The seed of the rebellion, sown so carelessly when he rescued Kass Kiolani, swelled inside Tal’s head, finally bursting into a new reality more than a year later. And S’sorrokan was born. S’sorrokan, rebel and traitor.
And all because of a little scrap of a female who had no idea what she’d started. Tal looked down at Kass’s slight form, so peacefully sleeping, and wondered for closee to the thousandth time if he’d gone mad. Omni, what had he done? And yet . . .
Emperor Darroch could pardon him, offer him the position of Admiral of the Fleet . . . and still he would not go back. Here before him, lying on a white and silver sofa, was the future, though he had no idea how he was going to make that future real.
“Kiolani, wake up. Kass?” Only a whisper, but somehow he knew she’d hear him. She’d probably come awake fighting, furious with him for abandoning her yet again.
Instead, her eyes blinked open, focused instantly. A flare, a gratifying flare of welcome, and then the veil came down. Blank neutrality as she waited for the axe to fall.
“Not quite the way we planned it, Kiolani,” he chided softly.
Careful neutrality disintegrated into a fierce scowl. “She tried to kill me!”
“Yes, she did,” Tal agreed, and watched Kass swallow her planned arguments. “She’s the one in solitary now, with a couple of her assistants trying to figure out what went wrong.”
“What went wrong?” Kass cried. “Premeditated murder, that’s what went wrong. How many of those things did she have? Did you think to find out?”
Tal tugged a few locks of golden blond hair, no longer military short, while he once again struggled with an urge to remind her which one of them was the captain. “That, Kiolani, is what took up most of my time since your little performance. And, no, there was only one krall. It seems that while we were on Tatarus, my supposedly competent crew chief decided having a pet snake would enhance his image. He bought the batani creature from a street vendor who didn’t bother telling him it was the most venomous snake in the known universe.”
Tal shook his head, while Kass continued to glare, arms folded, waiting for him to continue. “After we got back to Blue Moon, someone broke the news to him, and when Commander Dann said she’d like to use the snake in an experiment, he was only too glad to get rid of it. It never occurred to him to question her purpose. I broke him in rank for the next thirty days. Do you consider that sufficient, Dama Kiolani?”
“Do not mock me! Of course it is sufficient. Your chief is not the criminal. Stupid, but not criminal.”
Tal clasped his hands behind his back, hoping that might control the warring urges to shake her or kiss her. He took a deep breath before answering the unspoken question that quivered between them.
“Commander Dann is confined to Psych Med for evaluation. Beyond that, her fate is out of my hands. With our previous relationship known to everyone, only the Hierarchy can decide what to do.”
A beat of silence. “And me?”
“From what I heard below, I expect you will be forgiven. Too valuable an asset to be rejected. I’d planned to quietly add you to my crew”—ah, that got a flare of interest—“but you’ve made that impossible. When the story of what happened today is passed through several hundred mouths, you’ll be a hero to some, a witch to others. You’ll be treated with wariness, outright fear, and no little awe. Most will be glad you’re on our side. Others will recall prayers learned in childhood and never recited since.”
Kass steepled her fingers before her face, cutting off his view, and it was like the sun going out. Fyd! Those who said he was obsessed had it right. Because of this fragile bit of female—he had suffered an epiphany. An explosion of conscience that had turned a bright ugly light on the culture he had taken for granted. The culture that encouraged him to stand astride a multitude of worlds and shout, “This is mine. Everywhere I look, is mine.”
Because of Kass Kiolani, he had given up his family, his loyalty to Fleet and Empire, and started a rebellion. He’d risked everything. And she had no idea.
A peremptory knock on the door. Mallick! Not yet.
The door opened and the Chairman of the Hierarchy walked toward them. A Regulon elder statesman and most recent ambassador to Psyclid, Torvik Vaden had been recalled to Regula Prime only days prior to the invasion. He had refused to go, taking shelter on Blue Moon and, as the war raged below, finding a new home that put him in place to greet the newly transformed Astarte when the huntership crashed through Blue Moon’s supposedly impenetrable force field, called the ridó, with an Imperial frigate in hot pursuit.
