King's Sacrifice (50 page)

But he had to
rouse himself, get rid of what felt like the goose-down comforter
inside his head. He recalled yesterday's awakening, recalled seeing
Bear and his hulking sons indulging in what passed for a shower bath.
They stood naked in an enclosed courtyard beneath a barrel of water,
perched precariously on a roof. At the signal, servants upended the
barrel, sending a cascade of water, mingled with chunks of ice, down
over them. Dion, watching yesterday in mingled awe and amusement, had
shuddered at the thought.

Today, grimly,
gritting his teeth together to keep them from chattering, he stood in
the courtyard, the cold wind cutting through his flesh to the very
bone and gasped in shock as the deluge of icy water thundered down on
him. Shaking his head, blinking and puffing and doing a little dance
to warm himself, he groped blindly for a towel, was nearly knocked
over by one tossed at him.

"Thanks!"
Dion managed, huddling thankfully in the soft woolen fabric, drying
his face.

"I've heard
of guys taking cold showers after a date, but don't you think this is
carrying things a little too far?"

Tusk, enveloped
in his fur-lined parka, was staring at him in horror.

Dion laughed.
The cold water had felt good, invigorating. It dispelled the clouds
in his head, banished the nightmares. He was young, he was king,
Kamil loved him. That was all that mattered. He rubbed the rough
towel briskly over his skin, watched it glow red with the exertion.
His body dry, he ran the towel over his mane of red hair, emerged
with it flaring out in all directions, like the rays of the sun.

Grinning, he
snapped the towel at Tusk. "C'mon. You should try it."

Tusk, shivering
in his heavy coat, clasped his arms around himself, shook his head.
"I'm a married man, kid. I can't afford to freeze my balls off.
Though, considering the night I spent, I don't suppose it would much
matter if they got frozen off here or up there." He nodded
gloomily in the general direction of the bedroom.

"You and
Nola had a fight?"

"I s'pose
so," said Tusk, shaking his head in perplexity. "I'm not
sure. If we did, I wasn't there."

"Don't
worry," Dion counseled, feeling suddenly old and wise,
knowledgeable and experienced in the ways of love. "Whatever it
was, shell get over it. Women do, you know." Throwing the towel
back at Tusk, Dion began to get dressed.

Tusk eyed him
suspiciously. "What happened to you, kid? Last night you looked
like someone'd just shot you."

Dion hadn't been
going to tell anyone, but now he found he couldn't keep his love a
secret. It seemed that it must be written in the sky above, flaring
across it in rainbow colors by day, flashing across it in sparkling
starlight by night. Dion paused in the act of putting on his shirt,
apparently oblivious to the chill wind stinging his bare flesh.

"Tusk,"
he said, coming close to his friend, speaking in an excited
undertone, though no one was around to hear them, except the
servants, and they were refilling the barrel with water, "I
asked Kamil to marry me last night."

He stood back,
waited eagerly for Tusk's reaction.

"You did,
huh, kid." Tusk eyed him speculatively. "What'd she say?"

"Yes!"
Dion could have sung the word, thought it should be sung. Speaking it
seemed so inadequate. "She said yes!"

"Yeah, I
coulda probably guessed that," Tusk replied.

It occurred to
Dion that his friend wasn't responding in quite the proper spirit.
"Tusk! Come off it. Don't look at me like I decided to jump off
the battlements! Remember how you and Nola felt, the first time you
met?"

"Yeah, we
hated each other's guts."

"Oh, yes,
that's right," said Dion, momentarily deflated. "But after
that—"

"Kid, Nola
told me this morning what she said to you. Didn't you hear any of
it?"

Dion was silent,
finished dressing, tugging the heavy shirt over his head. Sitting
down on an upended barrel, he pulled on his socks and his boots. "I
did, Tusk," he said, more soberly. "I thought about it, I
really did."

"How long?
Two seconds?"

"It was
just that—When I saw Kamil I—We met in the hall last
night, purely by accident—

"And your
hormones got the better of you."

"It's not
like that!" Dion flashed angrily. "It's—Oh, forget
it! Just forget it! I shouldn't have said anything. Don't tell anyone
else, will you?" He glared at his friend. "Promise?"

