Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) (17 page)

“Kristoff!”

I hear Jemes’ sharp inhale a moment before I register the name, and I
shift, straighten. Ja Argot is watching, a tiny smile on his lips as the glads
step away, leaving a small empty circle around him, giving the honored dead
space.

That is what they are called, those marked for the arena.
The honored dead
.

Primus is finished, and steps back, ceding the floor to the Ja. He waves
a hand. “Beyond our twenty honored dead, there will be three beast matches. The
small hukron against the premtha. Two garilia will fight a jekal. One premtha
will fight five armed fodder.” A wave of anger and fear, from the worst of the
new slaves. Their days are numbered, and the number is small.

“And we will have a new spectacle,” he says, a small smile playing on
his lips.

I straighten, my wings twitching nervously. “Brielle and a draken—the
best of our jakta—will face a phalanx of armed glads.” There is a ragged cheer
from around me as I open my mouth to protest.

Ten
armed glads.

I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder, surprise clearing my initial
fury. I snap my mouth closed before I can shout my protest, and wheel around,
desperate to run. To get away from this madness.

Kevan’s eyes are pitiless when I try to push past him. He shoves me
back. “You can’t leave. Ja ordered everyone here. You will
not
disgrace
Kristoff.” Rage flashes in his eyes. I hesitate. He motions at Jemes, and my
aide moves to me, draws me away, watching his mentor with wide eyes.

He’s afraid. So is Kevan. So am I.

Is
there anyone,
I wonder hysterically,
who is not afraid in this fucking deathtrap?

Jemes wants to drug me. I see it in his eyes, in the way his hand hovers
over my stash of pain pills, in the way he hesitates before he hands me a glass
of water. But he doesn’t. He draws me down, close to him, a hand brushing my
hair back. I don’t fight him—I don’t have the energy. And I deserve this—one
more night in his arms.

Tomorrow, it will end. It has to. I won’t let Prator kill him for
sharing my bed.

“Can Miwya handle a phalanx?” He asks the question that has been burning
at the back of my mind since the courtyard announcement.

My first thought is no—he can’t. Even airborne, even with his size and
natural defenses, one draken doesn’t have a chance against ten trained
gladiators.

Not fodder.
Glads
. I shudder. How do I tell him, after I promised
to keep them alive? And if he dies in the arena, what happens to me?

That’s an appealing thought—a fiery death in the arena, one of the
honored dead in truth. I let my eyes close, enjoying the fantasy. When I open
them again, the light is off, and Jemes is snoring quietly, one arm thrown over
my waist.

-You must come,-
Miwya orders again, an insistent presence in my mind threatening to crush
everything else. I shudder, and force myself to slide out of the bed. -
Chosi’le!-
he snaps, angry.

-Stop,-
I throw back, fighting a headache. -
I’m
awake, dammit.-

He backs away mentally, and I can breathe again, think without the force
of it making my teeth ache.

-You must come, little Le,-
he
says, softer now, a brush against my psyche. -
Quickly.-

Prodded by his insistence, I slip into my leather leggings and tight-fitting
shirt that comes only halfway up my back, leaving my wings free. I snag my
whip, and slip from our room like a ghost, darting through the darkness. Pente’s
second moon has not risen, and it won’t. Not until after the Eclipse.

The illusion of smoke and shadow is so strong I can’t find Miwya in the
shifting darkness. I clutch at the rock wall. -
Miwya? Where are you?-

Shadows slip, lighten, just enough that I can see the other five
sleeping, and Miwya’s brilliant eyes. -
Hurry, little Le. We don’t have much
time.-

I almost ask why. The word hovers on the tip of my tongue, and I bite it
down. Instead, I climb to his perch. He looks at me, his golden eye close
enough that I can see myself, small and broken-winged, reflected in his gaze. -
I
need you to see something, before we enter the arena. Before you decide to warm
Prator’s bed. You need to understand about us.-
I nod uncertainly, and he
ducks down. -
Then climb aboard, little Le. I will return you before the Ja
has reason to suspect we are gone.-

Fear floods me, the diamond at my throat an icy pulse. -
Miwya,-
I
begin and he dips his head, turning to look at me.

-We have them, too, Chosi,-
he
says simply, extending his wings. I see the tiny chips of onyx embedded there,
glittering and beautiful. I shudder, wanting to touch them.

