He leaned his head back against the wall, torn between hiding and trying to find a way back up to that ballroom to help her. The latter would likely get him killed. Worse, it might get him killed before he was able to stop Nalini from being targeted.
Maybe the best thing to do would be to get away on a ship and comm Nalini with everything he knew. Chief Namjoo would be certain to listen to her. A part of him wanted to also send her notice of where he would be going, in some deluded hope that she would join him there.
Though he remained conflicted, Tristan straightened his shirt and walked toward the ship bay doors. He tried to look normal, as if he were on an errand for Nalini or the sultan, instead of like a fleeing fugitive. With luck, all of the guests would already have gone up to the ball and sneaking onto a ship would be easy.
But as he approached the doors, they opened, and a group of eight men and women in formal attire strode into the corridor.
Tristan moved to the side to get out of their way, but he didn’t stop.
Most of the group passed him by without a glance, but the last man stepped away from the others and put himself in Tristan’s path, raising a hand to stop him.
“Yes?” Tristan asked, striving for a normal tone.
“You’re Princess Nalini’s bodyguard, right?”
Tristan almost blurted that the man had mistaken him for someone else, but he looked certain about the identification.
“I am.” Tristan hoped this newcomer hadn’t heard the security announcement that must have gone out on all the palace channels by now, that he’d tried to kill the prince and was to be shot by anyone who spotted him…
“Good. I have an offer I’m hoping you’ll be interested in.” The man waved him to the alcove Tristan had left.
“An offer?” Confused, Tristan let himself be led into the nook.
At first, all he could think about was his own problem, but some instinct told him to order his chip to record the exchange through his contact lens camera.
“An offer,” the man said firmly, peering into Tristan’s eyes.
He had bronze skin, short black hair, and forgettable features that could have come from any one of dozens of worlds. Tristan hadn’t traveled widely enough to use accents to guess a person’s origins, but he was somewhat comforted that the stranger didn’t sound like he came from the Kingdom.
“Go ahead,” Tristan said when the man paused, glancing up and down the corridor.
The rest of his party had disappeared without looking back.
“The princess will not be harmed,” the man said.
As Tristan realized this was about Nalini instead of him, he grew very intent, his muscles quivering like a dog on point.
“You needn’t worry, but the prince…” The man gazed again into Tristan’s eyes, as if he might read his mind. “I saw your record. You fled from the Kingdom. Are you loyal to the prince?”
Tristan snorted before he could catch himself. He shouldn’t have reacted or given anything away, but he thought of how he’d been so enraged that he’d contemplated killing Jorg less than an hour ago. He was glad he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help but feel that Nalini would be safer if he had.
“I’ll take that for a no. Good. He’s not worth anyone’s loyalty, and neither is that manipulative, ambitious king. The whole Kingdom is…” The man shook his head. “What we do is for the good of the Miners’ Union. The good of the entire Twelve Systems.” His dark eyes took on a zealous look, and Tristan feared he would launch into some fevered tirade of righteousness.
“What is it you want from me?”
“Nothing. Just to look the other way when we make the grab.”
“The grab for… the prince?”
“We have no wish to harm Princess Nalini. She’ll be safe. You can help ensure that by getting her out of the ballroom when the ruckus starts.”
This man had no idea that Tristan couldn’t go anywhere near the ballroom now.
“Look the other way when we take the prince, and we’ll make it worth it for you.”
“Are you working for Dubashi?”
“You don’t need to know that. Just look the other way, and I’ll personally ensure that ten thousand Union dollars finds its way into your account.” The man’s eyes were unwavering and full of intense sincerity. “We saw you fight. We know you can make trouble for us. But Jorg isn’t worth your loyalty. Look the other way.”
“For ten thousand dollars.”
“Yes.” The man nodded and stepped out of the alcove. As he walked away, he gazed back over his shoulder and said, “Look the other way,” one more time. “And you’ll be rewarded. My word.”
“You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Azrak.”
