A Treason of Truths Page 4

  The pity in Galen’s silence was positively unbearable. When it became obvious that Sabine was not going to meet his questioning gaze, he let out a long, slow sigh. “Of course. Whatever you need. We can talk to Liv, maybe send a couple scouts or Howls with you, at least—”

  No, a substitute would just make the absence all the more unbearable. Sabine cleared her throat. “No. No spies. I need someone...straightforward. Reliable. Simple. Like you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Galen said.

  “Stop. You know what I mean. I’ll be dealing with enough mind games with the dratted Syn ambassador as it is.” Sabine latched the luggage closed with a click. She’d made the big wardrobe choices, that was enough for now. Ira and the other attendants would make sure she had all the minor niceties for the trip. “I’ll take a knightsguard and that will be enough.”

  Galen’s expression tightened. A bit of brotherly concern slipped in. “I don’t feel good about you going in there with nothing but a young bodyguard at your back.”

  “And I don’t feel good about...” Sabine faltered. Straightened her hair until the warning, hot sensation left her eyes. “I have grown used to disappointment and so shall you.”

  She saw the pitiful way that Galen was studying her in the mirror. “Sab...”

  “I hate this job sometimes, Galen.” It came out like a whisper, a confession.

  “I know. You keep on choosing it, though.” Galen offered a weary smile, and Sabine found herself at least trying to return it.

  She turned away from the mirror. “It was either me or you. Someone else would muck it up worse.”

  “I would definitely muck it up worse,” Galen said.

  “Well, you’re safe. As much as the generals like you, no one wants Olivia for an Imperial consort.”

  Galen’s smile turned boyish, the way it always did at mention of his mate. “I would.”

  “You would.” Sabine fluttered her hands. The ache in her chest wouldn’t go away but there was no use crying into pillows at the moment. “Now if you don’t mind, I will need to ruin a knightsguard’s plans and finish preparations.”

  Galen’s sigh was one of defeat, or perhaps understanding. He bowed shortly and pushed off the door frame. “I’ll see to the court.”

  Chapter Four

  The rest was a simple matter of giving orders. Assignments were changed, wardrobe prepared, rituals of state completed. The true duties of spectacle and showmanship would happen after she’d landed at the flotilla. As the Imperial shuttle and escort banked through the clouds above Chrysanthine City, Sabine took the precious quiet to center her mind and her plan.

  Olivia had been right when she said there wasn’t much to be known about Prime Minister Cian. The intelligence file was sparse, and even sparser still on his exact temperament. In these kinds of negotiations, it was always best to walk in with a few vices and dirty secrets in hand, but Sabine could make do. She had the right of grievance, after all. Members of the Syndicate government had induced an attempted coup in her own country; had funded mercenary forces and it was a Syn-made bomb that had decimated the Imperial town of Meteore. They were lucky she had been too preoccupied with dealing with her own senate to take it as an act of war. She had more than enough ammunition to make Cian grovel at her feet.

  Sabine took a moment to relish the image. No, she could avoid a costly war and bring the worst of the Syndicate to heel, all in one trip. If the negotiations impressed the Cloud Vault, perhaps they would be more amenable to dispensing with their isolation policy and sharing their wealth of knowledge with the Empire to help rebuild Meteore.

  The Cloud Vault was notoriously isolated. After the old world had nearly collapsed in the population decline known commonly as the Crisis, the Vault had risen up in the dark chaos of near-extinction to preserve the remaining technical knowledge of the old world and innovate on the advances of the new. Frankly, it’d been one of the few forces that had kept the world from sliding back into nothing but small agricultural communes. But the Vault shared advances with the rest of the world according to their own, unknown motives. The Vault’s advances in medical nanotechnologies had been shared freely, increasing the survival of recovering countries, but they were rumored to be hoarding even more technological miracles on their flotilla of tethered ships powered by old-world engines. There were even more rumors about their suspected arsenal of superior weapons, which explained why even the greedy Syndicate had never risked an assault on the Vault’s neutrality.

