Only the Open Page 27

  /We’ll be fine,/ Laniis said firmly as he stroked her head.

  /I know it./ And with that, turned his back on them and followed the Worldlord to the ramp leading up to the ground floor. And there paused, for there were guards on their way down. The first slave they were leading was one of the less usual digitigrade Hinichi—most of the wolfine race tended toward the more humanoid bodies, not the four-toed, pawed variant—and male, to boot. Lisinthir was still wondering at a Chatcaavan who kept a male slave who wasn’t of some exotic race when the guards led the second slave down on her leash, and his gliding glance seized on her face. On her pointed face and the golden skin that sheathed it.

  She was human. The Worldlord had a human slave.

  He met Laniis’s gaze across the compound and neither of them needed words. He read her resolution and knew what she would discover, she would bring back to him. Even so, leaving the two of them to investigate the possibility that the Emperor had learned the human form here after fleeing into the capital was so hard his back ached from the rigidity with which he held himself. But to evince interest in the human female after dismissing the human male as unworthy of special attention... he couldn’t. He had his own façade to maintain. He followed the Worldlord to the harem, where he appreciated the females kept there despite their being nowhere near as pulchritudinous as the individuals of the imperial harem. He obligingly admired the lodge where game was slaughtered for meat after the hunt. He opined on the towers with their commanding view of both the capital’s spread and the wilderness. He even forgot he was faking his interest when the Worldlord showed him the observatory capping the top of the highest of the towers.

  But all the while, he kept remembering the fear that had shaped the shoulders of the human male. The animal panic in his green eyes.

  Surely not. Living Air and God and Lady. Surely, surely not.

  Losing the Ambassador had deprived them of the silent communication; Laniis should have thought of that. As the two new Pelted entered the room, she leaned over and whispered into the Knife’s ear, ignoring their flick as he reacted to the hush of her breath. In Chatcaavan: “Would they monitor this place?”

  The Knife looked up with his strange Seersan eyes, ears slicking back as he traced the room’s edges with his gaze, then dropped it to various points on the wall. “I don’t know,” he said to her, low. “The harems where I am from were under surveillance but it was because of their owner’s primacy. I don’t know that it would matter to any male otherwise.”

  “We’ll have to make do.” Laniis turned her attention to the strangers who were by then staring at them. She switched to Universal. “Aletsen.”

  “Did he buy you?” the Hinichi asked, nearly snarling. “Did he get more of us?”

  “We are not the Worldlord’s,” Laniis said. “We are with the Sword, who is his guest.”

  The human’s eyes had narrowed. Her suspicions were obvious. “You don’t look cowed enough to belong to a Chatcaavan,” she said. “And what kind of Chatcaavan is named after a human weapon? Chatcaava don’t use swords. Knives, yes. But swords?”

  “It’s an affectation,” Laniis said. “He has two for trophies.”

  “You are lying to them,” the Knife murmured in Chatcaavan.

  “Are you?” the human said in Universal, latching onto the comment with predatory speed.

  Laniis slowly looked at the Knife and put all her irritation in her eyes.

  “What’s going on?” the human pressed.

  “We are here looking for a missing Chatcaavan,” the Knife said firmly in Chatcaavan.

  “Like, say, someone who might have fallen over the wall all bloody and then stolen Andrea’s pattern to hide here?” The Hinichi folded his arms. “That kind of missing Chatcaavan?”

  “He didn’t steal it,” Andrea said. “He asked permission, and I gave it.”

  Strange how surprise could still wash through her, even here. “He did?”

  “Yes,” Andrea said. “He’s not like any Chatcaavan male I’ve ever met.”

  “Is there more than one human slave who is male?” the Knife asked, frowning. He had not understood the exchange in Universal. “We saw only the one, and he is a broken thing.”

  The two strangers exchanged glances.

  “No,” Laniis said, one of her ears sagging. “You can’t tell me. That brutalized animal up there, the one who can barely stand straight? That’s the male you gave your pattern to?”

  “Yes,” Andrea said. Glancing at the Knife, she continued in Chatcaavan. “He’s the Survivor. Though they call him Dainty. They couldn’t figure out that he was male when they first met him.”

