Princess of the Void-5.23. The Unfortunate Truth

Princess of the Void-5.23. The Unfortunate Truth

Marquess Shoskia’s eyes flash. “Pick me one of those,” she says. “A ripe one.”
The canary-yellow Kovikan gardener smiles at her and Grant from beneath his hat’s woven brim and reaches to a high branch of the shaggy tree. A twist of his wrist and there’s a full, ripe fruit in his palm, plump and purple.
He hands it down to Shoskia, who passes it upward again, to Grant’s ring-laden hand.
“Here we are,” she says. “Try that, Majesty.”
Grant gives the fruit a gentle squeeze and feels the juicy give. This is a Stivian pear. He’s had this before, at Wen and Tik’s; he liked it so much he requested a shipment of them on the Pike. He takes a bite and lets it run down his chin into his trimmed beard.
“It’s
delicious
,” he says.
“It’s called a Stivian pear,” she says. “From a world in the Pyre Electric sector. The Stivians regard it as sacred. They say the first tree grew from the blood of their creator god.”
It grew from the gonads of their creator god, actually, as a chuckling Count Tikani told him, but Grant supposes that isn’t as ornamental an explanation.
Shoskia leads Grant from her greenhouse. She snaps the door behind her shut with her tail. Grant does not miss that, when it makes its loud
bang,
the man in the greenhouse and the footmen in the hall all flinch. He has never seen a Taiikari servant flinch like that. Not even Inadama’s.
“The far-flung gifts of an expansive Empire, eh?” Shoskia says, as they wander down her airy hall. “Delicious fruits, technological wonders…”
“Good-looking aliens,” Grant offers.
“Your words, Majesty.” Shoskia cups her mouth and calls to Grant’s pocket. “Hear that, Princess?
He
said it.”
Grant joins Shoskia as she laughs at her own joke. The microphone is clipped inside his lapel, in fact, not in his pocket.
Shoskia flashes the servant by her office. “Curtain.”
The glassy-eyed Taiikari man smiles and bows and opens the way for the Prince and the Marquess. All these smiles, on all these closed-off men, following Grant through Shoskia’s manor.
Shoskia’s office is a breezy solarium, tinted in sunny yellow by the bright skies of Ramex outside. A cracked window lets the fresh aroma of sabsum into the room and flutters the knotted tassles and tapestries bearing the House of Ximik’s striking-serpent mark.
“It was so kind of you to come all the way to Ximik to speak with me, Majesty.” Shoskia cozies herself into the recessed nook at the room’s center and indicates the largest and sturdiest piece of furniture within it, a geomorphically-carved and minimalist couch. “I am very curious to know what I’ve done to deserve such consideration.”
Grant takes his seat. It’s not as comfortable as it looks. “My wife tells me that you helped us out of a bit of a jam. Is there a place for this?” He holds up the dripping pear.
Shoskia flashes the one servant in the room, a stiff middle-aged man with a brass ring around his left horn. “A plate for the Prince,” she says. “And then depart.”
A plate clacks onto the coffee table in front of Grant. Then the door opens and shuts, and he’s alone with the Marquess.
“So anyway.” Grant stretches his legs across the couch and tries to broadcast trustful foolishness. He scoots his holster over so his Navy-standard pistol isn’t poking into his thigh. “A couple of cycles ago, there was a price shock—well, I’m sure you know all about it.”
“Ahh, yes.” Shoskia nods. “A brief price correction. So sad to hear that affected you.”
“It did,” he says. “Condensers, turbines, everything went up. But I understand from my wife you were an instrumental supplier.”
“She is an excellent negotiator, Majesty.”
He chuckles. “Well, she’d have to be, right? Running a whole sector and all. I can only hope to learn what I can from her.”
“You’re not alone in that hope, I think,” Shoskia says. “A
remarkable
thing, to be made a Princess Margrave. I’d love to know how that happened.”
“If only I could fill you in.” He gives her his best smile and a reflexive wink that isn’t visible beneath his anticomps. “But it’s not my story to tell, I’m afraid.”
Well, it’s just as remarkable to become our first alien Prince, Majesty.” Shoskia beams. “You have my heartiest congratulations.”
“Thanks, Marquess.” Grant takes another bite. “You know,” he says around the rind, “I’d heard you were some kind of regressive.”
Shoskia’s face is placid as a mirror pond. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, just from people. Now and then. I don’t see it, personally.”
“I’ve certainly been accused of, uh…
traditionalism
now and then. But I would characterize myself as custodial, not conservative. There is so much to be proud of in our history.”
She passes him a napkin for the fruit he’s eating. His inner rebel ups the messiness another notch.