-Hurry, Chosi
,- Miwya says again. -
The
others won’t sleep forever.-

Without questioning him further, I climb up, settling in the crook of
his neck and shoulder. Heat rises up from his scales, a comforting warmth. He
gathers himself and launches into the air, catching at the rock. The tunnel is
wider up close than I would have thought from the ground. Only once do I catch
my breath and squeeze my eyes shut as I cling to Miwya’s broad back, praying I
am not scraped off by the sharp rocks.

And then the night sky spreads before us, vast and sparkling with the
light of a hundred thousand stars.

My brother is out there, somewhere.

If he senses my thoughts or sorrow, Miwya doesn’t comment. Instead, he
pushes away from the cliff, the force snapping me forward and back.

-
What are we doing?-
I ask, watching the ground recede, trying
not to focus on how much I want to be flying. Riding a draken is intoxicating,
the feel of the wind rushing through my wings enough to make me dizzy with
pleasure.

But it isn’t the same. It never will be.

-I want you to see something,-
he
says, veering to the right, circling above the sleeping jakta in a wide arch. -
Argot
allows us the freedom to fly.-
He answers my unspoken question
. -He
didn’t, at first. But when the draken clutch became too sickly to fight, he
revised our limited freedoms.-

I nod, settling against his scales as we soar, the steady motion of his
wings and the wind emptying my mind. I am almost asleep when he speaks, a
gentle presence in my mind. -
I want to show you something we don’t share
with Others.-

His mind is suddenly pressing, crushing against mine, and I bite back a
gasp. -
Let me in, Chosi,-
he says, and there is no room to refuse.
 There is only the heavy pressure, and the stars high above me, fading
against the growing darkness. I surrender, and he floods in. I can’t help my
whimper, drowned out by the beat of his wings and the rush of the wind. Pain
lances through me, blinding me to everything, and I cry out, a wordless shriek.

-Gentle, gentle, must be gentle. She’s so
delicate. Natsu was right; she can’t survive this, I was wrong. Argot will kill
me and it will all be for nothing.-

The rush of thought startles me, and I try to move. But I feel nothing,
nothing but a small shift on my neck and a leap of excitement, a surge of hope.
-
Little Le?-

The thought echoes strangely. I feel it as my own, and I hear it
directed at me. A shudder goes through me—through the draken. –
Relax, little
Le. I’m sharing your mind, but you are still
you
. I need you to see through my eyes.-

I open my eyes, and it’s unnaturally bright. I can see everything, from
the sweep of wings in the corner of my eye to the jakta spread below us and the
desert, stretching into the horizon like an unbroken blanket. A ripple of
longing goes through me, even as I realize what is wrong with my view. I can’t
see Miwya. I’m looking through his eyes, feeling the strange pull on his wings
and the negligible weight of the girl on his back. I shake my head, focusing
instead on his stream of thought.

There are no words, just an unnamed longing that steals my breath in its
familiarity. An image forms in our mind: rocks covered in dozing draken, a
spilling river, a herd of goats scattering as I swoop from the sky,
plucking one easily and climbing back to the nest. A female is there, small and
lovely, so lovely it makes my breathe catch. Kensa. The name rings through me,
familiar as breathing, as foreign as Others. A scream pulls my—
our
—attention from the female, and I
take to the sky. Jakta gladiators—two, three phalanxs. Coming up the glade,
invading. We scream in rage as the first wave of glads attack. The fire we
throw is melting off them, almost harmlessly, and we shriek our frustration.
Above us, there is a sudden scream, painful and angry. Our head jerks up, and
we slap a glad with the broadside of our tail, sending him off the mountain,
then scramble clear, launching upward, suddenly desperate to reach Kensa.

I smell the slaughter before I reach the nest. I can smell the ash, the
fires still burning, and the rich spicy scent of blood.

It’s a scene from a nightmare, the worst dream I could imagine. Kensa is
lying in a pool of blood, her neck twisted away, so I can’t see her eyes.
Another phalanx of gladiators has snuck up on us from behind, attacking her
when she was alone and vulnerable and defending...I shriek as I see them
handling our eggs. A laser hits me, and I stumble back a step, almost crushing
the glads crowding behind me. I lunge forward, only to be hit again by the
laser. Pain sears through me, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of Kensa
lying so still. Too still.

I fall after the third blow, and I see her eyes, beautiful and furious,
for the first time. The angle is wrong. The way her head is lying—it’s not
right.

