The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [231]
“The people have endured enough turmoil, and it would help with continuity,” Estarra said. “He’ll serve as a bridge between the old Hansa and the new Confederation.”
Later, soldiers lined up to hold back the crowds and the newsnet imagers for the abdication ceremony. As he and Estarra stood with Rory under the bright lights, Peter could see that the young man was sweating heavily. He looked so much like Peter’s lost brother that the cruelty of Basil’s trick burned like salt in a wound. But it wasn’t Rory’s fault.
Peter spoke quietly, so no one else could hear. “I hold no grudge against you. Don’t be ashamed.”
“I didn’t ask to be made King, you know.” Rory still wore his royal clothes. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret some of the things I did.”
“No one understands that better than I do,” Peter said.
“I’m glad the Chairman is dead. I don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Rory’s dark brown eyes looked up at him. “I don’t know how you were strong enough to stand up to him.”
“Sometimes I don’t know either.”
Basil’s portrait in the boardroom had been labeled “the last Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League.” That room had been sealed off. Eventually, the gallery might prove instructive as a place of historical significance, but for now Peter didn’t want anyone staring at Basil’s portrait.
Earlier, he and Estarra had attended the subdued and poorly publicized funeral of Chairman Wenceslas out of a sense of obligation. As far as the King could tell, no tears were shed. Though Sarein had the opportunity to join them, she could not face returning to Earth yet and chose to remain aboard the Jupiter. She would soon go home to Theroc. Colonel Andez might have been the only person who wanted to attend the funeral, but she and her cleanup crew had been arrested and charged; they were locked up awaiting trial.
Now, in front of the crowds, Peter and Estarra took their seats on adjacent thrones, while Rory faced them standing. The boy had memorized his lines for one last public presentation. The audience fell into a hushed anticipation, and Peter gave the young man a slight encouraging nod. Rory removed the intricately worked gold crown that rested atop his dark hair and held it up as if a great weight had been taken from him.
He said in a loud, clear voice, “The Hansa and the Confederation must have one leader, one true King. I did my best to guide the Hansa, but now that we have sailed safely through those troubled waters, I yield to you, Peter. I abdicate my throne and give you this crown for safekeeping.”
Peter accepted the crown and laid it on his lap. Applause swelled among the viewers, growing even louder as Rory dropped to his knee in a gallant, and unrehearsed, gesture of fealty.
Peter said, “The Queen and I ask that you continue to serve your people and help them feel welcome in the Confederation.”
“Always, sire.”
“Then rise with our blessing.”
A gala reception took place with dignitaries and bureaucrats from the Hansa as well as representatives from across the Confederation. Green priests had already spread the word throughout the colonies.
Deputy Cain came up to Peter. Rather than seeking power, Cain was now more interested in acquiring, and enjoying, additional classic art for his Velázquez collection.
“What else will you need before taking over the Whisper Palace, sire?” he asked, holding but not sipping his champagne. “Will you reclaim your quarters in the old Royal Wing, bring your son here? The people of Earth would surely welcome you. They are ready to have their King and Queen back.”
Estarra looked at her husband. “We didn’t talk about that, Peter.”
In addition to the occasional lunar fragments that still slipped through the vigorous search nets, the loss of the Moon had left the Earth unsettled, with sporadic tremors and quakes. Peter had assigned teams of Hansa scientists to make projections of the climatological and seismic consequences, and many Roamer scientists had already volunteered, eager to sink their