by Tanith Lee
“You never cared for Velday?”
“Do you imagine that in reality I ever could?”
“Velday,” Ceedres said. Then, more loudly, “Velday.”
“What?” Velday started again, this time as if from a trance. He noticed that he had spilled the renewed drink of white caffea. That his eyes were also spilling burning tears. He shed them freely, unable to prevent himself, past embarrassment. He knew then that he had shed tears before, and during the same words.
You and your brother, two spoiled brats.
You never cared for Velday?
Do you imagine I ever could?
Ceedres stood over him now, the firm hand upon his shoulder imparting its quite spurious comradeship and compassion.
“Weep if it helps you, my brother. There’s no loss of honor in that. I’ll admit to you, I wept for Vaidi myself, once. I never told you. You take my humiliation from me, Velday.”
Velday lay across the little table, not attempting to restrain his tears, or his mind, which moved on, clear and terrible, within his grief and above it. Now he understood. All she had warned him of was true. His brother—Velday was less to Ceedres than his whores, less than the napkin he used to wipe his lips after wine. Ceedres had played for Hirz, and got it. He got it across the theme of Vel Thaidis’ tragedy and now across the theme of her death in some supernatural shadow beyond the world—if the story were even true. He can somehow suborn the Law. Maybe he had her killed because she wouldn’t crawl to him. For she’d never do that. As I have. Honor! He has none, and mine he’s filthied. Vaidi—Vaidi—he has betrayed us both.
Velday did not inquire why he should remember now. The trauma was too vast, it buried him in itself, refusing to be questioned or set aside. Velday, the optimist. The harshest lesson of all was that which ran contrary to the teaching of his own personality. There seemed in that moment no gladness and no future left for him. Then, he perceived where a warped gladness and a warped future lay in store. And as he cried, Ceedres’ hands upon his shoulders, he made out, as if on a faraway slope veiled in mists, a knife with its blade in Ceedres’ breast. Repetition of a previous scene, yet changed. Everything was changed at last. And suddenly, Velday desperately savored the encouraging firm hands of the traitor’s unreal friendship, just as Vel Thaidis had savored the final unreal lover’s kiss of his mouth. Knowing it was final. That the next words, even if unspoken, were to be: No and no. Forever and always, no to you.
* * *
• • •
The topaz beacon was alight and pulsing on the roof of Mansion Thirty-Seven. It was the nineteenth hour, and J’ara was well-established at Seta, the Black and Gold.
“Princess” Tilaia paced the mosaic salon, among the waiting flowers and flagons. She had no call on her to attend any person but Ceedres Yune Thar-Hirz. But Ceedres had not visited Seta since the J’ara when, at the door, he had heard of the escape of Vel Thaidis. All hest-Uma sector had clamored with the tale, and the J’ara mansions were not excluded. The female aristo was now presumed dead, but an undercurrent of dissatisfaction persisted. No one had seen the woman die, and to witness at least a capture by the Lawguards was always expected in the event of a crime. The Slumopolis had been cheated and resented it. Tilaia, too, felt somewhat cheated.
Ceedres had sent her word he and the female aristo’s brother were to use Seta this J’ara. But six J’aras had already passed since the J’ara of Vel Thaidis’ vanishing. Also, Ceedres had relayed the message that Tilaia must eschew the rich aristo garments he had given her, the garments of Vel Thaidis, at least while Velday Yune Hirz was in the house. Tilaia had cunningly had made for herself instead a feminine version of Ceedres’ attire of the J’ara when he had met Vel Thaidis in the supper room. Tilaia had had obscure notions of reminding him of her diligence on his behalf, in bringing the woman to Mansion Thirty-Seven. Now, clad in the white dress with its figurings of gold, its two chains of bronze crossed between her breasts, her inch-long nails, each with a black dagger embossed on them, Tilaia felt a momentary apprehension. He had been recently most often at Mansion Nu. He had visited the notorious Ler. And now, now he was late in arriving here.
One of Tilaia’s robots vocalized at her.
“Tilaia, Ceedres Yune Thar-Hirz is entering Seta.”
