Because You Love To Hate Me Page 2

  Altais’s cheeks colored. Her gaze drifted to one side.

  Though his sister had pronounced the statement in an unmistakably lighthearted tone, her words nevertheless conjured an entirely different picture.

  One of blood and fiery retribution.

  Grandmother.

  “Careful, Altais,” Rhone murmured. “That word spoken by an Imuriv is a promise of impending doom.” He took a step back, almost satisfied to see a sudden pallor descend on his sister’s face.

  Rhone sobered, thoughts of impending doom beginning to take shape. “A bot delivered a message to Mother not long ago. Is there any word on the unrest happening on the planets along the eastern quadrant of the Byzana system?”

  Altais took a deep breath. “I have yet to hear anything of substance.” Nevertheless, her eyes glittered knowingly.

  The sight rankled Rhone. Another sneer formed across his lips. “The Byzana system lacks the resources to mount a proper defense. If they don’t pay restitution, then we will simply obliterate what remains of their harvest.”

  “Mother does not agree with your assessment.” Altais frowned. “Neither do I.”

  “You’d rather levy empty threats at those who defy us?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Mother and I would rather meet with the Byzanate leaders and seek a diplomatic solution.”

  “Then you both are the greatest fools of all.”

  Dismay flashed first across Altais’s features, followed quickly by anger. “How can you say that when Mother sacrificed—”

  “Don’t offer me a history lesson, little sister. And I’ve heard quite enough of your lectures on filial devotion.”

  A groove formed between her brows. “Mother would take you to task for such words, Rho. It’s wrong to—”

  “Given her lack of filial devotion toward her own mother, I’m not certain I care what she thinks.” Rhone turned his back on his sister and focused instead on the small, cylindrical control center near the back of the spherical chamber. It was camouflaged in the trunk of a gently swaying tree with leafy fronds that grazed the shimmering sand.

  Rhone watched the leaves dust the holographic surface as a discomfiting silence filled the space between Altais and him. The silence settled into the cracks, bringing them further to light.

  A soft touch fell upon his shoulder. “Come . . .” Altais’s voice was gentle. “I didn’t plan this so that we would bicker about politics. I came because I wished to play a game with you.”

  Rhone remained silent. For a brief instant, he considered throwing off her touch. But they were standing in the room with the best of his childhood memories. And Altais had been a part of so many happy ones. Before power, family, and responsibility threatened to pull them apart. Before he realized he had no place in his own family. Rhone glanced past his shoulder, his gaze flitting across her gauntlet, its jewels cut to mask intricate dials and gleaming screens no bigger than his thumb. Finally, his eyes paused on her face. “Not d’jaryek,” he said curtly.

  Her laughter was impish. “You’ve already turned me down twice. If you turn me down once more, I’ll tell everyone you’re afraid to play against me.”

  At that, Rhone did throw off her touch with a disdainful roll of his shoulder. “It has nothing to do with fear.”

  “Then why won’t you play?”

  “Why don’t we shoot instead?” Rhone walked toward the small white chest near the control console. The box had once gleamed as bright as the bare walls around him. Now it was scored by tiny marks, and its corners were worn smooth.

  He pressed the latch, and the cover of the chest rolled back with uneven clicks. Rhone removed two miniature carbines, their surfaces similarly damaged. The silver barrels of the two laser weapons were notched by years of play. When he pressed the switch on one, the muzzle of the carbine sputtered before flashing to life. He aimed it at the wall, then quickly spun in place to shoot one of the squawking beggar birds from the sky. It fell to the sparkling sand with an ear-piercing cry. With a satisfied smirk, Rhone brandished his weapon, watching the tiny sparks and residual smoke curl from its barrel.

  “It still works,” he mused.

  “Of course. Mother made sure we were given only the best.”

  Rhone tossed the other carbine to Altais. “First one to take down ten birds wins.”

  “No.”

  “Then—”

  “Why don’t we make a deal?” she interrupted. “Play one game of d’jaryek with me, and I’ll shoot one round with you.”

