Tal nodded, but somehow she had expected him to be more enthusiastic. “Is something wrong? More than I already know about?”
“No.” He lay back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. “A melancholy moment, acknowledging I’m a mere human. Not an Atlas capable of holding the world in my hands. I’ll revive. Things will look better in a day or two—”
Of course he was depressed. Hadn’t she felt the same not an hour ago? “It’s too much piled on all at once. The bomb, Vaden, the sniper, word of the Herc invasion. Even if you hadn’t been hit, it would be too much. It’s like Fate is conducting an experiment, seeing how much can be dumped on us before we curl up our toes and give in.”
“Never!”
“Well, of course. But there’s no reason you have to fly the rebel flag every moment. Let’s order dinner in. We’ll dine in decadent en déshabillé, and say to hell with both Empire and rebellion until tomorrow morning.” Kass leaned down and brushed a kiss over his lips. “Well?”
“Best words I’ve heard all day.” Tal freed his hands, pulling Kass down on top of him. “Maybe you could place the order later?”
“Later is fine,” she purred. “The body hungers for more than food.”
Tal tightened his grip, and for several minutes they simply lay there, absorbing strength from each other, deliberately, methodically shutting out the cares of the day, so they could seize a few moments as Tal and Kass, not S’sorrokan and Princess L’ira.
They dined late. Very late.
Chapter 21
Kass sat at a charming marquetry-ornamented desk that had once been her mother’s. Ignoring the border of intricately patterned wood which usually caught her admiring eye, she frowned over her personal packing list for the voyage to Hercula. An annoyingly long list. She would need day wear that reflected her position as ruler of Blue Moon and court garb from her days as Psyclid’s Princess Royal. Garments that said she had a right to face Hercula’s king, royal to royal, and not just in her role as S’sorrokan’s consort. With all the additions to the tech staff, they were going to be pressed for space, but, fizzet, she couldn’t sit down to dinner in the same gown every night of their stay on Hercula. And who knew how long it was going to take to convince King Nekator that the Regs were about to inva—
A chill breeze slammed into her, penetrating her flimsy peignoir and nightgown, raising goosebumps on her arms, rustling the list beneath her fingers. The bright sunshine filling the room dimmed to the gray of stormy weather. Through the murk her brother strode toward her, a charcoal gray cloud hovering above his head, lightning flashing with each step he took. Incredibly, Kass’s first thought was how much she’d missed this K’kadi—the boy who spoke through illusions instead of desperately struggling to form words. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
In the center of the dark cloud, Anneli’s face appeared. Streaks of lightning arced around her. A low growl of thunder rumbled through the room.
Oh.
“Sit, K’kadi. Let’s talk.” Kass moved toward the sitting room’s sea green sofa, gesturing for him to follow.
Hands on hips, he glared at her, not moving. The dark cloud expanded, lightning crackled. This time thunder boomed.
She dropped her head, acknowledging K’kadi’s point. She should have anticipated his temper. Because the goddess had made him unique, he had taken far longer than most young men to escape his mother’s watchful eye. And now . . .
Kass faced K’kadi’s wrath. “I admit that when I realized Anneli would be an asset, I forgot her presence might not be good for you. We need you at your best, and when Anneli is around, you revert to childhood.”
Bad.
“Agreed.” Kass sank down on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. “K’kadi, please turn off the storm and sit. Let’s see if we can figure this out.”
The illusion winked out, but K’kadi didn’t move. Mother go. I stay. Kass had not seen him look so stubborn and determined since the night he’d eluded all the Reg guards and made his way into the refectory to find her.
“K’kadi, you know there is no question of you not going. We can’t get along without you. But think of Anneli. She is a woman of great intelligence and charm who has never been allowed to be more than your mother. She is not as vital to our plans as you are—yes, we can leave her home—but is that fair? She was thrilled to be asked. She wants to go. Not as your mother but as a representative of Blue Moon.” When Kass saw no sign of wavering, she continued to pour it on. “You’ve grown so much, K’kadi, come so far. I know you can serve on the same ship with your mother as an adult, not a child. Naturally, you were surprised when you heard. My fault. I should have warned you. But I know you’re man enough now to see her as part of our team, not as your mother.”
