CHAPTER TEN

Tempting as it might have been to live in the Emperor’s pocket, Lisinthir knew better than to attempt to recapture the feverish final days on the throneworld. Through their skins he could sense the Chatcaavan’s attempts to patch together the male who’d worn the most exalted title in the Empire with the slave who’d lived through the harem. It remained a delicate exercise, one that demanded patience and solitude. Had Lisinthir himself not sought rustication for similar purpose more than once? He might have hunted at his mother’s distant lodge to put food on the Galare tables, but it had not been duty that drove him there the first time, nor kept him returning when the larders were full. There were times for confession, and times for retreat. As much as possible, he sought to give his lover that space.

He would gladly have given up his own time, had the Emperor needed him. But it was for the best that the Emperor didn’t, because Lisinthir also needed solitude, and as before he spent it in the salle, working until he thought he would break his cage of bones.

Jahir and Vasiht’h, gone missing. Sediryl, vanished in search of them. The Emperor, trapped in a struggle which permitted only witness… and Laniis, who was either making it worse or better for them both, and he could not consider it appropriate to interfere.

While Lisinthir fought his solidigraphic enemies, and felt his impotence.

Several days after the conference, the gymnasium door chimed, and his scenario froze. Lisinthir straightened, wiped the sweat from his brow, and waited for his unscheduled guest. Seeing the shape in the door, he managed a crooked smile. “And here we are again.”

“Yes.” The Knife stepped far enough into the room for the door to slide shut behind him. “I apologize for the interruption, Ambassador.”

“Have you come for another lesson?”

“No.” The Knife found one of the benches and perched on it, wings spreading to keep from bumping the wall.

“You’ve come to admit to doubts over your Emperor’s chance at success?”

The Knife shook his head in a Pelted gesture, staring at his knees. “No.” Lifting his head, he said, “Definitely not that.”

Lisinthir sheathed his swords. “What then?”

“That we’ve lost contact with your other Eldritch… the female. That concerns me.” The Knife smoothed his palms over his knees. “If we are to help the Emperor take back the Empire, he must have the right tools. That link into the pirate connection… that was a vital intelligence asset, and we no longer have access to it.”

Lisinthir propped a foot up on the end of the bench, resting his arms on it. “The loss may be temporary.”

“Maybe,” the Knife said. “But it’s not available now, and we must face the likelihood of it being closed to us.”

“Uuvek hasn’t been able to re-establish contact, I presume.”

“No. And not for lack of trying.” The Knife grimaced. “I don’t expect you to know what to do, Ambassador. I suppose I just wanted to… to air my concerns to someone who would not misinterpret it as a lack of confidence in what we’re doing. I believe in the scheme we’re attempting. Using the Living Air’s tracts will work. Maybe not as broadly as we hope, but it will. And yet, I am discouraged by the loss of your nestsister’s help.”

“You and me both,” Lisinthir murmured. “Nestsister, is it. Even though we’re not born of the same mother and father?”

“The term is poor, I suppose,” the Knife said. “It’s old. From a time when the children born in the same place might have expected to be related, and have ties because of it. It is no longer literal when used. Uuvek could reasonably call me his nestbrother.”

“And huntbrother…”

“A huntbrother is a friend you trust in a fight,” the Knife said. “But you might not invite them to your home, share meals with them, feed their grandparents, talk about how much you hate that you’ve lost a vital intelligence asset.” He smiled a little. “A nestbrother, you trust with the rest of your life as well. Or so I would say. Others would have it backwards. That a huntbrother is a more advanced, more perfect form of nestbrother, one who can fight as well as help.”

“I would call Sediryl both my huntsister and my nestsister, then, not knowing which interpretation my audience will be using,” Lisinthir said, amused. “And, Knife… I do trust her, even if I don’t know what she’s doing.”

“She’s new to the fight, isn’t she?”

“To this fight, perhaps. To fights in general?” Lisinthir shook his head, just a little. “Rest assured, she does not need advice on how to conduct herself. Though it’s too bad we can’t share what we know with her anymore, either—”

The Knife was nodding again, the alien nod that looked so strange on Chatcaavan necks. “Like the Queen. I wish so much to tell her that we received her message…” He stopped, eyes widening in shock. Swiveled his head toward Lisinthir.

“You are thinking what I’m thinking,” Lisinthir breathed.

“That she sent word to us through the palace somehow.” The Knife rose, hugging himself. “And that there’s no evidence that conduit has closed to us.” He looked up, eyes wide. “I’m right, aren’t I? We might not be able to contact your nestsister, but we could see what the Usurper is doing... if that contact is capable of telling us.”

“Possibly,” Lisinthir said, heart racing. “Possibly. Uuvek—”

The Knife was already talking to the computer, which he’d addressed in Universal before resuming in Chatcaavan. His request brought the other Chatcaavan, who stopped at the door and sighed. “This again?”

“Uuvek!” the Knife said. “The contact the Queen used to reach us from the throneworld. Can you see if they’re still responding?”

Uuvek’s eyes widened. “I could, yes. You are testing to see if we can hold that line open? It’s a good thought.”

“It is,” the Knife said. “Why didn’t you think of it?”

Uuvek snorted. “I may have been busy trying to encrypt your fancy lyricism so that it doesn’t draw the attention of our enemies?”

“Oh, yes.” The Knife rustled his wings, folded them. “Well, take a break and try this.” He glanced at Lisinthir. “What shall we say?”

“We begin simply, and ask whether they’re willing to keep the line open, and what information they might have access to,” Lisinthir said.

“And if they’re willing to share it?” Uuvek added, dry. “Technically it is treason.”

“If they cared about treason they would not have passed the Queen’s information to us in the first place,” the Knife said.

