Finally Vitrex said, “Enough, Kryxson.”
Relief swept over Althor as Kryxson stopped. He felt the Razer’s reluctance to quit. What surprised him wasn’t that Kryxson was transcending, but that Vitrex resisted it. A memory toggled: Vitrex had also suppressed his transcendence during Althor’s interrogations. It hadn’t always worked, but that he tried at all astounded Althor. It had never occurred to him that Hightons might be capable of, even see honor in, quelling their impulses to sadism. That they could deny their nature and yet still chose to indulge it made their cruelty that much worse.
Althor focused on Vitrex, trying to fathom him. He hadn’t thought Hightons capable of love, yet Vitrex’s thoughts revealed a great depth of affection for Cirrus. It stunned Althor. Having loved Cirrus himself, even if that reaction was medicated into him, he felt driven to protect her. That Vitrex’s love translated into images of brutality sickened him.
“I don’t think he’s faking it,” the guard said.
“All right.” Vitrex sounded impatient. “Try another dose.”
So they gave Althor another shot. This time when they stood him up, he stayed up. He wasn’t sure what he had achieved with his ploy, but his strength felt normal.
“Good.” Vitrex looked relieved. “Take him to Chemical.”
Althor tensed. “Chemical?”
“Showers.” Vitrex grimaced. “You need a bath, Ruby prince, and clothes that will please the empress.” A smirk played around his mouth. “And other things.”
Althor regarded him warily. “What other things?”
Vitrex waved his hand to dismiss the question. Then he paused, and Althor felt his urge to boast. “My wife is very good with such things, you know. Pheromones. Drugs. Inducements, you might say.” He gave Althor a malicious stare. “You ought to see what she does for me with Cirrus. Imagine it, the mother of your child on her knees begging me to love her.”
The lie of that exuded from Vitrex’s mind. Althor gritted his teeth. “Go rot in hell.”
When the guards slammed Althor against the wall, his reflexes kicked in and he tried to stop them. Had he succeeded, it would have revealed the deception of his supposed reduced physical capacity. But with four guards pinning him and his hands locked behind his back, even he couldn’t do much.
“I should let Kryxson work you over for that,” Vitrex commented. “But I feel benevolent today. Besides, that look on your face when I told you about Cirrus was enough.” He seemed more amused than anything else. “You know, Althor, when Sharla is done with you, your enthusiasm for the empress will outdo what you feel for Cirrus.”
Althor stared at him, wondering how the Highton’s neck would feel in his hands. Crack. No more Vitrex.
The minister turned to Kryxson. “Have Sharla contact me when she’s done with him. I will be with the Sphinx delegation.”
Kryxson bowed. “Yes, sir.”
Vitrex strode through the doorway, and four Razers waiting outside fell into formation around him. After the group had swept away, gone from sight, Althor’s guards took him out of the cell. They led him along glossy white halls that twisted, turned, and backtracked until he lost all sense of placement. He hoped Basalt could still make maps.
They brought him to a large room tiled on every surface with glassy black squares bordered by white lines that glowed. The guards left him standing there, wearing nothing but his cuffs and collar, his hands still locked. With grating scrapes, nozzles extruded from the walls and drains punctured the floor like inverted kisses. Sudden jets of waters blasted out the nozzles, pummeling him from all sides. He felt like a statue being sandblasted, but it was a relief to be clean.
Finally the water stopped and the nozzles retracted, turtles pulling their heads into their shells. The guards returned with a large towel and clothes and helped him dress. The black leather pants resembled his Jagernaut uniform, except these were skintight, designed to accent his muscular build. When he saw the velvet shirt, he realized the guards would have to unlock his wrists to put it on him.
The neural damper they had given him blunted his analytic capacity. It took no great analysis, however, to see that trying to escape was stupid. Even if he managed it, he would be caught within minutes. But he also knew he would rather walk through hell than be a Highton’s pleasure slave.
Basalt, he thought. I could use some help here.
No response.
Kryxson took a magnetic key out of his pocket and stepped behind Althor. He lifted Althor’s wrists, manipulating his slave cuffs. A tingling ran through Althor’s arms as they fell free.
