The Slave Queen watched one of the tongueless females scratching out another letter for the youth conducting the impromptu class in the corner.
“You are quiet, my Queen,” the Knife added, quieter. “What are you thinking?”
“Does it matter what I think?” she said, rousing herself from her unease.
“It does to me.”
She met his eyes. “You have not yet called the Emperor. Will you soon?”
“I was only awaiting Uuvek’s arrival in the flesh. He can work better from within the tower than without it, and as I said, this is not a call we can afford to mishandle.”
She smoothed her hand over her knee. “This new Second. He is a former Navy male.” When the Knife inclined his head, she said, “But he is here, at the court. He has reached this apex. So which will win? The Navy male? Or the court male?”
“I would like to believe his oath to the Emperor means more to him than his ambitions. That he would protect the Emperor’s back, as Uuvek and I and our compatriots protect each other’s. That...” The Knife closed his eyes, head dipping so that the neat tail of his naval hair-style slid in front of his chest. When he opened his eyes, the passion burning in them made them almost as incandescent as a normal Chatcaavan’s. “That is what the Navy is, my Queen. The best of what it stands for.”
The Queen thought of her empty vase. “He was in the harem. Without permission.”
“We don’t know yet that he did not have it. The Emperor may be about to tell us that he does.”
“And if he doesn’t?” She looked up at him. “Besides, if he did have permission, why wait so long before taking advantage of it? Why did he not indulge while the Emperor was here? Why come like a thief?”
The Knife said nothing.
“If I speak out of turn—”
He twitched a wing and a hand. “The thought that a male in the Navy might turn on the Emperor is unthinkable. Which means it would be the perfect position from which to execute a coup.” He exhaled. “I hate the thought, my Queen.”
“But?”
“But I will plan either way,” he said. “Just in case. And make our call as soon as Uuvek says he is ready.”
This conversation was on her mind as she ascended to her rooms, tangling with her too-brief communication with Laniis—and the astonishing Eldritch female, who had been nothing like the languishing creature the Ambassador had rescued. The Queen’s head was full of too much noise and worry, drawing strange associations: Uuvek’s stunted wings and her mutilated ones. The old Second and the new Second. The unrest in the Empire, and the Navy’s loyalty. So when she reached the top of the stairs and discovered Stripes awaiting her, she had no idea what to say.
“I apologize if this is presumption,” Stripes said. “But you used to have attendants, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” the Slave Queen said, padding into the room. “But they abandoned me when I began my association with the slaves, and the Ambassador.”
“The Ambassador,” Stripes said. “He was the strange, flat-faced alien who smelled like hekkret and brandy and the oil used on knives.”
Startled, the Slave Queen said, “I suppose he did. Smell of those things. I never thought of it.”
“Second was here again today. He tried two different females this time.”
The Slave Queen canted her head. “Was he violent?”
“No. He has pedestrian tastes for a male of his rank.” Stripes folded both sets of arms. “The other females whisper about it. A powerful male who uses them without hurting them.”
“But discards them,” the Queen said. She settled on her favorite windowsill. “He does not regard them except as vessels for his pleasure.”
“Of course. What else?” Stripes eyed her. “Don’t you fear to fall?”
“No.” The Queen looked out—down—at the sea. Up at the sky. “I don’t think I’m so important that my death would mean anything.”
“You’d be wrong.”
Shocked by the other female’s vehemence, the Slave Queen looked back and found Stripes standing, rigid and proud, her entire body a stroke that defied marring. No one seeing her would fail to count her properly. The words she spoke only underscored that impression, and the Queen’s incredulity mounted as she listened. “You are an example of what we could be if we were brave. If we were free. You helped the Mother survive. You went outside the tower to see the Emperor in the clinic. You meddled in politics—don’t deny this is true—and you survived. And the Emperor values you.” Stripes lifted her head. “You aren’t allowed to die. You have too much to do.”
“I had no idea anyone felt this way,” the Slave Queen said, eyes wide.
“You are being foolish,” Stripes said, acerbic. “You know the Emperor feels this way. You know the Ambassador felt this way. You know the Mother does, and the Knife. You know all these individuals would be appalled if you died, so do not tell me otherwise.”
The Slave Queen’s jaw dropped. And then, amazingly, she started to laugh. Stripes watched her, arms still tightly folded, until she finished. “You are forward,” the Queen said. “And you are ferocious. A throwback to ages past when we still worshipped the Living Air.”
“Like a priestess?” Stripes asked, tilting her head. “I like that.”
“I will call you that, then. You are now the Priestess.”
Stripes blinked several times, and the Queen felt a fierce satisfaction to have finally surprised her.
“Then my first act as a priestess of a dead religion is to demand that you do not become its first martyr. Come off the windowsill, Mistress.”
“And if I like to look out the window?”
“Then we will pull the bench over to it.” The Priestess stared down the tip of her nose at her. “That would be a practical way to enjoy the view. And you must now become a practical female.”
“As opposed to…?”
“A melancholic female,” the Priestess said.
