rushed to Galen’s aid, while Latharna took up her position beside Karani.

“So, I guess it’s you and me, one-on-one again, after all,” Darius said. “And I think we both know I’m better than you are.”

“I’ve never denied it,” Arta said raising her blade and beginning to circle him warily. “But maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“You wish,” Darius said and then he struck, the two of them trading a quick series of blows before he stepped back, nodding. “You are good, though. I’ve known that ever since Carann. And I knew I could get you to come out and fight to spare your troops. I can respect that. I’m sorry we have to be enemies.”

“No, we don’t,” Arta said. “Your father is my enemy, and Respen is my enemy, but you’re not either of them. I used to think you were a better man than your father – the gallant Darius ast Sakran, the perfect knight. Maybe I was wrong.”

Darius shook his head. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m better or worse than he is,” he said. “He’s my father; everything he does is for our family, and the ast Sakrans stand as won.”

“Is your family pride really worth all of this?” Arta demanded. “Three duchies in open revolt, a loyalist planet conquered and occupied, an alliance with a maniac like Respen who’d have happily burned Katanes to ash if we hadn’t stopped him, bombing a city and attacking my home – is your father’s ambition really such a worthy cause that you feel like sticking by him when he does things like this?” Then she paused, something Shiran had said earlier coming back to her. “Or is it even Naudar’s ambition at all – does someone else hold his strings? Does the mighty Duke of Sakran dance to the Empire’s tune?”

Darius froze. “What?” he asked, his voice uncertain, and Arta realized she’d struck him a blow worse than the stroke of any sword. He knows, she realized. Or at least suspected, and now I’ve confirmed it.

“You’re all tools,” she said, pressing on. “I don’t know whose, and I don’t know why, but I think we both know this isn’t really your father’s war anymore, if it ever was. Is that really something worth fighting for?”

Darius shook his head. “I don’t know anymore,” he said, “but this ends now.” Raising his blade, he charged, but his stroke was wild – Arta’s words had rattled him, badly. Arta ducked under the blow and planted her palm firmly on his armored chest. There was a flash of deep blue light, and Darius went flying across the platform and collapsed at his siblings’ feet.

“Darius!” Tariti shouted, ducking under Latharna’s blade to grab her brother under the arms and pull him to his feet; beside her, Galen was falling back, his armor scored by repeated blows from Karani’s sword. “Can you keep fighting?” Tairit asked, her face lowered close to her brother’s ear.

Darius looked up at Arta and shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’re done here. Call off the attack.”

“My lord,” one of the Aurann troopers said, “you can’t be serious…”

“Do it!” Darius shouted and then began to walk back towards the troop ship, Tariti supporting him and Galen following behind, shooting a murderous look at Karani over his shoulder. The Aurannian officer muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse, and then gestured for his men to follow them.

“Should we go after them?” Karani asked, watching them go.

“They held up their end; let them go,” Arta said. And I gave Darius something to chew on, at least, she said. He just might end up more valuable to us where he is than in a prison cell here.

The troop ship’s ramp closed and then, almost sullenly, it took off; as it sped off into the sky, Latharna hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Arta’s neck. “We won!” she breathed. “You were incredible!”

“You, too,” Arta replied, feeling her cheeks warm at the compliment; Latharna pulled back as Shiran approached, still looking weary, followed by Lieutenant Rehan, who was shaking her head in bemusement.

“Nice work,” the Professor said.

“Thank you,” Arta replied, then raised her wrist and activated her wrist comm. “Father,” she said, “it’s over! The Aurannians are pulling back. Are they withdrawing their bombers from the city?”

Nothing but static answered, and Arta felt a sudden dread in the pit of her stomach. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered. Turning, she left the platform at a sprint, heading for the situation room, her companions struggling to keep up behind her.

///

The situation room was a shamble, its walls scored with beam fire. Colonel Rassan was dead, slumped on the floor; Danash was still alive, sitting weakly in his chair as the other officer from the meeting earlier was cleaning a wound in his shoulder.

The Baron was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” Arta asked weakly.

“They came not long after you left,” Danash said. “Aurannian commandos; they burst through the door, heavily armed. And they got what they came for. The attack on the platform was a diversion. Your Majesty – Arta – they took him. The took Varas.”

Arta felt her heart drop away; she swayed where she stood, and Latharna put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Beside her she could hear Karani whispering “No, no, no, no, no,” repeatedly under her breath. The whole shape of the scheme suddenly appeared in Arta’s mind, and she realized she’d been fooled completely. The bombings at Tannen City had been a diversion, yes, but so had the attack at the platform. Darius hadn’t been trying to break into the palace, or even capture Arta – just keep her busy. He’d had another team ready to accomplish his true objective all along. Arta suddenly found herself desperately wishing she’d shoved her sword right through his smug, perfect face.

Rehan walked over to the table in the center of the room and pulled up the hologram display. “Well, it looks like Darius was as good as his word, in any case,” she said. “The bombers are withdrawing from the city.”

“Of course, they are,” Karani muttered, voice thick. “He got what he wanted, didn’t he? You shouldn’t have let him go, Arta. I wish you’d taken his head off.”

“We never saw their ship approach, or leave,” Danash said. “It must have been a stealth ship; Aurann made, no doubt. If only we’d been able to track it, if only we’d been ready to do something…” his voice trailed off.

The hologram suddenly crackled, and the image of Tannen City vanished, replaced by the lean, hawklike features of Duke Respen. Karani hissed angrily, but Arta simply stared ahead, unblinking. “Pretender Artakane,” Respen said. “By now you have no doubt realized that I have your adoptive father in my custody. Don’t worry; he’s perfectly safe with me, currently en route to my Citadel on Aurann, where he’ll be given the finest protection. He shall continue to be safe so long as you comply with my demands.”

“What do you want, cousin?” Arta hissed, finding her voice at last.

Respen smiled coldly. “You will abdicate your throne, surrendering all your authority to me, your true king. I know this must be hard for you, but I am not devoid of compassion – you have a week to think it over. If, by the end of that time, you still refuse me, your father’s life is forfeit – as are the lives of the people of Tantos III. I am done playing games with you, girl. Fail to act, and after I execute the Baron ast Katanes my forces will rain destruction upon Tantos Duchy until it is nothing but ash. But you can stop it, Pretender – their fate is in your hands. Uncrown yourself, and their lives will be spared. You have one week.” Respen’s image flickered and vanished.

Arta slumped into a nearby chair, staring silently ahead, every aspect of her being suffused with utter defeat and horror.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Decommissioned Science Facility, Within the Borders of the Empire

The nameless planet hung in space before Sister Night, taking up the yacht’s entire front viewport and extending far beyond. Its surface seethed with motion as great orange and red clouds were spun across it by hurricane-force winds, and despite the distance, Pakorus could almost imagine he saw the flicker of lightning deep within them. It was a humbling, awe-inspiring sight, and yet not the reason they were here. Tiny in comparison, an oblong shape hung in orbit around the planet, all that remained of a project the Empire had gone to great lengths to bury – and yet had nonetheless produced assassins who had terrorized the Dozen Stars.

“There it is,” Midaia breathed from where she sat in her chair in the yacht’s cockpit. “It doesn’t look like much – just another old, derelict space station – but inside, if we’re lucky, we’ll find the answers we seek.”

“Do you have a plan for getting in?” Pakorus asked, trying his hardest to keep the apprehension from his voice. “Specter’s people couldn’t, and he seems like the sort to hire the best.”

Midaia turned to look at him; she’d pulled on her hooded cloak once again and her face was shadowed now, giving it an ominous, mysterious cast. “Specter,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument, “didn’t have me.”

Slowly the station grew in their viewport until it hung directly before them; utterly dwarfed as it was by the titanic planet it orbited, it was still several times the size of their little yacht. It roughly resembled a flattened oval in shape, made from cold, grey metal, featureless save for the emblem that had been painted on its side – the double-headed eagle of the Empire, rendered in a dark red. In the shadow of the gas giant and the dim light of the system’s distant sun, the eagle looked like it had been painted in blood. Pakorus suppressed a shudder, hoping that his observation wasn’t an omen.

Midaia pulled Sister Night up beside the station, then flipped a few switches; Pakorus felt the ship groan as a boarding passage extended from its side, anchoring itself to the station’s airlock. “Now,” the Adept said, standing, “it’s time to see if I really am as good at this as I think I am.” Gesturing for Pakorus to follow, she swept from the cabin and made her way down the yacht’s central corridor until she finally reached the boarding passage. The airlock on the other side was still sealed, with a small keypad beside it the only sign of how it might be opened.

“What now?” Pakorus asked. “I don’t suppose Specter was able to give you the password?”

“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t,” Midaia said, kneeling before the keypad and regarding it critically. “But I have my ways; don’t worry.” She pulled a small device from a pocket in her robes and planted it on the keypad, then placed her hand atop it. The device hummed to life as Midaia closed her eyes, and red light flickered around her hand. The keypad whirred beneath her touch, and then, with a loud ping, the airlock slid open, revealing only darkness beyond.

“How did you do that?” Pakorus asked as Midaia stood, stowing her small machine back in her robe.

“My little tool there is a lockpick, of sorts,” she said, straightening herself. “It can run through every possible combination of codes far faster than a human ever could, and it keeps the door from locking itself down after too many failed attempts, too. A light application of my Adept’s arts sped things along.”

“You can use your powers on machines?” Pakorus asked, surprised.

Midaia shrugged. “Machines are made of matter and energy, just as living beings are,” she said. “The technique for manipulating them is different, of course – it’s a lot easier to make them blow up than it is to do anything constructive – but I’ve had time to learn some tricks. This was an easy one, since I was just making my lockpick work faster than it normally would. Imposing my will on an entire computer system that I don’t have access to is much harder. Luckily,” she patted the side of her cloak, “I have other tools to help with that. Now, are you done asking questions, or are you ready to head in?”

Pakorus drew a deep breath to steady himself, patted the beam pistol holstered at his side, and nodded. “I’m ready,” he said.

“Excellent,” Midaia replied; stepping forward, she held up her right hand, which began to glow with an eerie red light. Slowly, the light drifted into the air above her palm, where it formed into a glowing ball that came to hover beside her head, casting a dim glow around her that was nonetheless bright enough to see by. Her strange light source following just behind, Midaia stepped into the space station, Pakorus following just behind.

They found themselves in a long corridor; even in this light, it looked dusty and dim. Just from the look of things, Pakorus didn’t think anyone had been here for a very long time. Midaia picked her way along slowly, pausing every so often to run a finger along the dusty walls or examine some bit of wiring, but so far, they had found nothing that appeared to be of interest.

Finally, they came to an intersection in the corridors; the way ahead carried on straight, as did the right-hand turn; the left turn, however, went only a short distance before rising in a flight of stairs up to a door; so far as Pakorus could see in Midaia’s light, the door was unmarked, bearing neither sign nor insignia.

“Which way do we go?” he asked.

Midaia turned to look at him, frowning under her hood. “I’m not sure,” she said. “We’re trying to find a terminal from which I can access this facility’s main computer network; unfortunately, I have no idea where that would be. I’m not exactly an expert on Imperial design protocols, and in any case, this facility isn’t typical. That door up there is probably an office of some kind, but whether it has what I’m looking for I’m not sure. If that doesn’t work, let’s try the right-hand turn. Something about the straight way is making me uneasy, though I’m not sure why.”

She shook her head and turned towards the stairs, but before she could start to climb Pakorus saw something flashing in the depths of the straight corridor – a single, floating red eye, now rushing towards them. He barely had time to shout a warning before the thing emerged into the light – the floating, vaguely box-like shape of an Imperial security mech. The mech spun towards Midaia and without warning it opened fire with beam cannon that were built into its chassis. Midaia gave a surprised shout and fell back, throwing her hands up in the air; the bolts were intercepted by a shimmer of red light before they could strike. Then Pakorus drew his beam pistol from his holster, flipped the safety off, and fired, catching the mech clear in its central red eye. The thing gave a disconcertingly lifelike screech, and then clattered to the floor, sparking. Its guns wavered, as if still trying to find a target, then fell still.

Pakorus walked over to the mech and kicked it; no response. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said.

“Quite,” said Midaia, standing. “My compliments on your shooting, by the way. Well, if nothing else, we’ve found out that the Empire’s security mechs are still active – some of them, anyway. Which would seem to support Specter’s theory that there’s something here they don’t want people to find.” She walked over to the mech and looked down at it with disgust. “Shiran never had much use for these things,” she said. “And neither do I. Remove the human from combat and what do you have left – heartless, soulless killing machines that exist solely to follow their programming, no matter what atrocities it breeds. The metaphor made literal.” She shook her head.

“Do you think there are any more of those?” Pakorus asked.

“Security mechs are rarely deployed alone,” Midaia said. “It’s possible this one was the last one functional – but I wouldn’t count on it. And the rest likely know we’re here by now. I recommend we check the office straightaway. Let’s get our work done quickly and get out, before we find ourselves buried in security mechs.”

Pakorus found that he heartily agreed.

///

The door at the top of the stairs was locked; this did not, however, prove to be a significant obstacle as Midaia studied the lock for several seconds and then made a gesture that caused it to fall apart in her hands. The room inside was small and bare; whoever had worked here at one time, it seemed they stripped almost everything from the office when they left, leaving only a desk and chair that were both bolted down behind. If there had been any computer in the room it must have been portable, because there was no sign of it here now.

“damnation,” Midaia muttered under her breath. “I’d been hoping…” with a sigh she got down on her knees and peered underneath the desk, as if expecting to find a hidden terminal there, or even a secret message written on the underside.

As she worked, Pakorus turned around, his gaze taking in the bare walls and ceiling – and then he froze, something he could barely glimpse on the back of the office door catching his eye. Shoving the door gently closed, he could now make out what it was he’d seen only briefly before – a diagram of the facility, etched directly into the metal. Whatever labels might have once been on this map seemed to have peeled away, but tracing with his finger, he followed what had been the right hand passage from where they’d entered the facility down towards what appeared to be a cavernously large chamber – one with what appeared to be operating tables etched inside it.

“Midaia,” Pakorus called.

“What?” the Adept asked, sticking her head up from behind the desk, her dark hair askew.

“I think,” Pakorus said, pointing towards the diagram, “I may have found the main laboratory.”

///

They met nothing as they followed the corridor down to the large room, Midaia’s ball of light drifting slightly ahead; still, Pakorus felt jumpy, half-expecting another of the security mechs to come bursting out of every side-corridor they passed, until they finally stepped through a door into the laboratory itself.

The room was larger by far than anywhere they’d been so far, with Midaia’s glowing ball unable to illuminate all of it. Here again the walls and ceilings were bare of decoration, but the sides were lined by a series of machines that had been too heavy to move. Here were a series of beds, each sized to roughly fit an adult human, and above each bed there hung, immobile, a complex set of robotic arms.

Pakorus felt his skin grow cold as he approached the nearest of the beds, stopping to run a finger along its edge and then holding it up to examine the dust. Turning, he looked up at the robotic arms, which seemed to wait like some quiescent predator that might yet become dangerous one day, and he shivered. “This is where it happened,” he breathed. “This is where the Commander and his cyborgs were… created.” He shook his head. “What sort of a person would volunteer to go through a process like that, anyway? What sort of power would be worth giving up your humanity?”

“You’d be surprised what price people will pay,” Midaia said. “And you speak with the prejudice of a true subject of the Dozen Stars. The Empire, historically, has been rather more relaxed about creating cyborgs, especially when it has military advantage. People actually sign up to become Praetorians, you know. It’s quite the honor. Still, the Commander’s alterations were quite extensive and can’t have been pleasant, especially for a mission he’d never be recognized for. I wonder what they offered him to make him agree to the procedure.”

Turning, she glided over to a console by the door, just in front of one of the surgical beds; it had a chair in front of it, and Midaia took a seat there, blowing dust off the controls. “Perhaps this,” she said, “might hold our answers.”

Reaching forward with her right hand, she raised her fingers up and a thin rod extended from the device on her wrist, which Pakorus had taken to simply be an unusual comm. The rod inserted itself into a data port, and a moment later the computer hummed back to life, flashing text across its screen faster than Pakorus could read it. Midaia sat completely still for a long moment, her expression intense, and then she cursed under her breath.

“The computer’s memory has been wiped,” she growled. “Of course, it has. The only thing still there is a message warning whoever reads it that this program was terminated by order of His Imperial Majesty, Verus Licinius, repeated in various ways. Dammit!”

“Is that it, then?” Pakorus asked. “Is there nothing else you can do?”

“If I was an ordinary person, then yes, there would be nothing I could do,” Midaia said. “Fortunately for us both, I’m not an ordinary person. I’m me. And even erased data may leave traces in the energy of what we sometimes call the psychic plane. I might be able to retrieve it – or at least some of it. This could take a while, and it’s very important that you don’t interrupt me. Understand?”

“Completely,” Pakorus said; Midaia nodded and returned her attention to the console, staring intently at the screen while holding her hands out, palm down, over the keyboard. For a moment, nothing happened, and then her hands started glowing faintly red.

Pakorus sighed, turning away from the Adept and wandering among the surgical beds, staring at them and the waiting arms above with a horrified fascination. Even with Midaia’s explanation, he still couldn’t understand why someone would voluntarily do something like that to themselves. It seemed too much like a classic Evil One’s bargain to him; gaining power for the price of one’s essential humanity. But on the other hand, if the Commander hadn’t chosen this, if such a procedure could be forced on someone against their will – that just made it worse, somehow.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a distant humming. Spinning towards the door, he saw another of the security mechs enter; it focused its red eye on Midaia, the nearer target, and turned towards her, extending its guns. Pakorus acted without thinking; aiming his beam pistol, he fired, taking this mech as well directly through the eye. It clattered to the ground, hissing and sparking, but then another one came through the door… and another… and more after that…

Pakorus swore and fired, managing to hit this mech in its engines and down it as well; unfortunately, all this seemed to accomplish was to get their attention focused on him. The machines turned to face him, their mechanical red eyes unblinking as they drifted forward, guns bristling. Pakorus managed to duck behind one of the beds as they opened fire, the bed itself taking the assault. After a moment that seemed like an eternity the guns fell silent, leaving no sound but the faint hum of their engines. He knew that the things weren’t truly intelligent and were only acting according to their programming, but he still imagined them conferring silently among themselves, determining how best to rid themselves of this annoying human.

Sticking his head around the edge of the bed, Pakorus let out another shot; this one only grazed the side of one of the mechs, and it turned slowly towards him and began drifting around the bed. Pakorus waited patiently, each breath thundering in his ears as he waited for the thing to get closer, and then suddenly, he was interrupted by Midaia giving a triumphant shout. The mech paused, and Pakorus jumped out, his shot taking it directly through the eye at point-blank range. Sputtering, it spun and collapsed to the ground.

Behind it, several of the other mechs had reoriented towards Midaia, who was standing now and facing them completely unconcerned; they raised their guns to open fire, but she made a broad sweeping motion with her hand and an arc of red light scythed out, slicing the mechs neatly in two. As their pieces fell to the floor, Pakorus shot the last one through the engine, causing it to begin spiraling erratically.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” he asked, panting. “I have no idea how many more of these are coming.”

“I got something,” Midaia said, “and I think we can use it. Now, I think we should…”

Whatever she was going to say, it was interrupted by the final mech, which reoriented its red eye on her and then spoke in a tinny, electronic voice. “Intruder alert,” it said, “intruders detected. Facility has been compromised. All Imperial personnel must evacuate; self-destruct imminent. Intruder alert…”

Pakorus went cold, and shot the mech straight through its chassis, but that wasn’t enough to stop whatever procedure it had initiated. Red lights began flashing along the ceiling, and the high wail of an alarm echoed through the halls. “I guess we pushed them too far after all,” Midaia said, voice surprisingly calm. “Now, let’s not hang around here discussing things. If you want to live, run!”

Reflecting on the events later, Pakorus wasn’t entirely sure how they made it back to their ship, hurrying through the corridors as fast as they could run, Midaia’s dark cape flapping behind her. They met more of the security mechs, though Pakorus couldn’t say for sure how many; luckily Midaia was able to shield them from their beam fire while he blasted those who got too close out of the way with his pistol. Finally, the siren wailing in their ears and the red lights flashing around them, they stumbled back to the airlock and practically dove into the waiting Sister Night, sealing the door tightly shut behind them. No sooner were they inside than Midaia barreled into the cockpit, not even bothering to take a seat as she started the engines, disengaged the yacht from the space station, and set a course away from the gas giant and towards deep space.

They had barely gotten away when the laboratory explored behind them in a brilliant flash of blue-white light, the blast throwing pieces of degree all about them. Then the shockwave hit, and the yacht was knocked off its course, shaking as it spun off into space – and then, finally, it stilled as outside, the light died. It was over; they’d survived. Pakorus collapsed into the copilot’s chair, panting heavily with relief.

Finally, he looked over at Midaia, who was now slumped in her own seat. “So, what did you get, anyway?” he asked. “Was it worth it?”

“I wasn’t able to get much,” she said. “Just flashes, really. It’ll take time to put it all together, and even then, there will be holes. Reconstructing deleted data from a hard drive isn’t as easy as it sounds. One thing did come through clearly, though. After the Commander and his assassins were refitted at the lab, they were sent to an Imperial military base to receive their equipment and their instructions before heading on to the Dozen Stars.”

“So the Empire was behind the assassins after all,” Pakorus breathed, his mind reeling at the implications.

“So it would seem,” Midaia said. “And, at least at the time the data was deleted, that base was still operational – which means its records would be intact. I hope you weren’t planning on heading home to Carann just yet, my young friend. We appear to have one more stop to make after all.”

///

Elsewhere in the Empire, at the heart of a highly secured military facility, a light began to flash on a control console, indicating a message had arrived. When an officer with the clearance to do so read it, the message proved to be short and direct. The project is compromised, it said. The laboratory has been destroyed. Expect company soon.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Katanes, Baronial Palace

No sooner had Arta entered the stable tower than she found herself bowled over by several tons of excited izdakan. The great creatures knew their own strength, thankfully, and had been trained not to harm humans, so the encounter was merely embarrassing rather than lethal, but still, having a beaked head roughly the size of a human body shoved into one’s path was something that was, at best, startling.

Arta took a moment to catch her breath and then smiled; without raising from where she lay on her back, she reached her arms up and wrapped them in an embrace around the izdakan’s head, lifting her own head just enough to nuzzle the long beak. “Hi, Ezi,” the young queen said. “Been awhile, hasn’t it? I’ve missed you, too.”

Ezi slowly pulled back, allowing Arta to get to her feet; looking over her shoulder, she saw her guards watching apprehensively and held up a hand to let them know she was fine, before turning back to nuzzle Ezi’s beak. “I’m sorry I’ve been away so long, girl,” she whispered to the izdakan. “When I left for Carann I didn’t expect I’d be made queen, and it turns out that sort of thing doesn’t leave you much time for yourself. I wish I was back for a happier reason, but I’m not. I don’t know if we’ll be able to fly together before I leave, but I hope so.”

“You always did like it up here,” a voice said from behind her, and Arta turned to see her adoptive father entering the stables. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk at dinner – several of the local minor nobles and ranking guildsmen from the city had been present as well, and had spent most of the meal grilling Arta on the rebellion and her plans for dealing with it, questions she’d mostly managed to dodge gracefully. This was the first time she’d been really able to look at the Baron since she’d been home; he appeared much as she remembered, tall and straight-backed with a quiet dignity, but also a warmth beneath that was there for those who knew to look for it.

Arta shrugged. “I liked the izdakans, and I liked to fly,” she said. “I still remember when you taught Karani and me to ride them.” It was something the Baron had done himself, not entrusted to a tutor. Arta could still recall sitting in front of her father in the saddle as he’d shown her how to handle the reins, and then watching as the world fell away beneath them when their mount leaped into the sky.

“I remember you were frightened of them, when I first brought you up here,” the Baron said, smiling. He walked over to Ezi and scratched her under her chin; the izdakan let out a contented thrum. “But they’re gentle things once you get to know them.” He turned back to Arta. “Walk with me,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.

They walked across the stable away from the guards and over to one of the open-air platforms from which the izdakan leaped into the sky; the golden sunlight was slowly falling into darkness, leaving the mountains below them in shadow, broken by the distant lights of Tannen City. The two of them were silent for some time as they watched the twilight scene below them, Ezi’s head revolving on its long neck to keep them in sight; finally, the Baron spoke. “I was proud of you today, Arta,” he said. “You kept your head under fire and led your forces to victory against a powerful foe. You did what a leader should.”

“Thank you, Father,” Arta said. “It sounds better than it was, when you put it that way. I didn’t do much but sit and watch; Lieutenant Rehan gave all the orders.”

“You knew to put her in command, and let her do her job,” the Baron said, smiling. “You’d be amazed how many nobles think that having a title means that they’re automatically experts and everything, all evidence to the contrary. A good leader knows how, and when, to delegate. And that it can be important to let yourself be seen, acting under fire and keeping your head – even if it doesn’t seem like it amounts to much, it can inspire those who serve under you to action, knowing that you’re sharing their risks.”

“You did that too today,” Arta said. “Maybe we should both be proud.” She paused. “It’s not over, though. Respen’s not going to give up just because we bloodied his nose.”

“No, I don’t think so,” the Baron said. “I have the defense force watching Respen’s squadron, and they haven’t made another move to attack yet, but neither have they left the system. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I doubt we’ve seen the last of them. We’ll be ready for them when they do come, though. As ready as we can be.”

“And I’m not leaving until Katanes is safe,” Arta replied, then she grinned slyly. “Karani would never forgive me if I made her leave and it meant she’d end up missing the action.”

The Baron chuckled. “That she wouldn’t,” he said. Karani had disappeared after dinner, and Arta wasn’t sure where she was; one of the guildsmen had a rather handsome nephew, though, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Karani hadn’t pulled him aside down a relatively private corridor. But she knew her words were true, in any case – Karani wasn’t someone to run from a fight, especially not if the people she cared about were threatened.

“Your friend didn’t say much, but she interested me,” the Baron said, pulling Arta back to reality. “Latharna – that’s a Realtran name. She’s the ambassador’s aide, isn’t she? The one who helped rescue you from those assassins?”

“That’s right,” Arta said. “Latharna Dhenloc. She’s very brave, and a very good person to have at your side in a fight. I’m lucky to have her.” And she’s pretty, and selfless, and a better person than she realizes she is, and I don’t know how to explain how she makes me feel, she thought, but didn’t dare say out loud. She hoped her feelings didn’t show on her face, or at least that the Baron didn’t recognize them.

But considering that he’d raised her from infancy, that was, perhaps, too much to ask. “I know that look, Arta,” he said, his expression softening. “And I can guess what it means. If you’re worried I’m going to be the disapproving father who thinks no one is good enough for his little girl, you don’t have to me. If she makes you happy, then I’m glad you met her. But remember, Arta, people in our positions don’t always get to follow our hearts. Someday you may have to choose between your heart and our Kingdom. I pray you don’t have to, but… be ready for it, if it comes.”

“I know,” Arta said sadly, hanging her head. “Where is, Latharna, anyway?” she asked after a brief silence. “I haven’t seen her since dinner.”

“I thought I heard her asking Danash where the palace library was,” the Baron said; Arta looked up in surprise. Knowing Latharna, she’d have expected her to look for either the chapel or the training hall. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he continued, perhaps noticing Arta’s expression. “If there was anything unusual happening in the palace, I’d have been alerted to it.” A cool breeze blew in across the platform, rustling their hair. Outside, the sun had sunk behind the mountains.

“It’s getting cold out here,” the Baron said. “I think we’d best head back inside.” Turning to Arta, he put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m glad we were able to have this talk,” he said. “I’ve missed both my girls. I always knew the day would come when you’d have to leave us – but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Not for me, either,” Arta said, unexpectedly blinking tears from her eyes. “But I promise you, know matter how far I go or who I become, Katanes will always be my home, and you and Karani will always be my family.” On impulse she leaned forward and wrapped the Baron in a tight embrace.

Turning, they made their way back into the palace, stopping to bid good night to Ezi. As they were leaving the stables, the Baron paused, frowning. “All of this talk puts me in mind of the man who started all of this,” he said. “Shiran wasn’t with you. Have you seen him lately? Do you have any idea what he’s up to?”

“I don’t,” Arta said, frowning. That was a question worth considering; she hadn’t seen the Professor in months now. Where was he? And what was he doing?

She wasn’t sure if it was Adept’s instincts or just ordinary intuition, but she had a feeling she’d know the answer to that question before long.

///

The Baronial Library of Katanes wasn’t nearly as large as those Latharna had heard of on planets like Carann or Realtran Prime, or even the library of the Dansa Academy, where she’d spent so much time in her childhood, but it was still an impressive sight. Located on one of the lower floors of the palace, the library consisted of a large main hall and several side chambers, all of them lined with shelves containing countless books; in the center of the room were a number of computer terminals through which more information could be accessed. And yet for all that, the library had a rather homey, intimate feel, or so Latharna found herself thinking. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she was the only person here that made it feel like she had the entire place to herself, save for the mechs that hovered silently by as they patrolled the collection.

After a quick query, one of those mechs had directed Latharna towards the books she sought; a collection of texts regarding ethical philosophy, theology, and, perhaps most importantly, codes of knighthood. Somewhere in these pages, she thought, she might be able to find something that would help her navigate the conflict in her soul and find the answers she needed. Could the bloodlust that she found inside herself whenever she was in a fight be put to a constructive, even noble end after all? Or was she, as she feared, little more than a murderer, a danger to everyone she met?

Unfortunately, most of the works she’d found seemed more interested in questions of abstract theory than actually providing useful answers, and so, Latharna thought, perhaps she could be forgiven if her interests had strayed to other, rather more exciting topics…

So engrossed was she in this latest book that she didn’t even hear the sound of approaching footsteps until someone cleared their throat loudly. Looking up, Latharna found herself staring into the face of Karani ast Katanes, who was standing with her arms folded.

“Looks like someone’s making themselves at home,” Karani said; she sounded annoyed, but their seemed to be a faintly amused look in her eyes that Latharna took as a good sign as she scrambled to her feet, her book dropping to the ground beside her. Not that standing alleviated the feeling that she was being loomed over; Latharna had always been tall for a girl, but Karani was at least another head taller.

