“To think,” the Emperor murmured, “that this would be the fruit of the time I spent at his feet.”
“The Lord and Lady work in ways mysterious.”
The Emperor smiled a little. “Yes.” And then laughed. “Let us find the Admiral-Offense. I think he will finally be glad of our news.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jahir was alive.
The news didn’t dissolve his anger, but it kept that anger from burning him alive. For the first time since their parting, the ground beneath Vasiht’h’s feet felt solid again, and that left him capable of evaluating himself and finding what he saw unlikely, fascinating. Jahir had told him over and over that he had passions of his own, but he’d thought of them as fleeting things, surface winds over unyielding earth. This, though… this felt tectonic. This ability to be so angry, and now so normal despite it.
This new stability arrived just in time because Sediryl was anything but calm. He didn’t need to extend any mental talent to guess she was pacing in her bedchamber, where he and Qora and the Queen might be spared the sight of her agitation. Imposing on her didn’t seem like a good idea, but he didn’t think letting her work herself into a state was any better. When his face turned toward the bedroom door once too many times, the Faulfenzair spoke.
“Let her be.”
“She’s upset,” Vasiht’h said.
The Faulfenzair made an ‘mmm’ sound deep in his throat. “For good reason.”
“Of course she’s got good reasons. But if she doesn’t release some of that tension she might not make it through the next few days.”
“Have you thought that perhaps she needs this tension to propel her through those next few days?” Qora twitched an ear. “An engine works on pressure. Remove the pressure, no propulsion.”
“People are not engines.”
The Faulfenzair snorted. “Metaphor, alet.” He bent over the Queen, touched her brow.
“Do you think she’s all right?”
“Not a physician,” the Faulfenzair said. “People are not machines, remember?”
Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose. “Fine, I deserved that.” He took the Queen’s limp hand, still too hot, and sighed. “I wish I knew how to fix this. Help. Do something.”
“Inaction is difficult,” Qora said. “But deeply important.”
Vasiht’h eyed him. “This should be good.”
The Faulfenzair grinned, showing all his teeth. “We learn the truth of the universe, which is that what control we have is minor and limited. We live at the whim of the Firedancing God. His will, not ours.”
“The Goddess gave us thought for a reason,” Vasiht’h murmured.
“The God gives many tools,” Qora said. “But comes a time when the time for tools is done. And then we are alone with the universe, and our smallness in it.”
Vasiht’h glanced again at the door to the bedchamber. “Our part doesn’t feel very small right now.”
“Why do you think she is so agitated?”
Kamaney did not want to talk to her.
Sediryl had tried leaving the suite, and while her guards trailed her to the pirate’s door, the guards there refused to admit her. She’d tried calling, but Kamaney wasn’t accepting calls. She’d even tried exiting the guest bloc again, only to be halted and reminded of the consequences of her last attempt to leave. She’d tried accessing information she knew would put up flags, but ran into the same security blocks she’d had since her arrival, and no guard burst into her quarters to arrest her.
The pirate was “busy.” The pirate would get back to her when she was ready. But how could Sediryl influence her decision if she couldn’t even see her?
Maia’s loss hurt more than she’d anticipated. Knowing the D-per could be resurrected back in the Alliance didn’t help—what she missed was the feeling that she’d had an ally here, one no one knew about. Maia had also been her only link to someone with a military background, and Sediryl could have used that guidance. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been relying on the other woman’s greater experience; bereft of it, she found herself at a loss for ideas. Seducing Kamaney, she could manage to plan on her own. But what if that failed? What would she do?
She would have to succeed. That was all.
Every day, Sediryl rose, made herself eat. Checked on the Queen. Sat with Vasiht’h to make an attempt at awakening her mental powers. Asked Qora after any of his needs and received the same placid reply. Paced her suite, stared at the computer. Made herself countless outfits, each more ridiculous than the next. Looked at her gun… wondered if she dared fire it. Dreamed about firing it, literally. Put her head down in an attempt to sleep at night, failed. Snatched a fitful few hours, in which her cousins seemed too distant to comfort her and all the slaves of the pirate base wept and begged her to better their estate. She woke, forced herself through the whole routine again.
