“I’ll ask again, what do you want, Lavinia?”
“To remind you of who you are.” She walks to the table, the only adornment in my quarters save the bed. On it, she places a glass cube. “Play,” she says. Water leaps from the cube, creating a liquid screen. The image of a swarthy, bearded man fills the aquagraphic, and the room erupts with opera.
“Andreas Catalano?” I ask, my eyes opening.
“He’s in his nineties now. Still middle-aged for most denizens of the Nine Corridors—”
On Tao, most die long before that because we murder one another. All except the decrepit old rulers who gain power at the expense of their one chance at glorious death in their youth.
“Get on with it,” I say.
“He tours the stars playing for chairmen, CEOs, and kings. You were thought by some to have a voice as lovely as his once, weren’t you? Forward,” she calls out.
The voice that fills the room now is mine. I’m singing “The Song of Edmon,” the lullaby my mother sang to me and The Maestro wrote words for, the song that caused my father to throw me into the Wendigo. The young face on the screen sports a shock of thick, dark hair and a look of hope.
“Your music played in the streets of Meridian and on every island from Leaf to Rock,” she says.
I stand, towering over her delicate frame. “Make your move or leave. I’m on borrowed time.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve already told you, dear brother. I’m here to make you remember who you are.” She points at the aquagraphic. “You’re an artist. Not some fighter. Not some Patriarch. Maybe Phoebe was right? Maybe you have changed?”
So she overheard at least some of the conversation in the hall. I should have been more aware. Faria taught me better than to be caught off guard. Phoebe was also right—I’m unfocused.
“The old Edmon would never have allowed Father to keep you trapped. I offer a way out,” she says plainly.
She’s trying to manipulate me, but she isn’t lying. I hear her heartbeat. I watch her pupil dilation.
“I’ve suffered too long for this house to let it fall,” she says. “Our coffers are dwindling. With Edgaard dead, we’ll have no stake in the Pantheon or the College of Electors after Father’s expiration. Our only chance is through my leadership and marriage to another noble house.”
I laugh. “You’d be Matriarch?”
“There’s precedent. Empress Boudika led all of Tao once.”
“Boudika was duplicitous, treacherous, and a hedonist. The hybrids, the Pavaka—all were her doing. The difference between you and her was she fought in the Combat and earned her place to make a mess of things.”
“I’m no fighter,” Lavinia retorts. “Look at me.”
She’s right. Lavinia is fierce but in a different way. She’s slender and petite. I’ve no doubt that she would scrap until her last breath, but fighting requires bone structure, musculature, and athleticism. Lavinia does not take after our father in this regard. Even her dark hair is an aberration.
“You’re not the only disappointment Edric has had, you know,” she says bitterly.
For a moment, my heart goes to her. I’ve always felt different, like I didn’t belong. But many of my years were spent on Bone among the Daysiders, who accepted me no matter the color of my skin or hair. I was one of the tribe. Lavinia had to experience growing up the odd fish here in Meridian from the day she was born, among a ruthless and unforgiving people. Her mother would have been no great comfort to her, if memory serves. I had teachers, a mother, a lover, the support of my people at my back. She’s had no one. The tune of her ambition, drive, and deceit suddenly harmonizes when played at this tempo.
“We all must know who we are, brother, and what gifts we have to offer. Mine aren’t in Combat. However, I do know politics. House Wusong-Leontes holds the Wendigo, but Father hoards its resources to build a fleet, an enterprise that has exorbitant cost and thus far, no recompense. Meanwhile, the Julii have united all the other houses under their banner. They’ve cut off trade with House Wusong-Leontes and surrounded the Fracture Point with their existing fleet in an attempt to monopolize the port. Edric’s actions alienate and bankrupt us. I’d reverse that.”
“Seems to me you would sell out to the Julii, give them access to our resources, and allow them to enact whatever plans they have for Tao. Isn’t that explicitly what Father doesn’t want?” I ask.
“Our only path is to acquiesce and reinforce our position through political alliance.”
“So our sweet Lavinia wants to wed,” I mock. “Aren’t you promised to another?”
“Magnus Johan of House Angkor.” She scoffs. “He’s weak. He didn’t even enter the Combat, nor was he considered to be one of Phaestion’s Companions.” She stands straight-backed and proud. “Besides, as Matriarch, there’s nothing to prevent me from taking more than one husband.”
I laugh, fully and loudly. “Forget a second husband. Who’d want to be your first?”
“I’m not desirable because I’m a woman with ambition?” she asks with eyes of violet fire.
“No.” I lie back on the cot. “Because you’re a hissing siren. I was raised on the islands, Lavinia. My mother was leader. My true wife was the strongest woman you’d ever meet. In fact, I think the right woman would do a much better job of things. You’re just not the right woman.” She and I should have traded places. If I were a woman, Father never would have taken much interest in me. Lavinia, were she a man, would have been his heir. “I won’t destroy Edric simply so you can rule.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asks. “Edric destroyed? I merely suggest a mutually beneficial alliance.”
“Edric’s already dying a painful, slow, death. There’s nothing more I can contribute.”
“Father has proved more resilient than the doctors first predicted,” she seethes.
Interesting. Still, I need more information.
“I only ask that you consider my suggestion. I can save you from the fate Father plans.”
“The last time you spoke to me like this, I spent five years in an ice prison,” I say.
She turns on her heels, the sound of my voice from the aquagraphic lilting in her wake.
When she’s gone, I call out, “Stop!”
The music ceases. I pick up the cube and examine it. It’s a rudimentary recording device, not simply a display-only interface. A thought occurs to me—there should be plenty of room to record something else on the device should I find words worth recording. I sit back on my bed, interlace my fingers behind my head, and close my eyes, smiling for the first time in months.
CHAPTER 27
SOTTO VOCE
Footsteps in the hall. Multiple assailants. I’m out of bed and crouching in the shadows in less than a second. Beads of sweat perspire on my brow. I flash back to the darkness of the Citadel and Faria’s training.
Count the sounds. Listen for the heartbeats.
Faria. If his reasons for taking me under his tutelage remain suspect, does that mean his training is, too?