The Slave Queen lifted her Eldritch head and beheld the stares of all the Chatcaava in the nursery, no matter their age or station. And smiled with alien lips.
“The Change!” Gale whispered, shocked.
“The Change,” the Knife said, reverent.
“An alien!” the Mother squeaked. “You are an alien, like the one you sent to save me!”
“I am, yes.” The Slave Queen rolled these shoulders, so much simpler than her Chatcaavan ones with their extra strands of muscle leading to the wing-arms on her back. As she stretched her toes, she studied the female slaves in the room. All of them had drawn back toward the wall at the arrival of the visitors, and her Change had driven them into the shadows. But none of them had fled. Did they feel some responsibility toward their charges? One strong enough to keep them near in the face of disruption and possible danger? Or were they curious?
How many of them, she wondered, were as deviant as her Knife with his provincial attitudes, the Mother with her love of children, the Surgeon with his seditious thoughts? How many of them might she lure to her cause?
She padded toward the wall and stopped there, letting them look their fill. Then she said, “With this shape, I can read your thoughts, and you may hear mine. We might converse. Which one of you would like to speak again and be heard?”
Behind her she heard the Knife inhale sharply. She kept her eyes on the tongueless females, waiting. She was no hunter to have learned patience in the games that males played… but females in the Empire learned a persistence all their own. And she was rewarded at last, not by one, but by several of them stepping forward. As she watched, fascinated, they halted and stared at one another. Did they consult by some means she could not discern? Because three of them stepped back, leaving one female waiting for her. An older Chatcaavan, dark brown hide and pale pink eyes, with a forthrightness to her manner that seemed almost belligerent.
The Slave Queen couldn’t blame her for it. How long had this female been imprisoned in a cage more complete than any harem?
There was a question in the other female’s eyes. The Queen said, “It is not difficult. We touch, that is all.” She offered her hands. “Like so.”
The female eyed her palms, then cautiously reached for them, grasped them. Her expectation filtered through the skin, but that was not enough. The Slave Queen bent closer, concentrating. Reaching the Ambassador had been easy: so much practice, and his willingness, and the talent native to his own body supplementing her borrowed one. This needed all her attention, and she lost awareness of the room as she stretched herself out, extending herself further and further until… with a snap, she heard the other female as clearly as water splashing, and that was overwhelmingly the vocal quality of this female: a plangent clarity, a singing voice.
/This surely cannot work./
/But it has,/ the Slave Queen said.
The female jerked her head up, eyes widening.
/You are not imagining it,/ the Slave Queen added. /You are sensing the true talent of this body shape, which I have borrowed from an alien who taught me its use. They read thoughts and emotions through skin./
The female’s astonishment suffused the Queen’s mind.
/I know,/ the Queen said. /I found it unbelievable myself./
/Why?/ the female said suddenly. /Why do you do this? What have you to gain? Who will punish you for the attempt?/
The Queen opened her eyes and found the other female’s narrowed. /No one will punish me for this. I do it because my Emperor needs allies, and he has taught me to seek them in unexpected places./
/You would believe any of us capable of being his ally when we are slaves to his children./
She evaluated the other female, glanced at the other slaves. /You are too old to have been instated by him. You and the others are my sire’s slaves, aren’t you?/
The female’s hands twitched in hers. /I… I don’t know. Time goes by and so little changes. We’d heard there was a new Emperor—is this the one you serve, then?/
/He is nothing like my sire./ The Slave Queen willed the other female to hear her sincerity. /My sire ripped my womb from me to deny it to his enemy. This Emperor comes to me, listens to me, asks what I need./ She remembered the taste of salt on her tongue, the feel of the briny water smacking her ankles. /He took me to see the sea, because I asked./
The female paused. /How is he not dead yet?/
/Because he is too strong for his rivals to kill him./
An audible snort, puffed through the female’s nostrils. /A male who coddles his Slave Queen is either too weak to survive or too mad to lose. Which is it?/
The Queen smiled, feeling it stretch the mobile lips of her Eldritch face. /He’s still alive./
Another pause. Then the female chuckled, a husky noise in her throat. /I am Lead Attendant./
/You have a title!/
/Why shouldn’t I?/ Lead Attendant said. /No one can hear me to reprimand me for insolence./ She indicated the other females with her nose. /Those are Lead Milk and Lead Attendant for the Male Nursery. We know each other by our actions, we three. The others had names before they were forced here. I don’t know if they have kept them./
/Then I will ask./
/And then what?/ Lead Attendant said. /None of us can speak. None of us can read or write. If the only way we can communicate is through you, what good does it do anyone?/
What good indeed. Aloud, the Slave Queen said, “Gale?”
