"Yes," I said, carefully, "that is the gist of my concerns."
"Good," she said, and I saw her cheeks widen, meaning she was smiling under her scarf. "She was right about your being honorable. Very well, Challenger," she said, and the steel in her voice softened, "I will respect your honor, instead of assuming that you wish to restrict my freedom, and explain what I have in mind."
"Thank you," I said, letting my relief flow out. "Please continue."
"As I have said, the dance will not be overtly scandalous," she began, in an unconcerned tone, "as the Malus Earthborn prefer that a small portion of their slaves retain the illusion of being somewhat willing participants. They also are not completely sure they can act freely against my people yet, even though they believe me captured."
"I remember you saying all of that," I said patiently. "I also remember how this discount knock-off of a human being said that the woman you're replacing would be expected to do a little more."
"And I shall do a little more," Anahita said with a shrug. "It will be fine. I enjoy dancing. It is one of my biggest pleasures, possibly even more than curating. I will not perform anything I am uncomfortable doing."
"Uh," I said dumbly, working through a bunch of different impulses all at once.
Wait, hold up, Teeth spoke up, I think I caught the words on that last part. Did she just say she wants to dance for us? Like, actually dance for us?
Yes, I snapped, now let me work this out.
"Okay, while I can believe and respect that," I began, hoping to hell I wasn't making this worse. "I have to ask about how uncomfortable your other bodies would be with your doing this. Because I know at least your main body and Breena would still probably prefer to take things slow."
Yeah, but Merada didn't, Teeth countered, why are we arguing with her again? Don't we want to see her dance for us?
Do you want her primary body to get mad at us again, over something one of her other bodies did? I countered quickly, not appreciating that I was having two arguments at once.
Well, no but—
And do you want other men, men we consider to be absolute dirtbags, to see her dancing for us?
Oh, FUCK no, Teeth snapped. Why the hell is that on the table?
"I um," Breena began, "I mean uh, it would depend on—"
"I will talk with Breena about it at length," Anahita said. "And I am aware of my primary body's former reservations regarding our relationship with you. But I am also aware of my own boundaries. So therefore, Challenger Malcolm, I will ask that you trust me in this."
I started to push, to demand more details, to find out what exact kind of performance she was going to give, and for how long, and then I worked something out in my head, and stopped.
I realized that I wasn't going to be comfortable with any part of Stell doing anything around any sleazebag.
That included dancing—any kind of dancing, from exotic to square-dancing. That included risking her life while fighting them—something that already happened pretty much daily, whether I liked it or not. That included being in the same room, building, or grid coordinates as one of those child-abusing slavers.
It was literally impossible for her to make me comfortable with this idea, no matter what forewarning she provided or how many compromises she was willing to make.
But she felt this was our best chance at liberating Sejmera, or at least decapitating its chief oppressors.
And she knew both this city and its current occupiers far, far better than I did.
"Alright," I said, "I'm uncomfortable with any piece of Stell putting herself in a position where she may be disrespected by a group of dirtbags. But I will trust you in this. The safety of our people—and each other—trump my personal comfort. If you say that what you're doing is the best course of action, then I trust you. Now tell me what you need from me to make this idea work."
The steel in Anahita's eyes instantly softened.
"I— thank you," she replied gratefully. "Your commitment and trust are both generous. They have already been generous. I will remember that, and will work to show you the proper respect. And thank you for your acceptance," she added quickly, as her stance further softened. "I am perhaps the most playful part of my primary body, and the least informative. Yet you have not taken offense once, and instead made every effort to treat me well."
"That, and provide the occasional surprise of my own," I reminded her with a grin. "I'm glad I've gotten to meet this part of you, Anahita-Stell. It's been crazy, but a lot of fun."
"Awwwww," Breena said, before covering her mouth and saying "oops."
"That is true," Anahita replied to me in mock-annoyance, even as her eyes sparkled, "you certainly have your own habit of breaking rules. But I am glad to have met you as well. And thank you for keeping him alive until now, Breena."
"You're welcome!" the little sprite intoned. "Even though it's been super-hard and—nope." Her mouth snapped shut. "Gonna ruin the mood if I rant. Besides, we have to go and—meep!"
She squeaked with joy as she caught the cookie I tossed her, and began nibbling on it.
I am starting to suspect that Guineve and your mother made these cookies not for you, but for Breena, and at your personal request, Anahita whispered through the mindlink. And just how many did you ask them to make?
I have no idea what you're talking about, I replied loftily, but they admitted that they probably wouldn't be able to make enough, and I'm hoping to have a really solid supply line for them soon.
