Even the Wingless Page 9

  A faint tremble passed over the woman's body. "If I can aid you, I shall," she said.

  Lisinthir turned to go and caught a glimpse of the Slave Queen staring at him from the chamber on the opposite end of the room. He met her eyes and this time saw in them the turbulence she buried so deeply she barely felt it herself... saw it and nodded to it before leaving for the long walk to the Emperor's tower.

  The Slave Queen sat on a stone stool in the doorway, watching the newest members of the harem sleep. A furrow lined her brow. The Tam-illee and Malarai were curled up together in an embrace that looked distinctly uncomfortable to the Chatcaavan. They blocked access to the corner behind them, where the Eldritch female was sleeping badly, her breaths small and halting. Their move to the closet made sense, from that perspective: it was easier to guard a corner of such a small space. Such obvious tactics incited nothing but pity in the Slave Queen... nothing would save them now. Nothing could. Surely not.

  And yet...

  The memory of the Ambassador's intimate touch remained with her, even after several hours, distracting her with vivid, scattered images of alien eyes knitted to flashes of terror and misery such as she'd first experienced after she'd been taken by the Emperor.

  The Ambassador's last words repeated in her head: help me help them. Help me help them.

  The Queen pressed the base of her palm against her knee. The Ambassador had surprised the Emperor and the court by showing no offense at the insult prepared for him, surprised and delighted, for the Emperor seemed intrigued with him. But interest in a new courtier was always rewarded with further tests, tests that would continue until the courtier broke. No one lived at court whom the Emperor could not control. No one stayed here, save those who had been pushed by the Emperor to the point where he could catalog their every weakness.

  At some point, some point soon, the Emperor would test the Alliance's envoy by taking the Eldritch female—in public, most certainly. He'd done similar things before and the opportunity with a rare Eldritch slave to taunt an equally rare Eldritch Ambassador would be too good to pass over. Attendance at such an event would be mandatory and would attract the interest of both courtiers and palace staff. Security would be lax.

  The slaves could escape.

  All the Slave Queen would have to do would be to take the pattern of the Eldritch female, and be wearing the body when the Emperor sent for her. She wouldn't fool the Emperor for long... she didn't think she could fake the girl's demeanor. But it would be long enough for the Ambassador's people to get the Alliance folk onto a transport and off-world. The punishment for her trespass would be dire. She might die at the end of it, were she so lucky. But she would have spared the aliens.

  All the plan required would be Touching the female.

  The Slave Queen slid off the stool and walked to the corner. She crouched beside the two sleeping guardians, frayed wings stretching out to balance her as she reached toward the bare white shoulder. Her fingertips brushed against skin—

  The Eldritch jerked upright and pressed her back to the wall, out of reach. Her sea-tint eyes widened.

  "Let me touch you," the Slave Queen said, soft so as not to wake the other two. "Please. Let me save you."

  The girl replied with a thin thread of unintelligible words and did not come closer.

  "Please," the Chatcaavan said again.

  This time the female's reply was louder, and the Tam-illee's ear flicked. The sleepy foxine yawned and turned. Seeing the tableau, she leaped away, shaking the Malarai's shoulder. Soon both of them were pushing the Queen away from the Eldritch, yammering in their alien tongue with the Eldritch chiming in from behind in her language's totally different cadence.

  "Khas—Laniis... Laniis!"

  A few minutes later, Laniis scrambled past the door's threshold. "Mistress?"

  "Laniis, tell them I am not going to hurt them!"

  Laniis blinked, then turned to the females and spoke quickly, her words punctuated with sharp gestures of her hands and arms. Reluctantly, they dropped the Slave Queen's arms.

  "Now," Laniis said, "what is happening, Mistress?"

  "I... think... I think I can help them," the Slave Queen said, almost too low to hear herself.

  Laniis's conical ears strained, pointing at her. "Mistress?"

  "I can help them." She laid out her plan and watched the expressions fly over the Seersa's face. Perhaps exposure to multiple aliens had improved her comprehension of their body language, or perhaps seeing what her pain looked like on an alien's face had given her the key she needed to understand them better... she thought she saw shock, apprehension and something like hope in Laniis's demeanor. "What do you think?"

