Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twelve thousand years ago (or so legend had it) all the families had banded together to build Festival Hall on the edge of the polar continent. The Crossing Festival was always held on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, to symbolize the blackness of space as the Takisians made their crossing and emerged into the sunlight of the Crystal World. It was the only time when for a brief count of hours the ruling families of Takis set aside rivalry, plots, and murder and celebrated together.
Everyone attended Festival. The old (not too many of those in a psi lord family), the infirm, the very young (there seemed to be about twenty million crying babies in this shuttle), and everyone in between. But no guards. The Tarhiji were not permitted at Festival.
“Perfect time to drop a tactical nuke,” Jay had remarked to Trips as he watched the tailor fit the lanky ace for the Festival. Mark couldn’t remember what he’d said. Maybe nothing. There really wasn’t anything to say when Jay was on the prod.
Mark sighed and wished the detective were here now, but Jay was a mere guard, not adopted, not one of the family like Mark. Maybe that was what had made him so crabby, and why he’d vanished for a day. Probably pissed. If Jay was regretting missing the party, Mark would cheerfully have changed places with him. The ace didn’t want to see Blaise — too many bad memories. And speaking of memories, how the hell is the Doc going to handle this? wondered Mark.
She was in her usual position — head averted from the women and children, gazing out the portal. Or was the port only an illusion projected by the living ship? Trips had never quite worked that out.
This late in the pregnancy Tisianne’s face had grown puffy, but overall she looked pretty good. Her maid had dressed her hair in an elaborate upswept style that made her seem older and far more regal. The dress wasn’t so good. Its bizarre color combinations were shocking to human sensibilities, and the cut was designed to accentuate rather than minimize the belly. Then there was the bare neckline screaming for jewelry, but Tis had remained adamant and refused to wear her mother’s jewels. Mark foresaw an unpleasant scene with Zabb.
Mark sidled over to her. Peered out the port. It was a tight fit, and their cheeks brushed. Heat rolled off her skin. Worried, he laid a hand on her forehead.
She brushed it aside. “Nerves. I’ve always had the power to make myself sick. Maybe someday I’ll do it up really right and end up dead.”
There was nothing to say to that. They returned to their contemplation of dark water, icebergs, and ice floes. What had seemed a puzzling white line on the horizon resolved itself into a wall of ice several hundred feet high. The sea battered against those crystal ramparts — white spume and white ice. Occasionally the patient chew of the water broke free a chunk of ice the size of a train car. The roar of falling ice seemed like a cry of despair while the ocean boomed in triumph. And then the patient millennium-long dance began again.
Tis jerked her chin, and Trips saw it. Building seemed too mundane. Palace was incorrect since this structure stood empty all year long except for this one night. Victorian absurdity, was the best he could do. And enormous! It appeared to be constructed entirely of glass. Probably some sort of high tensile plastic to be able to resist the polar storms, Mark amended, and he was damned if he knew what held it up. There were no struts in evidence, no obvious bearing walls.
The arrival time seemed to be inviolable. As the Ilkazam ships, flying in tight and elegant formation, dived toward the hail, Mark saw other brilliantly lit ships also sweeping in. There was a sense of show-off in the formations the ships assumed as they landed, and then it struck him — this wasn’t at the bidding of their masters, this was pure ship vanity.
Tis slumped back. “No Baby. They would be too afraid she’d bolt. Ideal, I’d probably bolt with her.”
“You can’t give up, Doc.” He laid a tentative, comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I should have agreed to Jay’s scheme,” she said, and her expression was as bleak as the landscape.
The hours had passed in surprising comfort. Food was certainly not a problem, and Jay hadn’t even had to sleep on the floor. This glass cat house came equipped with everything. It was an easy guess what the secluded little rooms containing only beds were for, but Jay didn’t think his performance would be too hot. He’d be too aware of those transparent walls. Further snooping revealed game rooms with decks of cards and score pads at the ready. There were board games of indeterminate goals. Holographic video games. A nursery filled with cribs and toys for children.
A long ramp led deep into the polar ice, and to a great room carved entirely out of that same ice. There was a skating rink. And a track. Jay wondered what ran on it. Then he found the stalls, and he and some critter that looked like a cross between a giraffe, an impala, and a horse scared the bejesus out of each other. As he stumbled back, the detective wondered what kind of people would pack up food for seventy thousand, their kids, and their animals, and take an evening stroll to the pole? The closest analogy he could think of was the Super Bowl.
