Empress Game: The Empress Game Trilogy Book 1 (30 page)

The peace that had lasted mere moments was replaced with the familiar guilt.

What would her reaction be when she learned he’d been involved on Ordoch? Would their truce hold? Would she understand his reasoning, his concern for his people, why he’d agreed to the mission to Wyrd Space? Or would she come after him with a dagger?

“This partnership we have,” she said, “if I am to trust, if we are to succeed together, I need to know.” She turned, squaring her shoulders to him. “What role did you play in the coup on my homeworld?”

The question had been coming since they’d met. She, more than anyone else alive, had the right to know. She was also the last person he wanted to confess his culpability to.

“I need the truth, Malkor.” Her bright blue gaze held him still, demanded an answer. “After all I have done, I deserve that.”

She did. If he wanted her trust, he’d have to earn it.

More likely, though, he’d earn her enmity. “You’re certain?”

“You were there. On Ordoch. You weren’t just part of the planning process, were you?”

“I was there.”

“In the palace? When they—”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I was recalled to the ship before the actual coup began. Most of the IDC agents were. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t involved.” Memories, imperfectly buried, bloomed to full life. “I was part of the diplomatic team sent to negotiate assistance with the TNV from your people. I knew the military had planned the coup as a last-ditch backup plan if all diplomatic channels failed, never expecting it would be necessary.

“I agreed to the Ordochian mission believing that diplomacy would win the day, as did most of the IDC agents involved. We felt the need of our people was so great, our risk so high in traveling to Wyrd Space, that the Wyrds—that you—would agree to offer what assistance you could. I believed the trickiest part of the mission would be defining the terms of an alliance between our people.”

She rose, putting distance between them. She looked away but he knew he had her full attention.

“I wasn’t among the agents working with council members who’d been sent as emissaries. My role was more basic. I liaisoned with the seneschal of the palace and with your security forces. I negotiated the day-to-day terms of our presence on your planet: how many people were allowed in our delegation, how many shuttles we could land on your planet, how many military people we could bring as protection ‘just in case,’ what ordnance they could carry. There were a million things to negotiate—access to the palace, where our people could go, how supervised they had to be, if they were allowed into the city proper to see part of your world, how many personnel changes we could make, where the diplomats who stayed planet-side would be housed… The list was endless.”

As had been the frustration. While the seneschal was almost generous in his concessions, not believing the empire advanced enough to be any sort of threat, Malkor heard from Commander Parrel that talks at the top level were not progressing. The frustration of being relegated to a minor role, unable to help in the most important negotiations of his lifetime, had eaten at Malkor even as he excelled at his own negotiations.

“Talks stalled with your leaders and everyone grew tense. We’d traveled with our military’s two strongest, most heavily armed ships. Our commanders were getting antsy and plans aboard the ship kicked into a new gear. Everyone was on edge but I honestly thought we could convince your people.”

Did that in any way absolve him of his part in the coup? he wondered.

She gave no reaction to his words, standing robot-like a meter away from him, her gaze fixed on the wall.

“Then the IDC was ordered off the planet. We were to turn our visitor passes over to military personnel from the ship. The councilors and senior IDC staff were pulled from negotiations, changed out for the colonels who would lead the coup. I knew it was happening.”

He’d known and he’d— what? Protested strenuously? Stayed planet-side to the last possible second? Threatened to warn the Wyrds? All of that, but what did it matter?

He’d known, and in the end… “I followed my orders.” That was the truth of it. He’d followed his orders, start to finish. “The coup took place a few hours after I returned to the ship.”

There. The words were out, the damage done.

No. The damage had been done five years ago.

She nodded. The movement was so slight he might have imagined it, but it was there. She nodded to herself, the silence lying heavily between them.

How did they go on from here?

Her shoulders relaxed, but still she didn’t face him. Her fingers uncurled from the fists he hadn’t noticed, her chest filled with a deep breath.

“Did you kill my family?” she asked softly.

He had never been so thankful that the answer was, “No.”

“Did you place the bombs?”

