Volume 18: Oslov Unlocked
Chapter 19
Played Out
Chapter Notes
This chapter contains consensual role-playing of a rape scenario. Last chapter coming shortly!
Chapter Notes
This chapter contains consensual role-playing of a rape scenario. Last chapter coming shortly!
This chapter contains consensual role-playing of a rape scenario. Last chapter coming shortly!
27 October, year 374, 4:18 p.m.
As Tilrey walked from Gersha’s office to Besha’s, his thoughts flew. He couldn’t stop himself from considering every possible consequence of his next move.If he told Besha that Davita would execute Stefan in less than five hours, he might save Stefan’s life. The best moment for Janta to take control of the city was just in time to save “Darius.”But what if all hell broke loose? Einara craved chaos, and Janta’s own agenda was a mystery. If the kid wasn’t careful, he might kill thousands of people with a few keystrokes—himself among them.Was Janta’s life worth Stefan’s? And what about the survival of the True Hearth? Should they sacrifice all their artfully laid plans to the demands of saving one person?There was an alternative. If Tilrey confessed everything and threw himself on Davita’s mercy, he might be able to limit the damage. Davita would have Einara killed without a second thought, eliminating the threat she posed to the Republic. Janta would have a chance to flee. Stefan/Darius would live, ending the protests—for now. Gersha could lead the True Hearth. Ceill would be freed.As for Tilrey’s fate—would Davita have him exiled? Or, since she was in a murderous frame of mind, would she have someone give him an overdose of vexonil? Or lock him up somewhere and let him live as her toy?The thought made him shudder as he reached Besha’s closed door. But it was still better to be Davita’s slave than the instrument of Einara’s fiery revenge on all of Oslov. Already people had died in Ring Eight and Judicial Plaza because of his cowardice. If he gave Einara what she wanted, how high would the pile of corpses mount?He knocked three times. Each impact seemed to echo deafeningly, as if he were hearing the resonance of his actions down the years and even centuries.He waited, his gaze tracing a black whorl in one of the green marble wall panels. He told himself nothing was decided. It was his choice how much to tell Besha—who was his tool, not Einara’s.He knocked again. He was still waiting when light footsteps loped up to him from behind. A nervous voice said, “Fir’n Magistrate wants you in her office.”With the same sense of fatefulness, Tilrey turned around. It was Davita’s secretary, Irina. “What does she want me for?”“She plans to retire early this evening.” Red was splashed across Irina’s cheeks. “She’ll call another emergency session tomorrow, but for now she needs rest. You’ll help her review her notes.”Tilrey understood. He and Irina had developed a code: Early retirement, “a good rest,” and “reviewing for the session” all meant that he was expected to accompany Davita home for work followed by play.Just as well. Gersha had given him a new handheld; he could still message Besha once he’d had time to think.“Tell her I’m coming,” he said.He found Davita waiting for him in the parking bay outside her office, coat on. When she saw him, her face lit up, and she reached for his hand. “My sweet love, we need a break. If we hurry, we can drive west and catch the last of the sunset.”Tilrey thought of Stefan sitting in darkness and waiting to die, and his stomach turned over. But he took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I have a question for your husband. Do you know where he is?”“Oh, probably in the Brothel. No one wants to work tonight.” The sky had cleared up. Pearly twilight through the window sharpened the outlines of the Magistrate’s cheekbones, making her look even more beautiful than she had in her youth. “Come on, Rishka. I have a picnic from the Restaurant. Come.”Tilrey fetched his coat and boots and followed her out to the car. Tonight he felt like a kettle boy again. Watching the sun set over the tundra from the edge of the city was one of Malsha’s favorite things to do.The driver opened the door and ushered them into the back seat. Once they were settled, Davita wrapped an arm around him.As the car lifted off and glided slowly between the skyscrapers, she whispered in his ear, “Ceill will be free tomorrow morning. I swear it.”Then her lips were on his neck, her hands slipping under his coat to move over his body. Tilrey returned her kisses.But something distracted him—the sky itself seemed to churn, a harsh burring noise approaching.He looked up and saw the armed helicopters of the Sixth Battalion overhead, coming from Judiciary Plaza. The last sunlight glinted silver on their rotors, making him think of knives.Davita heard the machines of death, too, but she didn’t stop caressing him. “Later,” she ordered softly. “Worry about all that tomorrow. Let’s enjoy now.”*
5:45 p.m.