For the Takisians, though, the big event wasn’t sport, it was dance. The central focus of the great building was the ballroom. The floor was black, and twinkling in its depths were thousands of tiny lights. As he stared at them, Jay realized they seemed to form a stellar map. Spiraling out of the floor like coiling smoke were crystal pillars — clear, amethyst, blue, topaz — frozen jewels or flowers, Jay couldn’t decide which.
On a high podium rested the orchestra’s instruments. Jay walked up the stairs and softly touched the strings of a harp. The single note shivered in the air. Jay thrust his hands behind his back and, though he was not a fanciful man, felt as if he’d stumbled into a fairy tale. It was eerie. The instruments laid aside as if the orchestra had only paused for a break, the plates and cups arranged and waiting on the buffet, the food steaming softly, and there was not a soul in the place.
“Just one lost little soul,” Jay said aloud.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud boom. Jay knew that sound. Something large and very fast had hit the speed of sound. The party was about to begin. He flexed his right forefinger several times like a man checking the action of his pistol and went in search of a hiding place.
“Killed them all.” Gabru, Raiyis of House Ss’ang, sighed. He shook his harlequin head. Each contrasting strand of hair had been separated from the rest, lacquered, and swept up, until they resembled knife blades thrusting out from the skull.
“There are only a handful of women left from the entire House,” Ruek, Raiyis of House Alaa, said.
“A tragic loss,” offered Hazzal, ruler of House Jeban. “Rodaleh had a very powerful strain of psi healers. We’re going to see a lot more insanity with the loss of this gift.”
“All the insanity we could ever imagine has arrived and is dancing,” grunted Gabru. All the men turned to watch Blaise.
Zabb didn’t offer an opinion or a comment on the topic under discussion. Instead he just watched that tall black-clad figure and calculated. Sooner or later he would face this young man in combat, and he would glean what he could of Blaise’s psychology in the thirteen hours available to him.
The bounce/cast hadn’t fully captured the sheer size of the half-breed. Zabb was accounted a giant among the Takisians. He was dwarfed by Blaise. It made him uncomfortable. He had a sudden vision of Tisianne naked and tiny beneath the brute force of that massive body. Stomach acid climbed up his throat.
“Every Rodaleh Tarhiji soldier who participated in this outrage will have to be killed,” grunted Zujj, the military commander of House Alaa.
“I don’t think terror is our most effective weapon right now,” Zabb said softly. “We’ll only play into the Abomination’s hands.”
“We have to do something?” Quar’ande, military commander of Ss’ang, said.
Taj arrived with Yimkin, the Raiyis of House Tandeh.
“Agreed,” Zabb said. “So what say we repair to a more private venue and discuss what that something should be?”
Zabb dropped back and fell into step with Taj. Softly he asked, “Zaghloul?”
Taj shook his head. “Khuechen brant Chuea is eagerly spreading jam with what he perceives as the winning side.”
“Mongrel,” snapped the Raiyis.
At the door to the gaming room Taj checked and looked up at Zabb. “Is it wise to leave Tisianne alone?”
“She’ll do well enough. She has her groundling Paladin.”
You remember how I told you I was going to give you another one just as soon as this one is born?” Blaise rubbed her belly like a man with a Ho Tai good-luck figure. Tis searched the crowd desperately for Mark, or Taj, or, ancestors help her, even Zabb. They were not in evidence. Tisianne ran through a desperate litany of her sisters’ names. They failed to appear.
Someone rescue me!
Rescue yourself! another part of her snapped back.
But she couldn’t. She’d lost the knack for coherent speech.
Blaise leaned in, hands propped on the arms of the chair, pinning her in place. “Well, I’m going to. They’re all flocking to me. They saw what happened to Rodaleh. They don’t want to be next. I’m coming for you, Granddad, closer every day.”
Fear has a taste, sharp and sour on the tongue. It’s a driving pain deep in the gut. Steel fingers on the throat. The ballroom was lit only by the double moons, and the pattern of tiny lights in the floor. Cold, corpse light that deepened the hollows in Blaise’s face, giving him a gargoyle’s look. The sound of the revelers and the music of the orchestra faded to distant hummings. The only sound seemed to be her own harsh breaths.
