Kephas Petrou, the king’s aide, bent down, whispering into Nekator’s ear. The king nodded and pronounced, “A lovely fable, well told—I’m sure its creation took a great deal of your technicians’ time—but what of reality, Captain?”
If K’kadi had thrown a fit of Orlondami temper at that moment, Tal would not have blamed him. If he’d had anything he could throw, he was ashamed to admit he might have shied it straight at Nekator’s head himself. To hell with the mission, aid, and Empire. Was Nekator being deliberately obtuse—refusing to believe the obvious?
Tal straightened his shoulders, bowed to Hypatia Kalliste and then to King Nekator, as if the request for more proof were perfectly normal, perfectly acceptable. “Do you have some object you do not mind losing, Majesty? A banner, a vase, a lance? I would offer you a further demonstration.” Though frowning, the king gestured for a guard to remove a heraldic banner from the wall. “If you will place it in the middle of the floor,” Tal said, “then step back . . .” The guard did as ordered. “K’kadi?”
A small version of Jagan’s dragon, not more than a meter and half, flashed into existence. After a flip of its tail, as if mocking its detractors, it opened it mouth, breathed fire. Nothing but ash remained of the banner.
Once again, Tal had to wait for shocked voices to fade. “I am not saying, Majesty, that I expect K’kadi to defeat the Regs single-handed. And no, I have no idea how he does what he does. But I can tell you he will be a formidable ally, making victory a definite possibility. The Regs, after all, are far too battle savvy not to retreat before they are annihilated. It will not be necessary for us to take down every last ship they send against us, only to demonstrate that Hercula isn’t worth the losses that we’re inflicting.”
Ten minutes later, after a huddled conference with the First Advisor and his generals, King Nekator ordered his senior officers to begin the restoration of Herculon’s warships. That night prayers were sent to a variety of gods pleading for enough time for the newly minted allies of Reg rebels, Psyclids, and Herculons to be ready to face the impending Reg invasion.
“Tal,” Kass said just as he was ready—at long last—to sink into sleep, “do you know the name of Rand Kamal’s ship? I really don’t think we should let K’kadi’s beast eat him.”
Tal groaned. He’d moved mountains today, increased the rebellion’s chance of victory over the Empire by a hundred percent, and Kass was worried about Kamal? Pok, dimi, and fyd, but women could be a great deal of trouble. “Andromeda,” he murmured. You can have the honor of telling K’kadi his monster is not to eat Andromeda, but not a word to the Hercs. No way could he tell the Hercs not to fire on Rand Kamal, nephew of the Emperor. They would think him mad.
Not that the Hercs were going to get anywhere near the state-of-the-art Reg battlecruiser that was the next launch of Rigel Industries after Tycho. So no problem.
Tal slept.
Chapter 27
Blue Moon
Alek plunked a wooden bowl of halinuts onto the table at Revel’s, then juggled the two mugs of ripka he was holding in his other hand to the surface without spilling a drop. Jordana applauded. “Missed your calling, Captain. You would have made an expert server.”
“Your turn next time,” Alek growled. “Tell me,” he added, nodding toward in the crowd he’d just fought his way through, “what are all these people doing here?”
“Having fun?”
“And we’re here because . . . ?”
“You thought ‘showing the flag’ might be a good idea. You know—the captains currently in charge of Blue Moon, even if we aren’t wearing our uniforms, demonstrating that all is well. It doesn’t matter that our fearless leaders recently suffered assassination attempts or that we haven’t heard from them in weeks.”
Oh,” Alek deadpanned. “Those reasons.” He picked up his mug and took a hearty swallow.
“It also gives us a good excuse to be seen together, without sneaking through the walls of the palace.”
Alek came close to sputtering ripka onto the tabletop. “About that,” he said, leaning close after he’d managed to stop coughing, “do you now consider yourself unencumbered?”