Bors Dartán wasn’t in his office in the Funnel, but he had to be somewhere. Blas paced the drab hallway outside the spy’s apartment, checking his messages.Thank everything green he’d managed to ditch his bodyguards. The coat he had stolen allowed him to move around the city without being noticed. But it might be just a matter of time until the guards used Int/Sec surveillance to locate and apprehend him, “for his own safety.”With any luck, they were too frightened of his mother to alert her right away that he’d flown the coop.On Blas’s handheld was a draft of a message to Davita in which he laid out all of his reasons for suspecting a conspiracy. If he didn’t find Dartán in the next hour or so, he would send it. Then he would descend into the Funnel and stand guard by Stefan Altmering’s cell, if he had to.He wanted more than anything to forget what he knew. He wanted to run back to Mersha and spend the night in his arms.But everything had changed, and he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t. He leaned back against the concrete wall and closed his eyes to the fluorescent light and waited for that blasted Dartán.Sometimes Davita didn’t want to play her usual games. Sometimes she rubbed against Tilrey and whispered in his ear, “Tonight I want you to take me the way a husband takes his shy new wife on their wedding night. Be strong and bold and overcome my resistance.”The first time this happened, he’d been incredulous. “You want me to . . . dominate you?”“Don’t you do it with Besha? He seems to think you’re an expert.”It was true, yet the role always felt a little strange to Tilrey, a little wrong. He could submit to anyone, but he liked to imagine his more dominant self as belonging only to Gersha, who had awakened and nurtured it long ago. He said, “I don’t want to hurt you, Fir’n.”She rolled her eyes. “And I don’t want you to. It’s another game, love.”So Tilrey had played the game. With Davita, he developed techniques that he also ended up using on Vreya Akeina. He was never rough, but he took the lead and offered a firm body to lean on, a commanding voice to guide them both.Tonight, Davita wanted to play that game again.Once they were inside her apartment, she darted away from him. “You’re a Dissident, and you’ve snuck in here and taken me hostage.” Her voice went high and frightened; her hands fluttered. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you? Please don’t hurt me!”Tilrey was in no mood for this. “If I were a Dissident, I would be gathering reinforcements, sending a ransom message, securing you. I certainly wouldn’t be . . . well, what do you want me to do, exactly?”“You’re no fun.” But the high flush on Davita’s cheeks told Tilrey this was more than just fun for her. She needed to feel overwhelmed. Only a brief and total self-annihilation, in safe circumstances, could make her forget the terrible step she had just taken.He understood all too well. How many times had he received a similar form of release from her?“All right.” He sucked in a breath and tried to summon all the darkness inside him. “Up against the wall right now, Fir’n Magistrate, unless you want me to slam you against it. No, the other way! Face it.”Davita obeyed. When he wrenched her hands behind her back and held them there, she uttered a faint sigh of pleasure, then protested: “Don’t you dare touch me!”“I think you’re done giving orders.” Still clasping her wrists, he steered her into the bedroom. “My fellow shirkers—uh, freedom fighters—will be here shortly. But first I’m going to show you who’s really in charge.”“I’ll spit in your face, you piece of human trash!” He tossed her on the bed, and she rolled over and gazed at him with seductive abandon, eyes glistening. “You may be handsome, but that doesn’t give you a right to my body.”Nothing would give me that right. Our revolution isn’t about rape. Tilrey sighed, because he knew that in her mind, any revolution was a return to the chaos of the Unraveling. There was no middle ground.Then he played his part: “I can see how much you want me, Fir’n, even though you pretend otherwise. You must have a secret taste for men who work with their hands!”“Ha! You wish!”He unfastened his jerkin and let it fall to the floor, then kicked off his indoor boots. Malsha had taught him to fold his clothing even in the heat of passion, but this time he barely felt the tug of the old habit.“I doubt I’ll need to force myself on you,” he taunted. “In fact, why don’t you beg for it?”“Never!” She scuttled away across the bed, looking more excited than ever. “I don’t want any part of you.”“No part?” Feeling a little mortified for them both, yet undeniably aroused, he tugged off his trousers and briefs. “Not even this part?”Davita broke character for an instant and laughed wildly. “No, especially not that one! Verdant hells, why do disruptors have to be so well endowed? Tell me, what did I do to deserve this treatment?” she added, returning to her role, as he joined her in bed. “Did my soldiers kill someone you love in Ring Eight? What did my government do to you?”Tilrey pulled her to him by the ankles and began to strip off her skirt and leggings, meeting no resistance. “Does it matter, Fir’n? You’ve hurt enough people.”