The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [178]
Yes, it was possible. It could be him. . . .
After an awkward moment, Rory stood. “Greetings, Peter and Estarra. I am glad you could join me in my Whisper Palace.” Was that a deliberate taunt?
Estarra responded curtly, “Our titles are King Peter and Queen Estarra.”
Before the boy could concede anything, Basil Wenceslas entered through a side door, dapper in one of his usual business suits. His expression was cold, though he managed to summon a small smile for the imagers. “Let us not begin this meeting with petty semantics. It wouldn’t set the right tone.”
Actually, Peter did not think the formal recognition of their titles was petty, and neither did the Chairman, but he decided not to press the issue. Peter said, “We would not want to diminish anyone’s enjoyment of this gathering. Thank you for inviting us to dinner, Rory.” He intentionally left out the word “king.”
Beside him, the Teacher compy gave a slight nod. OX himself had taught Peter that etiquette should be guided by local practices — and King Rory himself had established that titles were unnecessary tonight. By the narrowing of Basil’s eyes, Peter could tell he had struck a nerve.
The Confederation entourage filled the banquet hall, and they mingled with their Hansa counterparts. Sarein was sitting at the far end of the table, surrounded by (shielded by?) several ministers and minor functionaries. Estarra greeted her sister with great pleasure, but Sarein remained stiff and guarded, as if she had been allowed a strict quota of words during the event. “Welcome to the Whisper Palace, Estarra.”
Peter guessed that Basil had placed her in a straitjacket of rules and consequences as a condition of her attendance here. Estarra looked at her sister, clearly wanting to spend time talking with her, but that was not going to happen. Deputy Cain sat at the other side of the table, but he did not speak a word.
Leading Estarra, Peter walked directly to the head of the broad table, where Rory was seated. “Come, there is no need to be so isolated, Rory. If we move two of these chairs, there is plenty of room for the three of us to sit together, as equals.” He flashed Basil an icy smile. “In the spirit of cooperation and mutual respect.”
Peter’s protocol ministers quickly moved to rearrange the seats, while Sarein looked away, as if to hide an embarrassed smile. Estarra and Peter sat on either side of Rory, who had to be operating under a very strict set of guidelines, just like Sarein.
As the elaborate meal was served, one appetizer after another, colorful salads, cold and refreshing palate cleansers, a variety of meats, OX remained close to Peter. The Teacher compy carefully analyzed each course, screening it for poisons, hallucinogens, or any other dangerous chemical additives. As a matter of protocol, the servants dished the food from large communal plates, so that if one item were tainted, King Rory would receive a dose as well. Nevertheless, Peter wouldn’t have put it past the Chairman to give his patsy an antidote before the banquet or have him build up a tolerance to something deadly. On the other hand, though, Basil wouldn’t expect Peter to be fooled easily.
Peter still wondered why the Chairman had summoned them here. Was it just so that he’d have a chance to see Rory up close? The young man certainly did look like his brother. Every chance he got, Peter glanced at the other King, studied his mannerisms, his appearance. He couldn’t be certain. . . .
During the meal, Rory kept up a patter of shallow conversation, sidestepping any issues of substance and offering no hints about his past. He did not say a thing to try to convince Peter . . . which, in its own way, was all the more convincing. If this were a trick, Basil would have primed the imposter with a wealth of compelling little details. Peter dropped a few carefully veiled hints relating