Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) (31 page)

Chapter
36

Chosi’le

Prator is waiting in my rooms when I stumble in and for once, I am too
exhausted to care. For four days, I’ve done nothing but work, throwing myself
into training to bury the memory of my brother with his hurt eyes as I tell him
I’m happy a slave.

I keep hoping if I am tired enough, I won’t dream.

“I can make this easier,” he says, and I sigh, dragging myself into my
tiny shower stall and stripping out of my clothes. “You know I can.”

“Your price is too steep, Prator,” I call back, stepping into the water.
A flutter goes through me and I shiver. That I am naked and he is here is
enough to pierce my exhaustion and fill me with fear.

He’s quiet while I shower, waiting until I have redressed and stepped
out of the cubicle. “You know, the Ja has agreed to lead the Pente
participating in the Centuriad games.”

Rumors of a special exhibit for the Century of Peace are spreading, but
I’ve been too focused on my brother and my work to consider it. I shrug.

“Ja will force you to fight,” he murmurs, pressing against my back, too
close.

I stiffen and turn, facing him. “Then I’ll die with my pride intact,” I
murmur.

“The winner will receive their freedom.”

The word hangs in the air, tantalizing and lovely and intangible.
“Freedom,” I say bitterly, “is something I’ll never have. Argot will never let
me go.”

He’s quiet, not bothering to argue with me. I open the door, tilting my
head back to the sun and moons and let a memory of Juhan, standing quiet and
violent and fierce at Sadi’s shoulder, surface. For the first time, I allow
myself think of him, of all he has sacrificed, and something snaps in me. I
turn back to Prator, staring at him. “I know your price, Prator. But here’s
mine: no one must know. I don’t want your protection; I don’t want the Ja to
know. I will fight for him. I will do anything that is asked of me. And you
will ensure my draken are safe, and I can earn my emancipation. Freedom without
repercussions or threats. And until then, I want to Speak to Juhan.” I pause,
taking in his psyche—surprise, lust, apprehension—and add, “And you’ll get that
bitch Catelyn to leave me alone.”

“That is your price?”

I smile coldly and nod, reaching for the heavy minds of my draken and
letting them surround me. “Meet it, and I will meet yours.”

I close the door on him, feeling somehow lighter, and let the sun warm
my face, unfurling my wings to let them breathe in the air.

And I reach for my brother.

Chapter 37

Juhan’tr

The bed I’m in is uncomfortable. It’s scratchy. The blanket is
suffocating and pins my wings. And it’s too dark, a kind of darkness that I
only knew on Eleyiar where city lights are dimmed before the sun truly sets to
avoid the attention of passing slavers.

I can feel a presence in the room, and I struggle to sit up. “Where is
she?” I ask.

“Sleeping,” Tin answers. “After she pummeled you for a bit, she felt
horrible, cried herself sick. Brando took her to her quarters, tucked her in.”
I move, and pain flares through me, making me gasp. “If it helps any, she was
crying and saying how sorry she was.”

“No, Tin, that really doesn’t help,” I grit out, and fight to sit. The
pain in my side increases, so sharp I almost pass out again. “I think she broke
my ribs.”

“Fractured. Nothing that won’t heal.”

I pause and look at him. “You think I deserve it.”

“You called Sadi a bitch. In front of her friends and sister and Brando,
you insulted her. If she hadn’t beaten you, I would have. The girl just lost
her father, Juhan. And we both know it was your fault.”

I hear the disgust in his voice, feel it in his psyche. And his fear,
like a blanket. He’s afraid of me, and it makes me perversely happy. “Why are
you here, if you dislike me so much, Tinex?”

He sighs. “I don’t dislike you, Juhan. I just don’t trust you, not when
it comes to Sadi. She doesn’t think when you’re around, and that’s not safe.”
Before I can fully process his words, he motions at the pale suit hanging on a
hook. “And I’m here because it’s time for the funeral.”

I look at the clothes and my breath catches. They’re white, so pure it
makes my eyes ache looking at them in the darkness of the room. I wonder how I
will shine in the light of day.

“I’m not wearing that,” I say, and he laughs. “I’m not Brando—I do not
kill for Harvine or his kin,” I snap, angry suddenly. What the hell is she
doing?

“I don’t care who you are. Sadiene is about to bury her father, and she
wants you in whites. She’ll get you in whites if I have to knock you
unconscious and dress you myself.” Tin says it so evenly that I don’t doubt for
a moment he means it.

And would probably enjoy it.

I snatch up the white mourning suit and hobble to the shower. Tinex
helps me rebind my ribs, and I shiver in the cool air as I dress in the linen—real
linen. The price of this suit could feed my family for a year, and I will wear
it once.

I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror. Not in the white
mourning suit, my dragonfly wings spread behind me, my eyes empty and cold.

Sadi is waiting downstairs, gorgeous in a pale lavender sheath. Brando
is at her side, deadly in his mourning whites, and I shiver from the
instinctual fear that the white produces. Will others feel it when they see me?
Is that what Sadi wanted?

Why is she still playing this game?

She looks up as we enter the room, and an apology flickers in her eyes.

-
Don’t,-
I say, stopping her before she can speak. -
It was
deserved and I’ll heal. Let it go.-

She hesitates, and then nods, turning away. “Are we ready?”

Four more guards, in grey, so they must be new or unblooded, fall in
around us as we leave the main house. “Where is the service being held?” I ask.

“Mother’s gardens,” she answers, following the bodyguards across the
pebbled path, toward a copse of trees that drip with pale pink blossoms.

As we approach, the sound of people swells, a soft murmur. Sadi pauses,
a tiny misstep, and without thinking, I step closer, letting her lean against
me as we take the final corner.

