Taji From Beyond the Rings

by R. Cooper

  He frowned for it, not at all Sha and not particularly wanting to be as he was led to…whatever he was being led to. He hobbled along, two Guards behind him, two in front. They did not travel past any other cells. Taji caught no glimpse of Talfa or Nadir. They went to another lift and the weight of their gazes as he swayed and tried to stay upright was only more exhausting.

  He couldn’t even ask if he was going to die.

  He stared down at the sleeves of Trenne’s coat, bunched up around his restraining cuffs. Mos’s bracelets were underneath, digging into his skin a little, but not worth complaining about. He wondered if more jewelry and soft robes would have appealed to Trenne. They sounded nice.

  He imagined himself fresh from a shower or bath, skin glowing and moisturized, slipping on jewelry and fine fabrics, like the sort of pampered, spoiled creature Lin thought he was. He thought he would like that. And he liked to think of what Trenne would say to see him that way. It didn’t help the embarrassing situation in his pants, but it also made him smile, if only for a moment. Then he remembered that Mos’s feet were likely on display somewhere in the capital, and his stomach lurched.

  The lift opened to an entire floor. Arches supported by columns, areas cordoned off with decorative, tiny walls or colorful curtains indicated separate spaces, but Taji didn’t think this room, or rooms, had any interior walls. The Sha did not have the concept of thrones, and the emperor did not rule directly. Nonetheless, this had the feel of the throne room. It was designed for display. The effect was immediate, although Taji and the Guards had not come in through the proper entrance.

  He could see that, the wide staircase coming up into this vast, bright space, which was probably normally filled with the noblest of the great families. He had assumed…he hadn’t really assumed anything, except that the home of the Olea would be similar to the other noble estates he had been to. Taji hadn’t considered the necessity of an audience room, but of course, a public figure like the emperor would have one. They had to be seen, if not heard.

  He skidded to a stop as several of the well-dressed Sha nobles turned to observe him, which stopped the Guards too.

  Taji had been brought to the emperor’s audience room. Shehzha were not meant to be seen but Taji had insisted, hadn’t he? Larin was going to use that against him now.

  Taji stared at the people watching him, not very surprised when only some of the nobles looked politely away. The tradition was merely that—tradition, not a ritual or a law. The curiosity of a shehzha among them, or a human, was enough to make the rest bold.

  Cheeks hot, Taji looked back, though he wasn’t brave enough to lift his chin or sneer.

  The perimeter walls were tiled in whites and blues, conspicuously also not painted with murals. The Olea had no need to show off, not with so many emperors in their line. In one of the delineated spaces that served as a room, younger nobles were gathered around watching what appeared to be a vid. They were all younger, Taji noticed. Eriat’s generation might not care about the I.P.T.C., but they wanted no part of Larin.

  Servants darted silently between groups. Imperial Guards hid in plain sight. In the distance, Taji spied what might have been a large bed, the largest he had seen, and went cold.

  He scanned the room again but saw no sign of Larin’s shehzha. It didn’t mean they weren’t present or nearby, perhaps behind curtains. This was where Larin spent most of his time, if not his actual, private rooms. This was where he might have met and seduced or charmed his shehzha in the first place. That was his bed. None of the other nobles approached it. The ones not standing sat on low to the ground cushioned benches or on pillows on the floor.

  Taji’s Guards glanced at him before moving again. Still bracketed between them, he had little choice but to walk too, and caught his breath once he realized his destination.

  In front of a set of shuttered windows that went nearly from floor to ceiling, someone had arranged several thick, deep piles of cushions. The shutters were lacy, carved buttery yellow wood or stone, and did not prevent a cool breeze from stirring the hairs at the tips of the ears of Taji’s Guards. The cushions were woven and tasseled and encircled a small table, upon which cups and bowls were scattered. On the floor, not far from the cozy display, was a splash of color.

  Seated on one of the cushions was Larin.

  Taji got a glimpse of him, the stark white of his soria, the small cup in his hand, and darted his gaze away.

