The palace of the Archduke of Regina, that monument
of paradox to the Vihlani nobility. A beautiful building complex surpassing
Versailles and the Taj Mahjal, filled with priceless art treasures and
surrounded by gardens from paradise. But under this facade lay a black basalt
foundation with the reinforced ferro-concrete structure of a massive bunker
protected by the leading edge of energy shield and weapons technology. The
present Archduchess, Larrienne, had enhanced the beauty and atmosphere of the
palace, nearly doubling the size of the gardens and the Archduke, Luthur, had
made it the safest place in the Vihlani Empire save for the great Imperial
Palace at Barlim on Vihlany.
The
present Archduke, Luthur HiVilany, has reigned for 118 Vihlani Temporals (205
Earth years) and has steadily manoeuvred his destiny towards the Imperial
Throne to such an extent that only the Emperor, Jevon HiVas, stood in his way.
Not for much longer if Luthur had anything to do with it. But the art of
Vihlani leadership is to be the last one standing.
Luthur
had killed Tybalt HiVas, his father’s murderer, who had been Emperor Jevon’s
right hand man. This had been cleverly allowed by Jevon to eliminate his chief
rival and placate Luthur at the same time. But now Jevon knew his confrontation
with the wolf of Regina was imminent, and he laid his plans against him.
Dorian
and Mirien were in the magnificent atrium in the centre of the palace.
Beautiful multicoloured flying creatures, some of which we would recognise as birds,
others far more exotic, painted their chatoyant colours over a living tapestry
of luscious diversiform of plant life, some of which were semi-intelligent.
“You
are special...” Mirien’s tone flowed over Dorian as the caress of the autumn
sun on the leaves: wondrous, but doomed to fall. “...to me. I have spoken with
father...He seems to want the whole event to be forgotten...It is almost like
he is pleased. I worry when he can seem to take it so.” She always spoke in a
deliberate manner, firmly engaging her interlocutor, her companion.
The
Daysar plants had come over to her as soon as Dorian and she had sat down in
the atrium. Four of them had waddled over as fast as their stumpy little
tentacles could carry them, vying for her heavenly caress.
“Father
has a sense of justice. He will measure what is right. Egon and myself will
accept his ruling. It is the customary way. I do not fear the outcome.” Dorian
could not hear his own defiance in those last words, but Mirien did, and was
alarmed.
“Father
has his own sense of everything! Nothing, absolutely nothing is without measure
to some plot, some purpose.” She looked at him with the exasperated wisdom of
the loving flower among the poisonous weeds. She had long learned the weariness
of her survival: life predicated on staying out of the power games of her
father and the inexorable pursuit of her chastity by her predatory
contemporaries, male and female!
“Beloved.
Do not worry yourself. I...we will survive this.” Dorian moved along the bench
towards her putting his arm around her. One of the Daysar plants, the smallest,
gave up trying to reach over his larger brethren and waddled over to Dorian. He
greeted it with his free hand stroking it under it’s head carapace. They both
shared a smile as it began a soft pitched chime as he did so.
“I
know that I will survive as long as you do...Dorian. I have always known so.”
She reached over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Her perfumed energy
caressed Dorian, creating the singularity of love.
“Yes,
if all that I do come to in one measure of my worth, then your comfort, your
happiness, your life is that measure.” He looked at her angelic face. He knew
there could be no other light like this in his life, his existence.
The
image and conversation faded out on the video-com monitor as Luthur switched it
off by telekinesis, his mind mulling over the words he had overheard. His son’s
attachment for Mirien was so strong-it beckoned an angle of purpose-a use to be
realised... “if all that I come to in
one measure of my worth...” Those words reverberated around Luthur’s
supra-genius mind gathering and forming purpose and plot. Deep inside his being
it all came together and immerged as a low, sonorous chuckle. He would put his
plan into action that very night.
0 comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.