Nothing to be done about that. /Go on./
/Anyway. We teach preventative disassociation. When things are happening to you that you don’t want to experience, you just… leave./
Lisinthir grimaced. /I may be passing-familiar with the effect./
She nodded. “So, you know what I would do.”
/Forgive me for wanting to spare you it./ He sat up, waited for her to slide off his body. And yes, he dearly wanted a bath. Their parting broke the connection; he saw her realize it as she ran her fingers through her hair, weigh her choices.
Looking toward the door, she said, hushed, “This thing you’re doing. Is it working?”
“I appear to be accelerating a process that had already begun prior to my arrival,” Lisinthir said. “So… the chances are good.”
She whistled, quiet. “I would never have thought.”
“Neither would he have,” Lisinthir said. “That is why it might work.”
Being trapped in the guest rooms made the hours interminable, but now that they had the Emperor, Laniis was unwilling to leave him unguarded. And of course, where one of the Sword’s slaves was, the other must also be, or questions would be asked. So she and the Knife watched Lisinthir leave with Andrea in the morning and resigned themselves to the boredom. Or at least, they did until the storm came. Then they had a temporary respite from monotony, rushing to the balconies and closing them against the weather. The Emperor, Laniis noted, opened his eyes at the first rolling thunderclap, but he turned his back to the storm and hunched again into a fetal position. Was that worrisome? He had seemed the type to enjoy storms.
The worst of the weather lasted a good hour. Then the densest of the clouds scudded past and left them with a soporific drizzle that had occasional moments of intensity before subsiding to a pacific gray fall. Even the sky seemed to blend into the rain. It didn’t help that the suite became stuffy.
“The rooms aren’t meant to be closed up,” the Knife said apologetically.
“The wind’s died back,” Laniis said. “We can open them up, get in a little fresh air.”
So they did, and that was a relief. Laniis paused on the antechamber’s balcony to turn her face into the damp wind, feel the humid air sprinkle beads of water on the guard hairs of her coat.
It was while staring out that she formed a very unpleasant notion. “Knife?”
“Yes?”
“Can Chatcaava fly in weather like this?”
He padded to where she was standing and peered out into the gloom. “This? Definitely. Even in the storm earlier, some of the more intrepid—or reckless—of us might have dared the winds.”
She glanced at him askance. “Don’t you worry about getting struck by lightning?”
He twitched his hand in the Chatcaavan equivalent of a shrug. “As I said, reckless.”
She scanned the skies, seeing nothing but clouds. Still: “We should at least keep an eye on the balconies. Just in case.”
“You have a suspicious turn of mind,” the Knife observed.
“I’m military,” Laniis said. “This is what I was trained for.”
“So was I,” he said, glum. “I did not think my training would ever require this of me, however.” He plucked at the collar’s edge. “I greatly enjoy your ears, huntsister, and the softness of your pelts. I like these claws you have…” He turned his hands over, looked at the palms, flexed the claws in and out. “They are very convenient, that they can be hidden this way. I like experiencing sensations as one of you. But I do not like experiencing life as one of you at all.”
“Only because the life you’re experiencing is that of a slave in the Empire,” Laniis said with a crooked smile. “I think you’d enjoy visiting one of our worlds much more.”
“What a… an odd thought,” the Knife mused. “To actually visit one of your worlds. As a guest? And be welcomed!”
“Oddly, if you arrive as an ally instead of in the vanguard of a conquering army, you get treated differently.”
He flicked his ears back and awarded her a reproachful look. Laniis chuckled.
“I will take this balcony.”
“I’ll go let in a little fresh air through the bedchamber, then lock it up to keep people from using it. Just… in case.”
“Very suspicious,” the Knife said, tossing his head. And then: “This is a very appealing trait. I commend you.”
Laniis chuckled and went to tend to the bedchamber. Letting in the breeze didn’t cause the Emperor to move; when she crept closer, she found him asleep. For the best, she thought, and latched the doors closed before heading back to the main room to keep the watch with the Knife.