In spite of being well into his ninth decade, Vaden had lost none of his vigor or his Regulon stature. As a new system of government developed on Blue Moon, there was never any doubt about who would lead it.
“Dama Kiolani,” Tal said, “may I present Honored Daman Torvik Vaden, Chairman of the Hierarchy. I’m told you two exchanged a few words earlier.” Interesting, Tal noted—Kass was sitting up, shoulders straight, feet on the floor, regarding the older man with the hauteur of a queen accepting the credentials of a foreign ambassador.
“Dama Kiolani,” Vaden said, “I wish to apologize for the events in the conference room. Commander Dann will be dealt with, I assure you. In the meantime we are pleased to welcome you as an asset to the rebellion. I believe Captain Rigel intends to take you with him on Astarte’s next mission, and matters here on Blue Moon will have time to calm down before you return.”
Kass offered the Chairman a cool stare. “You will never be able to trust her.”
Vaden nodded. “We are aware of that, dama. It is a problem we must solve.”
Tal sent a silent plea to Omnovah that Kass wouldn’t inform the Chairman there was only one way to deal with Liona Dann. Space her.
Kass took a deep breath, obviously struggling with her inner self. If she beaned the Chairman with the tray of sandwiches, he was definitely going to take her over his knee and . . . Kass held out her hand. Tal helped her to her feet. Head high, she looked up at Torvik Vaden. “Honored Chairman, I will be pleased to aid the rebellion on one condition.” Again, Tal held his breath. “I never want to see that woman again.”
“Condition accepted.” Incredibly, the Chairman bowed his head in deference to the little warrior the Hierarchy had just accepted into the rebellion. Not that Tal wouldn’t have taken her with him anyway. “Good day, Dama. Good day, Captain.” And Torvik Vaden was gone, leaving them staring after him.
Royal training, no matter how strict or how long, didn’t cover a change this profound. Kass’s head swirled, refusing to focus. Bits and pieces of the last eight years kaleidoscoped across her brain in random, incoherent fragments. Her stubborn personal rebellion, the heated arguments with her parents. Exultant triumph on the bridge of Orion. The desolation of her first days in the Archives. Reverent hands on ancient pages. Orion gone, Tal Rigel gone. Overwhelming grief, the horror of abandonment. All those hours, years, spent studying, learning. Cort Baran’s ready smile. Olin Lusk, invisible under a bombardment of books. A flash of Imperial Marine red. The terrifying strain, the utter desperation, when she destroyed the Tau-15s. The krall on its attack run straight toward her. The relief that Torvik Vaden’s days as ambassador to Psyclid had come after she left for the Academy. Unless he’d seen a photo . . . If so, he’d given no sign of recognition, a diplomat to the core.
“Kiolani?”
She was scooched up against the sofa pillows, knees under her chin, hands over her face, rocking back and forth, unaware of anything but the events leading up to this seminal moment. She had just been granted everything. Everything. And she was acting like she should be joining Liona Dann in the psych ward. She was to be an officer on Orion—correction, Astarte. Could starships change sex? One more nonsensical fragment to clog her brain.
Kass struggled, grasping for the one thought that penetrated the whirlwind in her mind, a pinprick of hope growing brighter, coming closer, ever closer. So close she could reach out and touch
it.
Her two dream men lived. In one body. And that body had just lowered itself to the far end of the sofa, brow furrowed in concern.
Liona Dann was out of his life.
It was said the captain was obsessed by a woman locked in solitary confinement. That had a nice ring to it.
“Kiolani, look at me.”
Captain’s orders, she’d better obey. Kass lowered her hands, eyeing Tal Rigel with considerable trepidation. He must think her the weakest link in the chain. Well, maybe just a notch up from the Chief who bought the krall. Or maybe she was rock bottom. Anyone who fell apart this badly under stress didn’t belong on the bridge of a hovercraft, let alone a huntership.
Stop! She hadn’t fallen apart under battle stress. She’d fallen apart because eight long years of stress—from fighting with her parents to slamming a krall against a wall—had just been lifted. She was free to be the woman she longed to be. And entitled to a few shattering moments of readjustment.