  "I think... I think you are right. I think it can be done."

  "Tell them."

  Laniis turned to the three and began to speak—first one language, than the next. When she'd finished explaining, they all looked at the Eldritch, who shivered and murmured something.

  "She asks if it has to be her," Laniis said.

  The Slave Queen glanced at the Eldritch and said, "It must. No other display will have the same power over the Ambassador."

  Laniis translated, and again they all looked at the Eldritch. She took in their stares, then hung her head, silver-pale hair falling over her thin shoulders.

  The Slave Queen hesitantly stepped toward her, and the others moved aside. She stopped in front of the Eldritch and dipped her head so she could look into the sea-green eyes. "I promise I will make it as short as possible," she said. The murmur from beside her had Laniis's voice, stumbling here and there on the strange fluid sounds.

  The Eldritch lifted her head and rested her eyes on the Slave Queen's, who searched hers for any clue about how she felt. Resignation, maybe ... the Queen struggled to understand the mind behind those eyes, to touch it with her sincerity, to show since she had no words that she was earnest in her desire to help.

  The female spoke, and Laniis said, "I think she asks why you were doing this."

  "I'm not sure," the Slave Queen said, wings sagging. "I just want... I want to see someone have what they want most. To let you stay here, without even trying—I would be tearing someone's wings, your wings. I would be responsible, somehow. I... how can I fly at all if I give myself that kind of burden?"

  A pause. "I don't know if I can translate that well, Mistress."

  The Queen glanced at Laniis. "Try."

  Another pause, and then a halting series of words. The Queen concentrated on the Eldritch's eyes, willing the meaning across.

  Then, the female's face softened, and though the resignation remained it had been matched to a quiet submission. The Eldritch offered her hand.

  The Chatcaavan closed her eyes, shaken by the exchange, then opened them and rested her hand on the female's. She opened herself to the Touch, felt her palm grow warm. Just as its power began to heat, to gather, the female snatched her hand away with a cry.

  Disoriented, the Slave Queen tumbled backward. She fell hard on her tail, and the shock of that pain brought her back to herself. The Eldritch was weeping, and while the Tam-illee attempted to comfort her, the Malarai was glowering at the Queen.

  "Why did she do that?" the Slave Queen asked, and didn't wait for Laniis to finish translating to get to her feet and demand, shaking, "She has to let me finish! It's not done!"

  "She says it hurts too much, Mistress," Laniis said. "She says your mind burns her, that it is full of—" a pause, a quick swallow, "full of anger and pain and darker things."

  "I need to finish," the Slave Queen said, realizing that her trembling was rage. She was not accustomed to anger, could not fathom how it could so control all her body so that she felt on fire inside her own skin. "The Touch did not rise completely. If I can't seal her pattern in me, I cannot Change, and you will all lose your chance for escape. Let me finish!"

  "She says no," Laniis said after a moment. The two other females looked quizzically at her and the Seersa translated the exchange for them
. The Slave Queen watched them war with their own feelings for the briefest of moments before turning her gaze to the weeping Eldritch.

  For a moment, she felt herself Chatcaavan from toe to crown of horns. She saw her species contrasted against the weakness of the Alliance's and felt the contempt that moved so many of the courtiers.

  And then her gaze traveled the length of the naked female's shivering back, noted the hollows between her spine's hard chain and the flesh between her ribs, and pity rose in her instead. One touch had been enough to reduce the Ambassador to tears, and he had already proven himself a harder male than anyone expected. Perhaps what she asked of the female was simply too much.

  She would die here, the Slave Queen was sure. They all would. It was just a question of when. As Laniis tried desperately to talk her way into a solution, the Slave Queen lifted a length of silk and looped it around her shoulders, then walked away. She had made the effort. Surely that would be enough to appease the Ambassador with his twilit eyes and somber mouth.

