Deathstalker Legacy (32 page)

“This? This is nothing, darling. I am rich, Lewis, richer than you could possibly imagine. Empirewide royalties will do that to you. Every year my accountants have to invent whole new fields of mathematics, just to keep track of it all. I could buy this whole store out of petty cash, and I just might if that assistant manager doesn’t stop trying to peer down my cleavage. Please let me buy you something, Lewis. This is small change to me, darling, really it is.”

“It isn’t to me,” said Lewis.

Jesamine looked at him sharply, picking up some of the undertones in his voice. She studied his scowling face for a long moment, and then gestured sharply for everyone else to fall back and give the two of them some privacy. The store staff practically fell over themselves backing away at speed, and even Jesamine’s own people found something in entirely different aisles to suddenly be interested in. Jesamine fixed Lewis with a steely gaze.

“Talk to me, Lewis. There’s something you’re not telling me. Something I don’t know. And I hate not knowing things. What’s the problem here? The real problem?”

Lewis did his best to be evasive, for his pride’s sake, but Jesamine backed him up against the nearest counter and interrogated him mercilessly, until finally he just gave up and explained his current financial situation. Jesamine was honestly shocked, and it only took her a moment to go from blank disbelief to white-hot fury.

“I’m not having my Champion treated like this! It’s an insult! An outrage! Parliament will pay you every penny you’re worth, or I will have Douglas . . .”

“No you won’t,” said Lewis, just as sharply. “Douglas has his own problems in Parliament at the moment. He doesn’t need me muddying the waters. There are those who’d use my . . . ambivalent position as a weapon with which to attack or undermine Douglas’s position, and I won’t have that. I won’t be used to hurt my friend. This is my problem. I’ll sort it out.”

“Well then, why don’t I . . . advance you some money,” said Jesamine. “Against your future improved earnings? Just to tide you over?”

“I don’t think so,” Lewis said carefully. “I don’t think that would be proper. It might be . . . misunderstood.”

Jesamine sniffed loudly. “Men! Not a practical bone in their whole bodies, any of them. I’ve never been proper in my entire life, and I enjoyed every minute of it. So; I can’t give you presents, I can’t loan you money . . .” She stopped, and then smiled brilliantly. “Can I at least take you to the nearest decent tea rooms, and buy you a nice cup of something hot and refreshing? I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely dying of thirst, darling.”

“Well,” said Lewis. “A cup of tea . . . would be very nice right now.”

“Good,” said Jesamine. “That’s settled then. If you’re very good, I might even spring for milk and sugar as well.”

 

Nothing but the very best of tea rooms for Jesamine Flowers, of course. The Earl Grey Tea Rooms opened up specially early, just for her, so that she and Lewis could have the place all to themselves. She had all her own people stay outside, ostensibly to make sure the place was secure, but really just so she and Lewis could have some quiet time together. She marched into the main dining area as though she owned the place, or was planning to, tossed her hideously expensive fur coat in the general direction of the flustered cloakroom attendant, and headed unerringly for the very best table in the room. Waitresses in old-fashioned formal uniforms hurried forward to pull out chairs for her and Lewis, and then bustled back and forth from the kitchens with all the makings necessary for a civilized early-evening tea. The tea service itself was genuine antique silver, and all kinds of crumpets and pastries and finger foods were presented for Jesamine’s approval.

She nodded yes to everything, and then gestured brusquely for the staff to make themselves scarce. They backed hastily away, bowing and scraping as they went. Lewis studied Jesamine thoughtfully. Anyone who thought the aristocracy was a thing of the past had never spent any time in the presence of a real star. He looked around the tea room, just a little uneasily. In its own subtle way, it was actually grander than the Court. Normally even a Paragon wouldn’t be able to count on getting into a place like this without a reservation. And even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have been able to afford the rental on the cup the tea came in. In fact, the china cup before Lewis looked so delicate he was almost afraid to pick it up. He was just glad he’d recognized what the finger bowl was in time. As always, Jesamine was completely at home, and busied herself pouring the tea. She insisted Lewis try all the more unfamiliar finger food, and even fed him a piece or two with her own delicate fingers, which Lewis found acutely embarrassing.

