The pirate, at least, was easy to read, and treated the Queen like her newest prize. While Sediryl wasn’t thrilled with that transition, it was better than Kamaney discarding the Queen. And the novelty of being able to give the Queen such an extravagant and unique gift would keep the Chatcaavan safe… until Kamaney ran out of species, anyway. Hopefully by then they’d be out of this situation.
At the conclusion of the meal, Kamaney dismissed the Queen and leaned back in her chair with a replete sigh. “I finally feel like things are coming together.”
“Are they?” Sediryl asked over her coffee, lashes lowered over her eyes to shadow them.
“Oh yes. Money coming in, weapons coming in, all the right information going out… my plans are progressing. And this!” Kamaney waved an idle hand toward the table and the Queen’s empty seat. “That was clever. You are clever, alet.”
“My friends call me Sediryl.”
The pirate smirked. “Sediryl. A clever woman. I bet you could go far.”
“Some would say I already have.”
“Some?” Kamaney toyed with her dessert spoon, the movements oddly repetitive.
“I see a goal even beyond where I am now,” Sediryl said. “And I hope…” She lowered her voice, “I’m on my way there.”
“A clever woman with friends could go farther,” Kamaney said. “And should.” She smiled and reached toward Sediryl’s face, then paused, fingers still lifted. “Oh, but I shouldn’t touch you, should I. You Eldritch and touch.”
“I don’t mind,” Sediryl said, her skin crawling. “Do you, though? Not everyone likes the thought of touching one of us.”
Kamaney laughed. “You think I’m afraid of what you’ll see in my mind?” She pressed her fingers to Sediryl’s lips, as if hushing her. “I’m not. Either the stories are false and so they don’t matter… or they’re true.”
“And?” Sediryl murmured against those fingers, too hot against her skin.
“And when you see into my mind, you’ll know you should never, ever cross me.” Kamaney lifted her fingers just enough to stroke Sediryl’s lips and added, “Such a pretty, pretty woman.”
Sediryl made herself kiss the pirate’s fingertips. “And clever as well.”
“And clever.” Kamaney smiled, her satisfaction oily. “Good night, Sediryl.”
Sediryl rose from the table, train hissing as it slid off the chair, and walked to the door. Through the corridor. Into her quarters where she realized she was no longer alone, and could not afford to show obvious signs of hysteria. Or even subtle ones, given that one of her guests was a therapist. So when “her slaves” looked up and Vasiht’h asked, “How did it go?” Sediryl replied, “Promising,” and strode past him to her bedroom.
She could have asked him for help with this also-ridiculous outfit that Maia had cobbled together out of several yards of velvet and leather and lace. But the D-per had put the ties for the thing down the front. She handled it herself, and if Maia could see her fingers shaking through the room’s surveillance, she was smart enough not to mention it.
In the bathroom, Sediryl thought of the Queen’s casual comment. It afflicted the Ambassador terribly. Being raped. Tried to imagine her cousin Lisinthir, dangerous cousin Lisinthir who had emitted that effortless confidence and veiled aggression, being… raped? By whom? She grimaced and met her own eyes. “He survived,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll survive. Not only that. I’ll win.”
The girl in the mirror seemed a lot less certain of that than the one who’d confessed her competitive streak to Maia on the Visionary. But sometimes, as Sediryl’s own mother had taught her, you had to pretend until something stopped being pretense.
“I’ll win,” Sediryl told herself, and this time it was a promise. She inhaled, exhaled slowly. And readied herself for bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Must we have this argument again?” Second said.
Jahir, ignoring his nauseating hunger pangs and trying to memorize the changes in the map behind the Usurper’s wing arches, was hanging on the wall. Several of the more distant fleets had crawled toward the sector where the throneworld was blazoned, and their incremental progress seemed too slow to Jahir. Particularly while he waited for any message Oviin might receive in response to the one he’d sent several days ago.
