At the base of the tower she walked toward the arched entrance with bowed head and determined gait. The guards stopped her, of course, crossing their spears in her path.
"You cannot leave the tower," one said.
"This one must," the Slave Queen replied. When they drew breath to deny her, she said, "This one's master is in the clinic. She must attend him-her-better. Her presence may benefit him-her-better. She must go." Again, a hesitation, and daring she added in a breathy voice, "This one begs you-her-betters to escort her, for she-your-lesser fears to walk alone."
And somehow... somehow they looked at one another and nodded and formed around her. They should have denied her. They should have sent her back up to her tower. Instead they guarded her all the way to the clinic, waiting until she'd walked beneath the arch and into the antechamber before returning to their posts. The expression on Triage was as shocked as her own.
Swallowing, the Slave Queen said, "This one begs you-her-better to allow her to minister to her master."
He squinted at her, then shrugged with a hand and opened the door. "Down that hall," he said, pointing. "The last room."
"This one thanks you-her-better!" the Slave Queen said and started down the hall. Then her feet quickened and she found herself running until she had to catch herself on the door's arch to keep from falling.
Inside the room, the Surgeon and the Emperor looked up at her.
"How curious," said the Surgeon.
"What are you doing here?" the Emperor asked.
She dropped to her knees and elbows at his feet. "This one had heard you were grievously injured!"
One foot settled on her back, between her wings. "Ah, pet. What an exaggeration. Who told you?"
"Second, Master. Second said the Ambassador had almost killed you."
"He had the order wrong," the Emperor said. "I almost killed him."
"No," the Surgeon said. "You may have bravado elsewhere, but not here. I did not pack your digestive organs back into your body so you could resume as if you needed no recuperation. Your organs need time to remember they are healthy... they have the memory of being sick still. That is how the gel-heal works."
"I understand," the Emperor said. "I have sustained worse injuries and lived."
"This escalation is worrisome," the Surgeon said.
"It won't happen again," the Emperor said. "Leave me with this female now."
The Surgeon eyed him, then left, closing the door behind him.
"Master, forgive me," the Slave Queen said, trembling. "I did not mean to offend you by leaving my tower."
"You haven't offended me, only perplexed me," the Emperor said. "I hope this is not to become a habit of yours."
"No, Master," the Slave Queen said.
His voice grew curious, and perhaps she'd spent too much time straining to hear the moods in the Ambassador's voice for she thought she heard something soft in it. "Did you truly come out of fear for me?"
"This one does not want you to die," the Slave Queen said, surprised to discover that it was true.
"After all I have done to you," he said.
"You have been... gentle with this one of late," the Slave Queen said. "She is grateful."
"And gratitude moves you to dangerous acts," the Emperor said. His foot stroked her back, very slowly. "Perhaps I should inspire less gratitude in you."
That did not seem to warrant a reply, so she closed her eyes and waited. The silence stretched. The question she wanted to ask she couldn't dare, but she desperately wanted to know...
"Come," the Emperor said, and she rose to uncertain feet and followed him down the hall and up another, to a large room full of tanks. Suspended in one of them in a translucent green substance was the Ambassador. The Slave Queen gasped and stumbled. Such wounds she'd never seen on a living thing, and she covered her mouth to keep from vomiting.
"He'll live too," the Emperor said. "We think."
He floated—where, he knew not. Only that the world was cool and softly supportive, and that chill drew the heat from his flesh, leaving him numb and soothed.
The first time he truly woke to his surroundings, he realized he was floating in a gel tank, a technology he'd read about but never seen in use. He was breathing the stuff, without seeming trouble, and through the wall of the tank he could see the Surgeon moving through the clinic. A quick inventory of his body showed all his limbs still attached, and the gaping wounds that had finally dropped him at the Emperor's feet were now barely visible, pink and blue shadows on his flesh.