“But you haven’t formally met Kelly.” Blaise straightened just before she screamed. He gestured, and out of the crowd he came.
All night Tisianne had avoided this, playing a little game with herself. Not looking for her body. Trying not to go mad from the wanting. Now it was coming, jerking forward with a marionette’s stiff gait. Mind controlled!… Just to show me he can do it.
Her body did not look well. Shadows beneath the lavender eyes. Skin a little too white, a little too pasty. A thin sheen of sweat on the upper lip. And a developing paunch. She wanted to beat the girl for so abusing her dwelling place. Then she correctly interpreted Kelly’s expression as he gazed at her body, now eight months pregnant.
Neither one of us has done such a good job as renters, thought Tis.
“Kelly Jenkins, meet my granddad.” The manic grin deepened. “Meet your baby. No, our baby. Don’t you love these family gatherings?”
she/lovesonly/you, doesn’tknow/me/at/all.
The communication of the slaves, conducted beneath the twitching nose of the overseer. Kelly and Tis stared at each other. Their telepathy blended, coalesced; linked as one mind, they explored the mind of their child. And all the bitterness melted away.
Illyana, meet your mother, sent Tisianne.
Total confusion from the baby.
Indulgent chuckles from the parents.
“Hey, bug out, man!” Mark’s sharp tones jerked Tis from her mind dance.
Tis recognized Zabb’s quick step approaching from behind her. Zabb’s gaze coolly raked Blaise from the top of his head to the soles of his feet and back again.
“While it is forbidden for us to kill you tonight, we’re certainly not required to endure either your company or your conversation.” Zabb turned back to Tisianne. “Cousin, will you walk with me?” He held out a hand and assisted her from the chair.
Blaise smiled, bowed with practiced ease, but his glittering eyes promised payback — real soon. He grabbed Kelly by the elbow and dragged him away.
The trio watched Blaise move away. Tis realized she was shaking. She realized that the warm grip of Zabb’s fingers around hers was comforting. She glanced up at him in confusion. He was frowning after Blaise.
“Some gentlemen and I require your expert advice.” Zabb looked to Mark. “Will you trust her with me for a few minutes?”
“If the Doc says it’s okay.” Mark looked down at her. Tis nodded.
In two hundred and two years of living, how many Crossing Festivals had he attended? Probably one hundred and ninety-seven of them, though his earliest memories didn’t begin until around age four. At that particular festival, he and Nandi had discovered that the punch tasted truly wonderful. They had retreated to a staircase and downed glass after glass of the sweet golden beverage. Later they discovered they couldn’t stand. Giggling, they had clung to one another under the disapproving eye of Nandi’s sister. That was the last Festival they had spent as comrades. By the next year she was old enough to know he was a Morakh, and she had learned to despise him.
Durg moved down the refreshment table like a grazing bull. A tidbit from each tray, not bothering with a plate, to the evident disapproval of the masters manning the buffet. The emotion was a little difficult to classify, but Durg knew that he enjoyed seeing them — the Zal’hma at’ Irg — providing the music, filling the glasses, cooking and serving the food. If they were going to party without their faithful servants, they had to pay the price.
“Why did you do it, man?” The sad tones of Mark Meadows shattered his reverie.
Durg took his time, selected and chewed down another sandwich before he turned to face the tall ace. And his answer when it came wasn’t a direct response. “Do you realize that this room is littered with my former masters?”
“Doesn’t say much for your loyalty.”
“Or theirs. My switch in allegiance always seems to stem from abandonment. The Vayawand left me and a half dozen other children on a roadside when Zabb attacked. I transferred my loyalty to Lord Zabb. My lord deserted me among primitives on an alien world after my defeat by Isis Moonchild. I transferred my loyalty to Lady Moonchild. Then Moonchild abandoned me — once again on a roadside. Synergy having been achieved, perhaps that will be my last abandonment.”
The blue eyes were suspiciously moist behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t realize. I wanted you to have a chance to be free. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“That’s the difference between them” — a jerk of the head to indicate the celebrating Takisians — “and you. They are never sorry. And their way is better. You expect nothing… you receive nothing… you are never disappointed.”