She chuckled, and we commenced planning for the night of the performance.
She still wouldn't tell the specifics of what was going to go down, but that was somewhat understandable. The Malus Men had not made any specific demands of the performance-except to Rana through my imposter—beyond that the performers refrain from using any magic in their dance.
This was the part that was going to be their undoing, in addition to the poison we would be administering.
The magics of the Sejmeran dancers had never been widely known, even before the Malus invasions. Much of the art had fallen into decline over the centuries, save for a bit of illusion magic that amplified the experience of the dance itself.
And when it became clear that the Icons and heroes of the Golden Sands would lose the war against the Malus Order, Anahita made it her personal mission to gather up all written records of the magic, even compelling the few Testifiers who knew of the art to swear to secrecy.
She had intended it to be one more trump card to cut off the heads of the Malus Order, before Cavus and Zereh's pursuit began hindering her too much to implement it.
But now that she had a day or two of relief from her two powerful hunters, and just a little bit of extra help, she could finally put a long-term contingency into action.
I let Anahita handle the preparations for the dance, while I worked on getting used to my disguise.
That wound up being a far more distasteful experience than I realized, and I began to suspect that I would find going around as Malus Malcolm to be far worse.
His real name was Gustav, according to the memories, which was surprising given his American accent, but no one used his real name except for the Malus Men, and only in private.
But the local citizens tried not to talk to him at all.
And I hated being around them in his guise.
It was a necessary thing. For operational security, I had to mimic Gustav's routine.
So I walked among the locals, who scampered away from me whenever they could, and refused to look in my direction except when I accidentally caught their eyes.
Then, they dared not look away. They just sat there, trembling, until my gaze moved away from them and I walked past them.
Then, when I was much farther away, I would hear the man, woman, or child gasp in relief.
It was awful and angering on so many levels, for so many reasons.
Objectively, I hated the taste of their fear. It felt wrong. It was supposed to feel wrong. Al
l by itself.
But memory of my time on Earth made it so much worse.
Two years ago I had walked the halls of my high school, with the help of a cane and a stupid-looking helmet.
Back then, people seldom looked at me, but that was mostly because of disgust.
The freaky cripple, I had heard them mutter.
The pedophile's son.
They had disdained me, and ignored me, but they hadn’t feared me.
In fact, some of them would harass and bully me, if they thought they could get away with it.
Which they could, because there had been an entire group covering for them, the very people my mother had trusted to protect me.
That was without a shred of proof that I was the person they thought me to be. In fact, they had the opposite of proof. They had my long record of service to the community. They had my record of standing up for anyone in need.
But one poorly forged letter from certain people in power, as well as some testimonies that were never properly investigated, and suddenly everyone had all the proof they needed to hold me and my late father in contempt.
And they had let me feel that contempt every moment of the day.
But this was different.
Here, people had all the proof they needed to know that the man walking down the street—or at least, the original owner of the man's face—was a monster and a predator. Save for my disability, he was every bit the dirtbag that people back home had suspected—and probably still suspected—me to be.
But no one dared to show him the slightest bit of disrespect.
It angered me immensely. Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did. The fact that an actual dirtbag could walk down the street without consequences, when I used to have to watch out every moment for a random stranger to kick my cane away from me. I smothered it anyway, because I had a job to do, and because it wasn't these poor people's fault that assholes back home had bullied me—or that they themselves were being bullied now—but the unfairness of it all still stung.
This, Teeth said in my mind as I walked by a young woman who had frozen after glancing at my eyes by mistake, this isn't...it isn't right.
No shit? I snapped, regretting it a moment later. Sorry, I added. I hate this, too.
No... he struggled to say, it's not the same...this isn't supposed to happen.
What do you mean? I asked as I heard the woman behind sigh in relief, then scurry quickly away. Of course it's not supposed to happen. People aren't supposed to be afraid of us.
No, no, my inner dragon spat, clearly exasperated. It isn't supposed to feel like this.
If he hadn't been a voice inside my skull, I would have turned my head and glared at him.
What the hell do you mean, it isn't supposed to feel like this? I demanded. We're wearing the face of a man who has terrorized the people of this city for years. Maybe even a whole decade. And there was nothing any of them could do about it.
That's the point! Teeth snapped, and I felt something click in him as he finally expressed himself. Power isn't supposed to feel like this!
I worked carefully to keep the surprise off my face, as he continued ranting.
