Melissa Steiner-Davion, her blond hair a radiant frame to her beautiful face, met her husband at the door. Hanse did not hear nervousness in her greeting, but he felt it in the tremor of her moist palm as she grasped his hand. That's fear I see in her eyes. Morgan must be in great pain, but it's pain I cannot relieve.
Melissa kissed him lightly on the cheek. "He's angry, Hanse. Take care. He strikes out blindly, but you can help him."
Hanse nodded to his wife, then walked across the small foyer and into the larger sitting room. There he saw Morgan Hasek-Davion seated on a couch staring at the holovideo monitor. Normally tall and noble-looking, Morgan had slumped down on the cream-colored sofa until his back rested on the seat cushion and his long legs extended into the center of the room. His reddish-gold hair, worn long and unbound, hooded his strong-featured face.
Beside him, clinging to his right arm and stroking his hair, sat Lady Kym Sorenson. Worry and fear drained the usually bright look from her pretty face. The way her blond hair was gathered back from her face and her casual dress told the Prince she'd come immediately when called. t wonder if it was something more than duty that prompted her quick response?
Morgan's head snapped around, his green eyes angry. "You! You knew, didn't you? You knew and you didn't tell me!"
Hanse glanced at the monitor. It showed a reporter giving a summation on the press conference. He looked back at Morgan, then shook his head. "I tried to find you and tell you before I had that conference. I didn't want you to hear it that way, but I had to make a statement because the Maskirovka had already begun leaking information to media outlets in the Capellan March. Where were you?"
Morgan snarled like angry dog. "I was out.. . walking!"
Hanse narrowed his eyes. Another nighttime sojourn in the Peace Park, no doubt."You didn't leave word with the Palace where you were. You are my heir .. . that is required of you!"
Morgan's voice dropped to a rime-laden whisper. "I had other things on my mind! I had seen this!" Morgan pointed a remote control at the holovid monitor and hit a switch. The reporter flashed away as if carved up by countless invisible razors.
The monitor focused a scene aboard a DropShip. From the gold insignia on the interior hullplates, the Prince easily identified the craft as belonging to ComStar. As the camera moved back, people came into focus. A ComStar Acolyte, wearing the yellow robe characteristic of his rank, stood in the center of the ship's shuttle bay. On his right stood seven men in the uniforms of Michael Hasek-Davion's Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers. An eighth man, dressed in a dark blue suit of civilian cut, waited with the soldiers at one end of the strip of red carpet.
In the background, a hatch opened in the side of a dart-shaped silver shuttle bearing the Capellan Confederation crest of a sword-clenching fist against a green triangular field. A stepped ramp slowly unfolded and touched the deck just shy of the red carpet. The camera moved in for a close-up as the first Liao representative descended the steps.
Quintus Allard, who had just entered the room to join his Prince, stiffened as the camera focused on that individual's face. Quintus looked up at the Prince and nodded. "It's Justin."
Hanse Davion flicked a glance at Kym Sorenson, but she gave no clue that she recognized or cared who the black-clad Capellan was. Ah, Quintus, you chose this woman well. Though her mission of watching Justin during his time on Solaris Vll ended with her betrayal and a broken jaw, she gives no sign of knowing him at all. Nerves of steel and ice-water for blood. How do you manage to find so many people suited to such difficult duty?
Justin Xiang reached the bottom of the steps, then stood back. His black suit, cut in a conservative Capellan pattern, had no lapel or decorations other than the flat black buttons running up the front. Justin's trousers had razor-sharp creases and hung over the tops of his boots. The Capellan spy wore a black glove on his left hand and carried a white envelope in his right.
He glanced up the stairs, and the camera panned to follow his gaze. The first pair of pallbearers, dressed in suits that matched Justin's in everything except color, descended the steps. The deep, rich brown of the mahogany casket contrasted sharply with the white uniforms of the pallbearers, yet was only a shade or two darker than their flesh. The camera focused on each man, but their half-closed almond eyes and expressionless faces revealed nothing.
The first two men down the steps worked hard to keep the casket level. With strict military precision, the Capellan honor guard carried the mortal remains of Duke Michael Hasek-Davion to the DropShip's deck, then waited for Justin to lead them down the carpeted strip.
Justin preceded them at an even pace, stopping at the ComStar Acolyte. The Federated Suns representative left the Fusiliers behind as he stiffly walked to his place opposite Justin Xiang.
Xiang bowed to the Acolyte. "The Peace of Blake be with you." Xiang then bowed to his counterpart from the Federated Suns, but the gesture showed none of the respect he had given the Acolyte. "Hello, Ambassador Robertson."
The Prince's robust representative gave Xiang a curt nod. "How nice of the Chancellor to allow his lap dog to honor us."
Xiang stiffened, but refrained from slashing back. "The Ares Conventions require the repatriation of all spies, living or dead. Treason is not tolerated in the Capellan Confederation. That which was once Duke Michael Hasek-Davion is yours to do with as you wish." Xiang hesitated for a moment and softened his voice. "The Chancellor wanted to leave the body for carrion birds to pick clean, but I prevailed upon him to return the Duke to you."
The stern look on Robertson's face eased. He nodded slightly. "Thank you, Citizen Xiang. It is good to know you still respect some of our customs like any civilized man."
Xiang's dark, almond eyes flashed with emotion. "There are many things I respect about the Federated Suns, Lord Victor. But you should not imagine that my respect in any way dilutes my desire for vengeance after being humiliated and exiled by Hanse Davion and my father."
Xiang stripped the glove from his left hand, letting the flesh-like garment fall to the carpet. The camera focused on his hand as he brandished it. The light from the holo's harsh spotlights glittered off the metal seams. "I gave a piece of my flesh, and my whole heart and soul for the Federated Suns, but I got nothing in return. Your Prince turned against me, and I am more than happy to reciprocate."
Xiang thrust the envelope into Robertson's hand. "These are all the documents we require to return the body to you. We even included the original of Michael's death warrant. I'm sure the Prince will frame it."
Robertson accepted the documents as Xiang turned away. Both men signaled their soldiers to move forward. Directly at the center of the carpet, opposite the spot marked by the ComStar Acolyte, the Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers accepted the body of their slain master in silent dignity. Only their taut expressions and fury-filled eyes showed their hatred for the Capellans.
Morgan hit the remote control switch. "You told me a number of days ago that you'd received word that my father was injured, but that you could provide no details. Then I get this delivered by messenger. I nearly went mad when I watched it! And when I come here to find out what you know, I'm told you're giving a press conference!"
Morgan shot to his feet and came eye to eye with his uncle. "My God, Hanse, why didn't you wait? Why didn't you speak to me first?'
Morgan thrust a finger at the monitor. "You told the reporters you accepted responsibility for my father's death. You should have stopped him. You shouldn't have allowed him to go to Sian."
Hanse raised himself to his full height. "Allowed him to go? I did no such thing. Your father went of his own accord, and Liao killed him for very good reasons."