Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1)

by Nazarea Andrews

  “Because they are draken. They are wild and unpredictable and you need a way to control them.”

  I blink at him. Does he really think they can be controlled? Even by a laser harness? Nothing can control a creature as immense and powerful as Miwya, and the others follow him because he is like a father. The patriarch of the clutch.

  I shake the thoughts, flushing when I realize Prator is still watching me, still holding out that damn harness like I will use it.

  “I don’t need it,” I repeat, and his eyes harden.

  “This isn’t an option, Brielle. You need to train them with it, get them accustomed to it before the upcoming Eclipse Games.”

  I open my mouth to argue, and he arches an eyebrow, his eyes empty and cold, his psyche crawling with emotions that make me want to hide. I close my mouth with a snap and nod.

  “Ja Argot wants the big black in the arena for the Eclipse,” Prator says. I nod—I had expected it, and we’re ready. As ready as we can be, for something like this.

  “I like you, Brielle,” he says, and there is something in his voice that makes me nervous. Jemes is watching. I motion for him to leave and his expression tightens. “Go,” I snap, and Prator steps back, watching in amusement as my aide stalks off.

  “He’s very protective,” he says lightly.

  “What do you want?” I demand, ignoring it.

  He moves, faster than I expect, catching my shoulders in a tight grip, his lips on mine. They’re curiously soft, at odds with the hardness that is Prator, but as they move over my lips, I struggle not to gag. I twist out of his grip and glare at him, just stopping myself before I slap him.

  Prator laughs, the sound crawling down my spine and I suppress a shudder. “There are benefits,” he says, “to warming my bed. Protection, elevated status. It’s not so bad.”

  He runs a finger down my arm, catches my hand in his and brings it up to kiss. A gentle gesture for a violent man. I pull away and shake my head. “No.”

  He smiles, confident. “I will wait.”

  Without another word he turns away, leaving me with my skin crawling and a laser harness that makes me want to vomit.

  Juhan would kill him. No matter how passive and disgustingly Eleyi my brother can be, he would kill Prator for touching me. The thought is somehow reassuring, and I take a deep breath, looking out at the sand dunes and rocks, shaded by the mountain.

  When I rejoin Jemes, he’s bloody from slaughtered bovine. We’re quiet while we work, feeding the draken and cleaning the cave. Miwya watches me, and I absently wonder what he senses in my mind. I don’t really want to know. Not so soon after Prator’s words and kiss.

  The draken settled for the day, I lead the way out of the cave.

  “What did he want?” Jemes asks and I sigh, shake my head. He catches my arm, and I flinch a little. Anger and hurt fill him before he walls them away. He is better at hiding his emotions now. Living with a psychic will do that.

  “He wants me to use the harness,” I say. Jemes nods, and I catch his hand. “I won’t do it.”

  He looks down at me, a protest rising in him, and I stare at him, at his pale blue eyes. “I won’t do it, Jemes,” I repeat and he nods slowly. I’m not talking about the harness anymore, and he knows it. He squeezes my hand, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

  “Come on, Brielle. We’ll be missed if we’re much later,” he says affectionately.

  Kristoff catches us as we enter the dining hall. “You’re late.”

  “Prator kept me,” I say.

  That makes him pause, and I can feel him, his gaze on me and his psyche curious. “Come with me,” he says, and he tugs me from the dining hall.

  “Kristoff, I’m hungry!”

  “Jemes, get her food,” He throws the order over a shoulder and hauls me from the dining hall.

  “What is it?” I demand, but he ignores me until we reach the medhall. Jenalle looks unsurprised, clearly waiting for us.

  “Spread your wings,” she orders brusquely. Bemused, I do as she says, and she stands on tiptoes, her fingers carefully probing my blunt wingtips. There is a ghost of pain, the echo of feeling, where something should be and isn’t.

  It’s how I feel when I think of Juhan.

  “She’s healed nicely,” Jenalle says with a satisfied smile. Kristoff is watching me, his eyes bright.

  I snap my wings closed, and cross my arms. “Why am I missing dinner? I spent all day on the sands—I’m hungry.”

  “Deevid sent something you want to see,” Kristoff says, and I pause, remembering the arms dealer we met after the auction.

