Both women suddenly shrieked as they were whirled high in the air, twisting and turning in a surreal dance, accompanied by soaring viols, tymps, pipes, and undulating waves of rainbow colors. Breathless, M’lani heard Tal bark, “Enough, K’kadi, put them down.”
Quickly followed by Jagan’s voice saying as they floated down to a gentle landing, “That’s all right, K’kadi. I thought it grand. I see you’ve added telekinesis to your skills.”
Yes, K’kadi managed before his beaming face was lost behind hugs from his sisters, even as they scolded him.
“How long can you stay?” Kass asked her sister as they all walked toward a waiting groundcar.
“Long enough for the witch hunt to die down . . . and until it’s known if the emperor will issue an edict against me.”
“Fizzet! You’ve drawn the emperor’s attention?”
“So we’re told.”
Kass hissed a breath, before waving M’lani into a waiting limm and climbing in after her. “It’s too early. We’re not ready.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” M’lani hung her head, her words a whisper.
Kass offered a wry smile. “If I enumerated all the stupid things I’ve done in the last five or six years . . .” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “Come, let us make it like old times when we hadn’t a care in the world. We’ll banish grim faces, the endless planning, the dire projections, and indulge in joyous days. And now that we are both married”—her amber eyes sparkled—“joy-filled nights as well.”
M’lani shot a quick look at their husbands, who were seated behind them, then burst into giggles. “Oh yes,” she choked out. “This will be much better than when we were children.”
Psyclid
“Well,” Rand Kamal demanded, “what have you discovered?”
Colonel Strang stood at attention, his face devoid of all emotion. “Archeron is in a small star system three-quarters of the way toward the rim, sir. Primarily an agricultural planet, which has reached the machine age but is a century or two short of space travel. It has not been included in our expansion plans as it is not considered worth the effort.”
“A planet highly unlikely to send an ambassador to Psyclid.”
“It would appear so, sir.”
“Sit down, Colonel, we need to think about this.” Frowning, Alric Strang took a seat.
After a few moments of silence, Kamal said, “I have spoken with our experts on Psyclid. It seems the Sorcerer Prime was intended for the older princess, the one who attended the Regulon Space Academy. But she disappeared at the time of the invasion and is presumed dead. Therefore, since the sorcerer is destined to be consort to the next queen, he must marry the Princess M’lani.”
“But an explanation was given at the time of betrothal,” Strang interjected. “The Sorcerer Prime also vanished. Therefore the princess was forced to look elsewhere.”
“But we know he is here, don’t we, Colonel? He told us so himself the night of the Staral’s ball, and I doubt even Psyclids can project illusions from light years away.”
“So you really think . . . but how, sir? I’ve seen pics of Mondragon. He looks nothing like del Cid.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t, would he, Strang? He’s much too clever for that.”
“Fyd!”
“Indeed, Colonel. I no longer have doubts about the extent of our problem, but how to handle it is a matter far more delicate than you may realize. Somehow I doubt either one of us wishes to conduct a summary execution of the either the Sorcerer Prime or the Archeron Ambassador. Am I correct?”
Colonel Strang, feeling his way, offered: “If nothing else, sir, it would be extremely unwise. I, for one, have never suffered from a death wish.”
Admiral Kamal steepled his hands before his face. “Agreed,” he murmured.
Chapter 27
Blue Moon
Jagan studied M’lani as she stood at the window in the Round Tower where he had kept watch one night not so long ago, seeing flames dance in the darkness outside. Had his inner anguish created them? Or were they a warning of the dramatic events to come? Jagan shook his head. He had problems enough here and now—no need to add speculations about the past.
After those few moments of animation when M’lani greeted her sister, she had returned to the pale, listless creature she had been ever since her stay in the Hall of Judgment. The flash of fire she had shown the night she returned home had not come again.
