Royal Rebellion

by Blair Bancroft

  Oddly, Rogan Kamal smiled, pausing for effect before admitting what would be his death sentence—from one side or the other: “I never expected you to come back, Rand. The kidnapping was more for show, a demonstration of my loyalty, if you will. And, believe me, no harm was ever intended to Yuliya and Erik. After I learned what happened, I was, in fact, relieved they were rescued. I came here to tell you that your choices are clear. One—you come home, are forgiven for losing Andromeda, for being captured, for marrying one of the enemy. Two—you come home, are tried for treason, and executed. Or three, you stay here—or wherever rebel headquarters is—and help the rebels topple Darroch from the throne.

  “After that . . .” Rogan shrugged. “After that, you have a far better chance of occupying the throne of Regula Prime than if you decide to return now.”

  Rand sat straight in his chair, fully focused on words he never expected to hear from his father. “You expect the Empire to lose?”

  “With all you’ve told me, combined with the results of battles from Choya Gate to Hercula to Psyclid, I believe it is inevitable.” Rogan paused, then added, “Particularly with Admiral Rand Kamal fighting with the rebels.”

  Rand examined his father’s face—memorizing what might be his last look. “But you won’t join us?”

  “I have been loyal to my emperor for sixty-some years. So no, I will return home and do my best to fulfill my duties as Chief of National Security. If, that is, Darroch allows me to keep my job. Which, by the way, will include hunting down everyone with rebel sympathies on Regula Prime. Your friends would do well to heed the warning.”

  With that, Rogan Kamal stood, held out his hand. Rand took it, pulling his father close for a hug—a gesture neither had indulged in since Rand was seven. “Sir,” he murmured, “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

  Rogan inclined his head in acknowledgment and strode toward the door. Rand, suddenly remembering T’kal, spun around, half-expecting to find the wolf ready to spring. But T’kal was still seated, though never taking his eyes off Rogan Kamal until the door shut behind him. “You let him go,” Rand breathed.

  “My orders were to kill him only if he threatened you,” T’kal returned blandly.

  “But he knows about Tal.”

  “Tal and I agreed that was inevitable. Kelan is delivering a message for the Rigel family to go into hiding, preferably on Blue Moon.”

  Rand slumped into his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face. “I never thought . . . I mean, for a few moments there he was almost human.”

  “What’s that old expression—blood is thicker than water?”

  “I thought I was tough,” Rand muttered, “but pardon me if I take a few moments before I can walk out of here.”

  “No problem.” T’kal settled back in his chair, prepared to wait. All in all, Tal was going to be very pleased when he heard the recording of the Kamals’ conversation.

  Chapter 11

  King Ryal’s study, Crystalia

  “Your Excellency.” Rogan Kamal executed the same stiff bow he gave his brother-in-law, the Emperor.

  “Your Majesty,” Ryal corrected.

  Kamal appreciated the king’s point. Ryal did not care to be addressed in the same manner as Emperor Darroch. At the same time he recognized an undercurrent of wry humor in the Psyclid king’s demeanor. Evidently, Ryal, like himself, found their meeting so unprecedented that only a strong streak of pragmatism and a dash of ironic amusement would see them through.

  King Ryal waved his guest toward comfortable seats away from the formality of his desk. “Tell me,” he said when they were settled, facing each other, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I expected you to be half way to the spaceport by now.”

  “How could I not request such a meeting, Majesty?” Rogan returned, his tone diplomatic perfection. “In some convoluted fashion, we seem to have become family. Admittedly, I cannot find the correct word for the relationship, but there must be some term for it. My son has, after all, married the mother of your only son.” Kamal paused, eyes gleaming, before adding helpfully, “‘Lover-in-law’—perhaps that fits.”

  Ryal, resting his chin on the knuckles of his right hand, studied his opponent, a spark of appreciation lighting his azure eyes. “You are everything I have been told. And more. No wonder Darroch has managed to cling to the throne for so long.”

  The two men exchanged a look of mutual respect, tinged with regret by the inevitability of remaining enemies.

