Third Quadrant.
Planet Enaya.
The White Palace.
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The newly crowned queen rose and was met by jeering and demands for her to step down. A cabal of powerful men approached, the guards stepping aside to let them pass.
"You are a child, you are not fit to rule."
"Abdicate or face the consequences."
"We will not stand by and watch you squander what we have built."
They shouted their demands at her, speaking over each other in their haste to browbeat her into submission.
She stood there, a young woman barely in her teens. She waited until they quieted, and then said, "My brother placed me on this throne. When he commands it, then I will step down. Until then, I suggest you make your complaints to him."
The leader of the insurrectionists stepped forward, a tall, lordly man. "Then bring him here. If he is to stand for you, let us hear him say so in his own voice."
For a moment, the girl-queen looked at a loss. And then the air behind the throne shimmered. A figure appeared, his skin dark and unrevealing, his hair as short and wiry as Figaro's father's, his eyes as black as coal.
"I am here Karrack. I speak for my sister." His voice was cold and electric. It wasn't a fault of the recording, it was the organics infesting his body. Sparks ran up and down his arms and fell off him in showers. Lightning arced between his fingers. "I left her as my vassal. Do you contest her position?"
Karrack's face wasn't visible. If he'd been connected to the machine, Figaro would have been able to move around the throne room, but he had done that enough time to know the expression of fear and hatred and unsatisfied ambition he would see.
"We only wish to safeguard Enaya."
"Then don't," said Aurelias. "I have no need of help in that regard. Let me show you."
He was gone, and then reappeared next to Karrack, his blue arm smashing through Karrack's chest. He moved too fast to be seen, leaving only afterimages. Next, the traitorous guards fell one by one. The accomplices cried out and fell, their massive wounds cauterised before they hit the ground, not dead and writhing in agony.
The assembled crowd watched in horrified silence. Aurelias appeared once more beside his sister.
"Do not test my patience again," he warned the gathering. "I will not be so kind next time. You." He pointed at a soldier still standing. "You are the new commander of the guard. Betray me or my sister, and I will disintegrate everyone you have ever loved." The soldier fell to his knee and bowed his head in fealty. Aurelias turned to his sister. "I leave the rest to you."
"But what do I do with them…" She looked at the men squirming on the floor. "And what about their followers?"
"Find them, eradicate them. As many as you have to. They are all replaceable, you are not. I have faith in you." He rose into the air on a pillar of lightning, and then vanished. Viewed from in the machine, you could smell the ionized air.
The newly-promoted commander looked up. "My queen, your orders."
Lyra looked mildly annoyed. "Take them away and cut their throats. And try not to make too much of a mess."
Soldiers began to drag the screaming schemers out. Lyra returned to the throne and sat down, an amusingly burdened teenager.
Figaro turned off the viewer. He wondered if he'd be able to be as merciless and decisive when needed.
"You know," said his father, "they say the Seneca Corps took their inspiration from Queen Lyra, but I think it was Aurelias they truly admired — not that they would ever admit it. Sometimes I think my Aurelian blood is the only reason your mother agreed to marry me." He smiled mischievously. "Anyway, we better go see the old assassin. Don't tell her I called her that."
They left the simulation room and made their way to the North Tower where his mother's rooms were situated. They entered after knocking and then waiting for the guards to take a defensive position, just in case.
"What did you do to your lovely hair?" exclaimed his mother when she saw Figaro.
She was flanked by two bodyguards, as usual. Captain Tek wasn't present. There were several other Seneca soldier stationed around the room, tense and ready for an attack, as usual.
"I cut it off," said Figaro.
"Don't you like it? Don't you want to look like you're my son?" She had a pained quality to her voice that would have made a weaker man crumble with guilt. Figaro had the protection of eighteen years experience against this particular weapon.
"It will grow back, Mother."
The door opened again and Ellie the maid came in carrying a tray. Figaro was thrown off balance by what he saw. She wasn't moving correctly. Nothing about her seemed right. The Seneca guards were letting her pass by without a second glance, but Figaro couldn't let her get to his mother.
"Figaro, what's wr—"
At the mention of his name, the maid looked startled. She hadn't recognised him without his hair. She looked terrified.
Figaro ran towards his mother's chair. The guards realised something was wrong but only moved to stop him. He dodged them with ease, shot past his mother and grabbed Ellie, lifting her off her feet, running with her and jumping through the window in a shower of broken glass.