"No! Rather the opposite. It was..." Lisinthir paused. "It was the Change, wasn't it. That's when I lost you."
"Yes. So let us see if the effect can be duplicated. Yes?"
"Yes!" Lisinthir exclaimed, and let the Chatcaavan pull him back up.
Even knowing it was coming, Lisinthir couldn't grip the Emperor's mind when he Changed. He could freeze the Chatcaavan in place, but he couldn't stop the Emperor from initiating the Change and once begun, he couldn't hold onto control. He could, however, seize control again once the Change had completed, something he realized on their third attempt. Meeting the Emperor's eyes in that moment, Lisinthir saw a kindred hunger and grinned.
After that, they fought like wild things. Lisinthir grappled for the Emperor's mind; the Emperor shifted as quickly as he could, from shape to shape, like some protean creature not yet formed by the Divine. They fought one another to the walls, tumbled over the floor, scraped and punched and shoved. Had Lisinthir not had his mind half submerged in his opponent's he would never have known to protect himself from the wing that was forming out of the back of a previously wingless shape, or fling up an arm to keep new claws from erupting against him. The exertion of his mental powers became effort, and instinctive, and he sweated and cursed and laughed through it, and by the time the Emperor let him collapse on top of a scaled chest the Chatcaavan was laughing too.
"Utterly mad, both of you," Crosby said. "But very good at what you do."
"Are you the one who taught him to throw people?" Lisinthir asked.
"He learns quickly," Crosby said, crouching alongside them. "Though he has a great deal yet to learn. This ability you have, Ambassador, is obviously some extension of your esper talent. The fact that the Chatcaavan ability to Change can resist it makes me wonder if there's some esper component to that process as well."
"An interesting hypothesis," Lisinthir said, rolling off the Emperor to lie on his back. "I cannot imagine how you'd begin to test it." Looking over at the Emperor, he added, "I need not control your mind to affect your body, however. I have some limited ability to shape the air."
"We might try that also," the Emperor said. "But I think compensating for external pressure is far less disruptive than having one's body seized from within. That is..." He glanced at Lisinthir. "That is a terrifying ability, Perfection."
"I find it somewhat dismaying myself, save that I might use it on my enemies to save my allies." Lisinthir exhaled, staring at the ceiling. Every bone in his body seemed loose in its sockets. He would have an amazing collection of bruises come the morning, and didn't mind. The thought that he couldn't be challenged or bested had been annihilating; no matter the practical applications of an insuperable ability, the spiritual and emotional ones would have eventually ground him down. Men were not meant to be gods. "I believe I might be developing a rather debilitating headache."
"Fortunately, you have a healer standing by," Crosby said, wry. "Stay put and I'll get you something."
"I am certainly not going anywhere."
The Seersa left them to drip and catch their breaths, in perfect charity with one another. Lisinthir closed his eyes against the pounding of his pulse at his temples, weathering it because of the sense of peace that seeped through him. This was what he had been neglecting. To acknowledge his new identity, to explore its parameters with his cousin... that was not enough. He had to practice, and in practicing, accept what he had become. And he had not even realized he'd been fighting that necessity until the Emperor had made it clear why, by defeating him. He had never feared becoming a Corel, the way Jahir had. His unease had been rooted in something far less noble.
His snort made the Emperor turn his head. "Perfection?"
Noises hurt. Talking did too, but he spoke anyway. "Reflecting on my many vices, Exalted."
The Chatcaavan snorted. "This again. What new vice has distracted you?"
"Let us say I am grateful I need not discover what I would justify doing with unstoppable power."
That ‘mmm' was softer. After a moment, the Chatcaavan said, "I do not have this ability when in my Eldritch shape."
"Have you tried?" Lisinthir asked.
"Did you, when you discovered it?"
"No," Lisinthir said, slowly. "It was instinctive. There was something I wanted, and I made it so." Forcing himself to think past the headache, he finished, "But you should make a deliberate attempt nonetheless."
