The Ruby Dice (22 page)

"Any problems?" Kelric asked.

"None, sir. Is anything wrong?"

"No. Nothing." Kelric wished he knew what bothered him.

Outside, the women in the House of Kaaj were descending the cathedral steps. Just the women: they kept their men secluded. In their traditional garb, they resembled ancient Ruby warriors, with leather and metal armor, curved swords at their hips, and glinting spears. In real life they ran robotics corporations, but right now they reminded Kelric of paintings he had seen of Old Age queens on Coba.

He spoke into the comm. "Qahot, let me know if you notice anything strange."

"Aye, sir." She paused as voices spoke in the background. Then she said, "We had an unauthorized ship request to land about an hour ago."

Kelric tensed, afraid to hope. "Who? And why?" He had left authorization for Ixpar, but the Coban port and its ships were decades out of date. Maybe security here hadn't recognized the codes. Maybe Ixpar hadn't realized that. Or maybe he was raising futile hopes within himself.

"They're tourists," Qahot said. "They didn't realize the festival is off-limits. We have them in custody, five men and six women, name of Turning. We're running checks."

"Did any of the women give her name as Ixpar Karn or ask for me?"

"No, sir," Qahot said. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No, not really." Kelric pushed down his disappointment. "Keep checking them out. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Yes, sir."

Outside, the Vibarrs were striding toward the coliseum. Their late Matriarch, an aggressive powerhouse, had broken with tradition and named her son as her heir. Now he led the House, all bankers and lawyers and wildcatters, secure in their power and wealth. The Rajindias came next, the House that provided ISC with biomech adepts, the neurological specialists who treated psions. They were fierce, but less so than the hawklike Kaajs.

Hawk.

Insight came to Kelric like a rush, as a fire might flare at a campsite. Turning.
Tern.
A bird, yes, but they had the wrong one, probably because of language differences. Not
tern
.
Hawk.

He spoke into his comm. "Qahot?"

"Here, sir," the major said.

"The leader of those tourists—is it a woman?"

"Yes, sir."

"With red hair?"

"No, sir."

Disappointment flooded over Kelric, even though he had kept trying not to hope.

Then Qahot added, "Her hair is orange. Like copper."

Kelric exhaled, long and slow, absorbing her words. Then he said, "I want to talk to her."

When the Majdas walked the Concourse, they left no doubt who dominated the noble Houses. With their black hair, high cheekbones, and great height, they embodied the quintessential Skolian aristocrat. Most of the women wore uniforms, primarily the dark green of the Pharaoh's Army, but also the blue of the Imperial Fleet. Vazar strode along in her Jagernaut leathers, skintight black with glinting silver studs.

The Majdas also secluded their princes. But the same indomitable will that infused their women manifested in the men. More than a few of their brothers and sons had defied tradition. They walked with the House, professors, architects, scientists, artists, and military officers, tall and imposing.

Naaj came last. Queen of Majda. She neither waved nor smiled. She simply walked. It was enough.

Najo stood with Kelric at the window. "Impressive."

Kelric smiled dryly. "They've raised it to an art."

Then the announcer said, "The Ruby Dynasty."

A deluge of children flooded out of the cathedral, Kelric's nephews and nieces, grandnephews, grandnieces, and on down the generations. They waved enthusiastically at the crowd, who cheered their approval of the dynasty's beautiful progeny. Kelric had intended that effect; the more his young kin charmed the public, the better. It was good public relations.

His siblings came next, first his sister Aniece, small and curved, with dark curls and gold eyes. Her husband Lord Rillia walked at her side. Kelric's brother Shannon followed, a willowy Blue Dale Archer with a bow and quiver on his back. Then Denric the schoolteacher. Soz should have been next; since her death, they had left a gap in the Promenade, in her honor.

After a moment, Havryl walked down the steps, his bronzed hair tossing in the wind, his toddler nestled in the crook of his arm. His wife came with him, holding their baby. Kelric's brother Del and his sister Chaniece, who were twins, would have followed, but they had stayed home, tending to the family duties. Another lull came in the Promenade, in honor of Althor, who had died in the Radiance War.

A hum sounded behind Kelric. He turned to see that Najo had moved to the door.

