"Breathe, just breathe," Timov commanded Londo as his eyes glazed. He started to roll awkwardly forward toward her on his knees, but she caught his shoulder, easing him into a sitting position against the wall.

It occurred to Timov for a fleeting second that she could let him die there, that his heart attack presented a perfectly plausible resolution to the situation that she had been battling for years. All she had to do was to do nothing. She could simply stroll out of the cell and return to her life as a free woman, inheriting all of the wealth he had acquired as emperor. Her own status would rise from mere wife of the emperor to the venerated position of Empress Dowager. All of these things, it occurred to her in an instant, would happen if she simply did nothing, the easiest of all things to do.

But like his poisoning at the hands of Mariel, and as much as her mind argued against her, her conscience reminded her that she was just as incapable of killing him through inaction as she was through zealous plotting.

"Emperors do not die in dungeon cells, Londo Mollari," she chastised him half-heartedly as she saw how pale he was. "Is this how you wish to be remembered? As the Emperor who died in his own dungeon?"

She gathered up her dress, getting ready to go to the door when he tried to stop her with a hand, "Please," he pleaded, struggling to find his words. "I don't wish . . ." he paused, trying to catch his breath, " . . . to die alone."

"You're not going to die, Londo," she told him firmly, "I'm going to get help, and I will be back at your side in an instant." She ran to the door, pounding on it with all of her strength, though it seemed a rather feeble effort to her.

As she waited for the guards to open the door, she returned to his side, where he still struggled to breathe and clutched at his chest. Londo slumped sideways into her arms, trying to talk to her, but she shushed him and tried to calm him while help arrived.

At the sound of ruffling cloth, Timov glanced up, prepared to see a royal guard. Instead, in front of her stood a monster.

The Drakh had been a favorite in Centauri children's horror stories, and now there was one staring down at her. Instinctively, Timov pulled Londo closer, who, unaware of the new arrival, was slowly gasping.

"Is this some sort of a joke?" she asked sharply. "Whoever you are, go and get help. My husband needs a doctor immediately," she commanded with ferocity.

Shiv'kala gazed at the foolish Centauri woman giving him orders. "You have been told before. He cannot be examined in a medical facility," he rasped with irritation.

Shiv'kala watched the woman stare oddly at him, pulsating with anger when he did not move. "Why not?" she demanded.

Using their telepathic link, Shiv'kala commanded the keeper to reveal itself, and Timov gasped as the organism appeared before her on Londo's shoulder, its eye wide and twitching.

"What is that?" she asked with horror.

"It is called a keeper," Shiv'kala leaned toward her. "It is linked to our servant through his nervous system. We can hear and see everything he does – and inflict untold pain, when necessary."

Shiv'kala turned toward the keeper whose one eye was darting swiftly around.

"Do not be afraid," he told the keeper telepathically, sensing that the keeper was also experiencing its host's pain and distress.

"Your servant?" Timov's eyes darted to Londo's pale face and back to the Drakh. "What servant has chains bound around his neck? He looks like a slave – or a prisoner."

Shiv'kala shrugged. "Whatever you like. He belongs to us."

Shiv'kala turned to watch the Empress's anger turn to surprise and surprise turn to fear, but to her credit, she kept her wits about her, and she focused on the situation before her. "He needs help. Please!" It was clear that the woman could neither move Londo from the cell by herself, nor call anyone else to enter if Mollari had commanded them to stay away nor would she be able to physically fight him, and the moments to treat the Emperor's heart attack were ticking away.

"Please," she repeated, desperately.

Shiv'kala cocked his head, taking in the specimen before him. The Drakh had not considered that Londo's body might give out under the strain. Had they considered that the Emperor was susceptible to a heart attack, they might have reconsidered the decision that his wife be killed over his vehement protests.

Shiv'kala considered that he could let Mollari die, but Mollari had been moderately compliant, at least, of late, and training a new emperor would take time and resources, let alone a new plan of succession. It was all very tiresome, and for this, the Drakh were willing to sacrifice a little.

