Endgame (40 page)

Loras leads the charge. In terms of distance, we’re not far from the palace. There is no governor anymore, just officials trying to keep a dead system running. The high-ranking ones are holed up here. Shit, they’ve set up artillery at the top. Heavy weapons, coming in hot.

“Stay low,” March shouts, as a missile hits the wall behind us. “And move!”

I scramble, but the blast still throws me forward, out of a cover. I’m shot before Vel drags me back. This time the armor soaks the damage, though I have an impressive hole in the back of the suit.

“Are you well, Sirantha?”

I nod. “I’m fine. Let’s catch up with the others.”

Ahead, March goes down in the barrage. He’s not moving. I grab Vel’s arm. This can’t happen now when we’re on the verge of a new life together. We’re almost to the happily ever after.

“Do something!”

“On it.” Vel hunkers down, peers through the scope, and finds the face of the man working the launcher. With admirable efficiency, he shoots the centurion between the eyes.

Then he does it three more times, until they stop stepping up to the artillery to man it. Their commander screams orders, indistinct over the rest of the battle, but nobody’s listening anymore. The spirit has been ground out of these men over turns of combat, over uncertainty and the fact that they’re
not
fighting for their homes. They all know they can choose to leave—to end this. And they’re ready.

Then I sprint into the chaos, desperate to reach March. He still hasn’t gotten up. Sasha will never forgive me if his uncle is—no, I won’t even think it. I won’t. To cover me, Zeeka uses an invention of Vel’s to give his grenades better accuracy. He twirls it and then slings one toward the missile launcher. It explodes on impact, throwing shards of metal and polymer in the air. The boom’s big enough to take out two centurions huddled nearby, using the stately, soot-stained pillars as cover.

I roll March over. His face is bloody, black with soot, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing. “Can I get a medic over here?” I shout. “Medic!”

The rest of Jineba can go to hell. I’ve sacrificed enough to this war; I won’t give up March, too. Farah hurries over, dodging barrages of intermittent fire. For now, Z is keeping them busy, but it could get scary any second.

She runs the scan, then says, “Concussion. Broken ribs. He should live, but he won’t be fighting on. Can you and Vel get him out of here?”

“Roger that.” I’m grateful for her orders, as I would’ve done it anyway. But this way, I have official sanction for my actions; after Venice Minor, I learned that lesson, too.

Vel comes up beside me at Farah’s gesture while Z continues laying down the ordnance. Explosions rock the palace steps as I fall back, supporting the man I love. Vel has his other side, and we keep moving until we’re out of the carnage.

“All clear?” I ask, hunkering down.

“I believe so.”

March comes to, then, and he’s swinging until he realizes he’s not in enemy hands. “Easy,” I tell him. “The La’hengrin can take it from here. We fought hard enough.”

It’s funny that the enemy commander doesn’t suspect what we’re up to. As directed, the rest of my unit stays put, keeping up the pressure now that we’re at the base of the steps. Loras shoots with single-minded ferocity, like it soothes his soul, every centurion he kills. But we don’t push, even when he takes off the commander’s head. The surviving centurions look almost ready to put down their weapons.

And then the signal comes.

The front doors explode outward. I stifle a smile. Sasha’s dramatic as hell. He marches the Imperator out with the surviving members of his Special Forces unit. I’m so proud of them all. We stood knocking at the front while they crept in the back. They’ve all got their weapons trained on the supreme commander of Nicuan forces. Then, deliberately, Sasha forces the man down, and Loras executes him.

In the immediate vicinity, the fighting quiets; guns fall silent. As the Imperator’s body tumbles sideways, Loras stands. He shouts, “Lay down your arms and nominate one of your people to handle peace talks on your behalf. There will be no negotiation, but I am willing to permit your immediate surrender and retreat. Who will speak for you?”

“I’m a legate,” comes a familiar voice. Gaius. “I have the authority, as the governor is dead, the Imperator is dead, the primus is dead—”

Not surprising. We’ve been killing them for months.

