Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) (16 page)

“What did Kristoff want?” he asks.

I touch the wingtips at my side and try to summon the initial excitement
I had felt, seeing them. It’s too hard. In our small rooms, I let him unroll
them and the surprised pleasure in his eyes makes me smile. “I can’t fly in
them,” I say, “But they’ll be gorgeous in the arena.”

He touches a light finger to the edge, and winces, pulling away and
sucking on the ball of his thumb. His pale gaze finds me, and I flush under his
warm, appraising stare. “What’s wrong?”

I twitch, turn. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”

He smiles. “I live with a psychic. And I watch you.”

The words ring with a truth that makes me tremble. I look at him from
under my lashes and he waits, patient. Finally: “Kristoff wants me to take
Prator’s offer. Warm his bed. For my protection and advantage in the arena.”

Hatred, fear, and longing flash across his psyche, and I shiver. “Just
because he does it doesn’t mean you have to, Brielle,” Jemes snaps.

I blink. “What do you mean?”

He pauses, watching me. “Kristoff? He is the Ja’s favorite bedslave.”

The words make me dizzy, and I shake my head, shake off the words. No.
It’s not true. It can’t be, not when I—

Shit.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper. How did things become this twisted, this screwed
up?

“Brielle?” Jemes says. I want him to take me into his arms and I want to
run away. Run away. That’s by the far the better option. I snatch up the laser
harness, and bolt.

“I’m going to the draken,” I tell him at him as I almost run from the
rooms.

I try very hard to ignore the unmasked sadness that fills him.

-I’m psychic! How did I miss that?-
I
demand. Miwya is watching me, having listened to me rant and pour out the
entire evening—Prator, Kristoff, the wingtips. I curve against Sora, his warmth
searing into my back
. -How did Jemes know and I didn’t? How can Kristoff
forgive me after this? He gave me a beautiful gift, and a fighting chance at
survival, and I threw it back and spit in his face.-

-You didn’t know, little Le,-
Miwya says.

-I should have known,-
I
say, furious. -
And tomorrow, Prator expects me to use the laser harness.-

The draken shift, agitated, the illusion of smoke and shadow surging
through the cavern. -
Enough,-
Miwya snaps at them. -
It’s not a death
sentence. And I trust Chosi’le. She won’t do anything that’s unneeded.-

His trust touches me, and I blink back tears. Not even Juhan trusted me
this much—or perhaps he did, before my idiotic impulsiveness got us stolen from
Eleyiar.

-Go, Chosi,-
Miwya orders
. -The morning
will come soon enough, and you will need to face it. Sleep will help.-

I don’t want to leave, but he’s right. I rub Natsu’s back and stand,
brushing pebbles from my pants as I bid them goodnight.

There is a light in our window. Jemes is awake, waiting on me.
He’s too good for me
, I think for maybe
the thousandth time.

He’s sitting up in bed when I enter, reading an ancient tablet. He looks
at me, and I open my mouth, then close it, unsure what to say.

“It’s late,” he says, rescuing me. “Come to bed.”

I let the laser harness fall to the table next to my wingtips and crawl
into bed. He taps a quick command, and the light dims to a level that I can
sleep with. He slides into bed next to me, and pulls me against him, my cheek
pillowed on his chest. Exhaustion tugs at me. His emotions smooth over me, warm
and protective and loving.

“Jemes?” I murmur. He doesn’t answer, so much as his psyche sharpens a
little. “Why did you want to be my aide?”

He laughs and brushes my hair back. “That’s for you to figure out.”

I tilt my head back, looking at him. “Tell me.”

Amusement fills his eyes, but fear fills his psyche, a splash of nerves
that jangle my own. Then his lips feather over mine and my eyes slip closed on
a burst of pleasure and longing. His. Mine. I can’t tell. All I know is that
it’s so different from Prator, gentle and warm and full of a desire for
more
,
and I lean into it, or maybe he does. His fingers sift through my hair, and
mine clutch against his chest, scratching, digging into his skin, pulling a
moan from him that makes my blood boil.

He pulls away, and I can barely think through the heady mix of his
emotions swimming through the room.

He grins at me, and his voice is so hoarse I barely recognize it. “Does
that explain it
?”

I stare at him, long enough his emotions flicker with nerves and then I
roll onto my knees, straddling him. His arms slip around my waist and I kiss
him this time, my hands coming up to frame his face as I push him down. My mind
is reaching out, wrapping around his, and I shudder, my body moving against
his.

