Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) (11 page)

“Is being savage a bad thing for a gladiator?” Kristoff counters and
Argot laughs.

“Of course not. But she’s unpredictable.” He pauses, and I feel his gaze
on me. It takes every ounce of self-control to not shudder. “What do you
suggest we do, Kristoff?”

“Sir?” he asks, startled. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Catelyn says you have an idea, but she can’t get an image of what. You
do have a plan for this slave, something more than simple gladiator fights.
What is it?”

Kristoff lets out a frustrated breath, anger and betrayal filling his
psyche. “I wanted to test it further before I brought it to you,” he mutters.
Then he quickly outlines his mad plan, the one that has become less mad as I
have gotten used to it. “She’s an Eleyi—she’s good working with the beasts, and
it’s why you bought her. But she’s got enough fire for the gladiator ring. What
if we did both? Mounted her on the draken so she was untouchable?”

Argot tilts his head, listening to Kristoff lay out his plan. “You think
she’s strong enough to control the draken?”

Kristoff nods firmly. “I think so. I can’t say for sure; I haven’t had a
chance to gauge her psychic ability for myself. But she’s strong, and I think
she can handle the draken.”

“She cost me a good bit,” Argot says, casually. “If she dies, what of
that?”

Kristoff is pale but resolute. “Take it from my emancipation.”

That gets Argot’s attention, and he narrows his eyes on my mentor, his
mind a confusing blend of emotion. “You’re that confident in her?”

Kristoff nods and I feel a swell of appreciation mixing with my constant
anger.

Argot is quiet for a long moment, and Prator shifts, watching me. “It’s
not a bad idea, brother,” he murmurs. To me, he says, “Spread your wings.”

I do, knowing it’s not the best picture—my wings are dirty from sleeping
on the draken’s floor, my clothes dingy from sweating on the sands, and a
bruise is forming on my eye where I got hit an hour ago. But my wings open, and
I almost gasp in relief as I spread them, the sensation so welcome, tears sting
my eyes for a moment.

“Look at her,” Prator continues, his eyes hard. “She has a great figure,
and she’s got that gorgeous white hair, those wings—put her on the big black.
With her coloring, she’ll stand out like a diamond set on onyx.”

“Spectacle is expensive—is it worth the expense?” Argot says, almost
absently, watching Kristoff and me. I’m quiet and finally he nods. “Fine. We’ll
try it. If she’s killed, it will cost everything you have, Kristoff. Are you
prepared for that?”

He swallows hard, but nods. I wonder if he really is, and why he would
risk something so important.

“I’ll talk to Primus. She needs to spend more time with the draken, and
less on the sands,” Prator says.

“I want to continue training,” I blurt out, and all three look at me.
It’s disconcerting, being the center of those heavy gazes. “I’m beginning to
hold my own. If I’m going into the arena, I want to train.”

“You don’t decide what is best, Brielle,” Prator says sharply and I nod,
dropping my gaze.

“I know. I just feel like it’s an opportunity—a backup, if you will. To
further protect me in the arena. To protect your investment.”

Henri Argot stares at me, and it occurs to me suddenly that he is the
dangerous one—Prator and Primus don’t matter, not when he’s staring at me with
something I can’t read in his eyes. I am overly aware of the diamond at my
throat, feeling it move with my breathing. But I don’t back down.

At long last, he shakes his head and a bolt of disappointment goes
through me. “You’ll spend your time with the draken. When you have a handle on
them, we can discuss returning to the sands. But for now, both of you should
focus.”

Kristoff sketches a quick bow, and almost pulls me from the room as the
brothers turn to talk of the upcoming games. I can feel the energy crackling
off of Kristoff, and I plant my feet, struggling to keep him from pulling me
along. I flare my wings, ignoring the pain screaming from the blunted tips.

“Stop it. What’s wrong?”

He sighs, running a hand over his hair. “Were you not back there with me?
Didn’t you hear them?”

“Which part?” I snap.

He glares at me like I am an idiot and I touch his mind. Desperation,
fury, hope and fear. “Argot painted me into a corner, Brielle. I couldn’t back
down, not without looking like a fool and risking punishment. So he took his
punishment in another form—my emancipation, if anything happens to you.”

“Why did you offer it?” I ask. I don’t want that weight on my shoulders,
don’t want to disappoint someone else.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he answers, his voice dull. Then, softer,
“Kevan is going to kill me.”

“You’re only at risk if something happens to me,” I say, shrugging as I
start walking. “Nothing will. Those draken are psychic. I can handle them.”