Uuvek snorted. “That was when she was there. When your allies are gone and you find yourself with a new master, you sometimes discover the prudence of silence.”

“He has a point,” Lisinthir said. “But I prefer to hope that anyone the Queen might have tapped would have been hers, heart to skin.”

“It’s all we can do, anyway,” the Knife said. “So I guess it’s what we will.”

Uuvek snorted. “I’ll go see to it. If I hear an answer, you’ll know.”

“Thank you,” Lisinthir said.

Uuvek flicked a wing in an off-hand gesture and left. In his absence, the Knife exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh.

“Feel better?” Lisinthir asked.

“Now that I know we might still be able to learn something about what our enemies are doing while our backs are turned? Very much so.” The Knife grinned, showing teeth. “I could even take another lesson in sword.”

“I might even be able to teach it. Shall we?”

The pirate did not summon the Chatcaavan Queen for dinner. That was either a good sign or a very poor one. She didn’t know enough to guess at which it was, and she had long since learned to make peace with impotence. The Eldritch female had arrived; that in itself was a good sign, for surely she’d been sent as a result of the message she had communicated to Uuvek.

What had the Ambassador thought on hearing it? Had the Emperor been with him, or had Second and the Usurper’s treachery injured him? Maybe even… killed him? The Queen shuddered once and let that thought go. She had her own task here, and to accomplish it she could not sap her strength with fear. She requested and received a simple meal, washed, and composed herself on the alien bed to sleep.

Her eyes had been closed for less than half an hour when a voice whispered in Chatcaavan, “Wake, Queen of the Chatcaava.”

The peculiarity of the title convinced her she wasn’t dreaming. She had never heard such a construction. Perplexed, she lifted her head, wondering how someone had entered without her hearing it, and what it augured. Surely an assassin wouldn’t have woken her.

“You won’t see me because I’m not in the room,” the voice continued. Not Chatcaavan, she decided. The voice was too androgynous for a male and too forthright for a female. “I am the Eldritch’s helpmeet.”

“You have seized the base’s computers?” the Queen asked.

“I… live in the base’s computers, for now,” came the enigmatic reply. “It’s not a simple explanation and I don’t know how much time I have. There’s a massive data transfer going on right now, so it’s easier for me to hide my use of your room’s systems. I don’t know how long that will last. The pirate. You’ve talked with her?”

“For several days.” The Queen sat up, wing-arms tightly folded. “She is dangerous.”

“What can you tell us about her?”

The Queen pulled her blankets around herself. If they were short on time… she organized her thoughts. “She wishes to found a pirate nation. She does not trust anyone. She hates the Alliance; she hates the Chatcaava. She appears to hate males, but she does not love females either, unless they are useful to her. She was betrayed when she was in the Alliance. She was formerly military. She wishes to think herself generous, but only because she perceives generosity as a way to control others. She wants to control everyone. She is not right in the mind. Not sane.” Was that everything? “She longs for a confidant, but she is frightened of people with power. She disliked me because I did not respond to her with enough passion.”

The voice when it returned sounded respectful. “That’s… quite a lot.”

“It is not enough,” the Queen said. “Particularly since I do not think she will confide in me. But your Eldritch…”

“I know.”

“It may be that she will be able to inspire the pirate’s trust,” the Queen said. “And then she might learn more.”

“We can hope. Everything we can learn, we have to learn. We’re going to keep in contact with you, so please keep listening.”

“It is why I am here.”

“Good. Thank you.” A pause. “I have to go. They’re about done with their upload and I don’t want to be caught by a load test. I’ll be back when I can.”

“All right,” the Queen replied, but the voice did not respond again. Gone, then. Mystified, the Queen rested her head on the pillow and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. She had not seen the Eldritch’s ally before she’d been dismissed from the pirate’s chambers. Had this person come later? Or had the Eldritch snuck her associate into the base somehow? The comment about existing in the base computers made no sense to her, but she had little context to interpret it. Still, this ally could not have arranged the conversation without having some way into the system.

Her eyes were closed and she was almost asleep when the connection snapped into place and she gasped in.

If the ally had a way into the system… did that mean there was a way out?

“Oviin,” she breathed.

Sediryl slept fitfully, waking too often from nightmares that left her heart pounding and mouth dry. The final dream near dawn, though, pulled her under and into the arms of her cousins. Their earnest conversation she recalled only as a low murmur, like the sound of a distant brook; it was the sticky-sweetness of their embrace, the one that included her, and the heat of their skin against hers that comforted her. When that dream released her, it was almost a natural waking. She parted her lashes to stare at the door into her bedchamber with no desire to lift her head. The images were dissolving, but one or two persisted: the kiss pressed to her palm by cousin Lisinthir, and Jahir’s hand threaded through her hair. She smiled because it made her cheeks warm.

Alone, surrounded, in the greatest mortal danger she’d ever been in her life, still, Sediryl could smile, blush, be moved by honest passion. “I’ll come home,” she promised them all, under her breath. And to herself, lower, “I’ll win.” Then she pushed herself upright to shower and decide how best to attack her day. Had she not told Maia she would be a fool to throw away her lever? Was it too soon to use it? Ridiculous question. She washed, dressed in her discarded undergarments, and then tried lifting her voice. “Computer, attend. I wish to speak with Admiral Kamaney.”

Nothing. Interesting. She considered making her request of the guards no doubt posted outside and decided against it. Exciting their avarice was not in her best interests. Instead, she investigated her suite, tried her computer access from the study’s desk, opened cabinets and drawers to distract herself from the knowledge that she was waiting. That she was guessing that the pirate wouldn’t be able to resist checking on her. That she was seeing how this would play out, wondering if she was right, and if she could go through with it.

