13 comments/  58439 views/  91 favorites

Sigil Ch. 01

By: Itzy_Strange



Chapter 1

He watched a drip of perspiration fall between the nearest collared human's cleavage, the female holding out a tray with a cool offered beverage. The tartness faintly reminded him of old earth lemons; the smell reminded him of something a bit more carnal. Looking pointedly over the cup's rim to the Tessan lounging on her couch, the emissary sipped again. Wry expression confirmed their mutual understanding; his hostess, the Mistress of Pax, was aware there had been no scan of the goblet for poison. The offering of good faith made the inky eyes of the smirking ruler narrow in approval.

"He has quite offered you up, hasn't he?" she teased, taking a sip of her own frosty cup.

A deep breath of humid air, a pleased practiced smile, and the guest genuflected, "Quite."

A low extended hum vibrated from the Tessan, her green scaled skin expanding and contracting to maintain the rattle. "Sovereign thinks to persuade me with gifts... and a silver tongued emissary."

His golden head bowed subtly, "I have yet to offer gifts."

"But you will." Her brow ridges, with their small shapely spikes, rose in a very human gesture.

Arden pulled another breath of air that was too moist, too warm to be comfortable, running a quick appraisal over the grand view his seat allowed.

Two words: backspace shithole.

From the sly curve of scaled lips it was clear the Mistress of Pax agreed. Pressing back into the plush couch, facing the man seated across from her, the tip of her tail swished and all pretense ended. "There are things I want."

"Sovereign will provide them," Arden, envoy of the Irdesian Empire, assured her. "In exchange for absolute access to your byway."

"I don't deal in-" Drinta cocked her head, quick moving lids blinking over the black of her eyes, "absolutes."

Crossing an ankle over his knee, Arden played his role to perfection. "This is where you tell me, Mistress Drinta, how you wish to be treated in this interaction. Do I grovel? Is aggression more interesting to you? Threats? Negotiation could be amusing ... for us both."

Drinta sat tranquil, mirroring a predator's stillness. "The Tessan Authority finds your Empire's growth in power unsettling. Offering access to a warmongering species..." she trailed off.

"Your sisters have labeled you as an intergalactic felon, pretty Drinta." Arden smiled, a beautiful thing on a face created to attract. "Your former piracy seemed only to give you an intriguing reputation. But decimating and systematically destroying the Uresa quadrant - the Tessan Authority wants your head in a box."

"Perhaps I was a bit overzealous in my younger days." Green shoulders shrugged, scales catching a trace of dim light.

"And now you keep court here," Arden agreed, fully aware of her blood-soaked history and the purposelessness of her previous violence. She had killed for the pleasure, simply because she could - taunting whole governments to rise up and stop her. But it had turned out to be more trouble than it was worth, and with age came wisdom. Stealing Pax Station from the previous overseers had been her last great conquest. She would never give it up - not like the planets she'd brought to their knees and let slip away once she got bored. Here she was a god, controlling one of the most valuable resources in the galaxy - the byway - and its access that could slice across space in a matter of minutes.

Tolls made her rich; money she did not reinvest into the dilapidated space station. Arden could see she liked her mire just as it was. For Drinta, it had never been a question of wealth; it was a desire for power. Pax was her trading floor - import, export, slaves, intelligence, contraband - everything was allowed so long as one paid the proper monetary homage.

"How many planets does he have now?" The hiss in her voice, it was musical.

"Many..."

She smiled back, sharp teeth on display. "And your ships?"

"Are legion."

"Legion," the word rolled off Drinta's tongue. "Pretty expression."

Standing, Arden moved toward the energy barrier separating the Mistress's plush balcony from the dingy venue. Club Swelter - the perfect example of the ancient human idea of sin - functioned as the nucleus of Pax. Far more than an entertainment spot, the hollowed out hive was infested with dregs fondling dancers as they made their trade. Smugglers stocking up on whatever illicit item could be found, amused themselves in the station's own den of iniquity as they negotiated. And that guild was only the beginning - unsavory mercenaries for hire, junkers who came for the coin to carry away hauls of garbage, dragging back the second-hand parts required to maintain the station's life-support, and slavers delivering or purchasing new stock.

Pax slaves, though illegal in many cultures, were coveted; considered to be broken perfectly - the best.

How fantastic the livestock was considering the venue. Drinta neglected the upkeep of the station. Decks clung by a tether; on a regular bases pieces of Pax fell off, floating away to orbiting like a disturbing asteroid belt. Everything was dim and dank ... yet the slaves were lovely. Every species, every gender, anything one might want in the form of living pleasure made available for the right price; always tempting, always on display.

Throughout Swelter exotic creatures danced, writhing on their platforms, some available for patrons to touch and handle as they pleased, shadowed just enough to make fucking appear somewhat mysterious, enticing.

Drinta's well-guarded balcony sat where she could easily enjoy the show - where her subjects could see her and never forget who was in charge. From the vantage, Arden took in the levels, surveying the debauchery. But it was not the nearest pleasure slaves, posing once they saw a guest of the Mistress look their way, which caught his attention. Golden eyes were drawn to one twisting her body in a swath of red silk hanging loose from several floors above.

Pale limbs twisted, lean muscle tangled and released in complicated figures.

The performer climbed dangerously high on that swath of crimson, suspending over her audience where one slipup would end in a fall to her death. Yet, from the distance, she projected serenity, power; the daring acrobatics spinning so fast the world from her eyes must have been only a blur.

And down she went, a river of flesh rippling over blood red silk; spinning, falling, torsion mangling her showcase. It was beautiful; her body promising fulfillment or ruination in that frantic decent. Inches from the floor she froze, toes pointed, limbs free, holding on to the fabric with nothing but one coiled leg.

Drinta eased beside the dangerous human, eager to see just what might pique the interest of the Imperial Emissary. She too found the swath of red silk and the frozen spider tangled in it.

Ahh, yes... a human female. How ordinary.

Each passing flash of light and the observers could see more, the sheen of sweat when the performer shifted, slipping out of her draping to display nudity save a few scraps of black and her collar. A stillness seemed to move through her, the slave's head rolling as she scanned the leering masses and smoothed plum colored hair from her face.

Off tempo the slave stopped preening, leaping from her platform to race through the masses. Her target, a mountain of muscular Axirlan, stood stolid awaiting her approach, arms crossed over his bare chest.

As others of his species, the huge male did not emote. He did not return her exuberance or expression. Humanoid, skin silvery white, and larger than all around him, he exuded innate strength - his peoples' defining feature, something they broadcasted with little more than a ripple of movement.

The slave seemed undisturbed by the Axirlan's mass, his cold expression, or the fact he could break her in half with little more than a flick of the wrist. She looked only to adore; falling to her knees at his feet, eager, glowing, and ready to please.

"How sweet. The female is offering affection to her keeper," a small amused curl came to sculpted angular lips, Drinta's eyes shining at such a display, "Just watch and see how well our slaves are trained."

Without any prompting, the human's nibble fingers undid the fastenings of the male's lower covering, pulling out a studded member already thickening and growing hard in her hands.

Decorated with a series of metal rods pierced horizontal, her keeper's cock shown under the flashing lights until it disappeared into the human woman's mouth. It was clear by the Axirlan's expression her tongue toyed with the adornment to his pleasure.

She smiled up into his eyes as she took his girth down her throat, serene as she carried out the sex act. All the while her hands lovingly caressed hips, muscled buttocks, and even from a distance Arden recognized she swallowed to accommodate the keeper with every thrust the male pressed between her willing lips.

As it continued, the way the giant stroked that mane of dark purple hair and watched her perform was so unlike an Axirlan. He was fond of his pet, to the extent an emotionless race could be. Arden imaged he heard the groan as the beast climaxed, the burst of noise harmonizing with the blaring music. Watching the slave take that cock all the way into the recess of her mouth, the female gulping the silver ejaculate as it burst against the back of her throat, trying hard not to spill a drop, excited him.

When it was done and the Axirlan's massive pierced organ left her popping lips, her keeper used his thumb to brush away the single drip that had escaped, praising her performance silently with his attention.

The woman sat back on her heels, panting and clearly contented, the shine of saliva smeared over her mouth and chin.

Finally, Arden made out her profile in the dark, the flawless symmetry of her features.

Though his face was impassive, he could not look away - not when she sought an embrace from her master and was gifted with more. The Axirlan cradled her to his chest and carried his pet to his chair. After he sat, draped in a pale human, her keeper conversed with others of his own kind. And again, affection from the male. The brute toyed with her hair as she relaxed, was gentle with her.

Arden looked away, unsettled by what he sensed in the distant corner. The woman was falling asleep in a very dangerous space, feeling safe in the arms of an oversized Axirlan she did not belong to.

No slave collar changed facts. If that was who he thought it was, she belonged to him.

After all the chasing - all the years - his Sovereign had never been able to corner her. And there she was, sucking off some alien for the entire crowd in that sleazy club on Pax to see, then napping like a spoiled cat.

Mistress Drinta, with her siren smile, turned her head just enough to let the light play across fetching Tessan features; showy, like a lovely bird. "If you like what you see, another with similar qualities could be arranged for you ... as my gift."

Turning, the golden quality of Arden matched the dulcet tenor of his question, "What of that one?"

A hand went out, flicking toward one of her guards who produced a data screen. Navigating livestock information, Drinta hummed, "I am afraid she is listed as private. I can't fault her keeper for that; not when she seems so very skilled and attentive."

Fingers snapped and Drinta blithely commanded, "Bring my guest a human pleasure slave. A pretty one with dark hair."

A beauty appeared so quickly it was obvious several were kept nearby, available should Drinta offer. The Tessan's black lateral pupils darted back to the human delegate sent by Sovereign himself as she ordered the slave, "Suck his cock."

There was no hesitation in the submissive young woman to get on her knees and perform. Arden's hand rested on the back of her head, setting a pace as he envisioned the distant sleeping female, imagining another's lips and tongue working him well. He came quickly, sighing when he released into a stranger's mouth.

"Now that we've taken the edge off, let us continue negotiation," Drinta's voice was once again laced with her brand of enticement, the most dangerous criminal in the quadrant smiling broadly. "Your Sovereign and the Empire he rules, what can he do for me?"

Drinta's choice of words was not lost on the emissary. What could Sovereign do for her? No, it was quite the other way around. Yet the man smiled richly, expressing his purpose on Pax, "The Irdesian Empire can offer you anything you desire," purring, turning to face the female with her flicking tail, Arden neared. "Is there something you would like to have conquered? Old enemies you wish to see tormented?"

Her gaze drew deadly. "Yes. And he will deliver what I wish or access to the byway will never be granted to his fleet for whatever little war you are waging now."

"I was ordered your wish is my command." And though his golden eyes glowed, his thoughts were gravely amused the criminal queen actually believed she might deny his empire anything.

"I demand the entirety of the Ran 7 colony to be exterminated. Not converted, not enslaved; slaughtered."

"Consider it done."

She looked at him, a pleased mischievous dragon as she cooed, "There's more."

When dealing with that quality of life form, there was always more. Arden, Herald of the Irdesian Empire, smiled beautifully, promising the treacherous Mistress of Pax her heart's every desire.

Her heart was quite black. 

Sigil Ch. 02



Stretching, purring at the pops of her spine, Quinn shifted under the reclining giant's arm. Enjoying the familiar weight of the bulging appendage and the way the mattress dipped from Que's weight, she rolled and found he was awake, watching - expressionless.

Silver eyes set in a face white as snow, strongly angled and broad. He spoke, "When you wake you always wish for me to fuck you."

Quinn's fingers came forward to trace from the hollow of his throat, between the mass of pectorals, and down the definition of a torso three times the size of hers. "You were gone for seventeen cycles."

"Do you desire to be fucked now?" The Axirlan queried again, ignoring her words as they had no real meaning; no point beyond stating facts.

She didn't answer, just continued to touch, contemplating a body almost as strong as hers.

"Answer me, slave girl."

And that drew out a laugh. It had taken years to teach an Axirlan the nuances of human sarcasm and humor. Though he may not feel the way another species mind emoted, he did make an effort to play to her nature.

Her hand went lower to lift the weight of his powerful erection, her thumb circling the pierced glans. "I believe it might be quite the other way around."

He pounced, all that mass rolling over her, pressing her slender frame down.

The deep, almost robotic base of his voice, it rumbled, vibrating into the mattress, into her skin, "I think what you desire is a fight."

The dyed lavender of her eyes went languid, black pupils dilating fractionally. "I love when you fight me."

He burrowed his face to her neck, tasting with the broad flat of his tongue while she lay momentarily tame. "You are a monster."

"I know," she sighed to the ceiling, enjoying the way his teeth found her throat, marking flesh.

It was her moan that enticed him to claw the softer places of her body, to dig in nails and break skin. Pain subdued her for an instant, long enough to force her legs apart and jam the beauty of his cock deep in a place already wet before she might try to evade. Rooted, teeth enclosed her nipple, his mouth anything but gentle. Arching, calling his name, the real onslaught began. With strength that would have broken another, he pounding his pelvis against her cunt, growling at the slick milking pull of her body greedily devouring his cock.

He roared when the human tried to subjugate him, lost in the high that made fucking an Axirlan so dangerous for one so small. He took her by the neck, pressing her back into the bed where he could hover over her and watch her reaction to the violence she craved.

It was bliss. He could see it ripple under her skin, little shockwaves each time one of his piercings breached the sensitive flesh of her pussy. It was a place he longed to taste, knowing every crevice, but if he shifted his weight or stopped pounding against the sensitive swollen flesh she would exact her price.

"You will wear my semen tonight when you dance." It was his right to demand such a thing, and Que did so brutishly.

Her dyed eyes rolled back in her skull. With the female distracted he shifted with the speed unique to his kind and placed a finger on the metal bar that decorated the hood of skin over her clitoris, his mark on her she had accepted years ago. "And I desire to fuck you in the club where my kind can see. Your legs spread open over my lap, this on display."

She was so close, already the whisperings of oblivion cracking like lightning in her bones. The second it started she overpowered him, pushed Que's mass under her in a twist of flesh. He gripped her hips, trying hold her with his impressive strength, bucking into the violence of the woman riding his cock. The savagery in her expression, the abject threat as she began to climax and pulled away, it was enough to make him shake with effort to keep her pussy where he could claim it, fucking up into her with a fury.

The female hissed, spasming wildly all around his girth, her hand clawing his throat as he poured out his offering into a body at last sinking down on his aching member. It seeped out between them, scented the air, and made her groan and grind her hips as hard as she could in completion.

When it was over, her fingers loosened on his throat and Quinn sagged onto the barrel of his chest, panting. "For that fine performance I will submit any way you want anywhere you wish."

Large fingers carded through the tangled length of her hair. "That would please me, slave."

Snickering, she bit his nipple, sucking hard before flicking it with her tongue.

For a moment the male seemed pensive. "Do you long for more human interaction? Shall I tell you I love you?"

Placing her chin to his chest Quinn answered honestly, "You are incapable of feeling such an emotion, my friend. There is no need to offer that expression."

A meaty hand gripped the back of her skull and pulled her higher until they were face to face. "If I could love you I am certain I would."

She smiled. Yes, he had learned much. Pressing her forehead to his, she poured feeling into her words, "A beautiful thing to say."

"Then I have done well," he answered in a rich unemotional rumble. "Now lay back. I am going to paint you. And then I wish to taste between your legs."

Already obeying, Quinn slid off his torso and spread out on the smoothness of their sheets. "Yes, master."

***********************************

The markings of silver, the dried aftermath of Que's semen, swirled in patterns of his choosing all over her torso, breasts, the upper region of her arms, and the front of her thighs. It was a very possessive gesture on his end, something that would be considered tawdry in places not quite as crude as Pax.

Her Axirlan was elsewhere on the station, attending to restocking his ship, which left Quinn to walk the corridors alone, untroubled.

There was power in the slave collar the overseers were too foolish to recognize; access to decrepit passageways, the ant farm of relegated districts, all available without question so long as a little strip of mechanics circled the throat and buzzed with each scan. Then there were crawlspaces. Quinn took advantage of them regularly - acted the cockroach - creeping through filth almost anywhere she pleased.

The things she'd overheard in those passageways could topple governments.

Drinta had far too much faith in the all-consuming power of the collar to keep her thralls in line. But the horror whispered amongst the enslaved population was true: one flick of a switch, one little pinch, and the bearer felt the burn of poison... until they felt nothing at all.

Tampering with the collar led to an incredibly painful and public execution. Examples were made regularly; half the time the slave innocent, used as a reminder to keep the rest groveling and licking the Tessan bitch-queen's boots.

Fear of the constant pinching reminder about one's neck, that's what truly controlled Pax slaves. For that reason there had not been an uprising in almost four decades. Mistress Drinta's answer to the previous riots had been to simply flip a switch and kill every single slave on the station. Thousands had died, even children; the bodies carelessly dumped into space.

The echoes of mass genocide still haunted the place; if one stood at the portholes and looked out over the circling debris, sharp eyes might spot bone, a corpse - fragments of what had once been a living creature. The visual, the stories, were more than enough to keep the slave culture self-policing ... as if that would prevent another holocaust. Sneeze wrong and you were reported.

Moral of the story: trust no one, especially the slaves.

Drinta had them right where she wanted with hardly any effort exerted on her end.

Thousands bent the knee; even Quinn for show. But if someone pushed, annoyed, or just looked at her with a trace of doubt in their minds, Quinn had no problem jettisoning them out into space. Pax was her playground, and Quinn wore her collar with pride.

It was perfect, this life Que had designed for her. No one paid any attention to a pleasure slave, not on Pax where they were common. It was the traders who were constantly watched - the junkers, smugglers, anyone who came free - not the slaves. Because of the collar, Quinn had been able to marginally relax, settling peacefully into quasi-civilization for the first time in years.

Long haul space flight had lost its appeal ages ago; she far preferred society, or perhaps borderline anarchy would better describe Pax. The outer reaches of that volatile quadrant kept Quinn distant from the thing she fought every waking moment to avoid, away from temptation.

Her born addiction.

Quinn had demons to contend with, urges that had the power to take her from herself and sweep her away. The constant physical activity of dancing at Swelter was a welcome distraction. The opportunity to rip apart a few spacer scum when she felt bloodthirsty also eased the urge. Pax was perfect and she wanted to stay as long as she could.

On Pax she was separated from them.

The new human empire had no cause to pursue so deep past the Tessan Authority's furthest border zones, not when their goal was absolute human conversion; not when free governments still resisted closer to their system. They wanted her dead, she knew that: because she was a threat to the emperor, to his brothers; because she had been fashioned one strand of DNA at a time to destroy them when they were still slaves, as she had been a slave, before Sovereign toppled the human Alliance and gave birth to the monstrosity of the Irdesian Empire; because she knew the greatest secret in the universe was that the ones who ruled were not even human, just as she wasn't fully human. Had those who'd built her been less cruel, she may have even followed through on their designs. But the Alliance had been no better than the new regime, so she'd run away - and stayed away - and let the ruling party live even though the ingrained need to hunt and kill them all sometimes made her lose her sense of self.

Que helped meet her baser needs; he had even given her a new name, one she had always thought was a little cute as it was so close to his own. Her possessive little - or she should say, lumbering and huge - Que.

The Axirlan male could snap a neck with one hand, almost as quickly as she could. He was a fine warrior and an even better comrade. The battles they had fought side by side, the savagery of what he was capable of; she had never found another to compare.

The male was also incredibly cunning.

The nature of their life on Pax had been his idea: master and slave. A game and a cover. Que labored as a junker, selling scrap the station needed desperately to patch hulls. She bowed as the eager slave and danced to supplement her master's income.

In the years she'd had of peace in that place there had never once been a raised brow or question that could not be killed.

Every now and then she played the hero, and he would let her, to please her, to keep her thoughts occupied on anything but her desire to hunt.

Quinn had a soft spot for children, would steal them... to save them.

Smuggling slaves off the station was actually so easy it was laughable. Cryotubes. A body in stasis registered a lack of heartbeat, the collar listing the slave as deceased, shutting off tracking so long as life signs were off a few days. Collars were never recycled; therefore they were never collected from a corpse. Bodies were simply left where they fell until someone dumped them out the garbage chute into space.

Unless a slave was prized by the owner, inquiries were hardly ever made. Useless children who were too young to serve required maintenance, the kind of Keepers on Pax seldom desired to offer.

Every trip Que made off station he would fill up on random scrap. On occasion, inside the scrap might be hidden a cryotube. It left full and returned empty.

Taking another sharp turn, disappearing off the grid, Quinn found a pod waiting full of her latest foundling. Her hand stroked the plastoglass, the false color of her eyes taking in the features of a little male Tessan with his yellow scales and elongated jaw sleeping inside. What would it be like for him to wake up and be free, to feel sunlight filtered through an atmosphere warm his scales for the first time? Living with his own kind instead of ignored by an indifferent mother who found the gift of life only another burden to contend with. Quinn had wanted him at once, had secretly watched over him for years until he was old enough to set free.

Someday she might find him and tell the Tessan who she was. Daydreaming, smiling softly to herself, Quinn pet the glass and thought of her long dead mother and how she had once done this for her, so she might take her to die free - how she had freed them both, standing victorious even over her own nature.

Pressing her cheek to the plastoglass, Quinn let her lashes close, watching the replay of her long-ago breakout like a movie in her mind. It was a lullaby, reliving the sounds of her handlers' screams. All her years of training used against them; the tactile gratification still fresh from ripping doctors - with their poking needles and endless torments - in half. Then there were the others, Sovereign's sheep, and how they had gaped at her parade... Some had even tried to get in her way.

She had let the sheep live, just to make the point that she could, then left the nightmare behind.

*************************************

"Sovereign, everything is proceeding as you commanded." Arden bowed to the com, his distant projection showing reverence to the greatest among them. "However, I suggest you find time to visit Pax immediately."

Sovereign's form was not projected, only his haunting voice offered, "For what purpose?"

"There is a female I observed performing in Drinta's club - though it was from a distance and I had only a glimpse of her profile. As I am under constant surveillance, I have made no effort to seek her out and confirm my suspicion."

The voice on the com came cautious yet aggressive in the question, "You believe Sigil is there?"

"I have not seen her since the destruction of Condor. If it was her, she has altered her coloring. She was painted... and collared as a pleasure slave with an Axirlan Keeper. Given the circumstances, I may be incorrect, but my reaction to the female's presence was atypical."

Even with his Sovereign galaxies away, Arden could feel the wheels in his leader's mind turning. Eventually the man spoke, "Has it become public knowledge a contingent from our empire visits Pax?"

"No, brother. Furthermore, I watched her fall asleep on the lap of her attentive Keeper. If it was Sigil, she had no idea a Herald was in the room. She was calm."

The com buzzed, "Attentive?"

Arden's cheek twitched. The topic of Sigil was a sore one, her continued escape something not to be mocked. "She greeted him with exuberance and a public act of fellatio. For an Axirlan it was clear he was pleased. He was also familiar in how he handled her."

There was a long painful silence on the com. "My arrival is imminent."

"I may be incorrect, brother." Arlen admitted, still unsure, aware there would be complications either way.

"I would be very disappointed to find you were."

Nodding at the judgment, Arden queried, "And Drinta's demands?"

The Herald did not need to see his ruler to know the man had just cracked a dangerous smirk, it was all there in the music of his reply, "Give her whatever she wants."

"The list is mildly ridiculous, sir."

"I'm counting on it, Arden. Sovereign out."

***********************************

"And what have you uncovered?" The edge in the sultry purr was one the listener knew was dangerous; Drinta was unsatisfied.

Chiming music sounded from elongated, honed vocal cords, "Emissary Arden is a Herald."

An annoyed hiss, "I know he's a Herald; his rank was never in question! I do not pay you to waste words. I do not pay you to waste my time."

"You do not pay me at all." The Kilactarin male dipped the extent of his long neck, the picture of calm.

A smile distorted her mouth, Drinta taking in the cramped enclosure hidden below where all meetings with the Mistress of Pax took place, glaring at her favorite pet. "Each inhalation I allow, each morsel that extends your ponderous life, is payment."

"He is an ocean."

The Tessan wanted to roll her black eyes at the metaphysical banter of a bland species only useful for their mental specialties and long memories. "He is a human. They are greedy and simple. They want things..." A claw, painted black, scratched at the soft skin under the male's fleshy throat. The nail dug, piercing and bringing pain. "Be useful to me."

"The human's mind is... resistant to the type of reconnaissance you wish. The one known as Arden has no flicker beyond tediousness or resolve. The tediousness is ordinary - you bore him; the resolve is impressive. He does want something - badly."

"And this want," the little spines ridging her brow angled upward, her thoughts hoping for the slim chance a human of his influence could be corrupted, "is outside or inside the realm of his purpose here?"

A clicking sound, tusks rubbing in a thoughtful gesture of the far too tranquil underling almost pressed the Tessan to rip her nail through his weak point when he asked, "What is his purpose?"

Dealing with such a philosophical race was trying at best; navigating their infuriating need to preach, a thousand times worse. If he circled back to existential, self-righteous Kilactarin babble she would kill him for sport. Drinta ran her tongue over the sharp edges of her teeth, blinking at the eyeless creature, the smooth oblong cranium that saw ... in other ways. "If you answer my question with another question, I will rip the sensory node straight from your skull. You are replaceable."

"He finds your interactions interesting beyond the normal scope of his duty."

"You claimed I bore him." At last, something worthy. Drinta's pleasured murmur cooed, "Elaborate."

The male's long neck waved over slender shoulders, the skull turning upward as if drinking the air. "The human species is so fleeting; time after time they have overbred into unsustainability; even to the point of destroying their home planet; their behavior setting back their culture, fragmenting them through space. Why?"

Drinta's nail dug deeper, warning that there would be no long-winded history lessons, no philosophy. One solitary drop of yellow fluid slipped down her talon. The Kilactarin hardly affected to the pain, but, as usual, a race Drinta found far too obnoxious to be so damn useful employed its own sense of survival instinct. The male's voice chimed in a tone that made the answer seem obvious, "A primitive desire."

A glitter sat deep in merciless eyes at the slave terming a far more successful galactic species primitive. "Sex."

"Reproduction," he corrected, "offspring."

The tip of her claw retreated, Drinta licking the smear of yellow blood as she pondered the odd revelation: Arden's duty on Pax. Offspring. What was the correlation?

Looking as the pathetic being resumed his meditative posture on the floor, that waving elongated neck stretching upward, Drinta affirmed, once again, that Tessan gut instinct was far more valuable than a species who could only measure in empathic observation and probabilities based on cycles.

The Kilactarin were as blind in foresight as they were in body.

*************************************

A new fleet arrival had bumped the exit schedule of all departure vessels through the byway forward by a cycle, setting Que's schedule off. Alteration to the timeframe made the pickup and exchange of cryotubes hazardous. It also meant he had to leave Quinn sooner than they had arranged with no way to notify the female beyond a com message.




Sigil Ch. 02



She was alone often on Pax, did well in solitude without a protector, but it was always a little dangerous to leave Quinn on her own.

Dangerous for others.

He'd observed her totally lose her composure only twice in the decades of their partnership, but it was enough to keep the Axirlan cautious.

In a temper, he had seen Quinn single handedly rip apart a freighter and everyone inside in a provoked psionic burst. And the human woman was very touchy about the handling of child slaves. When she discovered the Tessan boy's cryotube was still on Pax, she would not be happy. It could lead to complications.

Such reactions were the reason Que's people were superior. Emotions were dangerous.

It had taken the Axirlan years to tame her, to break her habit of simply taking whatever she wanted because she could. She had needed a purpose; he created one for her, and in turn her existence gave him purpose. Since the universe had aligned them, their lives had been enriched. He was fortunate to find a companion that did not seem to have the minuscule lifespan of a typical frail human. They had already shared almost a century of earth time together, though she had slept through several decades when it was necessary.

Yet even in her sleep there was something fulfilling in having her all to himself, vulnerable in cryo, where she had faith in him to watch over her until she could be trusted to control herself. A new landscape always helped, a new cycle far from the ones she fought to avoid.

Life on Pax was hard, it was uncomfortable; it was the perfect distraction for her, access to the byway important in case she felt they needed to flee. He'd lost her a few times in situations such as those. Of course he always found her; they were wired on the same wavelength. Sometimes she came willingly when he called. Other times it required a little - urging. Fortunately for him, the best way to pacify her was to mount her.

Six different times he'd had to shoot her first and take her as she was bleeding, when she was weakened, until her mind recognized him through the bloodlust and grew soothed. There was no other mating he had ever known like hers; sometimes it almost seemed he could feel what she offered beyond the sexual urge and physical gratification. She loved the aggression displayed by his species in coitus, never once questioned his methods, begged or commanded depending on her mood.

In her far more promiscuous days, he'd sat back and watched her experiment with a multitude of partners. It was always a beautiful show, but none made her sing no matter how rough they had been. They were all too weak, she was too strong. Others did not fulfill her in any capacity beyond transient physical pleasure.

Amongst his species, long term human companions were unheard of. They were too frail. But they could bear children and were sometimes kept for that purpose, which made her posing as a slave very believable. Yet the gods had never seen fit to grant him offspring with his human, no matter the offerings or prayers given. Que had never voiced this concern to her, but once he had laid the warmth of his palm over womb as he pumped his seed into her body and vocally asked his gods for a child.

The look on her face afterward... Que did not understand emotion, but he knew the expression for human heartbreak. His warrior had felt vulnerable. He'd inexplicitly weakened her when his role was to make her stronger. In that tick of time he thought he might comprehend the sensation of regret.

It had never happened again.

In the decades since, Que had ascertained certain topics about his companion were best understood by observation. She was sterile and she had not known until he'd put the realization of a long unfulfilled desire of his into her head. For a creature with so much power to be powerless in that very basic way, it led her to do some strange things. Her obsession with slave children, how she watched them, furtively saw to them as if he didn't notice was one such example. Quinn also went through cycles where she collected little trinkets, hanging things about to make her quarters appealing; often times such behavior a precursor to a loss of composure.

She would grow edgy, snappish, would confess to a craving to hunt far more than she already struggled with. Each time Que put her in cryostasis before she had a psionic explosion or mechanically went on the warpath again. A few years of monitored brainwaves and, once her system regulated, he would wake her and she would smile.

Que preferred her smiles to the frowns. The female's expressions were intriguing, but the smile was worth the effort to draw out. The sound of her laughter was also enjoyable, the shriek of her yelling far less pleasant; fortunately it was something she seldom directed at him.

After the twenty-five cycle interval he would be separated from her was complete, Que decided he would bring her a gift to earn a smile. Perhaps a pet or the colorful reproductive portions of a plant.



Sigil Ch. 03



A large party of Sudenovan mercenaries drank heavily far too near her stage. Undulating, hanging upside down from the fabric, Quinn trained her attention on the dangerous group and tried not to sneer. With battle marred armor and the stink of various species' fluids mixing with unwashed Sudenovan, they were disgusting. Already arguing amongst themselves, all it would take was for one to reach for their weapon and all hell would break lose. But it was more than just the riled males; Swelter was teaming with mercs, rival gangs, criminals, the room simmering at the edge of a brawl.

When a fight broke out - and it would - the numbers would be thinned, but riots might follow that could harm her delicate home. Glancing to Drinta's balcony, Quinn found the Tessan watching, amused, as if taking in a performance piece. The bitch-queen should have named the dump 'the Coliseum' considering how much she enjoyed lording it over the contenders of her pit; then again, that was a human word, and Drinta was a reptilian, cold-blooded creature, hatched far from the imperial colonized system where old earth rotted as it swung around a white star.

Spinning down the fabric, toes pointed and body arched, Quinn landed on the black liquored slice of shadow, sweating under strobe lights. Eyeballing the crowd she could not help but be troubled; there were too many new blooded mercenaries in the room - the balance purposefully off - and Drinta, she looked positively gleeful standing over a powder keg that could rip Pax apart.

An army had been mustered, patched together from anyone with ties, with debts, or who sought to gain from the Mistress of Pax. The bitch-queen had called in favors.

Something was going on.

Quinn had heard no rumors, sensed nothing in the emotions of those around her except the usual: greed and paltry desire to get their dick wet - or whatever sex organ they had. There was a lack of anticipation which accompanied war; patrons seemed bored, others just hungry, even irritated to be there.

No, the congregation was not in preparation of war. But the Tessan Mistress was taking a calculated risk allowing so many conflicting species, guilds, and bad news to collect ... as if she were showing just what kind of nightmare she could call on.

So what prompted such a display of power?

Hatred for politics aside, the answer mattered. Quinn found Drinta necessary; the Tessan was skilled in keeping the violence in balance, keeping Pax running. Should the bitch-queen lose the station any other who took her place might not be so easy to live with, might ruin Quinn's serenity, force her to leave.

What figure would inspire Drinta to draw such an unruly crowd to such an unstable place?

If the answer was the one Quinn feared, she would have to leave, and Que was not there to follow her. Running without him - sometimes she'd lose her way. Once it had taken him six years to find her; the things she'd done without his influence had not been her proudest moments. She'd slaughtered an entire penal colony some bounty hunter had been foolish enough to dump her in - thinking she'd be trapped and far less troublesome - so the one who'd offered an outrageous reward could fetch her. Her regret was not in killing so many horrible men and women. It was that once she started, she couldn't stop.

She'd left the rot and gone after gangs, bandits, unsavory governments... rampaged until Que found her. Thousands had died simply because she was in a mood.

Loss of control made her just like them - one of the sheep.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Quinn slunk back into the dark, out of sight of the customers, and began to worry. It had been only three cycles since Que had gone and he would not be back to share his wisdom for twenty-two more. Her Axirlan always had a sense about these things; should her anxiety be unfounded he would reassure her. If she was correct, in perfect calm he would take her away, and together they would start all over again somewhere new.

But she enjoyed Pax; Quinn did not want to leave.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Glancing at an unknown male pleasure slave, Quinn gave a dry, "No."

The unknown looked worried. "Don't let them see you hiding. You'll get the lash."

There was something so ironic in the ancient way slaves were punished on Pax. She might actually like the lash. "Who are you?"

"Sasha."

Annoyed, Quinn reached for the vial of water in his hands and sucked it down. "Sasha is not your name. Sasha is the name of the slave I usually perform with."

The near naked man shrugged. "I was told it would be easier for the patrons to recognize my place if I took the name of the one who was sold."

"Of course you were." Quinn had liked original Sasha - he was mute. "What was your name?"

"Sasha."

"Well, Sasha." She drank the rest of his water. "Welcome to Swelter."

"I've worked in worse places..."

A boyish smirk came to the man's face. "Come on. My keeper is in the crowd."

She took his offered hand and let him tug her to standing. On contact, for a human mind - especially one of a slave - the male's thinking seemed a bit too sharp. But he did not smell of the empire, nor did she sense he knew her. He just wanted to work.

Lips curved into a friendly smile, Quinn asked, "Were you collared as a child?"

The answer of, "Yes," was paired with a dazzling smile showing white teeth against ebony skin.

He was lying. Whoever new Sasha was, he was no more of a slave than she.

Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Quinn did not release his hand and the moment grew awkward, uncomfortable, until the man's smile diminished. Excited, she leaned closer. "You have the grip of a true aerialist. I'm eager to see what you can do."

The dimples were back. "Just try to keep up with me."

Laughing, tugging him toward the partition to retake the stage, they appeared hand in hand, smiling and grand. Twenty minutes later, new Sasha was a heap on the ground, neck broken from a terrible fall. She played the shocked slave, sliding down her fabric showcase to be quickly contained by an overseer.

As if it were nothing, the fresh corpse was dragged away. No one in the crowd seemed to care, no keeper complained.

He may have had nothing to do with her, he may have been security or a spy for Drinta's crowd, but new Sasha was an unsettling factor. In Quinn's experience, unsettling factors had to be removed - immediately.

As soon as the stage was cleared she was shoved back up by a rough Tessan overseer who felt free to fondle her in the process. For the following hours she performed alone, watching the crowd watch her, tensing when the rumble of ships through the byway stopped shaking through the station.

The intoxicated masses did not seem to notice the loss of vibration over the blaring music. Either that or they didn't care the very heartbeat of Pax had stopped.

No one in; no one out.

