Major Pieces, page 38
It was fun. A joy. And when they were sated, and she was pleased with the work, they slept, and she was surrounded on either side: by loving arms, and by the luxury of having two of the most powerful males in existence warding her.
When she woke, her head was cushioned on the Ambassador’s chest and the space at her back was empty. Her closed eyes were facing the balcony, and she could feel the warmth of the light on the thin skin of her Eldritch cheeks. She’d fallen asleep in that shape; the better, perhaps, to enjoy the feelings of her consorts directly as they drifted to dreams together. It worked: some of what she’d believed to be sunlight was in fact, the Ambassador’s sublime happiness, which effervesced under her tongue like his memories of champagne. He trailed the back of his hand along her temple, her cheekbone, the angle of her jaw, until he could wind some of her pearlescent hair around a finger, using the same motion the Emperor did when playing with his. “Good morning, Beauty.”
“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” she said.
“And we are in for many such mornings to come.” He tipped her chin up so he could kiss her brow. “I love you. Have I said?”
She blushed brightly peach. “Yes. But… I don’t mind hearing it.”
“How fortunate that I don’t mind saying it, then.” He pulled her closer and she nestled into the heat of his body, the scent of it, the satin finish of the skin stretched taut over muscles hard enough to satisfy even a Chatcaavan. “Our lover has had a collation set out for us, if we are interested in breakfast.”
“Do you want to get up?”
Agitation felt like a prickle up her sides; laziness, like the enervation of lying in a sun-puddle. She could guess which would win. “It would be good to stretch.”
Once they’d risen, the Queen did not have to ask where the Emperor had gone. He hadn’t eaten, which meant he’d gone for a flight. When the Ambassador ambled to the balcony and leaned on the jamb to stare into the sky, she knew it.
There were silky robes left folded on one of the chairs at the table where their food had been set. She unfolded one and brought it to him, and when she caught his attention, helped him into it. Shifting into a form that took chills less easily, she leaned against him with her wing cupping his back. As much of it as she could reach, for she was far shorter in her Chatcaavan shape.
“Do you sense him?” she asked, because she no longer knew the answer.
He smiled and slid his arm around her shoulders. “No. That would be my cousin’s specialty… to reach so far. But our Greatness told me he was off for his morning constitutional, so I know approximately where he must be.” He glanced down at her. “He told me that you join him now.”
“I do!” She pressed her head against his chest, fighting modesty and pride and wonder. “I can fly. It is wonderful.”
“So then… why don’t you go?”
She blinked several times. “Because you cannot join us.”
He chuckled. “We cannot be together every waking moment, Beauty. And I hate the thought of grounding you when you have fought so hard, and won through so much, to earn the skies.”
“It is a joy to fly,” she murmured.
“Then what are you waiting for?” He straightened and turned her to face him so he could kiss the corner of her long mouth. “Join our consort. When the two of you are done, you will find me here.”
To ask him if he was sure… it felt cruel, to make him continue to comfort her when he was the one who would be left behind. So instead she leaned into him, sliding her arms up around his neck and pressing herself against his body so he could taste her gratitude through their touch.
“Go on,” he murmured, smiling, and she did.
She could fly without armor, but knew the Knife would prefer her protected. That the Emperor and the Ambassador would also. So she took the long way to her tower, stopping only to request the Knife meet her there, and allowed herself to be properly dressed for her pleasures. It was a good twenty minutes before she leaped from her balcony, and by then she had to hunt to find the Emperor: sitting on one of the tower roofs, watching the clouds shake off their sunrise colors. She circled him, too refreshed by the cool wind under her wings to land.
The Emperor’s voice came over her headset. “He sent you?”
“He did,” the Queen replied. “He said I have been grounded too long to be denied the sky.”
“Very like him.”
The fevered days of their first seasons together flashed past, scoring her with claws of memory and delight and regret. “He said even the wingless need the sky. You remember?”
A low chuckle. “How could I forget, when that began everything that followed.” He stood, let himself skid down the roof until there was no roof left under his feet. Winging his way upward, he took position behind and to one side of her.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave him on the ground.”
“He would make a terrifying flier,” the Emperor said, amused. “Can you imagine?”
Could she? Yes, yes she could. Daring, quick, probably very reckless.
“You are imagining,” the Emperor said when she didn’t immediately reply. It startled her out of her thoughts, and she could almost see the considering look he was awarding her. She heard it in his voice, certainly. “What are you planning, my Treasure?”
“We should fly,” the Queen said. “If you don’t need to go back yet?”
“I don’t, no.”
“Then we should play,” she said. “Play, and pay attention to our play.” She flirted her wings at him. “If, my lord, you are willing to catch me?”
He laughed. “Always.”
She didn’t answer in words, but plummeted, weaving between the palace’s towers, and avoided him by the cold of his shadow on her body. He was a superlative predator, but practice had made her better at evading him; he had to apply himself to win more often now, and that exhilarated her. And if she rarely caught him unless he wanted to be caught, still she delighted him with her courage, and the neatness of her movements, and her penchant for using the palace instead of treating it as an obstacle. He’d told her once that she had a natural talent, and no praise could have pleased her more, and that was before he’d apologized for leaving her crippled for so many revolutions, and unable to use that talent.
