I waved my half-eaten biscuit at the splendor around me. “And miss all of this? Not on your life.” It was a convenient excuse to cover up my dejection at having reunited with Astrid only to have circumstances pull us apart all over again.
“And what about joining the army? Do you regret that?”
I paused, the second half of my biscuit in my tea. I left it too long, and the greater portion fell into my drink, slopping hot tea onto my hands. “It seemed the right move at the time. Royal Colonial was my ticket into Parliament. I mean, I would have preferred to make the Exploratory Service, but my grades were never good enough. It was always the cavalry for me. If you’re asking if I wish there’d been no war, then yes. If you’re asking if I wish the war had gone differently for me, well, what officer does not hope for promotion? But if you’re asking if I regret defending my Queen and my country, then no. I have no regrets on that account.”
Boleslaw nodded, a curious grin curling behind her coffee, as though I’d answered exactly as she had expected.
Another thought came to me. “The Emperor did mention one thing last night. She apologized for Gretsky’s attack, then said his actions were not in keeping with her ‘new Imperium.’”
That got Boleslaw’s attention. Her pupils dilated like saucers as she sat back in her chair. “New Imperium? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but I have a thought. You read my report on Imperial politics, how they govern via assassination?” Boleslaw nodded. “What if the Emperor is trying to create a more modern form of government? A functioning bureaucracy, able to rule their space through order instead of fear.”
Boleslaw’s eyes unfocused as she considered the possibility.“An intriguing idea. I’m not certain I like the idea of a more efficient Empire, though.”
“It could make them more amenable to a negotiated settlement,” I suggested.
“Or it could make them more efficient invaders,” she replied. “Still, it’s good information. I’ll follow up on it.”
“Follow up on what?” the Duke of Lynwyzc said as he sauntered into the room, pulling at the hem of his waistcoat to position it correctly. I noticed a woman in a disheveled Despotate uniform rapidly doing up her buttons as she hastily dashed from the prince’s apartments to escape the Commonwealth suite.
“The captain’s intelligence,” Boleslaw responded smartly, ignoring the departing Urgan.
“What, whether he has any?” Prince Aureli chuckled at his own joke, then gave me a playful punch on the shoulder. “Just kidding. So you found something useful during your nighttime excursion? Good job.” He sat at the head of the table and leaned back as a footman draped a napkin across his lap.
“What about you, Your Highness? Learn anything interesting last night?” Boleslaw asked.
“The damned Despotate continues to insist upon reparations. I told them that’s a fantasy, but they’re convinced they’re somehow winning this war.” Aureli shook his head. “Insanity. What about you?”
“The League is ready to return to pre-war borders, but Yezhidia’s demanding star systems from its neighbors. I don’t think I can convince the League or the Despotate to accept Yezhidian expansion.”
“The League’s going to have to accept some loss of territory,” I said before I could remind myself to shut up. As Aureli and Boleslaw turned to me, I pushed ahead. “The Empire holds nearly all the League, most of the Despotate, anda good chunk of our own frontier. Someone’s going to have to sacrifice territory in order to come out of this war intact.”
Aureli pointed his fork at me. “You know that, and I know that, but our allies don’t know that. Besides, if we start offering territory, the Empire will ask for more. By opening our hand at a return tostatus quo ante bellum, we can argue the Empire down to minimal territorial concessions in League space. Now, you’d better eat up. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You made it to the quarterfinals. You have a tilt today,” the prince said as he smeared strawberry jam on a scone.
My stomach lurched. With my opponent’s execution, I had forgotten I’d won the tilt before he died. I looked about the table. “Sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t seem to have…”
“Your eggs, sir,” Wiktor said, sliding a plate before me. It held a pair of cheese and bacon sandwiches with a hole in the center of each piece of bread, into which an over-easy egg had been fried. It looked delicious, and the smell made my stomach contract painfully in anticipation, but what I wanted was a reason to delay.
I gave Wiktor a level glare. “Thank you, Wiktor.”
“My pleasure, sir.” He bowed slightly, then glided away. Sometimes, he was a better servant than was good for him. Or me.
***
MY SECOND TOURNAMENTbout was thankfully not another demon, but a tanned bull of a Federation magnate with a fantastically waxed mustache and flat-top haircut named Andre Orsey. He swaggered onto the tournament pitch and flew a pre-emptive victory lap, working up the crowd. I found his antics grating. His previous opponent had been an Urgan lord commander who, in my opinion, a one-legged shoe-shineboy could have beaten with a stick, but he acted as though he had dismounted a full-demon prince.
I had come more prepared than last time, a small white flower threaded through one of my buttonholes. I plucked it from my breast, floated it up to Princess Marie-Christina, and silently offered it to her. She took it, demurely bowing her head to hide her face behind the brim of her wide and fabulously decorated derby hat. I sneaked a peek at the Emperor’s box. She was watching me, her face stoic. I could not tell if my performance had any effect on her.
Disappointed, I returned to the field to salute my opponent. He swung his tournament swordstaff up, then down towards the dirt and yelled, “Don’t worry. I’ll make this quick.”
The crowd laughed, and I scowled. Orsey was soft and pink, unweathered, unaccustomed to hardship. He had the bearing of a playboy, not a soldier, all the flash of Archduke Darius with none of Darius’s clear capability. But this was tournament combat. Even before the war, I had played on the Academy’s tournament team, and while a decade in the supply corps might have diluted my skills, Orsey was not a battle-hardened demon warrior.
I intended to teach this soft senator a lesson.
