by Blaze Ward
Tooked her six weeks instead.
Whoopsie. Was supposed to be only about two months along right now. Not waitin’ for the turkey timer in her belly button to pops.
“We will need to fit you again two days before the wedding,” Vibol said. “That way I can get a good fit and your daughter will not be uncomfortable during the ceremony.”
“How’s you knows I’s havin’ a girl?” Moirrey asked.
She’d no told many folks. And asked Jess and Marcelle and Desianna to keeps it secret secret.
But Vibol just looked at her with that Vibol-magic of his and smiled. Dinna help when Marcelle startin’ snickerin’.
Vibol put a hand on her belly, just belows her belly button.
“The jacket will end about here,” he announced with certaintude. “The tunic and pants can be redone to hang better, and I will add panels to the seams of the jacket. No. No, a second jacket would be a better decision. That way you will have one that fits your normal shape, and a second in case you need to attend a formal affair or a clan war with one of your next children.”
“How many’m I havin’?” Moirrey asked, a bit perplexed at his pronouncement.
“It matters not,” Vibol fixed her with a deadly-serious smile. “I do not expect you to stop with one, and I cannot see Lady Moirrey of Ramsey taking up the more sedate duties of an Imperial Matron. Thus, you must look stunning at all times. In all conditions.”
Stunning.
Yup.
Moirrey looked over at Desianna, wearing the same outfit as were gonna get redone for her. Stunning only began to face you the right direction with her.
Like watching the sun come up on an early spring day when the fog were just hangin’ on.
Brown leather lace up boots to the knee. Gray britches tucked in, and sewed with cord rather than thread. Gray-blue long-sleeved shirt with crimson vines embroidered on both sleeves. ’Cept it hung long front and back like a tabard, resting on her hip bones and comin’ to mid-thigh.
O’er that, a white-gray jacket with diamond quilting pattern vertical. Simple shell with seven crimson buttons, no collar, and a crimson cord around all seams. Matching collar on the shirt underneath, stuck up as a mock-turtle.
The best part, however, were the two swords she were gonna wear on a belt ’round her hips. Made by none other th’n Fourth Saxon Legion’s Armorer, Michelle Ali al-Inverness. Moirrey ’spected that chick to retire and go inta private practice soon, making boatloads o’cash from Impies and others willing to have custom swords. Jessica and Casey both had a pair afore this. Now she, Desianna, and Marcelle did as well.
World were weird when you hadta decide which sword went best with a formal gown fer a party on a starship.
Moirrey figured if Desianna could be stunning, then she and Marcelle could as well. At least her salt and pepper hair were growed out nuffs to pull back, like the other chicks. That had been Jessica’s one demand, although she mighta said something about not getting yerself preggers, too, had she been thinking.
’Course, Moirrey were the only one might’ve fit that category. Marcelle, Desianna, and Jessica were all past time they wanted kids. Casey needed to be proper married off afore she could enjoy the better parts of womanhood.
Whoops.
“Yes, you will be stunning,” Vibol reassured her.
He gave her a hand down so she could be ground level again, and not a statue-like Buddha being fitted.
She watched him circle the other two women, just tracing a touch across their clothing, as if the cloth itself might tell him what changes it needed.
This were Vibol. It might.
“Ladies,” he bowed at the waist and withdrew from the room.
Moirrey stripped and climbed back into a more comfortable sun dress that didn’t have a belt ’rounds her thick parts.
“It’ll be fine, Pint-sized,” Marcelle chuckled as she changed.
“Says you,” Moirrey laughed with her. “You no’ be a waddlin’ penguin when time comes.”
“Ha,” Desianna joined them. “I’ll have a whole other set of grandchildren to spoil. The only question will be where you and Digger finally settle.”
“Dunno’s,” Moirrey shrugged as they emerged into sunlight. “Like Vibol said. Not sures I wanna settle. Maybe we’ll buy a big yacht and sail a circle ’tweens Fribourg, Lincolnshire, and Corynthe. More fun that way. Then I gots all the aunties to spoils ’em.”