No.
“Please, K’kadi,” Kass coaxed. “Sit down. Stop fuming and start thinking.”
An outline of Astarte suddenly stretched catty-corner across the large room. At one end, Anneli’s face; at the other, K’kadi’s. Eyes narrowed, the flesh and blood K’kadi stared at Kass, willing her to understand.
“Easily accomplished,” she assured him. “Anneli will be assigned a cabin as far away from you as possible. Now come over here and give me a hug. You’re my favorite brother, after all.”
Only brother.
Smiling, Kass never missed a beat. “Which allows me to love you all the more.”
K’kadi was still standing, eyeing her askance, when Tal’s voice broke the silence. “Well, this explains thunder on a sunny morning. Rather startled the people I was meeting with.”
“How?” Kass demanded. “We hear K’kadi inside our heads. Or . . . so I thought. K’kadi, since when do you make sounds heard by ears, not the mind?”
Not.
“That thunder was loud and clear,” Tal asserted.
Frowning, K’kadi shifted his arms to parade rest. Clearly puzzled, he shook his head. No sound.
Yes, sound,” Tal said. “Kass heard it, I heard it, the people with me heard it. A rumble followed by a boom that rattled the chandeliers.”
Can’t.
“Not a problem,” Tal declared, abruptly dismissing the topic. Whatever was happening with K’kadi would happen, while pressuring him could well send him spiraling back to the irresponsible boy. “So . . . back to the grindstone.” He headed toward his office.
“Tal,” Kass called after him. “Please ask Jor to see that K’kadi is assigned a room as far from Anneli as possible.”
Tal laughed. “Understood. Consider it done.” He offered K’kadi one of those man-to-man looks that made Kass grind her teeth, and then he was gone.
Kass got her hug.
Three hectic days later, Astarte slipped out of spacedock high above Blue Moon and set a course for Cyros Alpha, the first of two “backdoor” gates that had allowed the rebels to come and go undetected during the years of the Reg occupation. Watching from behind the space station’s wall of windows, captains Alek Rybolt and Jordana Tegge heaved mutual sighs of relief that Astarte was on her way at last.
“Well, that was frantic,” Jordana, at her most astringent, declared. “I doubt Blue Moon will ever be the same again.”
Alek’s slow and penetrating gaze surveyed her from head toe. “Since when do you like bucolic serenity?”
“I told you—it’s growing on me. Guess I’m getting old.”
“Old enough to get rid of Merkanov?”
Straight out of the blue, a hit so hard she came close to staggering back a step. Well, fyd that! “You ignore me for more than a decade and then expect me to toss my best friend out on his ass?”
Alek rocked back on his heels, accepting the hit. “Sorry, but celibacy doesn’t suit me.”
“Last time I looked, Blue Moon was full of beautiful women.”
When nothing but silence met her suggestion, Jordana managed a spin-off to a different topic. “Speaking of beautiful women, I wonder how Dr. Dann is doing.”
“I hope Mondragon had the guts to spa
ce her,” Alek snarled, momentarily diverted.
“Unfortunately, I hear marriage has tamed the beast.”
“Not from what I saw when he was laying down terms to Kamal. Tal couldn’t have done it better himself.” Alek straightened to his full height so he could have the advantage of looking down on the woman who was nearly as tall as he. “Nice bit of diversion, Captain, but I’m getting the impression that unless you’re telling me to take a flying leap, you’re angling for a ménage à trois.”
The ice in Jordana’s eyes flared into blue flames. “That, Captain, would be far too much testosterone in one bed. I didn’t get where I am by not having balls of my own.”
“Fyddit, Jordana!”
“Goodnight, Captain.” She stalked toward the lift, leaving Alek standing by the viewport.
Vengeance. For a one-night stand at a drunken party she was still making him suffer.