  Dismissing the moment with the focus on duty for which he was famous, the Chief of Regulon National Security got down to business. “I would not be doing my duty if I did not inquire about the prisoners you hold. All loyal citizens of Regula Prime. In which group,” he added with open chagrin, “I am sorry to say, I can no longer include my son.”

  After a brief silence to indicate his sympathy, father to father, Ryal said, “I assure you the prisoners are comfortably housed and well fed.”

  “I should like to see them.”

  “Ah.” Ryal considered the possibilities. “I am certain you are aware that Psyclid’s sympathies are with the rebels. And I fear my advisors would not approve such a visit. They would argue that the prisoners would be heartened by a visit from Rogan Kamal, which could inspire mischief. A message might be passed . . .” Ryal offered an infinitesimal shrug. “Or were you considering ransom or an exchange? Our treasury would certainly benefit from not having to house and feed so many. Your son’s crew, in particular, eats like a host of grizzoids.”

  “I would commend their loyalty,” Rogan snapped, adding on something close to a growl, “Sir.”

  King Ryal eyed his guest. “I regret matters did not go well with your son. Be assured, however, that we treasure his presence. And that of all Regulons who followed him into the rebel cause. The Empire is known for how well it trains its troops, and we are honored to have them.”

  Rogan’s newfound respect for Psyclids rose another notch. Evidently, intelligence and courage started at the top, even if this odd king of an odd people was a staunch pacifist. “The visit?” he urged. “May I see them?”

  Ryal rang for an equerry. “Lord Kamal has my permission to visit the Regulon prisoners. See that he has the proper escort. After that,” the king added in measured tones, “he will go directly to the spaceport, where he will return to Titan without hindrance.” Ryal rose, held out his hand. “Lord Kamal, I wish you safe journey. I truly regret the uneasy relations between Psyclid and Regula Prime.”

  Rogan believed him. But Ryal’s time was past. As was Darroch’s. The rebels—which included the king’s four children and their spouses—had seized power. More and more, he was convinced that Regula Prime’s only hope was that the violence of the revolution might be tempered by Psyclid’s long-held tendency toward pacifism. And mercy.

  As Rogan climbed into the limm that would take him to the Regulon prisoners of war, he winced at his blindness. Four children. It had taken him long enough to figure it out! More than a decade, in fact, the final piece falling into place during his conversation with Rand. The whole thing went back to Psyclid’s Princess Royal becoming a cadet at the Regulon Space Academy. Naughty girl. How had she gotten permission? Or had she simply run away, changed her name . . . ? No, she couldn’t have done it without help. Did sympathetic Psys write the references for an unknown but brilliant student called Kass Kiolani? Or had Vander Rigel been part of the conspiracy from the very beginning? Certainly he’d known the princess since his days as Regulon Ambassador to Psyclid . . .

  News of the first Psyclid in history to attend the Regulon Space Academy had come to Rogan’s attention within days of her acceptance. (How could a Fleet cadet from a pacifist planet known for the oddity of its people not raise a red flag?) But he’d had so many more important matters to handle, he had thrust the little Psyclid to the back of his mind—until, three years later, rumors began to spread about a weird Psy cadet who was leading her team to war game victories over the seasoned veterans
of Tal Rigel’s Orion.

  But strange behavior was expected of Psyclids, and when Kass Kiolani disappeared from the Academy the night before the Psyclid invasion when, rumor said, her own classmates had turned on her, Rogan had moved on to more important matters. Until, four years later, when she escaped her secret prison and he had begun to track down the truth: a mysterious young woman imprisoned in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives. A guard killed in a shower of books. A daring escape, which included two Tau-15s downed in a skirmish.

  He should have known then and there that the Rigels were in it up to their necks. Who else had the power to shelter her for so long? Who else would dare execute a rescue in the very heart of the Regulon Empire? But at the time Admiral of the Fleet Vander Rigel and his son Captain Talryn Rigel, martyred in a battle against the Nyx, had been above suspicion.

  Dimmit! It was embarrassing how long it taken for him to put it all together. If the Psyclid princess still lived—as Rogan was nearly certain she did—then it seemed likely she was tucked away in the rebel headquarters with Tal Rigel, whom she’d known since those summer training exercises so long ago. The Captain Tal Rigel whose rumored resurrection he now believed to be true.

