Clean already, the Queen skipped the lowest of the pools and walked into the topmost one. She stood in its center, letting the waters warm her skin. Strange how in the beginning she'd missed the company of others; Khaska had been a boon. Now, with her chambers filled with three more people, she felt crowded... surrounded. Was it because they were aliens? Or because she was no longer accustomed to sharing her space with others? Or perhaps her long use by the Emperor had made her wary of people of any kind. Who could tell? Did it matter? The slaves would die soon enough, roughly consumed or wasting from grief. The drooping girl would be the first to go, then the one with wings; the Eldritch would last the longest, since the Emperor would want to keep her alive. The only slaves that survived the Empire were like Khaska: stable, solid and dispassionate. The very sensitive were consumed; the very passionate were quenched. Only the creatures in the perilous middle remained.
Would there be rings for the Malarai, Tam-illee and Eldritch? Should she keep alien mementos? Did their being trapped in the harem make them more akin than she was to the males of the Chatcaava?
The Slave Queen sighed and turned toward one of the benches in the pool... spotting, as she did, a flash of white.
The Eldritch was standing in the door to the bathing chambers. She clutched a blanket around her body and shook as if fevered. Her hair fell in untidy locks around her face, and her thin shoulders were slumped. Even from this distance, the Slave Queen could see her huge sea-colored eyes... and could smell the film of their salt-water tears.
Nevertheless, the female took a hesitant step toward the lower pools. The Slave Queen watched in silence. Warning her of the heat wouldn't work—she could not bridge the space between their minds without Khaska's facile tongue. Nor did she think the female would be comforted by her attention. She wasn't even certain the female had spotted her.
So she watched the Eldritch test the water with a toe, and then drop the blanket and creep into the pool. She watched the girl curl her arms on the ledge of the pool and weep, body shaking. She watched the Eldritch sluice off her body with trembling hands, watched until the female stumbled back out of the chamber, almost falling.
And that was the Eldritch after hours of being left alone, untouched.
The Slave Queen edited her assessment. No amount of pampering would keep the Eldritch alive. She would be the first to die.
Lisinthir bathed and changed for supper into formal garb, which made dressing a pain. All of the Eldritch he knew were dressed by their servants despite the cultural and biological strictures against casual touch. Body-servants were highly trained and well-paid; if one was not born noble, it was the single best profession to enter, if one had the money for training.
But he'd brought no servants, which meant he had to button every fussy button, tie every boot lace, fasten every hook and eye himself. He brushed his own coat, double-checked the embroidery—he'd brought a sewing kit he hoped he wouldn't have to use—and braided gemstones into his own hair.
He'd hated this at home. He hated it now. But he couldn't imagine wearing the lovely but more utilitarian Alliance accoutrements. He might not like his own people, but he felt more comfortable with their customs. Stupid customs though they might be.
Halfway through his toilette, Lisinthir's data tablet chirped. He gave up on the fifty buttons on the front of his blouse to attend to it and found a single message.
/Hast thou settled?/
The message was encrypted, of course, but the Alliance had wanted one more level of obfuscation. Lisinthir had no idea who they'd chosen to write in Eldritch, but the person's grammars and command of the mood-modifiers was exquisite. The treaty between his world and the Alliance specified only five people may know the Eldritch language: one master trainer and one interpreter, both Seersa, and the remaining three military personnel. Accidental knowledge gained elsewhere was never to be transmitted. Lisinthir couldn't imagine anyone but the master trainer having such facility.
He responded: /Some house-cleaning was necessary./ And couched the words in the black mode for anger.
/Significant house-cleaning, far-cousin?/
Lisinthir paused over the tablet, then tapped in, /I am uncertain how much. The last visitor here lacked eggs./ Colored rudely red to make it clear what kind of eggs he meant.
The reply came back swiftly, despite the satellite repeater lag. /Be careful how far thou wouldst push. There is violence in that court./
So much in so few words, with violence shaded for literal meaning and the court bad-mouthed with shadowed mood. Plus seluthiae, "far-cousin," was an unusual affectation for a stranger to know. Lisinthir wondered if his translator was in fact an Eldritch. If he or she was...