  Though Rhone knew Altais to be a more skilled player of d’jaryek, he knew she would not leave him be if he did not at least try. And he could even the score and then some when it came to a round of carbine shooting.

  Altais had never been the best shot. She was a formidable opponent when it came to iceblades, but she’d never mastered using a carbine.

  “Fine.” He nodded. “But don’t cry to our father when you walk away burned.”

  Altais snorted, and for an instant Rhone recalled her as a child. “Don’t cry to Mother when you’re left without even a cat’s paw on the d’jaryek board.”

  “I haven’t cried to Mother for an age,” he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

  The siblings took position near the back of the room, where the lone console stood waiting. Altais pressed her palm to its surface, and the walls of the chamber flashed from their forestlike splendor back to the subdued dark of the cosmos. She pushed several more buttons, and slowly swirling galaxies blossomed to life in a kaleidoscope of color.

  Altais continued sliding her fingers across the console screen and pushing several more buttons. A round table emerged from the smooth floor behind them. Two white chairs followed suit.

  The d’jaryek board lay in the table’s center. Black and white squares cut at a diagonal across its entire round surface. Along the table’s edges were the game’s controls. D’jaryek was first and foremost a game of survival.

  His sister positioned herself before the controllers on the right. With a sigh, Rhone took his place opposite.

  They both struck the switches that brought the board to life. As with the toy carbines, the board flickered, the lights wavering in place before settling on paler, grainier versions of themselves.

  When the images finally cleared, a portion of Rhone’s pieces on the d’jaryek board fluttered to life. His pawns were sharply curving antlers. His soldiers were gazelles—the craftiest of all the possible avatars. Altais’s pawns were cats’ paws, her soldiers spotted cheetahs—the swiftest of all the avatars in the game of d’jaryek.

  Rhone frowned. He folded his left hand atop his right, taking time to choose his words. “Do you suppose it says something that the game chose a cat as your avatar?”

  “No. Unless you believe there’s meaning behind the fact that your avatar is commonly the food of mine.” A mischievous sparkle alighted Altais’s gaze.

  “Only if they are caught.” His frown deepened.

  “Then, by all means, let’s see who catches whom.”

  A dial sputtered to life in the center of the d’jaryek board. Both Rhone and Altais struck it.

  Rhone won the right to move one of his pieces first—an antler shifted two spaces forward.

  Altais mirrored his move.

  They played in silence for a time.

  When Rhone looked up from the board after his fourth move, he saw his sister staring at him, a thoughtful expression lingering on her face.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Are you still very mad at me and Mother?”

  Rhone shifted in his seat. “I was never angry in the first place.”

  “Why do you lie to me so much, Rho? I know you better than anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t angry.” His tone was clipped.

  Altais sighed. “Would it matter if I told you I was sorry?”

  “I was never angry!” Rhone’s voice rose in pitch until the final word bordered on a shout.

  His sister shot
him a pointed glare. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. It was part of the reason why Mother and I thought politics would be trying for you.”

  Rhone pinched his eyes shut, trying to control his temper.

  He attempted to clarify. “I was never—”

  “Rhone!”

  “Damn it, Altais, let me finish, for once!” His thunderous cry echoed throughout the chamber.

  Altais leaned back and waved a hand for him to continue.

  “I was never angry,” Rhone repeated. “But I was disappointed. You—” He toyed with a d’jaryek piece, his hands flitting across the control screen. The holographic antler spun in place. “You will have the sovereignty of Oranith. It’s your birthright. And possibly all of Isqandia. I thought to make a name for myself, too, within our Caucus. I am not certain why you and Mother were so against it.”

  Altais took a deep breath. “Father did not think it a wise idea, either.”

  “And why is that?” Rhone’s shoulders tightened. He refrained from turning his hands to fists. “Since when did Father ever bother to share his opinion on such matters?”

  “We”—she hesitated, chewing on her lower lip—“hoped you would stay on Isqandia and help with everything here.”

