Carnelians Read Free Page A

then forced by political upheavals to leave her before his son’s birth. His daughter’s mother had died in childbirth, drowning him in grief, and her political foes had taken his daughter. He had fallen in love with his current wife, Ixpar Karn, the highest ruler on Coba—and it had started a war.
    It all came from Quis.
    The “game” had fascinated him from the day he first played it. His ability had evolved until he achieved a level higher than any other player in Coban history. The Cobans had held him against his will for eighteen years, and in the end, their peaceful culture had exploded into war because his anger had saturated their dice game. Coba had recovered in the decade since, in a large part due to Ixpar’s rule, but she was needed there and couldn’t stay with him. He had hoped his daughter would attend school here, but that hadn’t worked out; although his children had visited him here, they had already gone home, and Ixpar would soon follow. He had no wish to talk about his history there. It was too private.
    He said only, “If you know why my daughter is all right, can’t you apply that to my son?”
    “It’s not that simple.” Sashia pushed her hand through her hair. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll have to see him regularly, at least two or three times a year, to monitor his health.”
    “It can be arranged,” Kelric said quickly, before she came up with more protests.
    Her gaze turned steely. “I’m assuming he’s more cooperative than his father.”
    Kelric smiled. “I can’t make any guarantees.”
    “Oh, go.” She tried to look stern, but she smiled instead. “Go talk to him.”
    “All right. I will.” With no more fuss, he left her office.
    His head had stopped aching.
    “What we need,” Kryx Iquar said, “is to assassinate the whole lot of them.”
    Barthol Iquar, General of the Eubian Army, relaxed in his lush recliner. He enjoyed his time with his nephew Kryx, who was young enough that he never did something as stupid as challenging Barthol’s superiority. They were kin, so they didn’t need to speak in the oblique language of Aristos. As much as Barthol approved of such discourse, which further set Aristos above the rest of humanity, he tired of the inconvenience.
    Barthol regarded his nephew indolently from over his crystal goblet. “Assassination is too kind a word. The Ruby Dynasty ought to be exterminated.”
    Kryx grimaced as if he had smelled a dead animal. “Starting with Kelric Skolia.”
    “But keep his mother.” Barthol swirled his red wine, and light glinted on the exquisitely cut edges of his glass. “That woman is surreally beautiful. Never ages. She looks like an unbelievably golden girl.”
    Kryx shrugged. “I’ve plenty of pretty providers. I don’t need another. Especially not one who thinks she’s a queen.”
    “You miss the point.” Barthol felt an edge in his thoughts that no spirits, alcoholic or otherwise, could soothe. Nothing would ease it except the transcendent screams of a provider. “The higher they believe their station, the more satisfying it is to see them humiliated.”
    Kryx inclined his head to Barthol. “I have to admit, the prospect of Roca Skolia naked and on her knees has a certain appeal.”
    “Indeed.”
    “But gods, her son. Where did he get the arrogance to believe he could be an ‘Imperator’?” Kryx’s perfect Aristo face, normally so like a marble statue, creased with annoyance. “If I live to see the rise and fall of galaxies, I will never understand what possessed our dear emperor, may the gods petition his exalted, etcetera, etcetera soul, to sign that deranged peace treaty.”
    Barthol gritted his teeth. “Deranged” indeed. It was an abomination. What he hated far more than the treaty itself was his signature on the document. His aunt, Tarquine Iquar, matriarch of the Iquar line and Empress of Eube, had outmaneuvered him. She had named him as her heir, granting him the title of Iquar Line;