A Treason of Truths Page 8

  Knightsguards wore chis-crystal armor. Thin, flexible plating that sparkled just enough to be perfect ceremonial armor. It was good against a gun blast, adequate for their normal duties, but horribly brittle in a melee. Lyre could jab a finger in the join at the wrist and find an artery before the guard could squeak.

  Kitra was supposed to know this, but nerves could make one forgetful. Lyre studied the arm in front of her again before drawing her gaze pointedly up to the veil. Beneath silk, cheeks paled then flushed with embarrassment. Kitra yanked his arm back as if burned. Lyre waited another moment to allow for the silent calculations to finish before stepping through the door.

  Some people might have stood a chance holding Lyre up. Her older scouts. Liv, when she was in a mood—and she always was. But Kitra was neither a scout nor a former Whisper. Kitra made a frustrated sound, half grunt and half dying mouse, before shutting the door behind Lyre. You didn’t get into a territorial pissing match with a senior advisor, even a disgraced one. You especially did not get between Lyre and her goal, not when Sabine’s life was in danger. Smart boy, that Kitra.

  “She’s bathing,” Kitra supplied with a sheepish sigh.

  The Vault appeared to have annexed all their color to the visiting guest suites. The greenery was not contained to the solarium, and instead spilled into the residences with vases of jeweled flowers and ivy. For all of it to survive it had to be tended by an army of nanotech, and if Lyre looked close she could spot the tiny silver bodies, no bigger than ladybugs, flitting from leaf to leaf. Sabine would like that; she’d always liked flowers. Lyre just saw a thousand potential spies. The rest of the suite was well appointed. Perhaps subdued by Imperial standards, but then Imperials considered any surface covered in less than gold mosaic a wasted opportunity.

  Lyre could feel Kitra stiffen as she turned toward the bathroom suite. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m not here to besmirch the empress’s honor.”

  Kitra didn’t look reassured. So earnest. Lyre preferred her scouts with a little more sense of humor. She tried for a peace offering. “They take your blood too?”

  He shifted uncomfortably and nodded.

  “Don’t sweat it. But here on out, the Vault doesn’t get alone time with anything in the empress’s possession—got it? Not blood, not clothes or equipment, anything. They want to inspect something, make sure I’m there.”

  Kitra opened his mouth then closed it with a dissatisfied look. Fair. He was technically the head of Sabine’s security detail. Lyre was just here as a consultant. But Kitra also knew everything had changed when a noble had died on their watch. He nodded. Once.

  “Good. I’ll file my report then.”

  Knocking on a bathroom door wasn’t the most professional audience she’d ever had with the empress, but also not the worst. It would really depend on the kind of mood she caught Sabine in, after their last talk. Lyre knocked once and opted to err on the side of formality. “Your Grace. I have intelligence you need to hear.” And then, because formality made her stomach hurt, she added, “So are you decent or what?”

  Little sound escaped the solid construction of the door. A faint slip of water, a heavy sigh. Lyre prepared to be rejected—at the very least, she could tell Sabine she was being stupid and deliver her report through a closed door if they had to—but then an imperious order came through. “Enter.”

  Well, that was easy. Perhaps Sabs could see a lick of sense after all... Lyre silently thanked the Lady and all her Consorts and slipped into the bathing suite.

  The greenery abated in the bathing quarters, though the few plants decorating the counter were thriving under the high heat and humidity. The fixtures were—like everything else in this floating bauble—silver, so pale it nearly matched the white porcelain and cool marble. The only spots of color were the scattered pink rose petals that scented the steaming bathing pool.

  And failed to cover Sabine’s half-submerged chest.

  Lyre was too practiced at smothering her reactions. Her face froze into bored neutrality on instinct. But for one scarlet moment her mind was wiped of concerns about assassins and nanobot poisoners and dead heirs and grieving northern lords. All of that was swept away in the single, steamy drop of water that tipped over Sabine’s collarbone and raced between her breasts.

  Sabine didn’t bother looking up as she swept a soft pouf over her nails. As if she sat on a throne rather than a scene from one of Lyre’s more indulgent dreams.