She didn’t have to wonder long.

A chime sounded, and then the pirate’s voice dropped into her suite without waiting for her to accept the call. “It’s time for breakfast, Lady. I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” Sediryl replied. “I find myself unable to join you, however.”

The pirate’s voice sharpened. “Oh? Is there something wrong?”

“There is, yes, but it is a matter I would rather discuss face to face.”

A longish hesitation. Then, “I’m a busy woman, you know.”

“I do,” Sediryl said, striving for cordiality. “It is because you are a busy woman that I feel I can trust you with this matter. I cannot take it to your guards.”

That piqued the woman’s interest, from her voice. “I see. A moment.”

A descending arpeggio accompanied the closed channel. Sediryl went to the bedchamber and posed herself just inside the bathroom. When she heard the suite’s door open—without warning, she noted—she called, “Here.”

Kamaney strolled in and stopped abruptly. Sediryl had calculated the angle to a nicety: with the bathroom door open, the pirate should just be able to see a sliver of her body, filmed by the chemise but visible in outline thanks to the overhead light. Ignoring the pirate, Sediryl calmly tightened her laces. She’d abandoned daily corsetry in the Alliance because it was such a pain to don one without a lady’s maid, but she’d gone to enough functions to have mastered the time-consuming art of lacing herself without help. And her first lover, Davor, had made it very clear that there was nothing latent in the eroticism of watching a woman bind herself with her spine straight and her breasts raised and her hands trapped in laces behind her back.

“Your underlings,” Sediryl said, watching her own face in the mirror as if studying it for flaws, “did not bring my wardrobe from my ship. I don’t want to dress for breakfast in the same clothes I wore to dinner.”

Mesmerized, Kamaney said nothing. Licked her lips once. “No, of course not.”

“My belongings are still on my ship?”

“Impounded,” Kamaney said. “The ship I mean. It’s impounded.”

“Perhaps I might go fetch my things?”

Kamaney swallowed hard, then twitched her head once. “No, no. I wouldn’t want you to go through the trouble. I can have someone bring you your things.”

And have pirates rifling through her belongings? Sediryl thought absurdly of the tea set, hated the thought of foreign hands on it… wondered if it had already been confiscated, sold, broken. “I can’t imagine them managing that in time for breakfast. I’d hate to miss it when you’re so busy. I have so many things… you’re sure I can’t just…” She inhaled, making the boning strain, and glanced at Kamaney over her shoulder.

Almost… almost, she thought the pirate would say yes. But again, that little head twitch, and Kamaney said, “No. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

Some voice in her howled her frustration but she ignored it. She had pushed and failed—now she had to erase her mistake. Turn it to her benefit if possible by being acquiescent without obsequiousness. Sediryl finished taking up the slack in the top half of her corset and pulled on the strands until her arms stretched out from her sides like a dancer’s. She heard the hushed inhalation behind her. “I understand. Is there a genie I might use instead? I can make something right now.”

“Use a genie. Your genie. To make clothes?”

“I would not want your soldiers to see me this way,” Sediryl said, beginning the arduous process of tightening the laces over her hips, up toward her waist.

“No!” Kamaney’s ears flattened. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all.” She shook herself, a whole body twitch this time. “I can have the genie released for your use. With some limits. We aren’t made of power here, after all.”

“I quite understand,” Sediryl said. “I have a selection of standard patterns I prefer. Until I tire of them, of course. I would hate to be boring. Your fur has made me re-assess my standards.”

“Oh has it,” Kamaney murmured.

“Think of how lovely it would be lining a coat…” Sediryl paused a heartbeat, finished, “Or as a nightrobe.”

“Does Eldritch lingerie come with fur linings?” Kamaney asked, torn between skepticism and interest.

“We take cold easily… and we love sumptuous things.” Sediryl pulled the laces again, tied them into a neat bow at her waist before running her hands up the front of the corset and stretching them above her head. “Skin is so sensitive, you know.”

“I do know,” Kamaney said, so fervently Sediryl hoped she would stop there before saying something that would drive all the thoughts from Sediryl’s head. She did not need to know about medical experimentation or, Goddess help her, a sentient leather trade to companion the fur trade. “I’ll see to the genie access. Breakfast in half an hour, say?”

“That sounds lovely.”

“To me too,” Kamaney said, and left.

Sediryl waited until she heard the doors close to grasp the edge of the bathroom sink and bend at the hip, the corset enforcing a posture on her that felt like punishment. Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.

“You sure you’re not coming on too strong?” Maia whispered in her ear.

“Good morning to you too.” Sediryl forced her tremors to cease. She started wrapping her hair into an elaborate chignon. “Did your night go well?”

“I had an interesting one,” Maia replied. “There was a big data dump. Suspicious thing, I’m investigating it. I don’t like big pushes across a system this small.”

“Something that puts you at risk?” Sediryl asked. “I was hoping I could get Kamaney to release us the Visionary so you would have someplace safer to stay…”

“And we’d have some way to run? Good idea. I wish it had worked.”

Sediryl sighed. “Me too.”

“We’ll keep chipping away at what we can. Speaking of which, last night’s busy network gave me the chance to chat with the Chatcaavan Queen.”

“Oh?” Sediryl asked, her arms freezing.

“She hasn’t been here long, but she says the pirate is former Alliance military. I’ll see if I can find out what that’s about. She was betrayed, and she’s out here to build a nation. And she wants a confidant, and discarded the Queen for not being emotionally invested enough. Kamaney appears to like controlling people, and you can’t control a dispassionate type.”

“Wonderful,” Sediryl breathed, her arms quivering. She resumed winding her hair into place. “I suppose I’ve chosen the right tack, then.”

“At least it’s one that hasn’t failed yet.”