“Oh, you brute!” She twined her hands around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.I don’t want this. A toy, a loyal servant, a fake rebel—this isn’t who I am.But when she whispered in his ear, “Wreck me,” his body responded. And he pushed his mind’s objections away.Some time later, Tilrey disentangled his sweaty limbs from the General Magistrate’s and crept out of bed to retrieve his handheld from the pocket of the tunic he’d left crumpled on the floor.They had climaxed nearly together, and for once with her he hadn’t planned it, hadn’t held back his orgasm or kept his brain at a calculating distance. He was right there in the moment, with her knees gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, both of them panting and grunting, each thrust harder than the last. There was no love there, only the hot slide and press of flesh and a desperate eagerness to lose themselves in each other.To forget. To think of anything but what had to come next. Did she already feel remorse and dread for Stefan’s approaching murder, just as he did for the drastic step he would need to take to stop it? He sure as hell hoped so.He fished the handheld from his tunic and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he woke the device and found Besha’s number.His finger was hovering over the screen when the bedclothes rustled behind him. “What are you doing?”Davita plucked the device from his hand. Her long, sweat-damp hair brushed Tilrey’s naked shoulder and sent a shiver of remembered pleasure down his spine. “You aren’t supposed to have that, insolent thing!”“You know I have it,” Tilrey said irritably. He had no more time for games, though it was lucky he hadn’t drafted the message yet. “I couldn’t do everything I do for you without a handheld, and you know that, too. We pretend I don’t have one because it makes you happy.”“I could lock you up.” But her tone was playful, husky with desire.She tossed the handheld to the far side of the bed and tugged him down into a humid embrace on the crumpled spread. “You make a very good rebel, sweetheart. Very convincing. Thank you for indulging my whim. I know all this is hard on you, too—especially hard, because of Ceill.”Tilrey embraced her back and let his face rest against her collar bone. Stefan wasn’t due to die for a few hours. If he complied, Davita would probably doze off again soon, exhausted as she was.Should I tell her I found out? Try to persuade her this is a bad idea? But he already knew that once Davita made a tough decision, she followed through.There was that one last escape route. He could throw himself on her mercy. But how many other people would he sacrifice in the process? How long would it take for change to come?He asked, “Do you remember when you asked Verán for me?”“Verán?” Davita’s low chuckle tickled his cheek. “That was eons ago. We were so young.”Tilrey did not laugh. “My jaw was wired shut. Magistrate Linden had broken it.”“Oh, that’s dreadful. I’d almost forgotten.” She played with his hair. “Linden had undiagnosed dementia.”“He was a useful figurehead for Verán—but anyway, never mind Linden. He wasn’t there on the night I’m thinking of. It was just you and me and Verán and a few of his cronies. He gave me sap, and then he pulled my head into his lap and stroked my hair like you’re doing now.”Her hand stopped moving. “Why are we talking about this?”For a moment, Tilrey wasn’t sure either. Then he remembered her question from earlier, when they were role-playing: What did I do to you?There was no point in listing all the things she had done to him and people like him. But one little memory couldn’t hurt. It might even amuse her.“Verán was complaining that my mouth was useless until my jaw healed,” he continued. “My regulars didn’t want me. You must have been a little drunk, Fir’n. Or maybe you wanted to test Verán’s fondness for you. Anyway, you said, ‘Why don’t I take the boy off your hands tonight? There’s plenty he can do for me without his mouth.’ Something like that.”Davita stiffened in his arms. “I was such a brat at that age. I liked to tease the old men and make them blush.”“So you do remember asking?”“I suppose. It irked me how they held all the power.”The same power you hold over me now. “Do you remember what Verán answered?”Davita scooted down and hid her face against his shoulder. “You’re making me cringe all over, love. I imagine he told me that a woman should only lie with a man who is her equal in the sacred trust of marriage for the purpose of reproduction—the usual sanctimonious bullshit. And I tried to salvage my self-respect by pretending I’d only been joking.”“He did say those things. But that’s not quite how you responded.”It was strange how vivid the memory remained after thirty years. Tilrey had been lying facedown in Verán’s lap, his senses dulled by sap. Yet he would never forget Davita’s dulcet, refined voice saying the words he quoted to her now: “You said, ‘But it’s such a waste, don’t you think? A beautiful thing shouldn’t sit on a shelf when someone could make good use of it.’”A shudder ran over Davita. He felt it where their flesh pressed together, and it trembled down his nerves, too.She said, “I must have been trying to scandalize Verán. He liked it when I was naughty.”