Closing her eyes, Quinn pulled in a breath, reminding herself to remain calm. After all, the probability it had anything to do with her was incredibly slim. Pax was in the middle of inhospitable space, far from the sheep. Swelter was not a hub; it was an end destination for disreputables like her. The distant Irdesian Empire - there was nothing on Pax for them; not even nearby human planets to convert to their power.

Her paranoia was misplaced, that is what Que would tell her.

So why shut down the byway? Why pack the crumbling station with creatures itching for a fight?

On cue the long simmering brawl began; shots were fired, tables thrown. Slinking down, Quinn kept a keen eye on perpetrators, on drunks who engaged, on factions - in search of a pattern, a hint. The waving surge of reptilian Tessan, the Axirlan, the squat power houses of Sudenovan warriors with their tusks and war calls - not to mention the human traffickers- began to expend built up aggression, seemingly enjoying the fight as much as they had enjoyed the show, nothing more.

There was no organized coup.

Half veiled by the long red spider silk, Quinn's eyes went to the mistress's balcony to find Drinta. The mistress frowned, her tail swished. Drinta looked intensely aggravated when she should have been pleased.

It only took one breath for Quinn to recognize her mistake.

Everything - all of it - had been one clever distraction. The aggression of the horde, the suspicious new dancer - all fed to her by a brilliant tactician to keep Quinn looking in all the wrong places when she was uneasy, to keep her questioning and in Swelter to watch when she should have been stealing the nearest ship and jetting off into hyperspace.

Behind her the masterful rumble of a smooth tenor explained, "Either you can go to him, or he will come for you."

Turning, the muscles in her neck strained from the effort it took to move slowly, violet eyes found a face of great beauty standing in the shadows. A Herald so close, all she had to do was take five steps and his neck would be in her grip. She could rip it right off his shoulders...

Words were spoken softly, Quinn's eyes almost temperate, "Is it that you want to die?"

The Herald stood solemn, golden, as he spoke again, "He is waiting."

The image of the man in question blasted to the forefront of Quinn's awareness, every detail flawlessly remembered. Only once had she seen him in person, down a long hallway deep in the compound where they had been created, tested, educated, and used: Condor. During the long ago glimpse, her body had still been that of a child, the male full grown, but the second her prey was in her sites her undeveloped form had frozen. She'd had his attention as well, every part of the man focused on the child she'd been.

All those decades ago he'd had the nerve to look upon her as if fascinated, almost tenderly. Her handlers had reacted in a panic at the unintended meeting, the small hallway between her and the man thick with tension and drawn weapons. They'd expected violence. As a girl she'd loved to circumvent their expectations in ways which kept them questioning. So she'd just turned her head and walked away, increasing the confusion; because unlike that asshole, she wasn't a sheep who did as she was told. She'd made herself greater than her programing.

"Tell your Sovereign I told him to fuck off." In an odd way the warning was well meant, even passed forward in a tone of voice that affected self-control.

It was ten times harder to turn away from temptation in that moment then it had been over a century ago; yet somehow she managed to tear her eyes from the Herald instead of ripping him apart as she'd been trained to do. The hitch in her step, the near stumble, betrayed her struggle for composure; under her own power, fighting the compulsion to instantly hunt and slaughter, Quinn slipped through the brawl and out of the chaos in Swelter.

The hallways were as mad as the club. Dodging bodies forced her to focus past the hunger, but each bump of her shoulder, each leer, was less than calming. Those who tried to take advantage of a solitary pleasure slave found no mercy, but her kills were clean, mechanical - unfulfilling in the quickness, so snapped necks might not feed her desire to rampage.

Quinn was very careful, breathing in steady rhythm, ignoring what already clawed her insides - the compulsion, the itch to seek Sovereign and break every bone in his body, absolutely unaware of how truly exposed she was. It was the rage that blinded her, Quinn grasping the cognizant fraction screaming outrage Sovereign still pursued even after so many decades. That he dared after the amount of carnage she'd repeatedly left for him to find when he had pressed too hard or she had carelessly come too close.

Measuring inhalations, calculating the options available, Quinn moved in a lizard's path through the corridors. With the byway offline possible escapes were limited. In a stolen ship, under stasis, she could drift through the stars. But it would take years to reach any destination the Empire wouldn't think to search, she would lose Que, and chances of interception were incredibly high should Sovereign have ships at Pax under his power.

There was her cryotube full of the little Tessan boy. She could sleep there, at the cost of his future, his life. Still in sensor range, the second the Tessan's heart began to beat the collar would activate and kill him. She could not do that. Sovereign would find her in a floor by floor search anyway.

With the burn growing in her veins one thing seemed inevitable, the thing she was foaming at the mouth for, simply to face her quarry where she would kill him, and then snuff out every life on Pax once the bloodlust took over.

Blinking, something wet fell down her cheek. Quinn wiped it away, pressing her back to the dank corridor wall.

Another mindless rampage ... she couldn't allow it.

Her life on Pax was over, her decade of near peace and all future years at an end. There was only one worthy option; she would offer herself up while she still had strength of mind. Sovereign would finally kill her, tens of thousands of lives would continue, and she would not become a mindless slave to impulse.

A roll in her gut and Quinn found she could practically taste his trail, followed the echo of him to her rooms. Outside her dwelling she rolled her neck, trying to remember all Que had taught her. Freedom required constant control, constant control required diligence, diligence was enforced by calm.

But Quinn was not calm. She felt cornered, she felt angry; mostly she felt the need open the door and launch her body at the tyrant. After all, should not he too have to face consequences and suffer? Quinn had given him a hundred years of life. Clearly they'd been taken for granted if Sovereign was foolish enough to trap himself on a derelict space station with her.

The male was practically begging for it.

Biting down on her lower lip, Quinn pressed the access panel, the door slipped open, and she swallowed the accumulating taste of blood. It was dim the instant the portal shut and locked behind her, but he was there. She could smell him, the scent of running water, of cooling things.

From the shadows came approval, "I am pleased you have not tried to run."

She'd never heard his voice in person, only sound bites from training days of the male barking orders or outlining reports, the noises he made when fucking supplied females. There was a musical quality to it which belayed the ferocity of the monster; a voice designed to charm and coerce like a dancing serpent drawing one nearer so he might fill you with venom.

Turning up the lights she found him standing proudly, posing for her at attention; unsmiling but radiating satisfaction. Like the others of his kind he was unfailingly beautiful - part of the lure that made them so dangerous in so many ways. Black hair had grown long since she'd last seen him, tucked behind his ears and waving to his jaw. He also bore the shadow of stubble, more casual than the commanding clean cut necessity of a dead nation's perfect created soldier.

Quinn's false colored eyes lingered over the contours of his face, explored the column of his structural weak point - his throat.

Sovereign took a step nearer, Quinn countered verbally, "It would be in your best interest to keep your distance, or you may find how very difficult it is for me to control the urge to butcher you."

"Sigil," he sung her name, eyes a perfect storm, taking her in as if he'd been starved for the sight.

She hated that designation. Showing teeth she said, "My name is Quinn."

"Your name," he explained imperiously, stepping nearer, "is Sigil. The title far more than the project for which you were fashioned. It's what you are: inscribed genetics, a creation of perfection."

"Perfection?" she gave an unimpressed snort. "That is exactly how I should appear to you." Eyeing him as if he were a fool, Quinn sneered, "The shade of my skin in line with your preference, each curve of my body designed to mimic the females you took the most pleasure in. Everything from the size of my breasts to the natural color of my hair and eyes, all created to draw you in, making it much easier for me to assassinate you had Commander Demetri felt the need to unleash me on a programed slave soldier growing too autonomous." Her chin lowered to her chest. "So why do you tempt me to do what long dead men and a depraved, horrible society desired?"

"I can see the sparks between your fingers; the automatic buildup of psionic energy precursing attack." He took a step closer and asked, "Are you struggling for control?"

"Yes." Her fists tightened until the bones in her fingers popped, the psionics drained away, and Quinn made the offer of her life, "You would do well to end this now before I slip and punish you for hounding me."

"And how would you punish me?" The weight of his gaze, the curiosity he did not hide, seemed backward. As if he the wolf and she the sheep.

Her shoulder blades met the corroded wall. "You have pretty eyes. Maybe I will collect one."

The man nodded, his presence commanding far too much space. "Then come nearer, Sigil."

Something about his tone ... was wrong.

He advanced until standing before her, tall, broad, looking down at her upturned face as if it were his due.

Practically humming with the need to break the bones in his neck, Quinn's hand moved on its own; reaching for his throat. Sovereign allowed it, even lifting his chin to give her better access. Her fingers wrapped around warm skin where all she had to do was squeeze and she could crush his windpipe. Or better yet, dig her nail right into the lovely pulsing artery beating under her thumb and tear out a handful of flesh.

A sensation of pleasure flooded her body, her thumbnail digging in.

Ignoring the threat Sovereign fingered her slave collar. "I absolutely abhor seeing this on you, precious Sigil. Whatever game you have been playing that requires a collar, it's over now."

Insulted at his use of an endearment, the hand wrapped so beautifully around Sovereign's throat tightened. Eager to watch him choke, anticipating the beauty of Sovereign forced to kneel before her, Quinn envisioned plucking out one of his unimaginable eyes and crushing it to jelly - or maybe eating it, swallowing down a piece of him while he watched.

The fantasy blossomed, made her smile, and she slipped further into the haze.

Sovereign slowly wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Applying a strength he should not have possessed he forced her grip from his throat, shocking her out of the fantasy. Quinn, gasping, struggling unsuccessfully to regain the limb he'd claimed, earned only a tick in his jaw. Sovereign maintained his hold.

She'd been created to be better than him - superior. But she could not move her arm.

Sovereign pressed his greater mass forward, trapping her against the wall.

"Program Cataclysm, the classified creation of genetically perfected humanoid soldiers, assassins, infiltrators, decimators. I was created to lead that army," the bastard lectured, unsmiling features intense as he kept her restrained. "In the decades before your birth, under the orders of Commander Demetri, your brothers conquered colonies, neighboring planets, whole systems - any civilization that stood in the path of the Alliance so effectively the foolish humans began to realize just how superior their creations really were. Leadership began to question why every prevailing galactic society had made such a genetic genesis taboo. Furthermore, had the other species learned humans had experimented on their own kind, mutilated their coding, stolen their uniqueness in the creation of superior human slaves it would have started an intergalactic war. The humans would have been eradicated as they were still weak, constantly feuding amongst themselves, lacked the best technology, and were only recently evolved to the age of hyperspace travel."




Sigil Ch. 03



"You are not telling me anything I don't already know," Quinn hissed, her foot pressing against the wall for leverage, only to have his thigh bat it aside and pin the appendage.

"I altered your original coding myself," Sovereign trapped both of her wrists in one hand and yanked her chin up, forcing the squirming woman to meet his eyes, "secretly and at great risk to the entirety of our kind. No one but me knowing the time bomb I placed inside you. I had to hide it carefully, as you were so very precious and their reason for creating you so nefarious. Had the Alliance a hint, you would have been destroyed before you were old enough to defend yourself."

Quinn stilled, her muscles limp as disgust bloomed on her face. "Time bomb? You did that to me? Unhinged the psionic restraint? Do you have any idea what happens when I lose control?"

"You were never designed to have psionic abilities. I gave you my genetic markers, placing a part of myself inside your very DNA while you were still in gestation. But your skill manifested far more aggressively and at a much earlier age than anticipated. You were only a child when you brought down the compound in a rage."

Her brows drew together. "They were hurting my mother."

The tip of his finger followed her jaw, Sovereign confused by such a statement. "That creature only served as the vessel you were grown in. You shared no genetics with it."

Pounding her skull against the wall to get his touch off her face, Quinn snarled, "I know what she was! I could hear her. The creature, as you call her, was aware of EVERYTHING. She was aware of me!"

The expression fell from the looming male's face, his eyes growing dark, calculating, as understanding dawned. "You're an empath. That is how you sensed our proximity, how you evade. But it should not be possible. I know your coding by heart; you have very little Kilactarin DNA. Not enough for such a gift to foster and for you to still maintain the appearance of a human."

Violet eyes began to dilate; focused obsessively on the pulse of his carotid artery where one solitary drip of blood tempted her to draw more. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, Quinn imagined the taste should she stretch a bit higher and use her teeth to rip open that throat. "You are the reason I struggle. If I were just to kill you it would be over and your foolish little empire of sheep, the way you eat up the universe, would end."

Sculpted lips in an archangel's face curved into a very hungry smile as he asked, "Sheep?"

Swallowing, Quinn muttered, "You became free when I tore Condor to pieces, and what have you done with your liberation? Behaved exactly as you were designed; engaging in endless campaigns to conquer human worlds. You're still slaves to your programing. Sheep."

He pressed nearer, enjoying the way her eyelids dropped at the contact. Brushing his lips to her ear, feeling her tongue drag over the drop of his blood he'd spilt to tempt her, Sovereign purred, "You know nothing of what you are. The indoctrination of your handlers, it confused you... lost lamb."

At the sweet coppery taste addiction sucked her deeper. Lips parted, forming words against his throat as if each one gave her pleasure, "You should run. But I will chase you, I will catch you, and you will die."

Sovereign's composed calculation returned. An authoritative, chilling voice chided, "I have seen the aftermath when you lose control, precious Sigil - Condor, the prison colony on the moon of Vector, the rotting fleet lingering in the Durazgabi system." A tightening on the wrists he held preceded his avowal. "I will not allow it again."

"Allow?" He thought to command her? No one commanded her. No one was stronger, not even massive Que. A snap and furious psionics began to accumulate, little lines of energy snapping from her skin into the fool who thought to corner her, who'd had his chance to end it all yet wasted time speaking nonsense. Dyed lavender eyes sharpened. Quinn loudly cracked her neck and forced the larger opponent away with such pleasing strength. "Allow me, sheep?"

A very male, very pleased growl filled the air when she broke his hold.

Already imagining the music of Sovereign's bones snapping, saturating herself in the compulsion, she twisted about in the limbs of a born soldier. It was not hard to strike him; her speed superior, each blow incredibly fulfilling as she toyed with her food. They were in a tangle of movements, their styles of aggression vastly different. Where Sovereign was elegant she was unpolished, rough, and brutal. One kick and she'd shattered her table; a dodged punch dented the wall. The more damage she created, the greater her need to annihilate grew. Between them the room fell into shambles, furniture breaking, treasured baubles falling, crushed underfoot.

It wasn't long before Quinn had him on his back, his larger body under her control. Braced over Sovereign, practically drooling, she licked her lips and moved to snatch his pretty eye straight from his pretty skull.

She struck. Everything went wrong.

There was pain and a blur as her center of gravity shifted. The grate floor cut into her cheek, her chest, her thigh, Sovereign pinning her belly down. Tossing back an elbow, she stuck his ribs, the man hardly grunting as his teeth grazed the nape of her neck. He bit down so hard she startled, a shock of energy snapping through her system.

Gasping at the feeling of the bones in her neck shifting, Quinn found she couldn't move, only stare in horror as he crunched harder and another burst of feeling stunned her to momentary stillness.

Crying out, fighting like a wild thing, no matter how she tried Sovereign had her, brutally biting the same place each time she grew too frantic. Exhaustion, the need to regroup, another sharp bite, and she yielded.

He released his jaw once she began to tremble.

"Shhhhhh," Sovereign hushed, stroking her body with the weight of his. "You do not need to be afraid."

There was a slithering brush of probing fingers between her closed thighs. He gripped the black leather of her small covering and tore it away. Quinn immediately grew frantic, screaming outrage, and the teeth returned.

Again she was forced into unnatural immobility.

A long lick over the bloody skin of her neck drew out her shiver and the haunting rumble of approval from the male, "It's time for you to submit to your consort."

Unsure how he managed to hold her down yet still slip the tips of his fingers up to trace her pussy, the woman hissed, bristling at his reverberating growl of approval when Sovereign found her clit engorged.

"You are aroused for me." With those final words he jammed his fingers into a slippery cunt that spasmed and squeezed.

Confused, fighting an unsettling urge to press back against thrusting digits, Quinn struggled for the breath. "Stop."

Those unwelcome fingers found her piercing, tugging and playing with it, creating shrill bursts of friction along her nerves each time the metal glided across the sensitive nub of flesh. Shrieking, she tried to shift again.

"Surrender," Sovereign's spoke as if licking her blood from his lips, "or I will be forced to impose submission the entire time I fuck you."

"Get off-" She gave out a grunt, her words lost in her throat once the bite reestablished. She felt his hand leave her and work the fastenings of his clothes. Before she could overcome the momentary listlessness, an unwelcome girth breached. His penetration pushed forward mercilessly until the bastard was fully sheathed. Balls deep, Sovereign offered an extended groan so obscene her body responded, gripping tight around the intrusion, wetting him further.

Warm breath tickled over her ear. "Perfect."

When he began to thrust, Quinn struggled, gaining nothing. His answer was to display further aggression, grinding her painfully into the grate floor, growling each time he manipulated her reaction until her cunt seeped and her insides tried to pull him in.

Smashed under the onslaught of remorseless pounding hips, Quinn wriggled, hissed, her noises twisting into calls that shamed her. Each time she keened at the fingers playing with her piercing and the fullness his cock he praised her - licking the bite wounds, moving with the speed and ferocity of a male giving what a heated female desired.

A teetering climax, one she had been holding back from the first intrusion, became a nightmarish thing. The leaking psionics, the fear of herself, brought her to whine, "Please."

"Yes, Sigil," Sovereign surged, fucking into her so hard she grunted, "beg me for more."

Saturated in stimulus, panting, pleading for a thing partway between mercy and annihilation, she screamed, "Please," choked on the word, and climaxed so hard the world went black.

Behind her Sovereign's jaw unhinged, the man roaring as he came. He bit her neck one final time, erratically thrusting those last messy plunges.

A long low whimper - half panicked and half gratified - hummed past parted lips once she felt him gush, Sovereign filling her to the brim, pressed tight to cork every drop of splashing ejaculate coating her tender passage.

Scraped raw, confused, the back of her neck a pulsing mush of torn bleeding flesh, Quinn began to softly weep.

"Oh, Sigil," Sovereign slid his lips over her ear. "It had to happen this way. Can you not already feel me working inside you, undoing the damage? Does it not satisfy to be mounted by your own kind? Every time we mate you'll know completion, you'll chemically recognize your place, until you are healed of the poison they inflicted on you to punish me."

Quinn turned her face away, pressing it to where her cheek's blood stained the floor, ashamed the enemy was witnessing her weakness. He had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse; all the time the plan of fucking her his endgame. She'd lost, he'd shamed her, and even in the moment she could feel his come inside her womb so hot it seemed unnatural.

She tried to shift her hips away from the thick plug still pulsing inside her.

"Hold it all, precious one," Sovereign warned, gripping her tightly. "Hold every drop I gave you. Your body must absorb and recognize my mark to break your mutilated compulsion."

She was in shock, Quinn recognized dimly - shivering, hyperventilating, and afraid of the monster on her back.

"Please..." the word was a long entreating sob for freedom.

"You are beautiful, even when you cry." A thumb wiped the rivers on her cheek before a large hand slipped under her skull to cradle it so her bleeding face no longer dug into the abrasive floor. "It pains me our first coupling has upset you." His thumb brushed her lips like a kiss, "In time you will learn you need not fear me."

But she was terrified. Everything she knew about herself contradicting, distorted. More tears began to flow; Quinn bawled, teeth chattering, the bastard's encouragements only upsetting her more. When she squirmed, body going numb from the pressure of the grate and the burdensome weight of the man, his organ pulsed back to life.

She froze, petrified of her body's reaction, of the blood she could feel pumping to engorge her sex further, of the slippery offered fluid which eased his passage and enticed further fucking.

Sovereign thrust gently, Quinn's hiccupping sobs twisting into soul wrenching whimpers at the decadent swirl of hips and softer scrape of teeth along her spine. He held her down as he had the first time, though she did not fight him - the second claiming infinitely tender, debilitating. A calloused hand stroked to erase the horror, to foster nonexistent comfort. With her eyes screwed shut, her head resting in his palm, Quinn lost the final trace of bloodlust that anchored her, swept up, adrift.

Praise was lavished upon her for submission, a tongue tracing the shape of her ear when she arched her pelvis encouraging him to rut. She came screaming the name of her oldest enemy, her body greedily draining him of seed; no orgasm in her history as obliterating, as gratifying, as those desolate moments under Sovereign.

A throbbing cock emptied, splashing more fluid against her womb. With labored breath he commanded, "Sleep."

The effect was almost instant, and before she could reflect on why, she obeyed.



Sigil Ch. 04



A/N: You may have seen this story jump around the categories. Originally, I had it posted in the NonCon/Reluctance category but was persuaded that due to its Science Fictioniness that it might be better with other SciFi. Being brand new to this site, I was unsure, so I follow kind suggestions. But now that I have read more great stories here I am certain my original choice in category was best. I apologize if I confused any readers. 

*****

The shock of waking set her heart pumping, thuds of rushing blood drowning out sound. Panic was a thing so long forgotten she hardly understood the sensation. Sucking in a shaky breath, Quinn registered that no male weighed her down. The grate floor wasn't cutting into her skin; Sovereign's calloused hands were not stroking her as if they were familiar.

He was gone and she was alone in her bed, but not in the room.

Puffy eyes shut tight, Quinn felt the thrum of five separate minds - all focused, all devout, all dangerous.

There was no time she could recall where her impulses hadn't sent her into a frenzy at the nearness of a remnant of Project Cataclysm. Yet now there was no bloodlust, no fortifying need to rampage. The thing she hated most about herself was gone and where it should have been was only cold clarity.

It was terrifying.

Motionless, she could feel blood crusting her pulped nape; the minor sting of abrasions where the grate floor had cut her flesh a signal her sleep had been painfully short. With her genetics physical wounds would fade completely in a matter of hours; it was her insides she feared would remain altered.

The urge to shrink deeper into the bedding like a frightened child brought bile to her mouth. She forced action. The salty fan of her lashes rose in a measured sweep; five imperial soldiers stood at attention. Only the largest dared to look at her. The male preened, eyes glowing against an impassive expression.

Though he did not wear the armor of his order, woven into his long white shock of hair were the small metal disks of a highly ranked warrior. One of the most recognizable tyrants in the known universe, Karhl - Lord Commander of the Empire, and one of the most powerful brothers to Sovereign - stood in her cramped room.

Having him for a warden... was bad.

"Do you feel violent?" Karhl's voice was oddly deep, similar to Que's robotic vibration.

Quinn blinked, the image of the male somewhat obscured by her hair. "And if I should say yes, you are to subdue me?"

He answered at once, head bowing fractionally. "It would be my honor."

Gentle tone or no, the implication was not missed. Fear fresh, she imagined he too would mount her as Sovereign had, with four converts serving as living restraints - one for each of her limbs - so the Lord Commander might do his work and fill her with the same chemical soup Sovereign claimed was her salvation. Paranoia moved red rimmed eyes to reassess what her brain had calculated from the first moments she had returned to consciousness; she was outnumbered and ignorant of just how complex her entrapment was.

"You remain distressed," Karhl spoke again, drawing her attention back to his beautiful stone-carved face. "How may I sooth you?"

The atrocities she'd committed were nothing compared to what the Lord Commander had inflicted on planet after planet. The man had destroyed whole human populations, committed acts of genocide against billions unwilling to convert. The knowledge didn't stop her from hissing, "You could get out."

"I cannot."

Eyeballing the intruder Quinn sat up, the fallen bed sheet exposing breasts still wrapped in the binding she'd performed in the night before. Unsure fingers traced over her damaged cheek while she tried to ignore the slippery excess of Sovereign's sperm leaking from her body to wet the bedding.

Watching carefully, Karhl spoke, "It was decided decades ago, amongst the greatest of us, that force would be an unfortunate necessity."

At the giant's words Quinn let out a threatening growl, turning her aching neck so she might glare.

Karhl met her gaze, undaunted, and continued, "We have conquered worlds full of pleasures to tempt you to us. You resisted. We sent dignitaries across the universe; you fled from your family. Aware of your reasons we worried for you, young one. Trackers, bounty hunters, all avenues were explored. It has been a century of alternate efforts with no result. Your rape... there was no other way to assure progress."

The kind of rape where the attacker forces pleasure so burdensome it stings worse than the humiliation of defeat? Lip trembling, Quinn clenched her jaw, choosing to stare at the wall when she found she could no longer look at the male. "I am surprised you are not trying to find a nicer word to justify progress."

"As it evolved, did you not enjoy him? Several of your acquired former sexual partners claimed you preferred intense aggression."

That statement was incredibly unsettling. The pleasure had been compulsory. A base piece of her had reveled in it; a greater part had hated it. And the giant Lord Commander, with his piercing eyes and fair color, was aware - he'd been nearby throughout the entire coupling. Had her mind not been so distorted, so enamored with her ultimate prey, she would have recognized it then. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"I witnessed your liberation. I watched over you, ready to intervene if it was necessary." No judgment sat in sea glass eyes; only pride directed at her. "You are powerful. Sovereign was almost unable subdue you himself." When the complement did nothing but earn him a scathing look, he rationalized, steady and unaffected, "You remain overwhelmed and understandably conflicted."

The Irdesian Empire was very powerful, they were on Pax, the byway was closed, and her greatest enemy implied something she could hardly bear to think of. "Do not presume to know me, Lord Commander."

Striking, large, and closing in, Karhl said, "I watched you rip a massive reinforced wall out of the ground with your psionics at Condor, then throw it at a wave of Alliance soldiers, killing them all. Having just taken a bullet for you, I reached out to touch your shoulder, to help you. You threw me farther than the wall." The frightening soldier - one who had lived centuries longer than she, who had fought the war against the Alliance and formed the Empire - stepped closer and put a hand where he'd tried to touch the child long ago. Thumb grazing her slave collar he asked, "Are you going to throw me again for trying to help you, Sigil?" Thick fingers curled under the too tight contraption and Karhl crushed the device. "Sovereign removed your true collar when he shattered your conditioned compulsion." The crumbling scraps dropped bit by bit to land in her lap. "He did what was necessary so you might understand your place in the universe."

Even as he spoke, warm hands capable of causing her great harm circled where the collar had reassuringly squeezed for the last decade. Automatically, Quinn gripped his wrist, wrenching and finding fulfillment in the grind of his bone. "Breaking my collar will summon Pax overseers."

Ignoring the discomfort, Karhl worked the pads of his fingers over the flaking scabs on her nape. Soft feeling wormed from the tender skin; angry thoughts muted. Quinn's heart rate decreased. He spoke, "There is no angle we have not considered. You are blanketed by the Empire and safe here."

She knew better, no one was safe on Pax.

"I will not hurt you." Karhl's instant pinch between her vertebrae fostered a shuddering impulse of pleasure down in her belly, a dim echo of the almost orgasmic power that had left Quinn stunned when Sovereign bit her the night before.

Liquid fell over the sticky abrasions on her cheek. Nothing made sense. All the running, all the years believing one thing and fearing only herself when all along she should have greatly feared them. Wet eyes looked up at a monster she'd been designed to destroy. "I don't understand."

"You were designed so light pressure between shifted cervical vertebrae three and four would induce calm. A Kilactarin trait highlighted with Sudenovan matriarch," Karhl offered a deep mechanical purr, "Allow me to comfort you."

Her hand went to shield the vulnerable spot. Karhl acquiesced. Without the pressure from his fingers, Quinn's stupor faded. Anger replaced it. "The bastard gnawed my neck bloody."

Karhl's feeling were resolved, the man certain all had been done was as it should be. "A bite heightens arousal and subdues defense in an aggressive female. It was done out of mercy. He did not wish to give you only fear and pain."

Sovereign's mercilessness was legendary; to hear him spoken of in any other way was iniquitous.

Quinn edged out of the Lord Commander's reach, placing the bed as a barrier between them. Upon standing her thighs grew wet with more of Sovereign's leaking mark, Karhl glancing down to view the shine of semen dripping down pale flesh. Had the emotions she sensed in him been reflected on his face, the warrior would have been smiling. But he didn't; Karhl was expressionless, very Axirlan in his makeup, similar to her Que in all the wrong ways.

Those humans with him were also unordinary, a caliber of convert Quinn had not been exposed to before. They had been altered, as if she could smell the Lord Commander's contamination upon them.

"These are my chosen elite." Karhl answered, ambivalent in regard to her scrutiny of his men. "A highly coveted rank few survive advanced levels of conversion to attain."

Hybrids? A dim reflection of the one they'd been altered to mimic. She edged further from Karhl and nearer to the closest soldier, finding limpid blue competing with the natural brown of the human's eyes. It was more than brainwashing; the man had been altered on a cellular level.

Karhl's face remained impassive, "Human populations have been domesticated."

Quinn shot a nasty look at the man seeking to educate her. "Conversion or death? You wish for them to mimic you, when you are all far more greedy and violent than they ever were."

"Control was taken so strays might be advanced properly and renegades removed. Conversion advanced us all."

"And who are you to decide the direction of their evolution? You would kill off an entire species to create something to use..." frowning, Quinn turned back to the soldier, seeing the convert refused to meet her eye, "...as we were used."

"The Alliance would have stopped at nothing to hunt you, Sigil. Any cost; any loss of life. Whole planets would have been burned to ash if even a suggestion you might walk its crust had been made. Do not condemn us when your brothers have always offered feral humans a choice over annihilation. How else were you to survive?"

The soldier's face wavered in her field of vision, pressure building behind her eyes. Taking in the profile of what was still a young man, Quinn whispered, "Do you hear what he says? They would blame me for what's been done to you?"

There was no reply.

Quinn snarled, "Look at me!"

Karhl appeared directly behind her, his hand hovering over her shoulder as she stared, distraught, at his underling. "He is forbidden to do such a thing."

She pleaded, unsure why the soldier didn't understand what had been done to him, "Look at me."

"You greatly outrank him, but Sovereign has overruled you here."

And there it was. Sovereign - everything boiled down to Sovereign. His very existence controlled her life no matter how far she'd run. "I refuse to be blamed for the state of human affairs. I cannot help what I am, and want nothing to do with your empire. I never did. I tried to leave you in peace. The same respect was not extended in reciprocation."

Karhl's hand descended the final distance to softly pet a female that was confused, angry, and unwell. His eyes roamed over her body, seeing the swell of muscled thigh and hip, the dip of her belly, breasts hardly covered by pleasure slave's garb. "You are a fully grown woman now, Sigil, with wisdom to temper your impulses, but still controlled by them through no fault of your own." He delivered cold truth unflinchingly, "Understand that the noticeable effects of your mating will not last indefinitely. This uncertain freedom from your compulsion to kill us will return without further measures. With us, your family, so near and escape routes closed, how long do you really think you could resist your programing?" All traces of gentleness drained from his quasi-Axirlan face, Karhl growling just enough to earn her attention, "You would attack and he would force you again. It could not be helped."

Unsure which unsettled her more, the sense of devotion from the Lord Commander or the fear the compulsion might return after a short terrifying moment of freedom, Quinn shut down. "You think I don't recognize the manipulation at work here? Sovereign is conveniently gone, a Lord Commander stands in his place so I might be calm and measured... converted before rage sets in for what was done and I kill us all."

"Your judgment is partially correct. But I assure you, young one, my goal is not manipulation, but pure assessment. It is my duty to confirm the compulsion was successfully muted. The proximity of Sovereign, and your reaction upon waking near the one who'd hurt you may have unbalanced my evaluation." Without hesitation he admitted, "I also desired to have you to myself so that I might be the one to tend you. I wish to offer comfort you would not allow were he here."

His tone of voice was so like Que's she responded to it, acceding, even knowing Karhl was not her companion.

"I have bled for you. Personally sought you in every corner of the galaxy." The Lord Commander was absolutely sincere. "Since your creation, every life I have claimed I took in your name."

The calm induced by his voice vanished when she found the will to look back at the man. Nervously licking her lower lip, she began edging toward the lavatory and away from the beautiful male with his oddness and unwelcome devotion. "I could kill your four elite soldiers so fast I doubt the last could draw before I shattered his spine. But you ... you frighten me, and I cannot help but wonder if that was the very reason you were chosen." Violence would not set her free, nor could she negotiate with his level of zealotry. "I must say his plan was well-enacted."

"My intention is not to frighten you. Once you are home and settled, you will find peace as Imperial Consort in our care. All this will seem as nothing."

Quinn moved a step closer the lavatory. "As a prisoner."

Karhl offered a nod. "Though I would prefer you viewed the arrangement differently, you are essentially correct." He gestured for her to enter the target of her evasion and see to her body's needs. "But your freedoms will increase as your healing progresses."

"How do you not understand? I was designed so Sovereign would desire me. That does not mean he should. I hate you all, yet never killed one of you."

Karhl followed her step for step. "Fifty seven of your brothers sacrificed their lives in search of you. Some you damaged. And you have killed three."

She had not known that. "Not on purpose! I don't want to kill you. I fight so I might refuse enacting what I was created for; I just want to be. But you keep coming and some days I can't stop."

"We know."

His calm infuriated her. "I have not slipped in thirty years. I have not told anyone what you are."

"What we are, Sigil."

She closed her eyes, feeling water run down her face. "I am not a sheep..."

"Bathe as you desire to." Karhl gestured toward the wash cubicle and did not avert his eyes when she stripped the sad remnants of her clothes.

Never taking her eye from the invader, scrubbing until her flesh was raw, Quinn sought comfort in the knowledge that under the feet of her one-man audience was a grate which could be lifted - a passage she'd carved through air ducts, drainage, and metal sheeting beneath it.

The preset timer ended, the chemical cleansing spray stopped, and Karhl offered her a length of towel. "Everything you require during the remainder of our tenure in this domicile has been provided, including appropriate clothing." At the flick of his fingers one of the soldiers brought forth a quantity of fabric and handed it to the large Lord Commander.

Quinn looked down at the beaded red silk, similar in shade to the length of streaming fabric she twisted in at Swelter, and found no pleasure in its beauty. Brushing past him, she moved to her cabinets to choose from things familiar.

Karhl moved nearer. "Slaves garb is not appropriate for the Imperial Consort. Please wear the dress."

Her arms went through a length of worn robe Que had brought her from a Tessan outer world decades before. Sash knotted with an angry yank, she refused, and walked from the bedroom to seek food. Frozen at the gateway, Quinn found the wreckage and ruin had been cleaned sometime in her sleep. Her broken treasures were gone, erased. Her blood no longer stained the grates.

Chewing a bit of torn skin near her nail, Quinn felt the weight of a hand settle on her shoulder again and flinched, unaware she stared at the spot where she had been held face down to the floor.

A large thumb skimmed her nape. That was all it took for Quinn to double over, vomiting all over the floor.

Swept up before she caught her breath, she found herself rushed back to the lavatory, her wet hair held back in the hands of her new keeper, the rest of her stomach contents splattering against the basin.

Childhood years of torture she'd survived with more grace. Electro shock training, bone breaking strikes from combat instructors who hit her as if she were full-grown, poisons injected daily to test tolerance and increase immunity ... yet she disgraced herself while one of the most feared warriors in the Empire tended to her like the child he inferred she was.

The bed came soft under her back, Karhl covering her body with blankets as he spoke, "Sovereign has been summoned. He will be here shortly."

She couldn't see past the dark spots in her vision; curled up as the Lord Commander kneaded her nape. Then another was touching, enveloping her in muscled limbs, in warmth. Lips pressed against her temple; soft words were whispered in her ear and the oblivion of unconsciousness arrived.

The next time she woke she was dressed in the layered beauty of the beaded red silk.



Sigil Ch. 05



A/N Wow! Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter. 

********************

Surrounded by the scent of falling rain, Quinn smiled, breathing in time to the heartbeat under her ear. "How many years did I sleep, Que?"

The thing she was cradled against stiffened. An exhale brushed her crown; lips followed. "Not years, Sigil. Half a cycle."

Drowsy, eyes opened to find that in place of the snowy white bulk of her friend, tan sinew was pressed to her cheek. Sovereign's bared chest served as her pillow, his jacket open, the skin to skin contact warm. Yet the rest of him was fully clothed - as was she. Confined in the red gown, too much fabric twisted about her, both draping and tight.

