"No one knows," he replied.
"Must be a market for them."
"I believe they are a great source of the wealth of this region," he said. "Along with many other useful stones."
"I wonder how many Scalia had to sell to buy the two of you? It must have been a lot."
Tiger smiled at me and shook his head. He didn't know the answer to that.
Looking up, I stole a peek at his eyes—eyes the same shade of blue as an eastern sky just before dawn: serenely beautiful, but at the same time, absolutely breathtaking.
"You were worth every credit," I murmured. "Tell me, does Scalia like your eyes?"
"Yes," he replied. "And she is very fond of our hair."
"So am I," I sighed. "I've never seen anything like it.
It's so beautiful."
"As are you," he said gently. "Go to sleep now."
So, my handsome tiger thought I was beautiful, did he? Wasn't that nice? It would be such a comfort to remember that when the guards dragged me off to the gallows for even
thinking
about consorting with one of the Queen's pets. I could almost feel the trapdoor giving way beneath my feet as I drifted off to sleep.
I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING WITH BLAZING SUNLIGHT IN MY
eyes and the heat of the day only just beginning. Still in my dress from the day before, I remembered that I hadn't had a bath, or brushed my teeth, or even washed my face, and with all the sweating I'd done the day before, I felt pretty grungy. I got up to have a look around, thinking that if this room had been specifically designed to house a human, there must be something there to pee in.
I chuckled to myself as it occurred to me that the bathroom, like the lights, might suddenly appear whenever I had a need for it. Now,
that
would be a neat trick!
Not so, as it turned out. It was a bit archaic, perhaps, but essentially what had been provided for me was a chamber pot in a small alcove next to the doorway between this and an adjoining room. I smiled, thinking that Scalia's information must have been outdated, for such articles hadn't been in general use on Earth for about a thousand years. As I had suspected the night before, there was no running water, either, the chamber pot being about half-filled with sand. There was, however, a pitcher full of water and a basin on a stand beneath a mirror that hung upon the wall. My luggage was nowhere in sight, but when I opened a drawer that fitted neatly into a recessed area of the wall, I found that all of my clothes had been carefully folded and put away.
The room itself was large, open, and airy, with no glass or screens on a pair of windows that looked out onto a garden in full bloom. I could see both the desert and, if I leaned out and looked to my left, the mountains in the distance. It already looked hot enough out there to scorch the soles of my feet—whether I had shoes on or not. Fortunately, it was much cooler in my room, and I found that I could walk barefoot without any trouble, the stone floor even feeling slightly chilly, making me glad that there were soft rugs on the floor by the bed.
The bed frame was made of a highly polished wood, as was the cushioned bench set beneath the windows.
Looking up, I saw that glowstones formed a spiral pattern on the high ceiling, which was liberally decorated with carved stone flowers. Near the window sat a table and chairs, both made of the same wood as the bed. I wondered if the wood was local or imported—given the climate, I was leaning toward imported. Overall, the decor of the room made me wonder where Scalia's information on humans had come from, because it had a vaguely historical feel to it—almost as if I'd been set down in the middle of an old novel about a governess taking up a new post and finding her rooms to be far nicer than she had expected—or was accustomed to.
Passing through an open doorway into another spacious room, I stopped short, nearly having another orgasm, for there, perched elegantiy on a dais, was a grand piano. And not just
any
grand piano—unless my eyes were deceiving me, what stood before me was an antique Steinway.
Where Scalia had found it was anyone's guess, but it had been manufactured on Earth, God only knew how many hundreds of years before. Sitting down on the bench, I ran my fingers over the keyboard and found it to be in perfect tune, with a rich tone and a light action on the keys. It was love at first sight.
It had been weeks since I had played, and I hadn't realized until then just how much I'd missed it. Playing a sonata at random, I noted that the acoustics of the room were absolutely perfect—as if I were in a grand concert hall—and as the music swelled, filling the air with sound, I so lost myself in it that I didn't hear anyone enter. When the last notes died away, Zealon ap-plauded behind me—an odd sound, coming from those reptilian hands.
