“Here’s our miscreant.” Vora keys an image onto the command deck’s display. An alien woman of a species Grant hasn’t seen yet with a wild mane of tentacles like an aneno’s, neon teal skin, and huge, reptilian eyes. She grins a jagged grin. “A Lusorian broker by the na of Lywa Three-Monsoon. One of a number of individuals in the Black Pike sector representing Narika’s financial interests. We keep tabs on all the ones we know of.”
“Never t a Lusorian.” Wenzai blinks from her portrait on the Pike’s wall. She and Chief Engineer Waian have remained on Qarnaq to oversee repairs. “Pretty eyes.”
“We just let her operate in our sector?” Grant asks.
“We do,” Hyax says. “There’s no inherent Imperial law against it. We are all subjects, after all, of the sa throne.”
“And if we passed a sector law closing ourselves off and nicking her off her routes, Narika would certainly do the sa to our people in Glory Banner,” Vora adds.
Sykora nods and shifts on her throne. “These scurrying gray-marketers perate everyone’s mbranes. Narika has hers and I have mine. I’m sure if we audited this Lywa Three-Monsoon, we’d discover so reason to throw her behind bars, but that’s an escalation against Narika I can’t afford yet.”
“I hate to be a grit in the bite, as the Eqtorans say.” Governess Doxima speaks from her own panel near Wenzai’s. “But this action has damaged the civic exo ring as well as the Countess’s own equipnt. And my own majordomo predicts our bill will be multiple tis what the damage is on the condensers. That is out of civic funds.”
“We will, of course, pay them,” Sykora says. “Vora, see to it that the Governess has what she needs from the Pike’s treasuries.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Doxima says. “But my point is that this goes beyond corporate warfare into treason, Majesty. And if they’re willing to go that far, perhaps we can’t afford not to act.”
“Never fear, Doxima.” Sykora smiles a humorless smile. “I don’t need to be coaxed into action against Princess Narika, I assure you. My only source of caution is this mixing of public with private enterprise. If I am seen to be too interventionist in the newly minted Qarnaq exo industry, it will scare off the industrialists and the baronesses. Let’s see what we can accomplish behind these closed doors, first.” She beckons to Vora. “I’ve reviewed your report, majordomo. Lywa here has been a busy little bug, hmm?”
“She has indeed, Majesty.” Vora pushes up her glasses. Beneath them, she’s wearing much thicker eyeshadow than Grant is used to seeing on the majordomo. “Spreading funds across the firmant to serve the Glory Banner’s interests. She operated in Cloud Gate, while it existed, and Bright Covenant, and most recently in Black Pike. eting with scores of people. What I gave you is her itinerary for the past half-decacycle.”
“I want investigations opened into everyone in those books,” Sykora says.
“We’ll see it done, Majesty.” Vora quarter-bows. “But the specific eting I wanted to bring to your attention was this one. Two days before the celebration over Qarnaq where you were price shocked.”
She slides a finger across her tablet and a list of appointnts scrolls past Lywa’s face. It halts on a vaguely familiar na: SHOSKIA, MARQUESS OF XIMIK.
“I cross-referenced Marquess Shoskia’s reports to you,” Vora continues. “Lywa’s na appears nowhere.”
Wenzai’s expression darkens into a wary scowl. “Shoskia. Figures.”
“Shoskia?” Grant sorts through the pantry of nas in his mind. “She was one of the people I considered for the Qarnaq job before I went with you, Wen. I’ve spoken to her a couple of tis in passing. Friendly enough.”
A scoff escapes Wenzai before she can clamp it back.
Sykora leans on her armrest. “You disagree, Countess?”
“Sure, she’s friendly,” Wenzai says. “Good conversationalist. She also thinks that my husband is fit only to be my slave and my children should never have been born.”
“Goodness,” murmurs Doxima. “My first Black Pike hardline traditionalist. They’ve been hard to co by in this sector so far.”
“She is a stodgy old traditionalist, certainly,” Sykora says. “But what she thinks is less important to than how she behaves. The internal politics of her House have always been backward, but she’s a savvy enough operator to understand that the doors have been thrown open in the Empire. Or in Black Pike, at least. She’s stood beside plenty of finches and striges.”
Wenzai looks thoroughly unconvinced.
“We’ll see how progressive she can be,” Grant says. “I’ll talk to her.”
“You, uh.” Wenzai’s brows rise. “You an by yourself?”
“I do.”
“I wonder if maybe I should co,” Wenzai says. “Or her Majesty, maybe.”
“If she’s the jerk you’re saying she is, she’ll underestimate ,” Grant says. “Tip her hand in front of the ditzy husband. I’ve seen it before. It’s useful.”
Wenzai looks at sothing off-cara. “If you say so, Majesty. I have to dash, everyone. But thank you for all you did today.”
“Thank you, all,” Doxima echoes. “Glory to the Pike.” Her hex goes blank.
“Ah—Countess. Before you go.” Sykora holds up a finger.
Wenzai freezes, a woman on a wire. “Majesty?”
“I believe you, you know,” Sykora says. “That this was sabotage. Plenty of smoke in the air pointing that way.” She leans her cheek on her fist. “I’m sure you have a lot to wring your hands about down there. But on this score you needn’t fear. I have plenty of wrath to spread around; none of it falls on you.”
Wenzai exhales heavily. Her shoulders drop. “I, uh—thank you, Majesty. For saying that.”
Sykora winks. “Go tend to your people, Wen.”
Wenzai’s bow takes her montarily off cara. “You got it, Majesty. Talk soon.” The hex displaying her talking head goes blank and slides back into its seamless place on the firmant panorama.
