Chương 34: Brandy and Wine

New Toledo, Vidako Imperium Stellarum October 4, 2847 By the time that he and Cassie had sat down to dinner, Arc had been introduced to the chief executive officer of the First Bank of New Toledo, the owner of Anderson & Reyes Construction, two members of the board at Saint Pacificus Hospital, and a district judge. He had the distinct impression that not a single one of them had any desire to speak to him —but they all wanted to talk to the princess imperial, for as long as she was willing to listen.

Nicté Lucia Montalban hadn't been lying when she'd promised him that he'd be reunited with Cassie as soon as the duke had made his entrance; the duchess escorted Arc right over to where the hangers-on were already gathering about her husband and his prize guest. There, she quite seamlessly accomplished the task of taking Cassie's place on her husband's arm, while handing Arc off to Cassie.

Over the next forty-five minutes, Arc found that his opinion was solicited on such a wide variety of topics that his head practically began to spin. The only comfort was that the questions were obviously only meant to be polite, and no one seemed inclined to remember much of anything he said. He caught occasional glimpses of Jessica, usually hovering along one wall of the parlor like Cassie's shadow, but no one ever even tried to speak to the imperial guard.

"How long, do you think, before word of Admiral Wai's success reaches us here at Vidako?" the executive from the bank asked. She was a woman who'd evidently benefitted from telomere therapy to achieve a sort of extended youth, and Arc suspected that everything she wore—from shoes to earrings—was worth more than anything his parents owned.

"War is the realm of uncertainty; three quarters of the factors on which action in war is based are wrapped in a fog of greater or lesser uncertainty," Arc replied. He was curious to see whether there would be the faintest hint of recognition in her eyes, but instead the woman's forehead wrinkled in a frown.

"Von Clausewitz, eighteen thirty-two. The old Terran Principality of Prussia, defunct for—well, quite a while." A man's voice broke into the conversation; Cassie and Arc both turned to regard two officers in the dress-reds of the duke's guard as they walked up to join the conversation. One had a neatly trimmed dark mustache and distinct similarity of facial features to Duke Montalban, while the other was a muscular man with skin the color of dark, jungle soil, and a bright grin.

"Commander Esteban," the CEO said, inclining her head.

"Your mechs looked most impressive this evening."

"They're sharply painted, at least," the black man grumbled, and extended his hand, first to Cassie and then to Arc.

"But I'd rather have a few of those Janissaries sitting down on Academy Hill. Lieutenant Commander Marcus Ajewọle—and the walking dictionary of military theorists is my husband, Commander Esteban Alarcón Montalban."

"You're the two we've been waiting on before sitting down to dinner, then," Cassie said, flashing the men a smile.

"Duke Alvarez's younger brother, yes?" She shook each of their hands in turn, and then it was Arc's turn.

"Arc Sandhurst," he said, as he grasped Commander Ajewọle's hand.

"I was curious whether anyone would actually pick up on the quote."

"Professor DeVault would have never let me live it down if I had not," Commander Montalban admitted, with a rueful grin.

"Based on the fact you reeled it off in casual conversation, I'd hazard a guess you're one of his."

"You'd be correct," Arc admitted.

"You said you're married?" Cassie asked.

"Ten years now; Progenitor knows how Esteban's put up with me for that long, but he hasn't left yet," Ajewọle joked.

"We've got two kids running around here somewhere, but they'll be avoiding us."

"Up to trouble, no doubt, with their cousins," Montalban said, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"But if your escort knows his military theorists, Princess, I think I need to speak with my sister-in-law and make certain we're sitting close enough to have a real conversation."

"Do you have any guess on when we'll hear back about Admiral Wai's rescue efforts, though, Commander?" the CEO pressed.

"The cadet here didn't quite give me an answer."

"Of course he did," Esteban shot back.

"You simply didn't want to hear it. The distances are too great, the delay in communications too severe for us to speculate in any useful way. Not to mention that none of us here have been briefed on the capabilities of the enemy, nor the conditions on the ground. The battle could be over while we speak here, or it could drag on for months. Excuse us, please, Señora Ruiz. I suspect that we're about to bore you with a great deal of technical military talk."

"Of course," Ruiz said. Clearly dissatisfied, she bowed her head to Cassie and withdrew.

