Because You Love to Hate Me(4)

One of blood and fiery retribution.

Grandmother.

“Careful, Altais,” Rhone murmured. “That word spoken by an Imuriv is a promise of impending doom.” He took a step back, almost satisfied to see a sudden pallor descend on his sister’s face.

Rhone sobered, thoughts of impending doom beginning to take shape. “A bot delivered a message to Mother not long ago. Is there any word on the unrest happening on the planets along the eastern quadrant of the Byzana system?”

Altais took a deep breath. “I have yet to hear anything of substance.” Nevertheless, her eyes glittered knowingly.

The sight rankled Rhone. Another sneer formed across his lips. “The Byzana system lacks the resources to mount a proper defense. If they don’t pay restitution, then we will simply obliterate what remains of their harvest.”

“Mother does not agree with your assessment.” Altais frowned. “Neither do I.”

“You’d rather levy empty threats at those who defy us?”

She shook her head slowly. “Mother and I would rather meet with the Byzanate leaders and seek a diplomatic solution.”

“Then you both are the greatest fools of all.”

Dismay flashed first across Altais’s features, followed quickly by anger. “How can you say that when Mother sacrificed—”

“Don’t offer me a history lesson, little sister. And I’ve heard quite enough of your lectures on filial devotion.”

A groove formed between her brows. “Mother would take you to task for such words, Rho. It’s wrong to—”

“Given her lack of filial devotion toward her own mother, I’m not certain I care what she thinks.” Rhone turned his back on his sister and focused instead on the small, cylindrical control center near the back of the spherical chamber. It was camouflaged in the trunk of a gently swaying tree with leafy fronds that grazed the shimmering sand.

Rhone watched the leaves dust the holographic surface as a discomfiting silence filled the space between Altais and him. The silence settled into the cracks, bringing them further to light.

A soft touch fell upon his shoulder. “Come . . .” Altais’s voice was gentle. “I didn’t plan this so that we would bicker about politics. I came because I wished to play a game with you.”

Rhone remained silent. For a brief instant, he considered throwing off her touch. But they were standing in the room with the best of his childhood memories. And Altais had been a part of so many happy ones. Before power, family, and responsibility threatened to pull them apart. Before he realized he had no place in his own family. Rhone glanced past his shoulder, his gaze flitting across her gauntlet, its jewels cut to mask intricate dials and gleaming screens no bigger than his thumb. Finally, his eyes paused on her face. “Not d’jaryek,” he said curtly.

Her laughter was impish. “You’ve already turned me down twice. If you turn me down once more, I’ll tell everyone you’re afraid to play against me.”

At that, Rhone did throw off her touch with a disdainful roll of his shoulder. “It has nothing to do with fear.”

“Then why won’t you play?”

“Why don’t we shoot instead?” Rhone walked toward the small white chest near the control console. The box had once gleamed as bright as the bare walls around him. Now it was scored by tiny marks, and its corners were worn smooth.

He pressed the latch, and the cover of the chest rolled back with uneven clicks. Rhone removed two miniature carbines, their surfaces similarly damaged. The silver barrels of the two laser weapons were notched by years of play. When he pressed the switch on one, the muzzle of the carbine sputtered before flashing to life. He aimed it at the wall, then quickly spun in place to shoot one of the squawking beggar birds from the sky. It fell to the sparkling sand with an ear-piercing cry. With a satisfied smirk, Rhone brandished his weapon, watching the tiny sparks and residual smoke curl from its barrel.

“It still works,” he mused.

“Of course. Mother made sure we were given only the best.”

Rhone tossed the other carbine to Altais. “First one to take down ten birds wins.”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Why don’t we make a deal?” she interrupted. “Play one game of d’jaryek with me, and I’ll shoot one round with you.”

Though Rhone knew Altais to be a more skilled player of d’jaryek, he knew she would not leave him be if he did not at least try. And he could even the score and then some when it came to a round of carbine shooting.

Altais had never been the best shot. She was a formidable opponent when it came to iceblades, but she’d never mastered using a carbine.

“Fine.” He nodded. “But don’t cry to our father when you walk away burned.”

Altais snorted, and for an instant Rhone recalled her as a child. “Don’t cry to Mother when you’re left without even a cat’s paw on the d’jaryek board.”

“I haven’t cried to Mother for an age,” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

The siblings took position near the back of the room, where the lone console stood waiting. Altais pressed her palm to its surface, and the walls of the chamber flashed from their forestlike splendor back to the subdued dark of the cosmos. She pushed several more buttons, and slowly swirling galaxies blossomed to life in a kaleidoscope of color.