Jahir flushed but didn't look away. "I think you'll tell me the story now, with or without kisses."
"Perhaps. It won't change that the story is a long one." Lisinthir drew on the hekkret, looked at what remained of it. "Should I begin? If so, I want another roll. And where is your beloved?"
"Sleeping," Jahir said. "We have been helping the crew with their concerns. It wears on us." He looked at Lisinthir. "This reminds me of a question I must ask."
"Go on, then."
"From the impressions I brought back with me...." Jahir hesitated, cheeks coloring, but he continued as if unaffected, "I have the sense that you would be missed if something were to happen to you."
Would he be? When he'd been sent away to keep from undermining his lover's authority? An authority that was holding in check the Alliance's greatest enemy? "I would like to think so, yes."
"Then would you be rescued if you asked for aid from the Chatcaava? From these others who would kill us."
Immediately he straightened. "What's happened?"
Jahir paused, surprised. Then he marshaled himself and said, "They don't think they can fix the damage. They have a plan to use their remaining power to drift into the patrol zone of some of the Fleet sorties into the border—you'll recall them? We sent one to meet your shipment of slaves that once."
"I recall, yes. Continue."
"Once they reach one of those zones, they plan to drift there until they can wait no longer, then send a distress call and hope that Fleet arrives before the Chatcaava do. So I was hoping... perhaps you would have another option."
"Living Air, but do they all think like prey?" Lisinthir said, irritated. And then shook himself, as if the contempt could be flung from him like water, and it couldn't. He was still too much Chatcaavan and, he thought, would always be. "To answer your question... the likelihood of one of my allies in the Empire arriving to succor us are slim indeed. But I may have a suggestion for your Captain to consider."
"My Captain," Jahir repeated. "Because you cannot possibly be associated with such craven species as humans and Pelted and certainly Eldritch peers?"
Lisinthir stared at him, then laughed again. He caught his cousin by the hair and held him in place for that third kiss, and smiled at how quickly startlement became yearning and softness and offering. Touching Jahir on the lips with a finger, he said, "You see? You can't resist asserting yourself against me. And then you wonder why you keep drawing my attention."
Jahir growled, but there was no real menace in it.
"Let's go find Raynor," Lisinthir said. "After that, you and I will talk of the Empire."
The Captain was on the bridge. Exhaustion had marked him physically, leaving greasy smudges beneath his eyes and slowing his movements, but there was no sign of it in his gaze, in his squared shoulders or in his bearing. It made Lisinthir trust him: here was a man who knew better than to show weakness, particularly when he had subordinates to lead.
"Ambassador, Hea. What can I do for you?"
"If you have a moment?" Lisinthir asked. "There's a matter I would put forth to you."
Raynor studied him, eyes narrowed, then nodded.
In a compartment off the bridge, the human had a seat and gestured for them to sit facing him. Lisinthir grasped the back of the chair rather than use it, too agitated to settle anywhere. Was this warning of an on-coming seizure? He could collapse here, in the middle of his exhortation to the Captain not to lie down and offer his throat to the Chatcaava. Wouldn't that be diverting. At least his cousin would be there to resuscitate him.
"I'm told you have reached a point of decision, Captain."
"We have some time before it becomes an issue, Ambassador. But yes, our options have become more limited."
"May I make a suggestion, then?"
Raynor leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. "Go ahead."
Had the man written the words across his forehead, he couldn't have made his thoughts more clear. 'The civilian wants to give advice. This should be good.' Lisinthir didn't blame him for his skepticism, but only because he knew the difference between being a predator and a soldier. Tactics for the one couldn't be used for the other.
That was the problem. Fleet was composed of soldiers. The Chatcaavan Navy wasn't.
"I think you know that the moment you send a call of any kind, you'll be found by our enemies." Lisinthir couldn't call them Chatcaava. Not all Chatcaava were his enemies. Or even the Alliance's.
"We're hoping that sending on the Fleet encrypted channel will minimize our risk," Raynor said. "It's a very specific band, and they won't be able to read it. With any luck they'll think we're rejoining a squadron after reconnaissance and steer clear."
