STARDANCER (chapters 1-3)

"I don't own as many clothes as you," Tariana said.

"Ah! And you never will, my dear. Even when I die I shall make provisions for my corpse to be redressed in the newest finery each turn of the Moon."

Tariana shuddered and rolled her eyes. "Do we always need to talk about your plans for your corpse?"

"Why yes, my dear," Mother replied, taking on the tone of exaggerated cheer she always adopted when trying to recover from a bad mood. "Those things are important. One day you will learn that as Queen you will have to plan everything."

"Well," Tariana replied, "I'm sure someone else can plan for what to do with me once I'm dead." She'd never understood the Royal Family's preoccupation with the dressings of death. For a world that was not held to be among the most important, their tombs were said to be among the most opulent in all the Imperium.

"Every Princess of Gavinar thinks that when she is young," her mother said. "But as we get older, we learn what is truly important in this world of ours. We learn what truly endures when we have gone. You've seen how the citizens gather each dawn to pay tribute to those who have gone before? So shall it be with you, one day. You shall lie beside me as a onetime Queen of this world, and beside you shall lie your own son or daughter, whichever shall be." She looked at Tariana, and frowned. "I thought they were going to remove that mole on your cheek?"

Tariana's hand reflexively reached up to touch it. "I don't want them to mess with it, Mother," she said. "It's not big at all. It bothers you more than anyone else."

"If a blemish doesn't bother you, who am I to command otherwise?" Mother shrugged. "What about your hair? Won't you consider a cut? I'm told that short hair is very common among the Salengarde elite."

"I like my hair, Mother! Isn't enough that I got the highlights?" Tariana said as she ran a hand through her thick, long, brown locks which were now flecked with wide streaks of gold, which she had suggested in hopes of distracting Mother from her constant pushing for a short cut.

"It was a mere suggestion, my dear. Now, where were we...oh yes, the Royal Tombs. Yes, you will need to worry about your appearance there."

"And Margeth?" Tariana asked, clumsily attempting to steer the conversation back to the topic she had actually come to discuss.

"Well, one never knows, does one?" Mother's voice became clipped and higher pitched, as it always did when she was discussing something she didn't wish to discuss. "Perhaps your sister will lead a revolution in our absence and take the throne herself."

"Are you actually allowing her to remain home then?"

"Oh, Tariana, of course not! Don't entertain such nonsensical thoughts. No, Margeth will come. I will see to it that she does."

Tariana's eyes narrowed. She'd long known where Margeth's strong streak of overpowering stubbornness had come from. "And how will you convince her?"

"It's not really a matter of convincing, my dear." The pleasant and forced cheerfulness returned to the Queen's voice. "She will come, and she will love Salengarde Prime just as everyone does who goes there. She will bow before the Imperator and she will dance in the great hall with whatever other Prince or Minister or Ruling Partner or whomever offers her an arm or tentacle or any other appendage. I will see it done. You are worried over nothing, child."

"Yes, mother, I understand," Tariana said. "And how will you get it done? Release stun gas into her bedchambers?"

Queen Ryann straightened up suddenly, with a light in her eye. "Now there is an idea with merit––"