He did not attack her, as a Chatcaavan would have to procure her obedience. He did not even bluster, as she'd observed so many other Alliance dignitaries attempting at court. Instead, he turned his palm upward and began slipping the loops off the pearls that secured his glove. Mesmerized, she watched as he undid each, revealing more of his pale flesh, until at last he slid the leather free. Shaking the ruffles of his blouse onto his palm covered it, just a little, with lace... but as he reached for her hand, she couldn't help but feel that fragile layer was no protection against her feelings. He had to know the fear that shook her so, and yet he did this thing. She couldn't deny him; resting her hesitant palm on his, she shivered at his strength, at the conviction with which he grasped all her fear, her regret, her sorrow. Without flinching. Without a quiver. Without even looking away.
Holding her hand, cupping her feelings in his fingers, the Ambassador said, "Please, my lady. Please."
"I'm afraid," she whispered.
"I know," he said. Then a smile flickered over part of his mouth. "So am I."
The Slave Queen looked again at the ashen face of the Eldritch female, the blankets barely moving over her thin chest. "She cannot free herself, can she," the Queen said softly.
"No," the Ambassador said. "And though it's debatable whether we can either, we are her only chance."
The Slave Queen pulled her fingers free and rubbed them, averting her eyes. Of their own accord, her hands curled into fists. She stood. "Laniis!"
The Seersa appeared at the arch into the chamber.
"Come. There is a new plan. We must find a place to hide the female."
The following morning Lisinthir woke before dawn, chased out of sleep by nightmares without faces, by the smell of blood in his dreams. Exhausted, he dressed and checked his messages, finding only one that read, /Tomorrow they will be in your area. The delivery will be made when you call./
Good enough. He would only have to make it through today.
He tasked himself to reading the material that had been left on his desk... mostly protocol documents on life in the palace and how he was expected to comport himself among the Chatcaava. Halfway through it, a servant brought lunch through the interior door, and Lisinthir ate it without paying it much mind. As the afternoon deepened, he hung the scarf, curious as to what it might bring him; he did not have to wait long. Unlike the other males that had visited him, this one did not engage in any dramatics—his landing had efficiency, but not grace. His dress was also more pragmatic than sartorial, and his gaze when it leveled on Lisinthir's held no aggression or assessment.
"I was asked to introduce myself to you," he said. "I am the Crown Surgeon."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Lisinthir said. "Though I admit I am mystified. You are a doctor?"
"Yes," the male said. "I will escort you to the clinic so that you may find it in the future."
Lisinthir paused. "I am not sure I will have time to walk anywhere and return to dress for supper."
"You may dress now," the male said. When Lisinthir didn't move, he said, "I will not use what I see against you. I am Outside."
The word had obvious weight; naturally his briefing materials had contained not a reference to it. Lisinthir said, "You speak metaphorically."
The Crown Surgeon cocked a brow ridge. His eyes were a startling green. "It means I am not obliged politically to any male."
"Not even the Emperor," Lisinthir said.
"Not even," the male said. "Surgeons are needed by every male, nearly every day. We do not need patronage. We heal. I warn you of a single exception."
"That being?"
"I will cure your wounds of honor, but not your wounds of treason," the surgeon said.
"And that means...?" Lisinthir asked, perplexed.
"I will treat you for whatever wounds are inflicted on you by those who believe you worthy of a male's treatment," the Surgeon said. "If you sustain wounds that only aliens sustain, I will not heal you."
"I see," Lisinthir said, though he did not and the male's words made him uneasy. "You will pardon me while I prepare for supper."
"Yes," the male said, and sat on the edge of the balcony. He showed no interest in looking behind him, not even when Lisinthir generated a little experimental noise. With a shrug, Lisinthir went to his bath. Doctors were strange in every country... the Empire seemed no exception. He showered, bathed, and went through the ritual of donning the complicated Eldritch garb before rejoining the male in the study. Pulling on his gloves, he said, "You will naturally show me a way to the clinic that does not require flying."
