Even the Wingless Read online

  She had breasts. He could easily observe their similarity to the Eldritch-human-Pelted model, since she wore no clothing to cover them. He thought they should look more incongruous on a body that seemed reptilian, and was vexed that they didn't.

  "May I help you?" Lisinthir asked.

  The female stared at him with fluorescent blue eyes. For a moment he wondered if he'd tripped and spoken in Universal or even his own tongue, but no... he'd used the right language.

  "Yes?" he tried.

  She offered him a small envelope. Mystified, he took it from her slim fingers and watched as she glided past him and slid onto his bed with the ease of practice. Much practice.

  He opened the envelope and found in it a small note. His written Chatcaavan wasn't as fluent as his spoken, so he retrieved his data tablet and sat on the nearby chair, double-checking the words.

  They were correct.

  To the Ambassador:

  A trifle to ease your needs. Leave no visible marks, if you would.

  Lisinthir tucked the card back into the envelope and looked at the female. "Surely the Emperor jests."

  Still she didn't speak, but ducked her head and waited.

  "Are you mute?" he asked. No response.

  Lisinthir tossed the card onto the table. "Get out."

  That at last provoked a response, one tinged unexpectedly with panic. "Does this one's body not please you-my-better?"

  "Be gone, please," Lisinthir said. "I need no alien whores."

  They didn't seem to blush, Chatcaava. But her eyes widened and the pupils contracted to thin slits. It gave her the look of a frightened animal. "Please, Great One. This one is one of the Emperor's favorite gifts. He-my-Master has not slighted you-my-better by sending this one to service you-my-better."

  Lisinthir eyed her. "One of his favorite gifts?"

  She managed a tremulous bob of her head. "Yes, Great One."

  "But not one of his personal favorites."

  She started shaking. "No, Master. This one is a gift, not a creature of personal use. This one is of the gift harem."

  Lisinthir said, "If it's not good enough for the Empire, how is it good enough for the Alliance? You will leave now."

  "Great One—"

  "Do all the Emperor's possessions contradict the commands of their betters? Get out!"

  She leaped off the bed and ran out the door, shutting it behind her.

  "And hopefully that's the last I'll see of the likes of you," Lisinthir said to the door in his own tongue. "The last thing I need is to figure out how to say "No" to a dozen bed-offerings without offending anyone."

  He returned to putting away his clothing, leaving a few select things in the trunk, which he locked. He locked the door leading to the study as well. Too tired to bathe, he changed into nightclothes and surveyed the alien bed, now absent its visitor. It looked like a normal bed, if larger than he expected. When he sat on it, it felt like a normal bed, if softer than he expected. Twisting onto his back, he found the ceiling decorated with a mosaic of glittering, polished tiles and gems. One dragon on top of another, if he read the stylization correctly. Both winged, one black, the other nearly so. He wondered if winged females were more typical than the briefing had suggested, then, or if this mosaic was a portrayal in specific of the current Slave Queen and her Emperor.

  It was not the most pleasant thing to fall asleep while staring at. His dreams were cold, dry and full of violent dragon-shaped shadows.

  The Slave Queen was just settling in for sleep when the guards arrived, shaking the lamps on their tables with the weight of their booted footfalls. Between them they escorted the dejected slaves. She noted with concern that they were holding the Eldritch female up by her shoulders, for the slave was drooping like a wilted orchid.

  Without a word to the Slave Queen, the guards left the newest Alliance folk at her feet. Placing them within the harem proper would have been more usual, but the Queen understood why they'd been taken here instead... the Eldritch was a fragile prize, and the Emperor would not wish to share her with anyone, even the females of the greater harem. That the female had ended up in a place where the muted pettiness of the harem might bypass her porous mind was perhaps an unintended, but fortunate side effect.

  Still, there was something alarming in how bonelessly the Eldritch was slumped against the floor, the silk of her gown and the silk of her hair tangled in white folds on the cold stone tiles. The Malarai and the Tam-illee were fluttering around her like agitated moths.

