The Xillian Trilogy (The Xillian Rebellion)

by Maia Tanith

  The guard nudges me in the back with the pointy end of a nasty-looking weapon he carries. “Shut up,” he growls. “Slaves are to speak only when they are spoken to. Best you learn that now, before your tongue is pulled out for speaking out of turn.”

  I whirl back and look at him to see if he is joking, but his face is stony.

  I turn back to face the front again, suddenly glad that I haven’t eaten much for breakfast. The fruit is now whirling around in my stomach in a bath of acid.

  My captor ignores the both of us and just carries on walking.

  What kind of a place have I landed in? I thought Earth was bad enough in places. The drug lords kept an iron grip on my village, and none dared go against them. But to pull out someone’s tongue just for talking? It is worse even than my village was. There, you could talk all you liked as long as you didn’t say anything bad. Or talk out of turn to the cops.

  The passageways turn from plain stone to soft carpet. Here, too, there are scenes on the walls. Only these aren’t so pleasant. Battles mostly, with the boom of explosions and the shrieks of dying claw men.

  What kind of a sick person would choose to decorate his walls with scenes like this?

  The Emperor’s palace is sort of like a large and very fancy hotel, I decide, as we continue walking through hallways and past several large reception rooms. Or like a big apartment block, where everyone has their own space, with a few large communal areas for everyone.

  We turn a corner into another wing. Here the scenes on the wall change to flower gardens laid out in formal patterns. I relax a little. The sound of birdsong is much easier on the ears that the shrieks of dying men.

  We come to a stop outside a door at the end of the corridor and my captor places his hand against it.

  The door swings open and he motions me inside.

  We enter a large set of apartments, decorated in soft green. The walls show more flower gardens, with exotic flowers with blooms as big as my head. Brightly colored butterflies flit around them, their wings making a faint flutter.

  The air smells wrong in here, though. Medicinal, with a slightly metallic tang to it.

  My captor strides forwards to the pale woman lying on a sofa. “Mother. How are you this morning?”

  Even I can see that she is not well. Seriously not well. Her eyes are sunken into her face and she is so thin she could be blown over in a gust of wind. Her skinniness is in stark contrast to the muscled warriors that all the other claw people resemble.

  She gives her son a wan smile. “I am comfortable enough. And happy to see you again. Your uncle has been keeping you busy?”

  He sits by her side and takes her hand in his. It is lined with blue veins, and the fingers are thin and weak. “Yes, very.” His voice is dry. “There is nothing else the healers can do for you today?”

  Her smile fades. “They keep me comfortable. I am not in pain.”

  She is lying, I can tell. It is in the way she moves so carefully, hoarding her energy, as if every move causes her unbearable agony. Judging by the grey, drawn look of her face, it probably does.

  “Your nurse is taking good care of you?”

  “Litha is a good nurse.”

  “I have brought you another. Someone to help Litha in her duties.” He motions me forward with a crook of his finger.

  I step forward but do not speak. The woman seems kindly enough, but I am not going to risk losing my tongue if she turns out to be as scary as the guard outside her room.

  The woman looks me up and down with a critical eye. “She looks half-starved. Does she have a name?”

  My captor looks at me blankly.

  I stare coolly back at him. He has a tongue. He can ask me if he wants to know.

  She snaps her fingers to get my attention. “Well, what is your name, girl?” she asks testily.

  “Faye.”

  She stares at me, as if in awe at my effrontery. “Where are your manners, slave? Faye what?”

  Was I supposed to bow or something? “Faye Delgardo.”

  My captor laughs then. A rusty sound, as if he is not used to making it. “She arrived in the palace yesterday, Mother. The ambassador presented her to the Emperor amidst a host of others. She passed out during dinner, so your brother gave her to me. He has no use for a sick or defective slave. She does not know who you are. Or who I am either, for that matter. I will see Litha schools her properly before bringing her back into your presence.”

