Rogue

by Cheryl Brooks

  “He may expect favors from you now,” Tychar warned.

  “Favors,” I echoed. “You mean like free piano lessons?”

  “No,” Tychar replied. “Sexual favors.”

  “But he said it didn’t mean we were sweethearts!” I protested. “If it had, I wouldn’t have accepted it.” I couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of sexual favors a Darconian might ask for—and didn’t want to, either. Still, if he only wanted to have his tail tickled, I thought I could probably handle that, but if it was something more intimate… well, let’s just say I wasn’t any more interested in the Darconians than the Zetithians were.

  I felt a pair of hands grab my ass and thought Dragus might have started already, but it turned out to be Trag. “Where you been, babe? My dick hasn’t been hard all day!”

  “It isn’t even lunchtime yet,” I said witheringly. “You’ve still got plenty of time.”

  “Don’t need it,” he said. “All I need is a whiff of you and a glimpse of that ass. Wow! See, I told you you’d look great dressed like a Darconian!”

  “I’m still not sure I care for it myself,” I admitted. “But I did get a necklace from Dragus, so I guess we can consider it a success.”

  Trag rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t consider it a complete success until you get one from Wazak.”

  “A hard man to get in the mood?” I ventured, remembering that I had just been in his office, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about the fact that I seemed to have lost my dress.

  “Something like that,” Trag agreed. “Now, Dragus, on the other hand, is a real slut.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I quipped.

  “Look who’s talking!” Trag sputtered. “You’ve done two of us at the same time. I’d say that was pretty slutty myself.”

  “Careful now,” I cautioned him, “or I might decide to reform.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” he grinned. “Guess I’d better shut up.”

  “Yes,” Tychar said. “That would be best.” He walked on for a few steps before adding, “And never call her a slut again.”

  Trag laughed. “He’s so… Zetithian. No sense of humor at all.”

  “Tell me something, Trag,” I said. “Are you the only Zetithian ever to have a sense of humor?”

  “Well, no, probably not,” he admitted. “It’s just that he’s so… stiff, don’t you think? I’m a whole lot more fun.”

  “Ah, trying to get me to switch brothers, are you?” I said knowingly. “Well, you can just forget it, Trag. I’ll ease your pain now and then, but you won’t make me fall in love with you.”

  Trag shrugged and draped a casual arm across my shoulders. “Can’t blame me for trying, can you?”

  “No, but your brother might beat the shit out of you if you don’t knock it off.”

  Trag looked at Tychar questioningly. “Any idea what she means by that?”

  “Not really,” said Tychar. “But it sounded like a warning.”

  “Uh-huh,” Trag said uncertainly.

  Tychar slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. My God! If Nindala could only see me now! The timid little piano teacher had been completely erased, and a woman unafraid to walk through the palace wearing nothing but some jewelry and two naked tigers had taken her place. This new woman wasn’t even afraid of Wazak!

  “So, when are we getting together again?” Trag asked eagerly. “You did say you would try it again tomorrow, and, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s tomorrow now.”

  “I think I’ve created a monster,” I groaned.

  “No,” Tychar said gloomily, “he was already a monster.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “It was foolish of me not to,” he agreed. “But he is my brother.”

  You’d have thought Trag would have objected to being called a monster, but he actually seemed proud of it and made the most terrifying, snarling face, just to prove how monstrous he could be. The tigers were beautiful, but they could look pretty fierce, too: a pissed-off Zetithian probably could have put the fear of God in a Darconian. I wondered if Scalia had ever thought about letting them take care of Dobraton for her, but then I remembered that she was trying to keep the tigers a secret.

  “Tell me something,” I said, changing the subject completely. “Ever hear of anyone by the name of Dobraton?”

  “You mean that tough old lizard who gives Scalia so much trouble?” asked Trag.

  “That’s the one,” I said with a nod. “Ever meet her?”

  “No,” Tychar said. “But I believe she knows we are here.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Scalia has said so,” he replied. “She believes that Dobraton has spies in the palace.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” I remarked. “She doesn’t seem to like Scalia very much—or her policies. Any idea who the spies are?”

  “No,” said Tychar. “We’ve tried to figure it out, but all the guards and staff seem to be loyal to Scalia. They could be lying, or the whole thing could just be our imagination, but sometimes… I wonder.”

  “Well, if Dobraton ever comes skulking around the music room instead of the Shrine,” I said, “we’ll know she’s been tipped off.”

  “You’re using too many Terran speech patterns,” Trag complained. “Even I don’t understand what you say a good part of the time.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m going to be here for a very long time.”

  Unless Dobraton had her way and threw all the offworlders off the planet, which would have meant that the slaves would be free to leave—or that they would all be dead. The tigers had escaped execution before, but they might not be as lucky this time—and I might not be, either. Shivering slightly, I thought I’d like to put my dress back on. Perhaps the new me wasn’t quite so different from the old one, after all.

