Chapter Six

Carann

Royal Palace

Arta’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself standing in a place she was certain she had never been to or even seen before. The ground was bare beneath her feet, seeming to be little more than hard, unbroken stone, and yet a forest surrounded her, composed of trees that were bare of leaves and stretched upwards into infinity. Between their trunks there flowed a silvery mist that strictly limited visibility, carried on a cool breeze; Arta wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, then looked down at her body in consternation. The last she remembered, she was wearing her sleep robe and lying in her bed, but now she was in full armor, a cloak hanging from her shoulders and a dueling sword belted at her side.

Furthermore, a faint blue glow was rising from her flesh, seeming to emanate from somewhere within her very being. That, she was fairly certain, wasn’t normal, even though her mind felt as foggy as her surroundings.

“Is this a dream?” she called out, her voice seeming to echo through the woods.

“No,” a familiar voice replied. “And yes. Think of it as an in-between place. I wanted to talk, and I didn’t want to be overheard. Evil One’s Eyes, though, I had to wait a very long time for you to fall asleep, sister.”

Arta turned slowly to face the voice and was unsurprised to see Midaia there; her half-sister was wrapped in her usual dark robes with her hood pulled low and seemed to drift slightly above the ground. A red light limed her, much as the blue surrounded Arta.

The young queen shook her head, trying to clear it. “It seems that ruling a nation is not conducive to rest,” she finally said. “Certainly not when you’re as new at it as I am. I suppose a holo-call would have been too simple?”

Midaia laughed. “Like I said, I didn’t want to be overheard,” she said. “Calls can be traced or eavesdropped on, but here I’ve managed to pull your dreams into the edge of what I sometimes call the psychic plane – there are other names for it. An Adept trick, but more advanced – and dangerous – than I think you should be messing with. Shiran would agree, were he here. In any case, no one can spy on us unless they’re an Adept greater than I am.” She smiled thinly. “Which, as it happens, is a very short list.”

Arta glanced down at herself. “So, was dressing me in armor your idea?” she asked.

“I’m afraid this is your dream, Artakane,” Midaia said. “I’m just borrowing it. Judging from your look and that of our surroundings, I’d say you’re worried about something. I’m afraid you’re right to be. Walk with me, why don’t you?”

Arta shrugged, not seeing any other options, and turned to walk through the woods, Midaia gliding along by her side. “Let me guess,” she finally said, “this isn’t a social call, is it? You never just drop by for tea a chat – I’ve figured that out by now. You want something.”

Midaia frowned. “What I want, for the moment, is your well-being, Artakane,” she said. “I’ve received some troubling information. I’m looking into it myself, but what you need to know is this – you’re in danger.”

“Let me guess – Respen?” Arta asked. “Or maybe Naudar or Sateira? We’re onto it, Midaia, trust me.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Midaia admitted, “though honestly, I don’t know what direction the threat is coming from. But I suspect there’s a reason they’re on your mind.”

“They haven’t been coming to council lately,” Arta said. “And Mardoban thinks they’re up to things, moving troops and the like. He’s not sure why, but he thinks they might be planning some sort of uprising.”

“Old ‘Uncle’ Mardoban,” Midaia said. “The Duke of Orlanes has been around a long time; hidebound and too noble for his own good he may be, but I have a soft spot for him – and when he isn’t being blinded by his belief in people’s better natures, he can be quite astute. If he thinks there’s a problem, I recommend listening to him. Still, be on your guard. You can trust the people around you for some things, sister mine, but in the end, the only person you can always rely on is yourself. Don’t forget it.”

Arta frowned. “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, “but it’s more cynical than I like. Maybe I’m naïve, but I like to believe the best of people too. Where did you hear this from, anyway?”

“I have my sources, and they prefer to remain anonymous,” Midaia said. “This isn’t about them. I’m about to embark on a search for answers of my own, and I want to make certain you’re doing what you can to keep yourself safe.”

The two half-sisters – queen in blue, and Adept in black – walked in silence for a long time, before at last emerging from the forest and coming to the edge of a great canyon that split the ground in a jagged line. Arta approached the ground and looked down; inside, there was nothing but mist that seemed to go on for eternity.

