King's Sacrifice (76 page)

"Not the
bloodsword, I hope," Dixter said, grimacing at the thought of
the forthcoming formalities.

"No. A
sword that was my father's. Someone discovered it in a museum
somewhere."

"Was that
Tusk I passed in the corridor?" Dixter asked after a moment.
"Dressed in battle fatigues?"

"Yes. That
was Tusk."

"He didn't
see me and he looked as if he were in a hurry so I didn't stop him.
He's not staying for the ceremony."

"No,"
Dion answered briefly.

"I'm
sorry," said Dixter.

"Don't be."
Dion looked up, smiled. "Everything's all right. He and Nola
will have twelve lads with curly hair and freckles. Link'll lose half
of what they make in ante-up and XJ'll stash away the other half and
between them Tusk will never see a penny. But he'll be happy. He'll
be completely happy."

"Yes, he
will," Dixter agreed. He looked at Dion, wished he could add
something, but the only words that came to mind were "I'm sorry"
again and that wouldn't do at all.

"Has my
fiancee arrived?" Dion asked coolly, as if one thought had led
to another.

"Yes, Your
Majesty," Dixter replied gravely. "Her shuttle landed just
a few moments ago. The Palace Guard is escorting the young woman . .
. and her mother . . . to the palace."

Dixter hadn't
meant to insert the pause, but he didn't like the Baroness DiLuna and
knew that the feeling was mutual. He did his best to keep his
animosity concealed from the king, however, who had enough problems.

"Thank
you," said Dion. "I'm glad they arrived safely."

Dixter couldn't
wholeheartedly concur with this statement, thought he would probably
say something he shouldn't, decided to leave.

"If there's
nothing else I can do for Your Majesty, it's getting late and Bennett
has to shoehorn me into that confounded getup I'm supposed to wear
tonight—"

"You need
to be going. I understand. Thank you for handling my fiancee's
passage for me. And thank you for accepting the appointment as First
Lord of the Admiralty. I realize you didn't particularly want the job
and that you took it as a favor to me. But you're the only one I can
trust. Our navy is the galaxy's lifeblood."

"I am glad
to be able to serve you, Your Majesty," Dixter said quietly.
"Thank you for giving me the chance."

"I
understand you want to make Williams your flagship commander. I must
say I'm a bit surprised. I didn't know you two got along that well."

"He's a
good officer, Your Majesty. I should know. He damn near got me
killed. He's young, ambitious, and what with Aks retiring, he was
looking for an opportunity to move on. And I can use his advice.
We've discussed our differences frankly and we respect each other. In
time, I may even get to like the man."

"Very well.
I'll make the appointment."

The secretary
opened the door. The Honor Guard came to attention. Bennett, seeing
the king, bowed from the waist with such stiffness and precision it
seemed likely he might snap cleanly in two.

"Bennett,"
said Dion, attempting to maintain a straight face, "it's good to
see you again."

"Yes, Your
Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty." Bennett stood
ramrod-straight, his chin disappeared into his collar. "May I
offer my congratulations on the occasion of your wedding, Your
Majesty."

"Thank you,
Bennett," Dion replied.

"Thank
you
,
Your Majesty," Bennett said, clicking his heels together
smartly.

"We're
leaving now, Bennett." Dixter noticed that Dion had another
visitor waiting.

"Very good,
milord," said Bennett.

"Don't call
me that—" John Dixter began, sighed.

He supposed he
might as well start getting used to it.

"Your
Majesty, Bear Olefsky."

"My
friend," Dion said, smiling warmly at the big man.

Pressing the
huge hand that completely engulfed his, he attempted valiantly to
ignore the fact that the Bear, on entering the room, overturned three
chairs and upset an end table.

Bear eyed him
anxiously. "Laddie. What's the matter? Don't they feed you in
this palace?"

"Not like
they do at your house, Bear."

Dion tried to
speak lightly, but the memories that came back were too intense, too
sweetly painful. His voice sank near the end of the polite phrase. He
turned slightly to avert his face from the light.

