When she pulls away, Brando is watching us with almost clinical interest.
I follow him into the hull of the ship, wishing for a few heartbeats that I had gone with Sadi. He settles into the Tranquil stance without word or fanfare, and I mimic him, more than willing to lose myself in the rhythm of movement.
Brando and I move through the forms with slow precision, pausing occasionally for him to correct me when I falter. We’re almost done when he finally speaks. “You’re different, Juhan’tr.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “How so?”
“You aren’t afraid. Slaves are afraid. Eleyi who are unbranded are afraid. Afraid of being Taken, afraid of being noticed.” He transitions, sliding easily into the aggressive Striking Eagle.
“Why should we live in fear? We’re an entire race that is known by their fear and psychic abilities. Why is that acceptable?”
“It’s not. But it doesn’t change that you are different from your people.” He slides to a finish, resting in Tranquil stance. “The only thing I can think that is different is Sadi. And”—his lips quirk and a bitter touch fills his psyche for a heartbeat—“believe me, I know how Sadi can change a person. She’s like a force of nature that way.”
“What happened between you?” I ask.
Brando looks at me, his emotions suddenly gone, face blank. “Some questions are best unasked.”
He turns away and I open my mouth to say something, but an alarm screams through the ship, deafening me. Brando barks into his comm link, “Report.”
“Volcanic explosion on Cenktari, sir,” Tinex answers immediately.
Brando breaks into a run, me hot on his heels. The dining hall, which has been converted for the Senator’s use, is in chaos, the vid screens lit up with news feeds of the disaster. Sadi is staring at the displays, her eyes wide, and I pause, taking her in, aware of Brando doing the same at my side before he scans the entire room, searching for and finding the Senator, sitting with one leg propped up, the quiet calm, the eye of the storm.
All around him aides are shouting and cursing, and Larkin is yelling into his comm link. Brando has abandoned me, gone to the Senator’s side to whisper in his ear.
I move to Sadi, pull her back against me, and she clutches my arms around her waist as she stares at the fires consuming a city on Cenktari, a small planet that specializes in pleasure houses. “Sadi?”
“How many dead, you think?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically dull.
“Too many,” I answer, refusing to look at the screen.
There is a slow halt to the flurry of activity as the Senator sits up, Brando falling back to an unobtrusive distance. A vid screen blinks, a tiny red dot at the bottom lighting. He’s being recorded, probably a live broadcast to the IPS and its galaxies.
“In light of the tragedy on Cenktari, my staff and I will reroute and give what aid we can. Let’s all put aside our differences and rally to help this broken planet and her people in their time of need.”
Larkin steps forward and the Senator backs away, smoothly handing off press relations to his chief of staff. Larkin is barking orders and answering questions, but I tune him and his excitement out as I focus on Sadi, whose emotions have dipped suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We’re going to Cenktari,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.
Chapter 21
Chosi’le
“Prator and Ja Argot will be coming to watch us today,” I say at first meal. The room is quiet, soft conversation marred by the scrape of forks and occasional laughter. It’s a sleepy morning in the jakta.
Jemes nods as if he has been expecting it and I glance at him. He sips his coffee and I watch, fascinated by the way his lips close over the cup, the way his eyes almost close as he savors the drink.
“Stop staring,” he murmurs and I flush, looking down at my fruit. We’re quiet for a moment, then he asks, “Should I stay away today?”
“Why?”
An amused smile. “Because two looks like that from you, and Prator will know why you don’t want to share his bed.”
I frown. “What happened last night has nothing to do with Prator. I didn’t want to share his bed before you.” I stand, ignoring the stare he’s giving me. “Come on, they’re waiting.”
He stands, hands me my juice to finish. Rolling my eyes, I swallow it quickly and lead the way out of the dining hall.
“Everyone is talking about the Ja’s announcement tonight,” Jemes says, his hand on my lower back as we wait for a phalanx of ten glads to jog past. It sends an arrow of warmth through me, and I want to lean into his touch—he’s been doing this all morning. Little things, meaningless individually, that add up to so much more.
