Hellhole (33 page)

Before leaving, he sliced a strip of skin from her neck, which he sealed in a small pouch and slipped into his pocket. A nice additional atrocity, and it helped with the cover story. Investigators would draw the obvious conclusion that some paid assassin had been required to bring back a cell sample to confirm the identity of the victim.

He was glad he wore gloves.

More than once in Council, Lord Azio Tazaar had boldly announced that he wanted to slit the old woman’s throat. No one took the threat seriously, but they would all remember it when the body of Jenine Paternos was found. And that would take care of Lord Tazaar.

Ishop made good his escape, found a private hiding place outside, and cleaned himself, scrubbing with disinfectant rags and disposing of them. Later, passing through spaceport security under an assumed identity, he felt pleased and relieved. Though Diadem Michella treated him decently, she – and all the nobles – still regarded Ishop Heer as nothing more than a commoner. Now that Laderna had revealed the genealogical truth to him, though, he had a different view of himself. Just knowing he had noble blood changed everything for him. He deserved to exceed expectations.

On the trip back to Sonjeera, Ishop thought of the wealthy, fortunate nobles whose political machinations gained them power at the expense of families that had not been so clever, or so fortunate. Families such as his own. He’d been the Diadem’s private hatchet man for a long time, but now Ishop felt
part
of the system. Soon enough, he would reveal his worth.

He’d built a career and made something of himself, surviving by any means necessary without relying on the advantages of a noble family. Ishop never had any shortage of ambition, but now he possessed newfound pride, anger . . . and a sense of justice. The twelve families on his list had to pay for the sins of their ancestors; they were loose ends that needed to be tidied up. With Laderna’s help, he would make short work of the list. He was amazed to discover that she was as committed, as excited, by the project as he was.

Even now, Laderna was setting up her own part of the plan on Orsini, following Lord Tazaar. Dressed as a man, she posed as a fellow customer in the seedy pleasure districts that Azio Tazaar was known to frequent. She would have ample opportunities, but she couldn’t move too soon. Everything in its time and place; she understood that.

Ishop and Laderna had studied the stringline schedules, mapping out the swiftest possible route for someone to discover Lady Jenine’s body, race to the spaceport, take a stringline hauler to the Sonjeera hub, transfer out to Orsini, and assassinate Lord Tazaar. The timing had to seem
reasonable
if investigators were going to point fingers at the appropriate and obvious people.

At any time after the correct hour, Laderna would find the opportunity to apply a few drops of highly penetrating toxin to any patch of exposed skin on Lord Azio. She didn’t need much, and seconds later the bearded Tazaar patriarch would be writhing and screaming in an alley. Ishop had every confidence in the dear girl’s ability to slip a forged note onto his body that purported to be from a vengeful member of the Paternos family, claiming justice for the murder of Lady Jenine.

Laderna was delighted for the opportunity to make Ishop happy. Though gangly and clumsy, she had amazing skills in planning and a surprising taste for violence that he found erotic. She had noble qualities herself. After the successful assassination of Lord Azio Tazaar – added to her surprise murder of Lady Opra Mageros – Laderna was responsible for removing two names from the list of twelve, while he was responsible for only one. So far.

Ishop smiled to himself. He was going to have to catch up.

L
oathing the system that had caused Louis’s death, struggling to find something positive that she could do in her lover’s memory, Keana finally obtained the necessary clearances to board a stringline ship for Vielinger. Now that Louis was gone (“out of the way” as her mother surely thought of it), Michella assumed her daughter would go back to a dutiful life with Bolton Crais. “It was a tragic mistake, dear, but I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

The lesson she had learned, however, was how powerful true love could be. Keana had also learned that despite her trappings of apparent wealth, she was nothing more than a pawn or another knick-knack in the Diadem’s collection.

But she wasn’t finished. Keana remained determined to do something . . . if only she could figure out something that would matter.

In the week following her discovery of Louis’s body, she had withdrawn into mourning – a social absence that was encouraged by the Diadem. Bolton treated her with generous sympathy, giving Keana the space she needed and uttering no insipid platitudes. He had never been a jealous husband, even though she must have hurt him with her indiscretions. Swept away in her giddy romance with Louis, she hadn’t given a second thought to what Bolton might be feeling. And still he forgave her.

When Keana made up her mind to go to Vielinger, to personally offer her assistance to Louis’s son, she took care not to let Michella know of her plans. When she asked for his help, Bolton went out of his way to pay the bribes and arrange for her travel. He seemed anxious to convince her that ruining Louis had not been his idea. She was grateful for this small generosity.

After many sleepless nights, Keana was determined to see first-hand what the greedy Riominis were doing to her lover’s estate. With the seizure of all de Carre property, Cristoph had to be suffering as much as she. From his conversation and the pictures Louis carried with him, Keana felt she already knew the younger man. Oh, how Louis had smiled when he talked about his hard-working and highly intelligent son, sure that the Vielinger family estate was in good hands. Now Cristoph had lost everything: home, fortune, and his beloved father – but the tragedy would bind them together. Keana couldn’t wait to meet him.

Passing through the imposing, ornate gate of the de Carre estate, Keana was dismayed to see black Riomini banners hanging on the stone walls and flying from tall poles. It was an overcast day, as gray and bleak as her mood.

In the two years she had been in love with Louis, she had never visited the estate; he had always met her in the Cottage, where they could have privacy. But Louis had showed her images of the grounds, the main building, the manicured gardens. Feeling like a stranger, she stepped out to see a flurry of activity in the main house. Furnishings, portraits, and decorations were all being replaced.

