Jay glanced about and wondered what the man had been like who decorated this vividly painted room. His legacy was a bloodstain on the floor now.

The door opened, and a clear young voice called out. “Jay Ackroyd, what a wonderful surprise. I should have realized when Grand-pиre vanished at Festival that you were responsible.”

Blaise walked in. Durg trailed him, silent and morose as ever, festooned with weapons like an apocalyptic Christmas tree. The breath jammed in Jay’s chest, and he emitted a sound that was half squeak, half moan. For one wild moment he considered thrusting Illyana beneath his chair. Instead he pinned a tattered grin to his face and stood.

Blaise was dressed in his trademark black, but the skintight jumpsuit had been augmented with a high-collared jacket. The heels of his high black boots had been encrusted with diamonds, and more of the jewels formed military-style bands on the sleeves and breast of his jacket. More diamonds had been plaited into the long braid that fell between his shoulders, and the diamonds and jet set into his face flashed and flickered and held the eye like the gaze of a snake. He also carried himself with an assurance far beyond his sixteen years.

Jay braced for the attack. Instead he was pulled into a crushing and exuberant embrace. “Jay, my dear, dear old friend. How are you?”

Hearing English almost made Jay forget his fear and the danger in which he stood. “Can’t complain.”

“What are you doing in Ban?”

His mind was racing furiously, and Jay reminded himself of the old adage. Lie with enough of the truth to sell it. And since Blaise wasn’t a telepath, Jay just might pull it off – assuming no real telepath was brought in to verify his story.

Jay continued. “I got involved with this lady, and she’s had some problems with the Ilkazam. They tried to tell me I had to stop seeing her, and…” He shrugged.

But Blaise wasn’t interested in Hastet. “Remember that awesome night in Atlanta?”

Blaise settled into a chair with the air of a man prepared to stay and reminisce. Since that counted as probably the worst night of Jay’s life, his response was perhaps a little sharper than it should have been.

“No, no, Jay,” Blaise demurred. “I learned a lot that night. Grandfather, when he kept trying to psychoanalyze me, said the course of my life had been set that night. I think he was right. And I’m very, very grateful to you.” He smiled winningly. “Look at this. From frightened teenager to planetary potentate. Not bad, huh?”

The transitions from flowery Takisian to exuberant adolescent had Jay grabbing for the safety bar on this mental roller-coaster ride. Blaise stood and circled Jay. His eyes were on the baby. Jay swallowed panic. Blaise plucked Illyana from Jay’s arms. Her wails increased in intensity.

“What a pretty, pretty little girl.” Blaise glanced inquiringly at Jay.

“She’s Hastet’s. Her husband knocked her up, and then got killed in a raid. That’s why she’s so down on the Ilkazam too,” Jay babbled, and felt like an idiot.

“Really?” Jay nodded. “I don’t think so.” Blaise laid the screaming child over his shoulder. “We read your Hastet, so I know this is my daughter.”

Jay began bringing up his finger. Then Blaise was in his head, and his hand froze at waist level.

“Read him,” Blaise ordered the captain, and Jay felt as if a rake had been taken to his cortex. Two mentats cavorting in his brain didn’t seem to leave enough room for Jay. His head exploded in pain. Eventually it ended, leaving only the bitter taste of defeat and betrayal. Jay apologized to the baby, and to the distant Tachyon.

“Jay, I’m very appreciative that you brought me my daughter, and you and your girlfriend must consider yourselves my honored guests. But I’m afraid you might take it into your head to send my child away, so while it pains me to inconvenience you in any way” – a little smile, a slight shrug, and a regretful sigh – “I’m afraid I must.”

Blaise outlined his plan to the captain. It served no purpose other than to set Jay struggling so hard that he broke into a visible sweat. Jay had a feeling that was the effect Blaise had been seeking. The pleasure of feeling a captive mind battering to no avail. Blaise tweaked, and Jay walked obediently over to the desk and spread his hands, palm down, on the stone surface. Blaise held out a hand, and Durg laid a very long, very wicked, very sharp knife in it.

Maybe Blaise really did like Jay – he didn’t saw. A hard chop, and the right index finger went hopping across the desk as if propelled by the font of blood. Jay screamed. The knife fell a second time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

After her release from Rarrana Tisianne had rejected overtly female dress. No one seemed to notice except her, and the ambivalence that gripped her was both alarming and infuriating. For some reason a return to pants and boots full-time was almost as uncomfortable as those first weeks in Rarrana when she adapted to the confinement of skirts.

Then three days before the ball, a parade of relatives began marching through her suite, and she discovered they had noticed. It began with Mark and an overly casual “Are you gonna wear something pretty to the ball?” Then Taj demanded she wear something appropriate. Zabb had ordered her. Tis in a fury had informed him she wouldn’t attend at all. And it all culminated with Roxalana, who had simply taken matters into her own capable hands and had a gown made.

It was a beautiful dress with layers and layers of petticoats, and a wide, sweeping skirt made from multicolored panels. The worst aspect of the gown was the neckline, which plunged deep over the breasts and left her shoulders and much of her back bare.

“Wow. You’re, like, beautiful, man,” Mark said as Tis frowned at her image in the full-length mirror.

“After months of looking like an overstuffed ottoman, anything would be an improvement. Gena, bring me a lace shawl.” The girl obeyed, and Tis arranged it around her shoulders and tucked it into her dйcolletage. Gena pinned it in place with a corsage.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Mark objected.

“Shut up.”

There was a chime at the door. A guard scanned and opened it to reveal Roxalana in the company of two of her bodyguards. She circled Tisianne critically.

“Very nice, but this will not do.” She quickly unpinned the corsage and twitched away the shawl.

“What is this? Do you think the sight of my bosom is going to so move the Master Trader he will drop his demands?”

“No, I just hate to see the lines of a fine dress ruined by prudery.” Lani pinned the flowers in Tis’s elaborate upswept hair.

There was another chime. Taj stuck his head in. “I’m off to collect the hawker.” He nodded. “Very nice, but you need jewelry.”

He was gone again before Tis could formulate a really crushing reply. A sound suspiciously like a chuckle emanated from Mark’s direction. “Would you like to make any comments?” Tis asked with razor-sharp sweetness.

“Uh, I think I’d wear gloves. You know, those real long ones.”

The chime sounded again. “Ideal, is this Grand Central?” Tis exploded. “Maybe I should put in a revolving door?”

Zabb entered. Tis spun in a circle, affording him a good look, “Does this meet your approval, my lord?”

Zabb kissed Roxalana on the cheek. “You look lovely as always, vindi.” She did, in her red-and-amber gown. Zabb surveyed Mark. “And you look… remarkable.”

And that also was the truth. The ace wore a long swallow-tailed coat of pale blue, a knee-length waistcoat in bright crimson, both of which accentuated his great height and thinness. The ensemble was completed with knee breeches in blue, crimson stockings, and green ankle boots.

Zabb cleared his throat and turned to face her. Tis realized he was nervous. She mentally tensed.