There the blame lay on him heavily. “No, but I negotiated the terms that allowed those who did to be there. They were able to do so because of my actions.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

“I—”

“It’s not the same.”

She finally looked up, meeting his gaze steadily. Instead of the rage he expected to see in her expression, the hurt or hatred, he saw relief.

“Thank you,” she said, “for telling me, but mostly for being the man I thought you were.”

“But—”

“There are two sides to every tragedy,” she said. “It took my coming here to see it. My people are not blameless. The damage of the TNV is catastrophic, I understand that now. We hid behind old laws and our suspicions of you, refused to help even though billions had already died. Whole planets of people—decimated. There’s no guarantee that we could have stopped it, but we could have at least agreed to try.”

The breath sighed out of her and she took another, seeming to gain strength. There was the nod again, to herself, as if an understanding shifted inside of her and she accepted it.

He was not proud of his actions five years ago but had owned them, finally. Owned them before the one person most likely to judge him harshly.

“You surprise me,” he said. Listening had to be even more painful than the telling had been. Understanding even more so.

“Am I supposed to hate you personally for everything that was done that day? Hold you accountable for the actions of hundreds of others, decisions that weren’t yours to make?”

“A lesser person might.”

“And so I might have, in the last five years. Before meeting you, meeting you and Isonde and Prince Trebulan. The IDC was nothing but a symbol to me. An entity to be feared, hated and reviled. Now?” She stepped forward slowly, determinedly, and took her place beside him on the couch once more. “I can’t forgive what was taken from me, but I can begin to understand. And to move forward.”

“We can make this better, Kayla, if we work together. If we fight for it.”

Her closeness said it all. “We will.”

* * *

Kayla limited her social activity to a single event that evening—a banquet celebrating all of the contestants that had progressed to the eighthfinals. It was a raucous affair, the mood full of celebration and cheer and anticipation. The guests of honor were easy to pick out, surrounded as they were by groups of admirers, and each looking a bit weary in their own way, herself included.

She wore a sleek, high-necked gown with no sleeves and an open back. She’d shot up with a pain blocker before the event and wore the regen sleeve on her shoulder. Even a minute less of her cellular regrowth and rest routine was more than she could afford with tomorrow’s fighting ending in the quarterfinals. Besides, thousands of commentators and analysts had watched every second of her fights, they’d identified her shoulder injury based on the differences between her earlier and later fights. Everyone here knew her weakness, no reason to hide the cuff.

Her most prominent fashion accessory? The emperor-apparent himself, Prince Ardin, on her arm. What better way to say “the Game is mine.”

It couldn’t have been more awkward.

Malkor had yet to tell Ardin about Isonde’s condition and coma. Kayla trusted that Malkor knew what he was doing when it came to Ardin, but damn if it wasn’t uncomfortable to pretend to be Isonde with him. She could stand the warm smiles and adoring looks, it was the discreet touches he managed to sneak in amid all the guests that made her skin crawl.

Archon Raorin caught Ardin’s attention and Kayla used the moment to escape him.

It’s only for a moment
, she told herself. The political cachet it gave her to be seen with Ardin was too great to pass up for long.

Malkor managed to fight his way through her admirers to gain a place at her side. He made his apologies to the crowd, citing official IDC business, and led her away to a quiet space of the room, his fingertips warm on her bare back. No one else would have dared touch her there, not even Ardin.

“You should be resting,” he said, dropping his hand. She suddenly missed the gentle pressure.

“Isonde needs to be here tonight. Strutting. Gloating. Preening. A show of confidence can psych out more than one opponent for the morning.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Let them know the Game is mine.”

“Tia’tan and Clanesta Sovein seem to have the same idea.”

True. The Clanestas Warren were celebrating with abandon, the two of them drinking, eating and dancing the night away. Sovein, the elder Clanesta, might be celebrating winning the whole damn tournament, based on her good cheer. Tia’tan, by comparison, looked like a block of ice among the guests. An arrogant and altogether superior block of ice.
It’s only a matter of time
, her attitude said.

