Royal Rebellion

by Blair Bancroft

  Today was different.

  Tal took no time for niceties. In response to Kamal’s questioning look, he said, “Rogan Kamal just landed in Crystal City.”

  Two pair of Reg blue eyes engaged over the top of the desk. “I’d like to think you’re joking,” Rand ventured.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Po-ok!”

  “Exactly.”

  The admiral looked down, his gaze fixed on the brilliant shades of red and blue in the carpet. Tonelessly, he said, “He never gives up. You should seize him while you have the chance.”

  “Says the former Reg Governor-General of Psyclid,” Tal drawled. “I thought you’d been with us long enough to understand that Psyclid ways have rubbed off on us poor Reg rebels. That we’ve learned to think before we leap. Make end runs instead of hit the enemy head on.”

  “You turned pacifist, Tal?” Rand snorted. “That’s the day Darroch rejoices.”

  “And Blue Moon turns pink.”

  Rand Kamal leaned back in his chair, his lips curling in wry acknowledgment of which one of them was in command. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I want you to talk to him. On Psyclid, not here,” Tal added hastily when he saw Rand’s surprise.

  Kamal’s blue eyes hardened to ice. “While you watch to see if you can figure out which side I’m on?”

  “Oddly, no,” Tal returned equitably. “I’m told that’s how I should think—”

  “Your staff loathes me.”

  A grin rippled across Tal’s face. “You could say that, but K’kadi vouches for you, the women as well. And that, I’ve learned, means a great deal.”

  “Thank you.” Rand took a moment to adjust to the reality of his father’s presence on Psyclid, assessing the skyrocketing threat level inherent in the rebellion’s most implacable foe turning up in their own backyard. “What do you suggest I to say to him?”

  “Assure him the children are well. They are, are they not?”

  “Surprisingly so. Adapting far better than I had thought possible.” Rand paused a moment before adding, “Although I am not sure Yuliya will be content after your brother returns home.”

  Tal frowned. That was a problem he could do without. All he said, however, was, “I would prefer neither Kelan nor Dayna go back, but their continued absence would be remarked upon.”

  “I understand, as I’m sure Yuliya must, but frankly—like most fathers—I am finding it difficult to believe my daughter has reached the age of indulging in a serious relationship.”

  Tal grimaced, rubbing his forehead, as thoughts of his yet-to-be-born son chased through his head. This day would come for him too, and he suspected his primary inclination would be to murder the first bastard who bedded his daughter. “Awkward,” he murmured. “For us, at least. I suspect Kelan and Yuliya are blithely oblivious to challenging the political disposition of the Empire.”

  “There’s already one alliance between our families,” Rand pointed out. “Perhaps a second is not a bad idea.”

  Silence settled over the two leaders as each contemplated the uncertainty of the future, no matter how carefully their plans were made. Finally, Tal looked up and offered, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of turning Rogan?”

  “As you said, when Blue Moon turns pink.”

  “Then here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  Chapter 10

  The electric-powered hovercycle glided silently above the path that wound through the woods close to the palace grounds, the way illuminated by the large glowing ball that was the planet Psyclid rising behind the leafy canopy of tall trees. Kelan slowed the machine, rolling to a gentle stop in front of an ornate open-sided building that had seen a wide array of lovers, as well as having its floorboards washed with many an anguished tear. To the Princess L’Ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami Rigel, known as Kass, the g’zebo was her special place of contemplation, but she had long ago given up any effort to keep it private.

  “Let me check it out,” Kelan said to the companion seated behind him. “I’m told this place is pretty popular.” He was gone before Yuliya, incredulous of his idea of a privacy, could make the bitter comment on the tip of her tongue.

  A minute later Kelan was back, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. As they settled, side by side, on the flat wooden bench at the back of the g’zebo, Yuliya heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I miss your apartment.”

  “Things not going well?”