"Thank you," Arc said, lowering his voice.

"Don't even worry about it," Ajewọle said, nudging Arc with a gentle elbow.

"Now, tell us about the academy. They still run all you mole rats through Hard Burn? They take you up to the lake?" Arc exchanged a grin with Cassie, and for the first time since he'd stepped out of the VTOL onto the tarmac, he started to relax. Esteban Montalban did slip off, at some point, to accomplish his self-appointed mission, and the duchess must have been prevailed upon to agree to his request.

When the duke announced it was time to go through into the dining room, Arc found himself seated with Cassie on one side, Esteban and Marcus Ajewọle across the table and, somehow, the duke's son Santiago on Cassie's right. Whatever reticence Arc had felt about the boy's inclusion vanished as soon as Santiago opened his mouth.

"Have either of you fought in a duel yet?" he asked, dark eyes shining with enthusiasm. While heaping servings of paella, packed with shellfish, went onto everyone else's plates, Santiago didn't seem even the slightest bit interested in the food. Arc blinked, but Cassie simply smiled.

"I thought you were interested in architecture." Santiago rolled his eyes, while Esteban and Marcus shared a quick glance and broke out laughing.

"Yeah," Marcus said.

"So interested that he spends all of his free time studying our hangar so he can think up ways to improve it."

"Architecture is what my father and mother want me to study," Santiago said, lowering his voice.

"No, what I'm interested in is piloting. But father won't hear of it."

"No, military service is for us second sons and daughters, isn't it?" Esteban asked, looking across the table to meet Cassie's eyes quite deliberately.

"Just as it was in ancient times, among my ancestors in España. One to inherit, one for war, perhaps a knighthood, and one to enter the church."

"With the daughters to be married off for political advantage?" Cassie responded.

"The Imperium is better than that, thankfully. If we've done nothing else, at least we've left discrimination based on gender in the past."

"Naw, we just discriminate on the basis of social class, instead," Marcus Ajewọle said.

"Don't look at me like that, Santiago, you know I'm right. Your father took a lot of grief when he brought home your mother, and I see how everyone looks at me. You can't tell me they aren't parading one duke's daughter after another in front of you. And when's the last time a member of the Imperial family got hitched to a commoner?" Cassie scowled at that.

"That's up to the emperor. The Right of Espousal —""—says your father has to approve. And he isn't interested in people like me," Marcus said.

"This is an old argument, and not one that is likely to result in a pleasant meal," Esteban broke in.

"Let it be, my love. If they haven't broken us up after all this time, it isn't going to happen now. Anyway, my favorite nephew was asking about duels, weren't you, Santiago?"

"Your only nephew," the boy grumbled, but leaned forward.

"Yes. Have either of you fought a duel yet?" Arc laughed and shook his head.

"They haven't even let us out of the simulators," he answered.

"We are finally practicing with weapons, though. Have you ever got to fire one of those twenty-millimeter autocannons? They warn you the things have a kick, but until you actually pull the trigger, you don't understand."

"Uncle Esteban won a duel," Santiago said, his eyes twinkling.

"Have you?" Cassie asked.

"Is it a story you're willing to tell?" Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"I can't do it with a dry throat, at least," Esteban complained, then took a long drink of wine from his glass.

"Alright. So, our father—the previous duke—was determined that, since his eldest son had thrown away the chance at making a good match —""A good political match," Marcus interrupted.

"Can I tell the story, or not?" Esteban said, turning to face his husband. Marcus held up his hands.

"You can tell it, and I'll only correct you when you need it!" Arc couldn't help but laugh along with Cassie and Santiago. It was obvious from the boy's reaction that he'd heard this story more than once, but he still hung on every word of the performance. And it was a performance, he was certain, with Marcus playing things up for their audience." — so, he'd set me up with a betrothal to one of the Jahalin girls, at the time," Esteban went on.

"There were only two problems, of course, with that. The first was that I don't have the slightest interest in women, and the second was —""He'd already met me," Marcus burst in.

"Well, Duke Jahalin ended up being quite thoroughly insulted when I refused the match, of course," Esteban said.

"And the girl's brother challenged me immediately. What was his name, Marcus?"