Jordana favored him with a slow smile. “It was very generous of you to give Gregor a command. A deft maneuver.”
“He was the best man for the job.”
“Undoubtedly, but I can’t help wondering how many people are speculating behind our backs.” Jordana hid her face behind her tilted mug.
“Does it matter?”
“Not unless our honored leader doesn’t agree with you.”
“Tal’s got a rebellion to run. He doesn’t concern himself with romance.”
Jordana lowered her mug, eyes fixed to its amber contents as if it were a witch’s crystal. “He may have to. Whatever is going on with K’kadi and Alala could blow up in his face. We need the Herc alliance, but I’m told the Lassan girl is determined to have him.”
“Nonsense. Kid’s had his nose up Alala’s skirts since the first day he saw her.”
Jordana offered a smile that was closer to a smirk. “I hope your military intel isn’t as out of date as your romance intel.”
“What the hell do you mean—” Alek broke off as two of his officers stopped to pay their respects, setting off a parade of crew members from Tycho and Scorpio.
When they finally had a private moment—well into a third round bought by their well-wishers—Jordana asked, “Do you think they’re actually glad to see us, or are we cramping their style and they’re just being polite?”
“I suspect everyone’s had enough to drink that we can rule out ‘polite.’ Maybe we should actually do this more often.”
“You know what I think?” Jordana whispered. “I think we should get out of here while we can still walk.”
Okay, this was it. Alek tapped his mug with his finger, took a deep breath, and raised his gray eyes to meet hers. “I hope, wherever we’re going, we’re going together.”
Lips thinning, Jordana looked down. “Are we foolish to attempt to resurrect the past? A moment no more than a speck in time?”
“Is that an excuse because you’re still clinging to Merkanov?”
“No! That was over a long time ago—the minute you came back in my life. Gregor and I were just going through the motions.”
“Then let’s get out of here, climb the main staircase, and let everyone in the whole batani palace see where we’re going.”
Jordan’s blue eyes widened. “No secret passages, no sneaking around?” She grinned. “Actually, it was fun. I’ve even named a couple of the larger spiders lurking along the way.”
“All that sneaking around, yet we never got down to the really good stuff,” Alek taunted. “Jordana Tegge, the captain with too much integrity for her own good.”
“Is it true you haven’t had a woman since the crash?” she asked, the question sneaking out on the liquid courage of the third ripka.
“Liona Dann offered.”
Jordana choked on her final swallow. “She probably would have slit your throat.”
“It seemed safer to say no. What Tal ever saw in that woman . . .”
“You know which head men think with.”
“Really?” Alek’s eyes played over her with blatantly lascivious intent. His brows waggled. “You think that’s the only reason I want to get you into bed?”
“Come.” Jordana stood, dragging him to the door, even as he returned waves and ignored a few knowing catcalls.
“The answer to that,” she said as they breathed in the cool night air, “is that you could have had any woman you wanted any time this year and more. And word is, you haven’t. Which makes me feel like pok because I didn’t go without.” She toed the ground, for a moment looking like an awkward girl just learning about boys. “So, if you still want me, used goods that I am . . . let’s go climb that staircase.”
Hand in hand, they walked through the arch into Veranelle’s courtyard, the guards saluting as they passe
d. They climbed the broad front steps, entered the main door held open for them by more guards, and shoulder to shoulder, walked up two flights of stairs, past guards on every landing, down a long corridor, where they were saluted by the guard outside Alek’s suite, and were finally, blessedly, alone. Even though the entire population of the palace would be aware of their tryst by breakfast.
Jordana thought she had forgotten how to cry. Until she saw Alek’s scars, which reminded her of the miracle he was alive, reminded her of all the time they’d lost. So much to make up for. So much love to give.
They fell on each other, scattering clothing from sitting room to bedroom. Fortunately, casual clothing was much easier to rip off than their uniforms. Alek still had one foot in a pant leg when he pinned her to the bed and plunged inside her. Later, many times later, they made up for too fast, too furious.
