The unfamiliar youth who had stayed here in the plaza spoke to Eldrin in stilted Highton, his accent almost too thick to understand. “Cold you are? We go back.”
Eldrin narrowed his gaze. The youth looked about eighteen, average in height, a bit shorter than Eldrin, with brown hair and eyes, and a friendly face. If Eldrin hadn’t known better, he would have mistaken his new tormentor for a schoolboy from Earth.
The youth glanced at Eldrin’s bound arms, then raised his gaze quickly, as if he didn’t want to look. “Like you to make your arms free?” he asked.
Eldrin stepped back, his head jerking. What new tricks had they devised? His jaw clenched so hard, he felt tendons stand out in his neck.
“Okay, we don’t have to do that,” the boy said in English, more to himself than Eldrin. In his terrible Highton, he added, “Go we to Allied Embassy.” He indicated a building. “Embassy. Allied Worlds. Earth. You come with me, yes?”
They picked a good actor. Eldrin readied himself to fight or run. Realistically, he knew he would lose either way; he could do little with his hands locked behind his back. But he had to try. He couldn’t let them break him.
“Come, yes?” the boy repeated. “We remove restraints.”
Eldrin had intended to stay silent, but he couldn’t keep his hatred inside. “Go rot in a Tazorli whorehouse.” He spoke in Skolian Flag, a language of his own people. He would never willingly use Highton, not if they tortured him for a hundred years.
The youth’s eyes widened. He switched into Flag. “I’m not a Eubian, I swear it.” He spoke the Skolian much better than High-ton. “You are free now, in the territory of the Allied Worlds of Earth. We offer you protection.”
Eldrin said nothing.
The boy tried again. “My name is Mik Fresnel. I’m a volunteer with the Dawn Corps. We’re a group from Earth helping with rescue and relocation operations now that the war is over.”
“Mik” looked so earnest, he could have fueled a spaceship on his sincerity. Eldrin saw their game now: convince him that he was free, that the fighting had ended, let him taste it, believe it, revel in it—and then send him back to interrogation.
After another silence, Mik said, “It’s warmer in the embassy.” His lopsided smile would have been charming had it been genuine. “The dining room has some pretty good soup.”
Eldrin tried not to imagine the soup. Cold was seeping into his body, weakening the emotional numbness he held around himself like a shield. His arms and wrists throbbed. He had been shackled during the trip he and Corbal had taken through space, or wherever, to reach this place. At least Corbal hadn’t ordered any other restraints beyond what basic security required. Strange that only Eldrin’s interrogators inflicted pain, never Corbal.
Eldrin struggled to suppress his memories of what he had endured from the intelligence officers in ESComm, Eubian Space Command. He hoped the bastards rotted in hell. They could have questioned him without savagery. Humane methods existed, but they had chosen otherwise.
He had expected even worse from Corbal Xir, a Highton lord high in the Aristo caste system. Corbal could have done whatever he wanted to Eldrin, yet he had held back. Had Eldrin been more gullible, he might have believed Corbal was showing compassion. But it was impossible.
Rain continued to soak his clothes. His feet had become so cold he could barely feel his toes. Muscle tremors shook his body.
“Please,” Mik coaxed. “We can help you.” For some reason he looked upset. “Let us help.”
“Liar.” Eldrin’s voice rasped. So cold. He was so cold.
“No one will touch you without your consent.” Mik stepped away, toward the purported Allied Embassy. “You have my word.”
Eldrin didn’t want to go with him. He had to resist. But he couldn’t keep the image of steaming soup out of his mind. Almost against his will, he moved toward the embassy.
Mik gave him an encouraging smile. He continued to walk, looking back at Eldrin, his expression offering unspoken assurances. So Eldrin limped after him. A drop of rain coalesced in his eye and ran down his face. It had to be rain, not a tear. He refused to weep.
Mik led him around the side of the supposed Allied Embassy. But when they reached a recessed entrance, Eldrin froze. A soldier in fatigues guarded the door, a burly man standing ramrod straight with a laser carbine gripped in both hands.
“No.” Eldrin despised the edge of panic in his voice. He jerked back and stumbled on the slick flagstones. Unable to regain his balance, he dropped to one knee. Agony flared through his leg, and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from groaning.