  It was unheard of for the Vault to get involved in political affairs, let alone disputes between countries. This summit was unusual, and Sabine was annoyed that the invite had been issued. It’d been a clever bit of political work, that invite, leaving the only strategically wise option to accept. But Sabine intended to make the most of it, both for the wins to be gained in negotiation, and to gain what alliances she could on a rare visit to the Vault itself. It was soothing thinking of it in that way, lining up each prospective player and piece tidily in front of her, dossiers and glossy photos forming neat rows on the slate. Powerful, dangerous, but ultimately knowable and achievable. It almost distracted her from the unknown thing she’d failed to achieve and left behind in the court at Ameranthe. The empty seat to her right.

  “We are coming in range of the Vault, Your Highness.”

  The knightsguard at the door was named Kitra. He was young, respectful, cheerful, and absolutely not Sabine’s first choice. But arrangements being what they were, she’d taken the first guard able to not delay the shuttle. Kitra was a bit of an oddity himself. The knightsguard was an elite group, open to any military officer who distinguished himself or herself. But the guard passed along with the crown, and it had been somewhat of a cultural tradition long ago that women served an Empress and men an Emperor. That Kitra had fought for and won a place in her guard was not outrageous but it was unusual. Sabine had to remind herself that it made no difference in his duties. Then she had to scold herself for needing to be reminded. Kitra had been the picture of a perfect knightsguard so far. The ceremonial veil hung straight and neat over his eyes, promising discretion, vigilant guard, and a quick response to any command.

  He just wasn’t Lyre.

  The shuttle drifted into a gentle descent, and a final veil of clouds peeled away to reveal the Vas Heu coast, glittering not with cities but jeweled quays and emerald hills. It was a well-selected place for a peace summit, located in the crook of the Empire, just at the Syn border, with the sea to the west and the wild and untamable Caeweld forest swallowing the valleys to the east. The glowering eye of the Syndicate capitol was just visible to the south, but Sabine’s attention was drawn above the horizon where, as if carved out of sky, the Cloud Vault waited.

  The lower portion retained some of its origin as a flotilla of near-orbit ships, a gnarled thicket of hulls, engines, exhaust ports, and clear differences in make where each ship began and ended. The thin maintenance walkways that threaded between ships looked almost delicate by comparison. It was a wonder the Vault had kept them operating for as they had, further proof that they sheltered more technological wealth than they shared. A pulse of green caught her eye. Amid the steel and rust, vine-like structures weaved through the underworks like veins.

  That was all that Sabine caught before the shuttle juked up to circle the floating city for a landing pad. If the underside of the flotilla was grease and fortitude, the top side was glass and pride. Sweeping buildings sat in efficient clusters on the artificial platform of the flotilla. Their gentle slopes and smooth mirrored surfaces reminded Sabine of nautilus shells, delicate but spiraled with strength.

  One of those buildings opened like a flower, roof pivoting away and allowing the shuttle to descend into a lush interior. Sabine took the time to close her slate and smooth her jacket before rising. She didn’t hold with minor power games of making people wait, not when there was work to be done.

 
“Ready, ma’am?” Kitra’s tan face had a sunshine smile. It cast a long shadow on what was missing, Lyre’s buoyant mockery and smirk. No, perhaps earnestness was what she needed, now. Sabine nodded and the shuttle opened.

  For a moment, she thought there had to have been a mistake: they’d landed in a garden. The grass was pillowy under her shoes, and trees with vivid purple flowers lined the glass walls with graceful curves. The air was heavy and almost oppressively sweet, but then two figures cut toward her across the grass.

  “Empress Sabine of the Quillian Empire, welcome to Cloud Vault.” The figure in the lead looked like a sapling himself, willowy and tall in his teal suit. His hair was just rumpled enough to look trendy and his voice was polished, impeccably formal, but carried a sliver of an accent that Sabine couldn’t place. “Your presence here honors us.”

