Kass’s great-great grandfather, King Zahn, had ordered the terraforming of Blue Moon as a vacation site for the royal family. A place of rest from the demanding duties of ruling Psyclid, keeping aggression ruthlessly contained, and keeping magic alive. Consequently, there were no spacious temples or parks with open-air theaters designed to accommodate huge crowds for ceremonial occasions. Therefore, Kass chose to open Veranelle’s gardens for a service honoring Jordana Tegge. Jordana, the prickly loner, whose memorial service drew every last member of her own crew, Tycho’s crew, and strong representation from the crews of Astarte, Pegasus, and Gregor Merkanov’s frigate, Sirius. Surprisingly, Rand Kamal headed a contingent of Andromeda’s crew as well.
Honored guests and chief mourners were seated in a line of portable chairs in front of the large crowd for which there was standing room only. Most notable was King Ryal, whose wife, Queen Jalaine was conducting the service in her role as high priestess. Seated beside the king, Tal, Kass, Alek, and Gregor Merkanov. In the row behind, K’kadi, Alala, B’aela, and Anneli. On the end of that row, Jagan and M’lani, the tiny bundle in her arms already demonstrating royal manners by not uttering so much as a hiccup during what must have been a long forty-five minutes for a babe of two weeks.
Kass’s mind occasionally wandered as her eyes insisted on drifting toward her brand new nephew, Royan J’frey Mondragon. M’lani was the younger, yet she . . .
Tal was right when he’d told her to wait. In the coming weeks, odds were they’d all be dead. And yet . . .
I want one of those!
Babies were the future, the hope of the world. What was the point in overthrowing the Empire if there was no one to step up and march into the future?
You can’t have everything, Kass’s inner voice taunted.
No, but that’s not going to keep me from trying! Well . . . at least the Psyclid succession was assured. Barring total disintegration of the planet, that is. And what did it matter, after all? If Kass had no children, Blue Moon would revert back to the royal family, very likely to the tiny babe lying in M’lani’s arms.
But only if they all lived through the next few weeks. A period of tumult when Tal needed her. The rebellion needed her. She had to be content with the role she’d fallen into.
The role she’d chosen when she married Tal Rigel.
Tears misted Kass’s eyes. Fortunately, this was, after all, a memorial service. She was allowed to grieve.
Jalaine ended the memorial service for Scorpio’s captain with a fervent prayer, followed by the musicians breaking into a solemn, but stirring, dirge. King Ryal stepped forward, took his wife’s hand, and led the procession through an aisle in the crowd that parted before him as the royal couple approached. The other chief mourners followed Psyclid’s king and queen to the edge of the gardens where tables heavy with food and drink had been set up along the side of the castle. Only B’ram Biryani, Kass thought, could have managed refreshments for a thousand or more with so little fuss. Clearly, she didn’t pay him enough. She really should check on that.
Kass made her way through the crowd to Jagan and M’lani. She wanted to take the baby, now held by his father, and hug him tight, but all she said was, “M’lani, you must be tired. Jagan, why don’t you take her inside? Supper will be in the family dining room at eight.” Her eyes blurred as she watched them go. Would K’kadi and Alala be next? Was that the secret behind the Herc warrior’s importance in K’kadi’s life—the child or children she would bring to the Orlondami line?
“Dama Rigel—Kass.” Shaye and Talora Lassan stood before her, Dagg and his sons just behind. “We are so sorry. Captain Tegge is a great loss to the cause.”
Vulnerable as Kass was at that moment, words she might not have said under ordinary circumstances what came tumbling out. “I didn’t trust her at first. Finding Scorpio on X-33 was just too easy. I feared the Regs were setting us up. And now . . . well, it’s taught me royalty is not infallible. I make mistakes like everyone else.” Kass huffed a breath. “It seems so unfair that Jordana came this far with us and didn’t get to see the end.”
“I like to think she will see us,” Shaye offered. “Captain Tegge was a warrior. She will not abandon us.”
“A noble sentiment. Thank you,” Kass returned. “Talora, may I speak with you a moment?” Dagg, backed by his elder son Romy, took a step forward, as if in protest. Shaye gripped their arms, positioning herself between them. After a swift nod to Pieter to follow, she steered the Lassan family back into the crowd.