“rciful of you, Majesty,” Hyax notes.
“Poor woman’s been under more stress than her own shoulder straps lately,” Sykora says. “And I do believe her. Ratfucking an exo planet buildout like this is exactly how Narika would operate.”
“If you have ti after getting those investigations open, majordomo, I’d be really grateful for your eyes on the recovery proposals,” Grant murmurs to Vora, as Sykora continues chattering with the Brigadier. “We’ve got a few different directions we’re considering on those damaged stacks. Your insight would be great.”
Vora’s normally imdiate bow hitches montarily before it erges. “Of course, Majesty. I’ll see it done.”
Grant feels a vibration coming from his hip pocket. He checks his communicator. Wenzai has texted him and only him.
majesty. forgive for speaking out of turn. but i am worried.
i promise i’m not trying to mommy you. but when you et shoskia, wear so heavy-duty anticomps and do NOT take them off. okay?
don’t ntion this to her majesty. it’s nothing provable and nothing actionable.
but i have heard stories.
He taps out a reply:
ill be careful
thanks wen
And then he scrolls up and shows Wenzai’s texts to Sykora.
“Goodness,” she says.
“You think she’s catastrophizing?”
“I do,” Sykora says. “But I also think it would be advisable to bring a gun.”
***
Oryn turns the page. “Fuck’s sake,” he murmurs. A cliffhanger into a perspective change. How dare they?
The cabin door opens, and his wife trudges in, feet dragging. “I am such a jerk. I am awful.” She collapses into an easy chair. “I wasted your night off.”
“Hmm?” Oryn glances at the clock. “Oh, damn. Must have been quite the conflagration up on the deck.”
“I’m really sorry, Ory. You really must divorce , I think.”
“Co here.” Oryn opens his arms. “We can divorce in the morning.”
She takes her glasses off and crawls into bed with him.
“It really is all right.” He strokes her back through the stiff fabric of her uniform. “I lost track of ti.”
She sniffs. “You’re just trying to cheer up.”
“You know how I spent the evening?” He holds book three of The One-Horned Mage up. “Getting caught up.”
Vora brightens. That gorgeous, pointed smile. “All the way?”
“We’re neck-and-neck now.” He shows his dog-eared place. “I thought there were so really excellently-observed neuroses in there. And good battles. Hak Peak? Pulse-pounding. Can’t believe what they did to Marshall Roye.”
“Right? I was bereft. Justice for Roye.”
“Now, there wasn’t any scene where Nylix has a tough day at the tyrant office and Duke Gylion gave her a foot massage.” Oryn places his book on the nightstand, next to the bottle of wine he’s brought over. “But I do think, reading between the lines, that maybe he was too busy learning pyromancy to learn how.”
“You don’t have to do that, lovebug. I owe you, you know.”
“Tonight I’m happy to run up the tally.” He rests a finger on his lower eyelid. “Hit .”
“As my Duke commands.” She tugs her sock off and wiggles her toes at him. Flash. “Footrub, please.”
He feels her invisible embrace fold over his and lets it settle his hands around her delicate little heel.
Prince Grantyde asked him during a recent session whether Taiikari found one another as hot as he did. Is everyone a stunner, or is that just my Maekyonite brain?
Yes, Oryn told him. Thanks to a combination of luck and kilocycles of dical and genetic tinkering, the Taiikari have long been called the most beautiful people in the firmant. But the difference between a beautiful Taiikari woman and the woman, the one you want to spend your life with, isn’t a visible one. It’s how their compulsion feels when it settles into your head.
The day Vora compelled him for the first ti was the day he realized what she was. The day he switched from fleeing their upcoming marriage to sprinting toward it. Nobody had ever felt like her—a gentle, insistent warmth spreading through him, like a hot cinnamon tea with a cheeky splash of rum in it.
“You are a blessing from the Gods of the fucking Firmant.” Vora sighs as he gets going. “Oooh, God. That’s so good.”
“I’m glad the lessons paid off,” he says.
“You took lessons?”
“Mmhmm.”
“What did I do to earn a man like you in my life?”
“Nothing needs to be earned which is freely given,” he says. “But you could pass that wine glass, if you like.”
She hands it over and he takes a montary break from massaging her to sip his wine. Her compulsion curves companionably around the action, like a bedmate scooting over to give you more covers.
“The breeding bite stuff.” He returns to his work and swirls his thumbs into her instep. “I didn’t see any of that in the book.”
“Mmm.” Vora squirms closer. The at of her thigh lays across his chest. “You rember how tiny he was, our boy?”
“I rember,” he says. “I rember holding him in my palm.”
“And then you look away for one second and he’s all grown. I was so busy learning on my feet. I wish I’d take more ti to…” Vora sighs. “To cherish it all.”
“Well, we did learn,” Oryn says. “Learned a lot, I think. For, uh…”
Vora gently tugs her foot out of his hand and encircles her legs around him. “For next ti?”
He smiles. “Could be.”
Her eyes flash. “C’re.”
He twists her gently around and lays her across their bed. She scoots one of the ropes from earlier in the evening onto the floor.
“Grantyde and Kora need now,” she whispers. “But maybe… maybe when things have settled. Maybe two or three this ti. Would that be—do you want that?”
He kisses her neck. “I’d put a horde in you if you asked to, Vora of the Black Pike. You could be the Tyrant of the Golden Mountain in real life.”
She laughs as his kisses intensify, and squirms in his arms. “Do you want to be the Tyrant right now?”
He shakes his head. “Nylix talks a very impressive ga.” He lifts her hips up and kisses her bellybutton. “But everyone knows the majordomo’s the one who keeps the show running.”
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