Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [76]
So the genius outweighs the man’s tainted blood, the arrogance, the apparent desertion and betrayal? Angved considered. Those Consortium artificers guesting with the Glove must have been extremely impressed.
Colonel Lien glanced aside, seeking guidance from the shadows. ‘Dariandrephos wishes to return to the Empire?’
‘He wants the air cleared, no more than that. We’re happy there in our workshops in Chasme, thank you,’ the halfbreed stated flatly. ‘A public pardon, retirement with honours, and no reason for any Rekef man or ambitious Slave Corps officer to get ideas about him. Unambiguous and exact, just as we artificers like it.’
‘It may not be out of the question,’ Lien hedged, before another voice took the initiative.
‘Of course, a pardon. The Empire can hardly reach agreements with those still considered deserters and criminals, after all.’ The new voice was a woman’s, and it echoed with peculiar impact between the carved walls of the Scriptora. There was the softest shuffle of footsteps and the speaker stepped into view, although later Angved was never sure quite where she had emerged from. The same went for her escort, a pair of armoured Mantis-kinden with the steel claws of their killing gauntlets very much in evidence. Everyone went absolutely still and silent, as she stepped into their midst – even Lien, who had plainly known she was watching.
It’s her! Angved had never seen the Empress before, yet he had no doubt whatsoever that this was really the mistress of the Wasp-kinden, the last scion of her Imperial bloodline. Where her youth and beauty had once made her seem vulnerable, she seemed to be gathering some invisible strength from the stone walls and endless hieroglyphs, growing in stature without ever growing taller, each footfall resounding with a thunder just outside hearing. Here, in this ancient, torchlit hall, even the shadows seemed to throng at her beck and call, and Angved felt her physical presence almost like a blow. In that moment he would have done anything for her, obey any command, fall on a blade for love of her. The next morning, such memories of this meeting would horrify and shame him, and all the more so because the chains forged this night would bind him also in sunlight. The thought of turning against this woman would be like a knife point pricking at his eye, making him wince away at the very notion.
For now, though, her attention was focused on the halfbreed, who swallowed convulsively, staring back. She gave a small, cruel smile as she advanced toward him.
‘Yes, a pardon for the Colonel-Auxillian, but more than that surely? What about a pardon for those of his followers who went with him into exile? Surely you are not throwing yourself on my mercy, Sergeant-Auxillian Totho?’
The halfbreed jerked as she spoke his name, and then she was abruptly very close to him, taking his chin in one hand before he could pull away, and studying his face. The Iron Glove people remained tense, confused, and her Mantis bodyguards were plainly ready for any kind of casual violence at any moment – but then Mantis-kinden were always like that. The situation was suddenly unreadable.
‘I am told by my artificers that the Iron Glove has great plans for machines and devices that they lust after,’ the Empress declared. For a moment she studied Totho’s expression, and he kept as still as if she had a sword to his throat, but then she let him go. ‘I am told that my own inventors would match them, in time, but history is pressing on us. The Empire has a destiny, and we cannot wait. I am no artificer, but I know sincerity when I hear it. So we are here. You shall have your pardon, and so shall your master and such other deserters as walk in his shadow. Any other Imperial subjects