Kass led Talora away from the tables, not stopping until they were in the shadow of an archway a good thirty meters from everyone else. “Talora, this may not be the right time or place, but I must know if my brother has hurt you. If so, I am most terribly sorry. He is not always sensitive to the feelings—”
“It is all right. Truly.” Talora looked down, a secret smile tugging at her lips. There might have been a bit of mist in her violet eyes when she looked back up, but her words were steady. “It was my privilege to become close to Psyclid’s prince, to—ah—help him learn about matters his genius had somehow skipped over.”
“Talora, I know you must have been hurt by the suddenness of the wedding—”
“K’kadi saved me from King Nekator, Highness. And I assure you the people of Turus are hardy. We survive.”
In the face of pride like that, what more could Kass say, except, “Know that the captain and I appreciate the many contributions made by the Lassan family. We depend on Pegasus in the coming fight and in the future when we make our final run on Regula Prime.” Kass squeezed Talora’s hands, and as the girl turned away, never took her eyes from her retreating back. In spite of Talora’s words, there was something . . . unfinished about her relationship with K’kadi. Something that . . .
No, not again! Babies, romance—tangled or tragic—had no place in the here and now. They were at war, and nothing else could be allowed to intrude.
“Are you certain there’s no chance of finishing the ridó before the Regs get here?” Tal asked Jagan before they’d even finished the first course of the evening meal in the Orlondami family’s private dining room. Kass, M’lani, and Anneli rolled their eyes over the rebellion intruding on the dinner table, while Alala and B’aela leaned forward, eager to hear Jagan’s reply.
“If T’kal says no, that’s it. Engineering a force field strong enough to extend over oceans is slow going. On the good side, there’s not much the Regs can damage at the gap except water.”
“So why are my strategists so gloomy?”
“Because the edges of the ridó are vulnerable, or so Killiri says. No one can swear to what will happen, but allegedly, their Tau-15s could fly beneath it, or it could crumble, peeling back like an egg, leaving several coastal cities vulnerable.”
Tal swore under his breath. Despite long-running tensions between Jagan and T’kal Killiri, the Psyclid construction engineer had been a rock-solid spearhead of the Psyclid revolt. If he said Psyclid was still vulnerable, it was. “Jagan,” he said, lowering his voice, “would you like to leave M’lani here, perhaps Ryal and Jalaine as well?”
“They won’t stay, but M’lani?” Jagan glanced at his wife. “She and Royan will remain here if I have to lock them in. Thank you!”
Dessert was a generous helping of the exotically delicious tatifali, rare sweets Dagg Lassan had used to distract the emperor from Pegasus’s near crash landing on Regula Prime. Unfortunately, Kass had taken only one bite of the delicacy when Jor Sagan rushed into the room, making a beeline for Tal. Kass’s heart thudded; she almost choked on one of the sweets. No need to hear the words to be nearly certain what Sagan was saying.
Tal nodded. “Our informants tell us the Reg fleet is on its way,” he announced to the entire table. “We have just over a week to get everything in place. I suggest we finish our meal. It’s likely the last bit of gracious living we see for some time.”
But Kass had lost her appetite. She’d been so determined to become a
Regulon Fleet cadet, so thrilled to spend a summer aboard Orion, taunting Captain Talryn Rigel with malfunctioning trajectories. Surprised when her fellow students turned on her—all except Tal, Dorn Jorkan, and Mical Turco, who had saved her life. Later, when she’d gotten over the shock of finding Tal alive, she’d loved her unique role in the rebellion—amazed as her gift for telekinesis developed and she’d been able to save Astarte from the Reg battlegroup at Choya Gate. But now . . . Now each battle brought her closer to her father’s way of thinking. To rejecting violence. Finding another way. As K’kadi had at the battle for Hercula. As M’lani had at the battle for Psyclid freedom. Her sister could have blown every Reg ship out of the sky, but somehow the Psyclid rebels had found another way. As they would all have to do when they took the rebellion to Regula Prime, or M’lani would be forced to mass destruction, which would destroy her along with the Regs. A vicious circle of annihilation they had to avoid.