Tilaia jerked up her head as if astonished. She had been dilatory and could not alter her appearance now.
As she sent the robot out, she began to desire that Ceedres would not notice her sartorial jest. But, of course, he would notice everything.
Ceedres was ushered into the mosaic salon by the Princes’ Friend. Velday came in behind him. The younger man was, as usual, sodden and virtually incoherent, supported by one of Ceedres’ familiars. The familiar lowered Velday to a couch, and, in company with the Princes’ Friend, went away at once. Tilaia slunk to Ceedres and carried out her normal obeisance. If he noted her garb, he did not say, but his face was in that dangerous immobile stillness it sometimes adopted. She had come to know that face, and fear it worse than the others, the mask of imitation.
He said little as the dinner was brought in. Three serving girls sufficed on this occasion, Tilaia officiating as his steward. He had ordered no diversion, not even music. Coupled to his unspeakingness, the quiet made Tilaia ill at ease. Sometimes, when they were alone, Ceedres would permit her to eat with him; now she cringed a little when, handing him a goblet, a drop of green drink spotted the cloth. But no recrimination followed.
She comprehended she had failed him in the matter of Vel Thaidis. He had looked for a prolonged amusement there. The victim’s disappearance had obviously been scored against Tilaia.
Tilaia, who had reached so high in her fortunes simply because an aristo had considered her a jot more toothsome than the rest, knew an always-ready leaden anguish. Was she, like many prior suns of the Slum, about to be put out?
The drunken, drug-incapacitated brother sprawled over the divan. This J’ara he seemed to have upset more than he imbibed, but despite this, the effects were disastrous. Tilaia had reckoned on Ceedres’ plan long ago. The sister had ruined herself, the brother, Ceedres was ruining.
Much more than worship, Tilaia was afraid of her master. Velday was a frightful augur.
In that moment, Velday pronounced: “Taia is very lovely, Cee.”
It was the clearest thing he had said thus far.
“Yes, Taia is lovely. Aren’t you, Taia?” She kneeled at once and brushed the hem of Ceedres’ draped tunic with her lips. “And such an elegant dress,” said Ceedres.
She was too well versed in him to comment on the observation. She was saved from the silence again by Velday.
“You said to me,” Velday mouthed, stressing the phrases with a sublime exactitude, “you said I might borrow Tilaia Yune Seta.”
“Did I?” Ceedres studied Tilaia’s bowed head. “It seems I’ve promised to loan you to my friend, Taia. What do you say?”
Tilaia drew her breath in a sharp small gasp. Under her powder, her golden skin had drained to yellow. She did not look lovely in that instant, as she raised her face. Ceedres, in all the while he had staked a claim to her, had expected that her favors be exclusively his. He had never ordered her to the side of others, save in her capacity as his dinner hostess.
“She’s unwilling,” said Velday. He laughed and upset the vase of wine he had been balancing.
“Oh no, Vay, you mistake her. Tilaia is always malleable, gracious. Aren’t you, Taia?”
Tilaia quickly lowered her eyes.
“Yes, my prince.”
“No, no,” spluttered Velday. “She may think you’ll be prepared to loan her to anyone hereafter. No, no, Cee.”
“If it came to that, she would still do it, to please me. Would you not, Taia? To make my friends happy?”
“Yes, Prince.”
“Then show my brother Velday that you’re willing to
console him.”
Tilaia got up, her eyes apparently nailed by their lashes to her cheeks. She went to Velday, and positioned herself where the wine ran over onto the floor. She watched it run, and said, “Whatever my lord’s friend wishes.”
Velday floundered up. He caught hold of her, staggering, and Tilaia took his arm with a mannered precision.
“A thousand inspirations, Vay,” Ceedres said. “Sweet J’ara.”
The door opened. Velday clung to the girl for support. The wine cup he had brought with him; he slopped its contents on the ground and soon would slop on her white dress. Another girl had come to assist Velday. The three proceeded into an elevator, metal lattices swung over, and Ceedres’ composed features were hidden. The elevator quivered, rose and settled.
Along a short passage hung with silks was the door to Tilaia’s private apartment.