“Terra is lost,” Midaia said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every child learns it in school, but how often do we really think about what it means? The planet on which our species was birthed is gone, and we are scattered across the cosmos. Some say it was destroyed in the wars brought about by the fall of the Third Republic; others that the Lord took it away from us because we were wicked, and that it will be returned only when we prove ourselves worthy of it. I think there may be some truth in both, but that neither holds the deepest truth. Such is often the way of things, Artakane. Secrets within secrets within secrets.”

“What do you mean?” Arta asked, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“This is not the age of science, Artakane,” Midaia said. “Put that from your mind. Oh, we fly ships between the stars, build mechs to serve us, communicate across vast distances, but all those technologies are decades, even centuries old. We forget how to innovate; the Empire is somewhat better about it, but only just. Consider – the Alealam Alliance is regarded as the most advanced nation in the known galaxy in terms of technology, and what else are they known for? Their embrace of mysticism and religion. What does that tell you, Artakane?”

“I don’t know!” Arta snapped. “I just know I’m tired of riddles. You say you’re here to help me, so can’t you just speak plainly for once?”

Midaia continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “This is a dark age – an age of sorcery and mystery. It is not machines that will define the struggles to come, but hearts and minds and wills – and knowledge.” She looked over at Arta with appraising eyes. “I have knowledge. You are the other side. You must have heart. A true queen, the old philosophers say, is one who loves her people – and can inspire love in return. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“I thought you wanted me not to trust anyone?” Arta asked crossly.

“Trust if you must,” Midaia said, “but not uncritically, and not completely. And that includes me. There’s a reason I’d be a terrible queen, and it’s not because I renounced my claim so I could be a nun. But I’ll warn you especially before I go – don’t trust Shiran. He has more secrets than all of us put together, and he’s at the heart of the storm that’s coming. Next time you see him, ask him this from me – why did the Neraida tell me to seek him? You don’t need to understand; just ask. His answer will be illuminating, I’m sure.” She glanced towards the sky. “This dream is breaking. I have to go. Goodbye, Artakane. We’ll speak again soon.”

Midaia was enveloped in red light, and when it cleared, she was gone. A moment later, Arta sat up in her bet, holding her sleeping robe tight around her as she tried to process the meaning of what she’d just heard.

///

The royal apartments were a sprawling series of rooms in one of the palace’s towers, unused since Queen Aestera’s death but assiduously kept up by the serving mechs during that time. Arta had been moved in shortly after she was crowned on the insistence of Duke Mardoban and Shiran, who thought it would look better if she was seen to follow all of the trappings of the crown to the fullest extent. For her part, she’d never been comfortable with them and doubted she’d ever be – it was far more space than had ever just been hers, and far more than she felt like she needed. The master bedchamber itself was immense, seeming to swallow Arta in its depths, and there were doors around its edges to provide easy access for bodyguards or servants.

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One of those doors creaked open not long after Arta woke up and Karani walked in, looking somewhat haggard but concerned. “Arta?” she asked in a sleepy voice. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you talking in your sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Arta said. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep, Karani.”

Her foster-sister folded her arms and regarded her crossly. “Oh, no,” she said. “I know you better than that, and I’m not buying it. Out with it, Arta – what’s wrong?”

Arta sighed and gestured for Karani to take a seat on the bed beside her. “All right,” she said. “I just had a very strange conversation with Midaia.”

“Midaia,” Karani said flatly. “Oh, right, your other sister. The creepy one in black who still hasn’t introduced herself properly to me but tried to kill us a while back? Please tell me you didn’t trust a word she had to say.”

“She wasn’t actually trying to kill us,” Arta said wearily. “And, oddly enough, she’d probably agree with what you just said about not trusting her, so there’s that.”

“Well, it sounds like everybody agrees she’s up to no good, then,” Karani said. “So why aren’t you just ignoring her like a sensible person who’s being stalked by a creepy witch would do?”

