The cheers became even louder as they passed over the heads of the crowd. It was time for him to take a bow. Kemel’s voice interrupted the moment.
“We just received the emergency signal from Mercedes. Your Hail Mary play better show up soon.”
28
PICKING UP THE PIECES
“Sir! Ships! Lots of them.”
Mihalis whirled to face the aide who had run into the captain’s mess. Mercedes and Carisa exchanged a glance. The blood had been inexpertly cleaned from Carisa’s skirt and a makeshift veil created out of a lace tablecloth. It was not a completely outré place to hold a wedding, for Mihalis’s taste ran to the elegant. The dining room aboard his flagship was wood-paneled with a crystal chandelier, fine furnishings, and a thick rug underfoot. The chaplain paused in the act of donning his stole.
“What?” Mihalis demanded.
“It’s… it’s the Blue, sir. All of them.”
Mercedes gathered her scattered wits, pushed through the grief and shock and anger that had laid a fog over her mind. “Surprise,” she said archly, though her thoughts were whirling in confusion.
Davin had been out looking for her. He could not have known… unless… Kemel and Boho had kept them in reserve, risked the dangers of an orbital translation out of Fold. She wondered how many satellites, missile batteries, and ships had been damaged or even destroyed by the dangerous stunt.
“Get us out of here. Take us into Fold,” Mihalis ordered.
A voice came over the intercom. “Sir, we are being hailed. Accept or deny?”
Mihalis’s head jerked from side to side; whether in negation of the events that were unfolding or out of confusion, Mercedes couldn’t tell.
“I’d take the call,” Mercedes said. “This is Davin. You know what he’s like, he’ll have something else up his sleeve.” Mihalis had been two years ahead of them at the High Ground, but she prayed he would remember Davin’s elaborate practical jokes, which had kept professors and students alike on edge.
“Fine! Put it through.”
“Hi, Mil,” Davin said conversationally, “the next voice I hear better be Mercedes’. If it’s not, I won’t pre-detonate the missiles that are heading for you. And yes, they will reach you before you can translate into Fold. I’d think fast.”
Mercedes lunged forward. “Davin! I’m here! We’re here. We’re okay. Well, not all of us.” Despite her best efforts her voice broke at the end.
“Okay. Good start.” His voice changed, deepening, the vowels more rounded. Mercedes knew he was now recording. “Vice Admiral Vizconde Mihalis August Ferdinand Francis del Campo, I request your formal surrender. Shut down all engines and weapons systems immediately. Once that has been verified, I will destroy the missiles that will impact your ship in just under nine minutes.”
“You’re bluffing. You won’t kill the Infanta.”
“Hmm, no mention of the Emperor… so you did kill him,” Davin said. “Not the smartest move you could have made because Mercedes is far tougher than he ever was.”
Mercedes swept around until she stood facing Mihalis. They were eye to eye and close enough she could feel and smell his stale breath on her face. “You murdered my father. I’ll happily die if you’ll burn too.” Her voice was low, throbbing with emotion, and she realized she meant every word. Mihalis seemed to sense it too, but his features closed down. He was going to refuse. Better to reign in Hell… she thought.
Carisa spoke up, directing her words to the priest. “Talk to him. There are at least four thousand men aboard this ship. Will you let him kill them all for pride’s sake?”
“Admiral, I beg you. Think of your men,” the priest quavered.
There was no reaction. Mercedes turned to the lieutenant who had delivered the message. “He doesn’t care about you. He and his father started this because they wanted the throne. He’d walk across all your bodies to plant his ass upon it.” Doubt flickered in the young officer’s eyes.
Mihalis sensed the shift in his subordinate. He grabbed for his pistol and started to bring it to bear on Mercedes. The young lieutenant shoved Mercedes aside and slugged Mihalis hard in the jaw. The shot went wide. Mihalis staggered backwards. Carisa grabbed the heavy, elaborate epergne from the dining room table, and brought it down hard on the top of his head. Mihalis dropped to the floor unconscious. Blood ran from the scalp wound.