Was that a surname or a first name? Did it matter?
The man disappeared from sight, and Tristan pressed his palms against the wall and stopped the recording on his camera. He could send it to Chief Namjoo. Or he could do nothing. Look the other way. He wouldn’t even have to do that because he couldn’t go up to the ballroom. If he stayed here in hiding and didn’t alert anyone, it was possible that the man’s plan would work, that he and whoever was with him would kidnap Jorg. Or even assassinate Jorg.
That was what it had sounded like to Tristan, that they wanted the prince completely out of the way. If they kidnapped him and ransomed him, King Jager and Sultan Shayban might end up on the same side, working together to get him back. But if Jorg died here in Shayban’s Palace, and Jager believed the sultan had been inadvertently or intentionally responsible, their alliance might shatter before it was even fully formed.
More importantly to Tristan, if Jorg were killed, he wouldn’t have to worry about him being a jerk to Nalini. She wouldn’t be able to marry him at all.
Maybe she’d be available to choose whom she would marry. Was it crazy to think that in a world of free choice, she might choose him?
“Yes,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against the wall. They barely knew each other, and he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes and ask for a date, knowing he’d stepped aside and let criminals assassinate Jorg.
He groaned.
Until Jorg reported back to his father about Tristan’s conduct and the king officially said he was no longer a knight, Tristan was a knight. He couldn’t stand aside and let someone assassinate the prince because it was convenient for his love life. He also couldn’t hide in a spaceship while terrorists rushed into the sultan’s ball with weapons, possibly hurting or killing other guests as they chased after Jorg, who would be well guarded by his men. Whatever happened, it was likely to be a bloodbath up there.
He risked turning on his chip and sent a copy of the video to Dom. Maybe that would be sufficient. Dom would tell palace security and all of Jorg’s security about the threat, and Tristan wouldn’t have to do anything. He could stow away in a ship and get out of here with his life.
But by now, Dom would have been warned about Tristan and would know that Jorg wanted him dead. What if Dom didn’t take Tristan’s warning seriously? Videos could be faked. What if Dom thought this was a ruse, some diversion tactic that Tristan had made up to keep the prince’s bodyguards busy?
“That is unfortunately a possibility,” he mumbled, staring at the wall.
Clenching his jaw with resolve, Tristan stepped out of the alcove again and headed for the lift to the main levels of the palace. He had to visit Nalini’s suite briefly, and then he had to go to the ball.
He might be walking to his death, and the prince might give his men the order to shoot him before the threat ever showed up, but at least he wouldn’t die a coward. He would die as a knight, on his feet, facing his adversaries, and trying to protect people.
* * *
Nalini headed to the ballroom with Devi at her side, and a pair of discreet bodyguards that had been waiting in the corridor outside of her suite. Extra precautions on Chief Namjoo’s part, she assumed, recognizing the faces as men from security. But she eyed them warily
, tempted to outpace them or try to evade them, because she’d recognized Sergeant Habib, too, and he’d betrayed her. How many other men in palace security might have been paid off to derail the alliance?
Well, once she canceled the betrothal announcement, her life could get back to normal, and there would be little reason for people to target her. There would be no marriage and no alliance with the Kingdom, not unless her father wanted to marry off one of her sisters. But Nalini would strongly recommend against that. None of them deserved that asshole.
As she exited the lift on the ballroom level, the soft refrains of the Frost Winter Saga emanated from the walls. She strode past a few groups of guests in the silk-draped corridors, white “snow” ribbons snaking around the decorative columns on the sides.
Most of the people held drinks and chatted amiably. A few of them glanced curiously at her, but nobody tried to stop her. She didn’t know if it was because of her determined expression or the stern-faced guards striding along after her.
Instead of entering the open double doors in a refined and stately manner, Nalini burst inside, almost tripping over the high-heeled ivory shoes she’d chosen, believing that sedate dances would be her most vigorous evening activities. They clacked as she strode along and pinched her toes, but she’d always liked the extra height they gave her. She’d wanted to be able to look Jorg straight in the eyes. She still did.
