CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Deputy-East!”

The male paused at the bridge from the breakfast room. He refolded his partially spread wings and said, “Sword.”

“An early breakfast,” Lisinthir observed, strolling to him. “I catch you alone.”

“The Worldlord is with the Steward,” Deputy-East said. “And Manufactory-East is lately come from orbit, where he kept a different schedule. So… yes. You do catch me alone.” He grinned wryly. “Are you going to put your claws through me now that you’ve cut me from the pack?”

“Nothing so detrimental to your health,” Lisinthir said. “I was going to ask you instead if you’d be interested in giving me a tour of the city.”

“A tour,” Deputy-East repeated, thoughtful.

“I know very little about the Apex-East capital,” Lisinthir said. “We could take one of those fliers I see zipping around now and then.”

The other Chatcaavan’s eyes lit. “Ah! Now that sounds grand. No offense, Sword, but walking isn’t my favorite mode of transport.”

“None taken,” Lisinthir said. “As it’s not mine either. Shall we?”

The small fliers were available for rent, if a Chatcaavan didn’t own one. Deputy-East did. In fact, he owned at least a dozen from what Lisinthir could see in the specialized air garage to which the male insisted on escorting him for a guided tour. Small vehicles were a hobby of Deputy-East’s, and one he could apparently afford to indulge at extensive length with the princely salary his title’s responsibilities provided. Lisinthir supposed there were those in the Alliance who were similarly enthused about small craft, but there was something of a flier’s specialized understanding in Deputy-East’s recitations of each particular model’s flaws and excellencies that a species without wings might have been hard put to duplicate. In that, the scar Dellen had taken such pains to design into “the Sword’s” wing served him well, for silence in response to these passionate disquisitions was assumed to be taciturnity, not the ignorance of a wingless freak.

Eventually, Deputy-East chose one of his fleet, a gleaming orange two-seater designed to maximize the sensation of flying while still offering a luxury travel experience. Lisinthir strapped into the harness and leaned against the side of the sled, not having to affect his façade of lazy interest. The world outside the hangar doors had the sharp-edged, brassy gleam that came from sun on recent rain, and the flier skidded through a puddle in a crystal arc before spiraling into the air lanes gridding the city at multiple levels. The sled didn’t have a cage, and the force fields it used in lieu of windows flashed grids over the air lanes as Deputy-East maneuvered into and out of them. The system was more formalized than Lisinthir would have expected of the Chatcaava, but then... perhaps as fliers they understood on a visceral level the dangers of unpredictable flight.

The city itself was lovely from above, if smaller than Lisinthir expected. The high-rent district was glaringly obvious; estates large enough to hunt game took up enormous amounts of space, and the aprons of greenery that swept from their towers glittered even brighter from this vantage than they had when Lisinthir had been standing on one of them, facing down the stalker pack. From that area, a slope led into the rest of the city, which served as a buffer between the estates and the large groundport with its warehousing facilities and hangars.

The architecture reminded Lisinthir less of the throneworld court, which had been a confection of fairy towers isolated on its sea bluff vantage, and more of the Alliance’s metropolises. Though the Chatcaavan buildings tended to be taller and clustered together and appeared to have entrances at multiple heights, they didn’t look all that alien. The exigencies of a modern society, Lisinthir thought, might necessitate parallel development. Or... perhaps the Chatcaava and the Pelted were not so alien as they thought.

What had inspired the evolution of the ability to Change, he wondered? What had the Chatcaava been like before they’d developed it? Did they know? Or was that one of the bits of knowledge they’d discarded as incompatible with their internal narrative of the species born to conquer?

The area around the city was unspoiled, a breathtaking scrollwork of plains and distant forests that climbed the nap of corrugated silver mountains until the distant clouds hid them from sight. At this height, he could smell it on the damp wind: that distant verdure, stimulating, as bright in the nose as crushed basil leaves.

“As you can see, it’s beautiful,” Deputy-East said. “We keep it that way on purpose to give all the Naval personnel a place to vacation.”

“I admit to shock that it hasn’t been mined to the core by now, given the needs of the Navy.”

“Much good that would do us,” Deputy-East said, joining a lane that circumnavigated the city and starting the sled on a leisurely circuit. “Better to do all the heavy manufacturing in space since the material’s going to have to be towed to the base anyway. Most solar systems follow that model to varying degrees of success, but Apex-East can afford to maintain the boundaries because everyone is here for one purpose.” He canted his head. “Of course, I’m assuming you don’t travel much, and you probably do, don’t you?”