  Anger collected in Rhone’s chest. “Do you wish for me to be honest with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think you are afraid I will outshine you if I represent our interests in the Caucus.”

  With that, Altais made a sudden move on the d’jaryek board. Two of Rhone’s gazelles were taken down by a single cheetah, the cat lunging for the gazelles’ throats, ripping them out with vicious precision.

  As the d’jaryek board whisked away the pieces, Rhone and Altais stared at each other in heated silence.

  “Now,” she began anew, “do you wish for me to be honest with you?”

  “Of course,” Rhone said, mocking her earlier response.

  Altais rolled her eyes. “The Caucus harbors the best and the worst minds in our corner of the galaxy.”

  “And you fancy me among the worst?” Rhone sneered as he directed his d’jaryek controllers forward, three into the fray. The move was a gamble. A tactical maneuver meant to lure his opponent into confidence.

  He watched as Altais chose her words, almost rolling them in her mouth to see if they tasted right. “We don’t want you to be seduced into the wrong side of the Caucus. The side that acts first and thinks later.”

  Rhone’s anger flared even brighter. Even higher. “Am I a silly child in need of guidance?”

  “No. But you—you tend to let your emotions rule you. And that serves no one in a place that desperately needs logic and reason. The discussions that take place in the Caucus are often—”

  “Enough!” As soon as his anger burst, Rhone tried to take control of it. He refused to prove his younger sister right. “I am not ruled by my emotions.” His words were still clipped.

  Still forced.

  A peal of tight laughter resonated throughout the space. “Even now, you are so angry you want to lash out at something. I can feel it.”

  “You do not know everything, Altais.” Rhone’s voice dropped to a dangerous register.

  “You’re right.” She nodded. “I don’t know everything.” Another move on the d’jaryek board. Three more of Rhone’s pieces gone. Lost to the ether.

  Altais leaned closer. “But I do know this—”

  Rhone’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Mother—Mother doesn’t want to lose you, Rhone,” she finished. “Not as she lost her father.” Altais paused. “And not how we lost our grandmother.”

  A flash of red blurred across his vision. “Her blood is on Mother’s hands. For the last time, I am nothing like our grandmother.”

  “No,” she agreed. “You’re not. Grandmother was brash. Quick to judge. Even quicker to act. And when you are quick to levy judgments on others from a place of power, blood often trails behind you.” Altais lifted a hand to stay Rhone’s rising protests. Her voice turned gentle, the sound mocking him even further. “I’m not saying you alone possess this quality, Rho; that tendency exists in us all.” Altais took a deep breath. “But it’s not enough for us to hope this quality will remain a mere tendency. We all think it best that—”

  Rhone exploded from his seat. “Enough!”

  “Rhone—”

  “You will not sit around plotting what it is I do with my life, sister.” A crimson tinge of fury washed over his vision, coloring everything in his sight. “Not you. Not Father. Not Mother,” he continued, his voice filled with righteous fury. “I—I—will be the one who controls my destiny.” The last vestige of his control slipped from his grasp as he swiped a hand across the d’jaryek controls.

  Everything blurred in a sea of rage.

  He had no place here. No place anywhere.

  His entire family had seen to that.

  If Rhone had been born a girl—if his sister had never been born—then he would be the one destined for the sovereignty.

  And he wouldn’t be subjected to the haughty musings of Altais Imuriv. His little sister. In that instant, Rhone wished more than anything that Altais would disappear. That she’d never existed to torment him. To take his place. That she could fade into the ether, just like a lost d’jaryek piece.

  Without warning, Rhone’s hand smashed into the center of the d’jaryek board. In his periphery, he saw his sister fly from her chair with a yelp.

  “Rhone!”

  Her scream was muffled.

  Followed by a thwack.

  Then silence.

  His rage still consumed him. It was an effort for him to clear his vision and open his eyes to take in the truth. When Rhone’s vision cleared, he saw the body of his sister, slumped against the wall of the game room.

  Her head had smashed into it, trailing a smear of dark blood down the flickering walls.