  “Report, Lyre.” Sabine’s voice was lazy—fucking bored—and for once in her sinful life, Lyre was at a loss for words.

  * * *

  She could have been wearing sweats and a masquerade mask for all the reaction she was getting. If anything, Lyre looked repulsed. Damn her.

  “Report, Lyre,” Sabine said, studying her nails because if she looked anywhere else she was afraid something in her face would betray her. Her cheeks would flush. Her eyes would throw a damned revolt and give away the twisting disappointment in her gut.

  “I thought you said you were decent, Your Grace.” Did Lyre twitch? She acted stiff, insulted. Fine then.

  “I gave you permission to enter. Since it’s an emergency, I don’t have time to waste on delicate sensibilities,” Sabine said loftily. “Besides, we are such old friends. As you’ve affirmed repeatedly. I didn’t even think you’d notice.”

  That lie wasn’t as elegant as Sabine was normally capable of; it tripped over the hope. The hope that Lyre would notice. Would be embarrassed, lustful, regretful, something. Anything. It’d been a moment of pure pettiness on Sabine’s behalf, and she hadn’t even really decided if it’d been meant as a punishment or a seduction. Look what you will never have or Look what you could have. A fuck you or a fuck me. Sabine shook her head from that thought. She’d been spending too much time around Olivia’s coarse language.

  “I noticed.” Lyre’s voice was rough, perhaps angry. She quickly added, “It’s my job to notice things.”

  Lyre’s gaze skimmed down Sabine’s bare arm to the nearly invisible needle prick at the curve of her elbow. She did see everything, damn her, and her gaze never so much as wavered to the rest of her body.

  Lyre’s jaw was clenched. “They took a sample.”

  “It was a reasonable enough request.” Sabine shifted. The bath water suddenly felt chilled even though it was temperature controlled. She had the urge to lift her hand to her face to see if she was blushing, but was proud enough to resist. She just felt stupid now. She wasn’t in the habit of allowing anyone to make her feel stupid, but Lyre had a way of always making her feel self-conscious, like an awkward teenager again. “You said Alais sent you because, I assume, you have information to report.”

  Lyre never needed prompting to do her job. Lyre never wasted time. Something was off. The spy startled, as if coming to the same realization.

  Her gaze broke away from Sabine and fished around for a place to perch. Lyre could never resist disregarding formality. If there was a way to be irreverent in a bathroom, Lyre would find it. After a moment she planted her butt firmly on the lip of the tub. Her posture was oddly stiff in the shoulders, carefully turned away. “Alais didn’t send me. But this situation—if Orric really was killed by a nanobot attack, then we can’t trust anything on the Vault.”

  “I’ve seen nothing to indicate the Vault is working against us. In fact, if anything, Sylvere seems distinctly sympathetic to Imperial interests.”

  “Only because he hates the Syn.”

  “I’ve forged alliances on less. Hatred can be reliable, at least. Unlike other motivations.”

  “I’m not here to argue, Sabs.” Lyre slitted her eyes toward Sabine before doing that odd disengaging maneuver again. Amazing how the woman could give the impression of looking right at you and absolutely seeing nothing. “If you trust the Vault so much, then let’s leave. There should be no problems with that if Sylvere is so sympath
etic, should there?”

  There was a slight flush to Lyre’s brown skin now, Sabine decided. Perhaps it was the humid closeness of the bathroom, but Sabine felt a stir of hope. Her exposed skin chilled and she had to suppress a shiver. “Then you should be convincing Alais to take her retinue and go. Are you that eager to get away from me, spy?”

  “You wanted to send me away.” Lyre finally faced her, frustration drawing her taut. She twisted and loomed over the tub. “Dammit, Sabine. This situation is too important to ignore by humoring your hissy fit.”

  Anger, yes, that would warm her up. Sabine straightened in the tub. This time she noticed when the splash of water made Lyre flinch. She shifted to do it again. “I beg your pardon.”

