From Ruins

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "God and Lady," Jahir murmured.

  "Things have gotten complicated," Crosby agreed.

  "Politics," the Surgeon said. "What we clean up after."

  "True no matter what species you belong to." Crosby stood. "You don't have to help if you're tired. Andrea and I are already two volunteers over the support they were expecting."

  Jahir said, "Show me where to wash."

  "My Emperor," the Admiral-Offense said, bowing deeply. "The system is yours."

  "Well done, huntfriend," the Emperor said. "Now have a seat before you collapse."

  The male grimaced, but pulled the chair back from the desk and eased into it. "I promise I didn't leave before the Surgeon cleared me for flight."

  "Military surgeons have different standards for health," the Emperor said. "Particularly when faced with the necessity of triaging an entire fleet." He studied the older male, in whose body he easily read days of poor sleep and few meals and too many battles. Despite those signs, the Admiral-Offense held himself like a male satisfied. Not contented: they had labored too hard for that. But satisfied. "You look hale enough."

  "So do you, if I may be bold," the Admiral-Offense said. "I heard there was trouble on-world. The Usurper?"

  "Died a coward's death," the Emperor said. "I found him attempting an ambush with a weapon in one hand and an alien in the other. The real trouble involved the world hearing rumors that the Emperor no longer recognized Outside, and was in the habit of killing indiscriminately and capriciously." He set out an extra cup on his desk and poured for the older male. "Drink."

  "That does not look like tea-wine," the Admiral-Offense said, eyeing it.

  "It's not. It's ordinary tea." The Emperor shook his mane back, tired. "My mind needs to be clear for the challenges we face."

  "Yes." The Admiral-Offense sighed. "You will have seen the initial reports."

  "Is it as bad as they said?"

  "Half our numbers," the Admiral-Offense said. "And those are our numbers. We had to destroy the Usurper's loyalists almost in their entirety, which removes the possibility of their ships joining us. The Navy has been sorely damaged, Exalted. We had better hope the system lords are being culled by the aliens, because if they survive in any significant force we will be back at war again within the month... and losing."

  "We have paid more in blood for this than I hoped."

  "May the Usurper burn in hell for the wound he dealt us," the Admiral-Offense agreed with a growl. "We were whole once."

  "Wounds heal," the Emperor said. "This one will as well. If given time."

  The Admiral-Offense set his cup down. "I mislike your tone of voice, Exalted."

  "The moment we finish assessing our strength, we must leave for the Alliance." The Emperor smiled crookedly. "You will perceive why I make this decision."

  The Admiral-Offense scraped a hand over his face. "Uhn, yes. I do perceive. It is our best chance to destroy our enemies before they return for our blood. And that includes the aliens, I suppose. Who are not best pleased with us."

  "Not at all, no. I had hoped to bring a decisive force to their aid to convince them of my sincere desire for amity, but in the absence of it my arrival with what remains of my fleet should convince them that I value our peace more than I value my safety."

  "Do you?"

  The Emperor snorted. "Huntfriend, without their peace there is no safety." Quieter, "We have no other choice."

  "And a bad one it is," the Admiral-Offense agreed, resigned. "Let's hope they aren't insulted by our poor showing."

  "Better to hope that our poor showing, combined with theirs, is sufficient to drive off the marauders."

  "That too. Who will you leave here to guard your throne?" The Admiral-Offense showed his teeth in an attempt at a smile. "In case the alien's peace is not enough to deter the opportunists."

  The Emperor tapped a talon on his cup. "You may find my choice insulting."

  "Oh," the Admiral-Offense said. "This should be interesting. Proceed, Exalted."

  That he had subordinates willing to express sarcasm was encouraging. It reminded him of how the Navy worked, or how it had before Command-East and Logistics-East. "I've sent for the Worldlord and Deputy-East from Apex-East."

  The older male blinked several times. "The males who held you captive."

  "Correct."

  "I assume there is some logic involved in this that escapes my mind because I have not soaked in the poison baths of the courts for long enough."

  The Emperor laughed. "The logic involved is that they can do the work, and they have pledged themselves to me."

  "And if they're lying?"

