Royal Rebellion

by Blair Bancroft

  “We don’t pretend to understand you,” Yuliya added, “but we like you.”

  “Truth is,” Dayna added, “we’re in awe of you. You just scared us half to death, you know. I mean, we’ve heard about what you did to the Reg Fleet on Hercula and Psyclid.”

  “Is it true you dangled Alala over the garden on your wedding night?” Yuliya burst out.

  “Yuliya!” Dayna gasped.

  “I heard it at Revell’s,” Yuliya added, heedless of the warning. “Well,” she demanded, eyes fixed on her step-brother, “is it true?”

  Private moment.

  “Come on, K’kadi, we’re your sisters now. You can tell us.”

  K’kadi shifted his wide-legged stance, studied the toe of his boot. Maybe. For a minute or two.

  “But why?” Dayna asked. She’d heard the tale but thought it a joke.

  Because I could. Because I was angry. K’kadi crossed his arms over his chest and looked his newly acquired sisters in the eye. Dayna was close to his own age of a few years over twenty. Yuliya was closer to the age he’d been when Kass came home to Blue Moon. And in that moment he fully realized that after years of being the baby of the family, he now had the pleasure of sisters and a brother younger than he. K’kadi Amund, big brother. He supposed he could allow the girls a sassy moment or two. And moments of truth as well.

  K’kadi focused his power and made the great effort it took to express himself in full sentences.

  I loved Alala once. A childish infatuation, which I carried to the point of stalking. Who could blame her for repelling me? By the time she seemed to change her mind, it was too late. I had found a woman who did not mind what I am. Then we went to Hercula. K’kadi shrugged. The marriage was necessary. We live with it. We have made a beautiful child together. When all our battles are won . . . I think I must give her the choice of going home if she wishes it.

  “You’re using her,” Dayna breathed. “To keep the alliance with the Hercs.”

  She knows. And understands. Alala is a warrior.

  “That’s cold, K’kadi,” Yuliya said. “A cruelty to both women.”

  It is war. I have great respect for Alala, he added carefully. Good woman. We . . . just not right for each other.

  The cabin’s comm unit broke into the tense moment, blaring, “K’kadi Amund, report to the captain’s ready room.”

  K’kadi groaned. What had he done now? If Jagan were here, he’d think the Sorcerer Prime had picked up on his awkward conversation with his sisters, but . . .

  Excuse. K’kadi proffered a swift bow and was gone.

  Breath whooshed out of two pair of lungs as the girls sagged back against the wall. “You forgot I was court-raised,” Yuliya murmured, “and I forgot what he was. Is.”

  “We’re lucky he didn’t drop us from the ceiling.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for supper,” Yuliya whispered. “You know . . . turn us into flying missiles in front of everyone.”

  “Or worse.”

  The two young woman exchanged horrified looks.

  “I hope he remembers we’re family,” Dayna said. “I hear he can be forgetful.”

  “Maybe if we encourage him to fireworks . . .”

  “Something fun instead of humiliating . . .”

  “Dimmit,” Dayna muttered. “We must have the oddest set of relatives since our ancestors left Earth.”

  Yuliya’s head came up. “You could be right.” She ticked them off on her fingers: “Two sorcerers. S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion. A Reg Fleet admiral, nephew to the Emperor. A mistress to a king. Former mistress,” she added judiciously. “A princess who has the Gift of Telekinesis. Another princess who has the Gift of Destruction. And we mustn’t forget the witch and the werewolf.”

  “Or the grandfathers,” Dayna added. “Dear Daddy, retired Admiral of the Fleet turned rebel. And the Chief of Regulon National Security who is doing his best to stop him.” She paused. “Did we leave anyone out?”

  “Just a pacifist king,” Yuliya offered, “and his wife, the Psyclid ParaPrime, Jalaine.”

  “And Morgana,” Dayna added, “the witch turned Priestess of the Golden Crystal. Also former mistress to a king.”

  The girls exchanged a look that said it all. They lived in dangerous times, surrounded by as significant a group of relatives as had ever been assembled. They would have to learn to deal with it.

