Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  He stood by the bed, studying her motionless form. Too still. She was faking it. He’d just saved her life—again—and she didn’t want to talk to him.

  Maybe she had the right. She’d just saved his life as well.

  Fine. Great. So he’d do the talking.

  Tal lowered himself onto the bed. Ha! He caught her inadvertent shift closer to the wall. Time to be captain, instead of Tal Rigel. There was no doubt he was considerably more skilled at giving orders than indulging in social interaction.

  “Stop sulking, Kiolani. Even my parents don’t know.”

  A short pause, shock ricocheting through the small cabin like a missile gone amok. She sat up with such a sudden burst of energy he thought she might go for his throat. Amber eyes raged only inches from his face. “How could you?” she shot at him. “How could you let people who love you, the people closest to you in the whole universe, think you’re dead? And me—you abandoned me. For years. Let me think I was never going to get out. And you just waltz in—Kiolani, do your magic, and oh, by the way, I’m alive!”

  Tal backed off the bed. Unfortunately, the small cabin didn’t allow much room for pacing. Five strides forward, five strides back. Five strides forward . . . You’ve come so far, Rigel, you can’t lose it now. She’s not just a female you find attractive, she’s a weapon. And you need her. She doesn’t have to like you.

  Oh yes, she did. Because if Kass Kiolani turned on him, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. And there was worse to come. He had to warn her.

  “Firstly,” he said, “my so-called death was a secret that couldn’t be shared. The slightest hint that I had faked my death and that of my crew, and my father would have lost his seat on the Council, probably his Fleet rank as well. He might even have been tried for treason.” Tal paused, steepling his fingers before his face. “As for you . . .”

  He returned to the bed, this time sitting farther away, by her feet. “The same reasoning applied to you, but the point was moot. There was no way I could let you know without involving far too many go-betweens. Think, Kiolani. My entire crew had the same problem. All of them had to agree to letting their loved ones think they were dead.”

  “You couldn’t have turned your whole crew, I don’t believe it.”

  “Over the course of two years of planning, I transferred everyone I couldn’t rely on. When Orion made that last run to Nyx, only my own people were on board.”

  “And Fleet didn’t notice?”

  Ah-ha, he had her interest. And the amber eyes were no longer sparking flame. But they would be. He wasn’t finished.

  “Not so much as a ripple, let alone any rumors. I had a long time to plan, and it went more smoothly than I’d thought possible.” Tal maneuvered for time, letting his gaze drift around the small compartment. “Now comes the hard part,” he told her, and watched a scowl instantly shutter thoughts that might have been tending in his direction.

  “Even rebellions have a hierarchy. If you’re trying to get away from a government that dictates every aspect of your life, then you have to form a new and better system. Which means that even a rebel leader, particularly the founder of a rebellion, can’t become a dictator himself. He has to listen to a nonmilitary council and to the thoughts of the people who followed him into rebellion.”

  The look she gave him was so full of incredulity, Tal groaned. “Think, Kass! What’s the point of a rebellion if it means another military dictatorship in place of the one we already have?”

  “You would allow ordinary people to tell you what to do?”

  There spoke the child of a planet governed by a monarchy. Tal’s lips curled in a chagrined smile as he recognized he didn’t always practice what he preached. “Sometimes I balk,” he admitted. “The Hierarchy was dead set against this mission. Too risky.”

  “But you came anyway.” Kass considered, nodded. “They were right. The rebellion couldn’t afford to lose you. Or Archer—Gemma.”

  “I argued that you were an asset, a valuable weapon to aid the rebellion. And in the end I did what rogue captains have always done—I did what I thought best. But the reception when we get back could be a bit rocky.”

  “How?”

  Tal tried not to look at the two falls of black hair, fastened with silver bands at neck level on each side of her head. He tried not to look at the delicate features, marked by those glowing amber eyes, regal nose, and full inviting mouth. He tried not to be distracted by the curves so much better displayed in her personal clothes than they were in Fleet uniform. But it wasn’t easy. “They will want you to demonstrate—”

  “I do not perform tricks like some huckster in a circo. You know I do not—”

  “Be quiet and listen! Fyd, Kiolani. Your arrogance does you no favors.”

