“You aren’t staying?” Lore asked in the trade tongue. “There’s still much to discuss.”
“I will come by the embassy in the morning,” Soren replied.
They didn’t need him to facilitate introductions between their military officers when Dariush had that task well in hand. Soren had done his part, risked his heart to see Caris have a chance to win this war. The Ashionens could celebrate their alliance without him.
Soren followed Vanya out of the Senate, both of them ushered into the waiting motor carriage bypraetorialegionnaires. It was dark out, the gas lamps lit on every street they were driven down. Their return to the House of Sa’Liandel’s ancestral estate was done in silence, Vanya having talked enough that his voice had turned rough by the end of the evening.
They passed by the sentinel-class automatons standing guard at the end of the street before pulling into the drive. Vanya tugged Soren out of the motor carriage and led him inside, where a servant met them with a small tray holding two steaming cups of tea to soothe their throats.
“Did myvalidereturn?” Vanya asked.
“Hours ago, Your Imperial Majesty,” the servant murmured. “Shall I fetch her?”
“Let her rest. We will speak in the morning.”
They carried their tea with them to the bedroom Soren had slept in last night, where they’d made better memories to replace the ones from last year. Tonight, though, they were both tired from the long day in the Senate, and so Soren helped Vanya out of his robes out of a desire to sleep more than anything else.
Crawling into bed with Vanya still felt new, a delicate desire that had Soren rolling in close, tucking his head beneath Vanya’s chin. He fell asleep to the sound of Vanya breathing, steady and perfect and alive.
Morning came with a packed schedule, one that Soren knew could not be waylaid by lingering in bed, no matter how drugging Vanya’s kisses were.
“I need to get to the embassy,” Soren said, reluctantly rolling away from Vanya’s greedy hands.
“They have the Legion now. They do not need you,” Vanya replied.
“Yes, well, I’d like to ring Caris and let her know I’ll be staying in Solaria.”
Vanya’s arm snaked out to wrap around his waist, hauling Soren close again. Warm lips pressed a lingering kiss against the back of his neck, over the knob of his spine there. “You’ll give up Ashion?”
Soren skimmed his hand over Vanya’s arm, tangling their fingers together over his stomach. “It was never truly mine to give up.”
They managed to extract themselves from each other and the bed, servants bustling in once Vanya rang for them to help him get ready for a day of meetings. Soren didn’t need any assistance getting dressed. He pulled on his uniform, strapped on his weapons, and stole one more kiss from Vanya before heading for the door.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Vanya called after him. “Raiah will expect you for the midday meal.”
“I’ll return before then.”
Soren left, walking through the bustling hallways to the front entrance. Apraetorialegionnaire had retrieved his velocycle from the garage, probably after being notified by a servant. Soren gave a nod in thanks before slinging his leg over the seat and starting the engine. He retrieved the helmet hanging off one of the handlebars and put it on, the malleable leather over thin metal plates settling around his skull. He fit the brass goggles over his eyes before kicking up the stand with his heel and driving off.
Calhames was a bustling city even that early in the morning in the civic center behind the first inner wall. When Soren made it to the Ashionen embassy, the front gates were unlocked and unguarded. He frowned at the drive beyond the wrought-iron gate, seeing no one outside manning the main entrance. The motor carriages were there, proof that no one had left yet despite the hour. Soren pulled his velocycle up to the gate and set the brakes before kicking down the stand, engine still running. He dismounted and pushed the gate open far enough that he could drive his velocycle through the space.
He parked beside one of the motor carriages and turned off the engine, removing his helmet and brass goggles. Soren left the velocycle behind and walked toward the embassy building. He found it, too, was unlocked, and Soren paused there on the threshold, frowning at the wooden door. Every instinct he had told him something was wrong, but he couldn’t flee without knowing what lay beyond the threshold.
Soren reached over his right shoulder and unsheathed the poison short sword, flexing his fingers around the sturdy hilt, thumb resting over the button just beneath the cross guards. He didn’t trigger any of the poison held inside the hilt, but it was an option.
He turned the knob with his left hand and pushed the door open on silent hinges, stepping inside. The gas lamps in their sconces were all burning down the hallway, as if no one had bothered to turn them off before heading to bed last night. But more concerning than the light was the body of a Royal Guard soldier lying on the floor of the foyer, the pool of blood spread around them appearing dark and tacky.
Soren had seen plenty of dead bodies over the years, and he knew enough to gauge the time of death for the poor soldier as hours ago rather than minutes. Soren tightened his grip on the hilt of his poison short sword, using his other hand to unholster the pistol on his left hip and thumbing off the safety without looking.
He stepped over the body, listening hard for any noise in the working front of the embassy. No sound came to him beyond the sputtering of the gas lamps he passed. Soren passed two more rooms—a library and receiving room—but only the receiving room held more bodies. Two diplomatic aides who had supported Dariush were sprawled on the floor, both of them victims of gunshot wounds.
He grimaced, heart sinking at the thought of what a political nightmare the murder of the Ashionen diplomatic envoy would be right after Vanya had agreed to join the war. The wise course of action might have been to leave or call the peacekeepers, but the clattering sound of something crashing to the floor in a room farther within the embassy had Soren’s head snapping around.
It could be anything—someone dying, someone trying to hide, or a revenant risen from the murdered. Whatever it was, Soren knew he couldn’t leave the premises without first checking it out. He left the receiving room and let his pistol lead him down the hallway, clearing every doorway he came to. When he reached the intersection of hallways at the end, he found a trail of bodies, the Royal Guards sprawled on the floor and against the wall, blood smeared everywhere. Beyond them, every door in the hallway was closed except for one.
Soren knew embassies were generally manned by quite a lot of diplomatic officers and aides, and he wondered if all of them were dead. He looked down the hallway and then glanced back the way he’d come. If everyone was dead, he needed to call in more wardens, notify the nearest star temple for transportation of the dead to the crematorium, but everything he knew he had to do got waylaid by the sound of a wavering voice calling out for help.
Lore’s voice echoed in his ears, freezing Soren where he stood. Even if he couldn’t understand the Ashionen words she spoke, he knew that tone of fearfulness all too well. Steeling himself, Soren crept down the hallway toward the open door, finger resting against the trigger guard of his pistol. He wasn’t familiar with the building, though, and a step several breaths later made the wood beneath his feet creak.