“You were the only woman he allowed into his intimate gatherings. I suppose you felt you had to perform for his amusement. Besha played the jester, too. All of us had our roles. But you chose yours.”Davita quivered in his arms. He could almost feel her trying to decide whether to beg his pardon or laugh at him. “Why are you bringing this up, Rishka?”You asked me what you did to deserve this. What I want revenge for. But he couldn’t admit that. “If Verán had granted your request, I would have gone home with you and done whatever you wanted. I wouldn’t have felt a thing.”“You would have enjoyed yourself. I’d have made sure of that.”“Oh, my body would’ve come for you. But in those days, I rarely really felt anything—pleasure, pain. It was all behind a wall.”She rolled on her back, away from him, and frowned up at the canopy. “You think you’re the only one who’s suffered through sex you didn’t want? How do you think I got into Verán’s inner circle in the first place?”Tilrey’s body went rigid with surprise. “Really? With your family connections, I didn’t think you’d ever need to . . .”“Oh, I didn’t need to, not like Besha did. But I wanted to give myself a little extra advantage. Verán didn’t want women among his intimates—both parties were like that in those days. When I was in my twenties, Verán flirted with me at a family function, and I played along. I knew exactly what I was doing. Once he’d ‘had’ me, he gave me his trust. And it paid off.”Now it was Tilrey who cringed. It was one thing for him or even Besha to trade sexual favors for power, but she had always seemed so powerful in herself, so inviolable. “I didn’t think Verán liked women.”“That man liked only one thing: to subjugate his partner with his gigantic cock.” She rolled her eyes. “Which was actually only slightly above average—but, like I said, I played along. I was already experienced by that time, but I playacted the virgin for him. He liked that.”So they had this particular humiliation in common. “Verán used to ask me to tell him how big he was. I doubt I played along as well as you did.”“Poor Rishka.” Davita squirmed back to face him, her gaze going soft and fond. “I only slept with him twice. A token of respect, and then he became my mentor.”“You shouldn’t have had to do it.” He sighed. “You did choose it, though.”“Of course I chose it. No one makes me do anything. But you see, I understand what you’ve been through.”You don’t at all. Would she ever begin to understand?After a moment, he said, “I wonder what’s really changed, Davita. You’ve taken Verán’s place in the seat of power, and now you have me in your bed, just like you wanted back then. A beautiful thing for you to use.”“Whinging doesn’t suit you.” But the reproach must have sunken in, because she added in a kinder tone, “Of course you’re more than a thing! I didn’t know at the time how exceptional you are. You hid it well.”Exceptional. He hated the word and its freight of condescension. He knew what he had to do now, and nothing she could say would change his mind.He pressed his palm to hers, rolling over to face her. “I like being your special exception. I know I wasn’t made to rule or lead. I may be clever, but my instincts fail me sometimes. It helps to have a guide.”“You’re selling yourself short, love.” Davita was relaxing again, her voice a purr. “Your moral and political instincts are very sound, most of the time—sounder than Besha’s, I have to admit. But there’s a level of sophistication you’ll always lack because of your origins.”Tilrey let his eyelids droop as if conceding the point. “You and Gersha have shaped me into someone so much better than I could have been on my own.”“Sweetheart, I think you’re perfect. Is this about the handheld? I was teasing—I know you need it. You were messaging Gersha, weren’t you?”He nodded.“To tell him the good news about Ceill?”“Yes. I wanted him to know.”“Go ahead, then! I shouldn’t have stopped you.” Davita reached over him, snatched the handheld from the bedspread, and handed it back. “That was insensitive of me.”Tilrey took the handheld. Davita looked sleepy and satisfied, her own eyelids wilting under the weight of the afterglow. He said, “Gersha can wait a little longer.”“No, really. Message him!” She lay back and let her eyes close, clearly pleased with her own generosity. “He needs to know. In fact, you should probably be home celebrating with him right now.”Tilrey rolled quietly over, away from her. He woke the handheld. “I’ll be home soon enough.”“Mmm. Do you know, I always wanted to marry Gersha? He’s my ideal of a man, handsome and brilliant and sweet and gentle, almost too sweet for his own good.” The words were half formed; she was yielding to sleep. “I suppose having you in my bed is the next best thing.”“I do my best to measure up,” Tilrey said, tapping Besha’s number.No time to worry about encoding the message. With any luck, it wouldn’t matter.
