Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

that I sound just like Lionstone. Intriguing and politicking to make people do things, just because I think I'm right. I don't want to be an Empress! I don't want to lead Humanity. I just want to be… the voice of reason."
    "And you will be," Evangeline said firmly. "The best person to place in a position of power is the one person who doesn't want to be there. Owen taught us that. He never wanted to be a rebel, or a rebel leader, but he changed the Empire, because he saw it was the right thing to do, and couldn't, wouldn't, look away. He understood what duty and honor really mean."
    "Yes, he did." Constance sighed. "It's hard to believe someone like him is really dead. The only truly honorable man I ever knew. Apart from Robert, of course."
    "Owen might still turn up again, someday."
    "God, I hope not! That really would complicate things. No; he's far more useful
    as a legend now. Someone to inspire the next generation."
    "Would you really have married him? I mean, you never loved him."
    "No. But I admired him. I would have been proud to be his wife. The marriage was my idea, after all. And the Empire does so need its heroes. But I think… he probably would have hated being even a constitutional monarch. He would have found it very limiting, after all the things he'd been through. So I suppose things have a way of turning out right, eventually. I'm marrying Robert Campbell, and he will make a fine King and a better husband. Who says there are no happy endings anymore?"
    People circulated constantly in the increasingly crowded antechamber, waiting impatiently for their chance to see and be seen. There were news cameras everywhere; but Toby Shreck and Imperial News had exclusive rights to the ceremony itself, so all the other news and gossip stations had to make do with the antechamber and the exterior preparations. Holocameras shot back and forth overhead, trying desperately to find someone or something worth covering, that might distract from Toby Shreck's coverage. Some cameras became caught up in savage butting contests as they fought over the few decent scraps of news available. Mostly first glances of who was with who, and what they were wearing.
    So people pushed, shoved, and elbowed one another out of the way to win their moment in front of the cameras, saying frantically witty things to the increasingly shell-shocked interviewers. After all, everyone in the Empire was watching, and everyone who even thought they might be anyone had fought and intrigued and prostituted themselves dreadfully for an invitation to the wedding of the century. Luckily, that hadn't been as hard as it might have been, because so many of the old movers and shakers were dead and gone. In fact, it was hard
    for the guests and the viewers not to feel the presence of many famous ghosts; people who should have been present on such an important day in the Empire's history.
    Crawford Campbell, father of Finlay, murdered by Jacob Wolfe, who was in turn murdered by his own son Valentine. Roderik SummerIsle, wise old hero of the Empire, murdered by his own grandson, Kid Death. Gregor Shreck, even, though no one really missed his presence. The legendary Giles Deathstalker, founder of his Clan, murdered in the end by his own descendant Owen. Who was also gone, along with his fearsome companion Hazel d'Ark. So many Families contained the seeds of their own destruction. And, of course, the Iron Bitch herself, Empress Lionstone XIV. So many great figures, heroes and villains and everything in between.
    Larger than life… but all gone now. And the Empire seemed such a smaller place without them.
    But they were the past, and this was a day for celebrating the future. No one mentioned the old names aloud, for fear of seeming out of touch with the current realities.
    Chantelle was soon back, organizing people and schedules with equal implacable vigor. The multitude of guests varied between being openly impressed and utterly appalled, as Chantelle bullied people about with no regard as to whether they were servants or celebrities. She circulated at great speed among the uneasy guests, favoring some with a quick peck on the cheek, or by generously remembering their first names in front of the cameras, while others received only biting put-downs or were damned with the very faintest of praises. Some Chantelle cut dead entirely, stalking right past them with her nose firmly in the air, right in front of the cameras, and for those people the shame was