“Kiolani—Kass—you need to eat.” She looked into eyes as blue as Psyclid’s Azulian Sea. Eyes that drew out her soul and made her forget every obligation drilled into her since birth. Neither princess, sorceress, nor lowly ensign was allowed to live in the moment. Each must always plan ahead, think of the consequences.
But not now. Now was the time to snatch a few moments out of time for herself. Tal Rigel was sitting at her feet, holding a tiny tea sandwich within inches of her mouth. Her golden-haired god, with his arrogant nose and the thin lips she longed to coax into a smile was so close she could reach out and—
“Come on, open up. No one can do what you did and not need to replenish their strength.”
Vulnerability had her clutched by the throat. She couldn’t look at him, he’d see right through her. See every emotion she’d tried so hard to hide since he’d rematerialized into her life, like a genie out of a magic bottle.
“Come on, girl.” The sandwich touched her lips.
Kass nibbled the edge. Swallowed. Eyes closed, she took a bigger bite, catching the flavor of Tal Rigel as her teeth flicked past a finger, maybe his thumb. She ducked her head, hoping to hide the strength of her reaction, as her pulse rate soared and feminine parts she’d forgotten she had whimpered in joy. She forced herself to chew while her mind raced, the sheltered virgin vying with the rebel warrior.
Kass peeked at the remains of the sandwich, the one small bite held between Tal’s thumb and forefinger. Did she open her mouth and let him feed her like mommy bird to her baby, or . . . ?
She leaned forward and scooped the last bit off his fingers, lips rounded in an O, her tongue lingering to taste flesh. Sensation crashed through her, so strong she nearly cried out. Dear goddess, what—
“I don’t believe in pressing my luck when a woman is vulnerable”—Tal Rigel’s voice cut through her sexual haze—“but do that again and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.” He bent and scooped the silver plate of finely displayed snacks off the table in front of the couch, holding it out in front of him, like a shield. “Eat, Kiolani. We leave three days from now. I need you fit.”
Kass was quite certain she blushed from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Batani Regulon. The man wasn’t human. She’d laid bare her soul, and he was ordering her to eat.
She had to find her voice. Act as if this was just another day on Blue Moon, Captain Rigel paying her a visit to be sure she was fit for duty.
“You’re free to go where you will, Kiolani, but I’m keeping a guard on you for your own protection. Just until we ship out. Oh-eight-hundred, three days from now. No uniforms. Casual dress, though we’ve kept our rank designations to maintain chain of command. Congratulations. You just made Ensign.”
Inwardly, Kass managed a smile. Tal Rigel wasn’t quite as cool as he’d seemed. He was, in fact, close to babbling.
“I’ll have supper sent up tonight, but tomorrow I expect you to start eating with the rest of us. We’ve turned the ballroom into a refectory, cafeteria style. You need to start mixing with the others— “Kiolani, don’t look like that. I know you’ve gone a long time without people, but—”
Kass scooted back into the mound of cushions like a mole scurrying to ground. Head shaking, her lips formed into a frozen “no!” She was free, she wanted to be free, but this was terror. Eat in a roomful of Regulons? After what happened today?
As she’d done for nearly four years at the Academy?
Long, long ago and far away. Since then, everything had changed.
Coward!
Kass straightened her shoulders, looked straight into Tal Rigel’s stern blue eyes. “Of course, Captain. I look forward to it.”
He set the plate back on the table. “Eat,” he commanded. He stood, paused for a long, penetrating look, then headed for the door.
Though more than a little breathless from eyes that said what his lips did not, Kass kept her head enough to call after him. “Captain?”
He paused, turned back. “Yes, Kiolani?”
“May I assume Commander Dann will not be present at mealtime?”
“You may.”
And he was gone, leaving her so confused that tears rushed back, obscuring the delicate treats on the sandwich tray and turning the room into a cool rainbow of pale blue, shimmering green, soft white and brilliant silver.
Had she confused him with the Tal Rigel and S’sorrokan of her fantasies, humiliating herself beyond hope of recovery?
Obsessed.
As she had been—was—with him.
So maybe no, and yet . . .
Fyd! She was starting a whole new life, and she had no concept of the rules.