On Blue Moon all was well.
Hercula—the palace
“I swear if that man looks me over one more time, I’m going to shrivel his balls, king or no king!” With an angry huff, B’aela dropped down next to Anneli on the elegant gold brocade sofa in the sitting room of the suite they now shared in the Herculon royal palace. Hands fisted, B’aela cast an annihilating glare at the portrait of some royal Herc ancestor on the far wall.
“You may leave that to his honored lady,” Anneli offered. “He strips us with his eyes, while she plots to do away with both of us.”
“With Petrou all too willing to assist,” B’aela grumbled.
“It is absurd,” Anneli murmured. “We have come here to help. Tal, Kass, Dagg, his family, all the technicians are working around the clock to resurrect their fleet, while their king acts as if he has nothing on his mind but wine, women, and food!”
“And K’kadi’s fireworks.”
“Ah yes,” Anneli returned after a most unladylike snort. “My son, reduced to the role of court jester!”
“He serves a purpose, as do we. At least that’s what Tal tells me every time I complain. With all the voices of reason—reb and Herc—concentrating on preparing for battle, it’s up to us to keep Nekator occupied, keep him from having second thoughts.”
“K’kadi cannot fight the Regs with fireworks. Or by disappearing the royal feline!”
B’aela, who had almost forgotten how to laugh, surprised herself with a bark of amusement that rippled through their sitting room. “Ah, Anneli, I needed that. No need to worry, he’s not about to forget how to conjure weapons of war. I guarantee it. He’s so good, he sometimes frightens even me. And after Jagan . . . believe me, that’s saying a lot.”
Anneli returned a gracious smile of motherly pride, which faded all too soon. “I know it will soon be over, one way or another, but I wish we—K’kadi, you, and I— could be less prominent at court. I cannot help but feel Nekator has plans that go beyond lechery.”
“Beyond lechery?” B’aela mocked. “Just what does that mean?”
“The goddess alone knows,” Anneli said, shaking her head. “I almost wish the Reg fleet was here. That should be enough to turn the king’s attention elsewhere.”
“Anneli!” B’aela’s voice dropped into witch mode. “If there is one bit of wisdom that echoes down through the ages, it is: ‘Be careful what you wish for!’”
Anneli choked back a sob. “I want to go home. I want things to be the way they used to be. Blue Moon at peace. No fighting, no death . . .” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Tears that would have turned anyone else’s eyes red and blotched their skin. On Anneli, tears merely dripped from glowing, long-lashed green eyes and glistened on her pale cheeks, enhancing her beauty.
“I gave up fairy tales shortly after I met Jagan Mondragon,” B’aela declared. “It’s long past time for you to do the same.”
Looking indignant, Anneli raised her head. “I am not fanciful!”
“Dimmit! Where do you think K’kadi got it?”
“Ryal’s as whimsical as they come!”
“Well, I certainly didn’t get any of it,” B’aela shot back.
Anneli, suddenly all-compassionate mother, moved swiftly, taking B’aela in her arms. “Poor child, you were left out for so long. Badly hurt more times than anyone should ever be. And yes, forgive me, but I know your story. We both need to survive Hercula and find our proper place in this world.”
B’aela stiffened her back, gently pushing Anneli away. “We are the flotsam left behind by kings,” she said in a tone at odds with her usual sophisticated confidence. “Not that Ryal intended any wickedness. In your case, heedlessness of your feelings was well covered by generosity. In mine, by reluctant acceptance . . . and more generosity. In worldly goods at least.”
Anneli’s customarily mobile face went blank. “Your mother,” she said, framing each word with care, “does she consider herself flotsam?”
“My mother,” B’aela declared without hesitation, “has done very well for herself. She is a High Priestess of the Golden Crystal, and seems remarkably happy.” B’aela, ever cynical, shrugged. “This may, of course, be aided by the fact that the Order is far from celibate.”
