Chapter Seven

Carann, Memorial Park

Arta sat in the front row of seats in the newly renamed Aestera ast Carann Memorial Park, hands folded primly in her lap as she resisted the urge to fiddle with her dress. Queens didn’t fidget, certainly not when in view of the public; queens were never to be anything less than regal and composed at all times, comporting themselves with the dignity befitting the highest office in the Dozen Stars. Sometimes – most of the time – Arta felt like it had been easier being no one. Nobody cared enough about Arta ast Katanes to bother watching her every move like a hungry izdakan stalking a particularly plump rock lizard.

Artakane ast Carann was a different matter entirely.

The park was one of the few open areas near the palace; Carann wasn’t entirely urban, like some of the core planets of the Empire were, but more of it was city than not. Outside of the palace gardens, it was the most green that Arta had seen in one place since she’d come here, and she found a pang of homesickness for the open plains and mountains of Katanes. Today’s event was at the park’s center, where a new memorial to Queen Aestera was being dedicated. Arta herself didn’t have to do much, thankfully; the actual dedication was being carried out by the High Prelate of the Kingdom’s Church, who was currently making his way carefully to a lectern in front of the memorial itself. The marble statue depicted a gowned and crowned Aestera smiling benevolently with her hands folded before her; Arta searched for some reflection of herself in the statue’s carven features. She would need to take no role until the end of the ceremony; after the High Prelate ended his speech with a prayer, she was to take her place beside him, wave to the audience, and have her holo taken. Easy enough, all told.

The audience, arranged in carefully organized rows, consisted mostly of government officials, Carann’s high nobility, a few foreign dignitaries, and a cluster of guildsmen near the back. Ambassador Quarinis wasn’t here, claiming illness, though Ambassador Preas was, seated a few rows back. Duke Mardoban was seated immediately to Arta’s right, and Karani on her left – despite her complaints at her lack of formal title, “Queen’s foster-sister” apparently counted for something so far as the palace’s event planners were concerned. Beside and around them sat a complement of royal guards. A number of mechs belonging to various news stations hovered around the edges of the audience to record the dedication.

The High Prelate began his speech, and almost at once Karani let her head loll and closed her eyes in feigned sleep. Arta resisted the urge to elbow her sister in the side – apparently, such behavior wouldn’t be queenly. She wasn’t surprised – Karani, who preferred to be up doing things rather than listening to other people talk about things, had made something of a habit of pretending to sleep through church back on Katanes – though she was irritated. “Show some respect, will you?” she hissed under her breath. “This isn’t home, and you could be on live holo any minute!”

That got Karani’s attention; she sat up straight and immediately began staring straight ahead with an extremely solemn expression. Arta resisted the urge to chuckle – if all else failed, an appeal to Karani’s vanity usually got results – and sat back in her chair. The High Prelate was speaking about Aestera’s reign and accomplishments now, describing the former queen in warmly affectionate terms, but as he went on, Arta found herself increasingly discontented. The details of Aestera’s public life could be found in any number of holo-documentaries or biographies, but Arta wanted – needed – a deeper knowledge of who she had been as a person. To Arta, her predecessor wasn’t just a queen, but a mother who had died before she’d had a chance to know her daughter. But the subject of Aestera’s personal life seemed to make Duke Mardoban uncomfortable, and Midaia almost never mentioned their mother during the rare occasions they’d spoken. Unfortunately, the High Prelate was sticking solely to the public facts, and she expected she had no right to expect anything else on this occasion.

Still, Arta listened intently as the old priest spoke, and tried to ignore the feeling of unease that was creeping up the back of her neck.

///

Latharna sat beside Ambassador Preas with her hands folded in her lap, interest and discomfort warring in her as the ceremony unfolded. Witnessing the dedication ceremony in person, seated beside so many nobles and dignitaries, was an honor she couldn’t have imagined for herself even a month ago, and she paid careful attention to both the High Prelate’s words honoring the former queen and to the reactions of the audience around her, as the ambassador had instructed. The most common attitude among the local nobility seemed to be benign approval, which fit with what she’d been told – that Aestera had been a popular queen, and the fact that she had been dead for years made her safe for the nobles to admire. A dead woman, after all, was no threat to one’s power. Every so often, though, Latharna thought she saw someone glance furtively towards the front row, as though weighing the new queen and wondering what sort of leader she might become.

Unfortunately, Carann’s sun was high in the afternoon sky, and the Realtran delegation’s seats weren’t located in any particular shade. Though she wore her lenses over her eyes, her pale skin was still sensitive to sunlight; the sunblock she wore on her exposed skin helped and would prevent her from burning, though it did nothing to stop the itching. Fortunately, as she was the Ambassador’s bodyguard as well as her aide, she hadn’t been expected to wear a gown like many of the other women were, and had been able to get away with her usual red pants and long-sleeved tunic, and kept her dueling sword hanging from the back of her chair.

