Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (15 page)

“I’m thirsty,” Radovan said. “Will you join me for tea?”

A black iron table and four chairs rested off to the side of the obelisk. A servant appeared out of a stairwell bored into the ground holding a clay pitcher, poured steaming tea into four ceramic cups, and then stood erect in the obelisk’s shadow. Trajan remained behind Kastor while the four nobles sat.

“Raku,” Radovan said after a sip.

“Excuse me?” Kastor replied.

Radovan downed the rest of his tea and turned the cup over in his hands, examining it. “The material these cups are made from. It’s called raku. In ancient Japanese tradition, they would drink from nothing else. The material is porous, you see. Tea soaks into the pores over time such that you could put hot water in here alone and it would draw the tea out of the cup. Fascinating, no?”

Guarin took his tea in one quick shot and muttered, “Riveting.”

Radovan set his cup on the table, and the servant returned to refill it. “It’s a convenient metaphor for the people of Lagoon.” The lumis lifted his cup. “Even when you take freedom away from them, freedom is still in them. It will emerge one way or another.”

“You mean the nobility has freedom,” Guerlain said. It almost sounded as if she might’ve been concerned with the plight of the commoners, but the disinterest on her face spoke otherwise. Her concern was limited to the nobility.

“Oh no, the common people, too,” Radovan said. “That’s how I got myself into this mess. I believe you were . . . made aware of it on your way in.”

“We were already aware,” Kastor said. He deliberated on how to proceed. All of this—this political posturing, negotiating, dealmaking—was foreign to him. He felt naked without a single weapon on his body. Exposed. Vulnerable. A crustacean without its shell. A bluntnose without its stinger. Pollaena had always been the personable one, the negotiator. Her absence gave him a worse feeling of nakedness—a gaping hollow inside his chest, like a lung forced to compensate for its missing counterpart. Kastor forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I admit,” Radovan said, “I am partly to blame for the commoner rebellion. Upraadis are factory workers and miners. They banded together to petition me for safety regulations and pensions, and what did I do?”

“You reminded them what it means to be a commoner?” Guarin suggested.

Radovan smirked and sipped his tea patiently. His servant refilled it and then receded.

“What an absolutely . . .
Swanlike
approach,” Radovan said. “No. Noble or commoner, the Upraadis are
my
people. All frontiersmen of Lagoon are my people.” He sipped his tea but kept his eyes on Kastor. “I improved the factories and mines. I instituted safety regulations. I let them organize themselves.”

Guarin huffed. “You gave them what they wanted?”

Radovan’s wild eyes studied Kastor, seeing things the Royal Champion couldn’t fathom. “My instincts were as the Frontier Lumis, looking out for his people—I don’t regret that. But yes, I went too far.”

“Is it any great shock that chaos ensues when you spoil your commoners?” Guarin asked. He sounded as if the situation actually angered him.

Radovan finally broke away from Kastor to glare at his Swan guest. “They’re neither pack animals nor machines. If you treat them as less than human, that’s what they’ll become.”

“Apparently, they became that way through your means as well,” Guarin returned.

“Because I went too far,” Radovan snapped. “And like a child without discipline, they developed a false sense of invincibility. Now, discipline has to come. And the pain of it will set Upraad back into balance.”

“As I see it,” Kastor cut in, “Upraad has grown less disciplined since the rebellion began, not more.”

The Frontier Lumis leaned back and swirled his tea. “The rebellion is a cancer. Cut out the tumor, leave the roots, and another tumor will grow somewhere else. But rip out the roots with the tumor, and you risk destroying the very organism you sought to keep alive.”

Kastor felt his biceps pulse. He sensed an opening. “Point me to the roots. I have my own cure for cancer.”

Radovan smiled. “So, that’s why you’ve come? To relieve me of this insurgent burden out of the goodness of your heart?”

“You know why we’ve come,” Kastor said. “Not to dethrone you. To empower you.”

“Going from lumis to lord is dethronement in my view,” Radovan replied. “And if that was empowerment, you wouldn’t need to offer your services in exchange.”

“You wouldn’t be a mere lord,” Kastor corrected. “You would be Regent of Lagoon. You would rule your people just as you do now, but you would do so with the Regnum’s backing. All you need to offer in return is an oath of loyalty and a promise of your armies in times of war.”