  "Khas—Laniis!" the Queen said, hushed, but the Seersa was already at her side, talking in that quick, smooth tongue.

  "Ask if the female is sick. What should we do?" the Queen said.

  "They say she has been too much handled," Laniis said, and at the Queen's glance said, "Not as you or I would think, Mistress. Handled just by being touched. They say she needs time and space without touch, though they don't know how long it will take her to recover."

  "Then she will need pillows and blankets," the Slave Queen said, looking at the skin of the female beneath the translucent shift. "I can't imagine she's comfortable."

  "She's cold, Mistress," the Seersa agreed. "Do you see how her skin pebbles so? It is how those without fur react to the cold."

  "Then blankets it will be," the Slave Queen said. "Show the others where to find them? It will give them something useful to do, comfort them."

  "Yes, Mistress."

  With the other two reluctantly ushered away by the swift-tongued Seersa, the Slave Queen crouched beside the Eldritch and studied her face. At last, a creature with eyes approaching a proper size! The Queen did not need coaching to read the fear and pain in the Eldritch's gaze. Somehow even the water she shed through her eyes made sense, framed by all that delicate, paper-thin skin.

  The two new slaves announced their arrival with loud, angry chatter. The Slave Queen glanced over her shoulder to find Laniis waving at them.

  "What is it?"

  "They don't trust you, Mistress. They don't want you so close to her."

  With a hand-tilted shrug, the Slave Queen rose and stepped back from the girl. She watched in grave, tired silence as the Malarai and Tam-illee carefully moved the female onto a series of pillows and covered her with blankets, using the cloth of her thin shift to position her as often as possible to avoid touching her body. As they worked, Laniis whispered to her, "You are not offended?"

  "Why should I be?" the Slave Queen asked. "They will discover soon enough that I am the least dangerous of the Chatcaava they are soon to meet."

  Lisinthir woke just before dawn and investigated the bathing chamber, expecting something alien and finding instead everything where it should be, and no paucity of hot water to boot. There was no fixed shower head, but a corner of the room's entire ceiling drizzled, giving him the impression of standing outside in a warm rain. Afterwards, he indulged in the standing pool, and there he reclined, watching the sun color the sky outside the long bank of tall, thin windows that could be opened with a single lever. They were each far too narrow for a person to enter through, for which he gave thanks. Chatcaava did not visit one another while washing, apparently.

  A door joined the bathing chamber with the study, and Lisinthir used it after dressing to evaluate the suitability of the room for work. He had no more than stepped into it when a Chatcaavan lit on the balcony, on a raised perch intended, no doubt, for visitors to land on.

  "Good morning," Lisinthir said.

  "Living Air beneath you-the-alien," the visitor said. He moved with greater deliberation than the Emperor, as if placing his limbs required more effort, and he did not move from the perch immediately. "You are up early, Ambassador."

  "Am I?" Lisinthir asked. "I hadn't noticed. You are...?"

  "I am Second," the male said. He had eyes so bright a blue they approached purple. "May I enter? Your flag flies."

  Lisinthir had no idea what that meant, but resolved to find out the moment the male left. "Of course. I don't suppose yo
u brought breakfast."

  "Ah, no," Second said. "Your predecessors brought their own chefs."

  "How droll," Lisinthir said. "I had hoped to sample the local cuisine."

  Second cocked his head—was that a considering gesture, or did it mean what it looked like it meant? That Second thought him passing-mad?

  "I will need food," Lisinthir said. "Who shall arrange it?"

  "I will have the staff attend to it," Second said after a pause. He stepped onto the balcony fully, folding his wings; they creaked, rather than making the soft, leathery sigh the Emperor's had. Perhaps this male was older, or sickly? Surely not, among a people who seemed so predatory. "The Emperor asked me to introduce myself to you," he continued. "Most of your business will be conducted with me; you will only consult Third on matters of trade, and then only if I refer you."

  "Ah," Lisinthir said, draping himself on one of the chairs. "You correctly understand that much of my business has nothing to do with trade agreements."

  Second paused. "Thus was my assumption."