Combat mode toggled on, Basalt thought.
Althor didn’t stop to ask how Basalt could respond, after so long a silence. With enhanced speed and strength, he kicked up his leg and rammed his bare foot into the chest of the guard in front of him, at the same time throwing his body sideways into a guard with a pulse rifle. With a crack of breaking ribs, the first man flew over backward. The guard with the rifle fired as he stumbled back a step, and the shots went wild over Althor’s head. To Althor the Razers looked as if they were moving in slow motion. He ripped the pulse rifle out of the guard’s hands and whirled in a circle, firing the weapon.
Serrated projectiles riddled the Razers. Even protected by the neural damper, Althor reeled with the shock of their dying and almost blacked out. He stared at their bodies crumpled around him on the tiled floor, stunned by the depth of his remorse. They had helped subject him to over two years of brutal interrogations, yet still the killing tore at him.
Althor rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He limped to the doorway and leaned his forehead against the doorjamb, trying to think. He felt no minds in the vicinity. Where was everyone? He concentrated on Cirrus and caught a distant sense of her. Fear. The intensity of her emotion reached him even across whatever kilometers separated them.
He had no idea where he was, other than in an unnamed ESComm base. All he could remember picking up from Vitrex’s mind was that the minister had a mansion in the vicinity, convenient but not too close.
Basalt, he thought. Show me a map to the Vitrex mansion.
No response.
He tried a different tack. If you have an idea how I can find Cirrus, take over my hydraulics and start me walking.
Nothing.
He started off down the hall. Then, suddenly, his legs moved of their own volition. He turned around and went in the other direction.
31
Cirrus sat at the white lace-draped vanity in her white chair within her white bedroom and fidgeted with her glass of water. Although her pregnancy didn’t show yet, she always felt thirsty now. But her joy at having a child had turned into a depression saturated with grief. Vitrex intended to take the baby away from her. She would never see her second son.
She missed Kai, her firstborn, so much it ached like a physical pain. Did he still laugh, climb trees, sing off-key? Was his hair still black? He had been born with yellow hair and blue eyes, like her, but the emperor had altered them to make him look Aristo.
“Ai.” Cirrus wiped the tears on her cheeks.
As she stood up, the door opened and four Razers entered, including Xirson. One guard carried a large gold towel and another had a gold box inset with emeralds and sapphires. She flushed, wondering why Vitrex sent people to bathe her when she had already done it herself. She suspected he used it as a reward for his favored Razers.
Xirson came over to her, his normally impassive face relaxing into a smile. “My greetings, Cirrus.”
She reddened. “My greetings, Xiri.”
He stopped in front of her and picked up an end of the sash that kept her thigh-length robe belted around her waist. When he tugged on the sash, it came undone and her robe fell open. He nudged the garment off her shoulder and it rippled to the ground, where it pooled around her feet in waves of gold Hesterian silk.
“Ai, Cirrus,” he murmured.
She kept her eyes averted, unable to look at him.
Xirs
on took her hand and drew her across the room to an arch in the wall there, a keyhole-shaped doorway bordered by gold mosaic flowers. The bathing room beyond was an octagonal chamber, every one of its surfaces tiled with green and gold fish. An octagonal dais filled most of the small room, with an octagonal pool sunken into it. The life-sized jade statue of a girl stood on the dais, in one corner. Emerald-tinted water arched up from a huge spiral shell that she held and fell sparkling into the pool, like liquid gems.
As Cirrus slid into the pool, Xirson sat on its edge with one booted leg in the water and the other stretched out on the dais. He bathed her gently, lathering her hair and body with scented creams. Then he held her in his lap, sitting with both boots in the water now, murmuring endearments, oblivious that she was dripping all over him.
But Xirson wasn’t Althor, the father of her child. No one was like Althor. He reached her at a fundamental level no one else had ever found. It made no difference, though. She would never have any relationship, let alone a husband. Providers were forbidden it.