/Always. There is a matter of different import, however. It concerns the jewel of the first crown./
A very long pause. Then: /You use an interesting metaphor, far-cousin. Do you know of what you speak?/
/My question is whether you know./
/This would be a private matter between us, then./
Lisinthir stretched his fingers. The metaphor wasn't the only key, of course—spoken in silver and gold mode, it was a poetic way of referring to the heir to the kingdom. /If indeed we are far-cousins and not merely fellow speakers... yes, a private matter./
/The jewel of the crown has been removed from its setting, and no one knows where it has gone. Do you mean to imply something?/
/I have found the thieves,/ Lisinthir wrote.
/I beg to misunderstand you, far-cousin. Tell me you have not found the jewel secreted in the hoard of a drake./
/I wish I could say otherwise and still speak truth/, Lisinthir typed. /It works in our small favor that they do not appear to understand the value of what they have taken. I will do my best to win free the item of interest, but I do not have high hopes. It shows damage./
A very long pause. Then, /I will pass your words to she whose brow bears the circlet. This mystery bears investigation, far-cousin... such treasure should not be wandering to places where thieves might take it./
/That consideration had crossed my mind/, Lisinthir wrote. /In less private matters, I have the list of issues I was sent to discuss firstly by those who sent me. I shall report in a few days./
/I will watch for your message. Step lightly, far-cousin./
/Always./
Ordinarily Lisinthir would have been irritated by a stranger calling him friendly names, and "far-cousin" with its implication of blood relation was certainly more intimate than the more typical "sibling," a term used by Eldritch for others of the same generation, not necessarily related. But in forgoing a staff, Lisinthir had left himself completely without friend or ally in this new world; to have his one contact with the Alliance prove to be a fellow Eldritch made him feel less alone. He wondered if the effect had been planned and didn't mind if it had. He finished dressing in time for the arrival of the servant to guide him on the long walk back to the Emperor's tower.
This time, entering the Emperor's room, he found both Second and the Emperor inside, conferring quietly. They stopped the moment he entered, transferring their luminescent, unblinking gazes to his face.
Lisinthir bowed. "Most Exalted, Second."
"Ambassador," the Emperor said. "You've been busy."
"There has been much to attend to," Lisinthir said.
The Chatcaavan pointed to a seat. "Sit. Second will kill for us tonight. We must talk."
"Of course," Lisinthir said, and sat. He waited until the servant appeared with the struggling animal which Second dispatched with a quick sweep of his talons, a reminder that no matter how brittle his wings made him sound he was still dangerous—they all were. Lisinthir was alone, fangless and clawless, among predators of a kind more savage than anything his world had ever produced.
"So," the Emperor said as they waited for supper to arrive. "You found my gift... insufficient."
So much had happened since he'd woken that for a few moments he was uncertain what the male was referring to.
Then, "Ah, yes." He stretched back, resting his hands on his ribcage. "It was thoughtful of you, of course, Exalted. But I am not even sure I could use such a gift properly."
"Oh, you can," the Emperor said. "You have the proper parts, and we have the proper parts."
"We are mammals," Second said. "There are differences, but not significant ones."
"Interesting," Lisinthir said.
"So I can send you a new gift and you can use it without misgivings," the Emperor said.
Lisinthir shook his head. "I want no charity. And I certainly don't want your cast-offs." He smiled. "No offense intended, Exalted."
Second stared at him, but the Emperor only laughed. "You are arrogant, pale thing."
"I am a nation, Great One," Lisinthir said. "Do not let this body deceive you."
"I don't," the Emperor said, and something about the tone of his voice made Lisinthir wonder just what he meant. Nor was he the only one, for Second glanced toward the other male, just a flick of his eyes.
Supper arrived, still steaming. Over the rare meat, the Emperor said, "This will be our last dinner thus, Ambassador. Tomorrow you will be expected to join us on the Field where the court takes its nightly dinner."
"I look forward to it," Lisinthir said. "Outside, I presume? From the name."
