BOOK 0: FIELDS OF FIRE Chapter xiv

One day, the Insa sent out an excited message to the king and in no time, word passed around the rest of the Armada. The bran section among the hydroponic crops matured into a bumper crop and harvest time was at hand. The Freen also announced the sea life proliferated to the point that the excess of protein-rich pantele was ready for netting and consumption. The Thuringi would be self-sufficient again, and the severe rationing and constant servings of friaks would ease. It was the best of news, news that made Lycasis say a deep, heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving on Remembrance Day.

Lycasis recalled Festival, the yearly celebration of crop harvest that was observed around the world on Thuringa. It had been years since the last observation before the ecological bombardment by the Shargassi. This was the news that could bring the Thuringi people hope again, to lift their spirits. Thuringa the planet was dead, but the Thuringi people survived and would flourish as surely as the bran and friaks and panteles. He studied the flight charts and duty rosters and realized his plan would be easy to carry out. Lycasis announced throughout the Armada the Festival of Harvest would be renewed in observance of the successful crop production. Those listening to the announcement over the com looked at each other in astonishment and growing excitement as he continued. Festival in space!

There would be contests of consue skill, as in the old days. There would be music and dancing. There would be athletic contests and art displays. There would even be, albeit with temporary goalposts, a makeshift Kellis field on Hanger Deck Three on the Quantid. Lycasis could hear the roar of approval down the hallway from where he sat on the bridge. Even his officers on the bridge smiled from ear to ear.

“It is the sorely needed tonic that our people have needed,” Oriel told him that evening.

It was exactly that. There was a happy snap in the air that was not there before. They were no longer merely existing or surviving. They were living. The optimism of a tomorrow was in the spring of every step. Even though there would be no gakki races or pistol target contests, what was planned was no less because of those omissions. Every cadet wanted to represent his training group well, and each worked eagerly to ensure that their best effort would be on display for the consue contest. It was always the highlight of each class’s training to demonstrate their skills at Festival, and this was their chance.

The athletic contests were pared down and tailored to the confines of being shipboard. There would be no two-hundred-pound stone to throw; instead, there would be an air filtration pump that was in the process of being repaired that weighed approximately two hundred pounds and was easier to grip. There would be no Dorea pole climb, but there would be the scaling of several pipes that were the approximate size and length required. There would be a wire walk and running contests and a quasch match in which opponents wrestled each other. The art displays were not a contest per se but the competition to produce the most attractive work brought out the competitor in even the most pacific of souls.

Then there was Kellis.

Kellis was the favored sport of Thuringa, the national sport. The ball was the approximate size and shape of a head, and it was not unusual for a player to find himself in the middle of a quasch during a game with his own head seized by mistake. The women of Thuringa did not play Kellis except with each other, although they were welcome to join the men. Naturally, they would be welcome, especially by someone like Darien Phillipi. He was a known ardent Kellis player and an especially skilled seizer of women’s bodies. For that reason, most women's teams preferred to play in competition with other women.

Kellis had long been a sport between the factions of the warriors, the farmers, the watermen, the herdsmen and civilians of all persuasions but on the Armada these distinctions were blurred. Lycasis declared that teams would be decided among the players themselves, and all groups could be comprised of anyone, from any place. It promised to make for an even more exciting event than before. The strength of the warriors and the farmers were usually on par with the agility of the herdsmen and the watermen or the cunning of the civilians but putting all those elements in each team left the outcome wide open to anybody’s guess.

The music would be the last activity in the throne room of the Quantid and adequate gathering places on each of the GPQ’s. Festival on Thuringa used to last three full days with much eating and drinking and competition. This revival would last about five days, since space on the ships was limited and there would be elimination rounds accordingly.

Lycasis ordered the activities broadcast to the ships so no one would miss Festival. Pilots scheduled in an event traded duty with someone who was not. Hartin Medina was especially willing to switch his pilot’s schedules, and the reason was clear: Hartin was a feverish Kellis player and his Wild Factor team was a wild card in the standings. Yes, Stifflip Medina could bend after all for the sake of a game of Kellis.

Tomas Hellick also agreed to unbend for his squadron’s benefit, but it was for the fact that Lycasis expected it of him and not because he was fond of his crew. The rest of the Armada was composed of eager spectators, ready to cheer wildly for anyone and everyone who strode up to challenge others.