Jay was not finding this as easy as he’d hoped. He hadn’t fully absorbed just how many people were going to attend, and finding two people out of thousands was a daunting task. Blaise was going to be relatively easy; he’d be taller than all the Takisians present, and if he continued his pattern, he’d be dressed all in black. Jay remembered Hiram telling him how Tachyon would never wear black because that was the color for common laborers. Ergo it was a safe bet no Takisian was going to be wearing black. So now he just had to find the kid. As he surveyed the shifting crowds, Jay reflected that it was going to be like looking for a raisin in a bowl of fruit salad.
“Child, child, we should not be meeting like this.” Bat’tam rolled an eye toward the bed. “It tempts me far too much.”
“I didn’t meet you to fuck, I met you to talk.” Something of Kelly’s urgency must have communicated itself, because Bat’tam lost some of his prissy, precise attitude. A quick touch opaqued the walls with a blinding kaleidoscope of rainbow colors.
“What are you doing here?” Kelly demanded.
“It’s Festival. Everyone attends Festival.”
“When you vanished last week, I thought you’d gotten smart and split…” Bat’tam was frowning in confusion. “You know, run away from Blaise,” Kelly amplified. “He’s gonna kill you.”
The urbane, cynical mask dropped back into place like a presidium curtain falling. “I had rather apprehended that. That’s why I’m making a protracted stay in Vayam.”
“You’ve gotta go a lot farther than Vayam if you’re going to be safe from Blaise!”
“My sweet one, Zal’hma at’ Irg do not transfer alliance from House to House. I am Vayawand.”
“Then you’re dead, and that’s really stupid. Go to Ilkazam. Maybe you can help them. Somebody’s got to stop Blaise.”
He gnawed at his lower lip. “It’s never been done.”
“A lot of shit is happening that’s never happened before,” Kelly countered. “Run goddamn it, run!”
Bat’tam caught Kelly by the shoulders. “If I do, it will leave you without a friend in House Vayawand.”
“That’s okay. I don’t think he’s going to kill me —” Kelly’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “At least not yet. Your suggestion about my precious bodily fluids got him thinking, and he’s got some big something planned.”
“Bravery sits oddly on you. From where did this sudden resolve arise?”
Kelly shrugged. “You can’t be scared all the time. After a while you just stop feeling anything. Besides, you’re the only person who’s ever been nice to me — even if you are doing it for the boy you saw dancing sixty-five years ago, and not really for me. I could at least pretend it was for me. I’m pretty good at pretending … But anyway, I don’t want you dead, so please go.”
Bat’tam’s hand closed on his sharply pointed chin, and Kelly could feel the nobleman rummaging about in his mind. The probe was withdrawn, and the old man ran his palms down the other man’s smooth cheeks.
You know, girl, for the first time I’ve actually seen you.”
There was nothing romantic in the kiss. Lips, a little dry and very wrinkled, pressing hard against his. Tongue forcing its way past the barrier of his teeth.
Would Tachyon have minded? Analyzing that question and trying to unsnarl his tangled emotions kept Kelly motionless.
Bat’tam paused at the door. Glanced back, grinned. “That doesn’t quite make it all worth while… but it helps to ease the pain.”
She checked slightly on the threshold, and Zabb smiled to himself. Had he finally succeeded in impressing her? And it was an impressive display. Oh, not the numbers… a mere five Houses meeting with House Ilkazam… but the power represented by those Houses.
Probably because they have the most to lose, came Tisianne’s thought. Still, it was a diplomatic coup on Zabb’s part. I didn’t think he had it in him.
Zabb leaned in close to her and whispered, “Thank you.” He knew the ease with which he read her mind would rattle her. It did.
Zabb added his telepathy to her feeble power so she could read the surface indigestion bubbling off the minds of the five Raiyises and their military commanders. Old Yimkin’s was the worst, though some of his distress wasn’t just worry over the Abomination. It was grief at seeing Tisianne in her current predicament.
If one could be said to have friends of a rival, Raiyis Yimkin would qualify. The histories of House Ilkazam and House Tandeh were strewn with a series of brief but lucrative treaties. One of Tisianne’s sisters had in fact been married into Tandeh. That the marriage ended tragically was no the fault of Yimkin. At Jadlan’s funeral, the bluff, sunburned seaman had carried a grieving fourteen-year-old Tisianne away and wrapped the weeping boy in a tight embrace.
“We are discussing the feasibility of an alliance,” Zabb said.