Closing his eyes helped, though the light pierced his eyelids in a most inconsiderate fashion. He heard the scrape of the Emperor's claws as the drake sat up, then silence. "How do I do this?" came his lover's voice, softened by an Eldritch's throat. "I concentrate on what I desire, and it happens?"
"That is how I have accomplished it."
"You are not moving, however." A hint of humor, gentled by affection. The door whispered. "Ah, here is Healer Crosby." A pause, then: "I attempt it on him, but he is still moving."
"Keep at it," Lisinthir murmured.
"Are you trying to train up a Chatcaavan esper?" Crosby asked. Something cold and welcome pressed at Lisinthir's temple.
"And failing, apparently."
"For the best," Crosby said. The AAP hissed. "One of you is enough, Ambassador."
"So I've been told," Lisinthir murmured, and sighed as the medicine started numbing his head. "That's good." Sitting up on an elbow, he squinted at the Emperor, who was still staring fixedly at Crosby. "No luck, ah?"
"None," the Emperor said. "Either I have no facility or I am failing to activate it."
"Come, give me your hand." Lisinthir reached, accepted the pale fingers and with it, the Emperor's inevitable, insatiable curiosity. How good it was to feel it again! And if it sparkled against a backdrop of something deeper and darker... then it only served as contrast. Extending himself into his lover's mind made the pain in his head twinge through the numbing cold of the injection. He slowed down, tried not to "flex" himself quite so quickly, treating it like a pulled muscle. "If I were to do it... I would do this," he said, and showed the Emperor the motion. "Try."
This time they both watched it fail. Crosby cocked a brow at them. "No go?"
"No," the Emperor said, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of Lisinthir's hand. "Though in this shape I can still feel the emotions of others through their skins. And their thoughts, if I try hard enough."
"The more I learn about this Change, the more mysterious it is to me," Crosby said, shaking his head. "All I can say is that-hopefully-this is normal at the beginning of the exploration process. If we were still this confused when we have collected a body of evidence, then I wouldn't know what to tell you."
"Perhaps some things are beyond science?" Lisinthir asked, amused.
But to his surprise, Crosby said, "Yes." The Seersa rose, straightening the folds of his tunic, and tucked his case under his arm. "I think that's enough for one day, for both of you."
"We rather agree," Lisinthir said. "But we should try this again tomorrow. If only because I very much enjoy witnessing your prowess, Exalted."
"Say rather you enjoy testing yourself against it," the Emperor said with a rasping chuckle.
"Ah well. We are what we are."
"And both lunatics," Crosby said affably. "Tomorrow, aletsen."
The Emperor was still holding his hand. Turning it, the male kissed Lisinthir's palm. "Had you had this ability when we first met, Perfection... I don't know that you would have lost against me."
"Things would have been different," Lisinthir agreed, tasting the Chatcaavan's mind through their touch and liking it: the elasticity of the emotion. The calm. The interest. "God and Lady alone know how." He caressed the fingers holding his. "So this is what you have been about, then? Learning to shift while fighting."
"It teaches me," the Emperor agreed. "More than simply walking in those shapes, or sleeping." He pulled up his knees and rested his arms on them, glancing at Lisinthir. "You, too, have been busy."
"Attempting to learn naval strategy." Lisi
nthir smiled. "Not a subject I have any experience with. Meryl tells me all my instincts are too bloody-minded and short-sighted."
"A duel to the death is different from a long-distance hunt," the Emperor agreed. "You would do well to round out those skills, as I intend for your future to extend longer than a few months."
Lisinthir chuckled softly. "I am at your service, Exalted."
"See that you are, Ambassador." Rolling onto his feet, the Emperor offered his hands.
"A shower," Lisinthir said. "I am anticipating one with great eagerness."
"I worked you hard."
"Only because I made you." Lisinthir grinned.
The chime that interrupted them made them both frown.
"Uuvek to Ambassador."
"Go ahead."
"You have a priority message here from Apex-East. If it flashes any faster this console will explode."
"Hyperbole doesn't become you, alet," Lisinthir said, even as he headed for the door.
"Not hyperbole. It's annoying me. If you don't come shut it off I'm going to punch it."
Lisinthir laughed. "We're coming."