  Her gimlet eyes pierce into me. They are the only things about her that have any strength left. “And are you sick or defective, girl? You do not seem so to me, but appearances can be deceptive.”

  I shake my head. “I was hungry. That’s all.”

  “My son has fed you?”

  “Not this morning.” I am still annoyed about being deprived of my breakfast. If they want me to work, they can damn well feed me first.

  “I gave you an orpil,” he protests.

  “I would hardly call that a decent breakfast,” I grumble to myself, barely loud enough to be heard.

  The woman’s ears prick up like those of a cat. She clearly has excellent hearing. To my surprise, she laughs. “Is that how a slave speaks to a prince?”

  I blink at her. Then I look at my captor and blink again. He doesn’t look much like a prince. Not that I know what a prince looks like. Except for William and Harry, of course, and they just look like regular guys. “A what?”

  She raises a glass of water to her lips and take a small sip, clearly enjoying the reaction she has caused. “Did my son not tell you? My brother is the Emperor. Hence he is Khan’s uncle, and Khan is a prince. As the last of the Emperor’s blood relatives, he is next in line to rule, too.”

  Khan freezes. “Mother.” His voice is cold. A warning.

  She continues blithely, as if she doesn’t hear him. “So you must address him as Your Highness. Or My Prince. And most certainly never deign to look him in the eyes or to grumble about not getting breakfast. My dearest brother has had slaves tortured to death for less.”

  I gulp.

  The prince looks at me. “Litha will teach you everything you need to know.”

  I meet his eyes and nod, then hastily look away.

  I don’t remember much of last night, of being marched into the hall and tied up. It’s a bit of a blur. I do remember how scary the Emperor looked, and how his voice was cold and devoid of any emotion. I remember being scared of him. “Does he, the Emperor, does he really torture people? Sorry, Your Highness?” I remember to add at the last moment.

  The Prince nods, his lips tight. “I recommend staying away from him, if you can.”

  I want to ask him what he means by that when a pretty claw girl dressed in a white shift similar to mine walks into the room. I guess by her dress that she is a slave like me, but as she gets closer I can see her shift is made of silk, with finely woven gold thread, and she wears a tiny golden chain around her neck. So a slave like me perhaps, but a more important one. Or maybe a servant.

  There is a lot I will need to learn if I am to survive this place.

  The girl is carrying a tray covered in small jars. She places this down on the small table next to where the prince’s mother is lying. She bends over and kisses her forehead gently.

  “Your Highness,” she breathes. “You are looking well this morning.”

  “Thank you, Litha.” She and the prince are both smiling.

  So this is the nurse that I’ll be learning from. I already want to dislike her for being so demure and such a perfect little servant. She looks as though she is friends with these two. The people who hold her freedom in their hands. How could she kiss one of them? It makes me feel nauseous.

  I will never kiss one of my captors like that. With love. Or caring.

  I sneer at her, but no one’s attention is on me. I’m invisible while the nurse opens jars of weird smelling pastes and mixes up a drink for the prince’s mother.

  I’m wondering if I would be punished if I sat do
wn and made myself comfortable while the medicine is being made up, when finally Litha turns to face me with a kind smile. “May I ask who this is?” Her voice is low and sweet. She’s the kind of girl who wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in my hometown.

  “Litha, this is your new assistant. A present from the Emperor to me. You’ll have more use for her than I.” The prince speaks as if I’m not able to talk for myself. He doesn’t even give her my name.

  My back tenses but I’m unsure of my voice now. This world is a strange one. Being quiet seems like it’s going to be the best way for me to stay under the radar, until I can navigate the culture and the customs safely on my own.

  I force a smile back at Litha. “Hi, I’m Faye,” I say.

  Her eyebrows come together into a small crease.

  What would I say if I was talking to Prince William or Prince Harry? Nah, they are too much like regular people to worry about titles and shit. How about Kim Jong Un? He’s a nasty dictator. What would I call him? His Excellency? That sounds pretty weird.