  “The honor is mine.” He didn’t bow or curtsy, and Sabine chided herself as being petty for noticing. “I hope you have found the Vas Heu coast hospitable for your visit.”

  “We do not require much from our hosts, but it is a beautiful view.”

  Sabine tilted her head. “You haven’t ventured to our surface?”

  “The flotilla is entirely self-supporting. I would be honored to give you a tour before dinner.” The pretty man made, finally, a slight bow and held out his hand. “Dr. Micha Sylvere at your service. Nano-botany.”

  “One of the Vault’s famed geniuses.”

  His hand was uncomfortably dry when she took it.

  “Hardly. I only recently joined the Vault myself. I would reserve that title for my senior here, Dr. Khait.” He gestured to the man who, up till now, had been content to remain silent behind them.

  Khait stepped forward and took Sabine’s hand in a brusque handshake. His hands were calloused. He appeared to be the same age, but where Sylvere was bubbly and charming, Khait was bronze and grim, with a shadow of stubble and impatient look in his eyes, as if greeting the empress of a visiting country was taking away from precious time in the lab.

  He didn’t say anything, so Sabine murmured the appropriate polite words and returned her attention to Sylvere. “You were not raised on the flotilla?”

  “Oh, no.” Sylvere motioned them forward and began walking toward the exit. Likely on the aforementioned tour. “I only joined in the last year when further scientific advancement in my homeland became...untenable.”

  “Homeland. You’re Syndicate?” Sabine finally placed the elusive accent. It was the same slippery vowel sounds that Olivia got when she was flustered.

  “Formerly Syndicate. The Vault doesn’t hold prejudices or petty rivalries here, only achievements.” He caught the skepticism that must have been evident on Sabine’s face and his smile grew. He tossed a backward glance to Dr. Khait before leaning in and lowering his voice. “Very former Syndicate, you could say. Never you worry, Empress, if anything I’d say my sympathies lie with your goals at this summit.”

  “How unusual,” Sabine murmured.

  “We live in unusual times.” Sylvere led them across a courtyard and down steps that descended into yet another green bowl. Meticulous flower beds hosted a slowly drifting cloud of blue butterflies. On closer inspection, silver dust puffed with each air current and each tiny multifaceted eye held an unnatural citron light. Nanotech.

  “Creations of yours?” Sabine asked.

  “Some. They’re almost like my children.” Sylvere’s smile was indulgent as he lifted a finger and allowed one butterfly to land on it. Its paper-thin wings trembled with a bioluminescent twitch, communicating somehow. Khait grunted behind him. He flicked his hand and the insect took off again, showering the air with silver nanite dust. “Almost. The flutters monitor the status of the gardens. Health of plants, safety issues, well-being of workers. All recorded with nano-enhanced protocols and alert the flotilla AI to any issues.”

  Nano-enhanced organics. “Beautiful and functional.”

  “Thank you.” Sylvere flashed a glittering smile as if she had complimented the man himself rather than his creations. He gestured to the path, where a line of tiny glittering insects hauled a withered leaf into the dirt. “Everything in the Vault aspires for that. Even the ants under our feet are optimized.”

  “I look forward to admiring whatever wonders the Vault cares to reveal,” Sabine said with just the right amount of interest. Sylvere appeared to be one to bloom under praise, but she had to be careful to not appear too eager to trade. Not, at least, until she understood the playing field.

  Sylvere gave her a knowing smile. He checked Khait’s presence behind them before pulling ahead and momentarily out of earshot. Sabine knew an opportunity when she saw one and waved for her guard to hang back. Kitra, to his credit, immediately struck up a meaningless conversation with Khait.

  “You might be surprised to find you have more friendly allies in the Vault than you think,” Sylvere said quietly. “I’ve followed the Empire’s new caricae policies with interest.”

  “I can’t take the credit for that. My sister-in-law made me aware of inequalities that the Empire had allowed to exist for too long.” It’d been an unpleasant process, confronting her country’s own biased treatment of its citizens when the Empire valued justice.