“Lady Karani,” Latharna said, feeling that erring on the side of formality would be best; after all, Karani might be Arta’s sister but she didn’t really know her that well, and this was her house, after all. “I, ah, asked Master Danash if I could make use of the library and he gave me permission; I’m terribly sorry if I’ve been a poor guest, it wasn’t my intention.”

Karani rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, and gestured towards a couple of chairs over by the computer terminals. “I just wanted to talk to you; take a seat.” She paused, regarding Latharna quizzically. “What did you want to read so badly, anyway?” Her eyes fell to the book Latharna had dropped, and the Realtran girl felt a sudden flush of embarrassment and fought the urge to grab it as fast as possible and stuff it back on the shelf.

Karani bent down and picked up the book, then turned it over to read the title. “The Noble Art of Courtly Love, by Lady Kassandra ast Tashir.” She looked up at Latharna and smirked. Latharna, flushing madly now, made a small sound that might have been “epp.”

Luckily, Karani didn’t seem angry; she dropped into one of the chairs, stretched her long legs out in front of her, and gestured for Latharna to take the seat opposite her. “Look, I know you’re sweet on my sister; you haven’t exactly been hiding it,” Karani said finally. “And you can stop acting like you think I’m going to bite your head off for everything you say. Honestly, I’m not that scary – Arta’s the serious one. I’m the fun one.”

“So, you’re, ah, not going to tell me to stay away from Arta if I know what’s good for me, then?” Latharna asked, suddenly feeling relieved.

Karani shrugged. “If I did, it wouldn’t matter – Arta’s queen, and she clearly wants you around, and it’s not like I can overrule the queen. Which is unfair, by the way, since I’m almost a year older than she is, but there you have it. But, I have, after much thought, decided I’m not even going to try, anyway. I’ll admit I didn’t like you at first. I mean, you came out of nowhere and were suddenly worming your way into Arta’s confidence – you were obviously a plant. But then you saved her life not once but twice, and that matters to me. So, I’ll swallow my pride – not easy, by the way – and admit I was wrong.” She held out a hand. “Peace?”

“Peace,” Latharna said, taking Karani’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you for saying that, La – Karani. I guess I was just worried you were watching me and, well, judging me. I mean, Arta did tell me you thought your last tutor was a spy, too.”

Karani shrugged again. “What can I say?” she asked. “The guy was suspicious. But he did take us to a cheap diner – which was surprisingly good, you should try it – and let me buy a wonderful hat, so that’s a tiny point in his favor. So, did you just come down here to look up love tips, or what?”

“Well, there were… other things on my mind,” Latharna said, but didn’t elaborate further. Some things she wasn’t ready to share, even if Karani was proving far more personable than expected. “But I’ve never met anyone as brave, and noble and selfless as your sister, and I guess I want to make sure I impress her. And I knew your country has a tradition of knights dedicating themselves and their service to the person they love…”

“Only if you’re a hopeless romantic,” Karani put in.

“…and I know I’m not really a knight,” Latharna continued, ignoring Karani’s comment, “but she is a queen, and when I came across that book – well, I just started reading and couldn’t help myself.” She sighed. “What am I even doing? I’m not a knight. I’m not from the Dozen Stars, and I’m not even a noble – I’m just an orphan from Realtran. I don’t even know if Arta likes girls.”

“Well, I can’t help you with the rest,” Karani said, “but I grew up with Arta and we talked about things like what celebrities we were crushing on, and I can assure you that she likes guys and girls.” She frowned. “Come to think, I have seen you and Pakorus together on Carann. And I’m pretty sure Pakorus likes Arta, too. My, what a tangle.”

Latharna buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take your head off if you wind up breaking her heart,” Karani said in a joking tone. “Not like I could, if you fight half as well as she says you do. Though I may have to write it all out, maybe get it published whatever happens – courtly romances are all the rage on Carann. I’d just have to change the names, but that’s easy.”

“Write a book?” Latharna asked. “I’m sorry, but you don’t really seem the type.”

Karani threw up her hands. “Why does everyone always think that?” she asked. “Just because I prefer being up doing things to sitting still being boring doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around books. Though I always was better at math anyway. Numbers make sense. People don’t.”

“I’ll try not to be offended,” Latharna said. “So, now that we’ve got that out of the way and I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, what did you come down here to talk about, anyway?”

“Well, we’ve kind of already covered it,” Karani said, looking, for once, unsure. “It’s just… back there on Tantos, when the rebels tried to kill Arta, you were there for her when I couldn’t be, and you saved her life. Again. And I just wanted to say thank you, and to apologize for ever doubting you. And for calling you creepy that one time. That was mean of me. But the point is, we ast Kataneses take family seriously. You saved my sister, and that means I’m in your debt. You need anything from me? Just ask.”

A sudden stab of warmth filled Latharna’s chest. “Thank you, Karani,” she said. “That means a lot to me, and I promise you, nobody will ever hurt Arta if I have anything to say about it.”

“Me neither,” Karani said. “You know, Dhenloc, you’re all right. And I don’t think anybody’s getting past the two of us, not even Darius ast bloody Sakran. If he tries, I’ll punch him in the face. Not too hard, though.”

“Why not?” Latharna asked.

Karani looked at her like she’d just said something ridiculous. “Because he might be a traitor, but he’s still the handsomest man in the Kingdom. I’m not ruining that face, thank you very much!”

Latharna couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.

///

Arta’s eyes snapped suddenly open.

She’d gone to sleep in her old bedroom, unchanged save for the royal guards stationed outside the door; she felt like several hours must have passed, and now every fiber in her being was crying out that she wasn’t alone. Arta lay very still, carefully controlling her breathing so that whoever the intruder was, they wouldn’t realize she was awake; she could hear the sound of footsteps walking around her bed. She waited carefully as they came closer, then leaped to her feet suddenly, hands outstretched before her, fingers blazing with blue light.

That light illuminated the face of a tall man, dark-skinned, with a close-cropped white beard and wise, patient eyes. He regarded Arta’s glowing hands and smiled. “You’ve been practicing, I see,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure for a teacher to know that his students have valued his teachings.”

“Shiran?” Arta asked, stunned. She lowered her hands, focusing on the blue light so that it flowed off her fingers and hung between the two of them, a glowing blue ball that flared brighter and illuminated the room. “Where have you been? What are you doing here? And why didn’t you wait until morning instead of nearly scaring me half to death?”

Shiran smiled sadly. “It’s good to see you, Arta,” he said. “As for your questions, the answers are not unrelated. I’ve been looking for information – and I’m not the only one, Midaia has as well – and what I’ve found disturbed me greatly. I decided you needed to know at once, and so when I heard you had left for Katanes, I came here as well. I had a feeling your guards might not take kindly to my arrival, so I didn’t give them the opportunity. And now, here we are.”

“Okay,” Ara said, her breathing and heartbeat steadying. “So, what were you looking for? And what did you find?”

“Like Midaia, I was seeking the origins of the Commander,” he said. “Unlike her, I attracted the wrong kind of attention. I had travelled to the Empire to interrogate some old contacts of mine when I was jumped by several of the Emperor’s pet Adepts. None of them was terribly powerful, but they had the advantage of numbers and I only just escaped. I did, however, manage to steal the wrist comm from one of them. The Empire quickly locked the device out of their network, of course, but before they did, I found some most intriguing information. Namely, that someone high in the Imperial ranks has been in regular contact with three dukes of the Dozen Stars – Naudar, Respen, and Sateira.”

Arta went cold. “Then that means…” she whispered.

“Yes,” Shiran said. “The Empire is behind this rebellion – or at least, in very deep, if not all the way at the bottom. I know all three of the rebel dukes, and I doubt they needed much encouragement. And this makes me wonder. When the assassins attacked the tournament, the first thing they did was have me attacked and drugged. They knew to expect me. So did whoever ordered those Adepts in the Empire to kill me. I have to wonder if the same hand hasn’t been pulling both sets of strings. Perhaps…” he shook his head. “No. You have enough to worry about without being burdened by an old man’s follies. Perhaps Midaia will have better luck. She’s much younger than I am and hasn’t had time to make as many powerful enemies. But I needed to warn you as soon as I could – this plot you face is deeper and more dangerous than you realize.”

“What do you recommend I do about it?” Arta asked, trying to sound calm even as her head was spinning.

“First, we need to deal with the rebels,” Shiran said. “They are the obvious and immediate threat. Then we can trace the strings back to whoever holds them…”

His words were cut off by a sudden siren echoing through the palace, a harsh, blaring sound – one Arta had never heard before in real life, but that she’d been trained to recognize. “That’s the air raid alert,” she whispered, pulling her sleeping robe more tightly around her as she realized what it meant. “We’re under attack.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Deep Space

Pakorus awoke in his bed in the guest quarters aboard Midaia’s yacht – a room which, while bare, thankfully didn’t have any of the disturbing patterns that could be found elsewhere aboard the vessel. It had been several days, by Carann time, since she’d rescued him from Tantos Station, and in those days he’d spoken little to the Adept, who seemed to spend most of her time meditating or locked in her practice room doing Lord-only-knew what. She wasn’t bad company, exactly, and respected his privacy as well as was possible for two people on board a small craft, but still, doing nothing but sitting, reading the few books in the yacht’s small library that weren’t hopelessly esoteric, and eating the occasional meal didn’t make for a particularly exciting journey. Pakorus found himself anticipating their arrival at the Imperial laboratory Specter had directed them to, regardless of what dangers might await there.

Taking a moment to refresh himself, insofar as that was possible with only a single change of clothes that fit him, he walked across the hall to Sister Night’s small commissary where, to his surprise, Midaia was waiting. She was dressed in the black shirt and pants that seemed to be her usual shipboard wear and regarded her passenger from across a cup of steaming kaf.

“Help yourself,” Midaia said, gesturing towards the refrigerator and cabinets that held her shipboard supplies. “Then sit down. According to my nav computer we’re coming up on our destination and I have things I want to discuss first.”

“All right,” Pakorus said, nodding; he poured himself some kaf and got a small scone – Katannen made, according to the packaging, which made him think of Arta with a sudden pang – and took his seat. “I’m curious – do you have any idea what we’re flying into here?”

Midaia shrugged. “Not much. According to Specter’s intel, the Imperial cybernetics laboratory is located in a small space station orbiting a gas giant at the borders of Imperial space. Officially, the project was shut down and the facilities abandoned for decades; Specter’s men were able to find evidence that the laboratory was in use slightly less than twenty years ago, and the cybernetics they designed there matched those that the Commander and his assassins had been fitted with. Current reports indicate that the lab appears abandoned, though Specter’s men never actually went inside. Apparently, he didn’t want to risk losing them to whatever security systems the Empire might have left behind; good informants are hard to come by these days, after all.”

Pakorus swallowed. “So, you have no idea what could be waiting for us inside, then?” he said.

“Like I said, the lab appears abandoned,” Midaia told him. “And according to Specter, nobody on any nearby worlds has reported traffic too or from it. So it’s doubtful there’s an entire Imperial legionnaire cohort waiting for us inside. I’d take your beam pistol with you, though. Whoever was pulling the Commander’s strings doubtless left some surprises behind to cover their tracks, whether a small team of commandos or just an automated security system. So don’t expect our little trip to be boring.”

“You don’t seem that worried, though,” Pakorus pointed out.

Midaia shrugged again. “I’m an Adept, Pakorus,” she said. “And a powerful one, if I say so myself. There’s not a lot we might run into that worries me – especially not with someone to watch my back.”

“Unless whoever is guarding the lab is an Adept too,” Pakorus said, a sudden feeling of unease running down his spine. “Is that possible? I assume there are Adepts in the Empire, but would any of them be involved in something like this?”

“There are Adepts in the Empire,” Midaia said. “There are Adepts everywhere. And the Emperor collects them, or so rumor has it. There isn’t much information on the Imperial Adept cabal, but there’s only a dozen or so of any significant power, and they’re spread thin across a thousand worlds – especially with the Alaelam War still raging. Our odds of meeting one of them here are slim – and if their reputations are accurate, I am more than a match for any of them.” She frowned, then; thoughtfully, it seemed. “Except – there is one I’m wary of. An Alealam renegade, they say, who holds no official office but has the Emperor’s ear. Him, I would not want to face. But I think there is little chance that he might be here.”

“But it’s not impossible,” Pakorus said.

“No,” Midaia admitted, and her expression was troubled. “It’s not impossible. In fact…” she seemed about to say more, then shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. “If the Prince is here, either I can deal with him or not, and either outcome is beyond my control at the moment. Just be prepared to fight if you must, Pakorus. Keep your pistol ready – your aim has already come in handy once, and we may need it again.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Pakorus said drily, wondering if Midaia actually felt that or if she was just looking for an excuse to change the subject. He ate his scone in silence before looking up at her again. “One thing I’ve never understood,” he said. “What exactly is an Adept, anyway? I asked Arta once, and her explanation didn’t make much sense.”

Midaia laughed. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “How do you explain sight to someone who was born blind? And Artakane doesn’t have the sort of training in philosophy or theology to articulate the concept, in any case. I have that training, and even so, it’s difficult.” She paused, seeming to gather herself. “Let me say simply that there are currents, Pakorus, that exist in this universe beyond what our senses can usually perceive. Currents of matter, of energy, of force, or… thought and spirit, you might say, though the words aren’t really adequate to describe them. These currents are as much a part of reality as you or I or the ship or the stars or the planet Carann, but most people will live their whole lives without sensing them. A rare few are born with the sensitivity that opens them to these realms beyond normal human experience; others may acquire it through intense mental and physical discipline. The mystical practices of certain religious groups can help activate such sensitivity in some for whom it would have otherwise been latent – if you had ever heard there are more Adepts among the clergy of the Church than among laypeople, or in the Alaelam Alliance, where mystical practice is common even among the laity – that is why. And it is why some of the more hardline priests and sisters believe that Adepts should be solely the province of the Church. But however such sensitivity is awakened, we call those who possess it Adepts.”

The former princess of the realm raised a hand, and red light played along her fingers. “Once you can sense the cosmic energies, you can learn to manipulate them. To read and influence the minds of others, forge weapons or armor from pure energy to protect yourself, move objects without touching them, even penetrate the veil into past and future – all of these and more are arts that Adepts can learn to make use of. That is why my kind are so dangerous, Pakorus, for we are never unarmed, and our powers can create effects that even the most advanced technology can’t duplicate.” She clenched her fist, and the light went out. “Of course, there are dangers as well, for the cosmic forces are not to be toyed with lightly. And there are beings from other realms, that dwell in the darkness between the seen and unseen, that may take notice of us.” Her expression darkened and she glanced down at the deathly pale skin of her arm. “I was… touched… by such a creature once, and that touch led to my… alteration. Another who was with me wasn’t so lucky.”

This was all a great deal to take in, and Pakorus felt his mind reeling at the implications, but at the same time, he found himself fascinated by what Midaia was telling him – as if he was getting a glimpse of a whole other world, one which he had only been tangentially aware of before. “But what is it like?” he found himself asking. “To hold that kind of power, to use it?”

Midaia looked thoughtful. “I don’t necessarily think of it as a power,” she said. “In some ways it is, but it is also a state of being. You know, the ancients, in the time before Terra was lost, had a phrase. They believed that when celestial bodies moved, they made a sound, a sound which is all around us all the time but which most people can’t hear, because it’s so pervasive they can’t distinguish it. But for those who could, it would bring knowledge of the secret workings of the universe. They called it the music of the spheres. And Pakorus, when I hold the power of an Adept in my hand – in that moment, I can hear the music of the spheres.”

Pakorus didn’t understand what Midaia meant, couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought, but when he saw the look of sheer awe on her face as she spoke those last words, he realized that she meant them, wholly and absolutely – and that in saying them, she had bared her soul to him as she had done to few others. Before he could think of what he could possibly say in return, though, a sudden sharp beeping sound echoed through the cabin.

“Ah,” Midaia said, her expression seeming to return to the mundane world. “That is my autopilot’s alert. We’re coming out of jump soon, and then we’ll be at our destination – and, hopefully, we can find some answers.”

///

Kallistrae ast Tantos was not surprised to find herself roused from her bed early one morning a few days after her encounter with Mardoban’s reprogrammed mech by a group of cold-faced guild security guards. She was curtly ordered to dress, and when she had done so found herself marched down the hallway to one of the smaller of the palace tower’s various meeting rooms. When she was rather harshly shoved inside, she found herself face-to-face with Duke Naudar and Duchess Sateira and their bodyguards; both nobles were looking downright murderous.

“Dare I ask what the occasion is?” Kallistrae asked, though she had a feeling she did.

“You know damned well what,” Sateira snapped. “Do you care to explain this?” The Duchess of Tashir activated the holoprojector in the middle of the table and stepped back; an image flared to life, depicting a square in Tantos City that Kallistrae recognized as having been the site of a nasty riot – and nastier reprisal – last year. A crowd filled the square, chanting loudly and waving signs that had various slogans printed on them; a closer look revealed that some of the signs read “Aurann Go Home,” “Down With Respen,” “Free Kallistrae,” and “Long Live Artakane,” among various others. The handful of guild security personnel around the corners of the crowd were backing up slowly, looking nervous – despite the fact that they were armed and armored, they were badly outnumbered, and though the protest hadn’t turned violent yet, that wasn’t a risk any of them seemed willing to take.

“Impressive,” Kallistrae said in a carefully neutral tone. “I doubt it will get anywhere, though. The last time people tried this, guild security sent in flitters to shot them from the sky.”

“This,” Naudar said, “is happening all over the planet. Guild security is stretched rather thin, between these riots and using their personnel to reinforce our troops in orbit. Guildmaster Madran is being run ragged, or else he’d be here with us right now.”

“Well, it looks like you three have pushed my people past their breaking point,” Kallistrae said, shrugging. “But I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I’ve been locked up in my rooms this whole time; none of this is my doing.”

“Isn’t it?” Sateira asked in a waspish tone. She pressed a few keys on the holoprojector and the image of the rioters vanished, replaced by Kallistrae’s own face as she recited the message Mardoban’s mech had recorded for her – an exhortation to her people to stand up against their oppressors, outlining the guilds’ treachery and their role in the invasion of Tantos, a call for solidarity with Queen and Kingdom in fighting those who would tear this Dozen Stars down. For something she’d extemporized in fifteen minutes, Kallistrae thought it wasn’t half-bad; maybe she’d make a politician yet.

“This was on every holo-channel,” Sateira said. “Do you have an explanation for us for how it got there? You’d best answer very quickly and convincingly if you want to save yourself, Kallistrae.”

Kallistrae only shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been locked up in my room ever since you three invaded my planet, and I certainly haven’t had time to record something like this. And if I did, how would I get it out? You can check your own security footage if you want, and that’s exactly what it’ll show you. This is clearly a forgery, using doctored footage.”

“Liar,” Sateira snapped, resting a hand on her sword belt; Naudar reached out and rested his own hand on her shoulder to steady her, and the duchess subsided.

“If it is a forgery, it’s a very clever one,” the Duke of Sakran said. “The people of Tantos III have long resented the guilds, haven’t they? Your House may be in charge, but it’s the guilds who have been forcing the people to work in the mines, and the guilds that have cracked down when they resisted. And of course, they resent us – invaders are rarely popular. By linking the two of us together and raising you – who were always more popular than your late cousin – as our enemy, whoever created this message has done a very good job of turning public opinion against us, and towards you. And, by extension, Artakane and Mardoban. Well done, I must say.” He regarded her shrewdly with cold eyes. “Very well done.”

“’Whoever created it?’” Sateira asked incredulously. “Stop playing games, Naudar. You know she’s responsible. So, the people have a newfound love for their duchess? Well, then, let’s make an example of her. Execute her, and we can cow the commoners back into compliance.”

Naudar sighed. “My dear Sateira,” he said, “you do get bloodthirsty when thwarted, don’t you? But I don’t need you speaking Respen’s words for him while he’s not here. Killing Kallistrae wouldn’t solve our problems; it would create a martyr, and that is a very dangerous thing. Lady ast Tantos is correct that we have no proof that she had anything to do with these riots or that message; I, for one, don’t think the situation has quite escalated to the point where we need to spill too much noble blood. We’ll return Kallistrae to her quarters with a warning. She is to record for us a message denouncing the previous message as a fake and the rioters as traitors, or we will give Guildmaster Madran leave to crush the resistance by any means necessary.” Naudar’s gaze left little room for doubt as to what that meant. “I dislike resorting to that kind of violence, but I will if you leave me no choice. Am I clear?”

“Of course, my lord,” Kallistrae said.

“Very well,” Sateira grumbled. “You may remove her to her chambers.” The door opened and the guards stepped in, seizing Kallistrae by the arms and marching her from the room.

Well, that’s part one down, she thought. Let’s see how long we can keep this going. Lord willing, long enough to choke all three of them on it.

///

“You know she recorded that message,” Sateira said after Kallistrae left.

“Of course, she did,” Naudar said. “The real question is, how did she do it without alerting our security systems? That’s why we’re letting her off so lightly; if she does it again, we need to be ready to trace it back to its source.”

“If she does it again, she won’t live long enough for it to matter,” Sateira replied. “My threats weren’t all for show. I don’t like being made a fool, Naudar.”

“Who does? But this tower is a fortress, and we have the power of three duchies and a guild at our backs. We can kill every rebel or rioter on this planet if we have to, though I’d prefer to avoid that.” Naudar stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

The Duke of Sakran ignored Sateira’s questioning expression and stepped into a side room, where he tapped the head of his cane and activated the hidden communicator there. “The situation has changed,” he whispered, a message to his benefactor. “Tantos is unstable, and my compatriots increasingly unreliable. We need to talk.”

///

“Do you consider yourself a man of faith, Ambassador?”

Quarinis turned from where he’d been standing at the glass wall of the palace garden, looking out over Carann City, and saw the robed form of the High Prelate standing beside him. He’d been so lost in thought, apparently, that the old man had been able to sneak up on him. He was slipping; not a mistake he could allow himself to make again.

“Does the question need to be asked?” he said, turning to face the elderly priest. “I attend your church often enough, don’t I?”

The High Prelate chuckled. “I didn’t ask if you attended church,” he said. “I asked if you were a man of faith.”

Quarinis raised an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”

“All the difference in the world,” the High Prelate says. “And so my question stands.”

Quarinis smiled thinly. “You are a discerning man,” he said. “And your question is an interesting one. Faith in what, I wonder? Do I believe in the Lord? The Lord is much greater than I, High Prelate, and whether They exist or not, I doubt my belief – or lack thereof – is of any particular importance to Them. Do I believe in the collective divinity of the emperors, as the Imperial Cult of my own homeland teaches? I serve one Emperor, the one alive today – if there is some force connecting and animating all emperors past, present, and future, that is a question for philosophers, not for a simple servant of the state such as myself.”

“But you do believe in something,” the High Prelate said.

“Yes,” Quarinis whispered. “I believe in the Empire, which is larger and grander than myself and which will endure beyond my death, but which, unlike the Lord or the Imperial Spirit, will actually benefit materially from my service. I believe in duty; unlike so many of our patricians or your nobles, I believe that power is of no use unless it is put to a purpose, and my purpose is the service of the state. And I believe in humanity, which to survive requires a strong will to guide it lest it fall once again to the chaos that nearly consumed us all when Terra was lost. So yes, High Prelate, I would consider myself a man of faith, though perhaps not in the same sense you would.” He paused and regarded the older man for a long moment. “Is there any particular reason you ask me this question, or do you merely consider it your clerical duty to nose into other people’s business?”

“It simply occurs to me that of all who have served in this palace, we three have been here longer than almost anyone,” the High Prelate said. “You, me, Duke Mardoban. And yet, I really feel I know you very little. You give away nothing that you don’t mean to, Ambassador, and though you have worked diligently on your government’s behalf for as long as I’ve known you, it occurred to me that I didn’t have any real understanding of what motivated you in that effort. But I think you were as honest with me just now as I’ve ever seen you.”

“Indeed?” Quarinis asked. “And what prompted these thoughts, exactly? What are you worried about, High Prelate?”

The old priest snorted. “What am I not worried about, these days?” he said. “Three duchies in open revolt, an untried girl on the throne – this is the sort of moment on which history turns, and I’m not sure yet which way it will turn. This is not a time to be comfortable with uncertainties, Ambassador. To say nothing of the wars in your own country, between the Empire and the Alaelam – a conflict that has cost too much already.”

“The Alaelam Wars have not touched the Dozen Stars,” Quarinis said, genuinely surprised. “I did not realize they would attract your attention, when your own calling takes you closer to home.”

“All of humanity are the Lord’s children and therefore part of my flock, Alaelam and Imperial as well as Dozen Stars and Realtran,” the High Prelate said. “As High Prelate of this Kingdom I have certain obligations, but in my heart, I cannot place one life above another, and any war is a cause for grievance.”

“That is a noble sentiment,” Quarinis said. “And, though it may surprise you, it is one I can genuinely respect. Therefore, allow me to give you a warning. This is indeed the sort of moment on which history turns, but it may not turn the way you expect – and the turning may be more dramatic than you would wish. Prepare yourself, High Prelate. Change is coming, and though change is often painful, I promise you that in the end, we will all be stronger for it.”

“That sounds like a threat, Ambassador,” the High Prelate said. “What do you know?”

“Many things,” Quarinis said. “Most of which, alas, are not fit to be discussed in a public venue, but I will leave you with this – the Church’s roots are in the Empire, and Verus Licinius values that relationship and would prefer to see it strengthened, to the benefit of all.” A light flashing on his wrist comm caught his eye, and Quarinis sighed. “But for now, I must take my leave. Thank you for the stimulating conversation.”

Quarinis turned and swept away, leaving a confused and troubled cleric behind him; once he was out of sight, he pulled up his messages and saw the identity of the one who’d sent the most recent – Naudar. Well, better him than the others; Naudar could be reasoned with. Still, if he’d seen fit to initiate communication, that meant things weren’t going well and Quarinis’s attention would be needed.

A true servant of the Empire’s work, as they said, was never done.

 

Chapter Twenty

Katanes System

Duke Respen’s warship, Right to Rule, dropped out of jump on the outskirts of Katanes’s gravity well, its escort ships emerging close behind. From space, the planet appeared peaceful and serene, an orb of pale blues and lavenders with two moons hovering protectively about it. This was not a world that was harsh like Aurann, nor gloomy like Tantos III, or even strategically significant, like Sakran.

It was a world that simply had the misfortune to have unwittingly raised a queen among its ruling family; for that crime, its peace would be shattered soon. Darius couldn’t help but think that it was such a waste.

He stood among Respen’s officers on the warship’s bridge, his siblings by his side. The duke himself was seated in the command chair at the bridge’s center, stiff in his uniform and with his hands folded before his thin face; his eyes were bright at hard as they stared ahead at his desired prey. There was no mercy in them, only anticipation. Darius was more troubled by that than he cared to admit.

Do what you have to… his father’s admonition echoed in Darius’s mind. He shied away from the implications of that, at least for now. They had other concerns first. A battle to fight.

“My lord!” one of the bridge officers called from where he sat at his control console. “We’re being hailed by the Katanes Defense Force.”

“Put them through,” Respen said calmly. “Should be amusing, anyway.” By Darius’s side, Tariti stiffened and regarded the duke with disgust; Darius managed, barely, to keep a similar expression from showing on his own face. No matter what Respen heard here, he’d come for blood; answering the hail at all was merely an excuse to play with his prey before moving in for the kill. It was behavior unworthy of a knight or a duke – and yet it seemed all to typical of this ambitious, cruel man their father had bound their house to, however temporarily.

“Attention, unknown vessels,” a voice echoed through the bridge, a woman – her accent reminded Darius of Artakane, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought. “This is Duty of Honor, flagship of the Katanes Defense Force. You are in violation of Katanes planetary space. Stand down and identify yourselves and your purpose here.”

“They’ve already scrambled their fleet,” Respen murmured. “They were expecting us. Mardoban must have contacted them and gotten a warning through. It won’t save them.” He nodded at one of the other officers. “What ships do they have?”

“Not much, my lord,” the officer replied. “A single Equestrian, a handful of smaller ships, some fighters. Less than a third of our strength.” Katanes had never expected to be attacked, Darius knew; the planet itself held little of value beyond pleasant scenery and farmland, and even in the event it was invaded, it had never had to do more in its history other than hold out long enough for Tantos III to sent reinforcements. No such reinforcements were coming today. Katanes stood alone.

And Respen knew it. Smiling thinly, he stood and spoke in a loud, clear voice that the woman on the other end of the communications couldn’t possibly miss. “This is Duke Respen ast Aurann, rightful King of the Dozen Stars, commanding Right to Rule. We have come to take possession of your world in the name of the crown that is my birthright. You will surrender at once or be destroyed.”

“We were warned to expect you, Duke Respen,” the woman’s voice said. “We do not acknowledge your sovereignty of the Dozen Stars, nor your unlawful seizure of Tantos III. If you do not depart Katanes space at once, we will engage. This is not a bluff.”

Respen laughed coldly. “You’ll engage?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “With what? You’re outnumbered three to one, but if you wish to fight and die today, so be it. But be reasonable. Do you really think you serve your baron best by such a foolish act?”

“I do,” a new voice said – a man’s voice, this time, calm but firm. A hologram shimmered into being on the Right’s bridge – a tall, thin man with short hair and a neat beard, older than Respen but younger than Naudar or Mardoban. His height put Darius in mind of Karani; his calm, thoughtful gaze resembled Artakane. Darius had seen him before, from a distance, and the New Year tournament, but hadn’t spoken to him – this was the Baron Varas ast Katanes, the man who had raised a queen.

“You’re bold, Varas, I’ll give you that,” Respen said. “I admire that in my opponents. Therefore, I will give you an option – surrender yourself to me. Come to Right to Rule alone and unarmed and give yourself into my custody. Do this, and Katanes will be spared. This I swear by the Lord’s name and by my honor as a Duke of the Realm.”