One of the guards cleared his throat. Xirson sighed, then helped her out of the pool. After she dried off, they returned to the bedroom. For one panicked second, as he led her to the bed, she feared he would go too far with her and anger Vitrex. But he only opened up the jeweled box that another guard had left there.
The vials in the box held a gold powder that glinted with sapphire and diamond grains. The Razers covered her body with it, using soft brushes. She tried rubbing it off, but it stayed, with no creases or flaws, only the excess swirling to the carpet. It was apparently set to her DNA, because it clung only to her skin, not theirs. As the Razers applied it, they ribbed one another about this dangerous assignment they had pulled, powdering a naked woman. It surprised Cirrus as much as it embarrassed her. Except for Xirson, she had never seen any of them smile. She hadn’t thought they knew how.
The box also held clothes. The thong for her hips consisted of gold wires, with a gold plate for the triangle between her thighs. The halter was no more than sapphireinlaid strips of gold that framed her breasts. She didn’t see the point. It covered nothing. Xirson put sapphire rings in her nipples, with a gold chain hanging from one to the other. The gauzy mesh didn’t show when they put it over her hair, only the jeweled specks on it, glittering like blue and white stars. Xirson activated the nanobots in her hair and they contracted, making the strands curl into huge waves to her hips. Like a cloud.
She would rather have worn a sack. Xirson watched her with an intensity that disconcerted her. Still, she liked him far better than Kryxson, the other top-ranked taskmaker at the estate. Both Razers were educated, rich themselves, loyal to Vitrex, and half Highton. But Cirrus had long ago sensed what no Aristo realized. Despite his Highton genes, Xirson had no trace of the cruelty that drove Aristos to seek providers.
They took her through the mansion to a room with ivory rugs patterned with birds and translucent screens painted with the same design. Vitrex and several other Hightons sat in loungers around a low table, deep in discussion, their holographs and palmtops spread everywhere.
Vitrex glanced at her. “Pour for my guests, pretty cloud.”
Cirrus knelt next to him and took a carafe on the table. As she filled the goblet of the Highton to her left, Vitrex and his guests went back to arguing, something about merchant guilds. Vitrex was considering an investment but didn’t like the terms they offered.
When she knelt by the next delegate, he placed his hand over his goblet. Startled, she looked up. It was Corbal Xir, the elderly Highton with white hair. She remembered him from the palace auction, the unexpectedly gentle Aristo who had simply wanted affection from her, no transcendence. He smiled now with an enamored look much like the one Xirson had given her. When she blushed, his face gentled and he moved his hand to let her pour.
The next Highton was big. Huge, really, with folds of fat under his chin. Usually Aristos went to the bodysculptors when they gained weight. Cirrus could tell this one irritated Vitrex; like most Aristos, the minister considered ugliness a sign of weak character. Cirrus thought otherwise, though she never dared mention it. She had always liked the homely Xirson far more than Kryxson, though Kryxson molded his face to Highton perfection.
After she poured for the big Highton, he grabbed her wrist. His stale breath wafted in her face. “I should like a polly-berry,” he said.
Cirrus glanced at Vitrex. He had told her to pour for his guests, not to feed them. But he was talking with Corbal Xir and would grow angry if she interrupted. Flustered, she took a berry out of a bowl on the table and raised it to the Highton’s mouth.
He shook his head, his chins waggling. “From your lips.”
She flushed. But Vitrex was still talking. So she held the berry in her lips and tilted up her face, as she had been taught in the Silicate pavilion. Bending his head, the Highton closed his mouth around the berry, sliding one arm around her waist while he fondled her breast with his other hand. As he pulled the fruit into his mouth, he kissed her, his tongue tasting of polly-berry. She struggled not to gag.
A throat suddenly cleared. The Highton released Cirrus and she looked across the table to see Vitrex scowling. Mortified, she grabbed the carafe and poured for the last delegate, then went to kneel by the minister.
As the meeting continued, Vitrex’s annoyance increased. Although her presence made the Sphinx delegation more amenable, especially Corbal Xir, they were too savvy to let the presence of a pretty provider cloud their judgment. So in the end, no one got what they wanted.
