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You were warned, Your Ladyship. It is regrettable that you did not listen.
* * *
The summons to the Lord Captain’s quarters came as a surprise to Heinrix van Calox just four days after the regrettable catastrophe that had been the fall of Rykad Minoris. If he was being honest, he wasn’t even aware that they were on speaking terms, as the newly-appointed head of the von Valancius dynasty had made it explosively clear what she thought of his counsel in the wake of the disaster, as well as the dire consequences that would (and had) come as a result of not heeding it. After the orders had been given she had withdrawn from him entirely and, in the sombre days that followed, had refused to even meet his eye when they passed on the Bridge.
He told himself he didn’t care; that this was all beneath him. The dance between the Inquisition and Rogue Traders would always be an uncomfortable affair, wrought with distrust and steered by half-truths, and to hope it could be anymore than that was simply foolish.
Unsurprisingly, the Lord Captain’s disdain for him had spread like wildfire throughout the upper-decks, reaching even the ears of those absent from the initial altercation. Whereas before the officers had regarded him with a healthy level of wariness— one that so often came with the territory of being an Inquisition agent— they now perceived him with downright contempt. No-one had said anything to his face, of course, but he knew the looks and he knew what they meant.
But, as with many things he faced in the line of duty, this was all inconsequential. He was here to do a job, not to make friends. As soon as they reached Footfall he would be free of this and, if fortune favoured, would never have to cross paths with another damn von Valancius ever again.
But, for now, he was still aboard the Voidtreader and that meant that part of his duty was to answer the Lord Captain’s call. No matter what his qualms for her.
The guards were stoic, illegible without calling upon his curse, as one unlocked the elevator, allowing Heinrix access to the compartment that served as the Lord Captain’s own quarters; her private island upon the constantly roiling sea of the voidship. As the mechanical beast whirred around him, he briefly considered why this meeting had to be held so far from prying eyes and, spurred by habit more than any real concern for his safety, he checked his pistol and his sword.
After exiting the elevator, it was a rather laborious journey through stately rooms, following a path of crimson carpet between display cases that glinted bright in the candlelight. Their contents were trophies of the late Theodora, of course. Her successor hadn’t been in power long enough to achieve any momentous victories of her own, and had Her Current Ladyship been so hasty to abandon the coattails of her predecessor, the journey to her study would have been a far less ostentatious affair. After all, how would he know he was going to meet with a Rogue Trader if he didn’t have to walk through a vast exhibition of their vanity to get to them?
And finally he was there— the study— and climbing the short flight of stairs that lead up to the raised bow of the room, upon which sat the Lord Captain’s desk; her seat of power in this place.
The desk was a square-edged behemoth of dark wood; the sort of figurehead piece that rooms are built around (both in figurative regards to interior design and quite literally). Behind it stood a sleek, high-backed chair adorned with red cushions that an attentive eye had taken great care to ensure matched the shade of the carpet perfectly. The caricature-like contrast of the pair reminded Heinrix of enumerable high-born couples he had encountered throughout his decades of service and he was certain that exact dynamic could be found copied-and-pasted all over Dargonus and other similarly-affluent worlds at this very moment.
Like far-too-many gold chains around the fat neck of a noble, the desk was cluttered with more relics from Theodora’s reign— books and maps, trinkets of undisclosed origin, a rather fine brass spyglass— and behind this thieves’ trove of an inheritance sat Her Current Ladyship herself: Rogue Trader Sesselie von Valancius.
Heinrix opened his mouth, preparing to give the usual terse but rehearsed pleasantries—
“You’re good at finding out information, aren’t you?” the Lord Captain spoke first, utterly derailing Heinrix’s fine-tuned train of thought. Swiftly, the Interrogator within him stepped up to take the controls and he noted the low flatness in her voice and the way her chestnut eyes, devoid of their usual ember-warmth, seemed to be looking through him rather than at. She wore her long auburn hair loose as always, but her usual bouncy waves were limp and bedraggled as if, he deduced, she had wrapped them around her fingers too many times. Something she was wont to do, an involuntary tick, when agitated.