My gorge lurches, and I feel sick, furious, broken. I shriek again, so
loud the rocks shake as I stare at my mate’s head, severed from her body.

A man steps away from the glads. He watches me coldly, toeing Kensa’s
head aside. The shadows flare with my anger, but he holds something: an egg. I
go still, watching him holding my egg. “This egg is the price of your
cooperation. You have injured three of my glads. And I require payment,” Henri
Argot says, and hurls the egg to the stone.

It shatters spectacularly, the tiny half-formed body curling in the
fluids that should be protecting it, nourishing it. I can’t even scream as pain
from the laser slams into me again and I crumple in wordless agony.

Argot stands over me, supervising the dismantling of my egg clutch, and
I lie there helplessly as he steals everything I’ve ever loved.

With a suddenness that is startling, I’m separated from Miwya again, in
my skin, his sorrow his own. I’m aware of the tears on my cheeks, stinging in
the cool night, just as I’m aware of the taste of blood and ash in my mouth. I
gag, and he tilts his head, a blast of affection sliding over me as I lean into
him.

-Natsu? The others? Are they your children?-

-Yes. They don’t know. I won’t ever tell them
what Argot did. It is best. But you need to know. You want to protect us, and
to do that, you must understand how far Argot is willing to go.-

I flash on that nightmare cave, the walls smeared with blood and gore,
the detached head and the dying draken covered in amniotic fluids. I nod, and
he sighs, a heavy sigh of utter weariness. And turns us in another wide circle,
taking us back to the other sleeping draken.

Chapter
22

Juhan’tr

“DO YOU THINK THEY’LL take aid from you?” Sadi asks.

Harvine swallows the last of his coffee and stands, motioning
impatiently at Larkin. “They don’t have many choices right now, Sadiene. And
pride has no place in a catastrophe.”

She bites her lip, watching him leave. We’re being left behind, a
measure both Sadi and Brando supported, for different reasons. I stare out the
viewfinder at the planet sprawling before us. Crimson clouds swirl through the
atmosphere, slashed through with the black of smoke and ashes.

-They
won’t accept Daddy,-
Sadi says, and I glance over at her. -
The brothel madams are proud and Daddy is
offering the charity of a Senate who does not want them. Why would they accept
anything he has to offer—especially when it will be sent throughout the
Alliance, and everyone will see how weak they are?-

-He’d
record this?-
I ask, startled.

“Larkin won’t leave him much choice, Juhan,” she answers shortly, her mind
shuttering from me. I glance away and she sighs, reaching for my hand. She
threads our fingers together, and squeezes. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. Let’s get
something to eat while we wait, hmm?”

Tinex is in the galley and Sadi sits next to him as I put together
sandwiches from the bar Harvine’s staff always has out. I add some fresh fruit
and hand the plates around.

The vid screen blinks to life, and I can hear Larkin talking to the
Senator. “You need to get footage of this. It’s good for your ratings.”

Harvine sighs, an aggrieved sound. “I’m not interested in my damn
ratings; they’re fine. I want to help these people and the Madam won’t
appreciate cameras.”

“She can’t afford to be picky, remember?” Larkin answers sharply and
Harvine gives him a censorious glance. The aide looks away first and Sadi
laughs silently at my side.

“One camera. And we
will
respect
her. Or I’ll send you and your cameras back to the Arizona.”

Larkin signals one of the staffers, and he scurries forward, attaching a
pinprick vidfeed to the chief of staff’s lapel as the shuttle hurtles them
toward the planet surface.

“He has five other feeds running,” Sadi says, picking at her fruit. I
glance at her questioningly. She shrugs. “Larkin doesn’t believe in being
unprepared. He’ll give the footage to one of the techs and they’ll splice it
together to make Daddy look perfect.” The bitterness in her voice startles me,
and she shrugs again. “I’ve been used in these vids often enough. I don’t have
any love for them.”

I’m quiet as we watch the Senator, flanked by Brando, step off the
shuttle and into a disaster zone.
 
After
a brief negotiation, the Cenktari allow him to help, his staffers spreading out
and distributing water. A few of the larger staff—the security detail—help
clear the rubble of a nearby building, dragging out the dead. When a survivor
is found, Larkin is quick to position the Senator just so, catching him in the
perfect light.

She’s right. The Senator might be here to help, but this is nothing but
a photo-op to the chief of staff, footage to impress constituents.

“Turn it off,” I say, tugging her hand. She looks at me, and I pull her
away. To a game of Imperium, or a nap—to anything but her father and his
politics.