“We have conquered the known galaxy,” she continues, and if she notices the droplets of pear juice he’s getting on her furnishings, her affect is admirably unfazed. “We’ve built wonders. I admit to some consternation when my colleagues in the peerage wring their hands and speak of our past as if it was the bad old days, when it was the foundation for everything we now enjoy.”
“Do you blame the Empress for that change in attitude?”
“Do I—” Shoskia laughs as though Grant had asked if she blames Santa. “Why, of course not. The laws the
Empress
passes are brilliant and unimpeachable. The issue is that some of her representatives take things too far, in a misguided urge to emulate or please her, I suppose. But if you read the textual arguments she is quite a bit more measured than the finches and masculinists suppose. She is carefully remodeling where so many of my fellow noblewomen are eager to burn everything down.”
“Would you call
me
a careful remodel? Would you accept someone like me in charge?”
“Someone like you as in an alien or a man?”
“Both.”
“Well, Majesty,” Shoskia says, the caution evident in her prim posture, “what you must understand is that no two species are the same in the firmament. You are not like Taiikari men, or Kovikan men, or any other Imperial man at all. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess that’s true.”
She spreads her arms in an amiable shrug. “I have only your track record by which to judge you. And you have been
so
impressive so far, Majesty. I should think my answer quite clear. I sent in a proposal during your hunt for a partner. Would I have done that if I were some sort of frothing misandrist?”
“Fair enough.” He finishes the pear and licks his fingers. “Now why I’m here—it seems like there’s been some kind of forensic accounting hiccup. That’s what I’m told, anyway. That suggests there was some kind of contact between your office and Narika’s.”
“Ah.” She puts on a quizzical frown. “Really?“
“When we looked into it, there was some kind of—I think it was through an intermediary, or…” Grant scratches his beard. “Actually, hold on. I need to check my notes on this.”
He digs into the satchel on the other end of the couch and unearths a notebook, which he leafs through. He squints. “Y’know, I get these
headaches
when I try to read with anticomps on. Do you mind if I just turn around here and, uh—” He mimics raising his anticomps.
“Of course, Majesty. Be my guest.”
Grant swivels in his seat and raises his anticomps. He makes a show of flipping through his journal and humming in consternation.
Okay, Marquess. Here’s the bait. You gonna bite?
“Oh—Majesty. That reminds me, actually.”
Grant looks her way. “Yes?”
Flash.
“Freeze,” Shoskia says. “And be silent.”
Grant freezes.
Hooked you, little traitor
.
“Ahh, Majesty.” Shoskia clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “You see now, don’t you? The unfortunate truth.”
She stands up and steps to the back of the couch.
“I do so hate to be the one to reveal it to you—especially since I’m afraid you won’t remember the hard lesson. Your sex is simply not equipped for leadership.
This
—” Her tail brushes his cheek as she stalks past him. “This is too grave a vulnerability. And it’s rank unfairness to force you into a role you weren’t made for, and then convince you it’s
progress
.”
She places her face very close to his.
“Such a fine man,” she murmurs. “Such beauty, such a mild and agreeable temper. So
strong
. She’s wasting you on this mess. So.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s take some time and you can answer a few questions.” Her eyes flash. “Stand. Join me at the desk.”
Grant stands up. His palm brushes the holster at his waist. He follows Shoskia across the room.
Flash. “Be a gentleman and pull my chair out for me.”
He does.
She indicates the bar in the corner. Flash. “Pour me some brandy.”
He does. He rests it in front of her.
“Good boy,” she says. Flash. “Now sit.”
He takes his seat across from her.
“Now then,” Shoskia says. “I don’t believe you thanked me for that pear I gave you. It seems as though your wife still has some housebreaking to do.” Her eyes flash. “So let’s have a thank-you.”
“Thank you for the Stivian pear, Marquess Shoskia.”
“No, no. Not
Marquess
.” Flash. “Mistress, I think. Call me Mistress Shoskia. And smile.”
She’s so proud of herself,
he thinks.
She doesn’t realize that she’s doing a victory dance at the edge of a cliff.
He smiles at the woman who just strolled into his ironsights. “Yes, Mistress Shoskia.”
He is ready for this. He registers that with a muted surprise. His pulse is elevated, but he isn’t afraid. The gun in its holster feels light, like an extension of his body. If Shoskia tries to hurt him now, if she tries to force him into something monstrous, he’ll draw it and kill her.
And something in him
wants
that.
Why not? It would be a bucket of political trouble, but he and Sykora have managed far worse. And he’s killed far better people than Shoskia. He’s killed radicals who wanted all men free. He’s never killed someone on the other side. Would it feel like justice?
