Coalition 02.5 - The Kingbird (2 page)

“
Paraclon’s
working on it,” said
Dax
, lounging with every appearance of indolence on the couch.

Shaylah
wasn’t fooled. She knew him well now, knew that he could—and would—erupt into swift, decisive action in a fraction of a second, given the need.

Sometimes she wished Dare would even pretend to relax like that. Perhaps some bit of it might become real. But he took his duties as king beyond seriously, and she knew that he was half the reason Trios was on her way to recovery. The other half of the reason for
Trios’s
survival was the indomitable spirit of her people. They may have slept too long, may have taken their freedom and safety for granted, but once awakened they were as fierce and courageous as their ancestors, who had founded this world that gave so much to all other worlds in the system.

“I’m weary of this balancing act,” Dare said as he turned once more on his seemingly endless crossings of the room.

“There just isn’t enough power to do all four at full strength,”
Dax
said reasonably. “We can have long range sensors, shields, winter heat on full, and no fusion canons, or we can have half shields, half the sensor range, no heat, and all fusion canons at the ready, or everything on at one quarter, or any other combination that adds up. The total never changes, you know that, Dare.”

“The winters are getting better as Trios heals,” Dare said, still pacing. “But we need more power, and we can’t get to enough
nitron
to refine for fuel. We have to do something, we can’t have people choosing between staying warm or staying safe.”

His people. He didn’t say it, but
Shaylah
knew he felt responsible for their welfare. His family had ruled Trios for generations, but always at the will of those people, who had the power to make a change at any time they didn’t feel well served. It had never happened.

And Trios herself was healing. The destruction the Coalition had wrought on this beautiful planet had changed everything, including the weather, but things were gradually righting. Still, twice in the last decade the winters had been exceptionally harsh. The first time they had still been in the caves, which were closed in and easier to heat. Dare had seen to it that sufficient stores of food had been prepared so no one went hungry, although the long season had shortened many tempers.

But last winter had been nearly as bad as that legendary one, and they were back in
Triotia
now, in buildings that required more to keep them livable. So they had opened this very room to all, because through a trick of clever design and use of a certain
Triotian
stone, it stayed warmer than most. It had become a shelter for nearly five weeks.

Toward the end tempers had again been a bit on edge until
Dax
—of course
Dax
—had managed to turn it into a party of sorts. He’d done something he rarely did publicly, and brought out the ancient
dulcetpipe
to play all the classic songs of Trios he could remember. Those who had never seen their rowdy, powerful Defense Minister—although he eschewed the title and called himself merely the
flashbow
warrior—play the delicate instrument were startled into silence. Those who had seen him play before broke into smiles the moment they saw him carrying it. And
Califa
had sung to the gathering, something rare enough—and beautiful enough—to calm them all.

“The shields draw a lot of power,”
Califa
said now. “But we daren’t let them lapse. Coalition sensors could pick it up if we lower them and if they happen to be close ...”

“They could be here before we could re-engage them. You’re right,” Dare said.

Shaylah
stayed silent. There was nothing she could add that they didn’t know; there wasn’t enough power to do everything, not yet. So instead of speaking the obvious, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the small miracle the exchange had reminded her of. Dare had truly and fully forgiven her dearest friend.
Califa
, who of all of them had journeyed the farthest to become what she was now, a loved and accepted
Triotian
. Accepted even by the man she had once, in Coalition eyes, owned.

The man she herself owned in truth. Her Wolf.

She smiled inwardly at the thought, and of how often he had told her she did indeed own him, in ways the Coalition had never thought of, could never in their cold-heartedness begin to imagine.

“Not forgotten,” Dare had told
Califa
on the day he had healed enough to do it, “but forgiven. It no longer matters.”

And
Shaylah
had never been prouder of her friend than in the moment she had stood tall and faced a king to say, “It shouldn’t be forgotten. It is what we’re fighting against.”

Dare, still pacing the room restlessly, looking for an answer they had yet to find, reached the far end. As he turned to start back, he stepped into the shaft of sunlight that shot through the arched window at the end of the room. It lit him up, made his
Triotian
hair and skin gleam golden.
There
, she thought. There, like that, is how he should pose for the official portrait he kept putting off. The master artist who had painted the royal family for a century had been killed in a Coalition attack, but there were others nearly as good. But still he had resisted having that portrait done. He insisted he did not have time for such things. Which was one of the reasons she persisted; to pose for a portrait he would at least have to stop moving.

It had taken her a while to realize he was resisting because he didn’t yet feel worthy, and would not until his people’s lives were once again made as whole as possible. Perhaps she could convince him that the ten year anniversary of his return, coming up soon, would be the time. On a sunny day like today, no hint of shadow still hovered other than the distant threat they all knew.