Guests were already dancing as servants with trays of wine and raki meandered on the outskirts of the great ballroom. White glow-balls floated near the ceiling, and faux snowflakes fell, the holographic illusions dusting people’s shoulders and piling in drifts along the walls.
Nalini looked toward the dais and her father’s throne-like chair atop it, the great seat appearing to be carved from ice, but he wasn’t in it yet. She huffed in annoyance. She’d hoped she would be able to go straight to him and tell him that she’d changed her mind. Even though she dreaded the disappointment that would be on his face, she prayed he would understand, that he wouldn’t disown her or, worse, make her feel that she was failing him and her people.
As she searched the crowd, hoping to spot her father heading for the throne, she sent a message to Tristan—a second one. He hadn’t responded to the first, and she feared he’d turned his chip off so security would have a harder time locating him. It was either that, or he was unconscious—or dead.
Tristan, wherever you are, I thank you for defending me earlier. I’m going to tell my father I can’t marry Jorg, and I’ll hope for the best. Please stay safe. I’m sure Jorg’s men are after you. If you can get off the station, do so. If you can’t, wait for me somewhere, and I’ll find a way to help you. A part of her wanted to say that she would go with him, but she had better wait until she saw the result of her upcoming demolitions. Let me know where you go if you manage to leave tonight. I… want to see you again.
It seemed a weak thing to say, hinting at so much less than what she felt, but this wasn’t the place to carefully compose a more meaningful message. Besides, knowing his difficulty with reading, she would rather share her feelings in a video—or face to face.
“Princess Nalini,” came Jorg’s cool voice from behind her. “I’m pleased that you arrived promptly.”
She groaned to herself and turned to face him but only because he presumed to grip her elbow.
The memory of his confrontation with Tristan and the words he’d snarled sprang to her mind, and a little surge of fear went through her. Rationally, she knew he wouldn’t do anything to her here, but irrationally, she imagined all the things he might want to do to her once they were alone.
“Yes.” Right away, Nalini noticed his face was covered in makeup that he hadn’t worn before. It concealed the bruised skin that couldn’t have had time to heal, though some medical ministrations had brought down the swelling from what must have been numerous lumps. He’d appeared thoroughly battered on Samar’s video. “I’m looking for my father. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”
She glanced toward the bodyguards behind Jorg. There were only two. What had happened to the other two? Were they hunting down Tristan right now? And what of the large crew on the ship he’d brought to the palace? Had he ordered his troops into the corridors to join the search? Was Chief Namjoo allowing that?
“I have not,” Jorg said. “But I’d rather hoped you burst into the ballroom looking for me. Will you dance? I’m certain the guests will expect it from the soon-to-be-betrothed couple.” He smiled, once again that smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and looked her up and down. “You look pleasing in that dress. A far more sexy woman than the cold businesswoman I’d been led to expect.”
Nalini wished she’d worn a suit that hid everything.
“Thank you. Your face looks puffy. Are you feeling all right?” She smiled sweetly.
He lifted his gaze—he’d been checking out her chest again—and squinted at her, but all he said was, “Let’s dance.”
“Jorg.” She drew her arm back, extricating it from his grip. “I will dance with you—” only because everyone would consider it a heinous social faux pas if she didn’t, “—but I have to tell you something first.”
Did she? Couldn’t she simply tell her father and then have his people tell Jorg’s people?
Perhaps, but it seemed cowardly. Besides, her father wasn’t here yet. What if Jorg or some of his people took it upon themselves to announce the betrothal?
“What?” His squint deepened.
“I can’t marry you.” Nalini kept her tone as neutral and nonjudgmental as possible. “You’re not what I expected. It wouldn’t work out.”
His brows flew upward. First shock and then rage flared in his dark eyes.