The male stared at him. Apparently he had no sense of humor.
"I am ready," Lisinthir prompted.
The journey to the clinic was as arduous as Lisinthir had expected. What he didn't expect was to find the clinic very close to the Emperor's tower on the ground floor of an adjacent tower. The mosaic lining its portal depicted acts of astonishing violence. Blood spurted in ungainly arcs from writhing Chatcaavan males, glinting a malevolent alizarin crimson. Dead Chatcaava were depicted in twisted rigor mortis, contorted limbs somehow the more grotesque for the stylization. Still more males with contents spilling from opened stomachs staggered across the exterior wall, and the beautiful metallic green and umber paint used on the mosaic tiles struck Lisinthir as utterly incongruous.
"A warning," the Surgeon said of the mosaics, passing through the portal. It had no doors.
Lisinthir followed and found himself in a waiting area, a tall, arched room patterned with more gruesome death scenes. Some were almost comical in their exaggeration. All of them oppressed the spirit. A door separated this room from whatever lay beyond, and a small window showed only the head and horns of a reading male who did not lift his eyes at their entrance.
"If you are in need, come here. Speak to Triage." The Surgeon pointed toward the window-framed male with the tip of his nose. "He will begin the process. Remember, body—" That a peculiar word choice, excising all personality and soul from Lisinthir and leaving him nothing more than meat, "I will treat only the wounds of honor. Do not come crawling here poisoned or ill."
"I will not tax you," Lisinthir said.
The Surgeon turned and passed through that door without any visible method of unlocking it. The Chatcaava hid their technology along with their savagery... it made him wonder what state their medicine was in. And why they thought he would need it.
Uncomfortable, Lisinthir left the tower with its dark decor and followed the winding path back to the Field. There he took his outsider's cushion and ate his meal mechanically, not even aware of the breeze or the conversation near him. Was the doctor always introduced to the Alliance Ambassador? Or was this a threat of some kind?
As the server brought in the final course, a flavored ice that somehow reminded Lisinthir of both mint and lime, the Emperor stood.
"I had planned a special entertainment for today, but unfortunately it has been postponed due to an unfortunate incident. But it has been rescheduled for two nights hence, and it will be of sufficient splendor that I will leave my throne entirely to hold it at arm's length. While I am on the floor, Second and the Throneworld Thorn will guard my place."
The pause there almost seemed planned—indeed, the Emperor looked toward Third before that male stood and said, "Exalted, may I speak?"
The Emperor nodded.
"I have always stood guard at Second's side. Have I been set aside to... perhaps... take part in the proceedings?"
"Alas, Third, you have been set aside because you have displeased me."
That was blunt. No Eldritch monarch would ever say anything so obvious in front of an entire court.
"You may escort the slave to the proceedings, but once you have done so I expect you to guard my spaceport. Perhaps if the Ambassador's shuttle arrives you might offer hospitality. Or if it does not, you may merely pace the perimeter. Luck might bring you a trespasser to kill. That would please me."
Lisinthir's finge
rs curled in on the napkin in his lap.
Another male stood. "May I speak, Exalted?"
The Emperor turned his back on Third, who sat abruptly. Lisinthir could almost sense the male's shock and outrage from here.
"If we-your-humble-servants may know, Exalted, what special entertainment have you planned?"
"Why, I will take the Eldritch slave," the Emperor said, and this time he looked at Lisinthir. "She is due to know her master."
Calmly, Lisinthir stood and met the Emperor's eyes, and despite the touch that had taught him so much about the Chatcaava he saw nothing in that gaze he could understand, nothing he could grasp... only a reptilian blank. But he didn't blink, and he remained standing long enough to make it clear that he felt no fear.
Then he turned his back on the Emperor as the Emperor had on Third and walked off the Field. He wanted to run, but he refused. Even out of sight of the court, he didn't run. Surely the guards would note the Ambassador acting erratically. The Emperor would question them. Was he running? Did he vomit? Was he weeping? Especially, did he weep?