“I’d suggest you contact Admiral del Campo’s second-in-command, and tell him the admiral is unable to perform his duties,” Mercedes said.
“Yes, ma’am.” The lieutenant saluted. He keyed his ring. “Captain, I regret to say the admiral is… incapacitated. This is your call.”
“Admiral Lord Davin Pulkkinen, we accept your terms.”
“Good call,” Davin replied.
A few moments later the faint vibration from the engines that Mercedes felt through the soles of her feet ceased. The priest dropped to his knees next to Mihalis. “I think you cracked his skull,” he said to Carisa.
“Good,” she replied.
* * *
“Musa committed suicide. Arturo and Jose are being held at San Quintin. Mihalis is in the hospital. The sisters are under house arrest.” Kemel’s dry delivery seemed an incongruous way to discuss treason. “What do you want us to do about Sanjay, Julieta, and Tanis, Emperatriz?”
Emperatriz. Not like this. I didn’t want it to happen this way. Oh, Daddy. Mercedes rubbed at her aching forehead, remembered her youngest full sister, the fairy princess, beautiful, passionate, romantic. She had known Julieta resented her. She hadn’t known she hated her. Tanis was less surprising. An ill-tempered, resentful and nasty child, she’d grown up into an ill-tempered, resentful and nasty woman who hid her ugly personality under the veil of a nun, and a cloak of piety.
“Arrest them all,” she ordered.
Kemel gave the little cough that was his way to express disagreement. “Your sister and her husband are no difficulty, but your other sister… The Pope is condemning in the strongest terms the arrest of one of his bishops. Sending federales into a convent will not improve the situation.”
“I assume you have an alternative solution,” Mercedes snapped.
“Suggest to the Reverend Mother that we will disrupt her convent unless she arranges to send Tanis to the Handmaids of the Precious Blood,” Kemel said.
“And that will help how?”
Kemel gave a thin smile. “It’s a contemplative order sworn to silence and the Reverend Mother is a cousin of mine, a most formidable figure. They allow no contact with the outside world.”
“Apart from your cousin communicating with you,” Boho said.
“Well, yes, but one must be practical. At any rate they can hold her until trial. I would advise against executing a nun.”
Boho brushed a finger across his mustache. “Perhaps we could suggest to the Pope that Tanis and Jose be tried in an ecclesiastic court. That might mollify him.”
“No, not Jose! I’ll agree to have Tanis tried by the church, but not Jose. He’s a snake.”
“This can wait a few days, Majesty. We have the excuse of arrangements to be made.”
Her anger died and Mercedes said dully, “My father’s—the Emperor’s funeral.”
“And your coronation,” Boho added. He sat next to her, arm wrapped protectively around her waist.
Mercedes fought the desire to violently push him away. Exhaustion and grief lay on her shoulders like an iron shawl. She stood. “Director, I am weary and grieving. If there is nothing else pressing, I’d like to have some time to myself.”
“Of course, Majesty.” He bowed and left.
“You should lie down,” Boho said solicitously.
“I will, but I have some questions first. Why didn’t you tell me that you had Davin in reserve?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “No offense, darling, but you aren’t the best poker player in the world. Mihalis might have sensed that we had an ace up our sleeves. We needed him to believe that he had y
ou completely under his control.”
“The fact he believed me when I lied to him about the pregnancy says you’re wrong. And, husband or not, if you ever keep information from me again I’ll see to it you’re made the governor of some distant and not very pleasant colony world. Are we clear?”
“Clear.” He sounded sulky.
“Next issue. How did Kemel miss that Guthrie had been suborned?” His suddenly thoughtful look told her he hadn’t even thought about it prior to this moment. “I see only three possibilities. One, he was also working for Musa—”
“I don’t believe that,” Boho objected.
“Neither do I, which brings me to possibility two. That this was all part of the plan concocted by you and Kemel to place us in desperate danger so you could take out Mihalis’s rebel ships.”
“I would never—”
She cut him off. “I assumed such was the case. It better have been the case. Which brings me to the third option. Kemel five years ago would never have missed something like this. But he did.”
“You want to replace him,” Boho said.