"No, kid, I
won't tell anyone else," Tusk said with a sigh. He laid a hand
on Dion's arm. "I'm real happy for you, kid. Honest. I hope
everything works out. You've been through a lot. You deserve it. You
really do."

"Thanks,
Tusk," said Dion, putting his hand over his friend's, squeezing
it. "I—I'm sorry for what I said. I'm glad you know. I
haven't told you—I guess I hoped you'd knew— but through
this all—everything I mean, not just this—you've been the
one person—well, Nola, too—that I've felt like I could
count on. Lady Maigrey, Sagan, even General Dixter— they all
want something from me. You never did. You were just there ... for
me. And I guess what I'm trying to say is that I appreciate it—"

"All right,
kid, all right," broke in Tusk, wiping his nose, clearing his
throat. "Next thing I know you'll be askin'
me
to marry
you!"

"No, I
won't! Ever!" Dion laughed, then sobered. "You can tell
Nola. And tell her thanks for her advice, but, by then, it was
already too late."

"I think
she knew that, kid," Tusk said, remembering the tears in the
night. "I think she knew it all along."

Breakfast was a
noisy, boisterous meal. Unlike evening's supper, which was a time for
relaxation and family gathering, breakfast was haphazard, grab it
when you came, sit if you had time and stand if you didn't. Sonja and
her women hastened to and from the kitchen, where kettles of water
were being heated for laundry. Bear and his sons and several cousins,
who had arrived early that morning, discussed their plans for the
day, all talking—or rather shouting—at the top of their
lungs. There was to be a hunting party, and spears and knives
clattered on the table, excited dogs nipped at their heels, snapped
at each other, and tried their best to urge their masters up and
away.

Kamil was going
on the hunt and Dion longed to go himself, though he rather doubted
his ability to help net and spear a wild boar. But he had his duty to
perform, arrangements to make with DiLuna and Rykilth.

"Well be
going on our own hunting party soon," the Bear reminded him,
with a wink. He was also forgoing the hunt, remaining behind to offer
counsel and advice.

Dion and Kamil
said little to each other during breakfast, fearing that if they said
anything, too much would follow. They contented themselves with
exchanging glances and smiles, each fondly believing the secret
locked safely within, neither realizing that it shone from them like
sunlight breaking through the clouds.

Sonja and her
husband did their own share of glance exchanging. Sonja shook her
head, shrugged, smiled, and seemed to say, "What did you
expect?" The Bear, alternating between frowns and grins, tugged
so frequently at his beard it seemed likely he would pull it out by
the roots.

Amid a clatter
of spears, barking, roared laughter, and the inadvertent overturning
of several chairs and a cousin, the hunting party left the castle.
Dion was aware, for the first time in his life, of the sense of
family, of home, of love and joy and pain and sorrow shared, not
borne alone. He held the toddler—wailing dismally over being
left behind—and watched Kamil leave. Dion thought ahead to
evening, when she would be back and they would sit together at the
table, bodies near but not touching or perhaps hands clasped beneath
the cloth, where no one could see.

He knew
happiness in that moment, not bliss or rapture or joy but happiness,
plain and simple. He was content. He wanted nothing except for this
moment to last forever.

Die now!

The words came
to him in Sagan's voice, startled the young man, cast a shadow over
his heart. In ancient Greece, this call had been the response to
great good fortune.

Die now!
For you can never be as happy as you are at this moment and it would
be better to die with this feeling in your heart than know the
bitterness of its loss.

Tusk was at his
elbow. "We got a message, kid, from the Lady Maigrey. She has
the ship, they're ready to make the Jump. She wants to know if
everything's okay on this end, when you expect to rendezvous ..."
Tusk paused, added with significant emphasis, "
if
you
expect to rendezvous."

Dion set the
toddler on his feet, bid him run to his mother, and followed after
the Bear up the winding stairs to the tower room. And there came, in
the whistling of the wind through the cracks and crannies of the
castle walls, the urging voice of fate.

"Die now."

Entering the
room with the high-tech equipment, Dion was forced to pause a moment
to reacclimate his thinking, wrench himself back to a former life
that suddenly seemed sterile and cold and achingly lonely. He told
himself it would be different, now that he had Kamil. Everything
would change for the better. But he found himself staring at the
vidscreen with a feeling of dread.

