Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (28 page)

“We can keep the baby safe on the base,” she said. “Do you think I did this without thinking?”

“No– you don’t do anything without thinking about it,” he said, his voice cold. “What
were
you thinking? I won’t take the empire– could the child?”

“No,” she gasped. This was a Kare she’d rarely seen, a Kare without trust. He’d been like that when he’d first returned to the Banned, but it had dissipated over the years. She’d thought it was gone. “I told you– we’re working to change things, not sustain them." Tears welled in her eyes. Couldn’t he sense the need in her? Couldn’t he tell how deep this went in her? “Kare, it’s going to be a baby. Our baby. Not some sort of political thing– otherwise I wouldn’t have done it.” She put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “And we will do it– we’re breaking through more and more.”

“I know that,” he croaked, and now she could see in his eyes what was driving him. Not wariness, but fear. A fear of something worse than she knew, something that chilled her. “But you won’t mind if I surround you with security and tell you not to leave the base until he– or she– is born? And when the baby is here, I’ll surround it with more guards than you can count.”

“It’s not that bad,” she said. It couldn’t be. She knew what it was to be a fugitive– she’d been brought up in the Banned, she was worth her own considerable bounty.

He shook his head. “It is. You’ve created
exactly
what the Empress wants.”

She grew hot and angry at his words. The Empress, his invisible mother, was more important than their future. She was like a carrion crow on his shoulder, the definition of his fear. Ealyn had done that– reinforced a belief that she was too great an evil to be faced, that she was more than just a poisonous woman, bent on taking people and using them as she wanted. Surely, Kare must see her for what she was– an opponent, one the Banned were facing up to. “
If
I have, I’ve created it because it’s yours and mine to create. Not hers. What bloody right does she have, dictating to me whether it’s safe to have a baby? What bloody right does she have to you?”

She stopped, knowing her voice was too high and emotional. They sat in silence for a moment and then he groaned.

“Oh shit, Sonly, I know. And I’m not surprised you’ve done it, not really. But you should have talked about it first.”

“Maybe I should have, but I knew you’d talk me out of it. And I want one. And now I have one, and I intend to keep it.” She looked around the room. “Here, at the Banned. Where it’s safe. She can’t take the base, Kare. She can’t get near it.”

Kare watched her for a moment, shadows crossing his thin face. “She could; nowhere is so secure it can’t be taken. It would be a huge undertaking, it would take a massive attack force, but she could take it. So, security, all the way.” He smiled, his face softening slightly, and she found herself relaxing. He knew now; the worst was over.

“Because she isn’t getting you,” he said. “And she isn’t getting what you have.”

A chill settled on her.
So, what is she getting?
She reached out to him. “Kare– you won’t leave us, will you? You’ll stay and keep the baby safe?” It was the worst ploy in the world, a card she’d never planned to play, but the darkness in his eyes, the tightness in his shoulders, in the corded muscles of his arms, were scaring her more than any prospect of facing the Empress ever could.

He leaned over and kissed her. “Of course I won’t leave. I want to see who’s in there, first.”

“First?”

“Stop worrying.” He took his trousers off and crawled into bed. She lay beside him, the closeness of earlier gone, a space between them.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Go to sleep; you must be tired.”

***

Kare lay in the dark and waited until he was sure Sonly was asleep before getting up and walking to the sitting room. He sat on the sofa, the only sound the quiet hum of the food preparation unit. A computer screen shone from the office, giving him enough light to see. He rested his head on the back of the sofa.
Fuck.

What the hell was he to do now? He closed his eyes, imagining Sonly as she had been earlier, laughing at Silom, happy. He made her happy, just like she made him. He felt like screaming. She was wrong on so many levels: that the base was secure enough to hold a baby– they’d sent a Star ops team in for him, a baby was an easy snatch; that he’d sit and wait for his mother to come for the child. Oh,
gods
, what had Sonly done?

What he would never have dared to: taken his life back from the Empress.