The other two women laughed with her as they made their way across the square in the hollow circle of several armed and mean men. Galaxy were safe from stupid robot god Buran didn’t mean galaxy were safe.
Lady Moirrey of Ramsey might hafta stay involved. At least until she were too old and tired to cause trouble.
If that day ever came.
CHAPTER VII
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC MARCH 12, 405 CITY OF CORYNTHE, PETRON
IN THE END, they had decided to handle precedence by chronology. Denis knew that none of the four of them were Torsten’s first choices, at least as tradition would have handled the matter. At the same time, he didn’t feel like a backup plan, so much as a recognition that everything in Torsten’s life had turned completely upside down in an afternoon when a mad god had tried to kill the Empire.
Two Wardens for each participant was the traditional number for a Skuodas wedding. Two friends willing to stand up and pledge their own honor on behalf of the two being wed. When clan honor might be at stake, especially in the old days, as such a wedding might have been a political affair to seal treaties.
Denis supposed that you could squint your eyes and turn your head a little sideways, and see something similar here, as he watched from the back of the stage. Guests filed into Jessica’s adapted throne room and filled the grand space on temporary seats brought for the occasion.
Corynthe had never gone in for some of the old religious trappings, so there wasn’t a grand cathedral, like in Penmerth, or the gorgeous edifice that had died with Werder. No place to sit a thousand people at once, because the pirates didn’t do it that way. Only the Queen sat, and her designated advisor and successor, David.
So the Republic had sent along a freighter loaded down with party supplies as a partial wedding present. Enough matching, folding chairs to fill Jessica’s throne room and let everyone sit.
And this had turned into an Event, as well as an affair of state. He knew just how to squint to see that part.
First Centurion Jessica Keller, Republic of Aquitaine Navy retired, marrying Admiral of the White Torsten Wald, Fribourg Fleet retired, and taking power as Queen and Royal Consort of Corynthe. With one thousand or so of their closest friends in attendance, and thousands more outside watching on giant screens erected on the main square, or being broadcast across the planet and recorded to send to the galaxy.
If this was chaos, Denis could only imagine what Casey’s would be like, adding a full Coronation Ceremony to the wedding.
The funny part of the affair, which Denis and the other men giggled about in private, was that a different precedence held for the women. Thus, he ended up with Casey on his arm, last in line to enter, rather than Vo getting her. The general stood right in front of him escorting Moirrey. David Rodriguez with his mother Desianna, and then Gerhardt Wald, Torsten’s father and an older version of the man who had been a book-keeper rather than a naval officer, escorting Marcelle.
All the women in Jessica’s life that had made major contributions and been her closest friends.
On Torsten’s side, the chronology was Jessica’s, as well. Denis had met her first, on the day he and his officers decided to play a minor practical joke on their new commander, before they discovered who she really was.
Vo, then a simple security marine helping interrogate a prisoner taken on Ramsey, en route to Sarmarsh IV and eventually Petron. And legend.
David Rodriguez, son of Arnulf, King of the Pirates and his First Wife Desianna, first met at Petron as part of a Grand Promenade to maybe help make Corynthe a p
lace, and not just a vision in Arnulf’s head.
And then St. Legier, where Jessica met Torsten. And altered the future of so many lives from what they might have been.
“What evil thoughts are making you smile so, Uncle?” Casey leaned close to whisper in his ear.
Uncle. Yes, he supposed so. That would put him into company with Emmerich zu Wachturm, watching them from the front row of the audience, in loco parentis for Casey, across the central aisle from Indira Keller and Jessica’s brother Slava, sister-in-law Sasha, and the three kids, now all teenagers. Torsten might have asked the Grand Admiral to stand up here today, but had wanted Denis to have his place with Jessica to the end.
“Imagining what you and Vo’s will be like,” Denis leaned closer and whispered back.
“Just be thankful you don’t have to convert,” she chuckled. “Doesn’t matter what he did before. Vo will still have to join the Kirk as part of the ceremony. Lots of others will take the chance to renew their oaths as well, so it will be hours of sitting, singing, and religious lectures before we even get to the Coronation itself, let alone the wedding. Wear comfortable shoes.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Denis smiled.
