Endgame (32 page)

Ulanova stared. Then the first flicker of triumph brightened her eyes and she smiled. “Darling?” When nothing happened, her voice took on an edge. “I don't think there's any point, I really don't.”

Another moment of stillness. Then Lucien emerged from the next room. He'd loosened his tunic collar and held a glass of wine.

Jani started to laugh.
Like a cat, from house to house to house—
She forced herself calm. “I'd like to talk to him, please.”

Ulanova headed for the security call pad. “Go to hell.”

“Excellency.” Jani held out a hand. Heard her papa's Celtic lilt in her voice and wondered how she'd managed to dredge it up. “Even the condemned get a final wish granted.”

Ulanova stopped and stared, mistrust and puzzlement warring on the narrow battleground of her face. Then she smiled again, because that was what her kind did when they felt they'd won. “Ten minutes, darling.” She waved a heavily
ringed hand in Lucien's general direction and swept into the adjoining room.

“Got that, darling?” Jani walked up to Lucien and clapped her hands under his nose, took what pleasure she could in his flinch. “Ten minutes.” She backed away before she caught a glass of wine in her face. “How did she foist you off on Mako? That's what I want to know.”

“Mako trusts Scriabin to keep her in line.” Lucien's voice emerged low and tight. “Taking me on was part of the deal they devised to shut her up.”

Jani leaned against a chair. Fatigue had caught up with her, and her knees felt weak. Or maybe it was just self-disgust, and growing anger too great to control. “What she does to Niall, I do to you. If he's arrested, I'll see you're arrested. If he's condemned, I'll do all I can to ensure that you take his place.”

Lucien stared into his glass, then set it down on a table so hard that it splashed. “You're bluffing.”

“You think I wouldn't trade you for Niall?” Jani saw his eyes narrow and knew that he'd guessed her answer.

“You don't have anything negotiable.” Lucien shook his head. “No information to offer in exchange.”

“But you told me so much when we lived in Chicago.” Jani shrugged. “When I had time on my hands, I even confirmed some of it.”

Lucien took a lid off a candy dish, then set it back in place with a clatter. “I do have safeguards in place.”

“To use against me?” Jani caught the slight twitch of his head. “Oh, you don't, do you? You actually trusted me. That's sweet. Maybe you really do love me after all.” She jerked her chin toward the adjoining room, where no doubt Ulanova listened with clenched teeth. “Your girlfriend's waiting. Time to drop those well-tailored trousers and earn your keep.” She headed for the door. Heard the footsteps behind her and tried to dodge, but Lucien was younger and faster and pissed off to boot. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, ducking out of the way as she swung her fist,
then pushing her against the wall with all the force he hadn't spent on her earlier.

Jani made ready to propel off the wall. Brought her fist up once more. Felt the idomeni in her whisper for blood. Then her eyes met Lucien's and she saw how his shone. How bright his face, like a young boy's, his breathing hard and fast.

He took a step toward her, then hesitated. “I can be out of here in an hour.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “Two at the most.”

As though someone flipped a switch, Jani felt her own heart slow, her head clear. “You've always played both sides.” She straightened her skewed tunic. “You always told me that you did me more good than harm, that you were my insider, but it was all just talk. You were just covering your ass. Shoring up your fallback. Making sure you'd have a soft place to land no matter what happened. No matter who won. You never risked anything you couldn't afford to lose. People, idomeni, humanish, and hybrid are in danger for their lives now. Risking everything to change worlds. You don't deserve to breathe the same air.” She walked to the door, twisted the handle so the workings screeched, and shouldered through the gap into the corridor.

“Is that supposed to hurt me? Make me regret my wasted life?” Lucien followed her into the hall. “I'm not an idiot! Do you hear me? I'm not one of your damned fools!”

Jani pushed past the door into the stairwell, down the stairs and through a safety door into the night. Music still sounded from the garden. Voices and laughter. Noise. Nothing but noise.