“The excavators are still trying,”
Califa
said. “But moving that debris is a massive undertaking.”

“And they tell me blowing it out of the way would fuse the
nitron
,”
Dax
added, sounding regretful.

Dare’s mouth quirked.
Shaylah
smiled inwardly. Of course that would be
Dax’s
first thought. “Itching to blow something up, are you?”

“Always,”
Dax
admitted with a grin.

“Like father like daughter,”
Shaylah
said.

Califa
rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, her mouth twitching at the corners as
Dax’s
grin widened.

“That’s my girl,” he said.

She’d explained what had happened in
Paraclon’s
lab, smiled when
Califa
said she’d gone too easy on them, grinned at
Dax’s
ill-disguised laughter, and laughed in turn herself when Dare had dryly pointed out he would expect no less from the offspring of the man who had nearly destroyed half this very room as a boy.

“They seem to be in rare form of late,” Dare said.

“Yes,”
Dax
agreed. “More so than usual.”

“I’m not sure why,”
Shaylah
said. “We’re well into spring. They’ve had plenty of time to burn off what appetite for mischief they built up during the winter.”

“I’m not sure they ever burn that off,”
Califa
said, her tone wry. “Perhaps we should up their time with
Denpar
.”

“More gymnastics?”
Dax
lifted a brow. “They’re already climbing the walls.”

“They’re frustrated.”

All four of them turned to look at the young woman who had, until now, remained silent in a shadowy corner of the room. Only the gleam of her short cap of golden hair was clearly visible.

“What do you mean,
Rina
?”
Shaylah
asked, glad the girl had finally spoken. She’d been unusually somber lately, and unwilling to discuss whatever was bothering her.

“They know you’re trying to protect them, not just from what’s happening, but from even knowing about it.”

“They are but children,” Dare said softly.

“We are at war. They can’t be only children,”
Rina
said bluntly.

She rose, took a few steps toward them. She looked around at them all. She was part of this family, they had all made sure she knew that, but
Shaylah
wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t have faced them down as intrepidly had she been a stranger in front of the highest seat of power on Trios. In fact, she knew she would, for had the girl not done exactly that when
Dax
had first brought her home, and he had been on trial for his life?
Rina
Carbray
was a lot of bold in a small package.

“They feel helpless to do anything about what’s happening to them and around them. They want to help, they want to do something. Anything. But they can’t. They just have to sit and watch those they love do battle and pray they come back.” She glanced at
Dax
. “Trust me. I know a lot about that feeling.”

“
Rina
,”
Dax
began, but then stopped. Everyone in this room knew the story, knew how
Dax
had rescued her from Coalition hands at no small risk to himself. And how, thinking Trios destroyed and her people dead, he had kept her with him on his forays as the most hailed and feared
skypirate
in the system.
Shaylah
could imagine how the child she’d been had felt as the one solid presence in her life, the one person she felt connected to, had risked his life time after time, leaving her behind to wonder if he would come back alive.

“This wasn’t just mischief,”
Rina
said. “Lyon’s a good talker, but he doesn’t lie. They wanted to strike a blow.”

Shaylah
listened intently.
Rina
knew their children better than almost anyone, since she was their chosen companion whenever a third was allowed to share their amazing bond. She was closer to them in age than the rest of their extended family, and she still had a spark—well, more than a spark—of her old troublemaking skills herself.

“What would you suggest?”
Califa
asked.

Her voice was quietly encouraging. She was as close to a mother as
Rina
had ever known since her own had been killed by the Coalition long before
Dax
had found her. For all that
Shaylah
had found it unlikely, becoming both an adoptive and biological mother had softened the very core of the woman who had once been the coolest, most calculating officer in the Coalition forces.

“Give them a job, a real job, that’s more than just freeing
Paraclon
to work,”
Rina
said.

“Such as?”
Dax
asked, one brow arching upward but his tone mild.

“There must be some annoying little thing you or the king must do that’s crucial but simple and you’d be glad to be rid of it.”

“There are countless things that fit that description,” Dare said dryly, making them all laugh. “But I’m at a loss to think of one this moment that would be ... safe enough.”

“I think she’s right, and we shall have to think of something,”
Shaylah
said. “Thank you,
Rina
.”

The girl—young woman now—smiled. And
Shaylah
realized it had been a while since she’d seen that charming, impish smile.

Shaylah
brought it up in a quiet aside to
Califa
as
Rina
went to refill her glass with the lingberry juice she loved.

“Is it my imagination, or is
Rina
a bit glum of late?”

“It’s that time of year. It always takes her that way.”

Shaylah
felt remiss for forgetting, no matter how busy her days had been since the last attack.