“Not as much as you think,” Lisinthir said. “And even if I did, who would have time to visit all the Empire? Shall we charitably call it ‘large’?”

Deputy-East laughed. “Instead of… what? Impossibly vast and complicated and irritating to patrol?”

“A Naval perspective,” Lisinthir allowed.

“Or at least, one learned from the number of Navy personnel I’m around all the time.” Deputy-East’s wings twitched, shifted. “Maybe you’ll appreciate this, being an outsider yourself. Or maybe you’re so much the outsider that you don’t understand the friction of being almost one of the group, but not quite? But it’s… wearing. To be someone the Navy needs, but not one of them, and to be surrounded.”

“I can imagine the discomfort,” Lisinthir said. “But I’m afraid I would not have lasted as long as you appear to have in your situation. It would have irritated me too much.”

“And you would have left?” Deputy-East’s smile was mostly grimace. “Yes, I can see that. I envy you that freedom.”

“What cage is keeping you here, then?”

The male leaned back, one hand idly hanging on the stick. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I can’t see an exit strategy.” He smiled crookedly. “Stepping down… where would I go? There would be assumptions. I’m not sure I would be able to work anywhere else.”

“And there is no one who would promote you into a position more to your liking?” Lisinthir asked, fascinated. “No one who would write you a recommendation? You appear to be good friends with the Worldlord…”

Deputy-East barked a laugh. “I’m good friends with him because being enemies with him would be the death of me. Or anyone else. He’s enormously powerful in a very quiet way. I don’t think the Navy realizes how many seeds he’s tending in all the gardens around him. But… no. Where would I go, Sword?” He laughed again. “Should I go become a freelance slaver, like you? Are you looking for crew?”

“Are you ready to jump?” Lisinthir asked, brows arched.

“I… no.” Deputy-East sighed. “No. The truth is, I like power, Sword. Who doesn’t, but… I have it, for now. I would hate to lose it, even in exchange for freedom. I’m not happy with that choice, but I don’t think I’d be happier with another, either. Maybe I’m just… not a happy sort of male.”

What a leading statement, Lisinthir thought. What would Jahir and Vasiht’h have made of it? The thought of referring Deputy-East to them for therapy amused him. Perhaps a day would come where such things were possible. “So, may I ask an impertinent question?”

“May you!” Deputy-East grinned, snorted. “As if you need permission. You’re going to ask either way, aren’t you.”

Lisinthir made much of considering this question, then answered, “Yes.”

“Ha! Well, then, go ahead.”

“Why do you ally yourself with Manufactory-East?”

Deputy-East rolled an eye toward him, then resumed staring ahead as he drove. “You have an opinion on that, do you.”

“One does acquire them, yes.”

Deputy-East snorted. “And you’ve decided Manufactory-East is… what?”

“Currently a male you are attempting to curry for favor?”

“You are altogether too good at not saying anything, you know that, Sword?”

“A talent I learned from the aliens,” Lisinthir said—truthfully, as surely his own people counted.

“Well. Let’s just say of the two of us, Manufactory-East is more valued by the Navy than I am. He might be a contractor who doesn’t always deliver what they want, when they want it, which annoys them… but he works for them directly. I’m more of a ‘they need something that happens to do with the real estate in this system’ sort of contact. I feel vulnerable, Sword.”

“So you are attempting to be friends with everyone, in the hopes that one of them will be the right person?”

“Dying Air, no!” Deputy-East scoffed. He frowned at the Sword and said, “I am trying to earn Manufactory-East’s trust so that I have enough on him to betray him. He needs to go, Sword. I wouldn’t even be telling you this if I didn’t feel like the Worldlord favors you, but it’s obvious the Worldlord adores you.”

“Adores me!”

Deputy-East’s smile was wry but fond. “He has a soft heart for someone with as much power as he has. But yes. He likes you. So I don’t fear to tell you that he doesn’t like Manufactory-East, and in fact he’s worried about him. It doesn’t matter if the knife is small if it’s proximate to your throat, you know? And Manufactory-East is right above us in orbit. He could fall on us like a ten-ton brick if he decides it’s time to slit our throats. I want to position him to die first.”

“Your loyalty is commendable,” Lisinthir said, surprised.