  "Then," the Emperor said, "after we bring our fleet to save the aliens, the aliens will bring theirs to save us."

  The Admiral-Offense huffed softly. "Assuming either of us has a fleet up to the task of saving anyone, much less two nations in succession."

  "We live in hope, huntfriend." The Emperor grinned, tired. "Also, I am sure of them."

  "Then I will trust you know what you're doing. You have before." The older male eyed his cup. "Not bad, for ordinary tea." Craning his head from one side to the other, he added, "Somehow I imagined the Emperor's tower more opulent."

  "It was, once. My predecessor had it stripped." The Emperor cast his eye over the study. "Purportedly the only decoration he permitted was the alien he mistook for the Ambassador. And that." He pointed his nose at the door.

  "Hooks?" the Admiral-Offense asked, puzzled.

  "For an alien weapon, part of a matching set I found on the desk. Presumably they belonged to the Eldritch he had brought here, as they look similar to the ones the Ambassador carries. I sent them down to the clinic."

  The Admiral-Offense wrinkled his nose. "How did such a male ever become Emperor?"

  "The answer to that," the Emperor said, "is that he was tricked." When the Admiral-Offense's head jerked back to him, the Emperor said, "Our real enemy, huntfriend, was Command-East."

  "Command-East!"

  "Wanted to rule," the Emperor said, "but didn't believe he could win against me."

  "So he set someone else on the throne?" the Admiral-Offense asked, frowning.

  "As a decoy. He is now somewhere on the other side of the Alliance, setting up his own empire with all the Naval ships he took with him to ‘scout' for the Usurper. That would be our next task, granting we survive into next year. Finding out where he went and planning for his eventual return to the galactic stage."

  "Dying Air." The Admiral-Offense sounded awed. "The audacity of it. We should hunt him down and kill him for his betrayal, but it is hard not to admire such ambition."

  "Particularly when it succeeds?" The Emperor's smile was wry. "I understand your ambivalence. But we have more immediate problems."

  "Yes." The Admiral-Offense set his cup on the table and pushed off the chair. "I will return to the fleet and make it ready for departure. The aliens will see that we keep our promises. And if we die in the keeping, that is a more honorable end than waiting for the system lords to finish with them before returning to feast on our corpses."

  The situation was bad for the Admiral-Offense to sink into such gloom. Nor was he exaggerating. The Emperor hoped the system lords had fallen into squabbling over their prey, as it would result in their splitting their forces to ensure their rivals wouldn't claim their spoils. Facing their unified fleet would be devastating. "Thank you again, huntfriend."

  "My Emperor," the Admiral-Offense said, and began to bow when the message alert went off. A priority message alert. Both of them stiffened. The Emperor tapped the console. "Yes?"

  "Exalted! A fleet has arrived! A large fleet! They are identifying themselves as... they are broadcasting..."

  "Broadcasting what?" the Admiral-Offense barked.

  "Listen!"

  The command was nonsensical because when the display woke it was the image the Emperor could not wrench himself from, the impossible and magnificent image, the one that set his heart soaring
on wings of pride and joy on an updraft so strong he thought he could touch the sun.

  "Attention, Throneworld System Defense. This is the Queen Ransomed, Breath of the Living Air and Mistress of the Twelveworld. I bring my fleet in support of the true Emperor, who has vanquished the Usurper and once again rules the Chatcaavan Empire. The fleet will remain at the system limit while my flagship and its escorts proceed into orbit around the capital."

  "Dying... Air!" the Admiral-Offense whispered. "The entirety of the Twelveworld's forces? All of them?"

  The Emperor was breathing too fast, too hard. He rose only when he was sure of his feet, and then quickly. "Come, my friend. We must prepare a welcome for our Queen."

  "Our Queen?" the Admiral-Offense said, wide-eyed. "Our savior!"

  The Emperor laughed. "Yes."

  It took too long for the flagship to make orbit. The Emperor felt he had been waiting their lifetimes for this meeting, a meeting that in some kinder universe would have happened when the leader of a fairer Empire asked a female to honor him as his Queen Ransomed, and she agreed. But that they had somehow managed to arrive at this moment in this universe, with all its challenges...

