“Perhaps you were right, though,” Symeon said without much enthusiasm. “With the emperor calling his banners to form the commonwealth fleet, your father won’t get the chance to initiate a coup.”
“Hope makes for a dangerous bridge.” Kavya turned sad eyes on Symeon.
Don’t tell your father, girl!
“Princess, I implore you, do nothing rash. Your father—”
Kavya waved away his concerns with an impatient flick of her hand. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of even seeing him before the divor. He’s far too busy for the likes of me, and besides, I know telling him wouldn’t solve the problem, it would simply remove me from the equation. I don’t intend to let that happen.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, Princess.”
“All will be well, eh?” Kavya said brightly, though Symeon could tell she was putting on a show for his benefit. “For now, why don’t you walk the ship a bit? I wager some of your old schoolmates are aboard.”
The idea hadn’t crossed Symeon’s mind, but she was probably right. Many from his graduating class had likely ended up serving great houses in Valensk. With so many peers aboard ship, he was bound to find someone he knew.
“What about your lunch, Princess? Wouldn’t you like me to serve it?” Without a full staff at her disposal, and her handmaids off attending to other tasks, the work fell to Symeon. He saw no disgrace in menial service.
“No.” Kavya favored him with a wan smile. “I’m not so hungry after all. Go. Find your old chums and play catch up while you can. Like as not, serving me, you’ll wind up back in exile soon enough.”
* * *
After living in the spacious corridors and expansive galleries afforded him in Vysylka Castle, the Emperor Nikolai ’s tight confines left Symeon feeling claustrophobic. Even on the royal decks, of which there were seven, he was forced to press his back to the wall anytime he passed someone coming the opposite direction.
Bulkhead .
He should use the correct space-faring terms. In the five hours he had spent aboard ship, he had already seen three Luxing accosted by Shorvexan officers for referring to portions of the ship using incorrect terminology. A persnickety lot, these fleet officers. Their enlisted juniors were less so from what Symeon had observed, but none of them appeared pleased by the idea of hosting royals and their Luxing slaves.
Luckily, as Princess Kavya suggested, Symeon had spent much of his time visiting with friends in private spaces well away from the corridors the ship’s crew frequented. He had finished lunch with one such friend only moments ago, a junior seneschal on Count Danyomich Simmbrayastak’s personal staff, and was headed back to Princess Kavya’s apartments when a Shorvexan naval captain turned the corner and nearly ran him over.
“Out of the way you sorry sack of shit,” the captain said, his nose curled up in disgust. “It’s bad enough I have to worry about a metric ton of royals underfoot, I shouldn’t have to deal with cockroaches as well.”
“My apologies, sir.” Symeon dutifully flattened himself against the cold steel of the bulkhead to let the officer pass.
“Who is your master?” The captain demanded, turning back once he had already passed Symeon by. “I’m going to let him know you failed to bow when I gave you a lawful order.”
“I am seneschal to Princess Kavya Rurikid, sir.” Symeon watched the captain’s eyes for the satisfying moment when the name sunk in.
“Think that means something, do you?” The captain pressed close so that their noses almost touched. His breath smelled of mold and sour coffee.
Punch this arrogant bastard in the nose.
The urge almost overwhelmed Symeon’s sense of self-preservation. He stood as tall as the Shorvexan officer who was probably ten years his senior and pudgy. Knocking him flat would be the work of two seconds. Less even. Symeon had won bouts against his type a hundred times over in school.
But those men hadn’t been this captain’s type. They were Luxing, every one of them. To lay a finger on a Shorvex would mean death for Symeon. Possibly at the captain’s hands once he woke up and located a weapon, but if not him, by order of the courts. No Luxing ever attacked one of his betters and retained his life.
Symeon bowed as deeply as the narrow corridor would allow. “Forgive me, Captain. I forgot my place. You are right, of course, I am nothing here.”
