Royal Rebellion

By Blair Bancroft

In this final book of the Blue Moon Rising series, the rebels have taken a three-year time-out before the final battle against the Empire—planning, preparing, and producing a new generation. Even their one-time enemy, the Emperor's nephew Rand Kamal, has settled on the rebel stronghold of Blue Moon, though there is doubt about whether he is a high-ranking prisoner of war or an ally. All is peaceful—the calm before the final attack on the Empire—until Kamal's children are kidnapped. Is it a trap? There is also the problem of rebels who haven't fought a battle in far too long. Have they lost their edge? The rebel leaders must confront all these problems and more, before the four Psyclid royal children and their spouses come face to face at last with Darroch, ruler of the Regulon Empire.

Author's Note: In Royal Rebellion we not only find out if the rebels win their battle against the Empire, we see the wrap-up of the many romances that have occurred over more than a decade (not all with conventional endings), plus the beginning of new romances among the younger members of the extensive cast of characters. It would appear that complexities of the heart can be nearly as challenging and confusing as he long struggle to take down the Empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Bancroft
• Release date: Jun 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736799963

Blair Bancroft

Blair Bancroft recalls receiving odd looks from adults as she walked home from school at age seven, her lips moving as she told herself stories. And there was never a night she didn't entertain herself with her own bedtime stories. But it was only after a variety of other careers that she turned to serious writing. Blair has been a music teacher, professional singer, non-fiction editor, costume designer, and real estate agent. She has traveled from Bratsk, Siberia, to Machu Picchu, Peru, and made numerous visits to Europe, Britain, and Ireland. She is now attempting to incorporate all these varied experiences into her writing. Blair's first book, TARLETON'S WIFE, won RWA's Golden Heart and the Best Romance award from the Florida Writers' Association. Her romantic suspense novel, SHADOWED PARADISE, and her Young Adult Medieval, ROSES IN THE MIST, were finalists for an EPPIE, the "Oscar" of the e-book industry. Blair's Regency, THE INDIFFERENT EARL, was chosen as Best Regency by Romantic Times magazine and was a finalist for RWA's RITA award. Blair believes variety is the spice of life. Her recent books include Historical Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mystery, Thrillers, and Steampunk, all available at Smashwords. A long-time resident of Florida, Blair fondly recalls growing up in Connecticut, which still has a piece of her heart.

Book preview

Chapter 1

By the calendar of Regula Prime, three years, four months after the second Battle of Psyclid

Brring-chirp. Brring-chirp. Eyes still closed, Kelan Rigel slapped his hand onto the small table beside his bed. Missed. Brring-chirp. Brring-chirp. Whatever possessed him to choose such a cheerful ringtone? He’d change it—as soon as the sun came up.

Brring-chir— Got it!

Kelan, he mumbled into his handheld, his thoughts not getting beyond wondering which drunken buddy wanted to talk war and peace—or maybe the more difficult topic of women—in the wee hours of the morning.

Kelan? A whisper, but enough to shock him awake, the hairs on his arms standing on end. No way to identify the voice, yet with the instinct that ran true in the Rigels he knew something bad had happened.

Yes, he returned, suddenly cautious, as a Rigel on Regula Prime had to be these days. A Rigel rebel not safely tucked away behind a ridó on Blue Moon but smack in the middle of the enemy.

His own people, the enemy.

It’s Yuliya.

Kelan jerked upright. The room’s temperature dropped ten degrees. At least it felt that way. He’d known Yuliya Kamal since they were children. They had danced and flirted their way through dozens of grand affairs over the years. And met in more informal moments when the Rigels and the Kamals, two of Regula Prime’s great families, were still friends. Back before Yuliya’s father became a prisoner of war or perhaps a traitor—the Reg admiral who had urged his own Space Fleet to go home at the second Battle of Psyclid.

Which was about the same time the name of the supposedly long dead Talryn Rigel crept to the forefront of the speculations about the identity of S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion. The awkwardness—the danger—of being related to two such questionable characters had brought Kelan and Yuliya closer together.

Admiral Kamal’s wife Montiene, evidently considering the continuing comfort of her life at court more important than the now vague possibility of becoming Empress, had divorced her absent husband, and married yet another of Emperor Darroch’s close relations, one not in such imminent danger of losing all his possessions, including his head. Yuliya and her younger brother, Erik, had therefore continued to live in luxury in the palace, although the strain of fearing their father a traitor hovered ominously over both. Hardly surprising they turned to old friends with a similar cloud of suspicion over their heads—Kelan and Dayna Rigel, who had long maintained apartments in Titan, the capital city, so they could enjoy what the metropolis had to offer, free from parental oversight.

