by Lea Daley
“But your integrity wouldn’t permit that…”
“Naturally. I reminded Peter it was his idea to procreate in the traditional way. And pointed out that I’d kept my end of the bargain—even if he wasn’t man enough for his.”
“Too bad Jashari has no doors to slam.”
Whitehall laughed. “So true. His exit wasn’t nearly as flamboyant as he wished. But he’s gone for good. And his departure does change one thing, Leslie.” She leaned close. Placed a smooth, insinuating hand on my knee.
Oh, god! Keeping Chastity at bay would be harder now—much harder. Because I’d stupidly removed the only barrier I’d erected between us. Her fingers were sliding down the inner slope of my thigh when I cleared my throat. “Did Peter tell you anything else?”
Whitehall straightened and fluffed her hair. “He did, Leslie.” Her brow puckered so appealingly I was sure she’d practiced in a mirror. “I’m afraid you’ve created quite a problem for yourself. The Elders had almost concluded you were no threat, but if Peter goes to them…”
“What? What will they do?”
“I’m not certain, but this new development will make them extremely uneasy. Why in the world did you claim to be Li’shayla Mar-Né?”
“To protect myself, Chas! Did Peter tell you he was about to deck me? I guess I should have dodged instead.”
“In hindsight, yes. But I have some influence with N’yal Di’loth and I’ll see him tomorrow. If Peter hasn’t slandered you, so much the better. If he has, perhaps I can represent this as a silly misunderstanding.”
So Whitehall would meet with Bahji’s captors tomorrow! Could I inquire about their plans? Or even ask about her welfare? Better to try an oblique approach, I decided. “Isn’t he the guy behind the disappearance of that kid?”
“N’yal Di’loth is behind almost everything on Jashari. And has been for the past five hundred years.”
Five hundred years? That was probably meant to distract me, but I wouldn’t be diverted from my primary goal. “It must be pretty scary for her. She’s awfully young to be caught up in some stupid strategic wrangle. Do you think they’ll ever release her?”
“How should I know?”
I shrugged. “You’re just so tight with the Council…”
“Listen up, Leslie! Bahji Hemingway’s stirred up a lot of trouble. If there’s any truth to that damned prophecy, then you’re the best candidate for Li’shayla Mar-Né. Which makes Taylor’s brat your te’lal dzarling—she’s the catalyst that sparks disaster. The Elders don’t dare release her! It’s just too dangerous!” Chastity studied the sky for a heartstopping moment. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless the Council concludes there’s nothing to fear from freeing Bahji.”
Struggling for a casual note, I said, “Maybe there’s a way to persuade them—she seemed like an okay kid.”
Chastity found my thigh again, began stroking it lightly. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Lifting that hand, I returned it to her lap. “On my terms,” I said coolly. “On my time line.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aimée had calculated the odds and they weren’t in my favor. She’d cared for Johansonn in his most vulnerable hours and knew him intimately. His character was the crux of the matter. “He is young and very insecure, Leslie-ahn. He will have believed that Chastity’s attention proved his worth. Now he must repair the damage you did. Sharing privileged information with the Council will restore his self-esteem.”
“A high probability?”
“The highest. I can scarcely identify any variance. He will go to the Elders. He will tell them you were a regular at Taylor’s house—”
“That’s not fair! He only saw me there twice! By that reckoning, he could be the Irresistible Force—he certainly looks the part!”
Aimée ignored my outburst. “He will also confirm that you and Bahji were deeply attached. She will only be released if you can somehow void the prophecy.”
“I would if I could! What happens after Johansonn rats me out? Will I have a chance to explain? He did threaten me.”
A shadow crossed Aimée’s face. “Remember, Leslie-ahn, Jashari is not a democracy. Those conventions do not apply. Given the terror you engender, the Council will act conservatively. If members conclude that you are Li’shayla Mar-Né, they will use Bahji to counterbalance your power.”
“For the Harmony of the Whole.”
“That will be their thinking, yes.”
“Any idea what they’ll do?”