  Lyre’s lips twitched once before answering. Oh yes, she had her attention now. “I meant—”

  “What?” An impulse took Sabine. She flicked her hand free of the water and grasped Lyre’s chin. The touch came with a tingle, like a spark that shivered down her arm and into the warm water. A circuit completing, like it always was when they touched. Lyre’s eyes widened incrementally, and this time she couldn’t hide the flare of heat turning brown eyes molten. Lyre threw an arm forward to catch herself, and water wicked up her sleeve. Sabine’s grip tightened. “What do you mean about all of this, Lyre?”

  She could feel it when Lyre’s breath spilled out over her lips and onto her fingers. It was as good as a gasp, from the practiced and ever-disassembling spy. A stab of triumph and heat surged through her, and it was only partially tempered when Lyre whispered, “I don’t mean anything. You know I couldn’t stay. I’m a commoner. I was never meant to.”

  As if she was just a temporary satisfaction. Like all those pretty, bright-eyed noble youths they threw in Sabine’s path.

  She was worth so much more than that.

  “So you abandon your duty instead? You know it doesn’t matter, don’t you?” Sabine said, suddenly all heat and promise. “I’m an empress. You’re a treasure and I can turn you into a crown jewel.”

  “Not in the eyes of the senate.”

  “In the eyes of anyone,” Sabine insisted.

  Lyre’s lips were softened by the steam of the baths. Mesmerizing when they parted, so Sabine almost didn’t comprehend the response. “Not me.”

  She blinked. “Is that a challenge?”

  “No, it’s a fact. Sabs—”

  Facts. Facts were irrelevant. What else was the use of being a sovereign if you couldn’t make facts irrelevant? The best of the worst leaders knew it. Sabine didn’t see why she should have to be selfless. Not with this. The words slipped out, subdued and soft like silk between her fingers. “I was wrong to try to send you away. I need you here.”

  Lyre flinched. More than her flirting. More than her nakedness. More than accusations, that was what appeared to strike home the most. She wavered in her awkward position before dropping her head down, defeated. “You don’t.”

  “I do.” Sabine loosened her grip, couldn’t resist trailing a wet finger over the exposed curve of Lyre’s neck. Just to watch her shiver.

  “A spy you need is no good to you as an asset. You can ‘need’ other people—”

  “I don’t want other people!”

  Sabine’s fingers clenched at Lyre’s nape. It took effort to relax them. A water droplet chilled at the arch of Sabine’s hand. It felt frosty and foreboding as it tilted and slid down her wrist, leaving gooseflesh and wanting in its wake.

  Lyre raised her head. She took a ragged breath, and Sabine didn’t want to hear what was queueing up behind her lips. Not when her eyes softened to look at her like that. Sabine could take anything, anything at all from Lyre, but not pity. Not now.

  Sabine snatched her arm back and sank lower in the tub. “Go.”

  “Sabs—”

  “Go.” The water sloshed against her cheeks. A perfectly acceptable cover for messy emotions. Her face felt hot. “Get out. I have to make myself presentable.”

  Lyre brought her hand up to her own cheek, touching the wet trace of Sabine’s fingerprints. She kept it there as she nodded and slipped out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Lyre allowed the door to swing closed behind her before indulging in a sub-audible growl. She threw her hands up to her face and ground her fists into her eyes. Her soggy sleeves hit her cheek, and a delicate scent of roses and Sabine’s own essential nature hit her nose. Sunlit ivy and cinnamon. A string plucked and vibrated strongly in her chest. “Don’t even start,” she muttered to herself.

  When she finally removed her hands from her face, Kitra was looking at her strangely. “Why is your jacket all—”

  “Blood of my enemies. And snoopy guards who ask too many questions.” The smirk Lyre attempted felt ready to snap the painful tension in her cheeks. Gods, she needed to do something about Sabine. She didn’t even blame her, not for the anger, and certainly not for the stubborn bond tug in her chest that she couldn’t even acknowledge. It’d been her own fault, something she knew she’d been risking since the moment she came into Sabine’s service. The risk of getting attached. The risk of liking who she was pretending to be too much.

  Try to stay by the sun’s side, get burned. It was the way of things.

  Lyre suddenly regretted all the teasing she’d put Olivia through. Bonds fucking sucked. But Lyre was not like Olivia—Lyre wouldn’t dance around this. She could look at the situation square on and acknowledge a thing when it was in front of her.

