Chapter Three

Carann, Royal Palace

Arta gripped the arms of her throne as the doors to the council chamber swung open and six towering figures marched inside, their metal steps thundering across the stone floor. Roughly humanoid in shape, they were far taller and broader than any human, and their bodies gave the impression of warriors sheathed from head to toe in impenetrable armor; their helmeted faces were impassive. A casual observer might take them for mechs, assuming that they were entirely products of the Empire’s foundries, but Arta knew better. Their bodies were mechanical, true enough, but buried deep inside their torsos were organic brains that had once belonged to decorated soldiers of the Legions. They were praetorians, the monstrous cyborg warriors who served as guardians and enforces of the Empire’s elite.

Beside her, she could hear Latharna’s cape rustling as she tensed, one hand going to the hilt of her sword. Arta couldn’t blame her; it had taken one of the fiercest fights of her life for the two of them, along with Darius ast Sakran and a squad of royal guards, to bring down just two praetorians who had covered Ambassador Quarinis’s escape. Six of the creatures could probably kill everyone in this room if they wanted to.

Of course, Arta had ordered Rehan to make sure the praetorians’ weapons were deactivated before they were permitted in the palace. Looking at them now, though, that felt like small comfort.

The praetorians approached silently, carrying a large platform between them; they came to a stop in the center of the chamber and deposited it there, and the dukes turned their chairs forward to face it. Arta frowned and leaned forward, regarding it, and then she realized what it was – a large holoprojector. The praetorians stepped back and saluted, and a shimmering figure materialized in midair above it.

The man the holo depicted was tall and thin, clad in the understated white uniform of a senior member of the Imperial civil service. He was clean shaven, after the fashion of most Imperial men, and he was an older man, his face lined and his short hair grey. His bright, penetrating eyes flickered over the council and then finally settled on Arta, and her breath hissed between her teeth as she met his gaze. She knew this man.

Through his agents, he’d killed her mother.

“Quarinis,” she said, taking pain to keep her voice level and cold. “How dare you show your face here again?”

Publius Vedrans Quarinis, Imperial Patrician and until recently the Emperor’s ambassador to the Dozen Stars, smiled thinly and inclined his head. “I do as I am commanded, as do we all,” he said. “Your Majesty, Your Graces, thank you for receiving me. I am grateful to be able to speak with you once again, after the… unpleasantness regarding my departure from your Kingdom.”

“What makes you think we have any interest in anything you might have to say, traitor?” Arta asked.

Quarinis raised an eyebrow. “Traitor?” he asked. “I am not a subject of your crown, Your Majesty. I am a loyal subject of His Majesty the Emperor, and all that I have done, I have done at his bidding. I betray nothing. So please, tell me – by what metric am I a traitor?”

“You betrayed the hospitality of the Dozen Stars and abused your position as ambassador to cover your dealings in treachery and murder,” Arta said. “You are a regicide, a conspirator, and a coward, hiding behind your master’s name in order to escape justice for your crimes. Consider yourself fortunate you’re not here in the flesh, or I would have my guards arrest you where you stand.

“No doubt you would,” Quarinis said. “Which, alas, is why I must conduct my business with the Dozen Stars remotely rather than risk visiting Carann again in person.”

“And what business, exactly, do you have with us?” Darius asked, leaning forward. “Was inciting civil war in the Dozen Stars not enough for you?”

“Ah, young Sakran,” Quarinis said, nodding at him. “I will admit, your father and his compatriots required very little ‘incitement’, as you put it, from me. They were quite eager to rebel and would have done so with or without my backing. I simply wished to ensure that, should they have triumphed, the transition of power would be as smooth as possible.”

“So, are we to take it that you had the best interests of the Dozen Stars at heart all along?” Darius asked. “I find that hard to credit.”

“Think what you will, it matters not,” Quarinis said. “I do not come before you today to argue about the conflicts of the past. I appear before the throne and council of the Dozen Stars at the command of my lord, Verus Licinius, Emperor of Humanity, to extend to you the hand of friendship and brotherhood.”