Without warning, the captain punched Symeon. The blow connected a couple of centimeters above his jaw and sent a shock wave of pain through his head and neck. Bent as he was, it sent him to his knees. Certainly, he had suffered far more powerful punches in his boxing days, but the surprise of it left him momentarily dazed.
“You’re nothing anywhere, shit for brains.” The captain rubbed his fist on his uniform pants as if touching Symeon had somehow sullied his knuckles. “Don’t go thinking otherwise.”
Rage boiled inside Symeon. Though he had suffered whippings as a young servant on the farm whenever he shirked his duties or got caught filching extra food, his overseers had never meted out this sort of casual brutality. And while Symeon was no fool—he well knew Luxing suffered undeserved beatings every day—he had never experienced it for himself. This went beyond unfairness. It was cruel. And the worst part? Symeon knew he could easily rise up and beat the bile out of this hidebound son of a bitch.
No, you’re right, that would be foolish in the extreme. Show him you’re contrite.
Rather than stand, Symeon genuflected, arms outstretched, nose pressed to cold steel. “Please accept my humblest apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect. I honor your service to the empire which keeps me and my lowly kind safe.”
Apparently mollified, the captain turned on his heels and strode away without another word, his footfalls echoing as he went.
Symeon stood, rubbing the side of his head.
Shorvexan bastard.
Though he would never have allowed himself to think such a thing a month ago, Symeon found he could now think little else of the retreating captain. Even if his people had uplifted the Luxing as the official histories reported, what gave him the right to treat any creature this way? If Symeon were a dog, other Shorvex would condemn the captain for cruelty. He would lose his reputation on the sphere’s social networks. No one would want to associate with him. His career would end. And yet, because Symeon was Luxing, the captain would face no punishment. In fact, he could very well go through with reporting Symeon for failing to render a bow. Symeon doubted Kavya would care, but if he served most any other master, he might be in for a beating or perhaps, worse still, a dismissal from his position as seneschal.
“You wanted to hit him. I saw it in your eyes.”
Symeon spun to find Czarina standing behind him, a short, well-muscled Luxing man by her side.
How does she do that?
“I would never.” Symeon dusted off his pants more to hide his embarrassment than to remove dirt.
“I didn’t say you would.” Czarina’s pretty smile carried all the patronizing her voice didn’t. “I said you wanted to. And I for one don’t blame you. What he did was petty.”
Symeon glanced up and down the corridor for eavesdroppers. “I’d watch my words if I were you.”
“There’s no one to hear me, Symeon. The corridor’s clear.”
Something in Czarina’s tone told him she had a hand in the lack of traffic. He wanted to believe she was bragging—taking credit for happenstance.
But you don’t.
“Who is your friend?” he asked.
“Viktor Zolotukhin, this is the man I’ve been telling you about, Symeon rab Rurikid, Princess Kavya’s newest seneschal.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Seneschal.” Viktor spoke in a deep voice despite his short stature. He shook Symeon’s hand, his grip firm and self-assured.
“Czarina is too liberal with her titles. I’ve served the princess less than a month, I make no claim to the appellation rab Rurikid.”
“Viktor and I are having drinks with a few friends,” Czar
ina said. “Join us.”
“Another time, perhaps. I was on my way to check in with the Princess.”
“Kavya is well. I was with her less than an hour ago. She’s having a nap and won’t miss you. Come. You’ll want to meet our friends I think.”
Symeon hesitated, suddenly on his guard. “What is this, Czarina?”
“This is an invitation, Seneschal. One you really should accept.”
“There are your kind aboard?” Symeon avoided saying the word Wuxia, but he could tell by the knowing smile that creased Czarina’s lips she understood his meaning.
“Our kind, Symeon, yes. I think it’s time you learned something more of your heritage, don’t you?”
* * * * *
Chapter 12
Czarina and Viktor led Symeon down three levels and across what felt like half the ship without speaking a word. They passed few people along the way. Those they did were all Luxing. Curious that. Plenty of slaves traveled alone on errands, nothing strange there, but the fact that Symeon encountered not one Shorvex on a ship filled with them made him stare about in wonder.