The shadow Council voted to kill S in his cell tonight at 9. I have it from your son. If Janta can do anything, do it NOW.
It was nearly 7 p.m.
27 October, year 374, 4:18 p.m.
As Tilrey walked from Gersha’s office to Besha’s, his thoughts flew. He couldn’t stop himself from considering every possible consequence of his next move.
If he told Besha that Davita would execute Stefan in less than five hours, he might save Stefan’s life. The best moment for Janta to take control of the city was just in time to save “Darius.”
But what if all hell broke loose? Einara craved chaos, and Janta’s own agenda was a mystery. If the kid wasn’t careful, he might kill thousands of people with a few keystrokes—himself among them.
Was Janta’s life worth Stefan’s? And what about the survival of the True Hearth? Should they sacrifice all their artfully laid plans to the demands of saving one person?
There was an alternative. If Tilrey confessed everything and threw himself on Davita’s mercy, he might be able to limit the damage. Davita would have Einara killed without a second thought, eliminating the threat she posed to the Republic. Janta would have a chance to flee. Stefan/Darius would live, ending the protests—for now. Gersha could lead the True Hearth. Ceill would be freed.
As for Tilrey’s fate—would Davita have him exiled? Or, since she was in a murderous frame of mind, would she have someone give him an overdose of vexonil? Or lock him up somewhere and let him live as her toy?
The thought made him shudder as he reached Besha’s closed door. But it was still better to be Davita’s slave than the instrument of Einara’s fiery revenge on all of Oslov. Already people had died in Ring Eight and Judicial Plaza because of his cowardice. If he gave Einara what she wanted, how high would the pile of corpses mount?
He knocked three times. Each impact seemed to echo deafeningly, as if he were hearing the resonance of his actions down the years and even centuries.
He waited, his gaze tracing a black whorl in one of the green marble wall panels. He told himself nothing was decided. It was his choice how much to tell Besha—who was his tool, not Einara’s.
He knocked again. He was still waiting when light footsteps loped up to him from behind. A nervous voice said, “Fir’n Magistrate wants you in her office.”
With the same sense of fatefulness, Tilrey turned around. It was Davita’s secretary, Irina. “What does she want me for?”
“She plans to retire early this evening.” Red was splashed across Irina’s cheeks. “She’ll call another emergency session tomorrow, but for now she needs rest. You’ll help her review her notes.”
Tilrey understood. He and Irina had developed a code: Early retirement, “a good rest,” and “reviewing for the session” all meant that he was expected to accompany Davita home for work followed by play.
Just as well. Gersha had given him a new handheld; he could still message Besha once he’d had time to think.
“Tell her I’m coming,” he said.
He found Davita waiting for him in the parking bay outside her office, coat on. When she saw him, her face lit up, and she reached for his hand. “My sweet love, we need a break. If we hurry, we can drive west and catch the last of the sunset.”
Tilrey thought of Stefan sitting in darkness and waiting to die, and his stomach turned over. But he took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I have a question for your husband. Do you know where he is?”
“Oh, probably in the Brothel. No one wants to work tonight.” The sky had cleared up. Pearly twilight through the window sharpened the outlines of the Magistrate’s cheekbones, making her look even more beautiful than she had in her youth. “Come on, Rishka. I have a picnic from the Restaurant. Come.”
Tilrey fetched his coat and boots and followed her out to the car. Tonight he felt like a kettle boy again. Watching the sun set over the tundra from the edge of the city was one of Malsha’s favorite things to do.
The driver opened the door and ushered them into the back seat. Once they were settled, Davita wrapped an arm around him.
As the car lifted off and glided slowly between the skyscrapers, she whispered in his ear, “Ceill will be free tomorrow morning. I swear it.”
Then her lips were on his neck, her hands slipping under his coat to move over his body. Tilrey returned her kisses.
But something distracted him—the sky itself seemed to churn, a harsh burring noise approaching.
He looked up and saw the armed helicopters of the Sixth Battalion overhead, coming from Judiciary Plaza. The last sunlight glinted silver on their rotors, making him think of knives.
Davita heard the machines of death, too, but she didn’t stop caressing him. “Later,” she ordered softly. “Worry about all that tomorrow. Let’s enjoy now.”
5:45 p.m.
Bors Dartán wasn’t in his office in the Funnel, but he had to be somewhere. Blas paced the drab hallway outside the spy’s apartment, checking his messages.
Thank everything green he’d managed to ditch his bodyguards. The coat he had stolen allowed him to move around the city without being noticed. But it might be just a matter of time until the guards used Int/Sec surveillance to locate and apprehend him, “for his own safety.”