“I’m delighted to see it,” Tis replied. “And though I’m honored by the confidence, I wonder at my inclusion. I’m not a soldier — wasn’t then, am certainly not now.”
But you know Blaise,” Taj said. “His strengths and weaknesses.”
“So how do we minimize the first and exploit the second, cousin?” Zabb asked.
“His strengths are rather evident — several hundred Morakhs —”
“Our wits have gone begging,” Yimkin interrupted. He shook his head, setting the bells braided into his full beard to ringing. “Here, child, take a seat.” He rose and offered his.
Watching the flush blossom in her cheeks, Zabb knew how much the courtesy irritated her, but she took the proffered chair. Tisianne had always preferred comfort over principle.
Until that last wild gesture, Zabb corrected himself. He had plucked small memories of Earth from her mind, and most were either sad or terrifying. No, fifty years in the mud had taught Tis to suffer.
“The Morakhs aren’t enough to ensure his safety. Burning Sky, what’s the matter with the Zal’hma at’ Irg?” Quar’ande exploded.
“The same thing that would be wrong with any of us,” Taj replied. “He has empowered young cadet lines within the House. He’s promised them conquest, and he’s delivered.”
“But he’s an abomination,” Gabru wailed.
“He’s successful,” Tisianne broke in. “For the moment that is all that matters. Oh, they comfort themselves with the argument that once Takis is theirs, they’ll remove him —”
“But it won’t happen,” Zabb interrupted. “He commands the will and the loyalty of the Tarhiji.”
“But how?” Yimkin asked.
Zabb smiled grimly. “I defer to my cousin. She seems to have a somewhat better grasp of this matter than I do.”
Zabb had heard much of this before, and he could request amplification once they were back home, so he paid only scant attention to the briefing.
Instead he sat and watched Tisianne. The emotions darkening or sparkling in the wide gray eyes. The mobile little mouth with its absurdly short upper lip. The soft voice concisely and without elaboration detailing the personality of her tormentor. She was careful to touch on none of the horrors she had endured. Was that pride or fear? That she was desperately afraid of her grandson there was no doubt. Tisianne in male form was a volatile little man. He spoke almost as much with his hands as with his voice. Tisianne in female form kept her hands clasped lightly in her lap, but Zabb saw the delicate trembling. Once, only once, did she execute a sharp, punctuating gesture. There was a flicker of reaction from Yimkin and Gabru.
She should have worn gloves, Zabb thought. Hide those scars. I wonder who stopped her. Or did this new, stronger Tisianne stop herself? I certainly can’t ask her, and is it worth thought theft?
“If you thwart Blaise, be certain you are ready for the reaction. He will lash out at whatever is convenient, and with a barbarity that will shock even us,” Tis said.
She fell silent. Zabb looked at the other men.
“Questions? Comments?” Head shakes all around. “Thank you, cousin. Can you find your way back to your stirpes without escort?”
“Yes.” She stood and shook out her skirt. Walked to the door. Paused. Looked back at all of them. Desperation was etched in the tendons of her neck, the lines about her mouth. “Please… please, don’t kill him. He is my only way home.”
Zabb just pushed her gently back through the door.
After her abrupt ejection from the meeting, Tis felt very much at loose ends. She was afraid of running into Blaise. Mark seemed to have vanished. Her sisters were all celebrating with their husbands and children. No one wanted her fear or her unhappiness near them. There was only one person who shared them both.
It took an hour, but once the contact was formed, there was never any doubt they would rendezvous. Illyana was the anchor, telepathy the chains, and Kelly and Tisianne were safe, for Blaise was brain deaf.
For years after, Tisianne would remember the conversation as a series of sound bites or MTV pulses. Kelly had done an impressive job self-teaching himself mentatics but lacked control. Tisianne offered hurried pointers…
And then they ended up back on Illyana. Delighting in her mind.
Kelly warned Tisianne of his body’s numerous drug allergies. Tis countered that natural childbirth is mandatory among the telepathic class. Survival of the fittest and all that…
And then they ended up back on Illyana, wondering about her eye color.
Kelly hesitantly and rather shyly told Tisianne about Bat’tam.
I remember now. It was Crossing. He danced with me.
Guys dance with each other?