Rilas knew that Cèel had ordered Ansu to kill her. Three times that day, Ansu had brought her the same drink as before, the pale brown brew that was supposed to enliven her. She assumed that she should still pretend to feel tired, that such would be Ansu's excuse to drug her further.
Then when I am too lethargic, they will drown me, or send me downstairs.
A natural death. An accident.

They should have sent another such as me to perform this task.
It was an insult to treat the one who had killed Tsecha in such a way as this. Rilas could hear Caith's laughter in the night as she pondered the injustice.

 

“Glories of this night to you, nìaRauta Rilas.” Ansu entered the room bearing the tray that held the pale brown poison. “I trust you enjoyed your time outside and you are no longer as tired?”

“You ask me the same thing each time you visit, Ansu, and each time my answer is the same.” Rilas raised an arm, let it fall. “I still am most tired. I am this way because you seek to poison me.”

“Poison?” Ansu set down the tray on a table, took the
top off the decanter and poured. “No, nìaRauta, this is a tea brewed from blessed leaves…”

Rilas slipped out of the bed. Ansu thought her drugged, and would not expect rapid movement. Would not expect her to behave as she had been trained. She crept across the floor, bare feet silent on the tile. Closed in behind Ansu. Raised her hand, then brought it down where neck met shoulder, as she had with the humanish male.

Ansu fell just as hard. Twitched a little more. Died just as quickly.

Rilas stripped off the physician-priest's clothing, working quickly in case bladder or bowels released and soiled them. Overrobe first, the most important thing, followed by shirt and trousers. Boots.

That unseemly task completed, she dragged Ansu's body to the bed and hoisted it atop. Covered it, making sure to turn her face from the door and tuck the covering high enough to obscure all aspects of her appearance.

Rilas then straightened the overrobe, picked up the tray and departed the room. Few idomeni walked the corridor, and none regarded her in any way. She set the tray upon a rack designed for such things and walked to the entry. Her heart beat harder as the door opened and she passed outside, felt the blessed night air in her face.

I will go to the Trade Board.
She kept many things in her workroom there. Things given her by Cèel, and other things that he would not expect her to have.

The streets between the hospital and the Trade Board were much as they always were, filled with merchants and brokers, even in the middle of the night. None noticed her, for which she gave thanks, as the coarser Haárin traders were known for stopping physician-priests in the street and requesting remedies for various ailments.

She entered the Trade Board, passed from corridor to stairway to corridor, ever upward until she reached the last ring of workrooms at the base of the dome. She had never
told anyone of this place. The door operated by a simple touchlock that was not connected to the board array, which meant that no one knew when she entered or departed. She had originally taken the workroom in order to practice secrecy, the possession of knowledge known to her and her alone. As the time passed and she grew more familiar with the concept, she began to store things in the room as well. Weapons. Documents. Clothing. Remains from previous tasks that she had been ordered to destroy but had not.

She kept them as secrets instead.

Rilas unlocked the door. Opened it and activated the illumination to a low level. Stepped over boxes and crates until she came to that which she sought.

The projectile rifle, similar to the one that she had used to assassinate Tsecha, lay in pieces. She assembled it quickly, then removed the packet of ammunition from the bottom of the crate and inserted one cartridge into place. Took the secondary from its container and activated it, confirming that it communicated with the sight mech.

Then she set the weapons aside and lay on the floor. When morning came, she would show Cèel how wrong he had been to mistrust her. How ungodly it was to have treated her as he did.

I did as you bade.
She closed her eyes.
I would have come to you freely.
Now such did not matter. Whether he wished her to or not, she would come to him all the same.

 

They gathered in the embassy drive at the base time of oh-eight, which on this day fell approximately one hour after early morning sacrament.

Jani smoothed the front of her overrobe, a needless exercise that spoke to nerves more than wrinkled cloth.

