"Someone comes," Khaska—Laniis said from her basket near the wall.
"A guard?" the Queen asked, twisting to look over her shoulder.
"Too light a tread," the female said.
"Then who... "
The new Ambassador's head crested the stairwell, followed by the rest of his long body. The Seersa backed away, and the Queen slipped off the window to face him, waiting for the guards: none followed him. Instead, the Emperor himself joined the Ambassador on the top level, and the Queen's breath escaped in a strangled gasp. It had been months since the Emperor's last appearance in the tower. He had beaten Khaska—Laniis—severely, and used them both in absent violence before departing, sated. They'd been lucky, for he'd seemed distracted, but even distracted he'd left scars.
There was no hope of this Emperor dying soon. He was young for his position, as vital as he was cruel. Nearly as tall as the Eldritch and as black as the Eldritch was white, his horns were a crown of ebony spikes that descended into his vast dark mane. His eyes alone relieved the black: fluorescent yellow, unnervingly clear and hungry. In a dressing robe of black silk, he presented a casual elegance to the Eldritch's sartorial finery. As they stood, observing the Queen, Second joined them on the landing. Beside the other two, he seemed faded; his age did not become him, and though he'd remained powerful enough to keep most of his horns, he still paled beside the Emperor's magnificence.
"And here you find the Queen. I imagine you find her more aesthetic?"
"She is lovely," Lisinthir said.
"At last!" the Emperor said with a laugh that flashed his teeth. "A female that meets your high standards. Would you care for her use now?"
The Eldritch hesitated, then said, "Perhaps not. Supper was rich, and I am languid with it."
"The beast was well-marbled," the Emperor conceded. He entered the antechamber with the calm confidence of one who owned it, then dropped onto a pillow and stretched.
"Attend me," the Emperor said, and instantly the Slave Queen clove to his side and kneeled. Her heart pounded with uncertainty... and for the first time with something like shame. Would he ask for food? Massage? Her back beneath his out-stretched legs? Or would he require something more sexual? The Queen had eased him in front of Second and even Third before, but somehow the eyes of the Alliance stranger made her feel the weight of her chains. She did not want to expose herself to him.
"What would you-my-master, Exalted Emperor?" the Slave Queen asked softly.
He looked at her from beneath heavily-lidded eyes—dinner had been rich, then—and considered for so long she began to shiver. A grin spread the flexible edges of his mouth, showing a rim of white teeth. "Beneath my feet, pet."
Relieved, the Slave Queen rolled forward onto her hands and knees and faced him so he could rest his heels between her shoulder-blades. She spread her wings on either side of her back, keeping them out of his way.
"Have a seat, Ambassador," the Emperor said. "We shall digest here for a while."
"I can think of fewer more pleasant places to do so," the Ambassador said, stepping off the landing. Second followed him, sat close to the Emperor, almost close enough to foul the Slave Queen's wings. She noted his nervousness with interest. Did he fear this fragile humanoid with his mask-like face? Second had found the former Alliance dignitaries beneath his notice. She was by no means privy to Second's thoughts, despite her occasional attendance on his needs; he would no more share them with her than he would a piece of furniture. But she had watched him long enough to predict his behavior, and this was atypical.
He was almost guarding the Emperor.
"This appears to be a more rarified level than the one you just showed me," the Ambassador said.
"The females below are interchangeable," the Emperor said. "I keep my treasures here."
Treasures...!
"It is a fitting setting for the jewels of your harem," the Ambassador said. "I am most taken by the windows. They are a... poetic... allusion to the freedom barred to your possessions, given the height of the tower."
The Emperor's toes flexed, and the Queen shifted beneath him to move with his heels. She could not arrange her head to see either Ambassador or Emperor, but she could watch the Second's face and he was not happy.
"Again you surprise me, Ambassador. You show an understanding of my people that eluded your predecessors. Are you simply a more exemplary creature or should I be worried about spies?"