  The court where he had once received the Ambassador had not felt appropriate to greet her, since it placed him too far above the ground. He had ordered the Field cleared instead, which was the limit of their ability to formalize the occasion. The palace was still in disorder, with many of the servants either in hiding or fled, and the clinic had already begun processing the wounded from the Admiral-Offense's battle. There would be no other fanfare, save the one welling in his heart.

  To greet her he had brought the Admiral-Offense and as honor guard, a handful of the males from the assault team that had cleared the other towers. That, and himself. It was not enough, because nothing would be.

  Mistress of the Twelveworld! What had she done? And somehow she had arranged her own ascension as the head of their religion. Had she learned the revelations he had traveled so far to hear from the mouth of the priest at the Source? And how? He greatly anticipated the opportunity to ask.

  The shuttle came down, as another shuttle had once, to begin the Empire's Change... before they knew what they courted, anticipating the new Eldritch ambassador. It landed neatly on the other side of the Field, its engines sighing as they switched to standby. From the hatch marched a series of guards, dressed in short robes over uniforms the Emperor did not recognize save that the priests at the Temple had worn similar ones. A few heartbeats. Then she ducked her head beneath the coaming and stepped onto the Field, and the morning light caught fire in the diamonds hanging from her horns, struck the lambent orange of her eyes as she glanced at the sky over the spires of the palace.

  And then she looked across the grass and saw him, and for a moment, everything halted. Even the Air seemed to withhold itself, until anticipation became an unbearable tension beneath his skin, like a Touch he hadn't yet grasped.

  The walk that took her across the sward, with the sun shimmering on her white and silver robes, was like a beautiful dream, and like a dream it happened outside any perception of time. He felt he was meeting her for the first time, having known her all his life. She stopped within arms' reach. She was dressed as a Queen, and he saw it not at all, because behind her rose two perfect wings, and all the cruelties done to them, all the hatred writ into their flesh, had been blown away by a kind breath, leaving only a hint of color as reminder that once upon a time he had thought it proper and Fitting that such as she should be denied the freedom that belonged to all souls born beneath the Living Air.

  She was whole, and she was home, and he loved her.

  "My lord," she said, shy. "I have brought you a fleet."

  He abandoned speeches and swept her up into his arms, and he laughed aloud when he felt her against his body, hale and warm and real. "Oh, Beauty!"

  "You live!" the Queen said, voice fraying around her joy and relief. She wanted to keen, to sob, to laugh, all at once. "Oh, you live! I thought... we thought... and then Second discovered me and the pirates... I didn't know... I hoped, but I didn't know...!"

  The Emperor leaned back, cupped her face in his hands, and his gaze... this was her Emperor, and her love, but he had changed. There were shadows in those eyes that made their brightnesses leap out in sharp relief, like a gemstone that had finally been faceted and polished. "The Ambassador and his companions saved me, Beauty, or I would have died. But you... you have brought yourself, and the Twelveworld's fleet?"

  "And the Twelveworld Lord himself," the Queen said, looking over her shoulder. That male had exited the shuttle, but was standing alongside its door well clear of the reunion. She smiled and turned back to the Emperor. "The Twelveworld was established to await the coming of a female who could shift shape... oh, master! You have no idea how many things I have to tell you!"

  "And I you," he said. "But there are tasks before us that cannot wait." He brushed his cheek against hers, still holding her face. "Would that we could rest, but the Alliance is in dire need and we are promised to their aid."

  "Then we must go," the Queen agreed. "Because the aliens helped me. I too would have died without them. I have brought them with me..." She stepped back, but not too far, because losing the touch of his hand was unbearable. Calling: "Sister?"

  Sediryl appeared at the shuttle's hatch and stepped down. She was followed by the pale Faulfenzair whose arms the Queen remembered around her so many times when she was being carried from one couch to another. And finally, the Glaseah. It was the Eldritch who advanced, though, leading the others. She stopped alongside the Queen and inclined her head to the Emperor in a fashion almost Chatcaavan. "Exalted," the Eldritch said. "I am Sediryl Nuera Galare, the Eldritch Ambassador ad'Alliance. Thank you for your hospitality."