The boy’s voice came from behind her, closer than she expected. His voice was guarded but there was no concealing the fascination that had brought him almost to her side. “Here.”
“You are learning your strokes? Numbers and letters both? I assume the boys are taught.”
“Yes,” he said, puzzled. “The tutor comes in through the window. He only teaches us, not the females.”
“And do you know your strokes well?”
She could almost hear him drawing himself up—no, she did hear it. His wings had mantled, and his voice came now from a slightly higher position. “I know them better than anyone else. I read many things. I read sometimes to the babies, too.”
“Good,” the Slave Queen said. “And you are your father’s true son, yes?”
“Yes.” Wary again, but still curious.
“Then this task you will undertake on his behalf,” the Slave Queen said, holding Lead Attendant’s eyes. “You will teach these females to read. In fact… you will organize your fellow male children and put them to work teaching your sisters to do so also.”
“Sisters,” he said, testing the word, which was ancient, which had fallen out of use.
“They are that.”
Lead Attendant was breathing deeply, her pupils thinned. /You mean it. You would subvert everything. You would have us learn what is forbidden to us./
/Yes./
/Knowing what will befall us if we are caught at it./
/If my Emperor catches you at it, he will congratulate me for securing your allegiance. If some other male catches you at it, one not chosen by my Knife for your security, you will all be killed./ The Slave Queen cocked her head. /I lay the choice before you. Stay safe and mute. Or win back your voices, and gamble on the Emperor who would protect you while you do so./
Lead Attendant’s hands twitched in hers.
/You need not answer—/
/But I do, because the answer is easy./ The other female glanced at the children. /It is hard to give up safety. One clings to life, even a bad life. But it is not much of a life, what we have. For a chance to have more…yes, Slave Queen. I will risk it./
/Good. Then I go to make the offer to the others./
Lead Attendant dipped her head, eyes closed. /Thank you./
/We are both female, Lead Attendant. If we do not help one another, who will?/ The Slave Queen slid her hands slowly from the other female’s. Turning, she considered her watchers. Gale had drawn close enough to be able to touch her, if he extended his hand. He hadn’t, though. “We
ll?” she said to him. “Didn’t I give you work to do?”
Gale glanced at the Mother, who said, “She is the Queen.”
“It would be fun,” he said after a moment.
“Go find some assistants,” the Queen said. “While I talk to the other females.” As Lead Milk stepped up to her, she said, “This may take a while.”
Sediryl made herself a cup of hibiscus tea after seeing the Fleet personnel off with her promise to find them an answer. She wasn’t thirsty, but her hands kept twitching in an all too familiar agitation. How much time had she lost in pacing, in aimless motion? There was no stilling it in her, hadn’t been for years now.
So, she made tea and watched her fingers going through the motions of pulling hot water from the tap, filling her delicate cup, and draping the tea bag in it to steep, seeing them from a remove: Eldritch hands, doing inappropriate tasks, and suited to them.