With my helmet on—and from this distance—Gaius won’t recognize Mishani. It’s best that way, but I wish I could tell him, so he can move on. I hope he doesn’t make the mistake of idealizing her, seeing her as a beautiful martyr who nobody else can ever equal. But maybe I’m overestimating her importance to him. I hope so.

Loras doesn’t smile. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“If you trust me, I will confer with the remaining nobles and send you a message with the particulars. Call a cease-fire, please.”

“
Do
you trust him?” Farah asks.

Loras doesn’t answer. He’s thinking. Finally, he shouts, “You’ll have your truce. But if you consider betrayal, remember Kayro. The bulk of my people are safe in the provinces, and we can survive an airstrike.”

“You have broken the beast’s back, sir. Give me two days to get an agreement ratified by the survivors, and we will leave at the first possible opportunity.”

Loras glances at Farah, who nods, then he calls, “You have a deal. I will await your message. If it doesn’t come in a timely fashion, I’ll finish what I started today.”

“Understood.” Gaius turns and calls the few centurions alive
at the top of the steps back into the wreckage of the governor’s palace.

Sasha destroyed a whole wall getting inside, and he looks exhausted as he leads Special Forces down toward us. March claps him on the shoulder, and says, “Good work, son,” in a husky voice that reveals how worried he was. No matter Sasha’s skill, he’s still only sixteen. In March’s head, he’ll always be the little kid who clung and needed him.

Loras gets on the comm. “All units, stand down. Maintain position and set up perimeters wherever you are right now. We’ll hold the city until we hear from the enemy.” Then he outlines the unilateral victory…and I can hear the cheers even without technology; the streets ring with them. Then it quiets.

“They’re still listening,” Farah whispers. “Say something.”

“Thank you for your patience, belief, and sacrifice. Without each one of you, this would have been impossible. Tonight, La’hengrin, we celebrate our freedom!”

Today’s the day.

The message comes down through channels, after what seems like an endless war. After the airstrike on Kayro, they know we’re not screwing around. Loras
will
kill everyone in the cities if he has to. Wipe the slate clean. Obviously, some of us don’t want to, but he’s willing to make the hard choices.

And the nobles understand that.

So we play the vid, the terms for peace, over and over. Gaius looks sincere in the message. If it were anyone else who promised to lead this initiative, I might suspect a trap. But they’re at the end of their ropes. Most just want to get out with their skins intact; La’heng isn’t a vacation colony anymore. It’s hell.

“What do you think?” Loras asks, once we’ve heard their offer.

Farah looks thoughtful. “We have to risk it.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He trusts her judgment implicitly.

“Publicize the meeting,” he tells us. “I want big numbers. Witnesses.
No
chance for betrayal.”

“You got it,” I say.

Vel heads to the comm to get started on that. The others go to work on other aspects of ending the war. Ships must be made ready, but only enough to carry those who are withdrawing. Even if each noble had a private yacht, they’re not leaving with them. The resistance starts working out a forfeit-and-seizure policy. Long into the night, I hear arguments about enforcement, and it’s chaos all day long, with couriers running in and out, hammering out the official agreement that will go into effect. Meanwhile, there’s a cease-fire, so everybody’s tense, on edge, and hoping it holds.

Four days later, here we are.

Today, it ends. Gaius stands before the assembled nobles, looking older and harder than he did when I first met him. Loss has tempered him, made a man of him. If we hadn’t been on opposite sides, we might’ve been friends. We can’t be now, of course, because he thinks I’m dead.

There aren’t many Nicuan left. Many died in the city bombings. Others tried to flee to their estates and were gunned down by LLA patrols. I wish I could say I felt heroic, but I’m just tired, now. Ready to move on.

A fragment of a quote nibbles at the edge of my mind.
The beacon fires burn and never go out,/ There is no end to war!
Sometimes, victory is bitter on the tongue like ashes and salt, the taste of tears after a fire. The dead know no defeat. Their ghosts linger in the twilight with accusing eyes, and you learn not to stare directly into the shadows.

He waits until the drone-cams hover in position, then says, “I am here to offer unqualified surrender to the people of La’heng. We request only sufficient time to make a permanent retreat and ships sufficient to contain the survivors. All accumulated material goods will be left behind to be redistributed by the La’heng Liberation Army in lieu of wages owed. All financial assets stored in planetary banking institutions will likewise be remaindered in restitution. It is insufficient for the harm we caused here. I only wish I had known the extent of the hardship sooner, or I certainly would have worked to end it.”