Lisinthir reflected that his vulnerability in the clinic, naked and unable to defend himself, should have made him nervous. But he didn't care. In his fevered dreams, he replayed the moment when he lacerated the Emperor's wings, or ripped open his chest.
He had acted on instinct. Alone with only the silent Surgeon for occasional company, the Eldritch hoped his instinct had been right.
Her tower was full of aliens; upon arriving and scattering them with his mere presence, the Emperor said, "Tiresome. There are so many of them they make the suite look small."
He left a space for her to speak, so she tentatively filled it. "They interrupt my thoughts."
"And your thoughts are important, yes, pet?" he said with a laugh. Ignoring, or perhaps not even seeing her amazement, he said, "Look at them. All staring at me. I'm sure they think I'll eat them."
They were watching him, most of them unwilling to move. The angry male was asleep... of the ones awake, not a single one even whispered a word. They did not understand the Chatcaavan tongue, but they understood power and the mantle of it the Emperor wore as casually as a robe.
"You are the Exalted Emperor," the Slave Queen said softly. "They fear you, Master."
"As they should," he said, and sat on one of the benches. "Let's experiment, shall we?"
"Master?" the Slave Queen said, not believing the words. He had included her in the statement... but what Queen had ever been part of a test? On the giving side?
"Kneel here beside me. Look demure, as you do so well," he said.
She obeyed, folding herself down beside him and tucking her wings close to her back. She leaned her cheek on his knee, oh-so-lightly. When he did not thrust it away, she allowed the weight of her head to rest there, wondering what he planned.
The Emperor chose one of the waking slaves at random and stared at her. Without blinking, without moving. How familiar she was with that unnerving, incandescent regard, so inscrutable. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the slave begin to fidget. Then to curl in on herself and finally to become immobile, held in place by terror.
He tried on a male then. And a different female. He tried directing his gaze at a sleeper, and the ones who witnessed began to fidget.
"It's all so predictable," the Emperor said at last. "They are nothing like him."
"No, Master," the Slave Queen said.
"They are distractions," he said.
She could not stop herself from saying, "They are Third's attempt to manipulate your favors."
The Emperor laughed. "Yes, they are. Now, be a good pet and use the comm to summon Second."
"Yes, Master," the Slave Queen said, and did as bidden. When she returned to her place at his feet, she angled her head so she could watch his face surreptitiously. He frowned, just the faintest of creases of his thorned brow; she could track the distance of his thoughts by the slowing of his breathing. How useful it would be to be Eldritch and to know exactly what went through his mind. Long after she had closed her eyes and let his breathing slow hers almost to sleep, Second's feet scratched at the stones as he walked slowly up the stairs.
"Exalted," Second said, voice round with relief. "I had not thought to find you on your feet."
"You thought a mere freak could take me down?" the Emperor asked with an arched brow.
"He had knives," Second said. "You did not come to supper and when I sought you all I found were red knives and blood everywhere. He brought weapons into your presence
!"
"He's always had swords," the Emperor said.
"A sword is a slow and obvious weapon," Second said. "Those knives were the tools of an assassin."
"And to think he walks among us every day without fear," the Emperor said. "We have these same tools on our own fingers, Second."
Second took a step back, his head tilted and eyes shuttered. After a pause, he said, "Do you blame me for fearing for your life, Exalted?"
"No," the Emperor said, shaking back his mane and looking tired. "No, I don't. I just wish you had more faith in me. One wingless freak, even armed, isn't going to kill me. Dying Air, Second, the creature was already half-dead from poison and alcohol. The Surgeon nearly frothed at his condition. You think that could bring me down? It's ridiculous."
"There are more ways to harm someone than with a knife," Second said. "More deaths than by poison."
"I know," the Emperor said. "But rest easy tonight, Second. Your threat to the Empire and my life is currently in a gel tank. In the mean, you and I have other business."
"Of course, Exalted. What may I do to serve you?"
