Authors: Ru Emerson,A. C. Crispin
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of love to her and she writes that she cares for him deeply. She writes no word of where they have gone. What can be done? If the Esteemed
Zhez
discovers what has happened in my house, he will have me stripped of all and condemned to the filthiest of his farms; he told me that much when I came here. But he will kill An-Lieye!
"You must decide what is to be done; I cannot. Apologies for my ignorance ...
Fahara."
He stared at the message blankly, unable to take it in at first.
Zhikna--and
An-Lieye? Impossible!
But no, the look on Zhik's face when he first saw her in "Fringe-of-Dancer." He'd been odd the rest of the day... strange and distant ever since, Khyriz suddenly realized. And how like Zhik to fall for a beautiful garment and bright eyes! He'd done the same thing so many times before now!
But... but to deliberately
court
An-Lieye? The Iron Duke's son professing love--to an
Ashal
And ... when had Zhikna become aware of An-Lieye as sentient? Khyriz clutched at his ears and growled softly. He knew his cousin spent much time at Fahara's, but he had the new garments to show for it.
It did not occur to me
there might be another reason.
Well, it had not occurred to the designer, either. He reread the message. "Foolish, idealistic young cousin," he growled finally. "I have been directing the search for her family all along. And An-Lieye
knew
it!" Knew, and had not trusted him, for whatever reason. So when Zhik swore devotion and love to her... Zhik had learned about females from the dreadful fiction-vid so popular these days, displaying the same chivalrous, charming, protective behavior of the heroes in the vids. The vid females admired it, of course. And An-Lieye, cloistered in the designer's apartments, might see him as exactly an Arekkhi male should be ...
according to the vids. Khyriz swore. Two hapless, helpless innocents out there--somewhere. Unless they could be found, quickly, tragedy would surely follow.
And if Zhenu learned of this romantic alliance, then Fahara was right to fear.
But not exile: She, An-Lieye, and Zhikna would al die. Khyriz prowled the small chamber. Nothing in the message to even hint where the two might have gone.
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So ... where
would
Zhik look for An-Lieye's parents? The hair on his arms hackled as a possibility occurred to him: Surely Zhik would not go to his cousin's estates? But Zhik knew that Khyriz protected Asha, if only because of Ah-Naul.
If Zhenu learned his son was gone, even if he knew nothing else, he would check Khyriz's estates.
I
will have to put a call through to Lijahr, to ask him if Zhik has arrived or tried
to--no, I do not dare!
Khyriz swore aloud. One of his two protected corns was still in the old palace, the other in his flitter, up North! Any call he made to his master of estates could be overheard--especially if the palace calling system was tampered with, and it often was.
He couldn't leave the island, either; Zhenu would wonder what was so important as to drag Khyriz away from his precious alien-she.
But I do not
abandon my Magdalena.
What next? He read through the designer's message a last time, then glanced at his message center, but it was dark. Perhaps his mother had heard something, he decided. He needed to keep moving, anyway, and he could access this machine from his mother's quarters. He carried the thick fold of paper into the washing, filled the foot-basin with water, and dipped the message in it. When he pulled it out, the water was dark, the paper blank. He shoved it and the seal-tape into the disposing-unit and left.
But just short of his mother's private rooms, his brother Khedan lounged against the pale wall, talking softly and urgently with another dark-clad priest-initiate. The companion's eyes widened as they fell on outland-clad Khyriz; Khedan, alerted by that, turned, and gestured sharply for his companion to leave. Khedan moved to block the hall then, a squarely built figure the youngest royal male could not pass. "Go away, Khyriz. Mother will not see you."
Khyriz stalked forward. The priest had disappeared down the hall, unrecognized. "Move, Khedan."
"No. You are responsible for the dark alien-she coming here, to teach Mother and our young sisters outsider language and ways...."
Khyriz interrupted him, the first time he could ever
205
remember, by laughing. "Oh? Mother asked for the translator's presence.
That is her right, brother."
"You would even
lie
for the alien-she! But you will
not
bring shame to our mother's chambers by appearing in such garb!"
With an effort, Khyriz kept his ears where they belonged. It was hard to remember just now that Khedan was large but soft; he had truly terrified the young Khyriz. "She has seen them before. Go away, Khedan." A grim smile quirked his whiskers forward. "I wear my trousers honestly--unlike you!"
