"And you never worry about the ramifications of discovery?" he managed, the words taking all his concentration. Thick black hair tickled his skin.
She laughed. "By whom? Your precious wife? The Empress knows already. Neither Mareeah Rath nor her fawning family pose any—"
They know?" A tingle of foreboding flickered to life below his heart. He stared through narrowed eyes at the rich Vermilion silks that draped above.
Ily laughed again, exposing white teeth while her eyes crinkled with humor. "Of course, Lord. Shhh! Don't worry. It's taken care of. No one will cross me Tybalt. No one!" Her expression hardened to emphasize that fact. "Perhaps you might not be in a position to threaten your wife — or her powerful family for that matter." Her tongue traced his upper lip as she moved onto him. Her breath carried a scent
of mint as she added, "On the other hand, the House of Rath fears one of its young lords might be arrested for treason, theft, graft, or any of a number of suitable charges. I'd see him convicted, Tybalt — and condemned to death."
A warm relief washed through him, replacing that momentary fear. "And should the Council suspect? The petty—"
"If you're not man enough to handle your own Council, you're not man enough to be Emperor."
"Indeed."
"Then what need have we to worry if we make love on the steps of the Imperial Regan Council buildings?" she whispered hotly as she brought his masculinity to life.
After she left him spent and exhausted he ran his fingers through her black hair and down to trace the bones of her shoulders and chest, circling those full breasts and massaging the nipples lightly. Her belly rippled with muscle as she moved.
"Tell me, Ily, what do you know of Staffa kar Therma? Tell me about your secret knowledge. Who is he? What's he like? What do we really know of him?"
She turned her head, cheek pillowed in the glossy blackness of her spilled hair. "The Lord Commander? Not much. He's one nut I'd love to crack Emperor of mine. Originally I thought he had a soft spot for Myklene and the Praetor. Hah! Fallacy laid to rest! Though they feared his power and banished him, they still put him in business. Gave him a ship and sent him off to prey on others. Yet he killed the Praetor — who made him what he is — with his bare hands."
Her eyes lost focus and her voice dropped to a mumble. "Killed the one who gave him everything. Indeed, I'd like to know what motivates a man like that."
"You've spoken to him. You must have some impression." Tybalt recalled images of the Lord Commander— deadly gray eyes, constantly controlled features never shadowed by emotion… a deadly human fortress.
She shifted next to him in the dim light. "I think he's the most fascinating man I have ever known."
"Present company excepted?" he asked, realizing the answer was oddly important to him.
Her eyes met his, black, bottomless, knowing. "Present company included."
No matter what I do, what I wear, how I attempt to dominate the situation, he always dwarfs me. ould that I could ever change myself, it is he I would emulate — and how I hate myself when I think that! No action would provide me more pleasure than the feel of an energy knife slipping through Staffa's heart.
Shamed, he clamped his jaws tight. Her honesty stung. "I could kill you for that, Ily."
"You won't though." Her heart-shaped face remained serene. "You value my skills too highly in the first place. in the second, you relish my company, for I'm the only other person in all of the Regan Empire who treats you like an equal and doesn't quail in their boots at your power. And lastly, you appreciate my honesty and candor."
How true. He could hate both Staff a and Ily for that— and he needed them both despite the fact that one day, each might have to be destroyed. No matter the cost. Ultimate power — and its preservation — was a lonely business.
"Perhaps you're right, dear Ily. Perhaps you are." But I don't want to dwell on that now, my hot bitch. "Then tell me, what do we make of Staffa and the Sassans?
She stretched her tawny body, working each muscle before she sat up and crossed her legs. She shook black hair over pae shoulders and propped her chin in her palms. "He's the key to the future With him, we can control all of Free Space. Perhaps with that control we can even marshal enough strength to challenge the Forbidden Borders.
"On the other hand, if he contracts to the Sassans, we'll lose in the end. We have no way to counter his strike capabilities. Nothing we put up will stop him."
He nodded, barely containing a belch. "My thoughts exactly." He crossed his arms loosely over his ample belly. "I have an idea." He searched her face intently as he spoke. "We'll make the Lord Commander the best offer we can. and I want you to take it to him."
"The head of Internal Security?" She cocked her head, perfect face lining as she turned it over in her mind.
How far can I trust you, Ily? Ah, see your eyes lightin? Indeed, you see the opportunities! What a delight you are, my sweet Cytean cobra. An explosive vixen in my bed, a constant foil in my Empire, you alone of all women are
worthy of me.
"Why not?" He flicked his hand absently. "I have my reasons, Ily. As you so ably articulated, I trust your honesty and candor. You're a beautiful woman; he might not suspect your intricate competence. See Staffa. Woo him to me. You know what's at stake. A discreet assassination, a bribed or compromised individual here or there, perhaps something more drastic might be called for. I leave it to your instincts."
And I shall take my own steps, my sweet lust. Though it grieves me, I must enslave you, turn you into a true tool.
"And I have a final reason for sending you, Ily." Her eyes were bright on his as she slowly smiled. "Yes, indeed, my love. In the event that all else fails, you may be able to assassinate the Lord Commander — and remove his threat for good."
Of course, yours shall be an Imperial symbol of authority. A badge perhaps? Yes, an unlimited credit and authority badge. Oh, delightful, Tybalt! How diabolically ironic. As I am bound to my power, so shall you be chained to yours, Ily. Caress it, sweet lover, for it is also death!
Oblivious, her smile grew, dimpling the smooth skin of her face. Slowly her white teeth began to show and her perfect breasts heaved with stifled laughter. "My Lord, Tybalt," she chuckled, "you have chosen better than you know. Staffa kar Therma is mine!".
As you are now mine! Tybalt smiled his agreement, allowing his fingers to trace the ines of her incredible body.
The wall beside Sinklar's shoulder exploded, the concussion slapping him out into the narrow alley. Only blind instinct made him crawl into the shadows as his stunned mind sought to compensate. Jangled nerves in his ears shrieked. Through the fog left of his senses, he could hear MacRuder's and Gretta's weapons ripping the air with their cackling discharge.
A hand patted his foot; a vaguely discerned voice caled to him through the haze; he barely reacted as hands grabbed him and pulled him up. His stumbling feet seemed to work of their own volition.
"What?" he asked, thinking it odd that his own voice
scarcely penetrated the shimmering fog. "What? Where are we? What's wrong?"
He remembered a doorway, steps that he suffered to climb in a dark winding staircase, supporting arms, and a small room behind a shattered door. He remembered wanting to vomit, dizziness, falling. and never hitting the
bottom.
Sinklar lay on a slab of freezing marble. He couldn't turn his head because someone was sawing his skull open to get at the brain, but he knew that his beautiful mother lay on one side, his father on the other. His body trembled with the vibration of the saw and he looked up — into Anatolia Daviura's wondrous blue eyes.
POK-BAAM! Concussion and falling dust brought Sinklar back from the muzzy gray dreams. The vibrations that his dream interpreted as a saw came from the floor he lay on.