“Your honor?” Varas asked, and he smiled thinly. “Am I to trust in that, then? If I believed that by such an act my people could be saved, I would do it in a heartbeat. But speaking honestly, Your Grace – I don’t trust you. I know you only by reputation, but that reputation sickens me. You are the man who has brought war to our nation, but your sins began long before that. You are a warmonger and a tyrant who has enslaved your own people to build your vaunted armada. Should the people of Katanes expect any better, left to your mercy? No, I don’t think you would leave my planet alone – it’s not in your nature. Your nature is to grasp and seize and then react with cruelty and spite when you’re denied. You may have royal blood in your veins, but you weren’t fit to be a king when the council passed you over after Aestera died, and you aren’t fit to be one now. I will fight to my last breath to prevent you from ever setting foot on Katanes, and my people will do no less, for they know what will await them if they fail. You will never have this world, tyrant.” Varas’s eyes went hard. “And I am a father as well as a baron, and I know this – even if you triumphed, you would never sit secure on your throne while my daughter lives. So long as she is a threat to you, her life would be in danger, and so for Arta’s sake alone, I would oppose you to my dying breath.”

The bridge was silent for a long moment after the Baron of Katanes finished speaking, and Darius felt a surge of admiration for the man’s courage, doomed as it might be, rise within him. Respen didn’t move; he stood still, face impassive with his hands folded behind his back as he regarded Varas’s hologram. Then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “So be it,” he said. “But your people will know you had the chance to save them and squandered it.” He waved a hand, and the hologram vanished.

Returning to his chair, Respen raised a hand and gestured towards his officers. “Begin the advance,” he ordered. “Blast that pitiful Defense Force out of the sky and then target Tannen City. The city shall burn, and I want Varas brought to me, alive. I want him to know the depth of his mistake before I take his head from his shoulders.”

The bridge officers saluted as one, and the Right shuddered slightly as its engines hummed to life and propelled it forward, the other ships in their squadron keeping pace behind. Before long, Darius could make out the Defense Force fleet through the viewport, hovering in front of the planet’s larger moon. From this distance, they looked pitiably small and fragile. Darius shook his head.

“I don’t believe it,” Galen whispered. “They must know they can’t win. Why do they fight?”

“Apparently it’s not in the Katannen spirit to give up easy,” Tariti said. “You should know, Galen. You’re the one Artakane took down. Did you really think she came from a planet of cowards?”

No, Darius thought, the Katannens weren’t cowards. They were still doomed, though. Their little fleet was no match for Respen’s top-of-the-line Aurannian warships. This wasn’t going to be a battle, but a slaughter. There was no honor in this. Self-loathing, sharp and sudden, twisted in Darius’s gut. The Defense Force would die, and Tannen City would burn, and so far as he could tell he was just going to stand here and let it happen like a coward.

“Their flagship is in range of our main cannon, my lord,” an officer said. “They appear to be powering up their own weapons, though it doesn’t appear they have the power to penetrate our shields.”

“Let’s not give them the chance to try,” Respen ordered. “Fire at will.”

For a brief moment Darius had a mad vision of running across the bridge, knocking Respen from his chair, and ordering the crew to stand down – but no, it couldn’t happen that way. He had no authority over the Aurannian officers, and Respen’s guards, lined up across the bridge, would shoot all three ast Sakran siblings before he even made it to the duke. Even if he was willing to sacrifice his own life, Galen and Tariti’s lives weren’t his to spend.

Before his internal conflict could resolve itself, a cry echoed across the bridge. “My lord!” another officer called. “We have new readings from behind us. A squadron of ships is dropping out of jump, almost on top of us!”

“What?” Respen demanded furiously, but Darius couldn’t quite hold back a smile. The eldest son of Duke Naudar looked over at his sister and nodded in acknowledgment of her shocked expression.

“Guess you were right, Tariti,” he said. “I don’t know who’s on those ships, but I’d wager Artakane wasn’t one to stand down after all.”

///

Varas ast Katanes smiled grimly as the small squadron emerged from jump right on top of Duke Respen’s invading fleet. He’d gotten an all-too-brief message from Duke Mardoban warning him to expect an attack, and that Arta was coming with reinforcements; he’d been trying to stall, playing a dangerous game by provoking Respen and keeping his attention focused on Katanes, and he’d known full well that if he’d gambled wrong, his little fleet would be swept away and there would be nothing standing between his little planet and destruction. Fortunately, it looked like he’d guessed right – the Duke of Orlanes had come through. Varas’s daughter had come through.

“Are you picking this up, Danash?” the Baron said quietly, speaking into his wrist comm. Static crackled before an answer came through.

“It looks like you’ll be having some help after all,” his aide – and oldest friend – said. “The playing field has been levelled, somewhat, but be careful – with the firepower he has, Respen can still win this.”

Varas nodded. “Understood,” he said. “But we still have a few cards left to play.” He nodded at Captain Atama, the Honor’s commander and the one who had first spoken to Respen when he’d hailed the ship. “Now that he’s distracted, let’s show the good duke what our weapons are really capable of.”

“Understood,” Atam said, saluting sharply and giving the order. Varas turned his attention back to the viewport, staring out at the battle, fear for Arta rising in his chest. But stronger than fear was his pride in her, and the woman – and queen – she had become.

///

Artax’s Glory and its squadron were Starflare cruisers, far smaller than the mighty Equestrians but designed to bring down ships much larger than they were. Their engines were nimble as well as fast, their weapons disproportionately heavy for their small frames. Still, a half-dozen of them seemed a feeble defense against the two great ships Respen had brought, to say nothing of the escorting fighters and frigates. Lieutenant Rehan, however, had experience in this sort of combat, and if she was afraid, she didn’t let it show. Commanding the squadron in Arta’s name, she directed the Glory’s officers with swift, precise movements and gestures, and their ships fell into formation around the Aurannian forces.

Arta, sitting in her chair behind the officers, didn’t think she’d ever felt more terrified in her life. A queen shouldn’t show fear, not even when she was on the front lines and it was her planet being attacked; maintaining that poise was taking all her concentration now.
Her determination to come in person to Katanes’s defense had seemed a noble thing when she’d declared it back at Tantos, but now she was realizing that here, in this battle, she was useless. She had no orders to give, no enemies to fight or speak to – instead of a major player in the battle, she found herself a spectator, one whose life could end at any moment if a stray blast from one of the Equestrians cut the Glory in two. This kind of battle, she realized, would take an entirely different kind of courage compared to walking into a room on Tantos to face her enemies head-on.

The Aurannian ships opened fire, the Equestrians launching massive beams that could shred a Starflare with a single hit, or so it looked to Arta. The smaller craft dodged nimbly, the force such that Arta would have been pinned to her seat by it even if she hadn’t already been strapped in, and then they returned fire with narrow, precise beams that could slice clean through a shield and begin cutting directly into the larger ships’ hulls. That’s how the Starflares killed big ships like Equestrians – a nimble dance, a death by countless cuts rather than sustained blasts. It had sounded like a good idea when Mardoban had explained it; up close at personal, it seemed fraught with peril.

Someone touched her hand, and Arta looked over to see Latharna; the Realtran girl smiled and nodded at her, and her pale fingers wrapped reassuringly around Arta’s brown ones. “The crew know what they’re doing,” she said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

Arta smiled back and straightened up in her seat, trying to project the confidence she didn’t quite feel. Outside the front viewport the battle continued, a subtle dance of changing positions as the Starflares weaved their way around the Equestrians, cutting through their armor and tearing deeply into their insides.

The destruction, when it came, was sudden and shocking; one of the other Starflares didn’t dodge fast enough, and a bolt from the Equestrian it was engaging – Arta thought it was Right to Rule, if she remembered Duke Respen’s ships right – tore clear through it. The Starfrlare vanished in a sudden burst of brilliant light, and Arta’s hand shot to her mouth in horror; to her other side, she could hear Karani shouting a curse. Lieutenant Rehan merely hissed grimly and gestured to her officers to keep up their attack on the other enemy warship. A moment later, the Glory was rocked by a sudden hit that knocked Arta forward in her chair before just as suddenly pulling her back.

The Lieutenant swore. “We’ve got company,” she said. “Most of their smaller ships seem to be heading for the defense force, but some of the fighters stayed behind. One of their fighters is behind us, trying to take out our engines, leave us helpless. Using our own tactics against it; they’re moving too quick for us to hit them with our rear guns.”

“Well, shoot them!” Karani shouted; Rehan shot her a flat look, as if deciding whether or not pointing out that that’s exactly what she was trying to do to the queen’s sister would be permissible or not. She was saved by a sudden shout of excitement from one of the other officers.

“Someone else is shooting at them!” he said. “And… it looks like they got them! The fighter is destroyed. The blast came all the way from the defense force, but I don’t see how…”

“It’s Father,” Karani said happily. “He told me he was looking at upgrading the Honor with some very high-end guns, weapons people wouldn’t expect on an older-model warship. He must have done it – incredible range, accuracy, and power for their size.”

“He must have been holding back when he was shooting at Respen when we arrived,” Arta mused. “Tricking him into thinking he was weaker than he was…”

“Well, now he’s picking the fighters off our tail,” Rehan said, nodding. “Let’s keep tearing at our target, people. We’re almost through.”

A moment later, the truth of her words was proven as the Glory’s thin, powerful beam tore through the enemy ship’s engines. There was a burst of light that erupted from the warship, and then the Starflares were hurrying backwards, their speed enabling them to escape the blast as the entire vessel was consumed. Arta could only stare in awe.

Lieutenant Rehan smiled coldly. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s see how Aurann takes that.”

///

Respen’s fists clenched tightly as he watched his second Equestrian, Star Champion, disintegrate before his eyes. This battle situation was not developing as the duke had intended; not remotely. Besides the intervention of a squadron of Starflares, the Katanes flagship had proven far more heavily armed than it had first appeared and, shielded by its escorts, had been able to take potshots across the battlefield, destroying a number of Aurannian fighters and small craft in the process. Right to Rule had so far escaped major damage, but the way the situation was developing, that state of affairs seemed unlikely to continue for long.

Darius was torn between relief that an attack on the civilians of Katanes today was seeming increasingly unlikely, respect for Artakane and her father, and fear that this battle’s developments would please neither his father nor Respen. Still the Duke of Aurann stood staring ahead, his expression murderous.

“This isn’t working,” Tariti whispered in Darius’s ear. “Are we just going to batter ourselves senseless against them in head-to-head battle? We need a change of plans!”

“I agree,” Galen muttered. “As much as I’d like to see Artakane humbled, that doesn’t seem likely to happen here any time soon.”

Darius steeled himself. “Father had an… alternative plan,” he murmured to his siblings. “Now we’ll see if Respen is amenable to it.” Stepping forward, he walked up to the duke and put a hand on his shoulder. “Your Grace,” he said. “If I may be so bold, I recommend a change in tactics.”

Respen whirled on him, his expression dark. Around the bridge, his guards tensed, but seemed to be waiting for their liege’s signal to act. “What of it?” he demanded. “You’re not in charge here; I am. And I think, boy, that I know how to handle a space battle better than you.”

Darius breathed deeply. “Your grace,” he said. “Your determination is admirable, but this battle is turning against us. The enemy outnumbers us now, and though you’ve managed to keep the Starflares from doing significant damage to your own ship, you’ve also only managed to destroy one of them. Attrition doesn’t seem to be working in our favor. All it takes is one lucky hit – and a crown is of no use to a dead man.”

“Are you suggesting we retreat?” Respen demanded, face incredulous. “From Artakane the pretender and her Katannen scum? Clearly your reputation is over-inflated, knight. If you were my vassal I would kill you now for speaking such treason.”

If Respen’s expression was any indication, he wasn’t far off from killing Darius anyway; the younger man drew up his courage and looked the duke square in the eye. “Not a retreat,” he said. “Consider it a tactical withdrawal. We’re not fleeing in fear, merely removing ourselves to plan our next move. And my father anticipated that Varas and Artakane might prove more dangerous than we thought. We don’t have enough firepower still to burn Katanes, but Your Grace, there are other ways to fight – and other wounds that Artakane will feel very keenly.”

He briefly told Respen the plan Naudar had suggested to him and was rewarded by the cold gleam that appeared in the Duke of Aurann’s eyes.

///

Right to Rule’s engines fired, slowly turning its bulk away from the battle, and then with a sudden flash of light it was gone, its escort ships vanishing a moment later. “Our sensors indicate that the Right has entered jump,” one of the Glory’s officers reported in a stunned voice. “They seem to have fled to the edge of the system, and we’re not picking up any further jump engine activity, so they appear to be remaining there.”

“This battle isn’t over,” Rehan said, staring out at the wreckage that filled the space before them, “but your majesty, it appears we’ve won the first round.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Arta said, sinking wearily back into her chair. “You’re to be commended.” Before she could say anything more, Karani had leaned over and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

“We won!” she shouted, beaming. Arta managed to extract herself, praying none of the Glory’s officers had been paying attention.

“We won for now,” she told her sister. “Respen and his ships are still out there, and I doubt he’s just going to slink away back to Aurann. This isn’t over yet.”

“Your majesty!” one of the officers called. “We’re being hailed. It looks like a message from the Baron ast Katanes. He says,” the officer paused, “he says well done, and he invites her majesty to join him for dinner on Katanes, at her convenience.”

Arta smiled. “Tell the baron,” she said, “that his daughter gladly accepts his invitation.”

 

Chapter Nineteen

Tantos System, Lion of Carann

Latharna stood in front of the mirror in her personal cabin, running her finger along the deep gash on her cheek that the ship’s medic had just recently finished stitching up. Her spectacles she’d lost during the fighting, and her wig she’d taken off as soon as she’d gotten Arta secured on the shuttle, and so aside from her injury, she looked much as she always had. Pale face, short white hair, pale eyes behind their red lenses. She looked the same, but she didn’t feel like it.

Emotions churned within her stomach. Relief at being alive, of course. Worry about the fact that her cut would surely leave a scar, and amused irritation at herself for being worried about something so trivial. But above all were too emotions in fundamental conflict with each other. One was horror. She’d trained to fight for as long as she could remember, had always taken pride in her skill – but for the first time in her life, she’d killed. It had been self-defense – she knew that intellectually. The rebel knight would have certainly killed her if he’d been able to manage it. But still, a small voice hissed in the back of her mind the word murderer.

The other emotion was worse, for it wasn’t horror or guilt but exhilaration. Joy, even. Latharna had done battle, put her life on the line, and triumphed, and part of her yearned to do it again. Perhaps a rematch with Darius, conclusively proving which one of them was better. Yes, there was a part of her that desired that, that would welcome the thought of more violence and death if it meant facing a challenge worthy of her skill.

“What is wrong with me?” Latharna whispered to her reflection. “Is that all I’m good for – fighting and killing people?” She shuddered quietly. “Am I a monster?”

With a shivering sigh she tore herself away from the mirror and flung herself on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her fingers itched for her Canon, as if the words of the Prophet might offer her some comfort, but as she glanced over to where the old book rested on her nightstand, she knew it wouldn’t help. Hadn’t the Prophet echoed that oldest commandment of humanity – thou shalt not kill? She had no doubt how he would judge her. Closing her eyes, she rolled over to her side and turned away.

Someone knocked on the cabin’s door. “Are you in there?” Arta’s voice asked. “It’s me.” A moment later the door opened, and the queen stepped in; Latharna sat up and turned to face her.

Arta still looked weary, but there was something burning in her that seemed to give her strength. She looked Latharna up and down, then her gaze settled on the cut on her face. “You know,” she said conversationally, “on some planets in the Dozen Stars, a dueling scar is considered extremely attractive.”

Latharna flushed and looked away. “If you say so,” she said, trying to ignore the warm feeling that had risen in her chest at Arta’s words.

The queen frowned. “Are you all right, Latharna?” she asked. “Don’t feel bad about losing to Darius. Everyone does.”

“I’m fine,” Latharna said. “Better than Respen’s knight back in the meeting room, anyway. At least I walked away.” She pulled her legs up in front of her and wrapped her arms around them, staring at her knees.

Arta’s frown deepened, she took a seat beside Latharna on the bed and put am arm around her shoulders; Latharna flinched but didn’t pull away. “Is that what’s bothering you?” she asked quietly. “You did what you had to do; we all did. As soon as Respen started shooting, it was kill or be killed in there.”

“In the moment, that’s what it felt like,” Latharna admitted. “I felt so driven, so… pure. Just me, my sword, and my enemy. And you,” she added, looking over at Arta. “But when we were out of there, when you were safe and I came down from that feeling, I realized – what kind of a person am I who could find something so terrible so beautiful? And what kind of monster am I to want to do it again?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Latharna,” Arta said. “But Shiran once told me that all power has two faces, like two sides of a single coin – it can be used to protect, or to destroy. It’s the duty of every person who has power to understand how to use it well, because every action they take will have consequences. Look at me – I’m a knight, an Adept, and a queen, and I’m still trying to figure out what that all means. With the power I have, I could turn into a tyrant – like Respen or worse – and nobody could stop me. But if I just stood down and let people like Respen run roughshod over everyone, that would be awful too. I have to find a way to use my power to help others without being consumed by it. Maybe that’s what you have to do, too. But I believe you can.” She smiled. “You saved my life today, Latharna. Again. So I, for one, have to be very glad you’re so good with a sword. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“How do you do it?” Latharna asked. “How do you stop yourself from turning into the thing you fear? Did your tutor tell you that?”

Arta was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I think it’s different for everyone. For me, I remember Shiran and my father talking about how the nobility should exist to serve the people, not the other way around – and I have people I trust to keep me honest. People like Mardoban, and Karani – and you.” She sighed. “There has to be a better way – a way to hold people like us accountable for our actions, so we do the right thing instead of whatever we want. But for now, that’s what works for me. You need to find what works for you.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Latharna said.

“You’re not a monster, Latharna,” Arta said, her voice serious. “What you have – what you are – can be channeled for good; I believe in you.” She paused for a moment, seemed to gather herself. “And that’s why I’m here. I’m sorry to have to ask this of you again so soon, but I need your help. Duke Respen has split his forces. We think some of them are heading for Katanes.”

“Your home,” Latharna said, horror rising in her chest.

“Yes,” Arta said quietly. “Mardoban is having forces scrambled, and we need to leave soon if we hope to catch him before he gets there, and Latharna, you’re one of the best warriors I know. I’m going to fight for me home; I want you with me.”

The emotions she’d been battling earlier surged up within Latharna; horror at the prospect of fighting again so soon – and eagerness at the prospect of another battle, of facing Respen and being the one to end his reign once and for all. Pulling away from Arta, she stood and walked over to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Protection and destruction, she thought – too sides of a coin. Was killing worth it if she could save more lives? Was battle all she ever was – all she’d ever be good for?

She looked down at her hands, flexing her pale fingers. Were those hands doomed to always be stained with blood?

But Arta’s home was in peril. And Arta believed in her. Arta said she wasn’t a monster, and Arta was an Adept. And weren’t Adepts supposed to see more deeply than ordinary people? Latharna wasn’t sure if she believed that, but she knew that she and Arta had fought together, had faced death together and escaped, and that had cemented a bond that had already been forming – she may have been Realtran, but she knew in her heart that she’d follow the Queen of the Dozen Stars into the maw of the abyss if she asked.

“Latharna?” Arta said, voice uncertain.

Latharna turned back towards her, managing a thin smile. “I’m with you,” she said. “When do we leave?”

///

Kallistrae ast Tantos lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and brooded.

Officially, she was a “guest” of Naudar, Respen, and Sateira; unofficially she was under house arrest, a prisoner in her own home under the watching eyes of those who had taken it from her. She’d been forced at gunpoint to record that humiliating message for the council, and since then she’d been mostly confined to her small apartments, let out only occasionally to exercise, always under armed guard and with no opportunity to communicate with anyone in the staff who might still be loyal to her. Her comm and dueling sword had been taken, of course; the only holoscreen she was permitted wasn’t set up to allow her to communicate over a network and didn’t even show the news, so that her only knowledge of the outside world came from her captors. Her meals were brought three times a day by serving mechs, always accompanied by armed security squads – too many for her to fight even if she had been left a weapon.

She hadn’t seen any of the rebel dukes since the day Tantos III had fallen; Gaspar Madran, the security guildmaster, had stopped by several days later, assuring her that there was absolutely nothing personal in his betrayal of their contract, that he’d simply been given a better offer, and he hoped they’d be able to work together again someday when all this unpleasantness was behind them. It had taken all of Kallistrae’s self-control not to hit him right in his smug face, and when he was gone, she’d privately cursed her cousin Hiram for letting the guilds take so much power in the duchy in the first place.

She’d thought she’d heard blast fire earlier in the day, and the sounds of a great many people running about several floors above. She wondered what was happening, but her guards hadn’t left their post and had refused to answer any of her questions; eventually the sounds had died away, returning the captive Duchess of Tantos to her monotony.

The sound of the door hissing open distracted her from her brooding. Kallistrae frowned – she hadn’t been looking at her clock, but surely it couldn’t be time for dinner already – and sat up, turning to face the door as a serving mech glided in, carrying a tray. The door shut behind it, and the mech placed its cargo down on the small table in the center of the room. Curious, Kallistrae leaned in and saw that it held a selection of buttered scones – her favorites. “What in the Lord’s name?” she muttered. “Have Naudar and the others decided to play nice? If so, it’s too little, too late.”

The mech didn’t say anything, of course, but on its chassis a holoprojector flared to life and a foot-high, flickering image of a man appeared in the air before her. Kallistrae took in his features, and her eyes widened in shock. “Mardoban?” she whispered, scarcely believing what she was seeing.

“Hello, Kallistrae,” the Duke of Orlanes said. “We’ve been missing you at the council lately. Artakane sends her regards, by the way, but is unavailable to talk to you herself at the moment.”

Kallistrae’s head spun. “How?” she finally demanded. “What’s going on here, Mardoban?”

“Earlier today, Her Majesty attempted to negotiate the rebels’ surrender,” Mardoban said. “Needless to say, it didn’t go over well – you likely heard the commotion she ended up causing. Fortunately, Artakane and her companions managed to escape, and the rebels’ true colors were shown for the entire Kingdom to see. And the mission wasn’t a complete failure, either. A member of Artakane’s staff manage to plant a beacon on this mech, rewriting its programming ant syncing it up with the Lion’s main computer so we can see through its sensors and control it remotely if necessary. The beacon is also currently providing us with a jamming signal that will interfere with any listening devices the rebels may have had their pet security troops install in your rooms. This way we can talk privately, with no one the wiser.”

Kallistrae shook her head. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

“For the moment, we’re at a stalemate,” Mardoban said. “Neither our side nor the rebels’ has enough troops here to defeat the other; we’ve sent for reinforcements and no doubt they have too, but for now we’re mostly just watching each other and planning their next moves. Or rather, that’s what we’re letting them think we’re doing. We have a secret weapon on the inside, one they don’t know about – the rightful duchess of Tantos. You.”

“Mardoban, I lost Tantos,” Kallistrae said. “They played me, and I lost everything. Didn’t you see that message they forced me to record? I abdicated. I’m not duchess of anything anymore.”

“As far as the crown is concerned, you are the duchess, no matter what Naudar says,” Mardoban said, voice hard. “We both know that a statement made under duress isn’t worth much. Just because you’re beaten once doesn’t mean you’re beaten for good. Prove to yourself, and your people, that you’re still a knight worthy of the title, and a leader they can depend on. Your planet is under martial law – will you let your people suffer under military occupation by an outside force, especially when one of the leaders of that force is a maniac like Respen? I know you, Kallistrae, and I don’t think you can.”

Kallistrae sighed, then looked up at the hologram, eyes cold. “You’re right,” she said. “I can’t. Unfortunately, I’m also stuck in here. Do you have a plan for that?”

Mardoban smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “This mech is capable of sending messages to the outside world; if there’s anyone on Tantos you can still trust, it can get you in contact with them. If there’s anything you want to say to your people, it can record it and start distributing the messages on the net. And through it we can also start subverting the palace’s other mechs and computer systems, though we’ll have to work slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. And when we’re ready to act, we can use it to slip you weapons. You’re not alone, Kallistrae; your people aren’t alone. The council stands with Tantos III against these insurgents. We will not abandon you.”

“All right,” Kallistrae said, drawing a deep breath. “Then let’s get down to business, shall we? First off, let’s record a message for the people of my planet. This is what I want to say…”

///

Kallistrae’s holoimage flickered and vanished, and Mardoban looked up from it, straightening himself in his seat in the Lion’s lounge. He was alone; the other dukes were on their own ships, positioning themselves in orbit opposite the rebel forces and waiting for the battle that was sure to come soon. Artakane had departed to Katanes, taking Karani, Latharna Dhenloc, and Lieutenant Rehan with her. And Pakorus… Mardoban was still going over the message he had received from Midaia in his mind. Part of him was enraged at his son’s rashness, part of him was terrified for his safety – and part of him, against his better judgment, was proud of the boy’s nerve. And if his search for the Commander’s origin bore fruit, it could be of immeasurable value to the Dozen Stars.

And as for Midaia – he wasn’t sure how far he’d trusted her. He’d known the child she’d been, not the woman she was now, had barely spoken to her in years, even counting their brief encounter at the tournament. Who knew what paths she’d walked in the intervening years, or what her agenda was? Probably only herself. But Mardoban didn’t believe she’d lead Pakorus into harm or allow it to come to him if she could prevent – or that she would have undertaken this mission if she didn’t think it might prove successful. That was some, small comfort at least.

Someone knocked on the lounge door, and Gilgam stuck his head in. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”

Mardoban waved him away. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just need time to think, is all. Alert me if the situation changes.”

“As you wish,” Gilgam said, saluting, and departed. Alone once again, Mardoban bowed his head and prayed more fervently than he had in years. He prayed that Artakane might reach Katanes in time, that his plot with Kallistrae might go unnoticed until it was time to strike, that Pakorus would return safely and would find what he sought.

Above all, he prayed for his Kingdom.

///

Arta took her seat on the bridge of Artax’s Glory, a light cruiser that was smaller than the might Equestrians, but much faster – the command ship of a small squadron of similar vessels carried in the Lion’s massive hangars and which Mardoban had recommended for the mission at hand. Together, these ships could bring down much larger quarry – and they were fast enough that they stood a chance of beating Respen’s strike force to Katanes. Combined with the planet’s militia, they should be enough to bloody his nose and make him seek easier prey elsewhere – or at least to hold off long enough for more forces from Carann to arrive.

At least, that was the plan. It wasn’t enough to stop the nervous hammering of Arta’s heart.

She glanced over at Karani and Latharna in their seats – Karani’s face bore a determined expression that Arta was certain mirrored her own; Latharna still looked troubled, but also resolved. Arta nodded at them both, then glanced over at Lieutenant Rehan, who stood beside the ship’s pilot.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” the lieutenant asked; Arta nodded wordlessly, and Rehan leaned over and whispered something in the pilot’s ear. Arta could just barely make out the sounds of keystrokes on the ship’s console, then the louder sound of groaning metal, as the Glory disengaged from its birth and accelerated into space, the other ships of its squadron following close behind. They traveled a short distance from the Lion, and then there was another groan and a flash of light as they entered jump, heading for Katanes – and battle.

Arta felt a hand on her arm and looked up to see Karani staring at her. “We’ll make it in time,” her sister said, expression concerned. “Don’t worry. I know we will.”

“I know,” Arta said, but she couldn’t quell the nervous hammering of her heart, or her fear at the prospect of what might await them at their journey’s end.  

 

Chapter Eighteen

Tantos System

Pakorus groaned and slowly opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the blast at the Tantos Station docking bay, the wave of fire, hitting the floor, and then nothing… nothing until he woke up here, that is. Shaking his head, he sat up, realized that he was lying in a bunk, and looked around the small room in shock. This wasn’t anywhere on the station, he was certain. It was nowhere he’d ever been before at all.

The room was dimly lit, with metal walls that were darkly painted. Along one wall was a shelf of books, most of which seemed to have titles written in languages he couldn’t read; a faint shimmer indicated that a forcefield was holding them in place. Beside the shelf were tables on which rested strange devices whose functions Pakorus couldn’t even guess; on the far wall hung a painting depicting a twisting, geometric image his eyes couldn’t even decipher. Even trying to make sense of it made it his head hurt; Pakorus shook himself and then let his gaze slide down to the floor in front of the picture, where a human figure sat.

It took him a moment to recognize Midaia; she’d changed out of her flowing robes and wore a simple shirt and loose pants, albeit both in her customary black. Her dark hair was bound back from her pale face in a loose tail; all told, it was an oddly mundane look for someone who normally seemed so… ephemeral. She was seated on a mat on the floor with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees, with her eyes closed and her breathing rhythmic. She didn’t seem to notice that Pakorus had awoken as he slowly stood and stretched, trying to shake the stiffness from his limbs and the pain from his head.

“You’re awake,” Midaia said suddenly, without opening her eyes; apparently, she was paying closer attention than he’d thought. “There’s kaf and some pastries in the next cabin down the hall, if you’re hungry; you probably are after what you’ve just been through.”

“Thank you,” Pakorus said reflexively. “But first, I want to know where we are and what’s going on.”

“Understandable,” Midaia said, opening her eyes and gesturing for Pakorus to take a seat across from her. He did so cautiously. “And as for the first question, it’s simple enough. We are presently on board my personal yacht, Sister Night, and have just entered jump, where we will likely remain for some time until we reach our destination.”

“Your yacht?” Pakorus asked, and then paused; now that he listened, he could hear the faint hum of the jump engines beneath them. “Who’s piloting?”

“We’re on autopilot for the moment,” Midaia said. “Don’t worry; it’s perfectly safe. I don’t install anything less than the best on my ship, after all.”

Pakorus held up his hands. “Okay, slow down,” he said. “I think we’d better start over. How did I get here, anyway? The last thing I remember was blacking out.”

“That’s what I had assumed,” Midaia said, nodding. “The fighter you flew to Tantos Station was destroyed, along with most of the other ships berthed in the same hangar. Someone – I suspect part of the same mercenary crew who went after Specter – set a bomb. Whether the target was Specter himself or simply anyone who consulted with him I don’t know. I kept us alive by means of my arts and carried you to my ship where it was berthed in another docking bay and then we departed the station. I considered returning you to your father, but it seemed that Lion of Carann was engaged in quite a ferocious battle over Tantos III and I didn’t like my odds of getting us there in one piece, so I decided to take you with me. You’ll probably be safer with me anyway; there’s not much in the galaxy that poses a threat to me, after all. And we are, if I’m not mistaken, looking for the same answers.”