At last, Shiv'kala said, "Releasing a keeper can be fatal for its host. It is . . . possible to release a keeper without killing the host, but it takes time. I can keep him alive in the meantime, but . . ." Shiv'kala's features drew back into the semblance of a dark smile, "we cannot do this without an understanding."

"What understanding?" Timov asked quickly.

"We will allow him to live if you will accept the keeper in his place. He will be relieved of all of his memories of the Drakh while he is in the hospital."

Timov appeared ready to wretch, "So this is the madness that surrounds him - this thing you have wrapped around his neck! Is that how you have been controlling him?"

Shiv'kala smiled. "You are as shrewd as he gives you credit for, it seems."

"How long has it been on him?" she asked.

"Since the day he became Emperor," Shiv'kala replied. "He has learned that he cannot fight us, as you will learn. Why else would he mistakenly put a coutari through Traco?"

Timov's eyes widened at the revelation. "You forced him to . . . young Traco? . . . It wasn't Cartagia's contraptions?" she said as the realization dawned on her. At that moment, another realization hit her, "And Carn?" she asked after Londo's nephew.

"Hardly worth a day's work, that one," Shiv'kala shrugged.

"You," she finally gasped, hurling the word as Londo slumped hard against her, his pulse racing as he struggled to breathe. Gritting her teeth, she choked back her bile at the news. "Do it, just do it."

Shiv'kala moved forward quietly, closing his eyes as he placed a hand on his servant's shoulder. The Drakh Entire had discovered the science of slowing the body's processes as a way to maintain their wounded and save their dying. Now, Shiv'kala used this ability to slow Londo's heartrate and his breathing, telepathically inducing unconsciousness. As he did so, Shiv'kala induced a mental block, creating holes wherever memories concerning the Drakh and their involvement on Centauri Prime were stored.

Then, Shiv'kala recalled the keeper, instructing it to disentangle from its host's nervous system. With each major ruptured nerve, the keeper would have to fuse together the nerve endings with its own biological fluid. Most importantly, where the keeper had attached to the brain stem and the spine, the process was a delicate one, for the host could easily die as the nerves were manipulated, and the Drakh had often used the disentanglement process to rip the spinal cord from the host, a particularly effective method of fatally discarding their victims when they had outlived their usefulness.

After some time, the keeper sprang from Londo's shoulder and crawled up its new host.

Usually, the joining of a keeper and its host required both a medical surgery to ensure a seamless physical connection and voluntary acquiescence to ensure the mental link, but there had been no time or plan for the required surgery. Because Timov had not been properly prepared for the joining, the keeper inserted its tentacles into the flesh of her shoulder, causing her to wince with pain as it searched for her neural pathways, but it had difficulty making the required initial connection.

After some time watching the keeper helplessly searching for the connection with its tentacles, Shiv'kala hissed an epithet and motioned to the keeper to join his chest again. Like a fish out of water, the keeper required an immediate host to resume its own biological processes or it would die, and Shiv'kala would not sacrifice the keeper when the joining would be difficult to impossible without the necessary surgery. The keeper skittered up Shiv'kala's body, nesting in its old nursing spot as Timov shuddered.

Knowing that if she withheld her voluntary acquiescence to the keeper, it could never make a mental link, Shiv'kala begrudgingly made a calculated step. "You do not need a keeper anyway," Shiv'kala declared as he perceived Timov's motivations. "Our servant's life belongs to us, and if you interfere with our plans or contravene any of our commands, we will kill him as easily as we could have let him die tonight and as easily I as could shut this dungeon door and leave you to die." Shiv'kala took a step closer withdrawing a small button from his pocket, "You will wear this bug, and we will hear everything you say and do. You will not leave the palace grounds at the cost of your life and his. And if our servant's life is not enough to ensure your cooperation," he peered closer at the small woman staring back at him, "we will detonate the bombs we have placed across Centauri Prime, one-by-one. And we will target the Defense Grid across the planet, and you will see your people perish and die by fire."

