It was amazing, Grayson thought, how quickly official government policy could be reversed. Before the battle, offworlders of any type had been persona non grata. Had he been caught by those troopers who had chased him through the alley, he would have wound up in Sarghad's prison, at best. Trellwan's constitution protected its citizens from unreasonable search, seizure, and imprisonment without cause, but his rights as a presumed hostile non-citizen would have been decidedly limited. Now, however, he was the Victor of Sarghad, the valiant Commonwealth officer who had triumphed over the common foe. The King's publicity ministers had worked overtime the night before, preparing the story for newshcets and vid broadcasts today. And tonight, there was to be a formal ceremony and dress ball at the Palace Reception Hall honoring his service to Trellwan.
The door chimed, breaking into Grayson's thoughts. Opening it, he was startled to see the elfin face and wide, dark eyes of Mara.
"My love," she said, pulling her arms around a bewildered Grayson. He had expected to see her at the celebration, of course, but not before. It struck him oddly, too, that she greeted him as "my love". Never, not even during their stolen moments of lovemaking, had she ever called him that But the thought was soon forgotten.
"Mara, how did you get in here?"
"I bribed old Salin to let me come up," she laughed. Salin was the Assistant Court Chamberlain, charged with overseeing Grayson's sartorial preparations for the banquet "I wanted to see you, wanted to have you to myself for a bit before the party began." She clung to him. "I've missed you, Gray. I heard you were trying to reach me. I'm so sorry you couldn't..."
His eyes feasted on her. If this were part and parcel of being a planetary hero, he was all for it. Mara wore a gown fashionable in Sarghadese society, an airy thing of shifting, opaque colors that turned transparent where it clung to her body. He held her close and smiled, knowing he would not arrive on time at the Reception Hall.
That evening, the pleasures of being a hero evaporated somewhat when Grayson realized he didn't have the faintest idea of what he was doing here. People he had never seen before bowed and smiled, nodded and smiled, asked after his health and complimented him on his victory. About all he could do was smile and nod and mumble something in return, as the currents of the crowd gendy washed him into its center. This was, he learned, the premier event of Trellwan's social season. Everyone who was anyone was there.
King Jeverid, was, by tradition, the last to arrive. When he finally made his entrance on the raised stage at the end of the Reception Hall opposite the stairs, the presentation began. Grayson felt even more out of place as he mounted the crimson-carpeted stairs to the King, accompanied by the flourish of the orchestra playing a triumphal march and a pair of sword-bearing Guards officers on either side of him. He'd already met the King privately, of course, and his own choreography in these precedings had been elaborately explained and rehearsed. Still, Grayson struggled with an almost unendurable premonition that he was about to trip over his own ceremonial sword.
Jeverid acknowledged him with a nod and murmured, "My son." The King seemed ancient, his skin parchment, his eyes dull. Jeverid's frail body seemed lost in the crimson cloak that was draped across his shoulders.
"Your Majesty," was Grayson's formal reply.
"Your valor has won for Trellwan a great victory," Jeverid intoned. "What's more, our strategists have determined that the object of the attack on this palace was almost certainly our capture or murder. We recognize your bravery, young Grayson, and the fact that you have single-handedly saved the Royal House of Trellwan."
"I had the help of your soldiers, Majesty."
Grayson's reply had not been in the script, and the King's advisors stirred uncomfortably. "Oh, yes. To be sure, to be sure," replied the monarch of Trellwan. "As a token of our gratitude and appreciation, young Grayson, we award you the Order of the Crimson Star."
Jeverid gestured, and a steward brought him a flat, velvet box and opened it. The King then lifted from the box an ornate starburst on a red loop of ribbon. Grayson advanced, knelt, and bowed his head while Jeverid placed the ribbon around his neck. The starburst was mounted with a small, red stone that caught and reflected the overhead light.
"Rise, Carlyle, Defender of Sarghad," said the King, setting off an echoing roar of applause from the crowd.
Jeverid set a hand on Grayson's shoulder and drew him close, speaking above the noise. "A couple of my generals want to talk to you, m'boy. Seems you impressed 'em with your... ah... tactics."
"I'll be delighted to help in any way I can, Majesty."
"Good, good. Go enjoy yourself now. They'll find you later."
15
The audience was ended, and the agony of the formal reception began. Grayson endured more matronly women, junior officers venturing their opinions on anti-Mech tactics, and the inevitable social hangers-on who wanted to talk with the Court's newest light. It was almost a relief when the ball began. The art of the formal dance had not been one of the social graces instilled in him by his apprenticeship training with the Commandos, but Grayson had acquired enough basic skill to blend in with the colorful crowd. Formal dancing on this world, at least, was little more than graceful movement to slow music, with a girl held in a comfortably close embrace.
And then it was Mara in his arms, a sweet-smelling armful wearing that magical translucence that left so little to the imagination.
"I told you once before you wouldn't be leaving me yet," she whispered in his ear as they glided across the mirrored floor, their movements matched by the movements of their own inverted reflections.
The comment stung unexpectedly. His staying on Trellwan was the result of so many tragedies — Griffith, Riviera, Ari... Dad...
"I wish it could be under happier circumstances."
"Pooh, don't be so gloomy!" she pouted. "I'm just glad you're here, and that you're here to stay! You belong here,... with me."
"Oh?"
"You do your new uniform quite proud, Gray," she whispered, then leaned closer to whisper how they might spend the rest of the evening after the reception.
He forced a smile and drew her eloper, but there was a strange emptiness where his feelings for Mara had formerly been. What was wrong with him? The passionate fire of his last meeting with her had been wiped away by all that had happened since the first attack on the Castle. Grayson recognized that he had changed, starting with the dulling of his desire for Mara. The girl had been a pleasant diversion before the Pact with Oberon, but he had been willing enough to break off their relationship when he had learned the Lance was leaving this sand-miserable world for Tharkad. There could never have been any thought of her coming with him to share the life of a warrior. He'd known her well enough to realize she would never leave the comfort and privilege of Trellwan's Royal household. When he'd awakened to find himself marooned on the planet, Grayson wanted to see Mara because it was possible her influence could rescue him. Though such a mercenary attitude had brought on some nagging guilt, it had been his only ray of hope.
A tap on the shoulder and a murmured invitation from a Guard Colonel interrupted Grayson's darkening thoughts. Mara was reluctant to let him go, but she whispered another steamy proposal and scaled it with a lingering kiss.
Then Grayson followed the guard out of the Reception Hall, down a carpeted passageway to a richly furnished study. The room was dim, lit mainly by the greenish glow of native chaggawood logs burning in the fireplace.
Three men awaited him there. General Varney he knew, white-haired and immaculate in his plain brown uniform with the red tabs of the Militia at throat and shoulders. General Adel he had met briefly earlier. He was younger, with a black mustache that contrasted the silver at his temples. Senior Commandant of the Palace Guards, as well as Chief of Staff for His Majesty's Military Council, Adel's full-dress greens showed more gold than green.