He panted, looking rebellious. “What for? Why you getting all stirred up like this?”
“It’s a war weapon,” she said in excitement. “Not for combat. For something bigger. I have to know all about it.”
“Maybe when I get the signal switched in your vid—”
“Are you going with me to Rentaur?” she demanded.
“Sure. All the successful fighters take their servants. The more prestigious the team, the bigger the retinue.”
“Then you can ask around.”
“Ask what?”
“Ask about the parvallehs—where they came from, what their original purpose was.”
He rubbed his muzzle, looking more skeptical than ever. “No one’s going to know stuff like that. It’s too old.”
“Someone knows,” she said. “Halehl knows. He’s realized that just my holding it will make me want to fight. He’s out to get me to turn savage, the way he turned Ylea savage.”
“Born that way, she was,” Elrabin said.
“No,” Ampris retorted. “She’s Aaroun. We aren’t born like that, not crazy and vicious. Never. I may not know much about my people or their ways, but I know that much. I remember the birth memories, and they are good.”
“Hey, Goldie, you were lucky,” he said. “Maybe Ylea’s mother wasn’t as wonderful as yours. Maybe when she was a cub, things weren’t sweet like you had it.”
Ampris turned on him with a snarl. “I was stolen from my mother before I could walk. I was starved and mishandled, then sold in a shop by a Gorlican scoundrel out to make all he could off black market wares. What do you know about sweet beginnings? What do you know about how things were when I was a cub?”
Elrabin lowered his head submissively and backed up. “Sorry. Guess I got that wrong.”
“Don’t make assumptions about me,” she said, still in a huff. “And don’t make assumptions about Ylea. She may be crazy now, but she was all right once. Aarouns don’t go bad unless they’re driven to it. I won’t let Halehl do that to me. I won’t.”
Elrabin watched her, pity in his eyes. “Gotta be bad in the arena, Goldie. Gotta learn to be so bad you can’t stand yourself the rest of the time. That’s why Halehl uses the conditioning words, and your instincts, and the sensor suit. He’s trying to make you crazy, see? Crazy like the others.”
“Only Ylea is insane—”
“Nope,” Elrabin told her. “They’re all crazy. Some more than others. You ain’t seen them go for blood yet. But get ready, Goldie, ’cause it ain’t going to be pretty and it ain’t going to be nice. The more you hack and slash, the better they like it. The more blood and gore you smear, the more they’ll cheer your name. Gotta play to the crowd, see?”
She faced him with her head held high. “Halehl isn’t going to make an animal of me. I had his throat in my teeth, but I let him go. As long as I have a rational mind, and can make my own decisions, I know they haven’t turned me into a beast. They won’t do that to me.”
“I hope not, Goldie,” Elrabin said. “But I ain’t going to bet on it.”
CHAPTER•SEVEN
The Kaa stood at the tall windows of his throne room, gazing out at the broad expanse of the parade ground below. It was barely daybreak, with the sky a grayness still glittering with dimming stars. The cold air of dawn made him shiver beneath his heavy robes, but he did not leave the window.
Around him the palace still slumbered, except for the furtive comings and goings of the servants. No one, however, disturbed him here. He was alone, a rarity in his life of ceremony and endless responsibility. The guards outside the door had orders to let no one disturb him prior to the meeting scheduled with his council this morning.
Outside, on the parade ground, he could see tiny figures moving about in the center of the vast field. A shuttle waited there, to take the prisoners away.
The Kaa sighed and turned from the sight. His daughter’s lovers were to be banished, exiled for life. Although he had been tempted to order them executed, in the end he had realized that such an action would disgrace the males’ families and create an ever-widening pool of scandal. Better to dispatch the matter swiftly and quietly, with a drop of mercy sufficient to avoid future trouble.
Fatigue pulled at him. He ached all over in his joints, and his eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. Still, he could not rest. Even if he curled up among his bed cushions, there would still be no sleep and no rest from the endless thoughts circling through his weary brain.