I am a very bad psychic, that he could keep this from me. “Jemes,” I
murmur, against his lips, and almost groan when his pleasure streaks through
me, the heady desire that comes from his name on my lips.

“No questions tonight, lady spectacle,” he murmurs, and with his lips
moving across me, I forget everything but this.

Chapter 20

Juhan’tr

“REMIND ME WHY WE didn’t take the Leen?” Sadi grumbles, settling against
my chest, glaring at the game of Imperium in front of us. It’s a popular
strategy game, pitting army and political players against a powerful Emperor.
 I nudge a pawn into her ambassador’s path and smile.

“We did.”

“Then why are we on this metal barge?” She keys her play rapidly into
the holoboard.

“Appearances,” I mutter, glaring at the board. Her move has trapped my
Emperor. I shuffle a few soldiers around him, but it’s a waste of time—nothing
but appearances.

She mutters a curse that makes me laugh. I tug her closer, and whisper,
my lips brushing the shell of her ear, “This was your idea, Sadi. And
appearances matter.”

She doesn’t like this. She’ll accept my embraces and little shows of
affection. She initiates them more often than I do. But she doesn’t like
them—they make her nervous and twitchy in my mind.

I’m not putting enough work into the manipulation. I know it, but can’t
seem to force myself to do anything about it. I
almost
feel guilty for it—only the promise of finding Chosi is
keeping me from stopping altogether.

Tin looks up from where he is working on a tablet, punching data in.
“Think I might have found something.”

Sadi wiggles out of my arms and leans over to peer at the screen. I
watch her, the tiny furrow between her eyes that always appears when she is
thinking. “What is it?” I ask, shutting down the holoboard.

“The Yalten queen. The one who sold your sister.” My heart freezes,
restarts. “Tin has been trying to hack her records.”

“What will that tell you?” I ask, trying to squelch my excitement.

Sadi shrugs. “Maybe nothing. Maybe whoever bought Chosi. Until he gets
in, we don’t really know.”

I’m anxious for news, for anything, but I force myself to lean back,
feigning patience. It makes Sadi happy to think I’m content in my role as her
consort.

It’s different, traveling with the Senator and his entourage. There is a
constant busyness that gets under my skin and interrupts sleep. Alarms and comm
signals and vid feeds fill the ship with noise as the Senator’s staff runs his
office and fields his duties from deep space.

Still, quiet can be found, and it seems to center around Brando. He is
more relaxed here, spending much of his time in the lower hull of the ship,
where storage and the Leen are kept.

“Why does Brando seem so different on ship than he did planet-bound?” I
ask.

“Limit of threats,” Sadi answers without looking away from the tablet.
“Brando lives his work, and in space, there is a limit of threats. It makes
life a little easier and gives him a chance to breathe. He told me once if he
could force all his clients to live in deep space, he would. Bit impractical, though.”

“Impractical for the client,” Brando corrects quietly from behind her.
“For the security detail, it’s not impractical at all.” Sadi glances up, and he
gives her a tight smile. “The Senator needs you.”

Her eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

He’s quiet, and she huffs a sigh. “Fine. Juhan, let’s—”

“Take Tin. Juhan hasn’t practiced his forms today. I’ll keep him
company.”

He says the words lightly, casually, but it causes a spike of tension in
Sadi before she carefully locks away her emotions. “All right. Go on,” she
murmurs. She startles me when she leans into me, kissing me briefly.

When she pulls away, Brando is watching us with almost clinical
interest.

I follow him into the hull of the ship, wishing for a few heartbeats
that I had gone with Sadi. He settles into the Tranquil stance without word or
fanfare, and I mimic him, more than willing to lose myself in the rhythm of
movement.

Brando and I move through the forms with slow precision, pausing
occasionally for him to correct me when I falter. We’re almost done when he
finally speaks. “You’re different, Juhan’tr.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “How so?”

“You aren’t afraid. Slaves are afraid. Eleyi who are unbranded are
afraid. Afraid of being Taken, afraid of being noticed.” He transitions, sliding
easily into the aggressive Striking Eagle.

“Why should we live in fear? We’re an entire race that is known by their
fear and psychic abilities. Why is that acceptable?”

“It’s not. But it doesn’t change that you are different from your
people.” He slides to a finish, resting in Tranquil stance. “The only thing I
can think that is different is Sadi. And”—his lips quirk and a bitter touch
fills his psyche for a heartbeat—“believe me, I know how Sadi can change a
person. She’s like a force of nature that way.”

“What happened between you?” I ask.

