Crown of Slaves

allows one of its members to become labeled a 'black sheep' by outsiders, and tries to obtain legitimacy by denying its own blood. 'Legitimacy' gained at such a price isn't worth it-nor will it last, in any event.'

Harrell still seemed uncertain, but it was clear most of his outright hostility was gone. Fading, at least. He turned to look at Berry.

'What's your opinion, Princess?'

Berry was startled. 'Mine?' She looked around, confused. 'Well… I really don't think it's my place to tell you- any of you-what you should do.'

Kathryn burst into laughter. 'What else have you been doing, since you got here?'

Berry looked embarrassed. But Kathryn's laugh hadn't been sarcastic, as she immediately made clear with a smile. 'I'm not complaining, Princess. At least half the people who've been coming to you to settle a dispute were sent over to you by us in the first place. Just to get them out of our hair, if nothing else. And the truth is…'

Kathryn glanced at Harrell. 'The truth is, I'd like to know myself. What is your opinion?'

Berry gave Web a look of appeal. He understood at once that the appeal had far more to do with the girl's identity than her opinion.

Why not? It's going to have to come out sooner or later. I'd intended to wait, but…

He cleared his throat. 'For reasons which will soon be obvious-tactical reasons-what I'm about to say is not for public consumption. By which I mean the public outside of the thousands of us on this ship.'

He saw no reason to rub their noses in the fact that control over the Felicia itself- including the communication equipment-was still in the hands of Cachat and Palane, so the ex-slaves had no way of using the coms anyway. Everybody knew it, even though all the lockdowns had been ended. Many of the ex- slaves had visited the bridge, by now, and had been greeted cordially. Some of them had even begun to fraternize with the Amazons, especially after Saburo and Donald and the other Ballroom members from the space station had come over on the first sled and they saw the obviously intimate relations which they'd established with the former Scrag women.

That had been… a bit shocking to them, at first. But, like most oppressed subcultures in history, Manpower's genetic slaves were not given to hoity-toity fussiness about such things. Soon enough, the Amazons had moved from the category of enemy to that of simply exotic.

'The fact is,' Web continued, nodding first at Berry and then at Ruth, seated next to her, 'that we've been engaged in a subterfuge here. For complex reasons of state which I don't feel at liberty to discuss at the moment'-that oughta to do it, he thought smugly-'the woman you know as 'Princess Ruth' is actually Berry Zilwicki. And the real Ruth Winton has been passing as Berry Zilwicki.'

Everyone in the compartment was now ogling the two women. Most of them looked a bit cross-eyed.

So did Berry and Ruth, for that matter.

'Oh, yes, it's quite true.' Du Havel chuckled as heartily as he could manage. 'It's quite confusing, really. I find it almost impossible myself to keep them straight any longer.'

Ruth-bless her heart!-chimed right in. 'That's because Berry really makes a much more believable princess than I do. I don't have the temperament. Really, I don't. Not at all.'

Kathryn was the first to speak. To Web's relief, her tone seemed more curious than anything else. It certainly wasn't hostile.

'Berry Zilwicki. I realize now that I hadn't given that much thought. You're Anton Zilwicki's daughter, correct? Not his natural daughter. That's 'Helen,' as I recall. But the girl he found in the Loop? The one who'd been surviving in the underground with her little brother?'

Berry nodded. She seemed a bit pale, but otherwise composed.

'A mutt from Terra's slums, in other words.' Kathryn's smile was an odd thing. Wintry, it might have been called-except there was no coldness in it at all. 'I rather like that, now that I think about it.'

Juan grunted. 'Yeah, me too. Besides, it doesn't matter. Whichever is which, these are the two young women who risked their lives to give us our freedom. You can't ask for more than that, not from mutt or princess or anyone in between.'

He gave the packed compartment a gaze which was something of a challenge. But, clearly enough, not a challenge which anyone was inclined to take up.

'Good enough,' he said. He brought his eyes back to Berry Zilwicki and studied her a moment. 'Yeah. Anton Zilwicki's daughter-Catherine Montaigne's, too-and a mutt from the warrens. And, sure as hell, no slouch herself. Good enough.'

* * *

Later that night, as they relaxed in the quarters of one of the former crew which had been given over to them, Berry expressed her relief to Ruth.

'That went better than I thought.'

Ruth tried not to look smug. It was difficult. 'Yup.'

' 'Course, the real hell to pay is going to come when Daddy and your aunt find out what we've been up to.'

Ruth didn't have any trouble not looking smug, now. None at all.

'We're dead,' she moaned. 'Dead.'

'Don't be silly,' Berry countered. 'It's much worse than that. We'll both be confined to a cloister somewhere. You watch. Chateau d'If, I'm talking about.'

'It's the modern universe!' Ruth tried to protest.

'Sure is,' agreed Berry, gloomily. 'Makes it even worse. Prolong will keep us alive for centuries. You watch. Chateau d'If, if we're lucky. Probably be something like Devil's Island. For centuries.'

PART IV:FELICIA III

Chapter 40

It was a good thing, Admiral Lady Dame Honor Harrington, Duchess and Steadholder Harrington, reflected, that the modern universe had abandoned the practice of blaming the messenger. Or else the captain of the courier vessel which had brought the news to Landing would have expired. Queen Elizabeth's glare alone would have been enough to immolate him on the spot. As it was, the poor man was doing his best to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

That was difficult, given that there were only eight other people in Queen Elizabeth's private chamber. None of whom were standing on the carpet in front of her. And none of whom were people whom the very junior officer would have much reason to hope would intercede on his behalf when the Queen summoned the headsman.

Two of them were the Errant Royal Daughter's parents-Michael and Judith Winton. They were glaring at the officer not much less ferociously than the Queen. The next was Ariel, the Queen's treecat, who crouched on the back of his adopted person's chair with his ears flattened and fangs half-bared as her fury flooded through their empathic link. Then there was William Alexander, whom everyone knew was the person the Queen wanted for her Prime Minister. His glare… about the same as the Queen's. Standing next