Jorg lunged forward, reaching for her arm again. Nalini tried to spring back, but the ivory shoes thwarted her, and she almost stumbled again. His steel grip fastened on her arm painfully, and he pulled her toward him as he stepped forward. Their chests bumped, and his lips curled into a sneer.
“You, some fourteenth spawn of a money-grubbing Union worker, are rejecting me? After I’ve spent weeks flying here and waiting for you to finish cavorting with that damn criminal?”
“He’s a knight, someone who would have been loyal to you if you hadn’t—”
His grip tightened until she gasped with pain, and he snarled, “He is nothing. He came from worse than nothing, and he’ll be dead before the night is over, if my men haven’t already caught up with him and shot him. If you’re rejecting me because of him, you’re a lot stupider than your bio says.”
“Let go of me,” she growled, glancing over his shoulder to where Devi saw her predicament and ran toward them.
But a cloaked and hooded figure stepped in from the side, reaching her first. A hand clamped onto Jorg’s wrist, twisting it hard. This time, Jorg gasped, and he released Nalini.
She stepped back into the curve of a gentle arm that wrapped around her shoulders. At first, she tensed, not certain who the newcomer was, but she recognized the jawline visible inside the hood.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Nalini whispered, even though she wanted to fling her arms around Tristan and kiss him for coming.
Jorg yanked his arm back so hard that, when Tristan released it, he almost tumbled onto his ass. Unfortunately, his two bodyguards surged forward and caught him.
“Someone is going after Jorg,” Tristan said loudly enough for Jorg and his guards to hear.
Unfortunately, it was also loudly enough for them to recognize his voice. Jorg’s eyes widened with fresh rage.
“You!” he growled.
“Me.” Tristan released Nalini and stepped away from her, his focus on the prince’s bodyguards. “You’re in danger, Your Highness. A group here wants to kidnap you—or worse—to—”
The bodyguards sprang toward Tristan. He ducked and charged straight for Jorg, wrapping his arms around him and taking him to the floor. They grappled, but only for seconds before the guards hauled Tristan off, hurling him into the
air.
Tristan twisted as he flew away and landed in a crouch, pushing his cloak back and pulling out his pertundo. The wicked blade made the bodyguards pause before charging after him.
“I’m not your enemy,” Tristan said, somewhat incongruously since he’d knocked Jorg down. “I came to warn you. I—”
As Jorg scrambled to his feet, shouts came from the doorway.
“Look out!”
“Men with guns!”
Weapons fired, the buzz of DEW-Tek rifles. Devi rushed toward the armed men streaming into the ballroom as guests flung themselves to the floor or stampeded for the back exits. A female guest took a crimson energy bolt in the chest and screamed. Other security guards appeared, racing toward the intruders.
Nalini hadn’t brought any weapons—who went armed to a ball?—and could only back away from the insanity breaking out. She tried to stay behind Tristan, but he was busy fighting both of Jorg’s bodyguards.
Jorg yanked a stunner from a holster inside his jacket. He glanced at Tristan but frowned and pointed it toward the men rushing into the ballroom. There were more than twenty. Devi plowed into one, taking him to the floor, but still more streamed into the room.
A clank sounded off to Nalini’s side. She looked in time to see a canister rolling across the floor, but smoke spewed out of it, clouding the view.
A man jostled Nalini as he ran past. She turned, trying to watch for threats from behind, worried she would be targeted again. Should she flee the ballroom? Or wait and try to help Tristan? What could she do without a weapon?
More canisters plunked down all around her. Smoke gushed from them, forming a thick gray cloud over the ballroom floor. Acrid air stung her eyes.
Chief Namjoo, she sent a quick message, copying her father in on it as she scooted toward a buffet table along the wall, hoping to stay out of the way. The security guards had clashed with the intruders, halting their flow into the room, but shots were still being fired, crimson beams slashing through the smoke in random directions. You probably already know, but there’s chaos in the ballroom. We need more men here. Tristan said Prince Jorg is the target, but—
Knight Protector: a Star Kingdom novel Page 20
