BtH49

==Chapter 49 - By the Horns==
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Cháteau des Calderon
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 20th, 3025
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Thomas stalked into his private office in the expansive home—one could term it as a mansion—that had served as the private residence of the Protector for more than seven centuries. And he slammed the door behind him.
It wasn’t dignified, his slamming of the door—and Thomas knew that. But it wasn’t his nature to yell at the servants . . . nor at his family for sins not of their own commission. Unfortunately, merely slamming the door did little to alleviate the anger—and fear—inside Thomas’ heart. Anger at the thought of the perfidious Davions landing on one of his worlds—a world he had sworn to protect. Anger at the very idea that still more Davions would be defending that world against their expatriate kin. And an absolutely furious red rage that it was his own eldest son that had invited those Davion defenders to land on New Vallis.
And fear. Fear that Edward—his first-born, the man on whom he relied above all others to tell him when he had gone, or was going, too far—would find himself in harm’s way.
“Damn it to hell, Eddie,” Thomas whispered as he shook his head. “You’ve put me between the rock and the hard spot now, son.”
“Why are you mad at Eddie, Uncle Thomas?” a frightened voice asked from the far side of the sofa—and Thomas stared at two pairs of green eyes peeking over the back.
“Amelia? Isabella? What on earth are you two doing here in my private office?”
The twins—the eldest children of Raoul Calderon, Thomas’ younger brother—stood up and looked down at the floor. “We are playing hide-and-seek, Uncle Thomas,” Isabella answered quietly.
“No one will look for us in here!” added Amelia.
“Would that be because the two of you are not supposed to be in here?” Thomas asked, and then he sighed. He sat down on another sofa and he patted the cushions. “Come here,” he growled, and the twins sighed in unison and crossed the office, sitting down one on his left and one on his right.
“Long ago,” Thomas began, in a quieter and calmer voice, “when your Grand-mama was Protector, I hid in here so that your Dada couldn’t find me,” and he laughed softly.
“Did he find you? Did you win?” asked Isabella.
“No, Raoul didn’t find me—neither did Teresa or my cousin Brenda or any of the other children, children. But grand-mama Zarantha found me—and I wasn’t allowed in here either.”
“Did she spank you?” Amelia asked in a low whisper, clearly looking ahead at the possible fate which lay in store for her and her sister.
“No, girls—Mama did not,” and Thomas’ voice grew hushed as his natural eye focused on something far away . . . something many years past. “She sat me down and she explained to me that this room—this very room!—was her refuge from the pain of the decisions she had to make day-in and day-out as Protector. Her sanctum, where she could sit and leave behind the worry, the doubts, the fear, . . .,” his voice trailed off. After a moment, he resumed, in a hushed tone. “I never really knew what she meant until she was gone and this room became mine.”
Thomas looked at the two girls—whose eleventh birthday had just come and gone a month ago—and he smiled. “It’s okay, girls—you can hide here if you want too . . . I won’t tell a soul.”
Isabella beamed a smile at Thomas and she hugged him tight—but Amelia just frowned. “Uncle . . . why are you mad at Eddie?”
Thomas grimaced and he put his arm around Amelia and hugged her before he answered. “Eddie made a decision that I don’t like—a decision that may mean I have to send him away,” and his voice broke. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love him—it just means that sometimes, I have a duty to do something I don’t like . . . or want . . . to . . . do,” his voice slowed down as he realized just what he had said.
Isabella nodded. “Miss Carlyle told us at school that we have a . . . re-spon-si-bil-it-y,” she enunciated the word carefully, “to do the right thing even if we don’t want to do it.”
“Yeah,” added Amelia. “She told us about Great-great-great Aunt Marantha; said it was the hardest thing she ever had to do to give up and let the Star League win—that she didn’t want to give up, but she had to so that her children and everyone’s children would be safe. And because she did give up, then we are here now.”
“She did, Uncle,” piped up Isabella, not wanting her sister to impress Thomas more than she did. “She told us that our an-ces-tors were willing to fight and die—but that even if they did, the war was lost. Aunty Marantha did what she did because she had to—to save us, all of us. But she didn’t like it so much, she took a pill and went to Heaven.”
Thomas didn’t say a word, but he hugged the two girls—until a knock came on his door.
“Thomas?” a tenor voice asked—the voice of the father of the twins. “Have you seen Isabella and Amelia by any chance?”
“No, Raoul,” Thomas answered, holding one finger over his lips as the girls giggled in delight. “Did you misplace them? Should I call security?”
“No need for that, brother,” he answered with a chuckle through the still closed door. “Just playing hide-and-seek with them—like when you and I were children. Sorry to bother you,” he finished.
“Raoul,” Thomas said quickly.
“Yes?”
“It’s never a bother—come back in say . . . thirty minutes?” he asked, looking at the girls and they nodded. “I need . . . I need to talk.”
There was silence for a moment, and then a dry voice slowly answered. “Whenever you need me, Tom—I’ll be here.”
Thomas waited until his brother’s footsteps had faded away and then he kissed first Isabella and then Amelia on the forehead. “There—a thirty minute head-start,” he said. “And I do believe that Katherine is busy in the kitchen annoying the cooks as they make pastries,” and both the twins squealed. “I think they will let you have a glass of cold milk as well.”
“Thank you, Uncle Thomas,” the two said in perfect harmony as they stood and hugged the Protector again and made their way to the door.
But then Amelia turned. “Uncle,” she asked, “why are you crying?”
“Because you two made me remember something I had forgotten, girls. Now run on—your father is gone to find you . . . so take the back stairs,” Thomas answered with a smile on his face.
The two threw open the door, looked around the corner, and then raced off as one of the guards smiled and closed the door behind them . . . leaving Thomas alone once more.
He stood. He walked across the carpeted floor to his desk and he picked up the phone and pressed one number. It rang twice, and then a voice answered.
“Yes, Sire?”
“Send the courier to New Vallis, Henri,” Thomas ordered. “Tell Corey—and Edward—that I approve in full. And if one of my stubborn officers or nobles wants to make something of their choice, they will have to deal with ME.”
“At once, Sire.”
“And Henri?”
“Yes?”
“Inform Marshal Vickers that I approve her suggestion for deployment—she may depart as soon as she is ready. Give her the word, Henri . . . the word GO.”
“Yes, Sire—may I ask what changed your mind?”
“No,” Thomas answered as he hung up the phone and sat back down in an easy chair in front of his fireplace, watching the flames in silence as he waited for his younger brother to return.
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