Other than giving her a shoulder to cry on and making certain she had suffered no worse treatment than the obvious, Jagan made no effort to penetrate the shield his wife had drawn around herself. Time enough when they left Psyclid and the Regs behind. Time enough when they reached the healing shelter of Blue Moon.
But now they were here.
“M’lani, come sit with me.” He held out his hand, experiencing the unique qualm of having no idea whether she would come to him or not. A humbling thought, perhaps long overdue, for an arrogant sorcerer.
A slight frown marred her lovely face as she stared at him, clearly asking herself if responding to his request would compromise her independence. Pok, dimi, and fyd!
At last she glided forward, pausing to look down at him with a piercing green gaze, before she lifted her skirts and settled herself beside him. “We were fortunate this suite was available,” she offered in her most bland voice. “Between hostages and the crew of Tycho, housing is strained to its limits.”
Oh, well done, M’lani. Avoid intimacy, avoid any serious conversation even if you have to stoop to the banal. Well, two could play that game. “Tal tells me they’re building new housing as fast as they can.”
“They could use T’kal.” He heard the question in her voice.
“T’kal and his people are safe, M’lani. “Not so much as a sniff in Killiri’s direction.”
She hung her head. “So far.” Her breath hitched, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I lost my temper and risked us all. And there is no way to fix it. We sit here safe and sound, while the others are down there enduring the goddess knows what. And all because of m-me,” she added as a sob shook her.
Jagan pulled her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Keeping his tone calm, he said, “Kamal is a reasonable man. After all, he’s the one who suggested we should get out of the city for a while. I doubt he plans to arrest us the moment we come home.” He cupped her face in both hands. “Listen to me, M’lani. It’s good you’ve become a warrior. Your people loved you for being an Orlondami, but now they admire you as well. You are an icon of the revolution, a hero who’s shown them the way to freedom.”
“No-o!” To his astonishment, she jerked her head out of his hands, backing away to put space between them. “I am an idiot. And a killer. I have violated my father’s edicts, risked the lives of my friends—”
“Stop it! You have not.” Jagan reached for her, but she slipped out of his grasp, jumping to her feet.
“You are such a good actor,” she spat at him. “Sorcerer, ambassador, rebel leader, husband, lover. “Whatever the role of the moment, you play it to the hilt, even when it’s consoler of fair maidens. Such talent. You even write your own scripts.”
“M’lani!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She flung herself into the far corner of the sofa and burst into tears.
The trouble was, she was close to being right. He had divided himself into so many parts, trying to be what was expected of him by so many different people that he’d lost track of who Jagan Mondragon really was. Yet as he ticked off M’lani’s words in his head, he found none he could discard. He was a sorcerer, born and bred—nothing could be done about that. The ambassador was a necessary disguise, at least for the foreseeable future. Nor could he shed his role as rebel leader—it was his duty to his people. Husband? The goddess knew he’d tried, but there was no getting around the fact that too had been a duty. Lover? He’d thought they were making progress—sex seemed to be the place where they were most compatible—but when the heat of
the moment faded, it was undoubtedly all too easy for M’lani to recall his years with B’aela and wonder . . .
Jagan looked at his wife, slumped and still sobbing, across an expanse of white silk shot through with silver thread, the gleaming strands sparkling in the sunlight coming through the window in stark contrast to his wife’s heartbreak. Fyd! If M’lani thought herself a failure, what did that make him?
But that was why he’d decided to bring her to Blue Moon instead of some hideaway on Psyclid. Hopefully, here in this idyllic place that had somehow become the heart of the revolution they could at least begin their journey toward accommodation . . .
Bad word, accommodation. Understanding, affection, responsibility—those were better. Love? That was a stretch. He was closer to understanding the workings of the Reg military mind than comprehending the fantasy of love.
Slowly, almost gingerly, Jagan slid across the sofa. When no protest sounded, he folded M’lani in his arms, still half-expecting rejection. After nearly a minute of finding himself holding a woman of steel, her rigidity dissolved into feminine softness as she burrowed into his chest, her arms snaking behind his back to hold him tight.
