Duchess Zangaria snorted. “Cavendish is the sticking point,” she said. “The others will fold if they know we’re united.”
“Then we have to buy them out,” Peter said. Thankfully, Masterly and Masterly had worked out the figures for him. “We make them an immense long-term loan, funded by the remaining duchies. The deal will hurt us badly, but will keep them afloat.”
“It will not be easy to balance that payment with the austerity regime,” Duchess Zangaria said quietly. “My corporation is already laying off employees.”
“They won’t accept anything less,” Duke Tolliver said. “Even offering to purchase their facilities will be seen as insulting. They don’t want to end their careers as pensioners.”
We should be so lucky, Peter thought. If we all go bust, we’ll be lucky if we spend the rest of our lives begging in the gutter.
Harrison cleared his throat. “A united front, then?”
“If we can convince everyone to join us,” Duchess Zangaria said.
“We should also make preparations for a violent response,” Rudbek added glumly. “Does anyone believe we can keep our plans secret for a couple of months?”
“We must all hang together,” Isabel quoted, “or we will all hang separately.”
Peter couldn’t disagree. The king had plenty of informers. Everyone who was anyone had a network of informers, ranging from the trustworthy to men and women who’d sell their own grandparents if the money was right. Even if everyone in the room kept their mouths firmly shut, something would leak out when they started widening the conspiracy. The king would have a window of opportunity to do something before time ran out.
And if we don’t move fast, he’ll be able to rally the navy to his command, Peter thought. And who knows what will happen then?
“We tighten both our security and grip on the planetary defenses,” he said. “If we manage to impeach the king, we should be able to sever his ties to the navy.”
“His people are loyalists,” Duke Rudbek commented. “They’ll have to be removed as quickly as possible.”
“Which might be tricky,” Duchess Zangaria countered. “They might not take it calmly.”
Isabel blanched. “We’re talking open civil war,” she protested. “Your Grace . . .”
“That’s why we have to act fast,” Duke Rudbek said.
But we can’t act fast, Peter thought. It would take weeks to build consensus, then make the loan to Cavendish. We only get one shot at removing the king legally.
His mind raced. If the king had assassinated Peter’s father, why not assassinate the king? It might solve all their problems, except he couldn’t see a way to do it. The king was heavily protected. Peter’s guards wouldn’t be able to get through the defenses, assuming they accepted the mission in the first place. The political struggles on Tyre had never turned violent. Perhaps that was why hardly anyone had suspected that the king might have had a hand in Lucas Falcone’s death. Assassinating one’s rivals was unprecedented.
And I don’t want to believe it, he thought. If the king killed my father, what else will he do?
“Then we need to sort out the details now,” he said. “I’m expected back at the party.”
Rudbek smiled. “You poor thing.”
Harrison nodded. “We’ll start work at once,” he said. “Ideally, we’ll be ready to put forward the impeachment bill by the end of the month. And then . . . we can take the king into custody before he can do something stupid.”
“It might be too late for that,” Duke Rudbek said. “The young fool is losing his mind.”
“But not his cunning,” Peter said warningly. The king had nerve. Even his worst enemies admitted it. “Remember, we only get one shot at this. If we fail, we will be far worse off.”
“And if we succeed, our position will be a great deal stronger,” Rudbek said. “Let’s look on the bright side, shall we?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
William jerked awake, feeling sweat running down his back. He’d been dreaming of home, a home he’d never see again . . . a world that was now covered in radioactive dust. His parents had been there, as had his brother and cousins and . . . He shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow. A dream. No, a nightmare. He’d known, even as he’d joined them for dinner, that it hadn’t been real. Hebrides was gone. She’d never be made habitable in his lifetime. If anyone tried at all.
His console chimed. “Captain?”
“Go ahead,” William ordered. He sat upright, wondering when his bed had suddenly become so hard. He’d spent years on starships. “I’m listening.”
“The enemy ships appear to be preparing to open vortexes,” Patti said. “We’re quite close to a possible star.”
But we can’t be sure, because of hyperspace, William thought. It wasn’t easy to navigate in hyperspace, not outside the charted regions. The gravitational shadow might be caused by something else.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, reaching for his jacket. “I’m on my way,” he said as he checked the ship’s status. The seven days they’d spent in hyperspace had been largely uneventful. They’d managed to keep shadowing the enemy ships despite a series of evasive maneuvers that had made life more than a little exciting; now, if they were lucky, they were going to see the enemy base. “If they open a vortex, take us out of hyperspace immediately.”
“Aye, sir.”
William splashed water on his face, glanced at his appearance in the mirror, and headed for the hatch. He looked a mess but found it hard to care. Some of his old commanding officers would have made sharp remarks about stubble, yet William had always believed that one had a choice between looking good and being good. Besides, he was the CO. No one would say anything to him if he came onto the bridge looking like he hadn’t shaved for weeks.
He stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge, his eyes searching out the display automatically. The enemy ships were slowing, as if they intended to