Pakorus groaned and put his head in his hands. “Father’s probably worried sick about me,” he muttered. “First, I was stupid enough to run off to see Specter on my own, and then my fighter got blown up – if he was keeping track of it, he probably thinks I’m dead! And it’s starting to seem like you didn’t rescue me so much as kidnap me.”

Midaia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Pakorus,” she said. “I sent a message to your father to let him know where you were, though I don’t know if he’s had a chance to read it yet. And you were the one who went looking for a notorious criminal and information broker because you wanted to solve a mystery. I’m giving you the chance to work with me on that investigation – would you rather be stuck back on Carann, sitting in the garden reading old books and wishing you could be like their heroes?”

Pakorus flushed in embarrassment and looked down at his hands; Midaia smiled knowingly. “I had a feeling that was the case,” she said. “But for now, you and I are hunting the same quarry. I found the drive Specter gave you and uploaded the coordinates for the old Imperial laboratory he told you about; this is may very well be the first clue we need to unravel the mystery of the Commander and who is behind the attempts to destroy our Kingdom.”

“How did you get involved in all this, anyway?” Pakorus asked.

“You might say I’ve always been involved,” Midaia said. “Like I told you, these are the people who murdered my mother, and it isn’t the custom of House ast Carann to allow such a crime to go unavenged. I’d been doing some investigations of my own after Artakane killed the Commander, and there I was… stymied.” She looked troubled for a moment, and Pakorus frowned at that, but then she continued. “That was when I ran into, shall I say, some old friends of mine. They gave me a riddle – seek the old one, seek the hidden one, seek the dead. The old one I know well enough, and he and I will have a long talk before this is over. The hidden one I decided was our old friend Specter. The dead, no doubt, is the Commander himself. So I resolved to meet with Specter, find out what he knew, and use that to try and trace the Commander back to his origins. And as I suspected, Specter was able to help. The rest, you know.”

A part of Pakorus burned to ask Midaia who these ‘old friends’ of hers were and why they apparently gave her riddles instead of straight answers, but he doubted she’d do anything but evade the question if he put it to her. “It sounds like you’ve got everything covered,” he said. “What do you expect me to do to help? It’s not exactly a secret I’m not much good in a fight.”

“Well, as I mentioned, for the moment you’re probably safer with me than anywhere else,” Midaia said, which didn’t do Pakorus’s pride much comfort. “But on the other hand, from what I understand you’re not unintelligent – got very good marks at the Academy, I hear – and your father is one of the sharpest nobles in the kingdom, when he remembers to think with his brain instead of his sense of honor. And you did shoot a man who was in the process of trying to shoot me, something for which I am grateful. So I suspect you’ll come in handy. There’s more to life than dueling, Pakorus, despite what most of the nobility in this kingdom seem to think. And I believe you have talents even you haven’t realized yet.”

She regarded him with piercing eyes that seemed to see directly into his soul, and Pakorus looked away, embarrassed. “If you say so,” he muttered.

“Oh, I do,” Midaia said. “And I’m rarely wrong, so it would be very embarrassing if you do end up letting me down. Try not to. Now, I recommend you go grab something to eat. You just barely avoided being blown up, after all, and our journey isn’t over yet. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it’s barely begun.”

///

“This is all your fault,” Sateira snapped as she paced back and forth in the sitting room, arms folded angrily. Darius watched in silence from where he stood guard in a corner, but he privately he didn’t think he’d ever seen her more furious. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her for it.

“My fault?” Respen demanded, voice equally harsh. “What would you have had us do – slink away and beg the pretender for forgiveness on our knees? At least I did something rather than passively wait for her to pass sentence on us. If anyone is at fault here it is our friend the guildmaster, whose people failed to notice that Artakane was wearing a transmitter!”

“All you did was start a fight we lost,” Sateira replied. “I was the one who actually landed a blow that took Artakane down, if you will recall.”

“And yet you still failed to keep her from escaping!” Respen said, rising to his feet angrily and glaring daggers at Sateira.

“Enough, both of you!” Naudar said, stepping forward and forcing both of them to step back by holding his cane between them. “This bickering is pointless. The fact of the matter is, it doesn’t matter whose fault our current predicament is; what we have to decide now is what we’re going to do about it, and the two of you coming to blows over your own pride won’t help us at all!”

“And what would you have us do?” Respen asked. “Surrender and cut a deal with your friend Mardoban to keep your position while leaving the two of us to hang?”

“If I thought it might work, I’d be sorely tempted,” Naudar said. “Luckily for you, I’m afraid we’ve passed the point where that sort of arrangement is possible. This will only end in blood. Now, the loyalist forces remain in-system, no doubt waiting for reinforcements. I recommend that we launch an attack before those reinforcements can arrive, pulling in forces from our duchies if necessary, with the goal of taking Artakane and Mardoban hostage. If we can manage that, we will have the leverage necessary to force the rest of the council to acquiesce to our demands. It lacks the air of legitimacy our original plan would have carried, but considering the circumstances, it may be our best option.”

“And how do you know they don’t have more surprises waiting for us, like they did here on Tantos III?” Sateira asked. “I recommend we do the unexpected; bypass the loyalist fleet completely and launch an attack on Carann itself. With their forces here, the planet’s defenses will be light, and once we hold the capital, the rest of the kingdom will fall in line.”

Naudar stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “The potential rewards are great,” he said, “but the risks are high. Personally, I don’t like it – even with the flagship and part of the fleet here, Carann is still the most strongly defended planet in the Kingdom. Even if we pulled all our forces out of Tantos, I doubt we could take it – and certainly not quickly enough that we’d manage to entrench ourselves before the Lion returns.”

“I agree with Naudar,” Respen said; Darius was surprised at that at first, but then the duke of Aurann continued. “At least, to a point. I’m not willing to risk and attack on Carann at this juncture, but neither do I intend to sit here idly by and do nothing while waiting for reinforcements. Nor do I intend to allow the pretender to go unpunished for humiliating us today. I will send for reinforcements from Aurann to join the occupation on Tantos and prepare to engage Mardoban’s fleet, but I myself intend to take a squadron of ships to Katanes and burn it from orbit. That planet is lightly defended and will fall easily – and Artakane will doubtless rush to defend her home. Then I will take her and have my revenge.”

“And do you intend to accomplish any particular strategic objective in attacking Katanes or simply vent your bloodlust?” Naudar demanded. “What if Artakane doesn’t come? What will you have accomplished then?”

“You’re my partner in this, Sakran, not my superior,” Respen said, eyes burning. “Even if you think being the oldest of us also makes you the wisest. I will launch this attack with or without your approval. Adjust your plans accordingly.” Turning angrily, he swept from the room.

“I will also send to Tashir for reinforcements,” Sateira said when he was gone. “Though I will be staying here for now. I agree with you, Naudar, that an attack on Katanes is a pointless diversion, but I intend to be ready to engage the loyalist fleet. So long as we hold one of their planets, they won’t go far.” She nodded at the older duke, and then turned and left the room as well.

When she was gone Naudar sighed and seated himself on a nearby chair, then gestured for Darius to join him. “Always such a pleasure to work with, aren’t they?” he muttered irritably. “But still, we must work with the tools the Lord gives us, as they say.”

“What do you want me to do, Father?” Darius asked.

“I’m sending you with Respen,” Naudar said. “Don’t look shocked. You’re too good a swordsman for him to turn down, and I’ll send a squadron of Sakran fighters with you as well. Respen is correct that an attack on Katanes may be enough to make Artakane react without thinking, but what he has planned is little more than the mass murder of civilians. That’s the sort of crime that would turn the entire rest of the Kingdom against us. I want you and your siblings to try to prevail on him to change tactics – to raid the planet instead of levelling it and seize the Baron ast Katanes and bring him either back here to Tantos III or to Respen’s citadel on Aurann. That should be sufficient to provoke Artakane without earning us the hatred of the entire Dozen Stars.”

Darius shook his head. “Respen won’t like that,” he said. “Not with his blood up like it is. What if he won’t see reason?”

Naudar looked his son directly in the eyes, his expression cold. “I always knew this alliance was a temporary convenience,” he said. “If Respen proves to be intractable – do what you have to do.”

Darius felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sitting room’s mild temperature run down his spine.

///

Arta sat in a chair in the Lion’s lounge, nursing a cup of kaf and a splitting headache. Karani sat across the table from her, looking both concerned and relieved. Finally, her sister couldn’t seem to contain herself. “We were so worried about you!” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Lousy,” Arta muttered. “Like I just got trampled by an izdakan that desperately needs to go on a diet. Getting shot by that sonic blast wasn’t much fun, and I used so much power during the fight that I’m still pretty drained.”

“But you got away!” Karani said. “And now everyone knows how the rebels planned to double-cross you! Mardoban says that the rest of the council is furious, and the dukes are getting ready to send more forces to help us retake Tantos III. You turned the tide on this, Arta! I’d hug you if you didn’t look like that would probably knock you out or something at the moment.”

“Thanks,” Arta said drily. “But you should thank Latharna, too. She helped get me out of there more than anyone. I’m not sure I’d have made it if it wasn’t for her, especially after Sateira shot me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fight like she can, not even at the tournament. Did you hear she actually bloodied Darius?”

“Well, I guess maybe she is good for something after all,” Karani said, though her tone was light. “Where is she, anyway?”

“With the ship’s medic,” Arta said. “Darius cut her pretty good; she wanted to get it looked at. Me, I mostly just need rest. Not that that’s something I’m liable to get much of any time soon.”

The sound of a faint knock on the door heralded Duke Mardoban’s arrival. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Not at all,” Arta told him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re still in a holding pattern for the moment,” the duke said. “We don’t have the forces to take back Tantos III, but the rebels also don’t want to risk attacking us at the moment and leaving the planet undefended. We’re waiting for reinforcements from Carann and the rest of the council, and I expect that the rebels are doing much the same. We have more planets, but their three duchies are all very powerful, and by capturing Kallistrae they’ve taken Tantos out of the game as well. Speaking of which, how did the other part of the plan we discussed go?”

Arta smiled. “Perfectly,” she said. “Latharna pretended to fall onto one of the serving mechs and got the beacon attached to it, and I don’t think anyone noticed what we’d done. By now, the mech’s programming has been altered and it should be serving as our eyes and ears inside the palace tower.”

Mardoban put a hand on Arta’s shoulder. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll have the communications crew watch for any transmissions it makes. Between that and getting the rebels to expose their treachery, at least we have some good news today.” He shook his head, his expression darkening. Arta frowned.

“All right, I get the feeling there’s something going on here I don’t know about,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

Mardoban sighed and then quickly filled her in on the situation with Pakorus. “We haven’t heard anything from him in some time,” he finished, looking weary. “I think I’d know if something had happened to him, but I am worried. Angry that he did something so reckless, of course, but worried. Still, he may be onto something – if anyone knows more about what was going on with the Commander, it’s Specter. I just wish he he’d spoken to me about it first.” He sighed. “And I pray every moment that he’ll be all right.”

Arta rested a hand on the duke’s arm. “He will be,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt, and to ignore the feeling of worry that had crept into her chest when he’d told her what Pakorus had done. “He’s smart, and I trust that he knows what he’s doing. And I promise you that he’s my friend too, and if something has happened to him, I’ll do everything in my power to get him back.”

Mardoban looked relieved. “Thank you, Arta,” he said; then he smiled and shook his head. “Lord, you reminded me of your mother just then. Aestera always believed in her friends, but if she knew they were in danger, she was never someone to sit back and do nothing.”

The sound of footsteps suddenly came from the hallway outside the lounge, and Arta turned to see one of the Lion’s communications officers hurrying in, sketching a bow in her direction before turning to Mardoban and saluting. “Your Majesty,” he said, “Your Grace; Lady Karani. I’m sorry to bother you, but we just received a report we thought you should know about.”

“What is it, lieutenant?” Mardoban asked, tone wary.

“Sir, our sensors indicate that elements of the rebel forces at Tantos III are preparing to separate from the main force and enter jump,” the officer said. “Two Equestian warships, plus some smaller ships and fighters, mostly of Aurannian origin. Based on their current trajectory, the most likely jump destination is Katanes.”

Arta’s grip went rigid on her mug of kaf; behind her, she heard Karani’s sharp intake of breath. “Katanes has some defense forces,” Mardoban said slowly, “but I don’t believe it has what it takes to hold out against a determined attack.”

“It doesn’t,” Arta said, a cold feeling in her gut. Fear filled her, but increasingly it was replaced by anger. When she spoke again, it wasn’t with the voice of the girl Arta, but the voice she’d used when addressing the rebels on Tantos – the voice of Artakane The voice of a queen. “Aurann – those are Respen’s ships. He’s preparing to attack my home. Duke Mardoban, you said that my mother never stood by when those she cared for were in danger, and that I was the same way. You’re right. Prepare a strike force to leave for Katanes as soon as possible. I’m going home.”

Chapter Seventeen

Tantos System

The false security troops hesitated for a moment at Midaia’s sudden appearance, and then levelled their weapons at her. “Out of the way, lady,” one of them said. “We’re not here for you, but don’t think we won’t shoot you to get at that creep behind you. This is your last warning.”

Though it was hard to tell from where he was standing, Pakorus got the distinct impression that Midaia was rolling her eyes. “Oh, please,” she said. “You’ve just seen what I can do, you must be now have some inkling of who – and what – I am, and you still think you can threaten me? That’s almost cute.”

The leader of the intruders scowled. “That’s it,” he growled. “The boss won’t care if we kill a couple of extras on the way, so long as we get Specter. Shoot her, now!”

Midaia sighed and raised her hands. “You could have avoided this,” she said, and then red light burst from her fingers in crackling waves. It struck the false security troops and then began arcing back and forth between them, their howls of agony echoing through the dim office. Pakorus watched them writhe, their expressions obvious rictuses of pain, and despite himself he found a horrified sympathy rising up within him. These men had come to kill Specter, and probably him too, but was this… this drawn-out torment really what they deserved? At least Specter’s killing had been quick.

Suddenly, his gaze fell to one of the attackers, who’d dropped to his knees and seemed to have avoided the worst of the attack. He pulled himself slowly towards Midaia’s side and raised his beam rifle; the black-clad Adept didn’t seem to have noticed him. His finger moved towards the trigger – and then he fell to the floor, a scorch-mark still smoldering in his back.

Pakorus lowered his beam pistol, hardly able to comprehend that he had been the one to shoot the man. Before he could process it, Midaia lowered her hands and the red light faded; the attackers crumpled, their bodies smoking. She walked over to the corpse of the leader and kicked it experimentally; it didn’t stir.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “There are only a few ways to kill directly with an Adept’s skills, unfortunately, and this is actually one of the more pleasant ones – the others are worse.” She paused, frowning at the attacker Pakorus had shot, and then looked up at the corner where he was standing, seeming to notice him for the first time. “And Pakorus ast Orlanes, if I’m not mistaken. It seems I owe you my life.”

“I-I guess so, Princess Midaia,” he managed to say.

Midaia looked down to the body, then back at Pakorus, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Is that the first person you’ve killed?” she asked; he nodded wordlessly. “I’m sorry you had to do that – and I’m sorry you had to see what I did to the others. And for the record, I renounced my claim to the throne a long time ago – it’s just ‘Midaia’, not ‘princess’ anything.”

“In any case, my thanks for dealing with my uninvited guests,” Specter said; Pakorus started to see the informant emerge from behind his screen, flanked by his two guards. As he had suspected, Specter was very tall and thin; he wore a suit similar to that favored by guildsmen, though his was a dull grey rather than bright silver, and he wore a blank cloth mask of the same color over his face; it gave him a disconcerting resemblance to the Commander’s assassins. “As I said, your timing was impeccable.”

“Don’t thank me quite yet,” Midaia said. “Tantos Station is currently swarming with guild security; some of them are the real thing, but I expect many of them are the same sort of impostors as we just dealt with. Someone really wants you dead, old friend – though it’s entirely possible you’re not their only target.”

“I agree,” Specter said. “And I have a feeling I know why.” He turned to his guards. “How long before my security system is back up?”

One of the guards checked his wrist screen. “Looks like a couple hours, boss,” he said. “Whatever they used on it did it’s job good.”

“As I suspected,” Specter said, seeming to frown behind his mask. “I think that, perhaps, I should lie low for a while. Unfortunately, I still have business to conclude with Midaia. Though perhaps…” his voice trailed off, and then he walked over to stand by the Adept’s side. Their heads lowered, and they had a rapid, whispered conversation that Pakorus couldn’t overhear; then they both stood up and turned to look straight at him. The effect was disconcerting.

“I have an escape ship prepared for just such a contingency,” Specter said. “My guards and I will take it. Young Pakorus also needs to be escorted to safety, or I will never hear the end of it. If I may be so bold, Midaia, would you mind walking Master ast Orlanes back to his ship? I trust you’re familiar with my back doors; taking them will likely be safer.”

“Of course I am,” Midaia said, seeming insulted that Specter felt like he had to ask. “And I would be perfectly willing to take Pakorus; we are going in the same general direction, after all.” Pakorus felt a prickling feeling on the back of his neck at her words; somehow, he got the feeling that the direction she meant wasn’t the way to the docking bays.

“In that case, I will take my leave until such time as things die down,” Specter said. He turned to Pakorus and bowed. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. My sincere apology that things ended in such a… crass manner.”

“Of- of course,” Pakorus stammered, bowing back. Specter gestured to his men to follow him and then vanished into a corridor behind his desk, one that led deeper into the bowels of the station. Pakorus watched him go, and then turned to his companion.

“We had best be off as well,” Midaia said. “I think I here more of them coming.” She walked over to the office wall and began running her hands long it, murmuring to herself. Finally she touched something that made her smile and tapped some sort of hidden release; at once a section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden, dark corridor. “And here we are,” she said. She stood for a moment and then strode forward into the shadows, her dark cloak flapping behind her; Pakorus took a moment to draw a breath and then followed her. The door slid shut behind them.

Inside, the corridor was lit dimly enough that Pakorus could see, though not well. For a long, indeterminate span he followed Midaia in silence, gaze locked on the back of her robes. He’d known of her all his life – after all, his father had been one of the late Queen Aestera’s closest companions, and Midaia was her eldest daughter – but he himself had never known her, hadn’t even seen her in person until she’d shown up out of nowhere to kill one of the assassins on the day of the tournament, and then she hadn’t spoken to him. She’d already gone to live in a convent when he was born and had stopped visiting Carann altogether after her mother was assassinated. If Pakorus had ever met her before, he’d been a very small infant at the time and had no memory of the event.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Though there’s no need; I’m fully capable of finding my way back to my fighter on my own.”

“If you tried, you’d probably already be dead,” Midaia said. “The attackers know now that you were the last person to consult with Specter, and they probably want to kill you just to tie up the loose end. But it’s no burden to me. Your father was like an uncle to me when I was small – does that make us almost cousins, in some roundabout way? And I hear my sister Artakane is fond of you; I don’t want to upset either of them. And you did, after all, save my life, or at least prevent an inconvenient injury. I honor my debts.”

She paused for a long moment before speaking again. “And also, Specter tells me that you have something I want – information, specifically. It seems you and I came to see him to get answers to the same questions.”

Pakorus felt a sudden chill. “You’re looking for information on the Commander too,” he said.  It wasn’t a question.

Midaia’s hooded head nodded. “I am,” she said. “These people killed my mother, Pakorus. They tried to kill my sister, and very likely would have killed me had they been capable of making the attempt. I intend to find out who they are, and then I will make them pay. Specter told me he gave you information on a lead, stored on a drive. He also said that he suspects that the same person or persons behind the Commander is also responsible for the attack today. The technology that disabled his security system was not of a sort he’d seen before – and there’s not a lot that’s true of.”

“So does that mean you’re going to take the drive from me before you let me go?” Pakorus asked, feeling outraged at the idea – though he was also aware that if Midaia did try to take it, there was very little he could do to stop her.

“Of course not,” she said. “What do you take me for, a common thief? My ship is docked not far from yours. We can stop there, and I can make a copy, and then you’ll be on your way. You can continue your investigation your way, and I’ll continue it mine.”

“Aren’t you worried that your ship might be attacked too?” Pakorus asked.

“There’s nothing on this station that is a threat to me,” Midaia said, and from the tone of her voice, it wasn’t an idle boast.

They walked in silence for some time more, the corridor taking several more twists and turns, before it finally ended in another door; Midaia made a gesture and there was a small flash of red light around her fingers, and the door slid silently open. They stepped out into a side hallway near Tantos Station’s main docking bays.

Pakorus took the lead. “My fighter’s near here,” he said. Midaia nodded and followed him as they made their way down the hall, finally emerging in a wide-open space, starlight gleaming ahead against a black backdrop visible behind a forcefield. A number of ships lay at rest in the bay, including his own fighter.

“Here we are,” he said, and then frowned. “Wait. I don’t like this. Where is everyone? Something’s wrong.”

“I agree,” Midaia said. “I think we should – wait. Get down, now!”

Pakorus’s body hit the floor just as she finished speaking, and suddenly the docking bay lurched and erupted into flames. He barely had time to register the though a bomb before the inferno was upon them. Midaia raised her hands, and suddenly they were enveloped in a hemisphere of red-glowing light. The heat of the fire was blunted; the force of the blast still partially came through. Midaia swayed on her feet but stayed standing. Pakorus was knocked onto his side; his head hit the metal deck, and he knew no more.

///

Latharna and the royal guards stumbled back into the waiting room to find the aftermath of a scene of chaos; the room was in shambles and the walls and furniture were scorched with blast marks. The forms of several guild security officers lay scattered around the edges, unconscious or dead she couldn’t tell, along with several living guildsmen the remaining guards were holding at gunpoint. She didn’t see any dead guards, though some were wounded and being supported by their fellows; their uniforms, flashy as they might seem in bright blue and gold, were designed to soak up a certain amount of blast fire.

She shifted Arta’s weight in her arms and turned to Lieutenant Rehan. “What happened out here?” she asked.

“About what you’d expect,” the lieutenant said, sighing. “We heard sounds of a struggle from inside the meeting room and then the guildsmen seemed to get some sort of order to fire on us; luckily we were ready for them. Guildmaster Madran bolted as soon as things weren’t going his way, the coward. What about in there? How is the queen? Is Her Majesty alright?”

Latharna looked down at Arta, unconscious but still breathing. “I think she was just stunned,” she said. “Duke Respen pulled a gun on her when she tried to make them surrender, and that started the fight. The dukes all got away, though. They probably went to get reinforcements.”

“Agreed,” Rehan said, nodding. “Let’s get out of here. Can you carry her? My people need their hands free in case they need to shoot someone.”

“I think so,” Latharna said; she and the guard lieutenant nodded at each other and then the whole company turned and began to hurry down the far hallway as fast as they could towards the bay where the shuttle was docked. As she ran, Latharna looked down at the unconscious body in her arms, worry rising in her heart. Was Arta alright? Would they be able to get her out of here in time?

Suddenly a soft groan rose from the queen’s lips and her eyes fluttered open, staring blearily up into Latharna’s. “My knight,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Sateira shot you with a sonic blaster,” Latharna said. “We’re getting you out of here and heading back to the shuttle.”

“Good,” Arta murmured, her eyes closing again. “You know, I’m really starting to hate this planet. Every time I come here, people start shooting at me.” Then she let out a soft sigh and dropped off into unconsciousness once more.

As she did so, Latharna’s ears focused on the sounds coming from behind her, which resolved into the noise of dozens of running feet. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw several more security officers following them, accompanied by a larger number of soldiers in red and gold uniforms, and their head a young man and woman who looked remarkably like Darius ast Sakran. Those, she decided, must be his two siblings.

“We’re about to have company!” she shouted, turning back towards Lieutenant Rehan.

“On it,” the lieutenant said and gestured towards two of her guards. They spun on their heels and faced the oncoming enemy, pointing their beam rifles at the ceiling. They fired on what Latharna recognized as a high setting, raking the hallway’s roof and causing it to spill a small avalanche of debris, filling the corridor with rubble and smoke.

“We can’t fight that many, but that should at least delay them,” Rehan said. “We’re almost there – come on!”

They rounded another corner and emerged into the landing bay where their shuttle waited. A handful of guild security guards surrounded the boarding ramp, but Rehan gestured to her troops and they raised their beam rifles and fired, sending the guildsmen running and leaving a burning barrier scorched onto the floor. Rehan hurried aboard first, to alert the pilot to the situation and prepare the shuttle for takeoff; Latharna prepared to follow her when she suddenly heard the sound of many booted feet. Turning, she saw that the ast Sakran siblings had found another route – they rushed into the hangar, their troops fanning out behind them and levelling their beam rifles at the shuttle.

“You’re outnumbered and outgunned,” the girl – Tariti, if Latharna remembered right – said. “We don’t want to commit regicide today, but we will if we have to. Stand down, all of you, or we will open fire.”

Latharna handed Arta’s prone form to one of the other guards and then turned to face the attackers, standing at the end of the boarding ramp and drawing her dueling sword, which hissed with energy as she activated it. “If you want to get to Arta, you have to go through me first,” she said.

The young man, Galen, only laughed. “Oh really?” he asked. “And who are you, some jumped up landowner’s daughter who thinks she can be a knight?”

“She’s not even from the Dozen Stars,” Tariti said, frowning. “Listen to the accent – she’s Realtran, I’d bet anything on it. What’s she doing here? Couldn’t find work at home so she had to sell her sword in another kingdom? Tragic.”

“I’m the one who nearly beat your brother,” Latharna said, stalling for time. “And what will be tragic is what will happen to you if you don’t take a hint and let us go.”

“You fought Darius?” Tariti asked, incredulous.

“As him next time you see him,” Latharna said. “He gave me this cut, and I gave him one too, to remember me by.”

“I don’t believe her,” Galen snapped. “She’s trying to keep us talking. Soldiers, if she doesn’t stand down, shoot to kill.”

“Not so fast, Galen,” a weak voice said over Latharna’s shoulder; Arta stepped up beside her, unarmed but with her hands raised. Was it Latharna’s imagination, or were her palms glowing faintly blue. “Remember me?”

“You,” Galen snarled. “Like I’d ever forget how you humiliated me in front of half the kingdom. Well you’re not getting out of here this time. I promise you that!”

“Still like to gloat,” Arta said. “You’d have done better just to shoot me.” Her palms were definitely glowing now, and Latharna realized what was about to happen just before it did. The queen had been stalling the ast Sakrans too, just as she had been, but for a different reason.

Arta’s eyes suddenly burst into brilliant light, like a pair of cold blue stars; a wave of energy shot from her palms, striking the ast Sakrans and their troops and slamming them back into the hangar walls. Arta gave a great cry and collapsed; Latharna caught her once again, and then she and the remaining guards hurried up the boarding ramp before any of the enemy could recover; the ramp retracted, and the door shut behind her. As it did, she thought she could hear Galen ast Sakran bellowing curses and declaring that Katanes would burn for this.

“We’d better be ready to go, now!” Latharna shouted, sticking her head into the pilot’s cabin.

Lieutenant Rehan, seated in the copilot’s chair, looked over her shoulder and nodded. “Here we go!” she said. Beside her, the pilot flipped a few switches and the shuttle lifted into the air and turned towards the exit, which was blocked by a thick metal door. A few more switches and the shuttles beam cannons lowered from under its belly and opened fire, blasting a hole clear through the door; then the shuttle was out, flying free through Tantos III’s foggy sky.

“Strap in, people” the pilot said. “Next stop, Lion of Carann.”

“And we’d better get there fast,” Rehan said, looking over her instruments. “It looks like we’ve got guild fighters getting ready to launch from a nearby tower. This could be a bumpy ride.”

///

The skies above Tantos III blazed with light as the council’s fleet and the rebel fleet pounded at each other with heavy blast cannons. Mardoban could feel the Lion shake beneath him with each impact, but so far the great ship’s shields held, as did those of the Equestrian warships on both sides of the battle; such a combat was often one of attrition, each side trying to batter down the other’s defenses before the same happened to them. The smaller fighters and support craft weren’t so lucky; several on both sides now drifted dead through space, torn to pieces by enemy fire. Mardoban whispered a quiet prayer for the Lord to deliver their souls.

Increasingly, the council’s forces were at a disadvantage. Though they’d had superior numbers once their allies had been called in from the edge of the system, they had no more reinforcements in easy distance – though that was liable to change once the transmission confirming Respen and the other’s treachery had a chance to circulate more broadly. The rebels, on the other hand, were bringing up more forces from the planet and elsewhere in orbit, including guild security forces and a number of heavy warships from Aurann. Whatever Respen’s other faults as a leader, his reputation for funding a powerful military was well-earned; before long, the loyalists were going to be outnumbered and outgunned.

“We can’t take much more of this, Mardoban!” Duchess Vashata’s holoimage declared. “My shields are failing an are going to collapse completely if I take much more of a pounding. We need to call a retreat and wait for more reinforcements before we can break the occupation here.”

“I concur!” said Dion. “This is madness! How much longer are we to endure this?”

“Artakane is still down there, my friends,” Mardoban said. “We can’t just abandon our queen to her enemies’ mercy.”

Vashata and Dion traded dark looks, and then Mardoban felt a trembling hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Karani, her bravado gone and a frightened look on her face. “Are they really going to leave Arta down there, with Respen and Naudar and the others?” she asked; her voice was small, but there was determination under it. The duke had no doubt that if the others pulled out, Karani would try to hop into a fighter herself and go down to Tantos III to find her sister, alone if need be.

“Not if I can help it, Karani,” he said, patting her arm.

“That’s a lovely sentiment,” Vashata said, “but Mardoban, my sensors are detecting more Aurannian warships approaching. We’re running out of time!”

“Sir!” one of the bridge officers called. “We’ve got a shuttle coming up from the planet, arcing around the battle. They’re hailing us.”

“Put them through!” Mardoban said, hope rising in his heart.

“This is Lieutenant Rehan of the Royal Guard,” a staticky woman’s voice suddenly said; Mardoban recognized it as the officer who’d been in charge of Arta’s escort. “We’re heading your way; the queen is out cold, but alive. Repeat, Her Majesty is alive. We’ve got enemy fighters on our tail and they’re closing fast. We need all the help we can get.”

“Copy, shuttle, this is Duke Mardoban on the Lion of Carann.” He turned to one of the bridge’s tactical officers. “Can we spot the fighters she’s talking about?”

