For the near future, Jess knew that he and Cesca would be wise to avoid each other. He couldn’t bear to think that because of the death of Ross he was now free to love her. And now, with the loss of Bram, Jess would be the Tamblyn clan leader, a perfectly acceptable husband for the future Speaker.

Yes, perfect… as if they had planned it all.

But winning Cesca in such a way was not acceptable to either of them. The cultural rules of Roamer society were complex, and if he and Cesca pursued their love too openly, too soon, in the face of such tragedy, they might find themselves ostracized.

An hour later, Bram Tamblyn started up in bed and opened his eyes. He coughed twice, shuddered, then fell back onto his pillow—and died, so quickly and quietly that Jess could not believe what had just happened. Jess grabbed his father’s arm, trying to feel a twitch of life, but he felt no sign of blood flow, no pulse on the skeletal wrist.

Cesca hugged him, both of them leaning over the bedside. Jess shouted, and finally someone entered from outside, wearing a thick parka. He couldn’t see who the man was through his own burning eyes. “Tasia! Where’s my sister? Our father is dead.”

His uncle Caleb shrugged back his hood, looking unusually flustered. Jess raised his voice. “Did you find her? I need you to bring her here.” Jess shook his head. “How many places can there be to hide on Plumas?”

“I’ve just come from the surface, Jess. One of the Tamblyn ships is gone, a small scout vessel. Tasia’s quarters are empty. It looks like she took some items with her… and also her compy EA.”

Cesca looked over at Jess as the realization grew in his heart. “She must have run off to join the Eddies after all! Dammit, why couldn’t she control her temper?” He sagged, dropping his head in his hands. His sister was just like his father in many ways.

Heartbroken and surrendering to grief, knowing what Bram must have felt like in his last hours, Jess remained by the deathbed. He held the brittle hand of his difficult and demanding father, and felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders.

55: KING FREDERICK

55KING FREDERICK

I’ve asked you to meet privately with me, Frederick,” said Basil Wenceslas, “because it is time for us to discuss your retirement.”

A smile rapidly superseded Frederick’s surprise. “It’s about time, Basil. Forty-seven years on the throne? I’m getting tired, and I’ve been waiting for you to announce my replacement.” He strode over to where he kept his decanters of the finest sherry, his favorite of many vices. “You won’t get any complaint from me. This performance has gone on long enough. Would you like a drink, Basil?”