Heaven's Queen

by Rachel Bach

  That made me feel a bit better, and though I was loathe to leave Rupert so soon after getting him back, I wasn’t about to embarrass myself by making some kind of melodramatic scene. But I wasn’t above giving him a long, pointed kiss, just to make my intentions clear. He was grinning when I finished, and I grinned back, hopping off the bed and heading for my cabin, shooting Caldswell the mother of all death glares on my way out. I’ve made hardened mercs in full armor step back with that sort of look. Naturally, then, it rolled off Caldswell like water off a greased duck.

  I don’t know who he’d kicked out to get it, but Caldswell had given me a very nice diplomatic suite on the ship’s port side. It was still cramped, we were on a battleship after all, but I had a full-sized bed, my own bathroom, and a window with a great view of the wrecked Dark Star Station. If I hadn’t known for sure what it was, I never would have recognized the place with the work lights all over the cavernous new hole it was sporting on one side.

  Caldswell told me that almost all of the Eyes who’d run during our attack had survived. He’d informed me of this gravely, like I should care, but I really didn’t. It was his job to worry about symbionts. I didn’t give a damn whether they were dead or heading off to form their own symbiont colony so long as I never had to see any of them ever again.

  I’d meant to wait up for Rupert to hear what Caldswell was planning, but I’d been awake for almost thirty hours at this point with only an hour’s nap in between, and my body was in revolt. By the time I’d showered and changed, I was dead on my feet. I passed out the moment I sat down on the bed, just fell right over. I don’t think I moved a muscle until I heard Rupert call my name.

  When I opened my eyes, it was like I’d gone back in time. Rupert was sitting on the edge of my bed dressed in a somber black suit identical to the ones he’d worn on the Fool. The only difference was his hair, which was still short and slightly damp from the shower he must have taken, and the haze of glowing phantoms that was still flowing through the ship like a river. Otherwise, we could have been in Nova’s and my bunk back on the ship, except now Rupert was smiling openly at me, his hand reaching down to brush my hair out of my face with a possessive familiarity I liked a lot more than I’d thought I would.

  “Well?” I asked, leaning into the touch. “What’s the verdict?”

  Rupert frowned. “I’m still not quite sure, actually. Right now, it looks like the Eyes are being disbanded. There was talk of doing bodyguard work for the daughters, but they aren’t exactly keen to work with us.”

  I could see how working with your former jailers wouldn’t be ideal. “What are the daughters doing?”

  “A little of everything,” Rupert said, moving so that he was sitting on the bed with his back to the wall and my feet across his lap. It was the same position we’d been in when we’d played cards back in my room forever ago, only now he freely rested his hands on me, petting my legs as he talked like he couldn’t stop touching me.

  “The daughters have all agreed to work willingly with the Republic and other governments in exchange for certain freedoms. Naturally, they can’t ever fully reintegrate knowing what they know and being who they are, but they’re powerful enough and valuable enough to make sure their confinement is on their own terms.” He grinned at me. “They also demanded amnesty for you.”

  “Well, that’s nice,” I said with a yawn. “But I’m not up for being confined even if I am the one setting the terms.”

  “Commander Caldswell said as much,” Rupert said with a shrug. “They didn’t make a decision about you, though.”

  “But they did about you,” I said, reading between the lines. “What’s going to happen?”

  Rupert sighed. “I disobeyed orders,” he said plainly. “So I’m being discharged.”

  “Honorably or dishonorably?”

  He chuckled. “Would you believe a little of both? There was a move toward court-martial, but Caldswell worked out a deal with the Republic. I’ve been stripped of my clearances and demoted to special envoy for the Scientific Council.”

  I frowned. “What kind of job is that?”

  “It isn’t one, really,” he admitted. “The title is just to keep me under all my secrecy clauses and on the books, but I’m currently on indefinite unpaid leave.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked. What the hell was Caldswell thinking? Rupert might be a symbiont, but he still had to eat. I understood the need to keep a supersoldier who knew decades of secrets under control, but under this setup, he couldn’t even get another job. “What are you going to live on?”

