The Shattered Sylph (22 page)

“Let me put these on you,” he told the four. “When battlers see you, they’ll think you’re afraid because you’re slaves. They’ll leave us alone.”

Two of the men stepped forward eagerly, their arms outstretched. Justin looked miserable but did the same. As Leon shackled them, the woman asked, “Are you sure this will work?”

“Yes,” Leon promised. But this wouldn’t work at all if the battlers recognized her. He studied her for a moment and grabbed a wide scarf, wrapping it around her head.

They took a moment to gather their courage, and then he led the group out the other side of the building and down the roads he’d memorized. They crossed the city, always moving, Leon trying not to think and draw attention from any battlers. The people with him drew none, and he brought them at last past the crumbling city wall, where Justin collapsed in his arms and sobbed in relief. Leon held the boy while Xehm and the others gathered in amazement.

One down. Two to go.

Rashala returned to the arena stables, furious despite her impassive expression. She’d been told personally by Melorta what happened, but she was still outraged.

All of the battlers had been moved, and those that weren’t needed sent back to the harem. Seven-oh-three had been relocated to a new stall, one near the main entrance and very close to the handlers’ picket so that he could be watched. She saw him in there, sitting on his bed and looking confused. One of the handlers was with him, massaging his shoulders and keeping him soothed. Rashala nodded in approval and kept going. The last thing they needed was a hysterical battler. If Seven-oh-three was as upset as she’d heard, that handler deserved a commendation for her efforts.

She went to his old stall, where three feeder cages had been broken, a concubine stolen, and the viewing window shattered. Thank all the gods that the thieves hadn’t stolen the battler as well! But he’d been hard to wake when found. Something had been done to him, to the emperor’s darling. She just hoped the emperor never heard about it.
She might lose her head because of this. Melorta likely already feared as much, but Rashala had work for her. The handler might save her own life if she did things right.

Rashala circled slowly, pondering the broken glass and shattered cages. The battler had been upset earlier. She’d attributed it to the feeders, but now she wondered. Had someone tried this assault before and the poor creature was upset because of that? Had he tried to warn them?

She swore under her breath and left the stall, directing one of the handlers to fetch her brother. He was still the primary rule giver for Seven-oh-three. She’d have him reassert his rules on the battler—all of them. She was taking no chances anymore. Afterward, he would be returned to the harem. From the way he was shooting looks around, as though expecting an attack, he’d be of no use in the arena at all. Luckily, the emperor wasn’t watching today and his nephew preferred Three-ninety-nine. She’d recommend he be put in the fights instead.

Then she’d have to deal with Two-hundred. That had been a surprise. He’d always been one of the most easygoing battlers, and not really inclined to prefer any specific woman over another, but now he was hysterical about that woman being removed. There was no reason for it. She’d looked over the records, and Two-hundred gravitated toward a dozen different concubines, the same as a number of other battlers.

Rashala stopped, her mind suddenly making an empirical leap. There were a dozen women recorded as sleeping with Two-hundred. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a series of pages on Seven-oh-three. His preferred sleeping partners were listed as well, including the woman who’d been brought here and stolen, the one Two-hundred had been upset over.

She didn’t have Two-hundred’s records with her, but
her memory was excellent. Two-hundred wasn’t sleeping with just the same number of women as Seven-oh-three. He was sleeping with
exactly
the same women.

Rashala cursed under her breath and turned, heading back out. She’d have to double-check, review all the records to be sure. But if she was right…She hadn’t attributed that much intelligence to the battle sylphs, or to the women who serviced them. That was correctable, though. Quite easily, in fact.

Melorta walked swiftly down the corridor and into the guardroom before the harem. Several handlers glanced up but immediately returned to their duties. Given her mood, if any of them had dared to speak, she’d have ripped their heads off. Three feeders and a concubine gone, and it was her responsibility! She could find herself back in the harem as a concubine over this, and if that happened, she was as good as dead.