  “Altais?” Rhone said.

  His voice trembled.

  She did not respond.

  Rhone fell to his knees, the guilt rocketing to his core.

  The relief washing across his skin.

  CHRISTINE RICCIO’S VILLAIN CHALLENGE TO RENÉE AHDIEH:

  The Grandson of an Evil, Matriarchal Dictator Who Tried to Rule over the Universe Wants to Follow in Her Footsteps and Accidentally Loses His Temper, Killing His Sibling in a Game of Chess

  THE EVIL VACCINE: KEEP THE DARKNESS AT BAY

  GET VACCINATED TODAY!

  BY CHRISTINE RICCIO

  Evil is a plague upon our society. We must work together to snuff it out with the help of my vaccine. Do you need it? Refer to the serious symptomatic flags I’ve listed below. Paying attention to these early signs and actively following preventative measures will drive away encroaching darkness. Prevention is key! And the key to prevention is constant vigilance! My name’s Christine Riccio, actual, professional, almost life coach, and I’m here to vaccinate your life.

  Below are the telltale signs that darkness is poisoning your soul. If you’re consistently experiencing one or more of these symptoms, please seek guidance and a vaccine from myself or your nearest Dumbledore figure as soon as possible.

  •YOU SEE RED WHEN YOU’RE ANGRY.

  You should never actually be seeing red unless you’re standing in a room that’s covered in red paint, or blood, or looking at an apple. If you’re just seeing red, something’s wrong. Don’t panic, but you might be evil.

  Home remedy to try (prevaccine-level symptoms): Go see an eye doctor.

  •YOU FIND YOURSELF HARPING ON INSIGNIFICANT GRUDGES.

  If someone blows out your birthday candles, you shouldn’t be mad at them for more than ten minutes. If someone punches you, you’re allowed ten days. If your grandson murders your only granddaughter because she beat him in chess, the acceptable anger period is ten years, but after that maybe schedule an appointment to meet and see if you two can work things out.

  Home remedy to try: Watch the film Frozen: laugh, enjo
y, and listen to Elsa’s advice.

  •YOU ENJOY STROKING CATS WHILE YOU THINK.

  Cats are evil and stroking them encourages their evil thoughts to climb up into your brain. Be wary of combining cat-stroking and thinking, for the result can be catastrophic.

  Home remedy to try: If animal-stroking is essential to your thinking process, switch to puppies. If you’re allergic, try rubbing the head of a friend who cares about your health.

  •YOU LIE COMPULSIVELY.

  Tiny lies are generally okay: No, I didn’t accidentally break your super-cool Anthropology mug. Yes, I did watch that documentary about snails you recommended. But it’s a slippery slope and lying can quickly get out of hand: No, I didn’t accidentally destroy your original copy of Deathly Hallows. No, I didn’t secretly murder your cousin. Yes, I floss every day. Too far.

  Home remedy to try: Never speak.

  •YOUR LAUGH IS SCARILY LOUD.

  Loud laughter is a clear sign of treachery.

  Home remedy to try: Laugh silently or seek help from a life coach.

  •YOU’VE ADDED LORD TO YOUR NAME.

  The fact of the matter is you’re not allowed to make yourself a lord unless you’re the queen of England. And I don’t know why you would do that because you’re already the queen. Know that if you make yourself a lord, I will be suspicious and I will call a life coach to save you.

  Home remedy to try: Community service.

  •YOU HAVE URGES TO KILL PEOPLE.

  You’re never supposed to kill people. Maybe you’re unaware, but it’s actually against the law. Don’t do it. Instead, get a life coach. Do not kill said life coach.

  Home remedy to try: Channel these urges into something productive, like basket-weaving. Why get jail time when you can get a basket!

  •YOU USE PENNIES TO PAY FOR THINGS.

  Pennies are irrelevant and they should die. Smother this habit now before you become a threat to humanity.

  Home remedy to try: Hot tea with honey.

  •YOU’D REALLY LIKE TO ATTAIN TOTAL WORLD DOMINATION.