The Star Princess (39 page)

And then he'd obliterate all of them.

For all its immense size, the battleship slid gracefully into its docking bay. Cheya's Fist was a military space station on the border of Eireyan space and what was once considered the "uncivilized" wasteland. The space station was rugged and spare, and filled with those who would give their lives to defend Eireya, even though the galaxy had been at peace, except for a few short periods, for over eleven thousand years. The Vedlas had learned the hard way never to let their guard down. And, yet, that was exactly what he had done, Ché thought, reflecting on the man who had deceived him.

As his father prepared for deboarding along with the councilmen, Che's comm chimed, telling him of a private message. "Greetings, Hoe."

Hoe appeared weary. As well he should, Che thought. "My estimated time of arrival at the Fist is point-five standard hours," the advisor said without Ché having to ask. The man then sighed deeply, and with great sadness. "Again, I am sorry for the tragedy today. Princess Ilana, she was so young. Too young to lose her life."

Che's lip curled with malice. "I… find it difficult to converse on the matter." Thickness in Che's voice came from horror, not the grief it seemed to mimic.

"Understood, my lord. We will find Prince Klark, and we will handle the matter quietly and decisively. I spoke to your father, and he agrees."

Ché sensed his father and Councilman Toren standing somewhere behind him, glaring darkly at the small comm screen. They'd approved of the trap Ché had laid for Hoe by inviting him to meet them at Cheya's Fist, and choosing not to tell him that Ilana had made it off the speeder alive. Soon they'd be able to tell by the emotions of both men, Klark and Hoe, who was the one who'd meant to murder Ilana.

Ché knew. It seemed obvious. But to prove it to all, he needed this game to play out to its utter conclusion.

Ché closed the comm and shoved it into his pocket. His mouth lifted in a snarl. "Betrayal," he muttered. "It does not taste pleasant."

His father nodded in quiet empathy. "The pain is unlike any other."

Ché glowered as he tromped down the airlock and into the outpost. Ahead in the crowd of greeters, he saw a flash of wildly curly blond hair looking so vibrantly out of place. "Ilana," he murmured. In that moment, all that mattered was to touch her again, to hold her. His relief at finding her unharmed pierced him like the sharpest blade. He strode off the battleship and into the arrivals hall, where Ilana saw him striding toward her.

"Ché!" He glimpsed blue eyes that were moist with tears of joy as she ran into his arms. He hugged her back in a most un-Vedlalike fashion, gripping her close, his eyes shut, until he had breathed in her essence, pulled her into his very soul, and come alive once more.

He moved her away, his chest tight. They seemed to soak up each other's features, to the apparent delight of the surrounding Vedlas and staff. To them, his "possession" of Ilana Hamilton was quite a coup. To see her respond so favorably to him only increased family pride. And then Ché saw Klark.

Klark stood still, surrounded by guards, but without shock cuffs or any other indication that he was an escaped prisoner. Unarmed, in a space station full of loyal Vedla soldiers, there wasn't anywhere he could go. He had to have known that before coming.

Klark turned his gaze to the floor. It was as if he couldn't bring himself to look at the brother he had so disappointed.

Ché took a step toward him. "Wait." Ilana grabbed his forearms. "Remember the garden carts," she whispered desperately. "How you and Klark used to hijack them from under the gardeners' noses. You always took the blame. Even when it was Klark's idea."

"I was the older," Ché replied.

"You felt responsible."

"Why, yes."

"That's what he feels. Your brother. He's ready to take the blame for the sabotage to my speeder because he feels responsible for what he did to Ian and Tee'ah."

Great Mother. Ilana must have thought he was about to berate Klark, and felt compelled to defend him. Ché pressed his lips together to keep the love and relief he felt from showing in his face. That the woman he wanted to marry had somehow made peace with his brother, a man she had every right to despise, gave him the personal proof he needed: Hoe was the traitor. Hoe was the one who didn't want him to marry Ilana. And had tried to murder her to prevent it.

A commotion in the big hall announced another arrival. Ché thought— and hoped— it was his advisor, but a hulking man tramped inside with a copper-haired Earthwoman.

"I don't believe it." Ilana squinted at the pair. "It's my father's bodyguard. Muffin!" She waved.

The big man whirled in her direction and closed the distance between them in a few long strides. He shook his head in incredulity. "I chased you here all the way from Earth," he said in English.

