They were staring at her. Two of them had begun weeping. The last time she'd been in a similar situation, she'd needed Laniis's help to make herself understood... to understand.
Now... "I am the Slave Queen," she said in Universal. "I am to take you to the preparation rooms, where you will be fitted with collars. Your clothing will be taken from you and you will be outfitted with decorations suitable for the newest additions to the Imperial harem. It is best not to resist. The Empire prefers dead escapees to living slaves."
"This is outrageous!" one of the males said. "We are citizens of the Alliance. You can't just do this to us!"
"It has already been done," the Slave Queen said. "I am regretful, but at this stage resistance on your part would earn you only more pain."
"This is insane," one of the females whispered. "Do you mean to tell us that this is it? We're now slaves? Just like that?"
"Yes," the Slave Queen said.
"It's just like those stories," one of the humans said. "About colony ships disappearing and no one ever hearing from them again. This is what happens to them, isn't it?"
"I could not say," the Slave Queen said. "But it is possible."
A grim silence descended among the newest of the Empire's slaves. The Queen waited for the inevitable question.
"We have to have some recourse. The Empire and the Alliance are allies. Isn't there an embassy?"
"No," the Slave Queen said. "But you have an Ambassador."
"Can we speak with him?"
"No," she said. "Nor will I raise your hopes. He will do all in his power to aid you, but I cannot guess whether it will be enough."
"What good is he, then?" one of the Aera asked, long ears flattening against his skull.
"He is the best the Alliance has ever sent," the Slave Queen said. "If you long for freedom then pray for his success in your matter. For the duration, I advise you to follow me quietly and submit to what is asked of you."
"Yeah, we've seen what submission's done," one of the men growled.
In Chatcaavan, the Slave Queen said to the guards, "This one asks her betters to guide the new acquisitions in her wake."
The guards nodded.
The Preparation Room was a large chamber halfway down the tower. In it were males of great skill and artistry who fashioned collars and jewels to beautify the harem. Their scattered workbenches seemed harmless enough, but the narrow windows and the hooks hanging from the walls and ceilings gave the room a sinister air. Like the Surgeon, all the males who worked here were Outside.
"New gems!" the Master of the Preparation Room exclaimed when she entered.
"Yes," the Slave Queen said. "They are to be collared, stripped and outfitted with jewels. But do not clean them or bind their wounds. They are to be presented to the Emperor properly cowed."
"Very good," the master said. "Shall we accentuate their misery?"
Thinking of Third's smug smile, the Slave Queen said, "Yes. That will please greatly."
"It will be done," the master said and turned to the slaves.
"Where are you going?" one of them asked her as she turned to leave.
"To find your Ambassador," she said, and darted up the stairs. It was morning already.
He was in fine humor, despite exhaustion; he'd spent the entire night fighting the Emperor fairly and it had pleased them both so greatly they hadn't wanted to end it. A hekkret roll and a cup of brandy had finished the night and he now had the hazy thought of falling asleep on the Slave Queen's lap... except when he reached the landing he found an empty suite. He checked the bathing chambers, the closet, the nests. He even walked back down one flight and consulted the guards in front of the harem and the females inside. The guards said nothing; the females had seen nothing. Perplexed and growing worried, Lisinthir returned to the chamber and sat to wait.
He had just begun to pace when she arrived, out-of breath and wearing such an expression he found himself snatched from his languid cheer.
"Third has returned," the Slave Queen said, and her tight voice pricked his sleeping anger, never far from the surface anymore.
"Lady?"
She went to both knees in front of him, her hands on his wrist and her wings dipped. The sharpness of her upset was like cold water over his back. "He has brought slaves from the Alliance, a gift to win back the Emperor's favor."
The rage roared awake, and Lisinthir stiffened. "When? How many? How did you find out?"
"Just a few hours ago... sixteen." She ducked her head. "I have some knowledge of what goes on in the harem. New slaves must be cleaned, fitted with collars and marked with the Empire's sign. Taking them to their preparation is one of my few duties."
"Sixteen citizens," Lisinthir said, trembling. "Third means them as more than a gift for the Emperor, I'm sure."
"He means to use them to force you into doing what he wishes, yes," the Slave Queen said.
"He can't seriously believe I'll allow this insult to pass me by."
"I don't know what he believes," the Slave Queen said. "Save that he intends to exploit your weakness somehow."
"Then I will have to give him no opportunity," Lisinthir said.
"What will you do?" the Slave Queen asked, hushed.
"That depends on how much time I have," Lisinthir said.
"He asked for them to be ready for an afternoon presentation," the Slave Queen said.
"And the Emperor does not know yet," he said.
"No." She tucked her head down, and through her skin felt a spike of defiance. "He asked him to have their abuse masked. I forgot to tell the Master of the Preparation Room this detail."
He stared down at her, torn between renewed fury at the knowledge that the prisoners had already been hurt and something glorious and painful in his heart at the sight of her. He gave into it and pulled her up off her knees into his arms, carrying her to the couch and kissing the top of her forehead. When he dropped to one knee beside the couch to look at her, the astonishment rounding her orange eyes made him laugh. A small laugh, maybe a grim one, but still a laugh.