  He unrolls a bundle of steel cloth, and with a clatter of metal, they fall out. I gasp as they glitter under the bright lights of the medhall, reach to touch them.

  “Careful,” Kristoff cautions. “They’re weapons—razor-edged.”

  I laugh. Of course Deevid would make something this lovely to be deadly.

  “Want to try them on?” Kristoff asks, and I hear the grin in his voice, but I manage to ignore his gentle teasing as I nod. He positions the metal tips easily, and I almost shudder at the strangely familiar weight as he straps them on.

  When I stand, let my wings unfurl, the silver metal glitters and I know they are just as dangerous as Kristoff says. Wingtips, lovely and curving, the sharp edges close to what I have missed. “Will I fly with them?” I ask, and Kristoff hesitates.

  “No. They’re too heavy. They’re for show—for spectacle and weaponry,” he says. I nod, trying to hide my disappointment.

  “Thank Deevid for me,” I say.

  Jenalle won’t rest until she’s examined me, checking for strain, and I submit to it without complaint. I’m happy just to feel the slight weight. She murmurs quietly to herself as she bends my wings and orders me to fold and flex and relax. I cut my shoulder with the sharp edge, and hiss a curse, swinging my wings back as I reach for the thin wound. Janell laughs, quiet. “You’ll need to be careful.”

  I give her a wry look. “It’ll take some time to get used to them—and the weight of them.”

  She nods, and helps me remove the wingtips, stowing them safely away.

  As Kristoff walks with me back to the dining hall, he touches my arm, “Tomorrow, Ja will announce who will fight at the Eclipse.”

  I nod. “Prator told me he wants the black draken.”

  He frowns. “Are you ready for it?”

  “I think so. He trusts me, and with that, I can do a lot. But it’s hard to prepare for spectacle when I don’t know what we’ll fight.”

  “There is a rumor,” Kristoff says quietly, and I feel the hesitation and curiosity in his psyche, “that Prator favors you.”

  I laugh, a bitter, unamused noise. Kristoff watches me, and sighs. “Brielle, if you have his favor, it’s a bad idea to spurn it. Give him what he wants. Use it to buy a little protection, or knowledge. He’ll tell you what you’ll face.”

  I raise an eyebrow, watching him. “Is that what you would tell Kevan to do, if it were him?”

  His eyes darken, and he looks away, something broken and helpless filling his psyche. “I would tell him to do what it took to survive, and to keep his draken safe.”

  “That’s easy to say, when you are safe from Prator and it’s a moot point,” I snap. “It’s my life, Kristoff. I can survive slavery, but I won’t whore myself to anyone.”

  Without waiting for his response, I stalk through the jakta to the dining hall, the wingtips, wrapped in steel cloth, banging against my hip. I can feel their eyes on me—the glads’ and Eleyi’s— and for the first time, I flush at their curiosity. Do they honestly think I warm Prator’s bed? Is that why they hate me? Or is it simpler than that: the envy of my questionable skill and position, the hatred from my people for forsaking the Eleyi way?

  I can feel Prator watching me, feel his cool amusement as Kristoff trails me across the hall to where Jemes is waiting with Kevan.

  When I reach my aide, I finally look at Prator. He’s still watch
ing me, his head bent toward Ja Argot as Henri speaks. They are both so remote, so coolly dispassionate in the ordering of our lives. It makes me nauseous, and the smell of the lamb and rice makes my stomach churn.

  “Let’s go,” I say, after two bites. Kristoff is quiet, glaring at his plate as if it has offended him, and I feel as though I’ve missed something vital, to inspire this much anger.

  I’m too tired to try to find out what.

  “You need food,” Prator says from above me, and I curse, wondering when he moved. Jemes’ eyes narrow, and he starts to stand.

  “Sit down, aide,” I snap, suddenly terrified.

  “Have you thought more about what we spoke of?” Prator asks, and I cock my head.

  “The laser harness?” I ask. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  Displeasure flickers in his gaze but he smiles, accepting my deliberate misunderstanding. “I suggest you rethink that, Brielle,” he murmurs. His gaze flicks to Kristoff. “The Ja would like to see you in his office in two hours.”

