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"Thank you, son," Dixter said, a huskiness in his throat. "This is the greatest honor, the best compliment--" He stopped, coughed, and, frowning, turned away to pretend to contemplate the magnificent view from the balcony.
"Coffee, my lord?" D'argent was pouring.
Dixter shook his head.
"Coffee for you, Commander?"
"No, thanks, D'argent." Tusk, nervous and moody, had absentmindedly begun to pull leaves off the sage.
Dion and Astarte recognized the symptoms. They exchanged glances. The queen rose, rather cumbersomely, to her feet.
"I will bid you good morning, gentlemen."
"If you could stay a moment, Your Majesty." Dixter turned around. "This concerns you both, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, it has something to do with what we've just been discussing."
Astarte resumed her seat, sat with her hands resting on her swollen abdomen.
"I thought that might be the case," Dion said calmly. "You have more information about the Mohini kidnapping?"
"Not precisely." Dixter ran a hand over his chin, noticed that he'd missed a spot shaving this morning. "If anything, the situation's grown more confused."
"According to Olefsky," Dion said, "Xris told him it was all a mistake. Have you heard Xris's side of the story?"
Dixter was mildly exasperated. "Olefsky! You're not supposed to be in contact with anyone, Your Majesty."
Dion smiled ruefully
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