Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (33 page)

Syl looked at her friend and nodded, but inside she felt terribly sad.

“Well, you never know what may happen at the ball, Ani. You just never know.”

CHAPTER 60

T
hree red shuttles were waiting to take the debutantes to the ball, each bearing the great red eye of the Sisterhood. The first one would hold Oriel, muted and sullen in classical dress robes, loath to leave her rock, and with her a few more senior Sisters whom Syl did not know. Alongside them would travel a brace of younger full Sisters clearly destined for marriage, if the Sisterhood had its way. They were dressed in every manner of sumptuous finery, in shades of a deep and glorious sunset—red but also gold, bronze, orange, purple, magenta, soft pink, and luminous black—uniformly trimmed with the signature scarlet of the Nairenes. All had glossy hair worn short and studded with gems, feathers, and sharp stars of cold metal. Each also wore a ring featuring a solitary outsized ruby, a gift from the Order that had just been presented to them, and they were admiring them happily, all bright eyes, flashing nails, and brittle, sparkling smiles. Together they were exquisite, and terrifying.

The second ship would take the Half-Sisters, ebbing and flowing like a tropical sea in their water-colored gowns, with their own flotsam of jade dragonfly wings, emerald crystals, and blown glass beads of lightest green. The Gifted Half-Sisters were recognizable in the throng by the sapphires strung through their hair and the royal-blue silk that wove patterns on their lagoon-green hemlines.

The last ship, the smallest of the three, was reserved for the Gifted Novices, resplendent in rich blue, who were to be chaperoned by Thona and Cale, as well as a handful of seamstresses, jewelers, and hairstylists, all in red work robes, brought along just in case their expertise was required.

And then there was Syl, the lone figure in yellow. She stood by herself at the back of the third group, watching guardedly as Ani shimmied and bobbed ahead of her, giggling with the other Gifted, hopping delicately from one foot to the other with excitement. She was clutching hands with Tanit to her left and Iria on her right, but it was Tanit to whom she cleaved closest.

It wasn’t Ani’s fault that Syl stood alone, for she had been steered to Tanit’s side by Thona—“The Gifted always stand together,” Thona said—while Cale sent Syl to the rear of the party, vaguely apologetic yet firm.

One of the stylists had arranged rows of crystals under Ani’s eyes, curling them upward and twisting them into her hairline, and they caught the light, throwing sparkling shards across her cheeks and brow, only adding to her radiance. From her hair tumbled ribbons of blue. In contrast, Syl felt dull and wrong, and she knew Cale was right to move her out of the way, for she stood out like a smear of cheap yellow mustard plopped onto the tablecloth at a grand banquet. Perhaps it was the flowing cape that had arrived with her gown, which had seemed so elegant as she dressed in her room, but out here, amid all this splendor, made her feel like an entrant in a sack race. Even her treasured leather-and-amber belt now seemed coarse and crude, as if she’d dressed for another function entirely. Her only other adornment was a tortoiseshell clasp in her hair, a dated trinket that a stylist had clipped in place almost as an afterthought. For Syl there were no jewels, no gems, no family heirlooms set aside. However, around her neck she wore Elda’s locket, hidden on its long cord. Absently, she now took it out and fiddled with it for want of something better to do with her hands.

No, it wasn’t Ani’s fault that they were separated. Syl knew that. Still, yet again she felt Ani didn’t need to look quite as happy as she did.

• • •

Because of where she stood in line Syl was last to board the final craft, so she was seated right at the back again on a single chair, far from the
windows, pressed up against various boxes and packing cases loaded on by the stylists. She was only grateful that she’d brought a book, but she didn’t have much chance to read because, soon after takeoff, Dessa slid over and plopped herself down on the floor at Syl’s feet.

“Hey, pretty,” she said.

“Oh, please,” replied Syl, looking down at the older girl, whose purple eyes were made even more striking by the amethyst shimmer of her elegantly cut gown. “You look beautiful, Dessa.”

“So do you.”