  Sullen, lower lip pouting like a child, she glared at him.

  “If you are asked to demonstrate your gifts, you will demonstrate. You will cooperate. You will make everyone happy—”

  “You mean like this, Captain?”

  She was smiling sweetly, while the tip of a dagger hovered an inch from his throat. His own razor-edged dagger with gem-encrusted hilt, picked up at an open-air market on Gyges. Tal looked back up, keeping his cool. “It might be best, Kiolani, if you refrain from using a lethal weapon for your demonstration.”

  Kass’s smile disappeared, but she continued to hold his gaze. Five seconds. Ten. “And it might be best if you put the dagger away yourself, Captain. I am better at removing it from its sheath than I would be at putting it back.”

  Tal grasped the dagger’s hilt and restored it to its customary position, strapped to his lower right leg under a nondescript pair of khaki pants. “Just how did you know I carried a dagger?”

  For the first time she offered a genuine, if impish, smile. “Girl talk, Captain. You’d be amazed at what sharp ears can learn, even on a ship like Orion.”

  Tal rose to his feet. His little Psyclid was indeed everything he had thought she was. Now all she had to do was prove it to the others.

  Which could be problem. Stubborn little witch.

  Chapter 6

  Silence. Without the hum of her engines, the scout ship was nearly as quiet as the Archives. Kass checked the time on her chrono. Ten Regulon hours since they’d exited jumpspace, so they must be docked. But where? Without a porthole, she was blind.

  Kass frowned, counting the number of meals that had been brought to her quarters. Four . . . five? And not a sign of Tal Rigel.

  Abandoned again.

  What had she expected after putting a knife to his throat? Just because her Tal Rigel would have been glad to see her for reasons other than malfunctioning trajectories . . .

  She’d had one terse communication from him, delivered by Lieutenant Stagg. A handwritten reminder to cooperate with the examining committee, dazzle them with some simple Psyclid tricks, enough to shut them up, and she’d be free to be the asset he knew she was going to be. He’d added an emphatic No daggers! and underlined it three times.

  Kass held the letter tight, assuring herself it was real. The scout ship, real. Tal Rigel, real. She had not been shut away for so long that she had dropped into fantasy.

  She had actually been liberated by rebel forces. And yet . . .

  A long-deceased Captain Talryn Rigel rescuing her from the Archives? Absurd.

  Or perhaps the fantasy was not of her own making. Tal Rigel could be lying through his teeth, this whole rescue part of some diabolical Regulon plot. Which made far more sense, because Captain Talryn Rigel would never desert the Imperial Fleet. It was unthinkable. He was a son of the Empire, devoted to duty. Very likely the drama of the last few days was designed solely to get her cooperation, to plumb her secrets to Fleet’s advantage. Tal Rigel had visited her only once because he was afraid her mysterious Psyclid powers would penetrate his lies . . .

  And the two pilots he’d told her to splash—were they expendable?

  No. The Captain Tal Rigel she knew would never kill two pilots just to
convince Kass he was a friend. Not the stiff-necked, ultra-honorable captain of Orion.

  A rap on her door. Kass’s heart hiccuped.

  Not Tal, of course not Tal. This was Fate knocking, the signal she was about to find out where they were, and perhaps a clue to what was waiting out there. More prison? Hope?

  Kass opened the door. Lieutenant Stagg nodded his approval when he saw her bag was packed, ready to go. Kass hadn’t really looked at him when he took her from the Archives. Nameless, faceless, he and his men were the enemy, taking her into the unknown. But over the long hours in space, with a marine guarding her door every moment, the lieutenant had checked on her several times a day, becoming the most familiar face in her new life aboard Archer. No, not Archer anymore. What had the lieutenant called her? Gemma, that was it.

  Anton Stagg, Kass thought, was the kind of marine they featured on recruiting vids. An exemplary Regulon warrior, he was even taller than Tal Rigel. A hint of brown hair cut military short peeked out from under his flat-topped hat. Hazel eyes, darker than her own, nose off a Roman coin, thin lips, and not an ounce of him that wasn’t military fit. And yet he was a true successor to Cort Baran, treating her with nothing but the utmost respect. Captain’s orders? Or was this actually a rescue and she was among friends?

