Imperius Ch. 09

Lilah was aware of being carried, and aware of dark and light--soft fabric against her back, and cool liquid against her lips. Aware of his voice, deep and sonorous, all around her.

Then his voice was gone. Lilah slept fretfully. Shadowy giants menaced the air above her, and she would startle out of her slumber only to re-submerge into restless darkness. When, finally, her eyes opened fully, the giants were still there, filling the room with their hard voices and looming close above her.

She jerked, startled, and then forced her muscles to loosen as she registered her surroundings.

There were four people in the room with her, and naturally, her eyes sought him out first, even though he was the furthest from her.

Magnus stood with an electronic tablet in his hands, Saphir at his side. Both men were very still, however, and watching her. When Lilah's eyes met Saphir's, he averted his gaze. Lilah looked back at Magnus, who continued to regard her without expression.

"Miss Claremont," spoke one of the others at her side. She tore her attention free from Magnus and turned it on the speaker. An older man, sitting beside her bed. Daegon stood a few steps behind him, a mammoth presence that she chose to ignore. The speaker's hair was salt and pepper, and his skin was lined with maturity.

"I am the physician overseeing your care. You can call me Gentius." His voice was brusque, but not unkind, and he watched her with the studied neutral expression she'd observed in nearly every educated Imperial officer. "How are you feeling?"

She sat up, and looked toward the sky-ship window. They were moving.

Magnus studied her reactions with even more intent than usual. Lilah was aware of this, yet now she felt none of the stormy intensity that had been inextricable from his gaze.

"I need to use the lavatory," she said, turning to the physician.

The physician glanced at Magnus before he moved to help her up, and she let him guide her to the appropriate door. After escorting her through the threshold, Gentius propped the door nearly shut. She could hear Magnus instructing the others to leave the room.

Her motions were mechanical and slow as she relieved herself, not particularly concerned about privacy. She had only a vague impression of the washroom, a grey, metallic, minimalist space, very different from the elegant white spa she'd been treated to when Saphir had groomed her.

When she washed her hands, her eyes drew to an imperfection in the color on the metal wall. It was a pale blotch about a centimeter in size, like a glare of sunlight, peering out of a cloudy sky. It reminded her of something cold and distantly nostalgic.

After a time, a voice infiltrated her thoughts.

"Lilah," he said, and she realized it wasn't the first time the voice had spoken. Magnus was standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He reached down and tested the water with his fingertips, only to swiftly draw his hand away to turn off the faucet. "Lilah, you..." he said again, taking her hands in his and turning them over. They were red from the heat, she realized. Magnus guided her to the bed, and she sat on the edge obediently. They were alone together in the room. She realized she was wearing a nightgown, white and gauzy and feather-light, that she hadn't seen before. Then she realized Magnus had left her, that he was rooting around in Gentius' medicine bag.

She watched him return to her with a bottle of some salve or another, and lower to his knees in front of her. He seemed to be searching her face for something--some feeling perhaps--the way a scout would study an enemy camp. But she didn't have any emotion to offer him. All she felt was tired.

He applied the ointment to her hands, slowly and gently, his hands firm and slightly calloused. She could have told him that was hardly necessary--that she wasn't really burned, but the idea of opening her mouth to say anything, to even summon any vocal inflection, seemed like a laborious prospect.

His touch was warm and his movements were firm. Her eyelids grew even heavier as he worked the ointment into her skin. After he had thoroughly treated her, he touched his palm to her cheek.

She dutifully raised her eyes to his, but when he sought something in her gaze, his own turned shadowed with disappointment.

He rose and stroked her hair. Lilah neither flinched nor sighed. He paused, contemplative and--for once--indecisive, then left quietly.

~ < > ~

Magnus shut the door behind him and turned to face Saphir, Daegon, and Gentius.

"Attend to her," he said, gesturing the latter two back into the room. "She isn't to be left alone."

He caught Gentius by the arm before he passed through. "I want regular updates on her condition."

"Understood," the physician replied brusquely, and Magnus let him by.

Once the door fell closed again, he turned to Saphir.

"The serum--could it make her feel less pain?"

Saphir tilted his head. "No," he replied with certainty.