Nudity would have been preferable; so much clothing altered the paradigm.

Quinn drew in a deep breath and found the man's scent just like the fingers manipulating the nerves in her nape; unwelcomely sedating. Sovereign's touch and his physiology had a chemical effect, forcing calm with little effort. The hand by her cheek curled, Quinn's burrowing nails between bared ribs deep enough to draw blood. Sovereign allowed it. When her fingertips drew little beads of red, Quinn found it pretty, running the fluid from fingernail to tongue, unsure why she did such a thing or why the action earned Sovereign's rumbled hum of approval.

The imperial soldiers still haunted her room; Karhl watching her as he had the previous time she'd woken.

A finger under her chin, Sovereign turned Quinn's frowning face up so no other but him was in her view. "Why would you sleep for years, Sigil?"

Brows drawing together, Sigil held her breath to avoid the sedative scent. The pressure of Sovereign's mouth descended upon hers; he breathed between her lips, undoing her effort and adding his taste as retribution. Smoothing back her hair, breathing in her impatient exhale, Sovereign held the agitated female, wrapped securely in limbs she would be unable to easily throw off. "Answer me."

Her tongue moved before she could fully stop it. "Que places me in cryo when I find I can no longer resist the urge to... do things,"

Soft words tempted further explanation, "To prevent you from coming to me?"

The strange cloying comfort diminished at the memory of just what things she'd done. "To prevent me from slaughtering everything between me and the meat I wish to gnaw off your bones."

He saw, Sovereign saw every last tick of excitement growing on his captive's face as she imagined following through on the threat. "How many years have you slept total?"

Licking the sharp edges of her teeth she muttered, "Decades. I have slept so you could live."

The subtle shift in his expression altered from enticement to irritation. "How very generous."

How dare he look at her with disapproval! Quinn grew nasty, "I should have killed you on Condor. I should have dug through the rubble until I found you and ripped out your heart with my teeth!"

Sovereign sharply pinched her neck, silently warning he would induce total submission should she lose her temper further. Eyes furious, Quinn wilted.

The bastard kissed the tip of her nose.

When the threat of his fingers on her nape disappeared, her audible breath - something almost growl-like - warned him she was nowhere near calm. Sovereign traced her angry flush with the back of his knuckles before his fingertips dug into her hair to work against her scalp in a more conventional effort to sooth. "There is no more war for you to fight. You may be angry, but you've lost nothing of your honor by my methods."

Quinn wiggled to prevent further contact. "I can almost hear Commander Dimitri in your excuses, 'Honor, methods;' it seems something he would spout while he had me tortured, vids of you fucking courtesans playing on every wall. I remember one female in particular; her hair was blonde and she had pretty eyes like you do. I have seen you come in her, over, and over, and over. Dimitri enjoyed drowning and resuscitating me to that common performance. Every time you fucked her, I enjoyed the pain of stagnant water pooling in my lungs. There was a brunette; they only burned me when you mounted her. I used to pray you would. But, you had such a thing for that blonde."

An angry throat noise, Sovereign's seeming sweetness ruined by naked malice. "Beloved, had I known—"

"You would have chosen the brunette?" Quinn spat. "There was only one creature that has ever helped me." She needed them to know she would fight for him until her heart stopped. "Have you hurt Que?"

Sovereign schooled his features back into affability, brushing his lips over hers in a murmured, "No."

Her breath hitched, she thought she might bite down on that pouted lip, and fought to control herself. "Will you?"

"Harming the Axirlan would be counterproductive to my goal." The backs of his fingers ghosted over her cheek again, a tender gesture that did not match the growing violence in Sovereign's eyes. "You are separated from his influence. He cannot reach you. Show me that you are willing, give me no cause to be threatened, and the alien's free existence will continue."

Caught in those eyes, tossed between the worming desire to kill him and the need for him to feel her threat, she hissed, "If you ever hurt him I will rip you and all our kind apart."

Sovereign's answer was paired with a slow stroke down her flank, "Then understand my position. If you seek him, I will kill him. The Axirlan has no place in your life."

A corded arm urged her to lay back so that his mouth might taste her throat, Quinn finding it difficult to remain pliant at the sincerity his thoughts echoed in the threat. "Promise me."

Attention was lavished along her jaw, the fragile lobe of her ear, Sovereign fitting his body to hers. "I do not mean to be harsh with you, Sigil. Understand I speak, and will act, out of jealousy and anger at his part in keeping you from me. Had he not interfered and stolen years of your life, it would have saved you decades of suffering."

Quinn gave a derisive snort, "His restraint made it so I could not hunt you, gut you, and eat what I found inside."

"You taste my blood and moan... growing so aroused I can smell it." He nosed her throat, smirking as he licked her precisely where she had tasted him in her haze, "The hunt... this misinterpretation you cling to in your limited knowledge of your genetics and the effects of your indoctrination - what you experienced, the need, was a precursor to your fertile cycle. You sought me to breed."

An unintentional pop of psionics and she shoved out of his clutches, her arms tight around her middle. "You are wrong. I am sterile!"

She had tried everything to conceive, to give Que what she knew he desired. How dare Sovereign say such differently!

Sovereign, already beside her, splayed large fingers over her womb. Bearing an expression of exultation he said, "Inducing ovulation requires sharp pressure," he brushed her hair aside, to press a kiss to her nape, "here, and the sperm of a genetic equivalent. Your Axirlan could never give you children as I can. Nor could he love you as I do. The species is physically incapable on both counts. Let's not pretend you do not know their laws. Were your Que to hear these things he would give you to me willingly, unable to regret it, because I am best for you and will provide what is missing in your existence."

Quinn's attention went to Karhl, as if the large warrior might shake his head and negate such a cruel statement.

He did not.

"Sovereign is correct, young one. Axirlan code would never allow him to upset the natural order, or your place in it."

Her heart was breaking, her eyes unable to part from the sea glass of the Lord Commander's. "Que saved my life. After Condor I was... when he found me I knew nothing of the universe but pain, survival, and rage." At the knowledge of the deep hate both men harbored in their thoughts, she defended her only friend, "I tried to murder him, to steal his ship when my beacon drew him near. He still took me in, though I was feral and didn't speak for years. Que is the only family I have ever known. Harm to him would kill me!"

"I won't slaughter the Axirlan because I do not wish to see you saddened," the words were breathed over her clavicle, Sovereign answering her pleas where she could not see the abhorrence on his face. "See, I can be reasonable."

What she could sense from him signaled honesty, but it wasn't enough; not when she could hurt him now, then Karhl... the soldiers. Feeling almost herself again, thinking violence - a grand slaughter - would be better than trusting something she hated, Quinn let her nails dip into Sovereign's open shirt to draw more blood.

His head raised, mouth a little swollen from use, and those oceanic eyes met hers with no shame. "I can sense your growing bloodlust and would prefer not to force you to end it. Show me you will try and the issue of the Axirlan will not be spoken of again."

Biting back the vile retort, Quinn froze, feeling him bunching up the layers of the ridiculous gown. He pressed her back to her bed, seeking soft skin that felt forbidden simply because it had been covered. The sickening anticipation, the puffing juicy flesh between her legs swelling in expectation of slow encroaching fingers - she could hardly understand.

As if he understood, Sovereign whispered, "You need this."

Careless that the Lord Commander and four converts stood in the room, Sovereign delved into the slippery folds, his tongue dipping into her mouth, undulating in a kiss far more lecherous than any she'd known.

Que never kissed her, the act foreign to his species and one she seldom took part in with others. To have someone do it now, to taste the man... felt forbidden. With each sweep of his tongue sensation stirred as it had when he'd held her to the floor. Hooked fingers tangled inside her pussy, a sure thumb bobbing Quinn's swollen clit. When her breath began to croon, hips involuntarily rocking, Sovereign observed, fascinated, absorbing the way slender brows drew together, the beauty of her lips parting just before her moist core spasmed and gushed.

She found the lesson.

Even after orgasm the madness was still multiplying, the need to hunt growing. Physical pleasure had done nothing because Sovereign's part to play was not over. He needed to come inside her so her body could register... what he was.

It seemed he asked permission, though he didn't ask at all.

Rolling to give him her back she sought the illusion of solitude where she might gather herself and breathe through the urge. Unsure if he had misread her movement as an offering, she squeaked when his teeth found her spine. Yet Sovereign only sucked softly, and did not bite.

Breathing heavy, his hand tucked into her bodice to pluck and twist a nipple with fingers still wet with her juices. "Trust me."

He asked for trust but expected hostility. Holding her tight, Sovereign freed his cock from his clothing, and pulled her sit on his thighs so he might enter from behind, his teeth prepared at her nape.

A bulbous glans smeared through the slippery remains of her climax and surged straight into her body.

It killed her, the exuberance of her moan, hating herself for relishing the sensation of one evil man ramming deep. Eyes screwed shut, trying to escape how very devastating his possession could be, Quinn was unprepared to feel another set of lips brush hers. Startled, lashes lifted and she found Karhl had seized her mouth with an expertise that shook her, Quinn whimpering when the white-haired warrior stroked under her skirt to pluck her the apex of her sex.

The power in which they destroyed her resistance, pulling her between aggression and tenderness was frightening in its success. In tandem they decimated, Sovereign fucking so hard the wet sounds of brutal thrusts were not drowned out by even her mewls; Karhl's tracing the sensitive roof of Sigil's mouth while gently massaging the stiff little bundle of nerves until climax brought her to scream. Any last trace of violence shattered at that first splash of answering come. Drained of superfluous strength she sagged, Sovereign pawing over her womb, sucking the side of her neck as he continued to spill; Karhl fingering the labia stretched tight around a thick twitching cock to extend her pleasure.

With one sucking kiss to her bottom lip, the Lord Commander pulled back. His hand trailed from under her skirt so he might answer the distressed look in her eye. "Do not fret, young one. Sovereign holds the greatest claim, but as the only female of our species some will see you as mother, others sister ... the strongest of us will desire you as lover."

The Lord Commander's earlier possessive behavior began to make sense. Knowing it must have been sanctioned by the emperor still gushing inside her, Quinn muttered, "I am to be shared."

There was a look of compassion on the rugged edge of Karhl's eyes. Wiping a trace of saliva from her lips, the white-haired warrior clarified, "You are the Eve of our people, Sigil; your daughters something we have longed for for a century. Submit to Sovereign. Be healed, bear his offspring, and your brothers will be well-pleased and patient to see our numbers swell."

Sovereign growled, contented, gripping Quinn's breast in the way he found made her skin bump and throat constrict. "Do not try to hide your resurfacing compulsion again. I will not allow you to suffer."

Quinn thought of the grate in the lavatory, far too overwrought to argue. Sovereign was inside her far more than physically; she could feel the chemical interactions, the softening of her organs to allow him as deep as he wished to go. All the minutia had been missed in her previous panic, and something about noticing it as he held and stroked her, as he whispered he adored her, left her boneless.

Staring off into space, Quinn muttered, "Que once brought me a male who looked like you, unaware of my appetite. I ... did things to him. My friend couldn't stop me; not without shooting me three times and digging a blade between my ribs. By then it was too late. It took four years in cryo for my brainwaves normalize. When I woke the first thing I remembered was the taste of that stranger's heart."

"What did his blood taste like?" Sovereign asked, kissing her damp temple, hearing old pain in her voice.

"Bitter."

"Did you regret it?"

Sigil blinked once; the corners of her mouth turned down. "I still regret it."

Sovereign confessed his own sin, "At the birth of the empire I found a courtesan with hair almost the same shade as yours. I brought her to the palace, rode her day and night; made her think I cared for her, all the while imagining you. But she wasn't you." Sovereign's hands toyed with a length of plum stained waves, eyeing the altered color with distaste. "I grew bored and cast her off. She killed herself."

At the birth of the Empire Sigil had still been only a child. "I suppose we're both monsters."

Black hair hung in his eyes as he turned her chin to taste her mouth. "At least I didn't try to eat her, lost lamb."



Sigil Ch. 06



She had been fed, the soldiers having dug through her supplies to create a plate, offering it as if it was theirs to give. Sovereign had not left her to Karhl, and he watched her every move as if calculating her thoughts.

But he was not an empath.

Even so, she looked so worried Sovereign did not need to be. It was in the way she fingered the almost healed scabs at her nape and kept to the corner furthest from her guard. Fidgeting with the dress kept her hands busy, for it was tight, cumbersome with all its layers; designed, she imagined, to slow her into stuttering steps.

Sovereign offered her a book, an actual book with pages discolored by time and use. It was such an odd thing to see her fingers could not help but reach for it. The old earth artifact was fascinating, had a scent to it that was both dusty and appealing. When she found a place to sit, her back to the wall so, should one of the unwelcome male in the room move, she would know.

She read through the tome quickly, familiar with the language but unaccustomed to such a collection of stories. Unsure if she misunderstood she read it again. Her eyes broke from the page, the frown returning.

"The book did not please you?" Sovereign was staring at her, assessing.

"The concept is unusual. This bible is full of violence and contradictions: a vengeful god, the pacifist, accepting messiah whose friends used his resurrection to further their beliefs and influence. They were obviously lying. Humans are power hungry and can never be trusted."

"Those humans do not exist anymore."

Her eyes went to the soldiers, the changed beings that even after modification were a far cry from her genetics. "There are still free humans. I have seen their societies."

There was no judgment, only curiosity when Sovereign asked, "And they cast you out?"

"No." There was no need to say more, Quinn's interactions with humans had not gone well, but they'd never cast her out.

Sovereign understood the silence. "They hurt you."

"The same way you did."

She could see it on his face, the misunderstanding evolve to abject fury. Only her wounded child form would have been weak enough for a human to harm. "These humans, where are they?"

"Long since digested," Quinn said, looking to frighten the man.

Sovereign took a step closer, his voice infinitely soft, "Why did you eat them?"

Quinn reply was as icy as her eyes, "I was starving."

"And when the humans were gone?"

Bored, Quinn sighed, "I was alone on a planet where the flora made me vomit and the fauna took more skill to catch than a person."

"This world you lived on..." Sovereign kneeled, his fingertips landing lightly on Quinn's knees. "You built yourself a throne, you played queen?"

She had done that with supply crates at the vacant brigand outpost, made a court of skeletons to talk to. Sovereign had been there, he had found that wild place. "I was just a child," she defended, "children play."

"But you were never allowed to play," Sovereign said, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "A nurse once gave you a toy in secret. They made you kill her when the doll was discovered."

No, he was wrong. Breaking the nurse's neck had been mercy. Her handlers were torturing the woman, peeling off her skin. "I killed her because I wanted to."

"And the doll?"

There was no reason to think on old things. "I do not want to talk anymore."

"Are you afraid of Condor?"

A wicked smirk graced her mouth. "Who fears a pile of ashes?"

"But you did not burn it down." Sovereign shook his head. "Your brothers found old records, vids, the notes of your handlers. I watched what was done to you, what made you this way."

Being accused of being a way did not please her.

Sovereign continued, "I am the one who burned Condor to the ground. And then I hunted and tortured every last human who'd survived your attack; even their decedents were punished. We removed the Alliance from power, scoured planets clean of their infection. They were made to pay for what was done."

She tried to ignore him.

"Sigil, they thought we were unaware of your existence. That day in the hall, that chance meeting, we had planned for years." Sovereign pet down her legs, running his palms over the fabric bunched at her calves. "Just seeing you once was worth the punishment."

"Did they take away your toy too?" She mocked, alluding to the blonde he fucked almost daily.

"They killed twenty of my dearest brothers, cut out my tongue, a testicle, broke every bone in my body."

Quinn was not impressed. "We regenerate."

Solemn, he nodded. "We do. But unlike the mythology you just read, those we love do not come back to life."

"I only love Que."

Male hands fisted the fabric beneath them. Sovereign's face not so much as twitching, he stared long. Quinn imagined all the thoughts running through his mind to make his emotions so volatile yet keep his face so still. Those pretty eyes, they seemed so tranquil; the only tension in the man his grip on her skirt.

She matched her breath to his, her heartbeat, so should he move she could strike first. Still he only stared. In those moments she realized aggression would end badly, she would lose. Sovereign mirrored her exhalation.

The words Quinn spoke to herself, "I was created to kill you."

"You were created," he turned his fingers, skimming her palm, "to disarm me. You were fashioned as the only viable female so we could not strike you back. You were brainwashed to hate me even though your very genetics partner mine." Sovereign whispered, easing close as he tried to seduce, "You do not need to be scared of me. In my care there won't be punishments or torture. All I offer you can keep."

"So long as I stay in this room or one like it?"

"You are restless, I understand." Toying with her fingers, interlacing her slender bones with his, Sovereign smiled. "Pax is no worthy place for you. Soon we will leave."

But the stillness of the station, the silence, let her know the byway was still offline. With no sound of combat in the levels around her, there could be no coup. If she was correct, Drinta lacked the knowledge that Sovereign walked the halls of her kingdom.

All that had been done - the collection of warriors, shutting down the byway - was done for the Herald's eyes. If Drinta really thought the Irdesian Emperor was there, there would be no peace, no silence. Probabilities began to align, Quinn sitting silent while Sovereign kneeled before her and toyed with her fingers.

"There are jungles, Sigil, full of trees and wildlife you could only imagine, sanctioned for you to play in - beaches, mountains, palaces far superior to this mold ridden wreck - waiting for you." Sovereign purred, as if he knew her thoughts were bent on escape. "Let these things, this shadow life, go."

It was offspring he needed, even Karhl had confirmed it. "Advancing our species, that is why you say these things. You have no choice in the matter, otherwise you would not want me."

"Such a thought makes you unhappy." Sovereign understood, knowing the majority of her life she'd been used in one way or another. "Our daughters will be adored, but never as much as I adore their mother. But it is true; I cannot help but love you."

With so much diplomacy, such slippery compliments, Quinn sneered. "You should have been a Herald."

He eased closer, his fingers gliding over her inner wrist. "It seems so long as I am on my knees you speak. Is that a game you wish to play, diplomat and queen? I can offer negotiation; you can take what you wish."

The emperor was less intimidating kneeling, his position purposefully at a disadvantage. But with the Lord Commander looking on - in view of four converts - Sovereign's disadvantage would not last long. Quinn frowned. He was trying to distract her.

Time on Pax was precious, the station known to her - the tunnels, the crawlspaces. If Sovereign dragged her to the Empire escape would be almost impossible. But when she fled, what of the Tessan boy? His cryotube would lay forgotten until the battery cell ran low. He would die after decades of sleep, or be ejected into space to wake scared and without air.

A heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was not Sovereign's. Snapping her eyes to Karhl, Sigil froze and the kneading began. "Calm yourself, young one. Your heart is beating too fast."

It seemed they all had their special skills. Both men were waiting for an explanation. Exposing a secret might be the boy's only chance for life and her ploy for freedom. "On storage deck H7, cube 673, I have hidden a cryotube. The life inside it matters to me. If you swear to me the child will be removed from Pax and cared for I will go to these places you speak of."

Sovereign turned her head so that he might look her in the eye. "Who is this child?"

"A Tessan slave. I stole him."

"Sigil," A thumb stroked her jaw. He murmured her name as if she'd done something endearing and naughty. "I would have granted your request even if I had to carry you off the station in chains. There need not be conflict between us."

She needed him to say it out loud. "You swear to see to his freedom?"

"Is there anything else you desire?" Words or no his eyes warned that she should ask carefully.

Chewing her lower lip Quinn shook her head, hoping she had not consigned the child to a painful death. Sigil offered her hand, aware of the human custom. "You cannot wake him on this station or the collar will kill him."

There was no hesitation to take the offered limb, but Sovereign did not shake it. He pressed a kiss to her palm instead, the man's face unflinching, his eyes brilliant. "I will give you what you want."

Expression softening, Quinn sat still while he praised her with caresses and soft words. Hours past, she seemed content, and when she slipped toward the lavatory neither man followed, no soldier was sent to observe her tend her body, and it was several minutes before the door was forced open. Sovereign found the space vacant.

She was gone.

**********************************

The station, her playground, offered so many crevices where she might hide, scuttling about from deck to deck, offering assurances Sovereign would not find her. But that was not the art of a true survivor. Nor would time allow such comforts as the dank dark. She'd had less than a cycle before the urge might claim her and drag her right back to him. Therefore, progress had to be aggressive.

Hiding was out of the question.

Stirring up the hive, sparking the powder keg, walking right up to Drinta's balcony to sit with the bitch-queen - Sovereign would never anticipate such a reckless move.

The path behind her, she'd destroyed, the level lurching from a precise blast before Sovereign or Karhl could follow her route. Slithering through ducts, gliding over regions that lacked gravity, the copious dress gathered up in her hands so legs might not tangle, she got close enough to feel the thud of Swelter's music.

Assuming there was a tracking device woven in to her red silken prison, Quinn climbed faster, knowing the most direct routes, guaranteeing she would arrive at her destination before Sovereign even passed from the living quarters' decks.

One vent stood between her and the Atrium, her entrance the ground floor of the club. Drinta was at the center, twenty three stories higher. Twenty three stories of climbing walls with hardly a hand hold, where old bullet holes served as the tiny crevice her fingers clung to.

When the lights turned, flashing over another corner, Quinn slithered out, closing the vent to follow the dark. Chin high, Quinn walked as if she had a right to the final lift, over the last dais, interrupting conversations of those waiting to genuflect, shoving anyone out of her way. Two unknowns were thrown from the causeway to fall down into the club, guards having their weapons ripped away so quickly they died before seeing just who had struck. The music, her speed, kept those in the inner sanctum unaware of her approach until she stepped into Drinta's private balcony.

"Mistress Drinta." Quinn moved to the couch reserved for the few guests who were actually asked to sit. Someone of no importance to Quinn reclined in the seat she desired. He was thrown toward the exit, Quinn taking the vacant place and smoothing the infernal dusty gown. "It is an honor."

The Tessan looked positively gleeful, entertained even as she motioned to her guards. "Are you valuable to me?"

"I am valuable to Sovereign, who has invaded your domain. He is on Pax with a contingent of Imperial soldiers, including Lord Commander Karhl."

The smile fell from green painted lips. "You must have a death wish to threaten me so."

Quinn growled, "You would do well to listen, bitch-queen. I'm a fan of the status quo and I find your leadership inspiring."

"You have ten seconds before I rip out your throat, human."

"Did you really think the Empire had come here to deal with you?" Quinn could sense she was edging the proper mental direction, seeing the changing in the tick of Drinta's emotion. "Did they conveniently offer you exorbitant gifts? So much that you began to grow suspicious? The tactic is an old one designed to make you question yourself, to foster suspicion - to unbalance you. Their plan has been flawless; you shut down the byway and are trapped here."

Drinta flicked her tail, motioning to her guards to hold position. "And just how would he take Pax?"

"I did not say take. Sovereign will destroy it." Lies flowed from Quinn's tongue like honey, "All it cost him was one Herald, patience, and the artful application of riots. Should he get his way you will have nowhere to run. In less than a cycle your head will be in a box."

Quinn could see the image she'd created burn itself into Drinta's mind, the slow moving contemplation of the odds.

"It's the Tessan Authority he truly courts." Quinn sat like a queen and sneered. "And they are difficult to impress."

Drinta had not ruled for so long by being a fool. "You have no proof, only pretty words."

Quinn reached for the glass left set aside by the last visitor, offering the last baited hook, "I feel him in my mind, you know - your imprisoned Kilactarin. He will clarify."

The immediate deflation of amusement brought Drinta to narrow her eyes and look hard at what tore her scuffed gown of great value. "Who are you?"

Swallowing the drink, keeping her face clear of emotion, Quinn answered, "I am Sigil, Imperial Consort of the Irdesian Empire."

Drinta's maniacal laugh welled up. "What an honor."

Quinn smiled. "The honor, bitch-queen, is all mine."

"And what is it that you want?"

Her answer came hard. "Where I go, Sovereign follows. Open the byway and I will draw him off." Glancing toward the line of sycophants, Quinn found the Herald hastening toward the platform. "The next move is yours."

Quinn stood in unison with the Tessan as the Herald cleared the gateway below.

He only looked to Quinn.

She looked back, smirking that he would not reach her in time.

The Tessan made no move to stop her retreat.

Fleeing through the levels Quinn stripped, ripping at the red fabric until beads clattered upon the floor, until boning and wires, laces and grips, were all removed, and she was naked enough to disappear into the orgy.



Sigil Ch. 07



The Sudenovan she'd murdered for his armor gifted her uncleansed gear so foul with stink it turned Quinn's stomach. But it was worth the revulsion to stand near Drinta's balcony unseen, where no inch of pale flesh or plum hair was on display; she was only a mercenary gambling at Torr and losing.

Hours had passed and no sound of the byway came to life. Drinta still lounged on her platform with the Herald in attendance. There was no move on the Tessan's end to speak with the hidden Kilactarin slave below. The Empire was waiting her out. The Herald would stay in negotiation with Drinta long enough that Sovereign's mating would wear off. He would give the Tessan no time to explore what she had told her. The bitch-queen would not open the byway.

Options were severely limited. Without the slave collar she could not utilize many of the most useful access corridors. Not without drawing attention from overseers or setting off security programs. There were many species she could mimic, but she could not grow a Tessan tail, she could not be an overseer. That left maintenance shafts, air ducts, and public corridors at her disposal.

Hiding in plain sight was an advantage, but it also exasperated her weakness. She could feel them, the empire, in Swelter with her. But as they could not see her, she could not see them. The constant itch of their presence was aggravating, the paranoia making her nervous.

Creeping frustration made Quinn's hand shake, ruining her throw of the Torr blaug and earning the sneers of other patrons at the gambling table. She lost all the money she'd stolen and stepped away.

She had to get to Que. But how the fuck was she going to get out without the goddamn byway online?

Why had Drinta not acted? What had that Herald said to her?

A pushy patron bumped her shoulder and Quinn threw a punch like a true Sudenovan. A brawl began, drawing all surrounding her into its vortex. It felt so good to rip through flesh, to break bone and work off her anger; but when a pile grew at her feet, when eyes turned to her, she realized her mistake.

She'd fought too well. She'd killed too many.

Already, scattered movement was coming her way. Imperials disguised as she was, slithering nearer to catch her.

Sovereign must have suspected she'd lurk in the club, and in a foolish temper she'd given her position away.

Shouldering a blaster, Quinn shot randomly into the crowd, creating a panic that would offer cover so she might flee. Her solid armor may have reeked but it also did well absorbing return fire. Out of dozens, only three shots made it through to pierce her torso, blow open her shoulder, and skim her forearm as she fled the riled mob.

If a hand grabbed her, she broke it. If rough arms circled her middle smashing her to the ground, she became a tornado of violence. The brawl escalated; it sucked her in, it spit her out, and it claimed her blood until she'd crawled free to pant against a dark wall.

In that moment all she wanted was the feel of Sovereign's throat in her hands, to watch the light drain out of his eyes. She could go to him - rip him apart before he knew she was in his shadow - and it would feel so good.

Bleeding where her fingers pressed her middle, Quinn stumbled off. She found a vent and fell all the way down to the base floor where she lay in misery - in such pain her mind stuttered. It was in that moment it dawned on her, the secret she needed to survive free. Extreme physical damage muted her thoughts of rampage.

A bit of blood came from her mouth as she laughed.

***************************

Dealing with humans was usually so banal, but there was something about Arden that Drinta simply enjoyed. He was a charmer - a man who knew how to please - but she was not pleased with the smiling male now.

There was a subtle difference between rash decisions and immediate action. A creature of her years knew when to act and when to listen to lies with a smile. The byway would remain shut down for maintenance, Sovereign's presence or no. Control was important when dealing with power mongers; the Empire needed to understand their place in her little corner of the universe.

They didn't have one.

"You like her?"

Drinta blinked, her smirk neither growing nor diminishing. "She was a fascinating conversationalist. The title 'bitch-queen' was spoken with such reverence; I think your human female admires me."

"Sigil is a psychopath, lacks empathy, is incapable of forming emotional attachments with her own species - let alone an alien one. It would be in your best interest to help us find her before she sets her contingency plan into motion."

"Contingency plan?"

"Consider how long the convict has hidden in your domain; she knows the ins and outs of Pax," Arden said, looking so comfortable, so sedate. "You did not open the byway as she demanded. Her mental state leads to extreme reactions; she will try to force you. Were I in her position I would systematically disable life support and cause the drivel collected in this mire to panic. She will have them do her dirty work for her."

No one forced Drinta, no one survived attempted manipulation, and liars she toyed with until she grew bored of the game. "Tell me, little soft-bellied Imperial, what did she do to warrant harvesting by a Lord Commander?"

As if admitting a minor wrongdoing, Arden grew serious and fractionally bowed his head. "That is classified."

Drinta flared her claws, inspecting each painted tip. "She titled herself Imperial Consort."

Smoothing a hand over golden hair, Arden laughed. "Sovereign may be a bit of a lecher - the man keeps hundreds of concubines all climbing over one another to earn his favor - but no, Sigil has never been one of them. She is a fugitive who has slaughtered many high-ranking Imperials. She must be collected and returned to the Empire, where she will be made an example of."

Leaning nearer, tail flicking in warning, Drinta hissed, "Is Sovereign on my station?

The confusion on Arden's face, the way his brows drew nearer, was so well practiced, even Drinta was unsure if it was insincere. The man shook his head, golden eyes sparkling as if the idea had grown droll. "Why would Sovereign come to Pax?"

A definitive downward angle came to the reptile's brow, her voice grew terse, "So he is here."

Arden smiled, wicked as he licked his bottom lip. "You believe the tattling of a desperate woman? One who has not honored you as we have? I'm insulted Drinta. You shake my faith in the glories of true arbitration."

He did know how to make her laugh. "Now you will tell me what it is your Empire really wants. If I dislike the answer I will feed you to my least favorite pet."

Adjusting the line of his tunic, the Herald sighed, "There is a feral human colony the Tessan Authority ignores, thus offering our enemies shelter. The byways in our power do not have access to that sector."

"Crossing the Authority so thoroughly would cause a war."

Arden shook a finger. "Never underestimate the art of tyranny and negotiation. The Authority will not risk outright war with our empire, not over one planet of violent refugees."

The glint in her black eyes was anything but playful; Drinta changed the subject back to the greater issue. "What if I were to take her side, Herald? What if I were to cease maintenance and open the byway?"

Games were over. "What do you want, pretty Drinta? What can the empire offer you to keep that portal closed until she is in custody?"

"I enjoy seeing you shaken. Which is good, as I have grown tired of your conversation." Arching her back, Drinta lay on her hip, talon tapping her lips. "To be honest- and I rarely am - I believe the female."

Gone was the beautiful male, in his place was a creature that exuded menace. "Then you are already playing into her schemes. A pity."

"But I will help you catch her... on one condition." Gleeful, her glittering tail swished as she cooed, "I want to give Sovereign and his reluctant consort a gift, something only the bitch-queen of Pax could offer in continuing friendship between us."

Gunfire, more than the usual scattered burst broke out a level below them, the shouts of a brawl loud enough to hear even through the force field separating Drinta's balcony from the madness.

"That would be Sigil - the terrorist you would invite to sit before you." Arden just snickered, stroking his chin. "I will admit, I know her well and am eager to see just what she will do."

Drinta did not spare the club a glance; she couldn't when it was far more important to watch the devious Herald's every move. "How do you know her well?"

The man smiled. How beautiful and how deadly he could look at once, even Drinta was a little envious of such a balance between the two. Proud, Arden hummed, "She is my sister, naughty thing that she is."

"And you gave her to Sovereign."

"When she was still a little girl, yes. But she ran away... and Sovereign is denied by no one. He wants her simply to prove a point. When she is returned, forced conversion will show our people that all can be united, that defectors will not be tolerated."

How cold the humans could be - it made Drinta all warm and fuzzy. "Does Sovereign love her?"

"He hates her almost as much as she hates him."

"Interesting..."

"The sooner this issue is handled, the sooner you will receive just reward." Tapping his finger to his knee, Arden hesitated. "Out of curiosity, what are you going to demand in payment?"

"Nothing. All I really want is to watch you dance on my stage like every other whore in this pit." She waved him off, bored. "May our alliance continue, friendships persevere, and whatever other shit you nobles like to hear."

There was one way to put fear in the horrid creature preening before him. "I suggest you place greater guard around you. Sigil will go straight for the throat."

************************* 

Quinn woke hungry, her body having exhausted its stores repairing itself. Unsure how long she'd slept, she could only wonder if Sovereign had acted in her absence. It was difficult to tell, holed up as she was in a broken drainage line. But the station did not shake; there was no persistent vibration of the byway.

Groaning, pressing up from the ground, she held her hand to her belly and found she still bled sluggishly. Worse, her left shoulder had not fully reformed.

She needed nourishment for her body to mend.

The armor was gone, pieces of it torn off her in the battle, the remainder cast aside once she'd found the strength to flee the scene. Naked, she scuttled with the vermin, hissing when they took little bites where torn skin parted.

They'd probably been chewing on her the whole time she'd slept.

Smashing furry bodies with her fist, snapping at the sharp toothed animals like a rabid dog, Sigil tore into their flesh and fed on foulness. There would be no survival if her arm didn't function. Crunching bones in her teeth, trying not to vomit, another scampering bastard was consumed.

Breath came easier, the susurrating noise of fleeing vermin faded, and drawing a cry, her shoulder reengaged, cartilage forming.

Blinking gummily in the dark, filthy and alone, Quinn had to acknowledge that she'd survived worse. Much worse.

Condor...

And she hadn't been the only one. Had her mother eyes, Quinn was certain she would have looked upon her child form with relief for what Quinn had suffered to save her. But her mother had no eyes, just as her mother had no limbs - appendages had been removed, considered unnecessary for a living womb. Retrieving that torso had torn out her heart; unplugging the mutilated Kilactarin from the machines that sustained her assured the only creature who had ever loved her would die.

But Quinn didn't let that ruined creature die on Condor. She took her mother away. She'd saved her, stole the nearest shuttle, placed mother in cryo where she did not have to suffer another day. Instead her bearer died beside a river, neck painlessly broken by her child on a planet Quinn never knew the name of.

Death beside a river might be nice. Feeling the breeze, the sun... Que there beside her.

Sigil began to cry, scrubbing the tears and grime from her cheeks until sorrow turned to fury. Sovereign was responsible for all her miseries. She'd been made and tortured because of him. She'd been hounded, forced to live like a renegade simply because she'd been merciful and stupid in her youth.

There should never have been mercy; that had been her first mistake. On Pax she could kill him, slip right into his shadow and strike from the dark before he knew what monster stood in his wake. Then Karhl, with his soft tone and placid expression - she could find ways to make him scream, to twist up that calm façade into torment.

They all had to die.

Excitement began, she cracked her neck in the pleasure of the hunt... then paused, jamming her fingers in the closing hole beside her bellybutton. Twisting them about her intestines, Quinn screamed. She couldn't heal yet - she had to stay wounded to stay sane.

She could not engage the enemy.

****************************

"Her blood trail led into the subsections, through the water supply. We lost her on division 5."

"It's not that you lost her, Karhl. It is that you failed by not searching every inch of her quarters for her escape hatch. You failed by not assuming her desperate scampering exit from Swelter would be so treacherous." Sovereign stood still; he spoke quietly, continuing the castigation he piled on the giant Lord Commander. "She has no care for her wellbeing. Pain is nothing to a being that spent her youngest years tortured daily."

"Brother." The chimes in his hair sang as Karhl lowered his head in supplication. "Sigil knows the station. Giving chase might be what she wants. After your threat against the Axirlan I fully believe she would kill you if given the chance, impulse or no. Her feelings on the matter will not change."

Sovereign looked over the rumpled bed. "She is afraid of me."

"Very," Karhl agreed. "But she is more afraid of what you might do to her companion."

Arms folded behind his back, Sovereign measured the large warrior. "Her fear for you is less acute."

"Arden, had you seen how she smirked at his approach in Swelter, she fears not at all." Glacial eyes followed the movement of his leader. "Invite her to sit with him. Let him woo her. You are too tempting to her indoctrination and I lack the skill to inspire her love."

Pausing, Sovereign disagreed, "Arden lacks the strength to subdue her. His chance of survival should she attack is miniscule. Should she kill him she would regret it later. Such an action would cause her pain."