Brando looks at me, his emotions suddenly gone, face blank. “Some
questions are best unasked.”

He turns away and I open my mouth to say something, but an alarm screams
through the ship, deafening me. Brando barks into his comm link, “Report.”

“Volcanic explosion on Cenktari, sir,” Tinex answers immediately.

Brando breaks into a run, me hot on his heels. The dining hall, which
has been converted for the Senator’s use, is in chaos, the vid screens lit up
with news feeds of the disaster. Sadi is staring at the displays, her eyes
wide, and I pause, taking her in, aware of Brando doing the same at my side
before he scans the entire room, searching for and finding the Senator, sitting
with one leg propped up, the quiet calm, the eye of the storm.

All around him aides are shouting and cursing, and Larkin is yelling
into his comm link. Brando has abandoned me, gone to the Senator’s side to
whisper in his ear.

 I move to Sadi, pull her back against me, and she clutches my arms
around her waist as she stares at the fires consuming a city on Cenktari, a
small planet that specializes in pleasure houses. “Sadi?”

“How many dead, you think?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically
dull.

“Too many,” I answer, refusing to look at the screen.

There is a slow halt to the flurry of activity as the Senator sits up,
Brando falling back to an unobtrusive distance. A vid screen blinks, a tiny red
dot at the bottom lighting. He’s being recorded, probably a live broadcast to
the IPS and its galaxies.

“In light of the tragedy on Cenktari, my staff and I will reroute and
give what aid we can. Let’s all put aside our differences and rally to help
this broken planet and her people in their time of need.”

Larkin steps forward and the Senator backs away, smoothly handing off
press relations to his chief of staff. Larkin is barking orders and answering
questions, but I tune him and his excitement out as I focus on Sadi, whose
emotions have dipped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“We’re going to Cenktari,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.

Chapter 21

Chosi’le

“Prator and Ja Argot will be coming to watch us today,” I say at first
meal. The room is quiet, soft conversation marred by the scrape of forks and
occasional laughter. It’s a sleepy morning in the jakta.

Jemes nods as if he has been expecting it and I glance at him. He sips
his coffee and I watch, fascinated by the way his lips close over the cup, the
way his eyes almost close as he savors the drink.

“Stop staring,” he murmurs and I flush, looking down at my fruit. We’re
quiet for a moment, then he asks, “Should I stay away today?”

“Why?”

An amused smile. “Because two looks like that from you, and Prator will
know why you don’t want to share his bed.”

I frown. “What happened last night has nothing to do with Prator. I
didn’t want to share his bed before you.” I stand, ignoring the stare he’s
giving me. “Come on, they’re waiting.”

He stands, hands me my juice to finish. Rolling my eyes, I swallow it
quickly and lead the way out of the dining hall.

“Everyone is talking about the Ja’s announcement tonight,” Jemes says,
his hand on my lower back as we wait for a phalanx of ten glads to jog past. It
sends an arrow of warmth through me, and I want to lean into his touch—he’s
been doing this all morning. Little things, meaningless individually, that add
up to so much more.

“He’ll announce the Eclipse fighters,” I say, distracted. “But we know
I’m on it, so we can skip the wondering and worrying all day, and practice.” I
sigh, pushing a long lock of hair from my eyes impatiently. “Did you bring the
laser harness?”

Disgust fills his eyes and aura but he nods, pulling it out for me.
“What will you do?”

“Use it on Miwya, as lightly as I can. It will pacify Prator, which is
all I need.”

Jemes nod. His hair is getting long, curling on his neck, and I itch to
push it back, to wrap my fingers in it.

I shove the thought away, and we walk to the draken’s cave.

Jemes’ psyche spikes a heartbeat before he pushes me against the wall,
his legs braced on either side of me as he kisses me. I drop the harness,
reaching for him, pulling him closer.

I feel starved for touch, desperate, and I will glut myself on it, feast
until I am sick. Right now, in his arms, his lips whispering over my throat, I
couldn’t care less. I tug him closer, his hunger swirling through both of us as
I press against him. His fingers sift through my hair, his lips trailing a path
over my cheek, dropping a kiss on the tip of my ear and then his teeth close
over my earlobe, tugging it gently and making me groan, arching into him.

As abruptly as he kissed me, he releases me. He’s unsteady, and I love
that I can do that—shake his constant grace.

“What was that for?” I ask, touching my lips.

“Just something to remember when Prator is stripping you with his eyes,”
Jemes answers. He leans over, grabbing the forgotten harness.

