Alien Chronicles 2 - The Crimson Claw (30 page)

“Just how deep in debt has Lord Galard really got himself?” Teinth asked. “We’ve hit bottom, Ampris. We really have.”

Ampris opened her eyes and saw Halehl gesturing them forward.

“Time,” he said. “All of you, get inside.”

She pivoted on her heel to lead the gladiators into the gate. “No, Teinth,” she said softly over her shoulder. “Bottom can go a lot lower than this.”

On Viisymel, inside the Imperial Palace, Israi swept through the long audience hall with a loud rustling of her gown. Her train swept the ground behind her. Every rapid step of her gold-embroidered slippers made the tasseled bells on the toes jingle merrily.

But there was nothing merry in her heart. Grim with alarm, she hurried past the gawking courtiers without heed for what they thought or their spoken speculations. The Kaa had collapsed suddenly during his audience and had to be carried out.

Now his physicians were with him, and as yet Israi had no word except that he had been taken seriously ill.

Reaching the Kaa’s imposing apartments, she found the outer chambers choked with lords in waiting, idle servants, ambassadors, guards, and members of the imperial court. The loud buzz of conversation filled the air.

Israi’s escort had to shout orders to clear way for her before anyone even noticed her arrival.

Her rill stiffened behind her head and darkened to deep indigo. She curled her tongue inside her mouth, seething at having to force her way inside like a mere courtier. As people became aware of her presence, they moved aside and bowed to her with open speculation in their eyes. Then their gazes returned to the tall, gold-embossed doors leading to the Kaa’s private chambers.

Israi reached these, and they were opened for her without delay. As soon as they shut behind her, she was conscious of a profound silence that contrasted markedly with the noise outside.

The lights had been turned down until the room’s interior was dim and shadowy. Chancellor Temondahl and Lord Huthaldraril stood conferring on one side with a tall, red-eyed male whom Israi had not seen at court in several years.

Recognizing her uncle, Lord Telvrahd, who had been exiled from court years ago for his affiliation with the Progressionist Party, she felt a jolt to her self-confidence. How dared he return? How had he heard of the Kaa’s collapse so quickly? She knew he had once had aspirations to the throne himself, and finding him here now, at this fragile time, seemed a portent of political danger.

On the opposite side of Telvrahd stood another figure. This one leaned back to glance at her, and Israi realized it was Oviel.

She received another internal jolt. Oviel had managed to recover his standing at court despite his cowardice during the Malraaket riots years ago. While Telvrahd could not legally take the throne, since the Kaa had living progeny, Oviel was a far different matter. He was not the chosen successor, but he remained capable of causing her much trouble. Seeing him with not only a recognized troublemaker but also with two of the most influential members of the council seriously alarmed her.

But there were other matters to attend to first. She turned herself toward the towering bed of state, with its carved columns and hangings of gossamer silk gauze. Physicians were bending over the Kaa’s still figure. Israi approached her father’s bedside and found him lying curled on his side with his eyes closed and sunken. His breathing came harsh and ragged, as though his lungs struggled. His bronze skin, always so resplendent, had turned an ashen shade of dingy gray.

Israi, so impatient with her father of late, so eager to sweep him aside to take the throne for herself, now found herself face-to-face with the possibility of his death. She felt stunned and shaken, as though she’d walked into an invisible force shield. In that instant she forgot about succession and imperial privilege and her own impatience to live and do as she pleased. She forgot all her clawing ambition, all her scheming, all her plans for the future. And instead, she saw her father, always so tall and magnificent, always so indulgent of her whims and fancies. Once he used to carry her about the palace in his arms or on his shoulder, in defiance of imperial protocol and custom. He used to take her for rides in an open-air litter along the river, ordering the driver to fly them as fast as possible until Israi squealed with delight. He used to give her private lessons of statecraft in his study, teaching her how to pick loyal advisers, how to eliminate her political enemies, how to rule always with the benefit of the throne foremost in her mind. Her father had loved her, and she loved him. In that moment, she ached inside with a tangling of fear and grief.