At Shiv'kala's warning, understanding dawned on Timov. In an instant, she understood the prison in which her husband had been held captive for so long. She felt her own hearts beating in her chest as she realized Londo had never set the bombs, but his hands had been tied by them for over a decade. He had been held in solitary confinement, in misery and despair, since the day of his inauguration. Memories of his strange behavior since becoming emperor flashed through her mind. It all began to make sense: His locked quarters, his words to Vir calling Abraham Lincolni into service; his authorization of the renovations of the network of palaces throughout Centauri Prime even in light of the minimal amounts of ducats in the Treasury; the unmarked map given to Phylakios; the way he sternly cut her off every time she tried to confront him; his habit of sending everyone he cared for away from the palace; his diligence and concern for her while she was a captive and his utter lack of rage over her treasonous actions; his stern warning and his unwillingness to pursue questioning concerning anyone else's involvement in her plot to use Dust on him; his night terrors. All the pieces began to click into place.

Timov apprehended that Londo's patriotism and dedication to his people would never allow him to act contrary to their interest, and the bombs across Centauri Prime held him as captive as the keeper on his shoulder.

Timov did not have to fake the shock on her face when Shiv'kala mentioned the bombs planted across Centauri Prime, but the news that they also held the Defense Grid turned her stomach.

She considered, as she glanced back at Londo's gray pallor, that he had he had acted on mere hope alone, hope that someone might understand the only messages he could send, and he had no idea if any of his messages had been received.

Timov blinked away tears of understanding as Shiv'kala turned toward her once more. "I have slowed his biological functions down, but once I leave, they will return as before. He ordered the guards away before he entered your cell, and the door is unlocked." Shiv'kala disappeared into the darkness, and Timov flew at the door again, this time trying the handle and finding that it was unlocked. Throwing a shoulder into the door, she flew down the dungeon's long and winding cavern until she reached the stairs.

Seeing the royal guards' boots on the stairs above her she called out to them, and they rushed down the stairs to her side, clearly astonished to see the figure of the Empress emerging from the dungeon. "Quickly," she instructed them, sending one running for the royal physician as she led the others back to where Londo had collapsed.

As Shiv'kala had told her, Londo's breathing and heartrate had increased, leaving him in the same wretched state as before and perilously close to death.

Within minutes, the royal physician and a team of medical personnel had dashed into the cell, and the Emperor was carried away on a stretcher, bound for the nearest hospital. The royal physician waved the guards away so that Timov could enter the royal carriage, but Timov leaned into the carriage, grasping Londo's limp hand for a brief moment, and gestured that they should leave the grounds without her. She stood back, watching the royal motorcade depart as it was flanked with royal guard flyers, sirens screaming.

Timov watched the flyers departing with mixed feelings. Londo had sat by her side these last few months, ensuring her own care as she recovered from the incident in Porto, and she knew that of all the things he cared deeply about, he would never leave a friend in crisis or pain. He would be at their side, trying to cheer them. As a young man, he had returned from his school post to the side of one of his mothers, staying there for three weeks virtually without rest before she passed away. It was, Timov reflected, one of his more endearing traits. Far more endearing than his propensity to lose his temper or wind up drunk at entirely inopportune times.

She knew, however, that her new pact had placed her in a difficult position. She would be unable to return the favor, and he would be hurt that his own family did not care enough to sit by his bedside. Even Mariel had sat by his bedside, pretending, Timov thought, when she had tried to poison him. And Daggair, too, even though she had hoped for his death. Timov sighed. It was out of her hands.

Emanio flew to the Empress's side, followed closely by Palco. "Majesty," he looked both terrified and excited. "I am so glad to see you in good health. We had not been apprised of your whereabouts, and we had been quite worried after the news of your illness."

Palco pulled Emanio back with a steady hand before bowing. "I was concerned for . . . your accommodations. In any event, we are thrilled to see you, although we wish it were under better circumstances. And we are . . ." he gulped, "praying for His Majesty's recovery."

"And I," Timov said curtly.

"Officially . . ." Emanio spread out his hands, "according to His Majesty's orders, you are to take charge as regent if he is incapacitated . . . so . . . ." He stammered.