Not long after, Andrea surprised them both by reappearing.
“Arii?” Laniis asked.
“I don’t know,” Andrea replied, dazed. “After I was done with the Sword’s errand, I went back to the slave annex. Then the guards showed up and brought me here. Maybe the Sword and the Worldlord have come to an agreement?”
“Maybe,” Laniis said, tail twitching. “I guess as long as the guards are the ones who brought you, you can’t be disciplined for being here.” She canted her head. “So did you see Simone?”
“I did.” Andrea sat cross-legged on the floor by the divan, resting her hands on her knees. “She’s got Beritt’s. Worst case I’ve seen outside a training simulation. I’m not sure there’s any bringing her back, in fact.”
Laniis winced.
“But what was more interesting…” Andrea glanced at the door, the balcony, then leaned toward them. “The Worldlord cared what happened to her. And the Sword actually got him to talk to me directly about her medical condition.”
The Knife’s ears were so tense hearing this Laniis wondered if they hurt.
“I never thought the Worldlord cared about any of us,” Andrea continued. “In fact, I assumed the reason Simone never came back was that he’d made a pet out of her. It turns out that’s true, but… a pet like humans would make a pet out of a domesticated cat, or a dog. Not a pet like Chatcaava make out of slaves.”
“What is a dog?” the Knife whispered.
“A very small and loyal animal,” Laniis murmured back.
“So… I don’t know. Is the plan to subvert the Worldlord?”
Laniis chuckled softly. “If anyone could…” Looking up, she said, “As long as you’re here, maybe you could keep an eye on… the… Survivor? He’s still in the Sword’s bed.”
“Is he? Good. As much rest as he can get, he should.” Andrea pushed herself to her feet, glancing at the balcony. “That drizzle isn’t likely to let up, is it? It’s been going on a while.”
“Longer than the storm, at least,” Laniis said. “That was quite the lightning show.”
“I used to love storms,” Andrea said.
“Used to?” the Knife asked.
“Hard to enjoy them from underground.” Andrea rolled her shoulders. “God willing, I will be able to go out in them again.” She vanished into the bedchamber, leaving the Knife to stare after her, perplexed.
Laniis waited. Eventually he swiveled his head to hers—more like a Chatcaavan in that gesture than like a Seersa—and said, “There are lunatic aliens who also go out to be struck by lightning?”
“Oh yes. Though to be fair, at least we’re a little farther from the clouds.”
“That does not matter at the speed lightning travels!”
Laniis chuckled. “Believe it or not, there are people who chase storms.”
He squinted at her. Then drew his head back and made an ‘ah’ sound. “You are trying to trick me. Of course you do. You must have scientists who have tracked storms in order to record them with equipment.”
“We have those too,” Laniis said, grinning. “But there are people who do it just for fun.”
“Madness,” the Knife said. And then, rueful. “We also have storm chasers. But we call them death hunters. Because that is all they can possibly catch.”
“Maybe we’re not too unalike a
fter all,” Laniis said. And then squinted at the vista. “Do you see that?”
The Knife rolled onto his knees and stared into the gloom. Then his ears and tail stood straight out. “Two figures. Coming this way. We hide!”
Laniis dashed for the bedchamber door. Into it, she called, “Andrea! Hide!” And then shut the door before skidding for the divan… and under it.
Rain significantly impaired the grace of Chatcaavan landings. Or maybe these two were just habitual blunderers. Laniis squinted at them as they stumbled onto the platform and shook themselves out before stalking into the room.
“There must be something here we can use,” one of them growled.
The second sounded skeptical. “This is another one of your bad ideas.”
“So you’re here why, this time? To mitigate my depredations? Again?”
“I’m here,” said the second, folding his arms, “because the storm caught us and we needed a place to land, and this happened to be that place. Which, if you’re wise, will also be your story, Manufactory-East.”