Those slaves had been stolen right under the nose of a battle sylph who’d been specifically ordered to prevent them from escaping. Melorta had considered this as she went to report to Rashala, and Rashala herself had come to the same conclusion: the battler’s original master had done this. It was horrific to think the man was still alive, but there wasn’t any other answer.

Melorta unlocked the main door to the harem and swung it wide, striding through with her crop in hand. She couldn’t ask the battle sylph about the master. She’d heard of battlers being allowed to speak before, but the words they spilled were pure poison. There was no communicating with them. However, there was with concubines. And Melorta was interested in an interrogation.

With her yellow hair, the girl was easy to spot standing with a group of women partway down the harem, all of
them cringing fearfully. They outnumbered her six to one, but Melorta wasn’t afraid. The vast majority of concubines were cowards.

The foreign girl, however, seemed as though she might be an exception. Melorta walked up, glaring at the concubine’s companions, who immediately fled. Left behind, the foreign girl glared right back, fists clenched. Melorta was unimpressed.

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing an arm.

“No!” the girl shouted, trying to pull away.

Melorta smacked her across the side of the head with her crop. That quieted the bitch down enough to be dragged out of the harem and through the guardroom to a smaller, private chamber. Normally it was used for guards to catch short naps during long shifts, but it would serve this purpose as well.

Tossing the girl into the corner, she announced, “Seven-oh-three knows you. He knew you before. Don’t lie to me, we all saw it.” Melorta pointed and slapped her crop loudly against her thigh. “Tell me who his master is.”

The girl gaped in shock, eyes wide with horror. “W-what?”

“Tell me who that thieving bastard is and where we can find him!”

The girl gawked a moment longer, and then her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know anything!” she wailed. “I don’t!”

Melorta glowered, unconvinced. “Don’t lie to me. You went straight for Seven-oh-three when we brought him in.”

The girl covered her face with her hands. “His hair was so pretty, and he looked so normal. Not a f-freak like the others!” She began to cry.

Melorta sagged. It made far too much sense, and the concubine wouldn’t dare lie to her. Not now. Melorta knew liars, and terrified women never did it well. Unfortunately,
that left her responsible but with nothing to show regarding the theft.

Furious, and just wanting the bizarre-looking girl out of her sight, she grabbed the cringing concubine by the arm, hauled her upright and dragged her back to the harem. Seeing her coming, one of the handlers opened the door, and Melorta nearly threw the blonde inside, watching her trip and sprawl across the floor of the main chamber. Scanning the battlers, Melorta pointed at the closest.

“Four-seventeen! Come here.”

He did, his claws clicking on the floor as he glared down the length of his nose at her.

“Easy, baby,” Melorta soothed, reaching out to stroke his arm while she focused her will upon him. She wasn’t as good at it as Rashala, but the battler settled, his eyes softening. No problem. “I have a job for you,” she told him, leading him out of the harem and into the guardroom. Battlers didn’t receive orders there very often, but there was a vent in the ceiling for them to use whenever they did. “I want you to go to the arena,” she commanded. “The concubine Eapha was stolen from there. I know you’ve slept with her, so you can follow her scent. Find her and bring her back, but first, kill any men with her and bring me their heads. Do you understand?”

Four-seventeen nodded slowly.

“Good boy.” She stood back. “Go now.”

Four-seventeen changed into a cloud and flew up the vent. Melorta was left to wait for his return.

Back in the harem, Lizzy returned to Kiala and the others, shaken and frightened. Her fury was far stronger than her fear, though, and her focus was absolute. They wanted to kill her father. Still, they had to be getting desperate if they were asking
her
for information. Lizzy took a deep
breath and forced herself to relax, managing a smile for the other women, none of whom had expected her to come back. For now, Father was safe.

Four-seventeen soared high over the city as he headed to the arena. He hated this. He hadn’t known that Eapha was free, and he’d actually felt sorry for Tooie over her getting taken. The simple thought of Kiala being grabbed made him want to scream. Now they wanted him to track down Eapha, and once he brought her back, he knew what would happen to her. It would be worse than before. Still, Four-seventeen had no choice but to follow orders.