Mik was blathering, some gibberish in that damnable soothing voice of his. Eldrin bent his head and shut out the words. He willed his body to be impervious, trying to believe it would work today, unlike all the other days. Even knowing they would soon pull him to his feet and take him away, he couldn’t give in, couldn’t let them see him weaken.
After a time, his mind began to clear. Focusing outward, he saw Mik a few feet away, also kneeling, his forehead creased with concern. Behind Mik, the soldier was still by the column, but he had lowered his gun and taken a less threatening stance. He looked troubled rather than implacable.
“Are you all right?” Mik asked.
Eldrin said nothing. He rose slowly, his battered muscles protesting the effort. Mik also stood, looking solicitous. The kid could have won an acting award. If he was a kid. For all Eldrin knew, the Traders had biosculpted one of their special operations officers to pass as an Earth boy.
Mik indicated the soldier. “Lieutenant Parkins won’t hurt you. No one will.” He spoke carefully. “We understand what you are.”
“And what is that?” Eldrin could barely speak, his throat hurt so much. “Scum, according to your Aristo owners?”
“I’m not a Trader. I swear it to you. I’m an Earth citizen. You’re on Allied territory.” Awkward now, Mik added, “You’re no longer a provider.”
Eldrin sneered at him. “A provider? How could you know? I never told you.”
“Your collar.” An unstated horror lurked in Mik’s gaze. “Only a provider would have one made from diamonds.”
Eldrin would have touched the collar around his neck if his hands had been free. An Allied citizen might have guessed that he was a provider from his rich garb and restraints. More likely, “Mik” already knew. Although Eldrin couldn’t pick up anything from the youth’s thoughts, that meant nothing. Eldrin’s mind was bruised. While interrogating him, his tormentors had transcended, and the anti-empathic link they had forced on him, using his pain for their pleasure, had wounded his mind.
Yet he couldn’t quell the traitorous hope stirring within him. Watching Mik and the soldier, he limped across the flagstones. The ground felt like a furnace; the soles of his feet could no longer distinguish hot and cold.
Mik ushered him through the doorway, placing himself between Eldrin and the taciturn lieutenant, who persisted in looking worried. Inside the embassy, they followed corridors of rose-hued marble veined in gold, with ceilings that arched high above their heads. Every now and then they passed a statue in a wall niche.
When Mik stopped at a door bordered by friezes, Eldrin stayed back. He could feel his feet a little now, perhaps enough to run. But to where?
Mik held open the door. “Would you like to come in? You can rest.”
Eldrin meant to refuse; instead he found himself saying, “The soup . . .?” Images came to him, hot and savory.
“I’ll have someone bring dinner.” Another emotion showed now in Mik. Dismay? It made no sense to Eldrin.
Wary, full of mistrust, Eldrin entered the foyer inside. White walls surrounded him, with abstract holo-art in swirls of soft color. As he walked into a hallway beyond the foyer, his toes sunk into a bone-white carpet. Just that slight relief was too much to bear. This was an excruciatingly effective torture; even knowing what they intended, he would weep when they took this away.
The hall ended in a living room
with white walls and more of the soothing holo-art. The opposite wall consisted of a floor-to-ceiling window; beyond it, outside, paths circled gardens planted with purple blossoms. In the central flowerbed, bushes sculpted like ships sailed a sea of blue-green foliage, their bases foamed with white flowers. The beauty of the scene lied, promising peace instead of misery.
A click came from the right. Eldrin spun around, tensing to defend himself. Mik was bending over a console by the wall, but when Eldrin moved, Mik glanced at him. Eldrin didn’t know how his expression appeared, but whatever it was, it caused Mik to stop what he was doing and straighten up.
“I’m just contacting the dining hall,” Mik said. “That’s all.”
Eldrin wished he could fold his arms across his chest for protection against the cold. It didn’t matter that the air was warm; the chill came from inside him. He fought down his nausea.
When Eldrin said nothing, Mik went to work on the console again, but slowly, letting Eldrin see his every move. The boy appeared to do what he claimed, ordering food, but Eldrin had no doubt the ever-so-trusty Mik also notified his superiors that their prisoner had arrived. Their security would be monitoring this room.