Sora nudges me when I enter the cave, and I scratch his head, looking up
at Miwya. -
I want to train with only you today.-

The others shift, their minds rising around me, and I shove my will out,
forcing them to recognize my authority. -
Today, the Ja will announce who
will fight in the Eclipse Games. Miwya is the one I want. You will have your
chance on the sands, but it won’t be today.-

Miwya rumbles his assent and begins climbing to the tunnel. On a psychic
thread to only him, I send, -
I have to use the laser harness.-

He doesn’t respond but I feel his trust. And it’s heartbreaking—I don’t
deserve it. Juhan’s face, laughing and slightly resigned just before we left
our home go see the roots springs, unbidden, in my memory. I don’t deserve the
draken’s trust. I don’t deserve anything—certainly not Jemes’ devotion. Even
with his kiss lingering on my lips, I am aware of that.

I push past Jemes, welcoming the heat of the sun and moon and desert—anything
to kill the thoughts and guilt rising in me.

I don’t want to live with it, with the knowledge that somewhere in this
wretched galaxy, Juhan is living a life like this, a slave to someone as brutal
as Henri Argot. That Jemes’ slavery is service to me. That the draken will
fight for my life as much as their own.

I break into a run, racing my thoughts. The sooner I reach Miwya and
begin training, the sooner I can avoid thinking.

“She needs a saddle,” Argot says and Kristoff nods. I cling to Miwya,
tap a quick command into the laser harness, and he shrieks, climbing into the
sky as the holostim sends a pack of premthas at us. Dust stings my eyes, and I
lurch as he gains altitude, spreading my wings, struggling for balance.

-The Ja is right,-
I
tell Miwya, -
a saddle would be handy.-

He whistles a laugh, and I focus as the pride below us screams. One
crouches on a rock, throwing himself into the air, his claws extended. -
Forward,-
I shout, slapping my coiled whip against his neck and he darts forward,
impossibly agile in the air. The premtha hisses, his leap carrying him into his
pride, and I swallow the urge to laugh. The alpha is watching us, her eyes
bright and gleaming, and I toss my hurkya up, catching and hurling it in one
smooth motion. The giant cat dodges, but Miwya snaps down, his enormous jaws
closing over her neck and shaking. I shriek as the motions jars me and I begin
to slip.

The holostim vanishes, and Miwya screams, a long primal noise that is
echoed in my head as the other draken relish his victory. I wish they had the
bodies of the fallen premtha to feast on.

Prator and Ja confer for a moment, while Jemes grabs my hurkya and
throws it up to me. I catch it easily and smirk at him from my perch on Miwya’s
back.

-Will they want another demonstration?-
Miwya asks. I stroke his neck, scratch along the ridge of spikes the way he
likes.

-Probably.-

I’m more surprised than he is when Prator motions for me to join them.
Miwya sinks to the ground and I slide down into Jemes’ arms. I shake him off
before Prator sees, trying to ignore his amusement.

“You’ve made progress with them,” Henri says, his cold eyes sliding over
me.

“They’re not hard to work with.” I shrug. “Not once they realized I was
trying to help them.”

His eyes harden. “You think that is your job?”

I take a risk. “I think my job is to keep them alive and winning on the
sands, Ja. I’m trying to help them survive, and that makes you money.”

There is a moment of silence, and then, Kristoff breaks in quietly. “She
has wing tips, Ja. And against the black, she presents a beautiful picture.”

Argot glances at him, and even though I’m trying, I can’t find anything
in his expression to tell me he is sleeping with Kristoff.

“I’ll make my final announcement before last meal. See that you are both
present,” he says, turning away. He pauses, looks back at me, his gaze
unfriendly. “Prator tells me you dislike the laser harness.” I nod, toying with
it. “You don’t have to like it. But you will use it. Do not disobey me, Eleyi.”

Kristoff and I watch them go, Jemes a little ways off. Without glancing
at my mentor, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He stares at me, for once looking lost and young—so young. “I’m a slave,
and he is my owner. My life is at his whim.”

“But you love Kevan,” I protest. It sounds naive, even to my ears.

“What I want doesn’t matter, Brie,” Kristoff says impatiently. “Henri
lets me have Kevan because it doesn’t bother him to share me, not when he knows
I can’t refuse him. And I’m a good mentor, a good glad. There are rewards, and
Kevan is one of them. But the truth? Everything I have is a lie. Henri Argot
could take it without blinking, without even leaving his desk. Even my
life.
 