Original artwork was displayed all over the Quantid hallways and observation decks, and all Thuringi were able to see it. Lycasis never realized how many artisans the Thuringi embraced; he always attended the sporting activities before. The portrait of Maranta from the throne room was on display, along with other works by the same artist. One sculptor, intent on sprucing up her humdrum quarters, created a marvelously intricate door of woven crystalline fibers. Using her laser pistol and refuse from the air filters, she created a fabulous design the length and breadth of a door. The fact that the door did not have the standard lock was apparently not a problem. In fact, it warmed all Thuringi hearts to learn she met her devoted heart’s love in her quest to gather fibers for her design. Curious at first and willing to help her, he eventually offered his heart. The 'Courtship Door', as it was called, was brought to the Quantid for the duration of the display.

Lyra Medina created a wall hanging composed of tufts of fabric arranged to form a design. Up close it was impossible to tell there was a design at all. From a distance, however, it was obviously the image of a Kellis player carrying a ball upfield. It was also obvious who that Kellis player might be, and Hartin Medina had never been so pleased with his daughter.

The athletic competition began and in a wonderful keeping of tradition, a Shanaugh emerged triumphant in the wire walk. A Garin came in second in the two-hundred-pound toss. It certainly was not Glendon, although he gave it his best try. He and Gareth entered the contest on a whim, and neither could heave the engine any further than ten feet.

“I am no better than a rag for the dallahs to chew,” Glendon wheezed and Gareth nodded, indicating that he felt the same. Lycasis himself only managed thirty feet, without using Arda power in order to make it a fair contest. The winner turned out to be a medical surgeon and it was fast becoming a tradition for Sandan Medina, Hartin's son, to excel at contests of strength. His launch was sixty-five lengths, five better than the last Festival contest fifteen years ago.

Glendon was on hand for the consue competition as an instructor and as the father of one of its best cadets. He and Janis watched with increasing pride as Echo rose through the competition standings, besting her opponents with unnerving swiftness. It was her chief defense; pound for pound, she could not out-muscle the bigger ones for long, so a quick strike at the beginning of the match was her game plan.

It was unimportant to Lycasis that his grandson Erich was not among the quarter finalists in Trip-Your-Brother. Erich acquitted himself well throughout the matches, eliminated only when he did not pull back fast enough from a thrust and tumbled off the two-foot-high beam. Lycasis thought Erich did exceedingly well. Erich also knew he did well. He took a tip from his grandfather and concentrated on cheering Echo.

In the end, Echo did not make the final round. Her opponent had ample opportunity to study her technique and was ready for her quick opening move. He wore her down before he struck her from the beam. She landed with a great thud but staggered to her feet to offer her hand in congratulations. He took it and she pulled him off the beam. It made no difference to the outcome, but the crowd cheered her brash move as she went to join her parents on the sidelines.

Darien was there with his wicked smile. “Very nice, little Garin. You will be my Naradi yet.”

“I will be only too happy to, Prince Darien, as long as I do not have to guard you on the Kellis field," she replied brightly.

“Oh! She is a wit!” he began, and then grew thoughtful. “Yes, Kellis. I must prepare for the match. Come with me, child. I will show you how a sport is done.”

“What sport?” Janis asked to make sure Darien Phillipi only spoke about Kellis to her daughter, and not something more primeval. Darien gave Janis a long look; he knew what she was thinking and if the truth were told, he had balanced both possibilities in his mind.

“Kellis of course, mother,” he assured her at last. “I may be a darker man than most, but I am not a monster.”

“Good,” Glendon said as he watched the competition but spoke to Darien, “for I may not be able to toss a two-hundred-pound engine filter, but I can toss the foolhardy.”

Darien smiled at his favorite Naradi. “No need for concern. So can your daughter.” The three adults laughed. When the competition ended Lycasis conferred awards. Echo gave hers to her parents with a kiss on their cheeks, and she left with Darien to Hanger Three for his Kellis match.

“I am embarrassed,” she confessed to him. “My parents are so over-protective.”

Darien looked her over in a way that made her feel he could see through her uniform, and she blushed. “No parent can truly be over-protective in light of their attractive young daughter in the company of a rascal like me. But do not be alarmed, little Garin,” he said when he saw her eyes widen. “I gave my word. And anyway, you are just a youngster and I prefer a more, shall we say, experienced woman's fine.” She blushed even more than before, and he laughed at his own bawdy words. “You are not used to such coarse observations. I see that I am too brutal for such a fragile flower as you.”

