Those would play well on the evening newsvids.

Still, Tara brazened it out, still playing her part for The Republic. She waited as members of her party began to drift back out of the Cathedral. Duchess Amanda Hasek and Sandra Fenlon were first, and passed more time staring at the nearby architecture. Tara considered joining them. The Duchess was a bit standoffish, but Sandra was approachable and, all considered, things could be worse.

“Hello, Tara.” From behind, hands settled comfortably at her waist.

Like this.

She recognized his voice, of course. She’d memorized it during their first meeting on Skye. Jasek Kelswa-Steiner was not a man you forgot easily, if at all. His warm voice, with just a touch of “Skye Italian” to color it, was comfortable in intimate settings and strongly confident on the battlefield. He had a panther’s grace, dusky, exotic features, and blue eyes so dark they bordered on indigo.

And he held her for the cameras on what would soon be interplanetary news.

Tara turned inside his grip but then stepped back sharply, breaking away. He hooked his thumbs into the front pockets on his Stormhammer’s uniform, while she clasped her hands behind her back. Formal. Distant.

“Jasek. What are you doing here?”

“Come to find you,” he said with a hesitant smile. “Callandre Kell told me that you would be escorting the Davions to the viewing.” He shrugged. “It’s been awhile since Nusakan, and I was wondering how you were. If you’d changed your mind.”

She hoped that the news journalists across the street did not have long-range directional audio as well. They likely did.

“I mean, what are you doing here? Paris? The Stormhammer leader on Terra?”

“On Tara?” he said, an impish grin teasing her. His tone suggestive.

“On Terra!”

The man could be so infuriating. And it didn’t help that he had cost The Republic the world of Skye, and nearly the entirety of Prefecture IX. She still wasn’t certain how much she approved of his ultimate plans against Clan Jade Falcon. Their history was brief, volatile, and a mixed bag of emotions that she had yet to fully sort through.

“Even your father declined to visit while his Prefecture is under siege.”

Jasek nodded. His dusky skin was flawless, and his teeth a bright, bright white. She was sure now, that his smile was as much for the nearby cameras as it was for her. He was enjoying this!

“I came as a part of the Lyran Commonwealth’s representatives, and under special dispensation from your exarch. Didn’t Paladin McKinnon tell you that he escorted us here?” Obviously not. Which made Jasek smile all the wider. “I believe Jonah Levin thinks to repair some of the damage between my father and I. As if that might help solve The Republic’s problem.”

“The Republic has many problems right now,” she said softly, fouling any chance for a directional microphone to seize on her words. She hoped. “I’m personally involved with at least three of them. I have no time for your games.”

Jasek affected a wounded air. But not for long. “Not even at the Grand Ball next week?” he asked. The formal reception being held for visiting dignitaries. A night of politics and parties, neither of which Tara planned to enjoy. “And do not tell me that you won’t be there. The exarch will make sure of it. All the cameras. And you clean up too nicely for an officer. Countess.”

Which Tara could easily read as Jasek trying to broach the subject of solidarity among the nobility. Trying to drive a small wedge into Levin’s plans.

Or perhaps he was simply working his charms on her. For personal reasons.

She pulled further away, angling back toward her charges. Duchess Hasek and the Lady Fenlon had been joined by Julian and Callandre… and now Erik Sandoval. “Don’t presume too much, Jasek. Not ever.”

“You’ll be there,” he said, watching her walk off. “And I’ll find you.” It was offered as a simple statement of fact.

As self-confident as ever, and Tara had to admit that it was one of his many qualities that drew her to him, no matter how much she struggled to stay away. And she never lied to herself. She felt better, knowing that he hadn’t forgotten her. And that he had come to Tara—

Terra!

Terra

Republic of the Sphere

9 May 3135

With the final arrivals now on planet, The Republic’s formal reception and Exarch’s Ball for all visiting dignitaries was held at the Geneva palace. A night of dinner and dance, with nothing on the political agenda.

Julian Davion did not believe that for an instant.

Large enough to hangar a Leopard–class DropShip, the ballroom rivaled the best facilities of the Davion palace, in his opinion. At least in presentation. Each of the ballroom’s four corners was its own stage, raised above the main floor by soft, carpeted stairs. Each stage had its own bar and a small host of servers carrying about trays of champagne flutes, brandy snifters, aperitif thimbles, and spreads of exotic hors d’oeuvres.

A forty-two-piece orchestra arrangement dominated the south end of the hall, seated between two stages and halfway up the wall in a band shell formed—Julian noticed at once—in the shape of an Atlas’ head. Light strains of a neo-Bach revised cantata floated through the room. Good for dancing, and with just enough of a march beat to keep the exarch’s receiving line moving and his heralds at the northeast and northwest stage busy announcing the next guest.

Guests filed in through large doors at either of the north-facing corners, foreign delegates through one door, domestic the other. Nobles, politicians, military officers—most wearing multiple hats—spread down the stairs to the main floor where they were formally met by Exarch Jonah Levin and his wife. A brief handshake and a word or two as the exarch greeted both lines, made quick introductions, and then passed mixed parties to the main floor where they could mingle, eat, dance, or—as Jonah Levin certainly planned—just talk.

An efficient and strategically sound plan. Harrison Davion nodded his own approval when Julian quietly pointed it out.

“This is about more than Victor,” he said.

Then the prince allowed the world governor of Yangtze to pull him and Sterling McKenna aside for more introductions, eventually hooking Julian into the conversation as well with quick introductions and a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

Harrison, also, was here for more than honoring the paladin’s memory.

Julian followed his prince’s lead for the better part of an hour. At times he felt more like he was standing in for Caleb, who always seemed to be off on his own agenda, rather than being simply the prince’s nephew and current champion. Harrison made a point of inviting Julian’s opinion, and more than once left him in the company of a Republic representative too minor for the prince’s time yet still too important for an easy brush-off.

But there were duties, and then there were duties. All too quickly—implied by Harrison’s pointed stare—Duchess Hasek came to claim Julian on Sandra’s behalf. Under her anxious and encouraging stare, Julian escorted Sandra Fenlon onto the ballroom’s main floor. Sandra’s ash-blond hair, pinned to one side, fell in a broken waterfall over her left shoulder, and Julian’s gold tux-style jacket was a perfect complement to her golden-bronze gown. Their secret smiles could have been fondness or budding love, and not the charade two friends played for Amanda Hasek’s benefit.