At the cost of Psyclid lives?
Yet Kass knew too many Regs—rebels and temporary converts—for her to consider all Regs who remained loyal to Darroch as enemies. They were people. Even the ones too weak or uninformed to stand up to Darroch. Even the sycophants at court, including Rand Kamal’s wife. And then there were the children. All the children. Oh blessed goddess, how do we defend ourselves without killing the parents of these children?
And the answer, of course, came back: You cannot.
Kass fumed. When I am empress . . .
And where had that come from? An imaginative figment straight out of one of K’kadi’s odder prognostications? More like pure fantasy. Even if the rebels succeeded, the power would shift to someone else—Vander Rigel, Rand Kamal, some unknown, unsung candidate brought forward as a compromise. That was politics, and politics was what rushed in to fill the vacuum when a dictatorship ended. Which meant anything could happen.
Kass smiled and made polite conversation. She smiled until she felt her face would crack, allowing it to droop only when she and Tal were alone. “You have no stomach for capturing a huntership?” Tal asked, his wry smile not quite making it to his lips.
“K’kadi is excited, B’aela grimly determined. I . . . ?” Kass shrugged. “When the time comes, I will be ready. Truthfully, I’m grateful you’re not asking me to splash them.”
Tal raised his brows. “Still hurting after all this time?”
“I become more like my father by the moment . . . but I won’t let you down.”
Tal folded her in his arms, rested his chin on her head. “I know,” he murmured. “Believe me, I know.” I have some orders to send, but I wouldn’t mind you waiting up for me.”
“Wake me if I fall asleep.”
“Promise.”
If they had only a few nights left in this world, Kass was determined to make the most of them.
Chapter 35
Two hours before they were to leave Veranelle for the spaceport, Tal assembled his battle team in the conference room. With the ruthless determination that had made him leader of a rebellion against his own people, he contemplated the questions that haunted him. The questions that kept him awake at night. The questions he would never share, not even with Kass. And yet he would not be doing his job if he completely ignored them.
First and foremost . . .
Would K’kadi hold up under an all-out assault against Psyclid civilians whose fear, anguish, and suffering would resonate through him like the thunderous resonance of all the bells at the Temple of the Golden Crystal ringing an endless peel?
Would Rand Kamal and his newly recruited crew on Gaia hold true? Or at the first shot, would they flip sides and fire at the rebels?
Had Jagan’s beast, updated and intensified by K’kadi, been seen one too many times? If it did not kill, would the Regs fear it?
Would the brand new, never tested Psyclid ridó hold up against the firepower of a Reg battlegroup?
And if it did not?
That one Tal shoved so far back of his mind that it was no more than a niggling ghost of thought. They could not fail. Psyclid, with its army of the gifted, was his secret weapon, the power that would overthrow the empire.
After the Herc and rebel fleets helped get them close enough to do it.
Tal made a silent apology to an oblivious Kass, who had just leaned over to speak to B’aela. She would not appreciate that his first thought was for victory, for preserving the power of the psychically gifted, instead of valuing an entire planet full of people simply because they were human beings.
He brought the meeting to order, going over each person’s role one last time. Every head nodded but Alala’s. Accustomed as she was to obeying orders, she had not protested earlier, but now, in desperation, she said, “Captain, I feel useless. ‘Stand by K’kadi’ is meaningless. I have no powers of the mind. I am a warrior with nothing to fight.”
Tal stifled the sigh that threatened to pierce his stoic military façade. “K’kadi has proved his worth many times over, but he . . . sometimes—ah—deviates from what is expected.”
Kass shot a look at her brother, willing him to understand.
Watchdog. K’kadi scowled, his lips curling in derision.
“M’lani and Jagan balance each other,” Kass said. “I like to think Tal and I do the same.” She carefully avoided looking at her husband as she said it. “Alala,” she added hastily, “it’s possible you are not as ungifted as you think. If you can just bring yourself to accept the concept of powers of the mind . . . ?”
