The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Read online

  Unable to talk? Was she supposed to be moved to sympathy? Revulsion was more like it. The man-child far exceeded the weird she had been warned to expect of Psyclids. But the woman was still speaking and, consumed by horror, Alala had missed some of her words.

  “. . . Kass Rigel . . . ruler here. Please forgive our guards. They are very protective of their own. If you will come with me, I’ll find a place where you can be comfortable.”

  Ruler? This small scrap of a female in a blue jumpsuit ruled Blue Moon? The boy sorcerer was her brother? Alala suddenly longed for the secure cocoon of her cabin on board Tycho.

  “K’kadi,” the woman continued, her welcoming smile turning to a frown, “return to the helo at once. I will see to . . .?” She turned a questioning look to her guest, which somehow left Alala no doubt about the authority behind the polite façade. She snapped to attention, saluting with a slap of her right hand flattened over her leather breastplate. “Alala Kynthia Thanos, Colonel of the Herculon Seventh Penta.”

  She was accustomed to the look of disbelief. To shock so strong even a princess, queen, or whatever this ruler was called, could not hide it. With an imperious gesture, Alala snapped her right arm straight out at shoulder level. At a nod from Kass Rigel, one of the men responsible for taking her to the ground handed over her sword, hilt first. When it was safely back in its scabbard, a second guard stepped forward, offering the bow that had been torn from her hands. The witchboy watched, glowering, not moving an inch.

  “K’kadi! Helo now.” Staring his ruler straight in the eye, the young sorcerer made a grand gesture indicating the women should go first. Five seconds passed, in which Alala, amazingly, could feel the struggle between the two Psyclids. To her surprise, the woman called Kass gave in first, walking toward the helo, gesturing Blue Moon’s newest guest to a place at her side.

  K’kadi, azure eyes gone dark and grim, followed.

  Chapter 2

  Three Blue Moon cycles later

  Tal Rigel leaned back in his chair and inspected his old friend through eyes that had learned to search for every flaw, every possible weakness, ruthlessly putting aside all thoughts of family, friendship, or personal inclination. Alek Rybolt, Tycho’s captain, was thinner, paler—but then tanning wasn’t an option on a moon surrounded by a blue haze. His brown hair was taking on a shine again, and the intelligence, well laced with humor, that lurked in his gray eyes revealed that his body might have a ways to go in recovering from the crash, but his mind was ready for anything Tal might throw at him.

  “We’ve set a tentative date for the Psyclid take-over,” Tal said. “What’s the report on Tycho?”

  Eager as a cadet for his first battle, Alek shot back, “When?”

  “Shortly before the next Tri-Moon Festival.”

  “And that is . . .?”

  Tal did a quick translation of Reg and Psyclid moon cycles. “About four Reg months from now.”

  Alek slid down in his chair, cupping his boy-next-door face in the palm of his hand. Slowly, he shook his head. “You’re out of your mind. Half of my ship is still lying in a field, the rest a puzzle of pieces in spacedock.”

  “Astarte, Tycho, and Scorpio have the best engineers in Fleet. And what about the wrench-monkeys on the merchant ships that’ve joined us? They’re used to keeping their buckets of bolts in the air with nothing more than rusty parts and a prayer. Add in a few of Psyclid’s “gifted,” and my money says we’ll have Tycho back in one piece well ahead of the deadline.”

  “Eternal optimism, my friend—I guess that’s what it takes to run a rebellion, but Tycho’s still in a thousand pieces, wires trailing everywhere, viewports shattered—”

  “Worst case, we’ll postpone. But we’re doing this, Alek. We’re taking back Psyclid. Our first step on the long road to destroying the Empire—with Psyclids as our most powerful weapon. Just wait ’til you see what they can do—”

  Tal shot to his feet as the office door burst open and a female fury stomped into the room, her long black hair swirling around her head. Alek, still seated, swiveled around to stare at her. Grim-faced, though visibly resigned to the inevitable, Tal lowered the Steg-9 that had suddenly appeared in his hand and waved away the two guards who had followed the intruder into the room. This was not, after all, the first time the Herculon warrior had invaded the privacy of his office.