He looks at me, doubt shading his eyes and souring his aura. I give him
a tight smile and continue toward the training sands.

When I arrive, Petyr is being battered by Harris. I take my hurkya from
Jemes, leaning against him, and nod at the pair. “Do you think he’ll ever start
fighting?”

He shakes his head. “If he hasn’t yet, I highly doubt he ever will.
Where were you?”

I glance at him, see the concern in his eyes. “Prator and Ja wanted me.
To assess my potential.”

He twists, frowning. “I thought we had another few days before that?”

I grin, so false it makes my teeth hurt. “He makes exceptions for the
truly talented.”

Jemes shoves me and I smirk. Primus shouts my name and I adjust my grip
on my hurkya as I step on the sand. My whip hangs at my waist--the two weapons
everyone has learned I prefer. Primus shakes his head. “Drop the hurkya, girl.
You’re fighting with a pair of short blades today.” He tosses a set of daggers
onto the sands, and I scoop them up, looking around.

“Jemes!” Primus shouts, and I sigh. This is only the third time I’ve had
to fight Jemes, but both times were horrible. “Your weapon will be the net.”

Jemes steps toward it eagerly. He’s familiar with nets, a common tool on
Sine, and I wonder if I have any chance to win this match. Maybe it’s best that
I don’t. He lost our first two fights so spectacularly, it’s almost unfair to
win again.

Not that I’ll throw the match.

The alarm screeches above us, and I slide to the side as Jemes throws
the net in a glittering arch. It’s metal—my knives won’t cut me loose if he
traps me. I clamp my wings tight to my back and wait as he gathers it in. I
watch him tense, watch his eyes and test his emotion—nervous. No confidence. A
heartbeat before he throws, I move, darting closer. The net sails over my head,
and I lash out with the dagger, scoring lightly across his chest. It’s a bloody
wound, but it’s shallow—nothing that will do lasting damage. But it’s first
blood—a badge of honor and the first wound.

“First blood to Brielle!” Primus shouts and I grimace.

“Don’t beat me too bad,” Jemes mutters as I fall back, and I laugh at
that. It startles me how happy I am—but this is the only time I forget Juhan’s
absence. When I’m fighting.

He throws his net suddenly, catching me off guard, and I fall under the
weight, the metal tangling around my legs. The more I fight, the tighter itwraps
around me, and I’m suddenly back home, fighting a submerged net, screaming at
my brother as slavers swarm closer. I panic and quit thinking, lashing out with
my thoughts, screaming the one name that has always been synonymous with
safety.

-Juhan!-
I scream, and all
around me, Eleyi flinch away, wide-eyed and afraid. Jemes’ knee is in my
throat, and his voice is a soft and apologetic murmur under Primus yelling out
the victor.

And a shrill whistle, a laughing Eleyi capering toward me.

Jemes stumbles back, and I push myself off the sands, meeting his
suddenly confused look. “What did you do?” he whispers, terror in his voice,
his mind. I feel my stomach twist, and I lean against him as I watch her.

“I screwed up.”

“Being in my office isn’t such an honor that you want to repeat it twice
in one day,” Prator says, rubbing his eyes.

“She spoke.
Spoke
!” Catelyn says again, for what might be the
hundredth time. I want to wrap my hands around her tiny neck and shake her
until her wings rattle.

“Yes, dear, I did pick up on that,” Prator says dryly as he looks at me.
“Do you want to explain to this bloodthirsty monster—and me—why you used
psychic speech, knowing our rules?”

I don’t. I don’t want to share my brother with anyone here, much less
Prator. But I don’t have a choice. “I was on the sands, fighting another
slave—he was using a net and I got trapped in it.” I pause, force my tone to
stay light. “When I was Taken, I was caught in a net. I wasn’t thinking—I
panicked.”

“She
called
for someone!” Catelyn hisses and Prator gives her a
hard look. Fuming, she subsides.

“Who?” he asks, and everything in me twists. I shake my head—I don’t
want to answer, don’t want to give him my brother.
 
His gaze is hard and pitiless, “I need to
know. If you don’t want every Eleyi in the jakta punished, you’ll tell me.”

For a heartbeat, I consider letting it happen. The Eleyi are nothing to
me—fodder who share a planet of origin. None of them even talk to me—I am too
violent for my peace-loving fellows.

Then, I think of Juhan, and how disappointed he’d be if I were to
sacrifice someone else for him. I answer. “My brother. My twin.”“

Prator’s eyes narrow and he straightens. “You have a brother here?”