Part of him admired her and wished he was half as brave. Another part wanted to shake her and ask if she was mad.

Is she mad?
He didn’t know. She might be right, that the child was the future if they were kept safe, allowed to grow up. To do that, the focus had to be switched from them.

Am I brave enough?
He didn’t have an answer. He got up, walked to bathroom, and locked the door. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw he was white, like a ghost. It made him think of Karia and he looked round for her, but she wasn’t there– she hadn’t been there since the earliest days at the base. Perhaps he was a ghost, too, sent from his father’s visions, part of a distant world and only a visitor here. He lifted his hand and it was shaking– he was all too real.
I can’t do it.
He sat on the edge of the bath, in the bright bathroom, and willed himself not to throw up. He tried to convince his body it would be okay. That he would be okay.

Liar.
He dived across to the toilet, reaching it just in time, and, as he’d known he would since the moment Sonly had told him she was pregnant, threw up. He emptied his stomach, put his head on his arms, and waited for the inevitable retching, the attempt by his body to reject what it knew and find a different future. He started to shudder, and realised he was crying. He wasn’t brave enough–
he never would be.

My father screamed for days.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t think of his dad, not now.
Beck. The pit. Omendegon.
Again, he pushed it away– it was a dream, a nightmare, not real. He tried not to think of anything except that he had to find courage and hold it in his heart until he did what was needed. He retched again. And again, long into the quiet night.

Sonly woke to a bright room, the auto-lights raised to replicate morning. She pushed back the bedclothes, unease settling in her. Kare would normally have brought her breakfast by now. The unease deepened into something close to fear. How annoyed was he about the pregnancy? Protectively, she put a hand over her stomach and reminded herself she was right; he just hadn’t seen the implications of it. She was the politician, not him, and she had to trust her instincts.

The living area was quiet, but a sound of tapping came from the office. She pushed the door open and leant against the jamb. Kare was sitting at the desk, surrounded by notes, working between three data pads. He finished what he was inputting and looked up, making her draw in a breath. He looked terrible: his skin pale, and his eyes dark shadowed.

“How long have you been up?” she asked. And what had he been doing, in those dead hours?

“All night.”

She took in his pallor. “And when did you stop throwing up?”

He glanced at his comms unit. “About three hours ago.”

She pointed at the work surrounding him. “May I?”

“Go ahead. I’ll make some breakfast.”

She sat and read through the papers, taking her time. Plans for the city of Abendau, details of the dynasties of the great families, the structure of the empire. A military planning document. She stopped reading when he set a plate down and went round the other side of the table with his own.

“Well?” he asked, indicating the table. “What do you think?”

“Are you serious about it?” He had never shown any indication of this before and yet, laid out in front of her was months of work.

“I am.” He rubbed his temples. “You can tell that this isn’t about the baby. I’ve been planning it for the past year, and thinking about it for much longer.”

“How long?”

He sat, quiet for a moment, before meeting her eyes. “Since I was seven, and knew it had to be me.”

Sonly looked again at the papers spread out in front of her. “Talk me through it. You can’t operate in a vacuum– you’re part of the Banned and our wider strategy. You should have discussed this long ago.”

“Why?” He looked desperately sad. “She only wants me.”

But that wasn’t true. She wanted to stamp out any opposition. She’d taken planet after planet, and she’d keep doing so.

“Hear me out.” He picked up one data pad and handed it to her. “That’s yours. The political stuff I want you and Michael to feed into. What we’ll offer the central planets: autonomy to rule themselves. It’s what the great families want, and it starts to remove the empire. For the middle sector, repeal of martial law, with support and resources to build up their own armies again and the chance to self-govern. Any alliances they want to maintain with the families, that’s up to them. For the outer rim, freedom to rule with the Banned supporting their infrastructures; removal of the embargo and free trading conditions, allowing them to take control of any resources they have.”

She read through it, taking her time, amazed at the amount of detail he’d put into it. She remembered her thought from earlier, about her being the politician, not him, and almost laughed.