  "Good," Lisinthir said. "Second, I should like to start our relationship properly. You, I assume, would also like the same. Yes?"

  The Chatcaavan said, "Yessss."

  "Then please, cease to call me you-the-alien," Lisinthir said. "I appreciate your desire to be precise, and I am, strictly speaking, an alien, but I dislike the connotations the word carries in your tongue. You'll feel no shame in using the pronoun set you would for any Chatcaavan of your rank, I assume? I assure you, I am a prince among my people, well-deserving."

  No question this time; Second was staring at him. Lisinthir folded his arms behind his head and let him.

  At last, Second said, "You speak our language well, Ambassador."

  "It is an interesting one," Lisinthir said, pleased that he'd shocked the male into stripping the pronouns completely of their modifiers. "Though it does not approach the complexity and nuance of my native language, it is far more complicated a thing than the Alliance's Universal. I quite enjoyed my study of it, though I'm sure I still have much to learn."

  "Of course, I shall address you-the-male as I would a colleague, if it pleases."

  "It will do," Lisinthir said. "Just so we understand our relationship, Second. And I am, by the way, quite hungry. When will breakfast be provided?"

  "I will see to it," Second said, voice tight. He backed to the perch, never breaking his gaze. "We will speak again shortly, Ambassador."

  "I look forward to it," Lisinthir said.

  The male walked back onto the perch, then leaped out of sight. Lisinthir ambled after and squinted up into the brightening sky, watching the silhouette of the older male as it faded into the clouds. He wasn't sure whether he'd won that battle, but he'd at least made it clear he wasn't a cultural-isolate. The word for "alien" in Chatcaavan and all its attendant modifiers and pronouns and hangers-on translated colloquially to "wingless freak." That hadn't been in the briefing, but anyone who actually cared enough about the language to examine it could trace the etymology.

  At home, the Eldritch tongue with its byzantine mood-modifiers and complex grammars seemed tailored for the court, and so much insult could be given by changing a single syllable that it trained one to be careful with word choice. He would do no less here. He had no claws or teeth to match these creatures; given his limited armory, he would use every weapon at his disposal.

  But now, the flag business. Steadying himself with a hand on the rail, Lisinthir craned his neck and looked above his window—surely enough, a flag pole was affixed to the tower's wall, well above where he could comfortably reach. From it flew an Alliance standard... a tattered one.

  So, not only was the signal used for his suite's availability high enough above him that he could not easily change it, but the flag they'd left there had been allowed to shred. They must have put it there, since the previous Ambassador came home with his. That was why they'd sent him with one of his own.

  He couldn't leave it flying like that.

  Stripping off his coat, Lisinthir pushed furniture onto the balcony until he had a tower high enough to reach the flag-pole. Steadying himself with a hand on the smooth stone, he carefully pulled on the cord until the flag slid into reach. There, with the fabric in his face, he grew very still.

  At home, there were no impressive, scientifically-created fabrics that resisted tears. He was well-acquainted with what fabric looked like when ripped from strain or age. And as one of the few Eldritch who dueled, he was also well-acquainted with what fabric looked like when torn with a sharp object.

  Someone had shredded the flag.

  His hands shook as he unclipped it from the pole. It was not his flag, of course—the Eldritch were allied with the United Alliance, not members—but for now it was his to guard, and the deliberation of the tears, bisecting the crescent moon and slashing the six-pointed stars, pricked his sleeping rage.

  He carried the flag tenderly back into the suite, folded it and set it on the bed. Then he turned to his trunk. Four things he took from it. The first, one of the compressed honey-grain bars he'd brought, he ate. The second, the flag he'd brought with him, he set on his lap. And the third he used to polish the fourth. His sword did not need sharpening. He shone it until it gleamed, and seethed.

  By the time Second landed again, the sky had deepened into an afternoon richness, the clouds lined with copper. Lisinthir saw the flash of Second's wings and heard their dry leather creak, but didn't leave the bedroom to greet the male. Instead, he finished a few more strokes with the cloth and set it aside. Sword held naked in one hand, flag gathered into the other, Lisinthir walked calmly into the study.

