Major Pieces, page 36
She soared in circles over him, watching his mane streaming in the wind like a black banner. How beautiful he was! And he was… flipping slowly, his mane twisting as he rotated while also flying in circles. “How do you do that without getting dizzy?” she demanded.
Amusement. “Pick a point and fix your eyes on it.”
She drifted downward until she could see the glint of his eyes, observing. “You make it seem so easy. But it is all practice, isn’t it.”
“As most things are.”
She folded her wings and let herself drop through the center of his circle and squealed as he dove after her. They played chase, a wildling game around his tower, so quick that the Queen, skimming the dome, found herself running on it before she launched herself in the opposite direction. She couldn’t stop laughing—neither could he, and with the earpiece she heard it against the bones of her skull, deep in the frame of her body.
They broke to circle one another; she thought he heard her panting, and was grateful for the respite.
“It will pass,” he said. “You will grow stronger. Indeed, in some things you are already stronger than many.”
“I cannot believe it,” she said.
“Don’t doubt it, my Treasure. You have astonishing physical courage for someone who has never flown.”
“My lord?”
“You let yourself fall. Most of us have to be taught to stall—forced to, so we learn how to recover. It isn’t easy. And yet you simply… drop.”
She thought about that, letting the wind bear her up, conserving energy. It dried her sweat, leaving her comfortable. “I used to dream of falling out my window.”
Silence over the channel. A distinct one, as if he was no longer breathing.
“I would imagine it. The scrape of the sill under my legs as I pulled myself over it. The sight of the ground changing perspective as I went from craning my head toward it to aiming at it.” She stared down at the distant ground, the colors purpling as the sun drew downward. “I couldn’t imagine how fast the ground would come toward me. Some days I thought it would be too quick for me to see details. Some days I thought… it would take too long. Give me time to be afraid. I had never been afraid, but I guessed I might be so, confronting my death.”
The silence drew on so long that she wondered what he was thinking. His wings hadn’t missed a beat, still cupping the air and occasionally stroking to keep him level. At last, he said, “Why didn’t you do it?”
“Inertia? Habit?” She tried to remember what she’d felt at the time, but couldn’t. She’d spent so much of her life numb, and so little of it alive, and yet the living part had erased nearly all her memory of what had gone before. “To kill myself required effort. It was easier just to continue.”
“Do you fall now because you do not fear death?”
“No,” she said. “No, my love. I fall because I know I can catch myself.”
That ‘mmm’ was pleasure, was pride. She flushed.
“Come,” he said, and veered toward her. She flew toward him, let him catch her hand and lead her up, up toward the scintillant stars. “Trust?”
“You? Always.”
Meeting her eyes as they ascended, he said, “You did not always.”
“That time before happened to two other people, it seems sometimes to me. The you you are now I have always trusted.”
He blew out a breath she heard intimately in her ear. “You honor me, my Treasure.”
“Because you are Greatness, and I love you.” She drew in another breath. “What are we doing?” Gasping in. “We’re so high!”
“Keep on… the shield will let you breathe, though it won’t seem like it. Try not to pant.”
She did her best, and her best grew easier. She had never been so far up, and with the sun nearly below the horizon the cobalt blue of the sky was so piercingly lovely she would have wept had she had the eyes.
“Hover for a moment, my pet.”
She commanded the suit to hold her in place, and he joined her, facing her. That they could do so, cradled in the sky, as if the world had paused in the space between their ascent and their fall…
“I know,” he said, voice husky. More briskly: “When I tell you, tuck in your right wing.”
“Anything,” she said.
He pulled her into his embrace, arms tight under her wings. Surprised, she threw her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his mane, fingers threaded among the horns.
“Fall,” he commanded, and trusting him, she released the countergrav. And so did he—
“Right in!”
She obeyed, and the muscle in her wing arm trembled as it fought the rushing air, wing vane rattling. The Emperor pulled in his left wing, holding her to him and they plummeted together, spinning as they dropped, faster and faster. When she squealed, his voice in her ear reminded: “Fixed point.”
She stared up at the moons, and they wheeled crazily, or she did, and it was glorious. She remembered shrieking, and the howl of the air streaming past, and the heat of his body against hers and her absolute faith in his strength and judgment. It was Perfection, like a shock to restart a heart, and it was the most intense thing she’d ever experienced—
His wings braked their fall abruptly, and she threw hers out too, and then they twirled apart, laughing. She spun as she arced away, eyes locked on the moons, and was not dizzy, save with elation.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, reverent.
“Oh, yes!”
And then his laugh again. “I am afraid we are making a legend for ourselves, my Treasure.”
“My lord?”
“Look at the towers.”
Puzzled, she glanced toward the palace… and found the balconies crowded with spectators, their eyes reflecting the moonlight as they followed the aerial play of their rulers. She lost count of the numbers, but there were enough that the servants must also be staring. “Oh no,” she whispered, and couldn’t help a self-conscious laugh. “Do you think we seem too reckless? I didn’t want to make trouble for you, my lord.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I think it does them very well to see us so.”