Loras stands with him, listening to the recitation, then he inclines his head. “We find these terms acceptable. You have one week. Should any Nicuan personnel remain on world at
the end of this cease-fire, they will be considered enemies of the people and executed on sight.”

An aide brings agreements forward for e-signature, and they both initial, then shake hands. A cohort of centurions escorts Gaius away. He can’t see me in the crowd, but I wonder what he’d think if he spotted Mishani. Soon, the soldiers contain the Imperial officials and commence the diaspora.

But the gathering doesn’t go to waste.

Loras is a natural statesman, and he won’t waste this crowd. He glances at Farah, who inclines her head. Even though I know what’s coming, I can’t repress my smile when he address the people. “I invite all of you to witness my union with the woman who has consented to make me the happiest man alive.”

The crowd goes wild, and the drone-cams, permitted to bounce news for uplink with ONN for the first time in so many turns, record it all. They pan across the glad faces, cheering men and weeping women. In a few hours, the whole galaxy will know that La’heng is enslaved no longer.

A male I don’t recognize steps forward as Loras takes Farah’s hands on the steps, the ruined palace behind them. Above, the sky glows like a pearl, with smoke rising from the craters where the nobles used to live. It is a vista that simultaneously imbues hope and breaks your heart that progress came at such high cost. By the man’s dark ceremonial robes, I take him to be a priest of native faith. La’hengrin was polytheistic before conquerors came and went, destroying more of their culture each time. It’s good to see the doors opened to the old ways again.

Someone affixes a mic to his robe, and his voice booms out through speakers set up at the bottom of the steps. “We are here today because of love…and hope. In making this union, you promise to love one another today and forever.

“Loras and Farah, as the wheel turns, dark times may come. There will be strife and joy. I bid you, cleave to one another. Never put pride before devotion. Always believe the best of your beloved and remember that trust is the bedrock of any relationship. The house cannot stand without a strong foundation.”

The crowd goes very quiet, and March slips his hand into mine. He won’t
ever ask me to marry him, I know. I made it clear how I feel about such commitments. I’m like Kai in that regard; promises have no weight without the power of desire behind them. I’d rather have the passion than the pledge.

You sure?
March asks silently.
Look how beautiful Farah looks.

She’s glowing,
I agree.
But not because of the ceremony. Because she loves Loras so much.

March nods.
He loves her, too. I can tell.

The priest addresses the happy couple. “Are you ready to speak your vows?”

Farah and Loras nod in unison, then he speaks. “Farah, I take you as my wedded wife in the sight of all our people and beneath the sky blessed by the goddess. She hears my words, knows that I will love and keep you, forsaking all others, no matter what fortune holds. You are the brightest star in my soul’s firmament and I will ever navigate by your light. I could ask nothing more than to stay by your side, so long as I draw breath. Will you have me as yours?”

“Yes,” she says firmly.

She looks every inch the princess, and the people
adore
her. They lean in to catch her vows.

“Loras, you gave me strength when I thought all was lost. You led us all from darkness and into the light. When I would have faltered, you drew me on with gentle hands and caring words. You are the center of my heart, and I will always follow you. Will you have me as yours?”

“Yes,” he answers.

The priest turns to an assistant, and he passes each of them a lit candle. In the soft wind, the flames flicker slightly, casting small shadows on the ground. This is a romantic, primitive tradition, but some part of me thrills to it. I know what’s coming.

“These flames represent your love. You must nurture it and never let that brightness die. Its brightness rests forevermore in your hands.” He steps forward with a bigger candle, this one with a dry wick. “Together, you must kindle a new flame to represent the journey you undertake together.”

Smiling at one another as if they’re the only ones present instead of surrounded by thousands, as if there isn’t
an enormous picture of them projected onto one of the buildings nearby, they lean in together and join the flames, lighting the bigger candle. The priest nods in approval and hands the candle to his aide, then murmurs, “Take care with it.”