The Skypirate Part 12

"And how did you feel about her flying to all this acclaim while you were relegated to teaching?"

She drew back sharply, and Dax knew he'd hit a nerve. He knew he should force her back to the point, but he found he wanted to know this, too, and he didn't understand why.

"Jealous, hmm?" he said, his tone mild.

"No!" The protest was immediate, and a little too fierce. "Of course not. Running the school iswas an honor."

She hadn't admitted it even to herself, Dax thought. "Go on," he prompted.

She took a deep breath as if to steady herself and went on. "That...slave, at the school, was a man. When Shaylah came to visit, she saw him, and... Eos, she was always such a fool, believing in love, and bonding, and all that ridiculous nonsense civilized people gave up on aeons ago."

"Bonding?" His voice was sharp.

"Yes. Her parents taught her about it. She even said theywere bonded, although they weren't Triotian."

"A Coalition pilot whose parents were bonded?" It hurt him just to say the words, and he couldn't hide the edge in his voice. Califa looked at him curiously. Then she shrugged.

"I told you, Shaylah was...different."

"Was? Is she dead?"

"I don't know."

"But you're saying...What?" He began to pace. "That she fell in love with this slave? And helped him escape?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but she never, ever took a slave for mating when she visited. Her fastidiousness was legend. Yet she took this one. I don't know what she told him, but when she was recalled, he went berserk. Not even"she swallowed tightly, as if only now realizing the full import of what she was saying"Eos, not even the pain system could control him. I was afraid they would fry his brain with too much power through the probes."

"So you sold him."

"I had no choice! He was disrupting things, and if it had gone on, Legion Command would have learned of it."

Dax restrained himself from comment on that. "How do you know this Shaylah helped the slave?"

"When she came back from her a.s.signment, she asked for him. I had to tell her he was gone. She was furious. But when she found out he was in Ossuary, she went crazy herself. She swore she would never fly another mission, fire another round, or do anything in support of a system that believed one person could own another. Nor would she..."

Dax wanted to cheer the unknown Shaylah, but he merely prodded Califa to finish. "Nor would she what?"

"Have anything to do with someone who did. Meaning me. She left without another word. I doubt she thought of me as a friend at all, by then." It was a harsh whisper, tinged with the pain of loss. Dax told himself not to feel sorry for her, she'd brought this on herself. It was harder to suppress the sympathy than he would have expected.

"And?" he prodded again.

"And the next day, the slave was missing from Ossuary."

Dax gave a low whistle. "She broke him out? Of Ossuary? That took some doing."

"Yes." Despite her distress, there was pride back in Califa's voice. "She was always resourceful."

"And I suppose you, the great tactical strategist, taught her everything she knows."

Califa's chin came up. "Yes, I did. She was one of my best students in the advanced cla.s.ses."

Then her original words came back to him, and it hit him why he'd been having trouble painting her with a totally black brush.

"You didn't turn her in," he said softly.

She lowered her eyes. "No. I told myself I should, that she had betrayed both me and the Coalition, but I couldn't. She was my friend. I owed her my life."

"Your life?"

"I was hurt on Darvis Two. My leg. She risked herself, disobeying a direct order, to come back for me. I would have died."

Dax lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the table. He felt battered, pulled in so many directions at once he wanted to let go and see which one won. He rubbed at his gritty eyes, wondering what in Hades he was going to do.

How could this woman, once a Coalition officer who had owned and sold slaves, tear him apart with a story of a rare loyalty? She could no doubt easily buy back her position, her honor, and probably a glorious promotion with the knowledge she had, that of a medal-winning Coalition pilot who had committed what the Coalition would unquestionably see as high treason. Yet she did not, condemning herself to a life of the same miserable slavery for the sake of a friend.

"They escaped?" he asked suddenly, seized with the need to know.

"I don't know. I..."

"What, Califa?"

She looked up again, startled, perhaps that for the first time since they'd begun this, he'd used her name. Then she looked down again, staring at her hands.

"I hope so," she whispered.

"Because if not, your sacrifice was for nothing?"

"No." Her voice was hushed. "Because, foolish as it is, deep inside I...I hope she was right."

"Right?"

"About love. And...bonding. It's a beautiful thought, even if only fools and Triotians believe in it."

Dax fought down the rage and guilt that flooded him at the mention of that once-beloved and now-dreaded name. His laughter was harsh, bitter. "I thought the Coalition had decided they were one and the same."

Califa sighed, as if she were as weary as Dax. "If so, they were wrong. Wolf was no fool. He had us all convinced he was beaten. Except Shaylah. She found something in him she'd never found in any other man. I could see it in her eyes."

Dax was so tired it took a moment for the implication of her words to register. When it did, he went rigidly still.

"Who," he said carefully, "is Wolf?"

Califa stared at him. "The slave we've been talking about all this"

Even more carefully, he said, "What is Wolf?"

She looked at him, bewildered. "We just called him that because when he was chained at the market on Clarion, he nearly sawed his own hand off trying to get free. The Triotians have a legend about a wild creature who has been known to gnaw off its own paw to"

"I know." He couldn't stop the edge in his voice. "Why a Triotian name?"

"Because he was."

Though he'd been half expecting it, Dax's breath caught in his throat. When he went on, he spoke each word as if the fate of the system depended on its clarity.

"This...slave...was...Triotian?"