“I am tired of staring at his muzzled face. And the gag is likely to give it some blood poisoning the Surgeon cannot fix.” The Usurper sat behind his desk, lifted the Galare dagger and slid it from its sheath. “Have you handled one of these yet? So inconvenient. Talons are always with you, but a weapon can be taken away.”
“Exalted,” Second said, low. “This meeting in particular should not be witnessed. Send your prize to be beaten so that he will look prettier for your guests and let us get on with business.”
“I prefer him unmarred. It’s less messy. Besides, beating aliens is a risk, given their fragility. I would prefer not to be deprived of my decoration.” The Usurper squinted at Jahir. “And you prefer not to be beaten, I’m sure.”
“Better males than you have thrashed me,” Jahir said, thinking of Lisinthir. “I doubt you would accomplish anything interesting with your attempt.”
“You see?” the Usurper said. “What good is a beating if it doesn’t accomplish anything?”
“A good enough beating would accomplish a great deal.” Second glared at Jahir. “And trust me, Ambassador. When I-your-better beat someone, they notice.”
Jahir smiled at him. “Do you-my-lesser always wait until their backs are turned? Or is cowardice new to you, traitor?”
Second’s teeth flared and he leaned toward Jahir, then he reined himself back and narrowed his glowing eyes. Strange that they might be so similar in color to Oviin’s and yet so different in character. “You-my-lesser look better with a gag in your mouth, freak.”
The Usurper snorted. “Stop playing with it, Second. We have a meeting to conduct.”
“Which should be conducted—”
“In private, yes, I know.” The Usurper pointed at the chair opposite the desk. “Sit. I leave the war to you. You will leave the management of the empire, including the disposition of its slaves, to me.”
Second turned from Jahir. “I don’t understand you. This behavior… it’s unlike you.”
“You worry that I have been entranced by the alien?” The Usurper snorts. “He’s useful, that’s all. Makes me look like I care about the things other males do.”
“For that to work, you have to use him, and you don’t use him!”
The Usurper said, unperturbed, “I’m using him now. And I am about to use him again. Observe.” To the guards, “Let him in now.”
A new Chatcaavan strode in, a brown male with a large, blunt head and thick horns. Unlike Second and the Usurper, whose clothes had the austere lines of a uniform, this male wore an embroidered robe over trousers, both wine-colored, offsetting his eyes which were nearly magenta: bright and red trending toward purple.
“Lord of the Twelveworld,” the Usurper said.
“Exalted,” said this new male. “I have seen to your directives and return with news. Second.” He inclined his head to both, reached for one of the chairs and stopped at the sight of Jahir. “Dying Air!”
“My wall hanging,” the Usurper said, lifting a tablet and beginning to peruse its contents.
“The Ambassador? You have captured the Ambassador?” The Twelveworld Lord stepped toward Jahir. “May I…”
Jahir saw the satisfied look the Usurper flung at Second behind the Twelveworld Lord’s back as he spoke. “I suppose.”
The new male drew closer, as if approaching a dangerous animal. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his mouth parted: shock? Fascination? “The wingless freak, fettered,” he murmured. “How do you like the Emperor’s attention now, Ambassador?”
“I’ll let you know when I see him next,” Jahir replied.
The Twelveworld Lord drew back as if struck, then barked a laugh. “You have
caught him, truly caught him, Exalted. I am impressed. Will you kill him?”
“Why would I kill him?” the Usurper said absently. “That wall is too bare.”
“You could decorate him like a female…”
“Too time-consuming. Maybe later, if I grow bored.” The Usurper looked up. “I’ll ask you for suggestions if so.”
“Oh yes,” the Twelveworld Lord said, low. “I would be glad to offer them.”
“Excellent. With that decided, then, the pirates? Sit.”
“Ah yes.” The Twelveworld Lord sat on the chair, leaning against it with wings relaxed against its narrow back. “They are harrying the Alliance along the border. Some of them have already clashed with elements of the freak’s Fleet, which means the diversion is working. We are drawing some number of them away from the corridor we plan to advance along.”
“Are there enough pirates to divert them?” The Usurper looked at Second. “This is your expertise, not mine.”