The entire funeral is spread in front of us: politicians and their
beautiful, cold wives, Harvine’s staff—easily picked out by their red eyes and
rumpled clothes—an elderly woman who seems almost asleep. Emissaries from the
League, the governing body of New Earth. IPS representatives, clustered
together, radiating distrust. And Eleyi.

How did I miss them; how did I not feel their thoughts? I curse myself,
my inattentiveness as I feel their eyes on me, the curious current of emotions
rippling out to prod at me. I snarl silently, slamming my mental walls up, and
a few openly frown at me.

Let them wonder. Let them be irritated.

I feel the moment they take in—truly process—my whites. Whites, which
are only worn at a funeral by someone who has spilled blood in defense of the
newly dead or their families. I lift my chin a little, guide Sadi past the
crowd of mourners, to where her sister is waiting for her.

As the sisters hug, Sadi murmuring in Zoe’s ear, the soft clamor of
voices falls silent. She seats herself neatly, and I take my place at her side.
I can feel Brando behind us, Tin and the rest of the security team scattered
but close. It’s distracting, but as I watch the ancient minister teeter to a
small lectern, the bodyguards fade in my mind.

He speaks in a wavering voice, waxing eloquent about the kindly Senator
who, if he were to be believed, had never met a child he hadn’t kissed or a
small creature he hadn’t fed.

As he begins to ramble about the temperance of life and the path across
the stars we must all follow to another destiny, I can’t help the sarcastic
smile that curves my lips. Does he really think that this helps those grieving?

-Juhan’tr. You are being rude.-

The thought intrudes suddenly as a Siniese Senator takes the minister’s
place, and I flick an annoyed thread at the Eleyi.

-You cannot ignore your people forever.-

I bite back the urge to laugh. -
Why? My people have done precious
little for me recently, and less for my sister. I’m trying to mourn, if you’d
be so kind.-

-You’re being childish,-
another
mind snaps and I want to scream. -
Your lady is dangerous. The Eleyi need an
ally, and she won’t make a good one.-

That sparks my anger—Sadi is mine. They have
no right to insult her. -
Sadiene Renult-Harvine has been a friend to me. If
you think I will betray her on the eve of her father’s death, you are sadly
mistaken. Besides, the Eleyi have never been interested in self-defense. Why
should they care now? Hide in your trees, old ones,-
I
shoot back, shifting as I feel the heat of their angry glares landing between
my wings.

-Why do you wear the color of death?-

It startles me, not so much because I didn’t know they were wondering,
but because it is rude of them to ask. I put as much arrogance as I can in my
tone. -
Because I’ve killed.-

-That isn’t the Eleyi way,-
one
snaps.

-Maybe,-
I say, my tone even, -
we
should change our ways before we are all sold into slavery. Like my sister.-

I don’t wait for a response, but instead slide my mental walls higher.
Sadi shifts next to me, the parade of Senators and politicians extoling the
virtues of her dead father finally slowing. She stands, carrying a small silver
vase to the lectern.

Her voice is soft, rough with grief and exhaustion. “Daddy used to tell
me, we are the sum of our choices. It’s what defines us, our actions when a
choice is needed to be made. Do we choose what is easy and expected, or do we
do what is right?” She looks up. “Doing what is right, so often, is hard. It
hurts. And the price is usually high.”

She takes a breath, and I send a wave of comfort at her.

“Daddy knew that, knew that doing what was right came at a price. We
both did. I like to think if he had known, he would have been proud of me no
matter the price. Many of you—all of you, I’m sure—know that I am involved with
an Eleyi. What you don’t know is that when I met Juhan, he had just lost his
sister to slavers. He was frantic with worry, desperate to find Chosi’le. It
struck something in me, something that understands the need to protect a
sibling.”

Zoe reaches for my hand and I squeeze her thin fingers. On the lectern,
a tiny smile turns Sadi’s lips as she watches us. “I offered my help. I never
explained to Daddy, never told him why this choice needed to be made. I wonder
if I should have. It seems to be one of the choices that changed everything.”

She takes a deep breath and looks up, steely determination in her eyes.
“You’re wondering why I’m telling you this. Why it matters at the funeral of an
IPS senator. I’m telling you because it’s why he died.” A startled wave goes
through the room, but she talks over it. “Juhan and I made enemies in our
search for his sister—people who don’t want slaves freed, or who are worried
about a lost profit. And it is worrisome to have Eleyi come searching for their
stolen family. It sets a bad example,” she adds, her mouth twisting as if she
has tasted something foul.

“But they didn’t attack us. Because cowards will never attack head-on. Instead,
they attacked a man half a galaxy away, a man who didn’t know anything about
our actions. And they killed him. That he was opposed to their agenda merely
made it that much sweeter.” She looks down, and I see tears on her cheeks. “So,
I ask you. What should we do? Should we ignore an attack against our own
senator, a man who upheld our laws, who was killed with such violence? Do we
have a choice?”

She falls quiet, and I can hear the murmur going through the crowd, can
feel the anger and anticipation. Sadiene Renult, at her finest, playing her
audience like a finely tuned instrument. “I think we do,” she says at last, and
when she looks up, there is something different in her gaze, a resolve that
startles me. “I think we can change things. I’m not sure how, not yet. But when
I am, I ask you to support me. And if you can’t,” she adds, glancing at the row
of Interplanetary Senators sitting a few rows back, “I ask that you don’t
oppose me.”

There is a moment of quiet, a soft hush as Sadiene steps from behind the
lectern. Zoe rises without prompting, and together, the girls walk to a pair of
trees. They’re tall, and grow impossibly close, so close it’s hard to see where
they separate. They remind me, oddly, of the Eleyi trees.

As the wind rustles the silver green leaves, the sisters gently upturn
the urn. The ashes catch, swirling in the breeze, floating into the overhead
branches, clinging and flying and finding peace.