Khedan's eyes were dark with anger. "How dare you ill-speak the holy garb of the prelatry?"
"Holy? The clothing is not holy--nor are the priests themselves! Only the gods are! You are arrogant, Khedan!"
"Arrogant--?"
"Who else wears priests' trousers and tunic but keeps a royal's lifestyle?
Even Nijho acts outwardly as a Prelate should; he fasts at the proper times, observes the forms of worship.... You act as a priest only when it suits you, Khedan." Khedan's ears flattened. "You keep no priests' rules. Even a royal priest is expected to avoid certain excesses. But you are greedy, Khedan."
"Our mother spoils you!" Khedan said with a hiss. "And our father indulges you. You were granted three years among the aliens, and why? Because you are the last son--the pet! Well, little ahla-brother, the alien-she you dote upon
and
her pale-furred companion will die before this day ends!"
Khyriz closed the distance between them with a bound, fastening a hand in the other's tunic as he bared long incisors in an attack-smile. "What have you heard?" he demanded in a throaty whisper. Khedan, startled and badly off-balance, tried to free himself, but Khyriz was older now: larger, and better muscled than he had been the last time the two physically fought. The elder Prince gasped as his younger brother forced him back and finally slammed him into the wall. "What have you heard?" Khyriz asked with a soft snarl.
Khedan closed his eyes. Khyriz exerted more pressure. "No one will save you, Khedan. I am the only one here, and there are no
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spy-devices in this passage. Where did you hear about the CLS team? From Zhenu? Nijho?" Khedan started at the second name. "What is Nijho's part in this, Khedan?"
"No ... not your business, Khyriz!" the other said with a hiss.
"It is. You spy on Father for the Prelate, don't you?"
Khedan twisted in his grip, subsided as Khyriz pressed against him. "How dare you? The Prelate has every right to know--"
"He has
no
right, not in the Emperor's household. He can be removed as Prelate if Father chooses, do you forget that? Let us say, then, that you report to Nijho...."
The dark-clad stirred indignantly. "To the Revered Father of All! You speak as if he were common!"
"He
is
common, the son of
jnerif-
herders on Mibhor. Nijho may find himself butchering
jnerif
again if he is not cautious. If the Emperor replaces him."
"He won't dare! Zhenu is--he has--"
"Oh, yes." To the elder brother's astonishment, Khyriz emitted a short spat of laughter. "Zhenu! Zhenu the invincible! Zhenu is noble only. Wealthy and powerful--but these things change. And if they do--you have chosen a poor ally, Khedan."
"You have chosen worse," Khedan said, hissing, his eyes black with fury.
"Do you think the outside worlds will protect
you?
Or their females? They are distant; the rebels are here. And do you think Zhenu cares greatly whether every one of his--?" He caught his breath raggedly; Khyriz pressed both thumbs against his brother's throat, hard.
"I can kill you," the younger prince whispered. "Or I might allow you to live.
Brother.
Zhenu
is
behind this raid, isn't he? The rebels he secretly funds--
you look astonished. Did you think I knew nothing of the Arekkhi for Freedom group? AF is Zhenu's, their leader personally chosen by him. Is this League taken from their numbers, or are these different fighters? Zhenu knows the old palace; that knowledge got the League in, didn't it?
Answer
me!"
Khedan's eyes bulged; his whiskers and ears were flat with terror, and he hand-gestured frantic assent. The younger prince eased the pressure, but only
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a little. "Zhenu planned it all. I know. I saw the look on his face last night!
The AF supposedly rescues and hides Asha; in truth, it sets fires, destroys villages, kills.
Exterminates."
Silence. "Why? Just to destroy all Asha? Or does he also plan to make our infamy public, so the CLS will see our world is unsafe and uncivilized, and withdraw?"
"Why do we need
them}"
Khedan might be breathless, but he still sounded righteous. "These aliens? The naked ones on-station, these--these hairless females who wear our robes and speak our language and pretend to be like us! You wait, Khyriz! They have plans of their own behind those smiles.
Soon, they will order our lives and our world to suit
them,
and it will be too late for us!"
"You know nothing," Khyriz replied flatly. "I lived among them three years."
