by Peter David
Still nothing.
Finally she said, “You’re not fooling me. I know you’re awake.”
He paused and then said, “How could you tell?”
“Because you snore.”
“That’s a lie.”
“No, it’s really not.”
Si Cwan sighed heavily and rolled over in the bed to look up at her. “Actually, I thought you might wind up spending the night in the holosuite.”
“Would you prefer I did?”
He turned away once more so that his back was to her. “Do whatever you wish, Robin. It’s evident that’s what you do anyway.”
“Ohhhh no,” she said, angrily pointing at him even though he didn’t see it. “Don’t you start that. Don’t you act as if you’re the injured party.”
“You’re in a position of trust here. You violated that trust, both as my wife and as a representative of the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet.”
“How do you figure that?”
“As my wife, you operated behind my back, knowing that I would object if I found out, knowing that it could seriously undermine my authority. As a representative, well, I seem to recall there being something about a noninterference directive.”
“The Prime Directive doesn’t apply in cases when it…it…”
“When it what?” He twisted around to look at her once more. “When doesn’t it apply?”
“When it’s…you know…really irritating,” she finished in a less-than-convincing manner.
Which of course explained why Si Cwan looked less than convinced. “I see. Well, you should remember that explanation. I’m sure that Starfleet would be dazzled by that logic.” And again he looked away.
Robin came around the bed to the other side, forcing herself into his view. “I’m not worried about Starfleet right now.”
“Oh? And what are you worried about?”
“You. What you did to Xyon.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Torture is never an answer, Cwan!”
“Neither is kidnapping,” Si Cwan retorted, propping himself up on an elbow. “But one foul deed begets another. Maybe it would have benefited Xyon to consider that before he committed the act, and maybe it would benefit you to consider that I shouldn’t be blamed simply because Xyon suffered the consequences of his actions.”
“But you tortured him! And you were proud of it!”
“I wasn’t proud of it! I was simply open and honest about it, which is a hell of a lot more than you were in your actions!”
Anyone stepping into the glare emanating from between the two of them would have been incinerated on the spot. There was only so long before such hostility could sustain itself, however, and in short order they both lowered their eyes as if in mutual shame. Neither would admit it, of course.
She sat on the edge of the bed, turned away from him. “Are we going to make it through this?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
Robin sighed. “It’s just…I felt I saw a side of you that was…there’s no other way to say it…”
“Barbaric?”
She nodded.
“You did. What I did was barbaric, and cruel, and unfortunately it was what needed to be done.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
He didn’t answer immediately. She looked at him, and he seemed thoughtful.
“Cwan…?”
“My immediate impulse,” he said slowly, “was to say no. The more I think on it, though…and if this costs me your love, then so be it, but I wish to be honest with you…some part of me did.”
“Oh really,” and her voice was cold. “And what part of you was that?”
“The part that would have wanted to please my father, even though he’s long gone. He would have loved it. I could almost sense him smiling down upon me. He was a bit of a monster, my father was.”
“And is that what you want? To be like him?”
“Before the entire business with Xyon, I would have thought not.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he told her with a tinge of regret, “I still wouldn’t want to be like him. But for all the times he claimed I was weak, I would have liked to hold up the entire Xyon business as a way of telling him that I could have been just like him…but simply chose not to.”
“What difference do you think that would have made to him?”
“Probably none,” he admitted.
“So…where does that leave us?”
Before he could answer, that was when they heard the screams.
ii.
Tiraud, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, was vacillating over whether he should be waiting for Kalinda stark naked when she emerged from the changing room, or instead sporting some minimal sort of clothing. He settled for wearing a dressing gown that ended at about midthigh. He was quite proud of his legs and didn’t mind showing them off, particularly on such a night as this.
He had draped his clothes, dagger, and belt on a nearby chair, and he called in his most musical of tones, “Kalinda? Are you going to be much longer?”
A door hissed open behind him and Kalinda was standing there, smiling enticingly. She was wearing a sheer gown that left nothing to the imagination.
“Not much longer at all,” she purred.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was as if the room, the rest of the world, was just falling away, and there was only she and he together.
She drew close to him, draped her arms around his neck, and her lips sought his. He kissed her eagerly, hungrily. Then she lifted her mouth up to his ear and whispered, “Hurt me.”
He drew back, looking at her in confusion. “W-What?”
“Hurt me.” Her eyes were alight with eagerness.
“I…I don’t understand….”
“It will excite me…arouse me. You want me aroused, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes. Of course.” His face was a portrait of bewilderment. “But…it just seems…”
“It’s what I want. Come on.” She nibbled on his throat. “I’ll beg if you want to.”
“All…all right.” He reached behind her and slapped her on the rump. “How is that? Is that—?”
“Oh, come on!” She sounded disappointed. “Push me! Hit me! Be brutal!” She started shoving at him, not gently. “What are you, afraid? The heir of the House of Fhermus? Wait until I tell everyone that you couldn’t satisfy your wife on your wedding night!”