  None of the responses by their ancestors to the Crisis had been just. Birth rates were low, startlingly low. The old world’s scientists had done what they could to save themselves, genetic tinkering to increase the likelihood of survival. The result was a division of society. Most of the population were genta, adults unable to impregnate or conceive children. Altusii, able to impregnate, also had genetics that made them taller, hardier. But those who were able to conceive children, called caricae, were considered rare. What was rare was valuable and what was valuable, in the family-oriented Imperial mindset, was meant to be protected. It was how Sabine had been brought up and, being a non-conceiving genta woman, had never thought to question. Until Olivia had unmasked the oppression of the Syndicate and vocally argued that Imperial caricae were not being protected, not when protection came with the chains of social restraints and limited job options. The changes Sabine had begun to make were still works in progress, and continued to upset the more conservative noble Houses.

  “Yet still worse atrocities exist for caricae across the Syndicate border.” Sylvere’s smile was tight. “Did you ever consider you may not have gone far enough with them?”

  There was no arguing that point. The atrocities Sabine knew about the Syndicate bordered on unbelievable. Where the Empire had responded to the Crisis with an emphasis on family, the Syndicate had chosen cold efficiency. Childbearing was considered a function of government, and caricae citizens property of the government. They were isolated, controlled in state facilities. Children were not raised; they were bred and then assigned to optimal non-familial caregivers. Olivia told the stories like they were common sense, not the crimes of humanity that they were. Sabine had often wished she could save the Syn people from their government.

  It appeared Sylvere was suggesting the same thing.

  It was a straightforward proposition, one Sabine hadn’t quite been prepared for. She considered with a tilt of her head. “That would be a peculiar way to start peace talks,” she said carefully. “Idle curiosity, Dr. Sylvere?”

  Sylvere chuckled and made a “you got me” motion. His face softened. “As you guessed, I am a new arrival on the Vault, and I left family back in the Syndicate.”

  “Oh.” Sabine sighed. “Caricae friend?”

  “Daughter,” Sylvere said tightly. “Sasika. She was fourteen and newly identified when I left. By now—” A complicated look flickered across his face that tugged on Sabine’s sympathies. It was something she never could wrap her head around, about the Syndicate. The way it tore apart families. Sylvere cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I worry for my old country. Suffice it to say, I wish you well in these negotiations. We live in peculi
ar times.” Sylvere straightened as Khait and Kitra caught up, resuming their progress to the other end of the gardens. “To have rulers and dignitaries from two rival countries aboard the Vault is unusual in itself.”

  “Dignitaries?” Sabine stopped. Every aspect of her strategy was based on knowing the players involved. If the Syn prime minister had coerced allies into attending... “Who else did the Syn send?”

  “I was speaking of the Empire.” Sylvere paused with a hand on the door; clear green eyes regarded her skeptically. “I assumed the northern lords were here as part of your retinue.”

  “The northern...?” Sabine felt a cool anger ice over her veins. She brushed past Sylvere and strode into the reception hall. It was impeccable, with cool lines of glass and silver wound with greenery everywhere. She would have found it beautiful if not standing in the middle of the hall, conferring with a cloister of diplomats, was a member of her own senate. And a royal pain in the ass.

  “Ah, Your Grace! I hope your trip was a pleasant one.” Lady Alais swept her formal military cloak behind her as she turned, a pillar of virtue and annoyance. “Aren’t the gardens impressive?”

  Chapter Five

  Before she became an empress, Sabine had been a painter. She’d loved painting. She knew what it was to fix an image in your mind, an idealized version of reality, and stare at a blank canvas until you willed it into being. She’d had no time for hobbies after taking the throne, but politics was no different. The first step, painting or politics, was to see the world clearly, then hold on to the image you would shape it to be. Alais, daughter of the powerful Duchess of Vhehaden, the largest House of the adversarial northern lords, meant she would have to wipe the canvas from scratch. Sabine didn’t have time for frustration, instead let the acerbic feeling scour her mind and focused on trying to see the room before her clearly.