"You're mad!" the Hand exclaimed.
"How could you, you freak?" Third hissed, lifting a hand.
"Stop," the Emperor said, and his voice alone pulled Third's blow even as it begun. Without taking his eyes from Lisinthir's, he said, "Leave him with me."
"Exalted—"
"GO."
Third hissed, but withdrew into the landing. Then the Hand followed and finally the guards. Lisinthir heard their receding boots on the stone stairs, counted the steps until he could no longer hear even an echo. He was alone now with the consequences of his actions... whatever they would be.
"Do you care to explain, groundling?" the Emperor said finally.
Lisinthir cocked a brow. "Surely you aren't surprised, Most Exalted. It was my duty. Even the wingless need the sky."
The Emperor barked a hard laugh. "Your duty! You dare!"
Lisinthir didn't even quiver. "I do."
Another hiss passed through the Emperor's teeth, and his hand whipped out, caught the edge of Lisinthir's chin—molten anger, turning, red eruption—beneath the force of it, sweat popped through Lisinthir's skin, the hairs on his arms lifted and he felt the blood drain from his face. He refused to wince or jerk away and concentrated on meeting those alien eyes in the dipped head. Fluorescent, unblinking, with such thin pupils, like swords.
"Do you feel that, alien? That is my... frustration... at having my slaves taken away. Do you know how long it's been since I've killed one of my belongings?"
"No," Lisinthir replied.
A surge of primal violence, so intense Lisinthir felt his heart stumble over his own bodily need to flee. The emotion was so strong it almost obscured the quieter undercurrent, the unbelievable one. "Many many revolutions. But this frustration you feel now I will now take downstairs, to one of the more expendable of the kept. Her death is on you."
Lisinthir said nothing and the Emperor turned from him, taking with him the terrifying prison of his wrath. But he could not let the Emperor walk away thus without re-establishing his own power, without knowing where he stood. And so he said to the retreating back with as much nonchalance as he could muster, "May I have the use of the Queen?"
Perhaps he was projecting, but Lisinthir was fairly certain that wide-eyed look was an incredulous expression. "You take my treasures from me and you are so brazen as to press my generosity?"
"I presume that is a 'no'," Lisinthir said with a thin smile.
The Emperor strode back to him, dark wings spread and tail curling. "Have you no fear at all? Dying air! You could decide to let loose the rest of my harem in my absence!"
Lisinthir lifted his chin and looked down at the drake, letting his contempt color his voice. "Don't be ridiculous, Exalted. I have no interest in stealing from my allies. But I take back what is taken from me." He smiled. "I too am a prince of my people, you understand."
The Emperor stared at him for so long Lisinthir wondered if he'd pushed too far... or advanced a concept too alien to be comprehended by one who'd been fostered in the brutish Chatcaavan society. But something in the Emperor's gaze changed, so subtle a change Lisinthir almost missed it. A twitch of the lower eye-lid. A relaxation of the flexible lip around the edge of the hard beak. Something... a something that transformed the stare from outrage into understanding.
The Emperor laughed. "Clever. Very clever, Ambassador. And brave to stay. Very well... use the Queen if you like." He turned and started down the stairs; paused, finished, "I underestimated you before, Ambassador. But not again."
Lisinthir bowed low so that his hair fell over his shoulders. "I could wish for less than to be watched by the Chatcaavan Emperor."
The Emperor snorted and melted into the shadows obscuring the stairwell.
"He didn't kill you," the Slave Queen whispered from across the room, where she'd felt all but forgotten. The Eldritch turned and his eyes hardened at the sight of her fetters. He strode to her side and began unwinding the ribbons, careful never to touch her.
"No," the Ambassador said after a moment, "he was too impressed."
"Impressed?"
The male smiled wryly. "He touched me, lady."
"And you felt it through his 'frustration'?" Her eyes widened.
The Ambassador drew the last ribbon from her around her body, releasing her. "I am no youth in my powers, lady, or I would not be here."