"You are a sentimental dupe, and they play upon that! Zhenu is not fooled by what these aliens say, the Prelate is not--"
"Zhenu and the Prelate?" Khyriz said with a snarl, silencing his brother.
"They know only what has always been! They fear the least change! The CLS seeks cooperation, alliance, honest exchange of information and tech.... that everyone has an opportunity for reasonable fortune! And that all intelligent beings be considered equal." Khyriz pressed his lips against his brother's ear; Khedan shrank from him. "The Asha, Khedan," he whispered.
"CLS will solve the matter of Asha, given the chance. And that is what most angers Nijho and Zhenu--and you. Isn't it? Your estates, Khedan--how much of the labor there is performed by Asha?"
"They--they are---"
"Do not lie to me, I know how you treat your Voiceless."
"Alien-lover," Khedan said with a growl. "Asha-lover!"
"Add to that," Khyriz replied flatly as he released his brother and let him stagger away from the wall, "that I love the Magdalena-she. Do you understand that? She is
my
Magdalena! If any harm comes to
my
Magdalena because of you, we will finish this, Khedan. Do not doubt me, I will tear out your throat, and laugh as you die!"
Khedan's ears went flat; he struggled to right them. "How
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dare
you threaten me?" he demanded harshly. "I will tell Father that you ...
that you--"
"Tell him. Do. And tell him whom you
really
serve! Though I wager Khezahn already knows. Our father for long has not been the weak young Emperor whom Nijho and Zhenu once dominated."
Khedan stumbled away from Khyriz, shook his garments down and glared at his younger brother. "It would do you well--
and
our father!--to consider why he assumed the throne so early, Khyriz! I would be careful what I ate and drank, if I were you." Khyriz stared, but before he could move to intercept his priest-clad brother, Khedan had scurried down the hall and was gone. A distant door shut with a sharp click; the double clang of locks being set echoed up the silent corridor. Khedan had bolted himself into the safety of his private chambers.
Automatically, the younger prince glanced at his nail-device. "It's not possible!" he whispered. Was that fury and bluff, or did Khedan really know something?
Had
the previous Emperor been poisoned? Poisoning was an ancient weapon-- there were safeguards against its use, bans on having, making, and using poisons.
That would scarcely stop Zhenu or the Prelate if
they saw poison as a means to the end they wanted.
He paced anxiously, realized what he was doing, and forced himself to stillness. The bans were mostly truce, anyway: the old, "I won't use poison if you don't" agreement.
Zhenu had privacy on his estates to do whatever he chose; the Prelatry was mostly off-limits to noninitiates. Those two councillors currently had more power than they would have under the old Emperor. It fit.
But that wasn't important--not just now. Khyriz turned away from his mother's apartments and walked briskly back toward the main Council chamber. It was improper, but he
could
get inside via the private passage used by his elder brother. With luck, Khelyu would be available, personally or via com, so Khyriz could try to persuade him.
But it proved unnecessary; a clerk came over as the Prince stepped off the moving walkway just short of the Council doors, and handed him a set-corn enameled with the Emperor's
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ducat. "His Exaltedness asks that you use this at once. Your presence is required." He'd scarcely keyed voice transmission when the doors opened and another clerk gestured sharply for him to enter.
Only five of the seats were occupied. The Emperor gestured, indicating the vid-unit set midtable. Alexis's voice ... Khyriz moved to a position where he could see the screen.
The interrelator sat cross-legged in the talking-pit. She was pale, her hair a wild tangle, and she wore a loose nightshirt with the StarBridge logo on one shoulder. But her voice was steady. "... and I continue to attempt a negotiated end to this situation from inside. I hope things progress outside.
About the upper floor--as I reported in our last call, we were told that the third floor had burned, and all living there were killed. But an argument the translator overheard indicates otherwise. She and I are concerned, both for the effect such deaths would have on a peaceful outcome, and for our friends." Khyriz glanced at his father; Khezahn touched the edge of his notemaker--well out of vid-range, and moved it where his son could read what he'd noted there: "Khyriz: Say nothing to upset the captors. Assure the women. Extend the talk as long as possible. Something useful may appear when vid is analyzed." Khyriz gestured a spare assent, shoved the notemaker aside, and stepped before the vid.