Lord Selik Riomini did not intend to occupy the manor house himself, but would delegate it to some secondary family member, perhaps even a majordomo of his military. Riomini staff members were gutting the elegant house, erasing any sign of the previous owners, taking away the valuables to be sold at auction.

The manicured lawns had been trampled by careless booted feet; one portion had been torn up and used as a landing area for heavy aerocopters. Several of the inset windows on the luxurious balconies were broken.

Hearing a noise, Keana looked back and saw two men and an older woman gazing at her from the central garden pathway. Dressed in work clothes with the de Carre insignia on the lapels, they folded their arms across their chests in seeming disapproval. Assuming they thought she was an unwelcome Riomini, she quickly corrected the impression. “I am the daughter of Diadem Michella Duchenet. I need to speak with Cristoph de Carre. Where can I find him?”

The old woman sized her up. “Master Cristoph is no longer here.” Her face was creased from age and sun exposure. “He’s been run off.”

One of the men was more helpful. “The soldiers gave him an hour to take what he wanted and leave. He left for the spaceport, I think.”

The second man added, “That was six days ago. He’s long gone by now.”

Dismayed that she was once again too late to help, Keana left them and went to the manor house, peered through the windows, opened doors and poked her head inside. New staff and old staff treated each other with feigned indifference or cold looks. Anyone who glanced at Keana seemed to assume she belonged with the other side.

Sick and empty inside, needing some kind of closure, she walked the grounds by herself, a lonely figure. Under other circumstances, in another life, this might have been her house, her place with Louis. In her fantasy of what might have been, she imagined carefree times when the two of them could have strolled through the hedge maze, holding hands. On orders from the new occupants, gardeners had torn up the geometrically trimmed shrubs, leaving wide, straight thoroughfares that obliterated the de Carre family crest. Keana gingerly stepped over stumps and branches. Only a mangled shrub here and there remained of the old plantings.

She would gladly have forfeited all connection to the Diadem’s wealth and power to live here, but nothing of value was left now, only the faded detritus of a once great and noble family. Even Cristoph was gone.

To the north of the manor house, she found an old voja tree with widely spread boughs that draped to the ground. Parting the branches and leaves, she found a wooden swing on a rope, where she imagined Cristoph must have played as a child. The swing looked aged and weathered; perhaps it even dated back to Louis’s youth, or beyond. She sat upon it and rocked gently, her feet dragging on the ground.

Poor Cristoph must have found himself in a difficult position, aware of his father’s dangerous affair. He must have wanted to meet her. It was unfair that people could be so prudish. Why should she feel ashamed? Did they not understand love? Keana had gone her own stubborn way, spending her time with Lord de Carre instead of with her own husband. She had refused to give Diadem Michella the legitimate grandchildren she wanted. And because of all that, Louis had been killed by a web of politics, which left Keana trapped and helpless as well.

As she swayed on the swing, Keana felt a weight of regret on her shoulders. If only she and Louis had been born commoners; they could have chosen their own loves and lived carefree lives. She would have been proud to watch a son like Cristoph grow up and become the fine young man that he was today. Keana’s heart went out to him. Where had he gone? He must feel so lost and forlorn. She wiped tears from her cheeks.

No matter how she tried to pass the blame, though, Keana knew that at least some of what had occurred was her fault. If she had been more considerate, more
careful
, this tragedy might never have happened. Bolton would not have been publicly shamed by her blatant cuckolding. Without her to distract him, Louis would have attended important Council meetings, spent more time on Vielinger and operated the iperion mines faultlessly. His son would still be here, would still be well.

Cristoph
, she thought.
Oh, Cristoph, where are you?

The innocent young man needed her help. Feeling a new sense of purpose, Keana strode out onto the grounds. She might not have any real political power, but she did have gold and jewels. And she had ideas.

She needed to find Cristoph, if only to make certain he was safe.

A
s she stood in the Candela spaceport concourse, Tanja Hu rubbed her left temple to ease the migraine she experienced each time the Territorial Governor was due to arrive. Her babysitter, and an inept one at that.

Beside her, Bebe Nax automatically handed her a pain reliever, recognizing the signs of her boss’s headache. There had been plenty of headaches since the monsoon disasters.

At the tail end of the rainiest month, a warm downpour fell outside. After the catastrophic mudslides, the citizens of Candela had begun to resume their normal lives, but this season’s death toll had been horrendous. Several villages lost, along with two open-pit mines. Both in her capacity as planetary administrator and grieving relative, Tanja had attended a numbing succession of services for the dead, several at the site of buried Puhau. And Uncle Quinn . . .

In spite of her requests, though, the Constellation had not sent any relief workers or aid. But now Goler was coming to check up on Candela. He probably thought they would see him as the cavalry coming to save the day.

With his aloof but meticulous personality, Carlson Goler focused interminably on inconsequential matters. Tanja wished he would realize that everything operated just fine without his interference. Invariably, his “suggestions for improvement” caused more work for her, and she had so many more important things to do.

Nevertheless, she had to tolerate the Diadem’s representative – for just a little while longer. Even though Goler pretended to be “one of them,” and kept his main residence on Ridgetop instead of relaxing in a plush office in the government center on Sonjeera, she didn’t believe he really belonged among the Deezees. Tanja tolerated him, but didn’t trust him. She and her fellow conspirators kept Goler in the dark, which was not a difficult task.

Her left eye felt as if someone had put a spike through it, but she knew the migraine would go away as soon as Goler was gone. She took a long, deep breath, which seemed to help.
Be cheerful, competent, and subservient. Don’t complain too much.
The pretending would be over soon enough . . .