Chapter Five

Carann, Royal Palace

“Midaia,” Arta breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t I check in on my only living family from time to time?” Midaia asked, a faint smile twisting the edge of her mouth. “In this case, though, my visit isn’t entirely for pleasure. I wasn’t exaggerating just now when I said we need to talk. There are things you need to know, Artakane. Things your teachers haven’t seen fit to tell you.” From the tone of her voice, Arta guessed she meant one teacher in particular.

“Can this wait?” Arta asked. “We’re in the middle of a situation right now, and I’ve been arguing with the council all day and I’m exhausted. I need time to gather my thoughts and to try and get a little rest.”

“A situation?’ Midaia asked. “Yes, that’s one way to put it. I know exactly what ‘situation’ you mean – and it makes our conversation that much more urgent, because it touches on things you need to know. Things about the Empire – and its master. Take a seat; this may take a while.”

“All right,” Arta said warily, sitting on the edge of her bed; Midaia gestured with one hand, red light playing faintly along her fingers, and her chair turned so they were facing one another directly. “Have it your way, then. What is this that’s so important for me to know?”

Midaia folded her hands in front of her face, pale fingers intertwined, and regarded Arta over them with those unsettling, penetrating eyes. She seemed to be trying to decide where to begin; finally, she nodded and drew a breath. “A little more than a year and a half ago,” she said, “just before your troubles with dear Cousin Respen and his merry band of insurgents began, I was conducting an investigation into the origins of the Commander and his assassins. In the process, I sought knowledge on the psychic plane – the realm we touch on when we dream true dreams, among other things – and there I encountered something I never had before. An Adept whose powers dwarfed my own and who seemed oddly determined to protect Imperial secrets. I barely escaped with my sanity – and life – intact.”

“Yes, Pakorus told me about that,” Arta said. Pakorus ast Orlanes had joined Midaia in her search for answers – the same search that had ultimately turned up the truth that the Commander’s mysterious backer had been none other than the Imperial ambassador himself, Quarinis. “He said you thought it was Al’Aymar Alaen at first, but that you changed your mind later.”

“So Pakorus remembered,” Midaia mused. “Good for him. He’s a clever young man and proved surprisingly useful to me. He’s sweet on you, of course – though from what I hear lately, that starship seems to have sailed.” Arta flushed in embarrassment and looked away as Midaia continued. “But no, when we met Alaen face-to-face, I realized the truth. The Emperor’s personal psychic hatchet man is quite capable – he’s as strong as I am and perhaps a hair more skilled, but I believe I could defeat him if I planned it properly beforehand. He wasn’t the overwhelming force I encountered before. No, I realized I had another enemy, one who I didn’t know. But I thought I knew someone who did. So, I sought out our mutual friend Shiran and, miraculously, managed to get some answers from him. Some of it is his story to tell, not mine. But some of it touches on matters that concern us all. Before we begin, tell me – how much do you know about the history of the Empire?”

Arta snorted. “I hope that was a rhetorical question,” she said. “I had tutors, you know, including Shiran – and unlike Karani, I actually paid attention to them most of the time.”

Midaia grinned. “Of course, you did,” she said. “We are blood, after all. Then you know of the great civil war that was fought in the early centuries of Imperial rule, when they had first united all the scattered colonies of humanity under their banner and ended the so-called ‘Dark Age’ that came after the Third Republic’s fall. It was a time of chaos and madness, as the patrician gentes fought each other, the Senate fought the patricians and the Emperor fought the Senate. There weren’t really sides so much as there was a constantly shifting web of alliances and factions. By the end, though, the Imperial Faction was triumphant, and the Empire was reunified with power centered in the person of the Emperor, though still paying lip-service to the idea of the Senate as a democratic body. That structure remains in place today, though the Empire has shrunk far from its height of glory.

“Our story today, however, is less concerned with the war itself and more with two young men, Adepts both, who were born on the eve of that conflict and had their outlooks on life shaped by it in very different ways. One of them you know.”