  ***

  That night, I awoke from a dream with something calling out to me, beckoning me to come to it. Unable to resist, I rose from my bed, leaving Tychar sleeping in the moonlight. The night air was chilly, and I slipped into a robe as I stole silently into the music room.

  The three Darconian moons were conjoined—surely a good omen—and shone down on the planet below with a brightness that cast shadows as though daylight had come early. The piano sat silently on the dais, but I could feel the pull and knew that this was what had been calling to me. The ancient instrument was ready at last; to tell me its story and to share its secrets.

  Sitting down on the bench, I began to play one of the Zetithian love songs at first, but then the melody changed, seemingly of its own accord, to become something different, yet similar, as though inspired by the original song. I’d never played like that before, and the music seemed to come through my hands straight from my heart. It was my love song to Tychar: how I felt when I was in his arms, how I knew he was my one, true love—forever and always.

  A fleeting thought told me that I should be recording this so I wouldn’t forget it, but I knew in my heart that it would be indelibly placed in my memory. No, I wouldn’t forget it, and the melody would grow with each day I spent with him, for this was his song: the expression of my feelings for him. I had never been inspired before, but I certainly was now.

  Something moved within the shadows, taking the shape of the one I was playing for; the one I loved. Moving nearer, he placed his hands on my shoulders, and their warm strength inspired me even further. The melody changed again, becoming two songs, somehow blended into one. Was this how the great composers had worked their magic? Had they had such a love to inspire them, to carry them far beyond their usual talents? How else could one explain why the occasional mediocre composer could suddenly bring forth a piece of music that survived the ages?

  I played on, letting his love be my guide, and when the song
reached its conclusion at last, I was reluctant to break the spell and waited silently for him to speak.

  “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he said gently. “It reminds me of you.”

  “No,” I whispered. “It is my love for you, nothing more.”

  His grasp on my shoulders tightened. “Do you truly love me that much?”

  “I do,” I replied. Taking his hand from my shoulder, I kissed it softly. “Can you doubt it?”

  “No,” he said in a somber tone. “My vision was a true one. You are here, we are lovers, and my life will never be the same.”

  “Or mine.”

  I knew it was true, because for better or worse, it had happened; he was the one great love of my life—and he was a slave.

  Chapter 13

  The Edraitians arrived for their performance about a month or so later, and since I didn’t see any point in advertising the fact that I was pale all over when they were such a beautiful shade of blue, I went back to wearing a dress for the duration of their visit.

  We decided to have a short piano recital before the main event, and Uragus had been practicing like mad. Zealon and Racknay would also be performing, but it was a safe bet that their little brother would be the star of the show. Tychar had urged me to play my own composition as a part of the program, but I wasn’t quite ready to share it with the world. It was still too personal, and besides, I didn’t want to appear to be trying to upstage the children. This was their night, and I didn’t want anything to overshadow their accomplishments.

  I met up with Nindala in the Great Hall the day they arrived, and we spent the next two days exchanging news and girl talk. She hadn’t changed a bit since I saw her last: still tall, still stately, and still spectacularly beautiful. If only Trag could meet her! I had asked Scalia’s permission to introduce them, thinking that she might like the idea of finding him a mate, but it was fairly obvious that Trag had been talking, because she seemed to know just how much “help” I had been to her lonely slave boys.

  “They do not need another female if they have you,” she said with a regal wave of her hand. “Do not forget the bounty on them, Kyra! These entertainers may mention their presence here to the wrong people.”

  “Yes, but Trag needs his own mate,” I argued. I hated to tell her this, but after that one joint encounter, Trag hadn’t broached the subject much at all. Oh, he teased, and he flirted, but nothing more, and I had an idea his conscience was bothering him. “If you’re worried about the money, maybe they could buy him from you.”

  I could tell that this suggestion was not at all to Scalia’s liking. “I do not wish to sell my cats,” she said flatly. “Not to anyone.”

  Which included me. While I had mentioned the idea of buying Tychar from her, Scalia had never actually agreed to it, and it was now quite apparent that she wanted to keep things just the way they were. This meant that I would certainly never willingly leave Darconia, but whether Nindala would want to stay remained to be seen. She was more of a free spirit than I was, though given what I knew about the Zetithian brothers, Trag might be enough incentive for her to stick around for a while—if they ever met, that is.

  Of course, if I couldn’t tell Nindala about the tigers, any time I spent with her would be time spent without them, which made me wonder if I would go into withdrawal from the lack of joy juice. I hadn’t reckoned on Scalia being so possessive, though I probably should have—after all, she’d been keeping her slaves a secret for a very long time. Nindala probably posed no threat to their safety, but people do talk, and a band of entertainers who traveled the galaxy were bound to spread the news of the Zetithians far and wide—news which might come to the attention of bounty hunters, who would then converge on them.

  If there still was a price on their heads. It had been twenty years since Scalia had bought the two brothers, and in that time, any bounty on them might have been forgotten or revoked. It was a difficult thing to keep tabs on, especially since, the best I could tell, even Scalia didn’t know who had been offering that bounty.

