Summer of the Unicorn

by Kay Hooper

  Summer of the Unicorn is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  2017 Loveswept Ebook Edition

  Copyright © 1988 by Kay Hooper

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Originally published in paperback in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, in 1988.

  Ebook ISBN 9781101969380

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: conrado/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Rubicon

  Chapter 1

  Styx

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  By Kay Hooper

  About the Author

  Rubicon

  The King was dead.

  King Jason had been a hale and hearty man still in his prime, and no one had been prepared for his death of a sudden fever. The death of a king must always be traumatic for his country, of course, but never more so than when that ruler leaves behind him no children to inherit his crown. On Rubicon, the Morgan family had ruled for nearly ten thousand years, and although much of the governing remained in the hands of the elected Council of Elders, the ruling family wielded considerable power and was held dear by the populace.

  Pacing slowly along a deserted hallway in the quiet palace, Tynan, Speaker of the Council, pondered the problem that his fellow Elders unanimously had placed in his hands. Grimly aware that his seat as Speaker could well depend on his solution, he was determined to satisfy everyone—no mean feat.

  The people demanded a king, and were loud in their determination to see a Morgan assume the throne. The Council was also united in its determination that the ancient ruling line remain unbroken. And the Court itself, though politically silent on the subject, felt a definite favoritism toward one of the princes. Tynan felt the same favoritism, and so it was inordinately difficult for him to be objective.

  There were two princes, both legitimate Morgans, both of an age to rule. The problem was that they were the same age. They were, in fact, half brothers, born of different mothers. Jason’s younger brother Darian, a scoundrel if ever one had walked, had married his betrothed with the full approval of his brother; three years later, he had persuaded his brother to reinstate the ancient law allowing male royalty a second wife. Jason considered it prudent to agree, since tests had shown that he himself would never father an heir; numerous offspring through Darian would ensure the succession.

  But no one, least of all Jason, expected both of Darian’s wives to announce their respective pregnancies on the same day. And since Darian, forever reckless, broke his neck out hunting before either of his sons was born, the boys’ birth dates became of paramount importance: Since both boys were legitimately sired by the heir to Jason’s throne, the oldest, by law, would rule after Jason.

  The natural course of events should have solved the dilemma, since Elena, Darian’s first wife, was by the best estimate of the Court physicians six weeks pregnant when she made the announcement, and Caprice, the second wife, eight weeks pregnant at that time. However, since a span of two weeks between two first childbirths must always be a dubious margin, no one dared to guess which child would enter the world first.

  Brooding, Tynan paced slowly through the open double doors and onto the wide terrace. He stood gazing out over the peaceful, secluded garden of the palace, then sighed and rested his weight on the low stone balustrade. His black hawk’s eyes wandered aimlessly for a moment, then became intent as he saw a man and woman walking some distance away. The man was tall and powerful, his black hair thick and shining in the sunlight. His head was bent attentively toward the older woman on his arm.

  Caprice. The man beside her might well have been her contemporary rather than Hunter, her son, for Caprice still had the face and figure of a girl, and a girl’s laugh. Her black hair was still too wild to obey the Court fashions, and her blue eyes still flashed with wicked temper often enough to startle the Court even after so many years. She was Queen, just as Elena was, though neither would ever rule because they were not Morgans born.

  Fiery Caprice, who had been, Tynan knew, the wife of Darian’s heart. There were those who still maintained that she seduced her prince, even some who claimed she possessed the legendary mystical powers of the Hillpeople, with which she had enchanted him. Tynan knew better. Darian had been ensnared by her beauty and spirit, but he had not been the victim of supernatural powers. Anyone witnessing one of their temperamental clashes, during which Caprice flung breakables at his head with abandon while Darian laughed and dodged skillfully, would have been conscious of observing a very typical marital drama.

  Widowed before she could give her prince an heir, Caprice had lost her spirit for a time. But the birth of Hunter had renewed her life. And, though troublesome in most matters, Tynan reflected wryly, she had been rigidly circumspect regarding the birth of her son more than twenty-five years before. With a Court Wisewoman and two ladies-in-waiting in attendance, Caprice had delivered her son, seen to it that his birth was duly and punctiliously recorded, and followed the Wisewoman’s advice in naming him.

  Tynan sighed unconsciously, his black eyes expressionless as he watched Caprice and Hunter disappear on the far side of the garden.

  It should have been simple. And it was ironic that Elena, the sensible bride chosen for Darian in his cradle, should have been the one to precipitate the complicated situation in which they were all now enmeshed. Elena, the quiet, reserved first wife, eclipsed in nearly every way by the more beautiful and lively Caprice.