“Shiran,” Arta breathed. “Of course.” Memories of her dream rose suddenly in her mind. “And was the other named Lucian?”

Midaia looked at her oddly. “As a matter of fact, he was,” she said. “Though he has worn many more names over the centuries. Shiran’s side of the tale I will leave to him to tell you, when he chooses. It is Lucian’s story that concerns us now. He was patrician born, but his gens – his family – were all killed in the early days of the war. Cut adrift, he attached himself to the Emperor’s entourage and became one of his chief strategists – it was with his aid and by his powers in no small part that the Emperor of the time triumphed and restored order to the Empire. In order to prevent such a conflict from arising again, he helped propagate a new religion which held that the Imperial person incarnated a divine will that watched over humanity, making patriotism and loyalty to the throne not just a social obligation but a sacred duty. This became what we now know as the Imperial Cult.

“This, I believe, was where Shiran and Lucian had their falling out; Lucian had come to believe that only rigidly enforced order could ensure humanity’s survival, while Shiran had a perhaps more optimistic view of human nature. And Shiran blamed himself for the conflict and his friend’s rise to power, for reasons that aren’t mine to tell, and sought to dissuade him from his course. Lucian refused his counsel and they parted ways. I don’t know the full story, but I do know that as powerful Adepts, they were both capable of extending their lives, and both did so. I believe that they both were determined not to die until they had proven their particular vision for the future of humanity was superior. And so, they both lived on for centuries, taking different guises but always guiding from the sidelines – at least, until recently.”

Midaia’s eyes glittered. “Decades ago, something changed. The Empire was fractured and weakened and the Emperor, Tibarus Graccus, cared more for drinking himself into oblivion while watching animals tear each other to pieces in the Arena than he did for ruling. Lucian, a priest of the Imperial Cult at the time, grew disgusted and decided the time had come to take matters into his own hands. He organized a coup with a number of like-minded Senators and patricians; Gracchus was killed in his bed, and he who was once Lucian was catapulted into power, ruling directly for the first time in his long life. He rules still. The name he uses now is Verus Licinius.”

“The Emperor,” Arta said dully, slumping where she sat. “He’s the Emperor, isn’t he? The Emperor is an immortal Adept and Shiran’s enemy. As if his legions and his fleets and his Adept cabal weren’t dangerous enough. That’s what I’m dealing with, aren’t I? What we’re all having to deal with.”

Midaia’s gaze was sympathetic. “You’re right,” she said. “But that’s why I came here to warn you. The ancients said that to defeat your enemy, you must first know your enemy. And now you know Licinius for what he truly is. But I can also tell you what he’s not – he may be seven hundred years old, but he is not a god, whatever the Imperial Cult may preach. He was born a man, and whatever he has become, some part of him is still human. That means he’s vulnerable.”

“How so?” Arta asked.

To her surprise, Midaia laughed. “I have no idea,” she said. “I’m not actually omniscient, you know. Neither is Shiran, much as he may pretend otherwise. But Licinius is human, and to be human is to be fallible – I know that much. Somewhere he has cracks, and you just have to find them. But I will give you this warning – he’s strong, Artakane. Stronger than me and you and Shiran put together, at least. Stronger than I believed it was possible for a human Adept to be. I don’t say this to frighten you, but to make you aware of what you face – and because I don’t believe he was always so strong. If he has a weakness, I think you’ll find it there.”

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“’I’ll’ find it?” Arta asked. “What about ‘we?’ Aren’t you going to help us?”

“You have your duties to the Kingdom, little sister,” Midaia said, standing. “I have duties elsewhere. I’ll try to help you when I can, but I can’t promise you much. I just wanted to come here tonight to give you the greatest gift I know – the gift of knowledge. Use it well.”

“Other duties?” Arta asked, standing and facing her half-sister. “Other duties to where? Not the Church, surely? I assume they haven’t reversed your excommunication since we last talked.”