“I look stupid. I stick out like a sore thumb—a sore thumb with jaundice.”

Dessa laughed. “You’re so silly. You look great. I like your belt. So how are you feeling about this, your first trip to Illyr? Excited?”

Syl thought about it. How did she feel?

“Excited? Sort of, I think. And nervous too.”

“Why? There’s nothing to be nervous of at all. It’s just a fabulous, grand party.”

“Where I won’t know anyone.”

“You know me. And Ani.”

Syl looked over to where Ani was messing about on a screen with Mila, and Dessa followed her eyes. She patted Syl affectionately on the arm.

“Oh, don’t worry about her, Syl: I’ll stick with you. We’ll stick together, you and I.”

“I don’t think Tanit and the others will approve of that, somehow.”

Dessa huffed and rolled her eyes. “Just you wait: the moment we arrive they’ll all be racing off in search of the best-looking Illyri to dance with. The last thing they’ll be worried about is me. Or you, for that matter. We might have some adventures of our own. We might even meet some handsome suitors.”

She grinned, but Syl shook her head. She thought of adventures she’d had before; she thought of Paul.

“I don’t think I want to meet anyone, Dessa. Not now.”

“You’re still thinking about that human—Paul?”

To her surprise, Syl felt her eyes getting wet.

“I guess. Especially when I’m feeling lonely. I miss him, Dessa. And I miss my home. I miss my dad.”

Dessa stared hard at Syl, then bit her lip. “I miss my dad too.”

“Why? Where is he? Is he okay?”

Dessa looked down, her hair closing like curtains over her face.

“He’s dead, Syl. Killed in the Conquest.”

Syl felt queasy, and she reached out a hand and touched Dessa’s wrist uncertainly. “Oh, Dessa, I never knew. I’m so sorry. What happened? Who killed him?”

“A traitor. An enemy of the Illyri. My father was a soldier on Earth, actually.”

Syl gasped. Questions spilled out—where, when, how—but Dessa simply mumbled a choked response from under her hair. “I don’t want to talk about it now. I don’t want to cry again.”

Syl was at a loss for words, so she just twiddled her hair uncomfortably. Eventually the older girl looked up at her again, and nodded faintly.

“Why don’t you tell me about your time on Earth, Syl?”

Seeing Syl’s hesitation, Dessa’s face crumpled as if she might start sobbing. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Syl. It’ll distract me. Tell me about your adventures. Tell me what happened to you in Scotland. Now you know that my father served on Earth, you must understand how I crave to know everything about it, about the last place he saw.”

“Well, it’s rather complicated. I’m not sure.”

“Syl, please. Your father is still alive. Mine is dead. Humor me.”

And Syl had to concede that Dessa was right. Slowly, reluctantly, she filled the rest of the long journey to the planet below with stories of Earth, and Dessa sat up straight and alert, her sadness forgotten, eyes bright with interest, and quick with questions and clarifications, until they finally docked on the homeworld.

As they disembarked, Dessa touched Syl on the elbow.

“Did you know someone called Vena?” she said, and Syl thought she’d faint dead away with shock right there.

“Vena?” she repeated, and she could hear the horror in her own voice.

Dessa grinned. “Ah, you do, then. And it doesn’t sound as if you
like her very much either. Don’t worry, neither do I. Nobody does. She’s my mother’s little sister, but she’s an utter demon. They haven’t spoken in years.”

Syl had a million questions, but none that would form coherently. She followed Dessa from the craft as if she were an automaton, vaguely aware of the handsome young fellow in the black dress uniform of the Diplomatic Corps taking her cloak, and of another serving them each a tumbler of cremos from a tray. Syl slugged it back, and he immediately handed her another, smiling.

“Welcome to the Genesis Ball, ladies,” he said “And it certainly looks like some of you came ready to party.”

CHAPTER 61

S
yl was drunk. She knew she must be. Her head was swimming, her tongue felt loose in her mouth, and she kept seeing things.

