39
I DID NOT WAIT long on Eurydice. When my summons came, along with an honor guard of starships, I boarded without fear. The public welcome had guaranteed my survival. Now I had to use it.
Those escorting me worked for Pasus. That, or they were on his payroll. Their eyes followed me everywhere, they questioned relentlessly but answered nothing in turn. So I stopped speaking to them.
By the time the eighteen day voyage ended and we jostled out of hyperspace, the Grandiloquy had all heard the news. I could tell, because we began passing docked vessels much farther out from the core of the Chrysanthemum than usual. There had to be another thousand here, converging upon the already massive superstructure.
The closer we drew, the more detail I picked out. The windows of several pylons had gone totally dim. Either they’d been rendered inactive to preserve power, or they’d fallen into disrepair without a centralized system.
Thousands of messages crowded for my attention, the standard, perfunctory greetings.
Then one came in that superseded all the others, and they blinked out of the system to allow it first priority.
My heart began to thud.
Tyrus.
Sweat pricked all over my body. Genuine terror began to gnaw at my gut. My hand shook when I activated the transmission.
Senator von Pasus appeared before me in holographic form. My heart hardened. I did not give him the pleasure of glimpsing my disappointment.
“Senator.”
“Nemesis.”
For a moment, he looked at me, and I at him.
“You are back at last,” he said.
“I’ve been most welcomed,” I said icily.
“Did you bring anything?”
“Anything?”
“A scepter.” He leaned closer. “An Interdict.”
“Your spies surely told you I did not.” Of course he’d have heard by now that we meant to bring the Interdict back. He couldn’t know what happened to the Interdict, though. . . . Unless Neveni had told people.
She’d had a head start on me.
“Have you lost the scepter?” Pasus said.
“No,” I said.
He seemed to clench his teeth. “Do you intend to hand it over?”
“You will have to wait and see.”
“Very well played, the public entrance. Tyrus and I were most impressed.”
His casual use of his name, his first name, oh . . . And I slipped. “Is he all right?”
I’d lost the game.
Pasus smiled coolly and blinked away. I would have to learn for myself.
• • •
The Chrysanthemum looked much as it had when I’d left it. The interior was missing the Hera, the Tigris, the Colossus, but other ships crowded in their places. Windows were more consistently lit this close to the center, but Berneval Stretch had a great, gaping hole where something had collided with it and repair bots had not arrived to fix it in time. Three more years of malfunctions ill-repaired. The very formation of the ships looked clumsy, like a chaotic glob rather than a precise Chrysanthemum.
When I stepped out into the Valor Novus, silence met me. After the thunderous reception on Eurydice, the stark hush was deafening, but not surprising. A pair of Domitrian servants had been waiting.
“The Emperor requests your presence.”
“Lead the way.”
Despite what they’d said, when I arrived in the presence chamber through the main doors, it wasn’t to an awaiting crowd. All in sight were crowded about some other diversion, and I waved the servants away. I could take it from here.
My heart began to jerk in my chest, though I had yet to spot Tyrus. Raucous voices met my ears.
“Try a watermelon next.”
“What about a glass?”
“. . . can have gravital crushing anywhere, Your Supremacy. No need for the Justice Hall. Don’t you see how much potential this opens for entertainment?”
“There is a great deal of potential,” agreed that voice I’d know anywhere.
Tyrus.
His voice. His voice . . . I stopped where I was, knowing it, and none in the crowd seemed aware of me.
“I’ve never seen one so portable before. It’s the size of an imaging ring. Same weight? Impressive. What level is it at now?” Tyrus said.
I saw him.
He was Tyrus, but he looked subtly altered. His hair was lighter, a reddish gold, and the last hint of childish roundness had fled his face. The broad bones, the sharply angled brows, the light blue eyes all contrived to render him simultaneously harsher in appearance, and more classically handsome. In fact, there was a touch of vanity in the alteration, as though he’d lost some of that distaste for beauty bots and began using them.
His natural musculature had faded before my eyes under Pasus’s regime, since the Venalox had not lent itself to rigorous exertion, even had Pasus allowed him to undertake it. Now, the artificial symmetry of beauty-bot-crafted muscles had taken their place, stretching the shoulders of the sweeping coat favored by fashionable Grandes.
Tyrus had yet to notice me, though those nearest me had. They had gone silent.
“I’d like to see what it can do at eight atmospheres,” Tyrus noted.
