Insatiable (3 page)

“Hartley, do calm down. We’ll get our results, and you can keep your program going in the meantime. Caine, do continue to move the populace away, but slowly and quietly for now. You have your week.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We have an audience to take. Let’s get that done. Guard! Send for my daughter. Tell her I wish to see her in my audience chambers before the hour is up.”

They moved away, their speech fading as they did. Esta needed to move and move quickly.

She peeked out from her spot and then around the corner. No one was there, so she hurried down the hall and stepped into the private offices her husband worked from. Or pretended to work from while the others destroyed their ’Verses one by one, all for greed.

He had a personal assistant, but she was gone. Not surprising, considering her only job was to service him and look pretty. Better her than Esta.

She used the keypad to enter his space and closed the door. Fear kept her skin clammy, but realization that she had to act and act now kept her from bolting out of the room. Too bad Ciro didn’t have a personal assistant who could service him
and
keep him organized.

His desk was a mess of data chips and files, of discs and tossed-aside reports. She grabbed several of them, including one that bore Alem’s insignia. Esta wasn’t sure what she’d find, but she couldn’t take it all, and there wasn’t time to use his reader, so she took the discs with the highest color rating for security clearance and one with the science ministry’s stamp.

No one saw her leave. The halls were empty until she got closer to the living quarters and areas the public were allowed into. Not that anyone paid her any mind; she was the first wife, tossed aside after her sons had failed to rise to power.

They thought she didn’t know. Or worse, that she did know and cared. She didn’t care because he left her alone. She’d never had any misconceptions that he loved her. She did her duty, a duty she was born to, and bore his children. For duty and then, as she began to raise those children, for love.

It was love that kept her moving toward her personal quarters where she could secret the things she’d stolen. And love, still, for her people, that would lead her to do whatever needed doing with the information she’d found.

 

 

D
espite the summons she’d received from her father, Carina stared out the windows of her bedroom, looking down the long, steep line of the rampart and into the courtyard below. The late afternoon suns sent warmth over her face, even through the darkened glass. A warmth she didn’t feel inside. Inside she was cold. Always cold, alert, scheming, listening and keeping her mask firmly in place. The penalty for slipping was something she kept close to her heart every moment of every day.

Not many people were outside at this point of the day. The heat drove them into the shade of the arches and into the buildings. They’d congregate in the cafés and taverns until the first sunset and the heat wore away. The local taverns were raucous, filled with noise and laughter and the sharp scent of the spices used for the mulled wine. She’d always wanted to spend some time in one, but the closest she got was observing from across a square or through the plasglass.

Over the years, she’d observed life far more often than she’d lived it. Observing was her one guilty pleasure.

A muted sort of yearning stole over her, as it always did, as she continued to stare at the scene below, wondering how they felt, if any of them felt normal or whole.

What she wanted so much was the space in her life when she didn’t have to pretend. Exhaustion at keeping up a false identity every waking moment had taken over her life in ways she hated but couldn’t seem to stop. She searched her memories and realized she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t constantly fear for her life.

She exhaled hard. It did no good to be morose, and she didn’t have the luxury of it, anyway. Feeling sorry for herself never made a difference; it never made anything better. In truth, her life was far better than most; she needed to remember that.

Taking a deep breath, she sipped a glass of juice and continued to watch the scene below and mull over the changes. Earlier she’d been out, returning from the room where she taught sums to some of the local children. She stopped at a stall, one of her favorites where the couple brought in freshly farmed gourds and purri fruit. Today, though, it had been bread. Her farmer couple had been gone, and they all pretended not to notice the difference. That she went along with it had slashed through her heart. Every time something like that happened and no one spoke of it, it eroded their society even more. She was just as guilty as anyone else, and it stuck to her like filth she could not rinse away.

Something inside her was broken. The fissures had widened, and she wondered what it might be like to feel whole, tried to remember if she ever had, and failed.

