Princess of the Void

2.20. Our Guest

“Thank you for your patience, ladies.” Sykora strides onto the deck. Her command group rises to their feet (except for Waian, who’s texting someone). “The Prince Consort and I had an emergency we needed to address.”

“I banged my head on the door,” Grant adds.

Hyax smirks. “We can tell, Prince Consort.”

“Hellfire. Poor Grantyde.” Waian looks up from her tablet and tuts. “Looks like you have a damn acorn buried in there.”

“Apparently Maekyonites have a lot of blood in their forehead,” Grant says. “Who knew?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, according to the medtech.” Sykora plops onto her high-backed throne. Grant takes his seat next to her. “So. Onward to the situation that’s worse than it appears. What do you have for me?”

“My team’s finished taking apart that spike the Prince Consort discovered,” Waian says. “Going by the design and the parts used, they have something like a 90% confidence it’s Yellow Comet make.”

“Considering our prior run-ins with them, I’ll take those odds,” Sykora says. “Any word yet from the Baroness?”

Vora shakes her head. “Not to us. She’s mustering her allies, Majesty. Finding surrogates. If I had to guess, she’s going to fight you on this instead of coming to the table.”

Sykora’s brows lower. “She wouldn’t.”

“She wouldn’t twenty cycles ago, Majesty,” Hyax says. “She would now.”

“I’ve returned as capable as I ever was, Brigadier.”

“None of us doubt it, Sykora.” That’s the first time Hyax has used his wife’s name to her face. “But the firmament at large will be seeking any diminishment they can in you.”

“There’s a narrative here, Majesty,” Vora says. “I’m loath to admit it, but there is. Gone for fifteen cycles, and now the famously detached princess is back with a husband she’s very public with, throwing her weight around. There are stories that can be spun. Viciousness made to look like desperation. Vulnerability, volatility… with the Governess on her side, she can do damage.”

One thing Grant’s gotten used to spotting in his wife by now: the moments where she looks like she’s about to snap at someone, then forces herself to take a breath and a moment. Every time she does it there’s a little swivel in her right ear.

“We need another piece, then,” she says. “Something that terrifies her enough to knock her off her war footing and force her into our grip. Tell me about what we’ve lifted from Lorimare.”

“My little forensic goblins are still poring the thing over,” Waian says. “But we’ve found an early gift for you. Majordomo?”

Vora snaps a panel open on the table and punches a few buttons. A shimmering star chart flowers into being in the air above their heads. Ptolek pulses scarlet in the thicket of systems.

“A trace, Majesty,” Vora says. “Five separate times in the last decacycle we’ve observed this pattern. A datacrypt ping, which our code corps can’t translate into anything but gibberish. And then soon after, sometimes within hours, Lorimare flies to this world.” The map zooms out. A golden thread traces from Ptolek, arcs across the firmament, and connects with another crimson blot. “It’s a Class-C industrial planet called Tangrai. Five trips. After the second, her import manifests started showing this, every cycle.”

The stars flicker out, replaced by a scrolling list of data in Taiikari glyphs. Vora highlights an entry on an imports table.

TANGRAI - MISCELLANEOUS - REFINEMENT EQUIPMENT

“Two or three shipping containers each delivery, coming in on the commerce sweep lane. And every time she’s paying dirt-cheap scrap metal prices on it.”

Sykora squints. “That’s an out-of-sector import. What do the customs inspections tell us?”

Vora scrolls further down, to a sparse all clear inscribed on a form entry sized for a significantly larger record. “The inspections always come up clean and minimal.”

“Too clean, I’d say.” Hyax folds her arms. “I smell tariza.”

Grant raises his hand. “Tariza?”

“It’s a kind of lube, Prince Consort,” Waian says. “And a turn of phrase. Hyax is thinking bribery.”

Sykora lips thin. “Tangrai is in the Glory Banner sector. That’s one of Narika’s worlds.”

Her command group exchanges nervous glances.

“A pirate clan is flush with exo they shouldn’t have and they’re killing off Trimonds.” Sykora steps to her feet and paces to the deck’s edge, looking out into the firmament. “A petty noblewoman is taking secret meetings in the sector of my bitterest rival with the knowledge of Ptolek’s governess. What do we think is happening, people?”

“A trade of some kind, perhaps,” Hyax says. “Lorimare is importing something of value in Garuna’s name, in exchange for the Governess keeping the Trimond situation under wraps.”

“But if this is a play from Narika, surely she wouldn’t want it under wraps. She’d want chaos in the sector.” Vora scratches her nose. “And we don’t know that this is endorsed by the Governess. She might be looking for a way to pin Lorimare to the wall.”

Waian shakes her head. “We don’t even know who she’s meeting out there. Might be Narika, might just be the neutral ground for her to meet the Comet Queen, maybe. Lorimare’s on the Trimond board. This might be a shareholder conspiracy. Exo kickbacks for contract killings.”

“The only sure thing is that we need more. This.” Sykora turns around, eyes bearing the light of the stars she was gazing at. “This is the thread we pull to unravel Trimond.” She nods to the Chief Engineer. “Waian. I’m putting you in charge of this. Take that signal, reverse-engineer it, and broadcast it to Lorimare. Time to set up a meeting with her mystery supplier.”

Waian stands. “On it, boss.”