“I was surprised at this pirate’s ship strength and coordination.” Second leaned forward, tapping on a tablet. “They are strung out here and yes, I believe their numbers sufficient to at least distract the freaks.”
A blot of red sprang up along the Alliance border, coreward of the Empire.
“And we are proceeding here,” the Usurper said, pointing at an area on the map.
Even from behind, Jahir could see Second’s reluctance to respond in the tightness of his wings, the stiffness of his hands. “Yes.”
“The pirates will fight well,” the Twelveworld Lord said. “I have promised them significant plunder, including one of the Alliance core worlds.”
The Usurper scowled at him. “All plunder is to be funneled through proper naval channels for distribution.”
The Twelveworld Lord laughed. “I’m not going to give them anything, Exalted! I fully expect the freaks to shatter them. The freaks will take a beating in the process—these pirates are well armed, and good at raiding—but by the time the freak Fleet is done with them, there won’t be enough pirates to settle an asteroid, much less an entire planet.”
“Good,” the Usurper said. “So long as you’re certain about the numbers.”
“As certain as anything is in war,” the Twelveworld Lord replied. “I would not concern yourself with them, Exalted. I’ve regular communiques from that front; if anything looks troubling, I’ll discuss it with Second.”
“Very good.” The Usurper tapped his tablet. “I see you have brought me new numbers here.”
“Yes. The system lords of the north and east have gathered under my banner and are now proceeding to Apex-East to join the main fleet.” The Twelveworld Lord sounded smug. “You’ll note our strength is considerable.”
“Quite,” the Usurper said. “Did you see this, Second? It’s comparable to the weight of Apex-North’s fleet.”
“I did see,” Second said. “Well done, Twelveworld Lord. I did not anticipate such a strong showing from the system lords.”
“It would be a poor deed if the system fleets of the strongest sectors of the Empire did not weigh favorably against their naval counterparts,” the Twelveworld Lord replied. “This is a battle we have been anticipating ever since we met the freaks. We intend to enjoy it.”
“And you will, yes. Will you stay at court? I’d prefer it to you joining your ships in Apex-East,” the Usurper said. “Since you are the one receiving intelligence about the pirates.”
“I can, certainly. Until the muster leaves Apex-East. When we open the war I intend to be there.”
“Naturally,” the Usurper said. “Thank you, Twelveworld Lord. That will be all.”
“Exalted.” The male rose, bowed with slightly spread wings.
After his departure, the Usurper tapped his tablet until a new icon appeared on the map: a large yellow globe with a ship in its center. “A large concentration of ships.”
“More than we expected,” Second agreed.
“Will there be problems at Apex-East?”
“No,” Second said. “Because I will relieve some of the pressure by sending the Eastern fleet forward.”
The Usurper squinted. “That would keep them from starting fights with the system lords, but it will look like weakness unless you have a good reason.”
“I do,” Second said. “I’d like to start them on scouting duties. We need intelligence on the movements of the freak Fleet, and with all due respect to the Twelveworld Lord, I do not trust pirates to give us accurate reports.”
The Usurper snorted. “Of course not. It would take a system lord to think so. The Navy knows better.”
“Exactly.” Second rose. “I will see to that now, in fact. Unless you have something else?”
“No. That will do.”
Second paused beside Jahir on the way out and scowled up into his face. “And you. If you repeat any of this to anyone, you’ll be lucky if you keep your tongue.”
“Don’t threaten my property,” the Usurper said, already reading his tablet again. “If I want it defaced, I’ll arrange it.”
Second bared his teeth and swept out.
“Well done,” Jahir said.
The Usurper looked up. “Oh yes. I didn’t gag you.”
“Is it your intention to keep Second off balance, or are you solely using me to gauge the tenor of your possible allies?”
The drake snorted. “I suppose it was obvious enough for even a wingless freak to notice.”
“So obvious I’m surprised your targets don’t see it as well.”
“They might have. But it doesn’t matter. What you don’t understand, freak—what you have never understood, no matter how much time you spent in this court before my arrival—is that it doesn’t matter if you show weakness so long as you have enough power.”