We're one of the strongest people in the city. Scratch that, we are the most powerful person in this town, we're just masquerading as a weaker guy for a bunch of bullshit reasons a dragon normally wouldn't bother with. Everyone here has to submit to us, and they know they have to submit to us, but it feels like crap. Power isn't supposed to feel like crap! Not to a dragon!
I didn't have an answer for him as I walked down the street, and maybe he didn't need one. Just permission to keep ranting.
We're supposed to get respect, and loot, and food, and more power, and at least one attractive lover to mate with us every now and then, and that's supposed to be enough. Any normal self-respecting dragon would be happy with all of that. But here, the locals are cowering before our might, ready to offer tribute the moment we ask for it—judging by those fearful looks the merchants are giving—and it feels wrong.
Good, I said, as I turned to walk down another street Gustav usually patrolled. I couldn't bring myself to make the asinine speeches he usually made every now and then about resistance, but hopefully just having an arrogant smirk on my face would be enough. Abusing people isn't supposed to feel good. I thought you already knew that.
I did know that, asshole, Teeth replied, I mean, I sort of did. We never really talked about it, but I figured it out on my own back after we met on Avalon. But power is supposed to feel good, to a dragon anyway. I’m not ashamed of that; I’m angry these assholes have screwed it up so badly.
I walked over to the fruit stand Gustav visited every day, the one managed by an older woman.
"Greetings, my lord Malcolm," the old woman said in a trembling voice. She gestured to the pink fruits in her stand. "May I interest you in one of my cactus pears?"
Gustav usually took more than one, and without paying.
And while he had taken delight in terrifying this woman, she usually didn't tremble this much when he came by.
"Maybe," I said, struggling with just how much of an asshole I had to act like right now.
"Please, my lord," the woman said, her voice cracking a little less now. "Take as many as you wish. As a sign of respect."
Teeth muttered angrily and incoherently. I reached for a fruit to stay in character.
As I picked it up, the woman swallowed.
"My lord," she began, "I understand you will be at the performance tonight."
That was different, according to Gustav's memories. This old woman never bothered to make conversation with him.
I looked up at her.
"I may or may not come there, as part of a plan to help Sejmera," I said, having to sound the right kind of insincere, and really feeling done with this shit. "Why do you mention it?"
"My lord," the woman said, keeping her voice quiet. "The dancers of Sejmera are a pride of our city. A treasure of our people. They are held in honor by every theater and court they have performed in, and the Ghawazee troupe are among the very best."
I realized where she was going with this.
But I said nothing, to stay in character.
"They do much for our spirits," the old woman continued, her voice trembling again, "and their well-treatment has aided us in serving your-serving the resistance," she corrected nervously, "in what little ways we can... and Rana is a good girl."
My stomach punched itself.
"Many of us watched her grow up," the old woman continued, "and we were so proud when she joined the Ghawazee... especially in times like these. She is a good girl, and we wish to see her be well."
This right here, Teeth snarled. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.
He was right, of course.
But if word got out that I broke character, and consoled the woman that I was the real Wes Malcolm, not some bastard that was going to hurt one of the most beloved girls in the neighborhood, then Rana, the rest of the dancers, and this old woman would all be in danger.
Stay in character, I told myself, you can do it.
Just ask yourself what Chris Rhodes would do.
"Fuck Chris Rhodes," I snarled, because that was the wrong thing to tell myself.
I snatched a cactus pear off of the stand, slammed a copper coin down in front of the poor, confused woman, and stomped off, muttering angrily.
Um, Wes? Breena sent over the mindlink. Are you okay?
She hadn't been traveling with me, because Anahita had wanted her to help convince the Ghawazee dance troupe that the real Wes Malcolm had finally arrived, and to let her take Rana's place and execute whatever dance she had in store.
But she could still read my emotions through our bond, if she looked hard enough.
Yes, I sent to her, a little more harshly than I intended. I mean, no. I mean, this experience is ten times worse than even that spider waifu conversation. But I'll try to keep it together.
Um, are you sure you can hand
le it? Breena asked hesitantly.
Yes, I sent back.
No, Teeth said to me at the same time. This is bullshit. Let’s just go over to the asshole’s headquarters and blow them all the hell up.
Don't worry about me, I sent to Breena, as I prepared for another argument with Teeth. The patrol's almost over. I'm almost done with the imposter's routine. Then it won't be an issue until tonight.
Alright, Breena sent awkwardly. Anahita says thank you again.
She's welcome, I said, just as awkwardly, since I couldn't think of a better thing to say. I'll talk to you later.
Knives in the Night Page 49