Snatches of conversation floated to my ears:
“. . . the most enticing intoxicant . . .”
“. . . embedded lights have to be tastefully implanted or they cross the line from flattering to gaudy . . .”
“. . . such a crude avatar. I can’t imagine what she was thinking . . .”
Relief rippled through me as the vapidity of their conversations registered. After several minutes of eavesdropping, nothing reached my ears that alerted me to any unusual cunning or craft. These were children. Spoiled, vapid children from powerful families, glorying in their rank.
If there were vipers among these young Grandiloquy, they’d either cloaked themselves so cleverly that their fangs remained invisible, or they hadn’t grown into their venom yet.
And then a voice spoke from behind me.
“How intently you observe everything, Grandeé Impyrean.”
I jumped in real life, startled, because I’d believed myself at the edge of the crowd. I never would have missed someone creeping up like this in the real world, but my virtual senses were undeveloped, totally askew.
I turned to behold an avatar very unlike the others.
Very unlike them.
This young man was totally naked.
He smiled at my shocked appraisal, sipping languidly at a goblet of wine that had to mirror whatever his real-life body was drinking.
His avatar didn’t resemble the others’ sheer gleaming perfection. Instead, it was an exhibition of flaws: his hair a messy mop of copper, his eyes a startling, almost unnerving pale blue, his face lightly blotched by sunspots. Freckles—the word came to me as I stared. Even his muscles were unfashionably crafted, their slight asymmetry detectable after a hard moment’s study. His beauty bots had failed him . . . or he’d earned his muscle through actual physical exertion.
Impossible. None of this empty-headed lot would willingly choose to exert themselves.
“And now, Grandeé,” the young man noted, amusement in his voice, “you stare so intently at me.”
Yes, I was doing that behavior Diabolics were known for: fixing him with an intent, predatory gaze, too unwavering for a real human’s. My eyes were empty and absent of feeling unless I faked it. The Matriarch claimed this look made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Even with Sidonia’s avatar, my true nature had slipped through.
“Forgive me,” I said, stumbling over the unfamiliar phrase. No one ever required apologies of a Diabolic. “You must realize it’s difficult not to stare.”
“Is my outfit so mesmerizing?”
That confused me. “You’re not wearing anything.”
“Ridiculous,” he said, and he sounded genuinely outraged, as though I’d insulted him. “My technicians have assured me they programmed this avatar in accordance with the finest imperial fashions.”
I hesitated, truly baffled—an unfamiliar, thoroughly unpleasant feeling. Surely he could just look down and see that he was naked. Was this humor? Was he joking? Others must have told him he was naked already. It had to be a jest.
I did not trust myself to mimic laughter; the sound did not come naturally to a Diabolic. So I settled on a neutral remark. “How fine a performance you put on.”
“Performance?” A sharpness had stolen into his voice, but it smoothed away as he continued. “Why, whatever do you mean?”
How would Sidonia reply? My mind came up blank, so I forced a smile, wondering if I’d misread him. “Someone so eager to attract the eye is surely performing.” A strange notion crept over me from what I’d learned of battle, of killing people. Feinting to one side often exposed weakness in an opponent’s other side. “Or maybe you wish to draw the eye in one direction so no one will look in another.”
An odd look passed over his face—narrowing his pale eyes, tightening his expression so the strong bones of his face became more prominent. For a moment, I glimpsed how he would look as a full-grown man. He reminded me of someone, though I could not say who.
“My Grandeé Impyrean,” he said very mildly, “what intriguing notions you have of me.” His avatar leaned negligibly closer to mine, unblinking. “Perhaps some who are close to you should embrace such tactics themselves.”
The statement snapped me to attention, and a demand leaped up in my throat. What had he meant by that? Was that an insinuation? A warning? But I dared not ask. Donia wouldn’t, and if I was wrong . . .
And I never had a chance to speak further. At that moment, several avatars descended upon us. They dropped to their knees before the naked young man, drawing his knuckles to their cheeks. Their simpering words reached my ears:
“Your Eminence, how wonderful you’ve paid us the honor of your visit!”
“What a magnificent outfit you’ve chosen for your avatar.”
“Such fine clothing!”
Suddenly I realized how I recognized him. He resembled his uncle—the Emperor.
Here before me, naked and unashamed, was Tyrus Domitrian. Tyrus, the Successor Primus. . . . The young man who would one day inherit the throne.
Even I knew about Tyrus. The Matriarch and Senator von Impyrean chuckled over evening meals as they discussed his latest antics. He was the disgrace of the Empire because he was utterly insane. In his madness, he probably hadn’t realized he was naked—and because of his rank, no one had dared to point it out to him.
No one but me.
I eased myself back from the scene, prickling all over with the awful realization of what I had done.
Long minutes after I had logged out, horror still beat through me.
I had thought to learn more of the spoiled young Grandiloquy, the better to protect Sidonia. Instead, I’d won her the attention of an infamous madman—one who had the power to destroy her.
3
“PERHAPS some who are close to you should embrace such tactics themselves. . . .”
Tyrus Domitrian’s words rang in my ears over the following days, so much like a warning, and yet . . . And yet I wasn’t certain whether I could credit the words of a madman.
The Domitrian family was called “sun-scorned” because so many of them died young, but the truth was one of those secrets everyone knew and pretended they did not: the Emperor and his mother had murdered most of his rivals for the throne. Tyrus was the only survivor from his immediate family. Perhaps that was what had driven him mad: witnessing the murders of most of his family by others in his family.
I told Sidonia of Tyrus’s warning that evening after she’d returned from her father’s study, but she shrugged it off and told me, “Tyrus is a lunatic. You can’t take anything he says very seriously. And please stop worrying about whether he’ll remember anything about your manner that was strange. . . . He never seems to recall anything from the forums.” She gave a wry smile. “Too bad you can’t always go in my place. Then I could skip socializing and spend all my time studying the stars.”