“Yes,” Deputy-East said, grim. “It is. The time is coming soon, Sword, when all Chatcaava are going to have to pick sides. And no, don’t give me that polite mask of a face. You’re obviously not a stupid male. There’s a civil war coming, and this conflict with the aliens is going to kick it off.”

“Do you really think so?” Lisinthir asked, watching the other male with interest. “I would have thought that the war against the freaks would be a Naval issue, and when has the Empire ever not supported the Navy?”

“It has in the past,” Deputy-East said. “But this time… this time it’s going to explode. It’s almost as if the Emperor wants to tear the Empire apart, but that can’t be right. Why would the Emperor do that? He has to know that the course he’s taking is going to result in us fighting each other… over the spoils, over the effort it takes to prosecute the war, over who gets to keep the planets we conquer, over the fact that he betrayed the previous Emperor by using the Navy against him.” His wings shifted again. “That’s the worst part. The Emperor has always used the Navy to keep the system lords in check. But now the system lords have seen that the Navy has betrayed its own. It makes the Navy look weak, and that’s going to open up whole new horizons of rebellion to people who thought the Navy would never turn its back on one of its own.” Deputy-East’s clawtips were tapping out an agitated pattern on the side of the sled. “It’s stupid. Anyone who’s fought their way to the top like that should know how things work. So why would he arrange things so that there’s no possible way to keep them from coming apart?”

“An excellent question,” Lisinthir said. “Perhaps he is stupid?”

Deputy-East snorted. “Stupid people can’t become Emperor. No, there’s got to be more to it than that. Maybe he wants to break the back of the Navy. Except he came out of the Navy himself. Why would he do that?” He shook his head as if to twitch some thought out of it. “I just don’t understand. Usually the actions of the court make sense. There are only so many ways to keep an empire full of Chatcaava from tearing each other to shreds.”

“One would think.” Lisinthir put his cheek in a hand and added casually, “One might almost miss the last Emperor.”

Deputy-East shot him a narrow-eyed look to which Lisinthir replied with an inscrutable look… and a twitch of a smile. Then the other male guffawed. “I don’t know how you can say the most outrageous things and get away with it, Sword. It’s more than being a real outsider. You just carry yourself like… like someone who can face down a stalker without flinching. Which reminds me—you know Manufactory-East is going to do everything in his power to pry you away from the Worldlord. Since convincing the Worldlord that you’re a bad bet isn’t working, he’s going to try to convince you to hate the Worldlord instead. Don’t let him succeed.”

Lisinthir made an exasperated sound. “Deputy-East, really. Do I seem the sort of male to allow someone like Manufactory-East to succeed? At anything?”

“No.” Deputy-East glanced at him again. “Maybe you can teach me that trick?”

“I might.”

A grin then. “What would convince you to educate me?”

Lisinthir lifted his brows. “I don’t know. Gifts, perhaps?”

“Ahhhh, I see where this is going.” Deputy-East smiled a little. “All right, Sword. I will hand over all three of my slaves in exchange for your good favor.”

“Really!” Lisinthir exclaimed, interested. “You would?”

“No,” Deputy-East answered. He laughed. “But I would like to get rid of them.”

“Are they so much trouble then?”

“Not at all,” the other male said, and from the absent way he said it while glancing at the sky lanes, Lisinthir thought he might actually be telling the truth. “But this war? Is going to generate a lot of interest in slaves. Particularly since the Navy has decided that no matter who’s responsible for the actual conquering and collecting of the plunder, they’re the ones who are going to decide how it’s distributed. Once the slaves start streaming in and the Navy confiscates them all, anyone who has slaves is going to come in for a lot more resentment than I want to handle. Right now, slaves are a sign of prestige. Eventually, once we’ve conquered the aliens, slaves will be so numerous they’ll be devalued to the point of signifying nothing. But in the very ugly in-between stages, those slaves will be a sign of Naval favor. And if there’s going to be a civil war, I don’t want to paint a target on my chest. Especially since I’m already huntkin with the Worldlord.” He smiled ruefully. “I shouldn’t tell you this, Sword, but at this point I’m thinking about paying you to take them away.”

Lisinthir said, “Fear not, Deputy-East. I am not so poor that I can’t pay you for them, and I will. If your act is intended to protect you, let us make it look like a business transaction. Yes?”

“I’d be grateful,” Deputy-East said. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it.”

“I won’t.” Lisinthir glanced at him. “I have to say, Deputy-East. I may have been guilty of underestimating you.”

