her instruments 03 - laisrathera
Read her instruments 03 - laisrathera Online
Authors: m c a hogarth
- Part the Final: Choices
- Epilogue
- The Species of the Alliance
- The Seven Color Modes of Eldritch Grammar
- Author Sketches
- Return to the Alliance!
- About the Author
CHAPTER 1
For a time during which time had no definition, he knew nothing but a desperate urgency: sleep, mend, mend, God and Lady, stay alive long enough to discharge this duty (what duty) this duty greater than any he had yet shouldered. He clung to life with a tenacity honed by far too many bitter encounters with foes greater than his strength, and renounced death, and cursed it, and held fast, and held fast, and held fast—
—and heard, at last, from a great distance, the musical progressions of a halo-arch in heavy use. Not long now, he thought, ferocious, and fought the chains that bound him, of weakness and pain and injury too close to endings. He pushed so long he no longer remembered any existence other than effort, so when he won free from sodden unconsciousness he woke disoriented. Where was he? He did not recognize the room, nor the halo-arch that prisoned him, hissing and chirping through its diagnostic and monitoring cycles. Some vague voice woke in time to whisper, “Not long now—”
The halo-arch sang a rising arpeggio, signaling his change in status, and Hirianthial struggled to rise as much as he might in order to better espy the person set to the patient watch. She would be there, he thought. She had brought him out of the catacombs. He had felt her fingers on his hair, the tears that had fallen from her eyes to his cheek, still warm as her coursing blood. She would be here; she could be nowhere else.
But the person who charged into the room in the wake of the stranger in a healer’s garb was not Captain Theresa Eddings, but her pilot, Sascha… and everything in his aura howled the wrongness of it. As the healer checked the readings, Hirianthial pinned the Harat-Shar tigraine with his gaze and said, “
Where is she?”
Did he imagine the hesitation? No. A syncopation in the conversation that should have beat steady as a metronome. “She’s a sector away… on your homeworld.”
”WHAT!”
He had never yelled before, and Sascha’s ears flattened instantly to his head. The healer began to speak and Hirianthial ignored him to say, voice hard, “You did not abandon her there.
Among our enemies!”
“I didn’t abandon anyone!” Sascha exclaimed, anger seaming his aura like magma thrusting up against stone. “She chose to stay! Ask your cousin, it’s the Angels-blessed truth, I swear it!”
“My cousin is here?” Anger made it hard to think, and the halo-arch began whining.
“Excuse me,” the healer interrupted. “Can we have this tête-à-tête later? Like, maybe, when my patient’s not still being held together with spit and bailing wire?”
“No,” Hirianthial replied. “No, it cannot wait.” He glared at Sascha. “Tell her to come. Now.”
Sascha folded his arms, teeth bared and fur visibly bristling at the neck and upper arms. But he forced himself to look away and inhale through his nose, exhale. “Well,” he said. “Now I know you love her too, so I won’t take it personally. But she’s not the only one on your homeworld ‘among our enemies,’ arii… my twin is, too. Keep that in mind before you yell at me again.” And then he left, trailing an aura dense with unspoken fears and ferocities.
“Now,” the healer drawled. “If you’re done, maybe you can give me some of your attention?”
Hirianthial glanced at him, torn between irritation, to be pulled from matters of staggering import… and rue, that he was treating someone with such discourtesy. The healer was one of the Pelted, a Hinichi wolfine man with fur the color of iron and eyes like winter skies, so pale they were almost white.
“Good, so your hearing is selective, not damaged,” the healer continued. “Before you berate me, Lord Sarel Jisiensire, let me inform you that you arrived here in hypovolemic shock. I’m told you have a license to practice several forms of surgery, so this will have some meaning to you.”
“I beg your pardon,” Hirianthial said, startled. “How is that possible?”
“It might have had something to do with the spleen that was leaking into your abdominal cavity,” the healer said dryly. “Did I mention there were perforations in your intestines? And a lung that was thinking very seriously of collapsing. Someone apparently plumped it up just enough to keep you breathing. For a while.” He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively. “Your insides reminded me a little of a custard someone hadn’t baked quite enough to set. You were obviously under a halo-arch for just long enough to keep from dying immediately, but not long enough to actually be fixed.” He turned narrowed eyes on the Eldritch. “You may understand why I think your problems can wait.”
“But they can’t,” he said, thinking of his brother’s revelations. “And you have done a good job of mending me.”
“I haven’t—”
“The halo-arch hasn’t made a single noise associated with stabilization of a body following surgery,” Hirianthial said, raising his voice just enough to convince the Hinichi to be silent. “Nor any that indicate complications from those surgeries.”