"Sir?" Najo looked at him with a question in his gaze.

Kelric nodded as if he were ready, though he wasn't and might never be. But he had set these events in motion and he would never turn back.

Najo tapped his gauntlet and the door shimmered open. A woman stood in the archway. She had piled her hair on her head and threaded it with blue beads. Her leather and bronzed clothes evoked the warriors of her ancestors, and a keen intelligence filled her gaze.

As Kelric crossed the chamber, the tread of his boots on the tiles seemed to echo. He stopped in front of her, trying to absorb that she stood
here,
out of context with every memory he had of her, in a place he had never expected to see her.

"Ixpar." For him, that one word, at this moment, held more meaning than he could sort out. He knew only that his life had improved immeasurably.

She inclined her head. "My greetings."

He indicated the window. "Will you join me?"

"It would be my honor."

He felt painfully formal. He knew her so well, yet he barely knew her at all. As they reached the window, exclamations from the crowd swelled over the monitors. With Ixpar at his side, Kelric turned to look out the window.

A woman was descending the steps, a vision in rose-hued silk that rippled around her figure. The announcer said, "Roca Skolia, Foreign Affairs Councilor."

"That is your mother?" Ixpar asked. When Kelric nodded, she said, "No wonder."

He glanced at her. "No wonder what?"

Her voice had that smoky quality. "No wonder you were the man whose face launched a thousand windriders into battle."

He crooked a smile at her. "What, it scared them that much?"

"Hardly," she murmured.

It didn't surprise him that she knew the tale of Helen of Troy from Earth's history; she would never have allowed Jeremiah to study Coba if she hadn't first studied him and his people. Kelric took her hands. "It's not too late to change your mind." He needed her to be sure she wanted this.

She spoke quietly. "I thought a long time before I boarded that ship in the port. Is this a mistake? No clear answer shows itself when I project futures with my Quis. Some patterns evolve into ruin. Others are incredible. Even beautiful." She stopped. He waited, and finally she said, "The time comes when we must take a risk. To decide our own future."

An odd silence fell over the room, coming from outside. Kelric hadn't realized how noisy the crowds were until they quieted. He glanced at the window—and froze.

A robed and cowled figure with four guards stood at the top of the cathedral steps. A Talha scarf wrapped around his head within the cowl, hiding his face, except for his eyes.

Kelric shot a look at Ixpar.

She answered his unspoken question by saying, simply, "Yes."

His emotions swelled, too jumbled to untangle. He stared at the robed figure. "I can't see him."

"He's never gone in public without robes," Ixpar said. "He's never even left the Calanya."

Dismay surged within him. "I would never force—"

She set her hand on his arm. "He
wanted
to come." Dryly she added, "Manager Varz was the one who balked. It took a lot to convince her."

It didn't surprise Kelric. It stunned him that she had even let her Calani travel at all, let alone off the planet. Apparently the current Varz Manager was more human than the monster he had known.

The announcer hadn't spoken; he was probably reading whatever notes Kelric's officers had delivered to him when the geneticists finished their tests. Kelric had ordered the tests the moment Ixpar told him who had come with her. He could almost hear the question whispered among the spectators.
Who is that?
It had been Kelric's question as well, for twenty-eight years. Finally he would have an answer.

With firm motions, the man pushed back his hood and pulled down his Talha. Kelric doubted anyone watching right now except he and Ixpar understood the significance of that action. A Hakaborn prince never showed his face to the public.

The man had large eyes. Violet eyes. His curly hair was as dark as the Hakaborn, but it glinted with metallic highlights. He stood tall and strong, his head lifted. He had a strange look, though, as if he were about to step off a cliff. Kelric knew the courage it took for him to do this, he who had surely never expected even to leave seclusion, let along walk before trillions on an interstellar broadcast. It was a quieter bravery than the dramatic acts of the Jagernauts Kelric had known at that age, but that made it no less real.

Then the announcer said, "Jimorla Haka Varz Valdoria."

Startled voices erupted among the crowd, and Kelric released a silent exhale. To use the Valdoria name at this point in the Promenade identified Jimorla as his child, as binding a declaration as any legal document. He had hoped and believed it for so long, but he had never been sure. Jimorla wasn't a Ruby psion, so he couldn't use the Skolia name, but he was Kelric's firstborn in every other aspect and would take his place in the line of succession to the Ruby Throne.