“You fill me with confidence,” Sediryl said.

“Better that than complacency,” Maia replied. “Anyway, my next task is to investigate possible avenues out of here for the data, and for you flesh-and-blood types. There might be more ways to escape than via the Visionary.”

Sediryl studied herself in the mirror, pinched her cheeks to tint them. “I’ll pray for your success on both counts. We need to get the information we collect out as quickly as possible, but I would prefer that we follow it.”

“You and me both.”

“Did she release genie access to me yet? And do you remember any of my stored patterns?”

“I do, yes. You want the alternate you were considering?”

“Yes,” Sediryl said. “The sanguine suede. And see if you can’t get the genie to give me hairsticks to match.”

“Are you sure this isn’t coming on too strong?” Maia asked again.

“The Chatcaavan Queen already tried coming on too meek,” Sediryl said. “We’ll have to hope this works better for us than that did for her.”

Breakfast was a palatial spread. Sediryl’s chair was decorated with a different white fur: a Harat-Shar this time, the remains of a snow pard. She cooed over it and cuddled into the chair and hated herself for it, and for the fact that she applied herself to the meal with all the gusto the pirate could have wanted from her enthusiastic responses. Sediryl allowed herself to be plied with this dish or that until at last she pushed a plate away. “Oh, but I mustn’t. I can’t eat too much or my clothing will punish me.” She patted her corset busk. “Beauty is such a tyranny.”

“It’s worth it,” Kamaney said. “You look magnificent in red.” She sighed. “It’s so nice to see someone enjoying my meals. The Chatcaavan barely ate at all.”

“That hardly surprises me,” Sediryl answered. “Their females are cowed, abused, and molded from birth. They aren’t capable of the acts we are, who are reared to power.”

“We were, weren’t we?”

“Oh, certainly.” Sediryl smiled at her, eyes half-lidded. “I can sense it in you.” Dropping her gaze to her meal, she said, “It’s a pity about the Chatcaavan Queen, though.”

“Oh yes,” the pirate said with a sigh. “I wanted so much to get her to open up. Express herself more. Maybe become more…”

“Giving?” Sediryl suggested.

“More able to receive.”

Sediryl propped her cheek in an artfully splayed hand and looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe she found you intimidating? You are, you know.”

“I wondered about that.” Kamaney looked disappointed. “But I can’t not be me. You know how it is.”

“I do. Would you like me to try coaxing her from her shell? She might make a worthy companion to you yet, with help.”

“It is tempting. But… you’re also intimidating, don’t you think?”

Sediryl laughed softly. “To a Chatcaavan? Not at all. Why, our crown princess was sold into slavery by the traitor we had beheaded, did you know? To the dragons we are the frailest and most breakable of alien pets.” She sighed. “I fear even the Chatcaavan females think of us thus, but we might turn that to our advantage here.”

“Your crown princess?” Kamaney said, wide-eyed.

“He had so much to answer for,” Sediryl replied, pretending to muse on it. “I think I might have had him killed too quickly.”

Kamaney laughed. “I think you’re right.” With a grin she leaned back, steepling her fingers. “So, milady… I have a little time before my next engagement. How can I entertain you?”

Petting the snow pard’s pelt, Sediryl effected a moue. “I don’t suppose I might tour the warehouse? I find myself without a lady’s maid, and I miss my servants.”

“More presents!” The pirate chortled. “You are an expensive friend.”

“I’m worth it,” Sediryl promised, lowering her voice.

“You’re already more entertaining than my last few guests.” Kamaney rose. “By all means. To the warehouse.”

On the trip out of Kamaney’s private bloc, Sediryl did her best to observe the sorts of details Maia might find useful but challenging to glean while trapped in virtual space. The pirates’ numbers were surely in a database somewhere, but their attitudes toward their leader? She watched them in vain, because they all conducted themselves professionally. If they disliked Kamaney, they didn’t show it. Would that she had her cousins’ mind talents! All her walk divulged was that security was strict, the pirates obedient, and the base large enough to maze her.

Any hope that she could free all the slaves in this operation vanished when the door opened on the cargo bay. She halted despite herself, staring at the endless rows of cages, and the silence in her head seemed formed of the space between heartbeats, because her heart had paused for so long she thought it would not start again.

“Not too shabby, is it?” Kamaney said. “We’re three times as large as the next largest slaver.”

“There are others?” Sediryl breathed.

“I know, I’ve let them operate on their own for too long, haven’t I? Most of them are paying me protection money, though, and that works out better. They’re on the other side of the Alliance, or in some far better policed locale and I don’t care to set up in those areas. It’s best to leave them to themselves and prune them back once in a while. So they don’t get ideas.”

Sediryl forced herself to turn an admiring look on the Karaka’an. “I am impressed at your business acumen.”

“You don’t start an empire without money,” Kamaney said, and gestured expansively. “Shall we? We can browse, or if there’s something in particular you’re looking for?”

Sediryl settled her pard fur more attractively over her breast. “Perhaps the stroll. If you have time.”

“I could spare it to show this off.” The pirate grinned. “I don’t get a lot of visitors who haven’t seen it yet.”

Because the slaves themselves didn’t count, of course. Sediryl swallowed her gorge and said, “By all means. I’d love a tour.”

The tour took them past the outside edge of the cellblock, where the doctors, groomers, engineers, and data technicians worked. Kamaney introduced them all; try as she might Sediryl couldn’t grasp how they had come to be here. Had it been forced? A choice? She’d assumed there would be something in their eyes that revealed their sociopathy, but to her horror most of them seemed completely normal. Several of them were even charming, enthusiastic about their duties. She flattered them, smiled, laughed at the right intervals, and reminded herself that Maia had made her quarters safe and she could break down there later. For now, the stage… the stage, or death, or worse.