“I am not fragile,” she replied, a little shaken but resolute in tone. “But I agree I am not used to it and I do not wish to become used to it. I regard myself as being worthy of respect, especially from my Warrior Prince.”

He stopped so suddenly in his tracks that she did not notice at first that he was not beside her. When she did, she turned and saw his stricken face.

Oh God, he thought, it is happening again. An innocent girl on the very cutting block of my caustic ways is in danger of being hurt. He could not allow what he did to Aura happen to this sweet child. She did indeed deserve his respect, not only for her prowess in consue but also because her dignity was natural. She did not force her grace and reserve; it was a natural outcropping of her personality. Darien Phillipi de Saulin did something out of the ordinary, an action he rarely afforded in a serious gesture to anyone: he bowed low to the young cadet.

“I vow upon my word as a Phillipi of Thuringa that I will never take your presence for granted again. You have my utmost respect, my dear young woman.” He offered her his arm. She took it with such dignity that he wanted to shout: Behold! A future queen!

The hanger deck selected for play on the Quantid had no give like the grassy Kellis fields of Thuringa. There would be bruises gathered here. Lycasis was kept apprised of the state and safety of the Armada and the patrols on duty reported no problem from any direction. He took to the Kellis 'field' to the cheers of his subjects, and for a brief space of time the people of Thuringa forgot their cares and fears. King Lycasis once more played Kellis with his people during Festival.

The first time he was slammed to the floor during play, Lycasis realized that ‘play’ was not quite the word for Kellis anymore. He was forced to withdraw from action after three more tackles, when Oriel decided he was much too old to scamper about with the younger men on a steel surface. It was an extremely difficult arena, which made it all the more challenging to the players. Hartin Medina and his son Sandan lead the Wild Factor to an unstoppable victory, besting the Gallinas Group and easily handling the Cold Nights of the Freen.

It was the first time the two Medinas were on the same team, and the combination of their massive bodies was a winning one. Neither Hartin nor Sandan acknowledged the bruises or punishment they put their bodies through. They were Medinas, and this was Kellis; what was the problem? They had the most challenge from the Friak Fighters, the combined effort of pilots from the squadron led by the Phillipi brother’s ships, the Loue and the Solenil. It took both princes and some of their teammates to slow down Sandan. They managed to stop him from scoring for a time, but not for long.

So many eager teams, so many enthusiastic spectators! The children of the GPQ’s were allowed to stay up to watch the matches until they fell asleep in front of the monitors. Their parents could not sleep during a match; the games were too enjoyable. Many wagers were placed on the outcome of the matches, usually with bottles of brandy or bricks of the dessert Crackle at stake.

There was food and drink throughout the Armada, and no one went back on duty during the Festival with much regret. After all, it was a celebration for the entire Armada, and they had their turn at the fun. Music was the last in the order of activity, a few hours after the final Kellis match. Even after the bruising punishment of Kellis, its participants were still willing to try to move to the music. Lycasis saw the wisdom in his wife’s move to pull him early from Kellis; it was still possible for him to lift her from her chair to dance with her. She placed her arms around his neck and her graceful legs dangled from the muscular perch of his right arm. The sight of the king and queen dancing struck everyone in attendance as a fitting sight. The king would always make certain that his frail charge, be it queen or people, would be carried through that which they could not accomplish alone, by his strength.

The Quantid throne room was full to capacity with a gathering of Thuringi musicians on one side of the great hall. When the king and queen finished their dance, Lycasis brought Oriel to the throne and they sat to watch the others. He was glad to rest and thought he and Kellis should never combine without a grassy field again.

Glendon and his wife Janis claimed a large table to accommodate a group, and their friends gathered around it. Stuart, battered and sore from a nasty tackle by Hartin, grimly limped to the dance floor with Aura. Brent Ardenne wrapped his arms around Isador from behind and swayed to the music.

Darien cut in on his nephew and Echo Garin. Glendon and Janis peered in disbelief as Darien executed a graceful dance pattern devoid of any of his typical rude behavior. Echo accepted his respect with the sweet dignity he admired. He brought her back to the table after the song ended and bowed low to her. He picked up his drink and noted that Glendon stared at him. Glendon thought he knew Darien, yet here was an unknown side to the Warrior Prince no one knew existed. Darien could, indeed, exhibit courtly gestures when the circumstances for such arose.

“She can fight, and she can dance,” Darien announced. “If she can sing, I shall have the bishop give her his office at once."