Kayla’s regen cuff gave a double beep and shut down.

“You’ve done enough tonight already,” he said.

She nodded, willing to be convinced to leave the party. “It’s time for a round of anti-inflammatories and coolant packs anyway.” She gave him a smile. “Wish me luck in the morning.”

* * *

The morning of eighthfinals closed out as expected. Princess Tia’tan finished her three matches flawlessly, becoming the number one seed. Clanesta Sovein and Kayla tied records for second, but a point-by-point comparison put Kayla in third. The last competitor in the quarterfinals would be President Devon DiMasta, but it didn’t matter who had that spot—Tia’tan would eliminate her.

After a two-hour break for lunch and rest, the quarterfinal series began: Tia’tan vs. Devon and Sovein vs. Kayla.

* * *

“Frutt!”

Kayla dropped her front hand from the staff reflexively after Sovein Warren slammed her staff into her opponent’s fingers. The tip of Kayla’s weapon dipped toward the floor as she shook out her probably cracked appendages, and Sovein darted in. She struck with the butt of her staff, stopping less than a centimeter from Kayla’s throat to claim a point.

A far as opening salvos went, it was damn effective.

Kayla shook her hand, flexing her fingers one last time before getting a solid grip on her staff. She was two steps from the crown, two steps from winning it all. The winner of this series would go on to fight in the championship bout after a rest day. All Kayla had to do was defeat a hulking woman who could give two men a fair fight at the same time and she’d be on her way. Simple, really. Especially with a group of Wyrds simultaneously channeling enough psi power to stagger her poor
il’haar
as he tried to hold them off.

Sovein grinned, brown eyes sparkling with the excitement of battle. “Got hold a’ it now?”

Very funny.

::I don’t know how long I can do this.:: She barely heard Corinth’s small voice. ::Hurry up, Kay.::

Right. How in space was she supposed to do that?

Sovein started circling and Kayla mirrored her. The woman presented such a big target she should be easy to hit. Not the case. Sovein blocked every attack Kayla tried with intense force. Each block sent reverberations through her, stinging Kayla’s already hurting hand and jarring her shoulder. The woman could wear her down simply by maintaining a solid defense.

They traded blows, the wood of their staves clacking together. Here a shot got through, there Kayla got lucky. They split points and Kayla somehow took the first match. She doubted she had the strength to best this woman in an actual fight. She scored sparring points because they relied on position and potential for damage rather than actual damage, but Sovein would clobber her in real battle.

As the second match began, Kayla felt oddly sluggish. She
might
have slowed a fraction due to fatigue, it was possible. But certainly not enough to miss the opening under Sovein’s arm that she lunged for. Definitely not.

She backed off, warding against a flurry of blows from Sovein that felt like hammer strikes. When Kayla ducked under a swing and came up for an open shot at Sovein’s unprotected chin, the air thickened around her. Her arms swung through slush and the butt of her staff slowed to a halt before it found its mark. To observers it might appear that Kayla wouldn’t commit a full extension to finish the strike for fear of leaving herself open.

::I’m sorry.:: Corinth said. ::They’re—::

She retreated and felt something behind her heel before she tripped backward. She dropped her staff to catch herself on her hands and Sovein hit her dead-on in the chest, knocking the breath from her.

Point, Wyrds. Those bastards.

Kayla coughed up something and regained her feet.

::Better hurry.:: The water-weak Vayne—no, Dolan—urged her with concern.

If you’re so concerned then help, you frutter
. She glanced over at Corinth. His eyes were clamped shut in concentration and his skin shimmered with sweat.

Hurry, hurry
.

The official confirmed she was ready before resuming the match.

A strike. Another. Two steps, a strike-block-block-strike-block combo. Back-pedaling, and then Sovein had her against the edge of the ring with what would have been a crushing blow to the skull. She took a third point quickly after that and it was second match, Sovein.

The third match started cautiously, neither willing to drop a point. Kayla let openings slide by, afraid to chance anything less than a sure thing, wary of the Ilmenans breaking through Corinth’s spotty shield.