“We’ve got them on our scopes, sir,” the officer said. “They’ll be in range shortly.”

Mardoban smiled coolly. “Good,” he said. “Let them get in range, and then show them exactly what sort of folly trying to kill the Queen of the Dozen Stars is, shall we?”

“With pleasure, sir,” the officer said. Mardoban turned to look up at Karani, whose expression showed palpable relief.

“Arta’s alive,” she said. “She made it out.”

“She did,” Mardoban said. “Now, let’s keep her that way.”

A few minutes later, the royal shuttle rounded the battle and came hurtling towards the Lion, a squadron of guild fighters in hot pursuit. No sooner had it entered the great warship’s range than the beam cannon batteries opened fire, the powerful guns picking off the fighters one by one until the last survivors of the squadron turned and fled back to the planet’s surface. The shuttle docked safely in the Lion’s landing bay, and Karani threw her hands in the air and whooped in triumph at her sister’s safe return.

No sooner had the shuttle docked than Mardoban gave the order, and the council’s battered fleet jumped away from Tantos III to an arranged rendezvous point at the edge of the system, to make repairs, await reinforcements and plan their next move.

Chapter Sixteen

Tantos System

“Surrender?” Duchess Sateira asked incredulously. “And, exactly, do you think that we have any interest in doing that?”

Latharna’s gaze shifted from the rebel duchess back to Arta where she sat in her chair; if the young queen was as nervous as she thought she must be, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Instead, she kept her cold smile firmly in place and her voice even. “You thought you could capture me away from my guards and allies, force me to agree to whatever you wanted or, if I wouldn’t, kill me and make it look like I was the one at fault,” she said. “But things aren’t going to work out quite that way. You see this clasp? I’m afraid it’s not just decorative. It contains a very small, very specialized transmitter that’s been broadcasting everything we’ve been saying in this room back to the Lion’s bridge – and from there, to the other members of the council who are standing by and waiting to see how things shake out. So go ahead, threaten me, even try to kill me if the mood takes you. You’re too late – by the end of today, the entire Kingdom will know you for the treacherous, conniving ambitious snakes you are. Maybe you can still take the throne by force, but if you do, it will be as nothing more than blatant usurpers, and everyone will know it. Or we can negotiate your withdrawal from Tantos III and the reinstatement of Lady Kallistrae as duchess, and you can get out of this with at least some of your dignity intact.”

The speech had been mostly scripted, worked out between Arta and Mardoban beforehand; still, Latharna felt like she would have applauded its delivery if the situation hadn’t been so tense. Respen half-rose from his seat, his expression murderous; Sateira yanked him back down and hissed something quietly in his ear, though her gaze was nearly as dark. Naudar, however, simply sat very still, regarding Arta carefully as though calmly reassessing his opinion of her; behind his chair, his distractingly-handsome son was shaking his head and strangely, seemed more amused than upset at the situation.

“Mardoban put you up to this, didn’t he?” Naudar asked finally.

“Does it matter?” Arta returned. “I’m here on behalf of the people of the Dozen Stars, in order to stop this war before it truly begins and claims even more lives. Are your subjects more important to you than your ambitions? If yes, then I think we can still work things out.”

“We still have you outnumbered, both down here and in orbit,” Sateira said. “So maybe we’re stuck operating under the eyes of the council; what’s to stop us from taking you hostage and forcing them to acquiesce to our demands? As far as I see it, your situation hasn’t changed.”

“Like I said,” Arta told her, “you can do that if you want. Maybe you’ll even win. But then Respen – or whichever one of you ends up with the throne – only gets it through brute force and without any goodwill from the council or the people. And anyone who takes power by force always has to be afraid of it being taken away the same way. My tutor taught me about the old emperors who murdered for their positions and then for the rest of their lives always had to sleep with one eye open, watching for the person who would come and do the same to them. Is that really what you want?”

“No, it isn’t,” Naudar said. “However, my colleagues are correct in that we do still hold Tantos III with greater force available to us than you have, and therefore we still have a position of strength. Clearly, we underestimated your resolve, but I think we can still come to a mutually beneficial understanding…”

“No!” Respen snarled suddenly, leaping to his feet and swatting Sateira’s hand away when she tried to restrain him again. Latharna tensed and moved closer to Arta’s chair, hand on her sword. “I am a cousin of the royal line, and the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine by right! I won’t bow meekly before this pretender and renounce my claim like a good little duke. I was promised my birthright and I will have it!”

Before anyone could react, he pulled a beam pistol from a holster at his side and levelled it at Arta’s chest. Latharna gasped and drew her sword, lunging forward, but she wasn’t fast enough. Respen pulled the trigger and a bolt of light lanced from his weapon, aiming straight for the queen’s heart.

///

When the connection to Arta’s transmitter suddenly dissolved into static, Karani’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. “What’s wrong, what happened, is she okay?” she demanded, the questions flurrying from her mouth in rapid fire. “Was that blast fire I heard? Was somebody shooting at her?”

“Until we reestablish the connection, we can’t know for sure,” Mardoban said, trying to keep his voice even despite the chaos roiling in his soul. He couldn’t lose another queen, not like this, not now… but no, he shook his head. They’d planned for this and he had to trust in Artakane now. There was nothing he could do for her directly but follow the plan. And they still had some tricks to play that the rebels hadn’t yet seen.

“Move us forward into attack position,” Mardoban ordered. “I want shields up and weapons systems engaged. If the rebel dukes betrayed the Queen at the negotiating table, they’ll have no problems with trying to take us by surprise; let’s not give them the chance. And see if you can raise one of the enemy warships; I think they have some explaining to do.”

The bridge officers hurried to comply with the duke’s request, while Karani stood beside his chair in an uncharacteristic silence, a petrified expression on her face – not caused by fear for herself, Mardoban was certain, but fear for her sister’s life. He could feel the vibrations beneath his feet as Lion shifted its position and shields and weapons engaged, and then the communications officer suddenly called out in surprise.

“Sir!” he said. “Several of the rebels Equestrian-class ships are moving to engage us; I count at least five. And sir, the lead ship is hailing us.”

Mardoban sighed. “Put them through,” he said. “Let’s here this.”

The air shimmered in front of his command chair and the holoimage of a middle-aged man in a Tashir Duchy uniform appeared before him. “Attention Lion of Carann,” the man said. “This is Captain Karas commanding the warship Sun-Sword for her grace, the duchess Sateira. Stand down at once and power down your weapons and shields, or we will fire on you. This is not a bluff. Stand down or be destroyed.”

“I doubt you’ll find Lion such easy prey as that, Captain,” Mardoban said. “We are, after all, the most advanced and powerful warship in the Kingdom. Don’t pick a fight with a hunter unless you’re willing to risk becoming prey yourself.”

“I’m well aware of your capabilities, Your Grace,” the captain said. “But we have you outnumbered five to one with more reinforcements on the way. We both know you can’t win this. It’s best to accept that.”

“I’m not accepting anything until I find out what happened to my sister,” Karani snapped, pushing forward; part of Mardoban wanted to tell her to stand down, but the incredulous look on Karas’s face was almost worth it – and in any case, keeping the captain talking suited his purposes. “You’d better tell me Arta’s still alive, or in the Lord’s name I swear I’ll take your fancy ship apart with my bare hands if I have to!”

“I have no knowledge of what may or may not be transpiring on the surface of Tantos III,” Captain Karas replied, his expression disdainful. “But I do have my orders, and those are to take you alive if possible – and dead if not. Come, Your Grace. See reason, and things will end much less painfully for all of us.”

Karani muttered a suggestion as to how the captain could follow his orders that Mardoban was reasonably certain was anatomically impossible, but he simply held up his hand. “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” he said. “The royal flagship of the Dozen Stars doesn’t surrender to rebels and usurpers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Karas said. “But you had your chance. I wish you hadn’t chosen your own destruction.”

“Oh, that’s not what I chose,” Mardoban said. “I wasn’t really refusing you, Captain. I was doing something else – stalling you.”

Sateira’s captain stared in incomprehension for a long moment, and then the space around the Lion suddenly rippled and then, with a flash of brilliant light, six more Equestrian warships appeared around them, fanning out to face the enemy.

“Aww, Mardoban, did you almost start without me?” Duchess Vashata’s voice asked as her holoimage appeared on the bridge, dressed in a navy uniform and looking eager. She’d been a reasonably successful athlete before succeeding to her duchy and still had a somewhat wild, competitive steak about her. “I’m hurt!”

“We’re not here to entertain ourselves, Vashata,” another voice said, and the duchess’s hologram was joined by that of a man a few years Mardoban’s junior, also dressed in military garb. Dion, one of Duchess Laodamia’s numerous sons, here leading his forces on his mother’s behalf. “We’re here to remind three traitors of their place. Seizing Tantos was bad enough, but openly planning to kill the Queen under the guise of negotiations? Utterly disgraceful.”

“Our friends were waiting on the edge of the system in case your mistress and her friends decided to enact some piece of treachery against our Queen,” Mardoban explained to Captain Karas, who looked stunned. “Perhaps you’re familiar with the Commander? We managed to recover some of the cloaking technology he and his band had used and got it working well enough to hide them from your sensors. They were listening in on Artakane’s transmission from the planet, and when it turned out that the negotiations weren’t being carried out in good faith, they were only a short jump away.”

He smiled coolly. “Now then, I think the playing field has been levelled. Do you still like your odds, Captain?”

Captain Karas glanced from Mardoban to the holos of the other Dukes, not even bothering to hide the anxiety on his face; then his holo vanished. Karani grinned and pumped the air with her fist.

“We got him on the run!” she shouted.

“Not quite,” one of the bridge officers said. “Sit, we’ve got incoming fire.”

“So it begins,” Mardoban muttered, and felt a sudden pang of relief that whatever fool plan Pakorus was up to, at least his son was safe and away from here.

///

Specter hissed angrily from behind his screen. “If they think that they can take me easily, then they will soon learn otherwise,” he said. “I apologize for the interruption, Pakorus. If you will please move to the corner beside my desk, it will be appreciated.”

Pakorus raised an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to hide me, I don’t think that’ll do a very good job of it,” he said.

Specter chuckled. “No,” he said. “I think that in a moment you will not want to be standing in front of me. You’ll see why.” Pakorus shrugged and moved into the corner of the room that Specter had indicated, noting as he did so that the screen wrapped around the informant in such a way that he still couldn’t get a good look at him. The duke’s son took a deep breath and steadied himself, letting his hand slip to his waist where he’d holstered a small beam pistol, just in case his business on Tantos Station went bad. He was a better shot than he was a duelist, thankfully – though admittedly, he’d only ever tested his skills on stationary targets, never on living enemies.

The other guard entered the office and nodded at Specter, and then he and his companion took up their positions on either side of their boss’s desk. A moment later the door burst open and a half-dozen rough looking men in guild security uniforms burst in, fanning out across the front of the room with weapons levelled. “Specter,” said one of the intruders, who wore an officer’s patch on his shoulder. “You’re coming with us. Tell your boys there to drop their weapons and come peacefully, and everyone gets out of this alive.”

“Do I at least get to inquire as to the reason for this intrusion?” Specter asked, his voice calm, but Pakorus could hear the danger lurking just beneath the surface.

“Guildmaster’s tired of you running your little operation on Tantos Station and not giving the guilds their proper cut, or the obedience they’re due,” the officer said. “He just wants to have a little chat is all. Agree to what he wants, and you’ll be back in your little hidey-hole here by this time tomorrow, safe and sound.”

“That’s very interesting,” Specter mused. “You see, I pay a very handsome sum already to the guilds to avoid exactly this sort of interference. And I also know every security officer of command rank in the Tantos system by sight, as I have paid off each of them personally so that they will look the other way regarding my little operation on any occasion I deem it necessary. But I don’t know you. In fact, I’ve never seen any of you before in my life, and none of your faces are in my database of Tantos system security personnel. I think you’re lying to me, friend, which is not something that’s wise to do. And I also doubt that I would ever return from any meeting you might escort me to. So forgive me if I decline your invitation.”

The officer chuckled. “And what are you going to do about it?” he asked. “Even counting the boy over there, we’ve got you outnumbered, and there’s more of us waiting in the hall outside. And you’re no fighter, Specter. Let me tell you your options one more time, as clear as I can – you come with us, or we shoot this place to pieces and you and your people all die. Got it?”

“Sadly, yes,” Specter said. “I really do hate violence.”

“Too bad,” the officer said.

“Indeed,” Specter replied. “Too bad.” Pakorus saw his silhouette move behind the screen as he flipped some switch on his desk. For a moment nothing happened, and then red lights began flashing along the walls and ceiling around the security troops. They looked around each other in confusion, and then each point of light erupted into a razor-thin bar of energy that shot from floor to ceiling. Pakorus’s eyes couldn’t track what happened next, save that there was a loud hissing sound, sudden screams that were equally suddenly cut off, and an awful burning smell. When the lights cleared, what had once been the false security team lay in pieces on the ground, neatly sliced.

Looking at the remains, it was all Pakorus could do not to throw up.

“I do hate violence,” Specter mused. “Which is why if I must employ it, I prefer to do so as efficiently and decisively as possible, so I don’t have to draw it out unnecessarily.” He turned to his guards. “Are the rest of them still there?”

One of the guards checked a screen on his wrist guard. “They’re hanging back at the mouth of the corridor talking to each other,” he said. “Can’t pick up on what they’re saying, but it looks like they’re trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Hmmm,” Specter murmured. “I’d hoped they’d take a hint. In that case, young Pakorus had best be going. Take him out by the back way and escort him to his ship. Whoever wants me silenced may try to target him as well. It’s bad for business when my clients die under my care, and in this case his father would also likely have words with me.”

“Got it, boss,” the guard said, saluting, and then turned to Pakorus. “Come on, kid. There’s more than one way out of this place. Follow me.”

“Wait a minute,” the other guard said, checking his own wrist screen. “What’re they doing out there? They’ve got some kind of device, and…”

Before he could finish speaking, a blast of electricity surged through the officer; Pakorus yelped as he felt the shock pass through him, but he wasn’t the target. He could hear something hissing behind Specter’s desk, and the sound of electronics overloading.

“They’ve disabled my security systems,” Specter hissed. “damnation them! Whoever they are, they’re better equipped than I thought. I wonder…”

The office door burst open again, and more of the fake security troops poured in, weapons raised. Suddenly, Pakorus realized that this group wasn’t going to waste time trying to convince Specter to surrender. They were just going to shoot everyone here while the security system was down. Dread settled in him, and he slowly reached for his beam pistol, which seemed a rather pathetic weapon in this situation. At the very least, he could go down fighting.

The intruders fired, but their blasts never hit their targets. The air in front of them shimmered with a faint red glow, and the shots dissipated harmlessly. They paused, looking as confused as Pakorus felt, wondering if perhaps Specter had some other security system still operational.

Then a figure appeared, seeming as if it had materialized whole from the darkness – a woman in black robes with starkly pale skin, hands held before her with red light playing along her fingers. Pakorus recognized her – he’d seen her before, on the day of the tournament when the Commander’s assassins had attacked.

“I’m sorry, boys,” she said, “but I was on my way to consult with Specter here, and I’m afraid I simply can’t allow you to poach him. Leave now, and you might survive this.”

“Midaia,” Specter said. “Your timing is impeccable. It seems things just got a bit more interesting.”

///

No sooner had Respen fired than Arta brought her hand up; there was a flash of blue light as the bold impacted on her palm, but when it cleared, she was completely unharmed; Latharna let out a relieved breath she’d barely even been aware she was holding. “Seriously, Respen?” Arta asked, maintaining her cool air even in the face of the sudden attack. “I’m an Adept and blocking blast bolts was the first trick I ever learned.”

“Even Adepts aren’t invincible,” Respen snarled. “Kill her!”

Respen’s bodyguard drew his dueling sword and moved to obey his duke, but Arta was ready; she leapt to her feet and slammed her palm down on the table, releasing a wave of bright blue light. Latharna ducked beneath it, but not everyone was so lucky; Respen’s and Sateira’s bodyguards were rocked back on their feet while Sateira herself, caught in the middle of standing, was slammed backwards and fell in a heap across her chair. As Latharna rose, she saw Naudar hurrying away towards the far door, cane in one hand and dragging Respen with the other. The duke of Sakran was shooting his ally a murderous look that made Latharna certain they were going to have some harsh words once they were clear of danger. Darius was hovering protectively by his father and seemed to be muttering softly into his wrist comm.

Latharna’s primary concern, however, was Arta. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the queen by the arm and pulling her towards the door. “We need to get out of here.”

“Too late,” Arta said, nodding towards Respen and Sateira’s guards, who’d hurried forward with dueling swords drawn and activated. Latharna and Arta drew their own weapons and backed up against one another, facing their enemies. Latharna found herself opposing Respen’s guard, a big, rough-looking man, while Arta faced Sateira’s. For a long moment they stood there quietly, and then Respen’s guard lunged forward.

As it had at the assassination attempt at the memorial, the joy of battle rose up in Latharna’s chest, fierce and sudden. She met the guard’s attack with an almost instinctual skill, blocking each of his strikes with a well-placed parry and slowly forcing him back. He was bigger than her, with a man’s greater strength and reach, but Latharna was fast and she fought with a fierce abandon. This was her skill, her true talent; this was what she was for, and her opponent was no match. His eyes hardened as he tried to match her, but no matter how he tried to break her defense, he couldn’t. Finally, Latharna found her opening; her sword slipped behind his guard and into his chest. The bodyguard’s eyes widened, and he collapsed to the floor, dead and with his life’s blood staining Latharna’s blade.

A part of her knew she should be horrified that she had, for the first time in her life, killed a man, and that later she would be horrified; for now, with the rush of the fight still in her blood, it barely registered.

Turning, she saw that Arta was still dueling Sateira’s knight; from outside the meeting room there also came the sound of fighting, as Guildmaster Madran’s security team faced off against the royal guards. Latharna didn’t know how that fight had started and didn’t particularly care; for the moment, her goal was to keep Arta safe. She moved to help the queen, and then suddenly her path was blocked. Darius ast Sakran, his father safely away, stood there, sword at the ready.

“That’s a good job you did on him there,” Darius said, nodding at the dead guard. “But I think you’ll find me a bit more of a challenge.”

“We’ll see about that,” Latharna said, a cold grin spreading across her face. She lunged forward and Darius met her blade in a skillful parry; as they exchanged blows, she knew at once that he was right. Darius ast Sakran was considered arguably the best swordsman of his generation in the Dozen Stars, and his reputation was well earned. And yet as he and Latharna dueled back and forth across the meeting room, she found that she was equal to him. Two young people, both incredibly skilled and determined, neither willing to surrender, they pushed one another to new heights, and yet neither was able to land a blow on the other.

Latharna parried a blow from Darius’s blade and they stood there, facing each other across their locked swords. “Who are you?” Darius asked, surprise and respect evident on his face. “You’re one the best duelists I’ve ever fought, but you weren’t at the tournament. Where are you from?”

“I’m Latharna Dhenloc, from Realtran,” Latharna replied, grinning. “And I’m the one who’s going to beat you.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” Darius said, and then he twisted away suddenly, sending Latharna spinning to the side. His sword came up and she ducked her head under the blow, but the edge of the blade still grazed her cheek. Latharna stumbled back and reached up to brush the side of her face – she’d been cut, and the red blood stood out starkly against the pale skin of her hand.

Darius lunged forward to press his advantage, and Latharna ducked beneath his swing and brought her own blade up. He too managed to dodge away in time, but she caught him on the edge of his free hand; he stared at the cut as he straightened up, and Latharna rose to face him. They’d both bloodied each other now, but neither had the advantage.

Suddenly the air crackled with blue light and Darius was slammed back into the table; Arta had finished with Sateira’s knight and was able to come to the aid of her own companion. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a cut,” Latharna said. “I’ll be fine.” Turning back to face Darius, she levelled her sword at him; he was groaning and pulling himself to his feet, but just before he picked his blade back up the doors burst open. Lieutenant Rehan and three other royal guards rushed in, aiming their beam rifles at the Duke of Sakran’s eldest son.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” the lieutenant asked Arta, who nodded.

“I am,” she replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

Rehan nodded and she and her guards began to back up, Arta and Latharna in the middle; the guards kept their rifles trained on Darius in case he tried something. Latharna knew that was smart, but she also found herself disappointed; part of her wanted, needed to see that duel finished, to know which of them was really the more skilled. Darius saw her watching him and nodded his head in respect, one duelist to another; she did the same.

Then something shifted behind the table; Sateira, her golden robes disheveled about her, rising to her feet. The duchess glanced around the wreckage of the meeting room, expression dark. “Fools and cowards,” she muttered; Latharna had no doubt she meant Naudar and Respen. “Must I do everything myself?”

Latharna had a sudden, terrible feeling and raised her voice to shout a warning; before she could, Sateira had drawn a weapon from within her robes that resembled a blast pistol but was of slightly different design; she levelled it at Arta and fired, then immediately ducked back under the table to avoid reprisal.

From where Latharna stood she could hear the sonic weapon’s screech; Arta took the full brunt of it. She gave a terrible cry and clutched her ears, then pitched forward, struck down by a weapon her Adept’s art couldn’t block. All at once Latharna felt her bloodlust drain from her, replaced by a sudden feeling of dread and fear. She caught Arta as she fell, the unconscious queen a surprisingly light and fragile-seeming weight in her arms, and together with the guards they stumbled back out into the waiting room, the doors closing behind them.

 

Chapter Fifteen

Tantos III, Tantos System

The security troops led Arta and her entourage through the long corridors of the Tantos palace tower. The building was just as opulent now as it had been when she’d been here almost a year ago, but there was a foreboding quality to it now that she was certain was more than just her imagination, a certain… sterility. She had a distinct impression that this entire floor had been cleared of inhabitants just to make certain no one interfered with the rebel dukes’ plans for her, and that absence left a cold and forbidding air. Arta resisted the urge to shiver. Queens did not show discomfort, especially not in the presence of their enemies.

Guildmaster Madran led the way in silence, flanked by equally taciturn security personnel; then came Arta’s company with more security forces taking up the rear. They were pinned in on all sides and would be caught surrounded by enemies if they tried anything. Of course, trying anything just now wasn’t the plan, and would actively defeat the purpose of coming here. Arta needed to speak with the rebels in person; only then would events be able to proceed as she and Mardoban had agreed they should.

Finally, they arrived in an opulently appointed waiting room that stood before a pair of grand double doors. Madran raised a hand for a halt, then turned to Arta and bowed. “Their Graces await you within, my lady,” he said. My lady, Arta thought, not ‘Your Majesty.’ It was technically acceptable but still something of a snub, especially when he’d just given the dukes their full honorific. “As agreed, you and your assistant will be permitted within. Your guards must wait out here.”

“As we agreed,” Arta said, nodding. “Lieutenant, you may remain here until our business is completed.” Lieutenant Rehan nodded back and gave a sharp salute, then gestured for the other guards to take up positions around the waiting room’s outer walls.

“I assure you, the Queen’s safety is in capable hands,” Madran assured her; the lieutenant shot him a dubious look. “If you wish to partake of refreshments while you wait, we are willing to provide anything you might desire.” He clapped his hands and a number of serving mechs glided in from side doors, trays laden with snacks and beverages born on their metal limbs. “The Tantos Dukes have traditionally maintained quite a fine pantry, if I do say so myself.”

“We’re not here to relax, guildsman,” Rehan snapped. “We’re here to do our jobs. Your attempt to distract us won’t work.”

Madran shrugged. “As you wish,” he said, and gestured for the mechs to withdraw. One of them passed close to Latharna and as she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of what it was carrying she suddenly tripped, stumbling into the machine. The mech was knocked off-balance in the air, spilling its pastries on the floor; Latharna wobbled and pressed a hand against its side to steady herself against its antigrav engines. Finally, she’d righted herself and stepped back, allowing the mech to begin cleaning up the mess without interference.

“I’m so sorry, guildmaster,” she said. “These shoes are so awkward – I’m sure you understand.” She turned to Arta and bowed with her hands folded in front of her. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she added, but as she raised her head, she met Arta’s eye and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Arta dipped her own head slightly in acknowledgment. Step one was complete.

“Assuming everyone is done falling over themselves,” Madran said with his lips pursed. He probably thought that both Arta and Latharna were completely incompetent after that little display; if he did, the better for both of them. “May I remind you that there are some very important people waiting behind these doors who are expecting you to meet with them at any moment?”

“Of course, guildmaster,” Arta said. “We are ready to begin.”

Madran nodded and gestured to the doors, which slowly began to open in response to some control he’d no doubt built into his glove; once such a trick might have impressed Arta, but now that she knew Midaia and Shiran – and had discovered Adept’s powers of her own – it seemed cheap and tawdry. Gesturing for Latharna to follow, she swept through the doors and found herself in the conference room.

The room was dominated by a great table with an empty chair set at the near end; at the opposite side sat three familiar figures. Respen, sleek and sharp as a dueling sword’s blade, who might have been handsome were it not for his coldly predatory expression. Sateira, resplendent in robes of fine gold, haughty and self-assured. And Naudar, older than the others and holding his ever-present cane in one hand, his expression calculating and shrewd. Behind each of the rebels stood a bodyguard; the only one Arta recognized was Darius ast Sakran, who regarded her with a blank expression but nodded slightly nonetheless, a gesture of respect not from subject to queen, but from one duelist to another.

“And so you have come after all,” Naudar said. “Take a seat, Artakane. We have much to discuss.”

///

Tantos Station had been founded centuries ago, built on the bones of an old Imperial base with its reconstruction funded through payments from a variety of guilds, several aristocratic families, and a handful of outright criminal enterprises. All of them were interested in a port that would stand outside of the usual regulations of the Kingdom, where anything might be bought or sold for the right price, no matter how illicit. Technically, the station was subject to the monarchy of the Dozen Stars and the Duchy of Tantos, but in practice enough bribes changed hands to keep anyone from taking too much of an interest in its operations. The Tantos Dukes had long groused about the presence of the station orbiting just beyond their home planet, but it had proven too much of a source of revenue over the years for them to express their hostility too strongly – and the constantly changing collection of interests that passed for government on the station made it clear that any attempt to challenge their sovereignty would end poorly. Nobody asked questions on Tantos Station, and there were some who made it their home who were very dangerous people indeed.

It was one of those people whom Pakorus had come here to meet with. Nobody knew much about the man called Specter – if he was a man; there were rumors that Specter might actually be a woman, an alien, or even an ancient mech from the last days of the Third Republic, with millennia of knowledge hidden in its mind. Nobody knew what Specter looked like or where he – or she, or it, or they – had come from. But it was common knowledge that there was very little on Tantos Station that Specter didn’t know about, and that he was willing to sell that information, if you could meet his price. Pakorus knew that his father had had dealings with Specter in the past, and though he didn’t entirely trust the information broker, he respected him – and his talents. If there was anyone in the Dozen Stars who could trace the origin of the Commander and his assassins, and who might have been pulling their strings, then Specter was surely that person, or at least knew where such a person could be found. The ast Orlanes name, coupled with a significant payment from the house accounts, had gotten Pakorus a meeting. Now was the time to see if Specter lived up to his reputation.

The duke’s son landed his fighter in one of Tantos Station’s many docking bays, noted thankfully on his scanners that he wasn’t pursued and that his father had therefore gotten his message, paid the dockmaster, and then made his way into the station’s main corridor, pulling up his hood to try and avoid too much notice.

Mardoban had described Tantos Station to him, and so Pakorus had been expecting the crowds, the diversity of life, the ramshackle construction that collectively managed to achieve a certain level of grandeur in itself. But there was something in the air about him as he walked along that his father hadn’t described, a kind of wary urgency. Everywhere he saw people – humans, of course, but also more aliens than he’d ever seen in one place before – going about their business in a hurried manner, speaking in rushed whispers and glaring warily at him as he passed. At first he thought he’d been recognized as an aristocratic scion, someone who didn’t belong, but then he realized that everyone was staring at everyone else in much the same way. There was an aura of fear and suspicion that had gripped Tantos Station like a vice.

The occupation, Pakorus realized – things had changed in the Tantos system, and everyone on the station knew it, and didn’t know what might happen next. The arrival of the Lion in-system had doubtless only exacerbated the concerns – everyone here was afraid that things were about to explode. And, Pakorus feared, they were more right than they knew. He’d best conduct his business with Specter quickly and then get out. This station could turn ugly very, very quickly.

Pakorus quicked his stride, pulling his cloak more tightly around him. So determined was he to reach his destination that he didn’t notice the pale woman in black who was seated outside a small, dingy restaurant sipping a small drink, whose bright eyes followed him intently as he went.

///

Pakorus found the entrance to Specter’s domain to be much as his father had described; a lengthy walk down an apparently innocuous side-corridor, ending at a plain door where two armed guards waited to confirm his identity. After they scanned him, checked his identicard and waved him through, he found himself in a dimly-lit room dominated by a table that was bisected by a nearly opaque screen. He seated himself in the chair on his side of the screen and waited for what felt like several minutes before something moved on the other side, a shadowy shape he could barely make out but seemed to have the general outline of a very tall, thin man.

“Pakorus ast Orlanes,” a voice said from behind the screen, electronically garbled so that it gave away nothing concerning the speaker’s identity. “A pleasure to meet you at last. And also a surprise. I was expecting your father.”

Pakorus felt himself tense at Specter’s words, but he forced the reaction down and refused to let it get the better of him. “I admit that I used my father’s account to set up this meeting with you,” he said; with this being, he felt that honesty would be the best policy. He doubted Specter took kindly to anyone who tried to lie to him. “I thought it would be easier that way. He’s in-system at the moment, but he has other things to deal with. But I have questions that I hoped you could answer for me, and I promise you that I can pay you very well.”

‘No doubt, no doubt,” Specter mused. “A resourceful young man, I see, and bold – perhaps too bold. You took an awful risk coming here today, Master ast Orlanes, and you are fortunate I have a certain degree of fondness for your father – as you have no doubt guessed, I do not take kindly to being deceived. Of course, I suspected that it was a relative of the duke’s I was dealing with from the beginning, as the tone and wording of your messages was different enough from your father’s to arouse my suspicions, and you were the most likely candidate. A fact for which you should be grateful, as my guards therefore knew to let you pass. Still, I have to wonder what would drive a young man of such a powerful family, the heir to a ducal seat no less, to risk himself in such a way, coming to a lawless port on the edge of what is soon likely to be a warzone. Was your curiosity really so burning? Or was it something else that motivated you? Desire for glory, perhaps? To take risks?” A sly note entered the distorted voice. “Or were you perhaps interested in impressing a girl? I hear you and the young queen have spent time in one another’s company.”

