Disavowed, p.21
Disavowed, page 21
I might prefer death to that discovery.
“I owe it to her to ask her face to face before I make my decision. I owe it to Angel, too.”
Judica doesn’t argue. She merely opens the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
Inara arrives a few moments later.
Her face was the third one I ever saw. It hasn’t changed, not a bit. She has always been there for me, right behind Mom, protecting me from the world. When Melina challenged Mom to kill me, Inara protected me, she rocked me, and she changed my diapers. She fed me whenever Mom was caught up with something else, never annoyed at the prospect. She stood up to Judica on my behalf when the world collapsed. She has advised me, and supported me, and loved me.
Was it all some kind of elaborate lie? Why?
“Chancy,” Inara says.
“Is it true?” I ask. “Are you Nereus?” My voice cracks on the name. A tear rolls down my cheek, unconcerned about my efforts to remain impartial.
“I am not Nereus,” Inara says. “And I did not kill Melina. I did not ever want Mother to die.”
“You were here, on the island,” I say. “Angel wasn’t here when Melina went missing.”
“And I know Melina,” Inara says. “She’d have opened the door to me and welcomed me inside.”
My heart cracks. Why isn’t she poking holes in the defense Angel built?
“But that’s the precise reason I could never kill her.” Inara’s eyes well with tears this time. “I raised Melina. I love her, as much as I love you, as much as I ever loved our mother. I would never have destroyed her. What would I stand to gain?”
I shake my head. “Melina and Angel were close. Angel says she told Melina about the video, and that’s when she disappeared.”
“And every single one of Melina’s retinue was slaughtered, so they can’t confirm or deny that story.”
“Angel did call her right before,” I say. “She has phone records to show that.”
“Which could easily have been doctored,” Inara says. “Or she could have called to threaten her, or to say anything at all. Those things would be much simpler to fake than her video. And think about this. If she did realize that we were pursuing recovery of the video, which Marselle will confirm she was, even before Melina died, Angel might already have been playing clean up.”
“Where were you on February 14, 2002?” Oh please, please, be somewhere that makes a visit to Las Vegas impossible!
“Yosemite park,” she says. “Climbing El Capitan.”
I close my eyes. “Within a few hours of Las Vegas.”
Inara swallows. “I’d say you could talk to my pilot who went with me, but David died.”
I killed him—keeping the EMP from hitting China. Gah. I sit on the desk chair. “Inara, I want to believe you. I love Angel, like an aunt maybe, or a close family friend, but you’re my sister. Give me a reason to spare you. Please.”
Inara kneels in front of me. “I can’t, because whoever wants me executed has made it too confusing. There are two believable videos. There’s a code name. The trail is too old and too cold at this point. The evidence has been brushed and polished and obfuscated. But you know me, and you know I loved Mother.” She chokes. “You know I’ve supported you, and I support you still. If you choose to execute me, I’ll walk to the throne unresisting. I saw what these kinds of decisions did to Mother.” She grasps my hands. “If you believe it was me, Chancy, order the execution and walk away. Don’t watch, and never blame yourself. Promise me that.”
I pull Mom’s sword from my belt sheath. Inara offered me her sword when I went to fight Judica. She was tortured because she supported me while I was in New York, and now she’s not even telling me I’m a fool for doubting her.
Inara inhales. “Kill us both. You know it has to be one of us. It’s the only way to be sure, to know that Mother’s killer is brought to justice.”
It’s the same thing Judica said. Our family is messed up.
“I could hold you both,” I say. “And look for more evidence.”
“I’m a liability, if I’m not an asset,” Inara says. “And you can’t keep Angel locked up. If it’s her, she has someone helping her in the palace. She must.”
If it’s her?
“I’m trying to walk you through the logic. It’s all I’ve done since I heard they found a video with my face on it. I’ve tried to understand how it all looks to you.”
I hand her my sword. “If you killed Mom, and if you killed Melina.” I bawl like a baby. “Then you must want this very badly. There must be some reason you need the throne. Kill me. Take it.”
“Judica would never let me.”
“You’d figure that part out,” I say. “I’m sure. If this is what you want, if this is what you’ve been aiming for, do it. I don’t even want to rule, if it means killing my sisters, my family. I won’t do it. I might be stupid and weak, but it’s who I am.”
Inara bats the sword away. Mom’s sword whams into the rug and slides to a stop. “I would never kill you, Chancery. Never.”
I hug her so tightly that her bones creak. “And I could never kill you. Tell me it was Angel. Tell me you’re innocent, and you believe the evidence against her is solid. Tell me that I’m executing Mom’s killer if I execute Angel.”
Inara hugs me back, her arms as tight around me as mine are around her. “I don’t want to believe it. I didn’t back when Judica had her detained. I spoke to her then, you know. I wasn’t convinced. You could hold her too, if you want. More guards, more vigilance. Dig for some kind of motive. She devoted her life to Alamecha. It doesn’t make sense that she’s suddenly turned—and torn out her master’s throat.”