"So Third's gift will arrive sullied, so that the Emperor may interpret this as insolence."
The Slave Queen ducked her head again. "I want him dead," she said, fierce and afraid.
"Too many mistakes like this and he will be," Lisinthir said, closing his eyes and leaning against the arm of the chair. He was tired, more tired than he knew was safe, and yet his mind raced.
The Slave Queen voiced his thoughts. "How will you save them? Sixteen... so many! And the court is now expecting what you did last time, even though it doesn't understand how you accomplished it. They will be watching you."
"Then I will have to try something different," Lisinthir said. When she opened her mouth, he touched his finger to its tip. "I'll know it when I know it, and not a moment before."
"Soon," the Slave Queen said. "Or they will have scars."
"If they don't already," Lisinthir said.
The card inviting him to the presentation was on his desk when he returned to the suite. After a short nap, he bathed and dressed casually and ambled, the picture of nonchalance, down to the lawn indicated on the invitation. There was a pillow awaiting him, which he took. Beside him the Emperor projected idle curiosity through his skin where they touched.
Third approached with the Hand and stood in the middle of a circle of curious courtiers, whose slender heads turned to follow him.
"You asked for this occasion," the Emperor said. "What inspired you, Third?"
"My Emperor, I have a gift for your amusement."
"A gift, is it?" the Emperor said. "By all means, Third. Amuse us."
Third twisted toward the arch that served as symbolic entrance to the lawn and gestured.
On chains that glittered came sixteen individuals, already defeated by their first hours in the Empire. Watching them, Lisinthir sympathized. He too had felt battered by the Chatcaava within minutes of stepping onto foreign turf. His anger at their state he controlled
so tightly he barely tasted it. To care too much too obviously would play into Third's hands.
Of the sixteen, seven were men, set off on a separate chain from the women. Lisinthir counted ten humans, two fox-like Aera, two wolfish Hinichi and a centauroid Glaseah. One of the humans met his eyes, and Lisinthir saw him curl his lip. He ignored it, too busy counting the bruises, cuts and injuries the people had sustained, not only left there by the Master of the Preparation Room but accentuated with powder and shadow. Each one he marked against Third, more and more until when he finally noted the ginger, bowlegged walk of one of the human women, his rage calmly crossed out Third's name in his mind and marked him for death.
"A magnificent gift!" one of the younger courtiers shouted. "I say our honored Emperor tries them now!" A thread of snakelike, hissing chuckles followed.
They did not notice Third's consternation at the state of his chain, nor could they feel the Emperor's slow burning anger at the affront already-abused slaves represented.
"Yes!" another cried. "Take the one with four legs first!"
Lisinthir sipped from his goblet and cultivated a facade of disinterest. Making the decision had freed him somehow. Third would die. It was just a question of how and when.
"Later," the Emperor said, and the court cheered because to show disappointment would have been dangerous. "I have heard many stories about the softness of humans in particular. We shall experiment."
"Does the gift please, Exalted?" Third asked.
"Truly you have out-done yourself," the Emperor said, and Third lifted his head with pride. "Have them sent to my chambers. I will begin my enjoyment of them immediately."
Lisinthir glanced at the Emperor, wondering if he truly expected the Eldritch to step back and allow him to kill the males and rape the females. The dark glitter in the Chatcaava's eyes was all the answer he needed. The end of the presentation did not come soon enough.
Once in his chambers, Lisinthir unlocked his jackal chest's removable bottom. He brought forth the pouch, fingers brushing the note that remained where he'd left it: "Against your future need." How appropriate, how far-sighted of his distant cousin to arm him. Lisinthir slipped each finger into the thin metal sheathes of the claw-knives, flexing his hands until the seals had tightened around his nails. A quick test with the tendon memory trained into the knives and his false claws sprung from his fingertips.
He stood in a lacuna in the center of the room, feeling the balance of his world shift. He had beaten the Emperor with his fists, kicked him, torn open shallow wounds with his blunt fingernails. He had thrust knees into tender areas, pinched wing joints and bitten off scales. But his hands and feet and mouth did not have the potential for devastating harm that the claw-knives gave him. To wear them into the Emperor's presence was more than a challenge. More than an escalation. It introduced death into the equation.
Lisinthir pulled on a pair of white gloves and went to attend the Exalted.
"I can't believe that traitor is our ambassador!" one of the males said, grasping his hair as he walked the circumference of her room. Two of the slaves had been led away; the rest has been returned to her chambers where they had scattered around her receiving room in various postures of despair. "Did you see him up there? Arm in arm with that killer?"
"They were just sitting together," one of the other males said, drooping. The Slave Queen had brought him a blanket; of all the males, he had been the only one raped, probably because he had the misfortune to have a build thin enough to approximate the Ambassador's. She did not want to imagine what black fantasies Third had entertained during that attack.
"Just sitting. No man sits like that with another man."
"There's nothing wrong with men being lovers," one of the females said.
"No," the agitated male said. "There's something wrong with our one liaison to this rot-gripped hellhole sleeping with the devil in charge of it all."