The Slave Queen considered this, then slid off the sill. “I will not argue with my own priestess. On one condition.”
“That being?”
“That you bear me company more often. If I am to be a practical female, I will need an example.”
The Priestess looked pleased. “Good. I was hoping you would see that isolation serves no one.”
“Doesn’t it?” the Queen asked, startled.
“Not those who wish to start a revolution,” the Priestess said. “That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid the revolution has already begun,” the Queen said. “I am just trying to keep it from killing everyone I care about.”
“Excellent,” the Priestess said. “I will make sure you care about me, then, as I have no desire to die yet.”
“Any female who doesn’t desire to die in this Empire needs to survive,” the Queen said. “If only because their existence is novel. So, you will eat with me, Priestess, and then we will bathe before you return to the harem. And you will continue to tell me about Second’s activities in the harem.”
“I find this plan an excellent one,” the Priestess said.
“And you will tell me if there are other females of your mind.” The Queen hesitated. “Are there?”
The Priestess canted her head, eyes going distant. “Some,” she said. “Maybe. I will see.” Then with a quick dip of her head. “More allies are good.”
“Yes,” the Slave Queen murmured. “I think you are right.”
The only predictable thing about the next days were that the activities involved—sparring, riding the ridiculous but convincing faerie horses, dancing, eating—were blurred into one another by his cousin’s sensual touch. It was not always a sexual one, for which Jahir was grateful; he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with an injured and exhausted Lisinthir, and Lisinthir when healthy had the energy and appetites of a god out of mythology. Nor always a violent one, and for that he was never sure whether he was grateful or impatient. But sensual—that always. Like
all Eldritch his cousin must have begun constrained from touching others, but having been acquainted with the practice in the Empire he had fallen into it with enthusiasm… with, Jahir judged, the same starvation he himself was struggling to slake now. He wondered if that was something all the Eldritch who found themselves driven off-world would have in common, if their agitation was the result of a need stifled by their culture. What a terrifying realization if so! For he did not want to have a need he would have to fulfill with someone other than his cousin… cousins, for he hoped Sediryl would have him. Watching how casually Lisinthir interacted with the Alliance’s populace, Jahir didn’t think himself capable of that level of nonchalance about touching. And if he could develop it through habit—if he could desensitize himself—would he want to, if it meant losing the exquisite consciousness of a fingertip tracing the delicate skin beneath his eye? Or down the blade of his scapula?
As if recognizing the storms Jahir was navigating, Lisinthir left him some time to himself each day. Not much, but enough to call Vasiht’h, or take a walk or a bath in peace. On the fourth day Jahir decided to use it for other purposes, and was awaiting his cousin when Lisinthir returned… returned, and halted.
“You have the look of someone lying in ambush.”
“That’s because I have arranged for our entertainment and our experimentation this afternoon.”
“Excellent,” Lisinthir said, offering his arm. “I am eager to be the one courted today.”
“Is that how you see it?” Jahir asked, startled. “As courting?”
“We have begun as acquaintances and are now lovers, and I believe I was the one who made the overtures.” Lisinthir glossed the words in alternating silver and gold so that they seemed to flash in sunlight, and the effect was dazzling, mirth and affection and deeper love and teasing somehow. “How else, then?”
“Is that why you are wanting to tuck my arm in yours?” Jahir asked, wry.
“I am being courteous!”
“You are being chivalrous, as you would to a woman. And I am not a woman, cousin.”
“You are very decidedly not.” Said with such relish, and all crimson. Sliding back into neutral grays and silvers, “Don’t be offended, Galare. A man who fights the way you do is not lacking in masculinity.”
“By our standards,” Jahir murmured.
“Those are the standards we use,” Lisinthir said. “So come, show me this entertainment. I am eager to see what you have planned.”
Jahir rose from the chair finally… and slid his arm through his cousin’s. He felt Lisinthir’s amusement through their touch despite the clothing and accepted this increased sensitivity the way his cousin must have accepted the utility of touching people more often. Perhaps they were both pragmatists in the end. “To show I hold no offense at the implication,” Jahir said.
“I would not have offered had it been intended as offense. Rather, I am delighted to have been accepted.”
Jahir sighed. “Not a woman, to accept your advances.”
“Not wholly Eldritch, to insist that you act as one.”
“Did you not just say the standards we use….”
“When they suit us, yes? We are both more than capable of casting them aside when they don’t.”
Disturbed, Jahir let his cousin guide him into the corridor. When they drifted to a halt, he looked up.
“I don’t know where we’re going,” Lisinthir pointed out gently.
“Are we really so fickle, to throw away what doesn’t suit us in the moment only to take it back up when it does? Like clothing we rip from ourselves to indulge in the wrongful tryst and then draw back on to disguise our sins?”
“Oh, for the sake of God and the Lady.” Lisinthir dropped his arm and rested a hand alongside Jahir’s face, palm warm against cheek. “If you must wax metaphorical, Galare, we are shedding the garrote that strangles us, or the chain that keeps us from freedom. You must accept that some of our culture is simply wrongheaded.”