Heinrix’s observational assessment took just moments but the pause fell heavy between them. Uncertainty flickered in Sesselie’s eyes, the knit of her brows deepening the purple shadows that hung beneath them, as she added, “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
Good at finding out information, Heinrix’s pride scoffed. In a rudimentary sense, yes, he supposed he was. But what an insultingly simple way of putting it— to diminish the importance of the vital duties he performed for the Throne like it was something akin to a hobby. And he almost told her so, too. But there was no trace of malevolence in her words— he looked— and, under the glimmer of hopefulness in her gaze, he surprised himself by answering: “What do you need?”
She had been gripping the arms of her chair, Heinrix realised when she folded her hands neatly in her lap and the colour flooded back to her pale knuckles. At his query, he felt an unseen mote of tension in the air between them vanish, bringing with it the ominous relief that he had passed some sort of secret test and that whatever strange form these peace talks were going to take they had gotten off on the right foot.
“Names,” answered the Rogue Trader and, when Heinrix arched a brow, elaborated, “The eleven that died— the suicides— I want their names. And the names of any family they have. Onboard and off.” The words toppled from her mouth with a clumsy gait Heinrix’s inquisitorial suspicions usually reserved for the nervous and the guilty. As she spoke, his eyes were drawn to the torn skin of her bottom lip and the speckles of blood that peppered it. As if clocking his gaze, she ran her tongue over it.
He was aware of the gruesome deaths that had occurred over the past few days, of course he was. It was his job to be aware. They had flagged up on his radar as something that warranted investigation but, when minimal probing had revealed that the victims were both Rykadian refugees and crew members, and that the wounds— varying forms of mutilation focused on the eye area— had been self-inflicted and not, as he had feared, the machinations of the Archenemy, he had turned his focus elsewhere and left this sordid business to be dealt with internally.
“Is that not something the Seneschal can provide you with?” Heinrix asked.
The Lord Captain worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I asked him already. He won’t give them to me.”
Ah. The pieces fell into place.
“Sesselie—”
“Seelie. Please.”
Heinrix exhaled through his nose. “Seelie… Your insistence at making everything a personal matter will burden you greatly in the days to come.”
A sudden burst of hot air enveloped his face, knocking his fringe askew, and every nerve in his body thrummed in warning at the sudden spike in warp energy. Seelie was skilled at suppressing her curse— even he had not realised she was a fellow psyker as quickly as he usually sensed these things— but she had weak points, just like anyone else.
And here it was— her temper— the one he had seen for the first time, unshackled, on the Bridge where she had damn near burnt him to ashes for his audacity to question the sense that drove her orders. Beneath her exhaustion it was still there, simmering under the surface.
But, unlike on the Bridge, she checked herself this time; reigned back the flames and took a sharp breath. With her steady exhale, the heat dissipated. But in her eyes the embers still smouldered.
“I did not ask for your counsel,” she said, flatly. “Can you find me those names or not?”
“I could.” Heinrix folded his arms against his chest and held her gaze; his cold stare against her blazing one, each unwavering in their defiance. “But, for your own good, I do not think I should.”
The Lord Captain threw back her head with a bark of shrill, mirthless laughter.
“Do not pretend to care about what is good for me, Interrogator.” She stressed his title in a way that reminded him of another life: one where his little sisters would call him names when they argued. The boy he had been back then had always risen to the bait. That was his youthful folly and it had taken him years to vanquish it. But, in doing so, it had allowed him to maintain a mask of stern impassiveness, even when a Rogue Trader was sharpening her claws.
And, just like that, the flames in her eyes guttered and went out. She sat back, defeated, and, as she pulled her legs up and tucked them beneath herself, Heinrix suddenly realised how small she looked; how dwarfed she was by the high-backed chair and the enormous desk. And the weight of her new crown.
