• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

by Christie Golden

PROLOGUE

TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP.

The echoing sound of booted feet striding in unison on the smooth stone floor of the Senate chamber was a familiar one to Jekri Kaleh. She could not count the number of times she had entered this room to stand before the gathered Senate, and occasionally, as was the case today, even in the presence of the Empress herself. Sometimes Jekri had entered in triumph, more rarely in shame.

But always, the Romulan head of the Tal Shiar came with her head held high and her bright silver eyes gleaming.

Today, her heart pounded with excitement in her abdomen, though her face was nearly Vulcan-like in its lack of expression. It was not becoming for the head of the Tal Shiar to gloat.

Tramp. Tramp. Tramp-tramp. Tramp.

Inwardly, Jekri frowned. Their honored guest, the reason for the assembly, was out of step. Such things bothered her, but there was no help for it. And besides, if what her guts were telling her was true, the ambassador could do skip-and-turns all over the hall and no one would mind.

With perfect timing-except, of course, for the ambassador-the honor guard Jekri led came to a halt before their Empress, the Senate and Proconsul, and the Praetor.

The Senate chamber was a rainbow of pageantry and old opulence. The heavy stone trapped coolness here, despite all attempts at wanning the place during the winter months. The acoustics were perfect. Not a whisper went unnoticed. The huge traditional banners of every important Romulan hfihar-noble house-hung from the high stone ceiling. No disruptors or other energy weapons were permitted. Only ancient weapons could pass the scrutiny of the unsmiling guards at the entrance to the long hall. Here was welcomed the sharpened blade of the sword, the heavy stone of a club stained dark green with blood spilled centuries before, the slim, elegant lines of the dagger-the kaleh, from which Jekri Baseborn had taken her name.

The Empress, a slim woman still in her late adolescence, was clad in red. Unlike most of her subjects, who preferred a practical, short haircut, the Empress wore her thick, dark hair long. The Empress dictated fashion; she did not follow it. The

ebony tresses were now gathered up atop her head and decorated with precious stones that matched the scarlet of her long, off-the-shoulder garment. Her father had been a proud warrior. The Empress did not herself know the ways of weapons, but she was canny in her ability to find and promote those who did.

To her right stood the Praetor-tall, handsome, his black eyes missing nothing. The Proconsul, as usual, sat with the senators. Normally Jekri Kaleh would take her place on the Empress's left, as was her right as chairman of the Tal Shiar. But today she stood before her liege, not beside her.

"Welcome, Little Dagger," the Empress said in her cool, husky voice. Only she and the Praetor could call Jekri so. Not even the senators dared use a diminutive to the leader of the Tal Shiar. "It has reached our ears that you have brought us a very important visitor."

Jekri stood arrow-straight and brought her clenched right hand to her left shoulder in a precise salute.

"Honor ever to the Empress, the Senate and Proconsul, and to the Praetor. I have indeed found and brought to you a most honored guest. He is-" Jekri hesitated for the briefest of instants. "He is an ambassador from a far distant place. Ambassador Lhiau, pray you, salute our Empress and our Praetor."

Ambassador Lhiau strode forward with enough arrogance for twenty praetors. He was tall, as tall as a Romulan, and similar to Jekri's people in form.

But his hair was thick, wavy, and pale, and there was no distinguishing curve to his ears. When he bowed, it was almost mocking.

"Greetings, Your Excellency. Praetor. The noble Romulan Senate and Proconsul. I hope my arrival heralds the dawning of an age of enlightened discourse between your people and mine." The voice was rich, sonorous even. But