  Which meant . . .

  Pok, dimi, and fyd!

  Rogan Kamal’s rigid control broke. Fingertips tight against his forehead, eyes tight shut, he allowed his imagination to soar—a rare occurrence for a man accustomed to dealing with hard facts. Captain Talryn Rigel, the hero of numerous battles the Empire, had spent a summer training cadets, led by the most brilliant of the last-year students, Kass Kiolani, who Rogan now knew to be the Psyclid princess L’ira. No doubt Rigel had admired her skill. More than her skill. A bond was formed, and when Regula Prime turned on Psyclid, saving her had been young Rigel’s first step toward rebellion. Culminating two years later in the supposed destruction of Orion and her entire crew and the creation of the S’sorrokan, leader of a revolution against the Empire.

  Basically, cadet Kass Kiolani had inspired the rebellion.

  Which, idiot that he was, he should have figured out long ago.

  “My lord?”

  “It’s nothing,” Rogan told his aide, straightening into his customary upright posture. But it wasn’t. He’d missed it. Dismissed the rumors as nonsense. Yet now . . . Not only was Tal Rigel likely alive and leading the rebellion, it was possible he and the little Psyclid cadet had become a couple. A lethal combination, even without the gifts of King Ryal’s other children, which Rand had tried to tell him about when he first returned from Psyclid.

  Rogan continued down the list of Ryal’s children. Princess M’lani had married Psyclid’s Sorcerer Prime, Jagan Mondragon, in a grand wedding paraded right under Reg noses . . . M’lani who had powers Rand had seen for himself. Add Ryal’s eldest, the Psyclid witch who had led his son astray, and was now married to the much-vaunted leader of the Psyclid rebels, T’kal Killiri, and the danger level soared to nine on a scale of ten.

  And then there was the shadowy figure of Ryal’s youngest. The bastard boy who, it was whispered, did not quite live in this world. Strange tales had come back from the Battle of Hercula and been reinforced at the second Battle of Psyclid. Tales that, if they were to be believed, indicated K’kadi Amund alone might be capable of taking down the Empire.

  And now the unthinkable. Yuliya and Kelan Rigel. Rogan would like to have lived long enough to see his grandchildren, but adding more Rigels to the world . . .

  Omnovah forfend! Rogan groaned out loud, once again alarming his aide and bodyguard. The shocking truth was that in a sense he was already a grandfather. Rumors had been rife in Crystal City, and not all its citizens had practiced discretion around his aide and bodyguard. The one topic sweeping the city like wildfire through a bone-dry forest was that King Ryal’s bastard son had just become father to a female baby by his Herc wife, while his mistress was in imminent expectation of a boy.

  Making Rogan Kamal step-grandfather to both of them.

  To hide his grimace, Rogan looked out the limm’s window. The rebels didn’t need to attack, they were well on their way to acquiring Reg Prime by marriage.

  Blue Moon

  Kass eyed her husband, who was sprawled on a sofa in the sitting area of their suite in the palace. One hand on the sofa’s arm, the other supporting his chin, he was staring into the distance. Kass didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, which had to be grave after the news from Psyclid, but fizzet, Kelan and Dayna were on their way back to a pogrom, an old Earth word that described something so horrible it had survived the millennia of space colonization, its meaning still intact.

  And Tal was just sitting there! Thinking. Of course he was thinking. But couldn’t he take a moment out to say something! Kass squirmed in her comfortably upholstered chair, clamping her lips tight to block the questions on the tip of her tongue.

  “Do you have to seethe so loudly?” Tal asked.

  “I’m sorry, but really, Tal, can’t you at least give me a clue?”

  “Pretty hard when I’m clueless.”

  “Tal Rigel, you are never clueless!”

  “I told you,” he returned with a calm he was far from feeling, “the pinnace was still in comm range. They have a copy of Rand’s conversation with his father. What happens next is up to my father. And if there’s one thing I’ve never been able to manage in this life, it’s tell Vander Rigel what to do.”

  “You could at least give your opinion! Kelan and Dayna must come back, your parents with them.”