  Alala, seemingly delighted to find the rebellion’s two most senior officers in the same place, addressed them both, her liquid brown eyes spitting fire. “Captains, you must make him stop! He follows me everywhere, tells me I am his. He is a purveyor of magic, a monster. On Hercula we would roast him alive. If he continues this madness, I shall kill him!”

  Tal lowered himself into his chair, took a deep breath. Alek, momentarily distracted from Tycho’s woes, studied his boots in an attempt to hide his amusement at the sight of S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion, being forced to deal with his brother-in-law’s love life.

  “Sit!” Tal barked, indicating the chair next to Alek’s. Alala, anger still vibrating from every pore, lips formed into what could only be called a pout, did as she was told. “Colonel Thanos, I believe we have had this conversation befo—”

  “Yes. And still he does not stop!”

  “Visions of rainbows, flowers, and fireworks, the sweet sounds of viol and lutá are far from lethal, Colonel. I cannot consider them stalking.”

  “It is unnatural!”

  “I cannot argue with you there, Colonel, but K’kadi is a law unto himself. You are entitled to ignore him, that is your right. But since he is one of the rebellion’s most powerful weapons, if you harm him, you may find you have exchanged your luxurious accommodations for space in the brig. Is that clear?” Not that he’d actually do it, not when he needed the Herc’s help. But couldn’t the blasted girl be a bit more . . . flexible?

  Alala’s pout became a gargoyle grimace, her answer more mutter than militarily correct. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “I fully understand that you are a great warrior, Colonel, in spite of your youth. And I look forward to the time when we will visit your planet and ask for Hercula’s aid in our rebellion against the Empire. Captain Rybolt and I were also taught there was no such thing as magic, that Psyclids are flat-out weird, fodder for tales to frighten small children but no use in a fight. Cowards to the core. But you must appreciate that K’kadi too is a warrior. It is possible he and my wife saved your life by helping to slow Tycho’s trajectory on reentry. So, believe me, no matter how good you are, there is no way you are capable of doing what he can do just with the power of his mind.”

  “It’s true,” Alek interjected. “I was brought up to believe that magic is anathema. And I freely admit I’m still skeptical. But when I watch Psyclids floating parts into place on Tycho or see K’kadi paint strange and wonderful pictures in the air, I have to acknowledge there’s something solid, possibly even useful, about skills of the mind. Something we can’t explain, it simply is. I am hoping it’s enough to do what the Psyclids say they can do.”

  Alala extended her lower lip, crossed her arms over her chest. “No! It is wrong.”

  “Colonel,” Tal said, “you must accept that no one controls K’kadi Amund. His sister, my wife, comes the closest, but no one really understands what goes on inside his head. I promise I will speak to him. Again. But you must understand that when it comes down to the two of you, he is the more important weapon. I can go to Hercula without you. None of us have to admit we’ve ever seen you. Do you understand me? Tolerate K’kadi and all his idiosyncrasies, or you may never see Hercula again.”

  Even if he did not truly mean it, the message was clear.

  Alala’s shoulders slumped. Quiet settled around them as she sat unmoving, her face reflecting a barely contained outrage.

  “How old are you?” Alek asked. “Surely very young to be a colonel.”

  “Twenty-five, Captain,” she murmured, not raising her head.

  Tal did some rapid calculations. “The
Hercs have a shorter year than ours, so I would guess that puts you close to K’kadi’s age. I second Captain Rybolt’s question. How did you get to be a colonel at such a young age?”

  Alala, sensing where the conversation was going, snapped upright, brown eyes blazing. “Yes, my father is First Advisor to our king, but I am a colonel because I think fast and fight fiercely. And if you were imagining something more terrible than favoritism, let me assure you I am a virgin. I did not sleep my way to my rank!” Ah, good! She had managed to paint scarlet the faces of both captains. Served them right for questioning her rank.

  “You are dismissed, Colonel,” Tal snapped. “And don’t forget my warning.”

  After allowing just the slightest smirk to show, Alala bounded to her feet, saluted smartly, and marched out in full military mode, leaving both men to curse Vander Rigel who had saddled them with the termagant from Hercula when they needed to focus their full attention on the ending Regula Prime’s chokehold on twelve star systems, starting with freeing the openly eccentric citizens of Psyclid.