Men took us, put us on a plane, Yuliya continued in a voice still little above a whisper. A flight of more than an hour. I’m sure I saw Ropa Velicha just before we came down. After that, a short helo ride. I’m almost certain we’re at the Royal Retreat.

Yuliya could be right. Ropa Velicha was Regula Prime’s tallest peak, an easily recognizable landmark in the northern mountains. Kelan frowned, hearing something rare in Yuliya’s voice. Fear. And yet none of it made sense. Her mother was one of the Emperor’s favorites, and for three long years Darroch had persisted in referring to his absent nephew as a prisoner of war. So why turn on his children now?

Unless . . . deep down, Darroch had finally acknowledged that Rand Kamal was a defector, not a prisoner of war. And had turned his bitter disappointment in the designated heir to the throne into vengeance against targets closer to hand. Or . . .

Was it possible Yuliya and Erik were hostages?

Kelan, who had been running the Rigel armaments business since he turned twenty-one, was no more a fool than the other members of his family. Yuliya, he said after an almost inaudible huff of breath, if you’re saying you’ve been kidnapped, how is it you still have your handheld?

"Search me? They would not dare! Her voice rose to a near shriek before she realized her error and dropped back to a hoarse whisper. Sorry, she muttered. Erik’s asleep and there’s a guard outside our door. But truly, Kelan, Yuliya continued, her voice hardening to the arrogant aristocrat he knew so well, you cannot think they would lay their hands on me!"

Omnovah, but the girl was so naive . . . or else this was a plot to twitch a Rigel’s tail and see what happened. Would Kelan Rigel rush to the rescue of the traitor’s daughter . . . ?

Did they take your mother as well?

"Mother? Yuliya’s tone turned incredulous. Mama is uncle’s darling. He quite dotes on her. And, she added more deliberately, her loyalty is unquestioned."

As is yours, surely.

Kelan waited through a long pause, wondering at her hesitation. Had no one given her a prompt for that one? It would appear, Yuliya said carefully, that the only thing that matters is that we are the children of Rand Kamal.

Kelan could see where this was going but not the why of it. Nor the timing. Yuliya, Darroch’s had more than three years to act against your father. Why now?

I think, she replied, choosing her words with care, that uncle believed what he chose to believe—that my father was a prisoner of war and would one day return to his rightful place on Regula Prime. But now Papa has married, or so we hear. Married the mother of King Ryal’s son, the one everyone says is crazy. There is no hope . . . She gulped, her voice fading to the point where Kelan had to strain to hear her. "So uncle is going to make him come home."

An exchange. His children’s safety in return for Kamal’s head on a platter. Well, fyddit! Yuliya, Kelan said with more patience than he felt, since everyone knows Darroch would never harm you, it’s not much of a threat.

Actually . . . Yuliya paused, lowering her voice still further. I think the men who took us are Grampa’s men.

Grampa. Rogan Kamal, head of Regulon National Security—whose loyalty to the emperor was unquestioned—so strong, in fact, that he had survived his son’s alleged defection to the rebels. A threat from Rogan Kamal outweighed any threat from Emperor Darroch. Kelan could almost hear the uncompromising loyalist growling, Better dead than reb.

So . . . it might be time to take Yuliya’s call seriously. Even if she’d been put up it . . . even if both she and Erik were currently living in luxury in Darroch’s mountain resort, Rand Kamal would never allow his children to suffer even the possibility of whims or deadly intent from either uncle or grandfather. He would return to Regula Prime. And execution.

Or be welcomed with open arms.

Either way, Tal would never let him do it.

Kelan jerked his attention back to his caller. All right, let’s get this straight. You and Erik—at Darroch’s orders or your grandfather’s—are being held hostage—probably at the Royal Retreat—in exchange for your father’s return to Regular Prime.

"That’s what I think, Yuliya returned cautiously. If it’s true, I’m sure there will be some official communication with the rebels."

And you called me why? Kelan asked, the words coming out more coldly than he’d intended. Why wouldn’t she call him? But as Tal Rigel’s brother, he had to have doubts. Had to suspect an ulterior motive.

Fyddit, he’d hurt her. Or was he being played?

Yuliya broke the awkward silence. You and I have been friends a long time, Kelan, and . . .

And . . .?

And perhaps I hoped some of the rumors were true, that you know people who could get us out of here.