“Good morning.” Scriabin left Lucien and Ulanova by their triple-length and strode over to her, his the clear-eyed gaze of a Family politician who had learned long ago how to pace himself. “Slept well, I trust?”

“Well enough.” Jani turned her back on Lucien and forced a smile.

“We've heard word of a little bit of a dust-up around Temple, but it isn't expected to interfere with the conclave.” Scriabin pulled out a set of sunshields from a small slingbag and donned them. “We will leave in ten minutes or so.”

“I guess that means all our drivers can still drive?” Niall drew alongside Jani and glared at her over the top of his sunshields. “You haven't delivered any more sermons, have you?”

“It wasn't a sermon.” Jani thought she sounded calm enough, but Niall and Scriabin shot each other looks that she read as easily as though she could see their eyes through the shields.

“We'll be going in Roshi's skim. I'll leave my shooter there since I can't carry it into the damned place.” Niall started toward the starred triple-length, beckoning Jani to follow. “Everything OK, gel?” he asked when they moved out of Scriabin's earshot.

Jani looked to the sky, still streaked with early morning cloud. “The time is out of joint.”

“Oh bloody hell. When you start tossing the quotations around, it's all over but the last rites.” Niall pulled a case out of his trouser pocket. “Here.” He handed Jani a new ear bug. “Because I have a feeling that you lost the last one.”

“Can't use it.” Jani tried to hand it back to him. “I need water to prep it.”

“Fountain right over there.” Niall led her to a small grassy side yard where a brass dish burbled merrily away. “If you have trouble inserting it, I'll be happy to find you a plunger.” He stood silent guard as she prepped and inserted the bug, then whistled a verse of the Service anthem as he led her to Roshi's skimmer.

The cavalcade departed the embassy, sweeping through the enclave at speed, then slowing to a grind as they merged with the inevitability of well-ordered idomeni traffic. By the
time they reached the entry to the Council enclave, Feyó and Meva had already arrived. They stood next to their skimmer, bracketed by Dathim and Galas.

“Something has happened.” Feyó looked toward the Council entrance, where a greater than normal number of brown-garbed security guards had arrayed themselves. “But no one will tell us. Security dominants only stare when we speak to them. It is most unseemly.”

Meva turned and started toward the Council entry's triple-wide doorway, beckoning for Jani walk with her. “Feyó told me that she again saw ní Tsecha during sleep. He bared his teeth. I wish I could have such dreams. Such a sight I used to see each day and did not think of it. Now I think of it constantly, and wish I could see it again.” She quickened her step so she could walk next to Jani, a blip in the steady state of idomeni hierarchical protocols. “I viewed images of you speaking of him to the Haárin. Such was a good thing, and truly.” She touched the sleeve of Jani's overrobe. “Do you know that which you will say?”

Jani shook her head. “No idea.”

Meva bared her teeth. “Good. If you do not know, then Cèel cannot possibly guess, which means he cannot prepare.”

They continued along the walkway, up the steps and through the entry, side by side.

 

Rilas awoke. Removed Ansu's clothing and donned the rough garb of a building worker, wrapping the braids of her breeder's fringe in a length of cloth and binding them to her head so she would look as a shorn-headed Haárin. Packed the ammunition and the secondary in a worker's slingbag, then broke down the rifle and packed that as well. Opened the workroom door and looked both ways. She heard nothing, saw no one. The workrooms at the base of the dome were not of the best, and not many used them. She was alone, of that she felt most sure.

She walked down the corridor to the stairway and down, down and down to the street. Busy as always in the morn
ing, both bornsect and Haárin, workers and brokers and merchants, entering and leaving. She blended with them, as she had been taught.

A pair of brown-garbed security suborns walked past her. She thought nothing of such—Council and Temple lay near and many security labored there.

Then she saw another pair, and another, and knew. That Ansu's body had been found and Cèel now searched for her. She bared her teeth at the thought.
You did not wish to see me, nìRau, but now you wish to see me a great deal
.

