Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [222]
The final battle was just beginning.
He signaled the individual commanders. Jora’h could sense that he held them all again, firmer than ever in their devotion. “By order of your Mage-Imperator, these warliners are now under the full control of Adar Zan’nh.”
“These ships were the only defenses remaining on Hyrillka,” Zan’nh transmitted to his father. “We now have the capability and the obligation to retake this planet.”
All across the cohort’s warliners, Solar Navy soldiers cheered aloud.
Wide open and sensitive, the Mage-Imperator felt a desperate wordless cry emanate from the citadel palace below, vibrating through the broken strands all around him. Through the instantaneous connection of the thism, Rusa’h sent his urgent need like a thunderbolt, a desperate demand for reinforcements. Jora’h felt it like a shout in his mind.
And, with his forty-five stolen warliners, so did Prime Designate Thor’h.
Chapter 113—KING PETER
The halls of the Whisper Palace were not safe even late at night. A disguised King Peter slipped alone through the corridors, taking a roundabout way to the meeting place. His hands were clammy, his breathing shallow. Anyone who stopped to question him would notice him sweating. He wondered if this was how Prince Daniel had escaped a few days ago.
Deep in a dead-end hall in the basement recesses of the enormous structure, Peter found the storage room without difficulty. He couldn’t remember ever having walked these levels before, but OX had provided detailed directions, which the King memorized, then destroyed. He didn’t want to carry anything incriminating, in case suspicious Hansa officials or royal guards encountered him on his nighttime stroll.
Estarra was extremely nervous about what he intended to do. Again while swimming with the dolphins, the two had used their secret sign language, then talked in only the barest of whispers, breathing into each other’s ears. King and Queen needed to form desperate alliances and gather defenses against the Chairman. Peter would not let any harm come to Estarra’s and his unborn child, and he’d finally been driven to take this terrible chance.
The storeroom door was unlocked, as arranged. Peter opened it slowly, still expecting a trap, his mind racing to concoct a viable excuse. Inside a chamber crowded with boxes, sculptures, and paraphernalia, he saw one shadowy figure.
“Ah, welcome, King Peter. I’ve been expecting you.” Eldred Cain looked ghostly in the faint light, his features pleasantly gnomish. “Any evening spent looking at art objects, even ones that are mothballed and hidden away like these, is time to be treasured. I’ve long wanted to share these things with someone of sufficient understanding and open-mindedness.” The deputy ran his gaze up and down the King’s casual disguise. “Are you that person, Peter? Or must I call you Your Majesty even in this private meeting?”
“Peter isn’t my real name anyway—as you well know.” He closed the door behind him, giving them complete privacy in the art storeroom.
The previous day, when Basil had announced his intention to force an abortion upon Estarra, Peter had realized he had very little time. Using OX as a go-between who would not arouse suspicion, he had approached the deputy and requested a brief, off-the-record conversation. He was sure Cain could read between the lines. “I am taking quite a risk just seeing you here, Mr. Deputy.”
“Likewise.” Cain turned his attention to a dusty sculpture of a woman holding a bowl of grapes. “You have no reason to trust me. None whatsoever.”
“I trust no one in the Hansa, yet I need some sort of ally or advocate. You have always seemed a reasonable man with measured responses, someone who considers his words before speaking.”
Cain’s eyes twinkled. “Such compliments. Perhaps I should be King.”
Peter