“I—” she quickly amended to include him “—we have to.” She studied Boho. She had delivered a pretty nasty rebuke to him. She needed to soften the blow. Going forward there could be no more mistresses and bastards. She was empress. An heir was on the way. Everything had to change.
“I’m turning to you for this. Work with Jaakon, prepare a list of potential candidates and let’s discuss. Once we agree on someone, we’ll let Kemel know.”
“You can rely on me. Now, please rest. It’s been a terrible twenty-four hours.”
Tears welled up. “Yes. It has.”
“Oh, my love.” He gathered her into his arms. He was so tall that she could rest her head against his chest. She closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of his aftershave, and pushed Tracy from her thoughts.
* * *
It was to be a closed casket memorial since her father’s face had been destroyed by the bullet, and Mercedes refused to have the undertaker repair it. At first, she had refused to even search for the body, which had been spaced, along with Guthrie’s, by Mihalis’s goons. She was not going to devote resources to the effort when Davin and Kartirci were busy stamping out the final resistance. Estella’s hysterical objections hadn’t swayed her, but Boho’s cold calculations did. He had pointed out that if they recovered the body they could allow pictures of the shattered face to be “leaked” to the press. Get the media sites to place a picture of the Emperor in happier times next to a picture of the corpse. It was ghoulish, but certain to arouse fury against the plotters in the general populace, so the Emperor had been recovered. Guthrie had been left to orbit in frozen solitude.
The final butcher’s bill from putting down the coup could have been worse, but Davin commanding the Blue and Kartirci with his rump force of loyal ships of the Gold had been forced to destroy two cruisers and six frigates who had refused to surrender, and they had not emerged unscathed from those encounters. Davin had lost seven Infiernos and an explorador. Kartirci’s rump fleet had lost a frigate. It was going to take time and money to rebuild, which would probably require a tax increase.
Mercedes’ stomach roiled, a combination of morning sickness and stress. She reached for another saltine cracker. Her desk was littered with crumbs and she frowned at the scattered flakes. There was too much to do and not enough hours in the day, and Dr. Mueller had insisted she spend at least seven of them sleeping. Her warning had been stark. “You’re old for a first pregnancy and you need to be careful.”
That had scared Mercedes enough that she meekly obeyed the chime from her ScoopRing when it told her it was time for bed. Boho was also insistent, and kept constant watch over what she ate and when. He had tried to keep her from riding, but Mueller had knocked that down, saying that exercise was as important as rest. She could ride until the start of her sixth month.
The sisters and their families were gathering for the state funeral. Mercedes had ordered a week of mourning throughout League space. An alarm chimed, warning her she had to be at a meeting of the coronation committee in ten minutes. She grabbed her pack of crackers and left her office. Her father’s study was being redecorated prior to her taking possession, so for the moment she remained in her smaller and more spartan space.
Jaakon looked up as she left the inner office. The bags beneath his eyes were so dark he looked like he’d been in a fight. “Anything pressing?” she asked.
He gave a short, barking laugh and gestured at a stack of folders. “I’m going to cull and bring you only the ones marked HAIR ON FIRE.”
“Thank you. Not sure when I’ll be back. Robrecht has dragged in the court historian for this meeting.”
“It has been a long time since we’ve had a coronation,” Jaakon said.
“It seems silly to do this. It’s going to take months to plan and I will have been acting as empress all that time. Why bother?”
“Because the people need to set aside grief and be given permission to celebrate, and to do that they need to see you, cheer you, love you.”
“Why is so much of governance just putting on a show?”
“Because at heart we humans are simple creatures who love a party?”
She gave a snort of laughter and left for the meeting.
