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?”

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///

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.