  Rupert flashed me a wry smile. “Well, I did work a very high-paying government job for forty-three years without having to worry about living expenses, so I think I’ll be all right on that account. Honestly, some time off sounds very appealing, especially if I get to take it with you.”

  That statement sparked a confused tangle of emotions in my gut. On the one hand, a vacation with Rupert sounded divine. On the other, I didn’t have a huge nest egg waiting for me, and like hell was I going to live off Rupert’s money. Even though I knew he’d offer it freely, I’d always made my own way, and anyway, I liked working. Assuming they ever let me out of here, I’d planned to get a job and start saving up for my next suit, maybe even reapply to the Blackbirds if Anthony hadn’t trashed my reputation too badly. I was still thinking about how best to explain this to Rupert when a light flashed outside my window.

  I recognized it right off as a jump flash. A big one. My first thought was that another battleship had arrived, but when I glanced out the window to be sure, I almost fell off the bed.

  A Paradoxian Royal-class battle cruiser was sitting just off our bow. Not just any Royal-class cruiser, either. This was a huge, shiny, golden palace of a battleship with the king’s own seal displayed proudly above the elevated bridge, and my heart leaped into my throat. “Rupert,” I choked out. “That’s the royal ship.”

  “So it is,” he said, leaning over for a better view. “I wonder what they want.”

  I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “The royal ship,” I clarified. “The king’s ship.”

  Even as I said it, I knew that couldn’t be true. Just because the royal ship was here didn’t mean King Stephen was on it. The king never left Paradoxian space. Ever. He was a living saint, the divine king. He didn’t even leave the planet unless there was a dire emergency that required his condescension to visit the Marches. He would never come out to a place like this, both Terran space and a recent war zone. The very idea was stupid.

  I was still talking myself down when the com Caldswell had given me beeped with a message demanding my immediate presence in the starboard docking bay. Rupert was not mentioned, but I don’t think I could have made him stay if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I did make him wait while I changed into the nicest set of drab Terran deck clothes they’d given me, and then we set off together, my heart beating louder by the second as we took the elevator down.

  Caldswell was waiting for us at the bottom. He gave Rupert a sharp look, but he didn’t say a word. He just walked us over to the docking tunnel the royal ship had already extended.

  When I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, Caldswell shook his head. “It’ll all be explained in a second,” he said. “Move quick. We have very little time.”

  And with that cryptic statement, he shoved Rupert and me into the docking tunnel and activated the entrance shield, sealing us in. I stood bewildered for a second, then whirled around and half marched, half ran toward the golden door at the other end of the long plastic tunnel.

  The boarding tunnel wasn’t so different from the Terran ones the battleships used, but once we reached the cruiser, it was like stepping into another world. The gold-plated airlock opened when we approached, and two Devastators in full King-class armor came out to meet us. If Caldswell hadn’t made it clear we were in some kind of crisis, I would have spent a good five minutes drooling over their suits, but I did not want to be la
te for whatever was waiting for us, and I definitely did not want to miss my first look at true royal splendor.

  The ship did not disappoint. Unlike Terran battleships with their stark military sensibilities and efficient design, the Royal Cruiser was built to impress on every level. It was scaled for armor, which meant everything was enormous, but still luxurious to the point of absurdity. The walls were lined with wood instead of plastic or metal, the floors either lushly carpeted or tiled in slick, polished, gold-flecked stone. I couldn’t even begin to calculate how much something like this cost, but then, if the king couldn’t have the best, who could?

  This was certainly the king’s own ship, too. Everything from the door handles to the soft lighting positively smacked of royalty and privilege. Even the deck layout was more like a palace than a warship, with soaring ceilings and sweeping hallways and verandas overlooking ornamental gardens filled with fountains and fishponds. But for all the opulence, the most telling detail of just how noble a presence we were dealing with was the fact that everyone was armored, even the servants. Not even dukes bothered with that level of security, Terran space or not, but royals were another matter altogether.

