Coalition 02.5 - The Kingbird Read online

  The Kingbird

  Coalition 02.5

  Justine Davis

  ---

  What was hidden is now found.

  It has been a decade since King Dare and the flashbow warrior Dax reunited to protect their world. The Coalition has been driven out, but they have never given up on regaining the jewel that is Trios, and the battle is ongoing. The constant threat of the Coalition is a heavy load to carry, but it is made easier for King Dare and Dax by the presence of their mates, Queen Shaylah and Califa, and brightened immeasurably by their children, Lyon and Shaina.

  At the urging of the queen, the families steal one single day away from the pressure, a day of rest spent at one of the few pristine spots left on their beloved planet, a place full of Dare's family history--a place where they find hope in a treasure thought lost forever, and their children unexpectedly discover what could well be the miracle to keep Trios safe.

  ---

  SHAYLAH STARED at the destruction around her, trying for the sure and serene confidence that was expected of her as Queen of Trios, mate of a king and mother of a prince, reformed Captain and decorated pilot of the Coalition. She looked at Paraclon, the crusty old man who was standing amid the rubble, tugging at a blackened strand of gray hair. The eccentric inventor had paid a price for allowing two small rapscallions to experiment in his lab.

  She had heard the explosion from the courtyard and had raced here, fearing the worst. Now, seeing no one had been truly hurt, she had to school her expression to sternness, battling the urge to smile, marveling that she finally could smile since the Coalition had been driven not only out of Trios, but her home world of Arellia as well.

  Instead of an invading armada, she had only these two miscreants, the royal prince of Trios and the daughter of the Defense Minister, to be dealt with.

  “And what,” she said, eyeing them both, “do you two have to say for yourselves?”

  As usual, it was Shaina who answered first. Her son never answered quickly, preferring to think before he spoke in these situations. Which were frequent. The two of them together seemed explosive in and of themselves.

  “It would have worked,” she insisted. “We just needed to adjust the fuel a little more.”

  Again Shaylah had to bite back a smile. That the girl would answer with such bold assurance was just so very ... Shaina. More concerned with the goal than the damage incurred in trying to reach it.

  “A little more and you would have destroyed my entire lab!” Paraclon’s indignation echoed in his voice.

  “It only broke some of those crystals,” Shaina protested.

  “And melted my central processing unit!”

  Shaina looked a little chagrinned at that. “Maybe we did have it aimed a bit wrong. But we didn’t think the flame would shoot out that far behind.”

  “I believe ‘didn’t think’ is the phrase to be used for all of this,” Shaylah said sternly. “What in the stars were you trying to do?”

  “We were trying to make a rocket,” Shaina said, her expression saying that should be obvious although she kept her voice respectful; Shaylah suspected more because of the closeness of their families than her royal status.

  “I can see that,” Shaylah said dryly. “Perhaps I should have asked why?”

  “To launch it at the Coalition.”

  Her son had finally, quietly spoken, and she shifted her gaze. She knew that young face so well. She saw so much of his father in it, knew she was seeing what her beloved mate, Dare, had looked like as a boy. But the eyes were hers, and right now they were full of an earnestness that made her heart twist in her chest.

  Her child had never known peace. The active rebellion against the conquering Coalition had begun before he was conceived, before she and his father had even met. And it had continued for every breath in his short life. It was no wonder the boy was so serious, so focused on protecting his planet. His father influenced more than his genetics, giving him that sense of responsibility and dedication, teaching him the priorities of a king and a loving father in the best possible way, by living, breathing—and often sacrificing—example.

  True, the situation on Trios had quieted, limited for some time now to occasional attacks the Triotian forces turned back with small losses. But the Coalition was still strong elsewhere, still battling as the rebellion continued to spread to planets scattered across the galaxy. Triotians cheered that, for it spread the Coalition forces thin, but they never forgot that the Coalition still hoped to regain the jewel that was Trios. Their lives were lived in constant awareness that another of the sporadic attacks could come at any time. Dare and Dax—their dearest friend, greatest warrior, and former skypirate who also happened to be Trios’s Defense Minister—were ever on guard, the tension never abated, and it had been so ever since Dare had come home and led his people to a startling victory.

  Because of that, even when she could finally smile again and see the future, she recognized that their children knew too much of war and too little of childhood. They all sheltered the two as much as they could, but both Lyon and Shaina were too smart not to notice the constant undercurrent of tension.

  And now she knew just how much it affected them.

  Strange to think that her own childhood, despite the crushing tyranny of the Coalition, had been relatively calm. Thought of fighting back had died long before she’d ever been born. Arellia had been well conquered; the Coalition had seemingly been there forever. She knew little of what life had been before, the Coalition simply was. And she’d thought little of it when the only way she could follow her greatest desire—to fly—was to join them. Her parents had encouraged her, saying it was the only way out from under the boot heel. And it would benefit them, to have an officer in the Coalition forces.