  “Well?” Yuliya demanded when K’kadi entered the common room where Kelan, Dayna, Yuliya, and Erik had gathered, waiting for news of K’kadi’s summoning to their great leader’s presence. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Did he think you’d pass for a pirate?” Dayna added. Kelan, enjoying the superiority of being the eldest of Tal Rigel’s loosely related young relatives, sprawled in his chair—as always, intrigued and amused by a brother-in-law even other Psyclids found odd.

  Warn me cloak needed at Choya.

  “Choya!” Erik burst out. “We’re going through Choya?”

  “Really?” Dayna echoed. Yuliya sat up, her often casual attention suddenly focused on her step-brother.

  Even Kelan’s eyes sharpened. “We’re going through Choya Gate?” They all knew the tale of the unmarked wormhole where Astarte and Scorpio had fought the first significant battle of the rebellion.

  Yes.

  Kelan’s expression turned thoughtful. “He really is retracing steps from long ago.”

  “Tying up loose ends?” Dayna mused. “Or maybe it’s for luck . . .”

  “Showing the flag,” Yuliya offered. “At least that’s what Daddy calls it.”

  All those things, K’kadi agreed. And because he needs to feel what’s out there.

  Kelan nodded. “What’s the point of cutting off the head if there are a hundred others poised to take Darroch’s place?”

  “Particularly the Hercs,” Yuliya drawled.

  “You’ve been eavesdropping, dushenka,” Kelan murmured.

  “Unnecessary. Daddy has made it very clear he expects the Hercs to stab the rebels in the back.”

  “With good reason,” Kelan returned equitably. “They treated him abominably.”

  An awkward silence enveloped them as all four young Regs remembered that K’kadi had sacrificed the love of his life for the Herc alliance. A sacrifice which now might be for nothing.

  Kelan looked up at the young sorcerer who, even when dressed in a standard rebel blue jumpsuit, stood out from the crowd like a pulsing beacon in the black of space. “Sorry, K’kadi. I don’t doubt the Hercs will do their part in the invasion. But afterward . . .”

  Is true. Tal watch close. K’kadi slumped into a well-padded chair beside Kelan.

  Dayna hastened to change the subject, reverting to her original question. “What did Tal think of your outfit?”

  K’kadi made a face. Says everyone will protect me.

  “I bet they’ll like your fireworks on Tatarus,” Erik offered. “And maybe one of your battle scenes. If they cheer when the rebels win, you’ll know the Tats are on our side.”

  “And if they don’t cheer,” Kelan offered, “you can just wrap us all in an invisibility cloak and get us out of there.”

  “Can you do that?” Yuliya demanded. “I mean, I’ve seen your illusions, I’ve seen you make L’relia fly, but making the whole lot of us invisible?”

  Ship, people, no problem. But K’kadi didn’t take his sullen gaze off the tips of his boots.

  “K’kadi . . .” Kelan touched his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “We’re family. We protect each other. But you’re the only one among us who’s battle-tested. We need you to teach us how to pull our weight around here. We’re just poor giftless Regs who have to learn to be weapons the old-fashioned way. So we appoint ourselves your bodyguards. In return, you can show us the world of space and how to be something more than four overprivileged, overprotected offsprings of great families.”

  “Well said,” Dayna approved. “Is that all right, K’kadi? Will you accept four untalented Regs as family?”


  Tal family. Not untalented.

  Rueful grins flickered over all four faces. Trust K’kadi to go to the heart of the matter. Tal Rigel might not be able to create fireworks or fire-breathing dragons. He might not be able to move spaceships with the power of his mind or disintegrate a T-bot, but to describe him as “untalented” was ludicrous.

  “Well, K’kadi,” Yuliya pressed, “will you take us on?”

  K’kadi’s face, a meter wide, appeared in the air above their heads. The illusion smiled, the pale face reflecting the colors of the fireworks suddenly sparkling behind and around the image.

  Amid gasps from every corner of the lounge, Kelan said, “I take it, that’s a yes.”

  K’kadi stood. Illusion and fireworks vanished. Gravely, he shook hands with each of his young relatives.

  Chapter 14

  Jingar’s Taverna, Tatarus

  A giant in a flowing scarlet robe stood sentinel at the entrance to Jingar’s, his round ebony face glistening under lights flashing in nearly as many colors as K’kadi’s fireworks. Arms crossed over his massive chest, he regarded the newcomers with scorn. “This taverna not infant school,” he growled, using the odd mix of Old Earth languages that allowed the star systems in the Nebulon Sector to communicate with each other.

