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; the homeworld of the Csarag marauders who had invaded the Dozen Stars before Arta was born was out there, and beyond that there were 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 to find out for sure.

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 queens 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.

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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 had 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.