Glendon grinned. That was more like Darien.

“No thank you,” Echo declined quickly. “I do not want to be dull as well.” Glendon and Darien laughed in delight.

Sandan Medina was encased in a throng of congratulatory Kellis enthusiasts, which included some attentive ladies. There would be no idle evenings for the renowned warrior medic for a long time, not that there had been many before. Along with Maranta Shanaugh's unstinting valor and Brent Ardenne's outrageous reputation, Sandan's strength and his penchant for romance put him on two lists of notable Thuringi.

Aura brought a grateful Stuart back to the table for a well deserved, much needed drink. She willingly served him his favorite libations since even with all her carefully manicured dignity and reserve, Aura Phillipi de Ardenne was a diehard Kellis fan. She watched the games from the confines of their quarters so she could shout and cheer and roar without endangering her reputation as a proper princess. She liked to watch the Friak Fighters, pleased with the Phillipi brothers’ excellent play.

Something to one side of the room caught Stuart's eye, and he grinned widely. Aura also smiled in approval as Carrol approached the table resplendent in a formal gown. It was an intense shimmering white affair reminiscent of a One-Five gown with an underlying color of cobalt blue that appeared briefly if the angle was right. The bottom of the skirt was slit on the sides from the feet to her knees, and the scooped neckline of this particular style tickled the imagination of admiring men. The neckline flattered her graceful slim neck and subliminally hinted that it might be just the thing for a man to want to nibble.

“Very nice, little sis,” Brent grunted in approval.

Gareth Duncan wore his black dress uniform, corded with green piping indicating his place among the ranks of the auxiliary. He toyed with his sash uncomfortably as he leaned against the table. At Brent’s words he glanced up but could not unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Carrol’s appearance stole his breath away. “Your Nibs,” he finally managed. Darien sprayed his drink in a fine mist from his pursed lips in amused reaction.

“Darien,” Janis complained. Still snickering, Darien handed her a cloth from his pocket, and she wiped her arm with it.

Carrol and Gareth stood side by side and watched the dance as they nibbled on food and sipped their drinks. The group of royals and their friends waited, but neither Gareth nor Carrol made a move toward the dance floor. Stuart finally made a pointed remark for their benefit. “Even I take a turn at dancing, despite my aching legs.” He led Aura back out to the floor and gave Gareth a fierce look and a jerk of his head.

“What?” Gareth asked in general.

“I believe my brother is anxious that we all enjoy the music and merriment while it lasts,” Darien told him. “Tomorrow the Festival will be over, and it will be back to flight as usual.” The Garins and the Ardennes joined their prince and princess in the dance. Darien bowed to Echo and took her hand. He turned to Gareth.

“And you, Major Duncan?”

“I? I am not a dancer.”

“Look at Brent Ardenne,” Darien said with mock severity. “Do you call that dancing?” He led Echo out to dance.

“No,” Gareth muttered. “I would call it vertical yjass.”

Carrol laughed. “I do too, and he had better stop it before a vicar sees them.”

He groaned. “Forgive me, Your Nibs. I did not intend to utter that aloud.”

“I know, but I do not mind. I like that you treat me as an equal.”

Gareth put his drink down. “Well, I will not guarantee a smooth time of it, but I would be a fool if I did not at least try this. Your Nibs, may I have this dance?” Carrol set her glass alongside his and agreed. He warned her, “I know two steps: backward and forward. And to the side, that makes three.”

“As long as we do them in order, we should be all right,” she quipped. They faded into the crowd.

A fresh group of musicians began to play a slow, melodic tune. Gareth awkwardly put his hands at Carrol’s waist and she, equally awkward, put her hands at his collarbones, the standard placement for most Thuringi slow dances.

“Give me a tool and something broken, and I can work wonders,” he sighed at last. “Put me in amongst light-footed people and I am a gakki in a bath stall.”

She laughed. “Just keep talking. You are doing admirably,” she assured him. An idea came to him, and he smiled mischievously.

“We are so delighted to be in such august company at Festival,” he said, ratcheting up his voice several octaves and using his finest High Royal Speech impersonation. She giggled as he continued quietly in the same fashion. “We cannot help but notice the clever gyrations of some of Our subjects,” he said, turned her halfway so they could both see Brent and Isador Ardenne.