They really had no idea, none at all, how the Chatcaava operated. "They'll think nothing of the sort, I'm afraid. Our attackers know we've been wounded and that we can't be far from where we were lamed. They'll be looking for us. If they hear any transmission, particularly one wrapped in Fleet ciphers, they'll come. Immediately."
"Maybe," Raynor said. "But I don't see how we can avoid taking that risk."
"Given that the risk can't be avoided, why lie here and wait for them to find us?" Lisinthir asked. "Send an enticing enough distress call, Captain, one that makes us sound like a defenseless prize, and they'll come to us."
"And then what?" Raynor asked. "We can't power any of our weapons systems."
"And then," Lisinthir said, struggling for patience despite the headache that was beginning to gnaw at his temples. "You cross over and take their ship, Captain. And use it to tow our derelict home with us to the Alliance."
"You want us to ambush them?"
These were his Emperor's enemies, whom he'd thought sped from his reach. A second chance at them might give him a prisoner he could interrogate... and a crew he could punish for daring to lift their talons against the Exalted, and the Alliance. The growl that was struggling to win free of his throat rasped at the edges of the words. "I want you to entrap them, destroy them, and sail home with an Alliance flag at their mast."
Lisinthir could feel his cousin's incredulity without turning to look at him. Raynor, though… he only frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. "How would that work? We only have twenty people, none of them trained for that kind of mission."
Lisinthir smiled. "You find a handful of volunteers among your female crew and put them on the bridge to record a distress call emphasizing their defenselessness and need for help. You give out false information about how many people remain conscious and able to work. You report that your sensors are malfunctioning and your engines are useless—they'll know what that implies about your weaponry—and then you transmit those lies out as loud and as long as possible, followed by updates wherein the crew reports more and more dire circumstance."
"And then, presumably, they come in assuming we're as wounded as we say we are...." Raynor trailed off, then smirked. "That would work? You're serious? Are they that credulous?"
"We really are that wounded, Captain," Lisinthir said. "Or we wouldn't be drifting. We are defenseless, save for our people. They know they hurt us. They'll be able to see that we are powerless and damaged. Why would they assume we were lying? Only a wounded predator would set a trap like this for another predator. They do not think of us as predators."
"I assume they'll board us again," Raynor said. He was drumming his fingers on the table now. "That would give us a chance to split them up, winnow their numbers. Especially if they see what they expect to see?" He glanced at Lisinthir.
"Helpless females?" Lisinthir offered. "They'll move to capture first, not kill. If, in fact, they are not distracted by the need to locate me."
"So we take care of the boarding party. And then?"
"They'll bring their own Pads," Lisinthir said. "Since the ship is already crippled, they won't bother launching fighters against it. So long as our halo and skin shields are down, they'll cross over the normal way."
"So we use their own Pads to get b
ack to their ship." Raynor shook his head. "This is where the plan gets less tenable."
Not untenable, Lisinthir noted. Just less tenable. He liked the way the human was leaning forward in his chair now, liked the interest in his voice. There was fire here. He could work with fire. "I think you'll be surprised how minimal the average warship crew is among the Chatcaava. They automate a great deal of their processes precisely to keep crews small. It makes for less tension onboard. And we will have the element of surprise—very much surprise—along with someone who knows the ship layout."
Raynor considered him, glanced at his hands on the chair. Lisinthir wondered if he could tell they were shaking. "I thought you were unwell. You want to lead a raid?"
"I don't need to lead," Lisinthir said. "But I do need to come with you." He smiled. "Give me a fight, Captain, and I'll stay upright for it."
"If we lose you—"
"They won't kill me," Lisinthir said. "If you lose me, it will be because I've been captured. And I will find a way to free myself. They can't hold me, alet."
Raynor stared at him. "You know, I believe it." He grinned, a lopsided expression. "It's an interesting suggestion, Ambassador. I'll consider it. I presume if I decide to act on it, you'll help with the planning?"