“But I would expect her to make this last play,” I say. “Angel has been in charge of intelligence for centuries, but she’s also always held a cherished position next to Mom—on her right hand, even. Everyone respected her as Mom’s chef.”
“True,” Inara says. “I think she saw this as her only way back.”
“But I won’t let her take you down in her bid to return,” I say. “And I won’t let Mom’s death go one more day without being avenged.”
“I’m sorry,” Inara says. “You have no idea how sorry I am. From the beginning, this has been horrible for you, and you’re so young.” Her lower lip trembles. “You’ve always been so good, so kind, so generous. Don’t let this destroy you.”
I hold my head high when Inara and I return to the throne room. Inara drops to her knee beside me. I don’t sit. I stand in front of Mom’s throne, the seat that will probably never really feel like it’s mine. “I am Chancery Divinity Alamecha. It is my ruling, as Empress of family Alamecha, that Angel Alamecha committed high treason by poisoning her monarch to death. It is my sentence that she will be executed immediately.”
Angel, to her credit, never wavers. She doesn’t cry out. She never even drops her gaze. “So be it.”
Mom carried out most of her own executions herself, at least on royalty, but I don’t think I can do it. My hands shake at the thought. “Zarsen,” I say. “Will you please do the honor?”
Balthasar clears his throat, and I recall that I told him he could do it.
“Fine.” I say. “Balthasar will do it.”
Zarsen nods and steps back into his position, his axe still on his belt.
Balthasar’s eyes flash as he walks across the room, his boots striking the ground sharply, his pace never faltering.
As I watch him move toward Angel, I scan the audience, noticing half a dozen young children. I wish I had asked for them to be removed, but Mom never did. It’s our way. It’s hard, but it’s the truth. And as much as I love Inara, and as much as I usually heed her counsel, I ignore her this time.
I stand and watch, not averting my eyes, not flinching, not sobbing or crying or screaming in horror, while Angel kneels before the throne, and Balthasar lifts his broadsword over his head and then removes Angel’s head from her body with one clean stroke. Justice. I really believe that it is justice.
It’s finally done, but I don’t feel better.
I feel worse. Much, much worse.
19
“There have been confirmed cases of SARS-COV-2 on every continent excluding Antarctica,” Franco says. “But in those over which we preside, we have taken efforts to—”
“Is the death rate in Italy actually above ten percent?” I ask.
“Of those infected,” Franco says, “yes. Front line workers have been hit especially hard.”
What a way to start my rule. “Is it possible this was something Adika set up?” I ask. “Like the poisoned blade?”
Job shakes his head. “It has been around since at least late fall. Perhaps slightly before—long before your mother even contemplated changing her heirship paperwork, at least as far as the world knew.”
Something that isn’t my fault. That almost seems impossible. But of course, how we handle it from here forward, that is on me. “Walk me through the numbers on each scenario—widespread shut downs versus herd immunity.”
“As we previously discussed, we followed one approach in the United Kingdom, to delay any social distancing and shut down protocols in favor of asking those most at risk to self-quarantine or shelter in place.”
“And?”
“At the same time, the United States began more aggressive social distancing in both California and Washington state.”
“But not in New York City.” I frown. “I hear the numbers there are bad.”
“To be fair,” Franco says, “the numbers would have always been far worse in New York. Social distancing in a city of its population without large numbers of grocery stores, and humans living in such close contact.” He shakes his head. “Without public transit, cabs are your best option, and without that, you’re looking at sidewalks, which don’t allow for six inches between pedestrians sometimes, much less six feet.”
“There were unique challenges,” I admit. “But what did you find?”
“The economy suffers either way,” Franco says, “but the death toll spikes when contact and spread factors aren’t suppressed.”
“So we should have instituted the same protocols in the UK,” I say.
He shakes his head. “There was no way to know that beforehand.”
“And yet it seems Adora handled things better than we did without advance knowledge.” I stand up. “What about a vaccine?”
Job grunts. He’s not usually invited to Council meetings, but we’ve made an exception when we discuss the virus. “We’re a year out, probably. Even with promising early candidates, you can’t just test them on scores of humans. It must be carefully prepared and tested in advance. Then human testing, then we advance to production and distribution.”
“A year?” I ask. “We can’t fast track that? What about the evian blood? What are we doing with that?”
Franco frowns. “We tested it first in Germany, and it’s very effective on infected members of the population, but we need quite a lot of it to make any difference. And the virus transmits so quickly, and many infected humans have no symptoms. They wander around, shedding the virus around anyone they see, completely oblivious to the chaos in their wake.”
Job sighs. “Unless we can somehow share our DNA with the humans in general, it’s a Band-Aid, not a fix. Think of it like this. The virus is a burrowing wasp. It can pierce the cells of the humans like the skin of an apple. It burrows in and destroys any resistance. But your cells aren’t like an apple. They’re like artillery shells. They repel the wasp without even trying.”
“But my blood cures infected humans,” I say. “And all of your blood does the same.”
Job grunts.
“If we all donated blood every day—”
“You will have a full on revolt if you start making evians donate blood daily to try and save sick humans,” Job says.
I scowl.