  Before Caprice was confined in childbed, Elena left the palace. As was the custom in her family, Elena had requested permission to return to her mother’s house to give birth; the Council, requiring only that a Court Wisewoman and at least two other reputable witnesses attend the birth, assented. Scrupulously guarded and escorted, Elena had left the palace. No one could have foreseen that a band of Outcast soldiers, the seeds of what would become the People’s Revolutionary Army, would attack the caravan.

  None of Elena’s escorts dared confess that the woman great with child quite possibly carried the next King in her womb; it would have meant sure death for Elena. The Outcasts, wanting only riches and women, took what they could, slaughtered the male guards, and carried off the ladies-in-waiting.

  The Wisewoman, old and frail, died in the brief battle. And Elena, left alive in the wreckage of her caravan by men uninterested in her bloated body, began her labor far from any helping hands.

  And far from anyone who could objectively record the birth.

  Alone, she gave birth to her son. Alone, she managed to carry him back to the city and to the palace. She arrived, exhausted and so weakened by her ordeal that she was delirious, just three days after Caprice had given birth to Hunter. And Elena maintained that her son, Boran, had been born hours before Caprice’s son.
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  There were no witnesses, and the Court physicians could not—or would not—decide which boy was oldest. And the greatest mark of uncertainty in the minds of all concerned was that Elena had declared her son’s birth hour before knowing that Caprice had given birth on the same day. Yet there was no proof.

  Jason, reluctant to set one nephew above the other, decreed that both would be raised in the palace, educated equally, provided for equally. Both would be trained in the duties of princes. And, when the time came, one would be chosen as the future King.

  Being Jason, he would have chosen; he considered it his duty, and his responsibility. But Fate had taken the choice out of his hands. The fever had come upon him suddenly, drawing him down into a coma before he could voice his decision. He had never emerged from that coma.

  And he left behind him two legitimate princes who could not occupy the same throne, and members of a Council on the horns of a dilemma.

  Tynan sighed, aware that he was no closer to solving what he had to solve. There was no precedent. The oldest should rule, but if there was no means of determining birth time? There was no doubt both men were Morgans; the vivid green eyes were the distinguishing characteristic of the family, and both were taller than average, another characteristic. Equally trained and educated. Boran was more arrogant; Hunter more charismatic. Hunter was more popular with the Court and the populace, while Boran held many powerful people among his friends. Yet they were evenly matched in intelligence and skill, both capable of ruling and both eager for the throne.

  As an interim measure, both Hunter and Boran had been named Regents, but neither had even nominal power while so named. Each commanded a legion of soldiers, as was the duty of a prince, but though they commanded their men neither could command their world. The Council would go on making the decisions which governed Rubicon. But the people were restless with their throne empty—and this was not the time for a restless populace.

  The People’s Revolutionary Army had gained a strong following during the past quarter century and was composed now of many young and eager people of all classes and guilds. They were agitated, ambitious, and careless with their young lives. After ten thousand years, Rubicon’s natural resources had been strained, and the PRA’s rallying call these last ten years had been “Expansion!”

  Which was, Tynan reflected, all well and good, except that the PRA had set its sights on the only other habitable—and inhabited—planet in this solar system, Nidus. And the PRA wanted to conquer rather than share. The Council was struggling to prevent the PRA from becoming a political group with sufficient power to win a majority in the Council and declare war on Nidus, and to date it had managed the feat. But the Council of Elders was partially appointed by members and partially elected by the populace, and PRA supporters were growing in number.

  Rubicon badly needed a king to heal the wound.

  “Tynan?”

  Rising out of respect for a prince and possibly the soon-to-be King, Tynan bowed slightly. “Your Highness.”

  “When will the Council vote?”

  Tynan studied the tall man before him. Boran was the more aggressive of the two princes. “There will be no vote, Your Highness.” And, intent and thoughtful, he watched the reaction to the news he imparted. Which prince? he asked himself. Which prince would make the stronger king?

  “No vote? The people are calling for a new king, Tynan; they won’t wait much longer.”

  “I am aware, Your Highness. But there is no precedent for this situation. If there were a vote within the Council, it would be an open vote, with each member’s opinion made public.” He watched that sink in, saw the shrewd, angry reaction.

  “Cowards, the lot of you! So no one dares to choose their king?”

  “We meet tomorrow to decide on a means of choosing,” Tynan said, having just decided on this course.

  Dryly, the prince said, “We could always fight for the throne.” His tone was offhand, but there was something almost eager half-hidden in his expression.

  Tynan shook his head slightly. “Our world is torn enough; watching our princes battle could upset the status quo.”

  “Give the rebels something new to yell about, you mean?” The prince considered that. “Perhaps you’re right. But some test of skill—”

  Neutrally, respectfully, Tynan said, “We will decide tomorrow.”