This, she thought, with the wind in her face and laughter in her mouth and all the world beneath her wings… this was life.
They parted at the end of their dance, he to return to his tower, she to hers to drop off her armor. But she asked the Knife for escort and received it, because walking all the way back was too hard after the freedom of the skies. They glided up to the Emperor’s balcony, where the Knife veered off and left her to land alone… for the brief moments it took for her to be engulfed by both her lovers in an enthusiastic embrace. She laughed and burrowed into their arms.
“How marvelous you were, Beauty!” the Ambassador said.
“Were you watching, then?”
“How not?” A grin she heard despite it being muffled against her hair. “And after you’d retreated, the Emperor kindly showed me where to find the palace footage so I might watch the whole. Had you any notion that you were in possession of quite so many fans?”
“I know they watch,” she admitted. “It still seems… unreal.”
The Emperor made an amused sound. “Come, my Queen. Your bath awaits.”
“And food?”
The Ambassador said, “We shall feed you tidbits from the ledge, like the most abject and devoted of servants.”
The image made her laugh. “The two of you?”
“Do you doubt us?” The Ambassador smirked. “I believe, Exalted, we have been challenged.”
“By all means. Let us rise to it.”
They did, in fact, perch on the lip of the bath and feed her, until she was sated and interested in different food, and for that they slid into the water with her. After which, the Ambassador dried their Emperor and told him he should return to his study and work. “We shall not have a repetition of the events that saw this begun,” he said while plying the towel. “You will do your duty, and by that you will earn your reward.”
“And do you think you will be exempt from that duty?” the Emperor said.
The Queen watched with interest from the other side of the bathing chamber.
“When you award me one, I shall be sure to do it faithfully.”
The Emperor snorted. “And is that how it should work, Perfection? You wait on my largesse?” When the Ambassador lifted his head, the Emperor finished, “Tell me what you want.”
“And then fight you for it?”
A lazy grin, so like the ones from before the Emperor’s crucible that the Queen drew in a breath. Was she? Yes, she was glad that he could still summon such looks. “If you ask for too much, you’ll have to prove you deserve it to the court. But that should be incentive to choose outrageously, yes?”
The Ambassador laughed. “How well you know me, lover.”
“So?” The Emperor wound a hand in the Ambassador’s hair and jerked it. “Spit it out. Now.”
“Third,” was the instant reply, and from the tautness of the Ambassador’s shoulders he was ready to fight for it—eager. “I would be Third.”
Startled, the Queen walked to them, paused.
“Third,” the Emperor murmured. “An interesting choice. Explain.”
“To aim for Second’s pillow would be ill-advised,” the Ambassador replied. “You need a Chatcaavan in that role or your court will revolt. With good reason, because if you take me to consort, giving me the second highest seat in the government as well would grant me far too much power, official and secret. Also, you need a Chatcaavan voice near you—you have diverged too far from the norms embraced by your people to be without an advisor who can remind you what they were. Third, though… Third once managed your affairs with aliens. Who better to undertake that on your behalf than another alien? And—” A grin worthy of a Chatcaavan, all teeth and hunger. “The irony would please me.”
“Ha!” The Emperor tugged again. “Yes, I suspect it would. So… Third. You really will have to fight for that one. And not me, but others.”
“Do you doubt I’ll win?”
The Emperor snorted. “Not in the slightest.”
“Then it’s only a matter of whether you let me try for it.”
“When have I ever let you do anything, Perfection?”
“Still.”
The Emperor studied him, then glanced at her. “Well, my Queen? What say you?”
It had not yet ceased to surprise her, to be asked about policy. But she was the Queen in truth now, and not a slave, and she had spent years observing the court from a position few thought to guard themselves from. “We have not asked our appointee to Second’s position to prove himself on the dueling field.”
They were both looking at her now.
“In the tumult following the Usurper’s death, that was overlooked by the court,” she continued. “But… with the situation settling, I believe there is some resentment over the fact that the new Second was not forced to demonstrate his prowess.”
“Who is the new Second?” the Ambassador asked, curious.
The Emperor’s smile was complex; she could read the memories in it. “The Worldlord from Apex-East’s capital system.”
“The Worldlord!” The Ambassador paused, then draped the towel over his shoulder. “Actually, that’s perfect.” He glanced at the Queen. “You are suggesting he should fight to prove his right to the title? But he is an older male.”
“He’ll win,” the Emperor said. “Youth isn’t everything. But go on, Beauty.”
“You should allow him to defend his title. It will please the court to see business conducted as they expect, and it will be seen as a concession to tradition. That will allow them to bear the sight of a second, and less usual, trial for the title of Third with equanimity. Especially if you do not announce in advance your intent to appoint the Ambassador to the post.” She glanced at their Eldritch. “Let him win it fairly. The ones who are engaged by novelty and daring will be pleased; the ones who hate the changes will be able to console themselves with Second’s title having been fairly contested and won by a Chatcaavan of what they believe to be the old guard.”