She chattered endlessly about this and that, none of it of any real importance, but all of it made entertaining by her constant caustic wit. Lewis didn’t contribute much to the conversation. He was content to just sit and listen, and watch Jesamine. She really was very beautiful. Some vid stars looked fine on the screen, but were disappointing in real life. In person they seemed shorter, or fatter, or their faces had unexpected flaws or blemishes that were usually removed by computer imaging before they ever hit the screens. Or perhaps they were just . . . smaller, less glamorous, in real life. Sitting right there in front of him, Jesamine was almost heart-stoppingly lovely, not in any classical sense but because her face was so full of character, alive with every emotion that passed over it. Up close, she radiated a sensuality and sexuality that was so casual it had to be natural, but was no less overwhelming for that. The few famous or glamorous people Lewis had met in the past had subtly intimidated him, though he would never have admitted it, even to himself, but he felt completely at ease in Jesamine’s company. He felt she liked him.

He liked her. He admired her . . . spirit, her confidence, her boundless energy. She was always so sharp and so sure, whatever the occasion. And when she smiled at him, it was like warming himself in the sun. He’d never met anyone like her. She was bright and charming and funny, her words all but falling over each other when she spoke, like the sound of a fast-moving stream, endlessly bubbling and sparkling. Her body was just magnificent . . . Lewis pulled his thoughts up sharply. This was his best friend’s fiancée he was thinking about. The woman chosen to be the next Queen of the Empire. A star, a diva, a legend in her own field. While he . . . was just a bodyguard. Here to protect her from every threat, including perhaps himself.

Jesamine observed Lewis carefully, without being too obvious about it. He was clearly uncomfortable in such posh surroundings, but he seemed to be relaxing a little, at last. She wanted him to be able to relax around her. He was always so formal and so courteous in her company, which was sweet, of course, but just a little irritating. There was nothing like being almost universally adored to make you value true friendship. When you’re rich and famous and staggeringly beautiful, it’s amazing how many people want to be your friend, and just a little disappointing how fast you learn to see through them, to what they really want from you. Before this, Jesamine had only had one real friend, and that was Anne, who knew her when. And Douglas, of course. A fine man, Douglas. Perhaps even a great man. (Her previous husbands didn’t count, even the ones who were good in bed. Bad cess to the lot of them.) No; Lewis . . . liked her because he liked her. Liked her the person, not the star. She could tell. It was clear he had no idea how refreshing she found that. She liked him too.

She hadn’t been sure at first. His reputation preceded him. The great and incorruptible Paragon, the hero of Logres. Not as famous as Finn Durandal, or so dashing as Douglas Campbell, but admired and respected by all. And of course, he had that legendary name. She’d been quite nervous about meeting him. She only played legends; he was one. She’d expected to find some cold, humorless puritan who slept at attention and never took his weapons off. Someone who wouldn’t approve at all of a mere theatrical like her. Instead, Lewis Deathstalker turned out to be . . . fun, in his own quiet way. Not impressed by anyone or anything, and always ready with a murmured joke or a barbed comment. She liked it when he was around. Douglas relaxed more too, when Lewis was there. Stopped taking himself and his role so seriously. The Deathstalker brought out his King’s best qualities.

All right, Lewis was ugly. It was a harsh face, even when he smiled. A face that could scare gargoyles. But he had kind eyes. And there was nothing like a career in show business to make you really tired of pretty faces. Jesamine would take character over looks any day.

And she liked the way he moved. Lewis moved with confidence, like the trained warrior he was, like he always knew what he was doing, where he was going. You felt you could always depend on him to do the right thing. And he clearly had no idea how reassuring, and how sexy, that was. To meet the real thing, after a lifetime of fakes and poseurs. Sometimes he’d smile at her, or catch her eye with his, and she would feel her breath catch in her throat, or her heart miss a beat. And then she would flash her practiced, famous smile and talk a little faster to hide how she felt. Because even as she enjoyed these feelings, she knew how dangerous they were. She might like the Deathstalker, even admire him, but it could never be more than that. She was marrying Douglas Campbell. She was going to be Queen. The culmination of her life, her career, her ambition. Everything she’d ever planned and worked for, everything she’d ever dreamed of. To be the most famous and fabulous woman in the Empire. And the most powerful, even if they didn’t know it yet. Nothing could be allowed to threaten that; not even her own treacherous feelings.