  If so . . . why the guards?

  After an inward sigh, Kass followed the lieutenant down the corridor, head high. Sergeant Quint, a shorter, equally well-muscled version of the lieutenant, brought up the rear.

  The inner doors of Gemma’s airlock slid open, and they walked through. The outer doors, locked open while in port, disgorged them directly into the pressurized docking bay. Something about it was familiar, but every docking bay from Regula to Nyx looked pretty much the same. Some were just cleaner, more modern than others and painted in brighter colors, distinguished only by the language on their signage . . .

  Kass broke into a run, dashing past Stagg, bursting through the door into the main terminal. Tears running down her face, she darted through the sparse crowd of people, the majority of them Psyclid, and skidded to a halt at the large viewport overlooking the land mass below. Far below the orbiting space station where they’d docked, sunlight shimmered off a pale blue mist that covered the planet, but not so densely it obscured masses of dark green forest that seemed to stretch into infinity. Not a planet but a terraformed moon. For glowing in the sky behind the misted land below was the huge land mass of Psyclid, four hundred and three thousand marks out.

  Blue Moon. They were docked above Blue Moon. Tal Rigel had brought her to her favorite place in the whole universe.

  “Feel better, Kiolani?” Lieutenant Stagg asked from just behind her.

  “Someone might have told me.”

  “Sorry, but I think the captain wanted to surprise you.”

  Surprise? If she had a weak heart, she’d be dead.

  “Uh, Kiolani, don’t get too excited. I guess the captain told you the Hierarchy wants to run a few tests . . . You need to get by them before we can turn you loose.”

  She could do it, Kass vowed. She could grit her teeth and stand up to whatever they tossed at her, as long as it meant she’d be free to roam Blue Moon.

  And if none of this was real? Logic dictated that a rebel base could not possibly be on occupied Psyclid’s third moon. And yet . . .

  Sgt. Quint handed her a tissue. In spite of the tears running down her cheeks, Kass smiled. Guess Imperial Marines truly were prepared for anything. She scrubbed her face, tossed the crumpled tissue into the nearest disintegration receptacle, and flashed a smile at her two escorts. “Let’s go. I want to breathe Psyclid air again.”

  A short trip on Blue Moon’s shuttle—far more luxurious than Gemma’s—and Kass’s feet were on Psyclid soil. She hadn’t planned it, but as they exited the land terminal, her knees bent of their own accord and she pressed her forehead to the glowing warmth of the faustone walkway. Meshug! Not even soil, and you’re embarrassing yourself!

  After a moment of respect for her emotional reaction, Lieutenant Stagg hauled Kass to her feet and guided her toward a waiting groundcar. The driver was Psyclid. As they approached, Kass saw his green eyes widen, his jaw drop. She shot him a warning look, and he turned his shock into a hacking cough, bending his graying head over the steering wheel. S’fed Rao. He had taught her to drive.

  Kass stumbled as she climbed into the rear seat of the groundcar, her eyes once again misting over at the sight of a familiar face. So long, so very long away from her own kind. Too long. Pain and guilt warred with joy. Impossible to be away for eight years and not question decisions made in another lifetime. What would have happened if she had stayed home, lived the life ordained for her . . . ?

  What could it possibly matter? Speculation was absurd, a waste of time. Nor could she afford to indulge in nostalgia, no matter how many memories beckoned. It was time to remember who and what she was, as well as who and what she was supposed to be.

  Kass turned to Stagg, who was seated beside her. “Over the past few days, Lieutenant, it has been difficult to know who my friends are. I have had a lot to think about, and I realize I should have said thank you. The risk you and Sergeant Quint took, removing me from the Archives, humbles me. No, no, don’t protest. At the time, of course, I thought you were really Imperial Marines and I was the only one at risk. Now . . . it appears I was wrong. At least I hope so. I would hate to think my return to Blue Moon was a well-laid trap.”

  “Never, dama.” Stagg appeared truly shocked. “It was a privilege to be chosen to free you.”

  Interesting. On Psyclid soil the lieutenant was adopting Psyclid manners. Captain’s orders?