“What do you mean?” Arta asked, dread welling in her chest.

“For too long, humankind has been divided,” Quarinis said. His tone and cadence now seemed to be those of a man reciting a message he had rehearsed. “The people of the Dozen Stars and Realtran have been at odds with the Empire for centuries; for almost as long, the Empire has warred with the fanatics of the Alaelam Alliance. But once, there was a time when all humanity was united under the banner of a single state. The Emperor understands that your ancestors had reason to take up arms against that state and declare your independence. He will not deny the abuses to which his predecessors had put their position. But now Verus Licinius wishes it to be known that a new age is dawning. The Alaelam have been defeated at Bahrina, their vaunted navy destroyed. The Alaelam War is over, and now the Emperor wishes only for peace and unity.

“Therefore, Verus Licinius extends this invitation to his sister monarch, Her Majesty, Artakane I, Queen of the Dozen Stars. Come to Imperium Primus. Meet with the Emperor, and pledge to work with him in building the new age to come. The Dozen Stars has been wracked by piracy and revolt, and the Emperor acknowledges he has played a role in bringing these events to pass. Therefore, he offers his help in rebuilding. He will place the Imperial Legions at Her Majesty’s disposal to keep the peace, and the Empire’s treasury at her disposal to finance rebuilding.”

“And what,” Arta asked, “does Verus Licinus demand in return for his generous assistance?”

Quarinis smiled. “Only a simple thing,” he said. “The Empire has primacy among all human nations. We were the first to rise from the chaos following Terra’s fall and to restore civilization to a galaxy in a dark age. The Emperor requests that this primacy be honored. He requests that Her Majesty swear her fealty to him as her liege lord and acknowledge the power and antiquity of the Imperial throne, that the strife between us may at last be put to rest and the Dozen Stars brought once again into the Imperial fold.”

Arta sat back in her throne, stunned into silence; at her side, Latharna put a steadying hand on her shoulder, while on her other side Karani’s mouth worked in utter shock, though no sound came out. Across the entire council chamber, silence fell. Then it erupted into chaos.

“This is absurd!” Menandrus shouted, jumping to his feet. “How dare you come here and make such demands? This is beyond all reason!”

“Need I remind the council that Publius Vedrans Quarinis was involved in the recent rebellion that lead to my aunt’s treason and death?” Ariana said, her voice ringing clearly. “His very presence here is an insult!”

“A demand for our Queen to pay homage, Imperial troops patrolling our worlds – these ‘requests’ are nothing more than enslavement!” Digran shouted angrily. “The Emperor would have us put our own necks on the chopping block! Aurann has already overthrown one tyrant; we won’t suffer another so soon!”

“These are serious things you would demand of us, Quarinis,” Mardoban said; he didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was cold. “And tell me – what happens if we refuse your generous offer?”

“The Emperor does not wish things to come to such a pass,” Quarinis said, spreading his hands. “He is sincere in his desire to bring peace and unity to the galaxy. But his generosity is not lightly refused. And do not forget that for the first time in centuries, the Empire does not have an enemy at our back to bleed our strength dry.” He turned back to Arta. “But I address myself to the Queen of the Dozen Stars. What say you, Artakane? Will we have peace and friendship?”

Arta sat quiet and still with hands folded in her lap. Her gaze went to Latharna’s pale face, concern and fear in her eyes, and then to Karani, who was glaring at Quarinis as if she’d have liked nothing more than to launch herself bodily at the hologram. Then her gaze went to Mardoban, who was regarding her patiently; the former regent nodded once at her, as if to say he’d trust whatever decision she made. He’d known her mother, she thought. Mardoban had been one of Aestera’s closest companions. Some said he’d loved her, though he had never acted on it.

Her mother, Aestera. Murdered by the Empire, leaving Arta to grow up a fosterling ignorant of her heritage. Murdered by the order of this man who now stood in holo-form before her and dared to demand her submission.

