No, perhaps it was a palace.
Kariel stared into the mirror with an inscrutable face. The reflection looked at him with a handsome but excessively pale and gloomy face, which spoiled the whole impression.
Seeing him in person, you wouldn't consider him attractive – only chillingly sinister.
In the soft light of the room, he resembled a ghost. His motionless face expressed a barely perceptible weariness, and only upon closer inspection could one notice the hidden disgust in the details.
+It seems you don't like the room I arranged for you.+
The voice sounded not in the air, but directly in Kariel's mind.
Psykers.
What a convenient power.
+Just don't tell me you like this kind of thing.+
+I am forced to arrange everything in this style. This ship, in a sense, embodies the Emperor's status as a symbol. It could have been just a ship, but in most cases, it is not.+
+Political considerations again?+
+If I want to be the Emperor, I must act this way.+
+Does your list of "musts" include talking to me using psykers?+
+Yes.+
+When does dinner start?+
+In forty minutes. Prepare as soon as possible, one of my sons will probably ask you many questions at dinner.+
+I can refuse to answer.+
+I myself would wish for you not to answer and even not to be present at this dinner, but we both know that's impossible.+
Kariel Lohars closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The voice in his head fell silent, gradually dissolving into silence, but the echo still resonated.
This was his first conversation using psykers. The sensation was strange, and Kariel didn't like it.
He didn't ask if the Ghost would be at dinner – the answer was long known to him.
And if the Ghost would be there... no, if Konrad Curze would be there, then he had to be present.
Not for any other reason, but for political considerations.
Seeing decorations with clear religious undertones on the ship and how people on his path worshipped the "Emperor," Kariel understood much.
But he only understood – and nothing more.
"Dinner," he muttered, still looking in the mirror. "I have to attend a banquet."
He chuckled. Not for any particular reason – he just suddenly realized who Kariel Lohars was.
The son of an aristocrat. What's strange about attending a banquet? Except that the banquet itself was somewhat unusual.
A banquet hosted by an Emperor reclaiming lost human worlds of the galaxy, in the company of his demigod sons...
The dishes must be luxurious.
Perhaps someone would even specifically record everything they said and everything they ate, and an artist would capture the scene on canvas.
"But can I eat normal food?"
Sighing, he stood up. There was a dressing room in the spacious room. No one explained anything to him; it seemed the "Emperor" had already arranged not to trouble him with domestic instructions.
He didn't need them.
And he didn't need this room either.
Kariel entered the dressing room with a stone face. It was a long corridor, the floor of which was covered with a dark carpet.
The ceiling and the far wall were mirrored. To the right, an open dark wooden door was visible.
Behind it was a gilded bathroom with a huge bathtub; showerheads were built directly into the ceiling.
A strange aroma of incense emanated from inside, coming from white boxes on the walls that shone like jade. On the golden hangers, at least thirty towels hung softly.
On both sides of the corridor hung men's clothing of all sizes: from dark robes embroidered with gold thread to form-fitting shirts with lace cuffs. There were even several dozen pairs of boots.
Kariel stopped at the entrance. He glanced around the place, took a deep breath again, and only then stepped inside with an inscrutable face.
Soon, the sound of splashing water was heard, which also quickly subsided.
...
"Believe me, Konrad, the dinner will be luxurious."
"How luxurious?" Konrad Curze asked, confused.
Fulgrim couldn't help but smile. He spread his arms wide, making an exaggerated gesture – a great rarity for him.
"Incredibly," he whispered. "I've tried over a hundred dishes alone. Today is your return, so Father will surely order the venerable chefs to prepare even more. Today you can enjoy the feast."
"Enjoy?"
"Yes... Look how thin you are."
Leaning against the doorframe of the dressing room, Fulgrim sighed involuntarily: "My brother, this is the smallest clothing I could find, but even it hangs on you."
"Is that bad?" asked Curze.
He stood before a mirror in a frame with a double-headed eagle. He wore a loose black robe, and a pendant given by Fulgrim hung on his chest. His black hair was combed back, and a peculiar scent hit his nostrils.
He didn't like this smell.
