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secrets, the Sisterhood lived for them.
    The Second Illyri Empire had explored over one hundred systems, each targeted because it contained a habitable planet with life-forms, however primitive, and commodities that could support the Empire’s further conquests: food, fuel, minerals, methane, water. Through the Sisterhood and the wormholes, the Illyri had established that the universe was fundamentally a lonely place, and complex civilizations like their own were extremely rare. So far, the Illyri had found only one species, humanity, who could, given time, become as powerful as they, if not more so. The humans had drawn the Illyri down upon them: by sending radio signals out into the universe, they had alerted the Empire to the presence of another advanced race. As one of her father’s generals had remarked, it was better that they be conquered now on their own world than battled later on another.
    The Sisterhood had agreed, and so the plan to invade Earth was set in motion.
    Any mention of the Sisterhood always made Syl’s father mad.
    “Witches,” he would mutter. “Damned witches. And Syrene is the damnedest of them all.”
    Ezil still lived, although she was now nearly two centuries old: a great and unusual age even for an Illyri. She was reported to be frail, and control of the Sisterhood had gradually passed to Syrene, who had once been Ezil’s novice. Syrene had the ear of Grand Consul Gradus, for she was his wife, chosen for him by Ezil herself.
    The Military had resisted the approaches of the Sisterhood, and soldiers were unofficially forbidden from entering into relationships with Nairene sisters, but the reality was that the sisters had barely tried to infiltrate the Military. They seemed content to infest the ranks of the Diplomats, and leave the Military to the work of conquest, but their influence on the Diplomatic Corps was one of the factors contributing to the hostility between the Empire’s two main forces.
    Syl remembered all of this as she watched Lord Andrus smoothly rid himself of McGill, and now she stepped in front of her father as he was about to pass, so that he almost tripped over her. Behind him, Balen stood up at his desk, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He gave Syl a cold smile. Clearly, like Althea, he felt that she should not be disturbing her father at this time.
    “Syl!” said Lord Andrus. He looked tired. “What are you doing lurking in dark corners? Why aren’t you in class?”
    He spoke to her in the Illyri tongue, harsh to human ears yet lovelier to her than any language on this world. Syl, like many young Illyri, had learned human languages as part of her schooling, and spoke English, French, and a little Spanish. In private, the youths spoke the languages of the conquered more frequently than their own, but older Illyri preferred to discuss their affairs in the tongue of the homeworld. It was part of their efforts to maintain their identity as conquerors, and their links by birth to Illyr, but the relationship to the planet of those young Illyri born and raised on Earth was both more intimate and complex.
    “I wanted to see you. It is the anniversary of my birth. I—”
    He placed his hands upon her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
    “I have not forgotten. There is a gift waiting for you in your chambers, and later we’ll have dinner together, but for now you must go back to your studies, or else I’ll have Toris complaining that I allow you to wallow in ignorance, and Althea accusing me of indulging you.”
    “But that’s—”
    Her father raised a hand to silence her. “I have an important meeting, Syl. We’ll discuss it later. For now, back to class. Go, go!”
    He hustled her ahead of him, and when they came to the main corridor he turned left, and she right. She walked on for a time until she was out of sight, then halted. This wasn’t fair. Her father had promised always to keep the anniversary of her birth special, not just because she was his only child,