Pok, dimi, and fyd! That was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. And he still had no idea where her sympathies lay. Enjoying a few intimate moments together didn’t mean he could trust her. She was, after all, Montiene Kamal’s daughter.

Killirin, Psyclid

T’kal Killiri poured two glasses of ullali, passed one to his wife, who nodded her thanks without looking up from the book she was reading. He sank into the blissfully comfortable chair which was considered his, settled his feet on an equally comfortable stool before the crackling fire, and sipped Psyclid’s very own brandy. The sheer contentment of the moment suddenly bounced his thoughts back to the years of danger, violence, death, and sorrow. It was now twelve Tri-moon cycles since Regula Prime’s occupation of Psyclid. And three years since that fateful night on the balcony at Crystalia, the one he still had trouble believing, even though he was sitting in the cozy family area of the sprawling near-palace that had been King Ryal’s wedding gift to his eldest child. Once the estate of the Psyclid traitors, the Conde and Condessa Staral, it now housed T’kal, B’aela, four lively children, and all the necessary staff and guards it took to run a household so closely related to Psyclid’s royal family.

Four children. When he’d never thought to have more than the two N’tali gave him. He’d even feared the results of mating with B’aela, but what would the lives of two retired resistance fighters be like if they didn’t have the twins to keep them on their toes? He and B’aela didn’t talk about the old days—she had settled into motherhood with an eagerness that astounded him, so he wasn’t about to bring up anything awkward. But wasn’t she the one who said she missed the danger-filled days of the resistance? The planning, the action, the satisfaction of seeing the Regs squirm?

Yet here they were, as settled as any family could be. Father and mother enjoying the warmth of a cozy fire, H’san and Aisha battling each other in the latest comp game, and the twins . . .

Warily, T’kal glanced around. No sign of the twins. It was, of course, easy for toddlers to hide, but in the cases of K’rim and Kiera, disappearance could mean anything from they were playing their own version of hide and seek to Watch out, you’re about to be dive-bombed by a dragon.

It had been more than disconcerting the day T’kal was scolding his younger son for hitting his twin and suddenly found himself confronting a miniature dragon, complete in every detail except—thank the Goddess—spitting fire. The baby dragon’s swirling eyes made up for that deficiency rather nicely. T’kal had roared for B’aela, and they both stood there, staring, their eyes almost as wide as the defiant young dragon.

Fortunately, K’rim was as startled as his parents. His dragon jaws parted in a roar that showed every one of his dagger-sharp teeth and promptly dissolved into a two-year-old throwing an epic tantrum. Loudly matched by his sister, who was either as startled as her parents, frightened out of her wits, or seethingly jealous of her brother’s transformation. At the time they’d all been too shocked to analyze what had happened. Each parent had snatched up a child, offering comfort, but when the twins were finally tucked up for a nap, T’kal and B’aela had retreated to their bedchamber and simply stared at each other.

I thought, B’aela managed at last, that gifts did not come until puberty.

I am avoiding the obvious, T’kal muttered.

"I told you so." B’aela said the words for him.

"I am also heroically refraining from commenting on the fact that my son is a dragon."

B’aela gasped. You cannot think—

Never that. But the irony stabs me to the quick. Mondragon will never stop taunting me.

He does not have a monopoly on dragons, B’aela asserted. K’kadi and I created rather remarkable beasts, did we not?

T’kal raised a shaggy brow. No argument, but I can’t help but wonder what Kiera will become.

This question was solved within the week when K’rim was found petting a small, dark kitten. A kitten? T’kal the were might tolerate a son who shapeshifted into a dragon, but a daughter who became a kitten? A definite insult to a long line of warrior Killiris, Alpha wolves all.

Except two days later, the little dragon was facing off with a panta kit half a meter long, and while their astonished parents were trying to make sense of this new wrinkle, the dragon had become Kiera and the panta K’rim. At which point T’kal and B’aela had been forced to the conclusion that both twins could shapeshift into multiple forms. Haphazardly at the moment, but the thought of what the future could bring positively curled their toes. Teenage was going to be a nightmare.

Daman Killiri? Beg pardon, Daman Killiri?

T’kal scowled at the majordomo, even as a shadow flitted over his soul. No one would disturb the Killiri family’s evening at home without good cause. And good cause usually came in the form of bad news. Yes?

A messenger from the palace, sir.

T’kal nodded, and an elaborately garbed courtier stepped into the room. After a deferential bow, he announced, The king regrets disturbing you at this hour, Daman Killiri, but your presence is needed at the palace.