She was twisting her fingers in her lap when she said quietly, “I don’t know how many people died with Rykad Minoris. Nobody will even give me an estimate.”
Billions. And they did not just die— their souls were sent into the grasp of the Archenemy. Heinrix clenched his jaw to stop himself saying the words out loud. His mask slipped for only a moment before he ushered back in the impassive professionalism he wore like his uniform. But Seelie still caught it and he felt a rare twinge of guilt as her eyes dropped to her hands and her hair fell down over her face like a curtain.
“It was an immeasurable amount, I know,” she said, sadly. “But the eleven who died aboard this ship—”
“They took their own lives. You are not responsible—”
“They were on my ship.” The temperature in the room flared again and, this time, she was not so quick to cool it. “I cannot know the names of every individual that perished on Rykad Minoris, but I can know them. They can be more than just numbers in a log somewhere.”
“And what then, Lord Captain?” Heinrix placed his palms on the desk and lent over her, calling upon his own curse to force the temperature around him to plummet. Where his frigidness met her fire, a light mist swirled between them. “You inform the families personally? You tell them their husband— their wife— their child— died in the line of duty? As heroes? You offer them your condolences, perhaps some compensation—”
“I’m not like you!”
Her hands slammed down on the desk between his own. Wood groaned as it blistered beneath roaring flame. Heinrix leapt back from the small inferno, rubbing his hand over his face to check he still had his eyebrows while swearing through clenched teeth.
Enough was enough. He was done playing these tedious games of politics. He was done with upstart Rogue Traders and spoilt little girls who should have been taught to control their tempers and psyker powers years ago. She was volatile— she was dangerous— she was—
She was crying.
And not the delicate, blink-away tears of a frustrated woman at the end of her rope; they were face-screwed-up, blotchy-nosed, trembling-lip tears, rolling down her cheeks and sizzling as they fell upon the smoking desk.
“I didn’t ask for this!” She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders heaved and her words shuddered between sobs. “I didn’t ask to be brought to this stupid ship! I didn’t ask to become a Rogue Trader!”
Later, Heinrix would look back on this moment and wince at how embarrassingly long he stood there staring at her, thinking about how this mission had a reoccurring theme of presenting him with situations he was never taught to deal with during Inquisitorial training.
“Seelie—” he began, finally, reaching a hesitant hand across the desk. But his awkward gesture went unnoticed as, just inches from touching her shoulder, she sniffed loudly and flung herself back into her chair. Heinrix withdrew his hand swiftly and, at a loss of where else to put it, clasped it behind his back.
He watched her loudly blow her nose into a handkerchief that had embroidered initials in the corner: TVV. Yet another lingering ghost of the late Theodora. Seelie was right: she hadn’t asked for any of this. She had been plucked up simply because of her blood and expected to fill a space much larger than herself from the moment she sat down upon the Captain’s chair. Abelard and the officers were doing their best to teach her the complicated workings of the dynasty but she would always be at a disadvantage. Her overbearing compassion and naivety were flaws, the sort that were extinguished from a young age in those moulded for lofty positions from birth. They were not things she would be able to shed overnight. But she would have to if she— if the entire von Valancius dynasty— was going to survive in the cut-throat Koronus Expanse. The idea of that made him oddly sad.
Heinrix cleared his throat.
“For the record, I did not ask to become an Inquisition agent.” He wasn’t sure whether he should be admitting that; he was always so careful to keep professional relationships at a distance where they belonged. Stupid. Reckless. He was cracking open a door he doubted he’d be able to close again.
But the way she looked at him now— her doe-eyes tearful and tired and curious all at once— made him wonder if that might not be such a bad thing after all.
“I was taken from my home planet because of my powers,” he continued, carefully, as the lines around his secrets blurred. “The Inquisition allowed me to hone my curse into purpose and duty, but my personal preference was never a part of it.” As soon as the words left his mouth he felt an uncomfortable twist of dread in the pit of his stomach. The door was open and the questions were surely coming through. In his short time aboard the Voidtreader, Seelie had already tried several times to wring personal information out of him. After his constant rebuffs, she was sure to delight in finally gleaming something and would certainly press for more.