We’re in the middle of a game of Imperium with Tin tapping at his
tablet, when the Senator returns. She gives a soft sigh as a second shake goes
through the Arizona, and I look at her.

“We have visitors,” Sadi says.
 
She glances at her clothes—plain, loose trousers, a tight top for
sparring. “It’ll have to do. Come on.”

I follow her through the Arizona to greet her father. He’s talking to an
older woman. She has striking, distinctive features that speak of a beauty that
has weathered the seasons of life and is fading into the twilight of her years
with a startling grace. Her eyes dart to Sadi and me, and she smiles, a
slightly reserved smile that makes me want to reassure her.

“My daughter, Sadiene, and her consort, Juhan’tr of Eleyiar. Sadi, this
is Madam Lily.”

Sadi smiles, says something I don’t really hear.
 
“Juhan?”

I jump a little, look at Sadi. -
Dinner,-
she says. -
Just get through dinner with
me.-

It’s a formal affair—as formal as we can be with almost no time to
prepare, and a disaster on the surface.

 
“Will the IPS send aid?” Lily
asks as she cuts into a roast mushroom steak.

Harvine hesitates, and Larkin shakes his head. “No. Unfortunately, the
Interplanetary Alliance cannot afford to send aid to every planet that suffers
a natural disaster. I’m afraid they give precedence to planets within the
alliance, and Cenktari is not.”

Lily smiles, a lush curve of lips that screams disdain. “Then why are
you here, Senator? One man can’t do anything of consequence.”

Harvine laughs. “That’s what they’ve said my entire career.”

“We wouldn’t know—we’re not welcome in your IPS or Alliance,” she says.

Larkin frowns. “Lady, you know that isn’t true. You know we welcome new
planets. Planets who are willing to abide by the laws we have—including those
on prostitution.”

She offers a razor-thin smile. “I’m sure that’s true. However, no one
has ever expressed interest in bringing Cenktari into the IPS, and without our
bed skills, we have no industry to offer the galaxy. Besides. Were we to stop,
another planet would offer the same service. It will always be around; you know
that.” She stands abruptly. “You should leave, Senator. You have your election
footage. Go home and leave us to tend our dead. We don’t want anything more to
do with you or your campaign.” She gives him another smile, razor sharp, and
turns away.

I blink at her back. Just like that, Senator Harvine of New Earth has
been dismissed.

Sadi guides the Leen away from the Senator’s Arizona. Below us, spread
out like a bloody wound, is Cenktari.

“Building on an active volcano was a stupid idea,” Sadi mutters through
her teeth as we glide toward the atmosphere. Silently, she asks, -
Are you
ready?-

I nod, shoving my mental walls up so hard and thick I can hardly feel
her or Tin.

“They built on volcanoes because that’s all that’s on Cenktari. And no
other planets have their laws on prostitution,” Tin says as we enter the
atmosphere. “Or the lack of laws.”

The rage, grief, pain, horror—all of it swells up like a silent scream
and I stumble.  Even hidden behind my walls, the mental assault is strong
enough that it drives me to my knees. Distantly, past the onslaught of the
psychic storm, I can hear Sadi calling my name, can feel the press of Tin’s
hand between my wings.

I gag, vomit rising as the horror from the disaster begins to ebb and
the rush of the minds of a hundred thousand stolen whores fills the void.

Cenktari. The planet of illicit pleasure and high end prostitution. The
bloody stain that caters to any sexual desire, no matter how deviant, and
boasts an unnaturally high number of Eleyi whores. It has been said they make
the best prostitutes—who better to pay for pleasure than someone who can read
it in your mind?

It’s a fate Eleyi are terrified of, worse even than being Taken and sold
in the auction houses. And all of them, every whore branded and bought, is
screaming.

I sag against the floor, fury making me weak, my mind still caught in
the whirl of psyches.

“You can’t do this to him, Sadi. Send him back to the Arizona,” Tin
says, and I feel her hesitate, deliberating.

“Don’t,” I choke out and she looks at me. -
I’m fine, I promise,-
I say. Her eyes close for a heartbeat before she shoves the throttle, and we
race toward the surface.

I must be the only Eleyi in our history to ever willingly go to
Cenktari.

I shiver, my wings vibrating with the effort it’s taking to filter out
the psychic storm. “How do they live like this?” I mumble and Sadi glances at
me. I can feel her sharp-edged concern, the residual worry that she should be
sending me back to the Arizona.