Velday handed his wine cup to the second girl.
“Leave—us.” With an uncertain glance at Tilaia, the girl obeyed. “Is this,” Velday inquired of Tilaia as they went the length of the passage, “where you bring Ceedres?”
“Yes, Prince.”
Again, a door opening. They moved into the apartment.
The main chamber was much as it had been when Vel Thaidis saw it, smoking incense, sparkling gems and faceted crystal. The vanes of the amber ceiling were shut, and dull green apples of scented wax gave a somber light. Beyond a hand-woven, semi-transparent tapestry, a fountain danced in a basin of jet before a wide divan of golden satin.
Tilaia stepped to the tapestry, lifting it with her hand.
“This room will do,” Velday said, “for conversation.”
Tilaia spun about. More than the metamorphosis of his speech, now distinct and hard, her Slum woman’s instinct registered some great metamorphosis that took in his whole self, both bodily and in the metaphysical. A change that extended indeed over the entire room, blowing against her, seeming to stir her hair and gown.
“What is it, Prince?” she said, though it was an infrequent thing for her to talk first to a superior without some lead from him.
“What is it?” Velday repeated. “I’m not drunk, as you supposed me. That, I surmise, is what it is.”
“Then you deceived—” she began, and stopped herself.
“I’m not the only deceiver. Tell me,” Velday said in his pristine new voice. “How do you judge your master now?” She gazed and kept dumb. “Oh come,” said Velday, “I saw your look when he gave you to me like a ring he was tired of.”
“Forgive me,” said Tilaia. “I was surprised. It will be my delight to serve you.”
“And after me, who else will you delight in serving? Because it won’t end with me. He likes the novelty. Didn’t you see how he liked it? After me, all the princes who keep J’ara with him. You’ll be recommended to each. Then later, his pet hierarchs. How will you relish that? You’ll have guessed, no doubt. There’s a girl at Nu. But it’s unfortunate. I see you have robots. You’ll lose them when the tech credits cease to come to you. When Ceedres stays away.”
Tilaia’s lips moved. At first no sound issued from them. Then she said, “Pardon me, but you’re incorrect. Prince Ceedres Yune Thar has always been my protector.”
“And mine, Taia. Look where it’s brought me. Mindless with pavra and wine, my sister dead, my estate slipping from my fingers—into Ceedres’ grip. But you knew as much, didn’t you?”
“I know nothing,” she said swiftly.
“Come,” he said, “everybody knows. Not that he told you, but my decline is very evident. He’s weaned me to toxics as if to meat.”
Tilaia slid a narrow glance at him. Perhaps she saw his hands tremble.
“I have many assorted liquors here,” she said. “What can I offer you?”
Velday smiled. Curiously, it was Ceedres’ smile; yet maybe not so curious. “Offer me nothing. I crave those things, but there are medicines to assist me in putting that craving off. As I must. But I wonder how you’ll fare, craving for tech credits and receiving none.”
Tilaia flared abruptly, her instinct for disaster overwhelming her.
“You lie!”
“Now, Taia. You know that no prince lies to a Slum zenen or zenena. Ever.”
Tilaia was quick to erase her fault. She bent her head again.
“Excuse me, but you make me feel afraid, prince Hirz. Why do you say these things of my master?”
“I’m trying to caution you. He’s expansive with me, since he reckons me an addled sot. He boasts of what he will do. You’re to be cast off.”
“Why caution me then, lord prince,” she whispered, with a trace of Slum guile. “What am I to you?”
“Nothing. But we share a bizarre affinity. He is an enemy to each of us.”
“I don’t accept my lord is my enemy. Nor that he is yours.”
“He dismissed my sister with a crime of which she was innocent, and gambled she’d die of it, which she has, I think. He duped me.”
Tilaia’s eyes had brightened with a bewildered slyness. Too great a number of facts and implications were coming to her, she could not sort them, but she gulped them avidly against an hour when she might. She said impetuously: “If you have a grievance against him, go to the Conclave of the Law.”
“Somehow,” Velday said, giving the sentence the huge and terrible weight it deserved, “Ceedres has gained a way to pervert the Law. He can make machines tell lies to it, and they are credited. No, the Law as a weapon of vengeance is useless against him.”