  "You have a weapon," Second said.

  "You are observant," Lisinthir replied. "I am trying to decide whether to use it on your miserable throat or not."

  Second blinked.

  "Did you intend to insult me? Or merely to provoke me into a duel? I am curious, but my patience is short. You'll want to answer quickly."

  Second said, "I have no idea what you mean, Ambassador!"

  "The flag you shredded," Lisinthir said. "Or was it one of your subordinates? Honestly, it doesn't matter. The person in charge always takes the fall where I come from, and it will be here as well."

  "Your flag was shredded?"

  "Don't be coy," Lisinthir said, clipping the words. "I'm not that stupid."

  Second backed up a step, wings mantling. They made painfully dry noises. "I honestly did not know someone had defaced your flag, Ambassador. Such behavior is not tolerated here. The offender will be found and punished."

  Was he lying? But he looked unsettled. Was he dissembling to keep Lisinthir from attacking, or was Second battling his own courtiers as well?

  "You will take this," Lisinthir said, thrusting the whole flag at Second, "And hang it for me. And you will install lights so that the flag may be properly lit at night."

  "Immediately," Second said evenly, taking the flag. "I will find the offender, Ambassador, this I promise, and you will see him brought to heart's blood."

  "You had better not be lying."

  "You may put away your weapon," the Chatcaavan said, holding the flag carefully with his talon-tipped fingers. "I will hang this for you."

  "Do that," Lisinthir said. And while the male stepped away, the Eldritch wondered uneasily about the use of "heart's blood" instead of mere blood. Would the person who ripped the flag be killed outright? What kind of justice system did the Chatcaava have? The briefings had been silent on that issue.

  When Second returned, Lisinthir walked out to the balcony and looked up. The new flag was standard issue for embassies, which meant it had gathered into bunches at the base of the inadequate pole. "I will want a new pole along with the lights. And Second, henceforth the flag will not be taken down. Ever. My availability for meetings will be signaled elsewise."

  "How so?" Second asked. He definitely sounded wary.

  "With a red scarf, tied to the landing rail," Lisinthir sai
d. "You will tell the rest of the staff, I am certain."

  "Yes," Second said, curt.

  "You have one more matter to arrange," Lisinthir said, and glanced outside at the sunset. "Though by now it's supper I want, not breakfast. Are the Empire's servants always so tardy, or do you mean me personal affront?"

  "Not all things are meant as attacks," Second said.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Lisinthir said. "I will not allow myself or my nation to be casually insulted. Intentionally or by accident. You will have to watch your words more carefully if you are accustomed to a more timid ambassador."

  "Ah," Second said. He remained by the balcony, rigid, head cocked. "You are a male of hard words."

  "I do not plead or cajole or hope, Second," Lisinthir said. "I require, demand and occasionally compromise. You will deal with me accordingly."

  "Yes," Second said. Then bowed. "My apologies for the neglect in your feeding."

  "Apology accepted," Lisinthir said. "Providing the food is delivered."

  "Of course," Second said. "I will see to having regular food brought to you now. But a servant will come for you shortly. The Emperor has asked to see you for supper."

  "Good," Lisinthir said. "He, at least, will supply me with food."

  Second's tail twitched. "Again, my apologies."

  "Enough," Lisinthir said. "Apologies are meaningless. Actions can make lies of them... or truths. Go, Second, for I must dress for supper."

  Second inclined his head and backed to the perch. Lisinthir sighed.

  With Khaska-Laniis curled up in a basket and the other aliens in a separate corner of the main room, the Slave Queen felt comfortable escaping to the bathing chamber. Presentations disordered her mind; a long soak in the raised tub, the one nearly surrounded in thin windows, usually brought her back to center. The pools in the bathing chamber were set on tiers, with the topmost being the hottest; its waters ran into the middle, and then down to the largest and most tepid, the one for washing. Khaska found the bottom the only one bearable, the others being too hot for her.