His
exact
orders. As he’d been commanded so long ago, he landed as soon as he could and assumed his greenish humanoid form, observing the arena and inhaling deeply. In his cloud form he could have moved quickly over the city and probably found Eapha in a few hours. He knew her pattern and would recognize it easily. Once he got close enough, it would serve as a beacon to him. But he wasn’t allowed to hunt in cloud form, and Melorta had told him to follow her by scent. It was just too bad for her that patterns weren’t sensed by scent, and in this form, he only had a human sense of smell.

Ril knelt prostrate on the marble floor, his arms stretched out before him and two battlers holding him down as his master repeated his commands, Shalatar being careful to make every rule clear and fully understood. Ril heard him, but the litany had no effect. Leon’s voice echoed through his mind louder than anything Shalatar tried to say.
I am your master.
Those four words kept Ril safe, free of whatever anyone else wanted.

Freedom. He’d never felt so free, had never thought he’d find liberty through so strong a binding, but that was
what had happened. He’d chosen his master with his eyes open this time. Not when he’d come to this world—no one would have wanted that. He’d chosen six years ago, when he’d had the chance to see Leon swing from a hangman’s noose and decided to save him instead, knowing the bond between them would never be broken, that except for his queen, Leon would always come first as master. Leon was everything.

Now more than ever, Leon had full control. He’d promised to set Ril free once they were away, but right now, Ril didn’t want that. It felt good, too good to be subordinate, too comfortable and freeing. He no longer had to worry or be afraid, because there was someone there to make the decisions for him. How could he give that up? Lizzy was a gentle soul. So was the queen. Leon, when he had to, ruled absolutely, and there wasn’t any sylph who wouldn’t exult in that, whether the master was a man or not. What did it matter that Leon couldn’t be there for Ril the way he wanted physically? The love he’d felt for Lizzy was muted, there but not really that important. He’d been celibate for most of his existence anyway. More important was freeing Lizzy for his beloved master and seeing them both home to the Valley. Deep inside, something tickled him, saying he loved Lizzy, loved her dearly for himself…but it didn’t matter. Both of them loved him, and they’d given him a greater freedom than he ever would have found without them. The two battlers who held him stared in amazement. They could feel that Shalatar was having no effect on him, master or not, that there was something stronger wrapped around and through him. They felt it and were envious.

Six years of freedom he’d had to make his own decisions and go his own way. He’d spent them following Leon anyway, working with him as closely as ever. Actually, they’d
been even closer: Leon had treated him as an equal during those years. But he hadn’t hesitated in this. Why had Ril ever been frightened? He had his place and his family, with Lizzy and Leon both. Love, and a purpose. He didn’t need anything else. And nothing and no one could take that away from him.

Shalatar finished his recital of the rules and wiped his forehead. Rashala had been concerned, but it didn’t look as though she needed to be. He didn’t work directly with battlers, but sylphs were all essentially the same. The battler before him was in full submission. There hadn’t even been a need for force.

He nodded to the handler who had brought the three battlers, the other pair acting as muscle in case Seven-oh-three was compromised after all. His master was still out there, Shalatar heard. That seemed impossible—the man had to be dead—but they couldn’t afford to take chances.

The handler stepped forward, urging the three battlers upright, and they followed her docilely, headed for the feeder pens. Shalatar went to wash his face and return to his duties, forgetting in a moment a creature who should have meant everything to him.

Despite how blisteringly hot it was, Justin sat inside one of the stone huts that the exiles lived in, not daring to step outside where he might be seen. Not with battlers scouring the city. The sylphs still hadn’t crossed the wall, but everyone was afraid that they might.