“Hyax, I need you to put together a plan to intercept her. We lure her out into demimonde space, we hold her up, and we get our answers.”

Hyax stands. “I’ll see it done, Majesty.”

“Vora. Once word is out that Lorimare’s taken, her contacts are sure to go to ground and the Baroness will move if she can. I need you to come up with a way to keep this from erupting. Disrupt this growing faction in whatever way you can. Use whatever extortion you require. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty on this.”

Vora stands. “Of course, Majesty.”

“Grantyde.”

Grant’s head jerks around from the floating file.

“You and me are going to introduce ourselves to Azkaii Trimond. And then we’re going to the agro floor for some ingredients.” Sykora’s tail wags. “I’m making you dinner tonight. Thank you, command group. Let’s be about it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Grant says, as he follows her out.

“Yes, I do, dove. I was an absolute beast to you at the cloudsprint, and I’m about to be a harridan at this Azkaii introduction.” Sykora is scribbling a list of ingredients on a notepad she’s taken from the command deck. “I need her to be afraid of me. I’m going to play the tyrant with you. Is a compulsion all right?”

“Sure.” Grant can’t help but smile. “You’re always so anxious when you ask me to pretend at compulsion. It’s cute.”

A flustered blush spreads across her face. “It’s not. It’s cruel of me.”

“Whatever you say, Majesty.” But Grant’s grin deepens. It was only a cycle or so ago that Sykora of the Black Pike never would have thought such things.

***

“I should have guessed you were the Princess’s giant when I first saw you. But they all said you were handsome.” Azkaii paces the length of her cell. Her haughtiness is diminished by all the Maekyonite-sized furniture still within it from when it held Grant. “No tail, pallid pink, moss growing on your face. I don’t see it.”

“I’ve been where you are right now,” Grant says. “I got out, and you will too. We just have to make sure you’re safe.”

“Sure you do.” Azkaii folds her arms. “They say you’re commonborn. That you were a night guard. Soooo romantic, they say. Not me. I can still see it clinging to you.”

“You really needn’t try to get yourself in deeper trouble, Azkaii,” Sykora says. “I’m happy to persecute you, if you wish.”

Azkaii thrusts her chin up into the air. “I understand you’re here to preen and intimidate me. Why did you bring your dildo?”

Sykora’s laugh sounds genuine. “You’re not going to get under his skin, Azkaii. Believe me. I’ve tried. You’re afraid, and you think that if you act as though you aren’t, it will help.” She taps her chin. “You’re hoping I’ll be vicious with you, I think. You understand viciousness. That will give you a measure of control over me. But I have no bone to pick with you, Azkaii. What you must accept is that you have no control. None. Your mother will decide your fate. I’m sure that’s difficult for you.”

Azkaii snorts. “My mother is going to bite your head off. You picked the wrong clan, Majesty. We all know Ptolek is on the brink of slipping out of your grasp and into Glory Banner’s. What’ll a work stoppage do to that? What’ll happen when the clans organize?”

“You have such a high estimation of the value your mother places on you.” Sykora picks a slim crescent from her pinky nail. “But she’s rewarded the fealty of your family with meaningless death. If she had come to me, if she’d been honest about whatever is happening, I could have saved them. Your aunt, your grandfather, your cousin. Who else would be there for you, coming to your defense with such outrage? Who else, if the Baroness were loyal? To me, and to you?”

“Baseless accusation,” Azkaii says. “That’s all you have.”

“No. It’s not. I have you, milady. If her love for you is what you say it is, I’ll have her, too, soon enough. And if not… oh well. One fewer spoiled heiress who fancied herself a Cloudsprint bravo. An inexhaustible resource.”

Grant takes a tenuous step forward. “Sykora—”

Sykora’s eyes snap to his. “No protests now, Grantyde.” The compulsion flash bathes him in red. “My husband, bless him, is my kindness. But one must be firm sometimes with those in one’s care. Give me your hand, dove.” Flash.

Grant’s always so self-conscious when he needs to pretend to be hypnotized. How much slack in the jaw is too much? He takes Sykora’s hand as ordered. She grins up at him, then turns the smile back around to Azkaii.

“I am off to eat dinner with the Prince Consort,” she says. “Think about what I’ve said. The guards will bring you whatever you require, within reason. You’ll be safe here, as our guest.” She pivots on her heel. “Until you aren’t.”

The marines around the brig entrance snap a salute as they pass. Sykora’s shoulders shiver as he touches them. “What a cockbreath that little Trimond is,” she says. “Why did you bring your dildo. I should space her.”

“It was kind of funny.”

“Kind of,” she allows. “But you don’t sass your Void Princess. Well, you do. She doesn’t. Still, I think we made our point. With any luck she’ll be somewhat more fearful of me once the conversation with the Baroness comes around. I’d love a tear or two.”

“Are you sure she won’t just stay cocksure?”

“I’ll ensure it.” Sykora glares over her shoulder at the brig they’ve left behind. “Let’s go back to the cabin so I can give you my recompense.”

“I’ll happily take whatever you give me,” Grant says. “But I don’t feel owed.”

“You ought to. I put you in front of that little strumpet back there. And I’m asking you to keep yet another secret for me. Two secrets, even.”

“The injection thing, and what?”

“That I’m cooking.” She exhales. “It’d give Kymai a heart attack.”