“I’m just sad that Moirrey’s kids won’t be old enough to have a place in the ceremony,” Casey spoke up just enough to have Vo and Moirrey glance back.
Moirrey rolled her eyes instead of commenting.
“We’ll just have to settle for Heike’s daughters, Lady Moirrey,” Casey teased.
Heike Wachturm. Henrietta Anne Wachturm-Hourani. Youngest child of the Grand Admiral and close enough of a cousin to have been Casey’s babysitter when she was younger.
The audience was still filing in and finding seats, so Denis looked out over the mob to see all the old faces. Nina Vanek and Tobias Brewster were out there. The Senate had formally bought the old IFV Vanguard, now RAN Vanguard, and made good Jessica’s field promotions. Fleet Centurion Denis Jež was now retired, but he had retired from that deck. Command Centurion Nina Vanek had her now, and the crew. All were in good hands.
On the other side of Nina sat Arott Whughy, now a First Centurion like Jessica and the odds-on favorite to become next First Lord of the Fleet when Petia Naoumov retired in a few years.
Directly behind them, in line together as always, Tomas Kigali, Robbie Aeliaes, and Alber’ d’Maine. All still in black and green as Command Centurions, although Tomas was also retired these days, unwilling to command an escort team for some Fleet Centurion he didn’t respect, which was most of them.
Phil Kosnett might qualify. First Lord had personally rewarded the man after his Court Martial found him Not At Fault and in fact Representing The Highest Standards of the Navy for the events after his Scout broke down. He commanded a Heavy Cruiser Squadron these days as a Fleet Centurion.
They had all moved on. First Expeditionary Fleet, as it had crossed the frontier into Fribourg space all those years ago, was no more. Parts of Tom Provst’s old squadron were overhead today, and Reif Kingston was in the audience on the Bride’s side, Jessica’s last Flag Captain.
But the world had changed again, as Jessica liked to say, a phrase she picked up originally from Bedrov.
First Expeditionary had been the right tool at the right moment in history. But the two wars they had fought were over, and promotions had set in. Hardie Glenraven and Arsen Lam had their own boats now. Alber’ still had Komal MacInerney, but she would be senior enough to move on soon, as well. Possibly when Alber’ finally got pried out of the command chair and sent to teach tactics at the Academy.
Kigali had refused such a promotion, and retired. Threatened to take command of Jessica’s new civilian Dreadnaught everyone was talking about, and sail it counter-clockwise around the galaxy for her.
Denis hadn’t decided if he wanted to accompany them, or just go home. Unlike many of his fellow officers, he had never married, always too busy babysitting well-connected fops in the Strike Carrier Auberon days.
Before Jessica. Since then, being her right hand.
“When are you having children, Uncle?” Casey whispered in his ear.
He wondered if she was reading his mind, but decided that the conversation had just gone there from Moirrey. She and Digger had started things, but there would be others.
Denis turned to the woman on his arm and couldn’t decide if he was looking at his niece or his Emperor. She had both people in her eyes right now, glittering at him with a suppressed grin.
“I would say that I needed a wife first,” he replied in a quiet tone. “However, that would probably just set you to making lists of available women to introduce me to.”
“Me?” she asked in mock embarrassment. “Never. Do you prefer blonds or brunettes?”
Denis chuckled and shook his head.
“I’ve already lost, haven’t I?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Casey grinned. “Without employers dictating your every move for once, perhaps you could visit St. Legier after this?”
“Should I be afraid of Imperial Marines kidnapping me off the street next week?” Denis grinned back. “Shanghaiing me in the dead of night?”
“Would that assuage your guilt at not being at Jessica’s right hand anymore?” she teased.
Both their faces turned serious for a moment. A truth a shade too close to home.
“That’s been the last fifteen years, Casey,” Denis said. “Before Jessica, others. Not sure I know how to be on my own.”
