King's Test

by Margaret Weis

  "'Thus saith the Lord,'" Maigrey whispered to the crown prince, who responded with a nervous giggle.

  Maigrey had forgotten Augustus's unfortunate tendency to giggle when he was keyed up and excited. Ordinarily, she thought it funny; she and Semele had teased him about it unmercifully when they were all in the Academy together. This evening, that high-pitched snigger grated on her nerves. She left him discussing breathing exercises with the doctor, and quietly entered the door to Semele's bedchamber.

  Her first thought was that they hadn't needed to take Semele to the hospital because they'd brought the hospital to Semele. Fewer machines were needed to pilot a starship! Everything was so changed, she hardly knew where she was and paused, feeling suddenly ill at ease. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, an odor so cold that not even the hothouse perfume of numberless bouquets of flowers could warm it. For a moment, Maigrey regretted that she'd come.

  A head with dark tousled hair, lying on a pillow, turned from staring out a beautifully curtained window.

  "Maigrey!" a well-remembered voice cried.

  Suddenly her friend's bedroom returned to Maigrey as she had remembered it. She no longer saw the machines, she saw the damask-covered, hand-carved chairs and sofas, the end tables decorated by porcelain figurines frozen in time and lace-edged petticoats, dancing to silent minuets. Hand-embroidered tapestries, silken threads woven into tales of romance, shimmered on the walls, handwoven carpets adorned polished wooden floors.

  Feeling at home, more at home than she'd felt in a long, long time, Maigrey crossed the spacious room to where her friend lay in a hospital bed, guarded by the machines and a machinelike nurse.

  "You may leave us," Her Royal Highness said, dismissing the nurse as she might have dismissed her lady-in-waiting.

  The nurse appeared dubious. Her Royal Highness was resolute, and the nurse compromised by removing her white-uniformed presence to a sofa on the other side of the room and turning on a vid.

  "She's not a bad sort, really," Semele said, smiling up at Maigrey. "She's been telling me all the gossip from the hospital. You'd be amazed at the things a man and woman can do in a linen closet!"

  Maigrey couldn't reply. Secretly shocked at the sight of her friend, she found it difficult to speak. Semele's vibrant beauty had made her one of the most sought-after women in the galaxy. Small and fragile, she lay in the mechanical monster of a bed that seemed to have swallowed her. Semele's flawless white skin, celebrated by the bad poets of the age, was now wan and translucent. Her lustrous black hair was limp and lifeless, the sheen gone.

  "Ah, I can see by your face you're going to scold me, Maigy." Semele caught hold of her friend's hand in a mock pleading gesture. "Don't be mad because I didn't let them tell you. The fate of the galaxy depended on you, my dear. Who am I compared to that?" Semele's brown eyes were as warm and lively as ever, with a joy bubbling up from deep within.

  Maigrey, somewhat reassured, made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed. "Who are you—only Her Royal Highness, princess of the aforesaid galaxy, and about to give birth to the heir to the throne. And I'll never forgive you for not letting me know you weren't well," she added, giving the hand, whose fingers sparkled with exquisite jewels, a playful smack.

  "Don't be mean to me, Maigy," Semele said with a laughing pout. "Here you are, tall and slender, all dressed up, going to a banquet with the most scrumptious food, drinking champagne and dancing, while fat and dumpy old me is stuck in this godawful contraption of a bed, doing nothing—"

  "—except having a baby. ..." Maigrey tried not to notice how thin and white her friend's hand was.

  "Just between ourselves, my dear, I'd rather be dancing."

  "Liar!" Maigrey smiled at her.

  "Maybe I am." Semele smiled back, her happiness bringing a glow of health to the pale complexion. "You look lovely tonight, Maigy. Blue is your color. It sets off your hair and reflects in your eyes. You should wear blue all the time."

  "I shall personally instruct Commander Sagan to requisition blue battle armor to match my eyes," Maigrey teased.

  "Laugh, wicked thing. You do look extremely pretty. Some special reason? A newly appointed young general wouldn't happen to be attending the banquet, would he?"

  "John—that is, General Dixter—wasn't invited to the dinner. It's only for the Guardians, as you knew before you brought the subject up."