  The prince laughed and looked at the Speaker with a great deal of understanding. “They flung the decision at you, and now you’ll fling it back at them. You are a politician born, Tynan.”

  Tynan stiffened almost imperceptibly. The Council had met in closed session; it seemed this prince had an ear inside that room. Reckless of him to alert Tynan to that. Or was it ruthless rather than reckless? This prince, at least, would know who decided for him—or against him.

  Softly, the prince said, “I reward my friends, Tynan.” Then, laughing, he turned and strode away.

  Tynan stared after him, his lips pressed tightly together. Odd, he thought, but the disfigurement on Boran’s left side that he had borne for so many years seemed more visible now. Like everyone in the Court and Council, Tynan had become so accustomed to Boran’s scarred face that he was blind to it. But today he saw the terrible scars as if they drew his eyes like a magnet.

  —

  “It will be you, of course.”

  Hunter looked at his mother with laughing appreciation. “Certainly it would—were you to cast the deciding vote!”

  Caprice, who was hardly ever still, twirled away from her son where he sat on a low stone wall. “You were firstborn,” she said firmly, her blue eyes very bright. “You were born in the palace, under the very eyes of a Wisewoman and two witnesses, and you were named according to custom.”

  “Elena says Boran was firstborn.”

  Caprice tossed her head. “Her! Oh, Hunter, she was fairly out of her head when she returned with her son! How could she possibly be certain what hour he was born? He didn’t even get a proper naming, and what king could rule without that?”

  “Boran,” Hunter asserted dryly.

  Caprice returned to sit beside her son, her lovely face suddenly grave. “Beware of him.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “He’s your rival.”

  Hunter reached to take her hand, saying gently, “He’s my brother. And he wants the best for Rubicon, just as I do. Whatever the Council decides, we will each honor the decision. As men and brothers, we can do no less.”

  “And when only one of you is chosen King? I know you will be honorable, my son, but what of Boran? He wants to be King; he hungers for the crown—”

  “Mother, we both want the crown.”

  “You wish to rule as Jason did, wisely and well. Boran covets power.”

  “Mother…” Hunter said warningly.

  Caprice looked at him, troubled. “I know you see only your brother and childhood friend when you look at him, Hunter, but he is so much more than that. Beware of him. Please.”

  Hunter patted her hand, his face relaxing in a smile. “All right, I’ll take care. I suppose a mother’s role is to worry.”

  “Yes.” Caprice sighed almost unconsciously. “And the mother of a prince worries about many things….”

  —

  Tynan, still brooding, found that his absent steps had led him to the locked, temperature-controlled room which housed the ancient books brought to Rubicon when their ancestors had settled here. He hesitated a moment, then used his key to open the door and went inside. Displayed with loving care in glass cases, the half dozen books reposed in the deep silence and cool atmosphere provided by the noiseless machines that preserved them.

  Tynan moved among the cases, wondering idly if the ancient Councils had been wise in hoarding safely within the palace these relics of their beginnings on this planet. Some had been copied, of course, but those copies had been lost long ago, and the originals were now too delicate to withstand the process again.

  Laying a long-fingered hand on th
e glass of one case, Tynan gazed down at the Book of Fables and Myths protected inside. Six, he thought bleakly. Just six books remained intact and preserved. All of them dealt with mythology and legend, as had all the books their ancestors had seen fit to bring to their new world.

  Why? Tynan wondered, as he had so often wondered. There had been no books of factual history, or science, no studies of technology or sociology. There had been, at one time, a tattered star map showing the location of Earth, but that had disintegrated generations ago. The people of Rubicon knew their ancestors had left a planet called Earth, but they knew no more than that.

  If there had not been so many technically trained people among the first settlers, Rubicon might well have become a primitive new beginning for the people, rather than the orderly and civilized society that had rapidly developed. Oh, there had been wars, of course, and struggles for power, and it had taken generations to establish a working society. But that was an astonishingly short time, given the nature of civilizations.

  And the one dominant characteristic of all those first-generation settlers had been a total loathing of weapons; they had built cities and spaceships; their medical knowledge and equipment were highly advanced; the checks and balances of their governmental system were many and subtle and wise, so that society had developed swiftly in an ordered and peaceful manner.

  For almost ten thousand years, no powered weapon had been made in Rubicon, nor were any allowed to be brought into the kingdom by visitors. Scientists and technicians were forbidden on pain of death to develop any device that could be used as a weapon. For almost ten thousand years, the only weapons on Rubicon were starkly simple or crude: knives, bows and arrows, spears, and the like.

  And then the PRA had surfaced, and within a matter of years powered weapons were secretly purchased from off Rubicon, and the once-tiny band of people outcast for various crimes in the cities had become a force to be reckoned with.