"Whatever she is doing to fight the impulse puts her at risk. Her wounds from the fight, even the fall, would have caused great damage. She may be weak." Karhl looked at his brother, his leader, his superior. "She may not run from the Herald as she would from us."

A brief ripple of emotion passed over the emperor's stone-cold eyes. "In order to have avoided the impulse for such a time, she must be utilizing pain; I can practically hear the muffled screams. Sigil thinks to wait for the byway to open, where she will stumble to it, bleeding and drained."

"Then we open the byway and draw her out."

"No!" The answer came sharp, inflection emphasizing orders. "Sigil has the ability and training to get what she wants, and will push to the point of suicide. She won't go back to Swelter or think to sway Drinta again, but she will try to force Pax's mistress to act." Sovereign motioned to the door, warning, "In her desperation, she will place herself at great risk. There is no room for failure again. When Sigil is found only Arden may approach. And you will tighten the net around her."

*****

A/N: I just had to send out a thank you to everyone leaving comments and stars. Its very kind of you to take the time and it really perks up my day. You are the best!



Sigil Ch. 08



Sovereign had called her perfect. But to think so was foolish. Nothing, no creature that had ever lived or would ever live, was flawless. Quinn's greatest defect was in the single-minded way she could behave. She wanted food, she took it. She found something pretty, it became hers. Life never mattered to her, only the false ideal of survival.

Que had taught her better, though it had not been easy for him.

After Condor, she hibernated in cryo for years, her ship drifting through space. It was brought down, the child waking in her shell to pound on a flight console she hardly understood. Crashing in the jungle had been painful; tending to her mother before what was coming for her arrived, soul crushing.

Human males had found her. Sigil's foot faced the wrong direction, an arm broken, the remaining damage extensive. They had put a leash on her as if she were a dog, dragging her through the mud as she refused to limp, refused to feel anything outside of grief for what she'd buried in the damp earth by the river.

What came next was nothing. Penetration had hurt; the laughing she had not liked. But so long as they fed her she hardly noticed. It was three days before her bones mended and she could began the slaughter. Something clicked, and while a heavy body rutted her, Sigil ripped out her assailant's throat with her teeth. She'd laughed, as they had laughed at her when they took their turns.

A few tried to flee on their ship. Flaring her psionics, she ripped the fleeing vessel from the clouds, pulling it closer as if she'd lassoed the moon. It crashed into the bandit's only shelter, both objects rendered useless.

The order of her murder was an art; they suffered in sequence of who touched her first. Her last kill - months later as she had to portion her food and fun - was a boy on the cusp of manhood, hardly old enough to warrant attention.

But the teen had touched her, even if it was under pressure from his peers.

He'd tasted the best.

He was also the most terrified when the monster crawled from the jungle in the night, when she came for him when he was alone, weaponless, and stupid.

But then she was alone, with no human boy to taunt for weeks as she ate his petrified friends.

On Condor her greatest wish was to be left alone, but true solitude on that unknown planet, it took from her.

She ran wild, she screamed at storms, she challenged animals large as mountains for sport. She cried... often.

Mostly she missed the way her mother used to whisper almost constant sweet music into her mind.

By the time Que discovered the emergency signal the bastards had set up in hopes someone might save them from her, Sigil had been reduced to a mindless nothing.

The Axirlan had shot her on sight, no hesitation. Later she learned he'd carried her bullet ridden body onboard after seeing her filthy cheeks were grimy, marked, by old and new tear stains. Even he knew wild children do not weep for no reason.

Sigil learned the word mercy.

There was food when she woke. He didn't try to touch her. The huge white being let her scramble about his ship, hiding where she would, for years. All that time Sigil never spoke, but as cycles passed, she did begin to watch.

In his dealings with others he was steady. He allowed none who laid eyes on his pet to disrespect her, or mock.

The creature just was.

Her first word to him was, "hungry," the Axirlan holding a sweet treat above her head where she could not reach it without either climbing him, which would require touching, or attacking to take it.

"Ask properly, child."

"GIVE!"

In response Que ate the treat right in front of her. She'd cried as if the world was going to end, kicking her legs as she rolled on the floor.

"You must bathe, and you will wear clothes from now on." Another sweet was dropped to land on the screaming girl. "Food you take at the table, sitting while you eat. Most importantly," knees bent, Que crouching over her, "You will not kill another guest who steps aboard this ship unless it is in self-defense. Do you understand, Quinn?"

Sigil ignored most things, she cared not about where they were in the universe, but she always listened to that steady voice. But listening and obeying were two different things. Her cheeks stuffed full of the pastry, everything in her mouth so the alien could not take it, she scampered back.

It was another full month before he got her clean. A year before she would consider clothing. Words slowly appeared, eventually she let him touch her. A pat was earned for good behavior, her ratted hair groomed when she sat still. In time she could hardly bear to have him out of her sight, almost always leaving some part of her skin in contact with his mass, so that if he moved she'd know.

His sleeping mat became hers, Sigil - or Quinn as the man liked to call her - tucked against him to share warmth.

In all those difficult years he never hurt her. Never.

Even sex was something long forgotten until she saw the act between two Tessans. They were on an outpost on a desert world meeting with a supplier. At the table beside them lovers played; Quinn could not look away, hardly understanding why the female seemed so involved, and felt... something... just by watching.

Over a decade she'd been with Que. Her body was no longer that of a child's, and she wanted to know this strange thing she saw. She climbed on him there, hissing at the gaping contact who sought to interrupt her explorations. Mimicking what the other female had done, she rolled her hips, she nipped and bit at her companion, and felt the organ between his legs grow hard.

"I want." Two words out of less than a hundred she'd spoken in a year.

Large hands grasped her hips, Que stilling her. "Tell me what you want, Quinn."

She hated when he tried to drag out speech. Her tone was clearly annoyed. "That."

"They are mating, Quinn. Joining their bodies for pleasure."

She rubbed against him, determined to get her way. "I want."

The gaping contact was forgotten, Que initiating the first stages of sex. There, on a table in the middle of a second-rate bar he showed her his member, a studded thing she had never seen erect. Eager, she scratched at him until he pulled aside the fabric over her mound and spread her wide in mimic of the Tessans.

The first thrust, the taste of Que's skin on her tongue, and an addict was born. All she wanted from that moment forward was to fuck him, to be fucked by him, to fight, to yield, to share. Others she found pretty were acquired, Que watching or joining.

Nothing was taboo.

Que encouraged it, as it was the first time he'd ever seen her play. The wild thing started to smile, but only for him. Full sentences, used mostly to describe things she wanted to feel, touch or do, demonstrated her healing was progressing. But the first disaster was not far off. With her sexual awakening came a gripping need that drove her to the point of madness. Not even a year later, she ran off after a stranger in a crowd - not herself - only for Que to follow and find what his renegade pet had done. 

The man torn to pieces under her boots was an Imperial Soldier far from home... as were the fifty other corpses on the ship she'd stolen. Shaking, pounding on the console in search of coordinates, Quinn growled. Que standing by, watching the girl raging at a machine she demanded take her to Sovereign.

When he approached it was if she could not recognize him. When he spoke she did not listen.

What he saw was a much stronger version of the monster he'd found scampering in a ruined settlement, so he reacted as he had that first day; Que shot her until she was too damaged to move.

Then she went into cryo so he might assess what had gone wrong. The answer was in the misfiring of her brain, the agitated chemistry. He kept her under until Quinn normalized, and when he woke her she clung to him.

She confessed what she was.

He took her as far from the Empire as he could.

********** 

Sometimes when things go so wrong, it was good to know that they were actually going so very right. Lingering in the dark cell where her Kilactarin sat folded into the posture of meditation, Drinta cooed a sweet, "So, the human female sensed you; my little secret is out." She took a step closer, looking over the wasted thing that had long since ceased amusing her. "Before you speak I want you to understand the outcome of this little chat will not change that you are going to die. But... it will affect how you are going to die."

If that human woman had any talent for digging around in psychic brains, she might glimpse fragile intel Drinta would rather not share. One, simple acknowledgment that the human felt Drinta's Kilactarin, made the slave an absolute liability in the game the Mistress of Pax was very cunningly crafting.

The loose end would have to be ripped off.

The cross-legged Kilactarin waved his long neck, moving to stand. "You must kill her, Mistress."

It was the first time her prisoner had ever been forward, had ever offered a warning she had not painstakingly dug out of him. Smiling, she rubbed against her slave as she paced. "Why?"

The Kilactarin, he was agitated, making the wrong arguments. "She is unstable. It did not think like a human."

Sniffing at her prisoner, Drinta purred, "What did you see in her mind?"

There was no immediate response, a thing highly unlike her mental spy. She knew it was trying to formulate deception, but his species lacked the skill. The laugh Drinta cackled was caught on close walls, distorted. This was too good. "You fear that woman."

"The Herald lies. Sovereign loves her, to the point it unbalances his actions. Every time he's been near her, she's felt his feelings burn too strong. The way he adores her frightens her. So she lies to herself - has lied to herself - for so long the being is incapable of seeing the truth of things. 'Psychopath' was not a strong enough description of what is wrong with her. Drinta, the abomination must never be allowed to leave this station. If you were to sense how wrong she felt inside, you would grasp the danger."

The backs of Drinta's lacquered talons ran the length of a thin Kilactarin arm - an approving stroke.

"Broken things, like you, are my specialty. Do you know your greatest flaw?" her hand pressed over the lanky creature's lipless mouth when it parted to argue. "No, don't answer. I don't want to hear you speak." A kiss was pressed where the Kilactarin's sensory node lay behind his skull. "You see so much, but understand so little. That pretty human would fit much better in your cage. And the best part is, I can see the cage will be unnecessary."

Her Kilactarin was trying to argue, mumbled words struggling to work past the hand locked over his insufferable mouth. Mercy had never been much fun, but she wasn't really in the mood for a bloodbath either. Instead she hooked one talon into the lean torso before her and ripped down until the male's organs spilled out on the ground.

Smiling at her twitching work, Drinta felt better than she had in days.

What she could accomplish with the circumstances infecting her home would be nothing short of godly. When every little detail came together, the universe would know never to cross the bitch-queen of Pax.

********** 

Back to the wall, Quinn looked at the broken pipe in her hand, knowing what she had to do. Considering all that had been endured in her lifetime, she found it almost funny how she hesitated. Three deep breaths, a long swig of stolen wevd liquor, and she lined up the jagged tip with her abdominal wound. One quick thrust and she stabbed it in until everything she'd just swallowed came back up.

The apartment she'd appropriated was clean, the dead previous occupants piled in the corner. There were dried foodstuffs, a bathing cubical, and plenty of Bailor clothing.

The remainder of the wevd was sucked down, intoxication preferable to outright misery. Quinn knew what they expected; the most plausible next step would be to destroy life support - subtly, systematically - so the armed menagerie on Pax might overthrow their mistress and reopen the byway in a panic.

She wasn't that stupid.

Drinta had sided with the Empire; the whole station was against her now. Security checks required the removal of helmets at all key access points. Scans for human female bodies randomly executed down corridors and in domiciles.

Places Sovereign or Drinta counted as vulnerable would be surrounded by an army.

Good thing Quinn had a better idea of what the term vulnerable meant.

Escape would require creative pressure, small actions that would set the station scrambling without drawing attention her way. She knew the patchwork wiring and maintenance of the station in a way no engineer slave in Drinta's service knew it. There were weaknesses in the circulatory system of electricity, of the water pooling in forgotten cisterns on abandoned decks.

She would poison with apprehension, certain Drinta's collected mercenaries were already aware of tightened security but ignorant of the reason. She would scare them, let them create their own fictions as to what was going on on Pax; let the rumors become a beast.

Her eyes were sticky, upper and lower lashes gluing together with each blink. The crust was rubbed away, the movement of her arm sending shocks of pain to her abdomen.

Water - she needed water.

Parched, Quinn stumbled to the sink and found she could not bend down to drink straight from the spout. Panting, looking around the room, she found a cup, filled it, and drank. Swallowing was a battle, her throat swollen.

There was a building fever, the open flesh around the pipe red and puffed, horrid looking. But there were no mindless thoughts of stalking Sovereign.

Standing in the bathing cubical under the cooling chemical spray, all the grime, the blood, ran down the drain. Clothing was acquired from what lay scattered in the room. The smaller species' padded jacket much easier to move in than Sudenovan plate mail now that she was skewered by a metal rod.

The black even did a decent job of concealing the blood and pus that leaked out her middle.

Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, she began to slice it off. When left with nothing but mismatching tufts, the edge of a very sharp knife was dragged over her scalp. By the time it was finished she was covered in sweat, and desperate for more water.

Bald as an egg she braced her hands to the wall, took a deep breath, and slammed her face against it hard enough to break her nose. Blood came thick, caught with a stolen length of towel. She needed no reflection to know her face was different, the flattened nose and subsequent swelling masking a portion of her identity.

There was more work to do to see her though the plague she was about to bring, every last potential container in the room had to be filled with water. Once it was done she slouched into the halls.

Little attention was paid the lurching passerby.

Blood loss was slow but continuous, leaving Quinn breathless in her journey. She made it past three checkpoints, to find the corridor she needed and the subsequent access panel. Subsection B-46 no longer hosted life on the station. A radiation leak long before Quinn's arrival had made the area unsuitable. It was forgotten, even Quinn had never entered.

Until now.

In that region water had sat stagnant, irradiated, and cut off from the main supply. But, there were still drainage pipelines - small ones, that had not been demolished - where behind shored up valves waited a trickle of poison. As the station's segments were identical in design, if she was fast, she could race through crumbling tunnels and redirect the clogged drainage. It would not be an immediately noticeable change; it would sit with the rest of the water waiting to be treated for consumption. But eventually it would run through inadequate filters, until recirculated into the main supply - poisoned with radiation Pax's purification system could never remove.

Drinta's little army would grow ill. Swelter would grow vacant. Gangs would seek their ships for clean water... and grow bored as they sat hanging on the dried up tit of a black hole - because, just like her, they would not be able to leave until the byway was open.

Bored mercenaries did interesting things - finger pointing being one of the best.

Laughing under ragged breath, Quinn put her weight against the first rusted wheel and turned until metal groaned. The sound of the pressure, of the flow once released, was unmistakable. She ran to another, finding it would not turn, and abandoned it for the last valve before the radiation caused more harm than her body could mend.

She was starting to see double, to feel the ache in her head from an accumulation of exposure and infection. That had to account for why she saw the pretty one, the golden emissary standing in the shadows watching her.

He couldn't be there.

It didn't stop her from shooting at him. But there was nothing, no reaction, no sense of emotion. No blood.

A shaking hand holstered her weapon, Quinn turning away to finish her work before hallucinations got her killed.

The wheel would not turn no matter how she attacked it, or how hard she pushed. Screaming into the dark, seeing the phantom imperial in another, nearer corner, her footing slipped and the wheel won.

One leaking pipe of poison would not be enough; the contamination would take too long. Looking to where the blurry Herald waited, she pulled herself up, ready to try again. But the Herald was no longer there, because the ghost was across from her bracing the lever. It gave, water flowed, and Quinn ran.

Dodging debris, bleeding from the exertion of the run, Quinn made it out, sealing the exit so no nightmares could follow. Finding herself on the ground, leather sticking grossly to her sweaty body, she found no imperial minds hiding in her headache.

All of it had been her fear working on her. There had never been anyone there.



Sigil Ch. 09



The lights flickered again, disruption of the electric system ushering rolling brownouts through key sectors.

"Sigil," Sovereign said the name with pride. Looking to the unsmiling Lord Commander, he added, "how clever she is."

All four of Karhl's warriors stood at panels, breaking down information at inhuman speed in an effort to pinpoint their prey's latest disturbance. They had no answers, the grid sparking in too many places to signal where the heart of infection lay, or what the point of it was. Her latest attack did nothing to truly upset the system; all life support functioned at prime levels. Side by side, two powerful creatures capable of very dark things looked on and saw what the quasi-humans missed – her game with the power was only a message. It wasn't in words, it was in deeds.

She'd held out five full cycles, brought havoc to Pax. In that time, the water had been deemed undrinkable – a great many had been poisoned from something as innocent as an ice cube - making potassium iodide the hottest rare commodity on Pax's trading floors. But there had been a flaw; Sigil had purposefully only polluted the free sectors. Slaves' poor quality water was separate and unaffected.

Though many of Drinta's guests had left to seek solace on their ships, the less scrupulous hadn't. Instead they pushed the most vulnerable aside, unconcerned with the suffering of the slaves to commandeer their drinking water.

"She will grow angry," Karhl had said when slave quarters were overrun, a great deal of young and old thrown out into the vacuum of space. "Our female will act out at this."

But she had not, and that in itself was telling. Her guerrilla attacks were pinpoint, precise - moves based off assumption, almost childlike. Through it, Sigil was hidden away outside of her revenges with no real notion of the spectacle that played out on her Pax. And it was her Pax; Drinta was only a custodian, though the Tessan female did not quite understand her place.

Sovereign looked around the command station they'd set up in Sigil's rooms, eyes roving over rusted walls and the bowing ceiling, and saw her in the shade of her linens, in her scent in the air.

They'd had her once. She'd been so frightened. How little she understood her pursuers, or why they chased. How little she understood herself.

Karhl had tried to explain, he had tried to be gentle, careful. Sigil wasn't capable of listening; not yet. But it had given her perspective to consider. With their help, her natural impulses could be curbed, untwisted from the conditioning of Commander Demetri.

Sovereign knew exactly what she'd lived through, had forced himself to watch every last vid found in Condor's archives. Even knowing the extent of Dimitri's depravity, they all had assumed she lived the same austere training and upbringing they had. Never could they have anticipated what was on those years of recordings. Sovereign watched the little girl's suffering, a black hole and something far more horrific than guilt left where a heart should have been. Her screams had been his anthem, the music of his enemies' cries never loud enough to drown hers out.

"Arden has failed to establish contact for two cycles. He purposely evades my seekers. The little bastard even disabled his communicator." It wasn't Pax's flaring circuitry that held Karhl's concentration, it was the strategy he'd enacted and the lack of response from the Herald sent on the mission.

Amongst their brothers, alive and dead, there has never been a greater infiltrator than Arden, none more cunning. Sovereign replied, "If she had killed him, Sigil would string the corpse up for us to find."

But Karhl was not contented, not after so many cycles with no signs of Sigil except her pranks. "Disobeying outright orders – disconnecting - endangers her. I want her back here. I want her safe."

Warning flashed in eyes full of violence. "No one wants that more than I! Arden is doing exactly what he was ordered to do; he is building rapport with our antisocial runaway. His silence we must bear."

The Lord Commander demanded an explanation for his leader's acceptance of insubordination, "Excluding us assists how?"

Unlike the Lord Commander, Sovereign understood exactly why they were kept waiting. "He knows we lack the restraint to stay away if we knew where she was. What he does he feels is best for the ultimate outcome."

"Pax already trembles from the weight of too many inhabitants, the lack of sufficient resources, and no water. It is only a matter of time before the entire system fails - unless Drinta opens the byway and relieves the burden. What if Sigil has captured Arden? What if his death was days ago and she seeks dramatics in the display of her kill?" Karhl stepped nearer, meeting the terrible eye of his strongest brother, "What if she uses his body to mute her conditioning?"

That was a possibility Sovereign had already considered. "Arden has three more hours until I order a full-scale occupation. If he's failed, once Pax is ours we'll rip the decks off piece by piece until we find her."

******** 

Successfully tainting the water required decontamination of her body. Quinn had run the shower, chemical spray rinsing over her for over an hour. Her clothing had been left in a garbage chute, her skin scrubbed over and over – even eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. There were hardly any burns to show for her time in the irradiated corridors, the only side-effect she'd come away with, a dry cough and the same steady fever. But at least there had been no more hallucinations – only the one that refused to leave. But the Herald wasn't there. She'd shot at him enough times her blaster was out of plasma, and did nothing more than leave tiny holes in the wall. So she began to ignore him.

Golden eyes stared at where the pipe protruded. "You are in pain."

Quinn disregarded the apprehensive imagining, working to steady her shaking hand so she might twist more wires together over the circuit boards she'd pilfered. There were five more to go, five more hours of tedious distraction. Quinn dug her nails into her palms in an effort to keep her momentum moving forward. Between the nausea and the throbbing inside her skull, it was almost easy to ignore how Pax's air was practically saturated in the smell of Sovereign.

She made a noise in her throat - a starved groan at slipping thoughts that wanted to see if he tasted as good as he smelled - and twisted the pipe to the point she almost blacked out.

Warm breath ghosted over her ear. "Don't do that."

Wheezing, using the table for support, she threw one of her circuit boards at the image. "I'll do anything it takes to get to Que!"

"You wouldn't do anything..." The Herald gave her a playful look, standing incongruously beside her water supply. "You would not submit to Sovereign for Que."

Chuckling hurt; in fact, it brought agony to her torso, and ended in dry, wheezing coughs.

The circuitry was finished. Ignoring the lurking phantom, Quinn ate what she could find in the cupboards, drank as much water as she could hold before the need to vomit became overpowering, and left her newly acquired rooms to install damaged regulators randomly throughout the station.

Trying to find them would keep Drinta's goons busy, it would upset those who lingered onboard.

By the time she was finished with the last one, Quinn could do little more than lean back against a crumbling corridor. When the lights began to flicker her lips twitched, the dirty hallway looking far more comfortable dimmed.

She just needed to rest for a minute. Her head lolled back, sweat dripping through the stubbled new growth on her skull. Fever had proven useful in curbing her conditioning, but a level that included blurred vision, walls melting, and her mind playing tricks on her was too much. Closing her eyes was easy, exhaustion dragging her into perilous slumber right there out in the open.

She dreamed of the smell of heaven, of cool water down a parched throat, of painless breaths that enriched her.

Muttering to the air, speaking to Que, she assured him she was coming for him. In answer he brushed cool cloth over her forehead. "Tell me of Sovereign."

She was lying upon a bed, unsure how she got there. "I hate him."

"Why?"

When vertigo ended, her eyes watered. "He bit me and I couldn't move. Sovereign made me like it."

Fingers smoothed over the fuzz on her scalp. "You felt forced. You were frightened. It was a terrible thing."

The woman was out of her mind, she had to be to talk with an hallucination. "You're not real."

The Herald held a cup to her cracked lips. Quinn refused it, turning her face to the pillow,

The dark grew silent; she found the ghost gone, and agony-drugged sleep returned. She burned amidst great shivers, full of anger and fear, and the constant voice of a phantom she wished would shut up. Rage came so strong it filled her to the point her skin was too small, too tight against it.

There was a smell in the air.

Sovereign. Sovereign was so close - so ripe for the killing.

She woke, skin slick with sweat and a sharp weapon already in her grip, Snarling, squeezing the filth smattered pipe in her fist, Quinn decided it would make a lovely shiv. That gross matter already clung to it, that it was rusted and jagged, would only cause Sovereign more pain when she drove it in to him over and over.

The hallucination of the Herald was gone.

Too bad...

It would have been fun to spear him first, wear his beauty like a coat when she confronted his brother.

Morbid ideas collected, piling up atop one another before she could process which direction, which style of murder, would be best. Thank the gods she'd slept, that her burns and abdominal wounds had knit together. Debilitating pain had curbed far too much of her fun; interfered with what should have been a delicious hunt.

Rolling to her hip, her brain sloshed against her skull. She almost threw up.

Licking cracked lips, Sigil - stumbling right past the stored water her body required - made for the exit. A toe caught on something. Tumbling awkwardly, her skull smacked the ground. Blinking, looking again at the black caked pipe in her hand, waiting for her vision to sharpen... she grew confused.

Why was she holding the pipe?

That's not where it was supposed to be.

Rolling to her back, she shucked her spare hand up the line of metal, flinging black, sticky remnants of her guts on the floor. Her belly was swollen, protruding and tender... her wound closed. Holding on to the fragile moment of clarity, Quinn put her wrist between her teeth and stabbed herself again. Screams were easy, but screams were for the weak and would draw attention. Instead she bit down on her wrist until it bled, until her mouth pooled with the taste of copper and captured groans.

"Why are you doing this?"

Unable to move from the pain, dazed, she stared at the return of her phantom. A clumsy mouth panted, "I told you. I have to get to Que. He'll worry."

The hallucination's voice was the same temperate tone in every conversation they'd shared. "Axirlans are incapable of feeling worry."

She needed water. Shuffling on hands and knees, Quinn ignored the insolent apparition in favor of her buckets.

Draped in black and gold it crept closer, wearing an imperial tunic of high rank. "If he means so much to you, so much that you would mutilate yourself, why not demand Sovereign let you keep him? Is that not a better idea than sabotage and self-harm?"

Stumped, swallowing down greedy gulps of untainted water, Quinn coughed out, "Sovereign would kill him; he would lock me in a room and breed me until I died."

The voice modulated like a caress, perfectly comforting and reasonable, "He needs you; you know that. Think of your power... Your brothers desire for you to be willing, happy. Concessions could be made. Go to Sovereign and demand what you want. Let him love you."

She closed her eyes, resting her aching head against the lip of a full bucket.

The voice tickled her ear, "Imagine, your Que watching you raise your children... a guardian steadfast and loyal, as you say. There need be no struggle, no pain. You could keep him."

Cooling touch stroked like a feather over her stubbled cranium, leaving Quinn clinging to the container for support.

"If you continue as you are, you'll never make it. If I had not been watching, you would have succumbed to fever days ago. You can hardly stand. Even if the old hag were to open the byway, how will you commandeer a ship? How will you fly it? Embrace that at this moment you are the frontrunner in this little game, but if Sovereign catches you..." the soothing whisper stopped, a tongue tutting for a moment, "when he catches you, there will be no parlay."

Pressure came to her temples, fingers rubbing circles where her head ached. Wilting, she found something waiting to pillow her shoulder and neck. Delirious, she sighed, "Don't... take out the pipe... again."

"Shhhhhhhh, Sweet Sigil. I know what's best. Relax and listen to my voice"

She squirmed as if she meant to try and rise, and fell back, pain muted by something intoxicating in the coolness of more water brought to her lips.

"Imagine the pleasures, little firebrand. Imaging the joys." The female's neck was adjusted to a more comfortable angle, tears stains wiped away with the hem of an embroidered sleeve. "A life where you will always feel safe."

A deep phlegmy breath, her torso complaining at the pressure inhalation put on the swelling, and Quinn found herself unable to answer with more than, "Lies..."

"He will learn how to best behave with you once given the chance. Every single one of your brothers will adapt. So long as you retain discomfort in the presence of humans, only family will be allowed near you. If you feel overcrowded then sanctuary will be offered, alone or in the arms of whomever you deem fitting." 

Looking up into the golden eyes of the man whose black clad thigh pillowed her head, Quinn felt more stinging liquid slip from the corner of her eyes. "I don't feel safe. I don't... feel well."

"I know." There was nothing but compassion in the response. "The pipe is lined with lead, you've exposed yourself to the point of infection; the overdose has caused a decline in mental functioning, blurred vision, and a raging fever."

A laugh cut through her blubbering, the sense of relief drawing a smile. "That's right... you're not real. Only a hallucination brought on by blood loss, indoctrination, and lead poisoning."

Fingers went back to circling her temples, the man nodding. "I am very real, Sigil. Every time we've spoken it's been real. You told me about your mother, about how much you dislike dry places... how you hated Sovereign's bite."

Unable to stop chuckling, licking at the blood crusted at the corner of her mouth, Quinn argued, "If you were real you would not have helped me sabotage the water supply."

"You are quite the troublemaker, so vindictive when you do not get your way." A deep snort, an amused sound, preceded, "It was fun."

Sagging further to the scuffed floor, Quinn sighed, "If you take out the pipe... you know I'll kill you."

The apparition shrugged as if it were nothing. His fist closed over the stump angled outside her belly, yanking it out to throw far out of her reach. "I'm much faster than you, Sigil. You've missed with every shot."

The faint sound of the metal rod hitting the floor registered, but not so much as fresh liquid warmth seeping from her belly to track down her sides. Eyes squeezed shut from the pain, she grunted, "Don't call me Sigil."

A brush of a fingertip followed the shape of her lips. "I will call you Quinn if it would make you smile for me again."

"There is no Quinn without Que."

A kiss touched a burning forehead. "I envy your Que."

She could not help but agree, "So do I. He's on the right side of the byway and far away from you."

"Now, that was not very nice, my darling." Again his sleeve wiped at tears and the beading sweat from Quinn's forehead. "There is not much time until you heal to the point madness replaces illness. What is to be your fate? Will you go to him? Will you make your demands and return to us on your terms? Or do we wait until he finds you?"

Her eyes were already closing, the feeling of more blood seeping, leaving her boneless. "I... want sleep."

"No, eyes open." He jarred her just enough to earn a flared look of pained hatred. "You cannot sleep now. Now is the time you tell me what you want."

She was crying again. "I want to go home."

Her ghost looked a little sad. "Where is home?"

"Que is home."

Hands lifted her from the floor, arms beneath her generating the sensation of floating until her feet were place to the floor and she was forced to stand. The Herald slung her arm around his high shoulders, helped her press a hand to where her abdomen oozed,

"Come, my dear Quinn, we walk to Sovereign. It will clear your head."

She could hardly manage her steps, would never had made it had the Herald not borne her weight. The man was right, the farther they moved, more clarity came. Once her ploy with Drinta failed there had never been a chance to leave Pax; there would never have been a plan she could carry forth, damaged as she was to avoid the hunt.

Turning to look at the profile of the Herald, studying the clean line of his jaw and how his long, bound hair had grown messy from the time he'd spent in her presence, she almost choked on the words, "Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just drop me at Sovereign's feet?"

The smile, the sincerity of his offer velvet, Arden promised, "Because I'm on your side."

"If he won't give me Que," she only had one threat left, "I'll rip out my throat. There will be no dynasty."

"The thought of such a thing, of this hate you bear for yourself," too many expressions moved through golden eyes, "it gives me pain."

Quinn held his eyes, she stared through any softness to the core of the monster in his pretty shell. "You do not know what pain is, Herald."

"My name is Arden. And I do not know pain as you have known pain," he agreed, continuing their mission no matter how often her feet dragged, careful of her smaller stature. "But I do know longing; I do know that our family has suffered with their loneliness for you. And I know that you ache for them, even though you do not know the why of it. That is why you must hold on to me; I'm going to see you through."

Quinn forced another step for Que. "You're going to take me home."

"Yes."



Sigil Ch. 10



He was tracing the line of her spine bone by bone, from nape until his fingertips flared and the swell of Quinn's rear was gently palmed. Then it began again, top to bottom, the xylophone continuation of touch running that unhurried course. Sovereign feigned laziness, laying at her back, his emotions sharp no matter how he lounged.

Every breath she took he counted, each little twitch scrutinized with a hawk's eye. Their captive didn't want to look at him, even though it meant displaying the beauty of her back, and a vulnerable nape. To subdue her, he would only need to wrap his lips over that spot, and bite down until bone almost crunched.

He began the stroke again, giving her something else to think on besides the obsession in her thoughts: Que.

The female's attention shifted to the medical cuff uncomfortably engulfing the greater part of her forearm. Tubes filled with black matter syphoned from the apparatus, connecting to a field kit that purged infection. Karhl had snapped the band around her limb hours ago, eliciting a shriek when contact caused thousands of microscopic fibers to burst from the device, penetrating into muscle and bone, making Quinn lurch and panic as they crawled deep into sinew and organs.

She'd tried to claw at it, to get it off, but the white behemoth had restrained her hands. "No, young one. Don't fight and the discomfort of assimilation will decrease. There," Karhl had stroked a tiny slice of exposed wrist, praising monotone when the arch relaxed in her spine, "integration is almost complete."

Curled up on the very bed she'd shared with Que for almost a decade, Quinn stared at the ceiling, at the walls, at anything but the lifeforms in the room. There was no deeper plot to bolster her hope, no further escape hatch, only an ill ennui behind fever and defeat.

Quinn could not help what happened once healed enough to lose herself, and the trio had been prepared. The crack of her knuckles was the first sign, a fist forming when color bleached out of her vision and only red remained - the red of imperial blood she would paint the walls with. But there were hands on her, iron restraint. Karhl gripped her skull, kept her from biting, forced her eyes to see nothing but the calmness of a warrior's face. Cheeks squished, spit dripping from lips hissing horrific threats, Quinn fought like a demon.

A demon near death that could not stand on its own, let alone shift the weight of three strong men.

There could be no sedation with the med cuff purifying her body. Even delirious, Quinn had grasped the inevitability of another rape should she find herself in Sovereign's power again. The emperor pleased himself on the bed beside her, tugging at his cock, the menacing organ angry and swollen in his hands. Arden braced her legs, Karhl spoke to her words she could not grasp. Pain came. Sovereign's bulbous glans slipped its way just past her unprepared opening, her swollen belly protesting invasion. The pain snapped her free of the worst of the madness and she wanted to tell them that was enough, that the pain could keep her sane. Trembling, tasting blood in her mouth, she stilled, and tried to explain.

Not one of them answered her croaking denial.

But Sovereign didn't fuck into her. Instead, his pumping fist supplied the friction necessary for male climax in the minutes it took for him to come. He had the civility to keep quiet when the only thing that would truly sedate her ushered forth. Warmth, a thing that smelled of the ocean and stuck like glue, spurted like ointment. What came in the wake of the unwanted offering was a focusing mind, a great deal more despair, and Sigil's ability to grasp just how thoroughly she was caught.

"Hush, young one." Karhl still gripped her skull in his great hands, still forced her attention as if it had just been the two of them, not three predators moving in unison. "We could not allow you to exercise faulty psionics in a panic."

How she longed to spit in his face.

******** 

The pompous Irdesian Empire had groveled perfectly while they scampered after their slippery prize. While it had been amusing - her game, how the human fools thought to outplay her - it had grown tired. Drinta was angry now. It wasn't the flickering lights, or even the ruined water supply; it was their openness - the empire's willingness.

They no longer skulked about, but instead wore their full dark raiment where others could see. They came to Swelter and partook; they enjoyed themselves openly, soldiers flaunting their meager numbers as if unconcerned they were surrounded.

Such behavior confused her agitated guests. The show convincing many of her summoned warriors there was a scheme between her and the imperials; as if their easy smiles and haughty behavior were sanctioned, as if she had called the rabble horde to be lambs on Sovereign's pyre.

Subterfuge was her weapon and the Empire wielded it too well, bowing and scraping at her feet. Small minded human hubris never ceased to amaze, especially as it was so linear. The empire was boring: take, convert, annihilate, repeat. Where was the artistry in so much tedium?

Were they wiser, they would follow her example: confuse, devour, decimate, enslave - all the while being paid by all parties.

"I have procured a present for you," the Tessan female crooned, an invitation in her black lidless eyes.

Smiling beautifully, Arden leaned back on his couch and teased, "I sincerely hope this story ends with you finding me a case of Tessan fire spirits."

She clicked her tongue and shook her head, the light playing off glassy green scales, "No, no, no. Something much more interesting."

"And what would that be?" There was a glimmer in golden eyes - open, calculating assessment.

Drinta waved her hand before her, all sharp teeth and wicked beauty. "I'm getting to that. Patience. This is far too special to rush, let me savor..."

The golden male edged to the end of his seat, ignoring the squalor of Swelter at their feet. "My interest is piqued..."

"Good." It was the playful laugh of an immoral woman. "But you'll have to wait a little longer. I find it far more enjoyable when I build suspense."

"In that case, I would like to admit that I have a surprise for you as well." There was a sweet quality to the tenor, something incredibly indulgent.

"Don't tease me, Arden." The tip of her tail gave a little swish. "You have no secrets from me."

Leaning his elbows on his knees, the emissary winked, "We've caught Sigil; even now she is in Sovereign's clutches, chained, where he is fucking her into tranquil submission. There will be no more disruptions to your station, and we are prepared to fully replace your water supply in honor of our fruitful alliance. Our apologies and gratitude will be profuse."

Easing back, comfortable, Drinta warned, "If you're trying to convince me to open the byway before repairs are finished, I am sorry, but no."

The man shook his head, golden eyes sparkling. "I wouldn't dream of it. Five days of her anger and Pax is near collapse. I can only imagine what the little terror did to the byway; it might be rigged to explode if opened. She wouldn't be above killing us all."