Under rigid control, Lisinthir returned to his suite. He undressed in the dark, tossing his clothing onto the rumpled bed, and walked into the bathing chamber. There he slid into the water, his muscles drawing taut at the sudden heat. Hidden beneath the clouds of steam, he allowed himself the luxury of fear and hopelessness. What kind of ally was the Empire that it could expect to torture an Alliance citizen in public in the presence of the Alliance Ambassador? Why did the Alliance maintain such a useless relationship? Or had it begun better and deteriorated to this? Had all the previous ambassadors shied from objection to suggestions, each more leading than the next, until at last they had reached this ugly place?
No doubt the Emperor expected him to let this insult pass as every other before him had. And it was in his interests to allow the Emperor to make that assumption... and console himself with the knowledge that he was planning no such cowardice.
Except now the plan had a kink. Third guarding the spaceport added an unpredictable variable. All Lisinthir could be sure of was that Third would be bored and angry, and bored and angry superiors without specific duties were the worst kind. He would have to find a way to neutralize Third on the night of the testing... or, alas, ask for help.
The Slave Queen's false convalescence began easily enough. After Laniis explained the scheme to the other two slaves, the Queen simply resolved to take the Eldritch's place on the divan whenever they had guests. They moved the female to a secluded corner of the bathing chamber, mounding her with folded blankets so that only someone stopping to examine would see anything other than a heap of linens. She did not wake during this operation.
The Queen remained in her true shape when alone but she did practice the Change, which could be sped with repetition. All three aliens avoided her while she paced, crouched and forced herself Eldritch, then stood and tried to find her bearings as quickly as possible. It exhausted her, the constant exercise, and wearing the quicker Eldritch metabolism for even a few minutes gave her hunger pangs at unlikely times.
Exhausted by her fifth passage to and from Eldritch shape, the Slave Queen perched on the windowsill and stared out at the view... at the sea, this time, her eyes falling downward. Too much time in the Eldritch state made her feel queasy with weakness. Such sensitive skin, such a delicate body, that the weight of her own hair could make her neck ache! Her bones in that shape were all solid, and still she felt fragile, breakable. Was it any better to be a male Eldritch? How did they survive with such pathetically frail shells?
Her eyes traced the crossing waves and she shivered, and so engrossed was she in her thoughts and the patterns of the ocean waters that the Ambassador's voice surprised her.
"What do you look at, my lady?"
She twisted her head to look at him; he had come to stand at the window closest to hers, and the wind was tousling loose strands of his pale hair as he gazed outside. Turning back to the horizon, she said, "The outside. It is my comfort."
And saying it, she was surprised to find it was true. So often she'd sat in a misery, staring at clouds and longing to fly, and yet she would have been more miserable to be barred the sight of the sky.
"The outside," he said. "Is it outside that comforts you... or the thought of being Outside?"
Surprised, the Slave Queen said, "I did not know you understood such words, Ambassador."
"I was introduced the concept recently," he said. "Yesterday before supper. So do you know which it is that comforts you?"
She looked away from his face, which was now both alien and familiar. Less like a wingless freak and more like a person's. A person with an unfathomable soul, for who could truly understand what moved such delicate beings? "I am already Outside, Ambassador... as much as a Chatcaavan can be."
"As am I," he said. "And I need to be inside, somehow."
She tilted her head. "You are an alien, you-my-better. For you there is no inside."
"Don't call me that, please," he said.
"It is only the truth." She leaned against the sill, trying not to feel the weight of the wings that, while mutilated, were still at least wings. "And you should be gladsome, Ambassador. To be inside is to suffer, and you would not live through the suffering."
"We'll see," he said. "But other matters press, lady. The entertainment... the test... is scheduled for tomorrow night. And we have a new problem. Third and his Hand have fallen in standing with the Emperor."
