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"Are you certain you won't have any coffee, my lord?" Dion inquired.
Dixter heaved a frustrated sigh. "Your Majesty--"
"I know what you're going to say, sir."
The king rose to his feet. He walked over to where the sage grew in its large clay pot and, like Tusk, plucked several of the leaves. Dion ground them between his fingers. The air was suddenly filled with the sharp, pungent odor.
"You're going to say that this is one threat I should take seriously, either because Xris is involved in it or"-- Dion looked up, smiled; the Starfire blue eyes were clear and sunlit and dazzling-- "or because he isn't. You don't seem to know which."
Dixter, feeling somewhat foolish, started to speak.
The king raised his hand. He was suddenly cool and imperious. He had retreated into his formal self; even his appearance altered. He was, unquestionably, the king.
"We want you to know, sir, that we take all these threats seriously. We take sensible precautions."
"I am well aware of that, Your Majesty," Dixter argued earnestly. "I'm not suggesting you cancel this trip, but you could alter your plans. Change the date, perhaps."
"Would that really help? Speaking of Lord Sagan, what was that dictum of his?" Dion reflected. "'If a man is truly determined to kill you, he will. There is nothing you can do to stop him.' In order to be completely safe, we would be forced to move to a nullgray-lined bunker a hundred kilometers below ground
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