Any polished
courtier would have immediately noted his king's discomfiture and
obligingly removed himself, or at the least affected to become
suddenly and intensely interested in the books on the shelf. Olefsky,
bluff, crude, rugged as the mountains he loved, bent down, hands on
his knees, and peered directly into the shadowed face.

"Eh,
laddie? What's this? If you miss the shield-wife's cooking so much it
brings tears to your eyes I can arrange to ship you some of our
leftovers. Though after my sons have finished. I think you might well
starve."

Dion smiled, but
made no answer.

"Aye, and
speaking of my sons," the Bear continued jovially, "I've
brought them with me. And Sonja, as well. I wanted to bring her to
pay her respects to you beforehand but she says it will take all her
time between now and the ceremony to dress herself. I swear, I do not
understand it," the Bear added solemnly, tugging at his beard as
was his habit when perplexed. "I've seen that woman jump from
her bed, arm herself with shield and spear, and be ready to fight all
before I barely got my pants on.

"And yet,
for a simple thing like watching a man get a crown put on his head,
she must spend hours cinching up this and flattening that and
painting this and for what? So that by the end of it all, I do not
recognize her and there is no soft part of her left to grab."

The Bear heaved
a sigh that whistled through the office like a gale.

His long-winded
conversation had given Dion a chance to compose himself. "Did
all your family come with you?"

"Aye,"
said the Bear, watching Dion closely. "Even the little one, who
will, in all probability, scream his head off during the ceremony and
disgrace us all. They are all here . . . except my daughter."

Dion closed his
eyes, bitter disappointment in his heart, relief flooding through his
mind.

A strong hand
clasped hold of his shoulder, almost instantly numbing it. "Ah,
laddie," said the Bear in a tone so kind that it came near
unmanning his king, "I am not blind. And even if I was blind, by
my ears and eyeballs, I think I could have seen what has been going
on."

Dion was silent,
unable to respond in words, though he rested his hand gratefully over
the top portion of the Bears gigantic arm.

"I promised
your daughter I would marry her. And now I can't keep my promise. You
know that?" he asked in a low voice when he could talk.

The big man
nodded his head sadly. "Aye, laddie. I know everything. She told
me. Kamil can no more keep a secret than an eagle can keep from
spreading its wings and flying with the wind. She told her mother and
me that very night, in fact."

"You knew?"
Dion raised his head, stared at him. "You knew, then, that day,
the day I had to pledge myself to DiLuna. You must despise me."

"Despise
you?" the Bear rumbled, his voice bouncing around the room,
rattling various fragile objects on the mantelpiece. "No,
laddie, I don't despise you. In feet, I said to myself, 'The Lady
Maigrey was right. Derek Sagan was right. Now, we have, at last, a
true king.'"

"Thank you,
Bear," said Dion softly. "That means a great deal to me.
More than you know."

"Ach, say
no more." The Bear rumpled his beard. "The shield-wife and
I thought it would be easier on both of you this night if Kamil did
not come. I have decided to send her to the Academy, now you have
reopened it. My sons are good boys, but their heads are filled with
mutton. My daughter, though, my daughter is smart. She needs to be
educated, needs to see that there is a universe above and beyond our
mountains."

"Yes,
that's a good idea," Dion said briskly.

Shaking free of
the Bear's grasp, he righted a chair, then walked over to stand
behind his desk, lifted one of the documents, and pretended to read
it. "She'll meet other young people her age. Meet someone else
..." He stared, hard, frowning, at the document.

The Bear pulled
on his beard until it seemed likely he'd pull it out. "Do you
still love her, laddie?"

Dion glanced up.
He was calm now, composed. "I'm marrying another woman this
night, my friend."

"Do you
still love Kamil?" the Bear repeated softly.

Dion started to
say no, even though it was a lie. Lies were part of being a king.

The big man's
gaze reached inside, lay hold of the truth.

Dion replaced
the document on the desk, stood staring down at it, unseeing.

"Do you
remember. Bear, that day when we were riding to your palace, riding
through the snow. We were talking about Sagan and Lady Maigrey. You
said—Do you remember?"