She walked as a tired worker, her gait plodding, and headed north toward the Haárin enclave. She saw fewer security suborns as she neared the place, which she expected. Haárin took charge of their own. They also did not work well with Cèel's security, who demanded much and provided little. She doubted, and truly, that they knew anything of the search for her.

She approached the enclave entry. Walked past the gate sentry, who did not look up as she passed. Down the first lane of houses, in search of one that was empty.

A small house, with a window that faced the bay.

All she needed was a window. The secondary would do the rest.

She set the bag upon the floor. Assembled the rifle and inserted the ammunition cartridge. Activated the secondary and loosed it, watched it flit upward until it vanished. Activated the sight mech and waited for the blinking green indicating that the two had interfaced.

Rested the rifle barrel within the window corner. Looked through the sight mech and saw the Council grounds.

Click

The line of windows that faced the gardens.

Click

Through the windows, into the Council chamber beyond.

Rilas curled around the rifle. Held it close.

Waited.

 

Jani entered the Council chamber. It was a multistoried space, the masonry cut by windows on the side facing the bay, tiered seating lining the other three walls.

Tsecha brought me here once.
He had still been bornsect in that time before the war, had still used his born name of Nema. How that name had sounded along the corridors when the other Council members realized that the propitiator of the Vynshà had brought one of his humanish inside the blessed space.

At least it was not Temple,
one of the councilors had said. That fact hadn't helped.

Jani matched the room she remembered with the room she stood in now. The same pale sand walls and tiled floors, the Sìah chandeliers and artwork of all the major bornsects. The bombs had missed it, a miracle, given the battering the Vynshà inflicted on the city before they entered it on that last night. The night the Laum lost the right to call themselves “rau.” The night eighty-five percent of their bornsect population died. The Night of the Blade.

“It is most as it was,” Meva said as she paused next to her. “Most as I recall.” She stared out the window at the bay, then followed Feyó to the seating.

Jani looked to the entry on the other side of the chamber. First would come the line of suborns, lowliest first. Then the dominant aides, followed by the Sub-Oligarch and the Speaker to Colonies. Then would come Cèel.

Jani's heart tripped and slowed as the first of the suborns filed through the entry and the councilors walked to their seats and the humanish groups broke up and scattered to their preassigned positions. She walked toward the tiered seats where the propitiators gathered.
I accused his killers. I walked behind his reliquary.
Wore his rings, and his robe. Held his soul.
I have the right.

Jani felt the stares, heard the questioning mutters, as she stepped over the lowest, highest rated, tier and on to the second. She triangulated according to her relationship with
Tsecha, the size of Thalassa, and the status due to her Vynshàrau blood. The number of times she had fought in the circle. Given all that, the fourth row seemed fair. Three rows lower than Meva, who watched her silently. Not presuming much, but not giving anything away, either. Pushing just enough, as was her way.

“Kilian?”

Jani sat, then looked down toward the floor to find a flustered-looking Scriabin trying to lean over the seats to talk to her without falling over any agitated priests.

“What the…?” He almost placed his hand over his mouth, but stopped in time and put it behind his back instead. “What are you doing?”

“This is my place, Your Excellency.” Jani spread out her overrobe as she saw a few other propitiators had done, expanding her personal space a little more. “Given all I've done and what I am, it is an appropriate place, and truly.” She bared her teeth. “Go sit down.” She flicked a finger in the direction of Ulanova and the others, who stood in the middle of the floor and looked on in alarm.

“Do you know what the hell you're doing?” Scriabin's face reddened. “Do you?”

“I do that which I do, Your Excellency. I am that which I am.” Jani folded her hands in her lap and turned her attention to the entry in time to see the Speaker to Colonies enter. “Go sit down.”

“What the hell are you doing, gel?”
Niall's voice in her ear.

Jani didn't reply, didn't hunt for Niall's face among the many. She ignored his intrusion as she ignored Scriabin's continued bids to get her attention, and waited.