By the time they arrived, Uuvek was surrounded: the Knife, the Admiral-Offense, Meryl, Laniis. Ignoring the startled looks their state evoked in the Pelted, Lisinthir reached past Uuvek and pressed his hand to the console. "Play it."
Deputy-East's head and shoulders sprang into view before them, and there was no mistaking his agitation. "Sword. In accordance with your requests, we've been monitoring the system to advise you on where to wait while massing for your attack. I am telling you now: don't wait. The Twelveworld Lord has taken his forces out of the system. Second's forces remain at large in the Alliance-they have attacked your Pelted friends-and having learned of his exploits, the remainder of the ships here are at duel's declaration. The system lords want to leave immediately before Second steals all their loot. The Navy wants to wait for orders, and is on the verge of enforcing that stay at weapons-point.
"They're going to start this civil war here, now. For Dying Air's sake, come stop them. I have air cars I have yet to buy, Sword. I want to live to fly them. I haven't finished having all the sex I want to have." Deputy-East's smile was weak, his eyes far too steady and far too wide. "Arrive at best speed, or you'll find us all dead. Deputy-East out."
"What does he expect us to do?" Laniis asked, ears sagging. "Just show up shooting?"
The Emperor was still in his Eldritch shape, one hand gripping the back of Uuvek's chair. Lisinthir watched those fingers flex in order, as if tapping the claws the Emperor didn't have. Slowly, the male craned his head over to Meryl.
"This is your game," Meryl said. "You want to bring your whole armada over there, we'll take you. Though you should consider whether you'd prefer to arrive on a Chatcaavan flagship."
"What are you thinking, Exalted?" the Admiral-Offense said, low.
"You know what I am thinking, huntfriend," the Emperor answered. To Meryl, "We make best speed to Apex-East. This opportunity must not be wasted."
"What opportunity is that, exactly?" Laniis said, ears flattened. But confused, Lisinthir thought, rather than angry.
"The Navy is awaiting orders," the Emperor said simply. "Let us oblige them." To the Admiral-Offense, he said, "Captain Osgood is correct. It is time we move to the ship of the Worldlord's son."
"I'll make the arrangements immediately."
"Uuvek, you will accompany me. Knife, I require you to remain as my liaison on this vessel."
"Yes, Exalted," the Knife said, head lifting.
Turning to Lisinthir, the Emperor rested a hand on his arm and gave through it-purposely, from the taste of the emotions-his anticipation, his certitude, his regret, his determination. "Ambassador," he said. "Await me here. I will send for you."
Lisinthir set a hand over the Emperor's, for Emperor he was, now. "I know. I look forward to that summons."
The Emperor nodded his Eldritch head and swept from the room. All possibilities had narrowed to a single path, and now they must course it.
When the room had emptied of all the Chatcaava, Lisinthir looked at Meryl and said, "Do you know?"
"No," Meryl said, her face hard, and between them was every possible target the Chatcaava could have attacked, and all of them inconceivable. "But I'm going to find out, once we're in position to ask."
"I can't believe we heard it from the Chatcaava first!" Laniis said.
"I can't either," Meryl said. "Which leaves me with some very paranoid reasons why."
"We were supposed to prevent them from getting to us," Laniis whispered.
"There was never going to be a universe where we succeeded at that," Meryl said. "It's just a question of how many of us are going to die, and how soon." She nodded to Lisinthir. "I'll tell you when I know."
"Thank you."
Laniis came to a halt alongside Lisinthir, staring at the closed door. "Maybe we haven't heard because it's so minor it hasn't hit the news feeds yet?"
Gently, Lisinthir said, "You know better, arii." He touched her shoulder and then passed through the door himself. To shower, and then read, in hopes of a future where he would have the opportunity to use what he learned.
They could die here. In the next few days.
Laniis had known this intellectually, but knowing it and knowing it were different. And somehow, hearing that people had already died but not the details had struck her. This was how it would be in the future, if the war continued: she would hear something, and not know, and the not knowing would last longer than a minute and every minute past that minute would be a minute too long. Then news would trickle through, and some of it would be accurate and some of it wouldn't. People would exaggerate the worst parts. Survivors would object to their lionizations. People who'd been thought dead would be rescued: more people would just... die. Forever.