“No, sir. He was sold to another at the same auction where Ja purchased
me. I wasn’t thinking, and...” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”“

“Who purchased him?” Prator demands.

I glare, suddenly angry. “Does it matter?” I demand. “What difference
does it make if it was a spoiled brat looking for a toy or a Ja looking for a
gladiator? We’re still slaves.”

Prator stares at me, his gaze so cold I struggle not to shiver. “Yes.
You are a slave.” His tone is thoughtful, so closed off I can get no sense
of what he might be feeling. “You have been warned of the rules. And while I
understand the reason you broke them, I can’t excuse it. You’ll be punished.”
He taps a command into his tablet and looks at Catelyn. “Tell Primus to hold
the slaves when training is finished. She’ll receive ten lashes.”

She appears somewhat mollified and gives me a nasty, triumphant smile as
she hurries out.

“Brielle.” I pause at the quiet command in his voice. He waits for the
door to slide shut and stands, coming to stand close to me. “You need to be
careful,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my skin. I shove down the urge to
step away, to wipe the disgusting feeling away. “Catelyn doesn’t like you—she
didn’t like you before Henri gave you to Kristoff. She’s vicious and feeling
threatened. Quit putting me in a position where I have to punish you.” He
touches my shoulder.

And now I do step away, and smile lightly. “It wasn’t my intention,
sir.”

He watches me, and I feel the lust slip across his aura, so quickly I
could ignore it if I chose. I wonder if he’s aware of the slip. A smile tilts
his lips and I feel sick.

Of course he is.

“May I go?” I ask, hating the wobble in my voice.

Prator steps back, and I make my escape. But even in the harsh sunlight,
I feel the heavy weight of his gaze and the intrusive presence of his desire.

Chapter
14

Juhan’tr

TIN DRAGS ME FROM bed while it’s still dark.

He throws a pair of loose pants and a tunic at me and groaning, I dress.
There is a steaming carafe of coffee, and I pour a cup, dropping in a bit of
nectar and cream before I sip it. Tin propels me out of my small room and down
the hall. “First thing to start with is yoga.”

I swallow my protest—after last night, after the story Sadi shared, I
feel like I
should
know how to protect her. And I could, right now,
without training, I could protect her. But my psychic strength isn’t something
I’m willing to flaunt. Not here.

Not for her.

For Chosi, I would. I would do anything for her—and that thought keeps
me from balking completely. Because I am alone in a galaxy, a million miles
from home, and my sister’s freedom is my responsibility. My vow. This may never
help—but it certainly won’t hurt.

Once we start, Tin sliding effortlessly through the ancient yoga forms
while I follow more clumsily, I forget my protest. I forget that I was against
this. There is something soothing and quiet in the graceful movement, and I
feel my mind lighten, stretch, uncoiling and spooling out to touch everything
around me. The sleepy horses, and the cooks in the kitchen, Larkin in his
office—the Senator’s home is a hive of activity and minds so open and
unprotected it is almost shocking. I drift along there, echoing Tin as he slips
through the forms, and I feel almost whole.

It’s like being in a trance state, and when it ends, I feel a pang of
loss and guilt—I had not even thought to look for Chosi.

“I want to teach you basic kuduva,” Tin announces in Common, and the
peace I felt while practicing yoga vanishes. It’s easy to pick up the
language—my psychic gifts help me, but I have to work at it. Leaving my
commtrans behind was a good idea.

“Isn’t that what the cage fighters use over on Pente?” I ask, my stomach
queasy.

He nods. “It’s savage, and it’s brutal, and it’s hard as hell to learn.
But I think it’s best of the martial arts, for your physique. We want to work
with your natural movements, and this will.”

Unsure, I simply stand there.

Tin guides me through basic movements—Novice Stance, Winds on the Water,
Spiraling Silk, Wings of the Bee. “What you want to do,” he says, sweeping a
practice stick around in the graceful arcing motion of Spiraling Silk, “is to
make the motion natural. The Novice Stance should be your natural way of
standing. Practice Winds when you’re alone, or dancing with Sadi. I want you to
repeat them all, fifty times a morning, until you can do them without
thinking.”

“You realize that is never going to happen,” I tell him, stumbling
through Wings of the Bee.

Tin gives a short laugh. “Yeah, Zoe said the same thing to Brando once.
Now she’s the best kuduva fighter in the household.”

“Stop it,” she protests mildly, and I jerk around to find
 
Sadi and her younger sister watching us,
sipping coffee. Zoe eyes me. “You have a natural gift for it. The wings, I
think, help. Try spreading them when you do the third turn in Bee.”