Each day that passed heightened her agitation. She had promised she would deliver the pirates. She had promised they would attack the Chatcaavan border to draw the Twelveworld Lord out of position for the ambush. And she was running out of time to make good on that vow.
I’m going to win, she reminded herself every day before her shower. I’m going to win this. There is no other possibility. Because if I lose, the consequences will be unthinkable.
By the time Kamaney sent for her, Sediryl was nearly beside herself with impatience. She accepted the dinner invitation and shot to the bathroom to prepare. This was it. This had to be it. Her one chance, and she couldn’t fail. She sorted through her most outrageous designs before choosing one that was more lingerie than clothes, all hints of pale skin against black boots and high-cut black leotard with knife-like cuts framing her navel and breasts—parts of it had to be held on with cosmetic tape. The black leather coat that went over it had a collar so high she could barely turn her face, and the gun went under it, still the most real thing on her body.
When she exited the room, Vasiht’h’s eyes widened.
“I may be out all night,” Sediryl said.
“All right,” he answered, ears sagging.
Sediryl swept past him, the coat flaring around her, and stopped only to dig through Kamaney’s gifts to find a panther pard fur. Draping it over her shoulders was overkill, but she knew the pirate’s taste by now. More was better, except when less was called for, and less was rarely called for.
The guards let her into the pirate’s apartments. The dining room table had been set for two. With candles. Seeing her, Kamaney rose, waved away the guards. “Sediryl.” She came closer, eyes glowing. “You look… amazing.”
“Don’t tell me this lovely setting is for me?” Sediryl asked, effecting the coquette.
“Tonight is our last night here,” Kamaney said. “We leave in the morning.”
“And what enemy do we go to punish first?”
The pirate laughed and caught her hand, kissing the back. Her mouth left a smudge on the glossy black leather. “Business tomorrow. Tonight… well. Let’s say I’m done with self-discipline.”
“How fortuitous,” Sediryl murmured. “As I am as well.”
They sat to the dinner, a multicourse affair with wine, and Sediryl allowed Kamaney to feed her and tried not to feel like an expensive courtesan. Not revealing their destination was more of the pirate’s need to maintain control, but she couldn’t keep their plans secret for the entire night, particularly given what she was planning. Could she?
More importantly, could Sediryl go through with it? Some part of her had been hoping she’d be able to manipulate the pirate without actually bedding her. As the night continued, that hope dimmed, until when Kamaney rose and Sediryl stood to join her, she knew she had come to the crossroads.
Some part of her was wailing for someone, anyone to rescue her, but it was a very distant part of her. Distant enough that Sediryl wondered at her own cold calm. She could feel herself sorting through her memories of Davor and Hyera, picking and choosing among the moments they’d
kissed and caressed her, replaying them to warm her skin and quicken her breathing. The process felt as artificial as imbibing a drug, and its effect on her body should have appalled her. But that part of her, the part that could cry and feel shock, was so far away.
There were candles around the bed.
Candles.
The bed itself was heaped with furs from the backs of people, all of them black and dark gray save one fire-red one so bright it looked dyed. A perfume in the air, cloying and musky… the candles, she thought with that same unearthly calm. They were scented.
“I wanted it to suit you,” Kamaney said.
“Then perhaps you should put me on it and see if it does,” Sediryl answered.
As the pirate started on the buckle of her holster, Sediryl lowered her lashes and remembered Hyera’s husky laugh and dexterous fingers: artist’s hands, strong and articulate. She thought of Davor’s lips on her neck as Kamaney licked her over her pulse, nipping with sharper teeth than any human’s. She closed her eyes completely when she and the pirate kissed, remembering the taste of anyone else’s mouth. As Kamaney stripped her, petted her, drew her down to the bed, she clung to those memories to ensure the response of her body.