  "That doesn't mean he can't come by afterward," Semele prodded.

  "If you must know, he's going to meet me.later. We're going out to celebrate his promotion."

  "You look so stunning, it will be a shock to the poor man. He's probably never seen you out of uniform. Well, maybe he has"—her eyes glinted mischievously—"but I mean in a dress."

  "Semele! How can you say such a thing?" Maigrey felt her cheeks burn.

  "Prudery from a woman whose foul language gave Lady Rouncewell palpitations of the heart. I heard about that. She cornered poor Augustus in the hall and repeated every word at least twice. Why don't you say yes to him, Maigy?"

  "To Augustus? I would, but I hear he has a hellcat for a wife. ..."

  "I mean John Dixter, and since when have I ever been anything but a perfect lady? He longs to marry you—"

  "Longs to 'cherish and protect.' " Maigrey sighed.

  "That can be very pleasant, dear friend," Semele said, with a smiling glance at a portrait of her husband on a little table near her bed.

  "For you, Semele, not for me. He hates space flight. I can't live without it. One of us would have to sacrifice happiness for the other and consequently we'd both be miserable. Besides, I can't say yes to a question that's never been asked."

  "I don't believe it! He's never asked you to marry him?"

  "No. Like the ancient saying, my dear—what man truly wants to put his boots under a warrior-woman's bed?"

  "From what I hear, Derek Sagan's boots aren't always on his feet," Semele said archly.

  Maigrey, face flushed, stood up. "I think I better be going. . .

  "Maigy, don't be mad! I've been trapped in this bed for four months! Gossip is my only form of recreation! Of course, I heard all about that time you two were stranded on that uncharted planet—

  "My plane had a computer malfunction. We spent the night fixing it," Maigrey mumbled, blushing furiously.

  "I suppose that sounds more plausible than running out of gas. ..." Semele's face grew suddenly serious. She clasped the hand she held tightly. "You don't love him, do you, Maigy?"

  "Why is everyone so concerned about my relationship with Derek Sagan?" Maigrey demanded irritably, reminded of her uneasiness, her disquiet. But she let herself be pulled back down onto the bed. "What if I do love him? He's one of the most admired, respected men in the galaxy—"

  "He's also one of the most feared, the most disliked," Semele said crisply, pushing herself to a sitting position. "Slide that pillow under my back. Thanks. Drat! There's the nurse, frowning at me, starting to come over here! I'm all right! Really! Go away! Shoo!"

  The nurse, looking severe, returned to her vid program.

  Semele crossed her hands over her swollen abdomen and fixed Maigrey with a pleading gaze. "I know you admire and respect him, Maigy, but don't mistake those feelings for love. You're close enough to him already with that horrid mind-link thing. Don't get any closer."

  The flush had faded from Maigrey's cheeks. Her skin felt cold. She didn't look at her friend, but stared out the window at the setting sun.

  "Maigy, he'll only bring you grief! He's incapable of love. He's cold, passionless—"

  "Passionless?" Maigrey murmured, almost to herself.

  "Well, maybe not passionless," Semele amended, "but he certainly controls his passions like no man I've ever known. I remember him at school, the first year I came to the Royal Academy for Men to study advanced mathematics. I was sixteen—"

  "—and incredibly beautiful," Maigrey said, turning her fond gaze back to her friend, trying to entice her into changing the subject.
"Everybody who looked at you fell in love with you."

  "Except one," Semele said emphatically, refusing to be steered from her course. "Every time Derek Sagan looked at me I had the feeling he was mentally calculating my worth in terms of the breakdown of the chemical components of my body! And we are, as you know, about ninety percent water."

  Reminded pleasantly of days not long gone by, Maigrey couldn't help but laugh. "He was raised in a monastery, after all—" she said in a low tone, feeling her cheeks flush again.

  "That doesn't mean anything! He came to be born, didn't he? And while it may have been a religious experience for his father, from what I've heard his mother wasn't visited by a heavenly angel. ..."

  "Semele!" Maigrey was scandalized. "You're going to give me palpitations of the heart!"