And mine? B’aela asked.

The courtier bowed again. No, Highness. The king requested Daman Killiri only.

K’rim and Kiera popped into view, each sucking a thumb. H’san and Aisha scrambled to grab them, hiding their nakedness in their laps.

T’kal’s lips twitched. As a send-off to whatever crisis had cropped up, there was nothing like two naked baby shapeshifters and two older children who seemed resigned to not coming into their powers for some years yet. And then there was B’aela, who could not be happy about being excluded.

T’kal brushed a kiss over her lips, managed a group hug of all four children, and followed the king’s messenger from the room.

Peace had been nice while it lasted.

Chapter 2

There were three men in King Ryal’s private study, but T’kal saw only one. Tal Rigel, the rebel leader known throughout the Empire as S’sorrokan. As he stepped forward, hand out, alarm bells went off. Only something catastrophic would have brought Rigel on a sudden and apparently secret visit to Psyclid.

T’kal, suppressing his emotions as always, shook Tal’s hand, saying only, A pleasant surprise. A long time since you set foot on Psyclid.

Not since the night of my wedding, Tal acknowledged, carefully refraining from glancing at his father-in-law, who had so firmly orchestrated his marriage to the then Princess Royal of Psyclid. A marriage they had both wanted, though not the scrambled affair they got, with the bride and groom garbed in rebel jumpsuits and the bride’s sister manipulated into agreeing to marry the bride’s ex-fiancé, Jagan Mondragon. Jagan Mondragon, the Sorcerer Prime—who, along with his father-in-law King Ryal, completed the group at tonight’s meeting at the palace.

T’kal turned to his king, bowing low. I beg your pardon, Majesty. Rigel’s presence was such a surprise, I forgot myself.

Understandable, Ryal returned with a smile before waving them to chairs around a low table. As Jagan assumed the role of host, pouring and handing out snifters of ullali, T’kal offered him a stiff nod. They might have worked shoulder to shoulder during the Occupation, but they would never be friends.

The feeling was mutual. Going beyond the discomfort of T’kal being married to Jagan’s long-time lover, the two men approached the world from opposite ends of the spectrum.

Well, Rigel, the king declared after they had each sampled Psyclid’s own brandy, tell us what brings you here.

Allegedly—Tal drew out each syllable of the word—Rand Kamal’s children have been spirited away from Titan and are being held in the mountains, most likely at the Royal Retreat. The demand for their safe return, their father’s repatriation to Regula Prime.

Good riddance. A typical Mondragon response, and for once T’kal was inclined to agree with him.

Why now? Ryal asked. Not so much as a rumble from Darroch in three years and now this?

It makes no sense, T’kal agreed. Everyone knows Montiene Kamal—or whatever her name is now—is one of the emperor’s favorites. Any threat against the children is hollow.

A tall tale from beginning to end, Jagan jeered.

With apologies to my king if he finds my remarks bloodthirsty, T’kal said, but you must face reality, Tal. Rand Kamal is Darroch’s nephew, once favored as his successor. Which makes him your most serious rival for the time when all this is over and someone must fill the vacuum of power. If you send him back to near certain execution . . .? T’kal shrugged.

And I thought I was ruthless, Jagan murmured. Ryal, the pacifist, bowed his head, looking troubled.

And what if, despite all that’s happened, Tal said, Darroch believes he is saving Rand from himself?

Silence.

In short, Tal continued, no matter which reason we believe to be true, Admiral Kamal cannot return to Reg Prime. Though he is so determined to do so that I’ve had to put guards on him, twenty-four-seven. Born to be a hero is Rand Kamal.

Which brings us back to why you’re here. Jagan’s tone was resigned, sensing he wasn’t going to like what came next.

Not all our communications with the Regs have been official, Tal said. Yuliya Kamal called my brother Kelan, asking for help.

A trap, T’kal interjected. You know that’s a trap.

Very likely. Tal related the conversation as close to word-for word as Kelan had been able to reproduce it.

The kids are bait, Jagan declared. Trolled out to see what the Regs can catch.

Tal shook his head. Kelan agrees with you. With reservations. He’s known Yuliya since she was born. He swears she sounded truly frightened.

More likely, the kids are having a wilderness vacation—hiking, fishing, singing songs around a campfire, while we swallow the bait—

Tal’s voice rose over Jagan’s, cutting him off. Kelan thinks Rogan Kamal could be behind it all.