The Slave Queen stretched her tattered wings and looked up at him. "And he will allow you to stay."
"More than that, lady," the Ambassador said, weighing the silk cord in his long hands. "He wants me to stay." He smiled, eyes dark. "And truth, I want to stay. There are few places these days where a prince may test his mettle."
"This is not a game," the Queen said.
"No... no, indeed. There is no blood in games. No lives to risk or save. What good is it to be clever or strong if you cannot employ those things in the service of something worth the risk?"
The Queen stared at him, at the low light smoldering in his eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I know you understand," he said.
She shivered. "Because I helped you?"
"Because you are flier and grounded both. You cannot cut from your heart those who are not like you, because you are unlike everyone you know." He stepped closer, voice gentling. "Is it not so?"
The Slave Queen bowed her head. "It is," she whispered.
He said quietly, "I would count you my ally, would you be willing."
She didn't answer.
"I cannot give you freedom from this place. But freedom from loneliness... that is in my power. If you would have it."
The Queen closed her eyes. Thought of the touch of the alien, the sound of alien tongues. Of Khaska—Laniis, with her facility between worlds, between cultures, between stars. Thought of embracing that—of becoming such a bridge herself, instead of listening, straining for understanding, for the power that understanding brings.
Thought of loving the ocean as well as the sky, and making peace with her role between them.
She turned back to him and lifted her face to his. She could read it now, though his face was schooled: guarded hope, proffered trust, calm acceptance of whatever answer she might provide.
"Teach me to speak, Ambassador."
He smiled.
Lisinthir observed his climb in the Emperor's favor by the series of pillows he abruptly hopped at suppers on the lawn, and found a dry humor in ending up fifth from the Emperor's seat following his audacious rescue. He observed the anger of the displaced Chatcaava as a silent server led him to his new seat, but didn't allow it to worry him. He couldn't afford worry, and even if he could... he was still too glutted with the satisfaction of sending Princess Bethsaida home, along with the other Alliance nationals. There were no more of the Alliance's citizens in the Emperor's harem, and while that didn't even begin to touch the slave trade the Diplomatic Corps had alerted him to, it was a beginning, a symbolic one.
Tonight, Lisinthir could be pleased with his progress, even as he wondered how to break the deadlock he'd seemed to have entered. For a week, the Emperor had avoided him, had not even showed up at supper on the Fields, and in the wake of his disinterest neither Second nor Third were inclined to observe his flag. His discussions had stalled before they'd really begun, leaving him with the same problems to solve for the Alliance and no real progress made into them: the increased piracy along the border, the treatment of people on planets of mixed populations, the constant haggling over import/export taxes. No other ambassador had made even the smallest of dents in these issues, much less touched the far more dangerous tasks of curtailing the slave trade or expressing disapproval of the way the Empire treated its women, its commoners and its neighbors.
Lisinthir intended to be the first. But to do that, he had to find his way back into the Emperor's rooms, and from there into the Emperor's confidences. In whatever way an alien could do this, the Slave Queen's revelations notwithstanding.
Tonight, Third was late.
Third was never late. Showing everyone how much the Emperor favored him was one of his favorite pastimes. As the servers approached with the first course, inspiring a flurry of motion from the poison-tasters, Lisinthir waited, wondering what was keeping the Chatcaavan.
Third entered during the middle of the second course. Conversation around the tables stopped as he walked toward his pillow with a nonchalance even Lisinthir could tell was false. He was just passing in front of the Emperor when that male said, "Third."
Third halted as if struck.
"Is there something you have to tell me?"
"Exalted Emperor, I can't think of what you might be referring to."
"The unauthorized use of four of my females by you and your Hand, I would think," the Emperor said. "A use that resulted in the death of one of them?"
"Surely not, Exalted Emperor," Third said. The gazes of the courtiers around him had turned rapacious, and Lisinthir wondered uneasily where this would lead. Would the Emperor kill Third?
"Ah, but the females saw you there, Third."