Chapter 10
Guard tranformed to bodyguard. Kass, rather than fuming over discovering Anton Stagg at her heels when she headed down for breakfast the next morning, was glad of the company. Nothing like having an Imperial Marine, two meters tall, standing behind her in the food line, guiding her to a hastily vacated table near the ballroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows, and keeping her from having to face a sea of Regulons on her own.
Whispers, sidelong looks. What else could she expect? She was an object of curiosity, even before yesterday’s events. A freak show—exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. And she’d brought it on herself. She could have killed the batani snake without so much . . . flamboyance.
More whispers, more craned necks. Tal Rigel had entered the room. Accompanied by Dorn Jorkan and Mical Turco, his two closest friends on Orion, and undoubtedly his accomplices in both the kidnapping and the rescue of a Psyclid cadet. While Kass worked her way through a bowl of whole grain, undoubtedly grown within ten kilos of the palace, she watched Tal move down the food line, nodding, smiling, never missing eye contact with servers, those in line, or passers-by. He might say that he was military, leaving governing to others, but Kass had to lower her head to hide a smile. Tal Rigel wasn’t naturally outgoing, that much she knew. What she was watching was politics, whether he admitted it or not.
He had a lot of rough waters to smooth. And all because of her.
Kass’s eyes widened as Tal and his friends walked toward the dais at one end of the ballroom, a space intended for the orchestra. Like the medieval practice on Old Earth of the nobleman and his court sitting at high table . . .
Her table. Her ballroom. Her palace.
Ah, well, she’d never begrudge Tal Rigel the honors he undoubtedly deserved. Kass took a deep breath and signaled a mobile server for more kafi. If she had adjusted to the Regulon Interplanetary Archives, she could adjust to a transformed Veranelle. But just how far did the changes go?
Kass spent the rest of the day exploring her favorite places. In the afternoon, when Lieutenant Stagg was replaced by a sturdy young corporal named Bix, she reveled in Veranelle’s gardens, wandering from fragrant herbs to sweetly scented flowers, from rows of vegetables and vining fruit to orchards ripening under the Psyclid sun. Though her body protested the unaccustomed exercise, Kass kept going, driven by the sheer exhilar
ation of freedom. She walked a wooden fenceline, gazing out over fields of grain approaching harvest time, stopped at a farmhouse for a drink of water, not forgetting to include her trailing marine. From another farm, an offer of bread and rich, homemade cheese.
B’ram Biryani had done his work well. One farmer’s wife had stuttered a bit at the unexpected guest, but the responses from other Psyclids she met along the way were no more effusive than respectful nods and shy greetings. Kass allowed herself a small private smile. Pysclids were adept at keeping secrets.
When she finally turned back toward Veranelle, Kass took a trail through the forest, her favorite walk, which she had saved ’til last. Ten meters into the woods, she paused, absorbing some of the things she had missed the most—shade from the thick canopy overhead, a carpet of old leaves beneath her feet, a pungent odor, so different from the scent of golden grain and barnyard animals. Profound silence. The wild animals and birds were waiting, watchful. Was she friend or foe?
Gradually, as she moved farther into the forest, the sounds came back. Rustles in the undergrowth, high-pitched birdsong leaping from tree to tree. A low grunt. Twigs crunched, branches swayed. Her marine unslung his rifle, gripping it tight. A wild pig crashed out of the forest, dashing across the path a scant two meters in front of them, followed by two babies tall enough to come up to her knees.
Kass waved a sharp no! to her bodyguard, even as she laughed out loud. Merveille, but it was good to be out. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream. She was really here, on Blue Moon. Home.
One final landmark, and then she’d know.
But even when she was standing at the edge of the small clearing, staring at the ornately carved g’zebo that was once her childhood playhouse and teenage refuge, she couldn’t be certain it was real. Six-sided with latticework extending halfway to the roof, it looked as if she had just walked away from it. As if that last summer before she’d run away was but yesterday. But no, the ivy was thicker in some places, reaching up to cover the space above the latticework. Green strands also reached into the open space of the entryway, swaying in the soft breeze as if saying, “Princess L’ira’s private space. Do not enter.”
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