Barron's Last Stand (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 3)

by JC Cassels

  “Until I learned to duck.”

  She smiled at his humor. “I honestly thought I outranked you.”

  “You’re my wife. Of course you outrank me.”

  She pointed to the gold pin just below his left shoulder. “You earned your wings.”

  “They had to give them to me when they found out I’d learned from the best.” He pointed to the crest below it. “This is House of Marin and this…”

  Bo’s fingertips lightly stroked the gold sunburst surrounding a black hawk. “Barron Clan.”

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “Do I have the right to wear it?”

  “As the Barron Consort and legal successor, I’d say yes.”

  His thumb lightly stroked the back of her hand. “I wanted to give you a Marin crest, but only the Overlord can grant the right to wear it.”

  Bo smiled. “For a man who doesn’t even shop for his own clothes, you’ve done a remarkable job with mine.” She gestured to the jewelry and her gown. “Thank you for all of this.”

  “I can’t take credit for it,” he said. “Madine was waiting for my call. She’s had everything ready to go since Andre arrived.” His smile curled her toes. “I find I get the best results when I leave the details to someone who knows what they’re doing and I just pay the bill.”

  She lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Then who am I to argue with success?”

  “Indeed.”

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and drew her gently along with him as he headed for the door.

  “Our Black Wing escort arrived a little while ago,” he said. “They’re waiting downstairs.”

  Bo hesitated at the top of the stairs. She chewed on her lip, waiting for him to look at her.

  “Are you sure it’s wise to bring them? The last time we were here, you said it would be an insult to Ballanshi to show up armed.”

  He flashed a reassuring smile and gently tugged her down the steps.

  “This is a little different,” he said. “That was our wedding reception. This is an official State function. Last time, we were there as friends of the family. Tonight, you are The Barron, and I am your consort and successor. This is pure political theater as a show of the new alliance between Mondhuoun and the First Sector. It is entirely appropriate to go in with all diplomatic flags flying.”

  “And they are indeed flying, Barron,” Kayne called up to her. He hoisted Dash onto his shoulder.

  “We hung-ded flags on the cruiser, Papa!” The little boy shouted.

  “Flags?” Bo smiled.

  Two officers in Black Wing dress uniforms stepped forward as Blade pulled her to a stop on the bottom step. Both men were middle-aged and, according to the commendations on their uniforms, highly decorated veterans.

  “Barron, may I present Commander Coyle and Captain Tak?” Blade said. “They kindly put together our honor detail for the evening.”

  The men bowed deeply as Bo nodded in acknowledgement. “Gentlemen,” she said in Gallic. “Thank you…thank you for showing up. I am touched by your support, and honored with your presence.”

  Commander Coyle stepped forward. Silver wings swept back from his temples amid his jet black hair. Bo offered him her free hand. His craggy face broke into a smile as he took her hand and bowed over it.

  “The honor is mine, Barron,” he said. “I served with your father at Vin Nasatt. I graduated from the Academy with your father and your uncle. I count them among my friends. My loyalty is yours.”

  “Thank you, Commander.”

  Captain Tak stepped forward as Coyle released her hand and resumed his place.

  “Barron, I also serve the Daecus-born.” Tak said. He bowed over her proffered hand.

  “Captain.” Bo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Clan Narvon, aren’t you?”

  Tak’s mouth curved in an approving smile. “Yes, Barron. I am Narvon.”

  Her lips twitched. “You wouldn’t happen to be Gil Tak, would you?”

  “I’m afraid I am.”

  Bo laughed. “Oh, I’ve heard such stories about you from my uncle.”

  “None of them good, I’m sure.”

  “Not a one.” Bo squeezed his hand. “We’re in good hands this evening between the two of you.”

  Tak smiled. “I will do my best, Barron.”

  “I know you will, Captain.”

  Blade nudged her forward. “It’s time we got underway.”

  Kayne swung Dash around and presented the wriggling and giggling boy to his parents for a kiss. “You two have a good time and don’t worry about this little man,” he said. “The funishment uncles will take it from here.”

  “Not too late,” Blade admonished.

  Waving away his concern, Kayne pulled the boy back onto his shoulder. “Good night, parents!”

  “G’nite, parents!” Dash sing-songed.

  Bo waited until they’d settled into the rear of Blade’s cruiser that Kayne and Dash had indeed adorned with Mondhuic diplomatic flags. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave those two with Dash?”

  Blade grinned and leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the seat behind her. “Believe me, it’s better than bringing them with us. Get a few drinks in them and they’d break every major law on the Lahtrecki books. I’m avoiding an interstellar incident.”

  She sighed and relaxed against him. “Is this what our lives are going to be like?”

  “Unconventional babysitters and State functions?” He grinned. “Love, it’s what we were both born to do…to some extent.”

  “You are the last person I expected would enjoy this.”

  He chuckled. “Truthfully, there was a time I ran from this life,” he said. “But a part of me has always known that someday we both would have to take it on. The thought of doing it alone scares the shit out of me. For a long time, I didn’t dare hope we’d be able to do this together, but here we are. I can do any of this diplomatic dance as long as I have you as a partner.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Being here with you, heading to our first official State dinner…it’s more than I ever dreamed possible.”