The earth had moved that night. Yet he’d gotten out of bed, dressed, gone off to war, and never looked back. Well, almost never. Until he waked up after Tycho’s crash and found her sitting there. Until he discovered she’d been there every day of a very long wait. Talking to him, encouraging him, when everyone else thought him a lost cause.
So . . . he had to face it. Jordana was entitled to give him a hard time.
What did he see in such a dour, hard-nosed, unfeminine woman anyway? He always liked his women soft and pretty. Malleable. Fun. All the things Jordana Tegge was not. So what in the nine hells of Obsidias did he think he was doing, panting after her? There were far more beautiful and accommodating fish in the seas of Blue Moon. He was captain of a battlecruiser, acting head of government. Which meant . . .
He was free to enjoy the serenity that had descended after the frantic pace of the last few weeks. Free to enjoy a few self-indulgent moments beyond his responsibilities to both rebels and citizens. Free to indulge in a bit of optimism.
Life was good. Tal’s trip would be successful. They were going to win this thing. Jordana? Alek paused, his gaze fixed on the long line waiting to board the shuttle back to Blue Moon. At Jordana, who was waving away offers to move to the front of the queue. Ah well, he wouldn’t be Alek Rybolt, captain of Tycho, if he didn’t enjoy a challenge.
Astarte, en route to Hercula
Fizzet, no! K’kadi didn’t want to go. He was being summoned for another scold, and he’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. And what had he done this time? Kass had already explained his mistake with Alala. Maybe Tal just wanted to warn him about being on his best behavior in front of Alala’s father and King Nekator, but that was long weeks away . . .
Dimmit. He had to follow orders, of course he did. No longer a spoiled child, he was part of the rebellion now.
He still didn’t want to go to Tal’s cabin.
The surprise came when the door opened and K’kadi saw both Tal and Kass waiting for him. He’d been so absorbed in his grievances he hadn’t felt his sister there, side by side with Tal, on the black leather sofa in the captain’s sitting room. Tal waved him to a matching chair directly across from them. A family meeting? But why?
“K’kadi,” Tal said, speaking in his brother-in-law voice, not the stern tone of Captain Rigel, “we’re making some changes in protocol for this trip.” His lips curled into a rueful grin. “And no, you don’t need to tell me that protocol is an odd word to hear from me. But the truth is, the rebellion hasn’t treated Ryal’s children well. We’ve used you as weapons, risked your lives time after time. Made you wear jumpsuits, which I know you despise,” Tal added with a perfectly straight face, “but now that’s going to change.”
“You see,” Kass said, “we are on an expedition to ask the Herculons for their help. And yes, our job has been made easier by threats of a Reg invasion, but it’s possible the Hercs won’t believe us.”
“And we want to put up the best front we can,” Tal said. “In this case, three of King Ryal’s children, plus his First Concubine.”
What? K’kadi’s shock exploded inside both his listeners’ heads.
“I beg your pardon,” Tal returned hastily. “No disrespect was intended to your mother. According to Alala, that is a term used for King Nekator’s favorite, Hypatia Kalliste. It is an honored position—which is why, in addition to her diplomatic skills, we believe Anneli will be a great asset.”
K’kadi’s only response was a glower that might have intimidated Jagan’s dragon.
“We have decided,” Kass said carefully, “that we must emphasize our royalty. Wear traditional court garments.” K’kadi’s scowl vanished; a dawning gleam of comprehension, and satisfaction, lit his azure eyes. “In short, we must begin acting our roles while aboard ship, so we will be comfortable with them when we reach Hercula. You will dine at the captain’s table each night in appropriate garb. J’rett Zelaya will return to the role he filled when you were growing up—bodyguard to a prince.
Guard! No!
“We’re told you made your peace with Zelaya long since.”
K’kadi considered the matter, a host of memories rolling over him. J’rett Zelaya was a member of Blue Moon’s modest-sized police force, and over the years he had proved himself adept at tracking K’kadi down the many times he’d slipped away from his mother and gone walkabout. But, truth was, J’rett wasn’t more than a decade older than himself. As K’kadi had grown older and a shade wiser, resentment had faded to the point where they’d become easy with each other. Friends. Almost.