The Tessan laughed, an honest cackle full of teeth and zeal. "Is that her idea of going for the throat?"

"Not even close."

******** 

The Herald had done it; he had brought Sigil willingly back to them. But her ruined clothing had been clotted with blood, her face a landscape of swelling and bruises. There were no plum stained waves, but a bare skull fuzzed with new growth. Far worse than how she'd appeared was the reek of decay oozing from the broken thing's very breath.

Once she'd stumbled through the door with only Arden's strength keeping her on her feet, the female had gripped her throat with one hand, nails digging in to the point little drips of red ran free down dirty skin. In a voice as desperate as her actions she'd threatened, "Stay back and we will speak. Come nearer and you will not like what I will do."

"How did this happen?" Karhl - huge, armored in the weighty black matte of imperial military - stared at her blood crusted torso, furious with the Herald who dared return her in such a state.

When the Lord Commander continued to approach her, Sovereign caught his bulky arm and held Karhl still, unwilling to view more red flow from his female's neck.

"Our little vagrant stabbed herself with a lead pipe," Arden explained gently, winking at the furious monster he'd retrieved. "Has carried it in her the whole time she terrorized Pax."

"Sigil..." The white-haired warrior looked on as if the statement gave him pain, as if he too bore days of suffering impaled by a rusted cylinder. It was the first expression Quinn had seen on Karhl's face, and even Sovereign could see she didn't understand why it would be there.

Her eyes left the overlarge Karhl and settled on her greatest threat. Sovereign knew the assassin inside her sized him up, found him dangerous even with his relaxed stance and leaner build than the Lord Commander at his side.

He'd beaten her once. No... they both knew he'd beaten her twice.

The state she'd arrived in was... dangerous. The things she'd done to herself, horrendous. But it was the claw buried millimeters from her carotid artery that forced Sovereign to concede as if she were the victor. In a voice soft and generous, he asked her to speak. "What do you desire, precious Sigil?"

"Que." So much fear lay on one battered expression, so much fatigue. The way the skin crinkled sadly at her eyes, Quinn knew she could not fight him, knew she couldn't win. With things as they were, the only thing she could do was die. "I will keep my friend, forever. And you will keep us safe."

The answer was breathless, "You seek to force me?"

She did, choking on the words, "And if you do this, I will submit to you."

Dark hair swung forward, hanging past his jaw when he lowered his chin. "I want you to love me, to love us all."

"I WOULD NEVER LOVE YOU IF YOU TOOK MY QUE!" Her shriek cost Quinn a great deal of energy, making every male in the room tense to see her doubled over. Panting, bracing against her grip on Arden, she looked from under her brows and grunted, "You think you know the mind of their kind? You think he would abandon me? You have been too long with humans to understand. And I will never abandon him either."

Karhl raised his chin, calling her attention. "Young one, please calm yourself. You are too damaged for such displays."

Arden, soothing her with a careful tone, smiled into her eyes as if all were well. "Let's not exasperate her, shall we?"

"Silence." One word, spoken temperately was enough to make the Herald straighten to attention. Sovereign moved so fast - it was a blur Quinn's muddled vision could not follow. One second he was across the room, another and his hand gripped Arden's shoulder, forcing the Herald away like a puppy tossed by its nape.

Sovereign made no move to force submission. Instead he helped support her in the Herald's place. Collaring her throat in a careful grip so her jagged nails could not tear at it, Sovereign reasoned, "What you propose, do you not see why it will cause discord in your life when what you need is consonance, peace?"

"You will give me Que." Her eyes welled, but Sigil remained determined no matter how badly her voice shook. "Prove that it is as you said. There need not be conflict between us."

Leaning nearer, Sovereign's eyes were dark, his expression so impassive it implied great fury. "Can you feel my thoughts, Sigil?"

Resting her head against the wall, sweat beading at her temple, she warned, "Do you want to spend eternity wondering when I will find my next escape? That day will come; there is no perfect prison."

A careful thumb stroked along her jaw, Sovereign exercising great will. "If I offered such a consolation, you will understand that much will be expected in return. You will never show him affection where any eyes can see. ANY EYES. You may not lay with him, ever!" Every word was growled through clenched teeth, spat as if soaked in venom, "And for my forbearance, you will love me. You will love your brothers."

Nodding as her lip trembled, she agreed, "I will." Her enthusiasm grew, blood shot eyes widening. "I will, if you promise me."

Those eyes could grow so threatening so quickly. "You have my word." The second he put his arms around her, she braced as if to flee. Sovereign amended, "So long as you keep yours. Submit now. Your wounds must be tended." He got her from the door, moving her cautiously deeper into the net.

With her mission done, she was already wilting, her bravado having fled in place of intense pain. Quinn made out the white hair and the musical sound of chimes when the Lord Commander followed, the giant placing a knee to her mattress once Quinn was laid upon it.

Things were done to her that made her very unhappy, her eyes screwed shut so unlike a warrior and far more like a child. Sovereign measured her raging fever while maintaining continuous, soothing touch, and listening to Arden detail his account of her capture.

Even with her superior healing, the amount of decay the med cuff syphoned from her system had been grotesque. Jars of black poison fed from tubes into the portable console, emptied down the drain over and over so they might be refilled.

In one cycle her fever broke; she stopped raving in her sleep, the woman convalescing altered significantly from the broken thing that had dared challenge an emperor.

Resigned, her icy irises drained of the false lavender dye, she stared off into space.

Sovereign had given her time to recover; now he wanted her attention.

A warm palm flowed over her and gently cradled her belly; the swelling gone, only unmarred skin remaining. "Sweet Sigil, everything that was done can be undone. I swear it to you. Desolation is unnecessary."

Quinn had endured decades under the guidance of a wise companion and knew Sovereign was wrong. She spoke for the first time since he'd mounted her sick form, "If such a thing were possible I would have been undone a long time ago. Just like you, I'm a monster, Sovereign. I can admit that."

He cut her off. "Is that what the Axirlan told you?"

Yes, and Que was right, had dedicated his life to helping her cage the nightmare inside her so it might not pollute the undeserving. But she'd slipped so many times. There was no need to lie to herself about what she'd done and what she was capable of.

And she needed Que, needed proof she had not made the biggest mistake of her life. "How much longer must we stay here? It's pointless now... so why isn't the station vibrating? Why isn't the byway open?"

Sovereign stretched over her like a shield, whispering in her ear. "Now that you are mostly recovered, we must see to your preparation. Together we go Drinta, where I am going to present you and kill her."

He honestly could not believe that was going to work... "Only Drinta has the power to open the byway. If she's dead, you're stranded."

Sovereign's smirk was pure evil. "That is the general rumor, and one that is entirely untrue. There is a great amount of careful deception involved in leadership, but her deceptions are as outdated as she is. She sees lies all around her, foolish enough not to expect my literal hands on her throat where all of Swelter will see. This station has been fully infiltrated, a subtle infection that has been festering for years. Pax is in my control down to the very last power relay. Once Drinta is publically executed, I will have the only override to open the byway."

"Drinta will be prepared. Marching up to her balcony won't work. Even if it did, the mercenaries she mustered would revolt. Pax would fall apart."

As if educating her, Sovereign explained. "Which is why she must be murdered publically where the masses can see. The byway will open where a fleet of imperial ships wait on the other side so large they will dwarf this station and swallow any fool enough to attempt sedition."

There was more he was not telling her, that much was obvious. And why should he? Sovereign was wise enough to know Quinn would use it to her advantage if she could. "And you want to flaunt me in front of her..."

A kiss, simple and non-threatening, then he answered. "Before battle begins, you must be protected. Her enclosure is fortified, the safest place on this station."

He was taking quite a risk exposing her to Drinta. Quinn understood the insane Tessan. There was a reason Drinta had grown so powerful - she was always prepared and enjoyed the kill. "The Tessan Authority would never allow you to control an extended byway on the other side of their empire. It would start an intergalactic war."

Sovereign's internal pleasure at her interest was not shown in his expression. "The politics are far more complicated than we have time to discuss at present."

"What about Pax?"

Tracing over a cheekbone, his fingers playing with the lobe of her ear, Sovereign said, "Pax is to be converted into something more useful to me."

A strange sort of regret itched under her skin. "You can't convert non-humans."

"I know you are fond of this place; the same cannot be said for the majority of the lives that inhabit it. I have watched you kill on a whim with no thought for whose neck you snap. You have no friends here. Even the slaves you avoided." Sovereign could see she was going to speak, that Quinn was ready to defend her actions, and he saved her the effort, "I understand why you did these things. I understand what pushed you to the point of living violence. Once you're back in the empire—"

"With Que..." Quinn insisted, the woman finding it difficult to look him in the eye when he held her so close and touched her so freely.

Doing his best to keep his jaw from ticking, Sovereign nodded that he'd heard her. "Once you are back in the Empire, you will know what it means to feel safe. There will be no urge for you to hide, no impulse you have to fight. The drastic change in your environment will alter your responses. You will be happy."

"I was happy here..."

He shook his head, eyes absolutely burning, "You do not know what that word means and your alien lacks the empathy to teach it to you. All you know is 'pain' or 'no pain' in a stunted understanding of survival."

She'd made her oaths, and so had he. But Sovereign had witnessed hours of Quinn's struggle to keep the dread out of her expression. He knew the female already second guessed her decision to obey. Rebellion hinted in her slander, in her unhappiness at what was to be done to her home, "You are beginning to sound as verbose as Arden, but not nearly as subtle."

"I trained Arden." A small quirk came to the corner of Sovereign's beautiful mouth. "I think, in time, you will find it quite the other way around. He copies my mannerisms and intonation almost to perfection."

"Why?"

Sovereign's restrained possessiveness ate at the softness of his reply. "Because you were designed to respond to me - chemically, physically, mentally. Mimicry simplified interrogation." Gentle, Sovereign pressed his fingers to her mouth when it looked like the woman might argue. "And now you are thinking he has fooled you, suspicion is all over your face. But you are wrong and I will prove it now. The bite," he watched her blanch, felt Quinn wilt as if it might keep her spine safe from his teeth, "you claimed to hate it. But the truth is you fear it. Like a child's fear of ghosts, you jump at every touch, anticipating this thing you misunderstand."

The whites of her eyes shone stark around irises abnormal in their wintry off-beryl shade.

"I will not bite you so long as you continue to submit in good faith." In counter to his claim, Sovereign slid his hand to cup her neck, pinching lightly, watching as her body twitched and her knees jerked just enough for him to comprehend the effect. "It is a very generous offer." The smile he gave her, the way it slowly crawled up his cheeks was saturated in conceit. "Do you understand? Do you not see that I would rather suffer than see you afraid or sad? The thought of your hate has burned me for a century; I do not wish to earn more of it."




Sigil Ch. 10



The pinch grew stronger, Quinn feeling the effect as Sovereign meant for her to feel it. He kissed her brow sweetly. "Our pairings have not been pleasant for you, but you enjoyed the feeling of Karhl's hands and mouth while I fucked you. I can give you that. Imagine more; imagine four, ten, of our kind, their lips and hands all over your body. Imagine the way we'll taste, how greedy they will be to earn your smiles. Or," he took her lips, groaning as he licked the seam, "imagine you and I, alone in the dark. Imagine how I could worship you, the pleasure of the struggle." A deep breath of her neck and he shuddered, grinding hips to demonstrate intent. "You won't understand right away - I grasp that - but I will make you want me more than any other. Desire, pleasure; we shall start simply." And then in a fluid movement Sovereign stroked her crooked leg from ankle to hip. "But for now we must make the best of things. Trust me to keep you safe and allow me to prepare you. I cannot have you slip in Drinta's presence."

*******

A/N. I am so glad you guys and gals are enjoying this story. Thank you for all the supportive comments and high ratings. I really appreciate them :)



Sigil Ch. 11



The last cry was wrung out until she convulsed, Quinn sloppy atop her sheets. Sovereign's skill handling her body was the worst kind of intoxicant, surpassing even lupggag, the hallucinogenic drug bartered in Swelter. Her nose tucked in the man's dark hair, breath grew drenched in a strangely familiar scent - a smell that quieted her brain to the point dread never existed, and nothing was left beyond the physical. His weight, the breadth of his hips spreading her thighs, the feel of what plunged inside her... all-consuming, tempting her tongue to traced over the pulsing vein at this throat. 

How he'd bent her body back after that first lick, how he'd growled. Sovereign had been so pleased.

Her clit ached from too much attention; it was stiff and swollen, pert enough to be tormented each time Sovereign thrust in a downward scrape of movement.

"Please..."

"Gods yes, Sigil." Another slow, measured intrusion of the man's veiny dick stretched space purposely carved out for him, and again he dug into her mouth with his tongue.

If orgasm could last into infinity, Quinn found it was not a sensation that was bearable. The grunting, panting man who watched her every expression offered too much - either too slow or too fast. Somewhere under the onslaught, that tiny sliver of cognizance almost longed for him to bite her, for the man to pound until his sack tightened and he spurt, ending the obliterating fucking she'd endured.

Had it been days or hours, Quinn could hardly say.

Her nipples chaffed from having been sucked too long, the flesh sore from flicking a tongue and pinching fingers. Once or twice she thought Karhl might have been between them to lull the storm, but that cock had never left her, and even though Sovereign's possession had been cautious, it had never been gentle in the way the white-haired warrior touched her.

Worse, the maelstrom inside Sovereign was beyond her reckoning, his emotions too full. So she tried not to sense him, engaging instead to prove she deserved her coming prize. He could have her if she could have Que - who would never have fucked her once her pussy ached, who would never have squeezed further pleasure from swollen lips and a hardened, punished clit. He would have pressed her to sleep. But Sovereign, Sovereign punished for such thoughts by breaking her apart, nerve by nerve.

Past coherent words, Quinn spoke in tongues, made any sound she thought her aggressor might find suiting in his quest to be begged - because it had to end. A rougher bump as his hips crashed into her. Her poor pierced clit took the brunt of the abuse and Quinn sought to fight back.

That was what the man had searched for, that utter loss of control, the mindless wash of her eyes. He fed her madness with violence, taking and intruding deep into body and spirit. The invasion of his cock grew frantic, his lips returning to her bobbing breast to roughly chew a tender nipple.

Her screams shrilled, otherworldly, until Quinn's voice broke, as did the waste of worried thoughts hovering at the edge of her mind. Her hand flashed forward, Sovereign's throat in her grip. Somehow he was beneath her - like their battle cycles prior - and she furiously rode him, her hands squeezing his neck so hard it would have killed even Que. Relishing the sight of her tormentor so fucking pleased, so goddamn delirious, she came, gushing as he smiled.

There was some pull - a strange thing she missed - and she was flipped on her back. The man jerked violently into her as he locked her violence in loving arms, Sovereign's cock spitting ropes of burning perfection into her greedy little pussy.

Disheveled and hungry, laying on a bed that had grown damp from sweat, Quinn stared at the ceiling. Another spasm hit her, her body trembling awkwardly just from the feel of Sovereign easing out.

Panting, she whined, "No more."

"No more, sweet Sigil." The lightest of kisses landed on each elongated nipple. "You cannot handle anymore."

They had both been so gone in coitus, a part of her had wondered if their cries would call forth Drinta's handlers, her tiny sliver of hope the bitch-queen would use the advantage to kill the Irdesian emperor in his distraction disappointed.

Salvation had not come, only orgasm after orgasm, the man seeming never to tire as he wrung her out.

Fingers tripped over her skull, the touch drawing out a relaxation so thorough Quinn put up no fight when she was pulled to stand. The oddity of what had happened was reinforced when her muddled mind found the emperor naked on display. Every other time he had fucked her it had been a clinical necessity in comparison; his clothing had remained on, his cock jutting out from an open fly to serve as the tool required to control her compulsion.

There had been no objective insertion and ejaculation - no hurried spurt inside her - proven when Sovereign took his time, mounting her face to face. He'd left her boneless and rubbery, exhausted her into a state all would recognize when she was paraded before Drinta.

She looked cowed, resplendent in her abject defeat. What a trophy for Swelter to gawk at.

When she'd been fevered, Karhl had sponged the dried blood from her skin - the nearest thing to a bath she was going to find on a station infected with irradiated water. Now she reeked of Sovereign, thighs gritty where their fluids had crusted and smeared, purposefully made that way so others might see.

Sovereign insisted on dressing her, Quinn standing submissive so the process might proceed. Stranger still, they were left alone, no guard in sight, a thousand things within reach she could make into a weapon. Watching the man begin the task of unrolling a bolt of fabric while chewing the nutrient bar he'd offered her, Quinn sensed no suspicion - only warranted wariness and determination.

Holding out a corner of fabric, he pressed it to the dip above her hip bone and hummed, "Hold here."

Obeying, she watched him build a gown around her. It was an intricate thing requiring so many steps, so much precision, her clothing would make a statement - only a prisoner meek and obedient could be dressed in such a delicately constructed manner.

A finger hooked her chin, Sovereign tilting her head back to sooth her frown. "I viewed a sunset once, on the planet Yith-ji, over a battlefield where the corpses of my enemies were growing entwined with carnivorous plant life. The shade of the sky was just as this," a finger teased at her fringe of Quinn's lashes, Sovereign cooing, "I put the beauty of that moment in you."

Quinn had not seen herself, but it was not hard to imagine what Sovereign spoke of; the eyes she was born with. A dark limbal ring, irises a limpid shade rare in humans. They were not eyes one could hide, designed and unnatural. They had always set her apart. Where he found pleasure, she felt nothing. Her looks had never held meaning to her outside of their inconvenient noticeability - just like the clothing he'd brought from the empire to knot and wrap and twist around her.

Another swath of airy fabric was draped across her breast, whatever hooks or ties Sovereign employed to attach it hidden. The forming garment lacked the imperial black the men wore, just shades of blue in a dress so intricate it was pointless in its grandeur. Utterly different in style from the red beaded gown she'd destroyed, it was no less ridiculous.

A broach was pinned below her practically exposed breasts to hold the layers snug. Tracing her finger over the jewelry's needle, a thing long and thick enough to kill a man if used properly, she asked tiredly, "Is all of this to shame me as your tamed conquest?"

Sovereign gave the final belt a tug, and everything fell into place. The challenge in his eyes did not match the set of Sovereign's lips. "Considering the trouble you have caused Drinta, I cannot dress you in armor without drawing her suspicion. Seeing you subdued and non-threatening will amuse her and serve my agenda."

Quinn would have rather been naked than paraded, used, and ornamented. "Convert women dress this way?"

Sovereign cracked a hint of a smirk, lifting the final, sleeveless vestment so she might slip her arms into it. "The females have distinct customs this gown reflects - complication, for one. The elite do not dress themselves."

Feeling the embroidered birds in flight, the stiffness of something weighty over so many panels of gauzy blues, Quinn wondered, "To display rank?"

"...lineage, taste, power. It is an art beyond itself at court that seems to please a great many of them."

She'd never seen such a thing from the Empire. "But you and your brothers only wear black. The soldiers wear black. Irdesian armor is black..."

Sorrow and matching coldness sat heavy in Sovereign's gaze as if he'd been born tarnished. "We have been in mourning. We lost what we loved most."

She sensed his deeper feelings, a dark thing inside him hidden by a soldier's protocol. "You are very angry with me."

Sovereign shook his head, but he didn't touch her to reassure as had been his habit. "My anger is for Commander Dimitri and those who took you from me."

There was resentment, she could feel it. "You could have been free of me a long time ago. You could have left me in peace."

"Abandoning you to indifference was never an option." He took a step back to survey his work, that line of conversation over. "You look very beautiful,"

Under so much finery she felt ridiculous.

"...and unsure." He reached for her. "Take my hand and I will lead you home."

It was so very similar to what Arden had said to her. Quinn swallowed and the anxious stutter in her heart doubled. Yet hope burned, just enough to make her worry that much stronger. It was a waste of emotion thinking Drinta might actually win, that there might still be some small chance at escape in the ensuing chaos. But that would put Que at risk from one side or another. The empire would hunt him down if given the chance, and should Drinta know his tie to her, she too would reach out her claws and revenge herself upon him for Quinn's part in her troubles.

By failing to flee Pax, Quinn had inadvertently created a situation where she had to side with the Empire. Sovereign would take the station and control the byway. She would even help if she had to. She would help for Que, and if all went well she would see him in a matter of cycles.

That was how it had to be. Quinn wasn't a part of Pax any longer; it was too tight, too dry - it had cast her off. Like a serpent shedding its skin, she took Sovereign's outstretched hand, clammy fingers settled into a firm grip. "Que is my home. Take me anywhere, so long as he is there."

Sovereign had the decency to pet her fingers, to bend down and press a soft kiss to nervous lips. "Recognize that I did not chain you. This is your chance to prove yourself worthy of our pact."

******** 

The walk - no, the procession - to Swelter was a joke of decorum. As if bleeding from the walls, imperial soldiers formed a cocoon, she the butterfly trapped inside. They were a show, a cavalcade of black, holstered weapons, and pride before the gangs haunting the sprawling club.

Karhl walked before them like a banner. Less than twenty of Sovereign's elite-convert humans finalized the ranks - ten thousand of the worse spacer-scum all around them.

They had the attention of the entire hive, save one lone female sheltered at the center of the grouping. Quinn woolgathered, staring at the distant red swath of silk she'd twisted in for the last ten years, seeing another slave perform in her place as if she'd never been there.

Pax would have already forgotten about the plum-haired slave, her replacement beautiful and already drawing a crowd. And all those looking, the species watching her in the rainbow of blues whispering around her legs, would not have known she'd ever been one of them.

It hurt.

Sovereign handed her up to the final platform. Karhl at her back, his hand on her shoulder before the large floor elevated the party to Drinta's balcony. The bitch-queen stood, beautiful and deadly, a mismatched collection of the universe's most vicious mercenaries at her back.

Had Quinn any interest in watching the proceedings she would have laughed at the show, wondering at the money and promises it had taken to get Lhhuy to stand beside the rival gang leader, Ved.

Sovereign brushed her cheek, showing her the liquid gathered on his fingers. "It's almost over, Sigil."

She didn't acknowledge his words, her attention tripping over the club as if she stared at an unfaithful lover.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, but Sovereign's eyes were full of something dark, staring straight at Drinta, who grinned insanely as he fawned obnoxiously over his pet.

Arden stood at the Mistress of Pax's side, greeting his liege. "Emperor Sovereign, Imperial Consort Sigil, Lord Commander Karhl. Welcome."

The balcony was cramped and ripe for quite a mess. There was hardly a reason for Quinn to sigh what she sensed, as any creature wise enough to know fire was hot could see it. Still, she did her part, "Drinta is going to try to kill you."

Sovereign laughed, bowing to the Mistress of Pax, "You give her too little credit, Sigil."

"Sovereign." The black lidless eyes darted toward the unsmiling Sigil and seemed to glitter. Drinta stepped nearer, looking as if she might reach out and touch the wayward slave. "Your reluctant queen... cowed I see. But not chained as Arden claimed she would be."

"Oh, do not doubt it. Sigil is dangerous. Lord Commander Karhl has leave to execute her should she move." Releasing Quinn's hand to step nearer, Sovereign bowed so deep it was almost insulting. "But that is not my greatest concern. I understand you have charmed my Herald from me."

Drinta swept her hands from shoulder to shoulder in her species most honorific greeting. "He lies. But he does so with such a pretty mouth."

Sovereign conceded her point, tall form straightening, "He is quite popular..."

Needle sharp teeth exposed, Drinta looked to Quinn, still finding no more than a profile and obnoxious dress offered for her perusal. "Quinn, former Pax slave, now Consort of the Irdesian Empire. Seeing you like this, I almost regret I did not give you what you wanted."

Liar. Drinta's motivations were so easy to sense it was a joke. Scoffing, Quinn looked away from the club to focus again on the green Tessan. "Not nearly so much as I do, bitch-queen."

Looking to Sovereign, Drinta sang, "I do believe she threatened me."

"Mistress Drinta," Sovereign stepped nearer Quinn as if to shield the Mistress of Pax from his prisoner. "She did."

"Am I allowed to enjoy her for it?" Drinta purred, tail languidly moving like a serpent at her back.

"Pax is yours. You are allowed to do whatever you please."

Tuning out the verbal sparring, thick complements, and general disgusting back and forth, Quinn turned her back to their politics and leaned just enough on Karhl so he would not suspect she might try to break the energy barrier separating the balcony from the club and flee. Immediately, the Lord Commander set a hand to her hip, fingers enveloping the bone to settle her nearer.

Quinn hardly noticed, too keen on the fact her hand skimmed a weapon holstered at the Lord Commander's thigh. It was all she could to do focus on the pulsing music and restrain herself from fingering the deadly piece. Imaginings of pulling it free, of shooting Sovereign, Karhl, Arden, and all the others so pretty and so nauseating in their current invincibility, distracting.

She thought of Que, looking to their favorite places to enjoy one another in the club's brighter corners.

"... as I mentioned to your enjoyably duplicitous Herald-"

Arden was only happy to speak over her, "Your compliments are too elegant, Drinta."

"-I have a gift I am eager to offer. First it was intended to please Arden, a fruit plucked for offering almost the very day we met. However, I have since learned that your Herald is disgustingly loyal. What he desired was not for himself, it was for you, Sovereign. And so I give it with all my heart." The bitch-queen began, purring, her voice blended with the sluggish susurration of cloth being pulled, "Now I see what a prize I claimed, how much more valuable this trophy is," Drinta turned wistful, she sighed, "The conversations we had after he denied my incredibly generous offer for one pleasure slave's purchase... Would you believe he even tried to warn me? He called your pretty terrorist an abomination. I believe he told her his name was Que."

"No!"

At the sound of that name Quinn's looked. Like a whore raising her skirts, the final bit of cloth dragged over a cube shaped object on a nearby table, falling away until all Quinn could hear was a scream so shrill she was certain her ears bled.

Even if she had not seen, she would have felt it in the dread of the minds of the three sheep, already responding, already trying to intervene... because they too had seen. And they were ripe with fear...

The passage of time slowed down to a drip; Quinn heard Sovereign as if he stood across a sea, shouting, "Calm yourself, Sigil!"

Calm. She was calm. Feeling the slickness of ocular tissue shift in their sockets, the slow drag of eyeball against lid, Sigil looked over a horror. Her lovely Que's head displayed battered in a box - staring forward, eyes flat, lids uneven. A familiar mouth was slightly agape, and Que was lovely no more.

A distant sound of wailing, a furious storm of grief and groaning metal seemed to mourn along with the increasing sound of sobs.

"SIGIL, STOP YOURSELF!"

But it was too late... in the end no one was as strong as she, and she proved it in a flick of the wrist and another irrepressible burst of dangerous psionics. The tremors grew, Swelter alight with sparks of blue energy she ripped from atoms, throwing everyone in that alcove so hard bones shattered on impact. All but one. Three steps and the Tessan female, Drinta, her muzzle one of shock, looked upon what Quinn really was.

"Where is the rest of my Que?" That voice, it was the voice of nightmares - a broken voice.

Drinta faced death, watching entire portions of Swelter rip away from their supports to fall crashing against twisting artificial gravity. "Look at them behind you. How frantic they are, and how easily broken by one barren human. Sovereign, even Karhl, cannot break through your barrier, can they?"

"WHERE. IS. HE?"

Below them the mob surged, madness broke out as slaves and mercenary screamed and fled the destruction.

As beautifully as Drinta's plan unfolded, it had also crashed in on her. Already Swelter's walls were opening to space, atmosphere leaking away. Haughty, looking into eyes vacant of control, Drinta faced death with a sneer. "Ask the right question... but you can't, can you?" Drinta grinned. "Ask why."

Why? Because Arden had recognized her in the club and Drinta had noticed. Que had never left Pax... his altered exit schedule nothing but an easy trap to draw him aside the second he seemed relatively useful. And all that time Quinn had sought him, he'd been right there. She could have saved him, and failed. The Tessan had already hinted as much. "Why?"

"Because I could. Because he and my Kilactarin both warned me to kill you. But I will offer you your life if you kill Sovereign. We could align ourselves, you and I, sweet human. I will get you another pet, a more loyal Axirlan, if you desire it."

Movement almost lazy, Quinn's hand reached forward through the electric storm. Drinta twitched, unable to move from the psionic restraint one paltry human manipulated until her arm broke, bone jutting. Brushing bared scales, Quinn held furious black eyes and said, "No."

Quinn's fingers slowly rent flesh, the reptile struggling for the strength to stretch her face nearer and hiss, "You would dare deny me?"




Sigil Ch. 11



Deadly fingers jammed forward, ripping past scales, breaching a reptilian chest cavity in search of a beating organ similar to a human heart. Quinn's fist closed on that erratically beating mass and tore it from Drinta's chest. Holding it up so the bitch-queen might see it beating, she crushed it in her fist. Gripping the Tessan's jaw, with a burst of inhuman power Quinn ripped Drinta's pretty head off its pretty, glittering shoulders.

"SIGIL, YOU MUST CALM DOWN!"

There was that pesky negation again, that sad attempt to bend her psionics and tug her back. But Quinn was too busy stomping the corpse of the bitch-queen into a pulp under her feet.

As walls warped, the energy barriers on Drinta's balcony stuttered, the shutters fell, some broken. Layers of force fields distorted from Quinn's flares. Even with backup canisters of gas releasing to counter the loss of atmosphere, breath was hard to find. Death was coming, Quinn's rage the reaper of them all.

Sobbing, she left the gooey mass of green fluid and shattered bone, tripping to fall atop her friend. Wrapping her arms around the cryobox, she screamed and screamed, tearing what little remained of Pax apart in an unadulterated surge of violent psionics. There was no stopping it. Her mind stretched a thousand places at once, damaging her as it ravaged the station. Whole pieces broke off in the tumult of energy flares, thousands of lives lost in a blink as the vacuum of space invaded.

Draped over her friend's skull, blood came from her ears, her nose. Sovereign was shouting for her, the man trapped, trying to break through her barrier.

But it was too late.

Atmosphere leaked from the fragmented remains of Swelter, the fortified alcove's shields failing from her assault. Gravity disappeared, and still she sobbed.

It would be over soon, Quinn could already feel the lack of air bringing with it a dimness of consciousness to ease so much pain.

In one sad shuddering exhale, breath left her body, the dark taking over a brain already hemorrhaging and a heart that hurt so badly she would have ripped it out of her own chest had she any strength left.



Sigil Ch. 12



Alarms blared. The shielded alcove of a dead felon-queen hissed with the escape of necessary air. But Sovereign had Sigil once she blacked out, her psionics failed, and the third set of backup tanks kicked in. Lost atmosphere was replaced in the disintegrating balcony, Karhl and Arden systematically ensuring all Drinta's peons were crushed into dust.

Pax was lost, had burst apart like a wasps nest fallen from a tree. The byway, however, had come online the instant Sovereign had given the command - the instant Que's severed head came out on display.

The station was in ruins; even from that shielded box open space appeared from huge gaping rents the manic female had torn into the walls. What she had done had caused a panic at the docks; ships could be seen dodging chunks of debris, trying to flee through the gate even as the Imperial fleet invaded. Every foreign shuttle was obliterated without question or offer of surrender by the human force.

"How did intel of this level slip through your fingers?" The yell, the rage in Sovereign as he held Sigil's blood-soaked, limp form was beyond anything Arden had witnessed.

The Herald looked at the female, took in the red drips running from her ears, nose, and mouth. "I knew Drinta had detained the Axirlan the moment it happened."

Karhl struck him first, breaking the weaker brother's jaw in one hard crack. "You forget your place!"

His reply was muddled, Arden's hand holding the bones of his jaw in place. "It had to be done this way. You had to be innocent of any part in it. Sigil could never be allowed to keep him; it would tempt her to run or divide her loyalty as time wore on."

Had Sigil not been in his grip, Sovereign would have ended one of his most trusted brothers in that very moment just as Sigil had ended Drinta. "So you took it upon yourself to damage her."

Pained water leaked from golden eyes. A grimace on his face as Karhl broke both his shoulders, the Herald said, "She will survive it. Pax had to be cleansed; no one could know where she came from or what she'd been. Considering how damaged she already was, a clean start is in our power now. I willingly sacrifice myself for such a boon to our people. I did this for you - for her."

There was no question of punishment. Incapacitated as Arden was, having been brought to his knees by Karhl's continuous precise snap of bones, the Herald looked only to the bleeding woman.

Sovereign turned his attention away from such a great disappointment. "Kill him."

One sickeningly fast downward punch twisted Arden's neck until pleading eyes could no longer look at the one he'd betrayed to give them all the best possible chance.

Karhl's foot lifted to crush Arden's neck, to finish it, but Sovereign stopped him with a soft spoken word, "Wait."

Foot braced to strike, Karhl looked at the crumpled body of his brother. Stone cold, he growled, "Arden betrayed us. He deviated from the plan to follow his own agenda. Why spare the traitor?"

Arden's twisted form still breathed even after so much damage. "I have a greater punishment in mind for Arden."

It was rare for disgust to infest Karhl's inflection, "He does not deserve your pity."

"And he will receive none. Arden will be denied ever having her in any connection deeper than one of brotherhood. Such castigation will be a lifelong sentence worse than any prison."

The Lord Commander did not agree, "If he should live, do you really believe a secret of this magnitude can be permanently concealed from an empath?"

She was so beautiful, even cradled on his lap and damaged. Sovereign traced softly over her temple, over where her brain was firing improperly to the point her face twitched. "If he wishes to live, he will employ his greatest talent and manipulate her trust. Sigil is fond of him. When she wakes she'll desire a friend. He will sit with her, act as her guide, and never be anything more."

The great maw of the nearest warship opened, particle traction employed around the enclosure boasting the only signs of life on Pax. In seconds the balcony was in the belly of the ship's cargo bay. Minutes later, Sigil was laid in cryo, still soaked in the green slime of her last kill.

******** 

Waves breaking against rocks, the crisp rumble of vast water, rent through dreams of ripping metal and hissing gasses. It was not easy to wake, to find each breath smelled slightly of salt and not of stale recycled ozone. Brightness muddled sight when lashes parted and Sigil found the proverbial vision of heaven.

The side of her face pressed to cloth the same color as Que's flesh, facing open gates of glass offering blue sky, she felt nothing but the torment of hell. The growing sob crushed around her heart, and she shut her eyes so tight her skull ached.

Long ago, before her name was Quinn, she had cried like that - like a dying animal. She had been alone, cut off from sentient life after she'd eaten the last of her attackers on that first world she'd crashed into. There she'd howled so very pitifully after ages of solitude, and now that emptiness returned. The only life that had ever mattered to her was lost.

There was no Que to guide her; she was alone, in a palatial room with walls that glowed as if carved from opal. There was no Que because his battered head had been cut off and placed in a cryobox.

There was no Que because Quinn had not been shrewd enough to check Pax's holding cells...

There was no Que because she had utterly failed him.

The hard truth was cruel, but she'd been raised by her mentor to face it. The punishment of each cry distorted into the soft foreign mattress, each breath rending her in two. Howls seemed to build until she could hardly breathe, until the pressure behind her eyes matched the piercing pain in her skull.

The covers were damp from her outburst, the whole of that great bed far too comfortable when she should have been lying on broken glass. Quinn bawled until there were no more tears and exhausted numbness deadened a bit of the grief. Staring dumbly out those huge open doors to what looked like a balcony drenched in sun, she willed her body to stop breathing.

Her body denied her. Sleep came.

The next time she woke, what had been almost blinding whiteness had altered to a soft gold sunlight, setting the walls aglow. Aching as if she'd slept too long, hungry, confused, she pressed up from the vast bed.

Her wrists were cuffed in etched gold, the bracelets decoration of ancient design. Her nails had been shaped, cleaned. Ignoring the odd decoration, disinterested in ornamentation, she untangled her legs from the pleated sleeping gown hanging from her throat and stood.

The ground was warm, as if it had been heated by sunlight. Her feet, painted gold up to her ankles, a similar shade. Standing there, no part of her felt right; her limbs seemed fraudulent, as did the tightness against her skull.

She wished she couldn't feel at all.