The Ardennes were on the very edge of propriety in their movements, a fact that already won the disapproval of a nearby vicar. Gareth pulled Carrol closer, in order to talk in his Royal We voice without being overheard by anyone else. “It is Our belief that there is possibly a fourth dance step to which We have not been privy.” Carrol threw back her head and laughed heartily at his words and put her arms up to embrace his shoulders. She leaned closer to him. His arms naturally slid around her, and they swayed to the lilting music. He turned his head slightly and whispered in her ear. “We are amused,” he observed in the Royal We.

“We most certainly are,” she assured him, unable to stop another giggle. It was harder to stop, especially at the sight of the vicar who now gave the Ardennes a quiet but stern lecture. Brent was unconcerned, but Isador was embarrassed. Gareth and Carrol continued to sway.

“We were looking for You at the athletic competition,” he said into her ear, dropping the high octave but not the royal we.

“We were there; You simply did not see Us,” she told him, and they both snickered.

“Where were, um, Us?” he asked, distracted by the enigmatic scent of perfume in her hair.

“We were avoiding being struck by a two-hundred-pound pump,” she explained, "and nearly had it implanted in Our brain when Our favorite contestant gave it a heave." He stopped swaying and burst into laughter. He picked her up and swung around in a circle, looking into her happy face and laughing all the while.

“We did, did we!” he exclaimed, and put her back down. He hugged her tightly to himself, and she put her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder so that her face was nestled against his neck. They swayed again to the music, their eyes closed, enjoying the moment that was theirs and theirs alone.

Gareth did not know how long they danced. There was a change in melody and tempo, but he did not change with them and neither did Carrol. They continued to sway from side to side, eyes still closed, not even bothering to lift their feet from the floor. He breathed deep, taking in her enticing perfume. Her soft garment pleased his sense of touch, and his hands stroked her back gently. He enjoyed the feel of the smooth fabric.

She felt him take his deep breath and enjoyed the way his chest expanded against her. He was just the right height to lean against, not too tall and not too short, and she nestled her face tightly against his neck. She loved the feel of his strong hands against her back, loved the stroke of his caress. She felt something gently brush her ear, accompanied by the almost inaudible sound of a pair of lips briefly meeting. She lifted her head. Gareth’s eyes opened slowly, almost dreamily. “Your Nibs,” he began, but abruptly they felt someone bump against their arms. Hartin and Melina Medina had worked their way over until they were next to the spellbound couple.

“Major Duncan,” Hartin said in a low voice, “unless you two are engaged in a late personal quasch match, may I suggest you relax your grip on Her Highness before the Bishop gets over here.”

Both Gareth and Carrol cast surreptitious glances around, and realized the surrounding couples eyed them curiously. Some were scandalized, whispering to their partners; others, like Stuart and Aura, looked too astonished to speak. Carrol glanced at the throne. Oriel was still seated, but Lycasis was no longer there. The two dancers casually but quickly drew apart and placed their hands in the proper areas, his hands once more on either side of her waist, hers on his collarbones. Gareth cast another glance around.

At the front of the crowd of onlookers stood Bishop Trapis and Asa Mennar, and the cleric and Elder both looked displeased. Asa gestured with his hands to indicate Gareth's unseemly holds on the princess. The bishop was livid.

“We believe we are about to get dressed down,” Gareth sighed in his normal voice. “His Excellency is about to dine on our backside.”

One moment, Carrol saw the Bishop of Thuringa head toward them at a brisk pace, and the next moment, several dancing couples crowded in front of the angry cleric, effectively halting his momentum. Suddenly Darien was beside the pair. He pulled Carrol away from Gareth as Echo Garin took her place. Darien danced his sister into the crowd, and Echo kept Gareth where they were. The Bishop was livid by the time he forced his way over to Gareth. “I do not know who you think you are, Major, but there is no excuse for the type of behavior you display with – with –” He stopped when he realized Gareth’s partner was no longer Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi.

“Oh, but Your Excellency,” Echo protested innocently, “His dancing is not that dreadful.” She looked down at their feet. “Now, step to the left - no, your other left - now back again.”

“I was not referring to his dancing,” the Bishop thundered.

Echo turned the full wattage of the childish naiveté in her eyes at the red-faced holy man. “Then whatever did you mean?” she asked in the same voice she used on the day she was caught using her father’s sword to pry open a locked cabinet.

“It was the way you were dancing,” the Bishop snapped at Gareth. He began to turn a little purple at the ears, and Gareth wisely kept his mouth shut. It was just as well; Echo Garin was doing a neat job with hers.

