It was worse than she had imagined. The crack in her brother’s voice went all the way into his soul. She knew that within just a few moments—she’d been with him every day of his life.
Yet, she couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong. She’d heard nothing about the Empress’ pregnancy and felt ill prepared when confronted with it. So much for all the Sensitivity of Deacons! “I . . . I am just—”
He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway—whatever it is, it shall be a bastard!”
Silent tears were now rolling down Ezefia’s face from her peerless green eyes. Her sister-in-law knew how she felt. She’d been in a situation where she had been afraid to make noise, to draw attention. Every part of the Grand Duchess wanted to grab her and hustle her off this cursed airship and onto the Summer Hawk. Yet, she could not. More was at stake than the Empress’ fears. So she remained still and tried to merely distract her brother from Ezefia as best she could.
“Then take another to wife, dear Brother,” she said as calmly as she could. “Denounce her before the Court and choose again. There are plenty of Princesses still aching to be your Empress.” It remained unspoken that the field had undoubtedly narrowed since last time they had searched, but there would be some Princes that would willingly fling their daughters at Kal even at this juncture.
Her brother gave his wife a sharp shake and then threw her down. She landed on the deck with a thump and kept her eyes riveted to the deck of the airship.
Just who exactly had bedded the Empress—or even if it was a crazy delusion of the Emperor—Zofiya could not tell. She did not want to ask and risk inflaming the situation.
Kaleva began pacing back and forth between his wife and the lines of Imperial Guard at his back. He was like some mad puppet darting around, with the rest of the people present merely the backdrop to his performance. Zofiya had her answer confirmed. Her brother was indeed mad, and not just angry.
Derodak had broken him, and if he could be fixed remained a mystery. The fate of an Empire with a mad Emperor was well documented, and though Zofiya might not like it, she would have to do what others in history had done: take the throne for the benefit of its people. She decided in her head in that moment she would indeed be regent.
The fact settled in her mind like a stone. Yes, she would be regent, and she would have the best lay Brothers of Sorcha’s Order examine her brother. Perhaps they knew a way to heal him of his grave mental injury. After all, they had been dealing with hurt Deacons for centuries and—
Her thoughts were jerked back to the here and now when she abruptly realized that Kal had stopped right in front of her and was examining her with the intensity of an eagle looking at an injured lamb.
“It was Derodak,” he hissed to her, “in case you were wondering. Derodak and my Empress conspired together. She fell into his bed and spread her legs for him like the whore she is.”
Never in her whole life had Zofiya heard her brother use such words; he had always been a gentle and soft-spoken man. It made her want to weep to see him like this.
She cleared her throat and picked out every word carefully. “If that is true, then she must indeed be put away . . .”
Behind him, Ezefia raised her head finally, looked directly at the Grand Duchess and shook her head vehemently. She only mouthed her denial. He forced me to.
Zofiya’s heart sank. She knew intimately that the Arch Abbot of the Circle of Stars could indeed make people do and say things. In fact, Derodak had done that to Kal, so why couldn’t he see that? His cruel indifference now only showed how deep he had fallen into insanity.
“And the Princes?” her brother asked her, tilting his head, and raking her with an appraising gaze. “What shall we do with the traitorous Princes?”
She was aware that in front of her, some of the Imperial Guards were making direct eye contact with her. Flickers of tension and fear ran across numerous faces. Zofiya felt their silent urgings for her to do something . . . anything. It was time to be daring, because now she knew any way she jumped would be the wrong way with Kal in his current state.
Zofiya took his elbow and tried to guide him away from the press of people, toward the gunwales. To the port, there was a clear break of sky; endless white clouds drifted across that beautiful blue expanse. Zofiya couldn’t be sure about Kal, but it certainly made her feel a little calmer. Perhaps, being out of the direct gaze of so many would soothe him a little.
She hoped so, as she began. “Remember our father, Kal?” He nodded, but the thunderclouds were still gathering in his eyes. It was now or never, so Zofiya proceeded. “Do you remember how he used to beat the dogs?”
A long breath seemed to go out of him. “Yes,” he ventured in a small voice.
A flicker of hope kindled in Zofiya, but she dared not examine it to closely. “You and I used to hate it when he did that, but he said it was to teach them a lesson when they had done something wrong.”
Kal nodded again, his eyes fixed on her.
“And do you remember what he said, when the dogs came back after being beaten?”
The Emperor leaned back against the gunwales for a second. “He said, ‘Give them some meat, so that they learn to like the taste of the whip.’”
It was a cruel and totally wrong message, but Zofiya hoped that it might reach her brother. Their father had certainly beaten the Princes mercilessly, so now maybe Kal would understand. She wasn’t sure about giving them some reward, but she just wanted him to come back with her to Vermillion as calmly as possible.
After a moment’s pause, she dared put a hand lightly on her brother’s forearm; she could feel his muscles tensing. “You’ve used the whip enough, Kal . . . Let’s go back home. Please . . .”
She hardly dared to breathe. It was hard for Zofiya to be gentle and supple. He did not move, and for a moment there was hope. At least for a heartbeat or two.
Then with a twist, he flung her hand off him. “You are with them,” he snarled, as his fists clenched at his sides. “I know what you’ve been doing, conspiring with the Deacons to take my Empire. I know,” he went on with a wicked smile, “that you have sat on my throne in Vermillion, hiding behind the word ‘regent’—like I am some child.”
Zofiya’s heart began racing. “No, Kal. No! That’s not it at all. Vermillion was a mess, the Empire is a mess, and I only wanted to assure them that I was there to protect them. That is what a regent does when the Emperor is not well—” She lurched to a halt, suddenly realizing what she had said was completely the wrong thing. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit.
Kaleva’s eyebrows drew together in a dark bow, and his mouth pressed into a hard thin line. “That’s what they said when they took the last Emperor off the throne!” he snarled. “They tried to install a regent at first. I think, Sister, you will find it not so easy to take my throne from me.”
Zofiya was caught between wanting to smack him in the face or to sob and plead for the return of the brother she loved. That indecision nearly cost her life.
“Imperial Highness!” One of the Guards behind them with a very familiar face broke ranks and held out his hand to her. “Run! They—” His warning was cut off by one of her brother’s soldiers effectively running him through with his saber.
However, the warning had triggered the Grand Duchess’ instincts. She sprang backward just as a long string of blue white lightning struck the space where she had been standing. She caught a glimpse of a man—not in any kind of uniform—standing by that curious machine. He was grinning, even though he had almost hit the Emperor as well as her.