  I think back to the historical movies I’ve watched before, with princes and princesses and stuff like that. What did they say to each other? What did one slave say to another, more important one?

  “It’s nice to meet you, my lady?” My voice comes out as a question.

  The crease between her eyebrows disappears and she gives a small tinkling laugh that is joined by a less kind laugh from the prince’s mother. “She’s new here,” the prince’s mother says.

  “You can call me Litha,” the nurse says with a smile. “You need only give honorifics to the courtiers and the royal family. Not to healers like me.”

  I shuffle my bare feet on the floor, not sure what to say or to do. I decide the safest thing is to shut up and do nothing, since it seems like saying or doing the wrong thing is likely to get my tongue pulled out or to end up with me being tortured to death.

  Litha drinks the drink to the queen, who sips it once and then puts it aside. “Not today,” she murmurs. “Not today.”

  The nurse turns away, disappointed, and catches sight of my hand. “But you are hurt,” she exclaims in that soft, sweet voice of hers. “Let me take a look at it.”

  I hide my hand behind my back on instinct. Being hurt shows weakness, and I am already guessing that the weak don’t fare well in this place.

  My captor heaves a weary sigh. “Show it to her.”

  Reluctantly, I bring my hand out from behind my back. “It’s nothing.” I regretted losing my temper and punching the wall as soon as I did it. I don’t like being reminded of my stupidity.

  She grabs a small, hand-held scanner from a nearby table and runs it over my hand. “It’s not nothing,” she says with a small frown. “You have cracked several of your knuckles and there is a lot of bruising. I can give you a binding agent which helps the bones knit together faster, but there’s not a lot else I can do. Broken bones heal in their own good time.”

  “Thank you,” I manage between gritted teeth. I don’t like accepting her kindness. I am too wary that there will be a sting in its tail.

  “And in the meantime I can fashion you a sling for your arm, so you do not injure your hand further.”

  I shake my head. That will be like a red rag to every bully in the place. Look, here is an injured person. A woman. A slave. She can’t even fight back. “No, I don’t need one.”

  To my surprise, the prince agrees with me. “I don’t think it wise,” he says. “She may be under my protection, but that doesn’t count for much. Now, Litha, if you have finished tending to mother for now, see to your new helper. She can share your rooms here, if you will.”

  Litha looks pleased at the thought of a roommate. “Thank you. I will.”

  The last thing I hear as Litha escorts me out is the prince calling, “And find her some food, too, to stop her whining.”

  Khan

  I watch as Litha and her new helper leave the room.

  Faye.

  My new slave’s name is Faye.

  I turn away again. She is the Emperor’s spy; I have little doubt about it. But that spy is wrapped up in the most attractive packaging imaginable. I had thought her beautiful last night when she was half-starved and frail. This morning, with her strength restored somewhat, and her spirit fierce, she is doubly so.

  This court will break her proud spirit soon enough. I am sorry for it.

  In contrast, Mother looks frail this morning, and she has an edge to her temper. “My brother kept you from visiting?” she asks as soon as the door closes behind the two women.

  “He keeps me busy,” I answer diplomatically. The whole palace is wired. I’m quite sure my mother’s rooms are, too. The Emperor is able to listen to anything, at any time, if he so chooses. I will not give him the satisfaction of saying anything that he can use against me.

  “Too busy to visit your mother?” Her voice is acidic.

  “Too busy even for that. You know I would have if I had been able.”

  She shakes her head. “I do not have much longer. The canker has gotten into my liver. There is nothing that Litha or any other healer can do to stop it now. Even the best of our medical technology has its limits.” She heaves a weary sigh. “But what shall we do about you, my boy?”

  I have not been a boy. Not for a long time. “There is nothing to do. Nothing that can be done.”

  Her voice is low. “Your people love you. They would fight for you.”