This is a guy’s dance. Amusement at the groundling’s shocked sensibilities. A very pretty, energetic dance called the Condala. You’ll see it tonight. A cross between Russian and Middle Eastern styles. It’s very intriguing. A beau who’s nursed a crush for sixty-five years. Perhaps a suitor to make an honest woman of me.
I think he’s heading for Ilkala.
Impossible, Tis demurred. No one abandons House.
And they ended up back on Illyana, wondering how she would cope with her bizarre parentage — assuming any of them ended up back where they belonged.
Switching back to audible conversation, Tis warned, “I will not give her up.”
“I understand. Just so I can see her now and then.”
Before Tisianne would reply, Zabb screamed through her head like a five-alarm fire.
TROUBLE!
There was this swell hidden gallery running the entire circumference of the ballroom. The discovery had come quite by accident. Jay had seen clumps of psi lords cruising into this tiny cul de sac carrying candles and emerging minutes later sans candles. They sure as hell weren’t leaving them in the hall, so Jay had snooped, watching as they opened a secret panel in one of the pillars.
When there was a lull in the traffic, Jay tried it, and felt like a turd being flushed. Whatever it was, it wasn’t an elevator — more like one of the old pneumatic tubes that used to grace department stores in the twenties. The dizzying ascent slowed, and he found himself suspended in midair in front of a door.
Stepping out (or did one step off thin air?) seemed the wisest thing to do, so he did, and found himself in the gallery. It was creepy at first. There were hundreds of little candles flickering at the foot of those crystal pillars. Only instead of lights embedded in the crystal, there were people. Jay wondered what you had to do to get buried at the pole? Fuck up big? Or score big?
It made him nervous staring at those serene faces. As if they might wake up and start screaming impostor, burglar, thief, like in Alice in Wonderland. Resolutely Jay turned his back on the corpses and walked to the edge of the gallery. And that’s when he realized it was swell because he had a view of the entire ballroom, and… there was Blaise.
Jay carefully formed the forefinger of his right hand into a gun, and drew a bead on that powerful black-clad man.
— And had his hand twisted to point at the floor by an inexorable grip.
“No!” said Mark Meadows.
Kelly and Tisianne exchanged concerned glances.
“I’ll take you,” Kelly said as he assisted the Takisian from her chair. Keeping a supporting arm lightly about her waist, he escorted her to Zabb.
We’re a behavioral psychologist’s wet dream, Tis mused as she considered the roles they were falling into by virtue of their respective biologies.
They were the center of attention as the crowd swept back to make way for their passage. Waiting in a cleared area in the center of the ballroom were Zabb and Taj. They were ranged on one side with Blaise and Durg on the other. Tis wondered if she and Kelly were supposed to have brought the ball for the tip-off?
“You have disrupted this Crossing Festival on an obscure point of protocol. It had better be worth it,” Taj was growling as they arrived.
Blaise smiled slow and long, giving the impression of a killing beast stretching after a long sleep. “Oh, it will be.” He raised his voice. “But before we address these troublesome matters, I wish to share a bit of joy.” He gestured, and Durg held out a hand. A woman emerged from the crowd.
She was beautiful in that way only creatures bred for beauty can possess. Jewels completely covered the bone beneath her brows and swept up and away toward her hairline like wings. With that weight of ice she was certainly of the highest born. Her hair had been cropped short and was just beginning to grow out, indicating she had recently rotated back from space-platform duty. Where it was red, it was so intensely dark, it would probably appear black in some lights. But it was also stippled with white streaks. The Ss’ang bred for that piebald look, so she was some kind of outcross. She was also one hell of a mentat, for as she passed, Tis read nothing. It was as if there were a blank space, a psychic black hole walking past.
“Prince Tisianne, stop making time with that other woman and come meet your bride,” said Blaise with hearty bonhomie.
For an instant Tis was afraid that Kelly would faint. Tis gripped Kelly so tightly that she felt her nails puncture the fabric of his sleeve and hit flesh. Kelly shook it off, but his eyes were desperate.
Tis forced rubbery legs to move and placed herself inches from Blaise. “Blaise, my child, never ride a scam past its useful life. Fully half the people in this room know my psi signature. They know that’s not me.”
“It’s enough you where it counts. Between the legs.”
“I won’t! It’s gross!” Passion throbbed in the words. Tis winced. The teenage girl’s hysterical reaction delivered in a baritone voice was embarrassing.