"Abbas Jahalin," Marcus supplied.

"I don't know how you could forget. It meant 'lion,' and he went on about it endlessly."

"So, he challenges me," Esteban said, holding his wine glass in one hand while he raised the other to emphasize the story he was telling.

"And truth be told, he wasn't bad. The problem was, you see, that he was a Tagma pilot."

"This is all back before the Imperium was pushing out third-generation mechs," Marcus added.

"While I pilot a Mangonel," Esteban went on.

"And a Culverin, right at the end of our final deployment, but that's beside the point. So, he needed to get up close, right, because he's got nothing with a range of more than twelve kilometers. I told him, fine, I accept, but I choose the time and the place."

"That's tradition," Marcus added.

"It's why you never want to be the one to make the challenge, kids. Let the other guy—or girl—lose their temper. It gives you an advantage."

"You picked someplace with absolutely zero cover, didn't you?" Arc asked. It was an easy enough guess to make.

"The salt flats of Alfaragh Aleazim, on Hadiqa," Esteban said.

"Absolutely flat. Just a cracked, white crust as far as the eye can see in every direction. Nowhere to hide from my missiles. He ended up having his techs pull the laser cannon on his shoulder—that was before IMT had worked the kinks out of the plasma accelerators—for an antimissile turret." Esteban fell silent, looking into his glass of wine, until Arc finally couldn't stand it anymore and asked, "So what happened?"

"I pounded him into rubble from over thirty kilometers away," Esteban said, and his voice had become flat.

"He never transmitted a surrender signal, never ejected, so I just kept launching until there wasn't anything else moving on the flats. They had to verify his identity with a DNA test on what was left." Marcus reached over to put a hand on his husband's back, and for a moment, Arc didn't have anything else to say. 𝝮 By the time the dinner-party had retired back to the parlor for brandy, Duke Montalban was red in the face enough to no longer be quite so circumspect about his grievances with the imperial government.

The children, by this point, had been dismissed, much to Santiago's disappointment." — ridiculous," he said, surrounded by a small circle of hangers on who nodded at his every word.

"Spanish is a language of poetry. Lorca, Marquez, even Castillazuelo, just before the re-unification. Why should we be required to teach English in all our schools, to all of our children?" Cassie gave a little groan, from where she sat at Arc's side on a very fine, very expensive looking chaise lounge.

Arc had ended up putting his right arm over the back of the piece—what little back there was—and she'd nestled in so comfortably that he'd been practically petrified and afraid that if he moved, he'd ruin it—or call attention to how they were sitting.

"I have to say something," she grumbled, and leaned forward.

"Imperial Standard, Duke Montalban," she said, raising her voice.

"It is required that all public schools in the Imperium Stellaris teach Imperial Standard to their students."

"You can call it whatever you like, it is English," Montalban groused.

"All legal business, all contracts, all legislature —""Language binds people together," Cassie said, showing not the slightest hesitation to interrupt him. Around the room, Arc saw other conversations dying, as more faces turned toward the disagreement between their duke and the princess imperial.

"Our worlds and our people are scattered across hundreds of light years. It can take months to get a message from one side of the Imperium to the other. We need a common language, a common calendar, to unite us."

"I am familiar with the imperial line," Montalban retorted.

"It amounts to cultural erasure. You would find, Your Imperial Highness, that a candidate willing to consider changes in this regard would enjoy substantial support during the next election." Arc felt Cassie's shoulders tense beneath his arm.

"My father is only fifty-four," she said.

"There won't be an election for many years."

"God willing," Duchess Nicté Lucia said, raising her glass.

"To the health and reign of Emperor Altair Janus Solaris." The entire room raised their glasses, Arc included, and echoed her words before drinking the toast.

"Yes, of course," Duke Montalban said.

"Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness, I never meant to imply otherwise. But your father was once a prince, and sooner or later there will come the time for another election. Cressida Xingxi Xiao-Solaris has given indications that she would be sympathetic to certain changes in this regard."

"My cousin can insinuate whatever she wants," Cassie said.

"When there is an election—which I hope is not for many, many years yet—I won't stand for it. What I want, Your Grace, is a career in fleet. I came here to be a pilot, not to start building my campaign for empress. My brother can do that, and he'll do a better job with it than I ever would."