“But you said it was not,” she said.

“Young woman, stay out of this,” the bishop said angrily. “You know very well that you were not dancing with this man moments ago.” He turned his attention back to Gareth full force and denounced him. “You infidel; making a child cover your unseemly actions.”

Gareth dropped his hands from Echo’s waist and faced the bishop. The music faltered. Those nearby who knew Gareth held their collective breaths: any man who would challenge Tomas Hellick in a Massic Surrell might challenge even the Bishop in something equally astounding.

“There is no need to shout at her, and I do not ask anyone to make excuses for me. What do you want, Your Excellency?” Gareth asked, direct as usual.

“Your idea of dancing is unseemly,” the bishop snapped.

“I know,” Gareth said. “I am not very good at it.”

For a moment, the bishop opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak. He was prepared for an argument, or denial of any wrongdoing, but this plainspoken country boy robbed the bishop of any further protest. He started to say something a couple of times but amended his words before he could finish the first syllable. His eyes narrowed at Gareth. “You...you...”

“Istay?” someone called out as if being helpful, and the bishop whirled on his heels.

“Who said that!” he demanded. Twenty hands pointed in different directions. He glared back at Gareth. “I am not finished with you yet. Just remember that,” he spat, and disappeared into the crowd.

Gareth heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Well, I suppose I had best sit in the back of services, if I ever start going to them.” Echo slipped back into place in front of him.

“You really do dance abominably,” she told him. “Let me give you a quick lesson before you return to Princess Carrol.”

“Who said I was going to do that?” he asked, and her eyebrows lifted in apprehension.

“I was born at night, Gareth, but it was not last night!” she exclaimed. “I know the difference between a quasch and a dance, just as I know you will go straight back to Her Highness, quick as that. Any fool can see that you are fond of each other.”

“I think I have burned that bridge pretty thoroughly. I doubt that any woman of Thuringa will dance with me now. Except your kind self,” he amended. “They will all think I dance unseemly.”

“They will hope so,” she shrugged. “If you lift your feet now and then, you can actually move out of the same spot, you know.”

“You know how to get him in trouble over you, more than anyone I know,” Darien observed as they watched the bishop fail to get the upper hand with Gareth.

“I never meant to,” Carrol groaned. “Oh, poor Gareth. Am I never going to give the man a moment’s peace?”

“Probably not,” Darien drawled impassively. “Young Garin, though – listen to her! That child is bound for great things.” He beamed at his protégé.

Carrol looked up at her brother with a frown. “Darien. Is she too young for even you?”

“Was Maranta not a little old for you?” Darien asked with a bite to his words. He did not want to dwell on the subject of young women and older men, so Darien nodded toward Gareth and said, “This one, though. He is not a bad sort, not at all. A man who says what he means and means what he says.”

“Gareth is a good friend,” Carrol said steadfastly.

“So you say. You should have seen the look on your face when Duncan picked you up and swung you around. Hah, you should have seen Father's face!”

“Why? What did he do?” Carrol asked, worried.

“I do believe the old fellow broke out into a grin, looked incredibly pleased indeed, he did. Then, as the more comfortable, shall we say? – you two became, the lesser the smile and the higher his eyebrows rose.”

“Where did he go? I did not see him. Darien, where is Father?”

“I am here,” Lycasis said behind her. She turned with a short gasp and laughed nervously. "Come along, daughter. I have not danced with anyone but your mother all evening and there is no one else with whom I would rather dance, than you.” Darien bowed slightly and backed away with a devilish grin. “Stop beaming like that,” Lycasis growled at him. “Just because I am occupied does not mean I cannot find out what you are up to some other place.” Darien cackled and left to help himself to a drink.

“Now, my little princess,” Lycasis addressed his daughter, turning the fact into an endearment, “suppose you tell me about this man of yours.”

“He is not mine,” Carrol protested, albeit not very convincingly.

“This man, who speaks so casually to you,” Lycasis continued. “This man, who seems to be able to make you laugh when no other can wrangle a smile, who fights and wins a potentially deadly duel for the sake of your honor against a better trained man. This man, who dances with no one but you out of a crowd of hundreds and,” he said more pointedly, “who holds you so enthralled, that neither of you realizes the impropriety of your embrace in a public place.” Carrol bit her lip and concentrated on studying the mission medals on his dress tunic. “Carrol, your mother once asked you, and I ask you now: do you love this man, this Gareth Duncan? For it seems certain to us that he loves you.” Carrol could not hold back either her blush, or her smile.

