Kate Elliott - Jaran

She laid both hands on his chest. "No. Don't be a fool. Don't you remember when Doroskayev sent men into Sakhalin's camp to kill you? What if Vasil isn't alone? Let's walk back to the fire together, now.''

But it was already too late. Vera's companion had stepped past her and it was obvious that, even over such distance and in the darkness, Vasil and Ilya were looking at each other. The flap leading into Vera's tent swept aside, and three men rushed out, sabers drawn.

"Stahar linaya!" Ilya cried. He drew his saber. "Tess! Back to the fire."

She stepped away from him. The three men closed, slowing now to split around him, and Ilya edged away from her. Vasil had not moved. Tess ran for Vera's tent.

"Damn you!" Vera was shrieking. "Go kill him! You coward, go kill him!"

Vasil backhanded her so hard she fell to the rug. She began to sob. "You're a fool, Vera. He will never love you. But who is this?" He sidestepped Tess's rush neatly, tripped her, and than pinned her to the ground. "The khaja pilgrim. How interesting."

Behind, she heard the ring of sabers and a distant-too distant-shout. "Give me your saber," she said to Vasil the ground, "and I'll speak for you, and maybe they'll spare your life."

"He rode with her down the Avenue," Vera gasped out between sobs. "I want him dead."

"Vera. Shut up. Get the horses." Then, moving before she realized he meant to, Vasil lifted Tess up and pinned her to him. "They'll never spare my life, and I don't plan on giving it up. Retreat to me!" he cried.

Horses snorted and pawed beside them. Vera stood at their heads, clutching their reins. Tears streamed down her face. "You are a coward," she gasped. "You're afraid to kill him. You've always loved him more than you ever loved me."

"Forgive me," said Vasil, and in the instant before she realized he was speaking to her, Tess got her head turned enough to see Vasil's three men sprinting back toward them, Ilya at their heels. Farther, much farther back, cries of alarm and shouts and commotion stirred the camp. Then she saw the flash of Vasil's knife, and a hard knob struck her temple.

Charles Soerensen sat in an anteroom of the imperial palace. Indeed, the only city left on the homeworld of Chapal was the imperial palace.

It had taken him five days from his arrival on Paladia Major to get dispensation to enter imperial space, and five days on Chapal to get this far, seven doors away from audience with the emperor. Suzanne sat next to him, decently swathed in scholar's robes; she was his best interpreter-best except for his own missing sister, of course-but very few females were allowed into the imperial presence. Across from them, on benches grown from crystal, sat Hon Echido and two elder members of Keinaba, those who would partake of the rite of loyalty with Charles in the emperor's presence.

If the emperor allowed it. Charles allowed himself a smile, a brief one, secure that Chapalii did not interpret facial tics as meaningful of emotion or thought. For all he knew, it would take him five months to get past those last seven doors, and even then he did not know if the Keinaba dispensation would still be in force. But, like water working past a dam in a stream, eventually he would find his way past each obstacle. Eventually, one way or the other, he would get the key that would allow the next rebellion to succeed.

The far door-the door leading back away from the emperor's presence-opened, and Tai Naroshi Toraokii entered with his retinue. The near door opened, revealing a lord in the silver livery of the imperial house. Tai Naroshi paused in front of Charles. Charles did not rise.

"Tai-en." Naroshi inclined his head.

"Tai-en." Charles inclined his head in turn. "The translation program works very well. Your artisans are efficient."

"I am gratified that you find them so. I express my grief with your family at this time."

Charles glanced at Suzanne, wondering if the program was not working. She blinked twice: the words were correct. "Your concern is generous, Tai-en," Charles replied.

"Perhaps you will adopt a proper male heir now. I would be honored, Tai-en, if you would consider my sister, who is an architect of great renown, for the design of your sister's mausoleum. She would certainly design a fitting and magnificent structure of unparalleled beauty.''

One of his retinue had flushed blue. Charles stared at Naroshi, both of them equally impassive.

Suzanne pulled the loose drape of her hood over her face. "Oh, Goddess," she said in a stifled voice.

"Tai-en," said Charles at last. "Are you telling me that my sister is dead?''

If Naroshi was surprised by Charles's ignorance, or by his directness, he showed no sign of it. "This one of mine, who is named Cha Ishii Hokokul, has brought me this news. Are you telling me, Tai Charles, that you have not heard it yet?"

The far door swept aside and Tomaszio strode in, followed by a lord in imperial silver who was flushed green with disapproval. Charles stood up. The lord halted, facing two dukes, and let Tomaszio proceed alone.

"This is just in," said Tomaszio in Ophiuchi-Sei. "Goddess, I'm sorry to disturb you here, Charles, but it's code red from Odys."

Charles took the palm-sized bullet and just stood for a moment. Suzanne still held the cloth across her face. Keinaba watched. Naroshi and his retinue watched. The one called Cha Ishii watched, skin fading to a neutral white.

Charles pressed his thumb to the pad, and the bullet peeled open. It was not even scrambled, the message, just two bites. One bore Marco's signature code, and it read: Tess found the key. The other, the unique signature code of his only sibling, his heir, twined into the secondary pulse of an emergency transmitter's beacon and flatcoded to be sent on to him: / am safe.

Without a word Charles nodded to Tomaszio, dismissing him, and handed the bullet to Suzanne, who lowered the cloth enough to read it and then with a suppressed gasp pulled the cloth back over her face again. She pressed the fail-safe on the tube, and the casing and contents dissolved her hand.

"Your sympathy is well-taken, Tai-en," said Charles. He at down.

'Tai Naroshi Toraokii." The lord at the near door spoke, ad he bowed to the precise degree. "I beg you to allow me to admit you into the next antechamber."

Naroshi inclined his head to Charles. "Tai-en."

"Tai-en."

Naroshi and his retinue went on, moving one step closer to the emperor's presence.

"Oh, Goddess," said Suzanne again.

Hon Echido had flushed blue. "I beg of you, Tai Charles, to indulge me in this. Has the Tai-endi Terese indeed died? I would be stricken to desolation were it so. She was kind to me."

Charles examined Hon Echido, examined the Keinaba elders. He glanced at Suzanne, who lowered the cloth from her face. Drying tears streaked her face. She lifted a hand and wiped them away.

"My servants," said Charles, and then he tapped off the translation program. "Hon Echido," he said in Anglais. "Do you understand what it means to be allied to my house?"

Hon Echido bent his head, subservient. "I understand. You are daiga, human, and will be always a barbarian, you and your kind." His skin faded to orange, the color of peace. "But we chose, we of Keinaba, to live rather than to die. Thus we have made our choice."

"Then I will tell you this. The Tai-endi lives but it is better that we alone, of my house, know this."

The three merchants studied him, knowing full well that such a declaration meant that their duke had chosen to enter the struggle, to vie for position within the emperor's sight, to begin the slow, intricate dance of time uncounted and years beyond years, the politic art, the only art granted to males: the art of intrigue.

"Oh dammit dammit my head hurts," Tess muttered. She opened her eyes and shut them immediately. "The light hurts. Ilya." She was cradled against his chest. "Why is everything moving so much?"