Radovan laughed a full, hearty laugh. “Those are the two things I’m
least
willing to give. Zantorian is old. He’s ruled far longer than you’ve been alive, and he’s weary of all the intra-arm politics. He wants war, be it with me or the Orionites or the Carinians. Doesn’t matter who. He wants blood and glory.”

“And you want to be free of your commoner rebellion,” Guarin said.

“What makes you think you could accomplish what my soldiers cannot?” Radovan asked.

“We’re champions by birthright,” Kastor said. “We’ve trained in the art of war our entire lives. Killing the unkillable is our specialty.” He allowed the ghost of a grin to cross his lips.

“We nobles of Lagoon have trained in the art of war for generations,” Radovan said, “and we have thicker skin.” He flicked his dry, gray forearm with a crack.

“You’re looking at the two finest warriors in the galaxy,” Kastor said. “If we fail, we will leave Upraad and never return. The Regnum will allow you to live in peace and freedom.”

Guarin stirred, knowing Kastor had not been sanctioned to make such a statement. “
Kastor
!” he hissed.

Kastor blazed on. “But if we succeed, Radovan the Gracious will pledge his loyalty and his armies to the Grand Lumis, now and forever.”

“No lumis in his right mind would agree to that!” Radovan snapped. “I will not write Zantorian a blank check
and
surrender the keys to my palace!” He paused, let his shoulders relax, and swirled his raku cup, studying it as if the tea would reveal the way forward. “I’m prepared to offer the service of my navy and my armies for the defense of any border planet. That’s more than enough in recompense for temporary assistance from Triumph’s champion.”

Kastor tightened his jaw. After what he’d already done, nothing would obstruct his path to glory. “The Grand Lumis requires your unqualified allegiance as well as a full military alliance. He will accept nothing less. I’d rather return to him empty-handed than with half a prize.”

Radovan started to protest but then halted himself. A heavy, dusty sigh escaped him. Hot breath brushed Kastor’s face. The Frontier Lumis took on a fierce expression, eyes slicing through Kastor like blades. He needed the champion’s help, and Kastor knew it.

His cracked, soft gray lips curled upward. “You’re not unworthy of your position, son of Tyrannus.”

Kastor didn’t let himself relax. “The royal tournament
is
rather difficult to win.”

Radovan abruptly stood, causing Guarin and Guerlain to flinch for weapons that weren’t there. Kastor stayed still and watched.

“Come with me,” the lumis said.

Guarin pushed back his chair to rise. Radovan extended his hand to stop him.

“
Alone
.”

Guarin stared defiantly. Kastor nodded at him, and he grudgingly relaxed into his seat.

Radovan led Kastor across the courtyard to the edge of the moat, where the strangely colored water shifted in endless movement. The waterfalls would mask their conversation. Radovan knelt by the water’s edge and dipped his hand in the stream, let it trickle through his fingers.

“Kastor, you must know what you ask of me is absurd,” Radovan said, resting a forearm on his knee. “Lagoon nobles will see no reason to follow a lord who sells out to Zantorian. They’d rather fight him and die than live in subservience.”

“Then you must talk sense into them,” Kastor replied.

“How can I if I’m the foremost hater of Zantorian?”

“Because you’re also the foremost patriot of Upraad,” Kastor said, losing his patience. “And you know what will befall your people should you refuse me.”

Radovan immersed his hand into the teal water and swirled it around before taking it out and licking his fingers. “Water is sweeter on Upraad. Taste it.”

Kastor rolled his eyes and huffed, drained of all tolerance for this game. “I’ve tasted your tea. Now you want me to taste your water. And we’re no closer to an agreement.”

Radovan flicked the water off his hand and straightened. “Negotiation is made difficult when one party is unwilling to budge.”

Kastor threw his hands into the air. “You knew why the Champion of Triumph had come to your doorstep! If it’s war you want, why didn’t you blast my ship to pieces the moment I came through the space gate?”

The Frontier Lumis smiled lightly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “Because I wanted you to taste Upraad’s water.” He extended a hand toward the translucent moat.

Air escaped Kastor’s lungs. All of this felt like a waste of time. Perhaps a fatal one. Could the Frontier Lumis have been scheming to poison him? The water? The tea? Radovan waited and watched with a soft face. He didn’t seem the type to poison. Not like this. Kastor stepped to the moat, keeping an eye on Radovan, and knelt. He cupped water from the pool, brought it to his lips, and sipped. A cold, sweet rush overwhelmed his senses, a taste like nothing he had ever experienced. Natural sweetness tingled on his tongue and down his throat.