  What to do about it seemed simple: cut ties before Sabine realized.

  In practice...nothing was simple. Not when it came to Sabs.

  Kitra had his head tilted. He wasn’t stupid, despite how he looked standing there with his mouth parted. Probably something insubordinate just ready to drop off his lips. What bad influence had undermined her training on that, Lyre wondered. Maybe Liv. Probably her. But whatever Kitra had to say, he never got the chance as the door slid open.

  No, Kitra was not stupid. The guard had his staff up before the door cleared the latch. Sylvere squinted at the end of the staff in his face as if it was a personal offense. “I suppose I should have knocked.”

  “Figured that out all on your own, did you?” Lyre said.

  Sylvere ignored that. He refocused his attention on Kitra. “We request the presence of the empress and all her retinue in the solarium.”

  “Her grace has retired to bed,” Kitra said formally.

  “Allow me to rephrase: we require the presence of the empress in the solarium,” Sylvere said testily. “There are further results on the unfortunate death of young Lord Orric, and with the state of hostilities as it is between our valued guests here, we’ve decided to inform everyone at once to avoid the appearance of favoritism.”

  Kitra’s brows knit, as if trying to discern whether there was a threat in that or not.

  Sylvere didn’t wait for him to riddle it out. “Please inform her grace. We’ll begin shortly.”

  He departed and the door closed in his wake. Kitra relaxed his guard by degrees, but Lyre was already moving. “Tell Sabine. Make sure she’s in something practical before she comes out, would you?”

  Strategy was physics. The Vault was moving fast. They were gathering all the diplomats in one controlled room. Volatile bodies were being set in motion, and Lyre had to get ahead of them if she wanted any hope of keeping Sabs safe from the imminent explosion. Something bad was going to happen at this meeting; Lyre was sure of it. If Sabine wouldn’t listen to reason, Lyre would just have to secure the proof that would fulcrum them all away from impending disaster. She was gonna have to move fast.

  “Where are you going?” Kitra asked.

  “To serve my employer, course. I might be rebellious, but—” Lyre swept up a fork from a serving tray as she passed. “Even I’m gonna need permission for this next bit.”

  * * *

 
Alais had pulled together her mourning fashion when Lyre found her in the atrium. She was right: the yellow band did clash horribly with her deep violet pinstripe suit. Alais managed to make it look purposeful, stylish even. The Syn Prime Minister and his cronies were chatting quietly nearby, but no one seemed willing to break the bubble of dignified grief that welled around Alais.

  Well, no one except Lyre. “Did the bloodsuckers get you too?”

  Alais turned and her mouth pulled a crooked smile. A withered leaf, a ghost of the Alais that Lyre knew, but it was a start. “They did. I asked if they had analyzed Orric’s body yet and the poor little tech nearly fainted.”

  “You usually have better luck with the pretty ones.”

  “I admit I may not be in top flirting form.” Alais folded her hands behind her back, as if the action could deny the existence of the mourning band on her biceps as well. Sylvere and Khait were making fruitless gestures to gather the diplomats behind them. Give any noble enough power and they turned part cat, in that way. “Shall we, Security Advisor?”

  Lyre swept her hand, mocking and formal. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The Vault had made a commendable attempt at turning the solarium into a practical if entirely too humid meeting hall. A set of chairs had been arranged at a table—silver and spindly, obviously hastily stolen from the former banquet hall. Lyre hoped they had the common sense to disinfect anything that had been at the scene of the crime.

  One look at Khait’s face confirmed that was what it was: a crime. He looked deadly serious even as Sylvere made a showy fuss of arranging Alais on the Imperial end of the table. Lyre, being only an advisor, didn’t get a seat. That was fine with her; standing behind Alais’s shoulder gave her a clear view of the arrayed diplomats and staff. Everyone looked similar cocktails of tired, irritated, suspicious.

  There was still one chair empty. But the doors opened and Sabine stepped out, pausing in a pool of the fading light to take in the gathering—and allow everyone to take her in, in turn. Sabine—her Sabine, Lyre thought with a twist of possessive pride she shouldn’t feel—always knew how to make an entrance.