Rebel Princess

by Bancroft, Blair

  “This is it,” Mical said from his position at Nav. “If there’s a gate here, the scanners don’t see it any more than my eyes.”

  Tal sat easily in his captain’s chair, seemingly undisturbed by an invisible wormhole. After all, Kass reasoned, if a Psyclid could disappear a huntership, why not a jumpgate as well? “Mondragon?” Tal questioned.

  “The shielding is similar to the ridó around Blue Moon,” Jagan returned, evidently in one of his more expansive moods and making no attempt to turn a simple psychic key into a bit of mind-bending black magic. “If you know the key, the curtain opens. If you don’t, your ship will bounce off, ricocheting in any direction but into the wormhole.”

  Kass felt Tal’s surprise, saw his shoulders stiffen as he took in the implications of Jagan’s off-hand reply. He didn’t know, he truly didn’t know. Jagan—rarely, if ever, careless—had assumed Tal and his rebels understood the workings of the ridó that protected them. In fact, until this moment, even Kass had not been certain Tal didn’t know the secret of Blue Moon’s very special force field. But, incredible as it seemed, it appeared he did not.

  Kass grinned into her hologlobe. Regs, even Reg rebels, tended to swagger, convinced they were the kings of technology. Yet Captain Talryn Rigel seemed to think the heavens simply opened up and allowed him through any time he wanted in or out of Blue Moon. Now there was a topic for tonight’s pillow talk.

  “Voilà, Cyros Zed.” Jagan’s hand rose in a dramatic magician’s wave. A circular shimmer popped up on her holo, almost dead ahead of Astarte’s icon.

  “Glad I didn’t place that bet,” Dorn muttered from his seat beside her. Kass caught an echoing chortle from Zee-Zee at Comm.

  Tal ignored the buzz. “Sound gate alarms. Helmsman, take us in.”

  Good. Tal was wasting no time on this final leg home. Without hesitation, he was entering a gate he’d never heard of, one that had been invisible only moments before. How very far he’d come from the Fleet captain who had a hunch that a Psyclid cadet had more to offer than quick wits.

  But just wait until they were alone in bed . . . Tal Rigel was in for a surprise.

  In the final moments before the icons for Cyros Zed and Astarte winked out as they plunged into the wormhole’s vortex, Kass saw Scorpio follow them in. If Jordana Tegge wasn’t what she said she was, Kass had to give the woman major points for sheer nerve. For even if her defection was real, she was blindly following Astarte into the unknown, with no idea of the secure, infinitely beautiful respite that waited at the end of this final tunnel through space.

  And if Tegge was playing a deeper game . . . ?

  Kass scowled at her now blank hologlobe, snapped it off. Blue Moon was now less than one Reg day away. Were they bringing home help or the seeds of destruction?

  If Tal had any doubts, he certainly didn’t show them, Kass thought some hours later, not even a single deep down qualm only a soulmate could find. He was S’sorrokan coming home in triumph, bringing the rebellion’s finest prize yet. They’d celebrated their entrance into Cyros’s protective cocoon with the best the ship’s chef had to offer, plus vintage lunelle and after-dinner ullali so strong it made Kass’s eyes water.

  And then they’d celebrated more privately, with Kass realizing for the first time how much of himself Tal had held back, the parts bound by duty, by worry, by what next? Tonight, however, he was all hers, every last micron of him. He saw only her, felt only her. Drew in essence of Kass and gave her essence of Tal in return.

  They had time, glorious, leisurely time to explore every inch of each other, flesh heating to incandescent, souls sparking off each other, merging into a glorious supernova of minds melding as perfectly as bodies. Soaring into infinity. Shattering. Drifting back down in a shower of sparks that seemed to light the room like fireflickers on a dark Blue Moon night.

  Kass blinked, clutched Tal tight. The sparks were all in her mind, of course, but they’d been so bright . . . “Tal,” she whispered, “did you see them too?”

  His chest still heaved against hers, panting for breath, but he managed to lick her earlobe. “I thought you made them.” His mouth brushed down her cheek, slowing to savor her lips.

  “Are you sure you don’t have a sorcerer somewhere on your Reg family tree? I think we came close to starting a fire in here.”