The soft chimes at her outer doors rang as someone entered the suite. Carina looked up and caught sight of her mother standing in the doorway, small and fragile, wringing her hands.

Looks were deceiving. Esta Fardelle had survived marriage to a man like Ciro since the tender age of fourteen standard years. She’d managed to stay alive, managed to stay one step ahead of a brute like Carina’s father because she was good at acting a part, something she’d drilled into Carina from a very early age. Because of her mother, she was alive and loved. That was something important, and she would do well not to forget it.

“Carina, your father sent for you some time ago; you can’t delay much longer.” She paused. “Darling, be mindful today.” Those last three words put Carina on alert. What was her father up to?

Foreboding riding her, Carina stood and smoothed down the gown she’d been laced into just minutes before. She surveyed her hair, pale as moonlight, same as her mother’s, making sure the curls hung just so. Her eyes, dark brown like her father’s, looked back, appearing as listless as she felt. That wouldn’t do. She pinched her cheeks and took a deep breath as she pulled the Carina Fardelle her father knew around her like armor. She shoved her thoughts far away and let a petulant smirk mark her lips. The woman looking back this time was arrogant, confident, spoiled and bred to be a pretty ornament.

She was always mindful, of course. But there’d been a level of activity within the walls that’d nettled her of late. People around who weren’t usually around. That pig Hartley Alem and his people visited far more often. Something was happening, and she didn’t know what. Given her father’s insane behavior of late, it couldn’t be anything good, though.

“Let’s go then.” She swept past her mother and out into the hall. Two of her father’s finest—meaning cruelest and most loyal—soldiers escorted her everywhere, ostensibly to protect her. Carina spent most of her life making sure they felt that way instead of suspecting her. Her father would never fully trust anyone, but as long as he didn’t look on her with too much suspicion, she would remain safe. People disappeared in her world all the time: the couple running the fruit stand, a neighbor you just never heard from again, a teacher who suddenly quit with no notice and left her belongings in her flat, a maid or cook. Her grandmother. One day they were there, the next they were gone. For as long as she could remember, the fear of waking up and being disappeared had lived inside her.

They walked silently down the long hall toward the rooms her father held his audiences in. More of a throne room, but that was a quibble anyway. Imperial ’Verses held him like a king, and that was just how he liked it. Not that they’d dare any other way. The sense of duty had been replaced by fear of standing out, of drawing attention and ending up in a cell somewhere. He ruled because everyone was afraid to call him out. That kind of rule never lasted.

The plasglass held back the heat of the twin suns and also protected against rockets and other incendiary devices should any attackers actually make it close enough to the inner sanctum of the complex where the Fardelles lived and worked. The insulation they provided kept the interior cool but still let in enough light to gleam over the black floors, casting the reflection of crest after crest, generation after generation of Fardelles who held the position of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Universes.

At one time in her life, she’d been proud of that. Been proud to be part of something as important as building the Imperial ’Verses and protecting its people. And then she’d begun to learn more than just what her tutors were allowed to teach. Her older brother Vincenz had left, run away from his life here, and by some accounts was somewhere in Federation Territory. His portrait had been excised from all public places, his name, his very existence erased. And then her younger brother had died after being stricken by a sudden illness that had ravaged him, leaving him dead in only four standard hours.

Her mother had struggled to hold herself together, but part of her had never been the same. She had just faded, more by the day until the vibrant woman Carina had grown up with was now a pale shadow.

None of them had been the same.

It was then that she’d begun to find bits and pieces of information from the outside. Vid clips and audio reports from the Federation government. Every few days, sometimes once a month, or nothing for long periods and then four things in one day. She’d soaked it all in and had shared with her mother, who had confessed her own divided loyalties.