"Prince Orion is quite popular," the duchess said.

"And from how many pictures of him in his uniform circulate the world net, I suspect I am not the only one who regards him as handsome."

"Really, mi corazón?" Duke Montalban complained.

"Right here in front of me? Have I grown too old and fat for you?"

"Not yet, at least," Nicté Lucia teased. She stepped close to her husband and gave him a kiss, to the gentle laughter of the room.

"But let us speak of more pleasant matters. Will the two of you be journeying home when the academy goes on break in December?" This time, when every gaze in the room turned to the chaise, Arc felt that their eyes were looking at him, nearly as much as at Cassie.

"I won't be," he admitted.

"My family can't afford another round trip between Zurah V and Vidako. I'll just stay on campus and study, spend whatever time I can in the sims." Nicté frowned.

"No, that won't do at all," she said.

"You'll be our guest for Christmas, Cadet Sandhurst. I insist, and I promise it will be much more pleasant—with far better meals! —than if you'd remained at the academy. And you, Princess Cascada? Will you accept our invitation?" Cassie turned toward him, and Arc met her eyes, though he was certain he knew what her response would be. Of course she'd go back to Terra, to spend time with her family.

For a princess imperial, the cost of transport wasn't even worth mentioning—which meant there was no reason to stay on Vidako.

"I will," she said, and Arc could hardly hear the applause over the sudden pounding of his own heart.

"Excellent!" Duchess Nicté exclaimed, setting her glass aside on a nearby table.

"We are thrilled to hear it. But in any case, it's getting rather late. Let me show the two of you to the rooms we've prepared." Arc rose and offered a hand to Cassie; the gesture was quickly becoming automatic, and he thought that a few more nights like this would have trained it into him for the rest of his life. It took another twenty minutes to extricate themselves from everyone who wanted to bid the princess imperial farewell and thank her for coming—even with the duchess's help.

Finally, they escaped up to the third floor of the palace, down a corridor which had been closed off entirely by the duke's guards.

"Two suites, across the hall from each other," Nicté explained, sweeping past the guards without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"No one other than the two of you—and your bodyguard, of course, Princess Cascada—will even be allowed into the hall. Everything is prepared, the linens are fresh." Upon reaching the doors, the duchess pushed each open in turn, causing the rooms within to be illuminated by automatic lights.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Cassie said. She had not, Arc noticed, removed her hand from his arm, and her cheeks looked slightly flushed. It suddenly occurred to him that he should have kept a count of how many drinks she'd had.

"It is our honor. Good evening." The duchess curtseyed, gave them a smile, turned and swept back down the corridor, past her guards, leaving Arc and Cassie alone. It was both thrilling and terrifying. Cassie was looking at him, with the slightest smile on her lips, and he knew that he should say goodnight. He should say goodnight, flee into his room, and lock the door behind him. But she stood there, in her gown of blue and white silk, and perhaps it was the wine and the brandy that made him brave.

Or perhaps I just know I'll regret this for the rest of my life if I walk away, he thought, quite clearly. Arc leaned forward and turned his head until his lips touched hers. Whatever hesitation he'd had, whatever fear of being rejected, Cassie must not have felt at all. She opened her mouth, and then he could taste her—the wine and the brandy, and the touch of their tongues.

He caught her around the back, his hands sliding over the soft expanse of exposed skin where her dress left the shoulder blades and the spine bare, and he felt her arms wrap around his neck in turn, until their bodies were pressed together. Jessica coughed.

"I think that will be all for this evening, Cadet Sandhurst," the imperial guard said.

"Please step into your own room, now." Arc gently disentangled himself from Cassie and took a step back.

"She's like a ghost," he said.

"A ghost that interrupts things," Cassie grumbled.

"Goodnight, Arc." She turned, giving him one last look at how the silk draped her hips, and slipped into her room, closing the door behind her.

"Just so we're completely clear," Jessica said, turning to pin Arc with her eyes like some sort of repulsive bug.

"If you so much as open your door tonight, you'll be riding the Saker back on a stretcher."

"Understood." Arc retreated into his own room and shut the door behind him—not that it would be enough to keep him safe from the imperial guard, if she wanted to get in.