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The sandals also have their use as a corrective implement!

But deep down -- hidden beneath a layer of obsidian and haughty chill -- something flickered. She clamped down on the flicker as the observation blister that looked over the training room was suddenly filled -- a pale red luminescence back lit the severe, narrow body of her father. Albus Malichor looked down at her and nodded ever so slightly.

"Very good," he said, his voice slightly muzzy as it was picked up and amplified by the blister's vox-caster. "Ruby, I wish to speak to you once you are finished with your studies."

Ruby looked down at the slave curled up on the ground. He was clutching at his chest, gasping with pain. Quietly, he was whispering in the underhive cant that was nothing but garbled, gutteral grunts. But in there, mixed among the baby-talk words that passed by Ruby without register, she heard a single word, repeated again and again: Emperor. Emperor. Emperor. She knelt beside him, whispering quietly in his ear.

"I'm sorry."

Her parrying knife opened his throat and she stepped out of the way of the blood that started to puddle on the floor. The Empty Woman nodded to her as she walked past -- stepping out of the training room and into the clear, unadorned corridors of her family's manse. She made her way to her father's study, knowing that taking the time to change clothes and step into an abultion chamber would be seen as dallying. Tarrying. Wasting time. Her father sneered at the pleasures of the world -- everything that did not measurably improve the many percentages that he continually calculated was cut from his life with the brutal, efficient chopping of a butcher.

Love?

Chop.

Friendship?

Chop.

Loyalty to the Emperor?

Chop -- but a tiny, flimsy chunk of gristle remained. Purely because the Imperium could still grind the Malichor family under their gears, if it ever wished. Not for any actual damn- Again, the flicker. Again, Ruby clamped it down. She came to her father's office -- there, she could see a window that looked out over the vastness of the Bosporus Hive. Electrodynamic minarets rose from between the smooth, almost organic looking vanes of the spires. Rad-lightning crackled along their lengths as they swayed and twitched their kilometer long progress through the atmosphere and magnetosphere beyond. Unlike nearly every world in the Imperium of this scale, there was a complete lack of aircar and skimmer traffic. The why could be felt -- Ruby put her palm against the window and heard the scream of the wind.

Fast enough to flay an unprotected man alive. In mere minutes.

"Good, you're here," Albus Malichor said. He walked past Ruby and took a seat behind his desk -- a chunk of black stone that concealed enough near-heresy to make Ruby's skin crawl. His mere touch awoke hololiths that projected dozens of different schemes and plans. Orbital transfer patterns. Fealty oaths. Timeline projections. One of those made Ruby's brow furrow -- she recognized the Hall Dynasty's glyphic. But who was...Jornan?

"Our newest target," Malichor said, grinning slightly. A skull grin. "The Hall Dynasty are here. On Bosporus."

Ruby nodded.

How could she have missed it? The ancient enmity between the Halls and the Malichor had been told her so many times that she could re-tell it in a dozen different artistic styles. Terran Haiku, Celestine Longform Song, Catchean Death-Dancing, and others.

"He's their Trader-Elect," her father said. "And I now know the exact way to remove him. Without an heir, the Hall Dynasty will face a succession crisis." He grinned. "A crisis we will be eminently posed to take advantage of."
Ruby nodded curtly. "How? An assassin?"

"Better." Malichor's eyes practically glowed. "Who was it who said that a traitor's blow has the strength of a Legion?"

Ruby blinked -- thrown. She worked her way through her many tutor lessons. She hadn't ever heard that quote from a single Imperial Saint, General, Governor, Commissar, or other.

"I...I don't know, father," she said, her eyes darting down as she bowed her head forward.

Her father chuckle

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