Then Tin’s gasp draws her gaze to the viewscreen, and we all stare.

Seeing it on the news feed was devastating: the fire-gutted remains of
palatial brothels, stone pathways glowing red-hot. Ash so thick breather masks
are required for safety. The scarred survivors, weeping over the ashy remains
of loved ones.

But seeing it now, close enough to touch, feeling their agony, is
different. What was remote and removed is now real, in a way that cannot be
denied.

And above it, above the devastation, looming like a bloody fist, rises
Mount Cenktari. It’s still smoking, lava weeping from cracks and vents. The
night sky glows brilliant crimson at its peak, a slow, steady river of molten
lava pouring down. Sadi lands the Leen with a soft thump, and stands. “Ready?”
she asks us, and I nod. It’s almost natural to take her hand.

The air shimmers with heat as the Leen’s bay doors slide open and we
step out. A few prostitutes are tending the wounded, easily identifiable by the
scarlet bars tattooed on their cheeks.

The Scarlet Stain. Cenktari has been called that for longer than I have
been alive, both for its volcanoes and the tattoos the prostitutes wear.

“I don’t care if they aren’t obligated; the IPS should send aid. They
could contain these eruptions,” Tin says, his voice choked and furious. I shove
his emotions away, fighting nausea as the psychic storm screams around me.

“Cenktari isn’t an IPS planet,” Sadi answers tightly. “The Senate will
gladly let The Scarlet Stain burn.”

“We don’t need their aid.” The woman is a freed slave—three black strips
crisscross her scarlet bars. She’s Jentar, with all the grace of their system—elegantly
beautiful, tall and willowy, moving toward us with a liquid grace born on the
water. She’s covered in ash and soot, her diaphanous pink robes stained with
blood, yet it does nothing to diminish her beauty. “Why are you here, Sadi
Renult?” she asks, imperiously.

“We want to help. I don’t come as the daughter of Harvine, but a citizen
who cares for the lives lost, Madam.”

“And you bring your slave?” she asks, a mixture of pity and disdain in
her brilliant yellow eyes.

“Juhan isn’t a slave,” Sadi insists. The Madam rakes a look over me,
then turns away without commenting. “Please,” Sadi calls, “we want to help. That’s
all. Is your pride really going to keep you from accepting help when your
people suffer?”

The Madam stops, and shrugs elegantly. “As you wish. Kendal will assist
you.” She motions to a lithe male and he steps forward.

His voice is like honey when he speaks. “Follow me, Ms. Renault.”

Sadi jerks at the beauty of it, a wave of heat and longing filling her.
I glance at her and she flushes as she hurries to follow him.

“There are few wounded,” Kendal says as he walks lightly through the
smoky street. “Madam Tali has converted her brothel for use as a hospital.” He
pushes the burnt doors open and leads us into the brothel. It’s almost
untouched, elegant decadence, soft curtains and plush couches that hold the
wounded and burned.

“Does Madam Tali still run a stable?” Sadi asks, genuinely curious.

Kendal smiles, amusement filling him. “Of course. The other madams would
never accept her leadership if she couldn’t run a stable.”

His words click, locking into place like a puzzle piece. The Jentar
madam is the leader of Cenktari, the queen of whores
.

-Best choke that thought before it forms,
friend. Tali doesn’t much care for the term ‘whore.’-
The
voice is weak but amused, and I sway, inching
past Sadi and Kendal to get to the speaker.

She’s small, short legs and arms, her longish blonde hair giving her a
full appearance. Her eyes, a bright blue, shine with amusement and
intelligence. -
How hurt are you?-
I ask, crouching next to her.

She shrugs, the motion obviously painful, and a sharp breath hisses
between her teeth. And that’s when I notice what’s wrong, why she appears so
small.

Her wings are gone. The stumps remain on her back, a few charred
feathers clinging stubbornly, but the wide sweep of wings that should be there
is gone. Horror swamps me, and I fall back a few steps involuntarily. It’s
disgusting and appalling and so
wrong
my stomach lurches.

-I won’t be able to work the beds anymore,-
she
says, and through the white noise, I can feel the current of satisfaction in
her.

-You can’t fly.-

A snort. -
Brother, I haven’t flown since I was Taken. They clip our
wings before we’re put in a stable.-
She says it matter-of-factly, as if
the horror of her statement has faded under the time and weight of it.