  Captain Arkadi Kane, aka Tal Rigel, stood his ground. The planet Zylon, which the Regs insisted on calling Tatarus, had prospered from its position in a lively neutral zone at the junction of the shipping lanes of four civilizations—Regulon, Nyx, Pybbite, and Herculon. In the early days of the rebellion, when the smuggler/pirate Captain Kane had to find ways to keep his crew alive while raiding merchant ships for recruits as well as supplies, Tatarus had been Orion/Astarte’s best refuge. But that time was past, and the ebony-faced behemoth towering over the voyagers from Blue Moon was a new guardian at Jingar’s gate.

  “I would ask the baby-faced one to demonstrate his power, but I doubt you’d like it,” Tal returned, his tone peaceful, if his words were not. “We are here, however, for amusement, not a fight. I suggest you ask Jingar if he welcomes Captain Kane and his friends.”

  The giant’s brow wrinkled, his disbelief apparent. “You are Kane?”

  “A few years older—just as dangerous.” Blue eyes to skeptical obsidian, Tal smiled.

  Slowly, one face at a time, the guard took a second look at the small crowd around the alleged Captain Kane. The four clustered closest to the captain still looked too young and inexperienced for Jingar’s, particularly the boy. But there was something in their eyes as they stood, openly defiant, certain of their right to be anywhere in the galaxy they might want to go. As for the rest of them . . . A cool breeze flicked up Gantor’s spine.

  Two men older than their leader—one the most lethal-looking Psyclid he’d ever seen—though, admittedly, not many of that strange race traveled as far as Tat. The other a Reg who could win a prize for arrogance on any planet in the Sector. And the woman? Not young, but striking enough to turn every male head inside, likely sparking a fight before the night was out. The other two males were a type Gantor knew all too well. Muscle. Bodyguards for what appeared to be an elite ensemble demanding entrance to Jingar’s. Maybe the blond really was Arkadi Kane.

  Gantor jerked his chin toward the oldest of the three women. “She, only female who could hold her own inside.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Tal agreed amiably.

  “But him,” the guard added, glaring at Erik, “he’s just a kid.”

  “Teenager.” Tal shrugged. “Don’t dare leave him alone. Who knows what mischief he might get up to?”

  After several tense moments, scarlet cloth rippled as Gantor unfolded his arms, dug out a handheld. “There’s a man here—odd bunch with him. Claims he’s Captain Kane. Blond Reg, late thirties, looks like he could eat a starship for breakfast, but some of his crew are infants—”

  Interrupted in mid-sentence, the massive guard scowled, tossed a curt nod toward the door.

  Captain Arkadi Kane, notorious smuggler and pirate, strode into Jingar’s for the first time in more years than he cared to remember—certainly not since well before the Battle of Hercula. Which was, of course, why he was here. Even S’sorrokan, too long hedged around by a staff that refused to let him risk his neck, needed to get his edge back.

  A slim but towering Zylon rushed to meet the newcomers, his silver robe swirling around his ankles. “Kane! I can’t believe my eyes. Thought you’d been spaced long ago. And where’s that dark-haired woman of yours?”

  “Doing what women do best,” Tal shot back. “Growing a baby.”

  Jingar guffawed and slapped Kane on the back. “Over here, over here,” he said. With a wave of his hand, he cleared two rectangular tables set against the back wall, the patrons who had been sitting there scrambling to find space elsewhere. Tal, T’kal, B’aela, Rand Kamal, Anton Stagg, and Joss Quint crowded around one table; Kelan, Dayna, Yuliya, Erik, and K’kadi settling around the other.

  “My brother prefers the children,” B’aela drawled.

  “My brother does not qualify as a child,” Tal pointed out without rancor. “Nor does yours. Let’s call them the “under thirty” table.

  B’aela, who had passed the thirty mark, winced. Thirty was not bad, her inner voice countered, as there had been times in her precarious past when she was certain she would never live that long.

  The newcomers accepted tablets with electronic menus from a server whose bronze skin contrasted sharply with her emerald green robe. In a nearly uniform motion the travelers from Astarte hid behind their menus while surreptitiously studying the other patrons at Jingar’s.