Lycasis sighed. “Carrol, this puts me in a most uncomfortable position, but it is one I must take. If you and this Major Duncan of yours are out in public together henceforth, you must treat each other with the same cool regard that you and Maranta Shanaugh once had. Yes,” he insisted quietly when she opened her mouth to protest. “You and the late general conducted yourselves so well that no one ever suspected the truth. I cannot allow my daughter to leave herself open to scandal and mockery now. Major Duncan is too roughhewn a man to even realize when he faults, but you are my daughter, a daughter of the crown. Laugh at his jokes and be merry, yes; be seen in his arms in public, no.”

“Father, we are first and foremost, friends,” Carrol told Lycasis. “We do not do things with scandalous intentions. And why have you never scolded Stuart or Darien in their day?”

“Stuart was the soul of discretion in his bachelorhood; Aura would have never wed him otherwise. Darien, well, Darien,” Lycasis said with a grim sigh, “One can scold Darien until the stars fade from sight and yet never make an impression. But that is not the point: Carrol, personally I like your Major Duncan. But should Tomas Hellick make another accusation that would cast aspersions on your honor or his, Gareth Duncan will not have the defense the two of you once enjoyed. Not now, not after what the crown, the bishop, and very possibly the entire Thuringi Armada has seen tonight. To embrace so openly and to appear so familiar –!”

She slowly nodded. “I am sorry, Father,” she said woefully. “We will not place ourselves open to public scrutiny, again.”

“Or private scrutiny, for that matter,” Lycasis said. He reluctantly expanded upon the subject. “You and he must not visit each other alone again. I am aware of the fact that you have been alone in his quarters with him on several occasions.”

“We only talk,” she said defensively. "Father, I assure you we are not scandalous in the least when we are alone."

“Then talk in the cantina. Talk in the open hanger. Talk in the dining hall, talk with your brothers or a Naradi at your side, but do not be alone again.” His words were stern, and she began to shake.

“Yes, Father.”

“Now, come along and stay with Darien; he is looking restless and that is never a peaceful sign. I am going to have a few words with our Major Duncan.” He left her with her brother and sought out Gareth. The two men strolled over casually to the side of the room for a private chat. Carrol miserably watched the expressions on Gareth’s face: first polite, then apprehensive, then in turn wary, pleased, astonished, alarmed, angry, and ultimately, wounded.

“You look as if you have been struck down,” Darien said into her ear. “What is it?”

“The damned Royal Disease,” she said bitterly, “when propriety demands a high price.”

Darien studied her thoughtfully. His sister did not make a habit of idle cursing, but he understood her meaning. Gareth glanced at her, then back at Lycasis, and nodded. It was the nod of a man who had no other choice. As the king turned to go, Gareth spoke to him once more. Lycasis placed his hand on one of Gareth’s shoulders and patted fondly.

The king stroked Carrol’s cheek as he passed on his way to his throne. Gareth strolled over to the Phillipi siblings and stood a full body’s width away from Carrol. It was a deliberate move on his part, yet not enough to be obvious. He leaned against the table and crossed his arms, shifted his weight on one foot and crossed his other leg over the other.

“We are ever so delighted to be attending this festival extravaganza,” he said in his high pitched Royal We voice to the pair, as he looked out over the dance floor, “and We are glad it is an annual observance. More often and it would kill Us.”

“We regret the inconvenience,” Carrol replied with a Royal We voice of her own, also looking out at the dancers.

“We regret nothing,” Gareth replied, dropping his Royal We pitch but not the phrasing. “We simply wish we were of a more preferable station.”

“There is nothing wrong with your station,” Carrol said directly at him for the first time. He cast his gaze downward to the floor in front of him.

“No, there is not,” he agreed softly, “but if we were better born, perhaps we would know how to behave without embarrassing the crown.”

“Nonsense,” Darien broke in. “I am the thirty-first son of the Royal House of Phillipi, and I am a constant embarrassment to it." It broke the somber mood, and the three chuckled.

“Ah! What can I do, Your Nibs,” Gareth sighed as he stretched his arms up and back, to ease his tense muscles, “I am damned if I do, damned if I do not.”

“I suppose the best thing to do,” she said, “is to not dance at Festival.”

“Not to dance at all, Festival or not,” Gareth said.

“Your dancing was that bad?” Darien laughed.