“He’ll announce the Eclipse fighters,” I say, distracted. “But we know I’m on it, so we can skip the wondering and worrying all day, and practice.” I sigh, pushing a long lock of hair from my eyes impatiently. “Did you bring the laser harness?”
Disgust fills his eyes and aura but he nods, pulling it out for me. “What will you do?”
“Use it on Miwya, as lightly as I can. It will pacify Prator, which is all I need.”
Jemes nod. His hair is getting long, curling on his neck, and I itch to push it back, to wrap my fingers in it.
I shove the thought away, and we walk to the draken’s cave.
Jemes’ psyche spikes a heartbeat before he pushes me against the wall, his legs braced on either side of me as he kisses me. I drop the harness, reaching for him, pulling him closer.
I feel starved for touch, desperate, and I will glut myself on it, feast until I am sick. Right now, in his arms, his lips whispering over my throat, I couldn’t care less. I tug him closer, his hunger swirling through both of us as I press against him. His fingers sift through my hair, his lips trailing a path over my cheek, dropping a kiss on the tip of my ear and then his teeth close over my earlobe, tugging it gently and making me groan, arching into him.
As abruptly as he kissed me, he releases me. He’s unsteady, and I love that I can do that—shake his constant grace.
“What was that for?” I ask, touching my lips.
“Just something to remember when Prator is stripping you with his eyes,” Jemes answers. He leans over, grabbing the forgotten harness.
Sora nudges me when I enter the cave, and I scratch his head, looking up at Miwya. -I want to train with only you today.-
The others shift, their minds rising around me, and I shove my will out, forcing them to recognize my authority. -Today, the Ja will announce who will fight in the Eclipse Games. Miwya is the one I want. You will have your chance on the sands, but it won’t be today.-
Miwya rumbles his assent and begins climbing to the tunnel. On a psychic thread to only him, I send, -I have to use the laser harness.-
He doesn’t respond but I feel his trust. And it’s heartbreaking—I don’t deserve it. Juhan’s face, laughing and slightly resigned just before we left our home go see the roots springs, unbidden, in my memory. I don’t deserve the draken’s trust. I don’t deserve anything—certainly not Jemes’ devotion. Even with his kiss lingering on my lips, I am aware of that.
I push past Jemes, welcoming the heat of the sun and moon and desert—anything to kill the thoughts and guilt rising in me.
I don’t want to live with it, with the knowledge that somewhere in this wretched galaxy, Juhan is living a life like this, a slave to someone as brutal as Henri Argot. That Jemes’ slavery is service to me. That the draken will fight for my life as much as their own.
I break into a run, racing my thoughts. The sooner I reach Miwya and begin training, the sooner I can avoid thinking.
“She needs a saddle,” Argot says and Kristoff nods. I cling to Miwya, tap a quick command into the laser harness, and he shrieks, climbing into the sky as the holostim sends a pack of premthas at us. Dust stings my eyes, and I lurch as he gains altitude, spreading my wings, struggling for balance.
-T
he Ja is right,- I tell Miwya, -a saddle would be handy.-
He whistles a laugh, and I focus as the pride below us screams. One crouches on a rock, throwing himself into the air, his claws extended. -Forward,- I shout, slapping my coiled whip against his neck and he darts forward, impossibly agile in the air. The premtha hisses, his leap carrying him into his pride, and I swallow the urge to laugh. The alpha is watching us, her eyes bright and gleaming, and I toss my hurkya up, catching and hurling it in one smooth motion. The giant cat dodges, but Miwya snaps down, his enormous jaws closing over her neck and shaking. I shriek as the motions jars me and I begin to slip.
The holostim vanishes, and Miwya screams, a long primal noise that is echoed in my head as the other draken relish his victory. I wish they had the bodies of the fallen premtha to feast on.
Prator and Ja confer for a moment, while Jemes grabs my hurkya and throws it up to me. I catch it easily and smirk at him from my perch on Miwya’s back.