“Even the evians who have tolerated your human sympathy so far would be incensed,” Balthasar says.
I’ll revisit it once we’re past the threat of war with two other families. “We need more people on this,” I say. “Assemble more researchers, Job. More administrators, Franco. The whole reason a centralized leadership like this should be better is that we can expedite the solution. So do it. Even before we sent the blood I collected to Germany, I heard that Analessa was brilliantly handling the spread. Figure out who was in charge of that and bring them in.” I glance at Edam, scowling a little, as though I blame him for Analessa not being here to contribute herself.
“Now that you have executed the individual responsible for your mother’s death,” Melisania asks from a screen on the wall. “Will you eliminate the position of Inquisitor and release Judica from her extra responsibilities?”
Melisania has been relatively quiet so far, only chiming in occasionally at the Council meetings. And it has been a tremendous relief, not needing to be involved in the day to day administration of her holdings. “I’ll discuss it with her, but for now I am inclined to continue the process of vetting my people. Once I am satisfied with the Royal Court at Alamecha, I’ll likely send her to other families to continue there.”
“Send her here first,” Melisania says.
“Really?” She wants us poking around?
“I have always been a fan of how your mind works.” Melisania stares at Judica. “It would be my honor to host you, and it would fulfill your obligation of time for this year.”
Right.
“She would, of course, also be welcome here,” Moses says.
I hate all the screens through which we are now conducting Council meetings, but it can’t be helped. We need boots on the ground in each place, and I haven’t even sent anyone to manage Malessa yet. I have half a mind to send Edam. He might have more luck infiltrating the Sons of Gilgamesh if he’s not right next to me.
But the thought of sending him away. . . I can’t. Not now.
“Moses, how have—”
“Sir!” A bright faced palace guard bursts through the door.
Balthasar stands. “What is it?”
“We’re under attack,” he says. “Killian called and says ballistic missiles just took out the Manifa Arabian offshore platform.”
“What?” I ask.
Balthasar’s phone lights up. So does Marselle’s, and Edam’s, and Inara’s, and Franco’s. Maxmillian’s. Guards begin hailing Moses and Melisania.
“Your Majesty,” someone shouts behind Melisania. “The Lula field platforms are under attack!”
I shout. “Everyone assess the damage and meet back here in fifteen minutes to formulate a response.”
Fifteen minutes turns into an hour, but we finally compile a list. Adora and Shamecha hit forty-two of the world’s largest oil producing sites—every single one owned by the first, second, third, and sixth families.
“What does that change about our oil capacity?” I ask.
“It’s down by at least forty percent,” Balthasar says. “I should have thought about that as an attack strategy. Especially given Melamecha’s strength in oil production already.”
“But it’s surely phase one,” I say. “That’s not all they’ll do.”
Edam leaps to his feet. “Not if we engage them first, draw their attention away.”
“How?” I ask.
“Adora is quite small, geographically speaking,” Marselle says. “What can we do to put pressure on them? Close off their opportunity for trade? Blockades?”
Balthasar stands up. “You’re focusing in too close. We need to think overall strategy at this point. They surprised us with step one, but we need to contemplate their next options before planning our counter.”
Too many people talking, too many variables. Edam and Balthasar are already snarling, and Marselle is whispering with Alora in the corner. I haven’t even brought Moses and Melisania in yet, and Analessa’s holdings aren’t even represented. “Balthasar is my Warlord,” I say. “There’s no reason for any of this nastiness. I named him for a reason. The rest of you will sit down and wait for him to ask your opinion.”
The bellows and shouts and growls halt.
Balthasar meets my eye. “What’s your directive?”
“Formulate plans A, B, and C. Work on the drawbacks and benefits of each. You’ve run simulations on this with Alamecha for years—I know factoring in the other families will be hard, but I have faith in your skill.”
He bows.
“Consider that you have fireballs, EMPs, and kinetic blasts at your disposal where needed, within reason.” I walk out.
Noah falls into step next to me. “You’re not going to stick around, at least for a bit?”
I don’t slow down. “I need to stop thinking about it right now.”
“Because?”
I stop and stare at the toes of my boots. I thought that wearing black combat boots like Judica would help me channel my inner warrior, but it’s not working. I resume my path and walk without speaking until I reach my room. Once I’m inside, I fling myself on Mom’s bed.
My bed. I’m in the middle of a war, and Mom’s loss still hits me, like a knife to the gut, at the strangest times. I wish she was here, even if she wouldn’t take things away, handle the issues herself. I wish she was here just to tell me it will all be alright.
“Because,” I finally say. “No one in there cares about collateral damage, but I do.”
“And if they’ve read your proclamations, if they’ve paid any attention at all, they know that.”
I slam my fists against the comforter.
“Whoa,” Noah says. “Take it easy. You know, that silk coverlet isn’t even fighting back.”
I sit up and smooth the rumpled blankets. “How many people have to die, before we realize?”
Noah sits on the edge of the bed. “Realize what?”
My voice is small. Uncertain. Wobbly. “That maybe I’m the problem, not the solution.”
