“There are two of Senator Harvine’s staff waiting for the Leen.”
Her voice is tight when she asks, “And cybertulres?”
“Two dozen.”
She nods and straightens. “Upon docking, initiate shut down. No one is allowed access to the Leen. Dump all records.”
“Ill advised.”
She snarls a curse, and Tin looks up from the computer. “The records are clean.”
Some of the steel slips from her spine and she nods, relief washing over her. She glances over her shoulder at me, and smiles, a tiny, sharp smile. “Ready?”
I swallow hard and nod. The Leen bumps ominously before coming to a rest. I hear muffled voices, the shriek of spacecraft whistling overhead. I can feel hundreds of thousands of souls, all of them buffeting me like a tiny piece of driftwood on a wave, tossed in a sudden maelstrom of emotion.
I gasp, and Sadi is at my side, so quickly I am not sure when she moved. I want to shake her off but there is a game to play and I am desperate. The cool quiet of her mind is a bliss that I hide in. She shivers as my psyche brushes hers, deeper than I have before. I breathe, focusing on the emptiness, forcing the other minds away, forcing my gifts away until they fade into a constant white noise that I can ignore.
“You okay?” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my skin. There’s an intense intimacy about this—about my mind wrapping around hers. It would take nothing at all to alter everything about her—I shove the thought down.
There are lines I won’t cross. Instead I squeeze her hand and ignore the jolt of her psyche as I flash her a weak smile.
“I’m fine.”
“We can wait, if you need,” she offers. I straighten, wincing as pain lances through my head. I grit my teeth and shake my head, pulling away from her mentally.
Looping her arm through mine, she plasters herself to my side, startling me, and gives Tin a miniscule nod. I don’t have time to protest before the ramp slides open.
We step off the Leen into a balmy summer. I have a heartbeat to take it in—the wide open space dock, the soaring arches of the city, the pale violet sky, the exotic birds and colors, the distant palaces and the monstrosity that can only be the Capitol building, where the vast Senate sits and decides the fates of people across the galaxy.
And then a vid screen is in front of me, and questions are being shouted, an incoherent babble. Sadi is being swarmed by the screens, tiny and pecking. Somehow, they pull me away from her, and I shove my mind out, pushing aside the psyches around me as I reclaim her arm, pulling her into my embrace. She lets a smile turn her lips and goes on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
The silence is stunning. Sadi settles back on her feet. “I would like to introduce my consort, Juhan’tr of Eleyiar. I’m sure you have questions, and we will give one interview. Please speak to Tinex about that.”
I try to ignore my anger and the unmoving screens as she laces our fingers and tugs me to where the Senator’s people are waiting.
“Hello, Larkin,” she says coolly, kissing the older man on the cheek.
“Sadi. Your father expected you home some days ago.”
She pauses, her head tilted. “I was...detained.”
The small bald man has a neat air about him, and I let my mind brush his. A man of order and rules, who lives by lists and knowledge—and one completely thrown by my appearance.
I have no place in the Senator’s neatly ordered life, and Larkin doesn’t like intrusions.
“Is there a problem, Larkin?” Sadi asks, her voice silky.
He visibly flinches, shakes his head. “Then let’s go home,” she suggests, a smile curving her lips. Interesting—his reaction has me curious.
Tinex is behind us, a large shadow. And behind him, the vid screens, the cybertulres. “They won’t be happy with just one interview, Sadi,” he rumbles as we enter a small planet-bound hoover craft.
“They’ll have to be,” she says simply, leaning against me.
“Ms. Renult, the Senator is not pleased with you,” the other man says, the first time he has spoken. Sadi stills in my arms, and I feel a slight shudder go through her as I glance over at him. He’s unremarkable, of average height and looks, thin but muscular—someone easily overlooked. Dark eyes, pale skin and hair pulled back in a knot at the back of his neck, he has the relaxed air of a man in complete control—but his mind is a blank slate.
“When is he ever happy with me, Brando?” she asks lightly.
Brando stares at her, his expression blank. “He won’t like you talking to the press.”