The healer opened his mouth, then closed it, baring his teeth. “Fine. You’re right. But if you know that, you can also tell that it’s not reporting normal function either. You need more time here. And especially more time unconscious. Don’t make me sedate you to fulfill that condition.”
“I promise to rest,” Hirianthial said. “But I must speak to my queen first. I must.”
The wolfine searched his eyes, then flipped his ears back. “Fine. But the moment she leaves, you had better be unconscious, or trying to be, or I’ll be back in here with an AAP faster than you can say ‘I didn’t sign any consent forms for treatment.’” At Hirianthial’s look, the healer finished, dryly, “Your queen signed them for you. She claims to be a family member.”
“She is,” Hirianthial murmured. And sighed. “I apologize for my conduct.”
The wolfine snorted. “Don’t. We both know doctors make horrible patients.” He tapped the halo-arch. “You know this is the call panel. I’m Healer Rosser. Your other physician is Doctor Mayfield. You have an entire nursing team; if we don’t answer, they will.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Hirianthial said, and then an aura welled into the door that he would have recognized half-dead: the steel in it, the power, and the ardor, red as blood and pulsing with simmering wrath. His expression caused the wolfine to glance over his shoulder and sigh.
“I’ll be back,” he said, and Liolesa stepped aside to let him pass.
She drew a stool to his bedside and settled on it, pulling her skirts out of the way and then resting her gloved hands on her lap, calm… far too calm for the volcanic fury roiling beneath the surface of her aura. Before he could ask, she said in their tongue, “I swear it, Hiran. My soul to the Goddess, I swear it, that I did not compel her, nor even give her the idea. She advanced it to me herself, that she should stay that we might have a people to return to, when we do. But having heard the offer—” And here Liolesa’s gaze grew sharp as a blade, “I could no more repudiate her than I could command my heart not to beat. She is human, and not of us, and yet has the heart and the instincts of a true liegewoman. I would not deny her.”
“Liolesa—”
“Hirianthial,” she interrupted. Her voice was tense, and every word was shaded in the white mode of their language for the sanctity of truth. “
I would not.
It would break the vows between us, liegelady to liegewoman. I pledged my troth, cousin.”
He looked away from the blaze in Liolesa’s aura, so bright his eyes watered. “You left her behind.”
“But not alone,” Liolesa said, silvering the words for hope in dark places, and this was surely a very dark place. “I left the vixens with her, and her tigraine, and Urise’s acolyte. And she will have allies on the ground. They will educate her on the geography and the resources available to her, and she will bring to them her knowledge of the technologies that will be used against them by the Chatcaava—”
Of course. Of course. Her aura, the raw power of her anger. “You know!”
“I know,” she said, some of that anger leaking into her words. “We fled the system after the arrival of a pirate ship, and there were too many coincidences for it to be unaffiliated with the dragons. The pattern is suggestive. You have proof?”
“From my brother’s lips,” Hirianthial growled. “I should have slain him as you bade me, when he first betrayed the family.”
She was silent, studying him; it was a kindness that she did not press him on how much pain they would have avoided had he performed that execution, long ago. But that anger remained; it was impossible not to feel it, like the radiation off the sun. He knew better than to think it was directed at him. “Pirates,” he said, quieter. “One ship only?”
“Is not one ship enough?” she asked, each word clipped and shadowed.
For centuries they had kept the secret of their world’s location from the universe at large. To have a sole lawless vessel there, and now able to carry that information away…. “Where are we?” he asked at last.
“Starbase Omega,” she said. “Which is far too far from the seat of the Alliance for me to plead my case with any immediacy. It is also, however, very comfortably far from the conflict that is ripping the borders and spilling, finally, into war.”
Then he truly did try to sit up, and was repelled by the halo-arch for his temerity. Wincing, he pressed a hand to his chest and said, “You do not tell me that it has come. Oh, cousin—”
“Our allies are hard-pressed,” she said, the words again in the shadowed mode. “The Empire is a good third larger than they are, and I judge it would be a disastrous war for both sides if I had not handed the Alliance an assassin’s blade to use on the throat of its enemy.” At his look, she smiled, thin. “The heir to Imthereli has vanished into the fray.”
“The one you sent before,” he murmured, frowning.
“As ambassador to dragons,” she agreed. “Who returned their rulers’ lover. A duelist, cousin, and half-dragon himself. Unlooked-for aid, and it is in my heart that he will make a difference. But that avails us not at all, for the Alliance no longer has an armada to send to my cause. They have promised they will see what they might spare, and it is that word we await before we ourselves move… well, that and the other iron I have in the fire.”