“I suppose we should do it more often….”
“Chatcaava should fly.”
“Yes,” she said softly, thinking of all the Chatcaava who couldn’t. “They should.”
After that they carved out an hour every day to dance. That they were watched was evident… and not just by eager spectators. There were also Chatcaava positioned at various points on different towers, and arranged on the ground. When she mentioned them, the Emperor said, “Snipers, my Treasure. They guard us.”
“I suppose we must worry about such things,” she said, uneasy.
He laughed through the earpiece. “No. It is for my security to worry about such things. And yours.”
“Is it too dangerous? What we do?”
A surprising pause before he answered, voice serious. “There is danger in exposure. There is also danger in being perceived as timorous.”
“Oh!” She was silent, listening to the wind against her body. “You still rule because you are the Empire’s apex predator.”
“There are many who will never accept any other way. And…” A deep breath. “Perhaps, in some ways, I am still one of them. I have learned, and Changed. But I still believe in strength. Just…” He pirouetted, banking under her until he was flying in her shadow, “…that strength comes in more than one form.”
“Strength Changes too,” she murmured. “To suit the situation.”
“Strength should,” he said. “It adapts. As we must.”
“We will,” she told him, looking down at him. “We are.”
“I know.” A smile in his voice. “A Queen Ransomed flies the skies with her chosen. How otherwise?”
“I do fly,” she said, in wonder. “I dance!”
“And well,” was the laughing answer, but she heard the pride in it and tried a roll, drawing in her wings and dropping to flank him. “A little closer, pet, and a little behind the wingtip… there, do you feel?”
With a shock, she exclaimed, “The air is pulling me!”
“Vortex surfing,” he said. “It is why you see migratory fliers flying in formation. You ride my slipstream.”
“Oh…!” the Queen said, as metaphors that had never made sense to her snapped into focus. So many things males said to one another, so casually… “I want to learn it all!”
“And so you will,” he answered. “And in the best way possible. Through skin and sweat, and the evidence of your senses.”
Riding in his wake, she was silent for a time, her eyes on the males at the emplacements on the ground. The guns were discreet, but there was no mistaking their purpose. She thought of all the things she had learned through skin and sweat, and all the things he had.
Perhaps he knew, because his voice was quiet in her ear… in Universal. “Don’t grieve, beloved. We passed through the crucible. Perhaps we shall again. But how can we but fly any storm, having flown the one we have broken through?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and in that tongue, “I love you so.”
“And I am yours,” he answered.
“Can you fly in my slipstream?” she asked suddenly, reverting to their tongue. “Is it hard to carry someone?”
His smile was in his voice. “Try and see.”
When he dropped back she surged forward and he socketed into formation alongside her, and just behind, as if he belonged there. They flew a long, lazy spiral around his tower, and he kept position, and she thought of all the years she had belonged to someone, had been no better than property, had been kept and used and useless. I am yours, he said, and gave his heart to her, and his safety as they flew. “Would you drop with me?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. “And let me catch us?”
“Yes.”
She said nothing, the wind tickling under her wing vanes, its textures so different, little streamers and bumps that her body compensated for by some instinct she couldn’t name. When they landed, some time later, she said, “I am not strong enough yet.”
“Your mind is strong enough already,” he said. “And when the mind is strong, the body follows.”
The Emperor returned to orbit to consult with his Naval liaisons, and the Queen felt his absence when she danced, but she danced alone anyway. She’d made do on her own for so long that it felt strange to miss someone. Miss several someones. But she could be patient. If nothing else, her life had taught her that.
The people around her became accustomed to her flights, each in his or her own way. The Knife claimed her suit to have it serviced after each session, the essence of courteous professionalism. She assumed he whisked it to whatever specialists he’d chosen until she came upon him at work on it with a toolset and a test kit; stopping abruptly, she said, “Knife? Are you my technician?”
“No, my Queen,” he said, wings lowered and bent into an attitude she would almost have characterized as… sheepish. “I began my Naval career in engineering… I haven’t lost the knowledge yet. And it is your safety, my Queen.” He set the wing frame down. “I only run the final checks, after two dedicated technicians see to it.” He raised his chin. “It is a matter of personal honor. We have not had a Queen in so long, nor a Breath.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I was not always either of those things.”
He resumed work, lowering his luminous eyes. “To our shame, and history will remember it so.”
How he managed the tools with the talons, she could barely fathom, and yet he was deft, and meticulous. In that moment she saw the male who might have remained an engineer, had not command and the power it promised beckoned him up the ladder. Truly the Worldlord’s son: a practical male as well as a successful one. That he might be personally devoted to her was a new thought, but when he looked up, he blushed hot enough that the skin rimming his eyes colored. “You fly like music, my Queen. I have never seen the like. And with the Emperor…”
“Dance,” she suggested.
“Our birthright,” the Knife said, hushed. “To see it is to desire it for all of us.”
“Is that why you watch?” she asked, curious.
“I watch,” he said, “because your safety is my duty. My place is among the crews who guard you.” He paused, and finished, “But afterwards, I watch the viseos, because it is Beauty.”