  "At least you can tell me how he was ... at fixing your computer, of course," Semele said demurely.

  Maigrey stood up. "I'm leaving."

  "All right, all right, dear. The excitement of hearing about such a torrid affair probably wouldn't be good for me, anyway. No, please don't go! I'm finished. You've had your lecture for the evening. What can you expect from an old married woman, anyway?"

  "But it really is time for me to leave, dear. Doctor God Almighty said fifteen minutes, and I'm afraid he'll strike me down with a lightning bolt if I disobey."

  "But you haven't told me one dirty joke yet, and you know you're the only one who ever tells me—" Semele caught her breath; the hand holding Maigrey's tightened its grasp. She reached around to massage her back.

  "Contraction?" Maigrey asked.

  "Yes, dear. Just a twinge. It's early yet."

  "I'm staying with you, then. The banquet can get on fine without me—"

  "And you one of the guests of honor? Leaving a gap at the head table? Jeoffrey would hunt you down and stab you with a salad fork. Run along. This is just the beginning. First baby. I'll probably be at this for hours."

  "They're giving you something for the pain, aren't they?"

  "This from a woman who fought for three hours with a broken arm and never told anyone until the battle was over!" Semele sniffed. "Uh-oh. These damn machines have snitched on me. Here comes nurse and the doctor and Augustus. I hope my poor husband lives through this. He fainted during childbirth classes."

  Maigrey leaned down, kissed her friend on the forehead.

  "Frightened?" she whispered.

  Semele lifted radiant eyes. "No, Maigy. Only happy. So very happy." She put her hand on her stomach. "My son will be born this night! My son!"

  Maigrey walked the corridors of the palace, worried, preoccupied, hardly knowing where she was going, moving by instinct more than design. Semele . . . Sagan. Whenever she left off worrying about one, it was only to wonder about the other.

  She came to herself to discover that she was in the wrong part of the palace, near the chapel. The banquet hall was over in another wing of the gigantic building. The hallways were deserted; no one would be around here tonight. Then why had she come? It wasn't like her to wander about aimlessly, even when her mind was distracted. Maigrey was about to turn and retrace her steps, fearing she would be late for the banquet, when someone emerged from the incense-scented darkness.

  "Sagan!"

  "Maigrey." He didn't appear surprised to see her, and seemed somewhat astonished that she was surprised to see him.

  "When did you return?"

  "Just a few moments ago. I sent for you. Didn't you hear me?"

  Maigrey put her hand confusedly to her temple. "Yes . . . I guess so." She glanced around. "I guess that's why I'm here. But ... so much else was on my mind. So much else. ..."

  "Really?" Sagan's voice was smooth, carefully controlled. "What?"

  Maigrey looked at him closely. Sagan detested functions of state. He attended only because it was a responsibility that went with his rank. He submitted to the proceedings with an ill grace, however, and was impatient, irascible, and in a foul temper for the entire evening. Yet not now. Not tonight. He was tense, taut, eager, and—as always before battle—cool and restrained. His thoughts were completely shielded from her.

  She might as well try to penetrate null-grav fused steel. And he was wearing his battle armor, not the ceremonial robes of state.

  "I—I'm not sure," she faltered. "Derek, what's happening?"

  He took a step near her, caught hold of her hands in his. "What have you seen, Maigrey? The gift of vision. What has it shown you?"

  Her eyes shifted from him to a point far beyond him, trying desperately to pierce the mists. "Danger, but I can't see it. Do you remember the time we boarded the vapor-breather's ship? I knew they were lying in wait for us . . . but I'm surrounded by dense fog. I can't see! I can't see!"

  "Your hands are cold." Sagan brought her back from her vision. Holding both her hands in his, he massaged them gently. "Maigrey, do you trust me?"

  She looked up at him. "You've been with Peter Robes. I know. I've seen you, I've felt you with him."

  Maigrey," Sagan repeated softly, drawing her hands to his lips. "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes," she said without hesitation. "You are my commander. "

  "Good." He smiled, a smile that was dark and shadowed, kissed her hands, and released her from his grasp. "Then give me your sword."