She shrugs, and the tiny craft lapses into silence, broken only by occasional electronic noises from the auto-pilot. Brando closes his eyes, so emotionless I am somewhat surprised to see him breathing. I wonder if this is where Sadi learned to lock her emotions away—although, she seems almost afraid of him, so maybe not.
“Where is Papa today?” she asks suddenly.
“A meeting with the ambassadors from the Lyern system,” Larkin answers promptly, as if the schedule of such a busy man is something he has memorized. Sadi doesn’t shift, but I feel her mind, waiting just outside my mental walls.
Whatever else she does, Sadiene Renult respects the etiquette of mental speech.
-Father is going to be furious.-
I lean my head against hers, closing my eyes as I feel Brando staring. -You expected that. Even wanted it,- I answer, challenging.
-Of course. But he’ll try to separate us. And I need you to stick to the story,- Sadi says, a hint of steel filling her aura.
-Is that an order to your slave, lady?- I ask, and I don’t bother to hide my anger.
She flinches, and I feel the tension that fills both Tin and Brando as she pulls away, mentally and physically.
Guiltily, I reach for her mind, but she’s walled herself off, rising to stand as the craft slows.
“Come on, Juhan. Might as well face the music,” she says, her voice light and cheerful. There is nothing in her voice that hints at being angry or hurt.
Brando’s eyes, cold and untrusting, follow me as I rise, as she links her arm through mine, and we step off the shuttle craft.
The Senator’s estate is spacious, a wide swatch a green grass and flowering fruit trees bordering the landing strip. The smell of ripe fruit and something pungent that I can’t identify hangs heavy in the air, like a blanket I can wrap around me.
As we enter the mansion--a large white house with elegant columns and lavish arches--a shriek fills the air and a human girl races down the marble stairs to throw herself at Sadi. For a half-second, I expect Tin to stop her. Brando relaxes.
A wave of pure adoration hits me, so thick I almost gag. Sadi is laughing, rubbing the girl’s back, and there is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes as she kisses her mop of curly black hair.
“Have you been behaving?”
The girl’s head pops up, and she grins, lighting up her tiny face and brown eyes, “Hell, no. Daddy is ready to kill me.” The smile turns smug. “Or he was. You’re here now, so I’m the good daughter again.”
“That bad?” Sadi teases and the girl’s—her sister’s—emotions swing abruptly to worry.
“Worse.”
“Then you better scoot before he yells at me. Go,” Sadi says, squeezing her sister again. “We’ll find you after I’m done.”
The sister’s eyes rake over me curiously. But she doesn’t say anything as she slips away.
“Is he in his office?” Sadi asks Larkin and the assistant bobs his head. She starts down the hall, and Brando silently shadows us, Tin trailing behind him. Irritation flashes across her for a heartbeat and she turns, snapping, “I don’t need an escort.”
Brando doesn’t answer, just stares at her impassively. It’s a silent battle of wills, and her nails dig in my arm as it stretches on for a long tense moment.
A door behind us opens, and a quiet, deep voice says, “I’ll take it from here, Brando.”
The other man doesn’t even nod, just tu
rns silently and walks back out the front door. Tin glances at Sadi as he follows.
Sadi stares after them for a heartbeat, and her wave of longing hits me, hard and fast, gone before I can fully grasp it. My hand tightens around hers and she looks up, a smile turning her lips.
The Senator clears his throat, and she blushes. I wonder if it’s from true embarrassment or if she is playing him. Without pushing her, I can’t tell. I’d bet the latter—I’m beginning to think she’s playing a game as much as I am.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she says, slipping past him and towing me into the sun-drenched depths of the Senator’s private sanctum.
The bookcases make me stumble. Books—real paper, printed words—have been obsolete for centuries. It’s a staggering display of wealth: the walls of books, the leather bindings, the cracked plastics. My fingers itch to touch them, and I clench them closed, resisting the impulse as I follow her to the couch and chairs.