  “Metaphorically speaking—”

  “For real.”

  Tal chuckled and rolled off her, tucking himself close to her side. “There are many things I’m learning to believe, dushenka, but that’s not one of them. Not that the moment wasn’t very special”—he swooped in for a fast kiss—“but the only thing burning was us.”

  Kass wasn’t so sure, but the moment was too perfect for argument. But maybe—now that she was getting her breath back—this might be a good time for a bit of gentle teasing. Regulons were definitely too full of themselves . . . not that she didn’t love Tal just the way he was, but sometimes a girl just had to take any shot she could. Remind him S’sorrokan had met his match.

  “Tal?”

  “Um-m?”

  “Don’t go to sleep! I want to talk to you.”

  He draped an arm over her chest and gave her a quick squeeze, but not before she’d swear she heard him stifle a groan. “So talk,” he said, nuzzling his face into her hair.

  “Did you ever wonder how the ridó works?”

  “You want to talk about a batani force field?” Tal flopped flat on his back, the arm that had pinned Kass now draped over his face.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, “but today when Jagan told you the technology was similar to Blue Moon’s ridó, I felt your surprise. You’ve taken it for granted, haven’t you? A force field that lets rebels in and out with no problem, yet remains an impenetrable barrier to the Empire?”

  Tal lowered his arm, staring up at the ceiling. “And you’re trying to tell me what?”

  “By the goddess, Tal, did you think it sentient? Did it never occur to you that people, real live people, control it?”

  Tal groaned and sat up, feet to the floor, head in his hands. “Kass, this is a really bad moment to tell me I’m an idiot. But, yes, I assumed the blasted curtain was automated, programmed to keep the Empire out.”

  “It’s the best moment to tell you,” she countered. “Everything’s going right for a change—I’m not kicking you when you’re down—and, besides, it’s something you really need to know.”

  “All right, let’s hear it.” But he kept his eyes on the far wall. Her man was not happy.

  “How did you get to Blue Moon the very first time? Tell me what happened.”

  Tal steepled his fingers in front of his face and thought back to . . . chaos. “After we faked Orion’s explosion, we had a remarkably easy trip back from Nyx territory. At that point we seemed to have fooled everyone. I’d had almost two years to plan, two years of knowing what I wanted to do and figuring out how to pull it off. I knew exactly where to find a neutral dock where we could make the changes needed. And I knew where I wanted to go after that, the place I hoped to set up a base.

  “You see, I’d been on Psyclid years ago—not long, but long enough to get rid of a good deal of my Reg skepticism. And I’d been to Blue Moon. I knew it had no strategic importance and was almost certain the invasion had bypassed it. And I remembered the blue haze that obscured the surface. If we could get there, undetected, the rebellion could hide right under the occupation’s nose.”

  “Arrogant perhaps, but clever,” Kass approved. “But how did you manage it?”

  “I know now I didn’t.” Tal sighed. “But at the time—and until just now—I assumed it was simply Psyclid magic.” He shrugged. “After all, Regulons are raised on scary tales of Psyclid magic. Why shouldn’t I accept any magic that was obviously helping us?”

  “But how did you get in?” Kass prodded.

  “All was going well until Psyclid was in sight. We’d done all we could to disguise Orion, and I could only hope the Reg occupation force wasn’t
as sharp as the invasion force. That they’d accept us for a large long-hauler or a smuggler and ignore us. But I was still new to the game, not considering worst case, and I was wrong. Fate must have given us the sharpest watch commander in the occupation that day, one out to make a name for himself taking down a possible smuggler. He didn’t just send a frigate and fighters, he launched Procyon as well, a cruiser that just happened to be in port.

  “So there we were, totally outgunned, with no knowledge of your secret back door. It was hide behind Blue Moon’s haze or the rebellion was done before it started. Procyon threw everything she had up our tail—laser cannons, torpedoes, missiles. I shifted what little shield power we still had to aft and kept on going, straight at Blue Moon. Our choices weren’t many. We were going to be blown out of the sky before we reached that blue haze or—”

  “Or the ridó would open, Orion zip through . . .”

