Free A Prison Unsought by Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge Page A

bowed. And then the Archon disappeared in the
crowd.
    Jaim found that he’d been holding his breath.
    From Brandon’s side, Vannis watched Srivashti gather his
admirers around him. Controlling her nerves from hairline to toes, she hid her reaction;
his mouth had smirked with amusement, but she had seen anger tighten that
slack-lidded gaze, for a single heartbeat, when it first rested on Brandon. The
Srivashtis were as old a Family as the Arkads, and their fates had been long
entangled.
    And so the dance of
power begins , she thought as she and Brandon reached the Naval officers.
She took a discreet step back, expecting Brandon to publicly offer the Faseult
ring to the new Archon.
    With the Archon gone, Jaim remembered his question. (Why is everyone watching ?) Jaim asked.
    (If the Aerenarch
presents the ring and bows as if to a new Archon, then he is taking his
father’s place in all but name, with a first order.)
    (I don’t understand.
If this Faseult, or vlith-Faseult, is the heir, then how is that an order?)
    (We didn’t make it
clear? No Archon or Archonei can hold command in the Navy or Marines. If the
Aerenarch greets him as the Archon—an appointment that only a Panarch or
Kyriarch can make—then at that moment, Commander vlith-Faseult’s career ends,
and he becomes a civilian. And the Aerenarch takes the first step toward
claiming his father’s prerogatives.)
    Vannis stood a little back, waiting for Brandon to claim
power, using the emotional leverage of grief. But Brandon bowed in the mode of civilian
to service as he spoke a polite greeting.
    Vannis and Jaim were both aware of the almost subliminal
universal sigh as Brandon moved on.
    (Vahn, what just
happened? What does it mean?)
    (Nothing. And no one
knows,) was the curt reply. Jaim watched Commander vlith-Faseult’s still
profile tracking Brandon as the Aerenarch walked on to continue his circle. So
the Navy could not approach the Aerenarch at a civilian function, just as the
civs could not intrude on the Navy. Interesting balance, Jaim thought.
    At that moment the unseen steward signaled the orchestra to
strike up the prelude to a waltz.
    Vannis was not about to let the moment pass. She smiled up
at Brandon and opened her hand in the gesture her tutor had taught her was
called the blossom of appeal . “Shall
we dance?”
    Brandon bowed and held out his arm.
    Around Jaim the Douloi paired off, whirling with practiced
ease about the gleaming floor. In the center Brandon and Vannis turned and
stepped, their plain clothing marking them out from the bejeweled whites and
grays and blues and lavenders around them.
    Jaim sensed someone on the periphery of his safety zone, and
sidestepped, hands ready but dropping again when he recognized Osri Omilov, the
gnostor’s son. The dark eyes that had been so hateful during the long
adventures aboard the Telvarna were
now perplexed.
    Jaim remembered his role, and bowed, the correct degree for
the heir of a Chival.
    Osri’s heavy brow wrinkled in confusion, then he
acknowledged with a curt nod. “Have you—”
    He broke off as a susurration of alarm caused a surge in the
crowd. For once the elegant Douloi parted with rather more haste than grace,
revealing the frail-looking white-furred Eya’a, their blue mouths open, faceted
eyes throwing back the light from the floating chandeliers. They walked
quickly, without looking directly at any of the humans, their gossamer-light
robes fluttering. Behind them, tall, straight, and forbidding, strode Vi’ya,
her ubiquitous plain black flight suit so out of place in this environment that
Jaim grinned.
    Her head turned, her long, glossy tail of space-black hair
swinging past her hips, and her black eyes caught Jaim’s gaze. Unsmiling, she
gave a slight nod of recognition, and then shock burned through Jaim when two
of her fingers brushed against her thigh as she walked on. Meeting: ASAP .
    Osri drew a breath. “What is she doing here? Surely they
don’t let her