“It’s not that simple,” Arta said. “She’s my sister, Karani – yes, I know you’re my sister too, but this is different. She’s my only living blood relative, unless you count Duke Respen, which I don’t. And she’s one of the only other Adepts I’ve ever met. I can’t just ignore her.”

“Okay, okay, forget I said anything,” Karani said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “So, was there a reason for this little nighttime chat, or was she just figuring out new and exciting ways to freak people out?”

Arta chuckled. “She wasn’t making much sense,” she admitted. “But she seemed to think there was a danger coming. Have you talked to Father lately?”

Karani raised an eyebrow. “Last I talked to him was the other day, same time you did,” she said. Baron Varas ast Katanes, Karani’s biological father and Arta’s foster-father, had been forced to return to Katanes to oversee his barony several weeks ago, but remained in contact with both of his daughters over the holo. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

“Just worried,” Arta said, shaking her head. “And wondering if the threat’s supposed to be to me, or someone close to me. I wish Shiran was here, too. There are some things Midaia said that I want to ask him about.” She looked down at her hands and frowned; not long after the baron had left, Shiran had also vanished on some errand of his own, though Duke Mardoban had assured her that the Professor was prone to that sort of thing and would turn up on his own when his business was completed. Arta still felt her mentor’s absence keenly, even without Midaia’s rather pointed insinuations.

A warm, strong arm encircled her shoulder and Arta looked up into Karani’s concerned face. “Listen,” she said. “You’ll be alright. Father’s tough and smart, and so’s Shiran. And I promise you, little sister, that if anyone wants to get to you, they’ll have to go through me first. So really, what’s to worry about?”

Arta rested her hand on Karani’s and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. No matter what was coming, knowing that her foster-sister would still have her back made her feel better about facing it.

“Now, you’d best get your sleep, Your Royal Highness,” Karani said, standing up. “It’s probably going to be a big day tomorrow. Good night!” Turning with a wave, she headed back to her own room.

Arta lay back down, but her eyes were still open. “When is it ever not?” she murmured sleepily, and a few moments later, exhaustion claimed her.

///

Even after having spent several days there, Latharna still found the Royal Palace of Carann overwhelming.

The structure had first begun construction, she’d read, during the reign of Artax the Founder, the celebrated first king of the Dozen Stars; subsequent monarchs and the occasional regent had added their own expansions and revisions until the interior was a maze of corridors and halls – and that was ignoring the famed enclosed garden that connected the palace and the cathedral. Despite this, it didn’t feel messy or cluttered; rather, much of the walls were decorated with paintings or holos depicted famous scenes from the Kingdom’s history, or sculptures of key figures. There was little in the building that wasn’t magnificent. That didn’t, as it happened, make finding one’s way around in it much easier.

Mentally, Latharna found herself cursing whoever had decided that accessible maps of at least the public sections of the palace weren’t dignified and found herself fearing that she might actually have to ask someone for directions. She was less concerned with her own pride, and more with making a good impression on behalf of Ambassador Preas, who she was still trying to impress. Hopefully, she decided, the ambassador would be more forgiving of errors than some of her instructors.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t notice the young man in front of her until she’d walked into him. With a shock, her swordfighter’s instincts kicked in and she jumped backwards, landing in a neat defensive stance; an unfortunate side-effect was that the sheaf of papers she’d been holding in her arms tumbled to the floor.

The young man held his hands up. “I yield,” he said in a light voice, and Latharna was relieved to see that he was smiling pleasantly. He was about her age, she thought, and even through her embarrassment noticed that he wasn’t bad-looking – and at that thought, she could feel her cheeks burning. Fortunately, if the boy noticed, he was polite enough not to say anything. Instead he nodded to her papers. “Mind if I help you with those?”

“No, no, I can get them,” Latharna said, quickly collecting the sheets and standing up. “I’m so sorry about that,” she said. “I’m new here, and honestly, I’m lost. I’m Latharna Dhenloc, by the way – Ambassador Preas’s new assistant.” Belatedly, she remembered to bow.