Until that moment, Tiraud had been overwhelmed by mounting bafflement over Kalinda’s behavior. But when he heard her threats, a mounting haze of anger began to hover behind his eyes.
“You wouldn’t!”
“You bet I would—”
“Why?”
“Why not? Or is the truth something so repulsive that—”
“All right, fine! You win!” Even as he spoke, he drew back a hand and hit her across the face.
Kalinda stumbled backward, her head snapping around from the impact, and she fell against the chair.
And at that moment, as instant regret lurched into Tiraud’s mind, so too did a horrific realization occur to him. “Of course!” he cried out. He moved toward her as she looked up at him, blood seeping from the side of her mouth, her lip already swelling. “They did something to you! Those bastards who had you! They did something to your mind!”
He reached for her, pulling her toward him, and that was when he felt some sort of stinging and odd pressure in his chest.
“Close,” whispered Kalinda. “Very, very close.”
Tiraud looked down, uncomprehending, staring at the hilt of his ceremonial dagger against his chest. He was so disconnected from the moment that he was wondering where in the world the blade itself could possibly have gotten to. Then, as the blood began to coalesce and thicken around the entry wound, he thought dully, Oh. There it is.
He dropped to his knees and stared up at Kalinda. Her face was remote, passionless. “Understand,” she said. “T
here’s nothing personal in this. You’re simply a pawn in a much greater game. Unfortunately, pawns oftentimes have to be removed from the board.”
“My chest hurts,” Tiraud said, and then slumped to the side, dead before he struck the ground.
She prodded him with her toe for a moment. He didn’t respond in the slightest. Then she took several deep breaths until the air in her lungs had a ragged quality, and let out a series of screams. They were high-pitched and piteous and filled with fear and despair.
There was the sound of running feet and pounding at the door. Voices were calling, “Lady Kalinda! What’s wrong? What’s happening?” She reasoned that it was servants or guards who were shouting, because no one had yet entered even though she had taken care to leave the door unlocked. None of common birth, after all, would dare to enter the marriage chamber of Kalinda, sister of Si Cwan, and Tiraud of the House of Fhermus.
Then there came an authoritative pounding and an unmistakable voice. “Kalinda! What’s happened!”
“C-Cwan,” she “managed” to choke out.
The door slid open and Kalinda stumbled toward Robin, holding out her arms. Si Cwan looked in clear horror at the marks on Kalinda’s face and then saw Tiraud lying on the floor. Not fully realizing what had happened yet, he shouted angrily at Tiraud, “Are you insane? Why did you do this? Why would you strike Kalinda?”
Robin had gone over to Tiraud, and she gasped in shock. “Cwan, he’s dead!”
“Dead? What do you…dead?” He looked from Robin to Kalinda and back again. “Why is he dead? Did he fall badly somehow? Strike his head…? But…that’s ridiculous! He can’t be dead!”
For answer, she rolled him over so that the protruding dagger was clearly visible. There were shocked murmurs from the house staff who were peering in through the door.
Seeing the knife, Cwan said, “All right, he can be dead. But why?” He gaped at Kalinda. “Why?”
“Oh gods…Cwan,” she sobbed into his chest, “he wanted to do such…such bestial things to me. Such awful, awful things. I never…he never gave any indication…I didn’t know. How could I know? Now that we’re married, he’d changed so completely! He was like…like a different person! An animal! And…and when I wouldn’t submit…he…he threatened me…struck…” She touched her swollen lip gingerly. “He was raving! Coming at me! I…I swear, I thought he was going to kill me! And I…I…”
“You killed him first,” noted Cwan, and he held her tightly. “You did what you had to do. You defended yourself. I understand. Anyone would understand.”
“Why do I have a feeling,” said Robin with obvious concern, “that Fhermus is not going to understand?”
iii.
“I…don’t understand,” Fhermus said.
The main hall was deserted, save for Si Cwan and Lord Fhermus. Fhermus was looking bleary-eyed, the effects of all the alcohol he’d imbibed clearly not coming close to having worn off. Nor had it helped matters that Si Cwan had summoned him from his home in the middle of the night with no explanation whatsoever aside from that it was “of the utmost importance.”
And now Si Cwan had said something about Tiraud? About a “problem”?
“What type of problem?” Fhermus rubbed his eyes, trying to shove his vision back into place. He lowered his hands and squinted and the two Si Cwans standing in front of him settled into one Si Cwan…who merely looked twice as concerned as he had been.
“The problem is that…Fhermus, there’s no delicate way to put this….”
“Then settle for an indelicate manner so that I can go back to sleep….”
“There was an…incident…with Tiraud and Kalinda.”
“An…incident?” Fhermus tried with only minimal success to process the word. “What sort of incident? Not a traveling accident…they were spending the night here, weren’t they…?”
“A fight. They had a fight.”
Fhermus took this in, and then laughed with a sense of incredulity. “You summoned me in the middle of the night for a damned lovers’ quarrel? Granted, the timing is poor, what with this being the night of their bonding, but certainly we can leave it to the youngsters to—”
“A bad fight. Very. Bad.”