  “Except we didn’t know about your blasted force field,” Tal growled, “until your fydding ridó slammed shut in the cruiser’s face. It bounced and spun into space. I heard she eventually limped back to Regula Prime, more than a little dented.”

  “And you never questioned why Orion got through and the cruiser didn’t?”

  Tal lifted her on top of him with ease. Such a deceptively fragile little thing. “Wrong,” he told her, so close he was breathing into her mouth. “For months, every time one of our ships went in or out, I considered it a miracle. Or maybe there was no force field at all, and we’d been saved by some kind of Psyclid magic that repelled only the blasted cruiser. After all, Kass Kiolani had magic, and I accepted that Blue Moon did too. I assure you, by then ‘weird’ was looking good.”

  Kass kissed his eyes, his nose, back to his mouth. “No argument,” she murmured, “but it’s not quite as magical as you think. The ridó is, yes, a spell, a force field created by magic. It can only be set by someone who has that particular gift, and can only be breached by someone with that gift. But it’s not an uncommon talent. There have to be two ridó tuners aboard every one of our merchant ships—our merchant ships that used to be,” Kass corrected softly. “There is a control center where watch is kept every moment of every day. Your ships go in and out only if our people open the ridó. Each and every time. Just as Jagan opened Cyros Zed. It doesn’t work by itself.”

  Tal tucked Kass’s head into his shoulder and held tight. Here in his arms was the biggest miracle of all. “You’re saying,” he returned slowly, “that there’s a manned control center somewhere on Blue Moon staffed by Psyclids who perform mental gymnastics every time a ship goes in or out?”

  “Yes.” Kass gave a wiggle of satisfaction that for a moment sent Tal’s mind spiraling far from Blue Moon and its ridó.

  Forcing himself back to his role as leader of the rebellion, he added, “The rebellion owes its security to a bunch of Psyclid fre—ah—talents who allow us to come and go?”

  “Well . . . uh, yes, though I wouldn’t put it exactly like that. I mean, the enemy of my enemy and all that. The real hero is the person who gave the command the first time, the one who let Orion in when its only claim to sanctuary was Reg warships in hot pursuit. And that could have been faked.”

  “I suppose the control center has its share of empaths,” Tal mused, thinking out loud. Sometimes it was hard to admit there were skills in the world he’d never have. But even a mediocre empath could have picked up his desperation that day. They’d known he was running. Known Orion needed refuge.

  Some skills you do not have, but . . . Kass feathered her fingers down his torso.

  That’s right. Make me feel better.

  I had something else in mind for that. Kass ducked her head, kissing his neck, his upper chest. She slid toward his toes, her lips trailing over blond chest hair, his umbilical dent, his groin . . . But her goal didn’t need any help. By the time her lips arrived, he was hard and quivering. Grabbing her hips, he settled her on top of him, helped her move in the rhythm that would bring back the flame that consumed them. The flying sparks that lit his room and singed his soul.

  Tal’s last coherent thought: Well, fyd! Mondragon wasn’t the only one who could make magic.

  Chapter 29

  “Captain, do you have a moment?” Dorn Jorkan asked. “I have an addition to the damage report.”

  Tal shifted command to Mical Turco and led the way to the ready room. What new disaster plagued them now? They were in the clear, only twelve hours out. They’d had enough troubles for three trips, he really didn’t need more. Even for his best friend, Tal maintained his stoic captain’s face as they slid into seats at the conference table.

  “Something strange popped up,” Dorn said, “when we finished dealing with the emergencies and took a closer look. We were surrounded by five ships. We should have had damage three-sixty.” Tal’s First Officer shook his head. “But an anomaly turned up, a major damage gap on the port side. Astarte’s showing not so much as a dent there, and no more than residual interior damage from blasts elsewhere.”

  “Conclusion?”

  “There’s a Fleet ship with a severe targeting malfunction?” Jorkan suggested blandly.

  “Or?” Tal frowned. “You’re not suggesting our Psyclids interfered? Believe me, they were busy elsewhere.”

  “No, not Psyclid magic,” Dorn agreed. “I checked our databanks for idents on the battlegroup. The gap in question is large because it was the section under fire from Tycho.”