  She’d been too young then to realize the irony that she had gotten out from under that heel by becoming part of it.

  But now she crossed her arms and looked down at the two children before her. At eight and nine, they were still of the same height. That wouldn’t last much longer she thought, almost wistfully. Lyon would be tall, like his father, she could see it in the length of his legs. She found herself dreading that time even as she loved watching him grow and learn.

  She put on her sternest face. Both children lowered their eyes, knowing judgment was coming.

  “You will clean this up. Every shard, every splinter. You will clean this room until it glistens, including scrubbing the floor.”

  Shaina’s head came up. “But it wasn’t like that to begin with!”

  “Then perhaps Paraclon won’t ban you forever, if he sees some benefit out of this.”

  The girl’s head lowered once more. Shaylah knew the hours spent with the old man were precious to them, in part because he didn’t treat them any differently than anyone else. She thought that he probably forgot exactly who they were a lot of the time, which was likely half the draw.

  “And,” she added, “you will replace or pay for what you’ve broken.”

  Lyon’s head came up then. “We can get the crystals from the mountains, but how are we to replace his processing unit?”

  She looked at the old man. “Paraclon?”

  “Hmpf,” he muttered. “I’ll have to build a new one. But Dax wants all efforts focused on improving the efficiency of our shields, and it doesn’t do to keep the Defense Minister waiting.”

  “Then this scamp can explain the delay to her father,” Shaylah said. Shaina groaned. “And these two will report to you daily after lessons, and take care of any chores they are capable of, to free your time for more important things.”

  She wasn’t sure she was doing the old inventor any favor with that, but knew he would go along, j
ust as she knew Califa and Dax would back her on meting out punishment for their daughter. Not because she was the queen but because they, all seven of them counting Dax’s ward Rina, were one family in all ways but blood. More than once it had been Dax or Califa reining them in, despite the fact that Lyon was the king’s son and the heir to the throne of Trios.

  And that neither child ever questioned their right was an accomplishment they all treasured.

  “What if he doesn’t want us here?” Shaina asked. “Sometimes he doesn’t, when he’s deep into something.”

  “That’s for him to decide. He may dismiss you as he sees fit.”

  “For how long?” the ever-practical Lyon asked.

  “That is also up to him.”

  “But what if he for—” Lyon stopped himself, flicked a glance at the old man, then back at her. “Never mind.”

  Shaylah knew he’d been going to say “What if he forgets?” Knew he understood Paraclon well enough to know that when he got involved in his work, when some new invention—that could turn out amazingly or disastrously—filled his mind, all else fled. He could quite literally forget where he was, let alone remember who else was there.

  She also knew Lyon had not said the words for fear of hurting the old man’s feelings. And for that, she loved this boy even more. He wasn’t just her son, wasn’t just the living evidence of the incredible love between her and his father, he was rapidly becoming the kind of person his father was, and that was the finest thing she could ever wish for him.

  * * *

  “THERE’S GOT TO be a way,” Dare said, reaching the far end of the common room and turning back to pace the other way.

  “Paraclon’s working on it,” said Dax, lounging with every appearance of indolence on the couch.

  Shaylah wasn’t fooled. She knew him well now, knew that he could—and would—erupt into swift, decisive action in a fraction of a second, given the need.

  Sometimes she wished Dare would even pretend to relax like that. Perhaps some bit of it might become real. But he took his duties as king beyond seriously, and she knew that he was half the reason Trios was on her way to recovery. The other half of the reason for Trios’s survival was the indomitable spirit of her people. They may have slept too long, may have taken their freedom and safety for granted, but once awakened they were as fierce and courageous as their ancestors, who had founded this world that gave so much to all other worlds in the system.

  “I’m weary of this balancing act,” Dare said as he turned once more on his seemingly endless crossings of the room.

  “There just isn’t enough power to do all four at full strength,” Dax said reasonably. “We can have long range sensors, shields, winter heat on full, and no fusion canons, or we can have half shields, half the sensor range, no heat, and all fusion canons at the ready, or everything on at one quarter, or any other combination that adds up. The total never changes, you know that, Dare.”

  “The winters are getting better as Trios heals,” Dare said, still pacing. “But we need more power, and we can’t get to enough nitron to refine for fuel. We have to do something, we can’t have people choosing between staying warm or staying safe.”

  His people. He didn’t say it, but Shaylah knew he felt responsible for their welfare. His family had ruled Trios for generations, but always at the will of those people, who had the power to make a change at any time they didn’t feel well served. It had never happened.