"These slaves," the Emperor said, waving a hand in them in half-shrug, half-gesture. "Send them back."
"Exalted?" Second asked, pupils dilating in shock.
"They clutter the harem," the Emperor said, "And they have nothing to teach me. Put them on the first neutral transport back to Alliance space."
"How am I to explain their state to the Alliance?" Second asked. "And their stories? What exactly do I say in response to the outrage their stories will raise?"
"I don't know," the Emperor said. "Work it into the bargaining you do with the Ambassador, if he lives. It should be useful."
"Since when has admission of wrong-doing been an effective bargaining tool?" Second asked, jaw gaping.
The Emperor caressed the Slave Queen's nearest horn. "I have done something unusual. Make it work in our favor. Tell them I've changed."
"Have you?" Second asked.
Slowly, the Emperor straightened and focused his gaze on Second.
"Giving away slaves... spending so much time in bed with a freak... even Third is right. The Slave Queen grows disobedient and ill-accustomed to proper use. What are we supposed to think, Exalted?"
"You're supposed to do your duty," the Emperor growled. "And that is what I expect of you now. I have given you orders. Execute them."
"Yes, Exalted," Second said hoarsely, and bowed. He walked down the stairs far enough to fetch the guards on the first landing, then returned with them. "Round up the slaves and follow me," Second said.
The chaos and fear that ensued made the Slave Queen cringe against the Emperor's leg. When the slaves became too loud and began to resist, she said, "You're going home!"
That spread a stillness among them and inspired a far-too-fascinated look from the Emperor. "Just go with him quietly," the Slave Queen said. "The Ambassador bought your freedom with his blood and he hangs now near-dead in a healing tank. Do not give the Emperor reason to change his mind. Go."
Their orderly conduct caused Second to glare at her with fierce disapproval. She did not meet his eyes, but kept her head dipped as expected of a properly subdued female. But she watched the bare feet of the Alliance slaves process past her and her heart fluttered. The Emperor had let them go! Why?
Was Second right?
She shivered. And if the Emperor used her that night with a casual lack of violence, she could believe he was distracted. Surely that was all.
The Emperor came after he'd been drawn from the gel-bath... and had his first relapse. The wounds had left thin gray slashes across the Chatcaavan's bare chest, similar to the ones the gel healing had left on Lisinthir's body. Hesitant, the Eldritch lifted his head to gauge the mood of the male upon whose whim he lived.
Found eyes intent and hungry trained on his, so intent he shivered with longing himself.
The Emperor bent toward him, and a cool tongue touched his ear, lapped to his chin, up to his lips. The Eldritch licked back, let the other male taste and touch him, shuddered in his embrace.
"I let them go," the dragon hissed in his ear, his breath warm and damp.
"All of them? The men and the women?" Lisinthir asked.
"All of them." Lightly the hands danced from his groin to his throat. "You almost... almost gave me unsightly scars on my wings." The hands grabbed his shoulders, claw-tips sinking into white flesh. "I would kill a Chatcaavan for such insolence."
"I dare you to kill me," Lisinthir said, lips pulling back from his teeth. "I will take you with me."
"Brave words for someone who almost died at my feet," the Emperor said.
"But I didn't," Lisinthir hissed.
"You can't hurt me without your toys," the Emperor said. "You are nothing without them."
"But how many toys do I have?" Lisinthir asked. "Will you be able to find them all before I use them? I have many more such surprises, all of them different."
"I am not impressed by surprises," the Emperor said, his mouth almost on Lisinthir's.
The Ambassador smiled. "But it will take only one to kill you."
Between them rose a silence filled only with the heat of the air as they breathed into one another's mouths.
Then the Emperor pulled back. "You talk too much," he said with a lazy, fang-filled grin, turned and walked to the door.
"How do I know you're telling the truth about the captives?" Lisinthir said, pushing himself onto his elbows.
"I do not need them. They have served their use to me, so what more would I want them for?"