  Tal, after a long talk with his wife, and convincing her what he needed to say to K’kadi was best said man to man with no female interference, sent for his brother-in-law. His volatile, insouciant, enamored brother-in-law—may his incomprehensible if wonderfully shining soul be devoured by Sorian slimeworms!

  When the summons came, K’kadi considered transporting himself to the g’zebo in the forest. Or perhaps back to his bedroom in the house where he had grown up. His mother could always be counted on to understand his moods . . . But she’d likely heard about Alala—was there anyone on Blue Moon who had not?—which meant there would be questions. A torrent of questions because she would be so ecstatic he had discovered girls. At long last, goddess be praised!

  Scowling, and well aware he looked like a reluctant schoolboy about to be chastised for a serious infraction of the rules, K’kadi followed the messenger back to Tal’s office. Sometimes it seemed this was the story of his life. K’kadi Amund, who never got things quite right. K’kadi, who was allowed to play with magic but never taken seriously. K’kadi, the artist, the clown. The unreliable. Nobody seemed to remember the times he’d helped. The times he’d held the shuttle invisible on Psyclid—without incident—the night of Jagan and M’lani’s secret wedding, again on the night they rescued the hostages. And the night he and Kass helped save Tycho.

  Truth was, even his own family didn’t fully believe. And more and more, he himself had begun to wonder. He had been so certain, so absolutely certain the visions he saw would come to pass. But now . . . Perhaps, as some people said, he really was crazy. A damaged soul fit only to entertain. Certainly, unfit for a statuesque warrior like Alala Thanos.

  No! He was K’kadi, only son of Rigel, king of Psyclid. He must remember that.

  K’kadi stood tall, defiant, before the rebel leader, torn by doubts but too much the proud son of a king to show them. When Tal waved him to a chair in front of his desk, K’kadi managed to retain his stiff-backed pose, though without his brother-in-law uttering a word, he already felt as battered as the krall his sister had once repeatedly tossed against a wall. K’kadi’s lips suddenly twitched as he recalled the tale that said Kass had also smacked the deadly snake in the face of Tal’s mistress. Good, that was better. Acknowledging that the great Tal Rigel had faults made it easier to accept the lecture he knew was coming.

  Except it wasn’t. At least not yet.

  “K’kadi,” Tal said, “we’re about to begin the long, hard road to freeing twelve star systems, starting with Psyclid. And you are one of our greatest weapons. Even Jagan admits that your gifts are extraordinary, and they seem to be growing exponentially. I count on you as one of the most vital members of my team. You will go with us when we check out possible back doors into the Regulon system. And you’ll be with us when go to Hercula, hoping for an alliance—”

  Hate me.

  “The Hercs fear magic, as Regs do. But some of us got over it. So will the Hercs.”

  No.

  Tal frowned. “Is that a vision, K’kadi? Or defeatism because Alala refuses to see the light?”

  K’kadi slumped in his seat, shaking his head. Not sure.

  “Which proves you’re human, like the rest of us. And a woman has you twisted into knots.” Tal drew a deep breath. “K’kadi, you know the drill. We’ve had this conversation too many times over the last few months. We’re about to take the first giant step toward freedom, and we need you fully functioning and able to focus. At the moment that’s not happening.”

  Guilty as charged. No longer able to meet Tal’s gaze, K’kadi studied his booted toes.

  “K’kadi . . . ?”

  Tal’s voice had taken on such an odd tone K’kadi felt forced to peer up at him, curious about what was coming next.

  “Have you—ah—ever been with a woman?”

  He could feel hot color shooting from his toes to his head, undoubtedly turning his pale face the vivid shade of a Psyclid sunset. Maybe his white-blond hair as well. Fizzet! How could Tal ask him that?

  “Ah—what I’m trying to say is, a little experience might help. Let off some of the pressure, help you concentrate. I mean, I’ve seen the looks women cast in your direction. There’d be no lack of candidates.”