  “It’s not that,” Yuliya returned hastily. “We are living in almost as much luxury as we did at home. Anneli is . . . remarkably kind. And being with father is . . . special. We’ve seen so little of him over the years. But in Titan I could always slip away from the palace, visit friends—you and Dayna in particular. Here—” Yuliya swept her hand to the g’zebo’s open sides. “You call this privacy?”

  “Sorry,” Kelan mumbled. “It’s the best I could do. No hotels on Blue Moon. And besides . . . that’s not what I want for you, Yul.”

  “Yet another noble Rigel.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

  As the silence between them lengthened, Kelan said, his tone stoic, “I didn’t bring you here to quarrel, Yul. Do you want to go back?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just worried. You know grandfather is down there?” She nodded toward the bright fullness of Psyclid behind the trees. “And father’s going to Crystal City to speak with him.” Her voice rose. “After what grandfather did to us!”

  “It didn’t occur to you that your father might be going down there to do battle with your grandfather?”

  “Grandfather wants us back,” Yuliya cried. “All of us. And he won’t rest until he has us.”

  “Rogan Kamal may be the enemy, Yuliya, but he’s an incredibly brave man who has come to Psyclid to get his family back, even though he knows the rules of diplomacy could be blown to Hell Nine at any moment and he’d find himself a prisoner. Or worse.”

  “He’s always been so . . . so remote. We didn’t see father much, but when he was home he was the best father imaginable. But grandfather? I swear he has no soul. It’s scary to know we share the same blood.”

  Kelan, who was learning to be as astute about the machinations of people in power as his father and older brother, considered the problem of Rogan Kamal. “If what you say is true, then he could be coming to retrieve a stray, a possible traitor. To do what is right for the Empire, with no thought for family.”

  “He can’t force Father to go with him.”

  Which was true, but pok! Rogan the Soulless could make sure his son never captained a ship for the rebs. Kelan scrapped the long-sought moments of privacy in the intimate ambiance of the g’zebo. “When does your father leave?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

  “Early tomorrow morning.”

  “My apologies, but I think we’d best go back. I have to speak to Tal.”

  “I hate this, hate it all,” Yuliya whispered with vehemence. “With Uncle Darroch things were always so peaceful.”

  Not if you weren’t a Reg. But Kelan didn’t share his thought. He held out his hand, waited patiently while Yuliya got over her fit of pique, then drove her home, where he kissed her goodnight, not caring if every last one of the guard detail around Anneli’s house saw him do it.

  He turned the hovercycle back toward Veranelle. And Tal.

  Tal Rigel looked down the length of the formal dining table—to his wife at the far end before scanning the animated, chattering faces in between. Tomorrow he and Kass would be back to dining at the modest-sized table in the sitting room of their suite, and life would settle down to planning the final steps to taking down the Empire, alleviated only by moments of love and occasional dashes of action. Very occasional. With the final battle rapidly approaching, his officers were coming closer and closer to balking over their leader taking any risks.

  Sometimes Tal longed for the good old days. A skirmish with the Regs, yet another recruitment effort on a distant planet, maybe a final flin
g as the space pirate, Captain Kane . . . Anything but being stuck at his desk, thinking, planning, scowling, scrapping what had seemed a great idea only the day before. Back to Square One. Planning, and more planning.

  Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. The ancient saying—or was it a quote from some famous author of the past?—rang through Tal’s head. Still true, even if the crown was figurative. And now he was sending his best to face the latest set of challenges. Kelan and Dayna to return home immediately because the mice were safer traveling while the cat—namely Rogan Kamal—was away. And because retired Admiral of the Fleet Vander Rigel needed to know about Rogan Kamal’s visit to Crystal City as soon as possible.

  Jagan and M’lani, T’kal and B’aela needed to return to their children, savoring each day before the final battle that could tear their lives to shreds. Except . . . Tal had one more assignment for the Hero of Psyclid.

  When he took T’kal aside after dinner, Tal ended his instructions with, “If Rogan doesn’t get what he wants, it’s possible he’ll attempt to kill Rand. Personally, I find it hard to believe, but Kelan tells me Yuliya seems to think him capable of it. In which case”—Tal flicked his gaze to his boots before meeting T’kal’s steady gaze eye to eye—“you will do whatever is necessary. Without sacrificing yourself,” he added hastily. “I need both you and Rand for the final push.”