“All cultures have wrongheaded moments, but if we want them to remain cohesive we can’t simply pick and choose the parts that please us and ignore the rest!”
“Can’t we? Don’t we?”
“No,” Jahir said, firmly.
“Jahir,” Lisinthir said. “You left the homeworld. What is the one thing Eldritch do not do?”
He flushed under Lisinthir’s fingers.
“You loved an alien. What is the one thing Eldritch would not do? Shall I list your other sins? You have loved a blood-cousin. You have refused to marry for duty. You have lain down with a man. Shall I continue?”
“No,” Jahir whispered. Marshaling himself, he said, “But if we do not uphold society, we destroy it.”
“If we do not resist society when it is stupid, we allow it to march to its destruction. Societies evolve, just as people do. They mature; they see the follies of their childhood years and amend their behavior.” Lisinthir brushed a thumb over Jahir’s lips, his voice gentling. “When a people’s traditions and customs do not serve its survival, they must change.”
Jahir searched the dark eyes resting on his, saw the melancholy in them and tasted it through their skins. “You think of the Empire.”
“And of our world. I think it meet that they are both at inflection points where they must make the choice to either adapt or die. Do you suppose the Divine mandated that symmetry?”
“Maybe They knew we would need each other to make that change.”
“Maybe.” Lisinthir kissed his brow. “We shall straighten out the Empire, and then our own people, and perhaps we will have a little more space to breathe on both sides of the border.” Tenderly, “So. Are we quit of the thought that you are lacking in moral fiber? You did promise you would commit fewer acts of self-flagellation.”
“Of the flesh, as I recall,” Jahir said.
“Had I know you were intending to set the whip to your spirit, I would have extracted that promise as well.”
Jahir shook his head. “Cousin.”
“What?”
“You are appalling. And too capable of charming your way out of everything. But not out of my entertainment, so… we should go to the lift.”
Lisinthir slipped his arm through Jahir’s. “Lead the way, my swain.”
“You did not just—” Jahir glanced at him and found his cousin batting his lashes at him extravagantly. He laughed. “God and Lady, don’t, you look ridiculous.”
“And here I thought I was charming…!”
“In a masculine way,” Jahir said firmly. “There is nothing like a woman in you, cousin.”
“By our standards.”
Jahir sighed, chuckled. “By the standards we are using now.”
“Excellent. I shall have you gentled to the saddle yet, Galare.”
But all of Lisinthir’s teasing fell away when Jahir led him into the concert hall, fell away and left him alert and silent. Walking alongside him, Jahir thought there was no shadow his cousin was not cataloging, no distance he was not calculating. Which served his purpose very well, and he knew Lisinthir could feel his satisfaction through their linked arms.
“You have brought me to an empty concert hall,” Lisinthir said with interest. “Will you tell me why or force me to guess?”
“Tomorrow morning we have tickets to a concert in this hall,” Jahir said. “So this afternoon I have rented it so that we might conduct the control to our experiment.”
“That being?”
“To discover at what distance our abilities begin to attenuate.” Jahir slipped his arm free. “Both when we are using them against one another, and when we are attempting to use them in tandem. We began this in the dance club, but we did not apply any rigor to it.”
“Then you mean us to try again when the hall is full of people.” Lisinthir looked up, eyes narrowing, nodded sharply. “This place is at least four times as large as the club. Yes, it is a worthy experiment. I commend you, cousin. How shall we proceed?”
“I will go to th
e stage, as one of the back walls is there. You will be the one moving. I thought it would be easiest to begin yoked and attempt to maintain contact until it breaks. Then we can try the antagonistic techniques.”
“Very good. I am at your disposal, with one condition.”
Jahir folded his arms behind his back and waited.
“That you grant me the impudence of a question, at the end.”
Jahir said, low, “If you mean to ask me if you can have me on the stage….”
“Nothing so crass, I pledge you.”
Warily, Jahir searched his cousin’s face, thought of trailing ephemeral fingertips over the surface of his feelings… but didn’t. Lisinthir was wearing his most urbane of masks, but such masks had hidden both vulnerabilities and outrageousness before, and there was no telling which was motivating him now. But he trusted Lisinthir, so—“Very well.”
“Excellent.” Lisinthir held out his hands. “Fall into me, and let us begin.”
He had been the one to plan this; he reminded himself of it and set his palms on his cousin’s, and did as bade. Accepted the caress of the other man’s mind, deepened the communion until it felt wide and raw and deep. It helped when he turned away that he was facing the stage and the distant piano. They were here to a purpose, and for once, the experiment was happening on his ground, within parameters he had set. Squaring his shoulders, he headed for the stage, and the interminability of the attempt.
Several hours later, he was glad of the advantages, for it had been a frustrating, fascinating, and terrifying exercise to witness the range at which they were capable of acting, and what confounded their abilities. Jahir was sitting on the piano bench when Lisinthir finally came into earshot, strolling down the aisle toward the stage. “You think it enough?”
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