Timov stared at him, feeling the whole weight of the situation descending upon her shoulders. She tipped her chin up, "I suppose I have a great deal to catch up on, then. I shall call a Cabinet meeting at once, and you will make arrangements so that I can address the nation about Londo's condition. Emanio," she turned to him, "you will start calling every member of the Centaurum. I don't want them surprised by the news, and I certainly don't want them finding out through the press." She thought a moment. "You will instruct them that his condition is stable, regardless of what we hear from the hospital. It will prevent chaos among the Houses."

Palco and Emanio nodded their assent before falling in at her flank. Although the Emperor's condition was foremost on their minds, the cool hand of the Empress reassured them both.

As Timov took her place at the Cabinet meeting, she recognized a few old faces. Plancho, the senior Cabinet aide had arranged her position at the head of the table, and when she entered, he announced her arrival to the room.

Timov watched as the ministers quietly welcome her back into a seat of power. It was a result, she knew, of her long years helming the meetings for Londo. Had it not been for Londo's absurd idea to have her run the meetings for him, entirely for his personal amusement, she would have faced an open revolt in the Cabinet room at the idea that a woman would serve as Regent while the Emperor was incapacitated. But contrary to the rebellion she fully expected to face in the Cabinet room, the council of ministers sedately accepted her return to the head of the table.

But her assumption of power was not seamless, for one minister voiced his objects, the young Minister of Defense, Durla.

"The Empress," he stood in front of the Cabinet, "cannot serve as Regent! Why, she conspired against His Majesty, and she was imprisoned in the dungeon for her crimes," he cried, to the shock of the other ministers. "The only reason that she sits in his place now is because he cannot speak for himself!"

The other ministers pounded on the table, ordering silence before looking back to the Empress, who responded carefully. "Minister Durla," she addressed him coldly. "Is the Emperor's word not accepted within this Republic as the law?"

"Yes, of course it is," Durla replied, grinding his teeth.

"And did Emperor Mollari name a representative if he was to become incapacitated?"

"Yes, some time ago—" Durla's voice rose.

"Has he rescinded this order?"

"No, but—"

"Then his word, as law, continues until this Emperor or the next rescinds it or, gods forbid, the Centaurum acts as a body to negate his act?" Timov asked.

"The Centaurum can—" Durla stammered, trying to get a word in edgewise.

"Has the Centaurum so acted?" Timov asked pointedly.

"No," Durla responded sourly.

"And did the Emperor make a public address about the reasons for my return to the palace?"

"He did, but—"

"Did he make any allegations of crimes against him in that address?"

"No, but—"

"And," Timov cut him off, "do your soldiers and the royal guards follow his word?"

"Of course," Durla said, frustrated.

"Then would I be among you now if it was the will of the Emperor that I be held indefinitely in the dungeon?"

"He didn't say indefinitely but—"

"Minister Durla," Timov's voice rang with authority. "It appears that you and the Emperor have something of a disagreement. Or perhaps it is a disagreement that you have with the way of our laws. In any event, it is a disagreement you may take up with him, directly, when he returns to reassume his duties. I am merely," she winced inwardly as she said it, "a servant in carrying out his will."

At that, Prime Minister Palazzo rose. "It is enough, Durla!" he pointed Durla back into his seat before he turned back to the Empress. "Madam Regent," he bowed to her respectfully and the other ministers followed his lead.

After the meeting, Durla approached the Empress as she was sorting through Londo's papers in his office.

"Majesty," he stood stiffly in front of her.

"What can I do for you, Durla?" she asked coolly.

"You are not meant to be Regent," he said haltingly, barely containing his anger. "And if I was Prime Minister, this mockery would never have happened."

"Oh?" Timov stared at the young minister. "And do you intend to become Prime Minister soon?" she asked.

"I have friends in very high places," a little grin curled his mouth. "Or shall we say, very dark places."

Timov eyes widened slightly, and she was reminded of the Cabinet meeting long ago in which Londo had seethed when he had looked at Durla, and his recent comment to her that he didn't like the company Durla kept. She held her breath as Durla turned on his heel, stomping out the room. "Great Maker," she said under her breath, sitting down in Londo's chair, "Durla is complicit with the Drakh."