Trying to keep her mind off the sun, Latharna refocused her interest on the front rows. She saw Pakorus near the front, and the two of them had exchanged nods from a distance when everyone had been filing into their seats. Unfortunately, Artakane had already arrived and had her guards surrounding her, so Latharna still hadn’t been able to get a good look at the young queen. Hopefully she’d be able to do so at the end of the ceremony, when she was supposed to join the High Prelate at the front.

“Trying to catch the eye of old Mardoban’s boy?” Ambassador Preas whispered from beside her. Latharna flushed brightly, but the Ambassador only smiled. “Smart of you. Pakorus is heir to one of the most powerful duchies in the Kingdom and he’s a friend of the queen’s; you could do far worse for a good contact. He’s a good lad, very earnest. Hopeless in a fight, which people here always put more value on than is sensible, but a good lad.”

“I’ll remember it, Ambassador,” Latharna said, refocusing her attention on High Prelate. The priest was speaking now about Aestera’s assassination, and how there was no greater duty than for a monarch to give their life for their people. Latharna could feel the simmering anger in the silence that fell over the crowd at his words, and the High Prelate let it die down before bowing his head and thanking the Lord for Aestera’s reign and sacrifice, and invoking a blessing upon the memorial.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a figure stood in the front row; Latharna drew in a sharp breath as she realized that she was seeing, for the first time, Queen Artakane in the flesh. The young queen wore a sleek, elegant blue gown, and the crown which she had won by right of birth and victory glinted on her brow; Latharna noted with approval that she walked with a swordswoman’s controlled grace. Artakane reached the podium and turned to face the crowd, smiling as she stood behind the High Prelate and they both waved towards the audience and the recording mechs. Latharna felt her heart flutter and immediately clamped down on the strange surge of emotion in her chest. Somehow, she thought, the holos never did quite manage to convey how pretty Artakane actually was…

Then she frowned. The sun was glinting off one of the recording mechs as it drifted away from the others, low over the audience. What was it doing? Was it just trying to get a better angle? Latharna’s frown deepened as she saw a long, thin barrel extend from the mech’s front, and from the corner of her eye she noticed a similar expression on Artakane’s face. That didn’t look like any sort of recording device she’d ever seen. In fact, it looked an awful lot like…

Latharna barely had time to shout a warning before the mech lowered its barrel and opened fire directly at the High Prelate.

///

Arta saw the flash from the mech’s small blaster, and instinct took over without further thought. She threw herself in front of the High Prelate, wincing as she nearly knocked the old man to his knees, then threw up her hands in front of them both. She could feel the heat building in her fingers, and then it expanded out from them in the form of a shimmering wall of blue force that materialized immediately in front of them both. The blast impacted harmlessly on its surface, and the mech fired a few more times to no greater effect. Finally, it stopped shooting and simply hovered in midair, whether awaiting further instructions or simply out of energy for its weapon, Arta couldn’t tell.

The audience was panicking, some lords and ladies leaping to their feet, others diving for cover behind their chairs. Looking out over the crowd, Arta saw Karani looking halfway between terrified and furious, while Mardoban was shouting orders at the royal guards. One of them nodded in response, raised his beam rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim, and fired, neatly shearing through the mech’s engines. The device spun in the air and then crashed in the middle of the audience, people around it scattering to avoid being hit by the debris.

Arta started as a hand rested on her shoulder. “Dear child… your majesty,” the High Prelate said, still sounding stunned, “I think you just saved our lives. But what is going on?”

“I have no idea,” Arta breathed as she put more effort into maintaining her shield. The mech hadn’t been a very good assassin, she thought – it was too obvious, its odds of killing her too slim. Something else was going on here, but she didn’t know what…

And then she saw them, near the back of the audience. A number of silvery-suited guildsmen and women had risen, seemingly unconcerned with the panic around them, and drew weapons – both dueling swords and beam pistols. Quickly they fanned out, surrounding the audience and pinning them in.

“How…” Duke Mardoban muttered, then shook his head. “No time for that. Guards, get the Queen and the High Prelate to safety, now!” He drew the dueling sword at his side and activated it, energy arcing along its blade. Beside him, Karani did the same. They stood watching their attackers, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Arta wasn’t wearing her own sword – Mardoban had thought it inappropriate for the occasion – but then, an Adept was never really unarmed. And as the royal guards approached to take up their positions around her, she felt every instinct in her rebelling against the idea of fleeing. Still, she let her barrier drop as four guards fell into place by her side; the downside of such a technique, she’d found, was that she couldn’t move and maintain it at the same time.

“You heard the Duke,” she muttered. “Get us back to the palace before this gets worse.”

“It’s too late for that, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, and then suddenly he and one of the others drew the knives from their sides and stabbed the other two where they stood. Arta felt her mind reeling at what she’d just seen, and before she could react the traitor guards hand their beam rifles up and pointed directly at her.

“We’ve got nothing against the Church and no desire to harm the High Prelate,” the traitor who’d spoken before said. “But you, Artakane, are coming with us.”

///

Latharna had leap to her feet and grabbed her dueling sword when the mech first fired, but Ambassador Preas placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Don’t do anything rash. If whoever is behind this panics, they may start firing into the crowd. You’re a civilian; let the guards handle things.”