-Will they want another demonstration?- Miwya asks. I stroke his neck, scratch along the ridge of spikes the way he likes.
-Probably.-
I’m more surprised than he is when Prator motions for me to join them. Miwya sinks to the ground and I slide down into Jemes’ arms. I shake him off before Prator sees, trying to ignore his amusement.
“You’ve made progress with them,” Henri says, his cold eyes sliding over me.
“They’re not hard to work with.” I shrug. “Not once they realized I was trying to help them.”
His eyes harden. “You think that is your job?”
I take a risk. “I think my job is to keep them alive and winning on the sands, Ja. I’m trying to help them survive, and that makes you money.”
There is a moment of silence, and then, Kristoff breaks in quietly. “She has wing tips, Ja. And against the black, she presents a beautiful picture.”
Argot glances at him, and even though I’m trying, I can’t find anything in his expression to tell me he is sleeping with Kristoff.
“I’ll make my final announcement before last meal. See that you are both present,” he says, turning away. He pauses, looks back at me, his gaze unfriendly. “Prator tells me you dislike the laser harness.” I nod, toying with it. “You don’t have to like it. But you will use it. Do not disobey me, Eleyi.”
Kristoff and I watch them go, Jemes a little ways off. Without glancing at my mentor, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He stares at me, for once looking lost and young—so young. “I’m a slave, and he is my owner. My life is at his whim.”
“But you love Kevan,” I protest. It sounds naive, even to my ears.
“What I want doesn’t matter, Brie,” Kristoff says impatiently. “Henri lets me have Kevan because it doesn’t bother him to share me, not when he knows I can’t refuse him. And I’m a good mentor, a good glad. There are rewards, and Kevan is one of them. But the truth? Everything I have is a lie. Henri Argot could take it without blinking, without even leaving his desk. Even my life. So I will warm his bed as often as he asks, and fuck how degrading it might be.” His voice is harsh, bitter. “I don’t care because I’m alive, and if I had said no, there is no guarantee that would be true. He certainly wouldn’t hesitate to kill Kevan.”
A bolt of terror goes through me, and I resist the urge to look over at Jemes. It’s enough, for the moment, to feel him near me. Seeing my fear, Kristoff sighs. “Forget it. They’re happy with you, Brielle.”
I force a weak smile. “Your mad scheme worked.”
His eyes are tired and strangely gentle when he looks at me, and nods. “It did, didn’t it?”
Miwya rumbles, and I glance at him finally. “Kristoff, I have to take him back,” I say. He nods, leans close to brush a kiss over my cheek and I struggle not to flinch.
Then he’s gone. I watch Miwya to keep myself from looking at Jemes.
-What will you do, little Le?- he asks. I shake my head against his warm flank, the rasp of his scales soothing against my leg.
-I don’t know.-
He hums as Jemes splashes water onto his side, and I listen to it trickle down, swallowed instantly by the dry sand of the desert.
-Argot was pleased?-
I nod. -Yes. But he wants me to continue to use the laser harness.-
Something flickers in his psyche, and I twist, looking at him. -What?-
He shakes his head ponderously, then watches me for a moment out of one golden eye.
-Come to the cave tonight. Without Jemes. I will show you,- he says finally, and then he steps away, spreading his wings and climbing into the air. I feel the grit of sand in my hair and my mouth, and I know I should close my eyes against the sting of the sun, but he’s magnificent, and for this moment, I cannot look away.
I am one of the last slaves to reach the courtyard. I skirt the edges of the crowd, hugging the shadows as I watch those gathered. The gladiators are anxious, nerves strummed tight enough I’m surprised no one has shed blood yet. A few beastboys share the same nervous look, but most of the jakta servants are impatient, a slightly bored festivity about it all.
Someone slips up next to me, and I glance over from the corner of my eye.
Petyr, the batwinged Eleyi Deevid marked as fodder when we were first bought. He looks pale, and I touch his mind briefly. It’s thick with fear. I shake my head, almost as if that will let me shake off his residue of emotion. “Why are you so scared?” I ask.