I start the cycle again, and at the turn, my wings dip, spreading. They
catch the air, keeping me balanced, and I glide through the turn I had stumbled
over before. Zoe grins, a tiny smug smile, and looks at her older sister. “Not
bad, hmm?”

“No, very nice,” Sadi says absently. “We should go soon. Porter is
expecting us.”

“I’m staying here,” Tin says, tossing his practice stick aside. “I need
some sleep, and the Senator asked for a meeting. Brando will be taking my
place.”

“Tinex,” Sadi begins, alarmed.

But Tin has already grinned and begun backing away. “Enjoy your afternoon,
Sadi. Juhan, work on your forms. I want to see some improvements tomorrow
morning.”

He turns, jogging out of the shuttle bay, into the morning. Sadi curses,
low and vicious, and Zoe cocks her head. “It can’t be that bad. It’s only one
afternoon.”

Sadi gives the younger girl a disbelieving stare, and then turns to me.
“Let’s go,” she growls at me, “and get the damn thing over with.”

Sadi is hiding in the dressing room.

I grit my teeth as the tailor—one of the Ceriua who specialize in beauty
and appearance— sweeps around me, chittering under his breath while Sadi paces,
worrying her nails. “Quit that. You’re giving me a headache,” I finally tell
her, my voice tight. A throbbing has settled behind my eyes, and I wince as a
surge of guilt washes through me before she drops her hand to her side. I’m
experiencing her emotions, and that worries me. All Eleyi are psychic, and can
feel emotion. But there are some, the strongest of our race, who experience it
from every source, who are so gifted they leech thoughts and emotions without
intention. Not many—most go mad and kill themselves or others, long before they
can pass on their gift. And those who survive, retreat. Become hermits, hidden
from the world.

“I like that,” she says, without looking at me. She stands on tiptoe,
peering at the comm screen. Brando is sitting in the waiting room, almost
asleep. The tailor adjusts something on his tablet, and the material around my
neck constricts and I gag. I yank at it and the Ceriua chitters at me sharply.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

We’ve been here for three hours. I’m desperate to force Sadi out of my
dressing room, back to picking out fabric and cuts. When she announced she had
made her selections, I’m not sure who was more surprised: Brando or the host of
Ceriua who ran the small clothier. Brando watched, an eyebrow raised in
amusement as Sadi swept past him, into the dressing room where I was being
measured, and refused to leave.

“He won’t bite,” I finally mutter.

Sadi shoots me a dirty look. “You never know with Brando.”

The tips of her ears are red, and she ducks away from my gaze, toying
nervously with the fabric the Ceriua has discarded. A throat clears outside the
tiny dressing room, and she jumps. Her alarm hits me like a spike, straight in
my throbbing temple. I groan, staggering, and the Ceriua props me up with a
low, sympathetic chitter.

“Please, Sadi,” I gasp, and she looks at me, at the effect her emotions
have had on me. Shock spirals through her, me, and I hiss a low curse. Her eyes
slip closed as she takes a deep breath, and then a cool wall of indifference
settles around her, a defense I am used to in her. I shiver at the absence of
emotion.

“What is it, Brando?” she calls.

There is a heartbeat—two—of silence before: “The Senator will need me,
eventually. Wrap it up, Ms. Renult.”

She bares her teeth at the formal appellation,
but doesn’t respond. A quick glance at me, scanning the suit I’m wearing. Then,
to the tailor: “Can you have this suit ready by tomorrow afternoon?”

The little Other nods, and begins helping me out of the half-assembled
garments.

“The others will be two, three days,” he chitters.

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, darling.
You’re a gem.”

She turns to me, an eyebrow arched, and I stare at her patiently as the
tailor disrobes me and she flushes. “I suppose I’ll wait with Brando, while
you…” She turns away, letting her sentence die, and I stifle a laugh as I redress
quickly.

I knew being with Brando would be difficult, but I did not expect it to
turn my strong, independent owner into a scared little girl. It shocks me and
my head is screaming from the onslaught of Sadi’s emotions. I want nothing but
to hide in a cool, dark room. Instead, I have promised her lunch and a public
appearance.

They are arguing about it when I emerge, dressed. “You need to quit
playing,” Brando says quietly. “You don’t realize how much you’re hurting your
father.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answers, voice calm. All traces
of her worry and fear in the dressing room are gone, as if they had never been.

Brando smiles at her, a humorless grimace. “You forget, Sadi. I am me.
You are you. I
know
better.”