Slowly he walked over to his throne and sank into it with a soft groan. If only he could find his old energy and drive, but both seemed to have vanished recently. Normally he enjoyed Sahvrazaa Festival and looked forward to it as a respite from his usual obligations. But this Festival had seemed flat, below par. The amusements and evening banquets had barely held his interest. No doubt much of it was Israi’s fault. How could a father enjoy festivities when his beloved daughter sulked and pouted, casting sour looks over the company the few times she deigned to appear at all? While her body might have reached maturity, she continued to exhibit the self-centeredness of a ta-chune.
The Kaa sighed. He craved rest and solitude, neither of which were possible. If only he could recover his old decisiveness, his former assurance. But so many things seemed to be going wrong lately.
The Progressionist Party continued to foment unrest and discord across his empire. Many long-standing treaties were expiring, requiring innumerable diplomatic summits and new, tedious negotiations. His treasury was depleted at present, bringing a complete halt to his beloved project, the restoration of the old palace. The ground radiation problem on the western continent here on Viisymel was spreading again, threatening to contaminate the primary water sources. There were so many demands, so many petitions. Galactic border nine—long a trouble spot—had rebelled in open warfare, and prompt action needed to be taken.
He was tired. He felt a thousand years old.
Only yesterday Festival had ended. Only yesterday he had been informed by the trembling Master of the Imperial Hatchery that of all the imperial eggs laid and fertilized this spring, only four hatchlings were strong enough or suitable enough in appearance for acceptance. Seven Rejects and four hatchlings . . . a dismal result, especially in consideration of years past, when he’d accepted at least double that number. Even now, thinking of yesterday, when the salutes had fired only four times and the crowds had waited in disbelieving silence for a long, long moment before raising a ragged cheer, the Kaa’s heart swelled with grief.
He wanted to shut himself away and mourn the hatchlings he would never know. He could barely bring himself to visit the wives’ court, where the nursery was almost empty and his ladies wandered aimlessly about with vacant, unhappy eyes.
But he knew he could not withdraw from his duties, his endless obligations. He must tell his heart to be strong. He must lock away his grief. He must ignore the hollow silences in all but one corner of the nursery. He must go on, for he was Kaa, the Imperial Father, the Supreme Being who held his troubled empire together by sheer strength of will.
Worst of all, there still remained the problem of Israi. How to solve it? The chancellors were outraged. The whole court was whispering, shocked and titillated by rumors which flew in all directions. If not curbed soon, this situation she had created would be blown out of all proportion. Israi’s own tantrums and sulks were not helping.
He sighed. Israi could not have chosen a worse time to cause trouble. So young, yet growing up . . . more beautiful, more impatient, and more demanding with every passing day. Oh, he was proud of her, greatly proud. He had trained her well, prepared her well to rule. One day—many years from now—she would take the throne for her own, and her radiance would shine glory across the empire.
But it was not yet her time. He would not give her everything she asked for. He would not let her exceed her place.
A chime sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts. The council was here, and he had come to no decisions. Pull
ing his robe more tightly around him against the cool spring air, he closed his eyes a moment to summon all his inner forces.
“Come,” he said.
The doors at the end of the throne room swung open, and the chancellors entered in single file by order of rank. Carrying their staffs of office, their chains gleaming across their chests, they marched in silently and rowed themselves before the semicircle of chairs arranged facing his.
Temondahl walked to the feet of the Kaa and bowed low. The other chancellors also bowed.
“Welcome,” the Kaa said formally. “Let the proceedings begin.”
Temondahl straightened and tapped his staff of office once on the polished stone floor.
The others seated themselves. Temondahl glanced around, saw the open window, and gestured for a lackey to close it. As soon as the servant disappeared, he took his seat in the center of the group and faced the Kaa with a grave expression.