Whatever she was thinking, she could not be as humbled as he, with a thousand mistakes tumbling through his mind, overlaid by a determined vow to do better. He had to.
They sat for a long time before Jagan picked up his wife and carried her into the bedroom.
“Unknown wormholes near Reg Prime?” Jagan frowned. “How is it possible?”
“Kass,” Tal Rigel said, nodding toward his wife, who had joined them at the conference table in S’sorrokan’s office. “She spent her time in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives well.”
“I learned many things,” Kass said, “but I concentrated on navigation, as that was my strong point at the Academy. To my surprise, I discovered far more jumpgates than appear on Reg charts, most of them ancient trader routes from the early days of space travel. I had a lot of time—nearly four years—so I memorized the location of every forgotten or ignored wormhole in the Sector.”
“It’s proved useful,” Tal contributed in a bone dry understatement.
Jagan’s heart rate surged. A back door to Regula Prime? This could change everything. He’d let L’ira talk him into coming back—fyd, who wanted to live on Hell Nine? He had accepted his responsibilities, seeing the vague possibility they might actually free Psyclid. But a strike at the heart of the Empire? For all his grandiose dreams, he hadn’t believed it possible to overthrow Emperor Darroch.
Tal Rigel’s voice of authority broke through Jagan’s wandering thoughts. “We need to know if those gates are viable, and we need your invisibility cloak to do it. Can you manage a huntership without your team?”
“I can . . . but why not use K’kadi?”
“Jagan,” Kass demanded, “are you trying to weasel out—”
“There’s a great deal to do on Psyclid,” the sorcerer protested. “I hadn’t planned on spending any length of time on Blue Moon. Particularly chasing off on explorations of Reg air space. Who knows what could happen in my absence?”
Slowly, Rigel nodded. “You’re right. I need to know about those gates, but we’re a long way from taking on Regula Prime. That exploration can wait.”
Kass heaved a sigh. “Our curiosity got the better of us,” she apologized. “We also have to contact the Herculons—circumspectly, of course—to find out if they’ll join us. But Psyclid and all its talents must be ours before we can go forward. It’s just that I’m anxious to find out if those gates still exist. It would make all the difference if we could surprise the Regs with an attack out of nowhere.”
Jagan raised a hand, palm out. “I promise I’ll come back and do it.” He frowned. “You never answered my question. Why not use K’kadi? His powers grow by leaps and bounds.”
Kass shook her head. “He’s in love. And as useless for serious work as when he first came charging through the refectory in what seems like another lifetime, though it was little more than a Tri-Moon ago.”
Inwardly, Jagan winced. One more example of why sorcerers were supposed to remain celibate. Ah well, he’d put an end to that particular tenet of sorcery by the time he was fourteen. And never suffered a single regret . . . until he encountered the grown-up Princess Royal. When he went on the wormhole exploration, he’d better be sure to leave her home. M’lani was becoming more and more of a threat to his concentration.
A frisson of warning ran up his spine. What now?
A knock on the door. When they all turned to look, the guard who had just entered the room appeared oddly red in the face, his mouth working for a few seconds before his words finally came out. “Admiral Vander Rigel, Captain.” He gulped, straightened to even more rigid attention and saluted as the five-star admiral strode past him, pausing just inside the door to survey the room’s occupants.
“Sir!” Tal Rigel leaped to his feet, saluting smartly.
“I believe I should be saluting you, Captain,” the admiral drawled. “I am retired. You, I suspect, are in command here.”
Jagan and Kass had also risen to their feet, Kass forming the question her stunned husband had not yet managed. “How, Admiral? How did you get here without our knowing about it?”
Vander Rigel approached the conference table, motioning everyone back to their seats. “Please don’t be hard on your Ridó Command. They could see my private pinnace was harmless, and when I told them I wanted to surprise you, they let us in.”