“We of the Dozen Stars would be happy to take the Empire’s hand in friendship,” Arta said, “and to have peace as equals; but you do not offer peace. My people have long memories, Ambassador. We remember whole planets burned for defiance, their populations enslaved, their leaders cruelly put to death in the arenas on Imperium Primus for the entertainment of your patricians. And we remember a queen murdered in this very chamber, not twenty years ago, by assassins you created. Tell your Emperor that the Dozen Stars was born in rebellion against his Empire, and that we will not bow down before it, or any tyranny, ever again.”

Silence once again hung in the chamber, but now it was of a wholly different character. Beside the throne, Karani was grinning, and while some of the dukes looked anxious, they all looked determined as well. Even more than with Arta’s own requests earlier, their pride and positions were at stake and they would not back down now. But she kept her gaze locked on Quarinis’s; the former ambassador’s expression was unreadable.

Finally, he said. “Am I to take it that this is your answer, then?” he asked.

“It is,” Arta said coldly.

Quarinis’s expression was disappointed, but not surprised. “Very well. I shall relay your words to Verus Licinius.” He paused, and the air was heavy with the implied threat of his words. “You shall receive his response soon.”

The hologram flickered and vanished. The praetorians stepped forward and picked up the projector, then turned silently and carried it from the room. When they were gone, the doors slammed shut behind them and Arta sank back into her throne, her heart hammering in her chest as she feared just what these events might portend.

///

Once the praetorians had been escorted from the palace and returned to their ship, the council called a recess so that the dukes could contact their individual worlds and tell them what had happened and command their people to stand ready for any signs of potential Imperial aggression. Not long after they left the chamber, Mardoban found Arta standing in the corridor outside, leaning against the wall with one hand and breathing heavily. Latharna and Karani stood off to one side, looking concerned as the duke approached.

“She’s troubled,” Latharna said, putting her hand on Mardoban’s arm. “I tried to talk to her, but this is out of my experience. I just… didn’t have the right words.” Seeing the concern on the young Realtran knight’s pale face and in her wide, red-tinted eyes, he felt his heart break for her, and for all of them. He remembered being in a position not unlike hers, standing at Aestera’s side at the beginning of the Csarag War and knowing that too much rested on their shoulders despite their youth, wanting to assure her that everything would be all right despite not knowing how – and knowing, on some level, that it would be a lie. He was older and wiser now, but Aestera was long past the point where any advice could help her. Now it was her daughter who stood in her place.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, giving Latharna a reassuring smile and walking over to where Arta stood, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Arta looked up at him, and he could see the fear and doubt on her face – that face that looked so much like Aestera’s had almost forty years ago.

“Mardoban,” she asked quietly, “did I do right?”

“That’s a rather large question,” he said. “If you want any sort of real answer, I think you’re better off talking to the High Prelate than to me, though I’ll warn you, he’ll likely keep you busy for a while if you do.”

She shot him a cross look. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Just now, with Quarinis. He didn’t say the word ‘war,’ but I heard his tone when he talked about the Emperor’s ‘response,’ and so did you. The Empire is going to invade; they’re going to finish what they started when they killed my mother, and I don’t know if we have the strength to stop them. Should I have agreed to his demands, or did I just doom us all for no other reason than my own pride?”

Mardoban sighed. “I don’t know whether we can win a war with the Empire or not,” he said. “They are far weaker than they were when they ruled all the galaxy, but they’re still very strong – and nobody knows for sure how strong, except the Emperor himself. If only we had some means of getting in contact with the Alaelam and learning how much of a beating they gave the Imperial armada before they were defeated…” he shook his head. “But you know what they say about wishes. In any case, I think the Emperor wants war and would have had it regardless of what you said or did today. The rebellion of the Dozen Stars and Realtran and our breakaway from their rule was the end of their golden age, and they’ve never forgiven us for that. And I know Quarinis, and these demands he issued today aren’t his style. There was no subtlety to them. I think the entire embassy was calculated to enrage us. From the presence of the praetorians to the demand for your submission to the very fact that Quarinis himself, a known enemy of the Kingdom, was their spokesman. The whole affair was designed to be an offer the Dozen Stars could never accept.”