"Clothes that are too loose give a person a frivolous and weak appearance, and most importantly, Konrad, it contradicts etiquette. Didn't he teach you that?"
"..."
"Konrad?"
"..." Does food also require etiquette?"
"Of course," Fulgrim nodded. "If you allow yourself to eat and drink without measure, you may lose not only dignity but something more."
"And I'd rather wear loose clothes and eat nutrient paste, huddled in a corner," thought the Ghost, looking in the mirror.
"You can hide more weapons in loose clothes. Kariel likes to wear clothes with wide and long sleeves so that no one sees his blades."
"Hiding weapons is necessary," the Ghost told himself in Kariel's voice.
He didn't like the man in the mirror at all.
Thanks to the clothes, he looked like a celestial being, and his black, agate-like eyes only intensified this new, alien sense of detachment.
The Ghost had seen his reflection before. Climbing skyscrapers and spires in the icy wind, he sometimes noticed his silhouette on the glass. Sometimes he saw his face in the murky water of acid rains.
That face was his first true image. And this...
He didn't like these changes. He didn't like it here.
The Ghost never thought he would miss that dark corner.
"Konrad? Are you okay?"
Fulgrim's voice came from afar, from the other end of the corridor. It carried genuine, sincere concern. This unprovoked affection, born solely of blood kinship, caught the Ghost off guard.
He remembered their names.
Rogal Dorn, Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus, Lorgar Aurelian.
They called him Konrad Curze.
"I'd rather be called Night Ghost," he thought. "The one you call father didn't say a word to me."
"...I'm fine," the Ghost replied in Konrad Curze's voice. "Will Kariel be at dinner?"
"Of course, he will! Gods, brother, do you think we would be so impolite as to not let him attend? He is..."
Fulgrim faltered and shook his head with a guilty look.
"Forgive me, Konrad," he said softly.
"What for?"
"What?"
"What are you apologizing for, Fulgrim?"
Konrad Curze repeated the question, then turned around, his lips pressed tightly together: "You have already been kind enough to me, why apologize? Others, upon first meeting, shower you with curses and bullets instead of greetings. Why are you apologizing?"
"I..."
Fulgrim froze.
"Don't apologize. I know the reason, but please, don't apologize," Konrad Curze said calmly. "If you hadn't allowed Kariel to attend, he wouldn't have minded, and neither would I. But I wouldn't have come either."
"We will, of course, allow him... no, no, we will certainly invite him!"
For the first time since he decided to follow the light his father carried, the Chemosian was so excited.
He didn't understand why his brother, when everything was going well, suddenly started talking about not going to dinner. Although he quickly realized that the problem was in his own wording, but...
"Words spoken casually often reflect true thoughts," Konrad Curze said. "Lord Fulgrim, I actually know that you despise him."
"Emperor, I didn't say that, Konrad!"
"The truth lies in the details," Konrad Curze replied calmly. "To you, Kariel Lohars is just a worthless mortal. I know."
"Therefore, that he raised me is just his luck. That he protected me on Nostramo is a mere coincidence. I am grateful for your love, but I don't think I deserve anything so significant."
"Brother!" The Chemosian stood in place, his face deathly pale. "I beg you, don't do this."
"I must. Kariel said that dissatisfaction should be expressed immediately, not allowed to take root in the heart and become a bloody splinter. So don't apologize, Lord Fulgrim."
He paused.
"I know you see me as a brother. But have you ever considered if I want to be one? The one you consider father... he hasn't said a word to me."
"And Kariel..."
His speech became disjointed, illogical... finally resembling the speech of a year-and-a-half-old child.
"You despise him."
The Ghost pursed his lips, his eyes widened, and his voice trembled.
"You apologized only because you accidentally expressed your true thoughts, because you didn't want to hurt my feelings. Lord Fulgrim, you apologize not because you truly regret what you said."
Fulgrim had nothing to say.
His lips trembled, and his noble face, due to its deathly pallor, seemed haggard. His eyes showed sorrow and shame: sorrow that Konrad Curze had spoken this trembling truth, and shame – from the same truth.
Silence.
An insurmountable silence.
"But I will come to dinner," the Ghost said. "I don't want to upset you."
***
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