She pales at his words, and I step up behind her, letting my psyche brush
her comfortingly as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me. She
relaxes without thinking, and I lean down, feathering a kiss over her cheek
before I look at Brando. “So, are we going to eat?”

Brando’s face is blank when I look back up, but I can feel the current
of anger that edges his mind and I suppress a shiver. He leads the way out of
the tiny shop, moving with liquid grace through the crowded streets, finding a
path effortlessly for Sadi. I follow, my hand clasped in hers. I can feel my
people around us, and I’m startled to see so many of them walking behind their
owners, heads ducked to stare at the ground as their multi-colored wings draw
attention they are so desperate to avoid.

One looks up, catching my disgust. His eyes flick to my hand in Sadi’s
and for some reason, shame burns through me. I let go, tucking mine into my
pocket as I follow her and Brando.

When we reach the outdoor cafe, he melts into the shadows, quiet and
unobtrusive as we sit and laugh, and are seen.

I twist the silk knot at my throat, and Sadi reaches up, pulling my hand
down. Her emotions are choked down but I can feel the hum of nervous energy
filling the house, making my back teeth ache. I growl and she narrows her eyes.
-
This isn’t the time for an attitude
,- she says, her voice ricocheting
in my head.

-Sorry, lady. This is not my forte.-

-There will be Eleyi there, even if you can’t
see them. You can’t think about anything but us.-
She
tucks her hand in the crook of my arm, leaning into me, and I stiffen. -
Will
it help to know we’ll be leaving soon?-

-The dinner? Not really.-
I take a deep breath, forcing my anger down as we
start down the hall.

-No.-
She hesitates, then
says quickly, -
Daddy wants to go to the auction houses. We’ll be returning
with him. Tin thinks we can find more information there, about Chosi.-

A cold sweat breaks out, and I stumble to a halt, Sadi cursing as she
snags her dress on her heels. -
How will you keep this secret at the auction
houses? Your father will find out you bought me.-

She smiles, and we step into the brilliantly lit room, swept into a
swirl of soft music and conversation. -
After tonight, it won’t matter,
darling.-

For a heartbeat, I wonder what she means, and then, like a tidal wave,
the emotions of the aristocracy—of the Interplanetary Senate—crash over me.

There is a quiet hum of curiosity, the sharp flash of female
appreciation that makes me want to fidget. And below that, there is anger.
Furious and hot, hitting like small ripples, the anger gathers force and momentum
until it’s a gale, battering me.

The IPS is outraged that an Eleyi is here with one of their own, the
daughter of a Senator hanging on his arm, expecting to be recognized as more
than chattel—a tool to be used and discarded.

And they don’t care enough to hide their opinion.

Sadi pauses, a bright smile on her face, and I can feel the eyes being
drawn to us. The room sprawls before us, opulent and lovely, thick with Others
and laughing humans. A staff of servers glides through the crowd, bearing delicate
flutes of sparkling cider. Candlelight glitters off jewels and decadent fabric
and bright colors. It’s almost too much to take in.

The Senator sees her from where he is standing, talking to a Mar’et Senator—a
minor planet but valuable for trade—and he smiles her at, beckoning. Sadi
steers us that way, and we drift through the crowd, trailed by whispers and
anger. And Tinex.

Even here, now, Sadiene is protected. Perhaps especially so.

“Father, the gala is lovely,” she says, kissing his cheek. “And Senator
Kel’taen. It’s been far too long.”

The Mar’etan is staring at me, a mixture of fascination and disgust
slowly coating his psyche. Deliberately, I fan my wings, the diaphanous jewel-toned
membrane sparkling in the lowlights. The Senator flinches back and Sadi’s voice
rings out, sharply. “Senator Kel’taen. May I introduce my consort, Juhan’tr of
Eleyiar?”

He can’t quite cover his revulsion as his gaze darts to Sadi, her eyes
hard and demanding. “P-pleased, pleased to meet you, Juhan’tr.”

I’m tempted to extend a hand, but I merely nod and fold my wings back.
The room seems to release a collective breath and Sadi smiles again, finally.
“Juhan saved my life, did you know?”

I squeeze her hand on my arm, and she smiles up at me, shiny and
adoring. I want to shake her off, shake off all the eyes on us. She’s telling
the story, the one we came up with, and I force myself to focus on her, on the
bright spot of her voice. Force myself to wrap my arms around her, pulling her
against my body as she laughs and flirts, her manner light and playful. I add a
little of my own manipulation, lulling her into the act even further. There is
the lure of her emotions, addictively sweet, blending with mine until I
struggle to tell what is real and what is not.