At some point in the interminable time that followed, Hyera and Davor lost their immediacy, drowned by the stench of the candles and her own arousal and the pirate’s, in the dark and by the furs. And in that moment she thought of her cousins, and that small screaming piece of her buried herself in their arms and did not raise her head again.
She was staring at the ceiling, ignoring the sweat cooling on her skin and the weight of Kamaney’s head on her breast, when the pirate murmured, “You were so right. Waiting makes giving in so much better.”
“Yes,” Sediryl said, forcing herself to run her hand idly down the woman’s furred spine.
Kamaney nuzzled her. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“You have devastated me,” Sediryl said. “I am limp with satiation.”
The pirate laughed softly, breath warm over Sediryl’s collarbone. “I’m flattered. I didn’t think I could do justice to you. You’re… you’re everything I thought you would be.” Another kiss, almost reverent. Sediryl’s gorge rose. “I want to keep you forever.”
“Two queens,” Sediryl murmured.
“Empresses,” Kamaney said, smiling, brushing her nosepad against Sediryl’s breast. “We’ll punish the Alliance for betraying me and then take the Chatcaavan worlds for our homes. It’ll be glorious.”
Sediryl’s heart lurched. She forced herself to yawn and stretch before saying, “So you have decided.”
“Yes.” Kamaney pushed herself upright, leaned across the bed toward the nightstand where she’d left a bottle of wine. “You’re right—trying to keep territory on the Alliance border will never work. So we won’t stay. Just hit them enough to make sure they’re weak enough for the Chatcaava to tear them open.”
“You don’t suppose that’ll leave the Chatcaava too strong for us to fend off?”
“No,” Kamaney smiled over her shoulder at her. “They’ll be too busy fighting over the spoils. You’ll see. I know these things. You’ll learn them too.”
“At your side,” Sediryl said, rolling onto her stomach to smile lazily up at her.
“Yes,” Kamaney said with a shiver. “And under me. And beside me.”
“I can’t wait,” Sediryl breathed.
The pirate unscrewed the cap from the bottle and set it down before twisting to kiss Sediryl again, squirming tongue and fevered breath. When she sat up, she said, “Goddess, you’re so irresistible. Do you know that?”
“The feeling is mutual,” Sediryl murmured. “So perhaps you should pour that and we can regain our strength?”
“Yes.”
Watching the wine flow into the glasses, Sediryl said, “Though… if I could use the bathroom…”
“I like you messy,” the pirate said with a grin.
Sediryl laughed, low. “Not to clean up. I like your… marks. The sound of the wine trickling has reminded me of other needs, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. Yes. Go, then. But hurry.”
“Trust me,” Sediryl said. “I won’t be long.” She slipped off the bed and rose, stretching again before bending to the discarded clothes on the floor.
This is a bad idea.
Deliberately she slid the gun from its holster.
This is an awful idea.
It was heavier than she expected. It was the most real thing in the room.
But you don’t have any better ones.
She lifted it, steadied her grip with her second hand. Pointed it at Kamaney’s back. The blue light on the back of the sight turned red and a crimson dot appeared between the pirate’s shoulderblades.
Maia’s voice. If you’ve got it up and pointed at someone, the safety’s off.
Sediryl pulled the trigger.
Fire exploded from the muzzle of the gun, struck the pillow beside Kamaney’s shoulder, burned a hole in it. The pirate jumped up, dropping the glass in her hand. She twirled to face Sediryl and her mouth dropped open.
I missed, Sediryl thought remotely. She pointed the gun at the pirate’s head as Kamaney’s lips began to form words. One more shot before the situation decayed past saving. Sediryl squeezed.
The pirate’s head exploded.
One heartbeat. Another. Then she screamed, and the world erupted in fire. All the world, her mind burning, everything, the bed, the furs, the candles melting into rippling puddles. She screamed and screamed until the overhead fire-management systems woke, screeching alarms, and poured down watery foam, slicking her hair down her naked back, carpeting the deck.