At first they’d feasted, a great banquet at which Syl had properly gorged herself. The tables were set against a wall of water through which darted tropical-fish-like creatures, small and nimble, and Syl found she could trail her fingers through the liquid, the swimmers rushing from her hand, yet still the water stayed in place. It reminded her of an old story she’d heard on Earth, something about a sea parting—this must be how it had looked.

On the far side of the water she could make out swirls of the landscape beyond: a desert, a green island, a storm, or was it a yellow crashing sea, and a green boat? She rubbed her eyes, but the ripples rendered everything indistinct.

During the banquet she was greeted repeatedly, and she saw Oriel scowling as she was forced to direct yet another curious Illyri adult in Syl’s direction. Fingers pointed at her, and she heard her father’s name mentioned repeatedly, heard herself described as Lord Andrus’s daughter as she was swept from conversation to conversation. She felt proud as people complimented her on her parentage time and time again—her father’s brilliance as a commander, her mother’s beauty and wisdom—as if she’d had any say as to the womb she came from, or the Illyri leader that sired her.

“Your mother is an inspiration to us all,” whispered one female Securitat of high rank, then kissing Syl fondly on the cheek and congratulating her.

“My mother is dead,” replied Syl, confused. It took her a moment
to realize that it was not the Lady Orianne who was being praised, but Syrene. Syl had hoped that the Archmage was merely tormenting her when she spoke of a union with Lord Andrus, but now the look on the Securitat’s face confirmed her worst fears. Word had spread, and already Syl had a new mother.

Just as the Securitat began to reply, Cale appeared and pushed someone new on Syl, and Dessa handed her more cremos, and she drank deeply. Everything started to blur, and she was grateful for it.

And then she danced, smiling wildly as she was introduced to officer after officer, Dessa at her side, Dessa steering her, Dessa showing her how things worked, how things were done, and occasionally Ani would spin past, beautiful and laughing, twirling in the arms of a male, and then a female, and then Tanit, who bent down and kissed the younger girl, kissed her full on the mouth, and Ani responded, twining her wrists around Tanit’s slim neck, and Syl felt dizzy and wondered if she’d imagined it. When she tried to focus, Ani was gone.

Now Dessa was before her once more, pressing another drink upon her, guiding another slick Illyri male into her orbit, a young Romeo who held her too close, so she felt bits of his body hard against her groin, bits she’d rather pretend weren’t there, and then he licked her ear, and Dessa laughed as Syl pushed him away. Another drink appeared in her hand. She spun some more, and found herself in other arms, and it all began to seem hilarious. She shouted to Dessa over the music, answering more questions about Earth, for hiding what had happened didn’t seem to matter now, not if her father was marrying the Archmage, not when she was here with her friend, with Dessa, drinking another draft as the layers of hurt and anger deep inside were sloughed away, drinking until she felt warm and fuzzy at the edges, until those who pressed too close made her giggle even more.

She saw Ani again, and Tanit, and wondered if she had imagined that deep kiss. Ani’s eyes were bright as stars and her cheeks were pink with pleasure, and Tanit looped her close, Ani clutching like a limpet to her side. Ani waved and it was like watching a film reel of someone else’s dream. Even Tanit smiled. The unfamiliar Illyri music swirled around them, a vortex of sound that seemed to beat deep inside Syl,
setting her heart off on a different rhythm, and she didn’t feel like herself, and her feet didn’t feel like they were touching the floor.

A voice spoke next to her ear, a shout that came through like a whisper.

“Come, Syl, let’s get some air.”

Dessa took her by the arm and led her away from the dancing, back toward the near-empty banqueting hall with its wall of elegant water, but they were stopped by Oriel. She materialized before them, solid and red while everything else shimmered.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“We just wanted a little peace, Grandmage,” replied Dessa, sweet as sugar, and Oriel looked at her for several long seconds. Then she nodded, and watched them closely as they slipped by her. Syl felt the familiar tendrils of the old witch trying to probe her mind.

“She hates me,” she muttered drunkenly to Dessa.