The chief physician stopped what he was doing and turned to bow to her.

“Is he dead?” she asked, her voice cracking as she spoke.

“No, highness.”

She closed her eyes, not certain whether she felt relief or disappointment. A strange feeling of destiny had settled over her like a mantle. It was time, or very near now. Soon she would be ascending to the throne. Soon she would carry the weight of her father’s endless responsibilities. Her throat closed up, and she swallowed hard, trying to find words.

“What’s the matter with him?” she asked, her voice still a whisper. “What illness has suddenly struck him down like this?”

For a moment she had the panicky thought that this might be the Dancing Death, which she had never seen, but the physician’s answer immediately negated her supposition.

“This is no sudden illness, highness,” the physician replied. “He has been suffering from a weakness in his lungs for quite some time. This attack, however, has been the most severe.”

“This
attack?” she echoed, her voice rising slightly. She felt ignorant, a fool. “What do you mean? How many others? Why wasn’t I informed? Chancellor Temondahl, have you known of this illness?”

The chancellor came to her at once, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with a calm sadness. “Yes, highness,” he said, bowing low to her. “I happened to be in the Imperial Father’s presence when the first attack occurred some years ago. Otherwise, I should have been equally uninformed.”

That he knew something this important when she did not infuriated Israi anew. She hated being shut out, hated any reminders that she was not yet the Supreme Being she felt herself to be.

“I should have been told,” she said.

“The Kaa wished no one to know,” the physician told her.

She glared at both of them. “When was the first? How many times has this happened?”

“A dozen or more, usually following a period of stress or crisis,” the physician answered. “Each one has depleted his vital force more.”

“The first occurred during the Imperial Daughter’s visit to Malraaket, several years ago,” Temondahl said.

Israi’s rill stiffened. Was he implying that her misfortune had brought this weakness to her father? Was he saying this was somehow her fault? Her anger grew, but she controlled it. After many years, Israi had learned that her temper should not always be unleashed.

“To be out of control,” old Chancellor Gaveid had said to her once after one of her furious tantrums, “is to allow others to control you. Take care that you remain in charge of your destiny, not others.”

She remembered that sage advice now, and drew a breath so deep it hurt. “Will he recover?”

“That remains to be seen,” the physician said, his voice grave. “He is seriously afflicted. His vital force lies low. He should be moved to the infirmary, where he can be—”

“No!” she said sharply. “The Imperial Father would not wish that.”

“True,” Temondahl agreed with a sigh. “It is not in keeping with the imperial dignity.”

“Perhaps we should worry more about saving the imperial life,” the physician retorted.

A glare from Israi made him bow hastily, his rill very red. She said, “Let what equipment is necessary be brought here. Attend him with all your skill. The Imperial Father must be saved.”

“All that can be done will be done,” the physician replied with another bow.

He turned back to his patient. Temondahl gently gestured for Israi to step aside.

She did so, allowing him to lean his head close to hers. “The Imperial Daughter should make herself ready,” he murmured. “While all hope for a full recovery must be held to, it is equally wise to take precautions.”

She thought again of how he had been talking to Telvrahd and Oviel before she arrived, and wondered if he could be trusted. “Explain,” she said.

Temondahl’s gaze flickered evasively. “Privacy is not sufficient here,” he said, sounding almost disappointed in her. “The Imperial Daughter should know what to do. Excuse me. I must prepare an official statement for the court and the public vidcasts before a panic can begin.”

“Yes, do so,” she commanded.

He bowed and walked away from her, leaving Israi to pace back and forth in rising consternation. She had pretended ignorance instinctively, without thought. But she knew exactly what he meant. Years ago, the Kaa had instructed her that the transition of power from kaa to kaa was seldom an easy one. Although she was the named successor, acknowledged by all, she still had enemies, many of whom she would never know or meet. It was up to her to grab the throne with both hands and not relinquish it.

Glancing up, she found Oviel gazing at her. There was a trace of a smile on his narrow face, and definite mockery in his eyes. How bold he had grown in displaying his contempt of her.