Midaia chuckled. “Oh, I assure you the Church and I aren’t on speaking terms and aren’t likely to be any time soon,” she said. “Let’s just say that my obligations deal with matters you don’t know – and are probably better off not knowing. If it may help, you can think of me as an agent of Fate.” Arta frowned, digesting this, wondering if she should press the matter and deciding it likely would do little good.

Midaia was silent for a long moment, studying her face. Finally, she asked in a quiet voice that was quite different from what she’d used before, “Does she make you happy?”

“Yes,” Arta said, smiling. There was no need to specify who ‘she’ was.

“Good,” Midaia said. “If she didn’t, we would have to have words. But for now, good luck, Artakane. I’ll be watching out for you, when I can.” Arta blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, Midaia was gone.

///

The next morning, Pakorus ast Orlanes stepped into the palace training room to see two figures sparring with each other in the center of the floor. From this angle he couldn’t see their faces behind the clear face plates of their helmets, but he knew that the girl in the blue armor was Arta, and the girl in red was Latharna. He leaned against the wall and watched as their dueling swords, doubtless powered down to the training setting that blunted their edges, flashed against each other; Pakorus was no great swordsman himself but he was familiar enough with the art to appreciate Arta’s classical Dozen Stars style and the way Latharna seemed to fight with reckless abandon while actually being in complete control every moment.

Finally, they came to a standstill and stopped, sheathing their weapons and bowing to one another before removing their helmets. They were both very different in appearance – Arta, dark and classically Dozen Stars, was, according to Pakorus’s father, the spitting image of her mother, the late Queen Aestera; on the other hand, the albino whiteness of Latharna’s skin and boyishly-cut short hair made for a striking contrast against the red of her training outfit. They were both extraordinary young women, and Pakorus was proud to be their friend – and if, privately, he found them both lovely, that wasn’t something he said aloud. After all, they had both shown their attentions lay elsewhere, and a gentleman shouldn’t press the matter.

At least, that’s what Pakorus’s father said; somehow, it didn’t seem to stop either of the girls from noticing. “Well,” Arta said, shaking out her hair and turning towards Pakorus with a grin on her face, “it seems we have an audience this morning. To what do we owe the honor – or could you just not resist watching us both working up a sweat while wearing tight clothing?”

Pakorus fought back a groan and was certain he was blushing ferociously; Arta and Latharna both glanced at each other and shared a quiet laugh, which didn’t help matters. “Ah, no,” he finally managed to say, casting around and deciding the best way to quickly change the subject. “Actually, I was looking for my father. Have you seen him? He wasn’t at his office.”

“He’s probably talking with some of the other council members,” Arta said, her expression suddenly serious. “We have another war meeting coming up this afternoon and I asked him to help me wrangle dukes in the hope that we can actually get something useful done at this one. I’m sure he told you about the situation with the Empire?”

“The basics, yes,” Pakorus said. “Word hasn’t gotten out yet about exactly what happened at yesterday’s council meeting, but enough people saw the Imperial ship arrive and leave that the rumors are flying on the news channels. You’ll probably want to make a statement of some sort before too long just so things don’t get too out of hand – but you probably knew that already.”

“Yes, that’s one of the things we were going to discuss today,” Arta said. “We need to get all the dukes in agreement about our plan of action before we officially announce what happened – I have the border system militias on alert already, but I can’t tell the whole Kingdom we’re about to be at war with the Empire and then have the dukes pulling us all twelve different ways. There’d be panic, and that’s not what we need right now. You’ve been in the Empire lately – more recently than anyone else I know, anyway. Except for Midaia, and good luck getting anything out of her that she doesn’t want to share.”

Pakorus shrugged. “We snuck around a few military bases,” he said, “but it’s not like we were dinner guests on Imperium Primus. We got intelligence on Quarinis’s schemes, but I couldn’t tell you much about what the fleets or the legions are doing. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to my father about. I’m afraid we may have other problems.”