“Really?” Deputy-East exhaled slowly. “Good. Because if I can fool someone as smart as you, I have a rodent’s chance in a huntgarden of surviving.”

When Lisinthir returned, it was to a strange quiet and a note on the table beside the balcony. From Laniis, and written phonetically in Eldritch—had she done that to make it particularly impenetrable, or did she not know the written form?—saying that she, the Knife, and Andrea had returned to the slave annex and would remain there until summoned. No doubt she was about her own work, he thought; someone would have to tell Dominika and Emlyn that they were leaving soon. The raid on Manufactory-East’s compound would have to happen when the Silhouette returned and they could leave the planet post-haste. Now that Lisinthir knew where the estate was located and that all of the major hunting estates were designed in the same way, he could at least make plans. Deputy-East had been a font of useful information about that during the remainder of their tour.

That conversation had been a surprise. Lisinthir hadn’t expected such depths from a male who’d seemed more interested in drinking and wenching than just about anything else. But then, that should have warned him: who rose to power among the Chatcaava without a sense of politics and the strengths and weaknesses of one’s position in relation to others?

Another ally, perhaps, for his beloved. Lisinthir set the note down and went quietly to the bedchamber. The lump under the covers must be the Emperor. Had he moved at all? Creeping there, the Eldritch bent over, saw the hair was damp, the skin clean. Someone had helped him bathe, then. Hopefully fed him. It was the work of moments to remove his boots and set his bag aside so he could slide into bed behind the Emperor. He seemed unconscious, and that was best, surely. Andrea had said he needed not to exert himself. Gathering the fragile human shell against his side, Lisinthir sighed and queried the roquelaure. The ship remained incommunicado… and the device reminded him that he needed to eat again, soon. Its requirements were tyrannical. He hoped if Jahir needed to activate his that he would be well-placed to eat frequently… and that he would eat frequently, given how fastidious he was about it.

“I miss your real body.”

The words were so low, and so hoarse, that Lisinthir almost missed them. His arms tightened. “Not long,” he said. “We will be quit of this place, and then I will wear it again.”

Fingers, far too soft, traced the muscle leading back toward his elbow. “Do you miss mine?”

“Yes,” Lisinthir said. And then, “But not, perhaps, the way you miss mine.” A listening silence. “I know that you are capable of the Change, and that you may shed and don shapes the way I might clothes. That makes the one you wear now you in a way that this seeming I am wearing can never be me.”

“So… this… shape and all its weaknesses. This is me.”

The roil of emotion Lisinthir could sense through their skins neither grew nor diminished; he couldn’t tell how to conduct this conversation so as to prevent more harm. “Beloved…” No movement, no change in breathing. “You are more than your weakness in a difficult situation.”

No answer. But at least the Emperor did not push him away. Asking for more when they were still trapped here…

It could wait. And it would be better on the Silhouette. It had to be.

Lisinthir went to dinner trying not to let his worry and anger foul his mood. That the facilities on the ship would be capable of curing the Emperor’s physical issue was a given. What such facilities could not address was the crippling of his lover’s confidence. Until coming here, Lisinthir would never have believed the Emperor capable of this level of doubt and despair, and obviously, he’d been wrong. Was he also wrong when he assumed—hoped—that the Emperor could recover from it?

Passing through the stone halls, Lisinthir found them too innocuous for the climactic trauma they’d inflicted not just on the Emperor, but now on the course of the entire war and all its participants. That there was nothing he could do to punish anyone for it was egregious injustice. Perhaps Manufactory-East would oblige him by forcing him into a duel. That would be lovely.

This evening’s dinner was on the harem’s rooftop, in the garden patio there. Lisinthir had assumed such things to be rare until the tour with Deputy-East, when it occurred to him that if he could fly, he too would find lighting on roofs a pleasure, and possibly more convenient than entering through the ground floor. The Chatcaava were also connoisseurs of a good sunset or sunrise—of any kind of sky weather at all—so he’d taken more meals outdoors or near windows than he could remember in many years.

Seeing Manufactory-East slouching in one of those chairs by the ledge made him wonder if tipping him off it would surprise him into falling to his death. But no. That would be too impersonal.

They ate, then, with the inevitable teasing about the Sword’s astonishing appetite, good-natured on the parts of the Worldlord and Deputy-East; fortunately, theirs was a culture that looked favorably on appetite. Lisinthir couldn’t imagine sating the roquelaure on the Eldritch homeworld where it was gauche to admit to needing to satisfy any of the body’s needs. But at length the device stopped flashing admonishments in the corner of his vision and he was able to lean back, relax, and enjoy the postprandial drinks.