Temondahl’s lineage descended from the Fifth House, with its distinguished reputation for public service. Temondahl, with his pale blue skin and lack of variegated shadings, even around his blue eyes, seemed at first glance to be a dull bureaucrat. But slowly, in the time since he had taken office, he had made his intelligent mind and calm, rational approach to difficult decisions useful to the Kaa. He was not Gaveid, with the old chancellor’s brilliance or insight, but he was a solid adviser, and the Kaa respected him.
Now, the Kaa lifted his hand wearily, allowing Temondahl to proceed.
The chancellor of state opened a small data case. “Our agenda this morning is quite long. This is usual following the close of Festival. Also, we should discuss preparations for the Imperial Father’s annual visit to Malraaket, which is coming up during the summer. There are the mining agreements with various colony worlds to review, and a number of petitions from the usual sources, including a new funding request from Ehssk, director of the Vess Vaas Research Laboratory.”
The Kaa sighed and rested his head against the back of his tall throne. “Give Vess Vaas what it has requested.”
Temondahl sputtered. “But surely we should first review the itemized—”
“No,” the Kaa said, sweeping these details aside impatiently. “Ehssk’s work is vital to the future of our race. If he can find a cure for the Dancing Death, then he is a hero. Settle this and continue with the next item.”
Puffing out his air sacs, Temondahl complied.
Outside, the shuttle carrying the exiled officers took off with a muted roar, and the Kaa’s gaze shifted to the window. He glimpsed a momentary flash of silver metal, burnished as it reflected the early morning sunlight, and felt his heart settle colder inside him.
“Israi,” he said aloud without realizing it, then blinked as Temondahl’s droning report faltered to a halt. The Kaa pulled himself together and met their stares. “Let us deal with the matter of the sri-Kaa now.”
Temondahl exchanged a swift glance with some of the other chancellors and puffed out his air sacs. He lowered his agenda to his knee. “As the Imperial Father requests. First, the chain of evidence and the confessions of the three officers involved.”
The Kaa gestured this material aside. “We have seen the room. We have seen the chemist’s report of the drug taken. We have considered the confessions. Let us not go over old ground.”
His haste and impatience clearly disconcerted them. The oldest member of the group, an amber-skinned southerner named Malvnhad, leaned forward. Malvnhad had flat, merciless eyes like burnished stones. His rill spread above his collar, luxuriant and wide with ruffled edges rimmed in green.
“Her actions smack of treason,” he said bluntly, no apology in his voice. “She has tried to divide members of the Palace Guard, the Imperial Father’s own elite protectors, against him. She has attempted to break the laws of the birthright. She has made efforts to usurp imperial privileges from the very hand of the Kaa. These transgressions must not be ignored.”
A tremor of annoyance passed through the Kaa’s rill. He said nothing, however, letting them talk now that Malvnhad’s words had broken the dam of courteous silence on the subject.
Temondahl leaned forward to address Malvnhad at the end of the line. “Lord Malvnhad is correct,” he said smoothly. “However, the sri-Kaa has not actually divided the guards. She did not break the laws of birthright. She usurped no privileges.”
“Only because she was stopped in time,” Malvnhad muttered.
“But she explained her actions and motivations,” Temondahl continued. “The Kaa has forgiven her misdeeds.”
“The Kaa’s mercy is great,” Malvnhad said harshly. “But perhaps the Kaa’s mercy has been hasty.”
“The sri-Kaa did not commit actual treason,” Temondahl said, keeping an eye on the Kaa as he spoke. “This fact must remain clear.”
“She came very close,” Malvnhad argued.
“But she did not commit it,” Temondahl said. “And we must not confuse the impetuous actions of a youthful Imperial Daughter facing her first—”
“What is forbidden, is forbidden!” Malvnhad said, crashing his fist down upon his knee. “Youth and impetuosity do not excuse the act. Further, let us consider the ramifications of this disobedience. If she rebels against what should be an obedient, meditative, gentle time in the cycle of the female, what else will she do?”
Temondahl hesitated, still watching the Kaa for his reaction. The Kaa said nothing, allowed no flicker of expression to appear. Looking like one of the carved stone edifices of his ancestors, he sat stolidly on his throne and listened in silence.