It was her turn to flush, and she turned, leaving him to his task. Later, she checked the palace skein and discovered that he was correct: there were viseos, exquisitely produced ones, and the access count suggested that a great many people had requested them. She watched part of one and found herself unable to continue. There was too much love in it, and too much joy. Easier to do it than to view it.
The Priestess, whom the Queen had not even been aware was avoiding her, came to her one evening and declared, “It makes me wild with jealousy.”
“I… I beg your pardon?” the Queen stammered.
“I want it so badly!” The other female stopped at the window, her upper hands clenched into fists and the lower set clutching the sill. “I’ve always wanted it. To fly. To see you doing it… and not to have it for myself! To have become free in name but not in fact! We are no longer chattel, but I am still a prisoner!”
The Queen held out her hands, wings sagging. “Priestess…”
The Priestess shook her head. “No. I don’t want this title. I’ve seen the real acolytes of the Living Air. I serve its ultimate priestess. And I’m not one of you. I hate your peace and your conviction, and your sense of knowing your place and being happy with it. I’m no priestess!” She held out a hand to stop the Queen from speaking. “Don’t. Don’t! I don’t expect you to say anything. What can you say? And I am not proud of my bitterness.” She scrubbed at her face with her upper hands. “I don’t know what to do, but this… this isn’t it.” Lifting her eyes, she said, “Give me work. Please.”
The Queen blurted, “Why don’t you learn to pilot ships?”
The suggestion filled the room, so unthinkable it shocked them both, the Queen for uttering it and the Priestess for existing in a world that contained it. They stared at one another, stunned.
“Can females do that?” the Priestess demanded, trembling.
“Females in the Alliance do so all the time?” the Queen said. “I don’t know why a Chatcaavan female should not.” She remembered Laniis’s confidence when dressed in her stark uniform, and the sleek single-person vehicle that Sediryl had commanded. “I should have a ship,” she said, to herself.
“My Queen?” the Priestess squeaked.
“To travel in, when I have need,” the Queen said, frowning. “Yes, why didn’t I think of it before? And you should be its pilot. I will ask the Knife how arduous the training is. Even if you cannot fly alone, you should be able to serve as second on a vessel until you are certified. I imagine there is a certification. The Knife—the previous Knife—mentioned such things.”
“Y-y-you want me to fly spacegoing vehicles?”
“Something small enough to enter atmosphere would probably also be good. You should,” the Queen decided, “learn to fly ground vehicles as well.” She paused, considering the female. “Unless… you don’t like the idea?”
“I… it’s… I can’t…”
“Even thinking it is audacity,” the Queen said, nodding as Laniis would have. “I understand. It took time for me to learn to entertain such alien thoughts. But we must entertain many more such thoughts if we wish to Change.” She considered the other female, who was still gaping at her. “Priestess? Will you allow me to arrange for this training?” Hesitant, “It is not flying with wings, but—”
“Yes, yes!” the Priestess exclaimed, holding out all four hands. “Stop before you talk us out of it!”
The Queen laughed. “All right. I will see to it. You will fly too.”
“Me,” the other female whispered. “Fly.”
“Fly ships,” the Queen said, “that ply the stars. Like males.” She canted her head. “Ships with weapons. You will be dangerous.”
“I don’t know what to do!” the Priestess exclaimed. “I feel as if I will burst!”
“The aliens embrace when they are happy,” the Queen said. “Would you like to try that?”
The Priestess scowled at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. They are soft and fluffy and bizarre.”
Hiding her amusement, the Queen said, “Maybe walking, then. If you must release your energy somehow.”
“Yes,” the Priestess said. “Up and down the steps. That is just the thing.” She headed for the stairs and paused there, looking over her shoulder.
“Thank me when you succeed,” the Queen told her. “Not before.”
“Hmph,” was the answer, but as there was no mistaking the tremor in her shoulders as she descended into the shadowed stairwell, against which her light-colored skin stood in stark contrast.
That night, speaking to the Emperor who was still on the orbital station, the Queen asked, “Do you think I should have a ship?”
He laughed. “The Breath of the Living Air forgets that the levies of the Twelveworld are all her ships.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and frowned. “They are already crewed, though, and I wanted the Priestess to become a pilot.”
“That ferocious female of yours? Living Air. We’ll send her through military training, anything less will be a waste.”
The Mother insisted on the massages after her sessions, but never ceased to turn mournful eyes on the Queen during them, so it was a surprise when that female approached her before one of her solitary sessions to offer her a double handful of bright red fabric.
“What is it?” the Queen asked, surprised.
“In the old tales, sky dancers wore them.” The Mother looked away. “I thought… they go on the horns.”
The Queen took one of the bundles and gasped as it unrolled, falling to her feet: a streamer of silk dyed in a gradient from sunrise orange to sunset crimson, and woven through with sparkles.
Gloomily, the Mother said, “Wearing them will probably cause you to fall when they fly in your face. Your mane is enough danger without adding these.”
