Riktors, Mikal went on, your mistakes were very slight. I hope you've learned from them. So that when an assassin as bright as you are tries to take your life, you'll know all the enemies you have and all the allies you can call on and exactly what you can expect from each.

Ansset looked at Riktors's face and remembered how glad he had been when the tall soldier had been made Captain. Let me kill him now, Ansset said.

Mikal sighed. Don't kill for pleasure, my Son. If you ever kill for pleasure, you'll come to hate yourself. Besides, weren't you listening? I'm going to adopt Riktors Ashen as my heir.

I don't believe you, Riktors said, but Ansset heard hope in his voice.

I'll call in my sons-they stay around court, hoping to be closest to the palace when I die, Mikal said. Ill make them sign an oath to respect you as my heir. Of course they'll sign it, and of course they'll all break it, and of course you'll have them all killed the first moment you can after you take the throne. If any of them is smart at all, he'll be at the other end of the galaxy by then. But I doubt there'll be any that bright. When shall we have you crowned? Three weeks from tomorrow is enough time to wait. I'll abdicate in your favor, sign all the papers, it'll make the headlines on the newspapers for days. I can just see all the potential rebels tearing their hair with rage. It's a pleasant picture to retire on.

Ansset didn't understand. Why? He tried to kill you.

Mikal only laughed. It was Riktors who answered. He thinks I can hold his empire together. But I want to know the price.

Price? What could you give me, Riktors, that you wouldn't take as a gift for you yourself anyway? I've waited for you for sixty years. Seventy years, Riktors. I kept thinking, surely there's someone out there who covets my power and has guts and brains enough to come get it. And at last you came. You'll see to it that I didn't build for nothing. That the wind won't tear away everything the moment I'm not there to hold it up. All I want after you take the throne is a house for myself and my Songbird until I die. On Earth, so you can keep an eye on me, of course. And with a different name, so that I won't be plagued by all the bastards who'll try to get my help to throw you out. And when I'm dead, send Ansset home. Simple enough?

I agree, Riktors said.

How prudent. And Mikal laughed again.

21

The vows were made, the abdication and the coronation took place with a great deal of pomp, and Susquehanna's caterers and hotelkeepers became wealthier than they had ever dreamed. All the contenders and pretenders were slaughtered, and Riktors spent a year going from system to system to quell all the rebellions with his own mixture of brutality and sympathy. After the first few planets were at peace, the populace happy and the rebels butchered, most of the other rebellions quelled themselves.

It was only the day after the papers announced that Riktors Ashen was coming home when the soldiers appeared at the door of the little house in Brazil where Mikal and Ansset lived.

How can he! Ansset cried out in anguish when he saw the soldiers outside. He gave his word!

Open the door for them, my Son, Mikal said.

They're here to kill you!

A year was more than I hoped for. I've had that year. Did you really expect Riktors to keep his word? There isn't room in the galaxy for two heads that know the feel of the imperial crown.

I can kill most of them before they could come near. If you hide, perhaps--

Don't kill anyone, Ansset. That's not your song. The dance of your hands is ugly without the song of your voice, Songbird.

The soldiers began to beat on the door, which, because it was steel, did not give way easily. They'll blow it open in a minute, Mikal said. Promise me you won't kill anyone. No matter who. Please. Don't avenge me.

I will.

Don't avenge me. Promise. On your life. On your love for me.

Ansset promised. The door blew open. The soldiers killed Mikal with a flash of lasers that turned his skin to ashes. They kept firing until nothing but ashes was left. Then they gathered them up. Ansset watched, keeping his promise but wishing with all his heart that somewhere in his mind there was a wall he could hide behind. Unfortunately, he was too sane.

22

They took twelve-year-old Ansset and the ashes of the emperor to Susquehanna. The ashes were placed in a huge urn and displayed with state honors. Everyone was told that Mikal had died of old age, and no one admitted to suspecting otherwise.

They brought Ansset to the funeral feast under heavy guard, for fear of what his hands might do.

After the meal, at which everyone pretended to be somber, Riktors called Ansset to him. The guards followed, but Riktors waved them away. The crown rested lightly on his hair.

I know I'm safe from you, Riktors said.

You're a lying bastard, Ansset said softly, so that only Riktors could hear, and if I hadn't given my word to a better man than you, I'd tear you end to end.

If I weren't a lying bastard, Riktors answered with a smile, Mikal would never have given the empire to me.

Then Riktors stood. My friends, he said, and the dignitaries present gave a cheer. From now on I am not to be known as Riktors Ashen, but as Riktors Mikal The name Mikal shall pass to all my successors on the throne, in honor of the man who built this empire and brought peace to all mankind. Riktors sat amid the applause and cheers, which sounded like some of the people might have been sincere. It was a nice speech, as impromptu speeches went.

Then Riktors asked Ansset to sing.

I'd rather die, Ansset said.

You will, when the time comes. Now sing-the song Mikal would want sung at his funeral.

Ansset sang then, standing on the table so that everyone could see him, just as he had stood to sing to an audience he hated on his last night of captivity in the ship. His song was wordless, for all the words he might have said were treason, and would have stirred the audience to destroy Riktors on the spot. Instead Ansset sang a melody, flying unaccompanied from mode to mode, each note torn from his throat in pain, each note bringing a sweeter pain to the ears that heard it.

The song broke up the banquet as the grief they had all pretended to feel now burned within them. Many went home weeping; all felt the great loss of the man whose ashes dusted the bottom of the urn.

Only Riktors stayed at the table after Ansset's song was over.

Now, Ansset said, they'll never forget Father Mikal.

Or Mikal's Songbird, Riktors said. But I am Mikal now, as much of him as could survive. A name and an empire.

There's nothing of Father Mikal in you, Ansset said coldly.

Is there not? Riktors said softly. Were you fooled by Mikal's public cruelty? No, Songbird. And in his voice Ansset heard the hints of pain that lay behind the harsh and unmerciful emperor.

Stay and sing for me, Songbird, Riktors said. Pleading played around the edges of his voice.

I was placed with Mikal, not with you Ansset said. I must go home now.

No, Riktors said, and he reached into his clothing and pulled out a letter. Ansset read it. It was in Esste's handwriting, and it told him that if he was willing, the Songhouse would place him with Riktors. Ansset did not understand. But the message was clear, the language unmistakably Esste's own. He had trusted Esste when she told him to love Mikal. He would trust her now.

Ansset reached out his hand and touched the urn of ashes that rested on the table. I'll never love you, he said, meaning the words to hurt.

Nor I you, Riktors answered. But we may, nonetheless, feed each other something that we hunger for. Did Mikal sleep with you?