"Are you sure?" said Magnus.

"It's never come up on any test I've run--including the ones on myself."

Magnus nearly growled. "Something's wrong with her. Something's broken."

Saphir was still tilting his head, his expression full of the cold calculation he only showed to Magnus.

"My liege..." he said, "Everything is broken. This is mourning."

Magnus rested his hand on the wall. "I need to do something about it."

Saphir crossed his arms over his chest, glancing back toward the door. "What is your goal?" he asked.

"I need to pull her back. She's been mine to have and take as much as I pleased and thus far her submission had been enough," Magnus said, and touched his hand to his forehead. "But now...there's no point having her if there's nothing about her left to be had."

"Are you losing control of this?" Saphir asked.

"I think we both know at this point that I've lost it," Magnus said, glancing at him.

"If you're open to suggestions..." Saphir ventured. Magnus leaned back and signaled that he was listening. "She needs to be given a sense of purpose again," Saphir continued, "Something to anchor her mind and make her world feel larger than just pleasing you."

"That's something I can try to arrange," Magnus mused pensively.

"In the meantime..." Saphir paused to lend greater precision to his next choice of words. "I think it would be helpful to limit the amount of influence she feels from you. I know you want us to be close to guard her, but at this point, our presence does more harm than good. She needs someone new as her caretaker. Someone who isn't yours."

There was a pause, and he amended, "Or at least, who she doesn't entirely perceive as yours."

After several uncomfortable moments of silence, Magnus straightened with a frustrated sigh. "I'll take it under advisement," he muttered briskly as he proceeded down the corridor.

~ < > ~

Lilah became consumed by a restless energy. She had taken to pacing and tidying the room when Magnus was away from it--smoothing towels and sheets and attacking every bit of dust.

He would enter to see her with a damp cloth in her hand, scrubbing at any unpristine spot of she could find, but she would force herself to settle in his presence. He seemed suspicious about her acquiescence at times, and other times, he seemed simply discontent. She would have fretted about this before her attempted escape--afraid he would sell her to something even more cruel, more ruthless. Now, her heart was too wooden to feel any such fears.

They hadn't put her slave collar back on, and they didn't force her into any lavish dresses or elaborate cosmetics. She was given soft, simple garments to wear and they fortunately afforded her flexibility of movement--which she was gratified for a few mornings in when she found herself fixated on the upper railing above the enormous window one morning--but when she set about moving a chair to stand on an clean it, Daegon was beside her in a moment, hauling her carefully back down.

When he had her feet back on the floor, he turned her to face him and gestured once with his index finger, "NO," he said, firm and emphatic, and returned the chair to its place in front of the desk.

So, Lilah set about polishing a rail at the base of his bed instead, and when Magnus returned to the room shortly afterward and found her like this, he bent down and snaked his arm around her waist, drawing her back firmly against his chest.

"Lilah, give me an answer this time," he said, his voice husky but more urgent than it was sensual, in contrast to any other time he had drawn her into such a position. "Why are you so desperately cleaning every speck of dust you can find?"

"It's something to do. There's no point sitting around worthlessly. I might as well be doing cleaning," she said, turning toward him when he loosened his grip enough for her to do so. "Unless you'd prefer that I serve you."

She turned toward him, fully ready to honor the offer.

He paused, still and watchful.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

He looked at her, his eyes moving from head to foot. Lust and concern seemed to war within his eyes. She felt only the most distant curiosity about what he was feeling.

"..No," he said, after deliberating. "Go ahead."

She knelt down, and freed his member from his pants. It sprang loose, erect, but not as hard as it usually was when she held it.

She took his cock in her mouth, and the training he'd given her before her escape returned to her readily. She worked her lips up and down the length, dutifully and thoroughly. Up and down. Up and down.

After a few minutes of this, she heard him say her name, and even in her haze she could tell that it was distinct from how he would normally say it in these moments. She lifted her eyes and saw that he was looking down at her with a markedly perturbed expression. It was only after she withdrew him from her mouth and glanced back in front of her that she realized he'd gone soft.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't...you didn't do anything...This isn't what I need right now."

"Shall I continue cleaning, then?' she asked, unsure and empty. She felt like her mind was full of mist.

