The collar itched. So did the shirt. Also the pants. Come to think on it, his socks were overstarched. Why was he even wearing a cape?
Turning 18 kind of sucked, Grebok decided.
His mentor, Crye Coal was always quick to correct him on what an honor it was to receive the Seven Keys and take on the station of his mother, and blah, blah, blah.
Grebok had been to space. He’d tasted the ionized sting of ozone. He’d seen the Nine Moons of Krelos. He’d gazed into the face of infinity. Nothing the King Excelon the XIV Grand Ballroom had to offer could compare, albeit the chandelier was quite impressive.
He had to stand here stiffly, while dignitaries the world over queued up to curtsy, bow and headbutt as was their custom. Customs he had been forced to memorize: Ventoozlari nobles shake hands, Mar’Porian ship Captains salute, Aelvis Ladies have the middle finger on their left hand kissed, Orrkin War-Chieftains headbutt, you have to do a shot with Duevern foremen. He repeated this litany over and over in his head between begrudging his station in life.
Meanwhile, his sister, Sera, flitted through the crowd with all the grace and poise of their mother. Seamlessly knocking one back with Fredo Deepcrag before laying the gentlest kiss on Lady Lilliandrial’s Ring of Station. They should just give her the Seven Keys along with Fellowplane Keep.
Grebok fell closer to his father’s side of the tree. The not-so-bright, free-wheeling side of the family—the side that wasn’t invited to parties like this. Grebok wished he wasn’t invited to parties like this. Ever since he’d gotten back from his first foray with the Space Navy it was all he could think about.
Space was lawless. Space was free. Space didn’t care who you headbutted or kissed. Space was all like, Do What Thou Wilt Will Be Totally Awesome. Space high-fived Grebok and told him how cool he looked in his favorite jacket. Space didn’t make him wash his hair or pull it back into a pony-tail.
The line began to move, advancing on Grebok’s position. Grebok straightened and rushed to remember his instructions.
Ventoozlari nobles salute, Mar’Porian ship Captain’s do shots, then you kissed somebody, and maybe punched the highest born Aelve?
Lady Lilliandrial approached and extended her hand with a smile.
•••
Grebok didn’t see what all the to-do was about.
When Lady Lilliandrial woke up, she insisted it was the best party she’d been to in all her seasons. Clan Chief G’reaux still hadn’t stopped laughing. Boss Fredo made everybody do shots… several shots… they lost count after 20. In many ways it was among the better-regarded coronations anyone could remember.
What was the problem?
Crye insisted it was only a cursory stay in the brig. Regardless of how well the High Lady took the punch, several minor Aelvis officials threatened to call the whole thing an international incident, apparently. Politics.
Grebok looked out the tiny window in a drunken haze. He would be released in the morning and the Seven Keys would officially transfer to his possession.
The stars twinkled in the sky, inviting him.
Someday.
Someday he would see them all.