But, to his surprise, she remained on the other side of the door, looking in, nodding slowly with a far away look in her eyes. Finally she said, “Do you know Zel Secundas?”
“A small death world in the Calixis Sector. They extract sulphur there, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You already know I was born there, don’t you?”
“I do.” A volcanic world, he had thought when he first read her file, how fitting.
Seelie pursed her lips, looking thoroughly unimpressed but not surprised. “And do you know how many people live there?”
Heinrix instinctively began to do the math in his head but, seeing the furrow in her brow, realised she was not seeking an estimate. “I’m afraid I do not.”
To that, Seelie smiled sadly.
“Neither do I— not anymore. But before I…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “Before I left there were forty-six in our settlement on the southern pole. There were more before I was born but the sandstorms had been getting worse and they weren’t sending us replacement air filters as often as we needed. Every time we sent off a sulphur shipment a few more people left to look for work elsewhere. But the ones who stayed— I knew them all by name.” Her finger traced the perfect hand-print burns that now marred the desk like brands.
Finally, something of her own, Heinrix caught himself thinking before her voice drew him back—
“From the day of my birth to the day I left, twenty-two people had died of accident, injury, or disease. I know this because we honoured every one of them. We had funerals and collected rations to make sure their families were taken care of. There were memorials. Death was a personal thing on Zel Secundas.” She lifted her chin, fixing Heinrix with a pointed look. “It should always be a personal thing.”
How wonderful it would be if that were possible, Heinrix wanted to say. But, instead, he said: “Your world is a lot bigger than Zel Secundas now. You are the ruler of a dynasty and people will die for you—” Seelie opened her mouth to argue but Heinrix held up a hand and continued, gently but firmly, “Many will do so willingly. But, no matter what happens, you will have to return to the Captain’s seat at the end of it. You will have to make more decisions and give more orders. If you let eleven deaths consume you then you will be fighting not only the Final Dawn, but your own fear and doubt too. That is a death sentence in itself. You cannot save everyone. Especially from themselves.”
“I want to try.”
“So that is why you insisted on sending the shuttles.”
Seelie’s finger on the desk stopped. “No. I did it to indulge my vanity.”
Heinrix held her gaze for several more seconds but he was the first to look away. He cleared his throat and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
“I would like to apologise for my choice of words on the Bridge when you chose not to heed my counsel. I overstepped and I was wrong to accuse you of vanity. Although, I must confess, I am not used to dealing with individuals in positions such as yours whose actions do not benefit themselves first and foremost.”
Seelie dipped her head to inspect her nails but Heinrix still caught the flicker of a smile ghost her lips. “You’ve dealt with many Rogue Traders then?”
“No. But I can assure you, neither Winterscale nor Chorda would have even considered sending shuttles for the survivors.”
“Do you think Theodora would have?”
The question shouldn’t have surprised Heinrix as much as it did and he looked about the room again. If only clutter could talk.
“I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting her, and I’m not in the habit of guessing but— if I had to— I would say no.”
Seelie deemed her nails satisfactory and lifted her head again. “Then I suppose I should also apologise. I believe, in the heat of the moment, I was rather abrupt with you. I see now that you were only trying to help. In your own way.” Her words sounded sincere enough but she wasn’t quite meeting his eye when she said them.
“If I remember correctly, you threatened to throw me out of the airlock.” The corner of Heinrix’s mouth twisted upwards in a crooked smile.
“Did I?” She twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”
Heinrix let out a breath of laughter, then quickly cleared his throat and the smile from his face. “You’re right, Lord Captain, I must be mistaken. There was so much going on. I suspect I misheard you in the chaos.”
At that, their eyes met again and, to Heinrix’s immense and rather perplexing relief, Seelie smiled. The lull of silence that fell between them this time was an easy one; light and comfortable, a break in the storm clouds that had been swelling over their heads for the past few days.
