Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 2

Ni'Ar, it wasn't courage that sealed my lips. Ignorant though I was of the politics that moved these men, I could clearly read the tensions between them.

Sechaveh was restless, irritated by Yiril's restrictions. If I spoke, if I ceased to have value to them, I would be turned over to him. And that I feared more than the pain.

When was it that they cast me where they had found me, in the streets of Sulos?

The three guards set to watch me used me roughly before dropping out of sight, while my body still shivered in pain.

They would wait-wait for Zatar, son of Vinir and K'Siva, to return to the lower- cla.s.s filth he so enjoyed. They would kill us both, then; such was Yiril's suggestion. But I suspected, against all logic, that he knew such a plan was doomed to failure. Why then did he offer it?

For two years, my sister, I suffered the attentions of my three captors. And you!

You congratulated me for such regular attentions! Little did you know. . . .

At night Zatar's gift of gold slept by me, its chain about my neck. But no longer did I dare wear it during the day. For often, without warning, the arm of a guard would drag me into an alley, or a darkened doorway, there to sate whatever l.u.s.t the moment had conjured, in a mockery of the privacy their masters preferred.

Some nights when the pain became too great, I took Zatar's ring to the Tuel, and there wept. It was conduct unbecoming a Braxin, but bless it all! A moment's betrayal, I knew, if carefully planned, might end all of this. But I would not- could not-betray the one man who had seen through my shameful brand, to the woman who suffered because of it.

And when I felt his hands lift me from the gra.s.s one night, when with tightly closed eyes I kissed him once more, I knew from the touch of him that he was still cleanshaven; and as I felt the soft weight of his hair fall upon my arm, I knew without looking that it was still white as snow.

"Fool," I whispered happily. "The first person that sees you will kill you."

"They tried, little one. Three Central Guards with stun. And Zatar with Zhaor.

Hardly a challenge."

I laughed, and I cried, and I held him.

"They've hurt you," he said quietly.

"No. I have no bad memories-only pleasure."

He laughed, a l.u.s.ty laugh that revived the most erotic of those memories. "I've not had a woman in nearly two years," he told me. "Do you think you can handle that?"

I smiled. "I can try, my Lord."

And he is fresh from killing, I thought, as his embrace wiped all else from my mind. His hunger I could sense, frustrated, powerful, demanding. What else is there to do with such a man but yield?

"I'm afraid, my Lord."

"You fear me?"

I pressed closer to him. "No. Not you."

"My father-the Kaim'eri?"

"Not beside you, no."

"Kurat, then? Its dungeons?"

In answer, I shuddered.

"Then we'll crush them, my little one-them and their creators."

The autocarriage slowed as we approached his home, a second-eon mansion.

He helped me out, holding me close as we came to the door.

"Your palm," he said. "The House knows my hand."

Obediently I put my hand on the doorplate. A second's hesitation-then the door opened, revealing a guard.

"Lord Zatar!"

"My father's in council now, is he not?" I was pulled past the bewildered guard.

"He is, but-my Lord!"

Zatar ignored his confusion and drew me quickly through the forehouse. The enormity of the building was overwhelming; the power of the man who owned it was beyond my comprehension. Through the tightness of Zatar's grip I could feel his rising tension, his exhilaration as he strode toward a confrontation with his father. He had chosen this moment with care and it was with calculated forethought that he chose to kick open the doors to the last conference chamber, overriding the portal mechanism with simple primitive force. The heavy wooden panels fell aside with a bang and he entered, taking me with him, accompanied by indignant smoke and the sputter of damaged circuitry.

To say that they were surprised would be an understatement.

There were five of them, all Kaim'eri, three of whom I already knew and feared.

Until a moment ago their Zhaori had been set aside in an opulent weapons-rack, but as the doors fell aside they claimed their swords with Braxana-swift reflexes.

Only when they saw the cause of the intrusion did they relax somewhat.

Vinir's face, however, was livid with fury. "So now you're back," he hissed.

Zatar bowed, the very master of arrogance. "My father. Glorious Kaim'eri! I return to you on the wings of triumph." His voice dripped hatred and hinted at sarcasm as only the complex speech modes of the Braxana dialect can do. I tried to fade into the shadows; the looks my former captors were directing at me could have nailed me to the wall had they had substance. I trembled. In answer, his grip on me tightened.

Yiril was the first to collect himself. With a low chuckle of amus.e.m.e.nt he pulled his chair back into place and sat. "Well, Zatar. Is this the new fashion you intend for the Holding to adopt?"

His hair, of course, was still straight, although we had dyed its color back and made some attempt at styling it properly. And he was cleanshaven, although we had bleached the bronze from his skin. (How delicious it had been, with him playing Azean at the height of pleasure!) His eyes sparkled as he chose not to answer. "Please sit, Kaim'eri."

"What do you want with us?" Vinir snapped. He alone remained standing while the others, still armed, regained their seats.

"I bring you news-good news. The Azean Interrogation Officer Darmel lyu Tukone is dead. Of our poison. By my hands."

There was silence. Vinir sat, clearly stunned, trying not to show it.

"That would explain-" one of the other Kaim'eri began, astonished.

