IceFlight Page 36
Arck Sharpeye, ruler of the kres Empire and the magnificence of his people, was lost for words. He blinked sleep-crusted eyes and tried to focus on a com display of his wife.
Arkyss Glowdrift smiled sweetly back, but her eyes were vague and wandered away from her husband’s. “The night’s so bright,” she called happily, plucking at the front of her frilled nightgown. “And the space-down ships most loud. Have they always been so loud, Sharpy?”
“Where are you?” he finally thought to ask, still mystified by his wife’s unexpected call in the middle of the night and her sudden sensitivity to the sound of landing spacecraft.
“The spaceport roof for sure.”
He had to take a moment to compose himself before he could answer calmly. “Why?”
“Because the stars are so lovely.” The Arkyss’ voice softened from a happy trill to a seductive lilt. “You could join us. Drag your magnificence this way and we’ll dance. Dance night-long to the spaceship roar. We’re all so happy. Come dance with us.”
“Us?” he snapped with sudden suspicion, but she laughed in response.
“My sweet Broadbill and his boys,” she answered, identifying her bodyguards. “Silly Arck. Billy won’t dance, though. Come and make him. You’re good at that.”
Sharpeye raised his com to his lips, even though such proximity was completely unnecessary. He spoke slowly and very clearly, with clipped precision. “Dear one, tell sweet Billy that I’ll make him dance for all-time unless he brings you back to the palace right now. The stars above the Summer Tower are most clear tonight. I’ll have the roof made flat so that you can sleep, or dance, or any such from there.”
“The Summer Tower,” his wife squealed with delight, and the Arck massaged the back of his neck.
“Indeed.”
“It’s perfect-as.”
‘I thought such.’
“With the roof made flat and beds all over?”
“Certain-sure. You can order all as you wish.”
There was a brief silence and, when the Arkyss answered, her voice was calmer and more wistful than normal. “You know, Sharpeye, I like being pregnant.”
The Arck hesitated too and heard a clear click when his wife cut the communication. He shut his lips tight in response, too tight for speech. He had to mentally enter a curt query to the senior court healer. Despite the hour, the response was immediate. An older kres appeared above the Royal com, brushing tousled gray and black hair back from his forehead. “Sire, yes, Sire, I assure you all is well. The Arkyss is healthful, Magnificence. She is… ah… vague, to be sure, but no more so than usual. The pregnancy progresses true flight and your son grows well.”
The Arck responded with a cold look, his jaw still locked tight. Be very sure, he thought with full force, and flipped a finger to dismiss the healer.
Sharpeye took several deep breaths and managed to regain his calm. The thought that his son might be at risk, that he might be born a horror as Goldown had been, terrified him, but he pushed such fears away. The senior healer had been fully warned and this pregnancy was being closely monitored. This time the Arck was in charge, not the BGP, and he was determined that everything would happen exactly as he wished.
Sharpeye cleared his throat and placed a com connection to his head of security. “Raptor,” he said without preamble, “the council has agreed to invest my unborn son as Arck-in-Waiting. He is formally named as Arkyn Hawkeye FarFlight.”
“Congratulations, Sire.”
“Indeed. With a new Arkyn in-favor, my nephew is now superfluous. Even the Safe Successioners agree. Release the rest of the mercenary fleet. Soon-as. I want Freefall struck and his head at my feet.”
“As-said so done, Sire. Be most at ease, for the Grace will die.”
37
Cold Blooded