Stiff, stepping toward the nearest gaping view, all that was to be seen was ocean. Vast, endless turquoise that lapped at the side of the rounded cliff her gilded cage had been carved into. There was nothing to swim to, no sign of hovercraft or spaceship; only birds circling, and water creatures playing near the milder break.

One door was the only other available route.

There was no electric panel or vid display to help her navigate its unbolting, only an archaic lever. Under her fingertips, ancient mechanics etched into the wood and lined in gold gave when she pressed down; the door was not locked. Pulling it open, she found a circular anteroom as bizarre as any mind might imagine.

The visual curio was segmented into quadrants depicting the seasons of old earth. She was standing in summer, gazing up to find a fresco painted on the ceiling above her. Cartwheeling gods from a culture she did not know smiled down in their glory.

In the center of the room sprouted a fountain, but that was not what drew her attention; it was the walls of gilded mirrors and the stranger reflected in them. Gone were the dyed eyes and in their place the icy vibrancy of a glacier. Gone was the sheared skull. Instead sheets of hair hung past her waist. The saturation she had used to alter her hair into any shade but her own had been removed, displaying the ethereal brilliance of pale silvery blonde. A shade she had not seen fully grown since she was a child.

Touching the glass, finding it cool, nothing looked familiar. That woman was a ghost, a stranger.

"Is it so strange?"

Red rimmed eyes glanced to the reflection across the room. She nodded a little, her attention returning to her image. No sound accompanied his approach, only the growing size of the uniformed male closing in to dwarf her figure in the glass.

Sovereign was so much taller, boasting a body that spoke of great strength. The pale thing in the mirror was lissome, a wraith with a face of misery and disorientation. Where she seemed fragmented, he radiated wholeness, authority.

Eyes far deeper than the ocean she'd glimpsed out her window assessed, still bearing that same unwelcome tenderness she had first seen years ago. Sovereign spoke, "Is there any lingering pain?"

Voice low and lifeless, she muttered, "Not in my head." Tears slipped over her cheeks and she added, "Where am I?"

"Secure, in a place where you can find rest. There was damage to your brain from the psionic burst that even your rapid healing could not fully counter. You've been asleep for forty-seven years. During that time there were operations, gene therapy, augmentation."

Large eyes burned, filling with hate. "Trying to rectify the mistake you made in my alteration?"

The man reached out and brushed the back of his fingers down her long tangle of silvery hair. "Yes."

She could sense his intentions. He was goading her on purpose, testing to see how close she might be to losing control. But he was not completely false. She could feel the oddest heat against the left side of her skull proving his point. "It's a pity you could not cut out my memory too."

Deep inside him, Sovereign agreed. "The psionic centers of your brain have been fit with suppression technology that will disperse overload. With practice, tailored psionic ability will be available to you now."

Looking to the warming line atop her skull, she imagined where a long circular scar would have developed had she been human. Unimpressed, numb, she muttered, "It never feels like any time has passed when I wake."

Fingertips stroked her hair behind her ear. "I felt every hour."

"And from this moment forward, so will I." Every last painful crawling hour without Que.

The heat of his hand settled on her shoulder, a thumb dipping under her hair to gently stroke her nape. "I would never have killed him. I want you to know that. I would never have willingly given you such pain."

The sincerity of the soft spoken words scorched her. Visibly cringing, wanting to dump the blame at his feet, she accused him of his greater slight, "You should have let me die."

"Quinn did die. Sigil was reborn - the past burned away."

Forlorn, she whimpered, "I don't want to be Sigil..."

Poisoned words were offered softly, "Do you want to be Quinn without Que?"

It felt as if he'd ripped straight through her rib cage. "No." Her face contorted into one of pain. "Quinn could never survive without him."

The rich compulsion in his voice made it all seem so simple. "Then they both must be mourned and set aside. As it is now, you have so many reasons to live." More pressure parted the vertebrae, Sovereign purposefully fostering her comfort until the female's hands unfisted. "Your brothers have kept vigil. All the love you seek awaits your recognition."

"Had I the energy, I would kill you, Sovereign. I would move room by room through wherever you have stashed me, slaughtering every remnant of Project Cataclysm that crossed my path."

A gentle smile was offered, Sovereign seemingly pleased with her threats. "I have a gift for you, something that will require a gentle hand." He turned toward the segment of winter. "Come forward child."

In another mirror was the shy flash of yellow scales. The boy, her Tessan boy she'd left in the cryotube on Pax ambled nervously forward. He had heard her words, he feared her.

Old guilt lay heavy in her voice, Sigil turning to take in the form she was certain had been devoured by her rage on Pax.

Sovereign explained, "Karhl ordered the cryotube removal to our ship once your request was made. The boy has been sleeping, waiting for you to wake and decide his fate."

Sovereign gestured for the child to approach nearer. Mincing steps of a born slave obeyed, his obvious terror softening the horrified expression on Sigil's face.

She whispered, "Do you know me, boy?"

There was no answer. He was frightened, more than unsure, his tail making little flicks behind him against the cool spring floor. Her imaginings for him had been simple; a warm home in an outlying Tessan colony where fresh life was needed. Not this. The young male looked up at her and she sensed hard truth. He wanted his mother.

And Sigil had killed her... had been the cause of the deaths of tens of thousands on Pax.

"The Imperial Consort asked you a question, Jerla." That was not a tone Sigil had ever heard Sovereign employ. It was the tenor one used to guide children. It was a voice of reason and comfort.

The Tessan child shook its head no.

Grief of another sort welled until Sigil felt pinpricks behind her eyes. "I know you, Jerla, son of the slave Ragi." Sovereign dared to slip an arm around her as she spoke, almost as if to restrain her even though his terrible mind echoed feelings of reassurance. "I have known you since you were birthed. I hid the billop eggs near your sleeping mat when you were good."

His trio of eyelids blinked, the child growing involved at the mention of his favorite treat. "I liked that game."

"So did I." Another touch from the Emperor, gentle fingers threading into her hair. Sigil, too busy staring at the child, could not react. Not unless she wanted to scare the boy even more. Instead she forced the smallest of smiles. "Have you been happy since you woke?"

Those shining black eyes blinked at her, the male too young to understand beyond simplicities. "I get to eat whenever I am hungry." A slave's version of bliss.

"When I was only a little older than you, I was trapped on a world alone for many years, very hungry."

Innocent, Jerla asked, "Why?"

Sigil's smile faded, sadness returning. "My ship was shot down by bad men. Do you know the difference between bad men and good men?"

How could he? All he had ever known was Pax, drudgery, and neglect. Even so, Jerla nodded in agreement.

"I killed all of these men, lived in the ruins of their outpost until a stranger found me... a good man. The first I had ever met."

The boy's tale swished in interest at her tale. "How did you know he was good?"

Sigil swallowed. "He was the opposite of me in every way."

"You were not good?"

"No," Sigil shook her head, expression grim. "I was not good."

Fear crept into those pitch eyes again.

Sovereign held her just a little tighter, a warning that she must desist from her path. He spoke, "And she seeks to atone. That is why she saved you from the destruction of Pax."

That is not why she had saved him, but Sigil was not going to damage the friendless thing further.

The emperor was back in mood and stance. Sovereign commanded, "Thank her quickly, Jerla. The Imperial Consort requires rest."

Shifting foot to foot, his bare little toes clicking on the stone floor, Jerla looked unsure. "Thanks."

Already pulling Sigil toward the spring segment of the circular anteroom, Sovereign instructed, "Off with you now. You can play with her when she is feeling better."

Where the Tessan child went, Sigil did not see; she was simply glad he was gone. It had been too much, she was too empty. And so she let Sovereign lead her through an open arch into another room.

The sleeping chamber had been summer, but the dining hall - walls laden with edible growing things and latticed windows overlooking that same endless sea - was clearly spring.

Food already waited on the table, the dishes beyond Sigil's experience to recognize. Placed in a chair, Sovereign was wise enough to only hand her water. "What made you chose that child over all the young ones on Pax?"

Sigil was gone, buried too deep under ragged thoughts to even consider further conversation. Cup at her lips, she swallowed, eyes locked on a round deep purple fruit growing nearby.

"That is a mangosteen. Inside the shell is something soft that tastes of long lost berries... according to old earth legend. It is an extreme rarity in these times."

Resigned, Sigil sighed, "With all your planets, you could find a climate to host forests of any fancy fruit you wanted."

"Ecosystems, like politics, are tricky things. New plant life can unbalance whole worlds in less than one human generation."

"So can Irdesian forced Conversion."

Sovereign had the gall to laugh. "True." Reaching past her, he plucked a mangosteen as if the table before him was not ripe with food. There was an art to opening it, to revealing the soft pale flesh hidden behind its thick shell. "Here."

The odd segmented pieces smelt of nula milk, a thing she'd once craved. "No."

Shrugging, Sovereign took the flesh and ate it, leaning back in his chair to watch his female pretend she was not crying. "You have to eat to stay strong. You need to eat so you might guide Jurla's path."

"He doesn't belong amongst humans."

"Why? They have shown him more care than any creature on Pax did."

Insulted, Sigil's head swung toward the irritation snacking at her side. "I cared for him on Pax."

Meeting her eyes Sovereign conceded, "You did. And he will see to you here in return."

She knew what he was about. "Jerla is only a child. It is wrong for you to use him in such a way."

The man shook his head, his dark hair shifting like a wave. "You killed his mother. You exterminated every last lifeform on Pax. He's all that's left."

She thinned her lips to stop them from trembling as she whispered, "I didn't mean to."

There was a trace of pity reflected in the hardness of his expression. "I know." He held up what remained of the fruit in offering.

Sigil took a slimy sliver, chewed and swallowed, tasting nothing. "I know what you're doing."

Any creature who had survived torture understood the stage where the assailant built rapport. "I know."

"Are you going to rape me now?"

Those eyes, those deep, strange eyes looked unbelievably sad. Even hurting as she could sense, the man seemed to consider. "You were not cured of your compulsion. Such a thing was ingrained into your very thinking and chemical response to various stimuli. Do you want to be left feral in a cage with no future? Or do you want freedom and life?"

She let him see how weak she'd become. "I want to go home..."

"Que is dead. You have no home."



Sigil Ch. 13



Apart from waking that first morning in her strange rooms, Sigil was never left alone; Sovereign was always with her. He even slept at her side - as if certain she would not reach over in the dark and rip out his throat. He held her when she would not move, and spoke softly of things she paid no attention to. The sound of his voice became as common as the sound of waves breaking outside the open balcony doors, ambient music Sigil subconsciously paced her breath to.

Sorrow physically numbed, but the cost of expanding her chest, of drawing in air - each inhale seared beyond her grief. The sensation was welcome. The pain was deserved, such a fate earned for failing her only friend... for losing her home.

Whatever Sovereign had planned for her, whatever horrors, Sigil no longer cared.

He turned her body, rolling her away from where glassy eyes stared out toward the sky, and tucked her under his chin. Blood returned to a leg that had grown sensationless, the man rubbing at her hip as if he knew.

"It's time to get out of bed."

Get out of bed usually entailed Sovereign carrying her to some other quadrant of her apartment's four rooms and four seasons. She slept in Summer where the sun set the room alight at dawn. Food was served in fragrant Spring, something always waiting atop the long table no matter the hour. Bathing took place in Winter, in a large heated pool surrounded by dripping mosaic walls cut from ice. In Autumn waited a sitting room, full of objects hand selected to amuse her: ancient books with leather bindings - as rare and valuable as the bible Sovereign had offered her on Pax - puzzles strewn about, an alcove filled with fire, surrounded by black marble almost as imposing at the man who lay her on the nearby divan.

No tech existed beyond outdated lighting systems that did little more than glow. No access panels, no holographic entertainment relays. The nearest thing to scientific achievement was a large winding clock built into the Autumn Room's massive window. As the hours dragged by the huge hands moved, changing the shadows of the room to mimic leaves falling from a tree.

Secluded with the Irdesian Emperor, his brothers would seep into other seasons - laying out the simple attire Sovereign would pull over her head after they were finished in the bathing pool and leaving food. She sensed their minds, yet never saw a one. Karhl, his psyche familiar to her, would approach the nearest, yet never fully intruded.

He just wanted her to know he was there.

The emotions she sensed from the lurking Lord Commander were always steady, always reassuring. In fact, there were no minds anywhere near her that were not absolutely composed.

No matter which room she was placed in, sleep consumed most of her hours. In Winter's heated pool she would doze against Sovereign's chest as he bathed her; the food in Spring swallowed by a sleepy, disinterested woman.

And in Autumn, stretched out on the soft divan, cradled, she could blank out amidst the scents of leather and flame. Or it may have been the habit of the male who sat the end of the cushions, who held her feet on his lap, rubbing them lazily, which made slumber easy.

Zombie-like, she put up no resistance, and made no effort to flee what she had termed her 'due punishment.'

What would be the point? Where would she go? There was nothing but an empty universe outside those rooms, a big vast space of loneliness and inevitable suffering. She deserved to be trapped with the enemy. She deserved whatever they had in store for her.

Sigil did not even respond when perfunctory sex was 'applied.' With each mating, Sovereign did little to seduce beyond assuring her comfort before he filled her with the liquid that maintained sanity. When it was finished, he always kneeled between her spread thighs, their bodies still deeply joined, and would trace a kneading grip over her every muscle. That was where he took his time, unwinding all that unaddressed tension that made Sigil's shoulders stoop.

She wished he wouldn't.

The common occurrence of sex she could abide; even in grief, Sigil grasped thepurpose of living day-to-day outside the omnipresent worry utter madness might consume her at any moment. All the better to feel the pain of her loss; coherency was the perfect punishment. She would even spread willingly when Sovereign lifted her robe, lying still to assure every moment of her sorrow was purely felt.

The communion was so cursory it seemed an endurable chore, and that is what made the ensuing touches so unwelcome. The Emperor paid attention to every part of flesh while she remained spread, full of him, and limp. He rubbed from fingertips to toes, paid meticulous attention, all the while cooing nonsense she ignored.

Half the time she fell asleep... but that was the thing about time. It wore on; it changed perception, until Sigil began to feel what Sovereign was doing.

The sun was setting the day she took the trouble of moving her eyes. She actually looked at him, as if to ask why he'd even bothered trying to offer comfort. Sovereign had held her gaze, smiling as if to tempt his captive to voice such thoughts, and continued kneading her forearm. She said nothing, simply watched. When Sovereign's strokes neared where he'd just filled her with seed, where he still remained embedded in her quim, as if to test the waters, his thumb pressed her flaccid clit. Holding her eyes, measured feather-light pressure coaxed Sigil's little nub to harden.

A playful pinch and he whispered in the dark, "You're allowed to feel pleasure. I long to give it to you, but I won't force it."

Flicking her bud faster, seeing a twitch in the woman's hips, a little quiver squeezed his cock. He didn't offer more, no firm grip on her breast, no grind of his groin against her, just that maddening, perfect friction rubbing tight circles over rapt nerve endings. Every opportunity was offered for Sigil to slap his hand away. Instead, her breath changed, and a broken grunt caught in her throat.

The wave of accompanying wetness bathed his dick, Sovereign already laying atop her to praise and sooth her orgasm.

"Precious, beloved."

She whimpered, hiccupping and pathetic. Drawing out more, Sovereign pressed kiss after kiss over damp cheeks, riding on the waves of the first emotion his Sigil had shared since the day she woke after so many decades asleep. Reaching between their bodies, his fingers danced as they always did to prepare her. She was still wet, seeping out his ejaculation and the remnants of her orgasm from her squirming. Toying where his shaft invaded, taking time to trace the more delicate stretch of her lips, he felt her leg spread wider. At first invitation his throbbing cock pistoned hard enough to jar her, and Sovereign moaned, low and grainy, to feel a response, any response.

There was no tender rocking, no sedate caution. Teeth over her jugular he violated that small tight place with ragged pounding. Jack hammering, soaring to hear Sigil's every breath coated in a cry, he drew her higher. A swirled nipple was sucked into his mouth, a lick between her bouncing breasts, a taste of her parted lips, and a warning.

"You will come. You will come for me!"

It hurt beautifully.

Or was that pleasure?

Her hips were jerking, Sigil's body exacting in its reaction to being fucked after so many eons of sedate friction. Lips at Sovereign's ear, feeling each violent thrust as he brought her to his lap and held her spread wide, Sigil did what he loved most. She begged, "Please."

Violence broke out - inhuman speed that would have damaged any convert female beyond repair - Sovereign had her bowed over his arms. Familiar with her brand of pleasure, he collared her throat in one tight hand, so she might see stars as her walls crumbled and her body was taken beyond any sensation another might attempt to give her.

Head thrown back, her nails hooked Sovereign's shoulders as hips ground in time with jarring thrusts. Bouncing on a thick cock, feeling more than superficial gratification, sick with life and death and the continuation of breath when nothing else mattered, she fractured.

Her hair was tugged aside, the man snaking his head far enough around her form to lock his teeth on her nape and bite with vigor. The jolt rocked Sigil the instant vertebrae parted. With her clit throbbing, a twist of muscle strained to tighten and keep each inch of Sovereign's cock in her body - to pull it deeper, to fill the void.

Hearing her choked gasps, Sovereign sprayed against her vacant womb, shooting his mark as deep inside her jerking body as he could. And Sigil, the moment she felt the initial wave of come erupting from the base of such a demanding organ, tightened her legs about his waist. He gnawed further at her nape, roaring something awful as he lapped at the pinch of skin between his teeth and shoved in as hard as he could.

When he unhinged his jaw, loosened his strangle on her throat, when the female's first deep breath ended her quaking orgasm, Sigil did not weep. Instead, she looked at him as if she did not know he'd even been in the room.

Brushing back hair from her damp forehead, Sovereign grinned wickedly, enjoying that last flickering suck of her cunt milking everything it could get.

"Beloved, you've made me proud. You are very brave."

Why had he called her brave? What was brave in surrender?

After laying her down, Sovereign slept as he always did, holding her, their legs entwined. But that night, Sigil found no peace in sleep's oblivion.

Looking at the line of him in the dark, seeing with eyes designed to adjust to low light, Sigil found no answer in Sovereign's musculature, his inky waved hair, or the angles of his face. Scooting back, attempting to disengage from his touch, what she found instead was Sovereign's eyes flared open, found him watching her every move. But he said nothing.

The increase in her heart rate was abnormal. Confusion followed. After several uneven breaths, Sigil only turned away. He closed the space; solid, muscular chest pressed to her back, Sovereign's arms once again tight around her.

The sound of surf, the constant breeze, and the soft breaths of the man once again in sleep... Sigil finally had an opinion about them. They were too loud, too real, distracting from where her mind should be wallowing in the memory of Que.

Laying there through the subsequent hours went from tedious to uncomfortable. She was hungry, aching, forlorn, and lost when the beast at her back finally stirred. The instant he tried to lift her so they might bathe, she moved out of his reach.

"Hush, Beloved." He had her wrist in his grip before Sigil could evade completely. "There is no need to panic. You're safe here."

Safe from what?

Tired eyes looked to where he dared to restrain her, and Sigil found her arm very thin, her muscles reduced.

As if reading her thoughts, Sovereign explained, "You're weak because you hardly eat,"

Voice rough from disuse, Sigil grunted, "Let go."

He did, Sigil slipping awkwardly from her odd crouch on the bed.

Looking, Sovereign said, "You look tired. Have you slept?"

"No." Why had she answered him? Why did her voice sound foreign?

Dark brows rose, the bastard finding her reply curious. "And you're hungry..."

Even with his hands offering succor, even with calm emotions offered, she was wary of him. Every word Sovereign had ever spoken in her presence carried the weight of extreme intention. He was molding a response, guiding, breaking - a force Sigil found intimidating and equally disturbing. Especially as Sovereign was internally triumphant beyond his handsome, carefully organized expression.

Had Que seen her at that moment, backing away - not from Sovereign, but from whatever was hurdling around inside her when she looked at him - he would have been disappointed.

Only the weak refused to face their flaws.

Sovereign was her flaws personified.

Watching as he cautiously approached, Sigil tried to articulate her thoughts. All that passed her lips was one long breath of, "Que is dead. I saw his head in a box."

Already in Sovereign's embrace, crushed so she might have something to fight besides herself, he sighed, "Let me help you, Sigil."

Hands that had become familiar went right to her nape and rubbed hard enough involuntary muscle relaxation almost made her sag to the ground.

Moving a fat tongue, forcing more out of a throat that gave only grainy, hoarse grunts, Sigil, accused, "You bit me."

Warm lips pressed to her hairline, Sovereign smiled. "Not hard. And you came beautifully as I did. It is time now for you to make peace with what you are, reconcile your regrets, and embrace this new life. In the five months since you woke, have I given you one reason to fear? Have I hurt you? You know you are safe with me."

Five months? That wasn't possible.

"You told me you wouldn't bite me... you lied."

Sovereign felt no guilt for closing his teeth on her neck. "Long ago, under different circumstances, I did. But if that's what it took to wake you up, then I would break that oath a thousand times over. Should you wish to punish me for it, grow stronger. As of now, you stand no chance of victory on any scale."

He pulled her to Winter. While they bathed, Sigil wouldn't let him touch her, hissing if Sovereign tried to help, and absolutely refusing to let him comb out her hair.

Dressed quickly, with the day's gown hanging from one shoulder and stuck to damp skin, Sigil left him to find food in Spring.

Much more than food awaited her.

Karhl stood from his seat the instant she paced through the archway. Then two work roughened palms took her face, fingers lacing into dripping silvery hair, and a warm mouth crashed down to claim hers. The urgency of his attention, the forthright possession, Sigil squeaked. Karhl was relentless. If a man could hold centuries of longing for a woman and pour it into one kiss, that was surely what he bestowed on her.

And then it was over, both of them breathing hard. Realizing she stood stiff like a lightning struck tree, Sigil lowered tense arms from where they hovered stiff at her sides, and felt Sovereign's consciousness enter the room behind her.

Karhl seemed unmoved that a third had joined their private moment, too busy studying her face, tracing her swollen lower lip with one large thumb. "I have missed you." He still spoke with little expression, hiding far more jubilant emotions behind the quasi-Axirlan mask.

Behind her there was the heat of another body, then the quick, sure tugs of a comb through wet hair.

"Sigil was eager to find you. She ran straight out of the bath."

A fire roared in sea glass eyes, and Karhl looked down at his female, found pert nipples showing dark pink through wet fabric. "Have her boy fetch her something dry."

Boy? Jerla...

"No." Sigil walked away from the one untangling the last bit of her hair and the giant pleased to his core to see her, and took her seat at the head of the table. She began to eat.

Fingers in her mouth, grabbing at whatever was nearest, she chewed and swallowed, careless of what had been expertly prepared, displayed, and offered. Karhl sat at her left, Sovereign at her right, the males partaking of the meal with far more grace than the starving female. They began to speak with one another openly of government business as if in a strategy meeting. On occasion, one of them would offer her a dish out of her dirty-fingered reach, or they would open the rind of a complicated fruit, crack a shellfish, refill her glass, as if such an exchange were natural.

Sigil ate until her stomach ached, looking over her destruction of the table as Karhl mixed some beverage with warm water, to set it before her.

"Ango will ease your stomach."

If she was lucky it might be poison; thinking so, she met his eyes and swallowed the small offering in one gulp. The ache in her belly subsided. Sigil frowned.

The men went back to talking, perhaps even talking to her, but Sigil's attention was caught on a foreign sound beyond breaking waves and male voices. Laughter, giddy and fresh - a child's noise - came from Autumn.

Standing, ignoring the men, she left them to iron out policy, politics, war effort, whatever, and crossed the circular anteroom. Leaning against Autumn's the arched entry, Sigil watched Jerla explore her untouched gifts. A master of self-entertainment, the Tessan boy found everything wonderful, and had no shame in piling up the best by his estimation, to spread out and play with.

There was so much life in that yellow swishing tail, an eagerness to exist. Fascinated, afraid to interrupt his games, Sigil waited as silent as a killer in the dark. Jerla did not notice her for quite some time, and had the stack of treasures he was making not tumbled, he may never have. Sigil was far more startled than him, her hand gripping the archway like a shield before her body.

Eyes, shining in their black totality, caught her, the boy instantly silent.

Recognizing the awkwardness of hiding herself from a child, Sigil straightened and said, "There is food in Spring if you hunger."

Talons hovering over a toppled music box, Jerla shook his head. Considering her, reptilian in the angle of his neck, the child blurted, "Lord Commander Karhl shared while you were in the bath."

"What did you like best?"

Picking up the cause of distorted music, Jerla crooned, "The Turlanqi mouse."

Which one had that been? Wiping her dirty fingers on the side of her drying gown, Sigil stepped nearer. Her Tessan boy had grown since she'd last seen him.

"Are you happy here?"

Straightening from his pile of sparkling items, Jerla reached for something new and padded over ruby carpet to offer it. An etched board decorated by his talons and painted to show Pax was given with timid enthusiasm. "I made this for you."

Sigil, seeing their old home through the eyes of a child, found great worth in the artistry. Jerla had not intended it, she was sure, but there was nothing beautiful in Pax's shape. It seemed fitting; Pax had never been beautiful, but crusted and festering. The only beautiful thing on that board was the intention behind the artwork.

"Do you miss your mother, child?"

She'd upset him, Sigil could sense the disrupted feelings of a boy who bravely kept his expression closed. Trying to smooth it over, she amended, "I have been told you are cared for now. I wanted that for you."

"Imperial Consort, don't make me leave."

"Why would I do that?"

"You want to send me away. You want me to go to the sands. But I want to stay with you."

Looking at the shy boy, Sigil asked, "Did someone tell you to say that?"

Artfully, Jerla did not answer the question. Instead he shared his own desire for the future, "We could have adventures."

He had either been well coached or truly meant what he said. It was impossible to sense the outright motivation in a mind so young and simple. Stepping closer, Sigil took the music box from his hands, looking at the ornate device.

A voice came from behind her, "That was a gift from the wife of Defender Belloy, her name is Delphine. Formerly of House Kator."

Defender was a high rank amongst the brotherhood; it gave the bearer control over a planet, sometimes even whole systems, if Sigil remembered correctly. Looking at the frivolous box, she cracked the lid. There was a small plaque inside:

I have longed to meet you.

"Human treachery?"

"No." There was a smile, amusement, in Sovereign's voice as he stepped nearer. "Matron Delphine is a human of merit, well-loved by your brother. Belloy honors her so highly he petitioned the throne to allow his wife the honor of bearing offspring that would take his name."

Staring at where Jerla had gone back to playing, where the child ignored them in place of a glowing disk of some strange mineral, Sigil frowned. "If you can breed with humans then why am I here?"




Sigil Ch. 13



A light stroke on her cheek and Sovereign whispered, "We can't. And who he chose to sire his children is a private understanding is between Belloy and his wife."

"But you do know..." He'd have to in order to maintain total control. "More importantly, does she know they are not his?"

Sovereign only smirked, eyes alight, and assured, "And you are here because I adore you," wiping where food crumbled from her skirt, he continued, "even smeared with breakfast."

"I'm here," Sigil sighed, walking deeper into the room, "because I deserve to be here."

"Exactly." The man turned to face her, eyes fervent as he took her limp hand. "You deserve to be here, Beloved. You'll understand that in time."

First Karhl had poured oceans of feeling over her, sealed in a kiss. Now, Sovereign was doing the same, stroking damp hair from her face.

She deserved torment, not monsters pretending to be lambs. Turning to view the Tessan boy, Sigil asked, "Does Jerla know I killed his mother?"

The child looked up, heartbroken.

"It was an accident, but it was my fault. Did you know that, boy? Did they tell you that you are here to amuse the creature who murdered your family?'

The boy fled the room in such a state, Sovereign hissed. "Was that necessary? You feel it is acceptable to torment a child in such a way?"

Glacial eyes, swimming under accumulated feeling, flashed back to the man thinking to correct her. "He wanted to join me on adventures! You've poisoned his mind into loving me!"

"Sigil, consider what you've just done. You'd been his hero, something to hold on to, and you took that away out of spite. Do not lie to me, or yourself, by claiming disclosure was better for him, that it will improve his life in any way. You robbed that child! Could you not be the figurehead of his admiration? Could you not have let him be happy?"

Sovereign's attempt to compound her guilt earned the truth by her estimation, "I am dangerous. Jerla should never have been allowed anywhere near me! And he certainly should not have been coaxed to admire me!"

The man's frustration was palpable. "You are all he has left, no matter the oddity of your tie. Learn to curb your impulses and forget the castigation the dead Axirlan forced you to swallow. There is nothing wrong with what you are."

Yanking from his grip, Sigil slunk away, furious to hear Que spoken of as a tyrant. "And what would you have me do for the boy? Bounce him on my knee? Make a replacement companion from him?"

Sovereign let her have her space, releasing a thick breath. "Arden is to be your companion, Karhl your guardian. They will help you navigate society and your position in it. Jerla will be whatever you wish for him to be, but cruelty does not suit you, Sigil."

Somehow guilt began to overshadow her grief. "I killed his mother. I slaughtered everyone on Pax. And it wasn't the first time I was responsible for such a horror."

"Drinta killed them by attempting to wield a weapon far out of her control. Furthermore, your psionics have been repaired; a frenzied burst of that magnitude is not something you need to fear anymore. And I know you fear yourself. That is why you have made no attempt to even test your new limits. It is time to grow past juvenile denial of your new situation and embrace your role here."

Why did she feel this whole thing had been staged, as if she had been played by an expert? "You knew what I would say to Jerla. You knew he shouldn't be exposed to me."

Sincerity was all too keen in Sovereign's emotions. "I hoped for better."

"Who is going to comfort the boy?"

"Arden is close with your Jerla." Sovereign shifted his face into expressionlessness. "He will tend him well enough."

The Herald possessed a silver tongue and would say exactly the right thing to bring Jerla back into loving a woman he should hate. Confused by why that thought offered equal parts comfort and regret, Sigil sighed and went to pick up the child's abandoned mess.

Putting the objects back where Jerla had found them, she tried to ignore how closely Sovereign was watching her - as if her actions betrayed something she couldn't quite touch on.

She stopped at an inlaid game board, toying with the pieces, wondering if Jerla could teach her how to play the game. That was a good way to win a child's favor, wasn't it?

So much light played off the game piece pinched between her fingers, such a shine it seemed keen to dazzle and manipulate her attention, just as she considered manipulating Jerla. A fist formed around the little figure, so tight Sigil's fingers ached. Furious at what she'd done, a gathering blue psionic charge distorted the air around her hand. On a whim, she threw the board, dashing the pieces against the wall with little more than a thought.

And then it was over; no more excruciating bursts of energy came on the heels of her anger, no wild abandon to tear the room apart.

A wash of strange heat moved over the side of her skull; no blood dripped from her nose.

It was as Sovereign said... she'd been repaired, muted, weakened.

Dropping the game piece from her grip, glacial eyes moved toward her spectator, and Sigil snarled lowly, "I hate you."

Every word was true. Sigil hated him almost as much as she hated herself.

********

A/N. Hello friends. I just wanted to send out a quick thank you for all the support you have offered on this story. You amaze me!



Sigil Ch. 14



"I hate you."

Watching Sigil stand so still, her face alive with regret, Sovereign disagreed, "You don't mean that."

Oh, she meant it. Felt it so thoroughly that her lower lip trembled when she looked at the Emperor. That brand of hatred had begun in the cradle, was the flavor of her childhood, and the bane of all her years free of Condor. To share space with him, to have forgotten for even a moment in her grief, brought each drop of loathing back to bloom and twist inside her.

Cut from stone, grim, Sovereign dragged the music from his voice. "My love has always been yours, and though yours should have been mine, I am left with your hate instead. And it still changes nothing in my regard, or the difficulty of my position, precious Sigil."

She gave him her back, earning nothing but an unseen sneer from the male.

Sovereign openly prowled, caging her in. "And you think I take pleasure in forcing you? That I have enjoyed these last months, watching you lay like a penitent accepting the whip, so I might attend an unresponsive body in effort to heal you? This monster you have labeled me out of your stubbornness and abstention bears no resemblance to the man I am! There is no length I would not go to for you. No limit, Sigil!"

Forcibly turning her, gripping a stuttering chin, Sovereign made her look. "I understood your sorrow, I know the exact pain you carry, and since you woke never once did I force pleasure in an effort to steal your attention before you were ready to give it. No matter what revulsion you bear for me, even you cannot question my faithfulness, my sacrifices, or my patience."

It was her whimper that stopped Sovereign from closing his mouth over hers to suck in a kiss that would have been rough and selfish.

Setting her free, edging back, he let his expression mirror the determination inside him. "I will break you of this ingrained response and you will love me. It is inevitable."

Showing teeth, Sigil hissed, "It wouldn't be real."

"Your hate is what is not real! And you dared to call your brothers the sheep. At the honest heart of it, Sigil, you do not even try to think past your programing. You only ran from it. You hate me because your handlers were very thorough in planting that idea, in torturing you into mental submission. Take a hard look at yourself and tell me that is not true."

Voice rising, Sigil demanded, "And why should I?"

A look of smug superiority made beautiful lips mean. "Where is your self-righteousness now, madam hypocrite? I thought you believed you were above us all, so determined in your liberated sense of self. Yet here you are, still that little girl on Condor."

He'd talked her into a circle. To contradict him would make her look foolish. To agree would be an obvious falsehood. Because there was too much truth in his claim; her hatred of him was ingrained so deeply, the thought of even trying to align his image with fondness would naturally never occur to her.

Sovereign was borderline mocking, twirling a length of her hair about his finger. "Are you afraid of thinking for yourself? You are floundering already. To lose your programed foundation must seem terrifying indeed..."

She was many things, but she was not a coward. Even on Condor, even young and vulnerable, she'd faced every last goddamn thing her handlers had laid out for her. Furious, her fist smashed into his jaw, rocking Sovereign's head. But when he did nothing more than swing his gaze back to her and coo, "That's right. That is what you were trained for, that's what Commander Dimitri made you," the burn of his words drained away her fleeting exultation.

Staring at him for a long moment, blinking oddly, Sigil took a step back.

Her whisper took a great deal of effort, "That is what I was trained for..." Memories older than her time with Que rushed in so hard they began to blend together. Combat practice, poisons, murder, friendlessness, sociopathy, viciousness, pain. "...I learned how to kill you a thousand different ways."

Dulcet coolness enriched Sovereign's voice, "And when I lay dead how would you feel?"

Free?

He answered her silence. "You would be lonely, Beloved, even more so than you already are. Deep down, under all your broken pieces, the truth is that I have been your constant companion - a whisper in your mind from the very beginning."

Eyes closed, it was almost like he wasn't really there, and for a movement Sigil felt she might will him away. But then he touched his lips to hers, and where every part of her longed to lash out, she stilled to prove that she could bear it on his terms.

She could kiss him without the effect of passion having forced it. She could offer an attempt.

It was the response he wanted, and knowing he was pleased only stirred up more vitriol in her being. When it was done, when she had returned the pressure of a chaste kiss, he smiled, happy.

"You can't attribute all my hatred to Condor." The man before her was not a saint. There were things he'd done - things he'd claimed he'd done for her - that Sigil found disturbing to an extreme. And had he never come to Pax, Que would still be alive. So for that he had to pay.

With hesitant fingers Sigil reached up to touch his face, her eyes wet. She'd promised him punishment if he didn't kill her when they first faced off in her lost home. He would receive it.

Tracing the precision of his bone structure, she had to admit Sovereign was beautiful, perfect. And while he looked at her in love, she took what was hers.

Ripping his left eye from his skull was simple.

Dangling the little globe by its blood vessels and torn nerve above parted lips, Sigil dropped it, swallowing that pretty eye whole, facing him unashamed as it slithered down into her belly.

Sovereign stood, pressing the flat of his palm to the gaping, bloody eye socket. His lack of retaliation confused her automatic response. There was no anticipated battle, just awkward silence and a rolling sense of burdened grief.

Inside and out the Emperor was in pain, but it hardly showed beyond the tightening of his brow and the thinning of his lips.

Tired, Sigil walked out of the room.

********

In Summer she'd slept, too exhausted for even the midday sun blazing off the walls to wake her.

When a rumbling stomach finally drew her back to life, two moons rose over the night-darkened sea outside her balcony. There was silence and no trace of Sovereign's mind. But she had not been abandoned.