"Oh, that was so beautiful!" she said reverently. "Will I ever be able to play like that?"
"Someday," I said, turning to face her. "Provided you practice enough."
"Oh, I will!" she assured me. "I'll start today!"
"Sounds good," I said, "but let's wait until after breakfast, shall we?"
"Breakfast?" she echoed. "What's that?"
I stared at her in disbelief. "You know, the morning meal? What you eat after you first get up in the morning?"
"Here on Darconia we only eat once a day," she said.
"In the evening."
My stomach let out a loud snarl. "Humans eat more often than that," I said, my eyes undoubtedly growing round with horror. "Is there anything I can get at this hour? I'm starving!"
Having said that, I heard a sound coming from the other room. Frowning slightly, I got up from the piano and peered through the doorway. My tiger was in there—still wearing nothing but his two jeweled collars, by the way—setting out platters of food on the table from a heavily laden tray.
I cast a withering look at Zealon. "Very funny," I said dryly. "You had me going there for a minute."
Zealon doubled over, cackling with laughter. "I'm sorry!" she gasped. "But I love the way your face changes."
"Those are facial expressions," I said loftily. "And this one," I added, narrowing my eyes and thinning my lips, "signifies marked disapproval."
"I'll try to remember that."
"See that you do."
Following me to the door, Zealon let out a squeal of delight. "She's given you Tycharian?"
"What do you mean?"
"Him," she replied, pointing at Tiger.
"You
knowhim?"
I asked, a good deal astonished.
"Of course I do! Mother doesn't think I know he exists, but we're good friends, actually."
Tiger gave her such a look! "You are not supposed to reveal that," he said sternly. "To anyone."
"Oh, it doesn't matter if Kyra knows, does it? She won't tell."
"Well, the Queen did say when she assigned him to me that it was 'worth the risk' that you might meet him,"
I mused. "So it probably doesn't matter, but do you mean to say you've been sneaking off to make friends with the slaves?"
"They aren't really slaves, you know," Zealon said ingenuously. "Just special servants. Pretty lucky, actually, because they aren't allowed to touch the chamber pots."
"And what else aren't they allowed to do?" I remarked sarcastically. "Leave of their own free will?"
"Oh, they could if they really wanted to," she said, sounding as if she truly believed this. "Mother would never stop them, though she says it would be dangerous for any of her slaves to leave, because they are all either hunted or endangered species. She keeps them locked up at night for their own protection, but I think they
like
working here. I mean, it
is
a palace."
She was so naive, it was downright comical. "Zealon, would
you
like being locked up at night? Even for your own protection?"
She looked up at me soberly. "But I am," she replied.
"A princess is as much a slave as they are. We just get locked up in different rooms."
Perhaps she wasn't quite so naive after all. "Touche,"
I said softly. "Okay, then, now that we know we're all stuck here living in a palace whether we like it or not, why don't you two 'slaves' join me for breakfast? Unless you've already eaten, that is. I think I'd like some company."
Tiger looked surprised. Zealon's jaw dropped.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Is that going too far?"
"I... don't know," Zealon said. "I've never done that before."
"Which part? Having breakfast with me, or with him?"
"With him, I think," she replied uncertainly. "Anyway, I've already eaten."
I nodded, thinking she'd ducked past that one pretty effectively. So, he wasn't really a slave, was he? It certainly seemed that way to me. "Well, then, do I have to eat all of this by myself?"
Tiger shook his head almost imperceptibly. Zealon shrugged, a gesture that looked odd on a lizard—a bit like watching a live cartoon character.
"I have other lessons this morning," she said. "So I couldn't stay, anyway. I just came in when I heard you playing."
"When are you free for your first piano lesson?"
"Not until after midday," Zealon replied. "I'll come back then."
"That'll be fine," I said with a nod.
The Princess waved her goodbye and left us. I went over and sat down at the table, taking a good, long drink before I did anything else. Tiger was still arranging the dishes and seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time and care to do so.