He glares at me, but I meet the look evenly. If he hadn’t wanted me to know, he shouldn’t have found me. Besides, even if he is still being trained by Primus, he is fodder and I am spectacle. He can’t touch me.
And we both know it.
“I want to help you,” he says, voice shaking, and I raise an eyebrow. He flushes. “Serve you, I mean.”
A familiar hand settles on my hip, pulling me away from the Eleyi. Jemes smiles, the picture of Sinese politeness. The icy anger spilling from him speaks louder, though. “Brielle has an aide,” he says. “One more interested in keeping her alive than protecting himself.”
Petyr’s eyes narrow a little, lingering on the hand still resting on my hip. His eyes, when they find mine, are amused, and less afraid. Before I can say anything, he turns away, slipping into the crowd. I mutter a curse, and Jemes digs his fingers into my hip. I twist away, and hope that no one else has seen him.
For the first time since I have been in the jakta, I am frightened. More even than I’m eager to die, I’m terrified that Prator will hurt Jemes.
I lean against a column, the warmth of the single setting sun—its sister moon set two hours earlier—warming my side. What, I wonder, would Juhan think of Jemes? Would he be amused or disgusted? Or would he tell me to do whatever it took to survive?
I remember telling him that, in the slave ship, when Eleyi children wept around us and he insisted we should help. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Maybe it was.
A gong sounds, and the courtyard goes quiet. Most of the glads straighten, impressive in the dying light of day, waiting for their Ja.
Ja Argot steps out of the shadows, a laurel wreath in his hair. A cheer rises from the slaves around me, and I eye him with new interest. A laurel like that is given to victors in the arena. He had to have earned it, with sweat and blood.
“The Eclipse Games are upon us,” Henri Argot says, his voice deceptively soft. It carries, or maybe it resonates off the neuro-pulse we all wear. In either case, we hear him, clear as the bells that rouse us, clear as the trumpet that signals a death.
We all hear our Ja as he hands down death.
“We will field twenty gladiators this game. The arena manager will assign your opponents.” He waves a hand, and Primus starts calling out names. I barely listen. In truth, I don’t care. I’m only here because Ja ordered it. I would rather be sleeping, be with my draken, be anywhere but this wretched courtyard with my uncontrollable thoughts.
“Kristoff!”
I hear Jemes’ sharp inhal
e a moment before I register the name, and I shift, straighten. Ja Argot is watching, a tiny smile on his lips as the glads step away, leaving a small empty circle around him, giving the honored dead space.
That is what they are called, those marked for the arena. The honored dead.
Primus is finished, and steps back, ceding the floor to the Ja. He waves a hand. “Beyond our twenty honored dead, there will be three beast matches. The small hukron against the premtha. Two garilia will fight a jekal. One premtha will fight five armed fodder.” A wave of anger and fear, from the worst of the new slaves. Their days are numbered, and the number is small.
“And we will have a new spectacle,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.
I straighten, my wings twitching nervously. “Brielle and a draken—the best of our jakta—will face a phalanx of armed glads.” There is a ragged cheer from around me as I open my mouth to protest.
Ten armed glads.
I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder, surprise clearing my initial fury. I snap my mouth closed before I can shout my protest, and wheel around, desperate to run. To get away from this madness.
Kevan’s eyes are pitiless when I try to push past him. He shoves me back. “You can’t leave. Ja ordered everyone here. You will not disgrace Kristoff.” Rage flashes in his eyes. I hesitate. He motions at Jemes, and my aide moves to me, draws me away, watching his mentor with wide eyes.
He’s afraid. So is Kevan. So am I.
Is there anyone, I wonder hysterically, who is not afraid in this fucking deathtrap?
Jemes wants to drug me. I see it in his eyes, in the way his hand hovers over my stash of pain pills, in the way he hesitates before he hands me a glass of water. But he doesn’t. He draws me down, close to him, a hand brushing my hair back. I don’t fight him—I don’t have the energy. And I deserve this—one more night in his arms.
Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) Page 16