A humming as the mechanism increased in power. I could see now it was a metal ring of sorts. “And now, let’s see . . .” Tyrus cast his gaze about at the faces nearest him, searching for someone. Smiling like a jackal when he locked on target. “Gladdic. Put your hand in there.”
Gladdic. I hadn’t recognized him immediately, with the alterations he’d made to his hair—a platinum shade now to contrast with his light brown skin. I recognized only his signature feature, those unnaturally spring-green eyes.
“Your Supremacy, I think that might not be safe.”
“That’s the point. Put your hand in. You skulk about and ruin a good time. Do something to entertain us. Reach in,” Tyrus said.
Gladdic cringed, stepped toward the ring—and raised his hand. He yowled out when a crackling sounded through the chamber, blood bursting from his skin, skin peeling from bone. . . . He yanked his hand back to the resounding laughter of the watching Grandiloquy, tears on his face, whimpering. Med bots soared in to tend to him, and Tyrus began to laugh.
The Grandiloquy all about Tyrus did exactly as the Grandiloquy do: they took their cue from Tyrus and began laughing as well.
“Look at your hand. Ah. That’s disgusting. Why would anyone do that to himself? Helios devoured, Gladdic, surely you realized I was joking.” He was still laughing as he turned away, called, “All right, kick it up to max and let’s throw in a spare Servitor. . . .” Then he laid eyes on me.
“Your Supremacy,” I managed, my mouth bone dry.
Tyrus grew very still. His face suddenly went blank. “Nemesis . . . You are come back, then.”
I used to be attuned to the slightest ripple of feeling under that blank expression. Now it just seemed—blank.
“Yes.” My voice sounded hollow.
“You took your time returning.”
“Not by choice.”
“Of course.” Tyrus tilted his head. He studied me closely as I searched him for any slight trace of feeling—even just a memory of what he’d once felt.
None.
I was only half-aware of the Grandiloquy who’d been enjoying the spectacle. Some had already gripped a Servitor to offer up for the gravity ring. Tyrus had quite forgotten his request.
“Well. Only one thing to do.” He turned to address the company. “Kick it up to twenty atm, and a delightful intoxicant to the one who chucks her into the gravity ring. Let’s see it work!”
What?
Bodies swarmed toward me, hands hooking under my arms, and I was so shocked I did not react for a moment. . . . Then I was steered toward the gravity ring, which would crush me in an instant, and my survival instincts raged forth. I wrenched myself from the grasping hands and drove my fist into the nearest face, my legs into ribs. I snared a collar and hurled a Grande who’d manhandled me into the gravity ring so he might enjoy it, and he gave an abbreviated scream as he passed the metal barrier, then his lungs and skull flattened—
“ENOUGH.”
The chamber went deathly still about me, and I whirled around to face Tyrus, furious, bewildered, yet there was something new on his face. His eyes seemed aglow with an electric intensity, belying the careful, cautious set of his polished features.
“It is you.”
“Yes. As I said!” I roared at him.
“Now I’m certain of it.” He pointed to the unfortunate Grande with the crushed head. “Someone clean up the Grande Falcaunt.”
“It’s Rutherfain.”
Tyrus shook his head. He did not care.
Then a woman was before me, a young girl. “What of the Sacred City? We’ve heard dreadful rumors.”
And all eyes were suddenly on me.
“Quiet.”
It was one word, softly spoken, but Tyrus’s voice made all those crowding about me step back, lowering their eyes.
“This is state business. I will discuss it with my . . . beloved in private.”
I searched his face hopefully.
Tyrus nodded for me to accompany him to the privy chambers, then raised his palladium glove to his mouth and said, “Alectar, are you about?”
Alectar, I thought darkly.
“I’m in my chamber,” answered Pasus.
“Excellent,” said Tyrus.
Then, as we stepped into the privy chambers, Pasus emerged from one of the rooms, and shock rooted me in place.
He’d been in his chamber.
Here.
Inside the royal privy chambers.
Pasus should not be staying there. He had no right to it. How audacious of him, to force his way in. My jaw clenched.
There was new furniture. . . . Hangings and sculptures that were distinctly not Tyrus’s style. A singed spot on a table told me these might’ve been salvaged remnants of the Colossus. So Pasus had gathered them up, then glommed onto Tyrus like a persistent parasite and installed himself here.
Now it fell to me to remove him for good.