“Do you need to return to Aquitaine immediately, Uncle?” the Emperor asked, still serious. “I would be happy to find you a place on my flagship. And introduce you to all manner of available, beautiful women looking for connections to the throne. Wanna become a Duke by marriage?”
He smiled at her, but that was such a monumental step that he felt his face freeze.
Denis had no idea how those sorts of people lived, having grown up, like Jessica, a Scholarship kid. Middle-class, a half step above Jessica’s lower-middle-class upbringing. Identified by the tests at twelve and given the opportunity to go to Navy-sponsored schools and the Academy if he wanted.
Commissioning and eventually First Officer on an outdated Strike Carrier on the quietest border Aquitaine had. And working under fools like Augustine Kwok.
Until First Lord Kasum had needed a sword for his finest warrior, Jessica Keller.
And now the Emperor of Fribourg offering to set him up on blind dates. The galaxy had indeed changed.
“Maybe,” Denis offered, unsure himself.
Too many years subsuming himself to someone else’s needs.
It got worse when she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
He was saved from answering by the sudden swell of music that drowned all conversations and then fell to silence.
From the rear of the chamber, a single figure entered. The double-doors were five meters tall, arched at the top and plated in chrome and gold over a solid, steel core. They had been left open, draped with bunting and decorations Moirrey had supervised, unwilling to trust men pirates to get those sorts of things right.
Across the space, down the central aisle, Denis found himself facing the Court’s Herald, Girisha Dhaval Misra.
Jessica had inherited the man, along with the rest of the Court infrastructure when she first took the throne twelve years ago. He was one of the few pieces that had remained, after Jessica and Desianna had finished reorganizing things to suit their desires.
He had been an older man with a noticeable limp and a shaved head then. He appeared to have achieved timelessness today with a roguishly impish smile and a decidedly excited twinkle in his brown eyes, visible from this far away.
He walked up the center aisle with a pomp that would have impressed folks on the Senate floor on Ladaux, dressed in robes vaguely reminiscent of a Roman toga, another nod to Aquitaine’s adopted past and inspiration. As always, Misra carried his lovely carved-wood walking staff, a carryover from that old limp, even after it had healed. Tradition had turn
ed it into his badge of office. He smiled at the side of the stage where the group of them were waiting in the wings, nodded formally, and turned back to the room.
The tremendous thump of his staff, capped in Sanskrit-carved bronze, echoed through the larger chamber now filled with witnesses. Denis was always impressed by how quiet everything got when he did that. Especially in an auditorium this loud filled mostly with strangers.
“Her Majesty arrives,” Misra commanded into the vast space. “All hands to stations.”
On the floor of the throne room, all the guests rose as one, still facing forward, although there was some confusion. Mostly civilians who hadn’t read the details on the little program cards handed to everyone by ushers when they entered.
Gerhardt Wald moved on some unheard signal. Probably Misra down at the center as the Master of Ceremonies. He and Marcelle moved to the center of the stage, turned once towards each other with a nod, and then split and moved to their respective flanks.
David led Desianna next. Vo and a very-pregnant Moirrey.
Finally, Denis stepped forward, leading the Emperor of Fribourg by Grace of God, Karl VIII, to the center. He smiled at her and took two steps back to stand next to General Vojciech zu Arlo, her fiancé, and wondered again what their wedding would be like, especially if they had to top this.
And whether he should take her up on the offer of a ride to St. Legier and an extended tour of all the sights. With all that it would entail.
Misra was listening to something. Probably a watcher with a microphone feeding him maneuver details, as he responded the moment Denis and Casey were situated, without once glancing back.
That bronze-tipped staff slammed down on the floor again, and the audience turned to the rear, about as coordinated as a group of naval officers could, rather than Vo’s folks, who did it sharp and crisp. But they had been drilling for that sort of thing on the way out here, from the rumors Denis had heard.
Wanted to make their boss look good. As if that was a risk with this audience.
Miguel Keller appeared at the grand doorway with Jessica on his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, Denis saw Torsten join them up front, having been secluded until this moment for the ceremony, as was traditional as well. Weird people, but it wasn’t his day.