The sudden silence was broken by King Ryal’s shocked "Their grandfather?"

Head of Regulon National Security, Tal intoned. Married to Darroch’s favorite sister and loyalist to end all loyalists. He’s like a robot, programmed to do whatever must be done to protect the Empire. Rand’s defection must have been a cruel blow. Or perhaps Rogan thinks his son’s been brainwashed, that the damage can be undone. And he’s willing to use the children as pawns.

And perhaps the Kamals are all in it together, T’kal said, and the admiral is playing a long game that makes us all look like fools.

Jagan snorted. "Just when we were all getting so fizzeting complacent."

Did you ask K’kadi about this? Ryal asked, his words heavy with frustration.

He knows what’s happened, Tal said, and, believe me, he would have told me if he sensed any treachery on Blue Moon. He lives in the same house with Kamal—he could not have missed it.

Even T’kal, ever the skeptic when it came to K’kadi Amund, was inclined to agree.

Same question, Jagan snapped. Why are you here?

We’ve decided to rescue Kamal’s children, bring them to Blue Moon.

We who? Jagan challenged.

Kass, Rand, K’kadi, Alek, Dagg, and I.

No one could argue with that array of Blue Moon power, T’kal had to admit, but he suspected he wasn’t going to like what came next.

Jagan, Tal said, we need invisibility, and with K’kadi about to become a father . . . Beneath his breath he muttered something none of them caught.

What was that? King Ryal asked his son-in-law.

Um—twice over, Tal mumbled.

He’s having twins? T’kal exclaimed.

Uh—no.

They waited, expectantly. Tal shut his eyes, propped a hand to his forehead, and said, His—ah—women are reproducing within six weeks of each other.

Jagan snorted. King Ryal groaned. T’kal’s lips twitched. Ryal could scarcely complain as his own conduct had set a precedent he could not fault his son for following. And, after all, it was not that long since the royal house of Orlondami indulged in the tradition of harims and zenanas brought by their ancestors from Old Earth.

Therefore—Tal steered them back to the crisis at hand—we need Jagan for invisibility and we need the best tracker available, which—he turned to T’kal—we all know is you.

When did you ever see me track anything?

You tracked B’aela all the way to Oban.

Come on, Tal, we knew where she was.

Very well, we need a hero, and we all know that’s you. I was merely assuming that you are also an expert tracker.

T’kal stared. I have never set foot out of the Psyclid system.

An excellent opportunity to broaden your horizons, Tal returned smoothly.

Jagan focused the full weight of his skepticism on his brother-in-law. Would you mind repeating just why you think sending two Psyclids to Regula Prime is a good idea when your father has the entire Reg underground at his disposal?

I don’t have any Regs who are sorcerers or werewolves? Tal purred.

T’kal and Jagan eyed each other warily. They were expected to work together again? To rescue two spoiled Reg darlings who probably didn’t want to be rescued?

You do know our wives are going to kill us? Jagan inquired with more genuine apprehension than his customary mix of sarcasm and cynicism.

We’d better leave from here, T’kal said. We don’t dare go home.

Jagan groaned. "I am home. And you’re right. M’lani’s more likely to disintegrate me than let me go to Reg Prime.

I am not such an ogre I won’t allow time for you to say goodbye to your wives, Tal said with a perfectly straight face. Ninety minutes?

If I still exist, Jagan muttered as he stood, offered a curt nod in his father-in-law’s general direction, and walked out.

T’kal watched his nemesis slouch toward the door, as if on his way to his execution. It would have been amusing—the great Sorcerer Prime in fear of his wife’s Gift of Destruction, but the thought of what B’aela was going to say spoiled the moment.

He was being assigned to work with Jagan Mondragon more closely than they ever had before. Always, there had been M’lani, B’aela, or L’rissa acting as buffers. But now, on a dangerous mission on a planet neither had set foot on . . .

Fizzet! Did Mondragon speak Reg because he certainly didn’t! Having lived on Psyclid his entire life, T’kal was barely skilled enough to get by in the inter-system language that allowed space travelers to communicate with each other. If a Reg attempted to question him . . . Pok, dimi, and fyd, he was dead.

That was the trouble with being a hero. People expected you to do it again, and again. And again.

Just keep thinking thoughts like that so you don’t have to think about B’aela.

Shut up, Wolf. We won’t need you ’til the mountains.

Good thing no one expects a wolf to talk Reg.

Take a fydding leap!

Where? When? I can hardly wait!

T’kal bowed to his king. Waved so long to Tal, and