  By the time our silent Devastator guides had led us up to the ship’s highest level, I was certain we were being taken to a member of the king’s own family. The prince maybe, or his sister. Whoever it was, I was so nervous I didn’t know if I’d be able to speak a word of sense when the time came. Rupert, of course, looked perfectly together, thought not nearly as impressed by all of this as he should have been. In his defense, though, he was Terran. Terrans never could appreciate true grandeur.

  Our trip ended at a beautiful observation room at the very top of the ship. The ceiling was open glass, revealing what should have been the full swath of the stars overhead, but I could barely see them through the ever-present haze of phantoms. The room was as large as the Fool’s cargo bay and softly lit with natural light–giving crystals, the sort that glowed all different colors. I’d always thought they were lovely, but I’d never been able to afford even a small one, especially considering they only glowed for a week before they went out. The cost of keeping an entire room like this lit with the things boggled my mind. I was wondering how many suits of armor I could buy with that much money when I heard the hiss of a door opening.

  I looked up nervously, expecting to see a royal secretary, or maybe another pair of exalted tour guides to replace the Devastators who’d stayed behind at the door. What I got was a knot of soldiers wearing the most high-end, expertly designed custom armor I’d ever seen, all golden, and all bearing the insignia of the king’s private guard. And standing between them, wearing a suit that made him seven feet tall, was a man whose face I knew so well I didn’t actually recognize it now that I was seeing him in the flesh. When I did, I threw myself to the ground, pressing my forehead against the slick stone floor, because that was my king standing in front of me, and I wasn’t sure if I was dead or blessed beyond reason.

  “Rupert!” I hissed, glancing at his feet, which I shouldn’t have been able to see if he’d known the first thing about meeting a living saint. “Kneel!”

  “Why?” Rupert said. “He’s not my king.”

  I rolled my eyes to the heavens, bracing for the bolt of punishing fire I knew was coming. Before I could beseech my king for mercy, however, a deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the room.

  “It is all right, Deviana Morris,” said the voice. “We no longer waste our time being offended by Terran arrogance.”

  The sound of King Stephen’s sacred voice, the one I’d heard since childhood, saying my name nearly made me faint. But before I could decide if I’d be fainting from fear or religious awe, the king spoke again. “Rise, child, and let us see you.”

  I shot up like an arrow, desperate to obey. I’d never dreamed that I would be this close to the king, and I’d never wanted to be, either. The Sainted King was as terrible as he was just, the divine will of God made flesh. He was not the sort of power you wanted taking an interest in you if you were smart. He was looking at me now, though, so I stayed perfectly still, praying frantically that he see whatever he wanted even as I realized the futility of praying to a saint who was ten feet in front of you.

  This close, I couldn’t help noticing how much older the king looked in person. I’d never thought of King Stephen as handsome—one did not have such thoughts about a living saint—but this close I couldn’t miss how age had sunken his cheeks, making his high cheekbones and pointed chin even sharper by comparison. He looked gaunt, a blasphemous part of me realized, almost sickly. But then, King Stephen was approaching sixty-five, and no Paradoxian king had ever lived past seventy. His eyes, however, were crystal clear and every bit as electric blue in real life as they appeared on camera.

  That scared me the most, actually. I’m as faithful a Paradoxian as you’ll find, but I’d always secretly wondered if the eerie glow was added in postproduction, a trick to help the faithful believe. Now I saw for myself that it was no trick. The king’s eyes glowed like electric blue fireflies behind the open mask of his suit, and though I forced myself to hold my ground, inside I was shrinking with holy terror.

  “You are younger than we thought you’d be,” the king said at last, like this disappointed him. “But Caldswell praises you very highly. He wrote to us of what you did here, the services you rendered to our crown, before giving you back into our care.”

