“You told me I was worthy,” I’d scream at her. “You said I had a divine spark. You were a liar! I am empty, Donia! There is nothing in me now! Everything you said was a lie! I was strong before you. I was complete! You ruined me, Donia—YOU RUINED ME!”
And I would lash at her beautiful, tragic face with my fists and tear at her with my fingernails, and how exquisite that distress tasted, the pain she would never share with me, and the fury filled my despair with something dark and glorious.…
Then I would snap awake to the familiar gray lines of the Arbiter, sickened by myself. She was the purest soul I’d ever known. Why did some part of me blame her for this misery?
But some resentful voice deep within me beat in the back of my mind, It was her fault. It was all her fault! She’d taught me to love, and so she had given me this terrible pain. I never would have known what it was like to be this empty, had I never known what it was to feel so complete. I wished I’d never loved her, never loved Tyrus. Oh, how I longed to be but a cruel and unfeeling Diabolic killer, with no attachment to anyone, to anything, and she had robbed me of that forever.…
“Nightmare again?” Neveni asked me sometimes, when she was sleeping in the bunks at the same time as I was.
Early in my time on the Arbiter, Anguish shared the bunk with her, and I’d glimpse his powerful, dark arm twined about her waist, sometimes stroking through her hair. He had the grace not to pry, to whisper to her in a deep, rumbling voice, “Leave her be.”
I missed that—after she grew sick of him and took to ordering him away from her. When it was just me and Neveni, I felt too exposed. I never missed that glint of satisfaction in her dark eyes when I awoke from nightmares. She was eager for proof that I would be just the weapon I’d promised, that I hated Tyrus enough to fulfill my vow to the Partisans and kill him.
I’ll destroy anyone you wish, I’d told her. Anyone.
So when she pressed me about nightmares, I always told her, “I don’t remember.” Then I buried myself back under the covers, turned my back to her… and pretended to sleep until her breathing grew slow.
We both knew a day would come soon when I had to fulfill my promise.
I was the only one certain I would do it. I would kill Tyrus.
This emptiness would not abate, would not retreat. It also left no reason to stay my hand.
* * *
Five months after my demise, the day came.
Tyrus was taking advantage of his puppet Interdict by appearing with him on Corcyra, the closest planet outside the impact zone of the recent supernova.
The Partisans onboard the Arbiter became a frantic hive of activity, throwing themselves into planning an attack. They recognized the opportunity here for a spectacular show of destruction, an unparalleled blow to the Empire.
I was informed of the plan. I was to be its key.
We would kill them both: Tyrus and the false Interdict. I would strike the first blow, and if I was lucky, I’d kill both of them.
But I’d certainly kill Tyrus.
There was no more symbolic blow to the Empire than having me be the one to kill Tyrus. If I died in the aftermath, I cared not. Nor, I suspected, did the Partisans.
A martyr is always useful. And I would welcome death.
A handful of Partisans and I were smuggled down to the planet in an escape pod. I parted with them and donned a hood, slipping out unnoticed among the crowd on Corcyra while the Interdict’s vessel descended into the atmosphere. Security machines swiveled to alertness all around us, primed to protect the two most important figures in the Empire.
“Are you in position?” came Neveni’s voice in my ear.
“Nearly,” I replied softly.
Every single person on this planet had been scanned for weaponry. It mattered not. One of the Partisans who’d come in the pod with me was a sniper, and each of us had carried a single fragment of a laser rifle for him to assemble with painstaking precision. As I wove through the crowd, I knew the sniper was concealed somewhere behind me, my backup, instructed to kill Tyrus or the Interdict—whichever one I did not reach, for I would certainly kill one of them first.
Music swelled in the air. Millions of voices rose in a thunderous cheer, so loud it seemed to vibrate through my bones.
The Penumbra glided in above us, a vessel that with its thrusters extended resembled a hollowed pyramid. A bay door opened and out floated a triumphal platform bearing two figures glowing in the carefully aimed lighting. I spotted Tyrus’s broad-shouldered figure just behind the false Interdict.
At first the spotlight was all for the Interdict. He raised his arms to accept the swelling cheers of the crowd. Then Tyrus stepped up to his side, and the cheers somehow redoubled. Framed by the light of the Penumbra’s bay behind them, dressed in magnificent robes that amplified the light, the two appeared as radiant as gods.
How long had Tyrus pored over the plans for that visual effect?
I forced my way forward.
Soon I was so close to that floating platform, I could feel the heat of its propulsion jets rolling over my skin.
Neveni’s only explicit instruction had been this: Make sure they see your face. The power in this gesture comes from you, Nemesis. Everyone will see that you’re alive, that you were never dead—and the Empire is founded on lies. Then you’ll deal the final blow when you kill Tyrus for what he did to you.
The Interdict’s holographic image boomed to life in all corners of the square, looming over the crowds as Fustian’s voice resounded: “How grand to see this vast crowd turned out today! I know what you seek: words from me to explain the recent supernova in the six-star system. I will speak plainly and directly: on occasion, our divine Cosmos chooses to bless certain among us above all others.…”
The crowd shifted and stirred, eager to hear why a young star had gone supernova well before its proper time.
“The truth is, malignant space is not merely an act of destruction. It can also be an act of great and sacred holiness.”
At the word “holiness,” the crowd quieted under the weight of disbelief. I paid their reactions little mind and continued forward.
“Our Emperor, Tyrus von Domitrian,” Fustian said, moving aside so that Tyrus could assume prominence of position, “has the ability to unleash this great power himself. Something magnificent has happened. A miracle…”
It was time.
I tore back my hood, then leaped up onto the shoulders of the man in front of me and hurtled the remaining distance up onto the levitating platform.
I landed behind the men, blocked from the sight of the crowd by the two exalted figures. And then, before I could pounce forward and finish this, Fustian made his declaration:
“OUR EMPEROR HAS BECOME A GOD!”
The words—so absurd, so irregular—awoke me out of the haze of resolve.
They seemed to rouse me from a trance, as though I’d jolted awake after an extended dream, for they were… they were ridiculous.
“How lucky we are to have a god among us!” Fustian almost sobbed with feeling. “Hail the Living Cosmos for such a gift! Hail to our Divine Emperor!” He threw himself down to his belly.
And smiling, Tyrus swept forward and said, “I thank you, my exalted friend, for recognizing my divine nature. And how honored those of you on Corcyra must feel—to be the first to hail your true God!”