The Senator sits in an overstuffed antique chair. A cluttered table next to it holds a small computer, a comm link, a tablet display. He’s watching me, and I force a smile. I hope I don’t look as queasy as I feel.
“What did you do, Sadi?” he asks finally, sounding tired.
“Why is it always my fault?” she complains and he arches an eyebrow. She huffs. “Fine. I met Juhan just before I was to leave Faculatas. He saved me when I was rock climbing near the Academy and fell. I suppose I fell in love with him then—although, we have spent a lot of time together since. He even took me to Eleyiar.”
My gaze drifts over the books as she rattles out the story we have concocted. Her emotions are still choked off, but I can feel the doubt rolling off the Senator in waves, and I shift, moving closer to her, perching on the arm of her chair. Surprise fills him briefly—he’s not as good at guarding his emotions as his daughter. Or he is deliberately letting me feel them.
“Do you have anywhere to stay, Juhan?” he asks, twisting to look at me.
“Sir?”
“Daddy, he’ll stay with me. You know how some of the other politicos and their staff can be. Power hungry game players, all of them.” Sadi says the words lightly, but they produce the desired reaction. His emotions darkens.
“And when you go back to the Faculatas? You still have a year at the Academy.” he asks quietly.
“I’m not sure I’m going back,” she says cheerfully.
Not go back to school? I look at her, shocked. “Sadi, you—”
She squeezes my hand and I go still, following her gaze back to her father. He is quiet—too quiet for comfort, watching us. He shakes himself very slightly. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“Or we won’t,” she says, and the humor is gone from her voice. He frowns.
Sadi rises, goes to his side, leans down to kiss him. He catches her gaze, and she goes utterly still, as he murmurs, “I don’t believe you, Sadi. Do not for a moment think I buy this lie.”
She smiles, tight and challenging. “I’m hurt, Daddy.”
He breathes a laugh and she straightens. “Juhan can stay in the family wing?” she says, already striding away.
A deep chuckle fills the room as he stands, and he says, amused, “Unless you want him staying with Brando and Tin.”
The emotions that boil in her make me stumble, a slight misstep. The Senator grips my arm, steadying me, and I am suddenly flooded with his emotions: doubt and fear and worry. It happens too fast for me stop it. I can’t break free as he stares into my eyes. -I’ll find out what she’s doing. You should tell me the truth. Sadi may have good intentions, but she always ends up with broken toys.-
Without thinking, I slap his mind down, furious, slamming my mental walls up.
I feel him recoil, watch his features tighten, but I don’t care. My voice is hard as I speak. “I’m not a toy, Senator, not your daughter’s, and certainly not yours. Keep your mind away from me.”
It’s the truest thing I’ve said since she bought me.
I don’t wait for Sadi to respond, don’t wait for the apology I feel rising in the Senator—the very least that he can offer after his mental assault—something that would never have happened if I had my walls in place. I was being lazy, and I’m not sure if I’m more furious with him for the assault or myself for allowing it. I stalk out the door, and up the spiral staircase. Distantly, I can feel Tin’s worry. She’ll want to go to him, confer with him, and I want desperately to get away from the stifling room behind me.
I can hear her talking to the Senator, almost yelling. Then the rush of feet, and her mind, calling out to me. I’m tempted to ignore her, but I slow.
-I’m sorry,- she says, soft and ineffectual.
I wonder if she realizes how insulting it is, to have someone shove their thoughts on me without warning or regard for my mental boundaries. If she knows how violated it makes me feel. It’s shocking—and it shouldn’t be. Somehow, I’ve let my slave owner lull me into a false sense of security. She’s good at this—better than I expected.
Maybe that is what so infuriating.
She places a gentle hand on my arm, pulling me to a stop, and her bright brown eyes search my face. “Juhan, I am sorry,” she says again, softly. Her emotions are banked, held off, but I can feel the regret in them.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and tension eases out of me as well. “It’s not your fault. And not unexpected.”
Anger flickers in her eyes. “Still not acceptable.”
I nod, and we move forward. “It is what it is. Come on; let’s find Tin.”
