Now Jasek prowled around a long table in the library’s Commonwealth Room, the space dedicated to cataloging the latest texts coming out of Lyran space. The banner of House Steiner—the clenched gauntlet—hung below a wide skylight, equal to the mezzanine level that wrapped around three sides of the grand room. Jasek’s senior officers worked in busy clusters, updating force strength estimates and designing strategies based on what the Jade Falcons might try next. Junior officers drafted as aides ferried and fetched noteputers, maps, and reams of hard copy at request.
His graceful strides ate up the blue carpet one meter at a time while his eyes scoured a noteputer’s amber screen. He tapped in a request for more detail, handed the ’puter off to the team formed around Colonel Petrucci and Tamara Duke, then accepted a thermal-insulated mug of spiced coffee and a sheaf of reports from Niccolò GioAvanti.
He took a sip of the hot beverage, enjoying the cinnamon flavor. The coffee warmed him on its way down, and a hint of cloves rolled out on the aftertaste. The drink was fine, but the intel…
“Not good,” he said after a cursory glance at the hard-copy material. Jasek had been briefed by Tara Campbell—in her newfound manner of terse, clipped sentences—about what to expect.
“The Highlanders’ force readiness is hardly up to battalion-level strength. That’s the best they can do?”
Niccolò shrugged. “It’s what they have, Landgrave.” In public, his best friend always defaulted to the formal address due a member of the nobility. No matter how much Jasek berated him for it later. “The Highlanders have spent a great deal of blood for The Republic lately.”
It was hard to fault Tara Campbell for fighting the depredations of Steel Wolves, Dragon’s Fury, Swordsworn, and any number of other factions rising within The Republic. Her loyalty was beyond question. But the lack of direction from higher up, a lack of support from The Republic’s standing army… it was like fending jackals off a dying body with a slowly splintering stick.
“What a damned waste of good men and materiel.”
Tugging at his family braid, one of his more obvious stalling tactics, Niccolò finally volunteered, “Difficulties must never be allowed to persist in order to avoid war. Wars can only be deferred to the advantage of others.”
A military maxim that Jasek placed from several old texts. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing, Nicco?” Jasek was never certain when his friend was being wise or intentionally witless. “Avoiding war? With the Jade Falcons? With The Republic?” With his father?
He would never ask that last question aloud. He did not have to. Niccolò knew him well enough to understand the demons that wrestled within.
And as usual, when the questions grew toughest, Niccolò defaulted to vagueness. “ ‘The hereditary prince has less cause and less need to offend than a new one,” ’ he quoted directly this time.
A roundabout method of reminding Jasek that any struggle directly against his father put him immediately at odds with the old worlds of the Isle of Skye. Was his only answer to let Skye fail on its own, and then pick up what pieces remained? He drank deep and hard, barely able to taste, punishing himself with the close-to-scalding beverage. He set the mug down on the table.
“I want a better solution,” he told his friend. Louder, he said, “We’re chasing the problem in circles, people. Find another way.”
“You couldn’t have been more interested in another way before you stripped Skye of its defenses?”
The familiar scorn snapped Jasek around at once. Duke Gregory stood inside the double-wide arch at the room’s entrance, waiting to be recognized. Some of Jasek’s more junior officers snapped to nervous attention. Everyone rose at the table, showing respect for a duke’s title at the very least.
New demons stoked the fire burning in Jasek’s heart. His blood coursed. “Leaving Skye in the manner I did was ‘another way,’ Father.” He put just as much sarcasm into the two words as the elder man. “Would you care to discuss my other options publicly”—he nodded at the gathered Stormhammers—“or in private?”
“Avoiding public spectacles has not exactly been your way, Jasek.” Still, Duke Gregory stepped inside the arch, clearing the way for people to leave. “Perhaps privacy is warranted for what we have to discuss.”
A few of the Lyran Rangers, remembering their previous time in the Triarii and the Principes, acknowledged the duke’s dismissal with a rapid departure from the room. Jasek noticed that even Tamara Duke took two steps before stopping to wait for Colonel Petrucci, who remained in place. Jasek nodded a dismissal to his senior staff. Colonels Vandel and Wolf, with no ties at all to the former Republic military, were slowest out the door, and only a few paces behind Niccolò GioAvanti.
Alexia Wolf cast one quizzical glance back at Jasek, which Duke Gregory caught, and then was gone.
Security agents stationed outside the room pulled shut heavy doors that filled the archway with golden-stained oak. There was a kind of finality in the heavy thud of their closing.
Alone with his son, Duke Gregory threw formality and carefully studied appearances out the window. He let some of the weight he carried slough away. Slouching into a chair at the head of the table, he spread his hands on the warm, varnished surface, looking for all intents and purposes like a father sitting down to a meal with his family.
The last several months had not been kind to his father, Jasek saw. The extra gray sprouting in his beard and at his temples, the bags that showed more clearly under his eyes when he relaxed the political mask, the weary slump to his shoulders. But the same ardent fire still burned behind the duke’s bright, hazel eyes.
“Legate Eckard informed me that you had commandeered the library,” Duke Gregory finally said. “Nice maneuver. Confers legitimacy. Your idea, or Nicco’s?”
Jasek let the silence answer for him.
The lord governor nodded. “He always was the more politically savvy,” he said with a touch of regret. “You,” he continued, “you had the military mind, boy, and the drive. And the devil’s own charm, which you inherited from your mother. I just wish you had picked up more of her devotion to Skye.”
“Perhaps I did.” Jasek strolled around the far end of the table, headed back along its length toward his father. He ambled, in no particular hurry, stopping from time to time to rest a hand on one of the empty chairs.
“Maybe I picked up more than you wanted me to. Mother was not the slavish adherent to Devlin Stone’s philosophies that you are. She believed in The Republic only so far as it benefited our people.” He said “our people” in a way that excluded his father, and an angry flush warmed the old duke’s high brow.
“You are going to educate me about my own wife now?”
“Do I need to? Or have you already forgotten the mealtime debates when she pushed back against your enthusiasm for Stone’s Republic?”
The duke’s hands balled into fists, but Jasek noticed a slight tremble, as if he had touched a raw nerve. “Your mother never stood against me,” his father said, tight-lipped.
“No,” Jasek agreed calmly. “Not like I have done. She tempered you. It was a good match. At the right time in Skye’s history.” A stab of longing cut into Jasek’s chest. His mother was five years passed away. At times, he wondered if she would have accepted his stand against The Republic. “But it is history, Father. Our worlds have come as far as they can under The Republic.”
“So now you’d like me to toe the media line and welcome you back as the savior of Skye?” the duke asked. He snorted his disbelief. “I came within millimeters of having you arrested for treason and thrown into a deep, dark hole, with Niccolò not far behind you.”
“We both know you can’t touch Nicco. The GioAvantis are too powerful an old Skye family.”