“May I speak?” piped up another chancellor. Lord Huthaldraril was no taller than a female, willowy and green-skinned, with eyes bright and eager. He was the youngest member of the council, newly elected and self-conscious of his position. Like most of his generation, he was overindulged by his family, overeducated, and underexperienced.
Temondahl narrowed his eyes and nodded permission.
Huthaldraril moved eagerly to the edge of his seat. “I believe what Lord Malvnhad really wishes to say is that were the sri-Kaa a male, her actions would be seen as a direct threat to the throne. Historically, such rebellions indicate that next an attempt to subvert the loyalties of the army will be—”
“Enough,” the Kaa said with a sweeping gesture.
Huthaldraril fell silent, his rill turning bright red. He scooted to the back of his chair and hunched down.
“It is unnecessary for the council to overreact,” the Kaa said. “There is no need for hysteria. The sri-Kaa has made her apology. She has received correction. She is forgiven.”
“And when the next incident happens?” Malvnhad asked.
The Kaa’s rill extended in ire. He flicked out his tongue. “There will be none.”
“Can the Imperial Father be sure?”
Now Temondahl’s rill rose behind his head. He answered for the Kaa, “Lord Malvnhad, your concerns are noteworthy, but do not take them too far. The Imperial Daughter’s actions may have been unfortunate, but she is not a subject for criticism.”
“Until she ascends to the throne, she is subject to the laws,” Malvnhad said, refusing to back down. “It is time she learned this.”
“What would you do?” Temondahl retorted. “Punish her?”
“There will be no punishment,” the Kaa said sharply, and both chancellors fell silent.
“She is most high-spirited,” ventured Lord Curmn timidly. “This appears to be perhaps a more adult version of the pranks she used to play as a ta-chune.”
A general consensus was murmured among them.
Pleased by this interpretation, the Kaa flicked out his tongue and sat less stiffly. “Agreed,” he said. “Israi is young and healthy. Naturally she is active and favored with much energy. It is time we assigned her more imperial duties, both to acknowledge that she is now an adult and to occupy her abilities in a positive way.”
Again they nodded and murmured approval, with the exception of Malvnhad, who sat and glared i
n silence.
Temondahl lowered his rill as much as his collar would allow. “An assignment of duties is an excellent suggestion made by the Imperial Father. I can have a roster of possibilities drawn up by the next—”
“Yes,” the Kaa said, interrupting. “That is acceptable. But we will go further and send her to Malraaket this year to represent our glory.”
A babble of voices broke out, mostly in consternation. More than one chancellor rose involuntarily to his feet, and it required much banging of Temondahl’s staff on the floor to restore order.
“My lords, please,” he said in disapproval, glaring at them until they were quiet and seated once again. “Such breaks in decorum simply will not do.”
“But the Imperial Father always goes to Malraaket,” said Curmn. He pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve pocket and fanned himself. “The tradition is one of long standing. What would such a change convey to the officials and citizens of that city? What would it say to them?”
“It would say to them that we wish them to meet the sri-Kaa at last,” Malvnhad replied impatiently. “More to the purpose, what would it say to the sri-Kaa herself?”
The chancellors blinked.
Malvnhad leaned forward. “It would say that she is to be rewarded for her actions. That she can do exactly as she pleases without consequences.”
“Why shouldn’t she have such a splendid duty?” Temondahl asked loyally, glancing at the Kaa as he spoke. “What is there against this plan of our Imperial Father’s?”
“Nothing, if her highness could be trusted,” Malvnhad replied, with more boldness than ever.
The Kaa smacked his palm hard against the arm of his throne, and Malvnhad faltered momentarily.
His stony eyes met those of the Kaa’s, and the old chancellor bowed his head. “If my speech is too strong, then I beg the Imperial Father’s pardon.”
“You accuse her of treason,” Huthaldraril said, his voice high-pitched with alarm. “Such a charge is serious indeed. According to the historical precedent, we must—”
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