He was waiting. He perceived that he was not the only one; Deputy-East was concealing his nervousness admirably, but it was visible to anyone watching for it.

“So, Worldlord,” Manufactory-East said. “Your table is generous.”

“Thank you.”

“But I would like a slave for tonight. The one you named Bitter? I won’t damage him—in fact, if you’d like, you can watch to make sure. All of you are welcome.”

Deputy-East said, “You already said you wouldn’t need any slaves.”

“Yes,” Manufactory-East replied. “But that was when I thought I’d be staying only a few days. As it happens, I have some extra time after all, and if I’m to extend my visit…”

“Perhaps you can send for your own slaves, then,” Deputy-East said. “I’m sure the Worldlord wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” the Worldlord said.

“But tonight?” the other male pressed.

“I would be glad to take you up on your offer to watch,” the Worldlord said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid the Sword has already asked for that slave tonight.”

“He has?” Manufactory-East turned to Lisinthir with every evidence of false surprise. “But I can’t imagine that being true. The Sword likes his slaves whole, and you’ve declawed the one I asked for.”

That was the trap, then. Lisinthir sipped from his wine, careful of the anger that had surged at the image of someone holding the Hinichi down and forcing his hand flat… no. “You’ve noticed I like my slaves whole, Manufactory-East? I can’t imagine how.”

“I came by to visit, of course,” the other male said, leaning back. “And your slaves took exception to it. One of them had the temerity to swipe me.”

“And hit you?” the Worldlord asked, startled.

“You can’t duck a blow?” Lisinthir drawled.

“I don’t expect blows from slaves,” Manufactory-East hissed.

“You should expect them from mine. I don’t allow anyone to use my property without my permission, and they have been so trained.” Lisinthir smiled. “What’s mine is mine, Manufactory-East.”

“And what’s the Worldlord’s is also yours?”

Lisinthir chuckled softly. “I accept the Worldlord’s gracious hospitality. And unlike some males, I am not likely to destroy his possessions while handling them.”

“Obviously I am in need of training!” Manufactory-East sat up. “By all means! If you have already engaged Bitter, then instead of me providing the entertainment with him, you shall have to. You don’t mind, do you, Sword? Or… is this going to be another situation like the one in the harem, where what you prefer to do is watch other males about their work, rather than doing any of it yourself?”

“He did well enough with the slave there,” Deputy-East said.

“He did, yes,” Manufactory-East said. “I am eager to see a repetition of that performance.”

“So would I, actually,” Deputy-East said, voice lower. “That was something.”

But the other male’s eyes did not match the tone, and Lisinthir thought there was a warning in them. He didn’t have to look at the Worldlord either to sense the latter’s unease. The Worldlord had pulled out the Hinichi’s claws, yes, but that was then… and now he’d lied to try to save the Hinichi from the attentions of an abusive Chatcaavan. There were limits to how far either of his new allies could move to protect him, or any of the slaves. Not with Manufactory-East one of the three most important Chatcaava in the solar system’s hierarchy.

It would be much easier to challenge and kill him. But destabilizing everything before he could leave would be… imprudent.

“I’d be delighted to host tonight’s entertainment. Though as I was planning it to be a private affair, I’ll have to hope you aren’t disappointed if it’s not exciting enough for your tastes.”

“Don’t worry, Sword,” Manufactory-East said. “If it’s not exciting enough, I’m sure we’ll figure out something.” He smiled at the Worldlord. “Shall we go to the Sword’s suite? I am ready for… dessert.”

No help for it, then. Lisinthir pushed back from the table and waited for the Worldlord to send a guard down to the annex for the Hinichi, then followed his host back to the guest suite where, thankfully, the door to the bedchamber remain closed. Perhaps a bath instead? While the others disposed themselves on the divans to wait, he opened that door and considered. There had to be some way to save the Hinichi from humiliation. Dominika would bounce back from her performance—having proven to be typically Harat-Shariin—but there was no Hinichi subculture he knew of that approved of exhibitionism, and most of them were in fact adamantly opposed to it. This particular man might not mind, but even among those with the taste for it, being forced to it in these circumstances would be... trying.

Which didn’t even bring Lisinthir’s issues with it into the conversation. He’d been willing with Dominika because she had been. Literally, thanks to the esper ability. To rape an equally unwilling man was beyond him.