He looked at her, and for all the looks he had ever given her--lustful, stern, calculating, this one was the most simply unhappy. She would have worried over this before her escape, afraid of his selling her to someone even worse.

He muttered something as he left, and after several moments of stillness, she resumed tidying.

~ < > ~

When Magnus exited his sky-ship a few days later, Ariadne stood waiting for him, a fur lined cape drawn close around her flawless, icy face. Her panther was poised at her side. Dim grey clouds spread across the horizon behind her. The reliable dreariness of Illythian weather.

"Thank you for meeting with me." Magnus said, when he reached the end of the ramp.

She nodded, always impassive, and touched a hand to the head of her panther. "We have only an hour or so before we shall have to make our appearance with the Legatus. Is this regarding your newest slave?" she asked.

Magnus didn't waste time pretending that it might have been anything else. Ariadne had always been the shrewdest of his rivals. The only one he sensed could read him better than he could read her--and despite the occasional disquiet this caused him, he enjoyed her company. He gestured to suggest that they move out of the hearing of their respective entourages, and she obliged. "I need an attendant for her," he said. "And they need to be someone experienced and reliable, and preferably acclimated to the Imperius. She's..."

"In mourning?" Ariadne offered.

He nodded. "She's distant. When I try to speak with her, she's not entirely there. I'm concerned for her health."

Ariadne nodded, and glanced back at the people behind them. "I have, among my company, a consular. Charis. She's an experienced stylist--unbonded, and she's worked on some of the most fashionable women in the Capitol."

"Unbonded?" said Magnus, arching a brow. In the imperial Capitol, slaves were often referred to as "bonded"--a much prettier, if less succinct label. Thus, the position of an unbonded attendant was offered exclusively to those with remarkable talent. "Why would you part with such a find?" he asked.

"She was Valencian born," said Ariadne, "--and she became an Imperial citizen at my mother's request."

"Ah," said Magnus, his demeanor knowing and subdued, glancing down. "I take it that her presence is a sensitive matter."

"My father can't bear the sight of her, but then he can hardly bear the sight of me either," said Ariadne dryly, looking off into the distance as though assessing the weather. "In any case, I think it will be a mutually beneficial arrangement--provided you cover her expenses and pay."

"And she'll be content losing a position as attendant to a member of the Imperator's blood family in favor of entering the service of a common-born upstart?" Magnus asked.

"As I matter of fact, I have reason to believe that she's an admirer of yours."

Magnus arched an eyebrow at her, his curiosity peaked, but she only arched one back, her face an elegant porcelain mask, and he let it pass.

"I'll add a second recommendation," she said, before he could move on. He lifted his chin, surprised. "I don't think you can expect one unbonded servant to achieve your goal with respect to your new consort. She needs an ally, someone who she can trust to share her perspective."

"I had intended to acquire a bondslave from the captives, someone she already knows for that."

"The little thing she jumped into the arena to save?" said Ariadne. "Cato has her, and he's not likely to part with her at your request. You'll need another option in the meanwhile."

"And you're willing to provide it?" said Magnus.

"I do have a masseuse that I can spare. She's rather...incorrigible, and she tends to become popular among other slaves. She accepted a slave mantle as a financial measure, but I rather think she's hoping for the abolitionists to gain power."

"A fool, then," said Magnus.

"Naive certainly, and imprudent, but skilled." Ariadne arched an elegantly shaped brow, and almost smiled. "Sound familiar?"

"Yes," Magnus admitted. "I suppose it does."

"I'll have them sent to your ship after we investigate the crash."

"Speaking of which," said Magnus, "What do you expect we'll find?"

Ariadne tilted her head thoughtfully as they walked on. "Nothing of much use, if the reports I've read are anything to go on. They described it as an utter catastrophe."

~ < > ~

Not much indeed, Magnus thought when he finally studied the charred remains of what had been Henry Claremont's life's work.

"Well, it's certain then," said Hesiod, looking sadly at the machinery laying on the table before him. Magnus wasn't sure whether the man was more affected to see the evidence of the artist's demise or that none of his creations had made it through the crash intact.

The guards had rooted through the debris, drawing out all of the intact machinery from the archives kept by the Imperial border patrol.

