King's Sacrifice (20 page)

"Very well,
Dion," Maigrey said gently. "I didn't mean—"

"My
lady"—he forced out the words as if he had to say them now
or never speak them—"I've seen him!"

"Seen
him? Seen who?" Maigrey thought for a moment he meant Sagan. She
half rose from her chair.

"Platus."
He stared at her intently, to see her reaction.

Maigrey sank
back down. "What did he say to you?" she asked faintly.

"You
believe me?"

"Shouldn't
I?"

"It could
have been a dream."

"Was it?"

"Don't do
this!" Dion snapped. "Don't play these stupid games with me
again!"

"What would
you have me do, Dion?" Maigrey returned sharply. "Would you
have me say: Yes, it was my brother you saw, returned from the grave,
or would you have me laugh and say: No, something you ate for dinner
disagreed with you? You know the truth in your heart, Your Majesty.
You don't need me to either confirm or deny it for you."

Dion frowned,
still angry. Then gradually, as he considered her words, his anger
cooled. "He didn't say anything to me. He didn't come close to
me. He stood in the doorway of my quarters and he looked at me. He
just looked at me and he nodded." Dion's voice softened, grew
sad. "He reminded me of when we were together back home, and I'd
solved an algebra equation. ..."

He was suddenly
irritated.

"Is that
some sort of rule with ghosts? That they never talk to you? And I
can't believe what I'm saying! And I'm serious!

Look, I'm sorry
for bothering you with this. It was probably a dream. I—"

"He could
have spoken, if he'd felt he needed to," Maigrey said softly.
"He spoke to me."

She stood up,
walked around to the back of the couch, ran her hands over the cold
metal frame. "It was said that the spirits of the Blood Royal
could remain on this plane of existence after the body died,
especially if the spirit was closely bound to one of the living. So
widely held was this belief, and so many stories were told about
people who had seen or been contacted by 'ghosts'—if you
will—that our scientists conducted experiments to try to prove
or disprove the notion."

"And what
did they find?" Dion asked eagerly.

"What I've
already told you. That either you believed what you saw or you
didn't."

Maigrey smiled
at the sight of the king's disappointed expression. "Logically,
it makes no sense. Why do some spirits walk and others do not? There
was a theory that those who left some important task unfinished would
return to complete it. One of these, I remember, was an alien
scientist who was working to find a cure for some sort of dreadful
plague that was decimating her planet's population. She was
reportedly near a breakthrough, but died of the disease herself,
before she could complete her work. If anyone had cause to come back,
it would be her. Scientists set up instruments and took readings and
measurements and waited around her laboratory, but she never
appeared. A cure was never found. The plague destroyed the planet's
entire population. One entire alien culture ceased to exist and was
lost to us forever.

"And yet,
we'd hear reports of a mother's spirit returning to find a child's
lost toy. A father appearing to his daughter on her wedding day. A
dead soldier warning his living comrades of an ambush. Why, for
example, has your mother never appeared to you? Her last words, her
last thoughts, were of you . . ."

Maigrey sighed.
Her gaze fixed on her hand, that moved back and forth over the metal
arm of the couch.

"You said
you saw Platus." Dion came around to stand beside her. "He
spoke to you. What did he say? Unless, of course, it's personal—"

"I can tell
you. He came to stop me from taking my own life. It was right after
he died, when I knew Sagan had discovered my hiding place and that he
was aiming to take me captive. I knew that the Warlord would use me
to find you and I thought, to protect you, that I must kill myself.
My brother's spirit convinced me that I was needed."

Maigrey looked
at the young man. "Sagan would tell you that it is the Creator
who chooses whether the dead shall return or not. Why didn't you tell
him, Dion? Were you afraid he wouldn't believe you?"

"No."
Dion paused, grim, thoughtful. "I was afraid he would. I could
see him sneer. I could almost hear him say, 'So that's the reason you
refuse to go to war. Your pacifist mentor forbids it! You're weak.
Just as he was!'"

"And that
was why you defied Sagan?"