“This is too new. We have no precedents. And Chastity is the…the…”
“The unknown in the equation?”
“As you say. If the Elders chose to resolve this in accordance with Jashrine values, I might be able to predict the outcome. But…”
I saw it clearly. “But Whitehall is their Special Advisor on Les Incurables. They’ll accept whatever solution she proposes. Because the pressure’s off if one Returnee makes the judgment about another.”
“Precisely. The decision will be presented as a ruling from the Council, yet everyone will understand the Elders are not responsible. Jasharians will consider it appropriate that your culture dealt with its own.”
Bad news—if Whitehall could decide my destiny, I was in for rough justice. And what would happen to poor Bahji? I shook my head in frustration. “It’s a perfect trap.”
Aimée nodded minutely.
Cold dread seized my heart. Because only one option remained. “Bloody hell! If I have nothing to lose, I’ll go for broke.” The VTO looked perplexed. “I mean I might as well bow to fortune, do something dramatic since I’m totally boxed in. But in exchange, I’ll demand Bahji’s release.”
“This is very dangerous, Leslie-ahn.” She was calculating again, a worried crimp in her forehead. If there was an alternative—any alternative—Aimée would find it. Her silence told me all I needed to know.
“It’s the best answer, isn’t it?”
“I cannot make myself say ‘best,’ but it is Bahji’s only hope. We must decide the proper way to proceed. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” The VTO met my eyes with a quizzical gaze. “But I must ask a question. When you told Chastity, ‘On my terms. On my time line,’ what did that mean?”
“I don’t have a clue,” I moaned. “It was just a delaying tactic, part of my tough-guy act. But I’d better figure something out. Because I won’t be able to hold her off for long.” I looked at Aimée hopefully. “Any ideas?”
“Not at the present, Leslie-ahn. Let us put this out of our minds and go to the beach.”
But this time we were so bogged down by morbid speculation that even the ocean couldn’t calm us. Finally, we gave up, packed up and headed homeward. In my courtyard, Aimée took her leave. “I will return in time for breakfast, Leslie-ahn, but I must ponder this problem in privacy.”
* * *
Standing before a mirror, I examined my costume. Which was precisely calibrated, and beyond butch. Because Whitehall consistently backed down when confronted by force, at least in close quarters. I turned sideways to check my outfit from another angle. Metallic accents heightened a brilliant tumble of red hair, made those green eyes go a bit silvery—and perhaps a shade harder than normal. Or maybe that was merely a reflection of my mood, sharp as Damascus steel and twice as deadly.
I stepped into darkest night and strode double-time toward Whitehall’s place. An edgy buzz pulsed through me, and everything seemed intensified—my hearing even more acute than normal, my vision almost telescopic. With each step, the word rafe’la rang in my brain, cascaded through my psyche. The idea of an erotic encounter with Chastity was repellant, the mere thought of her touch scalding. But what choice did I have? I had to bring this game to a close as quickly as possible. And it wouldn’t be pretty.
Outside Whitehall’s compound, I set my shoulders resolutely. Then I slipped within, triggering a chime to announce my arrival. When the woman appeared in her foyer, li
quid brown eyes darted over me, evaluating every detail. I sensed the jolt of adrenaline as it jump-started her heart, but she just had to play it cool.
“Not a good time, Leslie. I’m busy.”
I shrugged indifferently. “It’s now or never, Chas.”
As I turned to exit, she grabbed my arm. I let her spin me around, though the contact was like acid etching bare skin. Whitehall’s eyes were narrowed now, molten, demanding, but I couldn’t allow her to take control. I seized that hand, captured its mate and thrust her against the nearest wall. Stretching both arms above her head, leaning in, I held her there. Then I rammed one knee between hers, prodding hard till she took the hint and spread her legs wide. She met my eyes, smiling seductively, and all semblance of her clothing evaporated. Never trying to escape my grasp, she swayed forward till her naked breasts grazed my own.
