Vena emerged from the washroom to find Dyer already dressed. She didn’t particularly mind. While she enjoyed being with him, theirs was no great love affair, and she was certain that he felt the same way. It was a relationship of convenience between two Illyri, based on many things—ambition, shared enemies, common goals, occasional physical needs—but not on any deep affection, and not on any particular trust either. They were both too experienced to really trust anyone, but they were also clever enough to realize that neither of them would ever give away anything that might endanger themselves or weaken their position. Unlike Krake and Merida, there would be no careless pillow talk. If they shared any information, they would do so deliberately, and with a purpose.
Dyer was handsome in a vague way; his features were slightly too regular to be truly interesting. He was also small for an Illyri—just a little over six feet in height—but his ascent to power had been steady and careful, until he was now, to the eyes of outsiders, just one step away from the highest position in the Empire. Those outside observers were mistaken, of course: Dyer was president in all but name, and Krake knew it. Dyer let Krake have the presidential palace, his luxurious apartment in the Tree of Light, his fine foods, liquors, and clothing. All Krake had to do in return was whatever Dyer told him.
In essence, Dyer was the true power in the Illyri Empire, and the responsibility for the conduct of the war was largely his alone. It was unfortunate, therefore, that Dyer was a better politician than military tactician. He had assumed that one would equip him for the other, but he had been wrong. The attack on Melos Station, which was Dyer’s idea, encouraged by Syrene, had not been matched by similar successes against the Military elsewhere, for which Dyer was to blame. His failure lay in his belief that the destruction of Melos would leave the Military powerless, that by cutting off its head, the body would simply fall dead to the ground. Instead, the Military had fragmented, scattering itself to safe havens throughout near and distant galaxies while its remaining leadership regrouped. Now Dyer and the Diplomatic forces were fighting a war on a dozen different fronts, wasting valuable resources trying to hunt down small guerrilla units while Military ships struck at supply lines and vulnerable outlying bases. Despite the confident public pronouncements of President Krake—relayed through him by Dyer in the manner of a ventriloquist controlling a dummy—the reality was that the Diplomatic Corps had begun to question Dyer’s abilities.
For the first time, he was in real danger of being usurped and replaced, but recent days had brought new information his way: the Military was just as weakened by the war as the Diplomats, if not more so, and was readying itself for a counterstrike directly at the home system. Its fleet was assembling, although Dyer had yet to learn the precise location of the rendezvous point. In anticipation of just such a move, Dyer was recalling his own ships and preparing to fortify the wormholes near Illyr. The problem was that there were many wormholes surrounding the Illyr system, and he could not defend them all. If he divided his forces among them, then no single Diplomatic battle group would be able to resist an incursion by the entire Military fleet. If he gambled on one or two likely wormholes, and chose wrongly, the Military would enter the Illyr system unopposed. He needed to know the Military’s plans.
This was why, through Vena, he had chosen to spy on the Archmage Ani, because he was convinced that she had secretly allied herself with the Military. He had felt no great fondness for her predecessor, Syrene, but at least he knew where her loyalties lay. Since her replacement by Ani, all such certainties had fallen by the wayside. Dyer did not believe that Syrene had willingly given up her position as Archmage, and his Nairene spies who had witnessed it had described her last public appearance, in which she had announced her abdication as Archmage, and her selection of Ani Cienda to succeed her, as most odd.
But all of those spies were gone now. Sister Priety had vanished into the depths of the Marque, Beyna had committed suicide, and Coriol, Gara, and Jenis had been suddenly dispatched to Morir—exiled, in other words—to found a new Nairene convent and spread the Gospel of Knowledge, although from what Dyer knew of Morir, the only thing they’d be converting on the planet were rocks and dirt. The new Archmage had deprived him of all information from inside the Marque, and she had similarly secured Erebos. She was proving far too clever and adept for Dyer’s liking.
Vena appeared behind him. He did not turn, but watched her reflection in the glass. She was striking, he thought, and cold, like a dagger in Illyri form.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, and he knew that she was not expecting a lover’s answer.
“I’m thinking that we have tolerated the Archmage for long enough. Either she is actively plotting against us, or she has chosen to distance herself from our cause. Whichever is true, she is not on our side, and those who are not with us . . .”
“Are against us,” Vena finished for him. “What do you propose?”
“The Sisterhood has served its purpose. The Diplomatic fleet is massing, and we are preparing to strike a final killer blow against our enemies. It’s time to add the Sisterhood to that list.”
“You will target the Marque?”
This was unheard of. The Marque was sacrosanct.
“Its defenses are not impregnable—and it may not even be necessary to bypass them. Ships land on the Marque all the time. If we are clever, the Sisterhood will willingly admit the instruments of its downfall; a small force may be all that is required. We take the Marque, and depose the Archmage. Once she is captured—or better yet, dead—we can purge the Sisterhood, and install a new Archmage to institute a rule more amenable to our own.”
Vena pressed herself against him. This was more than she could have hoped for: not just the downfall of Ani Cienda, but the end of the old Sisterhood, and the birth of the new.
“And who will be the new Archmage?” she asked. Even as she spoke she knew the answer, but still she thrilled to hear it from his lips.
“You will.”