"No, I'd
made the decision already." Dion put his hand to his head, ran
his fingers through his hair. "I sent the message, and then I
sat down to wait. That time was hardest. I was alone and . . .
afraid." He looked at her defiantly, as if expecting her to mock
him.

She nodded,
understanding. "I don't blame you."

"And then I
saw Platus standing there. I saw the expression on his face. It was
strange, But I realized why I was afraid. I began to understand my
fear."

Maigrey kept
silent. Dion was no longer talking to her, but explaining it all at
last to himself. "I was afraid, not so much of Sagan, but of
failing. Of losing everything. By going to war, I could exert my
power, my authority. I could force people to do what I wanted, scare
them into following me. Once I thought about it, I knew that wasn't
the type of king I wanted to be. It would be better to fail, better
to return to a life of being ordinary, even better to die than to do
something that I would eventually live to regret. When I realized
that, Platus smiled at me and nodded."

"You see,"
Maigrey said gently, "he had no need to speak to you."

"I guess
not. But I didn't really understand that until now. I didn't
understand myself." Dion frowned, shook his head. "Platus
was an atheist, though. He didn't believe in God."

"He used
to, Dion. And I'm not certain he truly did lose his faith. He was
like a small child who gets mad at his parents and runs away from
home. My brother couldn't understand how God could permit the
atrocities committed the night of the Revolution. Platus got mad and
he . . . ran away from home. Perhaps, now, he's come back."

"You know
about the healing incident? The child and the . . . the young woman?"

"I read
Sagan's report," Maigrey began cautiously, uncomfortably.

"Yes, well,
you know about it, then. I know I healed that child, Lady Maigrey! I
felt the energy flow through my body into his! And I know I could
have helped that girl, even though she was under Abdiel's control.

"Sagan
doesn't believe I can. He doesn't believe I have the power. He says I
can't because the Creator grants the power and He would never give it
to someone who didn't have faith—"

"Unless He
gave it to someone to give that person faith," Maigrey amended
quietly.

Dion nodded.
"I've thought about that, too. And let's suppose that's true.
Why that power and no others? I can't do anything the rest of you
Blood Royal can do! I can't shut off the electricity with my mind. I
can't force open doors with a look. I had the power during the rite.
I kept the spiked ball floating in the air. ..."

"That was
because you gave yourself up to the power completely, Dion. You
didn't question it or yourself, you didn't try to analyze it—"

"Because I
didn't know what the hell it was! I'm sorry, my lady," Dion
said, drawing a deep breath. "I didn't mean to shout."

"Dion, what
do you want from me?" Maigrey asked wearily. "I would like
to be able to tell you that there is a God and that He, She, or It
has some grand cosmic plan for us. I would like to believe there was
a reason your father was murdered, your mother died in my arms, a
reason for Platus's death, a reason my life was spared. I would like
to tell you this. I'd like to tell myself—"

"Doesn't
Platus's coming to us prove it?"

"It doesn't
prove anything. I was about to kill myself. Maybe this was my
subconscious way out. You were under stress. The vision could have
been a form of hysteria—"

"You don't
believe that. And neither do I."

"I don't
know what I believe in, anymore. All I know is that faith comes from
within and it begins with faith in yourself; the knowledge that you
have within you the ability to judge between the dark and the light
and to act accordingly."

"Dark and
light? Sagan murdered and tortured people and professed all the time
to be performing God's will."

"Sagan has
heard the still, small voice within. He either refused to listen,
rebelled against it outright, or twisted its words to make it say
what he wanted to hear. But I don't think he can do that any longer."

Dion waited for
her to continue.

Maigrey was
silent. After a moment, she sighed, reached out her hand, and lightly
touched the fire-opal necklace the young man wore around his neck.
"You're not going to get off any easier than the rest of us,
Your Majesty. And for you, it may be much, much harder. ..."

"My lady,"
the apologetic voice of the captain of the guard.

"I am in
conference—"

"I beg your
pardon for the interruption, but Mendaharin Tusca is demanding to see
you. He says it is urgent."

"Perhaps
he's heard something about Sagan," Dion suggested.

Maigrey's pallor
increased. "Yes, perhaps he has. Send him in, Agis."

