“They think you’re a greedy, sly woman capable of insinuating yourself into the affections of an elderly spinster—and possibly capable of doing her actual harm, by precipitating a stroke.” He stared at her a long moment, then held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “No—don’t answer that. I disagree with them, in part because I’ve known Cece all my life, and when she came to talk to me about Gerel I got an earful about you as well. I’ve known Cece, as I said, and she’s never been taken in by anyone charming since she was sixteen or so. She’s a superb, if acerbic, judge of character; she’s located and remarked on all my failings. Cece thought you were a rare find, and I abide by her judgment. That’s another reason for my request.”
Heris tried not to shift about in her chair. She was glad to know the king trusted Cecelia’s judgment, but she wished he would get to the point. She distrusted easy compliments and indirection.
“Now—without going into all the historical tangles—we’ve got a mess, the entire Familias Regnant. You saw Gerel’s problem—” Heris wished she dared interrupt to say You mean his stupidity? but simply waited. “It’s not innate,” the king said. “I’m sure you know that many prominent people have doubles.”
That startled her, and she tried not to show it. “I . . . had heard of that, sir.” And what did that have to do with it?
“No one knows how many of the heads and heirs of prominent families have them, of course. In the military, except for covert operations, regulations prohibit them for any but flag officers in major military actions . . . otherwise, we’d be stumbling all over extra Lieutenants Smith and Brown whenever the real ones wanted to spend an extra thirty days on home leave. You can understand, I hope, that the royal family is well-supplied with doubles, both for convenience and security. In fact, that’s how Admiral Lepescu got Gerel away from Naverrn without anyone noticing. One of his doubles was there; we’re claiming that it was one of his doubles who went to Sirialis, although I’m afraid Bunny won’t believe it.”
“I . . . see.” Heris wondered for a moment if the foolish young man could have been the prince’s double. She didn’t know the prince, after all. And the Crown would have had to respond as if he were, even if he weren’t. In that case, maybe only the double was stupid. If the king was telling the truth. It shocked her to realize how she doubted him.
The king sighed, and steepled his hands. “Captain Serrano, I must admit—in confidence—that the person you met as Mr. Smith was in fact the prince. The real prince. He is now back on Naverrn, and his double is safely back in hiding. That’s not the problem. As I said, his infirmity is not natural—not inborn—and it was induced in much the same way as I think Cece’s stroke was induced. I knew about it, of course, from the beginning. It was the threat. They’d killed Jared, his oldest brother—” Heris remembered that, the assassination of the eldest prince, when she was serving aboard the Stella Maris. The whole Fleet had gone on alert, expecting some kind of rebellion, but nothing happened. “Until then I hadn’t used doubles much; certainly not for the children. After that—with Gerel—we switched him around quite a bit. They were proving they could still find him—and hurt him—without the public scandal of another death.”
“Do you know who?” Heris asked. The king shook his head.
“We have three or four major possibilities. You’re not a political fool; you can probably figure them out for yourself.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Heris. She wasn’t about to speculate about politics; it wasn’t her field. Moreover, it was obvious that the king himself, or his faction, must be among the possibilities. Who else would have more opportunity, both for the act and its later concealment? Despite her distaste for the exercise, motives sprouted in her mind: fear, greed, lust for power.
“I daren’t trust any medical facility in the Familias,” the king said. “But beyond the Compassionate Hand, there’s the Guerni Republic. They have the best medical facilities in known space; they trade in biomedical knowledge and skill. I want you to take Gerel there, and see if his condition can be treated or reversed without killing him. I have his entire medical file—the people responsible actually gave me some of the details, to prove they’d done it. Our specialists say they can’t do anything without causing permanent damage, even death. I need you, because I dare not send him by Fleet or commercial vessel. Not only would his condition become known, but those responsible would surely intervene. I had planned to ask Cece if she’d be willing to do it, but then she had her stroke . . . if it was a stroke.”
Was that openness a sign that the king hadn’t done whatever was done to Cecelia? Or just an attempt to convince her? Heris chose her words with care. “You want me to steal the yacht out from under the noses of the family, against all law and regulation, and go to Naverrn and take the prince from there to the Guerni Republic—which is some dozen worlds around two or three stars, if I recall—to attempt a treatment you know nothing about? Begging your pardon, but that seems a . . . very strange proposal.”
“Of course it does,” the king said. “It is a strange proposal. Dangerous—”
“Suicidal,” Heris said. “We’ll be outlaws here, for having taken the ship when it was under legal dispute, and since we’ve taken it out of the system, the R.S.S. will be after us as well. It is essential for your plan that we not be known as your agents—and thus you cannot keep the wolves off our track. We can circumvent the Compassionate Hand—it just takes longer—but how are we supposed to pick up the prince when every ship will know we’re fugitives already?” Actually, that wasn’t such a problem; Oblo had already set up an alternate identity for the Sweet Delight. But the king needn’t know that. “As for the Guerni Republic . . . exactly where did you expect us to deliver the prince? And how long might the treatment take? And suppose it doesn’t work? What will happen then?” Before the king could answer any of this, Heris said, “And beyond all that, there’s Lady Cecelia. Why should I leave her in peril, among those I cannot trust?”
The king grimaced. “Your oath of service, I could have said once—but I see you do not feel bound at all by that anymore.” That stung; Heris felt her teeth grating, but said nothing. She had not broken that oath; others had broken their trust, had failed her. “If I swore to see that Lady Cecelia was protected? That no further harm came to her—assuming that harm has been done?”
“With all due respect, since I do not know what happened, I do not know whom to blame.” That came close to accusing the king. At his angry scowl, she added, “I’m sure you intended no harm in the first place, and yet it happened.”
“I see.” Heris could almost see the ideas shuffling through his head like a pack of cards. She wanted to tell him not to bother coming up with a good story, but one did not interrupt a monarch. It was an impossible mission, and she would be crazy to accept it—except what choice did she have? If she refused it and stayed here, the family would put the yacht in deep storage and her own savings would go to support her and as many of the crew as wanted to stay. She might get other employment, but not with her people, and rumors that she was responsible for Lady Cecelia’s condition might keep her unemployed the rest of her life. Without a shuttle—and not even Oblo had found a way to obtain a shuttle secretly—she couldn’t get Cecelia offplanet. A ship and a mission—even this mission—was better than nothing.
“You do realize that you cannot help Lady Cecelia yourself,” the king said. It was as much threat as bare statement of fact. “She is well-guarded against you in particular. If she has a chance for recovery, it would be with someone else.” Heris nodded, dry-mouthed. “If you were gone, perhaps the level of suspicion would drop. Not that that would help her physical condition, but like you I hate to think of her living the rest of her time in what must seem like confinement.” The look he gave her then had years of manipulation behind it: was she cowed enough? Had she taken the bait of that implied promise? Heris stared back at him, almost regretting those years of loyal service. But no: it meant something to her, something she still treasured. “I will give you letters patent,” the king said finally. “I believe I can trust you not to reveal them except in direst need.” When, thought Heris, they wouldn’t be worth the elegant old-fashioned paper they were written on, no matter its cost. She could just imagine a Compassionate Hand pirate-merchant holding its fire because of a piece of pressed slush-fiber with writing on it. This, like his assurance that he would protect Cecelia, could not be trusted. But her doubts would do her no good. She made herself smile at the king.