didn’t have time for the cosmetic work. We can color match the eye and clear up the scars in a couple of hours. But I can’t do it today, or tomorrow either. Talk to my floor nurse, see when she can schedule you in. And in any case, for the next few days you take it easy. It’ll be at least that long before you’re fully healed. Incidentally, Sergeant Notay scheduled you for therapy with the rest of the marines.”
York remembered shaking his head, saying, “I don’t want anything to do with those damn marines.”
Yan had shrugged. “It’s not up to you. The marine medics know their stuff as well as my own people, and Notay cleared it with me and the captain.”
There was one last thing she’d told him. “I had to pull some gray matter out of your head. Not a lot, not enough to affect your abilities, but you may notice . . . gaps in your memory. And if you do, let me know right away.”
York looked in the mirror again, at the chrome-plated eye and the mess they’d made of his face.
As Edvard entered the room the attendant at the door barked, “His Majesty, the King.” Edvard smiled at the guests assembled there, and of course they all stopped whatever they were doing or saying and turned his way. Depending on station, or rank, some dropped to one knee, some bowed deeply, and a few, like Abraxa, and old Archcanon Bortha, merely bent at the waist slightly and lowered their eyes. Abraxa’s bow had been getting shallower of late.
To dine with the emperor was an important privilege; a great honor, some thought. For Edvard these evenings were hard work, sometimes the only opportunity he had to meet informally with certain people under circumstances that weren’t carefully orchestrated.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a rather nondescript man said, stepping casually in front of him. The man, while dressed rather simply, was actually a senior officer in Edvard’s personal guard. He bowed carefully, then stepped in close, a small instrument in one hand. “We have a minor problem, sire,” he whispered. He held the instrument out toward Edvard, paused at an appropriate distance, “May I, Your Majesty?”
Edvard nodded. “Certainly, Captain.”
The man held the instrument, no larger than the palm of his hand, close to one of the buttons on the front of Edvard’s coat. He looked at the instrument for a moment, nodded, touched something on the face of the instrument and pressed it against the button, nodded again, then discretely put the instrument away in his own coat. “It’s deactivated, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Edvard said. “The press?”
The officer shook his head. “Not likely, Your Majesty. They’re usually not that clumsy. Probably some branch of the military, or someone employed by one of the minor Houses. With your permission, we’ll remove the button at the end of the evening and conduct a full investigation. At the least, someone on your staff has accepted a bribe.”
The man disappeared into the small crowd. Edvard spoke for a time with the daughter of a minor Earl, a young girl bubbling over with excitement. But she’d been well trained and kept her enthusiasm appropriately damped, so Edvard enjoyed himself a bit. Next there were her parents. Her father’s holdings had become somewhat strategic in an alliance between Houses de Vena and de Plutarr. All parties concerned were close to agreement on the terms of marriage between the young woman and the son of Andralla Schessa, the Duchess de Vena. The boy was a fool, careless and irresponsible, but by law he must inherit the properties of House de Vena. The girl was smart, though quite young, but given time and training and tutelage under Schessa herself, they could be sure the properties would be administered properly.
Edvard chatted for a time with old Bortha. The titular head of the church worked hard at presenting the image of a wise, old man in his declining years. It was quite a disarming act, but Edvard
York remembered shaking his head, saying, “I don’t want anything to do with those damn marines.”
Yan had shrugged. “It’s not up to you. The marine medics know their stuff as well as my own people, and Notay cleared it with me and the captain.”
There was one last thing she’d told him. “I had to pull some gray matter out of your head. Not a lot, not enough to affect your abilities, but you may notice . . . gaps in your memory. And if you do, let me know right away.”
York looked in the mirror again, at the chrome-plated eye and the mess they’d made of his face.
As Edvard entered the room the attendant at the door barked, “His Majesty, the King.” Edvard smiled at the guests assembled there, and of course they all stopped whatever they were doing or saying and turned his way. Depending on station, or rank, some dropped to one knee, some bowed deeply, and a few, like Abraxa, and old Archcanon Bortha, merely bent at the waist slightly and lowered their eyes. Abraxa’s bow had been getting shallower of late.
To dine with the emperor was an important privilege; a great honor, some thought. For Edvard these evenings were hard work, sometimes the only opportunity he had to meet informally with certain people under circumstances that weren’t carefully orchestrated.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a rather nondescript man said, stepping casually in front of him. The man, while dressed rather simply, was actually a senior officer in Edvard’s personal guard. He bowed carefully, then stepped in close, a small instrument in one hand. “We have a minor problem, sire,” he whispered. He held the instrument out toward Edvard, paused at an appropriate distance, “May I, Your Majesty?”
Edvard nodded. “Certainly, Captain.”
The man held the instrument, no larger than the palm of his hand, close to one of the buttons on the front of Edvard’s coat. He looked at the instrument for a moment, nodded, touched something on the face of the instrument and pressed it against the button, nodded again, then discretely put the instrument away in his own coat. “It’s deactivated, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Edvard said. “The press?”
The officer shook his head. “Not likely, Your Majesty. They’re usually not that clumsy. Probably some branch of the military, or someone employed by one of the minor Houses. With your permission, we’ll remove the button at the end of the evening and conduct a full investigation. At the least, someone on your staff has accepted a bribe.”
The man disappeared into the small crowd. Edvard spoke for a time with the daughter of a minor Earl, a young girl bubbling over with excitement. But she’d been well trained and kept her enthusiasm appropriately damped, so Edvard enjoyed himself a bit. Next there were her parents. Her father’s holdings had become somewhat strategic in an alliance between Houses de Vena and de Plutarr. All parties concerned were close to agreement on the terms of marriage between the young woman and the son of Andralla Schessa, the Duchess de Vena. The boy was a fool, careless and irresponsible, but by law he must inherit the properties of House de Vena. The girl was smart, though quite young, but given time and training and tutelage under Schessa herself, they could be sure the properties would be administered properly.
Edvard chatted for a time with old Bortha. The titular head of the church worked hard at presenting the image of a wise, old man in his declining years. It was quite a disarming act, but Edvard
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