“Here he is,” Manufactory-East said as the guard arrived with the Hinichi, who had his head lowered and his ears flat to his head. Anger, perhaps, rather than misery. Not much better. “I see why you named him Bitter. He does grimace, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know how you can tell from here,” Deputy-East said.

“There’s a reflection in the floor tiles.”

Wonderful, Lisinthir thought.

“So, Sword. He’s all yours.”

Lisinthir walked across the intervening distance, thoughts racing faster than his feet. Being bathed... would that suffice? Or bathing the Hinichi, but perhaps that would be considered serving the alien—fraught for them both. He slipped his fingers onto the other man’s face, cupping it, and dared the exchange because there was no choice. /Alet. Quickly. Do you know how to do something sensual but not sexual? Have you any talents that seem performative? Anything at all?/

The Hinichi met his eyes, stiffening in surprise.

/They want me to rape you and I refuse. But they will not be satisfied if I do nothing with you—/

“Are you going to stare significantly into the freak’s eyes for the entire evening?” Manufactory-East asked.

The bath would have to do, somehow. Lisinthir began to tow the Hinichi there by the wrist when the other man squeaked into his mind, /Massage!/

Lisinthir paused to look at him over his shoulder.

/I know massage,/ the Hinichi finished in a rush, wide-eyed and shaking. /I’m not as good at it as I used to be—but I used to work with athletes. It’s something we did to enhance performance..../

Lisinthir laughed aloud. “Come. There is oil in the bathing chamber. Shall we do it there?”

“In the bath?” the Worldlord asked tentatively, hand balling into a fist on the arm of the divan.

“I do think it would be easier.” To Emlyn, “Come.”

Once in the chamber, the Hinichi left his side and moved with more authority, setting out a series of towels and draping the floor with one. From what little Lisinthir could recall of his time in the court’s harems, massage was common enough that there were specialized mats and tables for them; no such items were in the offing here, so Emlyn made do with a thick layer of towels on the floor alongside the tub, which he began to fill.

“You can slide into it afterwards,” he said. “You might enjoy that.”

“I am at your disposal, entirely,” Lisinthir replied affably. To the watching Chatcaava, “Perhaps you’d like to sit in it while I am busy?”

“There is something pleasing about a bath,” the Worldlord said.

Soon enough they were in the steaming water, and Lisinthir stretched himself out on his stomach, remembering at the last moment that he had false wings. Emlyn waited with the oil and a towel over his shoulder.

“Comfortable?”

“I believe so.”

“Tell me if the pressure is too hard or too soft at any time, or if something hurts.”

“This is mystifying,” Deputy-East said.

“This is boring,” Manufactory-East opined. “Come, Sword, let us see some action.”

“Commence, if you would,” Lisinthir said.

Emlyn rubbed the oil into his hands and set them on Lisinthir’s shoulder, and he felt that warmth straight through the skin and into some clenched and iced-over core that was holding all his anger and fear at bay. Through that touch he felt a haze of frustration, something to do with Emlyn’s fingers no longer reporting sensation or exerting pressure the way to which he was accustomed. For several minutes, the Hinichi did nothing but run his palms over Lisinthir’s back as his mind ran through what felt like a personal diagnostic, testing the blunted tips of his fingers. And then, to himself but clear as bright water: All right. I can compensate now. Then the Hinichi dug a thumb along the edge of his shoulderblade, seeming to separate a muscle there that had felt glued to another, and Lisinthir knew this would be better than anything Dominika had done to him. His first inarticulate noise, muffled into an arm, brought a wash of satisfaction into him through the Hinichi’s palm. After that, he didn’t bother trying to throttle the guttural noises. Gentle touch he had felt, and the Slave Queen’s soft stroking caresses. This… this trained and sensitive and unerring touch that seemed to separate stiffened strands of muscle and unravel knots after exquisitely painful pressure….

His pleasure inspired Deputy-East to swim to the near side of the tub and peer into his face. “What is it the slave is doing to you?” he asked, fascinated.

“You’re an idiot,” Manufactory-East said. “It’s the same kind of thing you do when your muscle cramps and you rub it.”

“This is as similar to that as frozen, packaged meat is to flesh torn bleeding from the new kill,” Lisinthir managed. And exclaimed, “Dying Air, alet,” when the Hinichi found and released a particularly angry node.

Emlyn chuckled low in his throat, a contented sound that made the Worldlord look at him sharply.