Because of this war.
And she would never know the full cost of it, because news across a single world was already subject to error. News across a galactic nation?
Who had already died?
Had it been someone she knew?
Would she be the next statistic that no one knew about, for far too long? Her parents, her family, her friends... how long would their purgatory last, waiting for certainty? If it ever came? Battles in space were as likely to leave her vaporized, or floating forever, a cold and unrecovered corpse.
This. This is what she'd enlisted to prevent, and she'd failed. All that was left was to stay the bleeding. And the one person who had the best hope of that was leaving, right now.
Laniis rushed from the room, querying the computer as she went. He hadn't gone far. She caught him in front of the Admiral-Offense's room, talking with that male, and stopped before him. He was back in his dragon shape, which made it easier to hate him; she wished he'd stayed Eldritch, so she could have held on more tightly to her convictions about him needing to survive.
When he saw her, he froze, as if determined to make no move that might intrude on her space. Laniis solved that problem for him by stepping into his, ears forced forward and fists balled at her sides. "There's no single word for it. I need a connotation. Is it brittle daintiness? Delicate? Beautiful? A good thing? Bad?"
The Emperor hesitated. "It is meant to serve as a reminder."
"Reminders," Laniis said, knowing it intimately, "can be used to beat yourself up, or to make you stronger. Which are you picking?"
He tilted his head, mane falling over his eye. "Which would you pick for me?"
Her mind blanked at the question. He wanted to know what she would force on him? No, that wasn't right. He wanted a reminder of his time in the Worldlord's harem... fine. She wanted him to use it to become a better person. An exemplary one. She didn't want him to have any excuse to back away from the course he claimed he'd chosen. And maybe she wanted him to know that daintiness wasn't a bad thing, just because the Chatcaava didn't value it. That delicacy, sensitivity... those things were important.
Eldritch
didn't use single words. Or rather, they had them, but they rarely used them without an ornamental prefix that provided a subtext to the meaning. Laniis rarely used those prefixes because even as good a linguist as she was, she couldn't construct the sentences fast enough to speak them the way native Eldritch did: the language was just too baroque, and her opportunities to practice too few. But she knew about those prefixes. There were... six? Seven? And three of them were positive: the white mode for holy words, the silver mode for optimistic casts, and the golden mode which was, as best she understood, the pinnacle. It described the best possible world the words inflected with them could create.
She used that one. Because even if he didn't know, she would. "It's ‘ueneuvin.'"
The Emperor's brows lifted. "A euphonious word."
"What is this about, Exalted?" the Admiral-Offense said, puzzled.
"Something important, huntfriend. Ueneuvin. Do I say it correctly?"
"Yes," Laniis said. "Given your accent. Which is... fairly good, granting what you are."
"Maybe she is insulting you," the Admiral-Offense said, his puzzlement more distinct.
"She is a Seersa, and a linguist," the Emperor said. "She is describing the situation accurately. I do have an accent. I probably always will." He bowed his head to her. "Thank you. I needed this word."
"Do I get to know why?" Laniis asked.
He thought about it. "I can't say yet. But when you hear it next, you will be the first to know what I am doing with it." He met her eyes. "You will be the one who will explain it to the others."
That was a gift of sorts. It bothered her that he knew it. It bothered her that it bothered her, because she was so tired of grappling with this situation. Why hadn't Andrea defended him? If the human had pressed her case, maybe Laniis would have had the chance to fight it out there, once and for all, and be done with her ambivalence.
"All right," she said. Reluctantly: "Good luck."
"Thank you."
She left before she could think better of her actions. Or worse. Both. Either. She wondered what Na'er would say if she asked if being conflicted made her a better person, because it meant she was aware of life's ambiguities, or a weaker person, because it would cripple her when she needed to be decisive. She had the strong feeling he'd find the question as baffling as the Admiral-Offense had her conversation with the Emperor.
From Ruins Page 11