  His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Maker help her. He looked so relaxed, as though this were another role, another public appearance. She supposed it was; the role he was meant to play…the roles they were both born to play.

  Her anxieties melted away under his warm regard.

  “There’s nobody I’d rather do this with,” she said, and she meant it. Her hand tightened in his. “Just promise me you’ll stay close. I’ve never been comfortable with parties and you – you love being the center of attention.”

  “I don’t love it,” he said. He leaned closer, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m just really good at it.”

  Conversation lagged as they neared the Tryriate. The glow from the compound filled the night sky like a beacon. As they pulled into the gated entrance, they both soberly contemplated the tasks ahead of them.

  Eyes fixed on the portico looming in front of the ground cruiser, Bo gathered her thoughts. Silence filled the cruiser. There was nothing more to say.

  The first salvos in this war would not be fired by cannon, or even blaster.

  The first shots were the strobing lights of flashing holocams.

  The muffled shouting from the reporters who waged their campaign to be the first to break the story of the century laid waste to her calm like an invading army.

  The Tryriate’s white-liveried servants swarmed the vehicles in front of them, unloading dignitaries, all glittering in their finest formal attire.

  Bo smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from her black shimmersilk skirt.

  This was a new battlefield, one she felt ill-equipped to join. Strategies, troop movements, fleet formations – those she knew and understood. Such had been her playthings from childhood. Diplomacy, alliances, and politics took her far outside her area of expertise. Galen had trained his son in that regard, neglecting her education sorely, setting her up t
o fail. He’d made her dependent on Jaden. Now, with the fate of the Commonwealth itself riding on her shoulders, Bo had never felt so inadequate.

  The line of cruisers moved inexorably forward. Black Wing dress uniforms joined the white.

  Bo swallowed hard.

  Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

  Give her a good, honest war zone, air filled with energy bursts, superheated plasma, reeking of ozone, dust, and the acrid smell of burning fuseform. There was an honesty among the dead and dying. There was something comforting in facing your enemy with blaster in hand, to kill or be killed. There was honor in the deadly dance of weapons and machinery, the victory going to the superior tactician with the grit and determination not to give ground, to fight or die.

  Bo sucked in a deep breath to calm her growing panic.

  Blade’s hand covered hers with a reassuring squeeze. His encouraging smile touched her like the first drops of rain on parched ground.

  Somehow, through fate or destiny, she had partnered with a man who understood diplomacy and politics far better than she. Whether natural Sovran or clone didn’t matter…not to her. Blade Devon was her husband, father of her child, and a fitting consort to The Barron.

  It was The Barron who had negotiated the Dothan Alliance eight centuries earlier. Eight centuries of Barrons stretching hand to hand in a direct line to her, bringing her to this moment. The Barron had brought peace to Mondhuoun, uniting the clans under one banner. The Barron had led them out into the stars, marauding and plundering. The Barron had negotiated peace. The Barron had forged the alliance with the Second Sector. The Barron had retained autonomy when other systems crumbled under Sovran demands.

  What demands would this new Sovran make?

  The cruiser pulled into place at the foot of the steps of the Tryriate. Holocams flashed.

  “Showtime, my love,” he said softly. “Are you ready?”

  Bo swallowed hard. “Arak la haar.”

  His lips twitched.

  A Black Wing security officer opened the door and voices spilled into the void.

  Blade stepped onto the crimson carpet and saluted the honor guard before waving to the reporters, giving Bo time to edge closer to the door.

  Reaching down, he offered her his hand.

  Steeling herself, Bo placed her trembling hand in his and schooled her features into what she hoped was a serene smile.

  The jeweled tiara weighed heavily on her head. The cumbersome skirts shifted, threatening to trip her. The sash and brooch tugged at her dress.

  He steadied her as she slowly stepped out of the cruiser.

  Planting her feet, Bo squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  This Barron would negotiate a new alliance with the First Sector.

  This Barron would reshape the Commonwealth itself.

  In the spirit of her forebears, she would maintain Mondhuic autonomy. For no Barron in history had ever walked into negotiations from such a strong bargaining position.

  No Barron before had ever been the mother of a Sovran Heir.

  Bo met her husband’s expectant smile.

  “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Blade stood patiently beside his wife in the doorway to the Tryrium’s study, waiting for Ballanshi to present them to the Overlord. The sounds of the party filled the wide hallway behind them.

  Without official acknowledgement as his son and Heir, protocol dictated that Blade’s status was nothing more than that of Barron Consort, inferior to The Barron. In all truth, he had no more right to wear the House of Marin crest than Bo. The difference was, he was perverse enough to do it anyway.

  Ballanshi droned on, listing Bo’s titles. When he finished, Andre held out his hand. “Barron.”

  Taking their cue, they stepped into the room. Blade carefully remained a respectful step behind her, drawing the Overlord’s grimace of displeasure.

  Her hand resting lightly in the Overlord’s, Bo gracefully swept her skirt behind her as she bent her knees and bowed her head in an appropriate gesture of deference.