  K’kadi pushed himself up from his chair. Standing at attention, eyes fixed over Tal’s head, he said, No. And no. Alala mine. Only Alala. By far the longest speech he’d ever made.

  He turned and headed for the door, back stiff, not an illusion in sight.

  “K’kadi!” No one, not even the son of a king, ignored Tal Rigel when he spoke in the voice of S’sorrokan. K’kadi skidded to a halt. Scowling, fists clenched, he faced his brother-in-law.

  “I am tempted to applaud, but we’ve done that all too often, encouraged your childishness when we need you to be a man—both as a family member and as an asset to the rebellion.” Tal frowned, drummed his fingers on his desk, obviously searching for a new angle on the problem of the bastard boy no one understood. “Tomorrow morning you will report to the training ground, where I will assign someone to teach you how to develop your body as well as your mind. Not only for your protection as you accompany us to Regula Prime and Hercula, but it just might help your love life. Attempting to court a woman who is stronger than you are is perhaps not the best choice you’ve ever made.”

  K’kadi hung his head, knowing he was getting off lightly. Again. And besides, he suspected Tal was right. Alala would never respect him until he had skills she could understand, not talents she feared.

  Want her love me.

  A shadow passed over Tal’s face. Regret? Understanding? One of the ever-present voices in K’kadi’s head taunted, Are you saying your powers are so weak you cannot become strong in body as well as mind?

  K’kadi stood straight, looked Tal in the eye. I be there.

  As K’kadi exited the room, less defiantly than he had entered it, Tal slumped in his chair, staring blankly at one of the landscapes on the wall, trying not to picture Kass’s reaction when she discovered he had sent her physically and emotionally fragile baby brother to boot camp.

  Chapter 3

  Ten days before Psyclid Freedom Day

  Tal, Kass, and Jordana Tegge, captain of the huntership Scorpio, stood at the front of a large crowd gathered before the clear crystos wall at Space Dock Four, high above the surface of Blue Moon. The voices around them were subdued, anxious, prayerful. This was the pivotal moment they’d been waiting for. Despaired over. Hoped to exult over. Yet worry clutched at everyone’s heart, the cold fingers of possible failure tightening around their throats. Would Tycho fly?

  On the other side of the window wall, the battlecruiser’s lengthy bulk, polished to mirror perfection, stretched before them. The countdown to launch had begun. Kass squeezed Tal’s hand. “You’re letting Alek do it alone?”

  “His ship, his launch. He doesn’t need me hanging over his shoulder.”

  Of course Tal woul
dn’t push his way into the rebirth of Tycho. She was Alek Rybolt’s ship, and Alek would take her out. Or not. Either Regula Prime’s newly resurrected battlecruiser moved or it didn’t. Or it managed a hundred meters before it exploded, taking the space station with it.

  K’kadi, Kass noticed, had been totally silent on the subject. Not a single vision of Tycho, whole or shattered. Because he was too distracted for visions? Because he was sulking? Or because the news was so bad he felt he couldn’t share it?

  In need of a distraction herself, Kass turned to Jordana Tegge. “Does Alek really believe she’s ready?”

  Though born on Epsilon 3, Captain Jordana Tegge met all the criteria for heroic Reg warrior—blonde, blue-eyed, and built on the lines of the Valkyrie tales from ancient earth. Any doubts Kass had about the former Reg Fleet captain’s loyalty had long since been put to rest, but many considered Tegge cold and hard, a difficult person to get to know. In spite of her high rank, and even after well over a year’s acquaintance, Jordana Tegge maintained a military correctness in her attitude toward Blue Moon’s ruler. Kass had once thought the captain’s coolness might be due to an interest in having Tal for her own, but recent events had made her think otherwise. For days after Tycho’s crash, while her captain teetered between life and death, Jordana had never left his side.

  Tegge, a full head taller than Kass, looked down her well-shaped, aristocratic nose and said, “You are mistaken if you think Captain Rybolt confides in me, Your Highness. I assure you he avoids me as assiduously as your brother chases after the Herc.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Kass, caught off guard, fought for clarity and found nothing but murky waters swirling around her feet. “I—I thought since you are the only captains besides Tal . . . I mean—um—you were at his bedside constantly—”