  Aghast, the Knife whispered, “This cannot be. A name? A female’s name?”

  Thinking of the trauma that had curved every line of that slave’s body, hunched his shoulders, bowed his head, Laniis whispered, wide-eyed, “Speaker-Singer.”

  The Knife turned toward her, wearing dismay so obvious it looked almost pantomimed, from the bristled shoulder fur to the bottlebrush tail. “What do we do?”

  “You’re another one of them, aren’t you,” Andrea said. “A male wearing a false body. You’ve come to rescue him.”

  “That was the intent,” Laniis said.

  “But not us.” Emlyn’s bitterness could have spilled blood. “It’s never about rescuing us.”

  “I wouldn’t make assumptions,” Laniis said.

  The Hinichi rolled his eyes. “Right. You want to tell me you’re going to get us out?”

  “I want to tell you we might not make it out.” Laniis managed a dry smile. “So no. No assumptions. About anything. Even…”

  “That it’s him,” the Knife whispered. Lifting gray eyes, he said, “But what… what happened to him?”

  “The Chatcaava did,” Andrea said.

  Manufactory-East was a sadist.

  It took Lisinthir all of a single glance to evaluate him. Over the supper table, where he was being introduced to the Worldlord’s two guests… that was long enough. Lisinthir recognized Deputy-East’s type as well. Not purposefully evil, only pettishly so, by accident rather than intention. Smart, perhaps, but not wise, and with all the conceit of someone accustomed to privilege.

  But Manufactory-East… oh, he was all that was wrong with the Empire, one of the sociopaths it was so good at shaping. And he didn’t bother to conceal it either—the way his eyes flicked toward Lisinthir’s scarred wing and took pleasure in the sight—oh no. No one had dared check this male in far, far too long. It made Lisinthir wonder why the Worldlord was pandering to him.

  “You breed slaves!” Manufactory-East said after the meal had begun. Tearing off a haunch of the roasted bird, he said, “Do you watch them copulate?”

  Such an obvious attempt at insult. Lisinthir answered, casually. “Of course.”

  All three stared at him, not having expected nonchalance in response to an accusation of perversion.

  “You do?” Deputy-East asked, fascinated.

  “At least he admits it.” Manufactory-East began dissecting his leg, separating the thigh from the calf at the knee joint.

  “I must,” Lisinthir said. “In order to ensure the safety and health of both dam and sire. It’s no different from breeding any other animal.”

  That won him a hostile stare from Manufactory East. Beside him, the Worldlord had relaxed. “That makes good sense.”

  “I hadn’t really thought of what it would take, breeding,” Deputy-East said. “I leave my estate to my steward, and am rarely on-world. He arranges for the game we hunt on the grounds.”

  “You oversee the solar system, is that correct?” Lisinthir asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “A rather complex arrangement given the Naval presence.” Lisinthir chewed through his own portion, remembering the taste, how it felt to eat a diet of mostly meat for months. The flavors spurred his heartrate, made him recall a different hunt, one that had netted him the regeneration of one of the most powerful people i
n the worlds. It also fed his stomach, which was unusually insistent on the subject of its emptiness. “I can only imagine such a position requires… diplomacy.”

  “Diplomacy!” Manufactory-East barked a laugh. “Do you hear that, Deputy-East? Diplomacy. You should tell him how well the two of us have gotten along in the past before we so wisely decided to become huntbrothers.”

  Deputy-East snorted. “The past. Besides, you are not the Navy. You are employed by the Navy. Logistics and Command-East are the Navy. In this system, anyway.”

  “Is there a new Logistics- and Command-East then?” Lisinthir asked. “I’m not familiar with how the Navy works. Were their successors already waiting for their positions? Or are people still fighting over them?” He took another bite. “One wonders, when one is not a military male oneself.”

  “Second and the Emperor are still serving their roles,” Deputy-East said. “At least, as far as I know.” He glanced at Manufactory-East, who shrugged with the twist of one greasy hand. “Their staffs must be handling the extra work. Or at least, Logistics-East’s must be. Second will be commanding the war against the aliens, so he will be here soon enough.”

  That was an interesting bit of data. “I wish him well of it,” Lisinthir said. “And you, Manufactory-East? A miner, are you?”