  “Are those Nyx?” Erik hissed. “The green ones with the pointy ears?”

  Kelan flicked a glance toward a far corner of the large, dimly lit room. Even through the thick haze—a mix of smoke and incense from substances legal and illegal—the sight of four Nyx clustered in a well-padded booth near the front windows was a shock. The Nyx were the bogeymen of current times, deadly enemies of the Empire. Deadly enough that Tal had made no effort to recruit them as allies against the Empire. The Herc alliance was worth the risk. The Nyx, never.

  “Guess so,” Kelan said, making a point of keeping his eyes on his menu. “They look like the pictures I’ve seen.”

  Erik poked his sister in the ribs. “Nyx, Yul. Do you see them?”

  She swatted his hand away. “Skinny green men I can do without,” she retorted. “Dayna and I are much too busy looking at the rest of the room.” She huffed a sigh. “I’ve never seen so many rough and ready types in one place in my life.”

  “Which doesn’t say much,” Erik shot back. “You lived at court.”

  “So did you!”

  “Children, children, behave yourselves.” B’aela, leaning backwards from the other table, added, “Watch your eyes as well as your tongues.”

  “Sorry,” Erik muttered. Yuliya ducked her head. “But I want to see a Pybbite. And maybe a Herc. I’ve only seen Alala and—”

  “The Hercs look like us, except for their clothes,” B’aela snapped. “Place your order, eat, drink, and try not to start a riot!”

  “Yes, Dama Killiri.” Erik ground out a sigh and focused on his menu tablet, frowning as he attempted to decipher a list of unknown foods.

  B’aela turned back to T’kal with a sigh. “I should not scold them for doing what everyone else in the room is doing to us. Do you feel it? Every eye is on us. I’m not sure coming here was a good idea.”

  “Testosterone,” T’kal returned, his face revealing no sign of emotion. “I feel it every time we sit around Tal’s conference table. Every time I’m in the same room with Mondragon or Kamal. Too many powerful men in the same place. But here . . . it’s multiplied by who knows how many? Pirates, smugglers, merchants—all tough enough to trade with the Empire, the Hercs, and the Nyx. And the Zylons themselves, who’ve managed to remain neutral through all the wars around them.”

  “Which means this
whole place could explode at any minute.”

  “Which means Jingar has an iron fist or he’d have a fight on his hands every night.”

  “I still don’t like it,” B’aela muttered. She looked up directly into Rand Kamal’s knowing blue gaze.

  Leaning in, he confided, “I suspect your minds are running in the same direction as mine. Has it occurred to you that Tal might be inviting violence?”

  “With the children present?” Thoroughly shocked, B’aela gaped at the ex Reg admiral.

  “I think he’s trailing them out as bait, eager to see what happens. After all, just taking K’kadi into a place like this is enough to invite trouble.”

  “But why?” B’aela demanded.

  Rand and T’kal exchanged glances. “Because that’s the whole purpose of this mission,” T’kal explained. “To make us battle-ready. And where better to do it than in a place where there’s an army of security, all as big and tough as the monster at the door. Where a good bar fight won’t have a chance to escalate into tragedy?”

  B’aela made a face. “I will never, ever understand men,” she pronounced. “You are all quite mad.”

  Rand grinned. “I suggest you eat and drink while you can. And be prepared for anything.” He sat back, took a careful sip of the karst their elegant server had just delivered, nodded his approval, and said something to Tal that made him smile.

  “And there they are,” T’kal whispered to B’aela. “Tal Rigel and Rand Kamal—two of the most devious minds in the Nebulon Sector. And just what we need to lop off the head of the Empire.”

  “If we live that long,” B’aela muttered, more than a little disgruntled by Reg militarism, which she sometimes forgot was born and bred in both Tal Rigel and Rand Kamal. “Shall I warn the “under thirties”?

  “I suspect K’kadi knew before we got here, and Kelan has figured it out. He’s a Rigel, after all. Erik? He’s a teenage Reg spoiling for a fight. But the girls are clueless. So, yes, it wouldn’t hurt to nudge their thinking away from speculating about every male in the room.”

  B’aela bit her lip, pierced her husband with a knowing stare. “Speaking of spoiling for a fight . . .”