She found out she was still holding the gun when the guards burst into the room. She shot the first and didn’t miss. The second went down just as quickly. She was still screaming but there were words now. “PUT THEM DOWN GUNS DOWN GUNS DOWN OR I’LL SHOOT YOU NEXT.” The remaining three halted abruptly, holding up their hands. One of them was leering at her naked body. No possibility he’d respect her. She shot him through the torso, which exploded outward and he crumpled in half like a cored-out melon and she fought her nausea, turning to the next whose eyes were only just traveling from her breasts to his friend’s crumpling body, so she shot him too.
The last guard yelled, “NOT ME I’M NOT INTERESTED I RHACK GUYS GUYS NOT GIRLS.”
“Prove it!”
“What??”
“Shove your pants down now,” she said, trembling so hard her teeth were chattering and yet her arms didn’t move. His forehead was framed in the sight. The red dot was seething like a flame. “SHOW ME.”
He gaped at her, and when she started screaming at him to show her he hastily started on his trousers, fumbling the buttons as she watched. When he dropped his pants she found him shriveled. Fear? Lack of interest? She didn’t care. It was good enough.
“Kamaney’s dead,” she said from between her bared teeth. “I’m in charge now.”
“Yes, ma’am! Orders, ma’am!”
“Alert the fleet,” Sediryl said. “We’re leaving. Now.”
For days, Jahir skimmed the Usurper’s mind for reports of changes in the fleet movements, but the Chatcaavan remained obstinately uninterested in the prosecution of the war. He read Second’s updates, but these were cagey; even Jahir, who had little knowledge of military matters, could tell they were thin on content and long on obfuscation. The Usurper didn’t care, though; his only thoughts on reading these missives from the front were minor irritations: “If he must bother me with minutia, why can’t he wait until he has enough of it to make the report worth reading,” or “He is dispersing his forces so much he can’t accurately gauge their disposition.” Nor was the monotony of this vigil interrupted by any meeting, for the Usurper talked to almost no one in person, preferring electronic communication to time-consuming and messy personal interactions. His belief in his infallibility was so powerful it constituted a neurosis, and had he been a client, Jahir
would have done his utmost to address it. But the Usurper was not his client, did not want to be his client, and could not be his client. In those long and interminable silences, Jahir wondered how much his oath extended beyond those who entered into that relationship with him willingly, and whether it was possible to remove the oath from the fabric of his soul when it had sunk in so deeply.
His condition, he ignored. He could do no less and stay sane, particularly with the roquelaure’s constant warnings. The Surgeon became a fixture of his evenings, for Oviin could no longer feed him enough orally, and while they spoke little they didn’t have to. Through the Surgeon’s touch Jahir could hear the Chatcaavan’s concern, and worse, his prognosis. They were neither of them sure how long he could survive the malfunctioning implant without de-activating it. But turning it off was also a death sentence, for the Usurper’s reaction to the deception was eminently predictable.
He had lied in his message to Vasiht’h, but how could have he done otherwise? To deprive his partner of hope when he so desperately needed it… no. God and Lady willing they would both survive. But if Jahir didn’t, he found his regrets few. Another chance to see the homeworld, perhaps. The opportunity to tell Sediryl in his own words that he had loved her for as long as he could remember, that those rambles in the woods when they were youth and maiden had shaped him all the years that followed. One more kiss from Lisinthir, one more hug from his partner. But duty had summoned, and he had not failed in it.
Yet.
The bath remained his sole respite in each day, for his blankets were too thin to make sleep comfortable and only the buoyancy of the water gave him some relief from the unrelenting pain of joints held too long in traction. Oviin washed him, fretful and hiding it, and gathered the changing map visuals from his mind to transmit to their allies. From Sediryl, they heard only once, that she would be on her way within a week. From the Emperor and Lisinthir, nothing, until one day Oviin laid hands on him and looked him in the eye. /They’re coming./
Jahir raised his head.
In Extremis Page 34