K’kadi, though still openly displaying doubt, offered an abrupt nod of assent.
“And now to another matter that needs to be discussed,” Tal said.
K’kadi was tempted to run for it. Wasn’t a bodyguard bad enough?
He was going to get to wear his own clothes aboard ship. He was going to be treated like the son of a king.
Warily, he pinned his gaze on Tal’s face. Might as well get this over with.
“We think we may have made a mistake.”
The great S’sorrokan make a mistake, and even more astonishingly, admitting it?
“Kass and I have been so determined to teach you discipline—for your own sake, as well as because you’re a valuable asset to the rebellion—that we . . . well, we overdid it.”
What?
“K’kadi,” Kass said, “the day you created the thunderstorm, I realized how much I missed your illusions. We’re thrilled you can speak to us now, but your illusions were wonderful. Your pretty pictures were good for morale. They made everyone smile.”
“Making those pictures isn’t bad, K’kadi,” Tal said. “Yes, I suppose it’s distracting at times, but sometimes that’s what we all need. Life in space can get boring.”
“What we’re saying,” Kass continued, “is that we hope you’ll continue the illusions, the ones we’ve all enjoyed so much.”
“And besides,” Tal added, “it will keep you in practice for when we need the more serious stuff.”
An image of K’kadi’s face appeared above his chair. Tears dripped from azure eyes, rolled down pale cheeks. Seemed to fall onto the white-blond hair of the real K’kadi directly below.
“So it’s all right?” Kass asked.
Clown?
“Entertainer, morale-builder, by royal command,” she assured him.
The disembodied face beamed at her.
“Stay for lunch,” Tal said. “We need to get used to demonstrating family solidarity. I’ll give you a rundown of what we’ll face when we get to Hercula.”
They wanted his company? Wanted his pictures? They wanted him, and not just a weapon?
Maybe he’d go find Alala and . . . How many times had she told him only sorcerers created illusions? And sorcerers were monsters.
Talora would be happier for him. She liked his illusions.
Better to think about food. He liked to eat. And now that he had muscles as well as brains to feed, he ate with more relish than ever. Girls upset his balance. Food did not. Food was good. Happily, K’kadi joined Kass an
d Tal at the captain’s private dining table.
Chapter 22
The woman hanging clothing in the cabin’s modest-sized closet turned as Anneli entered. “I beg your pardon for intruding on your privacy, Dama Amund,” she said, but I understand Astarte is close to bursting at the seams.” She crossed the room, holding out her hand. “I am B’aela.”
King Ryal’s eldest child wasn’t at all what Anneli expected. In fact, she could see nothing of Ryal in her at all. A strong narrow face framed by a mass of dark riotous curls, huge brown eyes that reflected more knowledge of the world’s pain than Anneli could even imagine. As well as worldly wisdom she could only envy, though from what she’d heard, B’aela had paid dearly for her experience. The Sorcerer Prime’s chief assistant did, however, have a firm grip, a sharp intelligence that radiated from every pore, and the natural-born arrogance of an Orlondami, even if she was just as illegitimate as her baby brother. Ever the diplomat, Anneli murmured, “I am pleased to meet you.”
“I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience with roommates,” B’aela offered with a straight face, although her dark eyes held a wicked glint. “And mine have been of the male variety, so I guess we’ll just have to adapt.”
“We have both been fortunate enough to attract men of power,” Anneli said. “But you are the one who helped free Psyclid, while I have done nothing but sit in my home and worry about events far away and completely beyond my control.”
B’aela’s face darkened. Electricity, energy . . . a whiff of magic charged the air in the small cabin. Fizzet, Anneli thought, the woman really was a witch.
“Anneli Amund, “B’aela intoned, “you have done what no one else could do. You gave the king a son. A unique and special son whose day will come. That is enough accomplishment for a lifetime.”
Guilt swept Anneli. Was it wrong to be the mother of K’kadi and still wish for more?
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 17