" 'By my
heart and bowels, laddie, who wakes every morning and takes a deep
breath and says to the air, "Air, I love you." And yet,
without air in our lungs, we would be dead within moments. And who
says to the water, "I love you!" and yet without water, we
die. And who says to the fire in the winter, "I love you!"
and yet without warmth, we die.' That is what you said, my friend.

"And
that"—Dion drew a deep breath, lifted the blue eyes—"and
that is how I love Kamil."

The Bear heaved
another typhoon sigh, dabbed his eyes with the ends of his beard. "I
feared as much. My heart grieves for you, laddie. Yet you are doing
what is right. What is honorable. You are doing what is best for the
people, as well. This strong alliance you forge with DiLuna will be
the means of pulling the fragments of the galaxy back together. But
you know that, better than the old Bear, who is a fighter, not a
smooth-tongued diplomat."

A silver bell
rang. "Your Majesty." The secretary's face appeared on a
vidscreen. "I am sorry to interrupt but you asked to be notified
when His Holiness arrived—"

"Yes, yes!"
Bear waved a hand at him. "I know. I must be going."

The secretary
vanished. Olefsky made his way to the door, upsetting the remainder
of the furniture he'd missed on the way in. He paused, turned.

"I don't
know whether I am right in saying what I am going to say, laddie.
This tongue of mine does much damage, sometimes. The shield-wife
tells me often that I should open my mouth only to shovel meat into
it and the rest of the time I should leave it closed. But it seems to
me it never hurts a man to know the truth.

"The way
you love Kamil, laddie, is the way Kamil loves you. I don't think she
will be finding anyone else."

"Your
Majesty, His Holiness, the Lord High Abbot of the Order of Adamant."

The abbot,
resplendent in red and gold and white ceremonial robes, entered the
king's chamber. He was a young man, extremely young to be the head of
the galaxy's newly reestablished religious order, some said. But
there was an air of serenity about him, a calm, firm conviction in
his face and in the way he carried himself that soon convinced those
who doubted him that he had complete faith not only in himself but in
the One who guided him.

The abbot
glanced around at the destruction in the room, smiled. "Olefsky's
been here, I see."

Dion righted an
upended end table. "Yes. From now on, I must remember to hold
audience with him on a cleared airstrip. Thank you for coming. I know
how busy you are, with the restoration of your abbey and the
restructuring of your church, but it seemed only fitting that you
should be the one to place the crown on my head and anoint me king."

"It is I
who am honored, Your Majesty."

"I hope you
don't mind if I call you Brother Daniel. Abbot Fideles just doesn't
sound familiar to me, yet."

"I must
admit," said Daniel, face flushing, "that it doesn't to me
either. Prior John said something to me the other day, referring to
me by that name and title, and I walked clean past the man, thinking
he was talking to someone else!"

The two laughed,
though Dion's laughter ended in a sigh.

The priest gazed
at him thoughtfully, placed his hands over Dion's. "Are you at
peace, Your Majesty? With yourself and with God?"

"Yes,"
Dion answered steadily. "I am. With myself, at least. God may
take more time. But I'm working at it."

"I am
pleased to hear it, Your Majesty," said the priest, reassured.

"Is all in
readiness for the ceremony?" Dion asked.

"Yes, sire.
The cathedral is filled to capacity. Crowds line the streets. They
tell me"—Brother Daniel looked somewhat abashed—"that
I will have to wear makeup, because of the vids."

"Yes, I'm
afraid so," Dion said, hiding his smile.

The priest
sighed. "I don't know what the brethren will make of it. I've
allowed vidscreens in the Abbey, you know. I thought it only fitting
that they view this historic occasion which marks not only your
ascending to the throne but the restoration of the Church. I can only
imagine what Prior John will have to say about this. He will be most
displeased. Still, I suppose we all must make some sacrifice.

"And now I
had better be going. I left the choir boys with Brother Miguel and I
wouldn't doubt but that they have him tied to a pew by now."

"Brother,
just a moment," said Dion as the priest was about to leave.
"Have you heard any word from Lord Sagan?"

Brother Daniel
paused, stood with his back to the king, thinking, perhaps, how to
answer. Then, turning, he said gently, "He is with God, Your
Majesty."