  Lisinthir remembered the route to the Emperor's tower, but his memory of the effort it required to reach the top had dulled. One such climb he could imagine. Several a day would thin him to a wraith unless he undertook to eat more. The Chatcaavan meals he'd had thus far had consisted solely of meat... a diet like that would melt the flesh from him unless he augmented it somehow. Perhaps the Chatcaava ate only meat—perhaps they ate different types of food at different times of day—or perhaps the Emperor merely leaned toward the carnivorous. He tried to remember any information in his briefings about the nutritional needs of the Chatcaava and failed. Perhaps there had been none.

  He arrived at the top of the chamber to find the guards gone and the doors left open. Curious and on guard, he stepped into the suite. The balcony doors were closed, but the bank of windows had all been cranked open to the black sky and the brilliance of the few visible stars. A cool breeze wafted in, disturbing the candle flames that provided the only illumination in the room. It smelled of alien air, slightly too acrid, tangy with the memory of salt.

  "Ambassador." The word came out of the dark and Lisinthir couldn't find the Emperor in it.

  "Exalted," Lisinthir said, bowing in that direction. "It is a beautiful night."

  "Yes," the male said. Lisinthir heard liquid splashing into glasses, smelled the rich fruity scent of something alcoholic. "This is different from what we had with our meal."

  "I look forward to trying it," Lisinthir said.

  At last, the Emperor turned, allowing Lisinthir to find him in the room by the glow of his eyes. The male stepped into the yellow light, both glasses held with casual skill in one hand. He still wore the black robe from supper, but it was no longer belted closed, and though the shadows deepened closer to the floor Lisinthir guessed the male wore nothing else.

  The Emperor studied him, and the delicate lining inside his nostrils flared. Faster than Lisinthir thought anyone could move with grace, the male was in front of him, staring at his face. Not his eyes—his cheeks.

  "Have you been /weeping/, Ambassador?

  He hadn't thought to wash his face. He should have, curse it all. "I can't imagine why that would be the case, Exalted One."

  "And I missed it," the Emperor said as if not even hearing his reply. "I am disappointed. You have no idea how beautiful /tears/ are."

  "I hadn't given the matter much thought," Lisinthir said, trying not to wonder at the alien's facility with words and concepts outside his own tongue... and this concept in particular.

  "We do not /cry/, you understand," the Emperor continued, eyes never relenting. They traveled up to meet Lisinthir's. "We whimper. We writhe. We wail and scream and moan. But we do not leave any evidence of our suffering. We do not /weep/."

  He was so close Lisinthir could hear the air hissing through his nose, feel the force of his presence, smell the iron tang of blood on his breath. The heat between them was palpable, so palpable that when the Emperor turned abruptly away Lisinthir's skin pebbled with gooseflesh.

  "Take it," the Emperor said, leaving the glass on the table before sitting. As Lisinthir did so, he continued, "You have yet to bore me, Ambassador."

  "I am relieved," Lisinthir said, struggling to regain the composure the Emperor had wicked away so effortlessly.

  "You tell me I give away intelligence by stealing your people," the Emperor said. "A novel idea, if true."

  "Oh, it's true," Lisinthir said and borrowed from the Seersa's plight. "You have taken in plants from us before."

  The male's brow ridges lifted, drawing back the shadows from his eyes. "So you mean to entice me to cease stealing your people for my harems by suggesting it is in my best interests. You hope to deny me slavery by making me believe it impractical."

  "No," Lisinthir said. "I hope to deny you slavery by making you realize it is morally reprehensible. But if you will listen only to the most pragmatic of reasons, then I suppose those will suffice."

  The Emperor stared at him in silence. Lisinthir ignored him and drank. On the palate the scent of fruit evaporated, leaving nothing but heat... he let it center him.

  "Slavery is morally reprehensible," the Emperor said after the pause became heavy.

  "Yes," Lisinthir said. "I think less of the Empire for practicing it."

  The Emperor watched him lazily, cupping his glass with fingers so black they looked more like silhouettes than things with volume. "And you tell me this."

  "Should I hide it?" Lisinthir asked.