I shifted positions then, crossing her wrists, pinning her in place with a single hand while the other found erect nipples, tweaking harshly. Chas gasped and arched and retreated, both insistent and submissive. “My god, you’re strong!” she cried.
I trailed my free hand down her body. “You have no idea.” I found that beckoning patch of golden hair, found warmth and wetness, found the pliant, throbbing little nub of her clit. Whitehall was writhing, shuddering under my touch, wild with hunger, excited by my supreme dominance. “How much do you want this?” I growled.
“More than anything! Since the first instant I saw you!”
I slid one finger inside her, just barely, then out again. She shimmied against me, urging me onward. “And what will you do to get it?”
“Everything! Tell me what you want!”
Working that finger a bit deeper, I said, “I want you to beg.”
“Please—!”
“I want total surrender,” I murmured, stroking slowly.
“Yes!”
“I want you over my knees now.” Yanking Whitehall toward a resilient, invisible couch, I pulled her into position, tucked her hand low, curled it against her crotch. “Enjoy,” I murmured, turning my attention to the bronzed mounds of her ass. That peachy perfection would soon be blazing crimson. Hot and humiliated. Stinging for days to come. I traced one suggestive hand along the velvet curvature of her naked flesh. “The next time I drop in—if there is a next time—I’ll want a full complement of toys on hand. Do you understand?”
Chastity nodded.
“Say it.”
“Yes…mistress.”
“Will we need beginner’s equipment?”
“No,” she whispered. Then, “No, mistress.”
“Not your first time?”
“No, mistress.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll expect to find the real deal. An assortment of floggers and whips. Cuffs and chains. Clamps and plugs. For now, we’ll have to improvise.”
Raising my hand, I began, showing no mercy. But just as Whitehall approached climax, I yanked thick hair at the nape of her neck and forced her to the floor, facedown and shuddering. Then I nudged her with one contemptuous foot. “On second thought, don’t bother with the toys, Chas—I won’t be back. You’re much too eager for my taste, entirely too compliant. I like a bit of fight in my women. Quite frankly, you bore me.”
Whitehall was still huddled there as I made for the exit, still sobbing and rubbing her shapely, thoroughly disciplined buttocks. I drew a deep, deep breath, let myself out and stepped into shadow as black as my temper. The bitch hadn’t managed to make a single move on me, but when her pain faded, she’d yearn for more. Still, my scathing rejection should discourage further sexual advances. This was brand-new territory, though, and I wasn’t sure I was right, could only hope I hadn’t overplayed my hand. Pun entirely intended.
* * *
When Aimée appeared the following morning, I leaped up to greet her. “You look tired, Leslie-ahn.”
“I had a lousy night.”
“You are in a most difficult position.”
Something about Aimée’s tone made me take a closer look. The expression in her eyes mirrored mine—she seemed uncharacteristically troubled, unsure. It hurt me that she’d been dragged into this mess, that she was working overtime to protect my interests, yet was almost surely destined to lose. I pulled her into a brief hug. “Might as well get busy, my friend.”
Before breakfast was over, we’d completed our plan. Following Jashrine custom, Aimée would deliver a formal petition for consideration by the High Council. But when we composed that document, several things about it broke precedent. The appeal was composed in English—the English of my long-gone era. It was hand-written on the finest quality rag paper—thick, ivory stuff fit for a queen. And under a solemn seal of my own design, it bore both signature and title: Leslie Alana Burke, Li’shayla Mar-Né.
* * *
There was nothing further to do. The Council convened weekly, but with Bahji on ice the Elders could afford to proceed at a leisurely pace. They might table my request indefinitely—or confer for months—before rendering a decision. Which left me adrift, awaiting word of my fate. Aimée and I spent each morning at the ocean, logging mile after mile on the beach. In the afternoons, I sketched aimlessly. And I read Serenghi deep into the night, till I could recite her meditations by heart. Then, just when life had begun to seem ordinary again, Chastity Whitehall came calling.
