Falcone Strike Read Free

she’d ever expected to have to handle, not when she was the tenth child of Duke Falcone. Peter, Ashley, and Dolly—the three oldest—were the ones whose marriages had been determined by their father, mingling the family bloodline with partners who would bring strength and other assets to the family. Kat’s share of the family bloc was so low that she could marry for love, if she wanted. Maybe it was a flaw in her personality, but she was damned if she was entering a loveless marriage. There was something fundamentally wrong about a match where both partners knew the other was having an affair . . .
    The smaller clusters of people started to blur together as Candy moved her from group to group, sometimes clearly showing Kat off, sometimes just listening as the gathered aristocrats discussed the war and its implications. One elderly woman bragged about her grandchild fighting on the front lines; one younger woman talked about her new baby and wondered out loud if he would be conscripted into the military. Kat rather suspected she would wind up feeling sorry for the baby, if she ever met the child; the mother had given birth only a month ago, she gathered, and yet she’d left the baby with the servants and ventured out for a party . . .
    At least Dad spent some time with us , she thought. Duke Falcone had been a very busy man and his ten children had suffered, although he had tried to make time for them. Their mother had largely stayed at home, supervising the children as best as she could and commanding a small army of servants . . . which hadn’t stopped Kat and her siblings from running riot, on occasion. What will happen to the poor baby ?
    “But surely there would be room for peace,” a middle-aged woman was saying loudly. Her shrill voice grated on Kat’s ears. “The galaxy is big enough for the both of us.”
    Kat opened her mouth to make a sarcastic reply, but an older gentleman spoke first. “The Theocracy attacked us first, Lady Ella,” he said. “ They clearly do not agree that we can coexist; everything we know about them tells us that they cannot tolerate a different society near their own. Their expansion would inevitably bring them into conflict with us, if only because we welcome the refugees fleeing their rule.”
    “Some of those refugees turned out to be spies,” another man said. That, Kat knew, was true. The Commonwealth had taken in everyone, debriefing them thoroughly . . . but a number of spies and operatives had slipped through the net. After the first attacks had died down, every refugee had been hastily rounded up and interned, the innocent as well as the guilty. The innocent would be cared for, she knew, but it would also undermine their faith in the Commonwealth. And, perhaps, the Commonwealth’s faith in itself.
    She pushed the thought aside, irritated. The Commonwealth Charter was many things, but it was not a suicide pact.
    “You might be interested in this,” Candy said, tugging her towards another group. “And you might even have something to say.”
    “Admiral Christian should have continued to press the offensive,” a man said. “In choosing to withdraw from Cadiz, he wasted a chance to smash an entire enemy fleet.”
    Kat felt her heart sink as she recognized him. Justin Deveron was an armchair admiral, an amateur student of military history who had never, as far as she knew, served in the military. He was handsome, in a way; his suit was carefully tailored to look like a uniform, suggesting he had served without ever making a false claim. His brown hair was cropped close to his scalp in a spacer’s cut, adding another layer to the illusion. Kat had regrown her long hair once she’d left Piker’s Peak, but most spacers preferred to keep their hair short. It could get in the way when they were on duty.
    She groaned, again, as Deveron recognized her. He’d made a name for himself as a gadfly, questioning the Admiralty regularly and posing as an expert; indeed,