“Now why would anyone hate you, Syl Hellais?”

“Your aunt hates me. Your aunt Vena.”

“Hush. We’ll talk about that in a minute. Let’s get out of here.”

They reached the wall of water.

“It’s a protective barrier. But do you see what’s on the other side?” Dessa asked. Syl shook her head, for the image outside was dark now, and blurred by the flow.

“Would you like to?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dessa stepped into the liquid and yanked Syl with her. Syl gasped as the icy water swamped her body, tasting its saltiness as it splashed into her mouth. A fish slithered over her arm, and then just as suddenly they were through the water, standing on an outside terrace, dripping, their finery limp and bedraggled.

Before them curved a shallow, elegant staircase, and from the bottom of those steps stretched a desertscape, peppered with little round islands of green. The last rays of the departing sun sent purple beams into the slate sky, vibrant as searchlights, but Syl barely noticed it, for she was pulling at her sodden dress, which sagged shapelessly. She feared that it was ruined.

But then something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. There was movement out there, and across the sand Syl saw
living forms pause and turn toward them, moving ponderously, as though considering their options. They were strange crablike creatures, vaguely reminiscent of the cascids of Avila Minor, and now she could hear their pincers clicking out of time with the muffled beat of the music that thumped from beyond the wall of water.

And all the while Dessa was laughing, sounding slightly hysterical to Syl’s ears. She was watching Syl closely, not seeing the desert, not aware of the sand crabs.

“Dessa!” said Syl, glancing back at the creatures as they clicked methodically nearer. They seemed to be quickening their pace. All had multiple eyes on stalklike antenna, which turned greedily toward the two females standing exposed on the terrace. The crabs moved slowly, raptly, across the desert floor toward the glimmering building—and the temptingly soft flesh that waited on its wide veranda. The only obstacle that stood in their way was the lazy sweep of a grand staircase.

“Dessa, we need to go back inside. Now! Those”—what were they anyway?—“
things
are coming. Look!”

“Tell me about Earth, Syl,” said Dessa, not looking. “Tell me what happened in those last days in Scotland.”

Syl felt fear rising in her chest. The creatures came closer and she stepped back toward the wall of water, watching them over Dessa’s shoulder.

“Dessa!” she cried. “We must leave.”

“First tell me about Vena, Earthborn. Tell me about Sedulus.”

“Sedulus? What are you talking about? Dessa! Come on! Let’s go.”

She stepped back, pushing against the water, but it froze instantly as she did so, becoming impenetrable, a wall of thick ice, cold and unyielding.

“Dessa! What’s happening? I can’t get back through.”

“Of course you can’t. It’s a one-way system or the ostraca would simply walk through and destroy all who are inside. Imagine it: beauty and life so close to ugliness and death.”

Syl grabbed Dessa and shook her, looking into her face desperately.

“Why did you bring us out here, then? How can we get back in?”

Dessa shoved Syl away, and her eyes were no longer mournful or beguiling. Not remotely.

“I’ll show you how we get back in when you tell me what you did to my father, how you got him killed.”

“Dessa, you’re scaring me. I don’t know what you’re talking about! Who is your father? I didn’t get anyone killed.”

Even as she said it, Syl knew it wasn’t true. Many had died, some because of her actions. Briefly an image of a human impaling himself on his own bayonet came to mind, but it vanished almost immediately, for the creatures behind Dessa were massing, shuffling closer.

“Are you actually stupid, Syl Hellais? Vena said you were clever when she contacted me, and yet still you never figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“That I am Uludess, daughter of Sedulus; my name is just an anagram of his. How did you not see that? Vena contacted me after my father died—she is my aunt, yes, though I detest her, for she bewitched my father, stole him away from her own sister. But nonetheless, Vena said you were to blame for what befell him. She said you must pay the price.”

Syl pressed hard against the wall of ice, feeling frost against her back, the fabric of her dress freezing to it as Dessa’s saliva flew in her face. The creatures moved behind Dessa, emboldened and curious, close enough now that she could see the lights from the party reflected in their myriad eyes.

