by Maia Tanith
Under my hand, Faye’s shoulder tenses. I feel the muscles contract and bunch under her smooth skin. “Words are cheap,” she mutters. “If you really cared, you would do something, anything, to make things right.”
She does not know about my mother or how I am held hostage for her sake. “It is more complicated than that. My mother—”
She breaks in with a rude noise. “And if your mother truly cared about you or anything else in this godforsaken place, she would not stop you.”
Faye
I lie on my stomach on the pallet for three days before I can bear to move. Prince Khan, his face more troubled with each day that passes, brings me food from his own table. He rests his hand on my uninjured shoulder and I can feel the strength of his claws just under the skin. Other than that, he does not touch me.
His kindness makes me want to weep.
He does not repeat his earlier words of treason.
Litha visits me during the day to bring me more medicine and sometimes just to sit next to me and keep me company. The Queen is more often asleep than not these days.
“The Queen is getting weaker by the day,” she confides in me one day. “It saddens me to see her waste away to nothing.”
I make a face into the pallet so Litha cannot see. She has a kind heart and has been good to me, and I would not want to upset her. The Queen is not exactly my number one fan, but then why should she be? I am a slave and so beneath her notice. Not even common rules of politeness apply to slaves. I search for something kind to say about her. “Prince Khan seems very fond of her.”
“He is. He is a good son. And the Queen has not always been fretful and unkind. She knows she is dying, and she worries about what her brother the Emperor will do once she is gone.”
I was silent. That would worry me, too, if I was her.
Truth to tell, it worries me anyway. Prince Khan might be spineless when it comes to his uncle, but who am I to expect someone else to throw themselves into a nest of vipers for the sake of others.
I am no better. When I had trouble in my home village, I did not stay to fight. I did not try to make things better, to protect girls younger than me who will face the same problems I did. No. I ran away instead.
Fighting seemed so pointless back then. I was powerless, and I felt my lack of power. If I had tried to fight, I would have been squashed. Certainly beaten. Most likely raped. And eventually, inevitably, killed.
I was not prepared to sacrifice myself for nothing. Not when my enemies ran the village with a tight fist. When I had no hope that anything I could do would lead to any meaningful change.
I was a coward. I ran. I left everyone else behind without a second thought, thinking only of how to protect myself.
Prince Khan may not be able to run away physically, but he has mentally disengaged. I cannot condemn him for it.
Besides, he has been kind to me since my punishment. As kind as Litha.
On the fourth day after my whipping, I struggle to my feet and carefully maneuver a clean shift over my head. The cuts on my back have stopped weeping and have scabbed over enough for me to wear clothes again and I am heartily sick of these same four walls. I want to see the outside, breathe some fresh air, and dream of home.
My legs are weak after days of disuse. I walk slowly out of the stale room where I have been holed up for days, down the corridor, and out into the garden. Dew still lingers on the flowers, set out in regimented rows of reds and purples and blues. They are larger than flower on Earth and look strange to my eyes. Strange but beautiful. Their sweet scent fills the air, swirling around me as I walk. The smell reminds me of the lemon trees back at home in my village, but with a spicy note.
I inhale deeply as I walk, pretending I am back at home on Earth and that any moment my aunt will come bustling around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron and calling me to come in for some spiced beans and cornbread.
Though I am engrossed in my daydream and my steps are slow, I have enough of my wits about me to try to look purposeful in my wandering. Slaves are not meant to linger in the garden. Fresh air and beauty are reserved for the enjoyment of their owners.
The garden is almost empty at this time of the morning. A few sightseers look through the tall fence that surrounds the entire palace, hoping for a view of the privileged people within. I snort to myself. I would swap my life of servitude for theirs of poverty and freedom in a heartbeat.
Just then, a Kargan falls into step beside me.
I gasp and pull away. His footfalls are so quiet that I didn’t hear him come up behind me. I don’t like surprises like that. And, on the whole, I don’t like Kargans. Not the ones who live or work in this rabbit warren of a palace anyway.
His face wrinkles at my instinctive reaction. “I don’t mean you any harm,” he says softly. “Like you, I have merely come outside to enjoy the fresh air. The atmosphere inside can get so…” His voice trails off.
“Rank?” I suggest, my voice shaking slightly. My heart is still racing from the shock of having him appear beside me. I don’t trust him, sneaking around like that. I don’t trust him at all.
He sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “I was going to say poisonous, but rank will do nicely. It is more polite.”
I bow my head as I have seen other slaves do. He will not tempt me into talk that will only get me another whipping. I could already be in trouble for my one-word answer.
We walk in silence around the garden and back towards the servants’ entrance. He keeps pace with my steps, stopping when I stop, and matching his stride to mine. “Thank you for your company,” he says gravely when I swipe open the door. “Walk in the garden with me tomorrow.”
“If I have no duties to perform,” I reply stolidly.
“It was merely a request, not an order.” His face cracks into a weary smile. “I thought to give you an excuse to shirk your duties for a moment to keep company with an old man. To enjoy the garden with me without fear of being scolded. And without fear of an importunate guard.”