The Slave Queen tossed her head. "I smile to hear it... as should you! This is an inconvenience for you why, Ambassador?"
"Because as a sign of his disfavor, they have been assigned to personally oversee the spaceport and the possible disposition of alien vessels, even if those duties interrupt the pleasures of the court," the Ambassador said. "Getting these women past the spaceport guards was going to be difficult but not impossible. But if Third has nothing better to do than to skulk about the spaceport and harry my delivery men.... "
The Slave Queen shuddered. "That is strange behavior for the Emperor. Once he punishes a person, he usually lets them by."
"I suppose this is Third's punishment, then, though for what I can't help but wonder."
The Slave Queen glanced at him. "You did not know? It is for what he did to the female. Your Eldritch female. The Emperor broke his hand for it." She shivered. "He must have been greatly angered to further the punishment."
"He should be," the Ambassador said softly, and something in his eyes was not soft at all. He focused again and said, "Third will be overseeing the vessel that is coming to spirit away the prisoners... unless.... "
She looked at him, tensing.
"I was hoping you might know a way to distract him."
"I cannot leave the harem," the Slave Queen said. She would do many things for this stranger, face many fears... but to leave her tower would put her at risk for kidnapping. Few Slave Queens fared well in the hands of their Emperor's enemies, and all Chatcaava were the Emperor's enemies when they felt themselves outside his power.
"He is supposed to bring the Eldritch slave to the court before leaving for his duties."
She glanced at him, saw nothing in his face but the stern purpose they'd both embraced. With a sigh, she said, "If Third appears on my doorstep then I can find a way to detain him."
"I had no question of that. But you won't be here, my lady. You'll be standing in for my crown princess in court."
Her wings mantled in discomfort; she had forgotten that detail. "I will have to volunteer someone else's services, then." Faces flashed before her eyes, the faces she'd picked out the afternoon of Flower's death. Some of them danced to pain with such abandon that Third would spend hours with them and never notice the passing time. That he would be shredded by the Emperor for daring to use his females without permission would be scant comfort for those females if Third accidentally hurt them beyond repair... but it would be great comfort for the Slave Queen. Perhaps the Emperor would kill Thir
d, which would make life safer for all of them.
"I think I can distract him," the Queen said, "if I offer him one of the females here."
"He would partake without the Emperor's explicit permission?" the Ambassador asked.
"Normally I think not," the Slave Queen said, turning back to the view. Instead of lifting to the sky, her eyes sank to ride the ocean's back. "But I believe I know how I can tempt him."
"I will look to you for that, then," the Ambassador said, "and I thank you."
Being thanked was an interesting sensation, and it had happened so many times in the past few days that she was beginning to struggle with the notion of being a person. Lightly, she traced the rim of the window, looking at the sea. "Ambassador... has there ever been something you wanted more than anything?"
He choked on a laugh, or so it sounded. "Yes, lady."
"And did you get it?"
A crooked smile; she could only see half of it. "No, lady."
She nodded, lifted her eyes again to study the clouds. "And do you still want it?" she thought to ask a few minutes later.
He turned from the window with a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "No, lady. At least... not in the way I could have it."
She studied his face, but could not read it.
/Two days/, Lisinthir wrote.
/I shall have them make appropriate excuses for their tardiness/, his correspondent replied. /Is there any particular time you'd like?/
/Evening by the capital's clock./
/Very good. I also have something to pass along to your snow-ember from her alpha. She is to learn that this mission is a broken/ parachute.
The last word was in scrambled Universal... written phonetically in Eldritch. It took him several moments to even comprehend it. When he had, he wrote, /Hardly reassuring./
/One guesses not. Is there aught else, far-cousin?/
A knock sounded at the interior door. Hastily, Lisinthir typed, /Nothing, thank you. We will speak again./ He tossed the tablet onto the bed and opened the door... on Laniis, who dashed inside and dropped to her hands and knees.
Even the Wingless Page 14
