CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was unfair that tailing a live vessel in Well was both nerve-wracking and boring. Maia was willing to explain the principles of what they were doing and how it was possible, but those explanations made little sense without the foundations that Sediryl didn’t know—yet. Studying the basics of flying a modern vessel occupied some of her time. She also read politics, another subject she had neglected in a fit of pique over the loss of her position in the Eldritch hierarchy. But there was only so much reading she could do before anxiety started giving her fingers nervous tremors, and her attempt to garden on the ship was strangely unsatisfying. Growing plants was more than putting them in pots. For her, at least. She needed the sun, the vagaries of the weather, the feel of the soil on her fingers and the light on her face. Hydroponics would never be her specialty, she concluded ruefully, no matter her degree in agronomy.

As a last resort, she unpacked her dog. Petting dogs was purported to lower blood pressure. She could only hope it was having this effect on her, because between her enforced idleness and the sleep broken by nightmares, she was beginning to feel haggard, enough to no longer want to look at herself in the mirror while washing up of a morning.

The days passed. She tried not to count them. She wrote numerous letters—to her father, her aunt Fassiana, to Liolesa, to Jahir and Lisinthir and Amber, even to Hyera and Mildred and her friends on the starbase—and sent none of them because they were traveling under comm silence. One notable afternoon she even wrote one to the Chatcaavan Slave Queen, and on a whim attempted to translate it into Chatcaavan with the aid of the computer’s lexicon. This only solidified her belief that she had no talent for languages, leaving her to hope this would not be problematic in a future queen.

She tried not to think about her future as a queen. Maybe Liolesa would look at this entire escapade and conclude her wayward niece was far too impulsive to put on a throne. Maybe Sediryl was too impulsive for a throne. Was the Galare talent for long term planning something that could be cultivated? Or did you have to be born with it? Goddess help her if so, because she was far too impatient to play a game as long as she sensed Liolesa was playing.

Wasn’t she?

Bells crawled into her lap and sprawled there, all rainbow-colored fluff, perfumed feet, and long-suffering sighs. Sediryl stroked the dog’s spine, shooing away the fish halo, and tried not to dwell on imponderables. The only reason she succeeded was because she drifted to sleep.

Naturally, Maia chose this moment to wake her. Precipitously.

“Alet. You should come to the fore. Now.”

Sediryl leaped from the chair, spilling her indignant pet, and ran for the bridge. She had just enough time to realize they were no longer in Well before her unease became full-fledged shock. “Maia? I don’t understand. Did we go back home?” She looked at the magnified view of the Fleet ships hanging in orbit around a dark planet, her disorientation extreme. “Is this the armada they’re assembling to meet the Chatcaava?”

Maia coalesced beside her and there were lightnings playing in her purple fur. “Alet. We are nowhere near the Alliance. This is where the pirate vessel has brought us.”

“What?” Sediryl stared at the ships. “Then why…”

“Those are captured vessels,” Maia said, voice hard. “And I assure you… the last thing on their minds is helping us.”

Sediryl fell into the copilot’s chair. Her hands were too cold and too still. Moving them seemed beyond her. “But this… it’s enormous! This is a fleet, Maia!” she whispered.

“With modern weapons? With our modern weapons?” Maia said. “Yes. And there are several hundred of them. If the Chatcaava have convinced them to come in on their side….”

Sediryl glanced at her sharply. “But why does your tone suggest you think otherwise?”

“Because if I was a criminal and a cutthroat and a traitor, and someone invited me to join up with them to kill someone else, I wouldn’t be thinking of making an honest deal,” Maia answered. “I’d be thinking about how I could stab them in the back, too. Which makes this the worst of every situation, alet, because we don’t know what they’re planning, or what they’re going to do. This… this is a wild card. Are they going to fight us with the Chatcaava and then turn on the Chatcaava and kill them? Are they going to turn on the Chatcaava and fight them while they’re fighting us? Are they going to ignore everything and creep around the back of the Alliance and fight us while we’re fighting them?”

“They could hurt us.” Was her heart pounding too quickly?