Pakorus felt his face flush, and Specter chuckled. “Ah, the young are so predictable,” he said. “But you’ll receive no judgment from me, Master ast Orlanes. I am less interested in the motives of those who seek council with me than I am in their willingness to pay, which you have already demonstrated. Ask me your questions, and I will answer as best I may. I do not lie when credits are on the line.”

“All right, then,” Pakorus said, finding his voice. “When my father came to see you last year, he was looking for information on the pirate leader who called himself the Commander; the same pirate who attacked the royal tournament on Carann and revealed himself to be the same assassin who led the attack that killed Queen Aestera. We still know nothing of his background. I hoped you might be able to tell us more.”

Specter went still behind his screen. “You are aware that when your father asked me this, I was able to get him very little concrete information and what he had he already used,” he said.

“I know,” Pakorus said. “But that was a while back, and you’re not somebody to let a mystery lie, are you? And you told me over the computer message that you had discovered something disturbing. What do you know?”

Specter chuckled again. “What do I know?” he asked. “Much. But what you mean to say is, what do I know about this topic? In which case I can truthfully say less than I’d like, but I know enough to be very concerned. I would have likely attempted to arrange a meeting with your father, or even young Artakane, had you not reached out to me first. I am not a patriot, nor an altruist, but the fate of the Dozen Stars does concern me, considering I happen to live here. And what I have found concerns the entire Kingdom.

“After the Commander’s death, the royal guard confiscated his body, his weapons, and, once they were tracked down, his ships. I managed to use certain… channels to get access to the data on these pieces of technology. Much was damaged beyond repair, especially the Commander’s own cybernetics, but what I was able to reconstruct worried me. You see, the technology was clearly of human origin, but did not appear to be of Kingdom, Realtran, Imperial, or Alealam make, and was too sophisticated to have come from one of the minor nations. Did that mean there was someone else out there, who was waging a most insidious war against us? That is what I believe we were meant to conclude, but I wasn’t sure. Surely if there was an unknown power able to create and deploy such weapons, we would have heard of them? So I did further digging and was able to match the cybernetics at long last to a secret research project that was scrapped almost two decades ago because it wasn’t considered cost-effective, and was so classified almost no one not directly involved had ever heard of it.”

Specter shifted behind his screen, and Pakorus had a feeling that he was looking right at him now. “This project originated in the Empire.”

“The Empire,” Pakorus breathed. “They’re behind this? But why? What could they gain? I mean, sure, they still hate that we managed to break free of them, but that was centuries ago and they’re busy fighting the Alaelam right now. Why would the Emperor risk fighting a war on two fronts if he could at all avoid it?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I would be a very wealthy man,” Specter said. “Or at least, a wealthier man than I already am. It may not even be the Emperor’s own work; the project was scrapped, after all, and it may be a renegade senator or patrician has revived it to do their own dirty work. In any case, I tracked the project back to its original laboratory and determined that despite being officially discontinued it was still operational, but my agents were unable to penetrate it and determine who, exactly, is currently in charge. What we did learn, and what worries me the most, is that several coded transmissions have been beamed from the laboratory to the Dozen Stars. They didn’t originate there, but were routed through it as an attempt to throw off the trail – so far, successfully, as I haven’t been able to determine the transmission’s actual origin point. I was, however, able to determine the intended recipients – Dukes Respen and Naudar, and Duchess Sateira.”

Pakorus felt his mouth go dry. “Lord,” he breathed.

“Quite,” Specter said drily. “Whoever created the Commander isn’t done with us, young man – quite to the contrary. They are behind the current rebellion as well – or at least involved, as I doubt those three would have required much provocation to turn against a young, untried queen. Someone is very determined to see the Dozen Stars, or at least the House ast Carann, fall. I, for one, would like to know why.”

“I think,” Pakorus said slowly, “that my father and the queen would be very interested to hear about this.”

“I quite agree,” Specter said. “Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of storing the material on an external drive in anticipation that you would want it. I’ve included a history of the Imperial cybernetics project, so far as I was able to track it, and the coordinates of the laboratory, among other things. Give it to your father with my compliments. I trust he’ll find a way to repay me.”

A small compartment on Pakorus’s side of the table opened, and he reached inside and removed a small, plain drive. “Thank you, Specter,” he said, slipping it into his pocket. “I’ll make sure my father gets it – and that he knows where it came from.”

“I know you will,” Specter said. “Now, then, I recommend you leave this place. I think things are about to come to a head on Tantos III, and they are liable to get ugly up here as well when that happens. And I’m afraid I do have another appointment after you, with the sort of person it’s unwise to keep waiting.”

“Of course,” Pakorus said, standing and giving a respectful bow in the direction of the silhouetted figure. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

It seemed that Specter was about to reply, and then suddenly the door to the outside corridor burst open and one of the armored guards from outside hurried in. “We’ve got a problem, boss,” he said, sounding shaken.

“I believe I have told you to never interrupt me when I’m with a client,” Specter’s voice hissed. “This had better be important.”

“Trust me, it is,” the guard said. “We just got word from one of our sneaks. There’s a whole compliment of toughs in guild security getup marching down the central corridor, roughing up anyone who gets in their way. And, boss, they’re heading here.”

///

Arta settled herself into the seat Naudar had indicated, and Latharna took up a position behind her, matching that of the other bodyguards. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said coolly, letting her gaze slide from one duke to the next. “We do have much to discuss. Starting with an explanation for why the three of you launched an unprovoked attack and occupation of this planet – a planet that is, I must remind you, under the protection of the throne.”

“That is indeed the very reason we launched this ‘unprovoked’ attack,” Sateira said. “We wished to send a message to the throne and to the kingdom at large. We were expressing our displeasure with the crowning of an untried youth nobody had ever heard of before the royal tournament, and wished to provide a demonstration of the throne’s weakness in the face of a threat. Both of those goals have been accomplished.”

“I see,” Arta said, letting her tone slip from cool to icy. “And I suppose the fact that this represented an attack against a fellow duchess and by extension against your lawful queen simply slipped your minds, did it?”

“Lawful queen?” Naudar asked. “An interesting way to put it, don’t you think? And how do we know, exactly, that you really are the legal heir to the throne? The word of an old meddler who thrives on secrets and never made any pretensions of serving anything but his own private agenda? Your appearance, which could easily be faked by reconstructive surgery? Even your DNA samples could be faked, with somewhat more effort. Honestly, I see no particular reason to credit that you even are the daughter of Aestera ast Carann. Oh, don’t give me that look. I don’t doubt you believe it. But you wouldn’t be the first person Shiran has caught up in his web, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

Arta felt her fists clench, and heard Latharna stiffen behind her, but she drew a deep breath and let it out, refusing to let her anger show – Naudar was trying to bait her, and she wouldn’t let him get the satisfaction. “Be that as it may,” she said, “succession in the Dozen Stars has never been purely a matter of blood, and a majority of the council of dukes has voted to acknowledge my right to the throne. This line of questioning will get you nowhere.”

“Which is why we saw fit to bring an army to the negotiating table,” Respen said, his tone irritable. “Enough of this verbal fencing – we all know why we’re here. These are our demands to you, Artakane. You will step down from the throne, acknowledge me as the rightful successor, and retire somewhere that you won’t be a threat – I believe a convent is the accepted destination. In return, Katanes and Tantos III will be spared destruction. Refuse us, and they will suffer – as will the entire Kingdom when civil war splits it in two. What do you say?”

Sateira rolled her eyes. “Respen, as ever you are as subtle as a shot from a beam cannon at point-blank range,” she said, then looked back to Arta. “Do forgive him his lack of decorum, but while he didn’t get there the way I’d have preferred, the point stands. Step down now, or face war. What do you choose?”

Arta looked across the table at Naudar. “Do you support this?” she asked. “Everyone knows Respen and Sateira are aggressive and ambitious, but Duke Mardoban always speaks highly of you. I’d expected better.”

Naudar merely smiled and shrugged, and in a flash,  Arta saw the general shape of his plans; he’d ride the other two to power, let them do the bloody work of seizing the throne, and then he would betray them, positioning himself to be seen not as a warlord but as the Kingdom’s savior from a pair of brutal usurpers. No, she’d get no help here, not that she’d ever truly expected to. Did the others realize his treachery? Almost certainly, she decided, but no doubt they thought they could defeat him when the time came, so that Respen could keep his stolen throne – and what for Sateira? A position of power at Respen’s court, or even a political marriage to become his queen? And how would the people of the Dozen Stars fare under such strife, with such treacherous creatures as these on the throne?

“No,” Arta finally said. “I didn’t come here to hand over my crown to any of you – and certainly not to Duke Respen ast Aurann, whose love of his army is so great he reduces his civilian subjects to little more than slaves to maintain it. A warlord like that will go looking for a war, and he’ll no doubt find it. But I won’t let the Dozen Stars be given to a tyrant while I can help it. I came here to receive an accounting for this rebellion, and I will have it.” There, she thought as she finished speaking. How did that sound? Did I do it right, Mardoban?

The three rebels looked at each other and smiled coldly. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be how this ends, dear child,” Naudar said. “We know that you fancy yourself a person of honor and integrity, and that Tantos is your home duchy and Katanes your home planet, and that you would come running if they were threatened. Your own character would demand it. And therefore, you would walk right into our trap. I wanted to resolve this without bloodshed, but if you will not budge, this is how it will go. We outnumber you three to one and have more of our private troops and security forces waiting nearby. We will take you captive and force Mardoban and the Lion to stand down and then you, alas, will be killed while making a tragically doomed escape attempt – as will your companion, to make certain no one can challenge our story. Then, with the throne empty and the most powerful duke in the kingdom at our mercy, we will travel to Carann and install Respen on the throne. Of course, there may be resistance, and it can only be settled through bloodshed. Regardless of what you think of us, we’d prefer to avoid shedding more Dozen Stars blood than necessary, and no doubt you will as well. So now that you understand exactly how much you are at our mercy and what the consequences of refusal are, I will ask you again – step down. Give up your crown to Respen, and everything will go much more smoothly and with a minimum of fuss.”

Arta met Naudar’s eyes without blinking, and then her gaze slid behind to Darius, who stood there looking awkward and somewhat apologetic; when she met his eyes, he looked away. Her gaze shifted to Respen and Sateira in turn, and then she glanced back over her shoulder to Latharna and exchanged a silent nod. Finally, she faced forward again and drew herself up in her chair, regarding her enemies with an expression of cold disdain.

“Duke Naudar,” she said finally, “do you think I’m a fool?”

“I beg your pardon?” Naudar asked.

“Obviously you do,” she said. “You thought I was a stupid, overly-idealistic girl who’d come running as soon as her home was threatened, who’d place herself in your power without a plan and let you get away with whatever you wanted. But you’re wrong. I didn’t come here without a plan. You thought you were laying a trap for me, but I was laying one for you instead. And congratulations – you walked right into it.” Arta’s smile widened as she reached up and stroked the clasp on her cape. “Now, as dear Cousin Respen said, let’s get the formalities out of the way and get straight to the point. I’m ready to accept your surrender now. Or must we do things the hard way?”

Chapter Fourteen

Tantos III, Ducal Palace

Darius stood behind his father with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding the room’s other inhabitants from narrowed eyes. The three rebel dukes were seated at a hardwood table in one of the palace tower’s conference rooms, and each of them was accompanied by a knight from their own duchy serving as a bodyguard. Naudar had Darius himself; Respen had a rough looking man whose scarred face spoke of extensive service in Aurann’s military forces; Sateira was accompanied by a hard-looking young woman in armor that gleamed only slightly less than her mistress’s. He knew that the others were sizing him up even as he was doing to them; they all expected that this alliance would inevitably end in betrayal. Darius’s only fear was that the others might decide to put aside any quarrel between them and target him first in some situation where he couldn’t count on his siblings for backup. He had no doubt he could take either of them in a one-on-one duel if necessary; not since his early teens had he ever faced the swordsman or woman who was his match, save perhaps for Tariti on a good day.

Sometimes that disappointed him.

Gaspar Madran, Guildmaster of Security on Tantos, paced back and forth in front of the conference table, muttering into his wrist comm. He was an older man, roughly Naudar’s age, beefy and balding – he wasn’t a handsome man in any conventional sense, but he wore his shimmering silver guild suid well and there was an opportunistic gleam in his eye that spoke of his cunning. Darius didn’t trust him – someone who’d been a turncoat once over was liable to turn that coat again, in his opinion – but Tariti vouched for him, saying that Madran’s loyalty was always and without question to money. And there were few who were as rich, or as willing to use that wealth liberally to get what they wanted, than the duchess of Tashir.

Finally, the guildmaster finished his conversation and looked up at the gathered dukes. “Good news,” he said, not bothering to use the proper honorifics. Darius frowned at that, but he knew that the highest-ranking guildsmen commanded power comparable to that of some barons and even dukes; if anyone could get away with disrespect, it was they. “Lion of Carann has emerged from jump and has taken up orbit around Tantos III at a respectable distance from our own forces. My security officers have hailed them and confirmed that the Queen – excuse me, that Artakane is on board.”

“Excellent,” Sateira said. “Tell them to escort the girl in, Gaspar. It will be good to get this over with at last.”

“I trust that all of our requirements for the meeting have been seen to?” Respen asked, leaning forward. Darius frowned as he watched him; the duke seemed almost to be hoping that the requirements hadn’t been met. He’d probably love nothing more than a chance to order Artakane shot out of the sky and Katanes put to the torch.

Naudar raised his hand. “Settle down, Respen,” he said. “Unbridled aggression does not serve us here; we need to play things out to the end, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Respen muttered, though it was clear from the expression on his face he didn’t much like it.

“Lion of Carann is alone, with no other forces from Carann or any other duchies,” Guildmaster Madran said, looking irritated at the interruption. “Artakane is inbound on a small shuttle, accompanied by only a small contingent of guards and, according to our communications, her assistant. Duke Mardoban is present on the Lion but will not be descending to the planet. All has been carried out as you requested.”

“Good,” Naudar said. “Do make certain we have the girl and her escort searched when they land, of course. We don’t want any surprises.”

“I know my business, Duke ast Sakran,” Madran snapped. “Though I must confess I’m curious as to why we don’t just kill her now. True, Lion of Carann is formidable and could probably hold off any attack we made long enough to escape into jump, but Artakane’s shuttle is quite vulnerable. I have but to say the word and my troops will shoot her down.”

“No,” Naudar said. “Don’t be a fool. If we kill the girl when she’s helpless, we are the aggressors and she a martyr. The other dukes will never follow us then and we’ll have a protracted war on our hands.”

“If, on the other hand,” Sateira said, “we can maneuver her away from prying eyes before we kill her, then we’ll be able to spin the story however we wish – make her the aggressor, claim we acted in self-defense. That way we can infuse an element of doubt into her allies and ease the consciences of the other dukes who might have opposed Respen’s claim. Do stick to shooting things, Gaspar – it’s what you’re good at. Leave the politics to us.”

The guildmaster’s face flushed, but he clearly didn’t think it wise to talk back to the women who had recently given him such a generous donation in return for his support. “Clearly,” he murmured. “I will have my security forces escort Artakane’s shuttle to the palace hangar and will be there to greet her. When she’s been searched, I will send her to you.” He bowed at the waist, the bare minimum of propriety, and then turned and left the room.

“Where did you find that creature?” Respen asked Sateira when he was gone. “Who does he think he is, talking to us like an equal? Doesn’t he know who we are?”

“He thinks that he is a very powerful and wealthy man, even if he has no noble title,” Sateira shot back. “And so far as he feels working with us is profitable for his guild, he is a valuable asset. As Naudar said, do keep your temper in check.”

“Very well,” Respen muttered, looking down at his hands. “I’ve waited for the throne for years; I can wait a few more hours.”

Darius exchanged a glance with his father at that; though Respen did indeed have the best claim to the throne by blood of any duke in the Kingdom, they both knew that if Naudar had his way, he would never have the chance to sit on the throne. And for the moment, Darius had other concerns that the Duke of Aurann’s pedigree and ambitions. “Father,” he said. “May I be excused for a moment? I have some personal matters to attend to.”

Naudar waved his hand; he’d been expecting this. “Of course,” he said, “but do hurry back. I want to have the finest knight in the Kingdom at my back when Artakane arrives, after all.” Darius nodded his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, though he knew it was as much for the others as it was for him, a reminder to Respen and Sateira of who exactly they would have to cross if they decided to betray Naudar.

Darius left the conference room by a side door and walked down a short hallway to the waiting room where he’d left his siblings. Tariti was standing in the middle of the floor, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet and looking eager for action; Galen was seated and was staring down at his folded hands with a dark, brooding expression.

When she saw her older brother, Tariti hurried over to him. “Well?” she asked. “What news?”

“Artakane is coming,” Darius said. “Her shuttle is on its way.” He spoke the words without enthusiasm, a strange feeling worming its way through his gut. It was guilt, he decided after a moment; guilt and shame. Arta had been an honorable and skilled opponent at the tournament, and now here he was plotting to lure her to her doom by treachery. It didn’t sit right with him, just as the plans his father had given him for betraying their current allies didn’t sit right with him either. It wasn’t honorable, wasn’t behavior worthy of a knight, and it made Darius feel like a coward.

At his words Galen looked up and a fierce light was in his eyes, but Tariti studied his face and frowned. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Worried we’ll lose?”

“It’s nothing,” Darius said, brushing it away. “Listen, Tariti. Artakane is going to be allowed into the conference room with one assistant, and I’ll be there with Father; Respen and Sateira have handpicked bodyguards as well. They think that we’ll be able to overpower her easily enough; I’m less certain. I saw what she can do up close at the tournament, and I know she’s good with a sword – and she’s an Adept. Lord only knows what tricks she has ready. I want you and Galen to get our house troops ready and standing by on this floor, just in case. Pull some from guarding our ships and Father’s quarters; right now, this is more important. Wait for my signal.”

Tariti narrowed her eyes. “Did Father approve of this?”

Darius shrugged. “He doesn’t think it will be necessary,” he said, “but he approves of caution, so he allowed me to give you the order. If we’re lucky, I won’t need you. If not… just stand by.”

“Trust me, we will,” Galen said, glowering. “I don’t intend to let that girl go unpunished for what she did to me.”

“I’d better get back,” Darius said. “She’ll be arriving planetside soon. You’d best get ready. The excitement will be starting soon enough.”

///

Arta glanced over at Latharna where the Realtran girl sat across from her in the shuttle’s passenger cabin and watched her fiddling idly with her clothing. She was dressed in a plain but well-tailored jacket and skirt, both the shade of bright red associated with her home nation, which have her a respectable, professional and yet innocuous air – the perfect combination for a young aide to an equally young queen. The dueling sword that rested by her side indicated that her role was as much bodyguard as assistant, but one of the reasons Arta had wanted her for this particular role was that she was an unknown, apparently inexperienced quality, rather than a seasoned knight or royal guard who might put the rebels on edge. Anything that made them underestimate the queen and her entourage was a good thing. And just in case Respen had seen holofootage of his assassins’ failure, she was wearing a black wig and darkened spectacles over her eyes, so that she wouldn’t be easily recognized as the young Realtran who had saved Arta’s life.

Arta herself wore a new and rather stiff uniform in Carann blue and gold, with a cape over one shoulder and a slender golden circlet, rather than the official crown, on her brow. Mardoban had told her he wanted her to present the image of a warrior queen, but not so aggressively as wearing full armor would; that might put the rebels too much on edge and make them suspect an attack. Arta agreed with him, but privately she still felt vulnerable. Not that there was any particular reason for that – she was, after all, fully capable of defending herself no matter how heavily armored she was. She supposed she was just nervous, and she had every right to be that. One wrong move today and there would be war, and Katanes would be the first world to feel its bite.

“I feel ridiculous,” Latharna finally said, drawing Arta away from her dark thoughts. “The last time I wore something like this, it was my school uniform. And at least with that I didn’t have to hide my own hair.”

“Honestly, I feel a little silly too,” Arta said, looking down at herself. “Look at this; I’m dressed like I’m some sort of officer, but I’ve never commanded troops in my life. It makes me feel like a little girl playing dress-up. But I guess that’s kind of the point. These outfits aren’t for us – they’re to make sure the dukes see what we want them to see.”

“If you say so,” Latharna said, sounding dubious. “I still don’t understand why this has to be you, though. Duke Mardoban is much more experienced than either of us, and he knows all of these people. Back home, King Luagh would never go in to meet any enemy alone.”

Arta wasn’t sure how she felt about being compared to someone she’d heard her whole life was a mostly ceremonial figurehead, but she decided not to comment on it. “I’m not alone,” she said. “I’ve got you and a squad of guards with me.” She nodded towards the door to the next cabin down, where the guards in question waited. “Besides, in Realtran the king is technically in charge, but the parliament has most of the actual power. The Dozen Stars was founded by warriors and that’s what we expect our leaders to be. I can’t let Mardoban, or anybody else, face my enemies for me, especially not this early in my reign. If I did that I’d come across as a weakling and a coward, and nobody would want to follow me.”

Latharna shook her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Arta,” she said, “but your people are crazy.”

Arta couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing, and it only intensified at the bemused look Latharna shot her from behind her spectacles. “I think you’re probably right about that,” she said. “But it can work for us, too. In Realtran, I doubt anyone except for guards would be allowed to carry weapons into a negotiation – but in the Dozen Stars, nobody would dare tell a noble or their entourage they have to leave their dueling swords behind. That means we get at least some protection in there.”

The shuttle began to shake as it hit turbulence and entered Tantos III’s atmosphere. Arta turned to look over her shoulder out the viewport and took in the thick, perpetual cover of grey fog. Memories of a night of chaos and fear on this very planet rose in her thoughts, and she could almost hear the sound of blast bolts impacting the ground and a crowd screaming. “I hate this place,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s always so dreary, so… oppressive.”

Latharna shrugged. “I don’t mind it,” she said. “Skin like mine burns so easily its nice to see a place where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Arta said. “We’re almost there. Do you still have the device Duke Mardoban gave you?”

“Right here,” Latharna said, patting a pocket on her jacked. “And I remember what to do with it.”

“Excellent,” Arta said, reflexively reaching up to adjust the golden clasp on her cape. “Well, best get ready. One way or another, this won’t be a meeting to forget.”

///

Mardoban sat in the command chair on the Lion’s bridge, unable to shake the tension filling his body. Arta’s shuttle was even now descending to Tantos III’s surface, and soon she would be walking into a room to meet with three people who he had no doubt desperately wanted her dead. They had plans and preparations for what would happen, but still he hated being stuck up here, powerless to act until events took their course. Lion by itself wasn’t enough to defeat the forces occupying Tantos, and any action the ship took would likely result only in Arta’s death.

The duke shook his head, trying to clear away memories of another queen, one whom he had failed. He wouldn’t fail today, he privately vowed to Aestera’s ghost. He would do everything in his power to see her daughter safely returned.

The sound of a booted foot tapping impatiently on the floor distracted him from his thoughts and he looked over to see Karani where she stood by his right side with her arms crossed and a profoundly dissatisfied look on her expressive face. She was wearing a military uniform of similar design to her sister’s, save that it was Katanes green and silver rather than royal blue and gold – she had expressed a great disappointment that wearing it didn’t entitle her to the rank of “Admiral” in what was apparently a joke between the sisters Mardoban wasn’t privy to – and it was her foot that was tapping an irregular rhythm.

“Nervous?” Mardoban asked her.

“My sister’s going into danger with nobody but that creepy foreigner to protect her and I’m stuck up here not able to do anything,” she muttered angrily. “What do you think?” Then she paled suddenly as she seemed to remember just who she was addressing. “Er, that is to say, your grace.”

Mardoban waved it away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “If I was in your position, I doubt I’d be very inclined to formality either. And, as a matter of fact, I do understand exactly how you feel. I know what it’s like to not be able to be there for someone… someone you care for. It’s an awful feeling.”

“It is,” Karani said quietly. “I don’t understand why I can’t be down there with her! It’s not like I’m actually in the line of succession – keeping me out of harms’ way doesn’t really matter.”

“I think it matters a great deal to Arta, who doesn’t want to see her sister hurt or killed – and it matters in that while you’re up here in the middle of the finest warship in the kingdom, your life can’t be used as leverage against her,” Mardoban said. “Besides, Naudar stipulated that only one guard would be permitted in the room with Arta, and she chose Miss Dhenloc – and having seen that girl fight, I can’t say I disagree.”

“Oh, and we’re just going to go along with what Naudar says,” Karani said. “Last I looked, he was our enemy.”

“As a matter of fact, we’re not going along with what Naudar wants,” Mardoban said, and Karani raised an eyebrow questioningly. “We’re letting him think that’s what we’re doing, but we’ve got some tricks ready that I don’t think he’ll see coming. If Arta can play her part, and we can play ours, we may be able to turn the tables on the rebellion today. And that, Miss ast Katanes, is another reason why I wanted you here on the bridge today – to watch and learn. You’re heir to Katanes barony – you need a firsthand look at commanding in a crisis. Your father would agree with me, if he was here.”

Karani stayed silent, but the expression on her face was intrigued. Mardoban smiled at that, but before he could say anything a voice called from across the bridge. “My lord!” an officer said. “We have an unplanned fighter launch in bay five!”

“Was this part of your plan?” Karani asked warily.

“No it wasn’t,” Mardoban said. “Track that fighter. And get me the command code used to authorize the launch!”

“Pulling up the code now, sir,” the officer said, and then he paused, frowning. “That’s strange. The code – it’s yours.”

///

Pakorus settled himself back into the fighter’s cockpit seat as the small ship shot away from the Lion, mentally thanking the flight training he’d taken at the Academy and now, finally, had a use for. He’d been able to use his family name, and a certain amount of its funds, to get himself aboard the flagship in disguise, without his father’s and Arta’s knowledge. The handful of officers in on the plan had been instructed to keep it to themselves and had looked the other way when he used his family codes to access the fighter and take it out. A part of Pakorus felt guilty over using his position in such a way – there were few doors that were closed to a duke’s only son – but still, this was the easiest way to get where he was going, and to find the answers he sought.

Letting the fighter’s autopilot take over, Pakorus keyed up the message he had written to his father explaining what he was doing and why. He was certain that Mardoban would have noticed the launch by now, and he hoped he could allay his concerns. A few keystrokes later, the message was sent to the main terminal on the Lion’s bridge, with high importance.

That done, Pakorus sat back and let the fighter take him onwards, away from the planet and towards his destination – Tantos Station and the man called Specter, who had knowledge that might well prove essential to the future of the Dozen Stars. Finally, Pakorus would be doing something worthwhile.

///

The shuttle’s ramp descended to the floor of the docking bay in Tantos Palace and Arta swept down it, Latharna following slightly behind her. They were preceded by six guards in tight formation, and four more followed behind; they held their beam rifles ready but otherwise made no sign of aggression. A number of men and women in the silver armor of guild security waited for them in the docking bay, led by a middle-aged man in a guildmaster’s suit.

Arta had been here before, on the night of the late Duke Hiram’s party, but she resisted the urge to look around; she kept her gaze forward and her expression carefully neutral as Lieutenant Leilin Rehan, leader of the guard squad, stepped forward. “Announcing Her Majesty Queen Artakane I of the House ast Carann, Queen of the Dozen Stars, Duchess of Carann, and Protector of the Realm,” the guardswoman declared. “She has come to treat with those who have raised arms against her throne and seek to bring a speedy end to the conflict.”

The guildmaster bowed at the waist. “I am Gaspar Madran, Master of Security for the Tantos Guilds, and I bid Her Majesty welcome to the planet Tantos III. Dukes Naudar and Respen, and the Duchess Sateira, await you; I will escort you to them. Your Majesty is expected.”

Chapter Thirteen

Carann, Royal Palace

The galaxy hovered before Arta’s eyes – or at least, a fair accurate depiction of it did.

She stood in the palace’s map room, a chamber that was located on the ground floor and was part of the building that was technically open for tour groups, at least at times when the queen herself wasn’t perusing it. Not that there had been tour groups lately, Arta thought – the whole palace had been on lockdown ever since the rebels seized Tantos III, and the entire royal city seemed to be going about its business under a cloud, as though waiting for whatever was to come next. None of that was obvious here, however, for the map room was a work of beauty as much as it was of utility. The walls were ringed with fantastically detailed displays showing Carann itself and the other major worlds of the Kingdom, and they could be adjusted to pull back far enough to show the entire planet set against a sea of stars or zoomed in closely enough to make out individual structures.

The room was dominated, however, by a table in the middle over which hovered a fantastically detailed depiction of the known galaxy. The image was centered on the great curving spine of the Local Arm, though other arms and the Core itself could be glimpsed from the edges. There was the Dozen Stars, highlighted in blue, and Realtran in red, around which clustered a number of smaller nations, some of which comprised a star system or less, some of which contained several, but were still less than the equivalent of one of the Kingdom’s duchies. Towards the Core, much of the arm was shaded in a deep violet – the Empire, larger than all the other nations combined, weakened from where it had stood at its height when the emperors ruled over all humanity, but still very strong. And there, near the edge of the map at the place where the Local Arm met the Core, could be seen a glimmer of gold – the edge of the Alaelam Alliance. No one in the Dozen Stars could be said to have a fully accurate map of how far the distant theocracy extended, not with the entirety of the Empire in the way.

At the borders of the Alliance, the Kingdom’s knowledge ended. And, in the other direction, beyond Realtran and the lesser nations, the Local Arm tapered to its end, pointing towards the cold darkness of intergalactic space. There were rumors of what lay out there in that direction, stories of barbarians and aliens and yet more fanciful tales brought back by explorers who might have seen things no other human had seen – or who might have had too much grog on their voyages. No one was particularly eager to risk the loss of their duchy’s resources.