Mik turned to Eldrin, then hesitated, seeming uncertain. He motioned at a sofa across the room. “Would you like to sit?”
Gods, yes. But Eldrin stayed put.
“Sir?” Mik gestured, offering the couch.
Eldrin wanted to refuse, but he knew they would play this game however they wished regardless of what he chose. He walked to the couch, more in defiance of his fear than in acceptance of Mik’s invitation. He expected an attack from behind, but he reached the sofa unharmed. He sat on one end, lowering his body with care, ready to jump up if he had to defend himself.
Eldrin wondered when Corbal would arrive. The Xir lord often joined him for dinner, lavishing feasts on his exotic new provider. He treated Eldrin well, but as if Eldrin were a treasured art object rather than a human being. Except a collector wouldn’t touch a work of art for fear of causing damage. Corbal had no such compunctions.
Eldrin shut away that thought. Safer to wonder who owned Mik. Although the youth wore no restraints, he had to have an Aristo owner. Of all the billions of Eubians spread across the Eubian empire, none was free except those in the three Aristo castes—Hightons, Diamonds, and Silicates—and they numbered no more than a few thousand. Most Eubian slaves were taskmakers and lived comfortable lives, some even rising to a certain amount of authority and wealth. Over a trillion taskmakers existed; with so many owned by so few Aristos, they had to have enough autonomy to run their own lives and maintain the riches and power of their owners.
Providers were different. As psions, they were rare almost to extinction and difficult to create in genetics labs. As a result, only a few thousand existed, most of them conceived naturally. Eldrin grimaced. He didn’t want his “elite” standing. Providers had no status, no possessions, and no autonomy.
He thought of the Aristo who had switched places with him in the plaza. The exchange baffled Eldrin. Apparently they expected him to believe they had traded him to the Allieds for some Highton youth. Did Corbal really think he was that stupid? No trade in the universe was worth giving up Eldrin Valdoria, their captive Skolian prince. The Traders knew it. The Allieds knew it. Eldrin knew it. Even if Corbal had agreed to such a trade for some bizarre reason, the Allieds wouldn’t have sent two teenage boys to do it. What did Corbal hope to achieve with this charade? It was almost strange enough to believe it was real.
No. He couldn’t weaken. They wanted him to believe, but he wouldn’t be fooled. He couldn’t bear the pain of having his hope crushed.
Eldrin drew his feet up on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest, his limbs shaking from his inner chill, a coldness that had begun the night of his capture. He wasn’t sure how long he had been a prisoner—a month, maybe even two.
A rustle drew his attention. Mik was standing in front of him, holding a thermal quilt. Eldrin thought the boy had spoken, but he wasn’t sure.
“What?” Eldrin asked hoarsely.
Mik offered the quilt. “You were shivering.”
“Cold.”
Mik tucked the blanket around him. Unexpected warmth spread over Eldrin like a benediction.
“Do you mind if I ask your name?” Mik asked.
“Who is he?” Eldrin whispered.
“He?”
The Aristo in the exchange, Eldrin wanted to say. But he didn’t speak. His throat hurt too much.
Mik pushed his hand through his hair. “Can you tell me about yourself? I need to notify my superiors.”
“You already did.” Eldrin could barely manage the words.
“They do know you’re here,” Mik admitted. “But no one will approach you without your permission.”
Eldrin shook his head. He knew he should stay alert, but he was so tired . . .
So tired . . .
Voices made Eldrin stir. Had he slept? He was lying with his head on the armrest, his body pulled into a ball, his hands clenching the quilt in front of his body.
Across the room, Mik stood talking to a woman with white hair and a dark-haired man. Two guards were posted where the hallway met the living room. Sweat broke out on Eldrin’s forehead. These newcomers wore civilian clothes, but he knew military officers when he saw them.
Mik was speaking in a low voice. He seemed flustered now, confused, worried. “I assumed Jay was carrying out orders. It never occurred to me he would arrange a trade on his own, without telling anyone.”
“You’re sure the trade was consensual?” the woman asked.
The dark-haired man spoke. “We’ve contacted the Eubian Embassy. They don’t say much, but it’s clear Jay isn’t coming back.”
