“To get away from feeling helpless?” Trohdwyr murmured.
“Yes.” She could never have opened thus to any human except Mihail,
maybe not even to him; but over the years the ychan had heard
confessions which she did not give her priest. “My man’s yonder.” She
flung a hand toward the first stars as they twinkled forth, white upon
violet above the lowlands. “I have to stay behind in my guard unit–when
Dennitza will never be attacked!”
“Thanks to units like yours, Datna,” Trohdwyr said.
“Nevertheless, he–” Kossara took her drink in a gulp. It burned the
whole way down, and the glow spread fast to every part of her. She held
the cup out for a refill. “Why does it matter this much who’s Emperor?
All right, Josip was foul and his agents did a great deal of harm. But
he’s dead now; and the Empire did survive him; and I’ve heard enough
from my uncle to know that what really keeps it going is a lot of
nameless little officials whose work outlasts whole dynasties. Then why
do we fight over who’ll sit crowned in Archopolis for the next few
years?”
“You are the human, Dama, not I,” said Trohdwyr. After a minute: “Yet I
can think how on Merseia they would be glad to see another Terran
Emperor whose spirit is fear or foolishness. And … we here are not
overly far from Merseia.”
Kossara shivered beneath the stars and took a strong sip.
“Well, it’ll get settled soon,” she declared. “Uncle Bodin told me he’s
sure it will be. This thing in space is a last gasp. Soon”–she lifted
her head–“Mihail and I can travel,” exploring together the infinite
marvels on worlds that circle new suns.
“I hope so, Dama, despite that I’ll miss you. Have plenty of young, and
let them play and grow around me on the manor as you did, will you?”
Exalted by the liquor–how the smell of the roasting meat awakened
hunger!–she blurted: “He wanted me to sleep with him before he left. I
said no, we’ll wait till we’re married. Should I have said yes? Tell me,
should I have?”
“You are the human,” Trohdwyr repeated. “I can simply answer, you are
the voivode’s daughter and the Gospodar’s niece. But I remember from my
cubhood–when folk still lived in Old Aferoch, though already then the
sea brought worse and worse floods–a female ychan of that town. I knew
her somewhat, since a grown cousin of mine used to come in from our
village, courting her–”
The story, which was of a rivalry as fierce as might have stood between
two men of different clans in early days on Dennitza, but which ended
after a rescue on the water, was oddly comforting: almost as if she were
little again, and Trohdwyr rocked her against his warm dry breast and
rumbled a lullaby. That night Kossara slept well. Some days afterward
she returned happily to Dubina Dolyina. When her leave was up, she went
back to Zorkagrad.
There she got the news that Mihail Svetich had been killed in action.
But standing before the slave shop’s audiovisual recorders, Kossara did
not think of this, nor of what had happened to Trohdwyr himself on cold
Diomedes. She remained in that one evening out of the many they had had
together.}
The chemical joy wore off. She lay on her bunk, bit her pillow and
fought not to yell.
A further day passed.
Then she was summoned to the manager’s office. “Congratulations,” he
said. “You’ve been bought, luckier than you deserve.”
It roared in her. Darkness crossed her eyes. She swayed before his desk.
Distantly she heard:
“A private gentleman, and he must really have liked what he saw in the
catalogue, because he outbid two different cepheid houses. You can
probably do well for yourself–and me, I’ll admit. Remember, if he sells
you later, he may well go through me again instead of making a deal
directly. I don’t like my reputation hurt, and I’ve got this switch
here–Anyhow, you’ll be wise if you show him your appreciation. His name
is Dominic Flandry, he’s a captain of Naval Intelligence, a knight of
the Imperium, and, I’ll tell you, a favorite of the Emperor. He doesn’t