His voice had the hiss of a tease, but the Queen knew better. It was a real question.
"What need have we of spies, Emperor, when you provide us with what we need?"
"You will explain that, I presume?" The teasing had vanished. Cold curiosity replaced it, and a hint of darkness.
"You take slaves," the Ambassador said. "When they escape, they bring us what we need to know."
"Providing they understand the language," Second said, and something in his voice made the Slave Queen wonder what had happened.
"They stay. They learn. They learn quickly," the Ambassador said, and flashed his blunt teeth in a grin. "It is the cheapest espionage imaginable."
There was a silence. The Queen felt the Emperor's feet on her back shift as he flexed his toes. "An interesting theory, Ambassador. Speaking of which... " A clawed foot withdrew from the Slave Queen's back, giving her just that much warning before it slipped beneath her neck and pushed her head up. "Where is my latest prize?"
"This one is not sure, Master," the Slave Queen said, shaking. "Permit her to ask."
"Ask."
"La—Khaska," the Slave Queen said. "Bring the new slaves out for the Emperor to enjoy."
She could see the Seersa girl past Second's knee, could read at last the panic indicated by trembling ears and widened eyes. But there was none of that fear in the voice that replied so calmly, "Yes, Mistress."
The males waited with interest for Khaska's return, followed by the two furred slaves. The Queen felt the Emperor's displeasure and cringed before he even spoke.
"And where is the Eldritch female, slave?"
Khaska's ears paled. "M-m-master—"
"Near dead, is she?" the Ambassador interrupted, drawing the Emperor's burning gaze. "I would not be surprised."
"Why not?" the Emperor asked, piqued into curiosity. The Slave Queen could feel it in the loosening of his limbs, and she held her breath, hoping.
"The females of my kind are as easily shattered as they look," the Ambassador said, waving a hand. "I have seen some of them die from being touched."
"Just touched?" the Emperor asked.
The Ambassador nodded. "Pitiful things. They break with alarming frequency. We are lucky to get children on them at all." He sounded sorrowful, in an absent way.
The Emperor returned his gaze to Khaska. "So is that it? Does she require medical attention?"
"It won't help," the Ambassador said. "Such maladies cannot be cured by a doctor. They wither from misery."
The Emperor looked at him. "You jest."
"I wish," the Ambassador replied, shaking his head. "Alas, I do not."
"So she is ill?" Second asked.
"Yes, my-better," Khaska whispered. "Very sick."
"What good is an Eldritch slave if you cannot use her?" the Emperor asked. "If she is merely sick of misery, bring her out."
"Master, she is also... sick... in other ways," Khaska said, trembling.
Wrinkling his nose, the Ambassador said, "How distasteful. We wouldn't want her retching up her stomach onto our clean feet."
"True," the Emperor said. "What a disappointment." He stood, stretching. "There is no use staying if I cannot enjoy the sight of her. You, females... fix her health. I will want her soon."
"Yes, Master," the Slave Queen said in unison with Khaska.
"Ambassador, feel free to remain and rest your eyes on them," the Emperor said. "A servant will come to remind you of the way to your rooms shortly."
"You won't stay, Exalted Emperor?" the Ambassador asked.
&nb
sp; The Chatcaavan laughed. "Oh no, I have things to discuss with Second."
The Eldritch nodded. "Then I believe I shall stay and... rest my eyes."
"Good. And you will join me later."
"Exalted Emperor?"
"For a drink."
The Eldritch bowed. "I look forward to it."
The Slave Queen stared as the Emperor descended the stairs. The two had formed a swift and deep connection between now and the presentation for such camaraderie, particularly an invitation for alcohol before bed... which meant the male standing across from them now was very likely as dangerous as he had been intelligent. She moved herself in front of Laniis and the other two females, flaring her patterned wings.
"You need not protect them. I will not touch any of you."
"Laniis, send them away," the Queen said in a low voice, watching the Eldritch as the Seersa complied. Only when the two had fled to the bathing chamber did she say to the Ambassador, "I don't trust you."