  The gray of an Imperial Guard behind her, Rinnah was on a cushion on the opposite side of the table as her brother. She was in green, the color she seemed to favor, and composed, with her hands wrapped lightly around a cup. She did not appear surprised to see Taji. She did not appear to be anything except calm and correct. But she looked at Taji’s throat once, and then again, before taking a drink from her cup.

  Larin was dressed casually despite the audience, only his soria, his knife, and a pair of loose pants that had pulled up when he sat cross-legged, exposing his feet. His attention was palpable, a hint of amusement about him as Taji avoided looking at him for as long as possible. When Taji finally did, Larin smiled, human and strange on his face, but very real.

  Taji stopped and two of his Guards melted into the crowd. The remaining two positioned themselves at points around Larin’s little circle. Taji stared at them, then at the empty cushions. The pretense that he had a choice was distantly infuriating, but Taji was too busy absorbing the realization that he was expected to sit next to Larin.

  He glanced to Rinnah one more time, but Rinnah had no way to help him, if she was even inclined to. Taji turned his head in the other direction to avoid the inevitable and again noted the splash of color on the floor. The rusty red and dark purple smears were not a design in the tile or a rug or stray pillow. That was blood, both human and Sha. If he sat near Larin, he would be looking directly at it.

  Taji stumbled to a cushion as far from Larin as he dared and fell into it, unbalanced and clumsy with his hands bound.

  No longer the toy, Nadir had said. Taji briefly shut his eyes. He did not want to think of Shavian nobles watching Eriat or Gia or a slowly dying Nadir like they were nothing more than entertainment.

  Taji had imagined questions, a formal interrogation. The kind of thing Nadir might have trained for and Mos might have expected. But whether or not the Imperial Guard had touched Nadir, doing it before an audience was its own horror. The Sha were about honor and shame. No one should witness someone in pain, someone facing their last moments, but especially not these people.

  It might be a Shavian show of strength, but it held no respect. Taji opened his eyes to look over the assembled crowd, glaring at each and every one who had watched Nadir bleed and did nothing.

  Nadir had talked of revenge as if he would live to see it. Taji might. And if he did, he would direct whatever limited persuasion skills he had to seeing IPTC destroy everyone here.

  He turned to Larin.

  “Little Taji,” Larin greeted him. I’Taji again, as if he had the right to give Taji nicknames. “You do not seem rested.” As though this was an order, a servant kneeled by the table to set down a cup and then fill it with something from a pitcher before disappearing from view again.

  Another show. Every noble here was meant to see this and recount it to others.

  “I worried for you,” Larin continued, holding out his cup to be refilled. Taji didn’t think it was filled with midye. “I ordered the Civil and Imperial Guard to watch for any lost humans, particular ones small and dark of skin, with an unsteady gait. You and your people left Laviias so quickly. I was concerned.” Taji blinked first. Larin inclined his head kindly. “You do not look well. Please, have some rithmi. Elii, Sio, and Ave cannot have enough of it.”

  Taji flinched at the names. He grabbed his cup to keep from seeing the pleasure on Larin’s face. The water with rithmi was icy cold and as refreshing as before.

  “We assumed that you and the others would not return, but you did. Events at Laviias did not frig
hten your I.P.T.C.?” Larin inquired, all politeness. Taji swallowed before lifting his head. “The innocent have nothing to fear,” Larin informed him. “Lost blood does not compare to lost honor.”

  Taji looked at the marks on the floor. The reddish-brown of Nadir’s dried blood was almost plain next to deep crimson-purple of Sha blood. Nadir might have been left to bleed from his earlier wounds. Something was clearly wrong with his breathing. He might have been forced to kneel, or stand. He was probably still restrained. They could have hurt him more. Blood meant open wounds, and the Sha did love their knives.

