Page 6 of Only Hard Problems

Beatrice huffed. “I know you are not fond of Asterin, but her family has important connections, influence, and resources in the Erzton—things House Zimmer might very well need to survive the brewing war with the Techwave.”

Unlike the Imperium, which focused on Regal bloodlines and psionic abilities, or the Techwave, with its rabid devotion to technology and horrific scientific experiments, the Erzton dealt in something much more solid and substantial: minerals, metals, and other raw materials needed to make everything from blasters to spaceships to the ridiculously ornate carriage we had just arrived in.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in a sharp, suspicious voice. “What aren’t you telling me?”

My grandmother gave an airy wave of her hand, making the jeweled rings on her fingers flash like warning lights on a crashing blitzer. “Nothing concrete, darling. Truly. My spies are reporting that the Techwave and our other enemies are quiet for the moment.”

“But?”

“But our old, well-known enemies are usually only quiet right before they strike, and that is what worries me.” Her words echoed my earlier thoughts, and her gaze cut to my father, who was still talking to his friends. “And then, of course, there are always new enemies we must be concerned about. As well as unexpected threats from within our own ranks.”

Was that how my grandmother saw Vesper? As a new enemy? An unexpected threat that might prompt Wendell to turn against her, against House Zimmer?

Because that was not how I saw Vesper.

In the beginning, Vesper Quill had been a mere annoyance, a smartass engineer whose cleverness and doggedness had gotten her embroiled in Rowena Kent’s treasonous plot against the Imperium. Once Vesper had become a Regal, she had been a potential adversary, especially given how cozy she and Kyrion had seemed at the ball held in her honor. Then Holloway had made Vesper a target by ordering me and Adria and Dargan Byrne to capture her. But now that she was a fugitive, now that I knew the truth about our connection . . . Well, Vesper was nothing but a giant problem—and Ihatedproblems.

“Anyway, darling, I must mingle. We’ll talk more later—afteryou give Asterin the solstice gift.” Beatrice speared me with a pointed look, then glided away to speak to her own friends.

Slowly but surely, all the Regals were heading toward the enormous pink scalloped archway that served as the castle’s main entrance. I tugged on my jacket sleeves, then plastered a sunny smile on my face and strode forward, waving and calling out greetings to everyone, friend and foe alike.

The white crushed-shell driveway narrowed into a wide path that was lined on one side with pink velvet ropes. Dozens of gossipcasters were standing in the cordoned-off section, stretching their microphones and cameras out as far as they could without toppling over the ropes. Many of the Regals ignored the gossipcasters, hurrying right on by them, but it was always better to make allies than enemies, especially with people who would beam my slightest social gaffe across the galaxy with ruthless glee. So I swaggered straight toward the cameras—straight into the heart of the fight—like I always did.

The gossipcasters all perked up at the sight of me heading toward them. “Zane! Lord Zane! How are you feeling? Who are you wearing?”

The usual shouted questions washed over me, and I stopped, put one hand on the hilt of my stormsword, and lifted my chin, striking a haughty pose and letting the cameras soak me up in all my sun-dappled glory.

“I’m feeling marvelous! The summer solstice is one of my favorite celebrations of the social season. You all know that I’m always happy for any excuse to have a good time.”

I gave an exaggerated wink, and several of the gossipcasters laughed. Zane Zimmer was nothing if not charming.

“I, of course, am wearing the fabulous design of Fergus, the exclusive House Zimmer tailor.” I turned left and right, showing off my spiffy new tailcoat.

“Zane! Zane!” another gossipcaster called out. “What are your thoughts on your new shampoo commercial? Galactic Suds for Studs?”

Ah, the shampoo commercial. Three cringeworthy minutes of footage that showed me bare-chested and splashing around in an old-fashioned porcelain tub filled with bubbles, shampoo bottles, and rubber duckies, while I chirped about how clean, fresh, and tingly said shampoo made me feel. I’d shot the commercial a few months ago, and it had started airing the night of the disastrous midnight ball.

The shampoo itself was a wonderful, organic, responsibly sourced product, but the commercial was perhaps the most embarrassing one on my Regal résumé. Still, Galactic Suds had given me a delightful number of credits to hawk their brand, along with a lifetime supply of shampoo, and I was going to give the company their money’s worth.

I raked a hand through my longish blond hair and looked straight into the closest camera. “I’m having a magnificent time working with Galactic Suds for Studs. The name says it all, right?”

I gave another exaggerated wink. More laughter rang out, along with a few snide snickers, but it all washed right off me, just like the shampoo had in the shower earlier. I’d humiliated myself in the past far worse—and for far fewer credits than what Galactic Suds for Studs was paying me.

I strutted along the media line, speaking to one gossipcaster after another, along with all their camerapeople. Hands were shaken, questions were answered, more winks and compliments were doled out. I was almost to the end of the line when a gossipcaster with particularly long arms shoved her microphone forward. I had to jerk back to keep from getting bonked in the nose.

“Zane! Zane!” the gossipcaster called out. “How goes the hunt for Kyrion Caldaren and Vesper Quill?”

We were officially through with the easy, frivolous questions, and the usual gossipy sparring session had just morphed into a full-fledged media battle.

I ground my teeth and forced myself to smile even wider. “I’m hot on their trail. They can run, but they can’t hide, especially not from Zane Zimmer.”

A few laughs sounded, but far more snide snickers rang out this time, and several people rolled their eyes. My arrogant antics might be good for their ratings, but many of the gossipcasters found me as ridiculous as most of the Regals did. But that was okay. Ridiculous people were often underestimated, and I’d buried my sword in more than one enemy’s gut because of their lack of judgment. My pretty face masked the heart of a moon-cold killer.

“What about the other Regals?” the pesky gossipcaster called out again. “Aren’t you worried that they’ll offer shelter and aid to Lord Kyrion?”

I barely restrained myself from rolling my own eyes. Kyrion Caldaren was an aloof, uptight, broody bastard. He didn’t have anyfriendsamong the Regals, and the opportunistic lords and ladies would turn him in the second they got the chance to collect the bounty credits and ingratiate themselves with Holloway.

“Of course not,” I replied in a smooth voice. “We all know the Regals’ loyalty lies squarely with Callus Holloway and the Imperium, not with Kyrion Caldaren.”

---