The worst of the tour took her through the cells, row after row of suffering people, their bodies buffed and glossed and groomed to perfection and their eyes empty pits. In keeping with her persona, Sediryl stopped here and there to “shop,” trying to select individuals for perusal who were either asleep or so far gone they couldn’t be hurt by the objectification of a slaver.

“You should pick a few more conscious ones,” Kamaney said at last, jokingly.

“I like watching them sleep,” Sediryl said. “They’re still. It lets me see the patterns of their fur better.”

“Oh!” Kamaney made a ‘huh’ noise. “I never thought of that. The agitated ones do shake or twitch, don’t they.”

“I’m surprised you don’t sedate them.”

“Drugging them is expensive and can impair their health.” Kamaney waved a hand. “It’s a bad investment. I make drugs to sell, not use.”

“Do you?” Sediryl asked, curious.

“Of course,” Kamaney said. “Weapons-running is out of the question. I need the weapons myself. Drugs and flesh are how I make cash.” She grinned. “Oldest trades in the business. There’s always demand.”

“And yet, you have so many here…”

“It only seems like a lot. Keep in mind the scale of settled space. Four hundred billion in friendly space alone... once you count the dragons and the unclaimed territories?” Kamaney shrugged, resuming her stroll. “All of these will sell the moment I make them available. I hold back to make sure demand’s high. No one else keeps them in as good condition as I do.”

“They do look healthy,” Sediryl said. For people dying slowly of despair. “What do you mean, odd ones?”

“Oh, it’s like any business,” Kamaney said casually. “Some products are more popular than others. For instance.” She pointed down one of the corridors. “Humans are that way. We have a lot of humans because they’re a high volume product. Everyone wants humans. Particularly other humans.”

Startled, Sediryl said, “They enjoy enslaving one another?”

“And have for all their history.” Kamaney sneered. “Why do you think we had to escape them?” She slowed as they turned a corner. “Eldritch of course—pardon me for saying so. Another hot product.”

“I’d be insulted otherwise, given our rarity.”

“And beauty?” Kamaney grinned up at her. “Anyway, there are exotics that move slowly, but go for higher prices. Like these Faulfenza.” She stopped in front of a series of cages. “There aren’t many buyers for true aliens, but the ones who like them really like them.”

Sediryl met Daize’s eyes in one of the furthest cells. “Oh,” she breathed. “They are beautiful.”

“You had one, didn’t you?” Kamaney said casually.

“I caught one on the outskirts of your space,” Sediryl said. “They’re so pacific. I enjoyed having her.”

“Did you,” the pirate murmured, and something in the way she said that…

Sediryl did not correct Kamaney’s salacious assumption. “I would not mind having one again.”

“Then you must,” Kamaney said. Sediryl was about to indicate Daize when the pirate stopped in front of another cage. “This one. Absolutely.” She opened the door casually, as if it had no lock, and said, “Out.”

The Faulfenzair bent his? Her? Head and stepped from the cell, straightening. He—Sediryl was fairly certain—was shorter than Daize had been, and unlike Daize was white almost entirely… save for splashes of a brilliant crimson at ears and throat and fingertips. A very striking person, this Faulfenzair, but a stranger. Sediryl glanced past his shoulder at Daize and was surprised to find the Faulfenzair watching her. When their eyes met, Daize’s mouth formed the words: Say yes.

“He’s glorious,” Sediryl said.

“He is, isn’t he? And he matches your outfit.” Kamaney grinned. “Shall I have him sent to your room?”

“I would love that.” Sediryl flashed the pirate a coquettish look. “Though I hope we’re not done with our walk. I am curious about the economics of slavery. Tell me more about which species are popular and which aren’t.”

“It is fascinating, isn’t it?” Kamaney paused and said to the air, “Guard to the Faulfenzair bloc.” She continued, “There are things that surprised me when I started working this business.”

“Such as?”

“Take this slave to the Eldritch’s quarters,” Kamaney said to the guard and shut the door of the empty cell. “For instance. Harat-Shar? Sell very poorly.”

“What? Why?” Sediryl frowned. “One would imagine they would be popular because of their reputations for licentiousness. Unless… that’s exactly why they don’t sell. Is it?”

“Yes!” The pirate beamed at her. “It’s so nice to talk with someone who understands these things. You’re exactly right. The Harat-Shar often enjoy themselves too much. It makes them boring. Plus, their homeworld has legal slavery contracts, so there’s no need to steal them if you want one for a plaything. It takes some of the excitement out of the process if you know you could walk into any auction house on Harat-Sharii and buy what you want.”

“That does make sense,” Sediryl said, longing only to end their tour. One last thing to do, though, and she thought she had an idea how to curtail it. “What are your least popular species, then?”

“No question,” Kamaney said. “Glaseah. Very specialized clientele and not many of them. They’re not very interesting slaves. Even the Naysha get more attention… the people who want Naysha pay enormous amounts for them.”

“Truly?” Sediryl asked, feigning surprise. “I have found Glaseah to be excellent servants.”

“Exactly,” Kamaney said. “They’re great servants and horrible slaves.”

“Ah.” Sediryl managed a thoughtful face. “Yes, I see. Most buyers are not seeking decorative servants. They want toys.”

“But Eldritch buyers are going to want decorative servants?” Kamaney stroked her chin. “That’s promising. Maybe when you bring your people into the market, I’ll finally have someone to sell my less valuable species to.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Sediryl said. “I have always liked the Glaseah. So striking with the black and white coats. It looks almost like livery, I think.”

“It does!” Kamaney grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we should spin the marketing that way. Your very own butler, with built-in tuxedo.” She laughed. “Fantastic. That’s the first fresh idea I’ve heard in a year! For that, I’ll give you one. And I’ll let you pick this time.”