  Inwardly, T’kal winced. That was the problem with being one of the few capable of violence on a pacifist planet. You got tasked with all the dirty work. To S’sorrokan, he returned the only possible answer: “Understood.”

  B’aela’s gaze wandered over her younger sister’s still slim waistline. “You are aware you are delaying a revolution?” she drawled.

  “Really, B’aela,” M’lani chided, “just because you had two at once—”

  “Stop it!” Even as Kass scowled at her sisters, humor twitched at her lips. “Believe me, we’re nowhere near ready to take down Regula Prime, I guarantee it. Tal didn’t even wince when I told him I was pregnant.” The three sisters were indulging in a final private moment in Kass’s suite at Veranelle before B’aela and M’lani returned to Psyclid with their respective husbands. And Rand Kamal.

  “I suppose the Hercs are holding things up,” B’aela offered.

  “They had a long way to go—a space fleet to resurrect, crews to train. And Tal is still working on building up the resistance on the other systems in the Empire. Even if we take down Darroch, the Reg Fleet could come at us from a dozen directions.”

  “Well, that’s depressing,” B’aela snipped. “I thought we were nearly ready.”

  “We are,” Kass returned. “And I admit it’s hard to keep our people sharp while everyone else catches up.”

  “So your baby was a welcome excuse,” M’lani ventured.

  Kass smiled. “You could call it that.” Sobering quickly, she studied the sister who had taken her place as Princess Royal of Psyclid and as wife of the Sorcerer Prime. “When the time comes, M’lani, will you be able to do what is necessary? I would prefer not to press you,” she added more softly, “but Tal needs to know.”

  M’lani steepled her fingers in front of her face, the waterfall of red-gold hair cascading over her shoulders completing the job of hiding her expression.

  “M’lani?”

  Above the tips of her fingers M’lani peered at her two older sisters, her green eyes hardening with determination. “Perhaps you have forgotten what Grigorev did to me? To the Princess Royal of Psyclid?” She glanced at B’aela. “I will be forever grateful for T’kal’s vengeance. If ever a man deserved to die . . .” M’lani straightened. Head high, shoulders stiff, hands clenched in her lap, she said, “Yes, I would prefer to destroy only inanimate objects, but if the moment comes when I am required to do more, I will.”

  “With the exception of women, children, the elderly, noncombatants, small cuddly animals . . .,” B’aela intoned.

  “Enough!” Kass snapped. “You are the happily married mother of two—”

  “Four.”

  Kass made a face. “Very well, four. As befits the fact you are our elder by several years.”

  At that hit, M’lani giggled. Kass continued inexorably on. “Which means you should have left at least some of those sharp edges behind by now.”

  B’aela waved a hand in surrender, even as Kass and M’lani heard her mutter, “Never!”

  “Then we are agreed?” Kass said. “When war comes, all three of us will be ready?”

  “Agreed,” B’aela echoed, her dark eyes gleaming with almost as much enthusiasm for action as her husband’s.

  M’lani blew out a soft breath. “Agreed.”

  Crystalia, the royal palace, Psyclid

  Rogan Kamal examined the room around him with considerable interest. Certainly as ornate as anything at Kraslenka, but somehow more . . . delicate. More artistic. From furnishings to objets d’art to picture frames—more fragile. More easily broken.

  Pure fantasy, as the Empire had learned the hard way. Lips thinning, Rogan turned away to hide his expression from his aide and his bodyguard. He should have believed all those tales Rand told of Psyclid. He should have—

  “My Lord Kamal,” the majordomo announced, “Admiral Rand Kamal, Daman T’kal Killiri.”

