Page 91 of Alien Prince's Fake Bride
For some reason I suspect Empress Juriniel was behind that, too. But Darient is probably right - it would be impossible for her to use the Vyrpy for anything.
Mareliux lifts me off him and stands up. “I’ll ask Caret’ax to go into the city and bring back food that we can safely eat. You’ll stay here until I’m back. That dragon up there will keep all our enemies away tonight.”
35
- Mareliux-
Empress Juriniel bends at the waist and sniffs a small, blue flower that grows from a dense bush. “A random place and a random time? That seems unusually paranoid. Did the alien think of that?”
It’s called the Imperial Botanical Gardens. It was once open to the public, but that was years ago. Now it’s popularly called Juriniel’s Cauldron, a hint of how many Khavgrens think that the Empress is a witch and this garden the place where she grows the ingredients for her witch’s brew and practices the Forbidden Arts. Only a select few are allowed entry, and my mother spends a good amount of time here. When she sent for me, I was not surprised that this was where she wanted to meet.
It’s a secluded garden in the spot where a part of the really ancient Royal Castle used to be. Now it’s a ruin in the middle of the palace grounds, overgrown with all kinds of plants, from planet Khav and elsewhere. The cauldron image is strikingly apt — there are walls on all sides, and my tactical general’s mind idlyfinds it a terrible place to be, where an enemy could too easily cut off your retreat and then shoot at you from the top of the walls.
It smells wonderful here, but I know that some of these plants produce deadly poison. It’s also said that some of the bushes are carnivores and will happily take a finger off a curious admirer. I keep my hands to myself.
“The alien”? I ask coldly. “Do you meanImperialPrincessUmbra? She and I have been the targets for three assassination attempts so far. We don’t want to make the job easier for those who want us dead. I will announce the place at a random time tomorrow. Everyone should be ready by second hour after sunrise. And stay ready until second hour before midnight. They will then have one hour to get to the place in question.”
She steps onto the grass and strokes one finger up along a tall vine, making the stalk glow up in a bioluminescent display. “But it will be somewhere near the Tentacle Throne, of course?” Lifting a small, glass jug with a long spout, she pours some water on the roots of the vine.
“Maybe,” I say airily, sticking to the narrow gravel path. “Maybe not.”
She sends me a glance. “Where?”
“I don’t know yet. I will have Bellatriz pick one at random when the time comes.”
“I am the Empress of the Khavgren Empire!” my mother frets as she returns to the path, black robe swishing. “I’m not used to having information held from me. Do you then expect me to flit through the city like a bewilderedpektpup, asking passers-by for directions?”
“Don’t worry, Imperial Highness,” I tell her with an icy smile. “You’re not invited. The Emperor has already had Umbra presented to him. And to you. Umbra and I are the hosts for this reception.”
“That’s… that’s not proper!” the Empress splutters. “Umbra is to be formally presented to the Imperial court! The Emperor is the host!”
“Ah, but this is not a presentation,” I point out. “This is our informal wedding reception. The guests will be the Imperial court, except the Emperor and Empress, who are assumed to be too busy and too important to attend such a thing. You will find that to be perfect protocol. So in a sense, it will function as a presentation, without strictly being one.”
Her eyes shoot lightning. “You think you have this all figured out, don’t you? You come home for the first time in years, dragging a small alien you claim to have married, and then you barely show yourselves before you vanish for days at a time! You have the alien prance around in public, touching hands with the commoners of the Empire! Buying snacks from random booths in the park! How do you think that makes the Emperor’s hospitality look? You’re making sure to keep that alien completely isolated, always surrounded by you and your army buddies! Flying around the palace in a… a warship!”
“Umbra didn’t buy the snacks,” I counter. “It was the co-pilot of the gunship. But Umbra did eat them. She liked it. They were barigo pies. She’s asking for more of them, from that booth. But she can’t use the same booth twice, of course. Too risky.”
The Empress turns and bends down to inspect a plant with big leaves as red as blood. “There are rumors about how this entire marriage came to exist, Mareliux. Having the heir apparentto the whole Empire suddenly get married at some obscure army base is suspicious in itself. Marrying an alien from some uncharted world makes it infinitely worse.” She straightens and crushes a leaf under her nose, sniffing. “Then you overdid it, pretending to faint from some kind of Syntrix merger! No, this whole thing smells. It smells bad. You’re up to something, dear. You’re plotting. And you’re not a good plotter, Mareliux. You don’t have the experience, the way Nerox does.” She drops the leaf on the path behind us. A trusted gardener will come along after we’ve left and pick up the discarded leaves before he rakes fine lines into the gravel again.
“Or the wayyoudo?” I add a little smile to take the edge off my veiled accusation.
“I’ve survived for decades at the Imperial court,” my mother says flatly as we approach a pitch-black and fragrantbankitree, all needles and sap. “And the Emperor has, too. And your brother. Who do you think kept them alive for all these years? Yes, I know palace politics. I know my way around a conspiracy. I’ve had no choice. And when I look at your marriage, I see a scheme. A bad one, at that. An obvious one.” She waters the tree, then reaches up and gingerly takes hold of one of the finger-long needles of the tree, pulling the branch down to her. There’s a hiss as all the needles on the tree bristle and stand straight out from it in an obvious defensive reaction.
I take a step back from the aggressive tree. “What, mother? Come out and say it.”
She walks on and pinches a dead leaf off a plant with special curved blades sewn into the fingertips of her black gloves. “No, I don’t think I shall. I will let you play it out. But there may not be much I can do to rescue you, when the plot inevitably fails.” She moves on to the next plant. Its stalk, no thicker thana finger, spirals gently upwards. At the top it ends in a single, perfectly symmetrical blossom the color of fresh cream. It stands straight up, as if stretching towards the sun. “At least you will invite Quaestor Preniat. And Duke Smejotan. And all the various widowed duchesses. Yes?”
“We’ll invite as many widows as we can cram inside the final location. You will not lack spies, mother. That’s an interesting plant. Not much to look at, though. It’s mostly stalk. Does it do anything useful?” I already know the answer.
She quickly pulls a small knife out of her sleeve, its blade glinting in the sunlight. She touches the tip to the blossom. Immediately a white fluid seeps out all over the stalk and runs down it. The Empress gathers a small amount of the fluid on the tip of the knife. “Most of these plants are not very useful, other than as examples. This one is not. Perhaps you know about it?”
I’m astonished at her daring. She’s practically telling me ‘this is the poison I used to kill your father, then to almost killyou’. I already knew that was the plant that produced that poison, but it’s chilling how casual she is about it.
“Should I?” I ask.
She gazes at the thick liquid as it runs down the knife’s blade. “All these plants have a defensive mechanism. I have gathered them especially for that. Some have poisonous leaves. Some have serrated needles. Some emit corrosive gas when disturbed, dissolving anything organic that touches them. Some anchor themselves with barbed root systems that ensnare and constrict anything passing too close. Some mimic their surroundings so perfectly that their true form only reveals itself when prey is already within striking distance. That is maybe the best mechanism of all.”
“Which is your favorite?” I ask. “Perhaps the poisonous sap?”