Israi did not attempt to stare him down. She turned her back on him and went straight to her father’s study. The guards stationed there in front of the locked doors allowed her access.

From memory Israi entered the code with her own hand, and the locks released.

She slipped inside and locked the doors after her, aware from the corner of her eye that Oviel—too late—was trying to follow her.

He knocked on the doors, calling her name once before the guards hushed him. Smiling to herself, Israi strolled over to her father’s massive desk. Oviel might be sly and clever, but he had not expected her to act this quickly, or this publicly.

Running her hand along the polished surface of her father’s desk, Israi allowed her tongue to flick out in satisfaction. She sat in her father’s crimson chair, finding its contours too large for her more slender form. For a moment she let herself relish the sensation, then she recalled herself to the task at hand.

Temondahl’s warning had been clear. She did not have much time.

Locating the lock on the desk, she entered the codes, her fingers faltering only momentarily. A secret drawer opened, and she plunged her hand inside to lift out a small box of expensive songwood. The wood whispered melodically at her touch. She opened the lid and peered inside at the contents.

The box held a gold-colored key; a red rectangle shorter in length than her hand; the actual imperial seal, made of extremely heavy truvium; and a list of principal security codes for defense installations across the empire. The gold-colored key gave her access to the imperial treasury. The red rectangle controlled access to the Chamber of Treaties. The imperial seal was equal to the Kaa’s signature. The defense codes gave her power over the military.

Israi held each item in turn, gloating to herself. There was only one more thing to find. She turned the box of songwood over and felt along the bottom until she found the hidden catch. The false bottom opened, and she took out the access key to her father’s personal fortune.

It was forbidden for anyone except the Kaa to possess these items. Until her father breathed his final breath, Israi could not legally touch them. Yet this was a moment for risks. If she let her courage fail her, if she waited until the Kaa was actually dead to seize this chance, then she would be a fool who deserved to have the throne taken from her.

Israi hesitated no longer. The trick was now to make sure no one knew she had these things. She lifted her voluminous skirts with their multiple layers and felt along the deep hem of her underskirt. Finding a seam, she tore it open with her fingers, breathing quickly in excitement, and tucked the items into the hem. Taking a tube of stickant from the desk drawer, she resealed the hem and shook down her skirts, smoothing them quickly into place.

She closed the songwood box, ignoring its melodic response to her touch, and replaced it inside the secret drawer. With all back in place as it should be, she glanced around the study, then crossed the room and took down several scrollcases containing her father’s favorite poetry.

Clutching these in her hands, she emerged from the study, locking it behind her, and found Oviel waiting there with his eyes narrowed in open suspicion.

“What are you doing, Israi?” he asked. “Why do you not attend your father?”

She glared at him in contempt and did not bother to answer. When she started to step past him, however, he did not move aside.

“I ask you again, Israi. What were you doing in there? Stealing his scrolls? Looting his study like a common thief? How greedy you have become. Have you no thought for Sahmrahd Kaa at this time? Have you no thought for anyone but yourself?”

Her anger burned her throat, but she glanced at one of the impassive guards instead. “Clear this courtier from my path that I may return to my father’s side.”

The guard moved immediately to obey. Wide-eyed, Oviel stepped aside before the guard could grip his arm. He flicked out his tongue and bowed.

Head held high, Israi swept past him, carrying the scrolls back into her father’s bedchamber. She was conscious of the stolen badges of state bumping against her ankles with every step, conscious of the jingling of her slipper bells, conscious of her heart beating too fast. But she kept her imperial composure and ordered a chair placed by her father’s bedside. Calmly, while everyone stared, she seated herself, arranging her skirts prettily, and unrolled one of the scrolls. While her father lay unconscious, struggling to draw every ragged breath, Israi read to him from exquisite poems in a voice melodic and low, looking the very picture of a most devoted daughter.

She had all the time in the universe now to wait on him. She felt both calm and exhilarated, the reins of power close within her grasp.