Karhl waited for her, and the nearby course of his emotions was strong.

Padding barefoot over cool floors, Sigil sought out what was her due, having faced enough punishment in her life to know when her judge sat waiting to dole it out.

Dried rusty splashes of gore still stained her fingertips, her dress was still mussed from breakfast. Pale and resigned, she walked straight-backed through the archway of Spring.

The Lord Commander stood as if part of the architecture. Lacking the armor he'd worn in the early hours, he posed; a black uniform - much like the one Sovereign wore day after day - stretched across his mass. It did nothing to soften his severity.

It seemed he had also brought witnesses. A collection of Sovereign's brothers - five members of Project Cataclysm - sat at the long table, just as noiseless as the Lord Commander.

Before they could begin, Sigil stated, "I regret nothing."

Karhl moved his head just enough for his hair to chime. "Not even what you said to Jerla?"

Rubbing her lips together Sigil's looked away. That she did regret...

The low base of his voice stated the obvious, "You anticipate punishment for your earlier behavior." Karhl made no effort to approach nearer when she toed a step, as if to brace and physically defend herself. "I expected you to be timid. I did not expect you to be frightened, young one." As usual there was no emotion shown in his expression; the comfort he crooned at her came from within. "This is not Condor, and no brother gathered here would dare touch you without your express permission."

No matter how tranquilly Karhl projected his emotion, Sigil refused to lower her guard and believe him. "Sovereign wishes to punish me himself?"

"I know my brother. More than anything, Sovereign would wish to be the one to soothe your worries. But his presence is not best for you at this moment." Three steps and Karhl pulled out her chair so Sigil might be tempted to sit.

Eyeing him with suspicion, Sigil slithered into it, tense.

Ignoring how she braced for a blow, the Lord Commander introduced each brother sitting around her table. A Herald of the Second Sphere, Mathias, smiled, teeth white against dark skin. To his left sat two of six Imperial Admirals. Parnisu, the taller, explained that he'd controlled the ship that had pulled her out of Pax, and seemed to study her even more closely than she studied him. Gethman, sable hair straight as a pin, mirrored his compatriot's uniform, but seemed easier, lounging back in his chair like a spoiled cat.

No rank was given to the two remaining men. From the symbols woven into the drape that hung from their shoulders, Sigil was certain the pair were High Adherents - something converts considered holy men. It was their Order that managed galactic conversion, human laws, and execution of the Unsalvageable. Drydon offered a nod, his expression soft and made to be beautiful. Corths, upturned eyes so very Tessan, dared much, reaching out as if he thought to stroke her cheek.

She jerked her head away.

Apologetic in tone, Corths spoke, "Sweet sister, I am the one who'd been tasked with your keeping while you slept."

Jade eyes looked at her as if they were familiar, and in Corths's estimation, they were. Even though he'd failed to touch her, Sigil felt the ghost sensation of a repetitive stroke over her face - a memory in mirror to where he must have pet her often in her sleep.

Sigil turned her gaze away from him, just as she would dissuade any spectator overexcited by her performance at Swelter.

The Lord Commander began to spoon food on her plate.

Not one of them seemed troubled by her reticence, serving themselves and conversing as if she had not ingested their leaders eye only hours earlier. Instead they asked gentle questions she didn't answer, behaving as if she were one of them come home. But worse was the constant distraction, the obviousness that Sovereign was not in attendance. Her eyes were drawn to search the corners for him, and it bothered her that another sat in his chair.

The wound she'd given him was not fatal, minor even in the scheme of things. It would take a few days for his eye to regenerate, and the dinner seemed to suggest he would not return until healed. Liberation from his presence felt abnormal, uncomfortable even, and then it struck her why Karhl was overly cautious, why so many brothers had been collected.

Sovereign was not going to be the one to tend to her compulsion... She spoke at last, "He's not coming back tonight. I have been handed off so I might learn my place."

A large hand covered hers, dwarfing her fingers. Karhl spoke softly, "It is your nature to see plots where there are none, such apprehension necessary to prior survival. But it complicates this stage of grief. You're angry, regretful, and bound to lash out. I understand; Sovereign understands. So you must not judge him too harshly for retreat when your behavior has disappointed his overzealous hopes. I know it is difficult for him to finally hold you, only to gain cruelty and suspicion in return."

Lips in a line, she glared at the white-haired warrior.

Karhl leaned nearer, looming so she might pay attention. "Imagine seeing the thing you want most suffer, even under your best care. Imagine your Que looking at you with hatred, no matter how delicate you are in seeing to his needs. Now, imagine a few precious moments of recognition from the one you love, after decades of service, crashing apart before they could be truly relished."

Why would he dare to say that name? Gritting her teeth, Sigil spat, uncaring who their audience was, "Sovereign is not Que!"

"No," Karhl agreed, "You are Sovereign's Que; you always have been. And just like your Que could never love you, you have never loved him. It is a tragedy he bares with dignity."

Why the fuck should she care? That man deserved what she'd done to him. "He should never have let Jerla in here!"

"Jerla has begged to see you every day since he first laid eyes on you. I know what you said to the child, I understand the part of you that felt that you needed to say it. But I must remind you that unlike the Axirlans I mimic in appearance and you strain to mimic in thinking, we are not of that species. Axirlan creed is limited by their inability to feel, and no matter how magnificent you find the concept, you are not Axirlan. Blatant honesty is not always best to curb remorse. You have a duty to that boy."

Her mouth moved before her brain could stop her. "Is that why Arden is not here? Jerla is still very upset?"

It seemed for a moment Karhl would not answer. His face and demeanor unchanging, the Lord Commander finally asked, "Do you desire his company?"

Which he Karhl referred to was left vague. Either way the answer was simple. "No."

Karhl had more to say. "Are you unhappy that tonight I will attend you? You wish Sovereign would return."

The tactile oddity of separation from Sovereign's presence was a clear sign he was having some deeper effect on her. Separation would clear her mind. "I do not."

No hesitation came with the justification of what Karhl wanted. "Then you understand that regression is likely and will need to be seen to." A male that had never shown intonation let his voice grow husky, Karhl's vivid eyes moving to her mouth, "But, beautiful young one, I long greatly to take you willingly to bed, and would hate to force you should you slip and grow dangerous to yourself."

"My psionics have been repaired. How dangerous could I be?"

An infinitesimal smile came to the corners of Karhl's mouth. "I think you have proven this morning just how dangerous you can be."

Cocking a brow, Sigil grew brazen. "I warned him on Pax that if he didn't kill me, I would make him pay for all the years he's hounded me. You were there, you heard my words, and he's lucky I only took one eye."

His vast internal amusement didn't show, and Sigil was not sure if it was due to his Axirlan nature or the presence of the other brothers. Remaining deadpan, Karhl agreed, "You are a woman of your word. Which is why I asked our brothers to join us for dinner and act as my protection."

God help her, but she chuckled before she could stop herself. In response, he gripped the seat of her chair and pulled Sigil nearer. "Your brothers have come to cheer you, and should you encourage it, some may wish to watch our mating, others to enhance it. But that is entirely up to you."

Ignoring how Karhl's great hand began to stroke her thigh, Sigil bluntly demanded, "And if I don't want to fuck you or serve as the night's entertainment?"

"Then you won't." Steady, the Lord Commander removed his hand, offered her a modicum of space, and explained, "You are not a pleasure slave and I meant every word. No brother here would touch you, and I would only move against your wishes if I had to. Should you not accept me, that time will come; maybe not tonight, but I will have to overcome your compulsion should you become dangerous to yourself."

The man's statement confused her just enough for Sigil to say, "So you are not going to force me now? Sovereign would not have waited."

Karhl countered in favor of his brother, "Sovereign had no choice when you refused to communicate and were difficult to read. You needed structure and schedule. My actions would have been no different. Everything he did was done to keep you as comfortable as possible."

Hums of approval and outright agreement came from the collected brothers.

It all felt like some great test. Some invisible carrot dangled before her face, a secret prize that was waiting; all she had to do was engage in sex with the large white-haired warrior whose emotions sang to her even though he eyed her with placid curiosity.

She had her own test for them. "If you say I can choose, then I choose not to."

Nodding that he understood, Karhl spoke, "As you wish."

"And now that it's settled," Parnisu, still unsmiling, interjected, "perhaps you will relax and allow us the honor of getting to know you."

They wanted her to speak. Fine.

The meal was lengthy, Sigil easing into the strangeness of sitting with so many survivors of Project Cataclysm. Remembering to eat was sometimes tricky when she was too busy calculating escape routes, or deciding whose neck she would have to break first if they were to attack her. Not a one made advances; they only wanted to know simplicities: her opinion on climate, food preferences, what colors she favored. Mildly intrusive questions into her history followed, focused on time periods the brotherhood had evidently collected detailed intelligence on. Had she enjoyed the society of Desvop Outreaches? Did she favor Tessans or Sudenovans? How is it that she never been to any Axirlan cities? What did she think of feral humans? Was it true she hated converts?

During questioning, her brothers held various offerings forward, the men behaving as if eager for her to learn the names of dishes. It was a game, Sigil found. To varying degrees they all tried to make physical contact with her - touching her when passing food, trying to feed her with their fingers - as if they fed off the exchange. Karhl was the most blatant, moving her hair to run a single stroke down her nape each time strands fell forward where they might touch her plate.

Each of the men were so very different, yet exactly alike underneath their beautiful faces and alternate genetic gifts. They were all one hundred percent committed to their cause.

The meal ended.

On some unseen command both Drydon and Corths stood. The High Adherents - the ones she looked at with greatest suspicion - bowed, but wisely kept their distance. Though Corths paused, let his eyes shine with childlike innocence and asked softly, "May I, just once?"

Stiff, Sigil said nothing. The High Adherent took silence as acceptance, running the backs of his fingers down her cheek. The moment was short, and he left the instant his touch reseeded.

For her behavior, Mathias grinned, teasing, "If I ask for a kiss will I get one?"

Her narrowed eyes, the Herald was wise enough to understand, was negation. Chuckling, Mathias winked, stood, and followed his brothers out.

Parnisu and Gethman remained.

During the meal they had been the quietest - watching, strategizing. It matched their design, and simplified their place in her estimation: warriors, third rank, who lacked the charisma of a Herald or the pseudo-religious fervor of High Adherents. And there were three more Admirals just like them somewhere in the Empire waiting their turn to sit at her table.

Gethman seemed to speak for them both. "I have two male charges under my name, my human wife's sons from her previous marriage. Familiar with youths, I suggest that after you wake and are attended to, your Jerla may enjoy showing you his favorite places outside. Neutral ground will simplify reestablishing your unification."

There was a deeper suggestion under Gethman's advice, because in order to follow it, she had to be attended to. The admiralty were enticing her to mate with Karhl, giving her an opportunity to assure she was free of her compulsion, and offering what they deemed might be a worthy temptation for her effort.

Looking him dead in the eye, Sigil challenged, "Do you love your convert wife?"

Expanding the tenuous conversation, Getham said, "To maintain the Imperial hierarchy, most of your brothers have taken spouses from what had been the strongest human houses or conquered monarchies. As such, we have absorbed them into our influence, permeate their old and new rivalries, and enforce compliance to authority. The majority are political unions."




Sigil Ch. 14



A polite way of saying no.

Grinning at her obvious distaste, Getham ran a hand through his hair and admitted, "I am saddled with a difficult wife. Others are less lucky. Arden, for example, has three from three rival houses." As if sharing something comical, he lifted his glass. "It is fairly common for his ladies to try and assassinate one another."

"How many wives does Sovereign have?"

The Admiral hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully, "Your position was designed and honored from the moment the Empire formed. Imperial Consort is above any human concept of wife."

Seeing three warriors seem uncomfortable by a subject so mundane brought the smallest of smirks to her face. "How many concubines?"

"There is no point in pretending he does not make use of select courtesans." Parnisu answered for his brother, still watching her to the point it was unsettling. "They cannot threaten your position."

She didn't know why she found it amusing. Perhaps it was the awkward defensiveness buried behind three warrior-still expressions. Or maybe it was the nature of what they all seemed to expect of her. "And he is with them now?"

"Most likely."

Sigil hummed, uncaring, "The human converts can have him."

The two Admirals did not seem to understand her feelings on the subject, looking to one another in silent communication. Where Gethman was baffled, Parnisu was annoyed, his feelings on the topic made clear when he grunted, "It is done as a distraction to afford you time with us. Considering the situation, it is unlikely to change until your brothers are given true mates."

What had been a mischievous smirk faded into a sneer.

"Sigil," It was the first time Karhl had spoken since the topic began. "Admiral Parnisu did not mean to offend you."

Cold eyes snapped to the Lord Commander. "And just how many of you are queued up for my theoretical offspring?"

Tangling thick fingers in her hair, Karhl eased nearer, "I desire only you, and no daughter of the Emperor would change that."

That was not what she'd asked and he knew she was an empath, altering his phrasing to distract or lie by omission. Far more direct in tone she asked again, "How many of you are there?"

Karhl took a deep breath, studied the way her hair ran through his fingers, and said, "Less than two hundred remain."

It seemed impossible. There was no way an entire species could have been dominated by so few. Trying to find the words led to false starts, but eventual she blurted "On Condor... I was taught Project Cataclysm's leadership and Special Forces numbered in the high thousands."

"We did." Holding her eyes, Karhl stroked that soft bit of silvery hair between his fingers. "When Condor fell and we openly defended you, the Alliance moved to immediately eradicate us all, expediting our insurgency four years ahead of schedule. Victory required great sacrifice; in the beginning, gaining a foothold in the universe, plowing through human populations, was inelegantly accomplished. The remaining losses were accrued in further campaigns, assassinations... the lower ranks lacked the elites' genetic enhancements and expired as humans do. If you wish to know the details, Arden has a written account he prepared while you were sleeping. The volumes are in your Autumn Room."

She'd seen the journals shelved near the fire. Once or twice Sovereign had read from them while she'd napped. Looking from the Lord Commander to the one who seemed most aggressive, Sigil asked Admiral Parnisu, "And what if I birthed only boys?"

Resting his elbows and folding his hands, Parnisu explained without feeling, "Sovereign has been altered to suit his purpose as the progenitor of the first true Irdesian house. He can produce only female gametes."

Her captors had always said daughters... and she should have known the brotherhood would have calculated the intended course of their species expansion, strategizing to obtain best results. "And when these daughters are born they will be handed out based on rank to be used to further your agenda."

Karhl could see the discussion had taken a dangerous turn. "Your children are our children. We would not see them traded as the humans barter their offspring in search of favor or power. They will be worshiped, not subjugated."

Shaking her head, Sigil dislodged her hair from Karhl's fingers and sighed, "And should they chose another path than the one you will lay out so prettily before them, you will hunt them through the stars and drag them home..."

Gethman smiled and explained the failing in her understanding, "It is natural for a species to seek the comfort of their kind. Some may stray; most will desire the embrace of family."

"And if you're wrong?"

The smile grew sad. "Then all our kind will die, the human worlds will fall back into chaos, and all our sacrifices would have been for nothing."



Sigil Ch. 15



Everything was coated in a soft, spongy moss. And it smelled like... something Sigil could not put her finger on. Running her hands over the ground, she found the sensation calming; friction releasing enough fragrance she could taste it on her breath. Sun warm on her face, wind teasing the strands of hair fallen free from the rope Karhl had woven, tangled, and were continually smoothed by the large male keeping her planted with an armored arm around her middle.

Before them, Jerla slept, curled up on the ground with Arden at his side.

The Herald stared openly, smiling to himself as he explored the woman resting pliant against the Lord Commander.

"All is well now; your little Jerla is content."

Twisting fragments of that strange moss between her fingertips, Sigil looked up to meet golden eyes. Unsure if she should comment on the residual sadness infecting the Tessan, she only hummed.

The child had not been expecting her first appearance days ago, oblivious to the amount of high-rank officials congregated when he came out to play on the palace's forested terrace. His spirits sank at the sight of her. After the first moments of their awkward reunion, after the boy's hesitation and a smiling Arden's assurances, Jerla told her again that he didn't want to go to the sands, that he would be good.

It hurt her to hear him so worried he might be cast away. So Sigil behaved exactly as Gethman had suggested - aware that very Admiral watched keenly from the sideline. Eyeing the wooded space, Sigil found it as detailed - even in its wildness - as her rooms. The garden, if it could be called such, was staged as a primeval forest, made to look as if sprouted from the palace itself. Treetops competed with the roof, vines hung, verdant moss creeping up plant life and veiling rocks.

Unsure, Sigil had muttered, "Did you know I can climb higher than anyone here? I can do tricks and I never fall."

The boy challenged at once, disbelief in his inky-eyed squint, "You can't do tricks."

"She can," Arden whispered, leaning down to reach the Tessan's unshelled ear. "The Imperial Consort can fly."

Karhl's grip on her wrist eased, even he played along. "Show him."

Offering Jerla a place on her back, feeling a yellow tail coil tight around her middle, Sigil took flight. It may have been some time since her last performance on the silk in Swelter, but her arms knew the dance, and she was supernaturally fast. All the way to the top of the trees she climbed, taking her squealing cargo to peek out the foliage.

It was as she assumed, the entirety of the palace was surrounded in ocean, with nothing else but endless blue to be seen in all directions.

No wonder they'd let her run free. There was absolutely nowhere to go.

Jerla's arms around her neck tightened, the child mystified. She jumped, he shrieked in delight, and Sigil took him swinging like a monkey through the branches.

Earning the renewed admiration of a child was in parts simple and horrible. Jerla's shining black eyes stared up with wonder, but not as he had before. It was almost as if she were no longer a real thing - as if she'd become something magical and treacherous - an idol Jerla respected and feared.

Easing down in mirror of the sleeping child, Sigil pressed her cheek to the moss. She felt Karhl follow suit to stretch comfortable at her back, and stared at yellow scales. "He'll never love me like he did before."

Arden sighed, though his smile did not falter. "Did you want his love after all? I thought I'd been mistaken in telling him of your wonders, how you'd chosen him - how you'd saved him."

Gentle castigation from Arden seemed odd. It was Sovereign who loved to correct her, Arden who gave her whatever she wanted, and Karhl who strove to make her feel safe. Defensive, Sigil said low enough not to wake the boy, "You think you are very clever, don't you?"

His grin broadened, Arden chuckling softly. "I fall short now and then."

"So which one of you is going to slip into conversation how Jerla's trials parallel those of Converts. That I must be careful what I say to humans?"

Arden outright laughed, "Look who is the clever one."

"Then you will tell me adults are not as resilient or forgiving as children. That I must act like some queen and pretend they don't deserve my pity."

Gold eyes darkened, amusement replaced with a shallow echo of exasperation. "Pity for what? Humanity thrives. Conversion lengthens human lifespans, makes the population resistant to disease, and eager to function as a unit - an inoculation against their inborn inferiority and stimulus to their faulty evolution. We give them purpose. And let's be honest, Sigil. What do you know of humans anyway?"

The Converts she'd come across in the past had only sent her into an uncontrollable rage. She'd killed them, or ran from them if she'd found the willpower to do so. The only Converts she'd seen close up while free of the compulsion were Karhl's altered warriors who guarded her on Pax. They had seemed nothing more than drones lacking personality - cold-blooded and loyal to the cause the universe was wary of inciting. There was a reason free-humans fled Conversion, refused it, or rebelled.

Sigil could only express her feelings by stating the Irdesian axiom, "Convert or die..."

Shrugging, Arden sprawled and enjoyed the sun. "It is unfair that you judge a people you have never met. Irdesian society would adore you if you would let them, just as Jerla longed to adore you. It is no different, Sigil."

********

Sleeping beside Karhl greatly reminded Sigil of sleeping beside another. The Lord Commander was warm and bulky, preferring to pull her flush against him, so his bicep might serve as her pillow. The weight of him felt so familiar that sleep came thick. Sigil had never been much of a dreamer, and what flashes she had in Karhl's weighty embrace were mishmashed, lacking continuity or purpose. But there was one ongoing theme that slipped in to distract and annoy - Sovereign.

More than once she'd awoken to see him standing over where she slept confined in Karhl's bulging arms. In the muddled dark the emperor would sigh, leaning down where he did nothing more than press a kiss to her forehead.

Nightly, he broke her sleep. And when awake, she continued to feel his absence, unsure why he watched from the shadows but separated himself from her in the light. Frustrated with the game, Sigil had confronted Karhl, demanding an end to the evening visitor.

Standing like a simpleton, Sigil listened as Lord Commander communicated her vision was impossible.

Sovereign was off-world, far from the Water Palace, sitting the throne on Irdesi Prime.

"Should you wish to go to him, the journey can be arranged."

"Why would I go to him?"

He gave no answer, but sea glass eyes ran briefly over the female body before him, looking a bit longer at the untouched place between her legs. The Lord Commander had kept his word. They'd shared a bed only to sleep, and aside from the thick, nightly reminder of his erection nestled in the cleft of her ass, sex was never initiated... at least by Karhl.

She'd been the one to wake with her smiling lips pressed to his neck, her hands all over a body her sleep-drugged mind told her was another. He'd been Que in scent, in touch, even in his massive pierced organ she dipped into clothing to grip.

For a moment it had been real enough she'd purred, "How I've missed you, Que," only for a great weigh roll her to her back, for Sigil to find herself restrained, recognizing the hardening cock she'd been stroking belonged to another.

Karhl had not taken advantage, he had only stopped her, giving her time to collect herself and fully wake. "Young One, I am not Que."

When her face flamed in shame, he'd said nothing, just tightened his arms in their coil about her body, and rubbed her back leisurely. When they'd gone to bathe, she'd swam the distant length of the warm pool in an effort to create privacy. He had not followed. But when she'd looked to see why, she'd found Karhl's muscled back bowed, the giant bracing one hand against the ice. His other hand furiously stroked the very purple cock she'd awakened and refused, until Karhl spurt against the freezing mosaic walls, his face screwed up as if pained.

Sigil had watched what he'd done, her mouth agape, ignoring his clenched buttocks and sculpted musculature in favor of gawking at the scented fluid that ran in thick dribbles down the wall.

Looking over his shoulder, sea-glass eyes found his audience. He turned so she might see him, the ladder of studs that ran down a furiously red cock still clinging to the last dips of come. Her reaction had been almost as strong as if Sigil had felt Sovereign's teeth at her neck. Three sharp pangs made her throb down below, and had she not been submerged, her labia would have been visibly glistening with arousal.

The next day as she bathed, Karhl had done the same, hand bracing against the ice, stroking himself to a groaning eruption she found she could not look away from. And the next, and the next. By the fourth day, she had eased near enough to watch the individual veins pulse in his dick, to know he liked to knead his balls when he ushered forth so much fluid.

When she approached, Karhl did not spurt on the wall. Instead, he gathered his semen in his cupping hand, watching his female stare riveted as he rumbled breathy, "Come here. It need not be wasted."

Had she not been growing edgier by the day, Sigil might have denied his offer. Instead she climbed from the water. Dripping, she waited, and groaned perversely when he scooped the creamy discharge on two thick fingers to press it deep into her pussy. Over and over, Karhl repeated the action, running out of his offering before she could come all over those thick digits. So it was her bobbing fingers flicking an aching clit that finished off the exchange, Sigil hardly aware of what she was doing until the ice at her back and the heat hard against her chest registered.

She caught herself licking his palm clean, panting and greedy to taste the tang that teased her nostrils each morning.

Karhl could have fucked her right then, and disordered as she was, Sigil would have let him. Instead he cupped her cheek, smiling gently when the female mewled.

Sigil would have sworn he was going to kiss her, her head even tilting back in anticipation. But then nothing, only an exchange of breath, and long strokes down her flank. "Jerla is waiting."

What he'd given her, when her body had time to settle from its near frenzy, had lessened the encroaching itch. So much so, the next morning she stood waiting, exercising great willpower to keep her hands at her sides and not fist his magnificent cock until white scented globs might squish out between her fingers. He performed for her, and when Karhl's palm was full, he used his fingers again to deposit his come while Sigil squirmed over his hand and crooned.

Overexcited, her pussy clenched at his fingers and too much semen slipped out to spatter the floor. Seeing what was wasted, knowing she had no right to use him in such a way, Sigil found she'd prefer to use another.

"When is Sovereign scheduled to return?"

Karhl began to pull her toward the pool, continuing with their day as if nothing untoward had transpired. "He will not return, but awaits you at the Capitol."

********

Unlike the weather system surrounding the Water Planet where Sigil was sequestered, gloom encased the Imperial Epicenter. Irdesi Prime was built atop the ruins of the Alliance's Governmental Bastion - a location staked for its defensible perimeter and not its beauty. Due to storms in the upper atmosphere, the twisting sky was in a constant state of flux, offering little visibility from space and muting the light. The dimness turned the terraced architecture carved into the mountain range drab.

Though the city had been renamed and modernized, it still bore an earthy ugliness to it. But in the night that wild sky grew beautiful, the upper atmosphere shimmering with mica as if Irdesi Prime were trapped under fracturing crystal. Like swirling sands, that cloak hid the orange lurking moon from view. But on the rare clear nights, the birthplace of Sovereign, his brothers, and Sigil could be seen hanging bloated and scarred on the horizon.

Converts considered moon sighting over the Capitol a bad omen, Adherent's superstition fed to a species easily swayed by crafted religion and tales of the fantastical.

It was almost cause for Sovereign to postpone Sigil's expected arrival. But chances that she even knew that moon was Condor were slim.

Sunlight faded further, the horizon taking on a shock of silver, the brightest fleeting glow Irdesi would feel all day. Rising from the tiered city, a hum began amongst the Converts - a sign of dusk, a programed response every citizen, every pilgrim sung out in collective.

It was meant to be a beautiful moment, ruined when the man at Sovereign's side opened his mouth. "Rumor has spread through the ranks. The long awaited Imperial Consort returns to us at last."

Rumor spread because it was spread by Adherents, the flash in Sovereign's eyes when he looked to his brother castigating. "Based off a few pleasant meals in her presence, you believe Sigil to be tamer than she is. If you demand too much of her, if you think to put her in front of the masses before she is ready, she will lash out at you."

Dryden was many things, if not optimistic. "Her lamented treatment of Jerla was properly shifted to reflect the Converts' position in her life. The lesson played out perfectly; she is cautious of herself in the child's presence now. Arden even reports the Tessan innocent makes her laugh. How much different are humans?"

"You will do as commanded, Brother." There was no question when the Emperor wielded such a tone. "Humans have hurt her, they have hunted her... she will not respond favorably to Convert attention. She hardly responds to attention from her own kind. And you forget; she chose the Tessan child before we found her on Pax. What her reasons were she has yet to fully admit."

There were few in the brotherhood who would dare question Sovereign's authority, but High Adherents had been chosen because their love to the cause was immaculate. Dryden dared, "If she were to know what Converts were, I believe her opinion on the matter would alter drastically."

"Hear me, Dryden." Without taking his attention from the sky, Sovereign addressed the long ago assassin turned priest, "Sigil is not ready to learn what you propose. In fact, if she were to discover it, I do think she would rampage through your temple, killing the devout first."

The High Adherent clearly did not agree. "You and your secrets, Sovereign. You would keep her ignorant..."

"I would keep her content."

"How cold you are..."

How cold indeed. The very thing he fought to break in Sigil had festered in his own kind - indoctrination. Sovereign took the severity from his brow, and sighed, "Do not fall into your own dogma. Sigil is not a deity. She's a damaged creation that was crafted to hunt us down, one by one, and kill us."

Immediately Dryden countered, "Her improvement has increased dramatically. The implant functions. Aside from her attack on you, there have been no further incidents. Yet you would keep her under glass and away from her duty to us all."

How Sovereign hated looking from the skyline where Sigil's ship was set to enter dangerous territory to face the religion standing at his side. "You dare press a topic in which I have yet to disappoint? Not once have I neglected the brotherhoods' needs or scorned your expectations. Furthermore, I offered true sacrifice for you all, and in exchange, the Order will obey the course I decide is best for her."

The collective had agreed, which is what irritated Dryden when he had to repeat the obvious, "When she feels your baby grow inside her, Sigil will forgive you and understand why it had to be done."

The heart of the issue was so much deeper than the simplicity of stating recent history. "I raped her so none of you would have to. I showed a goddess she was made of glass, and the divine scorn being ripped from their skies."

Dryden's eyes were a shade of green so catching it was impossible to miss even the slightest movement of his attention. They turned toward Sovereign, the High Adherent daring much to say, "Beautifully said. Shall I alter the canon?"

A slow creeping smile grew nasty on Sovereign's beautiful lips. The air about him altered, and if murder had a scent they both would have breathed the Emperor's intent thickly. "Though you are my brother, my comrade, and my family, I find in this last century that my aversion for High Adherents company grows." They stood toe to toe, Sovereign the clear superior as he crooned the smooth-skulled killer's ancient title, "Enforcer First Rank, do not force me to remind you of your actual position... which is not the one dreamed up with ritual, chanting, and prayer."

Serene, seeing a flash over the high grey buildings of the south sector, Dryden smoothed his robes and said, "My greatest duty is to remind you of yours. That is why you created the Order, dear brother."

A warning look poured impending doom over the lesser being, Sovereign daring, "One more word, Dryden, and I will see you set in the tombs. Corths could take your place, and he would not threaten Sigil in greed and impatience."

Words were offered, hubris replaced with devotion. "You mistake my motivation. I speak as I do only out of love for her."

Stepping closer, fingers itching to close over an in insubordinate throat, Sovereign spoke the truth, "And that love which captivates you will only harm her. You do not know Sigil, and your bootlicking devotion will disgust such a creature. You would be wiser to emulate Karhl's approach. Seven days of respecting her boundaries and she is already comfortable with his moderated attention."

And there they were bound to disagree again, Dryden pointing out Karhl's obvious flaw, "But she has not taken him into her body. Another should have been chosen. Karhl reminds her too greatly of Que... Sigil resists out of loyalty to her dead lover and places herself at risk by refusing to mate him."

The outcome of Karhl's wisdom, Sovereign admired. It was clever. "And now she is coming here... of her own free will. She is coming to me so that her new esteem for Karhl can prosper. She is coming to me so I might be used as the instrument to deaden her compulsion, a desperate attempt not to tarnish something fragile with the Lord Commander that she does not understand. And so you see, when she chooses to lay with Karhl, it will be only because she desires to." The last words were almost bitter, "How fortunate he is."

Dryden seemed to consider, the arch of his eyebrows growing flat. "Was that his strategy all along?"

"Of course it was." Squinting at the flash off the skyline, Sovereign saw the cruiser descend through the upper atmospheric storm. "Karhl will be the first she loves. Remember that should you think to challenge your superior's wisdom. The Lord Commander has succeeded where your aggression would have ended with the woman devouring your heart - literally. That is a lesson you may add to canon for all Adherents to witness and follow."

The vessel sped nearer, the High Adherent grinning as if he had not heard his emperor's final warning. "She comes."

********

Sovereign had placed his faith well.

The emperor found Sigil dressed in the black leathers of modified Irdesian uniform. Symbolic white paint smeared from her eyes, chalking her forehead, to matte into tightly bound hair. Intricate markings ran down her neck warning she claimed the highest possible rank, that she was a warrior, and incredibly dangerous.




Sigil Ch. 15



How the Lord Commander had convinced her to wear High Military Apparel, Sovereign could not imagine. Nor could he have anticipated the hungry look she bestowed his direction when she caught his scent on the wind.

Even with the massive moon rising behind her, everything was going so well.

Sigil walked from the vessel - Karhl at her side, Arden at her back - and exercised no hesitation in meeting the Irdesian Emperor on the ramparts of his bastion. Her attention was not on the city her people had conquered, the gathering of brothers at Sovereign's back, or even the chill in the air. It was on the new eye sitting pretty in Sovereign's skull.

Pride stinging, she did not want to state her reasons for coming. Instead, Sigil hardly blinked, breathed a bit too hard, and walked forward until her lips smashed into a mouth parting in greeting.

Her reaction seemed too perfect; the impatient tug of her hands in his hair, the way she growled for more when Sovereign's tongue pushed in to taste her. But it ended abruptly, Sigil frozen, eyes staring forward but seeing nothing.

He spoke to see if she would respond, "Welcome to Irdesi, to your home, Sigil."

She hadn't even heard him. Sigil simply pushed Sovereign off and hissed, "Do you hear that?"

Something wasn't right. And that something was the craggy soldier standing at attention amongst the elites. He was no different than the others flanking the walkway from ship to palace. Eyes forward, shoulders at attention he stank of conversion, of sameness. But elite Converts of that level did not sing inside with the same furious need for violence toward Sovereign that she did.

It only took a tick of time and a blur of movement, and she stood before the offensive mind - the human who dared covet revenge, who thought murder toward the Emperor that was hers to kill.

A beefy throat was in her clutches, the startled man's toes fighting to scrape ground as Sigil hoisted him high, roaring, "YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD TAKE SOVEREIGN'S LIFE? YOU CANNOT EVEN GET OUT OF MY GRIP."

The human did try, beating at her arm, his face growing red while madness broke out on the causeway. Planting a foot, Sigil prepared to throw the unwelcome competition off the lofty walkway so she might enjoy the view of his body plummeting down into oblivion. But an arm circled her middle, throwing off her balance.

If she could not throw the human, she would just tear him to pieces. Yet when she tried to reach forward, Sigil only found her hand held back while demands were growled at her ear, "Release the traitor, Young One."

Release what, the tearing throat she dug her nails into?

Possessive of her prey, confused, hungry, fighting for her limbs, it took the strength of more brothers than Sigil could register to get her to drop the human. Then lips were on hers, a delicious bitten tongue in her mouth far more pleasing than the feel of coppery human blood on her fingertips.

She drank of him, of Sovereign, and forgot about the Convert gasping for breath at her feet.

Sovereign was stroking her neck in a way that felt sublime, cooing that she could be calm, that she had done well, that she was safe. Orders were shouted, Karhl's baritone coarse in the background, the Lord Commander demanding the prisoner be healed and dissected piece by piece until the corruption was identified and purged from the ranks.

Over and over came the foul term, Unsalvageable.

When Sovereign gave her a moment of breath, when his grip on her nape tightened to the point she came awake, Sigil saw what she'd done. The human lived, Arden single-handedly subduing the raving Convert while more soldiers poured out of the grey walled citadel.

Shrinking, backing away, Sigil found shelter waited in the large mass of the Lord Commander who had been the whole time at her back.

His eyes were on her leg. "You're wounded."

Sigil felt nothing, but skewered straight through the limb was a blade... And she felt nothing because it was poisoned with a toxin that would kill any human but do little more than make her leg useless for a time. "Certax."

Kneeling, Sovereign pulled out the dagger, gripping the hilt to the point his fingers turned white. "Karhl is going to escort you to your rooms where there are no Converts and you will be utterly safe. Do you understand me?"

The soldier had only stabbed her in desperation. No, his song of murder was only for the Emperor. "How did a Convert of that level become Unsalvageable?" And why the fuck had she rushed to kill something so weak when it did little more than think a threat toward Sovereign and brandish a knife smeared with useless poison?

"You need to go inside, Beloved."

Her face fell full of disbelief. "You don't know..."

Absolute, dangerous, Sovereign let a fraction of what he was truly capable of show. "I have ways of finding out."

This was not why she'd crossed space. She had not come there to be embroiled in Irdesian schemes. "I came here-"

Instantly softer, the emperor offered reassurance, "I know why you came here. I will not leave you waiting long."

She wanted it over now. "I have waited five days."

Sovereign took a small step nearer, running his thumb over her mouth. "Seven days, Sigil. And you are doing well. I am very proud of your progress."

Unacceptable. He needed to fuck her and get it over with so she could leave Irdesian lunacy and return to her solitude surrounded by water. "I don't want a pat on the head!"

Cold outrage mutilated the beauty of Sovereign's expression, the thick command of his words chilled to the bone. "Sigil, you will go into the safety of your rooms at this very moment."

Her legs dragged over the ground, Karhl ushering her physically out of the mad swarm of brothers and elite convert soldiers, out of the dark, and into a thicker cloying blackness.



