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had put his clothes back on, his gold shirt and leggings, but he was barefoot. She hadn’t given him shoes. Walking wasn’t what she had in mind for him. A slow smile curved her lips. Why waste her life in a chilly Highton marriage? Far better to enjoy the charms of her incomparable provider, a pleasure slave worth every one of the unprecedented fourteen million she had paid for him.
    Her Ruby prince—and no one suspected. No one. Even his own people believed him dead. Who would have thought he would show up after eighteen years? In the few days she had owned him, he had kept his past to himself, but she would learn where he had been all those years. She had plenty of time. He would be hers for the rest of his life.
    Ironically, Kelric threatened everything she valued. He was too strong a telepath; he had learned her secret. But he would never reveal it. He didn’t dare, for it meant she would no longer own him. He would go to another Aristo, who would force him to provide by torturing him. Yes, Kelric knew her secret—and so he knew that as long as he remained silent, he would never have to endure transcendence.
    Fifteen years ago, Tarquine had used telepresence to operate on her own brain, in secret. It had taken years of planning, but when she finally tried the operation, it had succeeded. The only outward change was the whitening of her hair. The real alteration remained unseen—she could no longer transcend.
    By Aristo standards, that made her abnormal, sick, a pariah. If the truth became known, she would lose her title, lands, wealth, possibly even her life. She had done it anyway. She couldn’t have lived with herself otherwise, for she didn’t think she could have resisted the temptation to transcend as long as it remained possible. The experience was too intense. So she had ensured she could never do it again—for she had gradually, in her later years, developed a new, unexpected trait.
    Compassion.
    However, Tarquine remained a Highton in all other ways. The exhilaration of ambition, the challenge of gaining power, the gratification of using it—she relished it all. She thrived on the excitement of accruing wealth in ever more creative ways. She had no intention of letting this inconvenient new emperor interfere with her plans to dominate the political structure of Eube.
    If he tried, Jaibriol III would discover he had a formidable enemy.

5
Sunrise
    C orbal Xir was an impostor.
    Lying in his opulent bed with its ornate posts and tasseled canopy, Jai brooded. The minds of Aristos were like an immense weight pressing on his mind. It exhausted him to maintain his barriers every moment, never relaxing except at times like this, when he was alone.
    Corbal caused no pressure.
    Jai didn’t understand how his cousin could be so unlike other Aristos. Didn’t they notice he was different? Maybe only a psion could sense the lack of threat. Corbal acted like an Aristo, owned worlds, had providers, and looked Highton, except for his white hair.
    Strange, that. White hair. Aristos were fanatics about their supposed “perfection.” Taken altogether, they were like a huge machine with identical parts, each Aristo icily designed in their unforgiving ideal of beauty. It had no appeal to Jai, but they considered their homogeneity inviolate. He understood why Corbal had chosen to interrupt it; his cousin’s white hair accentuated his authority. But Jai felt what the Aristos would never know: Corbal wasn’t like them. It made Jai wonder.
    A rustle came out of the darkness.
    Jai sat bolt upright in bed. “Who is that?”
    Another rustle. He sensed the mind of a psion. Alarmed, he strengthened his mental barriers. “Lumos on,” he said.
    The lights came up, revealing his bedchamber. It made him dizzy. The gold and sapphire furnishings sparkled. Gold hangings adorned the walls, and ivory friezes bordered the horseshoe arches. The room’s antique quality spoke of more than his wealth, it was also a testament to his power