Jora’h sat in his private contemplation chamber, a smooth-walled room with blood-red crystalline walls, while seven frenetic attenders combed and oiled his golden hair, then pulled the twitching strands. Despite their overlapping tangle of hands, the servant kithmen managed to braid his hair. The length was not sufficient for more than a modest plait that reached barely to the base of his neck, but over the years it would extend and grow into a long rope, like the former Mage-Imperator’s.
His corpulent father had never set foot out of the chrysalis chair, yet Jora’h felt that it confined and isolated him and limited his ability to lead his people. Although tradition required him to issue his decrees and guide his people without ever touching the floor, this seemed to Jora’h a ridiculous restriction for a ruler.
As Prime Designate, he had always known this would be his fate. Unfortunately, he hadn’t appreciated his freedom and opportunities, hadn’t noticed his life—until it was too late.
Many parts of the government, the Solar Navy, the Designates and their replacements, were currently undergoing the turmoil of transition. It was up to Jora’h to dispatch his sons to their new assignments, to issue orders and proclamations, to reassure the Ildirans that his vision of the Lightsource was true and his thism was strong.
How was he supposed to go to Dobro, to Nira, to liberate her and her fellow human captives, if he was trapped by so many immediate crises and obligations? Within days, he hoped it would be possible to rush off to Dobro—to Nira. She had waited so many years, undoubtedly believing he had abandoned her. . . .
But first he had to be the Mage-Imperator.
His son Thor’h bullied his way past the door guards, despite Jora’h’s orders for his children to wait outside. “Father, your new Designates have gathered and are ready for you.”
Jora’h looked at the Prime Designate, fighting a frown. He noted the glassy sheen in the young man’s star-sapphire eyes. In the Mage-Imperator’s senses, Thor’h was a blot in the thism, an indistinguishable blur. “Perhaps if you consumed less shiing, Thor’h, you would find it easier to allow me to make decisions and issue commands.”
His son did not even have the good grace to appear stung by the rebuke. “Shiing allows me to focus and gives me more energy to do my important duties. At the moment, the Empire requires nothing less than my peak performance.” Shiing, a popular drug from Hyrillka, had been hard to obtain since the hydrogues devastated that world. But Thor’h still had his supplies and, the Mage-Imperator feared, his addiction.
Annoyed by his son’s lack of discipline and understanding, Jora’h clenched his hand beneath the folds of soft cloth in the chrysalis chair. The Prime Designate was still young and poorly trained; his years on Hyrillka had made him too soft, though at the time Jora’h had thought he was doing his son a kindness. Now, he wondered if he should have been harder on his firstborn, prepared him better to become the Prime Designate. He hoped Thor’h would grow up properly and learn his skills and his place. After all, the former Mage-Imperator had not prepared Jora’h until the last few months of his failing life.
“Go bring in my other sons now,” Jora’h said abruptly. “I don’t wish to wait any longer.”
Anxious to proceed with the meeting, the Prime Designate spun, left the room, and soon hurried back into the contemplation chamber accompanied by his two closest brothers, Daro’h and Pery’h. Pery’h would now take over the role of Designate on Hyrillka, even though Thor’h had spent more time there.
No one gets exactly what he wants . . . not even a son of the Mage-Imperator.
Behind the three young men, unbidden, came Yazra’h, the Mage-Imperator’s oldest daughter. She was lean and muscular, her movements conveying a confident, decisive nature. Coppery hair waved around her head like a mane, long and extravagant in comparison to that of the young men, since all Ildiran males had hacked off their hair in mourning at the former Mage-Imperator’s death.
Thor’h sniffed at his sister in distaste. “You are not needed here, Yazra’h.” The Mage-Imperator’s bloodline was heavily skewed toward male offspring. Indeed, of Jora’h’s myriad children of all kiths, only a handful were daughters. Including one by Nira . . .
Even though he had not asked Yazra’h to this meeting, Jora’h decided that the Prime Designate’s pompous attitude needed to be dealt with. “The Mage-Imperator makes those decisions, Thor’h,” he said, a warning tone in his voice, “especially in his own contemplation chamber.”
Yazra’h’s eyes were bright, challenging her oldest brother. The Mage-Imperator had no doubt that she could defeat any of his sons in hand-to-hand combat. He said in a softer tone, “I summoned only my first Designate candidates, Yazra’h.”
She shrugged casually, then tossed a dismissive glance at the Prime Designate. “Your door guards did not appear to be doing a very good job keeping unwanted people out. I simply came to offer my assistance, should you need it.”
“I will consider that. Perhaps the guard ranks need to be shaken up a bit, and we can use you for our home defense.”
Beaming, Yazra’h bowed. “I would be honored to serve in any way my father chooses.” She strode out past the ferocious-looking door guards.
Jora’h looked at his young Designates. “I will be speaking to all of my noble-born sons in the next few hours, and I will dispatch you to your new assignments as soon as I arrange Solar Navy escorts. During your five-year transition period, each of you will be trained by one of my brothers. Only you, Pery’h, will have to do your work alone.”
The young man sadly bowed his head. His injured uncle was still being tended in the Prism Palace’s infirmary, and Rusa’h’s condition seemed hopeless. Pery’h would have to become the new Hyrillka Designate without relying on a mentor, but he was intelligent and had shown his willingness to seek advice and counsel. Jora’h was confident the young man would do a good job.
The changeover from Designate to successor had always taken place gradually and efficiently. Many of Jora’h’s brothers were perfectly competent in their roles, but because the thism connection was strongest between father and son, the Mage-Imperator’s own children traditionally took over as rulers of the subsidiary Ildiran colonies, so that he could see them better in his mind.
The Designates-in-waiting would learn the particular needs and aspects of each splinter settlement. Through the thism Jora’h could feel the loyalties of his sons and knew that they had accepted their responsibilities. Despite the blow to its heart with the abrupt death of Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h, the Ildiran Empire would continue as strong as before. Once all of Jora’h’s sons reached their assigned worlds, the pieces would be in place again.
Then he could go to Nira.
As he dismissed Thor’h, Daro’h, and Pery’h, he heard a disturbance in the corridor outside, saw shadowy shapes through the translucent walls as a person hurriedly approached. Because of Yazra’h’s earlier criticism, the warrior kithmen at the door snapped to sharper attention, growling denials and warnings.
“But I have important news!” came a voice from outside.
Through the thism Jora’h sensed a medical kithman, knew that the urgency of his message was not overstated. “Let him enter. I wish to learn—”
The doctor burst through the door before the Mage-Imperator could finish his sentence. “Liege, it is the Hyrillka Designate!” The medical kithman’s nimble hands fluttered in agitation. “After all this time lost in sub-thism sleep, your brother Rusa’h has awakened!”