Radovan treaded closer. “I have something to offer you, Kastor of Tyrannus. Not to Zantorian. To you.” The lumis placed his stony hand on Kastor’s shoulder and spoke in a soft voice. “I saw what the Grand Lumis forced upon you. What he stole from you. It’s horrific. He stripped himself of all that defines nobility.”

“What do you care?” Kastor muttered. His voice sounded pathetic in his ears.

“Abandon Zantorian,” Radovan said. “Become my champion. Serve someone with a soul.”

Kastor felt weak, unable to stand up and say what needed to be said. He felt a burden like one of Upraad’s desert boulders weighing him down. “My path to glory lies with Zantorian.”

Radovan knelt beside him. “But your path to vengeance lies with me.” He cupped his hand in the water and brought it to his lips. “And vengeance is sweet. We will go to war with the Regnum, shatter his ships, flay his soldiers . . . and you will have the opportunity to exact a pound of flesh from the Grand Lumis. I swear it.”

Piercing eyes gleamed at Kastor, but he wouldn’t meet them. Shame overwhelmed him, lashed at his mind, threatened to cripple him. The reality of his loss hadn’t felt so real since the moment after he plunged his sword into Pollaena’s chest. When he saw her bright red blood on his hands. Some force in him longed to join the Frontier Lumis, to take up arms in his desperate cause and butcher every last Fox in the galaxy until only Zantorian remained. That force craved vengeance. For Pollaena, if not for himself. But his destiny persisted, his future set. Glory was his birthright.

Kastor forced himself to stand straight. Radovan followed suit.

“Consider my offer final,” Kastor said.

Radovan gave a spiritless smile. “Same for mine.”

Kastor turned and walked away.

Sylvan, still wearing a spiteful scowl, led the offworlders down an elevator to a grid of hallways. Pastel earth tones dominated the walls and decor and light fixtures—hues of brown, tan, yellow, and orange. Sylvan paused before a wide door and faced them.

“You will stay here for the night,” he said, his icy glare indicating there would be consequences otherwise. Sylvan opened the door to the main room of a large suite.

State of the art technology blended with cave-like features, even leaving the rough rocks exposed in places. Four doorways in the corners of the living space opened into sparsely lit bedrooms.

Once the four Sagittarians were inside, Sylvan said, “Someone will tend to you in the morning,” and shut the door. A mechanical thump from inside it signaled they wouldn’t see the outside of this suite until then.

Guarin glared at Kastor when their solitude sank in. Guerlain glanced between the two men and traipsed past them with a light laugh. She didn’t care to get involved this time. Trajan hung back, stealing looks at the swirly paintings on the walls.

“You would
gamble
with the Grand Lumis’s mission?” Guarin asked, voice thick with disgust. “You’re either the proudest bastard I’ve ever met or the stupidest. No! You’re both!”

Kastor stepped into the living room as Guerlain sniffed at the exotic fruit on the counter. Her every motion and gesture reminded him of a cat. Prim, nimble, dismissive.

“I don’t see any other way,” Kastor said, in no mood to bicker. His mind hung on Radovan’s offer.

“How about we come back with warships?” Guarin suggested, as if it was the most obvious idea ever conjured. “Show the Frontier Lumis we’re serious.”

“And destroy half of Lagoon’s resources before we take it?” Kastor shot back. “Dump countless treasure into a war that will leave us nothing but a few pitiful rocks?”

“You’re negotiating from
weakness
, Kastor!” Guarin exclaimed. “You might as well be begging on your hands and knees! Radovan has the upper hand, and he knows it.”

“And what would you do?”

“I would sneak out tonight, kill everyone who means something to Radovan, starting with that Sylvan fellow, then go back to the Regnum, ask Zantorian for a thousand gunships, and
crush
Radovan like an insect!”

“And do what with Lagoon’s planets?” Kastor asked.

Guarin shrugged and shook his head. “Leave them to rot. Crack them in half with antimatter. What does it matter what you do with them? You’ve still taken Lagoon for the Regnum.”

Kastor heaved a laugh. “So that’s your answer? Turn the planets to powder and leave?”