“Then you don’t think my accepting would have changed anything?” Arta asked.

“No,” Mardoban said, shaking his head. “I think young Tassis was right – if you went to Imperium Primus, you’d be putting your head on the chopping block, and I’m not being metaphorical. I don’t think you would be likely to return alive from that meeting, and the Empire would have the excuse it needed to occupy our worlds, which the dukes would never stand for.” He snorted. “I’ve spent half my career trying to get the council to do things they don’t want to without much success; I doubt Verus Licinius would have had any better luck. No, Arta – it didn’t matter what you said or did today. The Empire wants war and was merely looking for an excuse.”

“Listening to his demands, remembering what he did,” Arta said, “I just couldn’t let that pass. I never expected to be queen, and I never wanted it, but there’s so much that I think we can do for the people of the Dozen Stars. I don’t want to be the queen who sold her people back into Imperial oppression, and I couldn’t let that murderer think I would ever back down for him.”

“You did what a queen of the Dozen Stars should do,” Mardoban said. “What Aestera would have done. Think of it as a duel, except with the whole Kingdom at stake. Your enemy has made a challenge, and you’ve accepted.”

“And now,” Arta said, nodding, “we need to figure out how to win.”

///

The remainder of the council meeting was not as productive as Arta might have hoped. All of the dukes seemed to approve of her defiance of Quarinis and rejection of the Emperor’s demands, thank the Lord – not that this was the way in which Arta would have chosen to unify the council behind her. None of them was willing to give up an inch of ground to the Kingdom’s oldest enemy, and, she suspected, several of them were quietly glad to have the chance to discuss something other than her proposed reforms to the Dozen Stars’ legal system. Unfortunately, every duke or duchess seemed to have different ideas about how war with the Empire should be run, and none of them was willing to listen to each other. The meeting dissolved into heated arguments, as Digran Tassis extolled the virtues of guerilla tactics against a stronger, better equipped force, Menandrus recommended hiring mercenaries to take the brunt of the worst fighting for them, and Vashata called for a surgical, preemptive strike against Imperium Primus itself in an attempt to kill Verus Licinius before he could launch an attack of his own.

Finally, the meeting ended with no conclusive results save for a general requirement that each duchy’s military be marshalled and stand ready for attack, while Mardoban and the crown intelligence service gathered information regarding where the Empire was building up its forces and where they might be likely to strike. Arta, troubled by a bone-deep weariness and a splitting headache, quietly told Captain Rehan to have her guards watch over the dukes as they retired to their guest quarters and keep them from doing anything foolish before an overall course of action could be agreed on, and then retired herself to the royal apartments, sending even Karani and Latharna to their rooms. She needed to be alone, to meditate and try to calm her mind.

Arta waved the door shut behind her as she entered her bedchambers, itching to change out of the increasingly uncomfortable court dress and into a soft robe. With a thought and a minor exertion of her Adept power she flicked the room lights on – and then stopped in shock as they revealed a dark-cloaked, hooded person sitting in a chair by her bed. For a moment, Arta froze; her mind screamed assassin and raised her hands, desperately wishing she had a weapon. Then conscious thought caught up with instinct, and she realized who her visitor was.

“Don’t mind me,” the dark-cloaked figure said in a calm, feminine voice. “You seemed busy earlier, so I thought I’d let myself in and wait for you. These chairs are quite as comfortable as I remember them, by the way.” She reached up her hands and pulled back her hood, revealing the face of a woman slightly more than a decade Arta’s senior, whose features, save for their stark pallor, were strikingly similar to her own.

“Hello again, little sister,” Midaia ast Carann said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been busy, unfortunately. But now, I think it’s time we talked.”