  Kevan’s psyche flares with despair and hatred, so strong I twist to stare at him. I miss whatever Kristoff says. By the time I’ve gotten over the shock of Kevan’s emotions, Prator is moving away.

  “What?” Kristoff hisses at me, and I struggle to keep my gaze on him, and not Kevan.

  I shake my head and stand. I have to get away from all the emotions seething around me, away from the hostile eyes and Prator and my mercurial mentor.

  Jemes follows me, carrying my dinner, and I almost tell him to throw it to the garilia, but I don’t. Later, after my stomach settles, I’ll want it.

  “What did Kristoff want?” he asks.

  I touch the wingtips at my side and try to summon the initial excitement I had felt, seeing them. It’s too hard. In our small rooms, I let him unroll them and the surprised pleasure in his eyes makes me smile. “I can’t fly in them,” I say, “But they’ll be gorgeous in the arena.”

  He touches a light finger to the edge, and winces, pulling away and sucking on the ball of his thumb. His pale gaze finds me, and I flush under his warm, appraising stare. “What’s wrong?”

  I twitch, turn. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”

  He smiles. “I live with a psychic. And I watch you.”

  The words ring with a truth that makes me tremble. I look at him from under my lashes and he waits, patient. Finally: “Kristoff wants me to take Prator’s offer. Warm his bed. For my protection and advantage in the arena.”

  Hatred, fear, and longing flash across his psyche, and I shiver. “Just because he does it doesn’t mean you have to, Brielle,” Jemes snaps.

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  He pauses, watching me. “Kristoff? He is the Ja’s favorite bedslave.”

  The words make me dizzy, and I shake my head, shake off the words. No. It’s not true. It can’t be, not when I—

  Shit.

  “Oh, fuck,” I whisper. How did things become this twisted, this screwed up?

  “Brielle?” Jemes says. I want him to take me into his arms and I want to run away. Run away. That’s by the far the better option. I snatch up the laser harness, and bolt.

  “I’m going to the draken,” I tell him at him as I almost run from the rooms.

  I try very hard to ignore the unmasked sadness that fills him.

  -I’m psychic! How did I miss that?- I demand. Miwya is watching me, having listened to me rant and pour out the entire evening—Prator, Kristoff, the wingtips. I curve against Sora, his warmth searing into my back. -How did Jemes know and I didn’t? How can Kristoff forgive me after this? He gave me a beautiful gift, and a fighting chance at survival, and I threw it back and spit in his face.-

  -You didn’t know, little Le,- Miwya says.

  -I should have known,- I say, furious. -And tomorrow, Prator expects me to use the laser harness.-

  The draken shift, agitated, the illusion of smoke and shadow surging through the cavern. -Enough,- Miwya snaps at them. -It’s not a death sentence. And I trust Chosi’le. She won’t do anything that’s unneeded.-

  His trust touches me, and I blink back tears. Not even Juhan trusted me this much—or perhaps he did, before my idiotic impulsiveness got us stolen from Eleyiar.

  -Go, Chosi,- Miwya orders. -The morning will come soon enough, and you will need to face it. Sleep will help.-

  I don’t want to leave, but he’s right. I rub Natsu’s back and stand, brushing pebbles from my pants as I bid them goodnight.

  There is a light in our window. Jemes is awake, waiting on me. He’s too good for me, I think for maybe the thousandth time.

  He’s sitting up in bed when I enter, reading an ancient tablet. He looks at me, and I open my mouth, then close it, unsure what to say.

  “It’s late,” he says, rescuing me. “Come to bed.”

  I let the laser harness fall to the table next to my wingtips and crawl into bed. He taps a quick command, and the light dims to a level that I can sleep with. He slides into bed next to me, and pulls me against him, my cheek pillowed on his chest. Exhaustion tugs at me. His emotions smooth over me, warm and protective and loving.

  “Jemes?” I murmur. He doesn’t answer, so much as his psyche sharpens a little. “Why did you want to be my aide?”

  He laughs and brushes my hair back. “That’s for you to figure out.”

  I tilt my head back, looking at him. “Tell me.”