"Baroness
DiLuna, standing by, Your Majesty," said one of Bear's sons
through his translator.

Bear, Tusk, and
Nola were waiting, watching him. Dion sat down, clasped his hands in
front of him.

"Very well.
Put her through. Baroness," he said with a cool smile for the
image on the screen. "It is a pleasure to talk to you once
more."

"What
pleasure either of us derives from this conversation remains to be
seen . . . Your Majesty," DiLuna said with a slight inclination
of her helmed head and derisive laughter in her eyes.

Dion, lost in
his dream of happiness, was wearing blue jeans, a homespun tunic
loaned to him by Sonja, who had told him, with a knowing smile, that
Kamil had woven the cloth. Dion instantly realized his mistake. He
should have been wearing his dress uniform, the purple sash, and
other symbols of royalty. He had committed a serious tactical error,
lost ground before the battle even began.

Sagan would
never have made such a blunder, Dion told himself bitterly, or let me
make it. What was I thinking about?

He knew, all too
well, what he had been thinking about. Nothing for it, but to make
the best of it. He relaxed, appeared supremely confident that what he
wanted, he would obtain. This meeting was, after all, a mere
formality.

"You
received my report on the status of affairs, Baroness. You know where
we stand, the danger we are in. I've told you about Abdiel, the head
of the former Order of Dark Lightning. I've told you about the scheme
he has for turning the space-rotation bomb plans over to the enemy. I
trust you have gone over my proposal on how to deal with him,
Baroness. I know I can count on your aid in this time of crisis. When
may I expect your ships to join the fleet?"

"When I'm
damn good and ready to send them," DiLuna responded.

Dion replied
with a frown. "Are you telling me, Baroness, that you are
refusing to come to my aid? Are you saying that the promises you made
meant nothing to you? Or is it, perhaps, that your promise means one
thing when all is safe and secure and quite another when there is
danger? Is this the honor of the people of Ceres?"

The baroness was
an experienced warrior, not to be tricked into losing her temper,
making wild swings that would leave her open to an opponent's skilled
verbal thrust.

"My
promise, Your Majesty, was to support you in a battle against the
corrupt government of this galaxy. In such a war, we would stand to
gain a lot—restoration of star systems taken from us unjustly,
a reopening of trade routes now closed to us, increased power in the
galaxy. My people and I are willing to risk our lives and money for
that. But this war you are proposing! You offer us nothing except the
opportunity to die so that
you
might wear a crown on your
head."

"I thought
I made myself clear, Baroness," said Dion, controlling his
growing anger. "The threat to our galaxy is very real. You know
the power wielded long ago by those of the Order of Dark Lightning.
The opposition of the Blood Royal alone kept them at bay and,
eventually, that failed. Is there any doubt in your mind, after
reading my report, that it is Abdiel who has long ruled this galaxy?
That Peter Robes is nothing but a husk sucked dry by the mind-seizer,
a puppet who dances at Abdiel's bidding?

"All Abdiel
needs is the space-rotation bomb and he will blackmail the remainder
of the galaxy into submission. And, unless we stop him, he will
obtain it. Or, as seems more likely, the Corasians will wait for him
to acquire the plans and then they will build it themselves. We have
the chance to stop this now, to crush it!"

Dion clenched
his fist. "We have a chance to prove Peter Robes is a pawn of
the mind-seizer. Yes, that will mean putting the crown on my head,
Baroness, but you will have everything you want and everything will
come to you in peace, without turning the people of the galaxy
against each other in a bloody and bitter civil war."

DiLuna gazed at
him, cold-eyed, speculative, then, suddenly, she smiled.

Dion, not liking
that feline smile, tensed.

"Lord Sagan
has taught you well, Your Majesty," DiLuna conceded. "I am
impressed. Your plan is a good one. I have no objections to fighting
the Corasians, and then have the grateful citizens of this galaxy
shower on me what otherwise I must take by force. I have no objection
to placing the crown on your head. You have the makings of a strong
king. But you must admit that what you ask goes far beyond what I
ever promised. I know I can win a war against the puny armies of the
Galactic Democratic Republic. I'm not certain about defeating the
Corasians in their home territory. This battle you propose will cost
a great deal more in money and lives than war here at home.