"The testimony of females is surely irrelevant, Exalted—"
"—but not when married to the testimony of guards. My slaves escaped that night, Third. One wonders if your negligence played a part. Or perhaps, you were the one secretly responsible for depriving me of my toys?"
Third's eyes had widened into something that looked like panic. "I would never steal from you, my most Exalted Emperor!"
"But you would use my females without my permission and in lieu of performing your duties, and kill one of them with your carelessness."
"That was my Hand's fault!"
"But your Hand is yours, Third." The Emperor stepped onto the table and over it, weaving past goblets and plates with a grace as feral as it was unlikely. "You have stolen from me, Third. That sends me a message that perhaps you have designs on my position."
"Never!" Third exclaimed, backing away.
"All males lie," the Emperor said, and lunged for him. Lisinthir saw only the moment of hesitation as Third decided whether to submit or fight before the duel itself spun into the center of the lawn with a terrifying speed. The dark Emperor seemed to form from the air itself, and ashen-yellow Third danced with this shadow, screeched as talon and fang ripped at his body, and freed blood from his nigh-invisible opponent with hands that blurred with their speed.
The first duel Lisinthir had witnessed had been horrifying enough from the distance of the alien's corner pillow. But the fifth pillow at the Emperor's table put him so close to the fight he could feel the wind of the Emperor's lunges against his cheek. The courtly sword fights of his culture seemed laughable contrasted against such vicious brutality. The Chatcaava fought like animals, and when the two pulled apart they were spattered with gore. Third was limping, one of his wings trailing on the ground.
"Kneel," the Emperor snarled, voice so rough it was more growl than word.
Third stumbled to his hands and knees and bowed his head.
The Emperor curled a hand around one of the horns near Third's jaw and wrenched it downward, snapping it off with a hard crack. A wave of emotion ran through the watching crowd: satisfaction, horror, intense interest. The matching horn on the other side met its fellow's fate, and then the Emperor said, "You know your place."
"Yes, Exalted Emperor," Third said, trembling.
"Go, if you want to live."
"Yes, Exalted Emperor," Third said again, and stumbled to his feet. After he passed beyond the circle of tables, the Emperor leaped lightly onto his own and down to his pillow on the other side. He resumed his conversation with Second as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn't dripping blood from scratches on his face and chest.
Lisinthir was still unnerved at the end of supper when the Emperor said in passing, "Ambassador... join me before bed for our drink, ah?"
"Of course, Exalted one," Lisinthir said, finding his tongue.
Upstairs, in the lonely chambers he'd been assigned with its round bed and alien decor, Lisinthir considered his sword, the claw-knives, his bandages. Everything he'd gathered thus far suggested that the Chatcaava did not respect the Alliance precisely because it relied on technology to supplement its weakness.
He had several hours before it would be appropriate to arrive at the Emperor's door. Feeling cold and indecisive, he left for the harem... taking, as an afterthought, the book of songs.
After the escape of the slaves, nothing had felt the same. There had been a quiet lull following the death of Sun's Kindness beneath the Hand, one that had given the Slave Queen time to put away that piece of jewelry and wonder whether the freedom of the Alliance slaves had been bought with the death of a Chatcaavan female, or if that was fair. It was not a thought she would have had before.
She had not seen the Ambassador since the night he'd been brought before the Emperor either, so when she heard footsteps on the stairs she tensed, wondering whether it was him or someone else... and if was him, if he would still look at her with those alien eyes, still teach her to speak as he had promised, to finish the work that Laniis had begun.
And it was him, and his gaze was still grave. He had dressed with Chatcaavan starkness in unadorned black, a color that emphasized his curiously round pupils. She canted her head but did not move from her window, wondering at the uncertainty of his movements, usually so polished and assured.
He stood across from her and did not cross the room. Indeed, he seemed not to know what to do with himself, and set a book down on a nearby table as if seeking purpose. After a while, he said, "I am sorry."
"Ambassador?" she asked. Had some regrettable thing happened during the week?