“Like the Twelveworld Lord’s fleet.”
The Usurper waved a hand in a shrug. “Not material, really. Those ships have never trained together. Intelligence and coordination will always trump brute force. That I sit here before you as the Exalted Emperor is proof enough of that.”
Lisinthir would have disagreed with him, would have attacked him to force him off balance. Jahir, though, didn’t want the Usurper fighting him. Not yet. “So neither the pirates nor the system lords concern you.”
“Not at all. The Navy will keep them in check, as it always has, and what few fail to respond to Second’s commands can be led by their desire for conquest and treasure. It’s a simple equation. So long as you know what motivates the people around you, you cannot fail in your aims.”
“And what is your aim, precisely?”
The Usurper looked up, head cocked and one eye squinted. “What?”
“Your aim,” Jahir prompted. “Because I doubt you wanted the throne for power. Did you?”
“Of course I did. I am Chatcaavan, freak.”
Jahir pursed his lips. “Forgive me. I was imprecise. You did not want the power for power’s sake, to boast of yourself and your prowess.”
“No,” the Usurper replied. “Such displays are a waste of time. I do not feel I need to perform for my peers. I sought power for a different purpose.”
“As I thought. So, then… what was this aim?”
The Usurper smiled a little. “You would like to know, wouldn’t you, freak? As if it will help you. It won’t. You will die here when I grow tired of you.”
“You won’t grow tired of me because you were never interested in me,” Jahir said. “Say rather that you will kill me when I no longer serve a useful purpose.”
The Usurper bared his teeth. “You are capable of understanding basic facts.”
“Yes.” Jahir paused, offered, “It is a rare ability. Accepting reality.”
That won him a rasping laugh. “Unfortunately. Yes. I am here to manage the Empire, freak, because it is inefficient and I despise inefficiency.” The Chatcaavan’s eyes grew distant. “There is too much variation in processes. People have too much freedom. It detracts from their availability
for productive work. They spend too much of their time deciding on a course of action, and when they decide, they make irrational choices. Entire worlds are drowning in their own redundancies, their idiosyncrasies. I plan to sanitize these irrational social and cultural processes. We could grow so much larger if we solved these problems. Everything must be put in its place. Every person. Nothing will stop us then.” He met Jahir’s eyes. “That is why I want power.”
“To fix things,” Jahir whispered.
“You understand me.” The Usurper picked up his tablet. “And now you will be silent or I will have you gagged. There is work to be done.”
Jahir suffered the rest of the day, eating when fed, hanging for his four-hour intervals, until at last the guards delivered him back to Oviin who was waiting with a meal tray. By then he was so weak he found it difficult to sit upright, and the smell seeping from the seam of the covered plates was so strong he thought he’d faint for need.
The Chatcaavan held up a finger and said, “I have been reporting your condition to the Surgeon. He says you must eat slowly. Please.” He handed over a triangle of soft flatbread wrapped around some sort of meaty paste. Jahir forced himself to chew it at a deliberate pace, accepting the next only when he’d swallowed the first. His stomach’s complaints were vociferous but Oviin remained adamant, passing him each new tidbit with metronomic patience. When the tray was empty and Jahir painfully full, the Chatcaavan waited, watching him. “Do you need the basin?”
“No,” Jahir managed. “But I admit I dislike this intensely.”
“If you hate eating like this so much, why do you do it?”
“I’m afraid I have no choice.” Jahir inhaled. “Are we free to speak?”
Oviin glanced at the door. “As free as we ever are.”
Jahir nodded. “The Twelveworld Lord. Is he important?”
The male inhaled through his nostrils, a little wheeze. “Yes. You could say.” He lifted a towel. “Can you go into the bath?”
“Not to immerse myself.” Jahir settled on the lip of the tub and accepted the hot, damp washcloth. Starting on his fingers, he said, “The Twelveworld Lord? Surely twelve worlds comprise a minor fiefdom in an empire the size of yours.”
In Extremis Page 20
