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him in and crush him into nothing.
    Somehow he kept walking. As he climbed the dais, Corbal watched him, his gaze like a ruby laser. When Jai reached the throne, he turned to face the assembled Aristos.
    And he spoke.
    His voice rolled out, amplified by the extraordinary acoustics of the Hall. “In honor of my father’s memory, I accept the Carnelian Throne.”
    His audience murmured. The suspicion and hostility he expected were there, but another emotion also came through, strong and sharp—and unexpected. Hope? They seemed to lean forward, though no one actually moved.
    Jai made himself start the speech Corbal’s staff had prepared. “Eube in her magnificence will attain ever more lofty heights, a glory greater than ever before known in our illustrious empire.” It sounded as pompous now as it had the first time he had read it. But his voice rolled out exactly as the protocol aides had predicted when they rhapsodized over his “incomparable resonance.” It startled him; he hadn’t realized how deep his voice had become this last year.
    “We will triumph!” he continued, feeling like an idiot. “We will bring ever greater splendor to the exalted memory of our ancestors.”
    Pah. He couldn’t believe anyone thought this would inspire people. Aristo logic was more alien to him than the chlorophyll-based animal life on Prism, the exile world where he had grown up with his family. Right now Eube needed vitality and energy, not overblown platitudes.
    With sudden resolve, Jai dropped the speech and spoke his own words. “The wounds of this war will heal. We have survived. Our strength will return.”
    The mood of his audience shifted: he had startled them. He went on, using his own words, terrified of these people and their crushing minds. Incredibly, he seemed to mesmerize them. Even through his barriers, he felt their confidence building. Three times during his speech, they chimed the small cymbals they wore on their fingers, showing approval.
    And he despised himself for giving hope to a people who inflicted such atrocities on humanity.
     
    Tarquine Iquar, the Highton Finance Minister, reclined in the banquet hall on her space habitat. Most of the Diamond Aristos who had attended her feast were also sprawled nearby, watching a news-holo projected on the wall. The recording came from Eube’s Glory, many light-years away. After the collapse of the interstellar webs during the war, the only way to carry news was by starship, which meant it could take weeks, even months to cross interstellar space. This broadcast had been made two days ago, yet she was seeing it only a few days after receiving the news of Prince Eldrin’s capture, which had happened nearly two months ago. But she understood why this news had traveled so much faster.
    Eube, it seemed, had an emperor.
    Jaibriol III. How terribly convenient. Tarquine had to admit, his charisma filled the screen. Even by the exacting standards of Aristos, he was uncommonly handsome. His voice resonated, full timbred and deep. Sensual. His self-possession was remarkable in one so young, and he chose his words far better than the inane propaganda produced by government speech hacks, which suggested he had intelligence. For all his impressive qualities, though, she doubted this man-child would rule. Corbal Xir would control him: the power would be Xir rather than Qox.
    Tarquine frowned. As Finance Minister, she sat within the emperor’s highest circle of advisers. She had spent decades building her political position. A new emperor would bring change. Her family, the Iquar bloodline, had no current feud with the Xir bloodline, but neither did they have strong ties. Corbal might seek to replace her with someone the crafty old lord thought he could control.
    She studied Corbal, who remained on the dais as the boy spoke. As the oldest living Eubian, Corbal had dealt in Aristo politics longer than anyone else alive. But Tarquine had spent over eight decades breathing the