  I swallowed. When Caldswell said he had referred my case up the chain, I hadn’t realized he’d gone to the very top.

  “What do you want with her?”

  I jumped at Rupert’s voice, giving him a frantic look. You did not speak to any noble unless specifically invited, especially the king. He was going to get both of us hanged if King Stephen took offense. But if the Sainted King was offended by Rupert’s lack of deference, he didn’t show it. Instead, he answered.

  “That depends on young Morris, former Eye Charkov,” the king said. “We heard such tales of her that we thought we’d better come see for ourselves, and to bear witness to a unique natural phenomenon.”

  He turned as he said this, gazing up and out of the observation room’s glass bubble at the universe beyond. I looked, too, trying to figure out what he could mean, but all I saw were the phantoms. They’d gotten thicker since we’d arrived, sweeping through the observation room like windblown seeds. But though they blew through Rupert and the king’s guard like ghosts, they stopped when they hit King Stephen.

  That made me pause. I’d gotten so used to the phantoms going through everyone except me and the daughters, I hadn’t paid them any attention, especially since my king was in the room. Now that I’d seen it, though, I wondered how I could have missed them. They were crawling over the king like they loved him, gathering around his body until he was ringed in light. It was a holy sight, and quite fitting, but I didn’t understand why. I was still wondering when the king turned back to me.

  Having those glowing eyes staring straight through you is a harrowing experience, and when the king raised his hand, I was certain he was about to smite me where I stood. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned his hand over, palm up, and like he’d called to them, the phantoms descended, flocking to his fingers like birds to a feeder, their little feelers running over his skin just like they did over mine.

  When he saw me looking, the king dropped his hand, scattering the phantoms as his gaunt face broke into a smile. “You have done Paradox a great service,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. “By opening the door and freeing those it trapped, not only did you make our sacred kingdom safer, but you also removed our need to support and tolerate the Eyes’ interference.”

  He grinned, like this was a grand joke, and held out his hand again, though not for the phantoms. Instead, one of his knights handed him the hilt of an ornate, and very sharp, sword. The king gripped the hilt with practiced ease, swinging the razor-sharp point up until it was level with my nose.

  “Your deeds have made
you worthy in our sight,” he said, his voice taking on the rhythm of ceremony. “To reward you for your service to our crown, we in our magnanimity have decided to grant you a boon of your choice. Speak, and it shall be.”

  I swayed on my feet, thunderstruck. A boon from the king. That could be anything. Wealth, power, even nobility. The king was offering me anything I could dream of, but when I opened my mind to the possibilities, there was only one wish waiting for me.

  “Your Majesty,” I said, focusing on each word to keep my voice from shaking. “I ask you to make me a Devastator.”

  The king frowned. “Are you sure, young Morris? Our Devastators are brave, but they are commoners. We are willing to grant you a barony in the Marches if you desire.”

  A barony would make me real nobility, something that was almost never offered to peasants like me. I wasn’t actually sure which part of what I’d done had set me so high with the king, but even so, I wasn’t tempted. For all its importance, nobility was too much like a desk job for my liking, and anyway, I’d only ever had one goal in my life. Now that it was in my reach again, nothing was going to put me off course. “With all due respect and gratitude, Your Highness, I want to be a Devastator.”

  I was certain I’d messed up the address in that one, but the king merely shrugged. “So be it,” he said. “The easiest way to do this is to knight you, which would please us greatly. If that is your wish, then step forward, young Morris, and be sworn to us forever.”

  I sucked in a breath. Knighthood was a silly childhood dream. Things like that never really happened to mercs. But I didn’t wake up when I stepped forward, or when I fell to my knees at the king’s feet. I didn’t imagine the feel of the king’s sharp sword pressing down on my shoulder as he spoke the ancient blessing of knighthood, and though I barely heard myself giving the answers, I was reasonably certain I actually spoke them. Everything was a blur by this point, but I must not have messed up too badly, because when I stood, the king placed his hand, his own sacred hand, upon my shoulder.