It was sad, Arta thought, sad and troubling. The universe known to the Dozen Stars seemed to be shrinking, not growing, as if they were regressing rather than advancing. Maybe Midaia was right – this was a dark age. Who knew what secrets lay hidden out there in the darkness or towards the Core, secrets that would remain unknown because everyone was more concerned with power than they were with understanding? Perhaps even Terra itself was to be found out there, somewhere in the vastness of the galaxy. Though, despite the many texts that had survived the planet’s destruction, there were none that said for sure where it lay, or the exact nature of the cataclysm that had torn humanity from the world of its birth. That knowledge had been lost in the chaos of the Third Republic’s fall.

Now I am sounding like Midaia, Arta thought to herself. Worrying about hidden knowledge and secrets that have been buried for thousands of years when the Kingdom’s about to tear itself apart. The week that Naudar and Respen had given them was almost up. It was time to go to Tantos and try to put a stop to things before they escalated to outright war. Mardoban didn’t trust Respen or Sateira to negotiate in good faith if they could help it, and he said that Naudar always had an ulterior motive. From what Arta knew of those three, she was inclined to agree with him.

But they weren’t the only ones who could play dirty. Arta and Mardoban had plans in place – if only they could pull them off.

Straightening up and adjusting the cape that fell from her shoulders, Arta turned away from the image of the galaxy and left the map room, the guards who had waited patiently at the door falling in behind. They made their way down several corridors and at last came to the palace’s grand entrance hall, a vast chamber of sweeping ceilings and marble pillars, where the former regent awaited.

Mardoban was standing in the center of the hall, arms crossed and waiting patiently; a squad of guards surrounded him. Karani, who was looking decidedly less patient, stood nearby, tapping her foot against the floor. When she saw Arta, she looked up and rolled her eyes.

“Finally!” she said. “You do know that we literally can’t leave without you, right?” she asked. “But I guess one of the perks of being queen is that you get to keep people waiting, even in places where there’s nothing to do.”

“Karani,” Mardoban said calmly, “Her Majesty is here at the time we agreed on – in fact, she’s actually slightly early. There’s no reason to complain.”

“Don’t mind my sister, Your Grace,” Arta said. “When Karani complains, it means she’s worried”

“Worried?” Karani asked. “No! My little sister is only about fly off to Tantos to walk into a room with three people who want her dead. What’s there to worry about?”

“I can take care of myself, Karani,” Arta said. “And besides, I won’t be alone.” Mardoban had been in communication with the rebels, and they had determined that the royal guards would not be permitted within the meeting room itself, but that the queen and each duke would be permitted one aide. Arta had a feeling she knew who Naudar’s ‘aide’ would be – his son Darius, arguably the best blade in the Kingdom. No doubt Respen and Sateira’s aides would be similarly skilled. They intended to make certain Arta was outnumbered. However, besides the surprises she’s prepared, there were two things that she hoped would even the playing field. The first was the fact that she was an Adept, and she’d been practicing some of Shiran’s mental exercises to prepare her abilities for the conversation.

The second was someone who hadn’t yet arrived in the entrance hall.

“Where is Latharna, anyway?” Arta asked, frowning.

“Not here yet, obviously,” Karani said. “Seriously, I don’t get why I can’t be the one to go in with you. Or Mardoban. His Grace, I mean. But is a meeting room with your enemies really a place to take your date, little sister?”

“Miss Dhenloc is not my date,” Arta snapped. “In any case, Naudar has made it clear he doesn’t want Duke Mardoban present – they probably think he’s pulling my strings and I’ll flounder without him.” Privately, she feared that she would flounder, but kept it to herself. They’d scripted the most likely outcomes – she could do this. “And honestly, Karani, you’re good, but she’s better. I’ve been sparring with her all week and only beaten her once. I’ve never seen anyone fight like she can – if there’s anyone I’d match against Darius, it’s her.”

Karani sniffed and crossed her arms. “What did I say?” she asked. “You’re obviously dating.”

“I’m fairly certain queen don’t date,” Arta snapped back. “And in any case, my feelings for Miss Dhenloc are absolutely not of that nature.” What, exactly, her feelings were besides liking and interest she hadn’t yet decided, though she did have to admit the way Latharna’s blush stood out on her pale cheeks was rather fetching…

Focus, Arta, she told herself. You’re not a teenager who can crush on a holostar anymore. You’re a queen, and you’ve got a job to do.

The sound of engines suddenly echoed outside the entrance hall, and Mardoban looked up. “Well,” he said, “that sounds like our flitter.” Flitters were atmospheric craft and this one obviously wouldn’t be taking them all the way to Tantos III; rather, it was to take them from the palace to a docking platform in low orbit, where the Equestrian-class battleship Lion of Carann, flagship of the royal navy, waited to carry them on their journey. “We’ll be leaving shortly, then,” the duke continued. “Oh, and Karani? Do remember that you’re a knight of the realm and sister of a queen. Try to be at least a little more dignified when we’re facing enemies of the throne.” Karani scowled but muttered an affirmative.

Well, Arta thought, seems like it’s time. Come on, Latharna. We’re ready to go.

///

Latharna bowed in front of her shrine, pressing her forehead to the floor in prostration. She’d reassembled it here on a small table in her quarters in the palace to be essentially the same as it had been at the academy, though in truth it was a simple enough thing – a stylized picture of a planet that was supposed to be Lost Terra, a well-worn copy of the Canon resting in front of it, flanked by candles and sticks of incense. The Lord was never represented in art, of course – how could one depict such a being, after all, who was at once human and alien, male and female, and yet transcended all existence? But all it needed to do was focus the mind in prayer, and Latharna had found it always did that for her. Simplicity, as the Headmistress and Brother Ronall had both taught her, could be a virtue.

She prayed now, though not in words so much as in feelings. She asked for safety and success on the mission that she was about to embark on, for she and Arta to both return unharmed and for war to be averted. And she also asked for help sorting out her own feelings – was what she felt for the queen love, or simply infatuation and physical attraction? And if, as Ambassador Preas had said, the time came when she had to choose between her heart and her duty, would she make the right choice?

Latharna didn’t receive an answer, of course, though she felt a sense of peace and focus – a sensation she’d never been certain if she created herself because she expected it or not. In any case she finished her prayers and stood slowly, brushing herself off. It was time to leave. She picked up her dueling sword from its stand and hung it from her belt, then slung the bag that carried the fine clothes she was to wear when she accompanied Arta over her shoulder. As an ambassador’s aide – and the queen’s friend – she probably rated a serving mech to carry it for her, but that didn’t sit well with her. Latharna preferred to do her own work rather than relying on a machine.

She snuffed out the candles on her shrine and turned to leave, then paused for a moment and looked back. Almost on impulse she picked up her Canon, regarded the old book with affection, and then slipped it into her bag. It felt wrong, somehow, to go into danger without it.

///

Latharna met Arta in the entrance hall, and then the entire company headed outside to the waiting flitter. The three girls and the duke seated themselves in the passenger compartment while the guards took up their posts outside, and then the craft lifted itself up from the platform and headed off into the sky, towards the battleship that waited for them. Latharna watched from the window as the vast cityscape of Carann shrunk beneath them, and she prayed that she would return.

“I’m glad you’re with us,” Arta said quietly from beside her; Latharna turned to face her and saw that she was smiling. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m honored that you invited me,” Latharna replied, then looked over Arta’s shoulder at Karani, who was regarding her darkly. “I don’t think your sister likes me very much, though. I don’t want to drive a wedge between you for my sake.”

Arta chuckled. “Karani doesn’t like anybody she thinks is butting in on our family, at least not at first,” she said. “She spent months convinced that our last tutor was really there to spy on us or kidnap us. She’ll come around. Just give her time.”

“If you say so,” Latharna said, her tone uncertain. Shaking her head, she turned to look at the seat across the way and the dignified man who sat there. “Ah, Your Grace,” she said; she knew who this was, even if she hadn’t spoken to him before today. “I’m terribly sorry for forgetting my manners. I’m Latharna Dhenloc, from Realtran. At your service.”

“Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes at yours,” the duke said, and Latharna noticed thankfully that he was smiling. “I’ve heard good things about you from the Queen, Miss Dhenloc, and also from my son Pakorus. Ambassador Preas is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Latharna said. “From what I’ve seen of your son, he seems a fine young man and a credit to his father.” She hoped the compliment came through the formality expected when talking to a duke; apparently it did, for Mardoban seemed pleased by her comment. In truth she’d seen Pakorus several more times over the past week and she’d continued to find him pleasant company, though he’d also seemed distracted and had been evasive when she’d asked him what he was doing. And she had to admit, despite his professed lack of skill at the Dozen Stars’ national pastime of dueling, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either…

Latharna shook herself. Get ahold of yourself, Dhenloc, she told herself sternly. It’s bad enough you’re taken with a foreign queen; adding a duke’s son to the mix would only complicate things further. You’re not a character in one of the Headmistress’s courtly romances. Tortured romantic intrigues are the last thing you need.

Your life is complicated enough…

///

The Lion of Carann was a vast, elegant ship painted in gleaning blue and gold with the Dozen Stars Royal Crest on its sides, accompanied by stylized images of the great feline beast whose name it bore. It seemed as much a symbol of the monarch as a weapon of war, so far as Latharna could tell, and, she reflected, that’s probably exactly what it was. One couldn’t expect a monarch to travel in anything less than style. Even in Realtran, where the monarchy had long ceded much of its actual power to the parliament, that held true.

Though the Lion, and the platform at which it was docked, were technically within the upper borders of Carann’s atmosphere, the air was thin enough that seen from below the ship appeared suspended in an ocean of stars. The flitter came in close and landed beside it on the platform, extending a boarding tube to connect it to the larger vessel. Mardoban motioned for the others to stand, and then the flitter’s passengers disembarked, the royal guards moving out first in formation, the others falling behind.

They found themselves in a large chamber inside the Lion that recalled the entrance hall in the palace, albeit on a smaller scale. What appeared to be a significant portion of the ship’s crew and marines were waiting for them, with officers and a handful of armored knights waiting in front; they all sank to one knee as Arta approached. The young queen seemed almost taken aback for a moment, then raised her hand in a gesture for the gathering to rise. Then she began to speak, giving remarks that Mardoban had helped her prepare regarding her mission and her intention to see peace restored to the Dozen Stars, with mechs hovering nearby to record and transmit the message to the Kingdom, but Latharna was only half listening. Her gaze scanned the crowd, looking for potential threats. She wouldn’t put it past Respen to have tried to sneak an assassin into the crew, not after what he’d done at the memorial dedication.

As Arta neared the end of her remarks, Latharna’s gaze briefly fell on one armored marine who stood nearby. He seemed shorter and slighter than the others, and through his helmet’s visor she thought she could see a pair of eyes and a lock of dark hair that seemed familiar. Pakorus? She thought suddenly, then shook her head. No, he was no marine, and he was supposed to be staying back on Carann. He had no reason to be here; this marine probably just bore a passing resemblance. And she had just been thinking about him.

It was probably just Latharna’s imagination.

///

Mardoban stood by the door in the elegant lounge that connected to the Lion’s royal suite. The great ship was leaving the dock now and would shortly be jumping for Tantos space; before it did, he had some calls to make. Before he did so, however, he was taking a moment to observe the three young women he was traveling with today. Karani was up and walking around the edges of the room, staring in wonder at the various pieces of classical artwork that hung on the walls, while Artakane sat across a table from Latharna, the two of them setting up a game of polemos, a strategy game popular in both the Dozen Stars and Realtran. The duke felt his gaze linger on them. The two figures were a study in contrasts – one in blue and the other in red, one with long dark hair, and the other’s was short and white, one royalty from the Dozen Stars, the other an orphan from Realtran. And they were so young; younger than his son. When he was that age…

Mardoban shook his head. When he was that age, he hadn’t been duke and Aestera hadn’t been queen, and so many troubles were part of a future that neither of them could have foreseen. And now Aestera’s daughter bore the future of the Kingdom on her slender shoulders.

Sighing, the duke turned and left the room, nodding the guards – thoroughly screened to make certain they weren’t harboring any pro-Aurannian sentiment this time – as he walked out into the hallway. When he was alone, he activated his wrist come.

“We’re off,” he murmured into it. “Are you in position yet?”

“We await your command, Your Grace,” a staticky voice said from the other end.

“Good. Prepare to rendezvous at Tantos and wait for my signal.” Mardoban paused. “And the technology we provided? How is it holding up?”

“So far, so good, Your Grace,” the voice said. “We’ll pray it holds up.”

“It doesn’t need to work long, just long enough,” Mardoban replied. “We’re about to jump; I’ll see you at Tantos. Mardoban out.”

The comm went dead and Mardoban lowered his wrist. He understood the rebels’ strategy; strike hard, strike fast, challenge the throne and make it look weak, and in so doing split it from the support of potentially loyal duchies. The aggression spoke of Respen, the flashiness of Sateira, the political angle of Naudar. Three dangerous enemies whose skills complemented one another. But they had underestimated Artakane, and they had underestimated Mardoban. Just because he wasn’t regent any longer didn’t mean he didn’t have allies, and it didn’t mean he couldn’t plan.

The time had come to show the traitor dukes that they didn’t hold all the pieces in this game.

 

Chapter Twelve

Carann, Royal Palace

“You’re sure about this?” Baron Varas ast Katanes asked, frowning.

“Very sure,” Arta said, tone deadly serious. “Respen was very specific that he was going to hit Katanes if I tried to dislodge him and his allies from Tantos. I’ve agreed to meet with him and he’s promised not to attack anyone else until I do, but, well, I don’t trust him. I know Katanes doesn’t have much in the way of defenses, but what you do have, get ready.”

“I’ll have Danash get on it at once,” the Baron said. “But you’re right; we don’t have much because we never needed it. Katanes isn’t a high-profile target, and if we ever were threatened we could generally count on aid from Tantos III. But with Tantos fallen, it feels like we don’t have a whole lot of options. I’d try to call in some favors from the guilds, but if the news out of Tantos is accurate, that’s a risk I don’t feel like taking. Even if the guildhouses here on Katanes haven’t been corrupted… no, I don’t want to take a chance of bringing the enemy into my own home.”

“Smart,” Karani said from where she sat in the chair beside Arta’s. “After what happened on Tantos I wouldn’t trust the guilds farther than I could throw the whole bunch of them.”

The Baron smiled thinly, and something about the glint in his eyes greatly enhanced his resemblance to his biological daughter. “Me neither, Karani,” he said. “Me neither. I’m glad to see you’re still in good spirits, at least.” He turned to Arta and his gaze softened. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

Arta sighed and buried her head in her hands. “Terrible,” she said. “It’s like I’ve been telling Karani – the dukes are in rebellion, Tantos has fallen, we’re on the brink of out-and-out civil war, and everyone expects me to fix it. Even Mardoban doesn’t want to take too much of a hand, at least not obviously. He says he doesn’t want people thinking I’m just his puppet, which makes sense. But still, it’s a lot of pressure and if I take one wrong move millions of people could die.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m not ready for this.”

The Baron made a move as if to put a hand on her shoulder, maybe pull her into an embrace, before remembering that he was speaking to a holo and they were half a kingdom away from each other. “I’m sorry, Arta,” he said. “Every leader has to face a trial sooner or later, and they have to face it alone – there’s no one who can make the decisions for you. I wish I could tell you otherwise. When I first became Baron here, there was a blight in the southern farmlands and more than half our crops died. I was sure I wasn’t going to last the year, and it was only a question of whether the farming guild, the merchant guild, or the hungry civilians who were going to be the first ones to tear my head off. Fortunately, I managed to keep everyone placated long enough to bring in some off-world biologists from Orlanes, who managed to figure out what was wrong and cure it in time for at least some of the harvest to be saved. I’m still not sure how I did it. And this situation you’re in is worse, because it potentially affects the entire Kingdom, not just one planet in it.”

“What do you think I should do?” Arta asked, feeling a plaintive note creep into her voice.

“Remember what I learned a long time ago,” the Baron said. “A ruler has to make the ultimate decisions, but they can’t do everything themselves. You need people around you who you can trust. I don’t know how I would have ever survived this job if I hadn’t had your mother or Danash. And you need to be able to plan ahead but be flexible enough that you can change your plans when you need to. There’s an old soldier’s adage that no plan survives first contact with the enemy, and I think that applies to leadership as well as war.”

“Thank you, Father,” Arta said quietly. “We do have a plan for getting in and out of the meeting on Tantos with me in one piece, but I can’t tell you in case this transmission is being intercepted.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Karani said conversationally. “She’s not telling me, either. Apparently, Duke Mardoban has declared it ‘need to know classified’ or something. I’m her sister! I need to know!”

The Baron chuckled. “I understand completely,” he said. “And in this case, I agree with Duke Mardoban. Be patient, Karani. And be there for Arta. You’re her big sister and I’m trusting you to keep her safe.”

Karani shrugged. “Well, I can’t glow, unlike some people, but I think I can manage. And I want another shot at Galen ast Sakran! We’ve got some unfinished business.”

“That’s my girl,” the Baron said, smiling. Then he shook his head. “Ah, it’s hard for a father to believe when his children have gone and grown up on him. I still remember when you were born, Karani. And Arta… I remember the day Shiran brought you to us. When he told me who you were and what he was asking of me, I knew I was taking the future of the Kingdom into my hands. It was a heavy responsibility, but one lightened by the fact that I grew to love you as my own. And I always knew the day would come when you would have to leave me and become who you were meant to be.” His voice cracked with emotion. “And I am proud of you, Arta. More than you can know.”

Arta found herself blinking away tears. “No matter what happens,” she said, “you’re my father, and Katanes will always be my home. I want you to know that.”

“I do,” the Baron said. “Now go and show your enemies that you are a true queen! I have faith in you, Arta – never forget it.”

The Baron raised his hand to switch off the holo, but Arta stopped him. “One last thing before you go,” she said. “When you mentioned Shiran it made me think – have you heard from him lately?”

Varas frowned. “I haven’t,” he said. “I thought he must still be with you. Is he not? Well, don’t worry too much. That man is prone to coming and going in odd ways. He’ll turn up when he’s most needed and least expected, in my experience.”

“Still, I wish he was here now,” Arta muttered. “But no matter what happens on Tantos, I’ll keep you updated. I love you, Father.” Beside her, Karani echoed her words.

“I love you too, both of you,” the Baron said. “I hope the next time we talk, it will be under more pleasant circumstance.” The holo flickered once, and then he vanished.

“Well,” Karani said after a long paused, “that wasn’t exactly the most fun family talk we’ve ever had, was it?”

Arta stood from the desk where the holoprojector rested and stretched. “We’re at war, or as good as,” she said. “What did you expect?”

“Good point,” Karani muttered. “I meant what I said, though. Wherever you’re going, I’ll have your back. And don’t you forget it.”

“And hoping to have another chance at Galen has nothing to do with that?” Arta asked, laughing.

“Well, maybe a little,” Karani admitted. “He does owe me for my leg, and I intend to make him pay. So what’re you going to do now, anyway? Got another war meeting with Mardoban?”

“Actually, I’ve got an appointment in the training hall,” Arta said. “Someone’s agreed to meet me for a round of sparring. I have to admit I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a while since I’ve trained with someone who isn’t you or a mech.”

“Someone?” Karani asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s that Latharna girl, isn’t it? Because I still think letting her get close to you is a really bad…”

“I know, I know, you don’t trust her,” Arta said, holding up her palms. “She did save my life. And I talked to her, and I liked her. It’ll be fun. And besides, Mardoban thinks we can use her in our plan.”

“Use her?” Karani spluttered. “She’s a foreign national and you’re the Queen of the Dozen Stars, Arta! You’ve got knights! You’ve got me! What do you need her for?”

Arta waved a finger. “That would be telling,” she said. “But it’s not like she’s an Imperial or something. Realtran and the Dozen Stars have been allies for the entire time both kingdoms have existed. And besides, I’ve got a feeling about this. I think I need to trust her. I don’t know why, but I do.”

Karani muttered something unintelligible under her breath about Adepts and their hunches and exactly what Arta could do with her ‘good feeling,’ but didn’t press the issue. “All right,” she said. “Have fun. I guess I’ll figure out something I can be doing.” Arta had a feeling she knew what Karani meant – her sister had been expressing interest lately in learning to fly a fighter and had been planning to use her connections to convince someone to teach her when she had the time.

Arta waved at her as she left the room, but once she was out in the corridor and her guards had fallen in behind her, Karani’s words about Adepts – and the Baron’s about how she’d come to be part of his family – began weighing heavily on her.

Shiran, she thought. Where are you?

///

The royal guards nodded to Latharna as she stepped through the door into the palace’s training room. The chamber was cavernous, with wide walls and a high ceiling, but for the moment it was empty save for a slender figure in blue running through a series of exercises with a dueling sword. Artakane had her black hair pulled back away from her face, and though she was facing away from the door Latharna could see her flowing easily from one stance to the next. Finally, she came to the end of her routine and sheathed the blade at her side before turning to face her visitor.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” Latharna said quickly, giving a polite half-bow, a gesture of respect for a foreign monarch from someone who wasn’t one of her citizens. Artakane, however, made a face and waved the gesture away.

“I told you before, call me Arta,” she said. “I get enough ‘your majesties’ already. I’m glad you were able to make it; how are you feeling?”

Latharna shrugged. “Well enough,” she said. “I think rest really was all I needed after all. What about you? I heard what happened on Tantos III.”

Artakane’s – Arta’s – expression became solemn. “Everyone has by this point,” she said. “I’m working on it, but right now I’d like to take my mind off things for a little while. Are you still ready to spar?”

“Always,” Latharna said; Arta smiled in response, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Forcing the feeling down, Latharna did a series of stretches to get herself limbered up, then drew her dueling sword from where it hung at her belt. Flipping on the switch, she set it to the lowest setting and felt the familiar hum as energy crackled along the blade. At this setting it would deliver a nasty shock on contact but no worse, and the energy field would, so long as it worked properly, keep the metal blade from cutting flesh.

Arta drew her own sword and flicked it on. “I’m ready when you are,” she said. “And before we start, I just want to say this – don’t you dare let me win. None of my guards seem to be able to get that through their heads, and it’s getting very old.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to hold back…” Latharna said, grinning and feeling the anticipation that always accompanied swordplay growing in her. She and Arta saluted each other, and then they began.

The exchange of blows was quick and precise, and Latharna recognized at once that Arta was very good – though that didn’t surprise her, considering that she had, after all, won a tournament before she became queen. Still Latharna was able to parry every strike and force Arta backwards across the padded training floor. They were about the same size, and close to evenly matched in terms of speed and strength, but Latharna was realizing that she was the more skilled of the two – not by a lot, perhaps, but by enough.

Finally, Arta stumbled, ever so slightly, and Latharna was there to take advantage of it. She forced Arta back and then feinted right; as Arta moved to block she darted away and struck her on the arm with the edge of her blade. The queen gave a yelp as the dueling sword sent a shock along her side, and her own blade fell from her hand. The sword landed on the mat and Arta lost her balance, taking another stumbling step back before falling on flat on her bottom.

The two girls stared at each other for a long moment, eyes wide. “I guess I win,” Latharna said, sounding shocked. Had she actually beaten the Queen of the Dozen Stars? Yes, Arta had wanted her to not hold back, but now that she’d actually lost, would she still be as pleased, or would she be angry?

There was a long moment of silence, and then Arta laughed. “I guess you did,” she said and held up her hand. Latharna pulled her to her feet, and for an instant their faces were within an inch of one another. Staring directly into the queen’s dark eyes, Latharna felt her heartbeat quicken and a flush rising along her neck; quickly she backed up and looked away.

“Do you want to go again?” she asked, determined to change the subject.

Arta shrugged. “How about some drinks first?” She nodded towards a small table in a corner of the hall, set with a pitcher and some cups. Latharna nodded, relieved, and they made their way over to it; Arta poured a cup of water for each of them and handed one to Latharna, keeping the other for herself.

They stood there quietly drinking for several minutes, with Arta regarding Latharna carefully from over the rim of her cup. “I’m curious,” she said, “where did you learn to fight like that? Is everyone in Realtran that good? If so, I may have to ask Ambassador Preas if she might be willing to lend me an army to help with our current problems.”

Latharna chuckled. “I grew up at the Dansa Academy on Gearrach and learned to fight from an old monk,” she said. “I honestly have no idea if I’m better or worse than most people where I’m from. But Brother Ronall always told me I was naturally gifted, and I practiced a lot.” She shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with children my own age. Nobody was lining up to be friends with the headmistress’s strange ward. So, I spent most of my free time studying and practicing. My life probably isn’t very interesting compared to yours.”

“I don’t know,” Arta said. “I think we’ve actually got a bit in common that way. I never had a lot of friends growing up either; my father had Karani and me taught by private tutors instead of sending us to the Academy and he never really gave us much opportunity to mingle with other nobles, or even the children of guildsmen. I used to think it was just because he didn’t care much for them and didn’t want us around people like that. Now I wonder if it wasn’t because of me – if he was trying to keep me away from anyone who might realize I looked so much like the dead queen.”  She chuckled weakly. “And now that I am queen, it seems like everyone’s too intimidated by me to want to get close to me. Aside from Karani, the only person my age I actually feel like I can talk to is Pakorus, and as much as I like him, he is a boy. It’s not quite the same.”

They both snickered at that. “Well, then, I guess neither of us has much experience with friendship,” Latharna said, “but if this is what it feels like, I think I do like it.” She met Arta’s gaze for a moment, then found herself looking away again. “Something I have been wondering – what was it like? The tournament, and then fighting the assassins? I heard about it, of course – it ended up on our news too, in Realtran – but what was it like to actually be there?”

Arta went silent for a long while before she spoke again. “The tournament was exciting, exhilarating, but also stressful, especially after Karani got hurt. I never actually expected to get as far as I did, you know. I was just a nobody from Katanes up against the best duelists of my generation, but somehow, I managed it. But I still feel a bit guilty about it. I didn’t really win, you understand – don’t believe everything you hear. Darius ast Sakran had me. He should have been the winner, not me.”

“But then the assassins attacked,” Latharna whispered.

“That part was terrifying,” Arta admitted. “It was nothing like the tournament – I was just desperate to stay alive. I though I was surely going to die at any minute, and then somehow, I killed the Commander instead and suddenly I was a hero. I still don’t even know for sure what I did.” The Commander’s last words – his threat or promise of more attacks to come – she kept to herself.

“So this Darius is supposed to be pretty good, isn’t he?” Latharna asked. “His father is one of the leaders of this rebellion, right?”

“He is,” Arta confirmed. “I assume Darius and his siblings are with him. The ast Sakrans stick together.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have another chance at him, then,” Latharna said, shooting Arta a grin. “You never know!”

“However this ends, I doubt it’ll be about dueling,” Arta said. “Which reminds me, there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I’ll be leaving soon for Tantos to meet with the rebels. If I’m lucky, nothing will happen. If not… if not, I’d like to have you with me. With my bodyguards, I mean.”

“Me?” Latharna asked, eyes widening. “I’m not even from the Dozen Stars!”

“You saved my life once, when my own guards tried to kill me,” Arta said, expression serious. “And the fact that you’re not from the Kingdom actually makes you even more suited – you’ve got no stake in our politics, so the rebel dukes would have a hard time getting to you. Besides, the Realtran Kingdom has always been our ally, and Ambassador Preas was open to loaning your services. But more than that, it just feels right. I feel like whatever is happening, I’m going to need you at my side.”

Latharna felt her heart skip a beat at that, but she frowned at the sense of certainty in Arta’s words. She remembered then what she had managed to put from her mind for their practice bout – the queen was an Adept, and Adept’s knew things. Did that mean that Arta knew about how she made Latharna feel?

That was not a question to pursue right now. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said formally, offering a bow. “I would be honored to accept your offer. And that makes me think,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out Ambassador Preas’s drive. “The Ambassador told me to give this to you. There is information on it regarding Aurann Duchy that might give you an advantage against Respen. As you say, the Realtran Kingdom has always been the friend of the Dozen Stars, and we wish to see you stable and prosperous.”

Latharna hoped that sounded sufficiently ambassadorial; apparently it did, because Arta smiled and took the drive. “Thank you,” she said. “And do tell Ambassador Preas that we appreciate both the information and the loan of her assistant.” Her smile became less queenly and more familiar. “Now then, would you like to go another round? Maybe this time I won’t be so easy for you to beat?”

Latharna smiled broadly. “Arta,” she said, “it would be my pleasure.”

Chapter Eleven

Carann, Royal Palace

Publius Vedrans Quarinis knelt in the small, private chamber beside his office, saluting with a fist over his heart to the imposing holoimage that flickered before him. “And so, my lord,” he said, “the civil war has begun, as I have planned. The Dozen Stars teeters on the brink of all out chaos; it will take but a small push for it to tear itself apart completely.”

“You have done well, my servant,” the Emperor, Verus Licinius, replied. “And the Queen? What of her? If she lives, then all is for nothing. Her death is our first priority in this.”

“The rebel dukes have arranged a trap for her, and she has already taken the bait,” Quarinis said. “Respen is particularly bloodthirsty on the issue – for the sake of his pride and his claim to the throne, he can’t allow an heir of Aestera’s blood to live. His desire to see Artakane dead was nearly our undoing; he launched an attempt to assassinate her without consulting with his fellows. Its chances of succeeding were small, and had it succeeded it would have likely only made the girl a martyr and the retribution against Aurann all the swifter. Fortunately for our plans, Artakane survived and the invasion of Tantos was launched before the Crown could make reprisals against Respen.”

“I do not see how Artakane’s survival is ‘fortunate’ for us,” the Emperor said, though his tone was curious rather than angry. “Given the choice between her death and the destruction of the Dozen Stars as a nation, I would choose to kill her. The Kingdom of the Dozen Stars is not a threat to the Empire. The girl… she is.”

Quarinis knew to what Licinius was referring; he was one of the only Imperial officials who was privy to that particular secret. Though he kept his abilities secret for the public, the Emperor was an Adept of immense power, and almost two decades ago he had dreamed of his own death at the hands of the Queen of the Dozen Stars. Preventing that dream from becoming reality had become Quarinis’s task; one Queen already had died at his orders, and he intended for Artakane to become the second.

“If I may be so bold, my lord,” Quarinis said, “it is not Artakane personally that you fear; you told me when giving me this assignment that any Queen of the Dozen Stars might be the one. Merely killing Artakane but allowing the Kingdom to survive leaves an opening for another to arise. Destroying the Kingdom utterly – that will end the threat forever. And so, my lord, I do not merely wish to see Artakane dead but destroyed. Let the people see her as weak and incapable of protecting them, and then her death, when it comes, will be the end of her and her legacy.”