  “I told Father that after the Pegasus crash. And several times a year, every year since. He maintains he is far more valuable on Reg Prime. There’s also the problem that if the family disappears, the first thing the government will do is seize Rigel Industries. And, as you know, Rigel Industries provides most of the funds for the rebellion.”

  “But Rogan Kamal made it clear—”

  “But is he bluffing? Not the easiest thing to accuse a retired Admiral of the Fleet of treason.”

  “Bluffing!” Kass exploded. “Of course he’s not bluffing. Your father may have been one of the most powerful men on Reg Prime for decades, but now that Lord Kamal knows you’re S’sorrokan, he’s going to trace the money, put a watch on your father’s every move. You need to get your family to Blue Moon now!”

  “Each time I say that, Father tells me he has a hideout planned.”

  “Then let him stay. Bring the rest of the family here.”

  “You’re forgetting I have no say in this.” Tal flipped a hand in disgust. “When it comes to my family, I’m S’sorrokan, the helpless. The voice crying in the wilderness.”

  “If only we’d known in time to keep Kelan and Dayna—”

  “Exactly. You can probably hear me grinding my teeth from way over there.”

  Kass took the hint, moving to the sofa, cuddling close. “Changing the subject,” she announced briskly. “How stands the rebellion elsewhere?”

  Tal shot her a rueful glance but went along with her attempt to distract him from his family’s fate. “The Hercs are doing well, including our little surprise.” For a moment Tal almost smiled before his frown came crashing back. “But after we take down the Empire, we’ll have to watch our backs. The Hercs are enjoying their return to warrior race a little too much.”

  Kass, never easy with their far-distant allies from Hercula, nodded. “What about the resistance on the conquered planets?”

  “Dagg has good intel from Turus. He assures me they’re strong enough to keep the Regs there from coming to Prime’s rescue. I have similar assurances from Mizar, Argus, Capella, and Antar.” Tal waggled his hand back and forth. “Deimos is questionable. Eridan, Cronus, and Talos can cause disruption to communications but not much more. Hormes, Spica, and Geryon? Doubtful. But they’re farther away. It’s unlikely Reg ships can get back from any of them before Reg Prime is ours.”

  “Cut off the head,” Kass murmured, her lips curling into a smile. “You always said that would work, and it
will. So what do we do between now and then?”

  “I have a few loose ends to tie up,” Tal returned absently. “And”—he patted his wife’s expanding waistline—“we’re going to produce another Rigel to add to the baby array. We can certainly boast that the rebellion is doing its best to increase its numbers.”

  Kass, smiling, snuggled closer. “I guess this is the last of the lull before the storm. Rogan Kamal’s brought it to an end a little sooner than we expected.”

  “Just as well,” Tal muttered. “We’ve gotten a little too complacent. We need sharpening up before we take on the Empire.” A fact he’d known all along but hadn’t wanted to mention. Because when he did, Kass was going to kill him.

  Chapter 12

  T’kal waited until he was in bed to spring the surprise. Easy enough, when the moment he’d come in the door B’aela had deluged him with questions about Rogan Kamal. And who could blame her? The Reg Chief of National Security was a worthy adversary. Not quite what T’kal had expected. But now that he and B’aela had settled into the comfort and intimacy of their bed . . .

  “That night on the balcony,” T’kal began, “do you remember what you said about missing the resistance? Something about the camaraderie being hard to recapture?”

  “Of course I remember,” B’aela murmured, snuggling closer, running a hand through his thick dark hair. “I recall every word of that night.”

  “What if there was a way to live those days again—or at least something close to it?”

  B’aela stopped playing with his hair. Propping herself up on one elbow, she narrowed her eyes at her husband, her voice transforming from purr to threat. “T’kal Killiri, stop playing games and tell me what you mean right now!”

  Oh, the joys of being married to a witch. He loved it when she did that. B’aela in witch mode made his own oddity seem less shocking.

  T’kal did, however, have mixed feelings about what he needed to tell her. He suspected that, like himself, she was going to be more than pleased. But was that the right reaction for the parents of four children, two only half-grown and two barely started on their journey through life? Guilt was a distraction neither could afford.