“It’s called massage,” Lisinthir finished.

“It’s done in the throneworld court,” the Worldlord added, quiet. “I have heard of it.”

“A thing that requires skill, I assume,” Deputy-East said. “One not taught here.”

“Aliens know it, apparently,” the Worldlord said.

“Aliens know it well, apparently!” Deputy-East watched, fascinated. “Look at his tendons stand up against his arms. And then he leans his entire body into it! How can you handle that much pressure in one spot, Sword? Does it bruise?”

“It hurts like stabbing,” Lisinthir rasped. “And then, when it’s over, there’s a flood of intense pleasure. It goes to your head.”

“Like an orgasm! I must try this.”

Manufactory-East snarled and heaved himself from the bath. “I was hoping for real entertainment. But I see you have no idea what to use a slave for, Sword.”

“I rather think it the other way around.”

“You’ll see,” Manufactory-East said. “I’ll send for mine and then you’ll learn what a real male does with toys.” He inclined his head to the Worldlord. “If you’ll excuse me. I have better things to do with my night.”

“Don’t go!” Deputy-East said. “This might be a lot more fun when it’s happening to you than it is to watch! Just think, Manufactory-East. Something practiced on the throneworld in the imperial harems!”

“Somehow I doubt that. The Emperor has better things to do with a slave.” Manufactory-East snagged a towel and padded out.

Deputy-East’s eyes narrowed, then he smiled and said, “So, Sword. Can you tell your slave I’d like to try this?”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted,” Lisinthir said. “…once he’s done with me.”

Which was how the night proceeded. Lisinthir poured into the bath after Emlyn had finished with him, meekly accepting the brisk admonishment to drink fluids while sitting in the now-lukewarm water. He and the Worldlord watched as Deputy-East melted under the Hinichi’s hands until he was cooing; by then, the Worldlord was laughing and teasing the male about being reduced to the height of a puddle. They had to drag him back into the water, at which point the Worldlord stepped out of the bath and said to Emlyn, “Me, please?”

Lisinthir caught the shock that flickered through the Hinichi’s eyes. No doubt he had never been asked by the Worldlord to do anything, rather than commanded. Then Emlyn smiled, hiding his bitterness, and went to work on the male who’d ordered him mutilated, and his consummate skill left the Worldlord limp and earned him the reprieve from abuse that was the least of what he deserved. Fortunately, Lisinthir thought, what he truly deserved would be his soon enough when he accompanied Lisinthir and the others off-planet. Having served them to repletion, the Hinichi was taken away to the annex to rest.

“If this sort of thing is available on the throneworld I have no idea how anyone gets any work done,” Deputy-East said, still untidily spread over the lip of the bath. Even his wings were sagging, the vanes pillowed on the surface of the water.

“You really did take his claws out,” Lisinthir said to the Worldlord, quiet.

“I did.”

Deputy-East raised his head.

“Do you know what that’s like for one of the clawed Pelted?” Lisinthir asked, Laniis’s lecture ringing in his ears.

The Worldlord said nothing, so Lisinthir swam to his side of the pool and took the male’s unresisting hand, resting it flat on the tile. “These claws,” he said, tapping the Worldlord’s. “They are like human nails, and do not retract. Like human nails, when they grow too long, they are cut. So long as no one rips them out at the bed, they are… decorative, shall we say. The clawed Pelted, however, can retract their claws, and those claws don’t function like Chatcaavan talons. When you cut off their claws, you take a part of their finger bones with it.” He made a blade of his hand and pressed it halfway up the first digit of the Worldlord’s forefinger. “About here.”

The Worldlord stared down at their two hands.

The silence grew too uncomfortable for Deputy-East, who said, “Worse has been done to slaves.”

“Shall I applaud the amputation of someone’s fingertips because it is a minor abuse compared to most?” Lisinthir asked.

Deputy-East shook his damp mane back. “You treat them like people, Sword. They’re aliens.”

“To them, we are the aliens,” Lisinthir said. “And yet oddly they don’t raid our facilities to capture us in order to cage us and keep us as pets. Would you enjoy that, Deputy-East? They might cut decorative patterns into your wings to prevent you from flying away.”

Deputy-East shuddered. “Dying Air, Sword. You come up with the most heinous ideas.”

“Do I? Or do we?”

“You talk too much,” Deputy-East said. “You should talk less, if you want to be welcome where you walk.”