"That I did not come," he said. "I promised you company and instead left you alone."
"I have been alone most of my life," she said, uncomfortable.
"Still." He walked toward her, stopped. "It was weakness on my part. I did not want to... " He hesitated, then looked at her more steadily. "I have not thanked you for suffering on the behalf of those you freed. I have feared your censure."
"My censure?" the Slave Queen asked, astonished. "For what?" When he did not answer immediately, she grappled down his alien chain of logic and guessed, "You feared I would hate you for being responsible for my use beneath the Emperor's hand? Surely not. It is what I am for, Ambassador. I am a vessel. It is all I do, suffering."
"No creature was made to suffer, lady," he said quietly. "I asked a great deal of you and did not thank you for it, nor help you through its aftermath. I have been an ingrate, and I am sorry for it."
She stared at him because she could do nothing else. Did he seriously think to seek her forgiveness for being, essentially, the Slave Queen of the Chatcaava? What kind of world did he live in, that such things were matters to be forgiven for?
"You will be glad to hear that the Emperor trounced Third soundly during supper."
The Slave Queen leaned forward, fighting hope. "Did Third die?"
The Eldritch smiled. "Alas, no. He broke off two horns, though." He looked at the clouds—his skin was so pale the clouds left stark shadow-patterns across his cheeks. "Two horns to pay for a woman's death."
"Two horns," the Queen said, "that is the bare minimum disfigurement. Still, perhaps it will deter Third for a while."
"That death is on our heads, lady, and the second," Lisinthir said, his voice softening. "It was not my intention."
"Of course not," the Slave Queen said. "But thus our fate, Ambassador. We live, we die. If we are lucky, our lives and our deaths have some purpose." She canted her head. "Though I'm not sure what second you refer to."
"The one the Emperor killed. The night he discovered what I had made come to pass."
"Ah!" the Slave Queen studied him, surprised. "You care so much about Chatcaavan females to remember that?"
"Of course!"
By now she supposed she should have realized that... he had that pattern of weakness, almost female-soft in some ways. "You will be glad to learn that the E
mperor did not kill anyone then. When he descended and learned of Sun Kindness's death, he was deflected from his anger at you."
"I am glad," he said and looked away. The silence contented her, so she allowed it to stretch until he felt compelled to speak. "I've been invited to another drink, after a week of being ignored."
"He has been away," the Slave Queen said.
"He has?" Lisinthir frowned. "I was not informed by Second when I attempted to make an appointment with him."
"I imagine not," the Slave Queen said, thinking of the two times Second had come to the tower for his wing-oiling. "Second doesn't like you much."
The Ambassador glanced at her sharply, a movement that brought starlight into the corner of his eyes. "Is that so."
She nodded. "He fears something about you, I think, though what I could not say."
The male's smile was decidedly wry. "I wish I knew. Perhaps then I could use it myself. Still, you said the Emperor was away?"
"He came home two days ago," the Slave Queen said. "He is the head of our military, you understand... one of the few Emperors to have wrested the succession from that position. He still spends a great deal of time with the soldiers. Before you came, at least one day a week with them."
"Ah," the Ambassador said, his frown deepening. "So, only two days he's been ignoring me."
She glanced at him. "This still displeases you? He has ignored others for far longer."
"Perhaps. But I cannot afford to let him dally with me. There is too much I'm here to accomplish, and I can't seem to reach the next level with him. I am on the fifth pillow, but I need to be on the second." He grinned faintly. "Perhaps that's why Second fears me."
"There have been other ambitious Chatcaava before you," the Slave Queen said, torn between unease and disbelief in the Eldritch's ability to work himself into more trouble. "Second has seen them come and go. I doubt that is the cause. As for the rest... you long for things too quickly. When the Emperor chooses to test a male, he takes time to tailor the method to the individual. Indeed, I would consider the week of respite he's given you a sign of respect; he is allowing you to recoup your strength for the next challenge."
Even the Wingless Page 18