“My own Glaseahn butler!” Sediryl laughed the silvery laugh she’d been forced to learn in deportment lessons. “Oh yes! I would love that. Please, let me see the selection.”

“This way.”

Sediryl suffered herself to be led back into the labyrinth, trying to ignore the people she could not save, because she couldn’t, could she? What freighter would be large enough to haul so many people? Where would she find it? There was no universe in which she could imagine effecting the escape of such a mass, and yet the thought that she’d have to leave them behind made her feel as if she’d been lanced in the side.

She could tell Fleet about this place, and Fleet could save them. Surely that would work. It was all she had.

“Here we are. As I mentioned, I don’t have much of a selection.”

‘Not much of a selection’ was still a good thirty individuals. Sediryl strolled alongside the cells, making much of her study, and her heart beat harder and harder until she finally found the face she’d been desperately hoping to see, and not see.

“This one,” she breathed. She crouched in front of Vasiht’h, the stabilizers in her boots engaging. “Look at him. He’s so shiny.”

“You’re sure?” Kamaney asked. “He looks sullen. You might have to shoot him.”

“Shoot him!” Sediryl exclaimed, and realizing that she sounded horrified, schooled her face to pettish disappointment. “But he’s so lovely. It would be such a waste.”

“There’s more where he came from,” was the dismissive reply. “Like I said, Glaseah don’t sell well.”

That look in Vasiht’h’s eyes… she couldn’t read it. Was that a good sign? Had they not crushed him yet? Or had he given up? She couldn’t tell and desperately wanted to know. “I do want this one. May I?”

Kamaney grinned. “You really do like the life of luxury, don’t you.”

“I am accustomed to it,” Sediryl answered, straightening.

“I’ll have him delivered, then, after the exercise period.” Kamaney headed back toward the door.

Sediryl cast one more look over her shoulder at Vasiht’h before following. “Exercise period.”

“Oh, sure. The cages walk them for us several times a day. Keeps them from developing health problems.”

“Truly,” Sediryl said, trying to sound admiring, “you have thought of everything!”

“You should have seen this place before I took it over,” Kamaney said, disgusted. “Inconsistent. Dirty. Complete lack of discipline. They thought they could build an empire on rot.” She sniffed. “I taught them better.”

“They do seem to respect you.”

“They know better than to try anything. If any of them are left that want to.” Kamaney glanced at her slyly. “You wonder why I left you your weapon, I’m sure.”

“I thought it a courtesy between potential allies.”

The pirate laughed, hard. Wiped her eye with a finger. “Good one! Not that I didn’t think you might be a potential ally, but potential allies might become potential rivals if they think you’re weak.” She grinned, showing her teeth. “No, there’s a better reason. You want to know?”

“I am curious,” Sediryl confessed.

Kamaney nodded. “I would be too.” She nodded to one of the guards following them. “Staven. Shoot me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guard whipped his gun from its holster, swung it up, and discharged it before Sediryl could exclaim. The noise battered her ears, but even as she flinched from it she saw the bright flash that arced over Kamaney’s body. Shocked, she halted completely. The pirate, who had continued walking during the demonstration, stopped a few paces away and looked over her shoulder, and that expression… oh, that had been no casual display.

“I see,” Sediryl said. “Impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” Kamaney said. “I don’t fear anything, you see.”

“I can understand why.” Sediryl walked to her, train rustling. “Truly, you have thought of everything.”

“Yes,” Kamaney said. “Exactly.”

Sediryl. Here.

Vasiht’h stared at the face of Jahir’s flame and wondered if he was imagining her… if anger had finally pushed him to the point of delirium. Or maybe he was confusing her with someone else? The Sediryl he’d met had been dressed like an Eldritch noble, not like a dominatrix out of a Harat-Shariin 3deo, and had carried herself with a focused, ferocious energy. This woman moved like an expensive courtesan, her expressions pouting or coquettish or enigmatic by turns. It wasn’t until she lowered herself on her unlikely heels to meet his eyes that he knew for certain.

What was she doing here?

How could she be here, knowing what pirates did to Eldritch?

He’d had no idea how to react to her, could only stare as she maintained her side of the conversation with the Karaka’An who’d brought her by. But then he was being pulled from his cell and marched down the corridors, except this time they didn’t take him to be groomed or mutilated. They left the cargo bay entirely and walked through halls more appropriate to the interior of an Alliance starbase than to a pirate lair, and it took forever for them to bring him through a secure lock and to a new door.

“In,” one guard said.

“Don’t think of attacking your owner,” the second added. “She’s armed.”

“And destruction of property will be punished,” the first finished.

Then they left him there, and he’d thought himself alone but he wasn’t. Sitting calmly in the corner of the room on a pillow was a Faulfenzair. A striking one. Vasiht’h hadn’t known they came in white like that, pale as an Eldritch.

Did his voice work? He tried it. “I… do you speak Universal?”

“I do.” The Faulfenzair’s hands were resting on her? His? His knees, and their tips were an unsettling garnet red.

Vasiht’h cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.”

A smile moved the corners of the alien’s lips. They had long muzzles, Faulfenza… Vasiht’h didn’t know if smiling was natural to them, or if they’d learned it to communicate with the Pelted. “You don’t know the protocol for initiating conversation with aliens with whom you have been enslaved and sold into the clutches of a new master? I am disappointed.”

That didn’t register for several heartbeats. When it did… “You… you’re making a joke?”

“Would it be better to keen despair?” The Faulfenzair’s lifted brow ridges felt admonitory. “Come, fellow sufferer. Sit. We are to be companions for a while, it seems.”