  Tal snorted. “You’re saying Tycho missed? Fleet’s newest battlecruiser, the Emperor’s pride and joy? A shot or two I accept, but not across the board.”

  “Told you it was an anomaly,” Dorn murmured.

  “There’s something you’re not saying.” Tal attempted to penetrate his friend’s bland façade. “You’re my First Officer, if you’ll recall. Your opinion, as well as your report, is a requirement of the job.”

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

  Malfunctioning trajectories. Tal almost smiled. Long ago and far away, and a very minor anomaly compared to failure of the massive firepower of a Fleet battlecruiser. “Does Dane Razo still captain Tycho?” Tal asked.

  “No. Latest intel says he retired six months ago. Alek Rybolt took command.”

  Omni! Alek, his roommate through three years at the Academy. Son of another long-time Fleet family and someone so entrenched in Regulon tradition that Tal had never dared approach him about joining the rebellion. But Alek’s gunners had not fired on Astarte. Or they’d deliberately missed. Or they were firing training loads.

  “Was Tycho simply unwilling to take us out?” Tal mused. “Or was she sending us a message?”

  “Hard to tell, but you might want to find a way to check it out,” Dorn drawled.

  A battlecruiser for the rebellion. The thought was damn close to orgasmic. Tal touched fists with his First Officer, who matched his excited grin. They’d had some bad, really bad, moments, but they were returning home triumphant.

  Kass stood at the open casement window in the Round Tower, gazing out at the colorful gardens and lush green landscape of the palace grounds. Today, for the very first time, Blue Moon’s mist failed to enhance the view with the unique wispy sheen she so enjoyed. Oh, the sun shone, the air shimmered, casting rainbow tints that should have taken her breath away. But in her heart, Kass saw more gray than blue, with hazy black swirls sneaking out of shadows barely visible from the corner of her eyes.

  Tal was angry. Very angry. And it was all her fault.

  How could he have thought . . . ?

  Of course he’d thought she would move into his expansive suite in Veranelle. She had lived with him openly on Astarte, so naturally . . .

  Kass picked up a small figurine from an etagère next to the window, sorely tempted to throw it through the open casement window onto the terrace below. Jade. Twenty-third century. Chinese Empire. Priceless.

  Dimi! She scowled at the offending carving and gently replaced it on the shelf.

  Why woul
d Tal not expect Kass Kiolani to stay with him? She was his woman now, her place by his side. In the royal suite. Dear goddess, in her father’s chambers! In front of people who had known her since birth. Yet how could he possibly understand her refusal unless she told him the truth? That he was bedding the Princess Royal of the Psyclid ruling family.

  How could she not tell him?

  But the words simply wouldn’t come. Returning to the Round Tower had been her only alternative. Temporary, surely. She could cajole Tal out of his sulk. Yet admitting she was Psyclid’s Princess Royal could cut their relationship off as if it had never been. Tal was so very . . . honorable. Kass Kiolani was fair game. Princesses were not. And worse yet, everyone would assume he was using her to enhance his position in the Hierarchy, that he was planning ahead, making certain he came out on top of the political maneuvering when the Hierarchy replaced the Emperor and the Council of Twelve.

  If that day ever came.

  So on their last night out, they’d quarreled. Bitterly.

  Kass crossed the room and sank onto the sofa. Tears welled as she recalled the first hot surge of romance that had swept over them right here, in this very place. Here, he had almost kissed her . . .

  Kass sighed, her insides cringing at the new reality. She’d tried to tell Tal why the Round Tower was always assigned to guests with the most roving eye, tried to explain about the secret passages, but he’d simply lost it. Tal Rigel, unshakeable starship captain, caught in a maelstrom of hurt and fury, enough to overwhelm her with guilt and send her running down Astarte’s corridors, pounding on Zee-Zee’s door at three in the morning.

  She was such an idiot. A disgrace to her name. Her real name. To the House of Orlondami.

  If Admiral Vander Rigel had not brought his family with him on that special mission to Psyclid . . .

  If she had accepted the life her parents planned for her . . .

  If she had married Jagan all those years ago . . . they might have a whole family of little freaks by now.