“And what, then, of your tools?” the Emperor asked. “These rebel dukes you have stirred up against her? What will you do should one of them succeed in taking the throne?”

Quarinis smiled thinly. “That, my lord, has already been taken care of,” he said. “When we made our arrangements, I told them that I didn’t care which of them ruled, but I have since spoken to each of them privately and promised my support for when they inevitably fall to conflict among themselves. The nobles of the Dozen Stars are a proud, fractious lot, my lord – unlike our patricians, they have no true understanding of loyalty to the common good. They already prepare to fight among themselves for power once Artakane is dead. I intend for them to destroy each other and leave the throne vacant. Then, my lord, the Dozen Stars will be ripe for the Empire’s taking. The threat will be ended forever, and the shame of our long-ago loss of their territory shall be avenged.”

“Yes,” Licinius said, smiling. “Your plans please me, my servant. I also have news that you may find pleasing. The primary armada of the Alaelam Alliance is gathering at the Bahrina system, preparing for an offensive against us. They hope to drive us from their territories permanently. What they are unaware of is that Admiral Decimus is laying a trap for them; when the armada advances, it shall be pinned by our forces on all sides and destroyed. Admiral Decimus assures me his plan is without flaw; my own assessment is more cautious, but if all goes well, the ability of the Alaelam Alliance to wage war on the Empire will be crushed within the next three months.”

Quarinis’s breath caught. “My lord… can it be true? After two centuries, will the Alaelam Wars at last be ended?”

“More likely temporarily paused,” Licinius said. “Admiral Decimus doubts he will be able to pursue them to their core homeworlds and force them to capitulate completely, though al’Aymar Alaen will doubtless push for it. His desire for vengeance against his rivals among his own people burns bright as ever. But with that threat on our coreward border temporarily quieted, we will at last have the forces needed to turn our attention to our rebellious former subjects in the Dozen Stars and Realtran. At long last, the Empire will remind the galaxy why we are the true inheritors of Lost Terra and the rightful rulers of humankind. Continue to please me, Ambassador, and Gens Quarinis will stand tall indeed in the age to come.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Quarinis said, and pride mingled with fear rose in his heart. The rewards the Emperor promised were great, but when Verus Licinius’s expectations were high, the unspoken threat for failing to meet them was always a terrible one. “I remain, now and ever, your loyal servant; all that I have done is to serve your glory.”

“Indeed,” the Emperor said. “Now go, my loyal servant, and bring me the Dozen Stars. We shall speak again when the time is right.”

The Emperor’s holoimage flickered and vanished. Quarinis exhaled deeply and stood, straightening his uniform. The rewards were great, as were the risks, but that was always true when one served directly at the pleasure of emperors. He knew what needed to be done; now all he had to do was make those plans a reality.

It was time to go to work.

///

The training mech stumbled backwards under the flurry of blows Arta rained upon it. The automaton, roughly human in shape and designed to mimic the strength and motions of a human body, brought its own sword up to defend, executing its parries with mechanical precision. Though not a perfect substitute for a human sparring partner, under ordinary circumstances the mech served as a more than adequate means of refining one’s swordsmanship, adjusting its tactics and level of skill in accordance with its opponent. Today, however, it simply couldn’t match Arta’s fury and was forced to give ground before her relentless offensive. Finally she struck the sword from its hand with a powerful blow and the disarmed mech stumbled backwards, but Arta wasn’t done. Lunging forward, she struck a blow with her bare off-hand to its torso; there was a flash of brilliant blue light and the mech burst into pieces that rained down across the practice hall.

Arta stood amidst the remains, panting heavily, and barely heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind her. “I think it’s dead,” Karani said, and Arta turned to face her sister. “Guess you really had some anger to work out today, didn’t you?”

Arta shot her a withering glare. “What do you think, Karani?” she asked. “Three duchies are in rebellion, Tantos III has fallen, and our own homeworld is threatened, and since I’m the queen, apparently I’m the one who’s supposed to fix everything! Other than that, I’m fine.”

Karani’s face fell. “Oh, Lord, Arta,” she said. “I’m sorry; I guess me being flip isn’t what you need to hear right now, is it? I mean, Katanes is my home too, but at least nobody’s looking to me for all the answers.” She sat down on the training hall floor, kicking aside a still-smoking piece of mech, and patted the ground beside her. “Want to talk about it?”

Arta slid to the floor beside her sister and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t shake the feeling that this is all my fault,” she said. “Respen and the others, they’re doing this to get to me, because I showed up out of nowhere and got in their way. Why else threaten Katanes? And more than that, being queen means that everything in the Kingdom is my responsibility, no matter why it happens. I’m just one girl, Karani. I’m not ready for this.”

Karani put her arm around Arta’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Respen, Naudar, and Sateira are the ones who decided to attack Tantos. It’s their fault, and me and you and old Mardoban, we’re going to make them pay for that.”

“Maybe we will,” Arta said. “But still, Karani, think about it. What’s the noble class for, when you get right down to the ideas our system is built on? We’re here to protect people. Why do you think it’s so important for us to be able to fight and command in battle? That’s why, going back to Artax. I’m a queen, so I’m supposed to protect the whole Kingdom. But I can’t even protect my people from my own dukes. What sort of a pathetic excuse for a queen am I?”

“I know that when we were kids, you were always the serious one who wanted to do great things and spent all her time training and studying,” Karani said, pulling Arta close. “You’re the one who always worried about doing the right thing, not me. Now’s your chance to put that to the test. But whatever happens, I want you to know that I believe in you.”

Arta felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes; she tried to blink them away, but wasn’t entire successful. She tried to speak, to either thank Karani for her faith or worry that she wouldn’t be able to live up to it, but no words came up. Finally she just leaned back into her sister’s embrace and rested her head on her shoulder, and the two sat there in silence for a long while, taking comfort in each other’s familiar presence.

///

Latharna opened the door to Ambassador Preas’s office and bowed her head as she stepped inside. “The doctors say I’m fine and ready to return to work, Your Excellency,” she said. “Reporting for duty.”

The Ambassador looked up from the computer terminal on her desk and smiled, though Latharna thought she still looked rather haggard around the edges. “Ah, good,” she said and gestured towards a chair; Latharna took a seat and folded her hands carefully in her lap. Though she’d been in Ambassador Preas’s office many times now, she still found it impressive. The room was large and open, with walls that were lined with bookshelves or decorated with paintings that depicted landscapes from Realtran Prime. The window behind the desk looked out over the Carann cityscape, which currently gleamed under the light of the morning sun. Collectively, it served to add to the Ambassador’s dignified, collected air.

Still, that composure seemed like it was being strained to the breaking point. “I trust you’ve heard of what happened last night?” Ceana asked, her voice weary.

“They were showing the news on the holo this morning,” Latharna said, nodding. “I saw it in the infirmary. Is it true? Has Tantos III really been taken by rebels?”

“I’m sad to say it’s true,” the Ambassador said. “I expected something like this sooner or later, but the rebels acted quicker than I’d anticipated. Among the people at large, Artakane is still popular, riding the wave of goodwill she won from defeating the Commander and that which she inherited from her mother. However, as I told you before, there are those in the aristocracy who resent her, especially Respen. Before Artakane appeared he was Aestera’s closest living relative, and he believed the crown should have gone to him. The other two don’t have the blood connection, but they’re both highly ambitious. I expect they want to act now to knock Artakane off her throne before she can grow into her role and consolidate her power.”

“But won’t launching a rebellion just unite everyone in the Kingdom against them instead?” Latharna asked.

Ceana smiled thinly and shook her head. “This isn’t Realtran, Miss Dhenloc,” she said. “The central government is weaker in the Dozen Stars than it is back home, and the nobility is stronger. Most people are loyal to their duchies first and the crown second, and if the crown looks too weak, they’ll turn on it. That’s what the rebels’ game is – to force a crisis that will make Artakane look like an untried girl in over her head, to destroy the peoples’ faith in her and make them look for stronger leadership. Leadership that Duke Respen, at least, will likely be ready and willing to provide. Assuming his erstwhile allies don’t beat him to it.”

“That’s…” Latharna shook her head. “That’s maddening.”

“Of course it is,” the Ambassador told her. “Why do you think Realtran opted for a parliamentary system when we split from the Empire? Less glamourous, perhaps, than a feudal one – but certainly more stable. Speaking of stability, there is something I want you to do for me.”

“Of course, Excellency,” Latharna said. “That is, after all, my job.”

The Ambassador reached down to her computer and removed something from its base; she placed it on the desk, and Latharna saw that it was a small portable drive. “Years ago, not long after Aestera died,” she said, “King Luagh grew concerned that Duke Respen might take the throne. Respen is an ambitious man who prides himself on the military strength of his duchy, and the King feared that he might set his sights on Realtran in spite of our long alliance if he came to power. The Prime Minister agreed with him, and so they instructed me to investigate Aurann and determine if the Duke has any particular weaknesses we could exploit. As it happens, he does – Respen is a brutal, autocratic leader. He’s efficient enough, but it’s the kind of efficiency that brutally uses people up, and that makes enemies. I found that there were a number of insurgent groups operating on Aurann and working against Respen’s rule. Some of them are little better than pirates, and I suspect Imperial funding at work behind them, not that I ever got a straight answer out of Quarinis on it. Others, I think, might be willing to work with Artakane should she promise to help them depose Respen. I’ve included information for how to get in contact with them on this drive. Take it.”

Latharna picked up the small drive, barely the size of the end of her little finger, and regarded it carefully in her hands. “Why are you giving this to me?” she asked.

“So you can give it to Artakane,” Ceana said. “She’ll need all the help she can get to win this conflict, and giving Respen a problem closer to home to deal with might help turn the tide. Call it a gesture of good faith from one ally to another. As for why I’m not giving it to her myself, you did save the Queen’s life, and she seems to have taken a liking to you. That’s a relationship worth cultivating that might benefit both our nations someday.”

“Of course it is, Your Excellency,” Latharna said, dropping her face and trying with all the force of her will to avoid blushing. “I will deliver this information to the Queen if that’s what you need me to do.”

Ceana smiled shrewdly. “And I don’t suppose the fact that you have a crush on her and want to see more of her won’t influence that at all?” she asked. Latharna looked up, shocked.

“I… I don’t… what do you…” she managed to stammer out, but the Ambassador raised her hand.

“I’m old, Miss Dhenloc, not dead,” she said. “I remember what it was like to be young and can see the signs all over you. The heart wants what it wants. But remember, Latharna – you’re a citizen of Realtran, not of the Dozen Stars. There may come a time when you have to choose between your duty and your heart. I hope you won’t have to, but… be ready if you do.”

Silence fell for a long moment before the Ambassador spoke again. “Artakane had wanted to see you anyway,” she said. “Apparently she is under the impression that you would be open to sparring with her. She also seemed interested in borrowing your services for something, though she was evasive as to what. You’ll have to ask her that, if you’re willing.”

“I… thank you, Ambassador,” Latharna said, standing. “I had best take this to the Queen, then.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” the Ambassador said. “Artakane will want to know every weapon she has available when she’s making her plans.” She leaned forward and regarded her aide with piercing eyes. “Just… remember what we discussed.”

“I will,” Latharna said, bowing, and then she turned and left the room.

///

Pakorus was seated on his usual bench in the palace gardens, reading an epic from the Kingdom’s early days and trying to appear as normal as possible, when the small computer tablet he’d kept by his side suddenly pinged loudly. The young noble looked around himself surreptitiously, making certain that no one else was there, and then he picked up the tabled and pulled up the program that had given him the alert.

Waking up this morning to the news of Tantos III’s fall had sparked a determination in him to act. He’d seen his father, Arta, and Gilgam, among others, running about and looking ragged, and it had pained him that he hadn’t been able to do anything to help. But Pakorus held no position in the government, no military rank, and though he was heir to Orlanes Duchy, that by itself wasn’t enough to get him into classified meetings. A part of him felt that he was being treated as a child, even though he was legally of age, though rationally he knew that wasn’t the case – Karani was a few months older than him, and she wasn’t allowed into command meetings either. Still, the fact that he could do nothing for the Kingdom rankled him, and so Pakorus had made a decision.

He only hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be the wrong one.

The flashing light on his computer screen indicated that a new message had arrived, and he found himself breathing deeply as his eyes scanned it. Earlier this morning, using contact information he’d pried out of Gilgam and secret codes only ranking members of House ast Orlanes knew, he’d sent a message to the man his father had met with, the one Gilgam had spoken to, the mysterious information broker of Tantos Station – Specter. Now Specter, or one of his underlings, had replied. I RECEIVED WORD OF ATTACK ON TANTOS JUST BEFORE IT HAPPENED, the message read. TANTOS STATION SO FAR UNHARMED, BUT IF PRESENT SITUATION CONTINUES I DOUBT THAT WILL LAST LONG. I HAVE DISCOVERED INFORMATION REGARDING RECENT EVENTS THAT I FIND DISTURBING, AND AM UNWILLING TO TRUST TO UNSECURED COMMUNICATION. I WILL SHARE IN PERSON, FOR A PRICE. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN MEETING WITH ME ON TANTOS STATION?

Pakorus read over the message several more times, breathing deeply. His father wouldn’t approve of this, he thought; Gilgam had pointed him in this direction, but probably hadn’t intended his information to be used in this way. Arta would probably think he was being irresponsible and reckless. Karani… Karani would probably just be mad he hadn’t brought her in it. But if it paid off, would it be worth it? What if this information Specter had turned out to be vital to the security of the Kingdom? What might happen if he sold it to someone else instead?

Pakorus exhaled heavily, then typed a single word. YES. Then, with a heart that was at once heavy and, despite himself, excited, he hit send.

Chapter Ten

Carann, Royal Palace

It took all of Arta’s willpower to avoid falling back into a nearby chair, hanging her head in her hands, and groaning in dismay. Queens don’t collapse at bad news, she told herself sternly. Queens don’t show shock and horror where others can see. Queens have to be strong, have to show the people that they have things well in hand, that problems can be solved and someone knows what to do and is willing and able to do it.

If only, she thought wryly, any of those things were actually true.

Finally, Arta managed to draw a deep breath, collect herself, and look across the holodisplay in front of her to where Mardoban and Gilgam stood on the other side of the main table in the palace’s war room. “How did this happen?” she asked, hoping she sounded, if not regal, then at least somewhat in control.

“Sakran, Aurann, and Tashir Duchies have risen in rebellion against the Throne, Your Majesty,” Gilgam said. “Dukes Naudar and Respen, and Duchess Sateira, personally led strike forces against Tantos III. The defenders were outnumbered and apparently turned to the guilds for help.”

“And the guilds betrayed them,” Arta finished, closing her eyes and remembering a foggy night on Tantos III when guild security had turned its weapons against the duchy’s own citizens. No, she had few fond feelings towards the guilds whose offices were located on that world.

“What I want to know is, why did the guilds switch sides?” Mardoban asked. “In Hiram’s time, the guilds practically ran Tantos III, and I was under the impression that continued after he died. Was Kallistrae really that much of a threat to their control?”

“Royal Intelligence is still working on that, sir,” Gilgam said, “but based on the preliminary reports I saw, it appears that there were a significant amount of under-the-table payments and private communications passing between Tashir Duchy and the guild headquarters on Tantos prior to the attacks. I think that explains a great deal.”

“Of course it does,” Mardoban muttered, rubbing his chin. “House ast Tashir is very wealthy, and over the years they’re underwritten a number of lucrative guild operations. If Tantos was in the guilds’ debt, the guilds themselves may have been in Tashir’s – and I wouldn’t put it past Sateira to manage to leverage that into a favor, or more than one. Maybe even smoothed the wheels for getting those assassins into the memorial dedication, though Sateira’s not the only one who can bribe a guildsman.”

“We’re looking into it, sir,” Gilgam said. “We’ll let you know what we turn up. In any case, the invading forces have occupied Tantos III, and for the moment we’re not getting much out of there. What their main goal is we’re not entirely sure, but Tantos III has a large number of unusually productive mines that create raw materials for shipbuilding. Coupled with Aurann’s own resources and facilities, it could be a significant problem for us.”

“It’s more than that,” Arta said, not entirely able to keep the trembling out of her voice. “Katanes is my homeworld, and it’s part of Tantos Duchy. They’re not just taking the planet because it’s useful to them; they’re sending a message. A message to me.”

“The assassins called Respen ‘King’,” Mardoban said. “So this is his play, then. He tried to have you killed, and now he’s trying to seize the throne by force.”

“What do Sateira and Naudar get out of it, then?” Arta asked, frowning. “I only met them briefly, but I can’t imagine either of them sitting back and letting Respen take all the glory and power.”

“Maybe they have some sort of plan worked out to divide the spoils in a way that works for all three,” Mardoban said, “but I wouldn’t count on it. I think you may be onto something, Your Majesty, that may point towards a weakness we can use. If only…”

“Your Majesty, Your Grace, Captain Gilgam,” a voice suddenly called, and a woman in the uniform of a Royal Guard Lieutenant hurried over. “We’re receiving a communication from Tantos Duchy,” she said, bowing at the waist. “It’s coming through on private channels, directly to the palace.”

“Well, well,” Arta said. “It seems like we may find out more about what’s going on here after all.”

“We may just,” Mardoban said; he looked over at Arta and saw her nod, then turned back to the lieutenant. “Put it through.”

The guardswoman quickly keyed in a series of codes to a control panel along the war table’s side, and at once the holoimage of Tantos III vanished, replaced by a woman in clothing of military cut, whom Arta recognized at once. Kallistrae ast Tantos had been a proud, elegant woman, equally at home in armor or in a gown, and the young queen remembered when they had first met, the night of Duke Hiram’s party, when she had encouraged Arta to pursue her dreams of becoming a knight. That night seemed so long ago, and now Kallistrae’s eyes were hollow and her posture was slumped.

“This is Duchess Kallistrae ast Tantos, ruler of the planet Tantos III and all of Tantos Duchy by right of succession and the Lord’s grace,” the woman began, her voice flat; Arta had the feeling she was reading a statement someone had prepared for her. “This day it is my sad duty to report to you that Tantos Duchy has fallen. As I have proven unable to defend it, I find myself obligated to renounce my claim to the Duchy and abdicate my position, in favor of those who have proven more capable.” She paused, and then added “Lord forgive me,” under her breath.

The holoimage shifted and Kallistrae vanished to be replaced by three figures Arta recognized all too well. Sateira ast Tashir was haughty as ever but looked almost bored with the proceedings, while Naudar ast Sakran stood in a deceptively casual pose with a hand on his cane, but his eyes were shrewd. Respen ast Aurann, standing in front, was a different matter entirely; even over the holo their was a satisfied light in his cold eyes, and his smile was nothing less than predatory.

“Greetings Pretender Artakane,” the duke of Aurann said, apparently speaking for all three of the rebels. “I see that you survived the trap I’d arranged for you yesterday; I’d be disappointed, but frankly, I think I prefer you being here to witness this. There’s a certain… poetry to it. And is that old Mardoban with you, too? He always was Aestera’s lapdog and now he’s apparently continuing the tradition with the next generation. A pity he didn’t choose the right side of the family to back.”

Arta fought her anger down – barely – using mental exercises Shiran had taught her. “Is there a point to this, Respen?” she asked. “Or are you just here to insult everyone? You didn’t need to conquer a planet to do it, if that’s what you want.”

“As entertaining as this has been, no,” Respen said. “I speak to you now as the Duke of Aurann and Tantos. Tantos III is in my power, and the rest of Tantos Duchy will soon follow. You’re familiar with Tantos Duchy aren’t you, Artakane? Or should I call you Arta ast Katanes? Whatever you’re calling yourself these days, this is my demand to you – step down from your throne and yield the monarchy to me, or I will unleash destruction upon Tantos such as the Dozen Stars have never known before.”

Arta felt her hands clench into fists and bolts of blue light played around them. “Considering what you’ve just said, I’d rather die,” she growled. “I never wanted to be queen, but I won’t hand this Kingdom over to a tyrant, either. If you start killing the civilians in Tantos – or anywhere else – we will move against you. And you will die.”

Respen looked like he was going to laugh, but then Sateira put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear – Arta wondered if it was a reminder of what had happened to the Commander, and that Arta had already proven herself in battle before she’d ever donned a crown. Finally Respen nodded and turned his gaze back to the queen. “Duly noted,” he said. “However, I will remind you of this – Tantos is closer to Katanes than either is to Carann. Launch a war against me, and your adopted home will be the first world to feel my wrath. Do you want that on your conscience, child?”

Rage, red and hot, coursed through Arta’s head, but Mardoban put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let him see a reaction from you,” he whispered. “It’s what he wants.” Raising his voice, the Duke of Orlanes turned to Naudar. “And what about you, old friend?” he asked. “You were always ambitious, Naudar, but is supporting someone like this really in your best interests? You know what Respen will do if he feels denied – and what he will do if he does become King may well be worse. You’ve seen Aurann – you know its dukes have ruled with an iron fist. Is that what you want for the Kingdom?”

“We will deal with that when the time comes,” Naudar said. “Do you think it any better to leave the Kingdom in this untried girl’s hands? I fear what might happen should steps not be taken to direct her adequately. However, you still have a chance to avert any more needless deaths. Come to us on Tantos III in two weeks’ time, Artakane – in person. There we will discuss our terms for withdrawing from Tantos, and our goals for the future of the Kingdom. Attempt reprisal before then, and, regrettably, it is Katanes that will pay the price. Mardoban, know that I take no pleasure from this, and I regret that things had to reach this point. We will give you an hour to make your response.”

The holimage flickered and vanished, leaving a cold silence to settle over the war room.

///

Tantos III had always been a gloomy world, Darius thought; as a child he’d visited the planet with his father and even then, he’d found its veil of heavy fog oppressive. Now it was under occupation, with guild security enforcing, at the instruction of the conquering dukes, a strict curfew, and these facts had not improved matters. At least before there’d been lights flashing in the darkness and a sense of motion on the streets as people went about their business, even if it was often hard to see them clearly from a distance. Now all seemed dark and still.

Darius sighed and turned from the window, looking over the opulent suite of rooms in the palace tower that he and his siblings had appropriated upon arrival. Tariti was lounging on a couch nearby, with her hands behind her head and her eyes half-closed, though if Darius knew his sister she was still watching everything around her from behind hooded lids. Galen had vanished somewhere shortly after they’d arrived, and their father was off cloistered with Respen, Sateira, and the Security Guildmaster Gaspar Madan, whose machinations in conjunction with Sateira had made their victory possible.

Though a guest room – Kallistrae was, for the moment, still under house arrest in the ducal suite, watched over by a mix of Aurann’s knights and guild security personnel – the suite was still lavishly appointed, with plush furniture, crystal tables, and a number of tasteful sculptures depicting famous individuals from Tantos history. Darius was used to such luxury; Duke Naudar was known for his refined tastes, and had made certain to instill an appreciation for luxury in his children. Still, something about this room seemed cold and unwelcoming to Darius, as if a voice was whispering to him that he was the invader here, that Tantos III might grudgingly accept his presence, but it would never welcome him.

The young knight shook his head. Events were in motion now, his father’s plans underway. He couldn’t afford to have doubts anymore. So instead he took a seat beside Tariti’s couch and stared down at his hands in silence.

The door to the suite slid open with a hiss and Galen stepped inside, carrying a tray on which rested a large bottle and several small glasses. “I return bearing gifts!” the youngest Sakran sibling said cheerfully as he set his burden down on the table in the middle of the sitting room and took a seat in the chair across from Darius.

Tariti sat up, looking intrigued. “And what have we here?” she asked, leaning forward.

“I managed to convince some of the serving mechs to show me Duke Hiram’s private wine stores,” Galen said. “Apparently, whatever his faults as a duke, he had an exquisite taste in drink. I figured that since we are here as victors, we might as well partake.” Leaning over, Galen popped the cork from the large bottle and filled the glasses, passing one each to Darius and Tariti and keeping a third for himself.

“To victory!” Galen said grandly and held up his glass; his siblings clicked theirs against his and then he and Tariti each took a long sip. Darius, however, didn’t drink – he simply stared down in his cup and swirled the liquid around in it.

“What’s the matter with you?” Tariti asked, looking concerned. “So far, everything is going according to Father’s plans. We should be happy, you especially. At this rate, you’ll be crown prince by the end of the year.”

“Our victory?” Darius asked. “Really, Tariti? We didn’t do anything to earn this, and Father didn’t do much. It was Sateira and her bought-and-paid-for guildsmen who won Tantos III for us. All we did was watch. And now all we’re doing is waiting, until Father gets through with his meeting with the others and comes back down with more instructions for us.”

“Who cares how it happened?” Galen asked. “The point is, we’re winning. And Sateira’s a peacock and Respen’s a mad dog; you’re a fool if you don’t think that Father’s not the one really in control, no matter who takes the credit. Besides, you’re the one who’ll get to be king someday if we win, and Tariti will get the house title. All I want is a second chance at the Katanes girl who thinks she can be queen.”

“Awww,” Tariti said in mock concern. “Still mad about the tournament, little brother? From what I saw, she beat you fair and square. Or are you just upset you got beaten by a girl? It’s not like I didn’t do it often enough when we were kids. Care for a rematch for old times’ sake?”

“I don’t have to listen to this from you,” Galen snapped, rising to his feet and spilling some wine from his glass. “It’s not about me, it’s about our family’s reputation and our honor! I won’t let some upstart of a girl stain that!”

Tariti looked like she was going to respond to that, but Darius stood and put himself between them, holding out both hands. “Enough, both of you!” he said. “Galen, you’ll get your chance – or not – to fight Artakane again when the time comes. And Tariti, stop needling him. The honor of our family is important to all of us; let’s not night over it. Truce?”

“Truce,” Tariti said, and Galen nodded sullenly. It wasn’t just his personal pride at stake, Darius knew – as abrasive as his younger brother could be, and as much as Darius didn’t always approve of his methods, Galen was, in his own way, deeply loyal to family.

Still, the prospect of waiting all day in a room with his siblings was giving Darius a headache. Sighing, he sat his drink down and began to walk towards the door. “I’m going to get some air and take a look around,” he said. “Do you promise me you two won’t destroy the suite while I’m gone? Just because Father and the others are in charge here now doesn’t meaning fixing things here is free, you know. Our new friends in the guilds wouldn’t stand for that.”

Galen and Tariti nodded, the latter regarding Darius questioningly, but she didn’t voice whatever it was she was thinking. Darius turned and stepped into the hallway, barely noticing the rich carpet as he made his way, half-deliberately, to the nearest lift. Stepping inside, he entered a few keystrokes and then rode it upwards to the floor where his father was meeting with his co-conspirators.

He stepped out into another long hallway, though the wall on one side of this one was solid glass, revealing the foggy Tantos sky and the dim lights of nearby towers flickering through the gloom. The other side was lined with doors to various conference rooms. Darius stopped by the door behind which the rebel dukes had planned to send their holomessage to Carann, but it looked dark now, and sticking his head in he confirmed it was empty. If Naudar hd been here before, he clearly wasn’t now, and the message must have already been sent. Idly, Darius wondered what Artakane’s reaction had been. Remembering their duel at the tournament, he doubted it had been one of meek capitulation.

The sound of voices distracted him from his thoughts. Frowning, Darius made his way down the hallway to another door, which was open a crack. Inside he saw his father; Naudar was seated at a desk on whose top rested a small holoprojector, which emitted a miniature image of a faceless humanoid figure – man or woman, he couldn’t tell.

“-operation has so far been successful,” Naudar was saying. “Tantos is ours, and we await the Queen’s response.”

“And you are certain we aren’t being overheard?” the figure said in a garbled voice. “Our words are not liable to be pleasing to all ears.”

Naudar glanced towards the door, and Darius was certain his father saw him, but the Duke of Sakran merely shook his head. “Respen and Sateira have retired to their chambers on the next floor down,” he said. “I’ve had my people confirm it. They won’t be spying on us.”

“Good,” the figure said. “The attempt on the Queen’s life was foolish and, predictably, it failed. Respen overplayed his hand. Fortunately, you managed to act quickly enough that she didn’t have time to react.”

“Yes,” Naudar agreed. “We’re fulfilling our end of the arrangement. I trust you will do the same?”

“I honor my agreements, Naudar,” said the holo. “So long as you and your allies continue to perform, you will continue to have access to my resources. Continue in this vein, and soon you will have what you desire – an ast Sakran dynasty on the throne of the Dozen Stars.”

“Respen and Sateira won’t be happy about that,” Naudar said.

“Of course not. Respen is a psychopath and Sateira is a narcissist. You are merely a realist, and it would serve my interests better to see you succeed than either of your allies. When the time comes to settle the score, you will have my support. But that day is hopefully some time away yet. What of the Queen?”

“We have contacted her,” Naudar said. “We await her response, but do not doubt what it will be.”

“Good. I have matters of my own to attend to. Contact me again when you have Artakane in custody. Then we shall discuss our next move.” The holoimage flickered and vanished.

Naudar sat at the desk for a long, quiet moment, and then turned to the door. “You can come in now, Darius,” he said. “My business is over.”

Darius did as he was bidden, instinct overriding the countless questions boiling in his mind. After he took a seat across from his father, one of them managed to make its way to the top. “Who was that?” he asked.

“Someone who wishes to see Artakane fall,” Naudar said. “Beyond that, you don’t need to worry yourself. Now, I presume you were listening in for most of that? Don’t tell your siblings, and I trust it goes without saying not to mention it to anyone else. The next phase of our operation is about to begin. This is what I want you to do…”

///

Arta sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the war room’s ceiling. “Our hour’s almost up,” she said. “I know it’s probably a trap, but I can’t just stand by and let them attack Katanes, Mardoban. I can’t.”

“It’s obviously a trap,” Mardoban said. “They’re taking advantage of your protectiveness and sense of honor to try and lure you to Tantos III. But I know you can’t step aside and let innocent people be hurt, no matter how much it might benefit you to do so.” He smiled sadly. “You mother was the same way.”

“Then what do you recommend I do?” Arta asked. “Walk into it?”

“Exactly,” the duke said. “Walk into it with your eyes open – and having made preparations to take advantage of the situation and turn their trap for you into a trap for them.”