Safe again. though still a prisoner. The isolation he had just endured, and Osira’h’s revelation of what was happening on Ildira, made him yearn more than ever to be where his people needed him most. Jora’h gripped the rail in the command nucleus and drew a deep breath to steady himself.

The warliner went directly to Earth, and Diente gestured for Jora’h to follow him. “Come with me to the shuttle deck. I have an immediate appointment to see Chairman Wenceslas at Hansa HQ. He is extremely interested to hear more about the Klikiss translation system we found aboard this warliner.”

“What does he intend to use it for?”

Diente seemed to think the answer was obvious. “Diplomacy.”

Jora’h shuddered to think what that might entail. “I hope he is more successful than his current attempts at ‘diplomacy’ with the Ildiran Empire.”

Diente did not comment, merely nodded respectfully. “The Chairman has instructed me to send you to the Whisper Palace straightaway.” With a wan smile, he added, “Your green priest is there.”

Knowing that Nira would be waiting for him, Jora’h felt much stronger, even rejuvenated by the time the shuttle landed in the Palace District. When he stepped out into the sunshine of the landing zone, surrounded by uniformed EDF soldiers, he managed to stand straight and proud. Diente had already gone to see Chairman Wenceslas in the Hansa headquarters pyramid.

Nira stood behind a line of royal guards next to Captain McCammon. One glance at her was all Jora’h needed. He strode away from the shuttle, ignoring the EDF soldiers who were supposedly escorting him. The look on his face made the royal guards falter, and McCammon told them to let the Mage-Imperator pass. He released Nira, and she ran to meet him.

“Jora’h, are you all right?”

“Chairman Wenceslas will not defeat me,” he said in as strong a voice as he could manage. He folded her in his arms.

McCammon gave a slight salute, a clear gesture of respect. He wore his dress uniform, complete with a ceremonial gold-hilted dagger at his hip. Taking the two of them aside, he lowered his voice in private conversation. “The Chairman instructed me to tell you that if you declare King Peter a renegade and swear to support the Hansa, we can begin the process of returning you to Ildira.”

“That is all I need to do? Truly? One simple statement, and I am free to leave Earth immediately and save my people?” Jora’h scowled in disbelief. “Do you trust him, Captain McCammon?”

The man remained silent for a long and disturbing moment. “That is not for me to say. I only convey his message.”

Nira was also skeptical. “What’s to stop Jora’h from recanting his statement after you let him go? Nothing. So the Hansa wouldn’t really release us, would they? There’d be excuses, postponements, administrative setbacks. We would never be allowed to leave.”

McCammon stared straight ahead at the landed shuttle, past the stiff-backed guards, as if not speaking to her directly. “In such complex bureaucratic matters, many unforeseen delays and difficulties might occur before your actual release. It could take years.”

Jora’h had suspected as much. Continued resistance was his only leverage.

He held Nira more tightly and looked at the guard captain. “Then I am afraid I must decline the Chairman’s offer. The terms are not acceptable to me.”

47

Sarein

Sarein was shocked to see the changes being made to her quarters. Now what was Basil up to? Claiming to be under the Chairman’s orders, a work crew methodically removed the bright cocoon-weave hangings, a tangle-web macrame, and four small potted flowers, colorful favorites from her native worldforest.

She was incensed that he would do this without consulting her. Was he merely demonstrating that he could exert control, even here? It seemed indicative of his desire for domination. Basil did things his own way, and liked all the pieces to fall neatly in place. The very knowledge that Sarein’s private space still reflected her Theron heritage must have been a persistent thorn in his side.

She doubted he cared how much this would bother her. For Basil it was all part of putting the Hansa in order, keeping as many elements in check as possible. She would try to talk to him about it, but she doubted it would do any good.

“We’ll repaint this in a nice, neutral color, Ambassador,” said the foreman of the crew, a roly-poly man with a deep voice and thick brown hair. “I can display catalog images of standard-issue Hansa furniture. Pick out the interior decorations yourself if you’d like, but frankly I’d rather you trusted me.” The man gave her a weary grin.

“Do what you have to,” she said, feeling sad and cold. It hardly mattered, since everything that expressed her personal taste was being taken away. “Obviously, the Chairman does not approve of my preferences.”

When she had first arrived on Earth years ago, Sarein had scorned the quaint, provincial nature of Theroc. She had felt trapped among the worldtrees and green priests, but invigorated by images of the Whisper Palace and the wonderful cities on Earth. Leaving her home planet to follow her dreams, she had achieved a level of status beyond her expectations.

Now, though, most of her influence had gone. She was an ambassador from a planet with which the Hansa had cut off all relations, yet she couldn’t go home. She represented. nothing. Basil kept her in his inner circle, but she had to fight continually to be a sounding board for his decisions. More and more often, he made up his mind without consulting anyone. Despite what she had told Rlinda Kett during their surreptitious meeting in the coffee shop, she despaired of finding a way to get through to Basil. Not for the first time, she wished she had accepted Rlinda’s offer and simply fled Earth.

The workers roughly stuck her plants into a crate marked for storage, but she intercepted them. “Save those — I want them delivered to the greenhouse wing. The Queen’s conservatory is being restored.”

The decorator shrugged. “If you like. They’re no longer allowed in private quarters. Some Ildiran plants are known to be poisonous.”

Captain McCammon walked briskly down the hall toward her chambers. His eyes always seemed to light up when he saw her, though he had been well schooled in maintaining a neutral expression. She often found herself smiling, too, when she saw him, but she didn’t dare show any affection for the man. Now he stopped at her doorway, amazed by the flurry of redecorating.

She read McCammon’s expression of disapproval. “It’s how the Chairman reacts when he feels insecure,” Sarein said quickly.

He lowered his voice, showing genuine compassion. “Then right now he must feel very insecure.”

Basil’s plan to break the Mage-Imperator had backfired. Sarein couldn’t help but silently cheer the Ildiran leader. No matter how often she tried to caution him, the Chairman refused to acknowledge the damage he was causing. But other people were seeing the cracks appear in the government.