They passed through a reinforced door marked Gymnasium and entered the largest space Symeon had experienced on board. While not so tall or wide as gyms he frequented back on Phoenix, after the close confines of the ship’s passageways, the simple expanse made him feel like a prisoner drawing in his first breath of freedom.
Barbells, dumbbells, and various weight machines described the space, all of it surrounding a caged ring set up for martial arts practice. Luxing used every bit of it, including the cage, which came as a shock to Symeon. His kind were forbidden grappling and joint manipulation fighting.
“Impressed?” Czarina called over her shoulder as she led the three of them toward the cage.
“This isn’t allowed.” Symeon realized how simple, how lame, he sounded the instant those words passed his lips. A couple of buff Luxing men performing free weight squats rolled their eyes at him.
Czarina made a derisive sound. “What is? Come here, I want you to meet someone.”
She bustled past a group of men and women performing some sort of calisthenics that involved holding awkward poses and stretching. It didn’t look like much of a challenge to a former boxer, until he noticed how their muscles shook and their skin glistened with sweat.
Three pairs of men occupied the ring. They wore thick outfits of gray or black that tied in the front with wide sleeves and pant legs which afforded them freedom of movement. Rolling back and forth, each man tried to outmaneuver his partner by applying various holds.
Symeon narrowed his eyes for a better view through the steel cage. He had seen zyudo competitions before. The sport was popular with the common Shorvex of southern Valensk. Having never tried it himself, he didn’t know much about the discipline except that certain moves were deemed illegal. From what he could tell, nearly every move these men made fell into that category.
Might be fun.
“Aren’t they afraid of getting caught doing that?” Symeon asked, his gaze straying to the gymnasium door which, thankfully, remained shut, despite his expectation that a Shorvexan security detail would come busting through any second.
“Don’t worry about that,” said an older Luxing dressed in a blue version of the fighters’ uniform. “All our masters know where we are. They won’t come looking. We meet for exercise this time daily.”
“Symeon,” Czarina said, “this is Nikita. He’s...” She raised a quizzical eyebrow at the older man.
“I am, for want of a better term, the current leader of the Wuxia, in that we have any one leader.” Nikita grinned and shrugged, the collective expressions self-deprecating, and anything but pompous.
“Amongst the Wuxia, he is known as Liu Fang,” Czarina said, pride in her voice. “It’s a name he took from ancient records about our people.”
A woman’s name. Wonder if he knows that?
“Fragmented records, I’m afraid.” Nikita—Fang—bowed formally to Symeon. “So much of our history is lost, I fear we’ll likely never know it all, but I like the idea of taking a new name from old records. It makes me feel at one with our ancestors.”
Symeon returned the bow, dismissing his random thoughts about the name. How would he know anything about ancient Luxing naming conventions anyway? He didn’t. His imagination was running wild today. Stress, no doubt.
“I get the feeling, sir, you wanted to speak with me,” Symeon said. “Otherwise, Czarina wouldn’t have gone to such pains to bring me here.”
“Perceptive,” Fang said with a nod. “Your position as seneschal to the princess makes you of interest to the Wuxia, Symeon. I’m sure you’ve already realized that, eh?”
“Through Czarina’s loving ministrations, yes.”
Czarina’s grin could have melted glass with its prideful heat. “I think I’ll have a roll while I’m here. You don’t mind, do you, Fang?”
“Of course not, girl. Join her, Viktor. I’d like to work on your escapes while we still have the gym.”
The two of them hustled off to separate changing areas.
“Am I to assume you’re trying to recruit me, sir?” Symeon asked.
“Yep.” Fang ran a hand through the short, gray bristles on his head. “Zheng! You know better than to let him slip your hold like that. Next time, hook his elbow and keep your hips high.”
“Do you kill me if I refuse?” Symeon asked in a low voice.
“No.” Fang turned to face Symeon, frowning. “If you try to out us, though...” He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t like threats. They’re foul air in my opinion. Besides, Czarina says you’re a man possessed of a caring heart, and that you’re learning to see the truth of things. Is that so?”