“Truly your Treasure,” the Ambassador opined.
“And to think I left her languishing for revolutions in my harem.” The Emperor reached to her, ran a thumb along the edge of her jaw. “I thank the Living Air you forgave me for it.”
She stepped into him, enough to go under his wing. What could she say to make sense of it? That he kept mentioning it was enough sign of his change. “Without forgiveness there is no incentive to change. I could do nothing else, if I hoped for better.”
“Truly the Living Air chose well,” the Ambassador said, and she tucked her head under the Emperor’s to hide her abashment.
“I go, then, to meet the Worldlord and tell him we’ve rearranged his schedule,” the Emperor said, stroking her hair back and lapping at her brow, near the horn, before gently parting from her. “You may tarry if you wish—no one will expect you to be on your feet after so long a trip.”
“Which is exactly why I must be, yes? But I’ll have a nap before I go out.” The Ambassador ran his fingers through his damp hair and smiled at them, eyes smoldering. “For some reason I slept very little last night, when I perhaps should have been.”
“I shall put you to sleep,” the Queen said. “And then…”
“Join me?” the Emperor said. “To set the groundwork for the festivities.”
Because naturally a fight for primacy, with the award being the highest seats in the government, would become an event. “Yes. And I shall find ourselves a consort ritual. If we are to have a spectacle, it should be a grand one.”
“Business as usual,” the Emperor said. “That’s how your people say it, isn’t it, Perfection.”
The Ambassador chuckled. “Some of them, yes.”
They did, perhaps, linger in the bathing chamber after the Emperor’s departure, which necessitated another bath. During this one, though, the Queen could sense the Ambassador’s fatigue: an occasional tremor in his arms as he raised them, a tension in the skin around his eyes, as if he was forcing himself to remain alert. “It was a long journey,” she said, combing the lather through his hair with her clawed fingers. “He was right… you should have rested.”
“It’s not so much the exhaustion as the time changing,” the Ambassador replied. “And I would not have wanted to sleep too long, lest it make the acclimation to the local time more difficult. Now, though… now I think I can lie down for an hour, and be up again for the rest of the day, while still sleeping at night.”
“If we allow it?” she said, her head tilted down to hide her look—fooling him not at all.
“If you allow it,” he said, laughing. “And if I am hollow-eyed in the morning, I will be able to say, in all candor, that I was too busy spending myself with my lovers to sleep, and won’t that set them all to talking.”
“They already do,” she confessed.
“I know. So we might as well give them something worth the bother, ah?” His glance was too canny, but she’d been expecting it, and weathered it without distress. “Is it worthy of concern? Do I worry you, my Beauty?”
“No,” she said. “It is… an echo of some feeling from the past. But I no longer fear for either of you as I once did. In part because… I can help.”
“You did then.”
And she had—the thought still filled her with wonder—but: “I have more ways to help, and am less fettered.”
“So you are.” He caught her hands and kissed their palms. “Put me to bed, then, Breath of the Living Air.”
Did he know what she planned? But no, she didn’t think so. She stepped out of the bath, water sluicing from her legs, and fetched a towel so she could dry him. Because it pleased her to do so… to feel his body and know that it was not only hers, but that some part of it was in her, in the Pattern that had become her Eldritch shape. And yes, because it reminded her of those first days, when all she had to offer was a gentle hand and a listening ear. Now, though… now she could suffer herself to be dried in turn, as if an equal, because… she was.
The Ambassador allowed himself to be led to the bedchamber, and once there, dropped onto the mattress and rolled onto his back, one arm behind his head and the other loose on his ribs. All that white hair fanned around his head like some absurdly decorative creature from the imperial harem… but no female had ever had such scars, nor worn such a look. He could beckon with his eyes, and it was very nearly command, or something more compelling: a command phrased as an invitation, because he knew it to be irresistible. The sight of him made her exclaim, “We will get nothing done!”
His laughter broke the spell. Somewhat. “Fortunately for us all, we love the game of galactic politics as much as we love the games of the bedroom, or you’re right. We would get nothing done. But…” He reached for her, and she slid onto him willingly, shifting shape so it was the silk of her Eldritch inner thighs that skimmed the outside of his hips, and her delicate Eldritch hands that spread on his chest to prop herself upright. “We shall not make the same mistake again, Beauty. I pledge it you.”
“No,” she breathed. “We have too much to do.”
“So we do. Will you kiss me and see me to sleep, then?”
“Yes,” she said, “but… one thing first.”
He canted his head, the pillow creasing under it.
She touched her fingers to his brows, let them drift down to his cheekbones. “Close your eyes.” When he’d done so, she whispered, “A gift.” And brought back to mind the sensations of the Knife clipping the armor over her wing arms. Beneath her hands, the Ambassador’s chest rose abruptly, though she didn’t hear the gasp. She concentrated on the sudden buoyancy of her wings after the armor powered on; the sound of the Knife’s voice as he ran her through the safety information, as he did every time she flew; the twist of her neck as she looked toward the balcony… and then ran for it.