"These are clear matches for Claremont's materials, broken and charred as they are," Hesiod said, gazing at one fragment of machinery mournfully.

"The scientists are studying the traces of bone they were able to recover as well," the legatus added, as an afterthought. "--But I doubt they'll be able to confirm much. They don't exactly keep thorough blood records in this savage country."

He looked around the verdant, cloudy landscape as though it had personally offended him, and tightened his fur-lined cloak.

While Hesiod remained enraptured by the more sophisticated pieces of wreckage, Magnus gravitated toward a piece that stood out. A little owl made of silver, with crystalline eyes.

Magnus picked it up, turning it in the light.

"Oh, that's an interesting piece," said Hesiod, moving to his side. "It's made of the same materials as the others, but it looks relatively child-like in construction, Careful, but certainly not demonstrating any of the nuance or skill of..." he trailed off when Magnus looked at him, seeming to absorb the implications of his own words.

"Well, perhaps you'd better keep that, Magnus," said Hesiod quietly, touching his back once before moving on.

"Are you certain we ought to just give him such valuable evidence, Legatus?" asked Cato, with a sideways glance at Magnus.

"My task, as the foremost present expert on the work of Henry Claremont," replied Hesiod, returning his attention to the machinery, "-is to salvage, procure, and evaluate all creations by his hand from the wreckage of his sky-ship. I've no need to study the handiwork of a novice."

"There's something even more troubling to concern ourselves with," said Ariadne, changing the subject. "My agents are certain that there are still behemoths being developed in the capitol. If it's true that their developer is dead--someone has taken their mantle, but we heard nothing of it."

She shook her head, "If such a transition were known to the capitol military guard, my spies should have discovered it."

"So, the Illythians themselves have been keeping this quiet," Magnus said, tearing his gaze away from the little clockwork animal. "From their own people."

"None of our reports from the frontline suggest a reduction in quality," said Ajax, in his deep voice.

"Due to the contribution of someone who worked under Claremont, I imagine," Hesiod said distractedly.

"We must be able to find someone among the defectors or captives who knows his more current work and who can help us recreate it."

"Perhaps," said Hesiod, "Perhaps."

~ < > ~

Lilah was tidying again, smoothing and folding loose maps on the desk in Magnus' quarters.

Magnus entered, officious and crisp in his uniform, and though she turned to look at him submissively, she couldn't read his eyes.

He approached her, and took her hand in his and placed within something as cold and unyielding as the lump that choked her throat upon looking at the offering--for it fit, familiar in her grasp--After all, she had shaped the metal herself, coated the steel with her own hands, placed the little crystals into the silver owls eyes, all at her father's guidance.

The tears came, slowly and softly at first, and then her chest heaved, and her breaths came short.

As Magnus came close behind her, she sensed--of all things--hesitation from him, and then he placed his hand on her shoulder, so gently that the tears burned behind her eyes.

When she sobbed and buried her face in his chest, weeping freely, she didn't take notice of whether the action surprised or pleased him. All she knew was that his arms closed around her in a kind of comfort she'd never expected from him.

They remained like that for some time, his holding her, before he shifted his grip around her and he glanced at his sigil on the wall--a twining, black ouroboros on a field of golden green, and back at her again.

"There once was a dove that fell into a pit of snakes," he said. "But the most cunning of all the serpents had been watching her and had become..." he closed the distance between them, and lifted a lock of her hair between his fingertips "-fond of the dove. He set out to protect her, and to have her."

Lilah shook her head, fixing her eyes on his collar. "If he wanted to protect her, he should have told her that. He should have talked to her as..."

"An equal?" he asked, after she had trailed off.

She looked at him, and he smiled wryly.

"You are not nearly as delicate as you appear, little dove, I grant you that much. But you are soft. You do nothing--not even kill a man--without finding the gentlest way to do it. I don't say this because I see you as someone lesser, not really." He touched her cheek, his voice turning soft, "I treasure you, Lilah." His eyes searched hers, seeking her reactions. "--But you are not my equal, not at the game we play. You are a remarkable and improbable creature, but your every remarkable and improbable quality makes you more vulnerable, not less."