  “My Lord Marin.”

  Not too low, because she was a ruling noble in her own right, but with just enough respectful submission to acknowledge the Overlord’s power.

  Blade watched with an approving eye.

  As she straightened, she met Lord Marin’s steady stare directly, as an equal whose authority had been forged over centuries.

  Blade mentally applauded her. Flawless performance.

  Marin’s lips twitched as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Barron, you are as lovely as your mother and as arrogant as your father.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a trait of the Daecus-born, sir.” Bo said.

  “If that is the case, then what is your husband’s excuse, madam?” His eyes narrowed as he glowered his disapproval.

  Blade lifted an eyebrow, but made no move to bow or otherwise defer to the Overlord. “I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

  “If you will excuse me,” Ballanshi said. “I will leave you to your family squabble.”

  Blade nodded his thanks to his friend, a gesture that didn’t escape his father’s notice.

  Marin snorted once the door closed, leaving them in privacy. “Nod to a mere Tryrium, yet nothing for your Sovran.”

  Reaching past her, Blade plucked her hand from his father’s and settled it in the crook of his arm. “I thought I’d made it clear the last time we spoke that you are not my Sovran. With current events as they are, I doubt you’re anyone’s Sovran at the moment.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When I left Trisdos, you were reported deceased and your Heir was missing, presumed dead,” he said. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t leave it that way.”

  Blade spread his arm wide. “I have a nice little life here on Kah Lahtrec, one that doesn’t include you or your strings. You are here at my discretion, as my guest.”

  Marin stiffened. “I thought the Tryrium was my host.”

  “As a favor to me,” Blade said. He flashed his famous grin, enjoying his father’s discomfiture.

  “My point being, I don’t have to leave and you can’t, not without my support or protection.”

  Bo’s fingers dug into his arm in silent warning.

  “Am I a prisoner or a refugee?”

  “That’s up to you, Andre.”

  “Are you threatening me, boy?”

  “I have a name.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  Blade stiffened, but his pleasant expression revealed none of his tension.

  “So I’m not Daavin?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  The denial hit him with all the force of a sonic blast.

  Not Daavin Marin?

  Who the hell was he, then?

  Blade studied Andre’s face for a long moment, struggling with his composure. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly, forcing a pleasant smile.

  “In that case, I am relieved of any filial obligation to you.” He nodded and turned to leave.

  “I didn’t say you weren’t my son,” Marin said loudly.

  Blade hesitated, but didn’t face him.

  “I only said you weren’t Daavin.”

  Unable to contain herself, Bo turned, releasing Blade’s arm. “My Lord, I have had enough of these games,” she said. She shot Blade a quelling look. “From both of you. I don’t particularly care what power struggle you two are involved in, but I’ve had it. I am tired of lies, manipulation, prevarication…”

  She drew a deep breath and braced her hands on her hips.

  “From the moment this started, you have treated me like some mindless pawn in your devious little play. I am not a pawn. I am The Barron, and right now, I am the most powerful piece on the board.”

  Marin harrumphed. “Come now…”

  Her eyes narrowed, cutting him off.

  “Let me be blunt. Without the Black Wing, Sir, you are nothing more than a deposed ruler in search of
a kingdom. If you ever hope to take back the First Sector, you’ll need my support.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Blade’s lips.

  “His name is Blade Devon,” she said. “Not boy. Whatever he may or may not be to you, he is the Barron Consort and my named, legitimate successor according the laws of Mondhuoun. He is also the father of the Ostra Child and deserving of all the respect due his station. I will not have my husband being insulted by anyone, not even you.”

  Maker, she was magnificent!

  Unperturbed, Marin smiled. “Ah, but Blade Devon is a wanted man.”

  Blade shrugged. “Somebody has been out to kill me my entire life. That’s nothing new.”

  She whirled to face Blade, her skirts flaring around her like black wings in flight. “And you…”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” she snapped. “I love you, Blade Devon, but your ties to the First Sector have been problematic from the very start.” She advanced on him, jabbing her index finger into his chest to punctuate her words. “I don’t care whether you’re his son, a clone, or some orphan he’s co-opted into service. You need to make up your mind right now what your role in all this is going to be. Because with or without you – either of you – I am going home to Mondhuoun, and I am going to take back what is mine! And I will have justice for my father!”

  Applause from the door drew everyone’s attention.

  Chase leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “That was…” he broke off, shaking his head. “Really. Thank you.” He looked to Lord Marin. “I wouldn’t piss her off. She shot the last guy who made her mad.”

  Blade’s lips twitched. “Careful. You’ll get a lecture on paying proper respect to the Sovran.”

  Chase stepped into the study and closed the door behind him. “Funny thing, but ever since I’ve had a bunch of people bowing and falling all over themselves to call me ‘My Lord,’ I’m really having a hard time taking this whole Sovran mystique seriously.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ll forgive me, Lord Marin, but seeing as how I’ve been kidnapped, threatened, and forced into this against my will, I would really like you to explain one thing to me.”

  “What is that, Mister Fossey?” Marin asked.