The Empress Game: Cloak of War by Rhonda Mason

Author:Rhonda Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Titan Books

18

The newsvids had exploded. The word “uproar” couldn’t begin to describe the outrage sweeping the empire.

Authorities confirmed, after a search of the assassin’s comm banks, that the Low Divine had indeed been the target. The so-called Wyrd supporter had murdered the heart of the people.

Hours after the event, Kayla paced alone in Isonde’s townhouse’s back parlor, watching the news with impotent fury. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage. She wanted to flip back the clock and kill the bastard before he ever got a shot off.

This is for Ordoch! he had shouted.

What a crock of shit.

Of course the idiots of the empire were eating it up. News stories swapped between hundreds of thousands of citizens prostrate with grief over the murder of the Low Divine, and various politicians, diplomacy experts and talking heads weighing in on whether or not this was actually a Wyrd plot.

Bullshit. Anyone with a gram of sense would realize that Wyrds would never do anything to endanger what little goodwill they had inside the empire.

Raorin, Wei-lu-Wei’s Councilor Gi, General Yislan and Sovereign Councilmember Siminia were doing damage control as best they could, each making statements that they believed the gunman had acted alone, that the Wyrds—Ilmenan and Ordochian both—had no hand in this, but the opposition grew.

Kayla’s gaze focused again and again on the pistol in the assassin’s hand when the news feeds showed the fateful moment in a loop.

Same pistol of unknown design as Bredard’s.

Figured.

Isonde and Ardin had been moved to the palace immediately following the assassination. Malkor had seen Kayla safely back to the townhouse and left quickly after. He had too much to do to stay and listen to her rage.

Kayla was back in her working clothes—tunic, leggings, knee-high boots and her kris daggers—wanting to do something other than sit here. Sitting was her only option at the moment. As Lady Evelyn, she was near-powerless.

So she waited.

Nighttime found her seated in the blissfully quiet dining room, eating dinner. She’d switched off the news feeds long ago, unable to stand the constant loop of wild speculation and intense grief. Now she focused on thinking about nothing at all while eating.

Kayla had set the bank of vidscreens that ran the length of one wall to a view of space. Cold, calm, quiet space. The huge spread of stars drew her in, took her away from the chaos of the moment. Ever since her time on the perpetually hazy Altair Tri, she couldn’t get enough of seeing the stars, even the foreign stars of Imperial Space.

A tenderloin steak cooled on the table in front of her. Isonde’s chef was divine and the dish one of her best, but the roasted flesh looked so much like the Low Divine’s wound that even the promise of a perfect umami experience couldn’t persuade Kayla to eat it. Instead she picked at a bowl of greens and shaved truffles, enjoying the pungent, musky aroma that no synthesizer had ever been able to replicate.

The solitary meal and the view of space was surprisingly soothing.

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