His mouth twitched. "I wouldn't expect so. Where is the Eldritch woman?"
"So you can use her instead of us?"
He sighed and strode further into the room, boot heels clicking on the stone. He stopped some arm's length from her. "I will not touch her either. Especially her."
From behind her, Laniis whispered, "She is sleeping in the bathing chamber."
"Khas—Laniis!" the Queen hissed.
"No, Mistress. I believe him." Laniis was staring intently at the Eldritch.
"Barely a day ago, you grieved over his coldness," the Queen snapped. "Now, you will give him the most vulnerable of our people?"
"Your people?" the Eldritch asked, and there was a wry sadness on what she'd assumed had been his mask of a face that set her off balance. "How are they your people? Do you even own yourself, Lady?"
"Did you come here to taunt us or to gaze at us?" the Slave Queen said, drawing herself upright and spreading her wings and arms. "If you came to gaze, then sit and be silent!"
His eyes were grave and alive in his face, calm but open... perhaps she imagined it, but he seemed to consider her, to consider and make a decision. He lifted a hand silently. White fingers, elegant and long, splayed toward her.
Laniis sucked in a breath and the Queen glanced at her, irritated, confused.
"Touch me," the Ambassador said, who was also an Eldritch... who was also, as all his kind supposedly were, a touch esper.
"You would let her?" Laniis asked, ears dipping.
"Better to ask, will she let me?" the Eldritch asked, never looking away from the Queen.
"What will it mean to you?" the Queen asked finally, tail twitching.
"It will mean that I will feel the pressure of your mind against mine," he said. "It will be... uncomfortable. It will make me clumsy, easy to hurt. If you thought hard enough on your anger—" He paused. "—your misery, you would wound me."
She thought of the Touch, of the Touch's intimacy. Lifting her chin, the Slave Queen stretched out her hand and let it fall onto his. Her fingertips grazed the base of his wrist first and he flinched. His skin was soft and hot, hotter than she'd expected; beneath her fingers his pulse fluttered swift as water running. The tips of her claws scratched against the flesh, and blue lines rose beneath them, marring the white finish of his palm.
The Slave Queen rested, then pressed their hands together, watched as the Ambassador closed his eyes, the thinnest of tremors rising and falling over his body. A thin line appeared between his brows, and she found it bizarre and uncomfortable, this sharing that meant so much to him and so little to her.
She could make it mean more. She could Touch him, as he was being touched by her. But she had not asked permission, and somehow it seemed wrong to take his pattern without asking.
So instead, the Queen allowed her longing for the sky to surface: the pain of her useless wings, her useless life. To test him. Tried to imagine she could feel it seeping through her arms down to her hands, through her fingers and claws and into him, but they were only imaginings.
She thought.
Wet tears gathered beneath the cloud-pale lashes, filled the wrinkles lining the delicate skin beneath his eyes. They flowed over, down his face, followed the curve of his trembling lips.
The Slave Queen stared and began to quiver as her melancholy surged forth in powerful reply, and the tears lengthened, dripped to the stone floor. She was Chatcaavan. She could not weep—and yet, somehow, through the Eldritch she was now weeping—weeping as aliens did, for the misery she could not otherwise express.
He opened eyes glassy with her sorrow. She saw herself reflected there.
"Help me," he said. "Help me help the prisoners."
"I don't know if I can," she whispered.
"Help me," Lisinthir said again, trusting that he formed the words though he couldn't hear past the roaring in his ears. "I know you must."
"You can know no such thing—"
"—but I do," he said past her misery, past the saltwater taste wetting his lips. "Because you know yourself to be a person. You even say it out loud. 'I don't know if I can.'"
She snatched her hand away, shocking him back into the silence of his own mind. The yearnings, the resignation, the alien eyes, she took it all back and left him wobbling. Admiral Levy had congratulated him on his nonchalance at withstanding the touch of others, but this creature, this woman had undone him. The Chatcaava had been ciphers before... sentient, of course, but not real to him.