Blaise stepped around Tisianne. Squared off with Zabb. “It’s the first step in the amalgamation of House Ilkazam into the new order.”
“The only one,” Zabb said softly.
“Are you fucking crazy!” Jay spluttered. “Look, I’ve got ’em all. Blaise, the body… even Tachy if we want to send her home fast too.”
The detective struggled fitfully, but Meadows had succeeded in locking both his hands behind his back. “You can’t. It’s Festival.”
“What is this crap? When did you become Takisian?”
“Jay, there’s, like, two of us, and probably a hundred thousand psi lords. Do you really want to piss them off by violating their customs and traditions this way?”
Taj was shaking with anger, his hands opening and closing spasmodically. “You mudcrawler, you rotting abortion, this is Crossing. You denigrate our traditions —”
“You want tradition?” Blaise snarled. He grabbed for Tisianne, but Zabb yanked her away so Blaise’s fingertips only grazed the skin of her arm.
Even that brief touch made the edges of the room, the people, vanish into a red haze. Only Blaise’s face remained clear. Leering down at her. Peering up from between her legs. The pounding. The pain deep in her body.
“This woman is carrying my child. That makes her mine. And on that point I believe your customs, traditions, and protocol agree.”
Ruek of Jeban stepped forward. “What custom decrees is that the child should die. It’s an abomination …just like you.”
Blaise’s eyes widened. “You’ll be next,” he promised softly. So great was Blaise’s power and the touch of his madness that Ruck took an involuntary step back. The watching families didn’t miss it.
Raising his voice, Blaise said, “No half-breed dies in my holdings.”
“So you use your new laws when it suits you, and the old when that works best,” Taj said sarcastically.
“Our Raiyis writes new laws and will build a new world,” said Sekal, one of the Vayawand nobles who surrounded Blaise. Pride and adoration filled his words.
“In other words, I use whatever works.” Blaise added and smiled engagingly. It was horrifying.
There are times in life when you know that doom is rolling toward you. Tisianne had felt it when he had waited for the decision of the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1950. She had felt it again as she had stood before the Ajayiz, and Zabb had banished her to Rarrana. She felt it now. Which is why Taj’s passionate advocacy had no power to move her. He was going to fail.
Taj tried. He raised every imaginable objection, and a few that made no sense at all. When he saw he was losing the battle, he switched to delaying tactics — agreeing that Blaise could have her, but only after a genetic match was run to establish paternity. That didn’t work either.
The decision of the Families was clear, and it had nothing to do with custom and protocol, and a hell of a lot to do with the fact that the Vayawand and their young Raiyis were scaring the crap out of everyone.
There never was anything so overt as a vote, but suddenly the crowd was dissipating like wind-torn smoke, and Blaise was walking toward her, his hand outstretched.
“They’re going to give her to him,” Mark choked out, and Jay realized the gangling ace was crying.
“Okay, that’s it, party’s over.” Jay fashioned his gun.
It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t even a decision. It was instinct and survival. Tisianne snatched a knife from the buffet table and flung herself at Blaise.
There was a whirlwind of motion, and Durg was between them. The knife cut through his finery and bit deep into the chest.
A gasp like a thousand winds in a thousand pines swept the hall, and several nobles from House Vayawand bore their Raiyis to the floor. The music stuttered to a halt. Silence. And tension as everyone waited to see if the violence would escalate.
Jay and Mark hung over the railing. Jay was cursing fluently and monotonously because he’d lost his bead on Blaise. Tisianne began backing slowly away from Durg. Blood was staining the front of the Morakh’s shirt. Tis looked down at the knife in her hand as if surprised to find it there, dropped it. The sound of the blade hitting the floor was deafening in the unnatural silence.
Zabb suddenly strode forward and dealt Tisianne a powerful backhand blow across the face, knocking her to the floor. Then a broad-shouldered Takisian with a chest-brushing beard made an intricate sign with his right hand, spit between his fingers, and deliberately turned his back on the fallen woman. By twos and threes, and then by the hundreds, the assembled lords and ladies did the same.
Zabb walked back to where Taj stood. He had been joined by Tisianne’s six sisters. They weren’t spitting at her yet, but it was clear they were all as shocked as the other families.
Durg moved to Tisianne and swung her up in his arms. Carried her toward the knot of men surrounding Blaise.
“Now, Jay, do it now.”
With a soft pop Tisianne vanished.