She became hungry for more, for the truth of it all, even as it had cut to the bone. Sought out as much information as she could as safely as she could. The world beyond their borders flooded in, and she’d been moved, shattered, grief-stricken and then remade into someone else. Someone stronger. She wanted to take over after her father died or gave up the seat at the head of the table. Wanted to right his wrongs. She was a Fardelle who believed in duty, honor and loyalty. But he had no plans to leave any time soon, and she wouldn’t be allowed to lead, anyway.

The bare fact was, she was female, and that made her unfit to rule. By virtue of her birth, she’d been deemed useless in all ways but as wife and mother.

Her brother would because he was male and she was not. Not the older brother who should rightfully lead, not her long gone Petrus who’d only been a small child when he’d died. No, the brother who had only recently learned to walk and was many years from long pants. The boy who was the child between her father and his recently appointed second wife, a woman younger than Carina who’d been chosen after she provided a male heir.

Carina hated him for that. Hated him for telling her she wasn’t good enough because she was female. For telling her mother she was of no real use to him because the sons she’d given him hadn’t been enough. For bullying his new wife so much she rarely said a single word and avoided all eye contact. Hated him for being the source of so much terror and suffering, and for making her be a party to it simply because of who she was.

Ciro Fardelle’s entire life was primarily grand theater. Much like her own, she supposed. Only he played a life-and-death game and didn’t seem to be moved by that at all. Carina had often thought her father acted like a small child who wanted cake, but as history often showed, he had so much power no one dared deny it to him. This tendency had become excessive over the last three Imperial years. Showing no indication that he understood how to pull back from this gorging of power, she despaired of the cost of his behavior.

Lacking intelligence but not cunning and merciless greed for power, his hold on leadership of the Imperium had been absolute until this ridiculous aggression he continued to show toward the Federation Universes. He’d only gotten worse as the advisors of old had given way to new men in his inner circle. And now those advisors controlled just about every aspect of governance of Imperial law all across the Imperial Universes.

The men around him were dangerous, devoid of compassion and filled with a greed for power that left her in a cold sweat when she thought about it overmuch.

In his presence she was not the Carina who had those thoughts. In truth, her life was an act, too, though she had the intelligence to understand the gravity of her behavior. She was better than her father, better than his cadre of hard men who liked to inflict pain for sport. But her noble intentions wouldn’t save her if she let her guard down and made a mistake.

As she turned the corner to enter his office, she reached up, flipped her hair back over one shoulder and stood tall. A beautiful woman would never stoop. She kept her eyes on her father on that ridiculous throne and smiled with a cock of her head and a flutter of her lashes. He warmed a moment, smiling back as he stood, holding his hands out. Something deep inside her wanted it to be real, but died a bit more when she remembered it never would be.

“Darling Carina. Come in and greet Hartley Alem, I’ve just signed papers allowing him to court you.”

Her mother’s hand on the small of her back reminded her not to let go of the illusion, but it was a trial not to spit in his face or to run screaming from the room. Instead, she turned to Hartley Alem, one of her father’s advisors, a man who’d engineered the bombing of several Federation outposts, a man who had his own personal torture chamber built into his home in the most inappropriately named Fortuna, a ’Verse several portals away.

It was to
this man
her father had given her like a piece of jewelry. It wasn’t unexpected; after all, he’d been trying to marry her off for years. But it still shook her up. It was a vital reminder of what she was and what she meant. She was nothing but a chip to be traded. All for power. Hartley had wanted her, and her father wanted the power Hartley enabled him to keep. So he traded her away. Her mother had protected her the last three times he’d tried this, but they both knew it would happen eventually.

Obviously, this was what her mother had warned her about. Swallowing the bile that’d risen, she forged ahead. “Do you believe yourself worthy of me, Minister Alem?” she asked, astonished her voice didn’t falter. He actually giggled, and nausea roiled through her. She’d never been this close to losing it before, had never felt so bereft and adrift. This was the one last thing; her limit had been reached. It sent her spinning as she furiously worked through how to feel about it. And then she began to plan.