"Yes," the Emperor said. "A few other matters Second has brought to my attention. You have brought a weapon."
"Yes," Lisinthir said, tensing.
"Why?"
Having expected the Emperor to demand the right to confiscate it, Lisinthir found the question curious. "Because I never travel without one."
"You are the first Alliance ambassador to arrive with a weapon," the Emperor said. "Why did they not bring any?"
Lisinthir shrugged one shoulder. "I can't know the minds of others, Exalted One. But I would think it rank stupidity to come to a court without a dueling weapon."
"Ah! You use it for duels!" the Emperor laughed. "I wondered how you conducted such acts. We posited the use of your hands and teeth but it seemed ridiculous. You would be beating on one another for hours with such pathetic instruments."
"Duels among the Alliance folk are rare, I am given to understand," Lisinthir said. "Among my folk they are conducted with weapons... because beating on one another with fists is inelegant and, as you hypothesized, time-consuming."
"How sad to need tools to fight," Second said.
"There is an art to wielding a weapon," Lisinthir said, and speaking of it brought back the hours he'd spent on the practice field and the more exhilarating minutes spent in the palace courtyard, facing a foe. He flexed his hand, relishing the stretch of his tendons. "It is an alien thing, not born to your body, which can destroy you as readily as it does another. Use it poorly and you are devastated. But learn it, marry yourself to it... and together your dance will unman your opponents and send them away in disgrace, trailing wet ribbons." He refocused on his supper companions. "I have no idea how it is for you, of course. But so it is for us."
"Disgrace," Second said. "Do you not kill your opponents?"
Lisinthir resumed eating to hide his disquiet at the question. "No. We are not so numerous that we can kill even the most stupid of our members."
"So you have never killed," Second said; the second time he'd been asked the question here. It concerned him.
"Animals in plenty," Lisinthir said. "But not a man, no."
"Strange place you come from," Second said. "How can you tell which among you is most worthy if you do not fight to kill?"
"I find the question a strange one," Lisinthir said. "How is killing any more a measure of a man than merely defeating an opponent? The same skill is required."
"It is not about skill," Second said.
"What is it about?" Lisinthir asked.
"Strength," the Emperor said, and something about the word warned Lisinthir that the translators had not caught every facet of the word.
"I'll remember that," Lisinthir said.
"You should," the Emperor said. He licked his talon tips. "I think I should like an after-dinner dessert. You found my gift insufficient, Ambassador... so I will show you my personal harem. You will not find them wanting."
"I imagine not," Lisinthir said, and stood to follow.
"You should fly," the Emperor said to Second. "I will lead the Ambassador."
Second parted his jaws, then closed them and inclined his head. "Yes, Emperor."
Lisinthir waited as the Emperor watched Second leap from the balcony, wondering at the alien body language, wondering if his guesses about the meaning of the exchange were wildly off. Did the Emperor respect Second as his demeanor would have suggested in an Eldritch? Or was it another dismissal? Surely if so the Emperor would have chosen to fly and left the tedious walk to his subordinate.
"Come," the Emperor said. "It is a significant walk by foot. I will pity you when you make it."
Lisinthir chuckled. "The exercise will keep me fit."
"And you are a fit person," the Emperor said, not using the word for male. He preceded Lisinthir down the stairs, and while the fold of his wings seemed casual Lisinthir could tell he was holding them carefully so they did not brush the walls.
"I am that," Lisinthir said.
"And yet you do not have a male's needs?" the Emperor said. "I will not have you telling your superiors that you have been slighted in any way."
"I'm less worried about physical satiation than I am about the dishonor done my flag," Lisinthir said.
"Yes," the Emperor said without pausing. "I heard about that."
"I am greatly displeased," Lisinthir said.
A wave of a hand. "You should not be surprised, Ambassador. Respect for your Alliance is a little much to expect. Your ambassadors have been pathetic creatures, unworthy of their titles."