  Fyd! As glad as Rogan was to see his son, his gaze fixed on the rough-hewn, dark-haired man beside him. Oh yes, the Psyclid rebel leader looked like his pictures. Only more vital. More dangerous. And unexpected. Obviously, S’sorrokan, having doubts about Rogan’s intentions—probably Rand’s as well—had sent a most ferocious bodyguard, the man now called the Hero of Psyclid.

  One look at Killiri and Rogan suspected certain whispers about the Psyclid rebel leader might well be true. General Grigorev’s death had remained a mystery for years, but after seeing the photos of the exact same savaging at the campsite in the mountains, Rogan no longer scoffed at the idea of shapeshifting. As he looked into Killiri’s implacable dark eyes, Rogan knew at least one thing for a fact. T’kal Killiri was an implacable enemy.

  “I would like to speak with my son alone.”

  “Your men will leave,” Rand said, very much the voice of authority. “Killiri stays. S’sorrokan’s orders. You didn’t actually think he’d leave us alone to plot and plan the possible destruction of the rebellion?”

  “I assumed the walls would have ears, but if S’sorrokan wishes to be open about eavesdropping . . .” Rogan waved both men to facing seats in front of a green marble fireplace. Killiri, however, backed away, settling into an armchair a good six meters away. Undoubtedly, with a highly sensitive recording device hidden somewhere on his sturdy body.

  So be it. Rogan accepted the risk. “The children are well?” he asked.

  “No thanks to you.”

  “The guards exceeded their authority. I never intended—”

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Rand ground out. “Our people arrived just in time to save your granddaughter from rape. Rape, Rogan. The guard had her on the ground, his prick hanging out. He was on her, Rogan! Do you hear me? I’ll never forgive you for that. Never!”

  Rogan Kamal, face muscles wrinkling in pain, held up a hand to stop his son’s accusations. “It was meant to be nothing more than a ruse, an incentive to get you to come home.”

  “You’re slipping, my lord. Losing your grip.” Ignoring his father’s pained expression, Rand went on the attack. “So why are you here? Have you come to drag me back or to kill me?”

  “I’m sure I intended one or the other,” Rogan returned slowly, as if greatly puzzled by his forgetfulness, “but the shock of seeing my son guarded by his lover’s husband has blown my plans quite out of my head.”

  Was that a growl from the wolf, Rogan wondered, or merely his imagination?

  Score one point for Regula Prime.

  Dismissing his momentary satisfaction, Rogan honed in on his primary purpose. There’s still time, Rand. You are Darroch’s favorite. His designated heir. It can still happ
en. He will understand that you were bewitched but have finally seen the light. We will offer the Psys ransom for the three of you—and there are a few high-ranking prisoners we can exchange—”

  “I was not bewitched,” Rand snapped. “I knew exactly what I was doing, as did B’aela. She was a spy. I knew it. She knew I knew it. It was a delightful game we played.” Though knowing what he did now, it was a wonder the wolf had allowed him to live. “Even then I had begun to see the light. If Regula Prime wanted to be the most powerful planet in the Nebulon Sector, fine. But when we took to occupying peaceful planets like Psyclid, the whole militant reasoning fell apart. I wanted no part of it. And after Hercula . . .” Rand shook his head. “I owed the rebels my life. I had no choice.”

  “But the Empire can still be yours!”

  “I have married again. Happily. I have my children with me. When the rebellion takes on Regula Prime, I will be at S’sorrokan’s side.”

  “Firing on your own people. As he will be.”

  “Yes!”

  Rand choked, his eyes going blank as he realized he’d been trapped. Behind him, he felt T’kal readying to spring.

  Rogan, smiling, leaned back in his chair. “It’s Tal Rigel, isn’t it? I’ve wondered since the first rumors about S’sorrokan’s flagship looking so much like Orion. Then Rybolt’s defection—he wouldn’t have done that for just anyone. It had to be someone he knew well and trusted. And the tactics—at Hercula and the Battle of Psyclid. Only someone Fleet-trained could have managed so well.”

  Rand, hand over his mouth, stared at his father, anguish in his eyes. Was this the moment when the wolf killed him? Possibly both of them?