"In any capacity you require."
Raynor nodded. "Good. I'll let you know either way."
In the corridor leading from the bridge, Jahir said, low, "You are mad."
"Am I?" Lisinthir asked, feeling cheered despite the clamminess of his skin. "Is this your professional evaluation?"
Jahir made a noise. "Stop."
Lisinthir paused, faced him. His healer swept his complexion with his gaze, dropped to the trembling hands. Jahir took his wrist, felt for the pulse. "How bad is the headache?"
"I've had worse."
Jahir shot him an irritated look. "Stop dismissing your symptoms and give me a useful report of them."
"Have I mentioned how attractive you are when you're acting the physician?" Lisinthir asked, and received an absolutely fulminating look. He maintained his air of innocence until Jahir relented and sighed, shaking his head. Only then did he say, "The headache is making it difficult to concentrate, but I don't remember it preceding any of my other... episodes. The gut cramps seem more predictive."
"And do you have any of these?"
"No. Nausea, perhaps."
"What time is it? No, it's been at least twenty-four hours. I can give you another painkiller?"
"That would be welcome."
Jahir nodded. "I'll go to the clinic for it, check on Vasiht'h, and then come by with it." He paused, then said, "Do you think the Captain will enact your idea?"
"He will," Lisinthir said. "He has no choice."
What to leave in the note? Jahir leaned against the doorframe, watching Vasiht'h sleep. Over the years he had left many notes for his partner, a habit he'd begun by accident, because when new to the Alliance he'd been more comfortable with pen and paper. He'd kept to it because his handwriting delighted Vasiht'h, and because... it was who they were. Vasiht'h had made a place in their lives for his anachronisms, made them feel less like the burdens of his deficient culture and more a delightful indication of their identity.
He wanted very much to put into this particular note some of his inner tumult. An apology also, for not having understood himself well enough to head off this particular mess. A thank you, for Vasiht'h's attempt to fix it by asking Lisinthir's help. A plea for more help, because he had no idea what he was falling into and entirely sure he wasn't going to be able to stop it. He touched his lips, found them tender to the touch, remembered desire close to pain and knew it was his, not his cousin's. He rested his brow against the frame, closing his eyes.
At least he'd succeeded in obtaining Lisinthir's consent for therapy? Surely unburdening himself of his time there would have some therapeutic effect. Jahir couldn't help the twitch of a smile. If winter was to claim the milch stock, one could at least make a feast of the carcasses.
He went to his pack and brought out the pad of paper and pen. So much he could say.
All is well. Am with my cousin. Call for me when you wake.
—J
After a moment, he added across the bottom: You were right.
Then he took up the analgesic and went to find his cousin. No retreating, he thought as the door opened for him. If potential victim he had become to Lisinthir, then he was in no danger.
"Cousin?"
"In bed."
"I hope that was not an invitation," Jahir said, hesitant. He paused at the hatch into the narrow bedroom and found Lisinthir sitting cross-legged on the bunk, hands on his knees and head hung. A trail of smoke curled up from the new hekkret roll poised between two of his fingers.
"I fear not, unless your tastes run to lovers irritated by their failing bodies."
"Your body's not failing," Jahir said. He loaded the painkiller and crossed the short distance to crouch in front of the bunk. This time Lisinthir turned his face for it willingly, and sighed when the pump hissed against his neck.
"It is entirely ridiculous for me to have achieved a position of relative safety and now be dying."
"This is safety?" Jahir asked, incredulous.
Lisinthir snorted. "Consult your stolen impressions and tell me what safety I have had for the past year." He shook his hair back. "Or I can save you the trouble. My only surety was in the bed of the Emperor, and I paid for that with injuries and near constant poisoning by his rivals at court."
"Now you will tell me how you wound up in the bed of a head of state?" Jahir asked, low.
Lisinthir mmmed. "No revulsion? I am pleasantly surprised."
"I am too confused to be revolted," Jahir replied. He sat on the floor facing his cousin. "I know you found love in the Empire. I know you have come back... changed. I know what you accomplished. But I know very little else, save...."