She cherished the independence implied by her job; was glad of the solitude that had devolved onto her after her amicable parting of ways with Hyera, her human lover and the artist who’d given her Bells and Whistles. She enjoyed living here, loved her work, had been gratified by the way formal education had filled the gaps in the knowledge she had derived empirically while studying to be her mother’s heir. Had everything gone as it should have, she would have succeeded to the position of the richest Eldritch landholder on their homeworld. Not in monetary wealth, but in something far more important: arable land, beehives, livestock. All her life, she had prepared for that position. She had loved the fertile earth. And when her mother had disinherited her, she had vowed that she would never, ever grieve for what she’d lost... that she would drown her sorrows in the far more biddable soil available to her in the Alliance.
And she had succeeded.
To the extent to which she was capable.
Staring at her cup, Sediryl faced the truth she spent much of her time ignoring. She had been bred not just to stewardship of the land, but to power, and as deeply as she cared for her Alliance outpost it was incapable of the level of stimulation she needed. When the responsibilities of her birthright had been stripped from her, it was as if all the energy in her body had been trapped in her, straining for release and never finding it.
Thus, the constant nervousness of her hands.
But that was years in her past now, and she’d thought herself resigned to her situation. She’d even been contemplating additional projects, above and beyond her increasing involvement with the charity that had brought her to Fleet’s attention. The Alliance had an undeniable charm; she’d been prepared to sink into its arms when she’d been recalled for her far cousin’s wedding. She hadn’t planned that visit to do anything other than reaffirm her decisions. But instead, it had… adjusted… things in her she’d thought stable.
And she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know what had done the adjusting. Or who. She thought briefly of the Glaseah, as seen from the back of a horse, his brown eyes earnest and distressed... and, just a flash, of her cousin. The courtly cousin she hadn’t thought to really look at. Not that way, not after growing up with him as a carefree maiden. He had changed, though, and now that she had seen a hint of what he’d become....
Sediryl wasn’t sure why she made the call she did, why she left the message that would guarantee the return call. Bringing the cup with her to the window, she watched the wind tousle the wheat, toes curling with the energy she could no longer release through her fingers. There she sipped the tea, the outrageously colored tea that Hyera had once used to paint her a picture before using the remainder on her lips and skin, astringent and outrageously pink. The taste reminded her that no matter what she wanted, she was still an outcast, and a deviant, and worse than either, a woman without a home.
It took an hour for the Chancellor’s office to call her back and connect her to the Queen.
Liolesa, as always, was unreadable, poised, and utterly implacable. Such a perfect façade, and such courtesy. Always a politician. “Sediryl Nuera. It’s good to hear from you.”
Sediryl folded her arms. She was taking this call standing because she didn’t think she could handle it seated, and the Queen’s image floated across from her, looking uncannily right framed in all the Alliance’s technology. Because Liolesa could never look out of place, especially amid the civilization she’d cultivated as their people’s ally. “Is it?”
“You know it is,” Liolesa said. “But I questioned the message Delerenenard passed to me. I admit to surprise that you are willing to call in your favor so quickly.”
“It’s been years.”
“We live thousands of them, cousin.”
Sediryl hugged herself beneath her concealing arms. “Point. I’m not actually calling in my favor, though. I have encountered a situation that I think you’ll agree would be beneficial to us both… you might end up owing me another favor, in fact.”
One of Liolesa’s brows lifted. “Go on.”
“You know my blood-cousin Amber is abroad on the border?” At her nod, Sediryl said, “He’s asked me if I’d be willing to help him rehome a group of Chatcaavan refugees using my contacts with the Whole Galactic charities. Fleet tells me they can get the people out but from they need a place to stay once they’ve been liberated. Mildred’s charity is known for its skill at helping resettle displaced people.”
“Interesting,” Liolesa murmured. “And you believe this relevant to my interests because…?”
“Because I’d like to resettle these refugees on our world… and one of them is the Queen of the Chatcaava.” Liolesa’s other brow went up and Sediryl grinned. “I told you you’d probably owe me another favor.”
She’d been expecting an immediate expression of interest, given how quickly the Queen thought. Liolesa was nothing if not decisive. But the other woman’s eyes lost their focus for a few moments before she returned from her thoughts to say, “When?”