“They could change the course of the entire war,” Maia said. “Unless we figure out what they’re going to do next… they could more than hurt us. Much more.”

Sediryl swallowed. “Well, then. We know why we have come. I take it they haven’t found us yet?”

“Not for lack of effort,” Maia said, pointing at the edges of the system. “They’ve seeded all the approaches with mines, and what they haven’t dropped mines on, they’ve thrown sensor platforms at. I haven’t moved us any closer. We need time to map the platform routes, see if we can find anything we can exploit. The Duster will keep us safe from most scrutiny, but it’s not the latest technology anymore, and seeing this…” The D-per shook her head. “I can’t assume anymore that they haven’t got sensor tech capable of finding us if we show up at just the wrong moment. We’re going to have to take this very, very carefully.”

“But if we do….” Sediryl met the other’s eyes. “Maia. We have to find out what’s going on here. No matter the cost.”

Maia considered her for several moments, floating alongside. “You know that if you die… that would be bad.”

“I’m not the heir yet,” Sediryl said. “And even if I was… there has to be an Eldritch homeworld for me to be heir to, alet. If this… this fleet! Is left in play, then nothing matters. Someone has to know. And we’re the ones with the best chance of finding out.”

Maia nodded slowly, then managed a lopsided smile. “You don’t fault for courage, at least.”

“Goddess!” Sediryl exclaimed. “I am terrified! But there is something calming about knowing you have no choices.”

“Ah, but you do have one,” Maia said. “You could run and pretend none of this was your problem.”

Sediryl snorted, wrapping her arm around Bells’s neck and hugging the dog closer. “That would require me to be stupid. Which is also not a choice, I’m afraid. As I was born with the brain I have, I must make the best of being incapable of pretending I don’t understand the implications of this… this mess. So.” She inhaled. “You are the expert. What do we do next?”

“For now?” Maia said. “We wait for a hole in that sensor pattern.”

“More waiting!”

“And we pray.”

“Even worse. I have always been very bad at putting my fate in other hands.”

Maia barked a laugh. “You make an impossible mistress! Fine. Since you’re so eager to be busy… let’s get you in a simulator. All the studying you’ve been doing is useless without some hands-on experience.”

Sediryl gave the dog one last pat on the head and stood. Looking out the forward windows, she said softly, “It’s bad, isn’t it.”

“It’s very bad. But that doesn’t make it impossible.”

“From your mouth to Her ears,” Sediryl said. And added, silently, Please, Goddess. Let them be safe. Let us find a way out of this. And, more intensely, Please, Vasiht’h. Live! For my cousin’s sake!

“Sediryl?”

She managed a smile. “Teach me to fly, alet. And…” She glanced at the window again. “Let us make plans. We have work to do.”

Jahir had expected a cell so he was not surprised to be thrown in one. A literally lightless one, so that when the door shut he couldn’t see so much as the hand in front of his face. That was unexpected, in a spaceflight culture. So was the dampness. Had the Chatcaava the equivalent of the Eldritch’s catacombs, like the ones legend insisted riddled the cliff beneath Ontine? How apt that would be.

It was also cold. Naturally, it would be cold, when he hated cold and took it so quickly. For once he regretted his habit of cutting his hair at a reasonable length; Lisinthir could have used his as a blanket. And if he’d had fur… but he was no Glaseah, to be so lucky, nor Chatcaavan to Change.

They had not found the amulet. This did not surprise him, because the sense that what was happening was inevitable had only become more and more distinct the longer he’d been parted from Vasiht’h. This was where he was supposed to be, to affect the Pattern to come. He knew it like he knew breath in his throat, and the ache in his side and shoulder and hip where he’d been lying too long in one position. God and Lady had arranged for this moment now, so that he could do what was necessary to win this for the side of light.

What he wasn’t certain of was that he would survive the task.

He did not allow himself to linger on this.

What form would his durance take, he wondered? Would they torment him the way they had Lisinthir? Or would he be due for some new torture? He did not welcome the thought of being remanded to a harem to become the plaything of whatever Chatcaava most needed entertainment… though if he’d had the Usurper’s mien, he doubted he would be given to many. No, unless he missed his guess, he would be reserved exclusively for the use of that male, which meant… what?