“Now,” Shoskia says. “Do you have any recording devices on you?”
“Just my communicator, Mistress Shoskia,” he says.
She extends her hand. Flash. “Give it here.”
He reaches into his breast pocket, past the little microphone clipped on the inside of his lapel, and hands the communicator over. Sykora thought Grant was being paranoid when he and Waian whipped this thing up.
Called this one, Batty.
Flash. “The notebook there, too.”
He slides it across the desk.
She places the communicator and journal to one side. “Tell me how you found out about my dealings with Narika.”
“We intercepted Lywa Three-Monsoon and questioned her,” he says. “She revealed you.”
“And did you discover her dealings with the unionists as well?”
“We did, Mistress Shoskia.”
She sips her brandy. The ornate cup chimes back into the saucer. “Has that changed your hiring plans?”
“We’re dropping our contract with them,” Grant says. “We’re headhunting for nonunion labor on Ptolek.”
“And the Eqtorans. Do you still fancy working with them?”
“I’m in too deep not to,” he says. “And I can’t just break my word to them.”
“This is what I feared, when I heard a male had such a hand in the annexation,” she says. “They’ve taken advantage of your gentle nature. Tell me how the work goes on the Korak Refinery.”
“I don’t really know,” he says. “Wenzai has taken most of the project over. I feel as though I’m drowning. Everyone is taking advantage of me. I want to give up but I’m too afraid of Sykora to tell her so.”
For a moment he’s worried he’s laying it on a little thick, but Shoskia coos and shakes her head in ghoulish sympathy. “Oh, you poor creature. Let’s see. What else, what else.” She drums her fingers on the table. “How did your wife get this promotion to Princess Margrave?”
“She discovered a secret about the Empress,” he says. “She hasn’t told me what. Only that it could destroy her if it came out.”
“So she’s blackmailing her High Majesty?”
“Yes, Mistress Shoskia,” Grant says.
“Fascinating.
Most
fascinating.” She taps her chin. “Your wife. Does she have any damaging secrets she is keeping from the firmament?”
“None that she trusts me with.”
“Who is her least favorite of her command group?”
“She and Chief Engineer Waian are always at odds,” he says.
Should I say we’re having an affair? Nah. I wouldn’t be able to hide it
. “She thinks of her as a lazy old loon and is searching for someone to replace her.”
“And Countess Wenzai,” she says. “What does Sykora think of her?”
“Her patience is growing thin,” he says, and hopes that isn’t true.
She holds her communicator out. “Put your thumb on that. Unlock it for me.”
He does.
She scrolls through the records. Grant knows what she’s seeing, the faked wheedling and pleading he and Waian brainstormed while giggly on amrita. The terse texts between him and Sykora play-acting a fraught, grasping marriage.
She pauses on an artificially enticing conversation and holds the screen up to him. “Whose number is this? Who is
Nobody Important
?”
“That’s a representative of Dantia,” he says. “We’re running out of money. We’ve gone to Dantia of the Bright Covenant. Sykora doesn’t know.”
“Now
that
is interesting.” Shoskia rummages in her desk. “I didn’t realize Dantia had that kind of sway in the sector.”
She pulls a datawafer from a drawer and hums to herself as she slips it into Grant’s dummy communicator with an authoritative
click
.
She smiles at him as its progress bar fills up. “I do believe that’s all the use you have to me at present, Majesty.” Her eyes flash one last time. “Return to the couch and put your anticomps back on. Forget what happened before you first spoke of Narika. You have just revealed you’re aware of the contact I made with her.”
He gets to his feet and crosses back to the couch. Shoskia settles herself opposite him and grins patiently as he blinks and does his best imitation of Corska Ondai coming back up above water. “Uh,” he says. “What was I just saying?”
“Something about an accounting hiccup, I think?” Shoskia supplies.
“Right. Right. I have to check my notes on that.” Grant pats himself down and finds his notebook. “But it was something about you being in touch with Narika? Of the Glory Banner?”
“Ah. Yes.” Shoskia adjusts herself on her seat. “As a Marquess I have a few dealings in the Glory Banner sector. Some business interests. Any communication on that is purely pursuant to those, I assure you. I keep my operations in Black Pike separate, as is asked of me.”
“Oh. Good. That’s good to hear.” Grant glances at his notebook and places it back in his pocket. “Honestly… I reckon I was worried about nothing.”
“Oh, no, Majesty. That’s all right.” Shoskia pats his knee. “It behooves a nobleman to have caution. So long as it doesn’t turn into paranoia.”
They laugh together.

.
!
5.23. The Unfortunate Truth