The double doors
slid open. Tusk, accompanied by Nola, bounded into the room.

"Great!
They told me we'd find you both here! We've been lookin' all over the
place for you, lad—"

"Tusca!
What's happened?" Maigrey took an eager step forward.

"Happened?
Nothing, yet. That's what we wanted to talk about." Tusk stared
at her, confused.

Nola grabbed
hold of his hand, squeezed it tightly.

He looked down
at her and smiled. "Nola and I've decided. We want to get
married now. That's okay with you, isn't it, kid? Hell, we're not
doing anything else at the moment."

Dion and Maigrey
stared at him blankly.

"We decided
we don't need anyone to perform the ceremony. I mean, it may not be
real legal, but who knows what's legal these days? It's what we say
and mean to each other that counts and we want the people we love
best to share that with us and . . . well . . . give their blessing
to it. So we thought you and General Dixter and the lad here ..."

Tusk's voice
dried up. Nola began to wilt.

"I mean . .
. that's all right, isn't it?"

"Tusk,"
said Nola, edging close to him, "we interrupted something
important. I think we'd better go—"

Maigrey
recovered herself. "All right? It's wonderful. A wonderful idea.
Everyone, every person in this entire ship, needs something to
celebrate. A wedding would be perfect."

"Begging
your pardon, your ladyship, but we wanted this to be . . . just our
friends," Nola said, flushing.

"Of course.
But afterward we'll have a party," said Dion enthusiastically.
"The biggest party this ship's seen. We'll tell the entire fleet
and the reporters. This will show Peter Robes what we think of his
threats! Let's see, how long will it take us to get ready ..."

"You'd
better have the ceremony tonight," Maigrey said.

She hadn't meant
to sound grim. Nola stared at her with wide eyes, her face grew
downcast.

Tusk frowned.
"Maybe we shouldn't—"

"We
should." Maigrey was deliberately cheerful. "I'll speak to
Admiral Aks and Captain Williams and make the arrangements. We can
have the ceremony—" She started to say "here"
but, glancing around, realized that Sagan's presence in the room was
too pervasive, too powerful. Not at all conducive to a wedding.

"I thought
maybe the hydroponic vegetable garden," Nola said shyly. "It's
not exactly roses and orange blossoms, but it is green and light and
airy. ..."

"I dunno."
Tusk shook his head. "I'm not sure I want to get married around
a bunch of carrots and brussel sprouts."

Dion laughed.
"It'll look great when we fix it up. And perfect background for
the vids. No reporters at the ceremony, of course," he added,
seeing Tusk frown again, "but afterward will be fine. I wonder
how many bottles of champagne are on board? If you'll excuse me, my
lady?"

"Yes,
certainly, Your Majesty," Maigrey answered, trying not to sound
too relieved at his going.

The three left;
Tusk looking foolishly happy, Nola surrounded by a golden glow, Dion
excited enough to be getting married himself. The double doors shut
behind them, shut out their voices, leaving Maigrey alone.

Sagan's quarters
were silent, dark, empty of everything except him. Maigrey walked
over to the communications terminal and sat down at the console,
prepared to astonish, confound, and undoubtedly highly irritate
Captain Williams with demands for a wedding reception. She paused,
however, and stared at her face in a steel panel opposite. Lifting
her hand, her fingers traced, idly, gently, the scar on her cheek.

"And what
about me?" she wondered. "Did I run away from home? Or did
I come back one day to find the house empty, abandoned ..."

The words of his
mouth were softer than butter, having war in his heart; his words
were smoother than oil, and yet they be very swords.

Prayer Book,
1662,
Psalms 55:22

Sagan and
Brother Fideles, their bodies bent against the strong gusts that
swept over the planet, struggled toward their goal. Sand blasted
their flesh. Clouds of dust swirled up suddenly, half blinding them.
The two kept their cowls pulled low over their feces, their hands
hidden protectively within the sleeves of their long robes.

At times, they
were forced to come to a complete halt; the wind pounding them as if
it would blow them over. When they reached the dark, silent, and
towering Abbey walls, they were chilled to the bone, breathing
heavily from the exertion.