  “Hardly,” the male scoffed. “I am in charge of miners. A distinction you will probably not appreciate, given how little you have responsibility for.”

  “Mine is a solitary life,” Lisinthir agreed amiably. “I find it quite satisfying. So you mine asteroids?”

  “I oversee,” stress on the word, “the mining of asteroids. The processing of ore. The creation of materiel. All the factories.”

  “So you build ships,” Lisinthir said, goading. This much he’d remembered from the Knife’s lecture on the way down to the world, and from Manufactory-East’s glower, the dart had struck true.

  “No.” Gritted out from between clenched teeth, impressive in a species with so many carnassial ones. “I make parts. That the base uses to assemble ships.”

  “Oh, I see,” Lisinthir said. “Parts.”

  Deputy-East turned his snicker into a cough.

  “So,” Manufactory-East said, turning to the Worldlord. “Have you invited your newest guest to the hunt?”

  “I have, and he has accepted.”

  “And how precisely does that work?” Manufactory-East asked. “Since you obviously are crippled.”

  “It is a poor male who allows an injury to stop him,” Lisinthir said.

  “But you can’t possibly hunt that way.”

  “Oh… I make do.” Lisinthir smiled at him. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” the Worldlord said, with the air of someone trying to steer the conversation onto less fraught shoals. “Did you know, Manufactory-East, the Sword has agreed with you about the species of the slave? He also says it is not one of the rare types, but rather another human.”

  “As I said.” Manufactory-East tossed a bone into his discard bowl and licked his talons. “You could have saved yourself the trouble of bringing in an external… consultant.” He eyed Lisinthir.

  “He came to sell slaves,” the Worldlord said. “His ability to confirm your guess was an unexpected bonus.”

  “It was not a guess.”

  “Of course not,” Lisinthir soothed.

  Before Manufactory-East could riposte, the Worldlord said, “The creature is also apparently not very valuable. I will have something newer sent to your suite tonight if you want entertainment.”

  “What?” Manufactory-East straightened. “But I want the male. I’m not done with it.”

  “I’m afraid the Surgeon has said if we do not allow it to recover from its injuries, it may expire.” The Worldlord turned the carcass, scraping some of the softer flesh off the lower ribs. “Tonight we will have to spend ourselves in the harem among the females.”

  “Hardly a punishment there,” Deputy-East said. “You have very biddable creatures in your harem, Worldlord.” He lifted his shallow cup of wine. “Fine taste.”

  “Thank you. I am rather fond of them myself.”

  “Slaves are better prey,” Manufactory-East muttered and glared at the elbow Deputy-East jabbed him with.

  “Kill your own slaves,” Deputy-East said. “We are guests here.”

  “I don’t kill by accident.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Deputy-East said. “So. Which female do you think you want tonight? The spotted one? Or the one with the blue eyes?”

  Manufactory-East scowled. “I think I would prefer to fly after my meal.”

  “As you will,” the Worldlord said. “And you, Sword?”

  “Oh,” Lisinthir said, “I think I am too full to truly enjoy your harem’s fruits, Worldlord. Unless you mind a voyeur. Watching I have the energy for.”

  “Pah,” Manufactory-East said. “Maybe it’s more than a wing you’re missing, eh?”

  Deputy-East’s wings sagged, and even the Worldlord gaped at the male. But Lisinthir laughed, winning stares of disbelief from all three.

  “Really,” Lisinthir said, grinning. “Is that the best you can do? If you want to bait me, Manufactory-East… try harder.” He rose and stretched. “So, do you mind witnesses to your pleasure, Deputy-East, Worldlord? I would not mind the show.”

  “You are an odd male,” Deputy-East said, eyeing him as he stood. “But one can’t fault your pride.”

  “Call it what it is, Deputy-East,” Lisinthir said. “It is the arrogance of the cold space between stars.” He smiled thinly at Manufactory-East. “Enjoy your flight.”

  With a snarl, the latter flung himself from the table and stomped away. The Worldlord watched him go, and the expression on his face… concern? Surely not.

  “Well,” the Worldlord said, with false heartiness. “Let us see the females.”