The severity of her costume screamed high-level bureaucracy. On her breast was an elaborate insignia that identified her as “Most Estimable Envoy” from the High Council. A title so in conflict with Jashari’s presumptive commitment to equality I was sure she’d invented it herself. In one hand she carried a slender, flexible rod that twitched like a live thing. As she bowed a greeting, she looked smug, superior, as if she’d managed to trump me in some crazy, unacknowledged competition.
I bent only slightly. “I suppose this is an official visit?”
She nodded, gesturing at her badge, tapping that snaky rod against the side of one calf. “I’m here on behalf of the Council. I’ve been asked to present their response to your petition.” After she outlined that unanimous determination, Whitehall pretended regret. Talked about the Elders as if they had concocted this Machiavellian bargain. And watched me like a hawk throughout the entire sick charade.
“Leslie, I’ve never known the Council to be so unreasonable. I argued and argued. But since you’ve revealed yourself as Li’shayla Mar-Né, this is the only way they’ll agree to free Bahji.”
Every avenue but one had closed now. Whitehall was my fated enemy and she’d outflanked me at each turn. From the instant she kidnapped Taylor’s daughter, this ending was predestined. I forced my voice into a normal register. “Given your influence with the Council, Chas, I hoped for a better outcome. I’ll need time to consider the terms. What’s the deadline for my response?”
The Envoy’s eyes were so sorrowful they might have fooled god herself, yet she could barely repress the smile playing at one corner of her mouth, or conceal a hint of triumph in her posture. “Two days from now. By the final sunset.”
Two days! Lightheaded, nauseated, I dug fingernails into my palms, fought off encroaching blackness. I wouldn’t give Whitehall the satisfaction of fainting. Wouldn’t relinquish a single second of the next forty-eight hours. “How shall I convey my response?”
“I’ve been designated your emissary. Once you decide, I’ll inform the Elders of your will…”
“Understood. Right now, I’d like to be alone.”
“Of course. Let me know if I can be of service…” Flick, flick went the long, black rod. Which I suddenly wanted to seize, to brandish, to apply with dark purpose.
“Chastity, you’ve already done more than enough.”
* * *
She Who Shadows knew everything, knew I’d made an instantaneous decision. So we struck out for the Hemingways’ home to share the news. When Taylor saw my bleak expression she guessed the worst.
“Bahji! What’s happened to Bahji?”
“Nothing, T
aylor—nothing new. But I’ve just been given the terms of her release.”
Hope ignited in those deep-set eyes. “Anything! They can have anything!”
“That’s what I thought too.” But when I outlined what the Council demanded as payment for Bahji’s freedom, Hemingway gasped and railed and protested.
There was an obvious way to bring the discussion to a close. I turned to the VTO. “Please explain the probabilities, Aimée.”
And after the two worked through the math together, Taylor finally accepted the inevitable.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I was determined to make the most of my last night onJashari. And the High Council’s ultimatum had clarified what I needed above all things: to settle my unfinished business with Aimée. When she thought of me in the future, I didn’t want her to recall how grudgingly I’d acknowledged loving her. And I wanted her to know what I was like in love.
Of course, it was possible we were doomed before our first touch. I was still in limbo, unable to respond erotically. And what about Aimée’s capacity for arousal? Why would a VTO have a sex drive? Maybe those questions were the starting point I needed. The woman I loved would appear soon—might already be listening in. And no matter what answers she gave, I had nothing to lose by asking.
Before the thought was full-blown, Aimée materialized. Bearing emblems of romance, objects I’d almost forgotten. Long-stemmed roses and a crinkling brown bag. There was no mistaking its slender shape. “Wine! Where did you get wine?”
An incandescent smile lit her face. “I have my sources, Leslie-ahn.”
Indeed she did. Combined with advanced technology, my fortune could work wonders. “Is this some version of the prisoner choosing her last meal?”
“I believe you were planning to eat something else…?”
I blushed to the roots of my red, red hair but managed to meet her eyes. “As always, you anticipate me. But…would that be worthwhile?”
“I would enjoy it, I think.”