“Who are you?” Vasiht’h blurted.

“I am Qora Paunene Zela,” was the calm reply. “Of the Faulfenzair vessel Willseeker, and I am one of Faulza’s Eyes. What you would call a priest. And you?”

“My name is Vasiht’h. I’m…” He struggled with the urge to laugh. “I’m a xenotherapist, and this isn’t my war.”

“A fascinating introduction,” Qora said. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said it’s not your war. Whose war is it?”

Vasiht’h’s feet flexed and the claws he should have had didn’t show at the tips of his paws, and his feet ached like missing bones. He winced and started pacing. “I can’t have this conversation now.”

He’d expected to be asked why, but the Faulfenzair said nothing. Vasiht’h shot a glance at him and found the alien’s eyes closed. Just like that? Was Qora not curious? He’d expected to be hectored, not accommodated. But he was glad, glad because it left him to his racing thoughts. Why was she here? What did it mean? Had she come to rescue them? Had she been caught herself? Did she know anything about Jahir? Or the Slave Queen?

Vasiht’h stumbled. His feet hurt more than he thought. His hands too. He clenched them into fists, tucking their ends out of sight. If he couldn’t see it, he wouldn’t fixate on it. Didn’t that work sometimes? They told their clients to concentrate on something outside themselves. But what?

The door took forever to slide open, but it finally did. Sediryl, alone, stepped into the suite and waited for the door to close behind her. With a shuddering exhalation, she crossed the room in less time Vasiht’h thought safe or possible on those ridiculous heels and had her arms around him, tightly. “Oh, arii!” she exclaimed, eyes against his hair. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“It’s you,” Vasiht’h breathed, daring to press his face into her shoulder. He’d never hugged her like this before and yet it seemed vital that he do so and natural that it comforted him. “It really is you. Sediryl, oh Goddess, what… what are you doing here? What am I doing here? Help me make sense of this, please!”

“Sssh,” she said, squeezing him. “I won’t lie: we are in awful straits. But I came into this with my eyes open and I intend to leave in one piece, and with you with me, and as many as I can bring.” She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “My D-per has secured this suite against recordings. We can speak freely here as long as she says it.”

Was he trembling? He was. His eyes fell from her face to her shoulders and seized there. “You… you’re wearing… that’s… that was a person…”

Before he could vomit, a hand settled on his body, startling him because he could feel every finger and there were six of them, six warm fingers. As if someone had rested a heating pad on his back. Looking over his shoulder he found the Faulfenzair crouched at his flank, bright green eyes steady. “No,” Qora said. “This isn’t the time.”

“What?” Vasiht’h managed, strangled. “This is exactly the time! What other time is there!”

The Faulfenzair grinned. “Good point. There’s never a good time.” His face settled. “But this time in particular is a bad time.”

“Because?” Vasiht’h said.

“Because you are needed,” the Faulfenzair replied. “And you can’t be what you need to be if you are shattered in small and unavailable pieces.”

Vasiht’h gaped at him. Then, torn between outrage and bafflement, “Are all Faulfenzair priests…”

“Rude?” Qora smiled thinly. “No. You’re just lucky.” He tipped his nose toward Sediryl. “She’s wearing a fur because she must convince our keepers she’s one of them. What else?”

“Yes,” Sediryl said, staring at him.

Qora nodded, and the Alliance gesture was so strange Vasiht’h couldn’t stop staring at him. “Daize told me about you, Princess.”

“Are you about to say that being here is your destiny?” Sediryl asked, so skeptically that Vasiht’h couldn’t help but relax. Better out of her mouth than his.

“My destiny!” Qora laughed. “Your destiny! His destiny! What does that matter! I am a priest and one of His Eyes, not a fortune-teller. I observe, that’s all. And I observe that you needed me more than you needed Daize, and she knew it too.”

“I wanted…”

“To rescue her.” Qora wrinkled his long nose. “Admirable. But a distraction. You have a different purpose, don’t you?”

It was Sediryl’s turn to stare at him, and Vasiht’h felt a ridiculous urge to comfort her.

“Your friend said this wasn’t his war,” Qora continued. “But it’s yours. Yes?”

“How did you know she was my friend?” Vasiht’h asked at the same time Sediryl said, “What do you know about the war?”

Qora’s chuff sounded amused. He sat back. “Much better.”

“How is this better?” Vasiht’h asked, irritated. And then sagged and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Because I no longer want to vomit and Sediryl’s not fixating on things she can’t change.”

“You see? We are a perfect team.” Qora showed all his teeth, and this time Vasiht’h knew he was joking, could sense it on the air in a way he abruptly realized he couldn’t sense Sediryl. She was still touching him, and yet… her emotions were closed to him. Why was that when every other Eldritch had been open as a sieve?

“Jahir,” Vasiht’h said, because it was the thing he kept returning to. “They took him from me. They have him, Sediryl.”

“I know.” She sighed and straightened. “I followed the ship that carried you both to the rendezvous, when they offloaded him. He’s heading for the palace on the throneworld.”

“They think he’s Lisinthir.”

“I… beg your pardon?”

This detail felt important. Vasiht’h looked up at her, trying not to wring his hands because doing so called attention to how wrong their ends felt. “He’s wearing a Fleet domino, and it makes him look exactly like Lisinthir. Because the Chatcaava were looking for Lisinthir, and Jahir thought… that maybe if they thought they’d caught him…”

“That they need no longer fear him?” Sediryl frowned. “Yes. I can see that. The Emperor’s missing. The Ambassador apparently mewed. They are cutting down their enemies. He wants to encourage their complacency, is that it?”

Vasiht’h managed a nod.

“But… how can he possibly sustain it?” Sediryl asked. “Even the best domino is a bad mask. And it runs out of power.”