Lisinthir smiled a little. “Fortunately, I don’t need to be welcome where I walk, if I can kill those who disagree with me.”

“And if you can’t kill them all?” the Worldlord asked, low.

Lisinthir said, “You would be surprised, Worldlord, just how many people I can kill if I put my mind to it.”

With another shiver, Deputy-East said, “This conversation has turned far too dark. It needs wine! Because we are all friends here. Aren’t we?”

“I don’t know,” the Worldlord said, meeting Lisinthir’s eyes. There was fear in his, and shame. “Are we?”

“I think so,” Lisinthir said. “And yes, wine sounds very good. We should send a guard for it.”

They drank until Deputy-East was reduced to snoring on the divan and someone had to be sent to carry him back to his own quarters. The Worldlord, like Lisinthir, was still on his feet. Enough to pause at the door and say, “We really are still friends?”

“I don’t think you would rip the claws off another alien, Worldlord.”

“I don’t think I would either,” the Worldlord murmured. “And I have no idea what that means.”

“It means you aren’t so uncertain of your own strength that you must handicap others into losing to ensure your victory.” Lisinthir rested a hand on the other male’s shoulder. “Go, Worldlord. See to your gentle guest.”

“My guest.” The Worldlord sighed a little, smiled. “Do you suppose… the other one. The medical specialist. Do you think she would come check her regularly?”

“I think you’d be surprised what would happen if you asked.”

“I would be, yes. Particularly since I’ve given none of them any reason to say ‘yes’. But… for the sake of their own kind… maybe she will.”

“You understand them well if you understand that.” Lisinthir smiled. “Will you have my own sent to me?”

“I will, yes. And good night, Sword.”

The Emperor did not rouse when Lisinthir joined him in bed that night, and that was hopefully both normal and salutary. With Laniis and the Knife scattered to the ingresses for the night, he slept, expecting only to sleep. But he woke midway through the night with hunger pangs so intense he thought initially something far more serious was wrong. Only the flashing red indicator in the corner of his vision assured him otherwise. The roquelaure was adamant: he needed food. Immediately. Pushing out of the bed, Lisinthir staggered into the outer room and managed to make his needs known; Laniis fled for the corridor and returned in a manner most dilatory, or at least so it seemed to Lisinthir who had by then slid to the floor with his back to the wall. He should not have been able to smell the cold meat and cheese set out for him, but their aroma hit him like a fist from as far away as the corridor. By the time Laniis had it in front of him, he was salivating, and fell on it like an animal. And ate all of it, and it was a meal of distressingly large proportions.

The Knife was staring at him with enormous eyes. Laniis’s expression was more considering, but just as concerned.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I woke ravenous.”

“Did something change?” Laniis asked. “Has the ship gotten back?”

Having placated his artificial appetite, Lisinthir checked the corner of his vision and was surprised to find a new icon there. “It claims the ship is here.”

“But no one contacted you?”

“No. I presume there is a way I might…”

“Just try hailing them. ‘Call Silhouette.’”

He made the attempt. “Nothing. Is that normal?”

“Maybe they cannot answer at this time?” the Knife suggested. “They may need to maintain comm silence for some reason.”

“I hope not,” Laniis said glumly. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons they might be doing that which don’t involve trouble for us.”

“Does it explain the hunger?” Lisinthir said. “I’m not sure I can continue eating this way. I have a reputation for being a male of significant hungers, but there is gluttony and then there is medical impossibility.”

“Maybe they’ll think you have some kind of metabolic disorder?” Laniis offered, ears lopsided with rue.

The Knife grimaced. “You can have my food. I am rarely hungry.” At Laniis’s questioning look, he finished, “I find living this way nauseating.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Lisinthir scrubbed his face. “Is there any chance this represents a malfunction?”

“You’d better hope not,” she said. “Because if it does, we’re rhacked.”

“But is it likely?” the Knife pressed. “Because I do not want to be trapped here!”

“We won’t be trapped here,” Lisinthir said. “We’ll give it a day, see if it resolves. If it doesn’t, we’ll go back to the port and use the smallcraft to see if we can find the Silhouette. In the mean…” He smiled apologetically at Laniis, “perhaps we should order breakfast now. Just in case I need it before dawn.”

“You do put away a meal well.” Laniis pushed herself to her feet, gathering the tray. “It’s kind of cute.”

“It’s appalling,” Lisinthir said. “But one does what one must.”

“Isn’t that always the way,” the Knife muttered.