“Is there a difference between learning to see and having a vision foisted upon me?”
Fang laughed. “In the end? No. Tell me, how does it feel, learning that our slavery is based on lies?”
“I didn’t want to believe it at first.”
“Most don’t. Shows how completely we were controlled by status. How about now? Do you believe?”
Symeon looked around at the Luxing gathered about the room taking exercise and enjoying each other’s company. It reminded him of his days in school where nearly every face he saw belonged to a Luxing. “I’m beginning to. Kavya certainly believes it.”
“She isn’t the first Shorvex to unknowingly take up the Wuxia cause, but she’s certainly the most prominent. Her support may well prove pivotal in the coming days and years.”
Czarina and Viktor returned dressed in their own sparring outfits and joined the men in the cage. Despite her smaller size, Czarina made no complaints, setting about rolling against the first man ready to go. She couldn’t match his strength. That much became immediately evident when he forced her into a compromised position with his legs around her waist and arms trapping her upper torso. He mimed landing a couple of elbows to show he could, only to be surprised when she surged upward like a spider climbing a wall to get past his legs.
The man is stronger, yes, but not quicker.
Symeon marveled at the sense of pride he felt when Czarina feinted a grab for her opponent’s collar only to sink some kind of complicated hold on his right arm. In seconds, he was tapping her ankle, and she let him up.
“That would never be allowed in zyudo,” Symeon said.
“And that is why she wins.” Fang turned to gaze at Symeon. “You’re close to the princess. She trusts you, because you haven’t betrayed her. You seem disposed to serve her well. Is that a fair estimation?”
“All she wants is peace and to help our people whatever way she can. How could I destroy her life for that?”
“Good.” Fang pointed a finger at Symeon. “I couldn’t have said it better. It’s the way we of the Wuxia feel about her.”
“It was you who arranged for the heirs to attend the divor.”
“Yes. No small feat that,” Fang said, his gaze on the combatants.
&nbs
p; “How are you powerful enough to change a thousand years of tradition?”
“There exists two sorts of power in our world, Symeon. The power of the master over the slave, which is brutal, iron hard, undeniable. And the power of the slave over the master, which is subtle, feather light, and mutable. Of the two, the master’s power appears strongest, and it is in the near term, but the slave’s power is influence applied over days, years, even centuries.”
“Luxing slavery has lasted a millennium,” Symeon countered, his tone dry.
“Yes, but has it changed?”
Symeon shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. This wasn’t the sort of thing a Luxing learned in school. “I don’t know. I haven’t studied it. I know it hasn’t in the last twenty years.”
“It has changed only insomuch as we have changed it. Every wealthy, powerful family in the entire system owns slaves, and therefore we own influence. There was once a time when murdering Luxing meant about as much to the crown as shooting rats in a basement. Now, a Shorvex will serve jail time and pay restitution to the dead slave’s family if the courts deem it a wrongful death.”
“I thought that had always been a law.”
“The Wuxia saw it enacted seventy-six years ago.”
“In fairness, that’s a long time ago, sir.”
“In fairness, I did say a feather, yes?”
Symeon smiled. “And so now you’re moving again, trying to head off Grand Duke Alexei’s coup. This seems far more decisive than changing laws.”
Viktor joined the fighting in the ring. He too overcame his opponent in a handful of moves, catching him in a painful sort of knee lock that made Symeon’s lower stomach clench.
“One of the Wuxia’s greatest problems is a lack of organization,” Fang said. “Any one group is only loosely affiliated with another. This is a terrible weakness, one I plan to remedy in my lifetime. I think, with Kavya’s help—and yours, Symeon—we might find ways to strengthen our network. At this point, we’re far too vulnerable to reveal ourselves to the broader empire, but if we could reach every Luxing in the system, we could wield enough power to fight. It’s a long term dream, but it starts here and now. I would like for you to be a part of that.”
Salvage Mind (Salvage Race Book 1) Page 10