Anneli choked. “You are too, too bad,” she managed. “Beside you, I am nothing but a country cousin.”
“Living with Jagan Mondragon can do that to a girl. And now here we are, playthings to keep King Nekator amused.”
Anneli frowned. “You have been a great deal more, B’aela. Never forget that. But at this moment keeping Nekator occupied is our way to serve. Don’t scoff just because it is not as dangerous as some of the other things you’ve done. The king is not that shallow, I think. Merely aware that he must rely on experts for what must be done, so why should he not amuse himself while they’re at it.”
“And we are the chosen toys!” B’aela shot back. “As always, Anneli, you are the epitome of diplomacy while I, the realist, see the pitfalls.”
K’kadi’s head drifted into the room, floating low enough to catch the attention of two women trapped in the misery of the moment. “Fyddit!” B’aela barked, shocking her companion. “You’ve got to stop doing that!”
Come in?
“Of course, come in. Why can’t you just knock on the door like anyone else?”
Fun, K’kadi explained as he walked in.
“We were just talking about that, and believe me, the fun’s fading fast,” his sister declared.
But K’kadi wasn’t listening. After a formal bow to his mother, he turned, straightened to his full height, and said, Reg Fleet comes. Three days.
“That’s too far out to be sure—” B’aela broke off. She had met K’kadi only recently, but all those hours of practicing with him should have taught her not to question his power. “You just know, right?”
Yes.
“Then you’d better tell Tal.”
Told Kass. Now you.
Anneli bent her head, palmed her hands together in front of her face. Softly, she intoned, “May the goddess help us all.”
After days of wrangling, marked by occasional shouting matches and red-faced fury, Herculon patriotic fervor bowed to the wise counsel of Honored Admiral Timaios Andreadis. On the basis of Captain Talryn Rigel’s knowledge of the Empire’s battle strategy, as well as his being the only captain who had actually fought the Regs, he was named to overall command of the newly resurrected Herculon space fleet. An honor Kass could have done without, even though she knew it was the right thing to do. But if they lost, Tal would take the full brunt of the blame.
Then again, if they lost, it likely wouldn’t matter. They’d all be dead or imprisoned. Resolutely, Kass banished the negative. She would trust Tal to get them through the coming battle and do her best to assist. They would prevail. There was, however, one other matter . . .
In the chaos of the night before Astarte and the Hercs expected to engage the Regs, Kass made her way to K’kadi’s cabin, dismissed J’rett Zelaya, motioned her brother into one of the room’s two fixed chairs and took the other for herself. After that flurry of activity, however,
she steepled her hands over her face, saying nothing. K’kadi, well aware this was not a sentimental family visit on the night before battle, waited her out.
Kass finally lowered her hands, clasping them tightly in her lap. “I know I should consider the Emperor’s nephew an enemy. When B’aela spoke fondly of him, I assumed her view of him was tainted by affection. But after I met him, actually listened to him, I had to face facts, not assumptions. Rand Kamal freed M’lani. He executed B’aela’s attackers. He warned us about the punitive expedition against Psyclid and of the Reg invasion fleet headed for Hercula.” Kass turned the full weight of her amber gaze on her brother. “We owe him, K’kadi. We can’t let anything happen to him.”
K’kadi frowned, his eyes narrowed. Reg admiral.
“And Tal was a Reg captain!”
K’kadi’s lower lip extended into the stubborn pout she’d come to dread.
“Listen to me, K’kadi. With you or without you—though Tal will likely kill me—I plan to monitor Andromeda.” A rueful smile quirked her lips. “I know—ridiculous to think the Hercs could down Andromeda—but just in case, if worse comes to worst, I expect you to drop your beast long enough to save Kamal.” At the appalled look on K’kadi’s face, she hastily added, “We’ve had practice, after all—Tycho and Pegasus. We can do it, you know we can.”
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 22