"He did," said his companion, rolling her eyes.

"Earth?" Ilana demanded. "Nobody told me. Why were you there?"

"To guard you from Prince Ché."

Ché and Ilana glanced at each other in surprise. "I would say that your mission was a failure, then," Ché said with good humor.

Muffin grinned. "I think not."

Ilana extended her hand to the bodyguard's companion. "Hi. I'm Ilana."

The woman smiled. "Yeah. I know. Copper Kaminski," she said, and then the women shook hands in Earth-dweller fashion.

Councilman Toren came forward. "Can you act as witness?" he asked Muffin. "We need a representative from the B'kahs here in person to make the binding legal. As it is, we're pushing all the rules. That one we cannot break."

Muffin squared his enormous shoulders. "I will act as the representative of the B'kahs," he proclaimed. Copper gazed up at him with admiration.

Ooh, Ilana thought. Was this budding love?

She heard grumbling in the crowd, and Hoe, Che's advisor, entered the room.

Hoe looked as if he'd seen a ghost. The room went silent. He was not as adept as Ché at hiding his emotions. The advisor stopped abruptly, almost tripping over his feet as he stared at Ilana. Revulsion and shock fought for dominance over terror. "She is alive," he managed hoarsely.

The expression she saw in Che's face broke her heart. Ché flicked a hand at the guards standing near Klark. "Arrest him."

"Yes— arrest Prince Klark," Hoe cried out. "He tried to kill the Earth princess. He— "

But the guards left Klark and swarmed around Hoe. Ché moved Ilana away from the struggle. "We picked you a princess. A Vash princess," Hoe yelled.

Ché walked closer to the fray. "Ilana of the B'kahs is a princess. To see her otherwise is an insult to our people… and to my judgment as your future king."

Hoe continued to spew a lifetime's worth of misogynistic, racist crap, while the stoic Vedlas encircled him, their pale eyes cold. Take him away," Ché told the guards.

Ilana watched the scene unfold, her heart in her mouth. So, Che's advisor had been behind what had happened. He'd been the one that had mucked up Linda's passport. As the guards led Hoe away, amazingly, the sourness of hate didn't fill her, as it had after Ian's attack. There was only a deep calm, a confidence that this time justice would be done. Gah. Maybe she was more Vash than she thought. Was stoicism contagious?

Ché took her arm. "He may not have acted alone. We will not know for certain until after investigation. Your safety is in jeopardy until our union is official."

Official. Union. Her heart flipped. She was getting married, here and now. She gulped, smiled. "Can I at least shower and change first?"

"I was going to ask the same of you." Ché grinned as two women approached. They were younger than Ché, and beautiful as only highborn Vash princesses could be. Che's sisters, Ilana thought.

"Tajha and Katjian," Ché said with an older brother's affection. "They will help prepare you."

In the princesses' eyes, Ilana read curiosity and happiness. Yeah, they were going to be all right, she thought, wondering if they'd ever consider trading their long dresses for shorts and spikes and helping her organize a Vash women's soccer league.

"Come," Tajha said, smiling.

"You, too," Ilana told Linda.

"Don't worry," her assistant said. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

One phrase kept repeating itself in Ilana's mind as the two silent, exotic women lead her from the room. What the hell am I doing?

Chapter Twenty-five

Ilana caught sight of herself in a mirror, and her breath caught. She looked nervous… and pretty. Like a bride. She gulped.

Her hair was a pile of ornate braids woven by Che's sisters. The gown they'd brought for her was made of white silk, or something like it, and shot through with opalescent threads of every color in the rainbow. Tinted nano-computers created a three-dimensional prism effect, shimmering as she moved. The bodice was snug and modestly cut. Sleeves hugged Ilana's arms to the wrist, where they ended in a point that reminded her of the dresses she'd seen at Renaissance fairs. Vash modesty kept a running theme all the way to the hem of the lushly flowing skirt that swept the floor.

She'd always loved dressing up, but this was the pinnacle of primping.

She did her best to glide into the room where she would bind herself to Prince Ché Vedla for a lifetime.

Princesses glided, didn't they? But she felt like a fake trying, and so she simply walked slowly. Ilana's family was there, too— life-sized glowing images. Her father, Jock Hamilton, returned her smile, his eyes deep blue as he nodded. Uncharacteristic emotion tugged at his features. To his right stood Rom, Ian and Tee'ah, and her mother. "Mom," Ilana mouthed, with a little girl's look-at-me excitement.