He sat in a corner, most of his clothing stripped off as he felt gingerly inside his mouth for the cauterized remains of his tongue. The flesh still hurt, but Leon had taken a quick look and assured him that Luck could restore it. He had to hope the man was right. The other two feeders hadn’t seemed upset by their loss, just happy to be free. They were gone already, in search of their families. Justin prayed they wouldn’t give the rest of them away if they were caught, but Leon had seemed to feel he had no right to stop them leaving.

Justin sighed silently. He’d cried for a long time after Leon freed him, sobbing in his future father-in-law’s arms like a child. The man had held him throughout, murmuring reassurances that Justin wanted to hear but couldn’t really believe. Leon didn’t know what it was like to have his tongue cut out and burned. To feel himself twisted inside to become a feeder for Ril. He’d imagined the life was draining out of him every time that horrible creature fed, and he’d hated it and hated Ril—the battler, who was cheered in the arena; the sylph, who had women throwing themselves at him. If he’d had both his tongue and Ril
right before him, he would have been tempted to order him into his natural form and watch him die.

Justin huddled in his corner and waited. The battlers were looking for them, but Leon had promised they were all safe here, so long as they didn’t go outside. His bladder burned, but he didn’t care. Nothing would tempt him outside, not and risk being taken back to that horrible place. This little hut wasn’t much bigger than his cage, but he was free here, and that mattered more than anything.

A few feet away, Leon spoke with Eapha, feeling his horror grow as he got his first true account of what was going on in Meridal. He’d heard things from Xehm and Zalia, but both of them were on the outside. Eapha had lived right in the heart of the madness, seeing more even than Justin had, locked in his cage. There were so many things Leon hadn’t known, so many things he hadn’t thought to ask Ril. Eapha related all of it, including things of which he wished he’d stayed ignorant.

She told him about the harems most of all, the place where battlers went to slake themselves on women who had no choice but to be there. He knew from stories of Mace before he was freed that a battler could make a woman enjoy loving them, amplifying their lust much as they did hatred on men, but to him it still sounded like rape. He’d wanted to cry when he heard that was where Lizzy had been taken, tossed to battlers like some kind of toy. The women in the Valley were incredibly liberal, and he’d come to understand and accept that, but this was his little girl.

“They never touched her,” Eapha assured him, to his relief. “Tooie said that she wasn’t interesting to them, but they pretended just to keep her from being taken as a feeder.”

Eapha had relayed that part as well, that the women who didn’t perform were taken and maimed like poor Justin, as were the ones with whom the battlers dared fall in love. He’d had trouble believing that, even of these people. It was too impossibly cruel.

“Thank you for taking care of my daughter,” he told Eapha. “All of you. It must have been a great risk for you to bring her into this circle of yours, seeing as you didn’t know her.”

Eapha shrugged, trying to work tangles out of her hair. She smiled faintly. “She’s a good girl and with that yellow hair, she would have been gone immediately if we hadn’t. But she played the game well enough for someone who didn’t know what they were doing. I think it actually got easier for her once Seven-oh-three became her lover.”

Leon felt his heart freeze inside him. “What?” he managed. Over in the corner, Justin stared, his eyes huge.

Eapha blinked, regarding him in puzzlement. “Seven-oh-three. You call him Ril, don’t you?”

But Ril didn’t even
like
women. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” She laughed. “We brought him into the circle as well.” The laughter faded. “Tooie said there’s something more about them. He had a horrible time coming up with the words. When you sent that letter with him, he spent most of the night trying to get us to put down the right question.”

“What is it?” Leon asked. He felt faint. Ril? With Lizzy?
His
battler? His
daughter
? Leon thought of Ril standing before him, taking in his orders, and had a sudden urge to wring his neck. Justin looked ill.

“Tooie said that none of the battlers wanted Lizzy in their beds because she was already bound to a battler. To Ril, actually. Even the craziest of them wouldn’t touch her.”

“She came in like this?”

“Yes.”

Leon closed his eyes and shuddered.

Eapha eyed him uncertainly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Continue.”

