Because You Love to Hate Me(2)

Despite his mother’s best efforts, her parties did not deceive him. Though she strove to make them seem inclusive, Rhone knew his presence was—and always would be—unnecessary. Extraneous. The celebrations were tasteful, clearly gatherings meant to reflect their family’s status. On the ice planet of Isqandia, in its shining capital of Oranith, there was not a single child who did not know of the Imuriv family.

Most knew of the name fondly. After all, Rhone’s mother was quite beloved, despite the whispers of her past. As the sovereign of Oranith, she had brought an era of unprecedented peace to the planet ruled by women.

Others remembered the Imuriv name . . . much less fondly.

A name infamous for murder. Painted by the brush of darkest warcraft.

Colored by ancient, unknowable thaumaturgy.

As Rhone continued walking down the cool, darkened corridors of his family’s ice fortress, the familiar hum of droning machines took on a presence of its own. A lulling, hypnotic sort of presence. Lost in its gentle purr, Rhone stopped to wonder what kind of woman his grandmother had been to those she loved.

What kind of woman. What kind of sovereign. What kind of mother she had been before her own daughter executed her for committing war crimes.

Odd how his grandmother seemed to rule Rhone’s most recent dreams. Dreams of searing reckoning. Of blood and glory. Dreams of all that could never be.

At least not for him. Or for any man of Isqandia.

The sound of sliding glass whirring open caught Rhone’s attention. He turned his head back toward the dinner gathering. A servant in a jauntily patterned smock was bringing his family’s guests another round of drinks. Followed by another tray of food. Clinking glasses and cheerful laughter spilled into the hallway, calling Rhone back. Beckoning him to take his rightful place at his mother’s side. When he hesitated, the doors snapped quickly shut. The warmth and the cheer faded into memory. Into nothingness.

Rhone turned and resumed his nighttime haunt through the halls of his family’s fortress, staying to the curtain of shadows along one side. His hand grazed across the smooth white paladrium wall. The curve of its rounded center, and the soft blue light of its databands, flashing in lines at his shoulders and at his feet. At any moment, Rhone could pause and ask the blue band of light a question. Almost any question. It would respond in less than the blink of an eye. But such a machine could not answer any of Rhone’s most pressing questions. No. For now, the blue glow only served to light the path before him.

A small bot no bigger than Rhone’s boot careened around a corner, whisking its way to deliver a message contained in the outstretched grip of its metal tongs. A message clearly meant for Rhone’s mother. Or perhaps his all-important sister. When the bot spotted Rhone crouching beside the strip of blue light nearest the floor, it stopped with a high-pitched squeal.

The bot lingered, uncertain.

Then the tiny metal creature backed up warily, pausing once more before continuing to chirp its way toward the well-appointed banquet hall at Rhone’s back.

Rhone suppressed a wry grin.

Even the brainless bots knew better than to trod in Rhone Imuriv’s path. It appeared the tale of his most recent misdeed had already spread to even the lowliest of servants residing within the ice fortress of Oranith.

Perhaps Rhone shouldn’t have kicked that cheeky bot out of the way last week. Though he could not recall doing it, his anger had clearly ruled his mind for an instant. A twisted part of him had relished the sight as the small bot had sailed through the air, only to land with a sickening thud against a paladrium wall in the east wing. He’d watched in morbid fascination as the bot slid to the floor with the saddest of chirrups. He might not control much of anything in his life, but at least he had power over these silly metal creatures.

Still, a twinge of guilt knifed through him.

Rhone knitted his brow. Pressed his lips tight.

No. It was not his fault.

The tiny creature without a soul should not have dared to challenge him. And it had been doubly the fool for interrupting him while he was reading, all for the silliest of reasons.

Rhone had not wanted to play d’jaryek with his sister that day. Anymore than the day before that. Or the day after. Altais was a merciless opponent when it came to games of strategy like d’jaryek. And Rhone did not care to fight battles he could not win.

Nor was he in the mood to smile generously through a loss. He was not his father.

No. He would never be his father.

He would never be the kind of fool who happily stood in the shadows of greater women.

As he mused over these and so many other thoughts, Rhone felt his feet carry him toward the game room, unbidden. His steps were smooth and soundless in the elastine soles of his boots. He adjusted the platinum clasp of his navy cloak and straightened its complicated folds. They hung from his left shoulder, in a style nodding to yesteryear. A style hearkening to an imperium lost eons ago.

When Rhone rounded the final corner, he stopped short. The sliding doors to the game room were slightly open, the space between them no bigger than the span of one hand. A white glow emanated from within, its light nothing but a weak ribbon from floor to ceiling.

His curiosity growing, Rhone moved toward the room.

As soon as he brushed his palm across the access panel, the doors slid open fully. The glow inside flashed bright, like lightning cutting across a dark firmament.

Without thinking, Rhone lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the burning light. Once his sight had adjusted, he found himself in the spherical chamber he and his sister had often played in as children. The walls were normally the same shining white as the corridors.