  Maigrey unbuckled the swordbelt, handed it to him. Deftly, he wrapped the belt around the hilt and thrust her sword into his belt, his flowing cape concealing it. "Is it charged?"

  "Yes, of course. Why—-"

  Sagan stopped her, his hand on her mouth. "My lady, if the Creator wanted you to see, don't you think He would part the mists?"

  Maigrey moved away from his touch, lowered her eyes, rubbed her chill hands together. "I'm frightened. Suddenly I'm so frightened. ..."

  Sagan took her in his arms, pressed her body close to his. His hand stroked the fine, pale hair sweeping over the blue velvet. She relaxed in his embrace, listened to his heartbeat quicken in his chest.

  "I think of that night," she said to him. "I remember that night. ..." Her arms were strong for a woman's; she tightened her embrace, felt his lips touch the crown of her head.

  "There will be many nights for us, my lady," he said softly. "What is space travel, but one long endless night?"

  What is death . . . ? The thought came to her unbidden, terrified her.

  He removed his arms from around her, returned to the strict and stern commander.

  "How is Her Royal Highness?" he asked briskly, pulling on a pair of soft, supple leather gloves.

  "You mean Semele?" Maigrey had never before known him to refer to the princess by her formal title. They had, after all, gone to school together. "I'm worried about her. She's started into labor. "

  "Then the baby will be born tonight." Sagan paused in the act of putting on the right glove, a tiny frown line creasing his brow.

  "The doctor's not sure. No one can predict . . . with babies. ..." Maigrey shrugged, flushed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable discussing this subject with him.

  Sagan seemed about to say something, seemed about to tell her, to part the mists himself. He regarded her earnestly, intently, as if measuring her.

  Somehow, some way, she knew by his expression she came up short.

  "Watch for my signal at the banquet tonight," he said. "When you see it, you and the others come to me. Be swift and be brave, my lady. The lives of those you love and have sworn to protect will depend upon it."

  Maigrey was disappointed. "Yes, we'll be ready. But why can't you tell me—"

  "I have my reasons." Sagan bent down, brushed her right cheek with his lips. "I'll be counting on you, Maigrey."

  And he was gone, his long strides taking him rapidly into the deepening darkness.

  Chapter Three

  . . . with the eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the base earth from the firmament.

  William Shakespeare, Richard II, Act II, Scene 4

  An android orchestra, classicall
y programmed, was seated on a dais located at the far end of the banquet hall, playing a medley of royal anthems and marches gleaned from every part of the galaxy in honor of its rulers. The Guardians, clad in their blue velvet robes, starjewels their only adornment, filed into the vast chamber in order dictated by custom and protocol. Their names, as each was announced and presented to the assembled multitude, soared high above the music and echoed in the lofty vaults of the ceiling.

  Thus they might echo in the lofty vaults of heaven, thought Maigrey, twisting her hands together nervously.

  "Someday," Stavros observed, "you're going to pull your fingers off."

  Maigrey didn't hear him, though she was standing right beside him. '"And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the character of guardians?'"

  "No quoting of Plato until I've had at least one drink," Stavros protested. "The bar's packed. I'll never get near it. Still, we're the last people to enter. It might be worth a try—"

  "No drinking." Maigrey grabbed hold of the sleeve of his robe, pulled him back. "Do you realize," she said, lowering her voice, "that if anything happened here tonight, almost every planetary government in the galaxy would lose one or more of its leaders?"

  "Not even one lousy Scotch and water?" Stavros pleaded. "Oh, c'mon, Maigrey! Don't tell me you're taking these rumors seriously! What could happen? This is the Blood Royal we're talking about! Why, there's enough custom-designed, space-age-engineered, superior genetic talent in that hall to blow the towers off this palace and send them into orbit around the planet!"

  "I don't like this either," Danha Tusca stated.

  "You never like anything, so your opinion doesn't count!" Stavros snapped peevishly. He was thirsty.

  "Platus and I have both heard strange rumblings from the military—"

  "The military's similar to your stomach—always rumbling. Think about what you're saying, Danha! March an army in here and in five seconds, with a casual wave of their hands, the Blood Royal would have the soldiers turning their guns on themselves!"