The woman settled back, still looking unsure, but at last she continued. “None of the battlers here have female masters. They’re not even allowed female feeders—just us in the harem and the handlers. When Tooie saw Lizzy, though…” She shook her head. “He wants to know how Ril made her his master. That’s his question. He wants to make me his master. Master of the harem, I suppose.” She smiled faintly.

No, Leon thought. Not just master but queen of every sylph in this corrupt city. From female master to queen was only a single step after all, one that a woman from a harem wouldn’t have any trouble taking. He paled, the implications hitting him all at once. Solie, becoming queen, had subsumed the fifty of so sylphs of the Community and those from her battler’s original hive line, like Mace. Eapha would take in thousands. From the look on her face, Eapha had no idea. Lizzy must not have known, either, since she hadn’t said anything.

Somehow, Ril had made Lizzy his master! He couldn’t make her a queen, not with Solie’s pattern already locked inside him. But he’d made her like what Leon was, and Leon had no idea how he’d managed it. It required the help of a trained priest, or a battler who knew how, such as Mace, who had to feed the pattern through the queen. Solie would have needed to be there when it was done, and she would have said something if Ril had come to her looking to bind himself to Lizzy. No, somehow his battler figured out how to do the impossible and had never told him.

And how would you have reacted if he had? he asked
himself. His battler had been keeping secrets from him. So had Lizzy. That hurt, but he put it aside. There was no time.

“I don’t know the answer to your battler’s question,” he admitted, and saw the girl’s face fall. She’d liked the idea of being master to Tooie, he realized, but only because she loved him. In many ways, binding a sylph was like marriage, and love was the best reason to do it. He hoped that love sustained her when Tooie turned her into a queen.

“I’ll find out, though,” he assured her.

She looked puzzled. “How?”

“Simple,” he said. “I’m going to ask Ril.”

The time for secrets had passed.

Tooie took the letter to Lizzy’s father only because she begged him. It didn’t matter to him anymore, not without Eapha. Without her, he thought in time that he would become as crazy as Eighty-nine—providing he could bring himself to even touch a woman again. It seemed easier to him not to. This kind of pain wasn’t worth it, not when his love would only get another woman destroyed.

He went out after darkness fell, shimmered out and away, moving above the city as cautious as ever not to be seen. He didn’t care for himself, but the letter inside him would result in Lizzy’s death if it were found. Seven-oh-three’s as well, though Tooie couldn’t make himself care about a foreign battler, especially not now.

Tooie flowed through the darkness and down to the place where he’d picked the flowers for Eapha. Close by, he sensed Lizzy’s father. Settling down at the edge of the city, right at the limit of his boundary, he gaped his mouth wide, letting the lightning that formed his teeth glow in the dark and show where he was. There weren’t many
campfires tonight, and all was quiet. The people there felt afraid.

All but one. Immediately, a shape disengaged from others around a campfire and made its way toward him. Tooie recognized him from his emotions: determination and calm. The man walked to the other side of the old broken wall and said the last thing the battler would ever have expected.

“Hello, Tooie.”

Tooie started, his lightning ceasing for a moment in surprise. How did this man know his name?

“I have someone here who’s been waiting for you,” Leon explained, stepping aside.

A second black shape walked toward him—one he knew very well. For a moment he could only gape, and then she was running toward him and he screamed, a dozen tendrils lashing out to wrap around Eapha’s sobbing form. He was forbidden to change out of his natural shape here, but he pulled her to him and wrapped his mantle around her, shaking. Eapha was safe! She was safe. How had she ever got here?

“Leon rescued me,” she whispered. “And he’s willing to help me become your master if we’ll help him save Lizzy and Ril.”

For giving him this, Tooie would do anything. The battler kept Eapha cradled by his heart and watched Leon, waiting for him to say whatever needed to be done. If he could do it despite all the rules laid on him, Tooie would.

As he learned in the next few minutes, it was something he could do very easily.