"Save?" Lisinthir asked when he didn't fill in the pause.
Jahir looked down at his folded hands, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth and the raking pain of phantom talons up his very real back. "The rest of it is sensual detail. Not... very informative."
Lisinthir smiled faintly. "I imagine it's very informative. Just not in ways you want." He waved his free hand. "No, don't protest. I didn't mean to prick you, it's just hard for me to stop positioning myself to attack. You probably see me doing it, yes?"
"Yes. I assume this behavior was rewarded in the Empire."
"Rewarded!" Lisinthir laughed. "It was the only thing that kept me alive. I do mean that exactly. The Emperor's enemies tried to kill me continuously." He rolled his shoulders. "So, then. The Chatcaava... females are chattel. Slaves also. This is not a society that feels for the plight of the Other, the unlike, the not-self. You gathered this?"
"I had some notion," Jahir said, watching his cousin. The tremor had faded and taken with it the clammy gleam of Lisinthir's skin, and there was measurably less tension in the jaw muscles, something easy to gauge because of his cousin's fleshlessness. Unfettered by pain, Lisinthir's movements had a dangerous precision, like a duelist's.
"The males advance in court by fighting one another," Lisinthir said. "Since duels end in death and death is a waste, they choose to humiliate one another into submission in order to make their ascent in power."
Flash of a pillow crushed against his cheek and the shock of sweat brought forth by pain, cold and sour. Jahir shuddered and touched his arm, smoothing down the gooseflesh. "They abuse one another." He looked up at Lisinthir and stopped. "You... they..."
"No less than the Exalted Emperor himself." Lisinthir pulled from the roll and exhaled in a long sigh. "It suited my purposes. I was there to serve the Alliance's need. When the Emperor showed an interest...." He smiled faintly. "Many a woman has allowed her own use for political expedience. It seemed craven to do any less."
"You let a Chatcaavan rape you," Jahir said.
Lisinthir huffed, smiled, eyes hooded
. "They have barbs." When Jahir stared at him, shocked, he finished, "Their healers use suppositories. It's a common injury."
"So you... slept with—"
"Was raped by," Lisinthir corrected. "And lest you think me a sympathetic victim, I gave him the same when I could best him."
"You raped a head of state," Jahir said, unsure whether to be aghast or fascinated. A grotesque fascination, but still. "The Alliance's ambassador to the Empire... raped its Emperor."
Lisinthir started laughing. "Oh, your expression, cousin. I could kiss it off you. But this is important. The answer to that question is 'yes.' The source of your memories of blood and sex... is the Emperor. Most of them, anyway. There was some violence without sex—I killed Third, whom you could call a minister of state—and some sex without violence, because of the Slave Queen. But where you remember heated kisses that taste like blood and seed... that was him."
"So then," Jahir said carefully. "The love... that was this Slave Queen?"
"In part." Lisinthir paused and closed his eyes, and his expression then: regret and yearning. He turned his cheek aside, a flinch like moving from a blow, then sighed again and opened his eyes. "The other part would be the Emperor." And he smiled. "Now. Be dismayed."
Jahir stared up at him, and when he could think again, evaluated the smile, the look in Lisinthir's eyes. "No—there is more left, some explanation you are holding back because you enjoy pushing me off-balance."
"It's not personal—"
"I know. You push everyone to see if they'll tip," Jahir said, impatient now. "You need to know you can trust the people around you, so that if you can't, you won't lean on them and find them crumpling when you most need their support. Consider me pushed and tell me the rest—" And stopped because his cousin had leaned over and kissed him into silence.
These kisses. God and Lady, he had no idea what to do with them, against them. They cracked him open and left him helpless, and when Lisinthir caught his jaw and held him fast all his thoughts shattered. Jahir had been kissed before. Never willingly. And he would have thought himself unwilling here, except that he was. Wasn't. Both. No, he was willing, and clotted through with denial and with exhaustion with denial.
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