  But the beauty of Blue Moon was calling. Kass stared out the groundcar’s window, sucking it in, like a person who had just crossed the Sebi Desert gulping water from the supreme glory of a bubbling spring. Nothing had changed. They were traveling through a long tunnel of towering trees and dense underbrush. The sun filtered through the canopy, sparking off leaves more blue than green, creating the ethereal aqua haze that enveloped the groundcar and everyone in it. So much so, Kass noted, the lieutenant’s coat was closer to purple than red.

  Blue Moon. Here she had been happier than any other place she’d ever been. Although the bridge of Orion had been a close second.

  “Lieutenant, can I assume Orion is as alive and well as her crew?”

  He flashed a big grin. “Sure can. She’s the Astarte now, flagship of the rebel fleet. Only huntership we’ve got. We reconfigured her ID and hopefully the Regs didn’t recognize her.”

  Astarte. Flagship. Tal Rigel.

  Tal Rigel, who had defied the Hierarchy to rescue her from the Archives. Which almost certainly indicated . . .

  Tal . . . S’sorrokan? Kass’s heart clenched. Of course he was S’sorrokan. How could she have been so dense? The legendary leader of the rebellion was her own Tal Rigel.

  No. S’sorrokan was ex-Fleet Captain Talryn Rigel, a cold, goal-oriented monster who only looked like her Tal Rigel.

  Kass’s grim thoughts evaporated as Veranelle came in sight. Except for a wide variety of groundcars scattered along the semicircular drive in haphazard fashion, it looked the same as ever. A graceful structure of pinkish stone turned lavender in Blue Moon’s haze, its graceful towers and turrets were modest, as befitted a palace once used only during the hot Psyclid summers. The roof tiles were white, and sunlit glass sparkled from three stories of arched windows. A fairytale castle, though no royal flag flew from the highest peak.

  Kass sighed. For a moment, she had allowed herself to hope . . .

  No parking along the outer drive for their groundcar. The guard waved them under a soaring stone archway and into the inner courtyard, where Kass was delighted to see a fountain still played, surrounded by flowers in nearly every color of the rainbow. Pok! If her eyes kept misting over, she was going to miss something vital.

  Like the eyes peering from every window and door—a vast array of Psyclids and Regulons
staring at the woman S’sorrokan had risked his life, and those of his most trusted officers and crew, to retrieve. Though her empathic gifts were not great, Kass could feel the shock waves, at least from all the Psyclids hiding in the shadows of window drapes, silk curtains, and arched doorways.

  Ah! If she had had any idea of what this day would bring, she would have stuffed her well-worn jumpsuit full of tissues, for standing at the foot of the broad front steps was B’ram Biryani. He was as tall and thin as an Arcturian polecat, in the way of Psyclid men who concentrated on exercising their minds instead of their bodies. The elderly majordomo stood straight and proud, his short blue-white hair topping a face as thin and pallid as his body. B’ram Biryani, still on duty, and looking as superior as ever.

  How many times had she seen him stand just so, waiting to greet Veranelle’s guests? Except . . . when greeting the Orlondamis, he had always allowed a welcoming smile to break through his professional façade. Today, Biryani looked merely resigned, with perhaps a hint that he was attempting to reject a bad smell in the air. Kass almost laughed out loud. She could not imagine the old man adjusting his high standards to a houseful of rebels. If it hadn’t been so painful, it would almost be funny.

  Not funny. She was about to encounter someone who knew her—face-on, in front of Lt. Stagg, Sgt. Quint, two household guards, and a surprising number of onlookers who had suddenly materialized in the courtyard.

  Chapter 7

  Although Kass’s telepathic gifts had never been strong, she did her best, sending a chaotic thought-mix of warning and reassurance to the old man standing there, waiting to greet this latest addition to the Regulon infestation. Pok! It had been so long, she wasn’t sure she was getting through at all. But surely successful majordomos needed empathic powers to rise to the top of their profession.

  Kass stepped out of the car, still sending. As she walked toward the older man, head high, she noticed his uniform, pale blue with royal blue piping and silver buttons, hung on him. Biryani had lost weight. Old age or stress? Probably both.