“Do not be obtuse,” Carrol told him. “Our good major and I are not to be seen at close quarters or alone together anywhere, at any time. You are now my official keeper, brother.”

“Those are Father’s express orders?” Darien asked, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Yes. I am not to be in Major Duncan’s presence alone; we must be in the company of my brothers or a Naradi.” Darien looked at Carrol, then at Gareth, who nodded in cheerless agreement. Darien burst into a triumphant roar of delight.

“Why are you two so glum?” he laughed at them. “Think on this, my dears: Father expressly said I am to be my sister’s guardian dallah. Me, Darien Phillipi de Saulin. Is that not the ultimate howl?” They looked at him blankly. “Oh, who is being obtuse now?” He stepped between them and put his arms around their shoulders conspiratorially. He lowered his voice for their ears alone. “I, Darien Phillipi, the wicked, the bold, the unseemly, who might happen to call in a certain mechanic to look over a problem at his bachelor quarters. And by pure chance, have his little sister in for a chat over lina tea.” He exulted in his own craftiness. “Surely, you two are the purest of heart indeed not to see the possibilities within Father’s own edict." Gareth smiled and nodded; Carrol mirrored the same response.

Captain Keleigh Shanaugh attended the final dance. When the time came for her to be on duty, she rose from the table she shared with her friends and left. When she arrived at the main hanger Dag Corrin, the leader of the Naradi, handed her a flatscreen. “Would you mind taking this to one of the crown royals? It is just the log of the watch, but it needs to be signed. I will see to it that you are not marked against on your duty. The Sacret is not going anywhere without its illustrious captain, so you need not worry.”

Keleigh returned to the throne room and hunted for the king or one of the princes. To her delight, the first one she found was Stuart. He turned at the touch of her hand on his sleeve, and his welcoming smile made her warm all over, the way it was when they were young, and he was a carefree bachelor prince long ago.

“Good evening and good Festival to you, Keleigh,” he greeted. “My, that gown is perfection on you.” The appreciation in his eyes was genuine; he always thought Keleigh Shanaugh was the very model of Thuringi feminine charm.

“Thank you! You have no idea how hard it was to choose this one over the red one I had in mind to wear.”

“Red! Mmm, that would have been a treat, as well.” The pause between them was not awkward. The chance to exchange words was welcome, but the two old friends did not mind a few seconds in which to enjoy each other’s company.

Aura placed her hand on Stuart’s other elbow and eyed Keleigh with territorial vehemence. “Stuart, shall we dance again?” she asked in a sweet voice despite the malevolent glare she gave the curvaceous warrior.

“Oh, but first – Commander Corrin asked that I find a royal to sign for this report. There is nothing alarming on it, it just requires a signature,” Keleigh explained.

“Of course! Here, let me see it.” Stuart quickly perused the report and pulled a marker from his tunic. “Have you just arrived at the dance, Captain Shanaugh?”

“No, I was on my way back to the Sacret for duty. I was going to change into my uniform on the ship.”

“I see. It is a shame we cannot outfit our fair warriors in pretty gowns as uniforms,” he joked as he scrawled his signature.

“I fear common folk would tear it on all their dreadful weaponry,” Aura said in disdain.

Keleigh was used to the snobbery of civilian nobles and did not suffer it, even from the frosty princess. “I am afraid we would be mistaken for civilians who serve no useful purpose.”

Stuart darted a glance at her and tried not to smile at her defense of her Air Command comrades. “No one would mistake The Great Keleigh Shanaugh, I am certain.” He handed her the signature sheet and kept the flatscreen that contained the report. She saluted him sharply and left for the hanger again.

“What cheek!” Aura fumed. “I serve a useful purpose just as much as a common warrior maid!”

“My dear, her line of Shanaughs has held title as far back as the Twelfth Rule. Inferring that she is common displays your social ignorance.” He gave a disapproving frown at her, an unusual sight for sunny Stuart in public. “And pray remember, our so-called ‘common folk’ and their ‘dreadful weaponry’ is why you and I are still alive, so please do not whine about the cheek of a proud Air Command warrior to me.”

Aura wondered if any of his history with Keleigh was as sweet in his memory as Darien’s. Keleigh was still on good terms with Darien and obviously with Stuart as well. The less the brothers dwelled on it the better in Aura’s mind. Even though she did not marry Stuart for love and could not marry Darien on account of refusal, Aura was not going to let either smile at Darien's old flame if she could help it.