War Of Honor

'My Lord,' the Queen replied, then smiled with obvious delight at Lady White Haven. 'I'm so glad you decided to come after all, Emily,' she said, just loudly enough for those standing close to them to overhear. 'We don't see enough of you here in Landing.'

'That's because I find Landing a bit on the fatiguing side, I'm afraid, Your Majesty,' Emily Alexander said. For all the fairness of her own coloring, there was a similarity—more sensed than seen, yet unmistakable—between her face and the Queen's. Not surprisingly, perhaps, since they were distant cousins. Nor was Elizabeth Emily's only family connection at tonight's gathering, and she cocked her head with another smile of welcome as the Duke of Manticore joined them.

'Hello, Teddy,' she greeted him.

'Happy birthday, Aunt Emily,' he responded, and bent to kiss her on the cheek. 'Wasn't it kind of Her Majesty to arrange things so I didn't have to throw a birthday gala for you?' he teased with a twinkle, and she snorted.

'You may have gotten off lightly where parties are concerned,' she told him, 'but I expect you to make it up when it comes to the gifts!'

'Oh, well. I suppose I can always sell off part of my portfolio to raise the funds,' he sighed, and then reached out to shake the earl's hand. 'Good to see you, too, Hamish,' he said cheerfully. 'And I've been looking forward to meeting your new friend,' he added, with a small, formal bow all for Samantha.

The 'cat returned the greeting with a regal nod of her own, and he chuckled delightedly.

'I understand you've been learning to sign, Teddy?' Emily inquired, and snorted as he nodded. 'Well, in that case, if you behave yourself properly—and bribe her with sufficient celery, of course—you can probably get Sam to help you practice over supper.'

'Yes, Auntie,' he promised obediently, and she snorted again, then reached up to pat him on the forearm before she returned her attention to the duchess and the Queen.

* * *

It was all about timing, Honor thought as the guests filed into the banquet annex to Queen Caitrin's Hall. It was remotely possible that there was someone here tonight who was naive enough to believe Hamish and Emily had just happened to arrive immediately behind her, or that Elizabeth and Emily's nephew had just happened to join the three of them—well, five, with Nimitz and Samantha—where every single guest could see them. It was even possible that that same naive someone might think it was pure coincidence that her own title took precedence over every other guest present except the Duke of Manticore. That 'coincidence' just happened to seat Honor to the Queen's left and the duke to the Queen's right . . . and the fact that the entire function was officially in honor of Emily's birthday and that Emily was 'family' had given Elizabeth the perfect excuse for seating her and her husband at the same table, despite the fact that Hamish was 'only' an earl. Which just happened to put Honor and Emily right next to one another where every single guest could see how naturally and cheerfully they spoke with one another.

And where no one could possibly mistake the message the Queen of Manticore had actually arranged this entire evening to communicate.

Timing, she thought again, as she offered Nimitz a fresh stick of celery and she tasted the emotional aura of the banquet. It was always difficult to make definitive judgments about the overwhelming group mind-glow of such a large gathering, but she sensed a definite overall trend which gave her a sense of profound satisfaction. The message had gone home, she decided, and drew a huge, mental breath of relief.

This might actually be going to work after all.

* * *

'So much for Plan A,' Stefan Young grumbled as he flung his formal frock coat across a chair with childish spitefulness.

'I warned you it could turn around and bite us all on the ass,' his wife replied. They'd been home from the ball for half an hour, and she'd already shed her own court costume. Now she sat before the bedroom mirror, considering herself. She stuck out her tongue at her own image and studied it for a moment, then shrugged and moved on to the rest of her appearance. She wore a robe of subtly iridescent Gryphon water silk, one of Gryphon's most prized export goods. That robe had cost more than a low-end air car, and worth every penny of it, she thought with a lazy, hunting-hexapuma smile as she admired the way it clung to every curve. But then the smile faded, and she shrugged and turned to look at him.

'We got over four months of effective use out of it,' she pointed out. 'That was enough to carry us through the debate on the naval reductions and the vote on the new domestic spending measures.'

'I know.' The earl had lingered in the study to fortify his frustration with brandy. She could smell it on his breath from where she sat, and she concealed a grimace of distaste as he unbuttoned the old-fashioned studs from his cuffs and tossed them into a jewelry case with a grimace of his own. He hadn't enjoyed the way the Queen had seated Emily Alexander and Duchess Harrington at her own elbow and then monopolized their conversation all through supper.

'I'd just hoped for a longer run,' he said after a moment. 'Like maybe a permanent one. And I still say we should go ahead and keep pushing to make it work that way.'

'No, we shouldn't. Not now that Emily Alexander has spiked our guns so neatly.'

'Who cares?' North Hollow demanded, and turned to glower at her. 'Of course she's going to cover for him! What else can she do? And so is Elizabeth. And only an idiot would believe that entire charade wasn't set up expressly to do just that! All we have to do is point out the political calculation involved, how cynical they're both being by conniving at covering up a pair of adulterers for pure political advantage, and we can turn the public against them, too!'

'Against Emily Alexander?' Georgia Young laughed scornfully. 'Two-thirds of the voters in the Star Kingdom think the woman's a saint! Attacking her would be the worst strategic blunder anybody's made since the Peeps started the war early at Hancock Station.'

'Um.' North Hollow grunted, his expression uglier than ever at the reminder of the battle which had brought about his elder brother's disgrace, then exhaled in an irritated snort. 'I just hate to let up on them when we've got them on the run this way,' he said almost plaintively.

'That's because you're thinking with your emotions again,' Georgia told him. She stood, running her hands across the water silk with a slow, sensual motion that formed a bizarre visual counterpoint for her coldly dispassionate voice. 'I know how much you hate Harrington—hate both of them—but when you let hate dictate strategy, it's a recipe for failure.'

'I know,' Young repeated, his expression still surly. 'But I wasn't the one who came up with the idea in the first place, you know.'

'No, you weren't. I was,' she agreed in that same clinical tone. 'On the other hand, you grabbed the concept and ran with it the instant I suggested it, didn't you?'

'Because it sounded like it would work,' he replied.

'Because it sounded like it would work . . . and because you wanted to hurt them,' she corrected, and shook her head. 'Let's be honest, Stefan. It was more important to you personally to make them both suffer than it was for the strategy to work, now wasn't it?'

'I wanted it to work, too!'

'But that was secondary, as far as you were concerned,' she said inexorably, and shook her head again. 'I'm not saying it was unreasonable of you to want to punish them for what they both did to Pavel. But don't make the same mistake he made. People have a perfectly natural tendency to strike back at anyone who hurts them—the fact that you want to punish Harrington and White Haven is proof enough of that. Unfortunately, Honor Harrington isn't exactly noted for moderation. White Haven is a civilized person. He's going to feel bound to play by the rules, but when she strikes back, people have a habit of finding themselves ankle-deep in bodies, and I'd just as soon not be one of the corpses.'

'I'm not going to do anything stupid,' he growled.

'And I'm not going to let you do anything stupid,' her eyes were as cool as her voice. 'That's why I asked you to suggest the approach to High Ridge and let him set up the hatchet men. If she decides to come back after anyone, she'll be looking at Hayes first, and then our beloved Prime Minister. Besides,' the countess chuckled humorlessly, 'not even she can kill off the entire Government. She'd have to stop before she worked her way all the way down to the Office of Trade!'