The subtext of Si Cwan’s words began to trickle in through Fhermus’s consciousness. Suddenly the fog on Fhermus’s brain was burned away and a sense of dread permeated his being. “Si Cwan…where is Tiraud? I want to see my son. I want to see him now.”
“Fhermus…I have to tell you—”
“Where is he?”
“He’s dead.”
Fhermus shook his head as if the subject had just been abruptly changed. “Who’s dead?”
“Your son. Tiraud. Your son is dead.”
“No, he’s not!” Fhermus said dismissively, the very notion clearly ridiculous. “They had a fight…it’s…there’s nothing to…” And then, very slowly, his still-reeling mind began to piece together just what was being said. His face grew ashen and his knees trembled, but he remained upright. He started to speak but nothing emerged.
“Fhermus…”
His words were barely over a whisper. “Take me to him.”
“We haven’t moved his body yet…I think it best if…”
Now there was no whisper. Now there was a thunderous roar. “Take me to him!”
Apparently realizing there was no point in discussing it further, Si Cwan called out, “Ankar!”
His aide showed up almost immediately in that amazing manner he had. “Ankar,” Si Cwan said softly, “Lord Fhermus wishes to be brought to his son.”
Ankar nodded once and gestured for Fhermus to follow him. Fhermus did so, even though he could not feel the blood in his legs, could not sense that they were moving or that he was actually trailing after Ankar. He was unaware of the time passing, didn’t focus on the corridors they walked through or the various servants or guards who looked upon him, or away from him, with sadness. All he knew was that one moment he was in the main hall, and the next, he was standing in the doorway of a room where his son was lying on the floor. Tiraud was wearing a bathrobe, and the dagger he’d given his son for his tenth birthday was sticking out of his chest. There was blood all over him and on the floor.
Kalinda was there, with a blanket draped over her that was covering her gown-clad body. She was seated in a chair at the far end of the room, staring fixedly at Tiraud. Robin Lefler was next to her, her hands resting gently on Kalinda’s shoulders.
Tiraud, get up at once! This is a foolish prank and you’re scaring people. That was what Fhermus wanted to say, but the words died in his throat before being uttered. Slowly he walked over to his son’s body, stared down at him. He sensed his brain beginning to shut down, but he knew that if he passed out now, he would never live it down. He forced himself to remain conscious as he said, as if speaking from very far away, “How…did this happen…?”
“It appears that—” began Si Cwan.
But Fhermus said harshly, “No. Not from you,” and he pointed at Kalinda. “From her. She was here. You were not. Only her words matter.”
In a slow, halting manner, Kalinda said, “He…wanted to do things to me. Awful, perverse, violent things. He said it was the only way he could be…excited. When I refused…he did this,” and she touched her swollen lip. “And he was prepared to do more. And worse. I thought…I think he was going to kill me. He left the knife within reach. He attacked me. I…I wasn’t trying to kill him…just stop him…I…am sorry.”
For a long time, no one spoke.
Finally, Fhermus did. His voice was dripping with anger and contempt, and he said, “What nonsense is this? What…pathetic, vomitous tale are you putting forward?”
“Lord Fhermus,” and there was an edge of warning to Si Cwan’s voice.
Fhermus ignored him. “Violence? Perversity? This is…this is idiocy! That was not my son! My son would have desired no such…he was…my son was a gentle soul! Too gentle for the murdering likes of you!”
He started toward Kalinda, who shrank back, and suddenly Si Cwan had interposed himself between Fhermus and Kalinda. “Lord Fhermus, I, as do you, grieve for your loss. But—”
“You grieve as I do? Have you lost a son this night!?” Fhermus turned away from Si Cwan, dropped to the floor at Tiraud’s side, and let out a scream of such misery, such hopelessness, such utter and total surrender to grief, that it seared itself into the minds and souls of all those who heard it. He choked back the sobs that begged to issue from him, and instead scooped up his son’s body into his arms. He cradled him as if Tiraud were a newborn, and then growled, “Your sister will accompany me. She will be tried, condemned, and executed for her crime.”
“Her crime?” Si Cwan sounded stunned. “Her crime is that she fought for her life against the brutal attack….”
“Lies! Lies!”
“Are you calling my sister a liar?”
“Why stop there?” His voice was giddy with anguish. “I call you a liar, Si Cwan. You, your sister, your damned House, your damned Protectorate! Any who support you or ally with you are my enemy! So unless you care to strike me down so I can join my son, I suggest you step aside and prepare to reap the harvest that your murdering bitch sister has sown!”
Si Cwan looked as if he were about to take Fhermus up on his offer. His fists trembled slightly, as if he were intending to smash Fhermus in the face, crush his skull. Finally, barely restraining himself, Si Cwan stepped aside. Holding the limp body of his son tightly against him, uncaring of the blood that was getting all over the front of his clothing, Fhermus strode out of the room.
All eyes were upon him as he left.
All eyes except two pairs.
Those were the eyes of Ankar and of Kalinda…who exchanged a long, significant look, and then a slight nod, as if congratulations were being extended on a job well done.