  "She was responsible for the pirates diverting the Twelveworld Lord from Apex-East," the Queen added.

  The Emperor canted his head, considering her with interest. "I see I owe you a great deal, Ambassador."

  "Bring my people help and I'll call it even," Sediryl said with a weak smile.

  "The Twelveworld Lord is my servant now," the Queen said, and how strange those words were, leaving her mouth. "Perhaps he can coordinate with whomever is leading the forces in-system, my lord?"

  "That would be me, my Queen," said the older male at the Emperor's shoulder.

  "My Admiral-Offense," the Emperor said. "Yes. Let us discuss this immediately. The sooner we leave, the better." He looked at Sediryl. "You will want to attend on behalf of your government?"

  "Yes," Sediryl said. "I'm not sure who's here to speak for the Alliance...unless there's someone here?"

  "The Ambassador has gone ahead of you," the Emperor said, and a thrill rushed through the Queen's body, shivering her wings. He smiled at her and touched her chin. "Yes, he lived too, Beauty."

  "If Lisinthir's alive...," Sediryl breathed. "Vasiht'h? Vasiht'h! Wait!"

  Vasiht'h had never been on this world, never been in this city, this building, the hall he was careering down, but it didn't matter because the mindline was guiding him more unerringly than any map. It pulsed in time with his rushing heart, and every step he took brought another flavor, another scent, another note in a symphony he'd been waiting to hear forever, because it had been an eternity since their separation. The footsteps behind him didn't matter. The dragons leaping out of his way even less so. He sprinted through the corridors of the palace, turning corners, feeling the fleeting touch of sunlight as he raced between buildings, and then the door opened, and another, and there was the beloved. Jahir was already going to a knee, arms open, and Vasiht'h launched himself at his partner, hitting so hard they skidded a few feet backwards and it was the best, the most amazing, the most perfect moment in the universe because they were together. Jahir's arms tightened around his torso, and Vasiht'h buried his face in the Eldritch's shoulder, fingers digging into his back.

  "You're alive!" Vasiht'h said. "Oh, Goddess, Goddess, you're alive!"<
br />
  "I told you we would see one another again," Jahir said, and his smile was spring flushing the sap into new trees and butterflies and the relief of winter receding.

  "I know, but you could have been wrong!"

  "I know," was the unexpected reply. Jahir pulled him closer, if that was at all possible. "I know, ariihir. God and Lady, how glad, how glad I am to see you."

  Letting go... Vasiht'h couldn't do it. But he could bend away, enough to see the evidence he felt against his body. He rested his hands on Jahir's shoulders, ran them up to his neck. "What happened to you?" Seeing his face, Vasiht'h hissed. "What did they do!"

  "It's nothing, my dear," Jahir promised. "Just a swipe, and the only time I was struck. I suffered very little."

  Vasiht'h traced the marks down Jahir's cheek: like the ones on Lisinthir's torso, they were a gray so pale they looked almost like dirty ice, and there were four of them leading from just above Jahir's eye to his chin. He swallowed. "That must have hurt."

  "It passed," Jahir caught his hand and kissed its palm. "And before you ask, I know I am too thin. The roquelaure that was disguising me malfunctioned and asked too much of me. I will only grow healthier."

  "You'd better!" Vasiht'h said, and paused as Jahir frowned at the Glaseah's hand, turning it in his. "What?"

  "You do not perceive your fingers the way you used to." Jahir palpated them, the mindline growing cold with unease. "Ariihir?"

  "I didn't suffer either," Vasiht'h promised. "They just declawed me."

  "They did what!"

  Vasiht'h flattened both hands on Jahir's chest, meeting amber eyes crimped with horror. "And that's it. They could have killed me, raped me, sold me. They could have tortured me. The claws don't matter."

  "Of course they matter," Jahir said. "They were a part of you."

  And they had been, though symbolic. Vasiht'h couldn't remember a time he'd used them, though he'd wanted to on Jahir's behalf more than once. After this, though... "I don't need them. They aren't what I'm about. And they're nothing, nothing compared to being safe, to being with you again."