“Not this one,” Vasiht’h said, heavily. “It’ll eat through his fat stores and start on the rest of him to keep itself online.”

“What fat stores?” Sediryl exclaimed. “Last I saw him he was hard as a rail!”

“Exactly.”

She was silent for several heartbeats, and in that moment, trembling, tense, like a sculpture swept up in red suede and white fur, she was magnificent and he thought… he thought they might survive. “Well,” she said. “It appears we have a deadline.”

Vasiht’h hadn’t allowed himself to follow the ramifications to their inevitable end, but that statement forced him to imagine it, to see Jahir dead, alone, surrounded by their enemies… not even known, because the roquelaure would rob his death of that small dignity. He expected despair, but the rage roared back and he covered his face, shaking. When Sediryl touched his shoulder, he couldn’t understand how she didn’t jerk back—why he didn’t scorch her skin with the power of it.

“We’ll rescue him,” Sediryl said. “Or Lisinthir will. All is not lost, arii. We’re in the middle of the story, and we’re the ones who will write the ending.” Her fingers tighten. “Believe me, Vasiht’h. I’m not planning to die here. I’m going to win.”

“I believe you,” he whispered, willing to say anything to make the anger stop. He remembered Jahir’s promise on that alien vessel, in the cargo hold. We will not die apart, ariihir. Even that didn’t make the flames die back. You said we wouldn’t die apart, he said, reaching for the mindline and hearing only silence. You didn’t say we wouldn’t suffer. That I wouldn’t be trapped here, knowing you were suffering.

He’d failed to conceal his emotions sufficiently, because Sediryl’s gaze on his was troubled. He forced himself to breathe in once, slowly, and out again. “All right,” he said. “We’re here. But we won’t be forever.”

“No,” she said. Looking from him to the Faulfenzair. “Make yourselves as comfortable as you may. You can talk, if you want, or rest, whatever you need. I’m going to change. All right?”

Vasiht’h nodded.

“You too, alet?”

“I will be fine,” Qora said.

Sediryl hesitated. Her reply had a sardonic cast. “Right where you’re supposed to be?”

“Not at all,” the Faulfenzair said amiably. “But I have plenty of time to figure out how to make use of where I am to the best of my ability.”

Sediryl flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know,” Qora said. “Don’t waste time soothing me. I don’t require soothing. Our God is a god of fire, foreign woman, and fire burns even its friends.”

Vasiht’h glanced at him again, startled, but the Faulfenzair wasn’t looking at him.

“Go change,” Qora added. “We will be here.”

After Sediryl left, Vasiht’h expected the priest to say something. Surely that comment had been meant for him. A priest of fire could sense the fury immolating Vasiht’h’s spirit from within, couldn’t he? He would have to. But Qora did not speak, resting with his back to the wall and those blood-tipped fingers on his knees. After a while, Vasiht’h resumed his pacing, until his feet hurt him too much and he sought the uncertain refuge of sleep.

In the bathroom, Sediryl grasped the edge of the sink and tried not to hyperventilate. Her corset was too tight, or her ribs, or maybe it was some vital organ in her that was in crisis. She felt like she was suffocating—

“Are you really going to change clothes?” Maia asked.

The pedestrian question centered her. She stared at herself in the mirror, did not like the shocky quality of her gaze. “I am guessing becoming an alcoholic won’t make this easier.”

Maia snorted. “You want to be drunk while trying to handle Kamaney?”

“She is hard enough to handle sober.” Sediryl felt her shoulders squaring. She shrugged off the pelt and immediately felt better. “And yes, I’m changing. Find me something outrageous. Some lace, some leather. Mash it into something appropriate.”

“I’m not a fashion designer…”

“You are now.”

“No pressure there,” Maia muttered

Sediryl squelched a nervous laugh. “Not at all. Maia? The gun? Did you see? What happened with the gun?”

“Yes,” Maia said, grim. “I saw.”

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’m not happy, arii. A shield like that… either it’s a personal thing she’s carrying on her, and then we’ll have to identify it and get it away from her before we can kill her… or it’s a base-wide subroutine, and someone was good enough to install it.”

Sediryl’s hands twitched on the edge of the sink. “Would someone good enough to manage that be good enough to find you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, yes. It just got very important for me to find out who Kamaney is and whether she brought anyone with her.”

“Maybe she did and this person is a Fleet plant?” Sediryl said, hopeful.

Maia snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Like finding Prince Charming and living happily ever after.”

Sediryl finished spreading her laces and gulped in a deep breath, relieved. Leaving the busk fastened, she squirmed out of the corset. “I am planning on marrying Prince Charming and living happily ever after, Maia.”

“Oh? Which one are you going for? Or is it both?”

This reminder of happier conversations made her smile. “I’ll leave you in suspense. It’ll give you something to live for.”

“Cruel, arii. Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“It comes with the persona.” Frowning, Sediryl said, “What about your swain, come to think of it? The Chatcaavan?”

“My… my what?”

Sediryl grinned. “Uuvek, wasn’t it? Have you maintained communication with him?”

“I had to drop the connection,” Maia said. “I left him a few notes, time-delayed, but once we started following the ship here, realtime communication became too risky. That’s another thing on my list, I promise. Figuring out how to get word out of here. But not until I know….”

“About Kamaney’s possible computer specialist?” Sediryl nodded. “I am in complete accord with you there. Keep alive, Maia. I can’t do this without you.”

Maia’s sigh shivered, as if the D-per was trembling on the exhale. More briskly, “So… the Queen of the Chatcaava. You agreed to rehabilitate her?”

“As an excuse to talk with her, yes.”

“Do you have an actual plan?”

“Surprisingly,” Sediryl said. “I do.”