"And you got all that just by looking at them," one of the females said.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Into the silence, the Slave Queen said, "You should not malign the Ambassador."
"Why shouldn't we? I didn't see him leaping with outrage at the sight of us being led around like cattle!"
"To leap with outrage in the court of the Chatcaavan Empire is to invite a swift and ugly death," the Slave Queen said. "You know nothing about my people and nothing about this world. In an hour you could be dead... or you could be free. And the only thing that will save you is the Ambassador's understanding of the Emperor. He has gone through more than you know to have the potential power to succor you."
"Potential power!" the male said with a huff. "What good is potential? If he were acting like a real ambassador, he'd have us on embassy grounds and on our way back to our colony right now!"
"There is no Alliance embassy, save the ground beneath the Ambassador's feet," the Slave Queen said, her voice growing sharper. "And there is no mercy here for slaves save that which the Ambassador wins with blood and sweat."
"It just looks strange," one of the females said timidly. "You have to understand it from our perspective."
"She doesn't have to," the male in the blanket said, tired. "She doesn't even have to talk to us. We should be grateful that she's trying to make us feel better."
"A blanket and an attempt to explain away why we're naked except for a few gems isn't something to be grateful for."
The male in the blanket ignored him and looked at her blearily. "You're a prisoner here, too, aren't you. You said in the beginning. You are the Slave Queen."
"Yes," she said.
"Why are you trying?" he asked.
"Because," the Slave Queen began and came to a halt. The eyes of the aliens rested on her now, all save the angry one who stared out the window as if jumping was preferable to enslavement. "Because I once knew a female," she said softly. "A Seersa. And I remember her fondly." She lifted her eyes to meet theirs. "The Ambassador sent her home."
"Then I hope to God he works a second miracle for us," said the angry male.
"I had been waiting for you," the Emperor said. He reclined on a couch in the sitting room of his suite, two of the human women tied at his feet.
Lisinthir glanced at them. A rush of anger drove the blood to his cheeks. "Get them out of here."
"I thought you'd be pleased," the Emperor said, brow ridges lifting. He leaned toward one of the humans, traced her jaw line with a claw. Her uncertainty and fear was so strong it shook her small body. "They have a certain resemblance to your species... surely you've longed to see a familiar face?"
"Send them home," Lisinthir said.
"I beg your pardon?" the Emperor said, but he leaned back and rested his arms over the back of the couch, wings spread in lazy amusement.
"Don't toy with me," Lisinthir said. "You can rape me until I bleed, but you won't lay a finger on these captives, and you'll send them back immediately."
"Or what?"
Lisinthir smiled grimly. "Or I'll be forced to do something about it."
"I think you are suffering from delusions of power, Ambassador," the Chatcaavan said. He stroked one of the female's thighs with his tail's tip. "Just because I find your body pleasant doesn't give you any special rights or privileges."
"That's why I'm the Alliance Ambassador ad'Chatcaavan Empire as well as your whore," Lisinthir said, trembling with the force of the rage. He welcomed its rise with a fierce joy. "I am no simple female to meekly take you and beg for more. I am male. Do not toy with me!"
The Chatcaavan stood, spreading his wings. "The slaves are mine, and I will have my use of them. Speak all the strong words you want, Ambassador... you're still a wingless freak, and no true male at all!"
Lisinthir leaped for the Chatcaavan's throat, and his artificial claws parted the satin of his gloves. He held nothing back.
Putting the restless and frightened slaves to sleep had taken most of the Slave Queen's soothing. She told them that no more of them would be sent for to
night, guessing that after supper the Ambassador would occupy the Emperor's attention, but who knew? The prospect of fresh playthings might pull his eyes away from the Ambassador and lead him here, to select more of them for his amusement. But she didn't want them milling around, disturbing her fragile peace... so she'd sent them to sleep and hoped she would not be proven wrong.
When she heard the swift click of claws on her stairs, she feared she had... until Second appeared on her landing. He lunged for her the moment he saw her and grabbed her by the throat.
"This is what it comes to," Second hissed. "Your meddling has put our Emperor in the clinic. If he dies because of the Ambassador's audacity—"
The Slave Queen squeaked and Second flung her to the ground. "Pray he lives," Second said. "If he dies, you will either have me to bow to, and I will kill you outright as the traitor you are—or Third... who will keep you alive for a very... very long time."
The thought petrified her, as did the news. The Emperor? In the clinic? What had the Ambassador done to him? When the Slave Queen looked up, Second was gone and several of the new slaves were gathered in a loose circle around her. Very loose, and very distant, but nonetheless.
"What—why—is that typical?" one of the females asked.
"No," the Slave Queen said. "Typical is to be raped as well as slapped." She rose to her feet. "Stay here. If you value your lives, you will go back to sleep and make as little trouble as possible."
They stared at her as she left, for all the wrong reasons. No doubt they were horrified by Second's treatment of her; even without understanding what Second had said, she imagined it had looked violent enough. They should have stared because she was leaving her tower. Her feet knew this before her mind acknowledged it... she was halfway to the tower's base before she understood and accepted that what she did would probably fail. But she had to go. She had to see them both.
Even the Wingless Page 32