Alala huffed a long-suffering sigh. “Very well, Dama Rigel, Captain, I will try.” K’kadi reached out and took her hand. For the first time since her marriage, Alala felt the peace of battle settle over her. An odd word to apply to war, but somehow no other description fit the moment. Battle was a known entity—something she had been raised to pursue. In battle all other worries fell away. The goals were clear. Do your duty, fight well. Win. And so she would, even though it appeared this would be the most unusual battle of her life.
As Tal wound up the meeting, he could only wish Alala didn’t look as pale and uncertain as he had ever seen her. Momentarily distracted, he almost forgot there was one more thing . . . “Rand,” he called to the admiral who was almost at the door, “a moment, if you please.
“Sit,” Tal said, waving Kamal to the chair next to his. Blue eyes met blue, Reg noble warrior to Reg noble warrior. Honor demanded the exchange, even if both understood the situation with brutal clarity. “I tell myself I fight the Empire,” Tal said. “Darroch and his minions are the enemy. But the truth is, a good many of his minions are our friends, people we’ve known all our lives, people we knew at the Academy, people we’ve served with. I know how hard it is to fire on friends. “Alek couldn’t do at Choya Gate. If he had, the rebellion might be a forgotten dream by now.” Tal allowed a grimace to flicker over across his face. “What I’m saying is . . . even those who volunteered may waiver when the missiles start to fly. I can still assign you to the north or south pole—”
“Warning noted, Captain, and appreciated. But I guarantee we won’t be firing practice rounds. And besides”—Rand offered a wry smile that lit up his Reg blue eyes—“Crystal City is what I know, the place and people that won my heart.”
After a long, searching look, Tal nodded and offered his hand. Two of the three most likely candidates to replace Emperor Darroch shook hands and headed for the door.
As all the members of the rebel command climbed into the lumbering armored vehicles that would take them to the shuttle, neither Kass, K’kadi, nor B’aela spoke of their father, King Ryal, far below on Psyclid. Or of Kass’s mother, the queen. Or B’aela’s mother, a high priestess of the Golden Crystal, also among the vulnerable millions about to feel the brunt, not of invasion but of deliberate destruction. Offering prayers in the privacy of their minds, the children of the House of Orlondami went to war, leaving only Anneli, M’lani, and little Royan safe on Blue Moon.
The rebel force that formed above Blue Moon consisted of
two battlegroups. Alpha Group was headed by the huntership Astarte, Mical Turco in command, with S’sorrokan on board as commander-in-chief. The battlecruiser Tycho, captained by Alek Rybolt, and the heavily armed Pegasus, commanded by Dagg Lassan, rounded out the warships assigned to protect the capital city. Tal had enough confidence in T’kal Killiri’s ridó that he ordered the remainder of his forces, designated Beta Group, to the gap. Ever cautious, he held Rand Kamal and Gaia in reserve, ready to swing to whichever battlegroup was under the most severe attack.
The “gap” was a strip of open ocean 800-kilometers wide at the equator, narrowing to almost nothing at the north and south poles. The huntership Scorpio—Dorn Jorkan at the helm and carrying Jagan Mondragon and his long-time associates, D’nim and T’mar—headed Beta Group, which included the frigate Sirius, commanded by Gregor Merkanov, and ten other ships, mostly armed merchants.
At a point three-quarters of the way to Psyclid, both battlegroups hovered, waiting for the Reg fleet to appear. Waiting to see how many ships, any indication of where the brunt of the attack would come. Would the Regs focus on Crystal City? Go for the gap? Or mount an unexpected attack on one of Psyclid’s lesser cities?
Tension escalated, all eyes fixed on hologlobes or comp screens, each bridge position silently vying to be the first to spot the black icons that indicated Reg ships. Not surprisingly, K’kadi spoke first, an oblique message for family ears alone. I did more damage than I thought. Or the emperor is a fool.
“Both,” Tal concurred, tossing his brother-in-law a swift approving glance. “Tactical?”
“Still counting, Captain,” Tac replied as the black icons began to pop up on hologlobes throughout the ship. “Two battlecruisers, three hunterships, five frigates . . . That’s it, Captain.”
“All concur?”
A chorus of “Aye, Captain” echoed from each station.
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 28
