24
THERE WAS only one person in this room I cared about, and he was closest to the window. The words ripped out of me:
“Tyrus, NO!”
And the sound of my voice made his eyes widen with a fresh terror, and he roared, “Get out of here!” at me, but I shook my head frantically. . . . Then arms seized me from behind, and with my strength dampened, I couldn’t break the hold. Pasus saw me, waved the man holding me forward, then clasped my arm and yanked me toward Tyrus.
“Vent the room and she dies too,” Pasus said, breathless. His fingers dug in so hard, my skin throbbed.
And I didn’t fight him now, because I wanted him to succeed. I wanted Tyrus talked down, and Tyrus had an indecisive moment to just look at us like he was strangling on thin air. . . . Then bodies bowled him over, piled on top of him, shouting, “Disarm him!”
“Get the Emperor!”
“Keep him down!”
At my side, Pasus’s harsh whisper. “Well done.”
Our eyes met like bared blades. If I’d been able to rip him to shreds with just a glare, he would be in slices. Then he hauled me forward with him, shouting at Tyrus’s captors not to suffocate him, to stand him up.
And then Tyrus was trapped, two arms around each of his, by men straining to contain him, others grappling his legs, and a hand at my back shoved me forward hard enough to unbalance me. I didn’t care that Pasus meant me to do this, that he was sending me over for this. I just blasted forward and hurtled into Tyrus, throwing my arms about him. He must’ve been released, because he clasped me fiercely in return.
“You’re all right,” he said, his voice choked.
“Stay alive, Tyrus. Don’t do that again. Don’t.”
And I was only dimly aware of those who’d tackled him being waved away, of Pasus circling us at a careful distance, his sharp eyes taking in our embrace. I knew we were displaying our hideous weakness for each other before hostile eyes, that it was unavoidable, but Tyrus’s heart beat against mine, and his ragged breathing fluttered my hair, and we would get out of this somehow, I knew we would.
Then the chamber was mostly empty, and Pasus was sitting languidly on a windowsill, Tyrus’s energy weapon held casually over his lap, and I pressed my lips to Tyrus’s ear and whispered that entreaty, “Stay alive. Just stay alive.”
Tyrus’s eyes sought mine, and for the first time I saw raw terror there, unconcealed by so many years of training, for what was there to do against an enemy who could murder billions of people?
“Shall we talk now?”
Pasus’s voice floated over to us, and Tyrus and I held eyes a last moment. Then his face became a granite mask, and my heart turned to cold black stone. And then we shifted our focus to Pasus.
Pasus’s lips twisted. “After losing my Elantra,” he said, “I could think only of avenging her. But for you, Tyrus, I will put that aside.”
“To keep your leverage against me,” Tyrus said, clutching me closer. “Do not pretend this is generosity.”
“Well. You and I would be corpses floating outside that window if not for your love of her, so yes, there is no generosity. Her preservation is clearly a necessity.” Pasus’s eyes glittered. “And what a tragedy it would have been, had you fired on that window. I don’t speak of losing my life, or those of all the personages in this chamber. . . . But losing the last Domitrian. There is no returning from that.”
Tyrus stared at him incredulously. “You have your boot on my throat, Senator. Don’t feign reverence now.”
“I am pretending nothing,” Pasus said. “I knew Randevald as a youth. Always, I thought—this man is no more remarkable than I am. And then I saw him claim his scepter and awaken the Chrysanthemum. That boot is there by necessity, not choice. All I’ve ever wished is to join with your family! To unite my bloodline with the greatness of the Domitrians. . . . You are as close as we mere humans will ever be to the deities of old. I planned for you to wed my daughter.” With a chill glance toward me, “And we know why that did not happen. Then I sought to wed your cousin, but she perished. Again, we know why.”
“We do,” I snapped. “Because you tried to murder him.”
“I am your greatest advocate,” Pasus insisted. “Some believed we should lobotomize you on your return, and reign through you that way. . . . But the idea was distasteful to me. Your cousin lacked her wits and I saw firsthand how difficult she was to manage. So now we are left with option three, and I think all of us will find this one acceptable.” Pasus reached into his pocket and withdrew a jeweled case. “Give me a reason to trust you.”
A vein in Tyrus’s temple flickered. I took the box from Pasus, popped it open. A phial rested inside. It was merely a narcotic. Tyrus spared it a contemptuous look. “What is it?”