Chapter 11
Chosi’le
WE ARRIVE AT THE jakta the tenth day after the auction.
The entire time we were in space, Kristoff kept me separated from the others, training me as best he could with limited secrecy and space while the other mentors put their new slaves through holostims. Each session ended with me bleeding after balking at some miniscule command. And when we couldn’t train, he’d remove my commtrans and talk to me in Pentese until I began to understand. That I can read his emotion and intent, even without his words, helps. I can hear it in my dreams, waking Kristoff with my mumbling.
I am sitting on my bunk, polishing the wooden practice sword I’ve been using when I feel the pressure of the air change. It’s heavy in a way that space isn’t, thick with minds that are foreign. I take a deep breath, struggling to push them away, wishing Juhan were here, throwing up next to me as we entered the atmosphere. Kristoff strides into our little cabin—something I learned that not all the mentors were given—smiling, and I look at him warily. “What?”
“We’re here. Just entered orbit. We’ll eat at the jakta tonight.”
I pause, then resume polishing. “And what happens then?”
Kristoff shrugs. “Training. The conditioning we’ve done will help you some—you’ll be able to keep up with the other glads.”
I try to ignore his words, extending the wooden practice hurkya. Kristoff takes it and slides it beneath his bunk then sits next to me as I begin oiling the whip.
Our first lesson was weapon care. And it’s soothing, handling my weapons. Repetition calms my mind. “I’ve been thinking about what Deevid said,” Kristoff says presently, and I swing a glance at him.
“And?”
“I need more time,” he says, frowning thoughtfully. I roll my eyes and he nudges my leg. “Put that away—come see the jakta.”
For a moment, I consider disobeying—but I do want to see. I stow the whip with my hurkya and follow my mentor to the main viewfinder, a massive screen that displays a panoramic view of Pente. It’s crowded with new slaves and their mentors and one of the new slaves—a craggy-skinned, hostile Crathian—aims a blow at my stomach as I go by. It’s a glancing blow but it catches me off balance and I stumble. Kristoff jerks around, punching him in the throat. The Crathian falls back, gagging.
“Keep your hands off my slave, Josiah,” he snarls at the slave’s mentor.
“Play by the same rules the rest of us
do,” the mentor snaps back, glowering. He’s a big black human, and I wonder how he ended up here, and how long ago.
Kristoff laughs. “I don’t play by the rules. I play only to win. Keep your fodder away from her.”
He tucks me close to him, shielding me with his body as a path to the viewfinder clears. I want to ask something; so many questions are on the tip of my tongue that it’s a wonder I don’t choke on them. Kristoff slides a warning glance at me, and I swallow them. I feel the pressure of other Eleyi in my mind, demanding and sharp with their probes, and I shove my mental walls higher, blocking them out.
I force myself to stare out the viewfinder, and it is easy to blank my mind under the sheer beauty of this stark and savage place. A desert stretches into the horizon, every shade of brown and gold glinting in the shifting sand.
In the distance, mountains rise, sharp rock jutting from the unbroken line of desert. A city—Hubri--sprawls to the east, fading as we fly toward the mountains. “Why is the jakta so far from Hubri?” I ask, softly. He shifts in the bubble of space the other slaves have given us—something else that sets Kristoff apart from the mentors. I frown, but he answers before I can really consider it.
“Ja Argot values privacy. If no one knows what they’ll fight, it’s difficult to prepare,” Kristoff answers. “There used to be a few who would attempt to plant spies or buy our people. But once Argot had a few killed on the sands, they stopped.”
He says it without inflection, and I blink at the calmly delivered threat.
I glance around, and notice Prator standing behind us, watching the slaves—watching me. I can feel his curious gaze and cold interest like a wind ruffling my hair. I twitch my wings, drawing a few angry looks.
“We land in half an hour,” Prator says to the crowd. “Gather your gear and prepare to disembark.”
He looks at me once as he turns away, his gaze raking over Kristoff and me. And then he vanishes into the depths of the ship.
I’m not prepared for the heat.
Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) Page 7