Carnelians Read Online Free PDF Page B

buildings and graceful arches in blue, rose, and lavender. Partway from City to the north pole, the mountains hid a valley. The Orbiter’s best security guarded that peaceful dell, and the best security known to the Skolian Imperialate guarded the Orbiter, which traveled through space on a deliberately randomized trajectory. Those many layers of security made the simple valley one of the best protected areas within three empires.
    That idyll sheltered the homes of the Ruby Dynasty.
    Roca was drowning in pain, kneeling on a cold surface, her arms bound behind her back, her ankles tied. The ragged remains of her nightgown covered her, and her hair had fallen around her face. The Luminex floor provided the only light in the room; shadows dimmed the walls and shrouded the ceiling.
    “Awake, I see,” a woman said behind her. She spoke in Highton, the language of Aristos.
    Roca looked around. A tall woman in black clothes stood there, her face lit from below by the floor. Her black hair glittered and her eyes glinted red.
    “It is exquisite, the suffering of a Ruby psion,” the woman said. “In providing me with transcendence, you exalt yourself.”
    Roca gritted her teeth. Pain blazed in her arms, legs, torso, everywhere. That was what the Aristos meant by transcendence, the brutally heightened pleasure they derived from the pain of a psion. The more powerful the empath or telepath, the more the Aristo transcended.
    They craved Ruby psions.
    An octagonal entrance appeared in the wall behind the woman. A man stood in the opening, tall and powerfully built, in a black military uniform, his glittering black hair cut short.
    “My brother,” the woman told Roca. “Raziquon.”
    Raziquon walked forward and nodded to his sister.
    “She is yours for now,” the woman told him. “Do as you please. Just remember that ESComm wants her alive.”
    And he did as he pleased, while Roca screamed and screamed and screamed . . .
    Roca sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe. It took several moments before she comprehended that she wasn’t a prisoner, she was here, home, on the Orbiter, the space station that served as a governmental center for the Skolian Imperialate.
    Roca leaned forward, her arms wrapped around her stomach, and rocked back and forth, tears running down her face. Her pulse gradually settled, until she could breathe normally.
    “Sonata?” Roca whispered.
    A soothing voice answered, the Evolving Intelligence, or EI, that ran her home. “What can I do for you?”
    “Could you see if Kelric is available?”
    “Right away.”
    Roca lay down and curled into a fetal position.
    A few moments later, a chime came from the console by her bed.
    “Receive,” she said in a low voice.
    Kelric’s deep voice rose out of the console. “Mother, is that you? Sonata paged me.”
    “My greetings,” she said, subdued.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “I’m fine,” she lied. “Why do you ask?”
    “It’s the middle of the night.”
    “Oh.”
    After a moment, he said, “Did you want to talk to me?”
    “I just wondered if all the usual protections were in place for the Orbiter.”
    “Well, yes.” He sounded puzzled. “Of course.”
    “Good.” She stared into the darkness. It had been many, many years since she had escaped from Raziquon, but she had never felt safe since then. She could still see that glazed, drugged look on his face while she screamed in agony.
    “I can send you more bodyguards,” Kelric asked.
    “No, that’s all right. I already have two,” she said. They were stationed in this house.
    “What is it?” he asked gently. “You sound terrified.”
    “I—I had a nightmare.”
    “About what?”
    Her voice cracked. “Raziquon.”
    “Someday I will find him.” His voice hardened. “And he’ll die. Slowly. In pain.”
    “Kelric, don’t. You’ve worked too hard to make the treaty happen. Don’t destroy it over your mother’s bad dreams. Just—”