Kass choked back a chuckle, then changed her mind and let her amusement flow free. Ridó Command were all Psyclids, the same highly intelligent, gifted group that had allowed Tal Rigel to land Orion on Blue Moon so long ago and, more recently, the battlecruiser Tycho. Free-thinkers all, they were Blue Moon’s unsung heroes.
“Tell me of mother, Dayna and Kelan,” Tal said as his father sat down.
“They are well, all carefully maintaining the tale that I am severely ill, confined to my bed with Polluxian fever. They send their love, their great relief to discover you are alive, and a curse or two for allowing us to think you were dead. Not that we don’t understand your reasoning, mind you, but it was hard, son. Very hard.”
“I could not agree with you more,” Kass declared with considerable emphasis.
“She put a knife to my throat when she found out,” Tal admitted. “For a moment I thought she was going to use it.”
Kass, neatly changing the subject, said, “I believe you have not met Jagan Mondragon, our Sorcerer Prime. Jagan, this is Admiral Vander Rigel, Tal’s father.”
“Well met, Mondragon.” The admiral offered his hand. “I did not expect to find you here.”
“A short visit, sir. Avoiding a bit of nastiness on Psyclid. Have you been apprised of General Grigorev’s death?”
The story was not quickly told, as even a summary of all that had happened on Psyclid since Jagan’s return required time. M’lani, summoned by Tal, soon joined them, adding her own details and insights to the story. At mention of the fate of the armored vehicles and the helo, the admiral cast her a sympathetic glance. Clearly, he understood Psyclid laws about the taking of life. Kass suspected she was witnessing the old adage in reverse: like son, like father. If Admiral Vander Rigel was the face of the rebellion on Regula Prime, it might very well come about, just as they’d dreamed.
Shock showed on the admiral’s face when apprised of M’lani’s treatment by General Grigorev, even more at the manner of his death—impossible to shut out decades of Reg certainty that shape-shifting was even more impossible than magic. By the time Jagan and M’lani finished their story, the admiral was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Kamal advised you to leave?” he echoed.
“He is, I think, a moderate,” Jagan said. “Like Yarian, he wishes to maintain the peace.”
“He is also, I suspect, the person who informed the emperor about Princess M’lani destroying the armored cars.”
A chorus of disbelie
f swept the table. Kass demanded, “But why? Why would he alert the emperor?”
After several moments of thought, Vander Rigel said, “I am inclined to believe Kamal’s intentions were good. I suspect Grigorev would not listen to his words of caution and he feared for the princess’s life. As his nephew, Kamal has the emperor’s ear, and I believe he used his privilege in an attempt to save the princess.”
“Which could easily backfire,” Jagan growled. “If there’s one thing the Psyclid rebellion doesn’t need, it’s the attention of the emperor.”
“It’s done,” M’lani said dejectedly. “I was foolish and have called attention to all of us. I am most sincerely sorry.”
Everyone promptly offered words of denial, including the admiral, who soon held up his hand, demanding silence. Kass was amused at how easily he accomplished it in a group of strong-minded leaders. But this was the man who had kept her alive in the Regulon Interplanetary Archives when she was destined for torture and possibly dissection by Reg ghouls calling themselves doctors. There was no way Vander Rigel wasn’t at the top of her respect list, even though she had not met him before.
“That is why I am here,” the admiral said. “Our disparate attempts at rebellion have come a long way. It’s time we co-ordinated our efforts.”
In unison, the four young people gave him their full attention.
Only later, when alone with his son, did Vander Rigel ask the question that had been bothering him ever since he’d begun to suspect Blue Moon might be the rebel stronghold. Leaning back in a comfortable upholstered chair in what had once been King Ryal’s sitting room, he raised two fingers of karst in an unspoken toast to his son’s success and said, “I understand Blue Moon’s haze hides a multitude of sins and the ridó seems to be infallible, but how in the name of Omnovah and all the saints do you get ships in and out right under Fleet’s nose?”
Sorcerer's Bride (Blue Moon Rising Book 2) Page 21