“What weapon will you choose, then?”
The vicious fearful side of Tilaia, the side which believed Velday’s story, had uttered. The question unnerved her, and also Velday. Till that minute, he had not really thought in terms of murder. Now he did.
Ceedres the traitor, the besmircher of honor and trust, should be slain. But how, under the glare of the Law, which, unlike Ceedres himself, surely Velday could not blind?
He had talked to this woman from oblique motives, trying to discern her complicity, which was limited as he had supposed, trying to sour her against her lover, which it appeared he had done. For now, it was sufficient, and exhausted, Velday turned from her, placing on a table as he did so the tech credits he had deliberately brought with him.
Tilaia was a statuette, but still with daggers on her nails.
“You’re very generous, Prince, especially as I gave you nothing.”
“It offends me,” Velday said, “that he should keep you so long and then throw you over in this fashion. I understand something of your feelings. Hence, the credits.”
He was at her outer door, when he heard the breathless cry: “Wait!” She must optically have counted the riches he had left. She ran to him and flung herself at his feet. For the first, he saw that she was beautiful, in the Zenith mode. Before, he had only seen that she was Ceedres’ property. And now she bowed herself to the tiles, and kissed Velday’s sandal. It was the gesture she offered Ceedres, her signal of total slavery, and a violent thrill shot through Velday, making him dizzy. Tilaia had, by transfer of the gesture to Velday, recreated Velday as Ceedres. And for a second, as Velday stood there, the pool of the girl’s hair lapping his feet, her crayoned mouth on his skin, he was Ceedres. He felt Ceedres’ body clothing his soul, Ceedres’ face upon his own. He wore Ceedres’ expression. When the girl lifted herself once more, and looked at him beseechingly, Velday intuitively mimicked her look. The effect on her was immediate. She too, obviously, beheld Ceedres standing in that second where Velday stood.
“Prince,” she faltered, “I am your servant at all times.”
When Velday reached the salon below, Ceedres had departed for another mansion.
Velday succumbed to the pull of home, and rode back to Hirz, sweating again with his need, and as he recollected how Vel Thaidis would have raced in this direction in the stolen veh
icle of Chure. And sweating too as he thought of the weapon he must discover, by which to terminate the life of his friend.
* * *
• • •
The craving for pavra and for the white berry, the frenzy for wine of every type: the composite need Ceedres had brought him to, became Velday’s close companion. It roused with him and walked with him and sat down with him. If he kept Maram, it lay at his side and whined in his dreams. He fought the craving now with all the ability that was in him, aided by the robots of his house and their scientific panaceas. Sometimes he succumbed, most often during J’ara, when he must pretend to sottishness. Even drunken, however, he did not now forget who had conducted him to this pass. And when he grew sick, when he writhed with anguish and physical hurt, he never now forgot whom he should blame. The weakness which Ceedres had nurtured in Velday to make him his puppet, now became, extraordinarily, the very thing which caused Velday to toughen and grow unsuggestible. And certainly, he hated Ceedres at last. That Ceedres did not see through the show, and guess it, was presumably only because of his vainglory and his sweeping confidence. These Jates and J’aras another Velday rode with him and drank with him. A Velday who acted and a Velday who hated and a Velday who brooded, awake and asleep, on a means to Ceedres’ end.
Velday had vociferously thanked Ceedres for the visit to Tilaia. Velday had expressed worry that the girl had appeared distraught and peevish, apparently concerned that she was to become the plaything of Ceedres’ favorites. Her invented oratory was duly punished, as Velday had foreseen. Ceedres presently sent Darvu and Kewel Yune Chure to her, with an instruction that she cater to them nobly. The Chures had been anxiously attentive to Hirz and to Thar since their unprecedented encounter with Vel Thaidis. They had protested to Velday that they had not known her in the J’ara slut, and that, on learning her identity, they had retracted all demands for restitution from the Law for her theft of their vehicle. At Ceedres’ invitation, they went gladly to Mansion Seta, as if to prove their fellowship with Hirz.