“It’s how we will establish our trust. This is a drug by the name of Venalox,” Pasus said. “You’ll take it.”
“Venalox?” said Tyrus. “I’ve never even heard of it.”
“Nor had I, until recently. You yourself are the reason I found its chemical configuration. I searched for obscure substances, hoping for something that would preserve your cousin’s life. Then—I saw this. It is ideal for us. I tested it on the Excess to ensure it was safe. I am going to provide it every day.”
“Why? What does it do?”
“It fosters a powerful addiction that confounds med-bot detox subroutines,” Pasus said. “This is how we will operate: I will give you this substance, and you will take it. Because you’ll need it, and only I will have it, and in this way, my life will be protected from you, and we will be assured allies.”
“If you wanted trust, if you sought an ally,” Tyrus said, “you could simply have approached me in good faith in the first place.”
“No. That was never possible. I couldn’t have trusted any mere assurances of yours,” Pasus responded. “You see, I earnestly believed you, Tyrus. I believed you were mad along with all the others. You were so very convincing, and now, this is the price for it—because I am not even sure who you truly are. There is only one way I can feel certain of you, and it’s if we establish that certainty on my terms. With the Venalox. Now, in injected form, it hits quite hard. Rather like a sedative that leaves one awake enough to follow basic suggestions. But I’d only have it injected for the first stretch, just to be entirely certain it’s in your system. Then we’ll transition.”
“To what?” Tyrus ground out.
“An inhalable powder. You’ll be able to administer it to yourself—after I provide it, naturally.”
“You think I will agree to be an addict,” said Tyrus.
“Your Supremacy, addiction devastates those who lose their health, their status, their finances. All three of those will be in my control. You will be entirely safe, and you will have your chosen Empress. This is not an offer you can refuse. Make your decision.”
“Give him time to think,” I cut in. “Can he not have a minute of thought?”
“There is nothing for him to think about,” Pasus said, his eyes narrowing. “He is not in a position to refuse me. But as a courtesy, I will give you both an interlude to reassure each other. I must oversee the docking of the Colossus. . . . I couldn’t leave it in the inner ring until you had returned.”
Of course he’d kept it obscured among the mass of distant ships. Senator von Pasus’s vessel in the dead center of the Chrysanthemum would have told us with a glance that he was here. Tyrus closed his eyes until he was gone.
Then his gaze snapped back open, and there wasn’t a trace of defeat in the pale blue depths. He snatched the phial from its box and shook his head, determination crackling on his face. “He will make this easy.”
“Easy?”
“In the past I always had to contrive some weakness to put my enemies at ease, and selling that weakness was every bit so difficult as taking advantage of the moment they underestimated me. . . . But he’s created the perfect situation for me.”
“You have a plan.”
He nodded. His hand cupped the back of my neck to draw me forward as though for a kiss, but really so he could whisper as softly as possible, “He’s already laid it out for us. He means to turn me into a dependent addict. I will play along with it. I will give him an addict. This will lull him and then we strike back.”
Misgivings churned within me. I had never been intoxicated, but I had seen Tyrus’s mind at work. It was the most powerful weapon in his arsenal and there was no knowing what this Venalox might do to it. “No. Tyrus, no. Let’s find the nearest ship and hijack it. I don’t have my strength, but we’ll have surprise on our side. We can return to the Interdict.”
He let out a breath. “We’d have to get there and back within this same gravital window, Nemesis, or else we are truly undone. You saw the schedule. The next one lasts three years. We can’t lose three more years. This keeps us in the center of things. We can’t risk it.”
“But . . .” I pulled back, searching his face. “You’ve never used this . . . this Venalox. What if you can’t master it?”
“I will.” Tyrus stroked his thumb over the back of my neck in circles. “This is just a chemical like any other. Mithridatism. Remember?”
Mithridatism. His practice of exposing himself to small doses of substances to master them.
“Mind over matter. The very worst-case scenario is, I truly do get addicted—in which case it will be a matter of willpower, and I have plenty. I will endure the pains of breaking free.” He drew me into a kiss, and then spoke against my ear, “Whatever I do and whatever you see, don’t be worried. Trust me.”
I would trust him. I had to trust him.
“Once he closes his eyes,” Tyrus whispered, “I promise you, we will destroy him for this.”