  Even to say so is dangerously close to treason. She must see the unspoken thoughts in my eyes because she continues, in a quieter whisper, that still manages to hold as much passion as a shout. “You should be sitting on the throne, not my brother. Son, I know you would be a better ruler than he.”

  She coughs, and I grasp her frail fingers in mine. I can feel her claws underneath her thin skin. She’s barely has the energy to extend her claws in the last month. “God knows I loved my brother once, when I was younger and didn’t know what he was capable of. I still love him. I must. But he’s dangerous, Khan.”

  “I know that, mother.” I grip her fingers too tightly. She is all that I have left in this palace.

  “The time will come when you I am gone, and you will reach the age of twenty-five, when you should rightfully be taking the throne.”

  I swallow. “Mother, that’s not for months.”

  She grimaces. “Then you are safe for a few months, no longer. Don’t be a fool. He will make sure to consolidate his hold on his rule before your next birthday. Don’t think I am too sick to know what’s going on.”

  “If I act, if I do anything—” my voice cracks. “Mother, I know he is your brother, but if I act now, he may not act kindly towards you.”

  She reaches out and touches my forehead. “My boy. You look so much like your father now.” She has to take a break before she can speak again. I know she has a quick tongue in front of the servants and guards, but in front of me she is real and honest, and I can see how much talking takes out of her. “My brother wouldn’t hurt me. We are siblings. It would go against all we know, for siblings to be pitted against siblings. And I know he loves me. I am not worried for me. I am worried for you. The love of brother and sister, or brother and brother, is not between the two of you.”

  I have never told mother about the times my uncle has hinted that her health is in his hands, and hostage to my obedience.

  Her life depends on me. He has made that perfectly clear many times over the years since he took the throne.

  I can’t tell mother, though. As much hurt as she has been through in her life, as tough as she may be, it might just break her to know her brother doesn’t love her at all. That he never has. She still thinks father’s death was an accident. She will think the best of anyone.

  Only I know that my uncle keeps her alive so that I may do his bidding. As long as she’s alive, he can control me.

  Mother’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “You might think that keeping your head down will keep you safe, but i
t won’t keep you safe forever. You need to talk to your people; you need to take back what is rightfully yours.”

  “It’s not that easy, mother. You’re not out there every day, seeing what he does. He has the planet under his thumb. Even if I could stand up to him, no one would follow me. They would be too scared. And I do not blame them for it.”

  Her eyes blaze, even though her head has fallen back into her pillow. “You were born a prince, Khan. Don’t die as a nobody.”

  Her eyes close and she is asleep in seconds. Her sleeps have become longer, more frequent, in every visit I’ve had with her.

  She is creeping closer to death every time I see her.

  I am another day closer to my birthday, and likely my own death.

  I watch her sleep for a minute, then I stand and search the room for a blanket. I lay it on top of her and quietly leave the room.

  My mind is buzzing in a way I don’t like. Thoughts race through my head. Should I call for the Emperor to step down once I reach the age of my majority? Could I have the strength, the bravery to do that?

  Mother is right, I was born a prince. But she’s wrong about everything else. I am no leader. I am too scared, too beaten down, too disliked, to try and win the throne back. No one will follow me. Not when the consequences would be torture and death. Because I wouldn’t succeed. Not against my uncle.

  Usually I avoid these thoughts. I push them out of my mind, to deal with later. My life has always been something I can deal with later.

  I don’t like the feeling of urgency that Mother’s words have given me. I can’t keep putting these thoughts off. I’ll have to face them one day, and I am terrified to do so.

  Father would have been disappointed in me, if he could see me now. I am a disappointment to the royal bloodline. A coward.

  My mother’s apartments are unusually silent today. The silence makes my stomach churn. I open the door to Mother’s apartments, but the guard who would normally be stationed outside to watch my every move is absent.

  Then I hear a muffled cry from Litha’s room. It’s a woman’s voice, but not Litha’s.

  I hurry towards the noise. Perhaps Litha needs help with a new patient, or the new human slave has hurt herself.