“You lied,” Eldrin whispered.
No one in Mik’s group heard, but one of the guards by the hall glanced at Eldrin. Then the man turned to Mik’s group. “Major Armstead, I think our guest is awake.”
As they all turned to look, Eldrin sat up, slow and stiff, pulling the quilt around himself, though his shirt offered plenty of warmth. Then it hit him: his arms were free. Mik had said no one would touch him without his consent, yet someone had removed the restraints. They had also treated his injuries; his lacerations no longer bled, and his welts had faded. For all that Mik’s claim had been false, Eldrin was grateful they had eased his discomfort.
Grateful? His anger sparked. They extorted his emotions so easily, offering freedom from the pain if he would just talk. But he could tell them nothing. Even if the agony became unbearable and he screamed with the effort to speak, he could reveal nothing they would find useful. The Skolian military had put traps in his brain. If he weakened, those traps would disrupt his neural connections, erasing memories. Even knowing it was necessary, he hated that he would forget his family, his wife, his son . . .
“Sir?”
Eldrin focused outward. Mik was sitting on the table in front of the couch. A hearty aroma tickled Eldrin’s nose; behind Mik, a tray waited with a steaming bowl of soup. Eldrin’s mouth watered.
“Would you like to eat?” Mik asked.
Eldrin nodded, letting the quilt fall to his waist. He wanted to clench it around himself like a shield, but he refused to let his fear show. He regarded Mik with cool reserve.
The youth offered the tray. Eldrin balanced it on his lap, aware of everyone watching him. Then he ate. The soup warmed his throat, a balm to his ravaged vocal cords. His hope flared. Perhaps someday he could sing again. He might never regain his full voice, but he would have his music.
Sing for whom? Corbal? He would die first.
After he finished the soup, he drank the wine, grateful for its numbing effect. Then he slid the tray back on the table.
The two people with Mik had, surprisingly, stayed across the room. A realization came to Eldrin: the guard had called the woman “Major Armstead.” Only an Aristo, or a taskmaker with significant Aristo heritage, could become such a highl
y ranked military officer. This major, however, had blue eyes with no hint of red, and her face showed no sign of Aristo blood.
He steeled himself against hope. They had done this to him before, when they claimed they had his son and would let Eldrin see him. He had rejoiced to know his son lived—until they revealed it was a lie. He had died inside then. He couldn’t let them do that to him again. Never again.
Mik was waiting. When Eldrin focused on him, the youth said, “Colonel Yamada would like to speak with you.”
“Who is Colonel Yamada?” Although Eldrin’s voice was ragged, it didn’t hurt as much now.
Mik indicated the officer next to Major Armstead, a man with dark eyes, a smooth, golden complexion, and an aura of authority. He didn’t resemble an Aristo, and his mind lacked the hard edge of an ESComm officer. In fact, Eldrin sensed no deception in any of these people. He shook his head. This couldn’t be true. The Eubians would never trade him, not even for another Highton.
After a moment, Mik said, “Would you prefer if we came back later?”
“What does Colonel Yamada want with me?” Eldrin asked.
“Your name, for a start.” Mik sounded friendly.
Eldrin just looked at him. And then? Information about his family? Not only was Eldrin the consort of the Ruby Pharaoh, he was also, through his mother, in line for the Ruby Throne itself.
Mik tried again. “Can we do anything for you?”
The question confused Eldrin. They never asked what he wanted. It had to be a trick. He could call their bluff. “I would like to sleep.”
Mik indicated a door in the hallway. “The bedroom is in there. If you need anything, you can use the console.”
Eldrin inclined his head, his gesture contained and guarded. “All right.”
Unexpectedly, everyone left, true to Mik’s word. After a moment, Eldrin went to the door in the hallway. It opened onto a comfortable room with a holobook rack on one wall and a bed with a blue quilt against another. Puzzled, Eldrin went back out to the foyer and tried the front door. To his surprise, it opened. The two guards were outside, and one nodded to him. It was too strange. At a loss, Eldrin stepped outside and waited. Incredibly, neither guard objected. He walked down the hall and they came with him; when he stopped, so did they.