Still looking bewildered, Califa nodded. "I know there aren't many, and they're so valuable, I only had him because he'd permanently damaged his hand that time"

"Who was he?" She blinked at the snap in his tone, and at this line of questioning she obviously didn't understand the reason for.

"I don't know."

He leapt off the table and into a crouch before her, his hands coming up to grip the back of the chair on either side of her, trapping her with the muscled strength of his arms.

"Whatdo you know?"

"I...Only that he'd been taken at the fall of Trios, so a slave for five years. And a problem every day of it."

"He survived this"he moved one arm and flicked a finger at the yellow crystal, then imprisoned her again "for five years?"

"He was very strong. And stubborn. Marcolethe school's enforcerhad a very difficult time with him."

"The school's enforcer," Dax muttered venomously.

"I didn't build the system," Califa burst out. "I know that's no defense, I did my part to support it, but don't you see? The Coalition was all I had! It was all I ever had."

Something in her voice pulled at him, made him want to know of the woman who had had nothing in her life but a cold, monstrous machine. But something else was far more important now.

"What did he look like, this Triotian?"

Looking like she wished she had restrained that outburst almost more than the one that had given her away, Califa spoke slowly.

"Big. Your size. Strong. Golden, with a great mane of hair, all shades of blond. Like all Triotians."

Dax felt himself tense, and tried to fight it off. She wasn't exactly right, but close enough that it made no difference. There were far too many Triotiansor had been, he amended painfullythat matched that description for his imagination to skyrocket like this.

"In truth," Califa said suddenly, "if you had Rina's color hair, or she your color skin, you would have it."

He couldn't fight off the tension this time; she had to be deflected from that idea. "His eyes," he prompted sharply.

Califa shrugged. "Green eyes, like yours but not...We had a patch of Triotian gra.s.s at the school, in the garden. His eyes were that color. He carried himself well. Proudly." Her mouth twisted ruefully. "Too proudly, for a slave. He was... quite beautiful, actually."

"Do you know where he was captured?"

Her forehead creased for a moment. "I...Near the capital city."

"Triotia? You're certain?"

"Yes. I heard a rumor that they'd found him in the hills north of the city, and that if he hadn't been slowed by a woman, they might never have caught him."

"A woman?"

Califa nodded. "Not a Triotian, apparently. She was dark haired, and very small, they said."

He felt as if he'd been hit by his own flashbow. His stomach knotted anew; he wanted to ask if the woman was dead, but he already knew, knew in his gut, and couldn't bear to hear it aloud. And then she told him anyway.

"He nearly escaped after the woman died," Califa went on. "He knew the mountains well, they said. Only General Corling's direct orders made them keep after him."

Dax froze. "He gave specific orders to capture this man?"

"So I heard. One of my cadets came in on the s.h.i.+p that transported the Triotian. He was badly beaten, she said. Corling had ordered it. After he had ordered the prisoner dragged through the streets of Triotia, so he could see the body of the old king, hanging at the temple."

Dax swore, suppressing a shudder. "d.a.m.n him."

Califa was staring at him now. "It must have been something personal," she said. "I heard that Corling personally oversaw his banding, and was the first to test the collar's systems. He's never done that, to my knowledge."

Dax fought down nausea. "So this was...a special prisoner."

"I suppose," Califa said slowly. "I never really thought about it before, but that is quite odd. Perhaps that's why they were so zealous when he escaped. Corling was more than furious, he was..."

"What?" Dax prodded when she trailed off.

"It sounds absurd, but I think...frightened? As if this man could hurt him somehow."

And who could hurt the man who had conquered Trios? Only one possibility came to Dax's mind, and it seemed far too extraordinary to be true. Yet his gut told him it was true, had been telling him since she'd begun the incredible tale.

"Why did he not just kill him, then?"

Califa was watching him steadily now, considering. "I heardthe Coalition has an effective telerien of its ownthat Corling wanted him a slave. That he was seen screaming at the prisoner that it was a fitting punishment for him."

Fitting punishment. Dax was reeling now. All the pieces were there. The timing of his capture. G.o.d help him, the woman, the small, dark-haired woman in a world of golden manes. The description of the unwilling slave. His demeanor. His stubbornness. A determination and courage strong enough to risk maiming to escape. His proud carriage and the gra.s.s-green eyes that, in a world of green eyes, belonged only to one family. The family that owned the hills north of Triotia. The family that would be the only possible threat to the man who had conquered their world.

The royal family of Trios.

Dax's muscles went slack. He sank down onto the floor, sagging back against the base of the table.

"Dare," he whispered brokenly. "Dear G.o.d, Dare."

He was alive. Prince Darian of Trios. No, Dax thought numbly, king now, after the brutal murder of his father. No wonder Corling thought enslavement such a fitting punishment. And no wonder he was so enragedand frightenedat the escape of the only gold collar to ever slip the chains of Coalition bondage.

"Dare," he murmured again, sickness at what had happened warring against a fierce, violent joy that Dare had proven himself a Triotian and a true king with his escape. "Our king is alive."

His hand had come up, instinctively wiping at his eyes, before he even realized his eyes were damp.

He heard a soft, quick intake of breath, and instinctively raised his head.

Califa was staring at him, pale blue eyes wide with shock and wonder.

"Eos, preserve us," she whispered. "You're Triotian!"