He wished he wasn’t so hungry. Would they feed him? The roquelaure insisted strenuously that he needed food with its dissonant chime in the ear. It was already unpleasant to someone trained in music; repetition would make it unbearable sooner rather than later.

But really, the cold and the damp were far worse. That, and the loneliness. He had not fully appreciated how completely the mindline had insulated him from loneliness until this parting from Vasiht’h had made it clear. Nor was he willing to extend himself and experiment with any long-range mindtouch, given the demands it made on his body.

Patience. The matter wanted patience. Jahir closed his eyes and tasked himself to the interminable wait.

When they came for him it was with food, water, and a wand that, waved over him, divested him of the sweat and travel-soiling of the past days. He longed for true immersion, but this was better than nothing.

Then he was led at spear-point into the same stairwell that had seen him to the top of the Usurper’s tower. Resigned, Jahir began the climb, wondering what this interview would net him. Perhaps the Chatcaavan intended to conduct scientific experiments on him? Or maybe he wanted a quick rhack. He would take the latter over the former, given the likelihood that the former would eventually involve permanent damage.

Then again, talons could kill, and by accident.

When they shoved him to his knees in the room he was astonished at the sight of it. The furniture, the rugs, the wall-hangings, all of it had been removed, leaving the chamber bare stone and balcony. A single desk had been set in the center of the room, and behind it, a new wallscreen displaying a map of the Empire, spattered with winking dots that suggested… what? Ship movements? Planets? Areas of concern? His sword set was on that desk, but that was the only thing of note amid the neat stacks of papers and the single data tablet.

These two pieces of furniture were the only items of interest in the room, and it now felt… unfinished. Harsh. Not the room of a king, Jahir thought, but the room of an accountant, and one with few responsibilities and little power. Did the Usurper intend to project this image of himself? Were the Chatcaava attending him perceiving him the way he planned, or did they look at this empty chamber and think it a sign of weakness?

“Ah, good, you brought him.” The Usurper came in behind them. He bent down to study Jahir’s face and his lips pulled back from his teeth. “So, alien. See what I have done with your former master’s apartments. Even the bed where you seduced him is gone. I marked it for auction, along with all the other frivolities and excesses I found during my inventory. We’ll use the money to fund the destruction of your star nation.”

He needed more information, and the best way to solicit that….

“No fine words this time? You are probably thinking how poor a showing the room is, lacking as it is in décor. But you see, it was only lacking in décor… until now.” The Usurper straightened. “Put him on the wall.”

Startled, Jahir did not fight the guards that pulled him up and flattened him against the cold stone. He had been here before, hadn’t he? But it had been loving hands that had trapped him, and there had been ropes or hands, not the cruelty of metal. The shackles were lined, at least, to keep them from destroying the joints, and the balls of his feet were resting fully on the ground. Was that serendipity? Perhaps they had planned them for Lisinthir’s apparent height, thanks to the roquelaure. Even so, he did not want to think what would gradually happen to his body if they didn’t take him down from time to time.

The Usurper waited for the guards to finish before seating himself behind his desk. He picked up the smaller of the Nase Galare daggers and turned it in his hands, then smiled thinly at Jahir. “There. I will now mollify my advisors, who worry that I do not exercise myself with slaves and females, that I do not care enough for luxury and belongings. Now I can say my room is very expensively decorated, and with one of the most rare of prizes. And you, who once thought yourself capable of meddling in the affairs of empires, will be forced to hang here and listen to every detail of the campaign that will secure your nation’s demise. I think that fitting. Don’t you?”

The urge to laugh was almost hysterical. The Usurper wanted him here? Where he could see everything? Where he could gather intelligence by the armful? But how would he get it out of the palace! There would be a way… there had to be. When he found it….

Jahir flexed his fingers, feeling the tendons shift against the manacles holding him in place, and felt a sense of purpose infuse him.

“What? No comment?” the Usurper quipped. “I was under the impression that you were a great talker. You have nothing to say?”

“Not at all,” Jahir said. And smiled. “I appear to be… entirely… at your service.”