"So," I ventured. "What was that name again?
Tycharian?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice sounding wooden and neutral.
"I seem to be able to pronounce it without too much trouble. Why were you being so mysterious last night?"
He'd been keeping his eyes on his work but turned to face me then. "I wanted to hear what you would call me if you didn't know my name."
"Any special reason for that?"
"You did not call me 'slave.'"
"I think I see your point," I said. "And, no, I didn't call you 'slave,' but I
did
call you Tiger, which is a type of animal," I added ruefully. "That's not much better than calling you 'slave,' is it?"
"But tigers are not slaves, are they?"
"Well, no," I admitted, "but you do see them locked up and on display in zoos from time to time. That doesn't sound very good, either."
He seemed to think differently. Perhaps he liked the idea of being a tiger. "You may call me whatever you wish," he said finally. "Tiger, Tycharian, Tychar, or even Ty, which is what my brother, Trag, calls me." A mischievous little smile touched his lips. "So, tell me Kyra: would you prefer to have breakfast with a slave, or with a tiger?"
Returning his smile, I said warmly, "I'd much rather have breakfast with you, Tycharian." Gesturing toward a chair, I added, "Have a seat, and if the Queen doesn't like it, she can fire me."
"I don't believe she will."
"Like it, or fire me?"
Tiger looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Fire you," he said. "She has told me to see to your needs as much as I am able. You are my exclusive... assignment.
She wouldn't object to us sharing a meal together."
"Really?" It seemed surprising to me that she would give him up entirely, though she
did have
two of them.
Perhaps I wouldn't be executed for sleeping with him, after all. "Well, what if I need something during the night? Since you slaves are locked up—for your own protection, of course," I added, "who do I call if I get sick or something? Or do I get locked up, too?" I hadn't gotten up to try the door last night, but that didn't mean it hadn't been locked.
"Scalia didn't say specifically, but if you're locked in, perhaps it is because she feels that you need protection, as well."
I pondered this for a moment, remembering the armed escort from the spaceport, and consoled myself with the fact that at least Scalia hadn't asked Wazak to make me his "exclusive assignment." "Do I really need protecting?"
"Even slaves hear tales of unrest within a country,"
he said carefully, taking a seat across from me.
This sounded interesting. In an attempt to make the question seem casual, I bit into an odd-looking piece of fuzzy green fruit that reminded me of a kiwi. Tasted rather like one, too. Spitting out the fuzzy peel, I savored the sweet flesh. "What sort of unrest?"
Following my lead and helping himself to some fruit, Tychar said, "Whenever there is change, there is also unrest."
"True, but do I have anything to do with the changes?"
"You are an offworlder, teaching music to the Princess,"
he replied. "That could be seen as a radical change."
"Music?" I echoed in disbelief. "Radical?" I was about to deny having any radical tendencies whatsoever, but then I remembered my music history: musicians had been on the cutting edge of radicalism for a very long time. Funny how I'd never considered classical pianists as being radical, but, given where I was at the time, perhaps we were. "Well, yes, I see your point." Sighing regretfully, I added, "Guess we won't get to go on that vacation to the mountains, then. Honestly, if I'd known I'd have to stay cooped up all the time—even in a palace—I'm not sure I would have come."
"You'll get used to it," he assured me. "I have, though I
do
get restless sometimes—and my brother, Trag, is even less contented."
"I didn't think he seemed very happy last night," I remarked. "In fact, I don't think I ever even saw him smile. You were the much more likable of the two."
Tychar shrugged noncommittally. "Trag is a good man, but he doesn't like it here."
"And you
do?"
His lips curled into a delightfully devilish grin. "There was a time when I rebelled against being a slave, but no longer. I have a new job as your personal attendant," he said. "And I think I will...
enjoy my
job."
The way he was smiling at me, I almost believed him.
"You're very sweet."
"Ah, but you haven't tasted me yet," he countered, still smiling. "How can you know?"
The thought of tasting any part of him made my heart skip several beats. "That's just a figure of speech, Tychar,"