It was quite a crowd that came to their feet, and bowed deeply at her entrance. Gutierrez, the head of imperial protective services, was there. Ian Rogers, who commanded her personal guard. The police chief of Hissilek. The head of the royal mews, who maintained not only the horses but the antique carriages. Robrecht, who in his role as seneschal kept the documents detailing royal protocols. The aforementioned court historian, a young man with the fussy habits of a far older person. Also present was Rohan, as the unheralded leader of parliament, as was his wife, Analise, who had been added to help discuss fashion choices. The head of the palace press corps was in attendance. He was an older man, a golfing crony of her father’s. Anselmo in his role as Boho’s personal press agent was bending down to whisper something in Boho’s ear. Mercedes wished she had her own Anselmo, and then it struck her. She could replace her father’s press secretary. There was nothing to stop her from picking a new communications chief now that she was Empress. And perhaps she could even make it a woman! What a breathtaking idea! She hid her smile.
Folding her hands on the conference table she said, “I’ve been considering the date for the coronation. Clearly this is an undertaking that will require months of planning, and I do not wish to unduly shorten the period of mourning for my father. I would also prefer not to face the rigors of the celebration late in my pregnancy. So, I would like to propose that the coronation be set for October after I am, God willing, safely delivered of our heir.”
Analise crossed herself and cast her eyes toward heaven, but then said, “As someone who has had more than a few babies… give yourself a little more time. You’ll want to get your body back in shape and, believe me, in the beginning you won’t want to be parted for long from el bebé for the hours that will be required to prepare for the coronation.”
The court historian was nodding, stroking his chin. “A Christmas coronation. How beautiful that would be. Say on the twenty-third of December?”
“People might wish to be home for Christmas,” Mercedes demurred.
“Let’s see,” Boho mused. “Christmas at home with all your shirttail relatives, or Christmas at the capitol, attending balls and parties culminating in the first coronation in nearly fifty years. They’ll climb over each other to attend.”
She laughed. “All right. The twenty-third it is.” There were murmurs and nods all around.
“Since we are embarking on a new era with a change in custom, and after the disturbing events of the past weeks, I think it would be wise to insist that the heads of every FFH household attend, and swear their oath of loyalty to you at that time,” Rohan said.
She looked to Boho who nodded in agreement. Then found herself
wondering if one particular caballero would obey the summons and attend? Treacherous, dangerous thought. Technically she should have had a formal ceremony to knight him, but that would not be wise. No, she would never see Tracy again. It was safer that way.
“Good idea,” Ian said. “And if any decline claiming illness, we should have SEGU verify those claims.”
“Who do you wish to perform the ceremony?” Boho asked.
“I think we ask the Pope. It might mollify him.”
“Do you want me to make the overture?” the press secretary asked.
“No, I’ll do that myself. Show proper respect and reverence.”
“You’re a born politician, Mercedes,” Rohan said approvingly.
“Thank you… I guess.” Mercedes stood. So did everyone else. “I’m sorry to make this so brief, but several more of my sisters and their families are arriving today and I would like to meet them.”
She swept out of the room with Ian and Boho flanking her. “Who’s arriving today?” Ian asked.
“Delia and Dulcinea, their kids and husbands.”
Ian smiled. “They’re still inseparable, I see.”
“More so since they married brothers.”
“How are you dealing with Julieta’s children?” he asked.
“We’ve got five of them here at the palace. The eldest boy is on the run with his father. We’ll catch them eventually,” she said.
“The nineteen-year-old is at the High Ground, and basically under house arrest,” Boho added. “At that age he probably shared his parents’ and older brother’s beliefs, but we don’t have any proof yet.” His ScoopRing pinged. “Ah damn, I’ve been expecting this call.”
“Go,” Mercedes said and waved him away. He kissed her on the cheek and hurried off toward his office.
She and Ian resumed walking and she continued her tale of woe. “And let’s not forget the resentful twenty-one-year-old daughter who clearly hates us. What do I do with her? Marry her to a loyal supporter and make his life a misery? Then there is the fourteen year-old who is a sulky teenager, and there are also three more boys, sixteen, eleven, and eight. The youngest are scared, homesick, and can’t understand why their mommy and daddy are gone. What do I tell them? Your father is a wanted criminal and will probably end up facing a long prison term assuming he avoids execution, and your mommy is in jail awaiting trial on similar charges. But here’s some good news—we probably won’t execute her because she’s the Empress’s sister and a woman, so you’ll be able to visit her in prison.”
The Hidden World Page 29