"Use? You were not to use them!"
The Emperor grinned again. "Ah, but I did. I used them to find out that Third was right to bring them. That you are still soft in the heart for females and wingless freaks. And now... now I have something new to test you with. Speed your recovery, Ambassador. I don't like to be kept waiting."
Frustrated, Lisinthir dropped back to the bed and covered his eyes. His elation at the release of the slaves was short-lived, for as he curled onto his side he knew the Emperor was not the only one who eagerly awaited their reunion, and the resumption of the tests. But there was something between him and those pleasures, a task to complete first. And as much as he wanted the tests, he wanted this thing more. So much more that he could taste the yearning, feel it in his body like unanswered desire.
Conversations in the harem were too low to be heard through the high windows the two floors shared, but extraordinary noise always carried... which is how the Slave Queen heard Third's arrival downstairs. By the screams.
That she must have run to the harem was obvious, for she found herself in it. Why she had done so escaped her. Particularly when she found Third and his Hand scattering the harem females with their drunken lurching.
"You are not supposed to be here," she said.
These were not her words. This was not her role. But Third and Hand turned to her with narrowed eyes and bared fangs, so she must have spoken.
"We have come for entertainment," Third said. "And we will have it."
"You have not been given permission," the Slave Queen said. "To take your pleasure here would be a transgression against the wishes of the Exalted Emperor. Leave, before you work against his purpose."
The harem had grown silent at her words. Luminous, astonished eyes had locked on her and she felt naked, framed too obviously by the entrance arch.
"You will do fine," Third said and started for her.
The Hand grabbed his arm. "If you touch her, the Emperor will kill you," he said.
"Does it matter?" Third said. "The Emperor has stopped paying attention to anything that's not the wingless freak. And he's not even here. She'll be healed before he is released."
"No," the Hand said. "Choose one of the lesser females."
"If the Slave Queen is good enough for the freak, she's good enough for me," Third said. "Or should I stand by while he returns to his dallying with her? Him, a worthless alien, while I, a tr
ue drake, am left with empty hands?"
He was alive? The Slave Queen's heart stumbled. They had managed to save him?
"One of the lesser females," the Hand said again.
"You have not been permitted," the Slave Queen said. "Will you spend yourself here in full view?"
"The testimony of females!" Third said and spit. "Worthless!"
The Slave Queen took one step backward, just far enough so that she could see the impassive guards on either side of the arch. "And these males? Their testimony is also worthless?"
"Enough," the Hand said.
"I raped you without being slapped down for it not long ago," Third hissed.
"I was alone," the Slave Queen said. "The guards did not hear you. There were no other females to see it."
"Your precious Ambassador was witness," Third said. "Why didn't he bring that tale to his master?"
"Because he answered you himself," the Slave Queen said, and as she said it realized it was sooth. "As males should, when they protect their own."
"Oh, the richness," Third said. "So now you are the freak's property. Well, let me explain something to you, female... a real male's answer would have been to kill me. Something the Ambassador won't ever do. And something the Emperor doesn't seem willing to do either. Trust me when I say the court is paying attention to these lapses. Weak males die."
"Go," the Slave Queen said. "You do not belong here."
The Hand tugged on Third's arm. When Third snarled at him, the Hand said, "Surely we deserve better than females who serve such weak-willed males."
Third straightened, hands curling and uncurling into fists. He pointed at the Slave Queen. "You will be the first I kill, one day. And it will take a very long time."
She stepped aside so he could leave, which he did, hissing at her as he passed. The Hand followed, his face closed.
The females of the harem did not stop staring at her. She began to burn beneath their regard. They did not have to speak; she knew what she'd done was insane, out of reach, indecent. And yet she saw no censure. Only fear. When the weight of their eyes threatened to undo her, the baby squalled. In the ensuing chaos, she escaped to her tower room and hid in one of the center nests, curling deep amid the pillows.
Even the Wingless Page 33