“I thought your accent sounded Realtran,” he said, bowing back. “And the palace can be overwhelming – I still think so, and I’ve lived here for years. I’m Pakorus, by the way. Pakorus ast Orlanes. If I can’t help you with your papers, maybe I can help you find where you’re going?”

Latharna felt herself seize up in shock – if she wasn’t mistaken, this was the son of Duke Mardoban, formerly regent and still one of the most powerful men in the entire Dozen Stars, and she’d nearly walked into him, then nearly attacked him. Lord be merciful! “Actually,” she finally managed to say, “that would be very helpful. I’m supposed to take these to Ambassador Quarinis to get them signed – it’s supposed to formalize a trade agreement between the Empire, the Dozen Stars, and Realtran that they’ve already agreed on but just need to make official. And I’m rambling, aren’t I? “

“A little bit,” Pakorus admitted. “But I know where old Quarinis’s office is, and I can take you there no problem.”

“Thank you,” Latharna said, her genuine relief obvious in her voice.

Pakorus led her down several more corridors and up a floor, pointing out various locations and objects along the way, before they finally arrived outside the Imperial Ambassador’s door. It was flanked by a pair of hulking figures that resembled men in bulky armor, but that Latharna knew from her studies were actually praetorians – Imperial-created cyborgs with human brains buried somewhere inside their mechanical bodies. Straightening her back, she slowly approached the creatures, trying to appear confident – and hoping that the treacherous part of her that was even now determining the best way to defeat them with a dueling sword wasn’t showing on her face.

“State your name and business here,” one of the praetorians said in a hollow voice.

“Miss Dhenloc, here on behalf of Ambassador Preas, with documents requiring Ambassador Quarinis’s signature,” Latharna said. “May I see him, please?”

“Ambassador Quarinis is not in at the moment,” the praetorian said. It extended one large hand towards the documents and lights flickered on the ends of its fingers – scanners, Latharna realized, presumably trying to detect any hidden trap or poison. “Your documents are clear,” it finally said, and gestured to the door. “You may place them in the slot, and His Excellency the ambassador will receive them when he returns.”

Latharna nodded; Ambassador Preas had told her that this would be acceptable. Stepping forward, she slipped her papers through the slot on the door, which sucked them in and slid shut behind them. “Thank you, ah, sirs,” she said to the praetorians, nodding once and then making her way down the hall to where Pakorus waited.

“Scary things, aren’t they?” he asked. “But they saved a lot of peoples’ lives during the attack at the tournament, so they’ve got a fair bit of goodwill around here right now. Quarinis wasn’t in? Your boss will probably be glad about that, actually. He’s sharp and would probably end up learning more from you than you intended to give away.”

“It sounds like you know your way around more than the building,” Latharna said. “Thank you, Master ast Orlanes.”

“Pakorus is fine, really,” he said, holding up a hand.

“Pakorus, then,” Latharna said. A sudden thought struck her. “I don’t suppose you know the Queen? I’ve been here several days and still haven’t seen her. If I’m overstepping, I apologize, but the ambassador is very concerned about political situation in your Kingdom, and…”

“And you were wondering if you could meet her?” Pakorus asked. “Well, I might be able to help you, but not right away. I met Artakane and her sister back during the tournament and probably know them as well as anyone here, but my father’s been keeping her in meetings all day most days – trying to make sure she learns everything she has to as fast as she can. But there’s going to be a dedication for a new monument to Queen Aestera in a few days – I expect Ambassador Preas will be there and that she’ll take you with her, and the queen definitely will be. Maybe I can introduce you, after I talk things over with my father. He’ll want to make sure you’re not a threat.” He shook his head. “Though after what happened to her predecessor, he has a right to be cautious.”

“Thank you again, Pakorus,” Latharna said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back and tell the ambassador her papers got delivered. I think I can find my way from here Hopefully I’ll see you again.”

They made another quick exchange of vows and then Latharna turned in a swirl of her red cape and began to walk back towards her employer’s quarters, reflecting on her conversation with the duke’s son, a part of her hoping to see him again – and another that it might finally lead her to an encounter with the so-far elusive queen.