Now they were people. Now they had dreams. Now they had anguish.
"Sit," another voice said near his ear, comforting him entirely. He felt no touch, but the flutter of air near his elbow seemed to guide him back to a chair. The cushion crushed beneath him and the world began to resolve again into shapes and colors he understood: his own, not Chatcaavan. He realized after a moment that the Seersa was kneeling in front of him—it took him longer to understand that she was sitting at exactly the right distance to avoid casual contact, but close enough to calm him by projecting a quiet demeanor. An accident?
"My lord, are you well?" she asked, and though her accent was crude and she did not leaven the words with colors he understood her very well indeed. If she spoke his language, her distance, so precisely useful, was no accident.
"How...?"
"I'm with Fleet Intelligence," she said, and then her ears drooped a notch. "Or I was."
"You're not a plant," Lisinthir said softly. They were now alone, though he had not noticed the Slave Queen's withdrawal.
"No," she said. "My capture was unintentional...though I was in fact on my way to investigate rumors of a planned traffic in Eldritch slaves. That was a year ago now, by Alliance mean. Irony, my lord." She drew in a long breath, and through the jewelry and the nakedness he saw the disciplined core he'd noticed in so many Fleet officers. She looked up. "You can't mean to free them."
"Ah, but I do," he said, leaning forward and rubbing his face. His fingers were sticky and the skin on his wrists throbbed where the Slave Queen's claws had scratched him. "It's only a matter of how. I don't suppose you have any ideas."
"If I'd had any, I would no longer be here," she said. "Do you wish to see her?"
There was no question who the Seersa meant, not with the hesitation and the dread implicit in it. "Yes," Lisinthir said, then paused. "The Slave Queen—have I offended?"
The Seersa looked over her shoulder. "It is hard to say," she said. "They are not like us, my lord."
"They feel great passion, just as we do," Lisinthir said huskily.
"But you will soon discover their passions are aroused by inconceivable things," the Seersa said. "Do not be fooled, my lord. You were courageous to offer her your hand, but the things that move these beings will appall you."
"I'm sure," Lisinthir said and cleared his throat. He still felt transparent, somehow, as if the substance of his body had been stolen when the contact broke. He'd touched many aliens in his unobtrusive attempts to accustom himself to it while training for this po
sition... but none of them had delivered such a visceral impact.
The Seersa had gained her feet and begun walking toward one of the chambers out of sight of the stairwell. He followed her into a tiny room, little more than a closet. Spare pillows were mounded here in a truly careless fashion rather than in the artful display downstairs. There were brushes, jars of sand and small hand towels. And in the corner, huddled beneath a solitary blanket, was Bethsaida, the future Queen of the Eldritch. He crouched beside her, boots creaking, and rested his hands firmly on his knee.
"Princess," he whispered.
She did not lift her head. He couldn't even tell how she was lying beneath the blanket, she was so deeply coiled in on herself.
He shaded the words with silver and gold, softened his voice, used the most polite of grammars. "My princess, it is your servant. I am here to help."
No answer still. He was tempted to lean into her space, to try the trick the Seersa had used on him so effectively—almost none of the Eldritch could read thoughts without touching, but most of them could be strongly affected by the gross emotional state of someone standing close enough to them, particularly if that person had a strong presence. Carefully controlling that emotional state while standing just within that range usually gentled a troubled mind... but he couldn't bear to subject her to it. Her personal space had been so violated already.
"Perhaps she does not want one of her own to see her so," the Seersa said once he'd drawn back.
More likely she was too damaged to respond, but it seemed unnecessary to say so. Instead, he said, "Will you tend her? Do with her as you did with me if you can."
The Seersa dipped her head. "Yes, my lord."
"And I will do what I must to affect your escape," he said.
Even the Wingless Page 8