  "All your predecessors did. They showed their distaste, but as females do... fearfully and with easy denials or swift evasions when questioned. You do not."

  "No," Lisinthir said. "I do not toy with words. The Alliance believes all creatures are meant to be free." He sipped again for strength, then continued as steadily as he could, "that means your women as well as our people."

  "Females do not wish for freedom," the Emperor said. "If we set them loose they would hardly know what to do with themselves... and even if they did, they would come to a bad end. Ours is a harsh world."

  "Is it harsh because it is? Or is it harsh because you made it so?" Lisinthir asked.

  The Emperor flashed his sharp teeth. "We make it so because the world made us so first." The drake leaned forward. "I will say this, Ambassador... I do not share your views. We are strong, and the strong are entitled to the weak. The universe is not served by weakness. Such weakness is culled by nature... and we must all serve our natures."

  "Even our basest?" Lisinthir asked.

  "Especially our basest," the Emperor replied.

  Lisinthir finished the alcohol and set his glass on the table between them.

  "You still haven't told me what you were /crying/ about, Ambassador."

  "Nor do I have any intention to, Exalted," Lisinthir said. "Some things are simply not important enough to discuss."

  "/Tears/ are always worth discussion," the Emperor said. "I would like to know what makes you /cry/."

  Something about the way the male said that drained the warmth from Lisinthir's hands and face. "Very little, Exalted Emperor. Very little indeed."

  "And that is all you will tell me," the Emperor said. "I suppose I'll have to discover it myself."

  Lisinthir couldn't help it... he laughed. "And your plan is to make all your aliens weep, is that it? To drive them from the Empire in shame, shackles or coffins?" He shook his head. "With all my deepest respect, most Exalted One... good luck." He stood and bowed. "May I go?"

  The Emperor laughed, a sly knowing sound. "Yes."

  Lisinthir inclined his head and turned, reaching for the door handle. His hand had but closed on it when the Emperor said, "Ambassador..."

  Lisinthir looked over his shoulder.

  "You may use my harem, if it pleases you. In its entirety. Since you have such... particular tastes."

  "Such a gift," Lisinthir said, shoulders tightening.

  "You are astute," the Emperor said. "Good night."

  Lisinthir said
, "Good night," and let himself out, closing the door behind him with a hand that trembled only a little. He held himself tightly controlled all the way to his chambers, and even there he remained taut with the strain, methodically undressing, folding his clothing and putting it away.

  It was only later, in the bath, that he began shaking. Not weeping, as the Emperor would have been so fascinated to witness, but shaking.

  Touching the Slave Queen... that had been a decision driven by instinct, and he thought it would reward him. He'd been right to see in her the hidden, complex core, to guess that she was not as downtrodden as the females in the lower harems had seemed to be. And his single touch with her had educated him about the Chatcaavan heart; he wouldn't call himself an expert by any means, but at least he now knew that they felt much the same passions as any other people. But the cool waters over the Slave Queen's hidden heart of fire, transmitted through a deep and lasting touch, held nothing to the power and cruelty the Emperor had forced on him merely by standing close by. Lisinthir had managed the bravado that seemed expected of males in the Empire, as was his plan... but he had no idea how long he could maintain such a facade, especially if the Emperor could harry him simply by stepping into his personal space.

  And facade it was... no question. Every time Lisinthir took a liberty with the Emperor that he would not have dared with his own Queen, he wondered if he would live to give breath to a new near-insolence. And somehow, while walking this cruel and narrow path, he would have to find a way to save Bethsaida and free the Seersa and the other Alliance personnel.

  It was only the second day. How would he survive two years? He could resign himself to being ineffectual, acting as the previous ambassadors had acted... but he wasn't sure he could bear returning to the Alliance a failure. Nor was he certain he would be allowed to relax into such a stance, not with the Emperor so intrigued. No other ambassador had managed that, he was sure. Someone would have noticed the Emperor's preoccupation with tears if so.

  Drawing in a long breath that dried his lips, Lisinthir returned to the bath, willing his body to stop trembling. He had chosen this path. He would not be timid about it.