Gritting her teeth, Latharna had tried to remain calm as the armed men and women in guild clothing had revealed themselves, but she barely managed to stifle a cry when two of the queen’s guards turned against her. The girl who she was fairly certain was the queen’s adopted sister, however, let loose a cry of rage and hurled herself at the nearest attacker, who barely brought his sword up in time to block. Energy crackled and hissed as dueling swords met and blows were exchanged, and at once the spell seemed to be broken and the park devolved into chaos. Bolts of energy lanced from the attackers’ beam rifles, scoring burn marks in the ground and on the chairs, while several members of the audience, armed or otherwise, charged their enemies and tried to wrest their weapons away. Others ducked beneath the chairs and cowered.

Latharna drew her own sword and felt it hiss to life in her hands. “Ambassador, get down and stay there!” she shouted. “I think it’s too late to avoid being rash right now.” The Ambassador, to her credit, kept her head in a crisis; she dove under her chair and covered her head with her hands, but her eyes were still bright and focused, unclouded by panic; she was carefully taking in everything around her for future dissection.

Latharna was already in motion, charging towards the nearest attacker. The man levelled his beam rifle and fired, but she held her sword out it front of her, letting it draw the blast onto its blade and absorb it. The attacker tried to fire again, but now she was on him, striking the gun from his hands with a well-placed kick and then bodily slamming into him, knocking him to the ground. The man groaned and stared up just as Latharna formed her free hand into a fist and punched him square in the face; his eyes rolled back in his head and he lay still.

A familiar hissing sounded in her ears, and Latharna ducked just as a dueling sword’s blade sailed through the air where her head had been. Rolling out of the way, she rose into a crouch and saw another attacker approaching, a woman in guild silver like the others with a sword held before her. She was grinning, her confidence obvious – clearly, she didn’t expect this strange, pale girl to present any challenge for her. Latharna found herself grinning back. The thrill of the challenge, of pitting skill against skill, filled her – this was what she was good at, what she had always been good at. The fact that she was fighting for her life now when she never had before was a matter of only vague importance.

The false guildsman lunged, and Latharna met her attack with a series of swift parries. Her attacker was good, but Latharna knew she was better, knew it as instinctively as she knew the color of the sky or the trees. She met each blow in turn, watching the woman’s frustration grow as she proved unable to land a hit no matter how hard she tried. Then Latharna twisted her sword, thumbing the power control to give it an extra surge, and tore her attacker’s blade from her grasp. The woman stumbled back, cursing, and pulled a beam pistol from her holster, but Latharna struck it from her hand before she could fire it. A solid kick to the woman’s midriff left her on her back on the ground, groaning beside her companion.

Latharna watched her fall with cold satisfaction, and her victory, and the ease of it, led to a feeling growing within her, sudden and undeniable. This she realized suddenly, this is what I’m meant for.

Turning, she saw the queen being led away into the trees by her pair of traitorous guards. All around them, the other attackers had fallen at the hands of loyal guards and a few nobles who’d come armed, and one of the traitors paused, a nervous look on his face. That was the only opening Artakane needed. Slipping one of her hands free from her captor’s grasp, she slammed it into his face, and as she did so a brilliant blue light burst from her eyes. There was a blinding flash and the traitor was slammed back against a nearby tree, where he slumped and lay still. The other reeled back, clutching his eyes and letting his rifle fall from his hands.

The glow faded from the queen’s eyes and she slumped, panting heavily and seeming oddly diminished; whatever she’d done seemed to have taken much of her strength. As she did so, however, the second traitor, the one who remained conscious, seemed to regain some measure of control; still rubbing his eyes with one hand, with his other he drew his knife again and approached Artakane from behind, weapon raised.

Latharna’s mouth went dry. “Behind you!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, and then sprang into motion. Duke Mardoban and the queen’s sister – Karani, that was her name – spun towards the sound, but their own fighting had taken them too far away; Karani’s mouth formed her sister’s name. Artakane herself turned, the blue light flickering in her eyes as she saw the knife raised, but it somehow seemed too weak to make a difference now.

Latharna slammed into the traitor’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, trying to bring his knife into position, but Latharna’s dueling sword took him through the arm. He howled in pain and collapsed, the weapon falling from his nerveless fingers.

She fell to her knees, panting heavily, as a shadow fell across her. Looking up, she saw Artakane regarding her with concern; then, to her surprise, the queen knelt beside her and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know who you are, but I think you just saved my life,” she said. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“No,” the traitor guard spat suddenly from where he lay, as loyal guards rushed forward to seize him. “This isn’t over! It’s barely begun! Long live the true king! Long live King Respen!”

Latharna barely heard his words. As quickly as it had come upon her, the rush of battle was fading. Weariness, and the shock of what had just happened, the sight of her sword lying on the ground stained with a traitor’s blood, and the presence of the distractingly lovely queen by her side slammed into her at once. The warrior was gone; the uncertain, insecure girl had returned in her place.

“I think I’m going to sleep now,” Latharna heard herself say from a distance, and then she fell backwards into the arms of the Queen of the Dozen Stars as darkness took her.