Freshly fed by the two feeders who still remained to him, Ril lay in one of the alcoves of the harem, his arms wrapped
around Lizzy. She had her head resting against his chest, her breath still slowing from earlier. Eapha was gone, she’d told him, only to find out her friend had already been saved by her father. She’d wept in Ril’s arms and then made love to him with near violence. In her relief, she hadn’t felt his odd emotional distance.

Ril kissed her forehead, and she lifted her head to smile at him. “I guess I didn’t need to write that letter. Eapha will tell him everything Tooie wants.” Her eyes clouded for a moment. “Ril…am I your master?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You were until Leon took me.”

She stared at him and lifted herself up. He’d told her what her father had done and she didn’t know what to feel about it. Did Ril still love her? He had to. He’d just
made love
to her. Any other thought was something she cringed away from in terror. When he tightened his grip, she settled back against him. “How is that possible for you to be mine?” she whispered. “You’re father’s battler.”

“I was yours, too,” he said. “I told you that. I was yours since the day you were born.”

She made a face. “I can’t have been too impressive as a baby.”

“You were slimy and squalling and beautiful,” he assured her. “I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you.” He saw and felt her puzzled look. “I made it official when you were seven.”

“How?”

He stretched a hand up toward the ceiling, both of them watching as he turned it idly in the dim light—his perfect, human, inhuman hand.

“Do you remember when I was sick?” he asked. “I was sick from trying to take your pattern into myself. I
needed
it, but it wasn’t until you reached for me that I was able to grasp it.”

“I reached for you?” she said in amazement.

He nodded and brought his hand down to brush a stray hair from her face. “You wanted me to live so badly, you surrendered to me. That let me in. So, you became my master.”

“I…” She swallowed and licked her lips. “Is that why I can feel you? But why couldn’t I feel you before, if you did this when I was seven?”

He stroked her cheek and cupped it, moving her face around to where he could kiss her mouth. “I suppressed it,” he explained. “You can only feel what I project to you, so I projected nothing.”

Lizzy looked up into his pale gray eyes. She could feel his calm certainty and serenity. He was at peace with himself for what she suspected was the first time in his life, and no matter what her father had done, underneath it all, she could feel his love for her. “And now?” she whispered.

He regarded her for a moment, considering her, and then that love flowed out, turning to lust that soaked through her. She gasped softly and he rolled atop her, his arm under her head as he bent to plunder her mouth, his kisses as burning hot as a blacksmith’s forge. She felt a little like steel being tempered or an instrument being strummed, and he filled her with his desire, blowing thought away as he pushed her legs apart and slipped inside.

Lizzy cried out, unable to hear herself as he filled her, body and soul. She could feel him, though, the ultimate depths of him, the inscrutable age and total loneliness that was now filled by her. He’d been taken by her father, but the heart of him that he himself likely couldn’t feel right now loved her. He pretended, as Leon had ordered him to pretend with all his masters, but it was there, untouchable
by him but understood by her. She was his life, his hope, his everything.

She wrapped her arms around Ril’s neck and hung on, not able in her humanness to do more. She knew it was enough for him, though. It was more than enough, for he touched the essence of her and knew that he was loved.

Afterward, he slept. Lizzy left him there and went outside, to give him privacy and also so that the handlers wouldn’t get suspicious. After the episode with Melorta, she should have avoided Ril entirely, but she hadn’t been able to. For both their sakes though, she couldn’t stay with him for long.

Besides, she didn’t want to get pulled into his dream with her father. It was a little odd, but the next time she saw him, she wanted it to be real.

Lizzy was gone. It had been strange to make love to her, but she’d wanted it, and deep down underneath Leon’s control, something in him had wanted it as well. He almost wanted to shy away from that feeling of want. All he needed was Leon, all he
was
was Leon. Yet still he’d held her and loved her, and deep inside he knew she loved him as well. It was hard to hold on to when she left his side, though, and Ril didn’t try. Instead, he curled up in the alcove and tried to sleep. He’d slept a lot that day already, but he’d been through a great deal as well, between Leon and Shalatar, and it wasn’t hard to relax and drop off.