With any luck, they were too frightened of his mother to alert her right away that he’d flown the coop.
On Blas’s handheld was a draft of a message to Davita in which he laid out all of his reasons for suspecting a conspiracy. If he didn’t find Dartán in the next hour or so, he would send it. Then he would descend into the Funnel and stand guard by Stefan Altmering’s cell, if he had to.
He wanted more than anything to forget what he knew. He wanted to run back to Mersha and spend the night in his arms.
But everything had changed, and he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t. He leaned back against the concrete wall and closed his eyes to the fluorescent light and waited for that blasted Dartán.
Sometimes Davita didn’t want to play her usual games. Sometimes she rubbed against Tilrey and whispered in his ear, “Tonight I want you to take me the way a husband takes his shy new wife on their wedding night. Be strong and bold and overcome my resistance.”
The first time this happened, he’d been incredulous. “You want me to . . . dominate you?”
“Don’t you do it with Besha? He seems to think you’re an expert.”
It was true, yet the role always felt a little strange to Tilrey, a little wrong. He could submit to anyone, but he liked to imagine his more dominant self as belonging only to Gersha, who had awakened and nurtured it long ago. He said, “I don’t want to hurt you, Fir’n.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I don’t want you to. It’s another game, love.”
So Tilrey had played the game. With Davita, he developed techniques that he also ended up using on Vreya Akeina. He was never rough, but he took the lead and offered a firm body to lean on, a commanding voice to guide them both.
Tonight, Davita wanted to play that game again.
Once they were inside her apartment, she darted away from him. “You’re a Dissident, and you’ve snuck in here and taken me hostage.” Her voice went high and frightened; her hands fluttered. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you? Please don’t hurt me!”
Tilrey was in no mood for this. “If I were a Dissident, I would be gathering reinforcements, sending a ransom message, securing you. I certainly wouldn’t be . . . well, what do you want me to do, exactly?”
“You’re no fun.” But the high flush on Davita’s cheeks told Tilrey this was more than just fun for her. She needed to feel overwhelmed. Only a brief and total self-annihilation, in safe circumstances, could make her forget the terrible step she had just taken.
He understood all too well. How many times had he received a similar form of release from her?
“All right.” He sucked in a breath and tried to summon all the darkness inside him. “Up against the wall right now, Fir’n Magistrate, unless you want me to slam you against it. No, the other way! Face it.”
Davita obeyed. When he wrenched her hands behind her back and held them there, she uttered a faint sigh of pleasure, then protested: “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“I think you’re done giving orders.” Still clasping her wrists, he steered her into the bedroom. “My fellow shirkers—uh, freedom fighters—will be here shortly. But first I’m going to show you who’s really in charge.”
“I’ll spit in your face, you piece of human trash!” He tossed her on the bed, and she rolled over and gazed at him with seductive abandon, eyes glistening. “You may be handsome, but that doesn’t give you a right to my body.”
Nothing would give me that right. Our revolution isn’t about rape. Tilrey sighed, because he knew that in her mind, any revolution was a return to the chaos of the Unraveling. There was no middle ground.
Then he played his part: “I can see how much you want me, Fir’n, even though you pretend otherwise. You must have a secret taste for men who work with their hands!”
“Ha! You wish!”
He unfastened his jerkin and let it fall to the floor, then kicked off his indoor boots. Malsha had taught him to fold his clothing even in the heat of passion, but this time he barely felt the tug of the old habit.
“I doubt I’ll need to force myself on you,” he taunted. “In fact, why don’t you beg for it?”
“Never!” She scuttled away across the bed, looking more excited than ever. “I don’t want any part of you.”
“No part?” Feeling a little mortified for them both, yet undeniably aroused, he tugged off his trousers and briefs. “Not even this part?”
Davita broke character for an instant and laughed wildly. “No, especially not that one! Verdant hells, why do disruptors have to be so well endowed? Tell me, what did I do to deserve this treatment?” she added, returning to her role, as he joined her in bed. “Did my soldiers kill someone you love in Ring Eight? What did my government do to you?”
Tilrey pulled her to him by the ankles and began to strip off her skirt and leggings, meeting no resistance. “Does it matter, Fir’n? You’ve hurt enough people.”
“Oh, you brute!” She twined her hands around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
I don’t want this. A toy, a loyal servant, a fake rebel—this isn’t who I am.