  “Was it weakness that kept your people here in the capital?” Larin went on, though he had to know Taji couldn’t answer. “The health of your ambassador? Or was it your condition? I was surprised to discover you were alone. The hurat should have kept you as long as possible. Such a creature would not get a chance again, would it? Even a human shehzha should have been unobtainable. You must have made him feel special. But in the end, an animal does not have loyalty or honor. Not to home and not to shehzha. Only to his ambassador and his offworlder traders. Or perhaps it is only to himself.”

  Taji turned sharply toward him. Trenne was not an animal.

  Larin was as calm as Rinnah was silent. “You must have been frightened. But now you can rest. You will be honored here in my home, kept clean and safe from ignorant Guards who did not handle you properly. Rest and know they were dealt with. It is true, I am not the eshe of Taji shehzha, but in his absence, as emperor, I acted as history and honor demanded.”

  The speech rolled over Taji like the wind before a storm. He thought for half a second that it was directed at Larin’s audience, but of course it was meant for him too. The Civil Guards who had taken him and restrained him—at Larin’s orders—were punished or dead, and Taji was here at Larin’s whim.

  “You will be moved here. Where you were was no place for you.” Larin admitted he had known Taji was in that cell without as much as a twitch, his gaze intent on Taji’s face. Taji was too wired to control his reactions even if he’d tried. “Will that be accepted?” Larin asked after another moment, as if Taji had any kind of choice.

  It was probably part of the performance now. The IPTC shehzha was under Larin’s control but had to be treated well to appease any lingering concerns from any potentially rebellious parties. As much as Larin enjoyed seeing Taji squirm, this wasn’t about him. Taji only worked as a hostage if Larin thought Taji had value to IPTC. However, to the rest of the Sha, an IPTC shehzha was a good trophy.

  Nadir as well, though they must have hoped Nadir was also a source of information. Talfa and anyone else who hadn’t died at Laviias had likely also been shown off as a prize. Taji’s job now was apparently to sit here and listen to Larin gloat.

  But Larin could stop going on about honor and history any time he wanted. He could boast to the others in the room, but not Taji. The trophy was the boast. As a showpiece and not a person, Taji should have the right to sit still and shiver in his misery without Larin’s eyes on him.

  “Perhaps you did not hear me, little Taji.” Larin did not raise his voice. “Will that be accepted?”

  Taji hadn’t realized he’d dropped his head to stare at the floor tiles. He jerked his head back, blinking away the sudden rush of stars in his vision. He opened his mouth out of reflex, tightened his hands around the cup, then looked at Larin.

  Larin took that for his answer. “Dahle assures me your rooms are beautiful, and close, if you should need me.”

  Taji assumed Dahle was a servant or an assistant of sorts like Mos had been. He stared back at Larin and felt himself start to breathe faster with slowly rising panic. He had a clumsy swallow of water and tried to focus on the taste and not the idea of sleeping anywhere near Larin.

  Taji wanted to tell him that he wasn’t important, that IPTC didn’t give a shit if Taji Ameyo slept in garbage or a palace. But, this way, Taji was going to live for a while. He might be here when IPTC returned in full force. He might see his dad again. Trenne.

  He shuddered away from that thought. Trenne was gone and for the best reason—to keep his team alive. It didn’t make it hurt less. Taji ached inside and out at the mere thought of Trenne, and by the time Trenne came back, if he did, Taji would be dead or alive but with a clear head, and Trenne wouldn’t want him anymore.

  “You cannot be comfortable,” Larin said softly, as if longing was all over Taji’s face, as it probably was. “Dahle will arrange clothes for you, if you wish to wear them.” Larin did not glance at the overly large coat Taji wore, but the IPTC markings on it were obvious, and it was clearly not Taji’s size.

  Taji hunched his shoulders to make sure he could feel Trenne’s coat against his back.

  “He knows the truth now and still he cannot stop,” Larin remarked, and Taji frowned before realizing this was directed at Rinnah. “The weakness within every shehzha, how they ache for strength and rescue. But it will not come. Not from the hurat.”