“What do you mean?” Latharna asked. “The Empire seems like enough of a problem to me. Is it the Sakrans again?”

“No,” Pakorus said, snorting, “though I’ve been trying to avoid Darius and his siblings as much as I can since they arrived. This is something else. I got a message on my comm earlier this morning. From Orlanes.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “It’s from my mother.”

“Your mother?” Arta asked, her voice suddenly concerned and her eyes sympathetic. They’d spoken about their families in the palace gardens once, on the night they’d met, two years and a lifetime ago. Latharna, however, looked shocked.

“Your mother’s alive?” she asked, and then looked abashed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you live with your father and I’d never heard you mention your mother, so I just assumed…” she let her voice trail off.

“Mother lives on Orlanes,” Pakorus said. “She and Father… don’t always get along. Well, actually, that’s an understatement. They’re still married, technically, but I don’t think they’ve spoken six whole words to each other in as many years. They had… an argument, you see. She thought he was spending too much time being regent, and not enough time being a husband and a father – and a duke. They said some things to each other I think they both know were wrong, but they’re both too stubborn to take them back. Mother went home to Orlanes and has mostly been running the duchy while Father’s been here, seeing to the Kingdom. Whenever they have to talk to each other, they usually run messages through me – which isn’t exactly a lot of fun.”

“I’m so sorry, Pakorus,” Latharna said, embarrassment flushing her pale cheeks a brilliant scarlet. “I… I didn’t mean to imply anything, I just assumed…”

“It’s okay,” he said, waving her off. “I’ve gotten used to it, over the years. Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I found I had a message on the comm from the Duchess Artemisia ast Orlanes. I called her back and she told me it was urgent she talk to Father – not have me talk to him, but talk to him herself, though she still wants me to raise the subject with him first. She wouldn’t say why, but she did let slip that the Orlanes home fleet has been in a battle – and come off rather the worse for the wear, apparently.”

“A battle?” Arta asked, suddenly alert. “Against who, the Empire? That doesn’t make sense; Orlanes Duchy doesn’t even border the Empire. Your duchy is on the edge of the galactic rim. If the Empire could hit there, they could hit a half-dozen other targets that are more important, including Carann.”

“I don’t know,” Pakorus admitted. “But that’s why I have to find Father. If Mother’s willing to extend an olive branch now, after all this time – well, the situation must be serious.”

“Arta’s busy, but do you want me to go with you?” Latharna offered. “Give a bit of moral support, anyway.”

Pakorus shook his head. “That’s all right,” he said. “I can manage. Thank you for offering, though. I do appreciate it. Well, if neither of you know where Father is, I suppose I’d best be off.”

“Try the halls near the council chamber,” Arta said. “I imagine some of the other dukes may be there, and if so, he’ll likely be there trying to keep them in line.”

“I’ll do that,” Pakorus said, turning to leave. A sudden thought stopped him. “By the way, Arta,” he said, “I ran into Ariana ast Tashir on my way up here. She told me that if I saw you to tell you that she’d procured two tickets to the opera for this evening and was wondering if you’d be willing to join her. Apparently Faruza and Phoebe is showing, and she thought it might help take your mind off our current troubles.”

Latharna snorted. “Well, she’s certainly persistent, isn’t she?”

“Not very subtle, either,” Arta added, laughing. Faruza and Phoebe was the story of a lady knight who fell in love with the daughter of her House’s greatest enemy, and it had long been a favorite for romantic outings. “Well, if you see the good Duchess you may tell her I must refuse, but I do hope she finds someone with whom to enjoy the show this evening.”

Pakorus chuckled and sketched a bow. “As you wish, my queen,” he said, and then turned again and left the training hall, steeling himself for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

///

Arta watched him go, her eyes lingering on his back and down his legs. Pakorus was her friend, and she was involved with someone else, but, well, there was no crime in looking, was there? And he did wear that suit well.

From the corner of her eye she saw Latharna watching Pakorus’s departure as well, and she thought that maybe she wasn’t the only one to have that opinion.