Jas was dry-eyed until her gaze met Ilana's. Then her eyes filled with tears. "Love you," she mouthed back.

Copper clung to Muffin's arm, and Ilana winked at her. Then Ilana moved forward, her hands at her sides. Vash brides didn't carry flowers, and she missed having something in her nervous hands. But there'd been no time to ask for any of the few traditions she might have wanted.

Ian smiled at her. She quirked her mouth right back at him and formed the words: I won.

And he shot back: Wrong.

The bet, it seemed, was in dispute.

Then she saw Ché. He moved to the center of a small dais. Dressed in Vash royal ceremonial regalia, he looked like a stranger. His severe uniform was midnight-black with dark silver trim, with a tight, high collar, accentuating his sculpted features and making him appear merciless and cold.

Was she crazy? What was she doing?

Maybe this was a trick, and Klark was in on it. Get the B'kah princess into the Vedla family. Lock her away and make heirs with her to increase Vedla influence. She could almost imagine the maniacal laughter following Che's pronouncement of that scheme.

Her heart thumped harder. Her palms sweated, and she grasped the fabric of her skirt to keep her hands from shaking.

Ché extended his hand to help her step up to the dais. His hand was cool, this stranger's. He led her to a small altar where bowls of oil sat, heated by flames to release their scents into the air.

She wondered if the castle tower that would become her virtual prison would be comfortable. She wondered also how long it would take to grow her hair long enough to play Rapunzel and escape—

"Ilana," Ché admonished under his breath. "Thought warp."

Busted. She winced sheepishly.

Ché pulled the top of his pocket away from his hip just far enough for her to peek inside. A smell reached her nose.

It was the unmistakable odor of nacho cheese.

"Corn Nuts?" she whispered back.

He looked smug. "1 thought we might need them for this."

Their backs were to the guests, who thus couldn't see her struggling not to giggle and cry at the same time. "Yeah. I could use one."

He pressed one into her palm, took one for himself, and they furtively crunched as the Vash priest conferred with the Vedla elders. Then, as Ilana wiped salt from her palms, Ché reached behind the altar. Another surprise, she thought, falling in love with him all over again as they stood there, stood before the guests in a room with fortified alloy walls that resembled a bunker more than it did a church.

He produced a bouquet of flowers. Fresh flowers. Her throat squeezed so tight that saying anything would be hopeless. But she had no doubt that Ché could read the astonished gratitude in her eyes. She grasped the bouquet. "They look like little bells," she whispered, inhaling the delicate, unfamiliar scent. The blooms reminded her of diaphanous lilies of the valley. "Eireyan?"

"They grow in the shaded hollows of the hills above the palace."

"Take me there," she said huskily. "First thing."

"That is where I will marry you in Earth fashion," he promised.

He grasped her hand in his, and they turned to the waiting Vedlas and B'kahs who had assembled to watch a mighty and much-hoped-for alliance form between their two families. Their meddling and advice echoed in the heads of the bride and groom:

— Now you won't have to attend the B'kah wedding, looking… so alone, Ché. You'll arrive with your new queen on your arm, the most eligible of all the princesses, and the B 'kah wedding will be a much happier occasion for all.

— Ilana, I think if you ever opened up, let a man inside that stubborn, smart-ass head of yours, you might be surprised and like it.

— To the outside, it would appear to be the ideal solution to an embarrassing problem. Me, the spurned prince, marrying before the upstart Earth-dweller crown prince does. And not only that, taking his very sister as my bride, thus uniting the B'kahs and the Vedlas.

As the abbreviated wedding ceremony began, Ché and Ilana looked at each other and smiled. Us, pawns of the Federation? she thought, gazing up at her prince. I don't think so.

As if knowing her thoughts, Ché bent his head to murmur in her ear, "The joke, my love, is on them."

Epilogue

Prince Ché Vedla strode down the center of the wide hallway, his capes swirling behind him. His black boots thumped solidly on a gleaming floor— polished stone that threw his looming reflection back to him. He regarded the image a curious detachment, thinking that this was how he'd always pictured himself as a man: powerful, respected. A political leader. Ché was not yet at the top of his game, but he was well on his way. In only a few standard years, his generation had taken the Great Council by storm with ideas that would pull the Vash Nadah into the future— many of them kicking and screaming.