  Amusement fills his eyes, but fear fills his psyche, a splash of nerves that jangle my own. Then his lips feather over mine and my eyes slip closed on a burst of pleasure and longing. His. Mine. I can’t tell. All I know is that it’s so different from Prator, gentle and warm and full of a desire for more, and I lean into it, or maybe he does. His fingers sift through my hair, and mine clutch against his chest, scratching, digging into his skin, pulling a moan from him that makes my blood boil.

  He pulls away, and I can barely think through the heady mix of his emotions swimming through the room.

  He grins at me, and his voice is so hoarse I barely recognize it. “Does that explain it?”

  I stare at him, long enough his emotions flicker with nerves and then I roll onto my knees, straddling him. His arms slip around my waist and I kiss him this time, my hands coming up to frame his face as I push him down. My mind is reaching out, wrapping around his, and I shudder, my body moving against his.

  I am a very bad psychic, that he could keep this from me. “Jemes,” I murmur, against his lips, and almost groan when his pleasure streaks through me, the heady desire that comes from his name on my lips.

  “No questions tonight, lady spectacle,” he murmurs, and with his lips moving across me, I forget everything but this.

  Chapter 20

  Juhan’tr

  “REMIND ME WHY WE didn’t take the Leen?” Sadi grumbles, settling against my chest, glaring at the game of Imperium in front of us. It’s a popular strategy game, pitting army and political players against a powerful Emperor. I nudge a pawn into her ambassador’s path and smile.

  “We did.”

  “Then why are we on this metal barge?” She keys her play rapidly into the holoboard.

  “Appearances,” I mutter, glaring at the board. Her move has trapped my Emperor. I shuffle a few soldiers around him, but it’s a waste of time—nothing but appearances.

  She mutters a curse that makes me laugh. I tug her closer, and whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, “This was your idea, Sadi. And appearances matter.”

  She doesn’t like this. She’ll accept my embraces and little shows of affection. She initiates them more often than I do. But she doesn’t like them—they make her nervous and twitchy in my mind.

  I’m not putting enough work into the manipulation. I know it, but can’t seem to force myself to do anything about it. I almost feel guilty for it—only the promise of finding Chosi is keeping me from stopping altogether.

  Tin looks up from where he is working on a tablet, punching data in. “Thi
nk I might have found something.”

  Sadi wiggles out of my arms and leans over to peer at the screen. I watch her, the tiny furrow between her eyes that always appears when she is thinking. “What is it?” I ask, shutting down the holoboard.

  “The Yalten queen. The one who sold your sister.” My heart freezes, restarts. “Tin has been trying to hack her records.”

  “What will that tell you?” I ask, trying to squelch my excitement.

  Sadi shrugs. “Maybe nothing. Maybe whoever bought Chosi. Until he gets in, we don’t really know.”

  I’m anxious for news, for anything, but I force myself to lean back, feigning patience. It makes Sadi happy to think I’m content in my role as her consort.

  It’s different, traveling with the Senator and his entourage. There is a constant busyness that gets under my skin and interrupts sleep. Alarms and comm signals and vid feeds fill the ship with noise as the Senator’s staff runs his office and fields his duties from deep space.

  Still, quiet can be found, and it seems to center around Brando. He is more relaxed here, spending much of his time in the lower hull of the ship, where storage and the Leen are kept.

  “Why does Brando seem so different on ship than he did planet-bound?” I ask.

  “Limit of threats,” Sadi answers without looking away from the tablet. “Brando lives his work, and in space, there is a limit of threats. It makes life a little easier and gives him a chance to breathe. He told me once if he could force all his clients to live in deep space, he would. Bit impractical, though.”

  “Impractical for the client,” Brando corrects quietly from behind her. “For the security detail, it’s not impractical at all.” Sadi glances up, and he gives her a tight smile. “The Senator needs you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

  He’s quiet, and she huffs a sigh. “Fine. Juhan, let’s—”

  “Take Tin. Juhan hasn’t practiced his forms today. I’ll keep him company.”

  He says the words lightly, casually, but it causes a spike of tension in Sadi before she carefully locks away her emotions. “All right. Go on,” she murmurs. She startles me when she leans into me, kissing me briefly.