That is, until Seelie opened her mouth again—
“Do you still think I made the wrong decision?”
Heinrix could almost hear the distant rumble of thunder threatening. What did she want from him? Did she really want him to give her his honest answer or was she seeking sweet, comforting lies? And why did he give such a damn about upsetting her? He dreaded the thought of breaking the truce that he had only just brokered, but he dreaded the alternative and what it might lead to even more.
“If I may be candid?”
Seelie inclined her head. “Always.”
That sounded a lot like a trap and Heinrix scrutinised her face for any signs that the slightest drop of discordance on his part would have her leaping at his throat again. But he found none. Just tired eyes and a fresh line on her brow from frowning too much.
“It was an unreasonable and unforgettably high price for such a small handful of people saved by your mercy,” he said, choosing his words carefully but honestly. “So do I consider it a worthy exchange? I most certainly do not. Will I make every effort to make sure such an exchange does not happen again? Of course I will. Sentimentality is a luxury I cannot afford.”
To his surprise, the temperature in the room remained tepid and level. They were, no doubt, not the words she wanted to hear but, at the same time, she did not seem angry. Instead, she studied him, her expression a mask of closeness and, when she finally spoke, she said, “I do not believe you lack compassion. You did not stop me after all. And you certainly could have tried to.” That last part sounded frighteningly like a dare.
“I haven’t said I would not like to be able to afford such a luxury,” Heinrix admitted. Here he was again, saying things he probably shouldn’t be saying. “In fact, deep down I understand why you acted that way…” Things he wouldn’t be able to take back. “I have yet to eliminate that understanding and acceptance within myself, but I will.”
He was unsure how he expected her to respond to that. He was walking paths he had never walked before; ones he had ignored a stream of ‘stop’ and ‘danger’ signs to get to. He would never have predicted her brows to knit in quite they way they did, and for her tiredness to be overcome by something he found all-together unwarranted: sorrow.
“Would it be so bad to let that acceptance live?” she asked.
Heinrix had not considered that— had not allowed himself to. He had made far too many bad decisions in such a short time already.
“It will only hinder me in the long-term.”
“Is compassion really such a weakness?”
“For me, yes.” He wished she would stop looking at him like that.
“I pity you. And the things the Emperor asks of you.”
“I do not need your pity.”
“And I do not need your judgement, but it seems we’re both the recipients of unwanted gifts today.”
Heinrix forced out a laugh. “I suppose that is true.”
To his relief, the look of sorrow faded from her face and the silence returned, light and comfortable again. It felt like the right time to excuse himself— he had taken enough of her time.
But the business she had called him here for was still unfinished.
“About the names you requested—” Damn it. He could almost hear Tlass’ sing-song voice through the ceiling: the ice man’s cracking. But Seelie was looking at him with weary hope in her tired eyes and it was too late to back down now. “I will endeavour to find them for you.” He fixed her with a stern look. “This time. But please do not make this a regular thing. For your own sake.”
Seelie inclined her head. “How very kind of you, Mister van Calox.”
“Let us call it gratitude for your generous hospitality, not kindness.”
“Oh, of course, Interrogator, merely gratitude and not because you have developed a fondness for me after all.”
To his horror, Heinrix had to fight back against a hotness rising up his neck that, if he didn’t know better, felt suspiciously like a blush. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and dug his nail into the palm of his clenched fist.
“Even after you get exactly what you want you still can’t resist digging your claws in, can you?”
Seelie, a smirk playing on her lips for probably the first time since Rykad Minoris, lent back in her chair and raised her palms in submission.
Heinrix gave a short bow and descended the steps.
“Mister van Calox,” her voice called after him.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Lord Captain?”
“I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.”
Heinrix inclined his head in thanks, then continued down the crimson carpet, between display cases of a dead woman’s vanity, and back towards the elevator.
Inconsequential, he reminded himself and pushed away a pang of what someone else might have called regret.
Footfall and duty were calling.