So I will warm his bed as often as
he asks, and fuck how degrading it might be.” His voice is harsh, bitter. “I
don’t
care
because I’m alive, and if I had said no, there is no
guarantee that would be true. He certainly wouldn’t hesitate to kill Kevan.”

A bolt of terror goes through me, and I resist the urge to look over at
Jemes. It’s enough, for the moment, to feel him near me. Seeing my fear,
Kristoff sighs. “Forget it. They’re happy with you, Brielle.”

I force a weak smile. “Your mad scheme worked.”

His eyes are tired and strangely gentle when he looks at me, and nods.
“It did, didn’t it?”

Miwya rumbles, and I glance at him finally. “Kristoff, I have to take
him back,” I say. He nods, leans close to brush a kiss over my cheek and I
struggle not to flinch.

Then he’s gone. I watch Miwya to keep myself from looking at Jemes.

-What will you do, little Le?-
he
asks. I shake my head against his warm flank, the rasp of his scales soothing
against my leg.

-I don’t know.-

He hums as Jemes splashes water onto his side, and I listen to it
trickle down, swallowed instantly by the dry sand of the desert.

-Argot was pleased?-

I nod. -
Yes. But he wants me to continue to use the laser harness.-

Something flickers in his psyche, and I twist, looking at him. -
What?-

He shakes his head ponderously, then watches me for a moment out of one
golden eye.

-Come to the cave tonight. Without Jemes. I will
show you,-
he says finally, and then he steps away,
spreading his wings and climbing into the air. I feel the grit of sand in my
hair and my mouth, and I know I should close my eyes against the sting of the
sun, but he’s magnificent, and for this moment, I cannot look away.

I am one of the last slaves to reach the courtyard. I skirt the edges of
the crowd, hugging the shadows as I watch those gathered. The gladiators are
anxious, nerves strummed tight enough I’m surprised no one has shed blood yet.
A few beastboys share the same nervous look, but most of the jakta servants are
impatient, a slightly bored festivity about it all.

Someone slips up next to me, and I glance over from the corner of my
eye.

Petyr, the batwinged Eleyi Deevid marked as fodder when we were first
bought. He looks pale, and I touch his mind briefly. It’s thick with fear. I
shake my head, almost as if that will let me shake off his residue of emotion.
“Why are you so scared?” I ask.

He glares at me, but I meet the look evenly. If he hadn’t wanted me to
know, he shouldn’t have found me. Besides, even if he is still being trained by
Primus, he is fodder and I am spectacle. He can’t touch me.

And we both know it.

“I want to help you,” he says, voice shaking, and I raise an eyebrow. He
flushes. “Serve you, I mean.”

A familiar hand settles on my hip, pulling me away from the Eleyi. Jemes
smiles, the picture of Sinese politeness. The icy anger spilling from him
speaks louder, though. “Brielle has an aide,” he says. “One more interested in
keeping her alive than protecting himself.”

Petyr’s eyes narrow a little, lingering on the hand still resting on my
hip. His eyes, when they find mine, are amused, and less afraid. Before I can
say anything, he turns away, slipping into the crowd. I mutter a curse, and
Jemes digs his fingers into my hip. I twist away, and hope that no one else has
seen him.

For the first time since I have been in the jakta, I am frightened. More
even than I’m eager to die, I’m terrified that Prator will hurt Jemes.

I lean against a column, the warmth of the single setting sun—its sister
moon set two hours earlier—warming my side. What, I wonder, would Juhan think
of Jemes? Would he be amused or disgusted? Or would he tell me to do whatever
it took to survive?

I remember telling him that, in the slave ship, when Eleyi children wept
around us and he insisted we should help. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Maybe it was.

A gong sounds, and the courtyard goes quiet. Most of the glads
straighten, impressive in the dying light of day, waiting for their Ja.

Ja Argot steps out of the shadows, a laurel wreath in his hair. A cheer
rises from the slaves around me, and I eye him with new interest. A laurel like
that is given to victors in the arena. He had to have earned it, with sweat and
blood.

“The Eclipse Games are upon us,” Henri Argot says, his voice deceptively
soft. It carries, or maybe it resonates off the neuro-pulse we all wear. In
either case, we hear him, clear as the bells that rouse us, clear as the
trumpet that signals a death.

We all hear our Ja as he hands down death.

“We will field twenty gladiators this game. The arena manager will
assign your opponents.” He waves a hand, and Primus starts calling out names. I
barely listen. In truth, I don’t care. I’m only here because Ja ordered it. I
would rather be sleeping, be with my draken, be anywhere but this wretched
courtyard with my uncontrollable thoughts.