Surprised, Sediryl replied, “I’m not sure? I don’t think they know either.”
“My answer, then, is a conditional ‘yes’. We may not be in a position to make the offer but I’m willing to entertain the proposition when it becomes a definite opportunity.”
Sediryl wondered what was going on to make the Queen so cagey. The chill that went up her spine… did that mean she cared what was happening to her world and the people on it she’d denounced? “If not us….”
“If not us, then the Alliance,” the Queen said, “and they are more than capable of accepting a political exile and her entourage. But I can see the potentials, yes. And if the offer is far enough out I may have a good place for them.”
“And if not?”
“If not, then our allies can host the Chatcaavan Queen until such time that I can make that offer.”
“But would she take it, if she had the choice between us and the Alliance?” Sediryl wondered, frowning.
“Oh… I think she might.”
Sediryl looked up sharply, but the Queen’s face was a mask. As she stared, Liolesa’s mouth quirked, just a touch. If she could call that a smile, it didn’t reach the Queen’s eyes.
“I see,” Sediryl said.
After a moment—one Sediryl was completely sure Liolesa was giving her to consider the situation—the Queen said, “I like you, cousin. And I don’t mind your adopting the Alliance’s egalitarianism.”
“But?” Sediryl asked, straightening her arms so she could force her hands open at her sides. What she really wanted to do was play with her hair, twitch the pleat of her pants, do something with her nervous energy.
“You don’t have to respect me because I’m the Queen,” Liolesa said. “But you might consider whether I might be due it for other reasons.”
“You’re saying I’m rude.”
“You’re hurt, I know,” Liolesa said. “Your mother has earned your opprobrium several times over. But we are not all made in her mold.”
“Enough of us are—”
“Your father,” Liolesa said. “Your tenan
ts, who kept your bees and let you have the first taste of their honey. The guards who willingly followed you when you marked the borders, despite your insisting on it being more than a symbolic gesture.” An almost infinitesimal pause for emphasis. “Your blood-cousins in the Seni.”
Did she know? She couldn’t know. Sediryl hadn’t told anyone, and Goddess and Lord knew Vasiht’h wouldn’t have either.
“They’re worth hundreds of those who are less deserving. Would you not say?”
Sediryl folded her arms again and blurted the one thing she strove to keep buried. “I still want to burn it all down sometimes.”
“So do I.”
Sediryl looked up, stunned.
“But that would be a waste, no matter how satisfying the conflagration. We work with what we have, Nuera.”
“I’m not Nuera anymore,” Sediryl said.
Liolesa smiled then. “For now. Have faith, cousin. Am I not in your corner?”
The colloquialism, dropped into their tongue and translated, was so unexpected that she had to laugh. “If you say you are, then I guess I have to believe you. But I refuse to be rehabilitated.”
“Who said you needed it?”
That made her narrow her eyes, and when the Queen didn’t elaborate, beyond what could be implied very eloquently with her arched brows, Sediryl said, “What is it? What are you about to ask me?”
“Ah... but how did you know that I was going to?”
“Because you let me see it,” Sediryl said, scowling.
Liolesa laughed. “Very good! And why would I do that?”
“I hate being led this way.”
“So don’t follow. Lead me to the conclusion you’ve already made.”
Before she knew what she was thinking, she was speaking. “Amber’s in the middle of nowhere. Jahir and Vasiht’h have fulfilling jobs already. You don’t have many of us out here, but you need someone who’ll keep track of when the charity brings the refugees out, someone to extend the invitation to them.”
“Perfect. So what am I offering you?”
“Are you offering me something?” Sediryl asked, skeptical. “Because only an ambassador with plenipotentiary powers could make an arrangement like that with a foreign head of state. You would have to trust me. Me. The reprobate exile who’s been sitting on years of resentment and anger. Who just admitted to you that she wanted to burn the world down.”
Amulet Rampant Page 23