  Scalia would undoubtedly find the Edraitians fascinating, because she liked diversity, and their coloring would make them stand out in any crowd. I didn’t know if there would be any men in the show, but there were presumably some of them working behind the scenes, and I hoped that Scalia wouldn’t try to add one of them to her slave collection. Not being an endangered or hunted species, I wasn’t sure just how she would justify it, though she might simply invite some of them to settle on Darconia.

  I spent as much time as I could with Nindala, and while she may have appeared to be the same as when I’d last seen her, she was of the opinion that I had changed considerably.

  “You are wearing jewels,” she observed.

  “Local custom,” I said with a shrug. “You know, when in Rome, and all that?”

  Not surprisingly, she didn’t understand the reference, but thought that my glowstone necklace was quite remarkable—especially after I lit them up for her.

  “This must be very valuable,” she said, inspecting it carefully. “Where did you get it?”

  “Oh, one of the guards gave it to me,” I said in a nonchalant manner. “I think he thought I was underdressed.”

  Her skepticism was evident, for her red eyebrows both disappeared into the lock of hair which was draped dramatically across her forehead. “Do you mean to say that you have taken to dressing in the Darconian fashion?”

  “I’d hardly call it ‘dressing,’” I said dryly. “More like undressing.”

  “I find it difficult to imagine,” she confided. “You are not… comfortable with such things.”

  A lot had happened to change that about me, but I couldn’t very well explain it without mentioning Trag and Tychar. I still wore my hair in a braid, though, so at least I hadn’t gotten into the “big hair” habit. Maybe that would come next, but I doubted it. Not wearing clothes was easy enough, but the hair thing would take more time than I was willing to devote to it. Besides, Tychar seemed to enjoy undoing my braid.

  Changing the subject before I slipped up and told her about the tigers and their own lack of clothing, I went on to tell her about my students, Uragus in particular.

  “He’s a genuine prodigy,” I said excitedly. “It’s been hard keeping up with him. I mean, he’s already playing Beethoven!”

  “I do not know Beethoven,” she remarked, “but this means he is showing progress?”

  “Oh, yeah! I’ve never had a student this gifted before. It’s like a dream come true!”

  “So, you are happy here then?” she ventured.

  “Much happier than I ever thought I’d be. The Darconians took a little getting used to, but really, most of them are quite nice.”

  Which was true, if you didn’t include Dobraton, and I hoped that Nindala would at least be spared having to meet her. Having met Tychar and Trag on my first evening hadn’t hurt my opinion of Darconia, and I was very glad I’d decided to take on the job, because it had turned out to have more perks than I could have possibly imagined. I was dying to tell Nindala, too, because I was certain she would have been very impressed. I also wanted to tell her that Garon had been wrong about the possibility of finding love on Darconia, and it really griped my cookies not to be able to tell her any of my juicier stories. That left only my students and maybe Wazak—or Dragus. Actually, Dragus was the best story, so when Nindala seemed skeptical that any Darconian could be nice, I played it up a bit.

  “But they are nice, Nindala! I protested. “Especially Dragus—the guard who gave me the necklace—though I was told that he’d be asking for sexual favors after I accepted his gift.”

  “And has he?”

  “Well, no,” I admitted, “but things have been a little hectic around here lately. I’ve been working with my students nonstop, trying to get them ready for the recital, and I don’t see Dragus very
much—he’s usually posted in another part of the palace—but he’s quite good-looking for a reptile.”

  Nindala’s expression was openly skeptical. “They are egg layers,” she reminded me. “There is no future in such a relationship.”

  “Who said we had a relationship?” I countered. “But I do like him. He made quite a ritual out of giving me those glowstones, too. It was almost romantic.”

  “These Darconians cannot begin to understand romance,” she scoffed. “They are crude and inelegant.”

  I’d almost forgotten what a snob she could be, and the best I had to show for my stay on Darconia was an amorous guard! If she could only see the tigers! Now, they were elegant!—even without their jeweled collars. She would have been terribly impressed with their cocks, too. Not telling her about them was going to be even harder than I thought.

  “And they do not appear to have anything remotely resembling a penis,” she went on. “How do they have intercourse?”

  Somewhat exasperated, I grumbled, “I don’t know, Nindala! I haven’t had sex with one of them—never even seen one who was aroused.” Remembering the Zetithians and the problems they had with reptiles, I added, “Maybe they can’t get it up for a mammal.”

  “But one of them gave you a valuable necklace,” she reminded me. “That must mean something.”

  “Like I said, he probably just thought I needed more jewelry and took pity on me for appearing to be so poor and lacking in admirers.”

  “But even Garon admired you,” she persisted. “These lizards might do so, as well.”

  Nindala had a severely overinflated view of my attractiveness to alien species. I wondered where she got the idea and couldn’t come up with any reasons other than what she thought about Garon, unless she’d overheard some of the other passengers talking. I still didn’t believe any of it myself.