I turn and look him right in the eyes. Kargans take this as a challenge. The Emperor would have me put to death for daring to look at him. “Why?”
This Kargan does not seem to mind my direct gaze or my plain-speaking. “Because you are a friend of the prince. And there will come a time when he will need every friend he has.”
Over the next weeks, I see him again. I will be walking along the corridor and he will come and walk beside me. If ever I go into the garden, I am sure to meet with him.
I come to appreciate his quiet presence. Especially when I have to pass any of the rowdier guards. The rumor has clearly spread that I attacked one of their own and caused him to be whipped. The nastier ones send me dark glances and mutter amongst themselves when I pass by.
Luckily for me, the presence of the older Kargan by my side mutes their muttering. His presence protects me as even the presence of Prince Khan does not.
Gradually, the few words we exchange turn into conversations.
“My name is Caidgrath,” he says one morning, as we walk through the garden in the early morning light. With the red sun just peeking over the horizon and the dusty red earth dampened by the morning dew, it is my favorite time of day.
“I know.” I asked Litha who he was after the first time I met him. One of the Emperor’s oldest councilors, but with a reputation for fairness, or so Litha claimed. He had tutored the Emperor and his sister when they were young, and the Emperor still thought fondly of him, which accounted for how he had survived for so long in a position of some power.
Once, on hearing me mention Caidgrath’s name, Prince Khan made an odd face, as if he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.
Caidgrath paces beside me, one hand ruffling the dark green leaves of a tall hedge covered in flowers. Tiny petals fell to the ground as he passes. “I thought you must.”
I scuffle a patch of red dust with my bare heels. I enjoy his company. I want
to consider him a friend. I want to trust him, but I am not sure that I can. Trusting someone is dangerous in this place, and he is part of the Emperor’s inner circle. “You advise the Emperor on state affairs.”
“I advise the Emperor on all things to do with our planet. Others have far more expertise in such things as interplanetary alliances and mining and trade, but I am more concerned with the situation in our own territories. With our own people.”
“You have a lot to be concerned about then.” I meant it to be a casual comment, but it came out almost as an accusation.
“You do not care for the way in which the Emperor runs the planet?” His voice is cool and even, as if he is not inciting me to voice my treasonous thoughts.
“I did not say that,” I break in hastily. If he were to tell the Emperor that I criticized him, then I am as good as done for.
“But you meant it.” Cool, calm. Implacable.
“I am a slave.” I hesitate for just long enough before adding, “so whatever I mean counts for nothing.”
“And you do not wish to remain a slave?”
“Does anyone?”
He reaches out and touches me, tilting my chin so that my eyes are forced to meet his. “When Prince Khan is Emperor, will you remain a slave then?”
“I do not know.” That is the truth, and it terrifies me. “I hope not.”
“But while our current Emperor is alive, you have no hope.”
I nod.
“Think on that,” he says and walks off abruptly, leaving me staring after him in the garden, wondering exactly what he was trying to tell me.
That afternoon, the Queen calls me to her bedside. She has not called for me since I first saw her. Litha tends to her, and I keep out of the way and carry out whatever tasks Litha chooses to set for me.
Today, however, Litha comes to find me where I am cleaning and sterilizing some of her simpler pieces of equipment to tell me that the Queen has asked for me by name.
I hurry to her room. I hate to think what she wants of me. I’m terrified to find out. But I’m even more terrified about what she might do to me if I am late.
I am shocked at her appearance. She has grown noticeably frailer since I last saw her.
Propped up on an expanse of pillows, with her sparse hair around her shoulders, she looks wizened and shrunk, as if her body has tired of taking up so much space.
Her eyes, clouded now, search mine. “Caidgrath tells me you are brave.”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
Her fingers twitch on the coverlet. “You heard me. I need not repeat myself.”
Her tart tone is more like what I was expecting. I bow my head so she cannot see my thoughts in my eyes. “That is kind of him.”
She makes a rude noise. Not the sort of noise you would expect a Queen to make at all, and I have to stifle a giggle at the sound. “Was it kind? Or is he honest? You took a whipping to protect Litha.”
Suddenly I don’t want to giggle anymore. “I did not know I would be whipped.” I roll my shoulders. The cuts are healed but the memory of the pain lingers on. “And for sure I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”
That makes her give a faint chuckle. “And would you do it again?”
I think of Litha helpless and pinned against the wall and I do not hesitate. “Yes, I would.” Only next time I would make sure that Yefrik got the edge of my knife in his groin first. If I was going to be whipped, I would make it worthwhile.
“Then you are brave.” She gives a short cough, then leans over to take a sip from her water glass. “Caidgrath is a good man. He has my son’s best interests at heart.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I cannot think of anything else to say.
“That is all.” She waves me away again. “Off you go then. Send Litha back in.”
That evening I am walking back to the room I share with Litha when I see Caidgrath approach me from the opposite direction. His gait is unsteady and one of his hands trails along the wall to help him keep his balance.