When everyone was standing up, preparing to leave, Corbal Xir smiled at Xirson. The Razer bowed to him, obviously pleased to see the elderly Highton. His father? Vitrex was angry at everyone, but he hid it until the delegation left. Then he snapped several commands to Xirson and stalked out of the room. Cirrus was relieved to see him go.
Xirson drew her to her feet, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She tried to pick up what was wrong, but he hid his emotions. The Razers took her back into the mansion, this time to Vitrex’s suite. In the bedroom, where almost no sunlight diffused through the heavy curtains, the guards laid her on the shadowed bed, on her back. When they stretched out her limbs and fastened her wrists and ankles to the bed’s corner posts, she struggled not to panic.
“I’m sorry,” Xirson whispered. “Cirrus—I—I’m sorry.”
Her voice shook. “Why, Xiri?”
Another guard cleared his throat and Cirrus felt his anger. They feared Xirson would cause them all trouble by paying too much attention to her. Xirson swore, then went to his post by the wall.
A moment later, Vitrex stalked into the room, bringing his anger with him. He lay down next to her and began touching her body. “They negotiate like old iron ingots,” he muttered.
“You know better than they,” she said, even though it wasn’t true.
“I want to show you something.” Propping himself up on his elbow, he unhooked his palmtop from his belt and flipped it open so the screen lay flat on his palm. When he brushed his thumb through one of the tiny holicons glowing above the border of the screen, a larger holo appeared, an unclothed ten-centimeter-tall Cirrus standing on his palmtop. The image faded into a silver network of lines in the shape of her body.
“Those are your nerves,” he said.
“Inside me?”
He nodded. “Do you know how your wrist cuffs work?”
“I don’t think so.”
Vitrex highlighted a group of lines that ended in the wrists of the image. “Your cuffs extend neural threads into your body. Each thread is specific for a certain nerve. When the cuff sends a pulse through the thread, it stimulates whatever nerve the thread touches.”
Cirrus stared at him. She understood now, all too well. She had screamed her throat raw from the effect of those threads.
His voice gentled. “Don’t worry, love. I won’t activate the cuffs.”
She almost closed her eyes with relief. “You are most kind.” He wasn’
t kind, he was a monster, but she could hardly tell him that.
“This gold powder is pretty.” He rubbed her arm. “It has nanobots in it, you know. Molecules that hook into your skin. That’s why it doesn’t come off.” He watched her face. “The bots also extend neural threads into your body. I can activate them from my palmtop.”
As his meaning sank in, panic swept over Cirrus. The powder covered her entire body. “Minister Vitrex, no. Please.”
He spoke in a deceptive voice that would have sounded loving had she not recognized its undercurrent of hungry anticipation. “Have you ever heard the Tale of the Fire Prince?” When she shook her head, he said, “The prince descends to the depths of the world. His journey demands more than he thinks he can endure, but in the end he is rewarded for his labors. He ascends to an exaltation he could never have achieved without the trials of his suffering.”
“Please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be exalted.”
“Ah, Cirrus. I’m disappointed in you.” He indicated the holicon of a neuron on his palmtop. “This extends the threads into your skin.” He flicked his finger through it. “Can you feel that?”
“No.” Her voice caught. “Not yet.”
He poised his finger over a dragon holicon. In a husky murmur, he said, “This one will stimulate the threads.”
A siren suddenly cut through the air, from somewhere far away. Scowling, Vitrex sat up. “What the hell is that?”
Xirson was reading a display on a screen embedded in his wrist gauntlet. “It’s Bunker Base, sir.”
“Nexus, attend,” Vitrex said. “Why the sirens?”
His computer answered, “It’s a general raid warning.”
Dropping his palmtop on the bed, Vitrex got up and strode to a console by the wall. “Lieutenant Azez, what is going on?”
A voice snapped into the air. “ISC has invaded Platinum—”
Vitrex waited. “Lieutenant?”
“The palace web is down,” Nexus said. “Please try later.”
Vitrex activated his wrist comm. “Azez? Are you there?”
The Radiant Seas Page 42