Jimorla visibly braced his shoulders. He descended the stairs with his guards and strode along the Concourse, his robe billowing out behind him. For the first time, a Calani walked openly on another world. Coba—and Skolia—were changed forever. Quis would come to the Imperialate.

A strained voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sir," Najo said.

Kelric turned to see Najo standing by the console, which blazed with lights. Najo had that same expression he had worn when Kelric revealed he had spent eighteen years on Coba, the look of a man who knew he stood witness to the making of history.

"People are trying to contact you," Najo said.

"Who?" Kelric could guess: the leaders of an empire. They had just learned they had a new crown prince.

"The First Councilor of the Assembly," Najo said. "General Majda, Admiral Bloodmark, Primary Tapperhaven, your mother, your brothers, your sister, the gene team you summoned, and several councilors of the Inner Circle."

Kelric noticed the list didn't include Dehya. She had just discovered the existence of a prince who preceded her own son in age, yet she waited. She understood Kelric in a way few others could.

"I imagine they're surprised," Kelric allowed.

Najo looked as if he considered that a monumental understatement. But he said only, "Yes, sir."

Kelric wasn't ready to talk. He wanted these moments for himself. "Tell them I'll contact them after the Promenade."

Voices surged outside. Startled, Kelric turned back. A young woman had appeared at the top of the cathedral stairs—a girl whose skin, hair, and eyes shimmered gold.

The announcer said, "Roca Miesa Varz Valdoria—" He took a breath that everyone on thousands of worlds and habitats in three empires would hear, a sound that would become another page of history. Then he added, "Skolia."

Until that moment, Kelric hadn't been one hundred percent certain. By using the Skolia name, the announcer verified what he had always believed: his daughter was a Ruby psion.

Someday she would take her place in the Dyad.

She descended the steps alone, but the defenses of an empire protected her. Her true name was Rohka, the Coban version of Roca. Kelric felt as if he were sundering in two. Rohka, the miracle he and Savina had given life sixteen years ago, had come into the world as her mother died. The hours Kelric had spent cradling his infant child in his oversized arms had been the only light in his grief-shattered life. He would be forever grateful to Ixpar for freeing him from Varz, but he had mourned, too, for the Varz Manager had retaliated by denying him his child.

Jimorla had reached the coliseum, and officers ushered him to the area reserved for the Imperator's children. He was the first person to sit there in a century. On the Concourse, Rohka's stride never faltered, though Kelric recognized the overwhelmed look she tried to hide. He had seen the same expression on her mother's face when Savina felt daunted but refused to let fear diminish her spirit.

Welcome, Kelric thought to his children. They couldn't reply; even if they had known how to interpret mental input, they were too far away. He didn't even know if his son was an empath or had the rarer telepathic traits Kelric shared with his family.

And yet . . . he felt certain a man answered, distant but clear, the thought in Teotecan:
It is my honor.

A girl's thought suddenly resonated in his mind, young and raw, untrained but full of power.
And mine, Father.

The speaker said, simply, "Kelric Skolia, Imperator of Skolia, and Ixpar Karn, Minister of Coba."

Kelric and Ixpar descended the cathedral steps together. The crowds had cheered the Houses and Ruby Dynasty. They were silent now, whether in shock or respect, he didn't know. He had never been comfortable in public displays; he preferred to stay in the background. But he had waited ten years for this—no, twenty-eight. That was when he had first seen Ixpar, as he awoke in a sickroom on Coba with the fourteen-year-old Ministry successor leaning over him. It had taken nearly three decades to bring that moment full circle, decades that had changed him more than he would ever have imagined. Today, his life was complete.

The Opal Hall in the Qox Palace gleamed like an iridescent pearl. Its luminous moonstone walls shifted with traces of aqua and marine. Jaibriol sat on a white couch across from Parizian Sakaar, the Highton Aristo who served as his Trade Minister. Jaibriol's aide, Robert, had taken one of the wing chairs at the opal table. So had Tarquine, who had at least showed up this time.