But when she whispered in his ear, “Wreck me,” his body responded. And he pushed his mind’s objections away.
Some time later, Tilrey disentangled his sweaty limbs from the General Magistrate’s and crept out of bed to retrieve his handheld from the pocket of the tunic he’d left crumpled on the floor.
They had climaxed nearly together, and for once with her he hadn’t planned it, hadn’t held back his orgasm or kept his brain at a calculating distance. He was right there in the moment, with her knees gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, both of them panting and grunting, each thrust harder than the last. There was no love there, only the hot slide and press of flesh and a desperate eagerness to lose themselves in each other.
To forget. To think of anything but what had to come next. Did she already feel remorse and dread for Stefan’s approaching murder, just as he did for the drastic step he would need to take to stop it? He sure as hell hoped so.
He fished the handheld from his tunic and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he woke the device and found Besha’s number.
His finger was hovering over the screen when the bedclothes rustled behind him. “What are you doing?”
Davita plucked the device from his hand. Her long, sweat-damp hair brushed Tilrey’s naked shoulder and sent a shiver of remembered pleasure down his spine. “You aren’t supposed to have that, insolent thing!”
“You know I have it,” Tilrey said irritably. He had no more time for games, though it was lucky he hadn’t drafted the message yet. “I couldn’t do everything I do for you without a handheld, and you know that, too. We pretend I don’t have one because it makes you happy.”
“I could lock you up.” But her tone was playful, husky with desire.
She tossed the handheld to the far side of the bed and tugged him down into a humid embrace on the crumpled spread. “You make a very good rebel, sweetheart. Very convincing. Thank you for indulging my whim. I know all this is hard on you, too—especially hard, because of Ceill.”
Tilrey embraced her back and let his face rest against her collar bone. Stefan wasn’t due to die for a few hours. If he complied, Davita would probably doze off again soon, exhausted as she was.
Should I tell her I found out? Try to persuade her this is a bad idea? But he already knew that once Davita made a tough decision, she followed through.
There was that one last escape route. He could throw himself on her mercy. But how many other people would he sacrifice in the process? How long would it take for change to come?
He asked, “Do you remember when you asked Verán for me?”
“Verán?” Davita’s low chuckle tickled his cheek. “That was eons ago. We were so young.”
Tilrey did not laugh. “My jaw was wired shut. Magistrate Linden had broken it.”
“Oh, that’s dreadful. I’d almost forgotten.” She played with his hair. “Linden had undiagnosed dementia.”
“He was a useful figurehead for Verán—but anyway, never mind Linden. He wasn’t there on the night I’m thinking of. It was just you and me and Verán and a few of his cronies. He gave me sap, and then he pulled my head into his lap and stroked my hair like you’re doing now.”
Her hand stopped moving. “Why are we talking about this?”
For a moment, Tilrey wasn’t sure either. Then he remembered her question from earlier, when they were role-playing: What did I do to you?
There was no point in listing all the things she had done to him and people like him. But one little memory couldn’t hurt. It might even amuse her.
“Verán was complaining that my mouth was useless until my jaw healed,” he continued. “My regulars didn’t want me. You must have been a little drunk, Fir’n. Or maybe you wanted to test Verán’s fondness for you. Anyway, you said, ‘Why don’t I take the boy off your hands tonight? There’s plenty he can do for me without his mouth.’ Something like that.”
Davita stiffened in his arms. “I was such a brat at that age. I liked to tease the old men and make them blush.”
“So you do remember asking?”
“I suppose. It irked me how they held all the power.”
The same power you hold over me now. “Do you remember what Verán answered?”
Davita scooted down and hid her face against his shoulder. “You’re making me cringe all over, love. I imagine he told me that a woman should only lie with a man who is her equal in the sacred trust of marriage for the purpose of reproduction—the usual sanctimonious bullshit. And I tried to salvage my self-respect by pretending I’d only been joking.”
“He did say those things. But that’s not quite how you responded.”
It was strange how vivid the memory remained after thirty years. Tilrey had been lying facedown in Verán’s lap, his senses dulled by sap. Yet he would never forget Davita’s dulcet, refined voice saying the words he quoted to her now: “You said, ‘But it’s such a waste, don’t you think? A beautiful thing shouldn’t sit on a shelf when someone could make good use of it.’”
A shudder ran over Davita. He felt it where their flesh pressed together, and it trembled down his nerves, too.
She said, “I must have been trying to scandalize Verán. He liked it when I was naughty.”