  “Rescue?” Rinnah spoke in a clear, echoing voice, her head lightly tipped to one side, her gaze on Taji.

  Taji was not expecting rescue, and didn’t think Elii’s desperate pleading meant Elii had expected it, either. If he had expected anything, it had been rescue from a problem Larin had deliberately created.

  Taji startled at his own thought, then lowered his eyes to his lap so Larin wouldn’t read what was in them. But no one with three shehzha, certainly not an emperor, should need to make someone suffer to make himself feel more powerful.

  His grip was tight on the cup. Larin must have noticed. “Such a wild thing. Do you not think, ‘Nah, that he would do well in lighter colors, with cuffs along his ears? The finest gifts to help show that face to the world. How do you think he wears pleasure?”

  Raising his eyes was a mistake, but Taji had to, because he didn’t want to think he had translated that correctly.

  “Only his eshe should know that.” Rinnah’s tone was distant. Taji looked at her. She hadn’t moved, and her eyes did not meet his. Her rebuke of Larin—if it was one—was mild.

  “Yes,” Larin agreed, drawing Taji’s attention again. “I wonder if the beast knew what he had. He could not have handled you well. So many hours into the longing and you are not as desperate as you should be, little Taji. A gift, for you, perhaps. Although it will get worse.” Larin reached up to stroke an ear. “You believed you would be untouched, that your body and its mind would stay yours, but you think of your hurat now.” Larin lowered his voice. Taji swallowed. “Is it his arms or his legs? His petal? His stem? My shehzha speak often of the taste and because I am generous, I allow them some.”

  Taji’s entire body seemed to pulse at the memory of Trenne’s cock. His lips parted, but his tongue was dry when he tried to wet them. He yanked the cup of water and rithmi to his mouth and drank deeply. It didn’t keep him from flushing hot at the realization of why the taste of the rithmi was so appealing to shehzha.

  “Larin,” Rinnah spoke again, “he cannot answer your questions.”

  “Yes, he can,” Larin dismissed. “The wild one tells me now that he is empty and so tired of being empty. He is embarrassed but it does not make him any less hungry. Poor shehzha. His hurat is gone and will not return in time to give him what he needs.”

  He paused when a tremor went down Taji’s back. Taji itched with sweat. His blood was pounding. Everyone in this room could see him reacting to the mention of Trenne and he couldn’t control himself any more than he could tell Larin to shut up.

  “For you, little Taji, I will share that I received information about a ship bound for the moon.” Larin let the silence drag on until Taji darted a look up. “I allowed it to go. I thought of you. The beast did not deserve you, but you are a creature of softness who would not like to see him hurt. Am I correct? Is this not also something you accept?”

  Trenne and the others, if they had left for the moon and its temporary safety, would be back with the rest of IPTC. Larin had to know that. But maybe he
also knew what Taji did. That by the time they did, Trenne wouldn’t be anything to Taji but an ex-colleague, or a friend. Taji took a breath and shook as he released it.

  “Taji?” Larin prodded. “You do not accept?”

  Taji stared at him helplessly, his hands slipping on the cup. Someone—a servant nearby who Taji hadn’t noticed—took it carefully from his hands and refilled it before setting it on the table in front of him.

  “A human’s tastes are difficult to guess,” Larin remarked. “Have some more rithmi, wild one. It will help.”

  Taji glanced at Rinnah and then slightly beyond her to some of the others listening in. He couldn’t tell what would happen if he refused, so he picked up the cup to have another sip. He didn’t allow himself to turn to look at the blood on the floor, although he could see it from the corner of his eye.

  “You suffer, but not as I thought you would. Either the hurat drastically failed you or the bond between your bodies was not as far along as you made it seem. How human to pretend.” Larin gestured at something, possibly the vid playing not far from them. “Sometimes, with humans, what you show is not what you feel. It is almost Sha. But not with you, little Taji. You show everything. The hurat must have been the one to pretend. He wanted power. He was false with you. You can understand, now, why he was not suitable.”