"Majesty," Emanio appeared at the door of Londo's office, interrupting her thoughts. "The Princess has been located, she is waiting for you now."

Timov brushed off the revelation about Durla and nodded, flipping on the switch on Londo's console. The image of her adopted daughter appeared, and Senna's eyes were brimming with worry.

"Oh thank the gods," Senna clasped her hands. "You are all right. We were so worried these last few months . . . ."

"Of course I'm all right," Timov feigned a smile, "I have felt better and better each day, but today . . . today Londo . . . ." She felt an uncharacteristic wave of emotion roll over her. "He collapsed," she said, gathering her emotions again. "He's at the hospital for treatment of a heart attack. I've been in communication with the doctors, and it is quite serious. Although it is his smaller heart - you remember he already had his large heart replaced when he was an ambassador at Babylon 5 - the odds that his body will reject a new replacement have gone up immensely precisely because his large heart was already replaced. He is in surgery now, and they do not expect him out for some hours."

Senna's face was aghast. "I don't know what to say," she clasped her hands nervously.

"I cannot go to the hospital. In Londo's infinite wisdom," Timov's tone crackled with cynicism, "he has placed me in charge of the entire country while he is incapacitated."

"Oh," Senna's worried face lit up a little at the prospect.

"Senna, He needs his family beside him. I would like you to go and keep him company," Timov continued. "He will be distressed and disoriented when he wakes up. Assure him that everything is well, and I will see him as soon as possible."

"Of course," Senna nodded. "Vir and I will leave immediately."

"Senna—" Timov threw up a hand to get her attention. "Do not question Londo about politics. It was stress that caused his heart attack, and I fear the trouble with his memory will cause him even greater anxiety." Timov paused before she added, "I am giving an address to the country tonight – I shall have to reassure everyone that Londo is fine - and you will do the same if anyone asks you." Timov sighed, biting her lips. "It has been quite a whirlwind here at the palace today," she looked up with a sad smile. "It is good to see you again, though. I suppose I've been wanting to have a long conversation with you."

"I'm sure we will have a chance soon," Senna reassured her.

"Yes, of course," Timov replied. "On a lighter note, I was sorting through some papers today, and I ran across an old plan for a small menagerie on the grounds. I'm considering have some baguan birds imported. I haven't seen many around the Capital City, but there is some space here at the palace. Do you think it would be a nice addition? I don't want one of my first acts as Regent to be ill-received."

Senna blinked, "Baguan birds? At the palace?"

"Yes," Timov replied, "at the palace."

Senna flashed a smile at last. "Yes, a splendid idea. They are so delightful."

"Very good," Timov nodded. After receiving a reassurance that Senna and Vir would keep in constant contact with her over Londo's condition, Timov flipped the screen off.

Senna turned immediately to Vir who was at her elbow. "Did you hear, Vir? Something's wrong at the palace."

"Yes," Vir stared at the screen. "She was clearly warning us about the palace. We will have to be very careful about what we say and to whom."

"Agreed," Senna turned, her face distraught. "At least she is alive, but now-"

Vir studied the ground, "Londo," he glanced back at Senna, his eyes brimming with tears. "Whatever he's done, I never wanted to see him suffering."

"No," Senna put an arm on Vir. "Let us go, so that we can be by his side when he awakens."

Vir nodded, a knot in his throat, before following Senna to her royal motorcade.

Emanio approached the doorway to the Emperor's private office where the Empress was sitting, her arms folded, lips pursed in thought.

"They are prepared to broadcast whenever you are ready, Majesty."

Timov stood, allowing Palco to ensure that she looked proper before she made her way to the throne room. There, a crowd of courtiers parted to make way for her, and she passed them by, slowly ascending the steps to the throne as she felt the immensity of the Crown weighing upon her. Flipping the folds of her dress over the throne, she took a deep breath, beginning her address to the nation, and she took her place as the second woman in history to exercise the vast power of the Centauri Republic, although she exercised it under the guise of Regent, rather than Emperor.