Lewis and Jesamine talked about many things over their tea, none of them important. And not once did they ever say out loud what they were thinking. In all their eventful lives, they’d never met anyone like each other. Once, when they both reached for the same pastry, their hands touched, and just for a moment they felt sparks fly.

They’d pretty much finished their tea, and were unobtrusively searching for some excuse to prolong their time together, when Lewis suddenly realized that the noise outside the tea rooms had changed in character. All his old Paragon instincts kicked in, and he looked away from Jesamine, away from her mouth and her eyes, almost against his wishes. The noise outside was louder, angrier, nastier. He stood up suddenly, and Jesamine broke off in mid-anecdote. She started to say something tart, and then stopped as she took in the concern on his face, the sudden readiness for violence and battle in his body language. The calm and kind friend was gone, replaced by someone new, someone more frightening. For the first time, he looked like his legend. He looked like a Deathstalker. She stood up and looked where he was looking, out the great steelglass window overlooking the main street. Something new was happening outside, and it had nothing to do with Jesamine Flowers. Lewis moved over to stand by the window, one hand resting on the gun at his side. Jesamine moved quickly after him.

The mob of her fans had dispersed, scattered now along the length of the pavements, and they were shouting and jeering at the almost military demonstration marching down the middle of the street. They marched six abreast, blocking the road, their numbers stretching back almost out of sight. Their booted feet crashed down in perfect precision, and they held their signs and banners up like troop colors. Now and again they chanted their brief and ugly slogans, in cold, carrying voices, drowning out the shouted insults and disapproval from the spectators lining the street. The din reminded Lewis of feeding time at the Arenas, when new imported killer aliens were introduced. You could almost taste the bloodlust on the air.

He recognized the demonstrators’ outfits immediately, the great white cross on the chest of the bloodred uniforms. The new image of the militant Church of Christ Transcendent; ever since the Church got tired of waiting patiently for change and decided to force the pace by getting into bed with Pure Humanity. Their spokesmen were everywhere, on the news shows and chat shows and political discussion shows. Everyone was talking about this new, militant Church. The Church and the Neumen; a marriage made in Hell. And God alone knew what their children might be like.

There was a hell of a lot of them in the street, marching purposefully past the tea room window, and Lewis frowned as he took in how pitifully small the official security presence was. There were hardly any stewards, only a handful of peacekeepers, and not a Paragon to be seen anywhere. Lewis’s frown deepened into a scowl. All right, Emma Steel was probably still busy getting up to speed, and God knew where Finn Durandal was these days, but surely the authorities could have found someone to watch over the demonstration, even if they’d had to raid The Sangreal . . . or perhaps the powers that be were afraid of upsetting the Church. The militants had become surprisingly powerful surprisingly quickly. Too big a security presence might provoke the very trouble the authorities were anxious to prevent. Still; if things were to get out of control . . . Lewis looked around for Jesamine’s security people, and wasn’t all that surprised to find they’d retreated into the tea room’s foyer, away from possible danger. Their only interest was in protecting Jesamine. Lewis didn’t blame them. They were professional enough to know when they were well out of their depth.

“The Church Militant,” Jesamine said quietly beside him. “I’ve seen them on the news channels. Ugly people with an ugly message. Humans first, aliens nowhere. No fashion sense at all. And no sense of humor, either, from what I’ve seen of their spokespeople. Funny how humor’s always the first thing to go as you head towards the extremes of politics or religion, and leave sanity behind.”

“And this is politics and religion,” said Lewis, still looking out the window. His voice was cold, thoughtful. “A deadly combination. The Church has lost all sense of moderation or restraint since they adopted the Neuman philosophy. A human Savior, a human Empire, a human future. No others need apply. They’re not the majority view yet, not by a long shot. But a lot of people are listening. And the opposition is fragmented. The best they can do is turn up at these demonstrations to shout abuse and throw things, which just inflames passions on both sides. We could be in for some real trouble here.”