  And Trios herself was healing. The destruction the Coalition had wrought on this beautiful planet had changed everything, including the weather, but things were gradually righting. Still, twice in the last decade the winters had been exceptionally harsh. The first time they had still been in the caves, which were closed in and easier to heat. Dare had seen to it that sufficient stores of food had been prepared so no one went hungry, although the long season had shortened many tempers.

  But last winter had been nearly as bad as that legendary one, and they were back in Triotia now, in buildings that required more to keep them livable. So they had opened this very room to all, because through a trick of clever design and use of a certain Triotian stone, it stayed warmer than most. It had become a shelter for nearly five weeks.

  Toward the end tempers had again been a bit on edge until Dax—of course Dax—had managed to turn it into a party of sorts. He’d done something he rarely did publicly, and brought out the ancient dulcetpipe to play all the classic songs of Trios he could remember. Those who had never seen their rowdy, powerful Defense Minister—although he eschewed the title and called himself merely the flashbow warrior—play the delicate instrument were startled into silence. Those who had seen him play before broke into smiles the moment they saw him carrying it. And Califa had sung to the gathering, something rare enough—and beautiful enough—to calm them all.

  “The shields draw a lot of power,” Califa said now. “But we daren’t let them lapse. Coalition sensors could pick it up if we lower them and if they happen to be close ...”

  “They could be here before we could re-engage them. You’re right,” Dare said.

  Shaylah stayed silent. There was nothing she could add that they didn’t know; there wasn’t enough power to do everything, not yet. So instead of speaking the obvious, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the small miracle the exchange had reminded her of. Dare had truly and fully forgiven her dearest friend. Califa, who of all of them had journeyed the farthest to become what she was now, a loved and accepted Triotian. Accepted even by the man she had once, in Coalition eyes, owned.

  The man she herself owned in truth. Her Wolf.

  She smiled inwardly at the thought, and of how often he had told her she did indeed own him, in ways the Coalition had never thought of, could never in their cold-heartedness begin to imagine.

  “Not forgotten,” Dare had told Califa on the day he had healed enough to do it, “but forgiven. It no longer matters.”

  And Shaylah had never been prouder of her friend than in the moment she had stood tall and faced a king to say, “It shouldn’t be forgotten. It is what we’re fighting against.”

  Dare, still pacing the room restlessly, looking for an answer they had yet to find, reached the far end. As he turned to start back, he stepped into the shaft of sunlight that shot through the arched window at the end of the room. It lit him up, made his Triotian hair and skin gleam golden. There, she thought. There, like that, is how he should pose for the official portrait he kept putting off. The master artist who had painted the royal family for a century had been killed in a Coalition attack, but there were others nearly as good. But still he had resisted having that portrait done. He insisted he did not have time for such things. Which was one of the reasons she persisted; to pose for a portrait he would at least have to stop moving.

  It had taken her a while to realize he was resisting because he didn’t yet feel worthy, and would not until his people’s lives were once again made as whole as possible. Perhaps she could convince him that the ten year anniversary of his return, coming up soon, would be the time. On a sunny day like today, no hint of shadow still hovered other than the distant threat they all knew.

  “The excavators are still trying,” Califa said. “But moving that debris is a massive undertaking.”

  “And they tell me blowing it out of the way would fuse the nitron,” Dax added, sounding regretful.

  Dare’s mouth quirked. Shaylah smiled inwardly. Of course that would be Dax’s first thought. “Itching to blow something up, are you?”

  “Always,” Dax admitted with a grin.

  “Like father like daughter,” Shaylah said.

  Califa rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, her mouth twitching at the corners as Dax’s grin widened.

  “That’s my girl,” he said.

  She’d explained what had happened in Paraclon’s lab, smiled when Califa said she’d gone too easy on them, grinned at Dax’s ill-disguised laughter, and laughed in turn herself when Dare had dryly pointed out
he would expect no less from the offspring of the man who had nearly destroyed half this very room as a boy.

  “They seem to be in rare form of late,” Dare said.

  “Yes,” Dax agreed. “More so than usual.”

  “I’m not sure why,” Shaylah said. “We’re well into spring. They’ve had plenty of time to burn off what appetite for mischief they built up during the winter.”

  “I’m not sure they ever burn that off,” Califa said, her tone wry. “Perhaps we should up their time with Denpar.”

  “More gymnastics?” Dax lifted a brow. “They’re already climbing the walls.”

  “They’re frustrated.”

  All four of them turned to look at the young woman who had, until now, remained silent in a shadowy corner of the room. Only the gleam of her short cap of golden hair was clearly visible.

  “What do you mean, Rina?” Shaylah asked, glad the girl had finally spoken. She’d been unusually somber lately, and unwilling to discuss whatever was bothering her.