He handed her the next data pad. “That’s the proposed governance of the new confederacy.”

Michael would never agree to a confederacy. The fallout from a change of ruler would be enough without changing structures. She opened her mouth to argue, but her gaze fell on the last data pad, lying on the desk between them. She pointed at it. “That one?”

“That’s for the general,” he said. His hands were tight into fists, his neck corded and tense. He met her eyes, and took a deep, deep breath. “It’s a task force to take Abendau port and palace and get me near enough to the Empress to confront.”

He meant it. He, who’d always said he wouldn’t go to Abendau, would never take her place. She looked down at the table, not able to meet his eyes. Not able to agree any of this, not if it risked him so much.

“Why now?” she asked. Why in secret, why not brought up at the many board room talks over the years? “If it’s not the baby, what has brought it on?”

He drummed his fingers on the table, a slight smile on his face. “Because you’re right,” he said. “We have the dynasty, and she’ll want to topple it. I suppose to say it’s nothing to do with the baby is a lie– you’ve given me the push I need. But this has been coming, you know that. The Banned has grown so much, we have to be bold sometime. This is it; our time to move. And to do that, we have to go for the top– we have to take out the Empress.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Will you back me, to the board?”

She let him hold her hand, caressing it. Should she? She’d told Michael, years ago, that he might be right, that they should aim for a change. Again, she looked around the desk, and back at him. His eyes met hers, tired but direct, and she nodded. Let him have the future he could face, not one forced on him by his mother, the Banned, or even her.

“I’ll back you,” she said. She looked down at her coffee and pushed it away, nauseous. “You know I will.”

He yawned and pulled his hand away.

“Get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll wake you in an hour or two.”

She waited until he left, making sure he’d closed the door, and looked around the table again. She picked up a sheet of paper, but the words were impossible to read, swimming under her eyes. A teardrop fell on the paper, and spread out, blossoming like her fear. She’d set this in motion and if she was wrong, Kare would be the one to pay.
Please, please, don’t let me be wrong
. She closed her eyes and wondered where to send such a thought to; she’d never been religious. Anyone who’d listen.
Please, look after him. If there’s anyone there, look after us all, and let me have done the right thing.

***

“Get in.”

He crawled, one leg dragging behind him, his chest punctured by sharp pain with every breath. He stopped at the edge of the shallow pit and pulled himself in, screaming as his leg thudded down. Hard hands turned him over and strapped him down. The lid closed and he lay, naked, in darkness, barely breathing. He tried to clench his fists but they wouldn’t tighten. His hands weren’t broken, but shattered.

A soft whispering. A movement on his leg. He tried to move, but was strapped too tightly. Another movement, more– something climbed his bare legs, nipping–
each barely noticeable, blossoming into a collective agony.

“Stop,” he whispered. Still they moved up: insects, climbing on each other.

They reached his face, and he clamped his mouth shut. He forced his hands to claw, using the pain to keep him conscious. To faint, to submit to this… they’d be everywhere if he did. They were climbing up his nose; into his ears, and he tried to shake his head and dislodge them. More came, the bites everywhere, sharp pins.

Another bite, this one sharper, close to his balls, and he jerked and yelled. The insects invaded his mouth and throat, choking him, and panic rose. He thrashed against his restraints, choking, keeping his eyes closed against the skittering…

The lid opened and the insects dispersed to the blackness. He gasped, gulping the air.

“Well, Dog?” The mocking face of Beck stared at him, his eyes impassive.

“Please; mercy.” He was aware of nothing other than this man. “Mercy.”

His tormentor’s face hardened, and he shook his head. “You begged.”

Fear ran through him, like it was alive, and he tried to shake his head but couldn’t. The lid came down, the darkness surrounded him. A whisper. Something cold touched his foot. Water. It rose around him and he knew they’d drown him and he couldn’t go past this point– he’d endured so much, but he couldn’t remember who he was or how he’d got here, or what to do to save himself…