  Perhaps in some former life Lisinthir would have found the time he spent in the Worldlord’s harem shocking. Certainly, the noble heir to a Galare fortune should have been scandalized by the sight of four people having sex in front of him. But he had lived through the Empire, and the lovers he’d chosen for himself he’d had simultaneously, and he no longer thought sex worthy of opprobrium simply by virtue of it being sex. Cruelty, coercion, rape, violence, abuse… yes. But sex, enthusiastically enacted on several odalisques who didn’t seem to mind their use? All that inspired in him was curiosity, because he hadn’t been aware that Chatcaavan females could be pleased by sex. The females of the Imperial harem had all seemed to dread their duty. The Worldlord, though, appeared to have a taste for gigglers. Even Deputy-East remarked on it, that it was hard to keep going when the laughter of the females kept infecting him. The sight of the male bowed over his spotted partner’s back, attempting to rein in his paroxysms, almost made Lisinthir like him. Almost.

  These females were not among the more intelligent of the people he’d known; he could see it in their gazes, in the doe-like acceptance of their lives. But they were not mistreated, and they were not unhappy to be selected for energetic copulation, and their sisters in the harem draped themselves on benches and exhorted the participants to greater efforts with ribald advice.

  In one corner, on a pillow, there was a sleeping Harat-Shar pard. Lisinthir’s eyes rested on her for a long time.

  By the end of the evening, both Worldlord and Deputy-East were in fine spirits, and their air of camaraderie easily extended to encompass Lisinthir. At the harem’s gate, Deputy-East wobbled and said, “Too much wine. And too much giggling. Your females don’t take sex seriously, Worldlord.”

  “Should it be taken seriously?”

  “A good point,” Deputy-East said, with the far too careful diction of the inebriated. “A very good point.” He squinted at Lisinthir. “I am going to fly to my room. Does that offend you, Sword? I do not want to offend you. You are a curious male. I would like to know you better, and this would be hard if I offended you.”

  Lisinthir laughed
. “Rest at ease, Deputy-East. I do not offend easily… and if I am offended, you will not have to guess at it.”

  “A very interesting guest,” Deputy-East said gravely to the Worldlord. “You should tell him to come more often.”

  “Go,” the Worldlord said, slapping the male on the back of the shoulder. “Before you make less sense. I’ll walk the Sword up.”

  “You are a very good host,” Deputy-East said. “Do you see that, Sword? He will sacrifice his own convenience just so you won’t be lonely going up the stairs to your chambers. That is a good host.”

  “A very good host,” Lisinthir agreed. “Go, Deputy-East, before you forget how to flap your wings.”

  “Never.” And proving it, Deputy-East fell off the ledge and soared toward his balcony.

  “For a moment,” Lisinthir said, “I didn’t think he’d come back up.”

  “Me neither,” the Worldlord said, and led him on… which is when Lisinthir knew that the evening was not yet over, for he was entering the Worldlord’s tower, not his.

  He said nothing; he knew better. He followed in silence, into the calm of the Worldlord’s private domain. There in the antechamber the warm wind gamboled through the balcony door and the stars glittered, more visible because the window faced the wilderness and not the city. The male went to a sideboard and poured him a cup of something stronger and headier than wine. Lisinthir accepted, sipped. They both looked outside, but did not speak, and Lisinthir—the Hunter—waited.

  “Since you know so much about the aliens.” The Worldlord set his glass down and walked away, and again, Lisinthir followed. Pursued, this time, the way he would have a revelation that could save nations, because this… this was an inflection point. There was a secret here, and he was about to learn it.

  Through the door was a chamber Lisinthir had not yet seen where the Worldlord slept. It was twice the size of the guest bedrooms. Again, there was the ever-present balcony, but smaller, meant only for one person’s use, not to receive groups; it faced the bed. But the majority of the room was hidden from that view, secretive as a vault. There, on a raised dais pressed back against the far wall, was a large and shallow box. It overflowed with blankets in rich, dark colors: deep brown, midnight blue, fir green. An excess of pillows as well, soft ones that sagged, stiff ones for bolsters. It was an opulence of bedding, with a lamp beside it, dim and warm now in the gloaming.