“A fine story it would be, if it also explained why we’re about to search the place. Come, you take that side of the room, I’ll take this one. Then we’ll check the bedchamber. There must be something we can use against him.”
Good luck with that, Laniis thought, ears flattening to her head. As if the Ambassador would have brought anything leading with him into this trap!
“There’s not going to be any explaining our tracking wet footsteps all the way through his guest rooms,” the second male pointed out. “Besides, what are you hoping to find? He routed you handily the first time you tried him. Both times. He made you look spectacularly bad during the hunt. Then there was the ridiculous challenge in the harem—what did you hope to accomplish with that? He’s a slave-trader. Did you think he would hesitate to use a slave?”
“I think you misread him, and I’d try harder to prove it if I could. But there’s no point in it. The Worldlord shares his transgressive beliefs.” The first male, Manufactory-East, looked in the cabinets, on the shelves of the bookcase, at the table by the door. “We have only one choice.”
“That being,” the second male drawled.
“We convince the Sword that the Worldlord is not the ally he wants.”
“By… blackmailing the Sword.”
“No, idiot. By finding something we can tell the Sword about the Worldlord that will discomfit him.”
The second male strolled after him, tapping a finger on his nose. “And this is the reason we are searching the Sword’s rooms, and not the Worldlord’s?”
“We are searching the Sword’s rooms because the opportunity arose, and we might yet find a weapon we can use against him,” Manufactory-East said. “That would be tidier.” He squinted. “Nothing here. Not surprising. His luggage must be in the bedchamber. Let’s check there.”
The Knife glanced wildly at Laniis, mouthed the word ‘the Emperor’. She nodded and waited until the two were almost at the bedchamber door before she slid out from under the divan, dragging the Knife with her.
“You-my-lessers!” she snarled. “What are you-my-lessers doing in my master’s rooms?”
Both of the intruders froze. Manufactory-East turned so slowly she wondered how he kept his balance. Arching one wing out of the way, the male said, “What… did you call me?”
“You-my-lesser,” Laniis said, baring her teeth. “You are in my master’s chambers, and uninvited. Go before I call for the guards and expose your skullduggery.”
“Does a slave dare address us this way?” the second male asked, astounded.
“As if you needed proof of the Sword’s perversity,” Manufactory-East said. He spread his wings and advanced on Laniis. “You-my-lesser have a great deal to learn about your place. Fortunately, I-your-better am here to teach it to you-my-lesser.”
“I wouldn’t come any closer,” Laniis said, crouching.
“I think I must,” Manufactory-East replied, and lunged for her.
Laniis dodged, letting him stumble past her. She backpedaled, wary, watching him as he straightened and whipped his head toward her.
“You-my-lesser will pay for that, freak!”
“You-my-lesser would lay a hand on the Sword’s property?” Laniis sneered. “Think carefully before doing that. Unless you-my-lesser want the Sword to have an excuse to administer discipline. To you-my-lesser, not me.”
The second male hesitated at that. Seeing it from the corner of an eye, Manufactory-East growled, “You’re actually worried about that?”
“He faced down a pack of three stalkers without flinching.”
“Those were beasts. And every Chatcaavan is permitted to discipline an errant slave, no matter who that slave belongs to. So, freak, this is your discipline!” Manufactory-East swiped at her, and Laniis ducked.
Enraged, he said, “You dare flee justice?”
“Get out of my master’s suite,” Laniis said, ears flattened.
The second male glanced toward the hallway, discomfited. “Manufactory-East, the guards…”
“Won’t hear a thing through the rain. Unless she screams. And she won’t.”
This time when Manufactory-East rushed her, he meant it. Laniis started to duck again.
The Knife smashed into Manufactory-East’s side and bounced off it, leaving a neat set of parallel slices on the male’s chest where the Knife had shoved himself free.
“You attacked me!” Manufactory-East said, stunned. He looked down at his chest. “And hit me?” His pupils dilated abruptly. “You still have your claws.”