He wobbles to a stop in front of me. “Will you take a message to Prince Khan for me?” His voice is so low I can only just make out his words.
“Are you feeling okay?” Now that he is close, I can see what a mess he is in. His eyes are bloodshot, and his forehead is covered in sweat. “Can I call a healer for you?”
He tries to give me a reassuring smile, but it looks more like a grimace of pain. “I’m fine. Fine.” He scrabbles in his shirt and brings out a tiny disk. “Will you take this to the Prince?”
Gingerly, I pick it off the palm of his hand. “Sure.” It is a small enough errand to run for him, and truly, he does not look well at all.
“You must not give it to anyone else or let anyone see that you have it.”
“Or I’ll get another whipping?”
I meant my words as a joke, but he does not take them that way. “Or you’ll get a lot worse than a whipping. Quick, go.”
I nod politely though inside I am screaming. What has Caidgrath gotten me into? What have I gotten myself into by not studiously ignoring him and thinking he just wanted to be my friend? Clearly my real use is that I am close to the Queen and can have access to Prince Khan whenever I please.
I stop by my own room and pick out a couple of choice fruits from the Queen’s private store. She has not eaten any for days and will not miss them. They will serve as a good excuse to visit the prince.
Every step I make towards the Khan’s quarters is a torture as I force myself to resist the temptation to break out into a run. That would for sure tell anyone who is watching that something is wrong.
There is a guard posted outside the door to Khan’s apartments again. There often is. It’s one of the nasty ones today. A friend of Yefrik’s who bears me a grudge for spoiling Yefrik’s pretty face and getting him into trouble. “What do you want?” he hisses at me as I approach.
I face him down. “The Queen sent me with a gift for her son.”
He holds out a greedy hand. “Give it to me. I’ll take it to him.”
I look him up and down coolly. “Yes, I’m quite sure you would.” Sarcasm bleeds through my voice. “But my orders are to give it into Prince Khan’s hands. Not to a guard.”
His face flushes. I know he meant to take the gift for himself, and he knows I know it. “Take it to him then and be quick about it.”
He opens the door a crack and I sidle past him, out of reach of his grasping hands, ignoring the dirty looks he throws my way.
Prince Khan is in his apartments when I burst in, slightly out of breath from facing down the guard. He is hunched over a screen, and his eyes are hollow in his face and his chin is stubbled. When he sees me, his face brightens. “What do you want, little human?”
“My name is Faye,” I remind him. “And your mother sent a gift for you.” I hold out the fruits I took.
He takes them, his hand trembling. “Did she send a message?”
I shake my head. Khan looks pretty shit, too, if you ask me. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Still the most beautiful Kargan I have ever seen, but not up to his usual standards. “Your mother misses you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m under house arrest. Again.” He gestures to the door with the guard on the other side. “He has orders not to let me out. I’m surprised he let you in.”
“I’m only a slave. A human. A nothing,” I remind him bitterly. “I can hardly pose a threat. Which reminds me.” I hold out my other hand towards him. “Caidgrath gave this to me to give to you,” I say softly. “I am worried about him. He doesn’t look well.”
His eyes shoot up to meet mine. “And you took it from him?” he hisses at me. “You realize what would happen to you if you were caught?”
“Much worse than a whipping, apparently. That’s what Caidgrath said.”
He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it so that it sticks out at all angles like feathers on a duck’s bum. “My mother didn’t send that fruit to me, did she?”
I shrug an
d pull up a chair next to him. He doesn’t expect me to act like a slave. Perhaps because when I am with him, I do not feel the need and so I don’t. “I took it from her store. I needed an excuse to come here. That seemed the easiest.”
He looks at the tiny disc as if it were a bomb about to explode. “He should never have asked you to take it.”
“Well, he did.” I toss it lightly onto the table in front of him. “And now I’ve given it to you.”
“Why did he trust you?”
I shrug. “I guess I just have that kind of face that makes people think I’m honest.” And I can see it clearly now. He has been watching me for weeks, probing my loyalties, wondering whether he can use me.
Khan picks it up and tucks it into the side of his screen. Immediately a series of images comes to life. A cluster of topological maps. Schematics of some kind of machinery. A floor plan. Lists and lists of numbers that look vaguely like international phone numbers or Internet addresses. I have no idea what any of it means, but clearly Khan does.
The meaning of the last few images, however, is unmistakable. A group of unsmiling Kargans, male and female, wearing a motley uniform and holding an assortment of weapons.
“Your friends?” I ask Khan. They are clearly freedom fighters. Or terrorists, depending on your viewpoint. Naturally, given that I am a slave here, I’ll stick with freedom fighters.
He shrugs. “They would be. If I could ever get out of here and fight alongside them. But they are more likely to be the death of me.”
“You will never win if you keep hiding away in your rooms. If you don’t fight.”
“What can I do?” Frustration rolls off his voice in waves. “I am kept a prisoner here. There is a guard on my door to prevent me from leaving. And my mother…” He breaks off and runs his hands through his hair.