“But I did nothing,” she protested.

“You can’t deny it, Syl. This ends tonight, with you either torn apart by desert animals or dead by my hand, for I will avenge my father.”

Syl felt a tickling inside her head again, at the very front of her skull. Oriel? Was it Oriel? It was as if someone were trying to find her. Ani? Could it be? She opened up her mind and mentally screamed out her message.
Help me! Save me!

She tried to pull away from Dessa, but her gown was now frozen fast into the ice, and Dessa stepped back, laughing as she watched Syl’s face fall. Water began trickling over Syl’s shoulders, solidifying into icicles around her arms, locking her in place against the wall.

“Dessa, please,” she said, frantic, as water dribbled onto her cheeks, the droplets freezing as they touched her. “Those things will kill you too.”

Dessa stepped forward and pressed her forehead against Syl’s.

“I can leave whenever I want, but you’re staying right here. I suspect the ostraca are hungry, for they feed at dusk.”

As Dessa spoke, water splashed onto her, running down her face, and suddenly Syl understood. This was trickery, an illusion that felt as real as reality itself, for Dessa was a clouder: she could make her victims see things that weren’t there, feel things that weren’t happening, just like Ani could. The plate hadn’t really turned hot, and the water wasn’t really turning to ice on contact—after all, it wasn’t freezing as it slopped onto Dessa.

As if to prove the point, Iria stepped through the water, and for a moment, Dessa suffered a lapse in concentration. Immediately Syl felt the ice at her back turn to sludge. However, she didn’t move, not wanting to give anything away, not now that Iria was there too. More of the Gifted might well follow, for they moved as a pack, and Syl wasn’t strong enough to take on all of them.

“Iria!” cried Dessa. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried. Oriel said I should keep an eye on you—you and the Earth-bitch. I felt you were in danger. I felt you call. And I don’t trust
her
.”

“But I didn’t call,” said Dessa as Iria threw Syl a glance of pure venom, but Syl didn’t respond. Instead she watched the creatures behind Dessa, for they, at least, were most certainly real, and getting nearer. The first of them reached the bottom of the steps and contemplated the tableau above on the patio, its numerous eyes cold and hungry.

“I’m just dealing with an outstanding debt,” continued Dessa.

“Are you going to leave her for the ostraca?” Iria smiled at the notion.

“Indeed I am, for it’s not me who is in danger tonight, is it, Syl Hellais? It’s not me who’s about to die.”

“Oh, good,” said Iria. “But perhaps we should go now. They are a little too close for—”

Syl stepped backward, and the wall of water drank her in with ease, plummeting over her like a crashing wave, but she never saw the fish slide past her, and she never saw the look of bewilderment on Dessa’s face as her prey slipped away. All Syl saw was red, thick as clotting blood, her mind darkening with rage. As she made her escape, she willed the water frozen in her wake, but this was no deception. Dessa’s power was one of illusion, but Syl’s was real.

Outside, Iria screamed a warning, for Syl’s sudden movement had jolted the first ostraca into action. It scurried forward, and Iria stepped toward the frozen water, grabbing Dessa’s sleeve as she did so, pulling her along. Together they hurtled into the barrier, sending shards of ice twinkling into the air as they slid stunned to the ground. The ostraca rushed forward in a swarm, pincers clicking rapturously, the sound of a hundred hands clapping.

Inside the banqueting hall, Syl sank to the floor, dripping wet and shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. Briefly she witnessed the blurred figures outside beating against the ice, and then the ostraca reached them. Syl turned away from their feeding, and the ice began to melt. When she looked again, the wall of water was ribboned with dark Illyri blood, the complex technological arrangement that had created the feature drawing the blood upward, and the fish that once swam in it tumbled from the rivulets, suffocated by blood and ice.

Syl crept under the nearest row of tables and, hidden by opulent tablecloths, she crawled away, just as the screaming started.