“We both do,” Laniis said. “And we’re not afraid to use them.”
The exploding rage she’d expected never manifested. Manufactory-East drew back, glaring at them both in a way she found uncomfortably incisive. And then, shocking her entirely, he said, “Come, Deputy-East. We’ve found what we needed.”
“We have?” Deputy-East said, bewildered.
“Yes.” Manufactory-East’s smile was all teeth and no humor. “And when we use it to destroy your master’s relationship with the Worldlord, freaks… know that you will have contributed directly to his downfall. Think about that next time you defy your betters.”
The male stalked to the balcony and dropped off it, flapping into the wind. Deputy-East followed after a single puzzled glance in their direction.
“What did he mean?” the Knife asked, ears sagging. “What is he planning?”
“Speaker-Singer knows, because I don’t,” Laniis said. “And honestly, I don’t care. If the Sword needs to kill them both, he will.”
“He can’t kill them!” the Knife hissed. “Who will replace them? The security of the system and all its infrastructure is underpinned by their efforts!”
Laniis glanced at him, canted her head. “Is it?”
“Yes!”
“Well, then,” Laniis said. “Maybe we’ll have to kill them whether they make it necessary or not.”
It was with an expansive sense of wellbeing that Lisinthir returned to his suite, only to find water all over it and Laniis and the Knife awaiting him with equivalently dire expressions.
“Ah,” he said. “I suppose something has happened in my absence.”
Andrea peeked in from the bedchamber. “You’re back!”
“And you are here, I see.”
“I am. I don’t know why?”
“I asked the Worldlord for you,” Lisinthir said.
“You… just… asked.”
“I can be very persuasive when I am motivated.” Lisinthir dropped onto the divan. “So, what transpired in my absence to give you such long faces? Nothing to do with our invalid…?” He glanced at Andrea, who shook her head.
“You have a couple of enemies already,” Laniis said. “Manufactory-East and…”
“Deputy-East,” the Knife finished. “They came here to ransack your rooms for anything they could use against you.”
“And found nothing, as I brought nothing. That’s
a habit of mine.” Lisinthir put his cheek in a hand, lifting his brows. “So why your dismay?”
The Knife looked abashed; Laniis, determined but twitchy, from the little flicks of her tail.
“We… might have attacked them,” the Knife muttered.
“I didn’t attack them,” Laniis said. “You’re the one who swiped them. It was a good shot too.”
“What you did also constitutes an attack!” the Knife protested. “You defied them. With words!”
“They were going to break into the bedchamber,” Laniis said. “The Sword might not have packed anything incriminating but the Survivor’s in there, and the last thing we need is someone with a Chatcaavan male’s temper finding a limp victim to take out his temper on.”
“Not all of us are that way!”
“Manufactory-East is, though,” Andrea said from where she was leaning on the doorframe. “So you were right to keep him out of the room. And if he’d found me in it, it would have been bad too.”
“Didn’t you hide?” the Knife asked.
“Under the bed,” Andrea agreed. “But if he’d started attacking the Survivor, do you think I could have let him? I’m not a slave, alet. I’m an EMA. Even if I die here, I’ll still be an EMA, and a child of God, and not all I’ve suffered here will ever change that.”
The Knife stared at her, wide-eyed.
“But you won’t die here,” Lisinthir said. “Because I am taking you and the others with me.”
“Emlyn too?” Andrea asked.
“Emlyn as well. And Simone.”
“But… but how?” the Knife stammered. “Are you planning to steal them?”
“God and Air, no!” Lisinthir laughed. “The Worldlord will give them to me. Now Manufactory-East’s slaves… those we’ll steal.”
“What!”
Laniis choked on a giggle and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“He has offended me,” Lisinthir said to the Knife. “So I must punish him.”
“You don’t understand,” the Knife said. “He is already looking for ways to eliminate you.”
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