"They were shot," said Feld. "Katherine and Dorothy were shot. One in the heart and one in the head."
"And my father? Was he shot too?"
Again Feld paused, his face averted as though unwilling to meet Arcturus's gaze. "No. he wasn't shot. He was decapitated."
"What?" cried Arcturus. "Decapitated? What are you talking about?"
"You heard me," shouted Feld. "They cut his damn head off. Arcturus! And we can't find it. The sick bastards took it with them!"
He'd terminated the communication soon after, telling Feld to wait to hear from him, that he'd be in touch to sort out what their next move would be. He'd marched from the room and returned to the drawing room where he'd lately been arguing with Juliana and swept up the boattle of brandy.
An hour passed, maybe more, but Arcturus didn't feel the passage of time, his brain whirling in a million different directions as he tried to process the gaping emptiness in his soul.
He took mouthfuls of the brandy, the liquor as potent as ever, but seeming to leave him unaffected. His entire body was numb to its powers, and he drained half the bottle before hurling it into the fire with a splintering crash of glass.
"Waste of good brandy...." he hissed as the alcohol burned off in bright flames.
He heard the door open behind him.
"Arcturus," said a man's voice. "I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard."
He turned to see Ailin Pasleur and Juliana standing at the entrance to the room, as though afraid to intrude on his grief, but happy to watch from the sidelines. His heart twisted with contempt.
Juliana's face was streaked with tears and she held Valerian close to her. The boy's eyes were wide and fearful, not quite comprehending what was going on. Valerian untangled himself from his mother and came over to stand next to Arcturus.
"Is your mum and dad dead?" he asked.
Arcturus nodded. "Yes, Valerian, they are. And my sister, too."
"How did they die?" asked Valerian.
"Hush, Valerian!" said Juliana. "Don't ask such things."
"The Confederacy killed them," said Arcturus, his voice low and threatening. "They killed them because my dad spoke out against them. They killed them because they are animals."
Valerian reached out and hesitantly put his hand on Arcturus's shoulder. "I'm sorry they're dead," whispered Valerian.
Arcturus looked into his son's eyes and saw the honest sincerity of a child, his expression uncluttered by adult notions of propriety or reserve. "Thank you, Valerian," he said.
Ailin Pasteur approached and guided Valerian back to his mother. He took the seat opposite Arcturus and said. "Whatever you plan to do next, I can promise you that you'll have the support of Umoja."
"Like my father did?" said Arcturus bitterly.
"More than that,” said Pasteur. "Arcturus, I've just come from an emergency sitting of the Ruling Council, and in the wake of the Kel-Morians' defeat. Councilor Jorgensen has announced the formation of the Umojan Protectorate. It will be an organization to keep our colony free from Confederate tyranny, to resist their expansionist policies and offer a safe haven to those who stand for freedom."
"Very noble of you," said Arcturus. "If a little belated."
“You might be right," admitted Pasteur, "but it's a start."
"A start...." said Arcturus, staring into the crackling fire. "Yes, a start."
A sudden, terrible thought lanced into Arcturus's brain with the force of an Impaler spike, and he looked over at Valerian and Juliana. Fear clenched in his guts and took the breath from him.
"Whal is it?" said Pasteur, seeing the urgency in his eyes.
"Juliana...you and Valerian have to leave," said Arcturus, rising to his feet. "Right now."
"What? I don't understand, what are you talking about?"
"They know," said Arcturus, pacing the room, his thoughts crashing together like a convoy of groundcars rear-ending one another. “Or if they don't yet, they will soon."
"Slow down, Arcturus," said Pasteur. "Who knows what?"
"The Confederacy," snapped Arcturus. "The message I sent to my family about Valerian. If they're good enough to defeat Feld's security systems without breaking a sweat, then it's a mathematical certainly they know where I am and that I have a son. We're loose ends, and the Confederacy doesn't like loose ends when it comes to murder."
"You think they'd come here? To Umoja?" said Juliana, holding Valerian even tighter.
Arcturus laughed, the sound hollow and coming from the bleakest, emptiest part of his soul. "Don't think for a moment they won't. They will do whatever it takes to destroy their enemies. You have to get out of here and stay on the move or they'll find you. And that can't be allowed to happen."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Pasteur. "We are well protected here."
"Ridiculous?" said Arcturus. "If my family's killers can penetrate the Skyspire's security, they will simply walk in here and kill you all in a heartbeat. No, the only way to evade people like that is to not be here when they come for you.”
"He's right, Daddy; we need to go," said Juliana, her voice brittle with fear, though Arcturus knew that fear was for Valerian and not herself. "I won't let anything happen to Val."
Pasteur hesitated and then nodded reluctantly. "I'll have a ship here within the hour."
"Stay on the move," warned Arcturus. "Don't stay in any one place too long."
"You're not coming with us?" said Juliana.
"No," said Arcturus. "They don't know it yet, but the Confederacy has just created the greatest enemy they will ever know."
"Whay are you going to do?" asked Pasteur.
"I'm going to burn the Confederacy to the ground," hissed Arcturus.
CHAPTER 15
THE SWORD CAME AT HIM IN AN ARCING LINE of silver and Valerian twisted his wrists to bring his own weapon up to block. The blades connected with a shriek of steel and he spun from the reverse stroke as Master Miyamoto's sword darted forward. Valerian's sword came down, deflecting the stroke as he backed away from the relentless attack.
Sweat ran down his face in runnels and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps. In contrast, Master Miyamoto looked as serene and unflappable as he always did, no matter whether he was pouring tea or executing flawless sword movements.
Dressed in a simple cream-colored keikogi and hakama, Master Miyamoto was as unreadable as ever, no trace of expression betraying his intended movements in this dangerous ballet called a sword bout.
Valerian wore identical training clothes, though tailored for his smaller, nine-year-old frame, which had finally begun to fill out as he grew older and took more exercise. He was still slender and ascetic-looking, but the last two years had seen his shoulders and arms begin to strengthen and offer promising hints of the man he might become.
They were alone in the garden: Master Miyamoto allowed no one to observe their training, not even Valerian's mother. Roughly built walls of high stone enclosed the garden, a rectangular courtyard of gently swaying plants, freshly tended herb patches—and a slate-paved sparring area next to the eastern wall.
A fountain gurgled peacefully in the center of the garden and the cold air was thin, scented with the earthy smell of ripe crops. This region of Icarus IV always smelled, due to the loamy richness of the soil that made it such a fertile world for agriculture, and the faint yet unmistakable hint of chemical fertilizer.
Birds perched on the high walls, the only spectators able to observe Valerian's grueling training rituals, and their twittering conversations were like a chorus of amused theatergoers enjoying a boy's humiliation at the hands of a fencing master.