“You were the only woman he allowed into his intimate gatherings. I suppose you felt you had to perform for his amusement. Besha played the jester, too. All of us had our roles. But you chose yours.”
Davita quivered in his arms. He could almost feel her trying to decide whether to beg his pardon or laugh at him. “Why are you bringing this up, Rishka?”
You asked me what you did to deserve this. What I want revenge for. But he couldn’t admit that. “If Verán had granted your request, I would have gone home with you and done whatever you wanted. I wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
“You would have enjoyed yourself. I’d have made sure of that.”
“Oh, my body would’ve come for you. But in those days, I rarely really felt anything—pleasure, pain. It was all behind a wall.”
She rolled on her back, away from him, and frowned up at the canopy. “You think you’re the only one who’s suffered through sex you didn’t want? How do you think I got into Verán’s inner circle in the first place?”
Tilrey’s body went rigid with surprise. “Really? With your family connections, I didn’t think you’d ever need to . . .”
“Oh, I didn’t need to, not like Besha did. But I wanted to give myself a little extra advantage. Verán didn’t want women among his intimates—both parties were like that in those days. When I was in my twenties, Verán flirted with me at a family function, and I played along. I knew exactly what I was doing. Once he’d ‘had’ me, he gave me his trust. And it paid off.”
Now it was Tilrey who cringed. It was one thing for him or even Besha to trade sexual favors for power, but she had always seemed so powerful in herself, so inviolable. “I didn’t think Verán liked women.”
“That man liked only one thing: to subjugate his partner with his gigantic cock.” She rolled her eyes. “Which was actually only slightly above average—but, like I said, I played along. I was already experienced by that time, but I playacted the virgin for him. He liked that.”
So they had this particular humiliation in common. “Verán used to ask me to tell him how big he was. I doubt I played along as well as you did.”
“Poor Rishka.” Davita squirmed back to face him, her gaze going soft and fond. “I only slept with him twice. A token of respect, and then he became my mentor.”
“You shouldn’t have had to do it.” He sighed. “You did choose it, though.”
“Of course I chose it. No one makes me do anything. But you see, I understand what you’ve been through.”
You don’t at all. Would she ever begin to understand?
After a moment, he said, “I wonder what’s really changed, Davita. You’ve taken Verán’s place in the seat of power, and now you have me in your bed, just like you wanted back then. A beautiful thing for you to use.”
“Whinging doesn’t suit you.” But the reproach must have sunken in, because she added in a kinder tone, “Of course you’re more than a thing! I didn’t know at the time how exceptional you are. You hid it well.”
Exceptional. He hated the word and its freight of condescension. He knew what he had to do now, and nothing she could say would change his mind.
He pressed his palm to hers, rolling over to face her. “I like being your special exception. I know I wasn’t made to rule or lead. I may be clever, but my instincts fail me sometimes. It helps to have a guide.”
“You’re selling yourself short, love.” Davita was relaxing again, her voice a purr. “Your moral and political instincts are very sound, most of the time—sounder than Besha’s, I have to admit. But there’s a level of sophistication you’ll always lack because of your origins.”
Tilrey let his eyelids droop as if conceding the point. “You and Gersha have shaped me into someone so much better than I could have been on my own.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’re perfect. Is this about the handheld? I was teasing—I know you need it. You were messaging Gersha, weren’t you?”
He nodded.
“To tell him the good news about Ceill?”
“Yes. I wanted him to know.”
“Go ahead, then! I shouldn’t have stopped you.” Davita reached over him, snatched the handheld from the bedspread, and handed it back. “That was insensitive of me.”
Tilrey took the handheld. Davita looked sleepy and satisfied, her own eyelids wilting under the weight of the afterglow. He said, “Gersha can wait a little longer.”
“No, really. Message him!” She lay back and let her eyes close, clearly pleased with her own generosity. “He needs to know. In fact, you should probably be home celebrating with him right now.”
Tilrey rolled quietly over, away from her. He woke the handheld. “I’ll be home soon enough.”
“Mmm. Do you know, I always wanted to marry Gersha? He’s my ideal of a man, handsome and brilliant and sweet and gentle, almost too sweet for his own good.” The words were half formed; she was yielding to sleep. “I suppose having you in my bed is the next best thing.”
“I do my best to measure up,” Tilrey said, tapping Besha’s number.
No time to worry about encoding the message. With any luck, it wouldn’t matter.
The shadow Council voted to kill S in his cell tonight at 9. I have it from your son. If Janta can do anything, do it NOW.
It was nearly 7 p.m.