"Quiet," Yiril ordered. He looked at Zatar; his face was unreadable. "The Empire's been trying not to let that news out. We've heard rumors, though, which this would explain. If so . . ." he smiled carefully, ". . . you are welcome."

Zatar grinned. "Thank you."

"Very dramatic." Sechaveh shifted position, laying his sword on the table with a clatter. "Now what?"

Zatar took a step forward, drawing me with him. "My inheritance, father."

The hatred with which Vinir regarded him was, nonetheless, tempered with respect. "All right," he said finally. "Granted, you've earned some recognition. A House of your own, your own finances, adult legal status. All well and good."

And I? Servant, even slave, I knew, if he would have me.

But then Vinir's face darkened and he pointed at me. "And this common filth?

Mistress of it all?"

"Your choice of words, my father, but they are-in essence-correct."

I? Mistress of a House of n.o.bility? No, no, no! I am branded, Zatar, branded!

Ar, the shame. . . .

Vinir's tone was deadly. "I forbid it!"

"You can't. I'll sue for it."

"You're not inherited yet," the older man reminded him.

They glared at each other, a test of determination and dominance. A long time pa.s.sed in silence. With what Zatar had done, it would be shameful for both of them if Vinir tried to keep him bound up in youthful dependence. But once he freed him to his inheritance, the younger man's staff was his own business.

Finally Vinir said slowly, carefully, "She will never set foot on Braxi again."

"You'll give me the estate on Zhene, then?"

"Do you think you can be satisfied with that?"

Zatar's dark eyes sparkled. "Quite."

"Subject to those terms, then, I inherit you. Kaim'eri: you witness-Computer, send a transcript to Braxin Central Files. There. Now will you please leave? We have business to conduct-and this isn't your House any more."

"But I have business also."

Vinir looked more weary than angry this time. "What is it?"

Zatar chose his words carefully. "Which one of you, most respected Kaim'era, will bring forth my name in nomination at the Citadel?"

Vinir exploded. "Unheard of!" Others among the five agreed, clearly enraged by the request. Only Yiril did not protest. Yiril, who Zatar had said might well bid for an informal alliance if the situation merited it. That was, he had explained, the difference between a true ruler and a mere Kaim'era. Yiril was Kaim'era. The others, Zatar had told me, were less.

For a long moment Yiril studied the young Lord, while on both sides of him expletives reigned. And he seemed to see something in Zatar that satisfied him, for at last he nodded. "I, Yiril, Dliniri, son of Kerest and Sienne"-the others grew quickly silent as they heard the ritual words-"I, Braxana, Kaim'era of the Holding of B'salos under Braxi/Aldous, bring forth the person of Zatar, Zarvati, son of Vinir and K'siva, for the consideration of the Kaim'erate, that he might be elevated to its membership." His wry smile asked: enough? "Am I confirmed in this?"

He looked at the others, particularly at Sechaveh, who saw something in his expression that made him nod almost imperceptibly in agreement. "I confirm your choice," he said quietly.

It was a direct blow to Vinir that the two of them should act in concert and all present knew it; the nomination of Zatar had marked the end of their political trinity. Weary, exasperated, Vinir looked at his son. The mixed emotions in his face, I was startled to note, included a fair measure of respect. "Is that all, now?"

"Yes, Kaim'era." No longer 'my father,' I noticed. He bowed and, taking me with him, turned to leave.

"Lord Zatar!"

He turned back to face his father.

"You have one day and night to remove yourself, your possessions, and this woman from my property. Do you understand?"

Zatar bowed his head in obedience. In a matter of minutes To his relationship with Vinir had entirely changed; now he was an intruder- an enemy-in the other man's House.

"And Zatar. . ."

He raised, an eyebrow, waiting.

"I'll send your House a bill for the door." And then, grudgingly: "Well done.

Now get out of here."

He did.

"They'll hate you," he said. "You don't have to go."

"I want to."

"The Households on Zhene are entirely Braxana. Only the first cla.s.s uses the moon, and few live there all the time. You'll be outcast."

I kissed him, long, as he had taught me. How good to know I could bring him pleasure! "I love you, Kaim'era Zatar." I had to use Aldousan for the thought-it doesn't translate into Braxin the way I wanted to say it. And before he could correct my premature use of his t.i.tle I asked, "Does that shame you?"

"No," he said gently. "I've lived too long among the enemy to be quite as emphatic as tradition would have it."

"Are they happy, Lord?"

"Yes, happy-they also suffer more for it. When Tukone died, his wife destroyed herself. Terrible waste of people, that." He pulled a pad and styla from a drawer.

"Love is the ultimate weakness and the Azeans will destroy themselves with it.

But you shame me, little one? Hardly. Here; write your sister farewell."

So I try, Ni'Ar, but his breath in my hair and his hands on my body demand I focus my attention elsewhere. So be careful, dear sister, and wish me well.

I am his, now. And he has just begun.

Viton: These gentle emotions, what good are they? Love, compa.s.sion, amity; what purpose do they serve? To my mind they are socially invalid, obstacles to emotional efficiency. There is no more constructive emotion than hatred.

Three.