"Still—"
"No," the Emperor said, stopping so abruptly Lisinthir almost bumped into him. The Chatcaavan looked over his shoulder, eyes glowing in the twilit stairwell. "You cannot demand unearned respect. You state that you are the nation? Very well. Then they were also the nation. And they were barely worthy of enslavement, much less treatment as persons. They were meat. This does not speak well of the Alliance."
"I am not meat," Lisinthir said. "And I don't care if the ambassadors before me soiled their beds in fear of you. If the flag is defaced again I will have satisfaction."
The Emperor studied him with an unreadable, alien expression, then turned and resumed his trek down the stairs. Lisinthir followed and silently gave thanks that the pause hadn't brought him into unexpected contact with the male. At some point he would have to touch these people to use the powers that made him unique among the ambassadors sent to the Empire... but he wanted to choose the time, to have prepared for it. Fortunately, the Chatcaava didn't seem a very touchy folk. Like the Eldritch, they remained a polite distance from one another, and Lisinthir had yet to see a casual touch. It looked like he'd be able to pick his time.
The walk was as long as the Emperor had promised: all the way down the stairs of his tower, the interminable stairs, onto an arcade over a broad, open room, through a few more halls and then back up another interminable set of stairs. Halfway up them, the Emperor paused on a landing and gestured to an open arch. "The gift harem resides here, near the bottom."
Lisinthir wondered at the door style. Perhaps the harems were intended to be accessed only from the interior—private spaces only. He resumed climbing in the Emperor's wake, measuring each breath, and when the Emperor stopped again his hips ached but he still had his wind.
"My harem proper," the Emperor said, and entered.
The room was beautiful: a broad central space abutting a broad center column, with wings separated by tall arches. The stone was a warm cream color, and a thick ribbon of mosaic in carmine, cobalt and white lined the arches and the thin, pointed windows. Huge pillows, red, blue and gold, littered the floors in a way that seemed casual but also uncluttered. Benches cut into the walls and deep ro
und trenches in the floor gave a selection of places to sit... and everywhere Lisinthir looked, a female Chatcaavan was draped across them. Decorated in glinting jewelry and streamers of perfumed incense smoke, they lounged in resplendent nudity, available without crudely advertising it. And every single one of them, he noted, had turned toward their Emperor when he entered.
They came in more colors than he thought. Every shade of gold from sable brown to a delicate bisque, silvers ranging from carbon-black to the color of a new sleigh bell. He spotted one white female and one black, along with several in the bronzish shade of the female that had been sent to him. Some had stripes separating their dorsals from their ventrals. Some had freckles. They were all lovely, for dragons.
"Do these meet with your approval?" the Emperor asked.
"They are lovely," Lisinthir said. "Truly."
"But?" the Emperor asked, catching the subtlety Lisinthir had been trying to mask.
Lisinthir looked again at the amassed pulchritude in the room. "The arms," he said. "They're all four-armed."
"Of course," the Emperor said. "They're proper females."
Lisinthir said, "I am more accustomed to two, you understand. And your wings are one of your most attractive features, as a species."
"Ah," the Emperor said, staring down his nose at him. "You are a pervert. Females are not supposed to have wings."
"But they do," Lisinthir said. "Surely such women are also deserving."
"Of use?" the Emperor shrugged. "One supposes."
Lisinthir surveyed the room. "They are lovely."
"But," the Emperor said and surprised Lisinthir with a grin. "Come."
Once again, Lisinthir followed, finding a surprised Second in the hallway and slipping past him. Up more stairs. He had not seen the Alliance people in the room. Would the Emperor take him to them now?
Sometime during the night, the new slaves had moved themselves to a protected corner in the bathing chamber, thinking to sneak there and making so much noise with their clumsiness and their hissing whispers that they woke both the Slave Queen and Khaska. Afterwards, the Queen had trouble falling asleep again, and did not manage to drop away until close to dawn. Thus, she slept until late afternoon, skirting the anxious newcomers to make her ablutions. Her life seemed again routine, despite the additions, and so she resumed her perch on a window, where the wind pulled her mane over her shoulders and dragged it beyond the tower's confines. She imagined following it into the purple sunset's clouds.
Even the Wingless Page 7