Sigil Ch. 16



He had kept her waiting, leaving Sigil frustrated and sequestered in an unfamiliar place. Even so, Sovereign had not expected to find her as she was.

"What is she doing?" His frown sat tight under a minute scowl.

"Drinking," Arden answered, looking through the translucent golden partitions that surrounded the great table in the Imperial Consort's quarters.

Sovereign was not amused. "And Karhl has allowed this?"

"Not at first," the golden one shrugged, eyeing the female sitting alone at a table cut from a single slab of obsidian, her fingertips trace over etchings filled with bronze. "But she started to cry, and he gave her what she wanted."

Karhl stood like an over-muscled fixture where the female sat, pouring herself another serving of rare Tessan Fire Spirits.

Sigil had tried to wipe off the white paint crusting her forehead, tried to free herself from the bindings in her hair, and had clearly shredded a good deal of her clothes.

As if armed with the secrets of the universe, Arden smirked, peeking toward Sovereign from the corner of his eye. "I don't think she can move her leg."

"Is that why she cried?" The emperor spoke lowly, his strategy for her arrival ruined beyond repair.

"No. She wants to go back to Xevdrik Anni - to her Seasons and her Jerla. Karhl told her that would be impossible; explaining how the tale of what took place on the landing would have spread throughout the city. Now that Converts know the Imperial Consort has awoken, and until her position is established, she is unsafe away from the Brotherhood's seat of power."

Sovereign's crossed arms flexed, eyes raging to find Sigil so unhappy. "He was correct."

Putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, Arden explained, "She blames you, of course." The quicksilver smirk was back, the golden one moving the second Sigil reached for an unopened flask. "Upset or no, she does not need that second bottle of spirits, so I am going to go take that away from her and hope Karhl keeps her from drinking my blood instead."

Projecting a voice light and carefree, Arden moved into her line of sight, explaining, "Jerla is in transit, Sister. He will be here soon, where you will see that he is safe."

Hardly above a growl, Sigil snarled, "He will think he is being taken to the sands."

The fresh bottle was swiped out of her reach, Arden cooing, "No one will let him think such a thing. And when he arrives, your boy will know he can trust you."

"You give me that bottle, Arden, or I will rip off your arm and take it from your bleeding corpse."

Moving back so fast her eyes could hardly follow, the Herald chuckled, "Are you going to hop one legged after me?"

No. She would use her newfound ability to exercise what Sovereign deemed useful psionics. It was not easy, her sad lack for subtlety yanking more objects near her than just one lean Herald. But in the end, she had the bottle, Karhl had been soundly pegged in the head, and Arden was no longer grinning.

Intervening in the mayhem, Sovereign rounded the partition. "Arden, leave."

Bowing, the Herald bypassed the mess Sigil's unpracticed mental tug had piled on the floor and exited the chamber.

"Precious Sigil, you have my apologies. This was not how I envisioned introducing you to the palace, the family quarters..." Sovereign's eyes went to the bottle at her mouth, "or my cellar."

Swallowing loudly, Sigil rubbed her lips together before phrasing her question. "If I had not attacked your soldier, would I have been allowed to return to the Water Palace?"

The issue might as well be dealt with directly. "No."

Regret, the sense she did not believe him, sat open on her face. "Why?"

"This is your home, Sigil." He rested his hand on hers. "And it has been waiting for you, just as I have."

She was beginning to get upset. "You saw what happened. I was not more than three steps off the cruiser!"

"What happened?" Sovereign smiled, projecting pride in what she'd done. "You uncovered a Soshiia rebel agent long before I believe he intended to act. My gratitude is yours."

After a long drink Sigil demanded explanations, "What is Soshiia?"

"Had you read the journals Arden wrote for you, you would know, and spare me a lengthy explanation. Fortunately, they are being transferred here, along with your other things."

Narrowing her eyes, threatening him in every aspect of her demeanor, Sigil hissed, "I don't want what I came here for anymore... I just want to be left alone!"

Sovereign nodded, going so far as to remove his touch from her hand. "I understand."

Outright suspicious shown on her face. "You... you do?"

"Drink your Fire Spirits. Karhl can show you your sleeping chamber when you're tired. Your desire for solitude will be respected, though I expect Jerla will want to see you when he arrives."

Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Sigil took a deep breath. "Jerla is welcome."

"As you wish, Beloved." Nothing more was offered, Sovereign stood, bowing just as Arden had and left the room.

********

Sovereign's implanted communicator relayed there were greater issues than Sigil drinking herself into a stupor. Arden awaited him at the gates to the Family Wing, and required the presence of the emperor at once.

Leaving her was wise; Karhl would tend her, her confidence would return, and the sight of Jerla would add normalcy to an unstable situation. But there was one approaching, one who would go as far as to break down the door if Sovereign did not intervene.

An expression of hate passed over the emperor's face. He glared as if he could see through the walls, beyond the barred entry of Sigil's wing, all the way to where Lord Commander Tiburon awaited, his faction of the Brotherhood behind him.

Navigating the corridors and antechambers, Sovereign came to the massive double doors and motioned for them to be opened. Once he stepped through they were sealed like a vault, leaving the emperor dwarfed before the great portal. Even when he stood at the threshold, Lord Commander Tiburon's eyes burned at the smaller Herald standing in defense of the passage. "If you believe you can command me, Arden, I will gladly remind you a Herald does not outrank a Lord Commander. I could crush you, as Sigil could crush you. That you were tasked with her keeping is laughable."

Tiburon had arrived fully armored, armed even, his shaved head cocked so the long scar that ran in a diagonal over his eye caught the light. Seeing Sovereign appear only to close the gate, the Lord Commander sneered toward the Emperor, "Is it as Arden claims? You would deny me the company of our Sigil?"

Sovereign smiled, the curve of his lips anything but welcoming. "Her demeanor is agitated; she requested solitude."

A nasty grin came to the face of one of the most aggressive of their kind. "I will fuck her calm."

Arden interposed, assertive though lesser in comparison to the Lord Commander Tiburon's bulk. "Karhl is with her."

A disgusted throat noise came from Tiburon. "A Brother who can't bring himself to spread her legs for her own good. Sigil would not have been in harm's way on the ramparts had she been mounted and subdued properly before arrival. Had she arrived of sound mind, she could have told us of the conspiracy without unveiling the agent. An opportunity to track the origins of the Soshiia infection has been wasted."

"That would have been ideal, yes. But you forget, Lord Commander Tiburon," the title was spoken in emphasizes that the aggressor ranked below the calm-faced Emperor, "that she is not our ally as of yet. What makes you think she would have spoken a word to assist our Empire? What makes you think the Soshiia might not have tried to seduce her with promises of our demise? Now they will fear her. It is better this way."

"You coddle her too much," Tiburon ran a finger over his metal filled scar - the mark one he wore with great pride - licking his lips as he looked to the door separating him from the female. "It is why she does not respect you, and why you cannot bring her into a fertile cycle. Sigil requires a firmer hand."

A low growl escaped Sovereign's chest at the insult.

With a vicious smile breaking across his face, Tiburon laughed under his breath. Turning, he motioning for the Brothers at his back to retreat. "When it's my turn, she won't be able to walk for a week. I'll do what you can't and inspire our little slut into heat. It might be your seed that gets her fat, but all will know the first daughter was really mine."

********

Hours spent torturing the Soshiia infiltrator did little to calm the rage within in the emperor, but they had dampened it enough. As usual, the human died giving little information, reminding Sovereign of Tiburon's taunt.

In many ways, the Lord Commander had been correct. Sigil might not have outright attacked the human had she not been on the cusp of regression. And leaving her in that state was a risk - an even greater risk now that the Brotherhood must concede a spy had climbed through the upper ranks unnoticed.

It should not have been possible.

Traversing her vacant living areas, Sovereign found shreds of clothes made a trail toward her sleeping chamber - breadcrumbs left to follow. Entering the room, he found her tucked in the great bed he'd commissioned be carved by the finest artisans of the human worlds eighty years prior. Gillatern Forest's largest tree rose to touch cathedral ceilings, the branching sculpture detailed with birds in flight, bedecked with renditions of the empire's most beautiful flowers, hung with banners of pure white draped against so much black lacquered wood. Seeming innocent in sleep, Sigil lay naked, white paint matting the roots of her hair, embraced in the arms of Karhl, who stroked her, the Lord Commander clearly enjoying the moment of intimacy between them.

"She will be disturbed to be subjected to what must be done," Sovereign grunted, face devoid of emotion as he began to strip and approach. Once naked, he crawled between the covers, pressing close to the woman who smelled of grass and honey liquor.

Thick fingers carding through the long silvery hair, Karhl regarded the sleeping female. "Her transition was complex. Ten hours ago I stood defensive of imminent attack. Sigil's eyes had tracked my every movement; she'd begun to cycle her psionics - the buildup obvious with her lack of training. Had her leg been fully functional, I am certain I would have been forced to restrain her. Jerla's arrival was well-timed. One look at him, at his skittish body language, and she became a lamb."

Watching his beloved, longing greatly to reach out and run his thumb over the line formed between her brows, Sovereign sighed, "Lamb is not a title she would appreciate."

"True..." Head bent, Karhl nuzzled the female's hair, inhaling deeply.

Sovereign, watching the rise and fall of his Consort's breaths, whispered, "Tiburon demands access to her. For her own good she must be fully stable."

Karhl's counterpart held great power in the Empire and had a very strong right to the woman burrowing beautifully against the emperor cooing love at her ear.

The lightest of touches traced over parted, soft lips below closed eyes. "My precious Sigil."

She came awake.

Body pressed to Sovereign, her arm having snuck around his waist, Sigil might have moved if Karhl had not lain like a stone wall at her back. The Lord Commander toyed with her hair, the sensation familiar, the warrior projecting contentment which clashed sharply with the darker hunger behind the emperor's gently smiling mask.

Her foil held her eyes, every emotion inside the male was intent on devouring her, his constrained objective displayed by the way his cock swelled against her belly. Yet all Sovereign did was ask, "How is your leg?"

Testing the limb at the first suggestion of weakness, Sigil found all feeling had returned. "Functional."

Her small movement, the marginal slide of a warm body, brought just enough sensation across his swollen organ that the emperor's breath caught, Sovereign bracing before he foolishly rutted in search of more disgustingly perfect friction.

Before she might balk, Karhl's nose skimmed her neck, the giant whispering, "He will see to you and I shall leave."

"No." Her negation was abrupt, as was the way her hand shot out to claw Karhl's hip. Sigil had come to Irdesi Prime specifically to take Sovereign into her body, but she didn't want to be alone with him, not with the possibility she might slip-up and attack, and he might force her.

Sigil might have subjected herself to the deserved penalty of the Empire's control out of contrition for failing Que. She might have fought every impulse to strike out, feigning capitulation. She might have feared what would happen to Jerla should she fail to navigate this new unscrupulous environment. But Sigil was still, at heart, a formidable warrior; one who hated the thought she would be forced into submission should she fail to maintain self-control.

Sex with Sovereign was what she had chosen so her stability might continue, so she could be free of the addiction - and with her compulsion gone, Sigil would be free of the Empire.

Something as simple as the Sudenovan Matriarch genes, the same genes that gave her such strength, created the dynamic the brotherhood instinctually followed. It was why mating affected her as it did - the Matriarch's definitive connection the strongest males of that species shared with their females - Sovereign was strongest, her chemical reaction to him would always be greater.

In time, fucking him would destroy the compulsion should she use what he offered. And it was as he'd claimed, she'd already made it seven days without crumbling, where when they'd found her on Pax one cycle had been enough to leave her undone.

Progress had already begun.

Beyond understanding the necessity to mate and its parallel to her freedom, Sigil maintained her pride. She could not allow herself to be forced if she could prevent it.

Turning toward the Lord Commander, she met Karhl's limpid eyes.

Sensing she approached mating as a chore, he kneaded her spine, Karhl offering his mouth. Sigil could have denied his kiss; she could have cast him off. She could have done many things... had Que survived.

The familiar touch was soothing, the expertise of the white-haired warrior's lips a perfect distraction. In the oddest sense, even under the insistent caress of two men, if she let herself forget the why of it, the moment almost belonged only to her and the Lord Commander.

Sovereign encouraged the illusion, maneuvering so Sigil would face his subordinate. Lifting her buttocks high in the air he kneeled, cautious to harmonize with the cadence of another's touch upon his female. It was only when Sigil hesitated at the feel of his swollen cock at her cleft that Sovereign tangled his hand in her hair, urging her head down so Sigil's lips might part and be filled with the pierced member Karhl held out in offering.

To feel the drag of metal studs over her tongue, to taste the organ she had admired and denied herself... brought Sigil impatience for more. Her tongue swirling around so large a beast, Sovereign parted slippery folds, groaning at the pretty hole that wept in need. One rough surge impaled her on the emperor's cock, Sigil rocking forward so sharply the remainder of Karhl's girth was forced fully down her throat.

It was... bliss.

Where her skin felt like fire, four hands soothed. Where her body had been empty, she was perfectly full.

In tandem, well-timed penetration kept nerves eager to be satisfied attended, vigorous rocking and strokes edging the female into distraction.

Had it been Sovereign alone trying to touch her so tenderly, she would have clawed and fought for roughness. Yet working as one, the brothers disarmed and drew her into lovemaking.

When she seemed on the cusp of aggression, Sovereign forced her to swallow Kharl's cock, shoving her forward to pound in until her body screamed for air. The feel of her throat around that pulsing organ, the vibration of her grunts and hungry cries made the Lord Commander's balls draw up tight. Once given reprieve, she chased after Karhl's withdrawing dick, eager to swallow him down again, her enthusiasm for him enough to send the white-haired warrior beyond self-control.

Reaching down to knead his sack, hearing the woman's greedy sucking noises, something centuries in the making broke from the base of Karhl's spine until his body contorted. The flat of Sigil's tongue dancing amidst the studs; hollowed velvet cheeks stroking, she lapped the very life from the roaring Lord Commander. Karhl gushed like a geyser, her throat working to swallow even as she tried to savor.

Watching her suck him clean, Karhl reeled at the beauty of his cock popping free of Sigil's puckered lips, glorified at that hooded glacial eyes of his lover. With the shine of saliva and spilled sperm on her mouth, Sigil rocked with no anchor, Sovereign's suddenly merciless pounding hedging on cruel.

Eager to please her as she had pleased him, Karhl straightened her back onto the emperor's waiting arms. Sovereign held her upright, cupping her breasts as if offering their beauty to the Lord Commander. In a swoop, Karhl ducked his head, lapping her nipples, pulling taut, pink flesh forward with his teeth until she squealed and gripped at the ropes of his hair.

Hungry to hear more of that beautiful noise, his mouth went lower, Karhl holding her hips steady so Sovereign might roughly piston his cock into the very place Karhl longed to devour. Watching her sweet pussy, so pink and full, was glorious; catching the metal rod that dragged over her pert, needy clit, sublime.

Beyond Sigil's excited moans, even Sovereign panted at the feel of Kharl's frenzied tongue when it brushed his shaft in an effort to get more of her taste.

Gripping her breasts, rolling his body so the head of his cock might drag over grooved flesh, Sovereign worked the extended intravaginal nerves of her clitoris, his teeth closing over her nape the second Sigil's pleasure peaked. Feeling a bite hard enough oblivion burned conscious thought away, Sigil inadvertently choked her cunt down on Sovereign's pulsing rod, the man drawing from her lips a scream so pure it would have stiffened the cock of every brother near enough to hear it.

Even with her thrashing, Kharl did not ease the frantic licking of her pussy. He gave Sigil no respite, no quarter, not even pausing when his brother began to spurt so greatly her taste grew salty with come.

Sigil had to beg him to stop - not that her cries made any sense - and Karhl locked his lips to hers, jamming his tongue in her mouth so she might taste the beauty of the three of them at once.

It took her some time to realize Sovereign cradled her against his chest, that they were speaking to her, praising such a giving performance.

"Beloved," nipping her nape between words, Sovereign enticed, "every day will be better. You will never be lonely. You will never be frightened. This faith you have shown me, I will pay it back tenfold."

It was Karhl who saw her expression constrict, her lips losing their softness when too much thinking wrecked her calm. He took her chin in a rough pinch, assuring she listened to every word. "You are not on Condor. Handlers cannot tell you how to feel. Neither can Sovereign. Neither can I. And neither can corroding programming. From this day forward you must think for yourself."

"You are free, beloved." Sovereign rolled his hips to remind her, to press his liquid offering deeper. "That is what I offer you."

And then they left her to consider.

Sovereign eased from her womb, brushing lips over her knotted brow as he excused himself to prepare for court. Karhl offered his own farewell, kissing her moody pout away before departing to attend to his own duties.




Sigil Ch. 16



With the emperor and Lord Commander gone, Arden waited at the door, an audience she'd failed to notice in the pleasure of the pairing. Smiling, the Herald took in her disheveled nudity, drew her from the bed, and pulled her deeper into the mountain. Sun disappeared, fire lit catacombs offering a sense of depth until the beauty of a natural spring bubbled up under lamplight.

While Sigil scanned the vast cave, Arden shoved her into the steaming water, laughing even as he stripped his tunic to join her.

Splashing, chasing the sputtering woman through the pool, Arden incited games Sigil didn't quite understand, coaxing out a predator's love for hunt and evasion.

She would give chase; he would disappear, splashing her from behind.

In no time at all, the brilliant Herald coaxed out the first laugh any survivor of Cataclysm had ever heard their female sing.

********

"What are the Soshiia?"

Arden glanced up from where he was placing his journals in an alcove. The golden one tilted up the corner of his lips, seemed to think on his answer, and sighed, "Every society has their anarchist."

That wasn't exactly the answer Sigil had been looking for. Scowling, she looked at his books and said, "Sovereign told me your journals told the story."

Frowning, returning to his work, Arden admitted, "I suppose they do."

Staring at the long plate of golden hair that hung down the entire length of his spine, Sigil grunted, "And if I want to know I have to read. You won't just tell me."

"It's a complicated explanation requiring a detailed understanding of our history. Anything I might tell you in casual conversation would lack the necessary depth of the truth."

Leaning back on the red damask couch, Sigil understood. "So it's something terrible... I will blame the empire for it unless I understand the why of it. And to understand the why of it I have to commit to absorbing a lot more than just the story of a rebel group."

"Maybe."

He was teasing her; she could sense the playfulness, and could not help but smirk. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

Utterly serious, Arden turned so she might see his fervent expression. "I am on your side, Sigil. I will always be on your side."

Pointing to the volumes, Sigil sighed, "Give me one."

Pleased, Arden pulled a red bound book from the shelf and held it toward the woman. "You have enough time before Dryden and Corths arrive to read at least the initial instalment."

She'd only shared evening meals with the High Adherents at the Water Palace; never had they come to her rooms midday. Unhappy with the thought, she ground her teeth and opened the cover.

"It would break their hearts to see you scowl so at the prospect of their company. They love you greatly, Sister, and are only coming to assure your attendants behave in accordance with the honor or their position."

Now she was really annoyed. "What?"

"Each Convert woman was hand selected - reared - to please you."

"Slavery is illegal in the Empire."

Arden laughed as if she'd said something cute. "Believe me, the females are willing, eager even. For humans with no military skill, who lack influential bloodlines, there is little opportunity to advance. Considering your needs, it is an ideal arrangement on both sides." He had a further point to make, "No son, no daughter, or anyone tied to a human house of standing could possibly be in your intimacy without upsetting the balance of power. So, several of your Brothers have taken it upon themselves to cultivate your retainers from the lowest tribes, sending them as gifts."

It seemed the brothers played at politics with each other just as the humans did... all seeking favor. "Why would I need attendants?"

"To dress you, bathe you, amuse you, and even die for you should the situation require. If you want silence, they will be mute. If you desire court gossip, they will disclose anything they uncover."

She shook her head. "They would be loyal to the Brother who'd raised them, directing their conversation to uplift the one who gave them the position."

There was no advantage on lying on that point. "Fortunately, you are an empath and can use such an extraordinary sense to protect yourself from the unworthy."

He had earned Sigil's attention, the female sitting up on her elbows. "Are you warning me against your Brothers?"

"As I said, I am on your side."

Narrowing her eyes, Sigil cocked her head and looked hard at the man putting away trinkets like a servant. "Just how fragile is your compact with one another?"

Smiling, beautiful, Arden reached forward and ran a finger over her jaw. "Everything you need to know is in my journals."

It was obvious how badly Arden wanted her to read his account of things, how manipulative the Herald was behaving. That did not stop her from lowering her eyes to the page and starting at the beginning.



Sigil Ch. 17



The sensation of thick cosmetic dragging over her skin was unpleasant; how they tinted every last ounce of flesh, pointless in Sigil's opinion. But she stood stagnant while five women, all so different it seemed they'd been chosen as art, painted her body white.

The attendants were quiet, focused on their work, just as they had been each time they had invaded her space. The Convert females, Sigil found, were harmless. Weak. They behaved as complaisant dolls, wandering about in a fixed internal state of awe. But she wasn't sure if it was her they were in awe of, or the High Adherent overseeing the dressing of the Imperial Consort. Dryden directed the preparation of white paste spread over Sigil's naked flesh. Daily, Dryden chose the clothing that would cover all that chalky flesh.

The women wouldn't meet Sigil's watchful eyes, too busy in the artful application of inky script flowing down her limbs; they were too busy painting a new face over the one she already owned. But they did send furtive glances toward Dryden, as if gauging his appraisal.

He, apparently, was the gatekeeper to a position of high desirability. He was also exacting no matter how softly he smiled, eyes aglow - done up in full regalia far more ornamental than the military uniform of Brotherhood soldiers or the tailored tunics of Heralds - his short cropped hair hidden under a miter etched with the same symbols a doe eyed attendant painted between Sigil's breasts.

It was nothing compared to the layers of fabric they would pull over her, constructed gowns the attendants would lace and tighten, layer and hook. And once they were done, all clothing would be removed, an hour's effort wasted.

Sigil did not like restrictive garments. She didn't like the paint, the jewels, the weight of sunburst headpieces, or the taste of black lacquer on her lips.

More importantly, Sigil refused to leave her rooms, making the dressing unnecessary -- mere practice for future excursions...

Three days she'd remained sequestered. For three days Dryden had tried to tempt her out, offering to show her the palace, the gardens, the tombs, anything he thought might entice. Arden had remained neutral on the topic, always near, the Herald's arms crossed over his chest and a sly smirk on his mouth as he watched the procedure.

Sigil suspected the Herald remained silent because Arden was getting what he wanted. She spent her waking hours reading his vast collection of journals -- much to her frustration. Even after ten volumes, she had yet to come across mention of the word 'Soshiia.'

Sovereign had not commented on the matter of her isolation. Nor had Karhl. Perhaps they condoned it; Sigil didn't know, and she didn't want to know.

All in all, time in the Imperial Palace was similar to her seasons on the Water Planet. Always food waited in a hall austere in its black marble and silver veined walls. Rooms were filled with items collected to entertain her. But where the Water Palace soaked rooms in sun, there was scant natural light in these new vaulted caverns. Every room faded into the shadows, every space seemingly carved out of the mountains of Irdesi Prime.

But there had been a glowing room she'd seen upon being dragged in by Karhl days ago; a domed ceiling of stained glass, tier after tier of arcades circling up like a cathedral - the gallery at the heart of the family rooms, she'd been told. Rooms for her children. For her children's children. For visiting brothers invited inside. All empty at present.

It was through that vast space she'd have to pass to reach the massive armored gates that separated her from the remainder of the palace.

Seeing Sigil was lost in thought, Dryden, again, made a play for her attention, "Reports indicate Jerla is responding well to his immunity fortification. He may wake tomorrow."

The boy had only been allowed to see her once upon his arrival to this human cesspool, before Arden had carried the strangely lethargic boy away. Sigil had been denied the child since, left only with a hologram projection so she might watch Jerla's sleeping response to the seemingly necessary, invasive vaccines all Tessans had to undergo to survive amidst the Convert worlds. Unlike her, he lacked an advanced immune system, Jerla's weaker still from the subpar environment of his hatchling years.

Her eyes went back to the projection, watching the physician attending the boy. It was the same brother who had attended her in her sleep. The High Adherent, Corths, sat with the child, monitoring his stasis, his vitals, beefing up a fragile system so her toy might be returned to her.

That was how they treated her Jerla - as an extension of whatever made Sigil happy. In the Brotherhood's eyes, he was a tool. If that were not the case, Arden, the one charged with tending him on the water planet, would have been with him and not with her. His affection was not sincere. The thought made Sigil bitter, made her narrow her eyes at the Herald.

"Are you feeling unwell?" They were the first words Arden had spoken since the attendants' arrival.

Movement came from the hologram. Sigil looked back to see Corths take the boy's hand and pat it as he spoke. The image lacked audio; she could not make out what was being said.

Arden, it seemed, understood. "He's telling your boy a story."

Her question was harsh. "Why?"

A golden head cocked, the Herald taking measure of their female slowly. "Corths held your hand often in the decades you slept. He told the same stories to you. When he did, your vitals steadied, your brain waves calmed, and you rested more soundly."

A single hiss, "I don't much like your stories."

The room went quiet, the females who had been combing something viscous through all her hair, who had been sculpting the clay-like mass into intricate fans about her skull, stepped back.

"I ordered Corths to attend him." Sovereign had slipped into their company, a commanding presence that diminished all others, the energy of him consuming. "There is no better physician in the Empire, beloved. Nor will your brother leave the child's side until the therapy is complete. You do not need to fear for your boy."

Only half dressed, half painted, and with only half her hair attended to, Sigil stepped off the dais.

There was a smile, a caution in Sovereign's tone. "All Tessans who come to Irdesi must undergo the same treatment. Even seclusion those first hours was not enough to keep him from growing sick in the presence of aggressive microorganisms. The bacteria here, the viruses, are not compatible with their unaltered systems. Jerla will be made stronger for this."

"He never got sick on Pax."

"He was constantly sick on Pax, riddled with grows squeezing his digestive tract. They were removed and treated while you slept, while he slept waiting for you. Had they not, he would have died in a matter of years, no matter where he'd been freed."

Then what of all the other children she had set free? Had they too been eaten from the inside out? Her fingers flared, her face one of horror at her thoughts. A moment ticked and Sigil searched for something to say. "Then why was this procedure not conducted then? Why now that I've been dragged here?"

"We were not sure if you desired to keep him, or if he was to be sent to a Tessan world. The gift of survival on our planets is not given to foreigners. Only ambassadors granted approval are offered such a boon. And, they are not permitted to leave the Empire, ever."

Pacing nearer the emperor, Sigil measured what she'd heard. "Jerla will not be allowed to leave?"

"Do you wish to send him away?"

"No."

Sovereign reached out to twist a decorated bit of Sigil's hair between his fingers. "Have you not accepted him into your family?"

What did that matter? "Yes."

"Then what is the issue that upsets you?"

A jumble of arguments banged around in her skull, made her face unhappy. "Once grown, he might not wish to stay. One day he'll desire a mate. How will he find her? What if he grows unafraid of the sands and wishes to pilgrimage...?"

"Your chosen child will not leave you Sigil. Tessan family bonds are distinct. As for mate, he may choose a human. Otherwise, there are years yet to solve that riddle." Sovereign slipped closer as if to take her in hand and force calm. "If he wakes and sees you so unsteady, it will worry him. Jerla needs you to remain collected. You'll have him back soon enough."

Every time she twitched it was as if the brothers thought she might pop. But she was fine; Sovereign had fucked her often enough to assure it. Sigil was fine so long as she remained parted from humans that might incite her irrepressible reactions. It did not change the fact that she wanted to return to the Water Palace, that life in Irdesi's Capitol made her skin crawl.

It had been only three days, but it felt like eons, like grit under her fingernails she couldn't pick out.

It was more than the separation from Jerla; Sigil's mood had been erratic, as had her heartbeat, and her appetite. She almost wondered if they were putting something into her food.

The damned journals were a part of it, that much was true. The information Arden, Sovereign - all of them - wanted her to absorb from the Histories plagued her thoughts. And for good reason; there was inconsistency in the story, facts recorded wrongly that made no sense to the female who'd lived what Arden thought to recreate in text.

The first volume was the most flawed. In decisive script the entirety of the book detailed her childhood; initially correct to a point Sigil found it greatly disturbing to relive in reading... and then the tale grew blaringly inaccurate. The chronicle outlined her incarceration on Condor - her routine, meals, behaviors, training - all leading up to her violent escape. From that point, several brothers' accounts were written. Karhl's version was there, his explanation of how a child had almost killed him cautioning heavily against anyone approaching without a cage already constructed to contain the little girl. Arden had been there too; he had seen her from a distance when she ran through Sector C. The former assassin had given chase, only to be crushed by debris when Sigil began tearing down the walls of the compound. On and on stories went, piecing together the first moments of the Alliance's fall into a timeline the Brotherhood could trace and agree upon - their profile of her behaviors haunting.

Her memory of that day, even though she'd been caught in a rage, was precise. She remembered hearing her mother's mental screams. Sigil remembered that first burning wave of childlike panic distorting the walls of her cell. Psionics clicked into place, and it was easy, so very easy, to enact long imagined vengeance.

That's where the book began to fill with outright lies. Unwilling to draw attention by staring at one page longer than another, Sigil had continued reading Arden's collection of eyewitness accounts. Then her escape from Condor ended, replaced by boring pages filled with confirmed sightings over the decades, suspected places she'd been, interviews with witnesses; a nightmarish psychological profile stared back at her, wherein Sigil was the villain of every story, the bringer of tragedies. Damaged.

Through all those pages, Sigil was left with an utter lack of progress on her original question.

Who were the Soshiia?

But it seemed that was no longer the only relevant question. It was that last day on Condor. Why did the canon of her breakout claim she was responsible for the death of a potentially valuable human hostage, a female someone else had murdered? Why had the only brother she'd shared any significant contact with that day omit such an important fact in Arden's histories?

Why should she care?

After all, Sigil was not willingly involved with any of the survivors of Project Cataclysm or their fabricated culture.

And trapped as she was, how small she'd begun to feel...

Life had once been simple. Stuck on Irdesi, with every passing hour, Sigil grasped that she lacked the aptitude to balance complicated.

But Sovereign could.

It was the oddest sensation, allowing Sovereign to stand so near her, pretending to be unaffected by the immensity of his personality, to let him touch her because it was simpler than trying to detach his arms from his body.

The truth was, compared to Sovereign, she was meek without her once titanic psionics; coming to terms with the loss of such uncontrollable, terrible power, was beginning to feel burdensome, not liberating. It was plain; were she to fight Sovereign, to fully attack him, he would defeat her... eventually.

Strong as she was, Sigil was lesser than the humans' overlord.

And Sovereign paid for it. Frustration over such thoughts had cost the emperor a good deal of blood when he fucked her. Sigil attacked outright, dug in her nails, bit in her frenzy - as if to prove to them both she was strong enough to dislodge him should she want to. When he held her down, when he fought back and gnawed her nape, Sigil came so hard she blanked, and then she'd keep coming until he filled her with that poisoned ejaculate that altered her chemistry.

After that first morning she'd sucked Karhl's pierced cock down her throat, she'd also rejected the Lord Commander's advances - his company - for the next three days. That left her with the constant presence of Arden, who would sometimes just hold her hand, and pretend he could not see her searching out exits when she spent too much time thinking and not enough time reading, or allowing whatever other stupid distraction the brotherhood imposed on her time.

This new person inside her, this acquiescent player on the stage, Sigil didn't know her. This new person was almost always wretched, felt fear, worried. This new person found herself comforted simply being near the creature she hated most... a creature who was stronger than her, who had hurt her, who'd brought more misery into her life.

"You feel suffocated." Sovereign spoke as if he could understand her thoughts, rubbing at her nape until wild eyes lost some of their passion. "There is a terrace outside our bedchamber, secluded away from the eyes of any others. Fresh air, the sun, might be a welcome change?"

What terrace? There were no doors beside the vast archway that led to that chamber. There was only more of that jewel-toned, silvery stained glass Sigil could not break.

Uncustomarily quiet, she let him lead her from the room, through dark halls, to the place where the emperor had fucked her only hours ago. He waved his hand over carved wall and it parted, sunlight breaking through a seam so well crafted, Sigil would not have found the portal otherwise.

Back in the dressing chamber, Dryden snarled at Arden, "You are not doing well enough!"

Golden eyes snapped to the man squishing black embroidered robes in his pacing. "Sigil hates your contrived pageantry. Your attempt to force our female into the role of the Adherent's crafted Imperial Consort bore her. The demigod you feed the masses does not exist, no matter how much you long to parade her about for humans to gawk at."

Outranking the Herald, Dryden lifted his chin and spoke snidely, "What would you have her do? Walk the halls naked as she walks these rooms, as she existed in the Water Palace? Her success within the imperium requires assent to politics. Court dress displays power, rank. Centuries lie ahead of her, but her actions now will forever define the tenure of Convert sentiment, of alien regard. Adherents exist to assure her success. It is my duty to see her prosperous!"

******* 

The fourth day Sigil woke to the feel of Sovereign already inside her - his latest trick - so he might mount her before her full physical onslaught might begin. Rolling his hips, grinding to tempt her to sensuality, to coax a soft response, drew out a pleasured gasp and a few precious moments of Sigil's compliance. He whispered in her ear that he loved her, fought to keep her between waking and dreaming so she might be taken without her penchant for violence.

Sovereign wanted to make love.

She refused. Understanding what she needed from the male to keep her mind sharp, even acquiescing to the act, was one thing. But she would not lay with Sovereign has she had sometimes lain with Que.

If she had to mate him, then they would fuck. Period.

By the time Sovereign came roaring, she had bit him until her mouth pooled with blood, left marks around his neck from the powerful squeeze her grip offered his throat. As always, Sovereign had brought her body to a point that climax made her vision go white. She'd lay panting, sated and pleased, and let him pet her when she was too scattered to scratch or claw anymore. He'd kiss each wound their play had inspired, tease his tongue in her mouth until she was drunk on him, and if he was clever, slip his cock back into her body to ride her as a lover rode what he adored.

The claws would return as soon as her pleasure began to crest. Restraining her was the only way to take her gently. Even so, he could only manage a few minutes.

"Karhl longs to return to you Sigil. You enjoy his touch." Warm words Sovereign cooed at her ear. "We could share you again."

Knowing her resistance to soft touches aggravated the emperor only brought Sigil more joy in denying them. Furthermore, Sovereign wanted the Lord Commander there to further his own agenda, she was sure of it. No answer was given, only a groan when clever fingers pinched down each bone in her spine.

"He personally stands guard at the gate to this wing, has not slept in his vigil - allows none to enter or disturb your peace, though some have tried."

Voice hoarse, Sigil refuted, "Dryden enters; the women enter."

"They have never left, Sigil. They keep to their rooms when not in use to you. Only I enter and exit that gate."

The all-important High Adherent was locked in with her? The concept seemed a bit ridiculous. Sovereign caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth, and gave it a lingering kiss. "Why do you dislike the Adherents?"

"I dislike you all."

With a smug smile in his voice, Sovereign disagreed, "That is not true, beloved."

His touch on her spine ended, the male rolling them until the mattress was at her back. Eyes holding hers, he waited for an answer. Instead, Sigil chose a subject that made no sense, that pestered her thinking. "On the hologram, Corths holds Jerla's hand. Does he do so because he knows I'm watching?"

Sovereign seemed to consider, lightly pursing his lips while projecting no negative emotion. "Corths is unusual. Though stronger than any human, comparatively he is physically inferior to his brothers. Had he not been still a child when the Alliance fell, he would have died in battle. His strength lies in an intellect both creative and brilliant. He is one of the greatest medical minds in our universe." Three awkward words summed it up. "He is soft."

Weakness did not advance one through the ranks of the Brotherhood. "Yet he claims a high rank."

Scoffing, Sovereign nuzzled her cheek. "Did you imagine I would leave you in the care of an unworthy brother for forty years?"

The tension left her limbs, Sigil went lax. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she kept her eyes shut. Face in a grimace, she longed to scrub her eyes with the meat of her palm, to roll onto her belly and hide in her pillow. "I want..."

Enthusiastic fervor came too eager in Sovereign's voice, "What do you want?"

The obvious answers - freedom, Jerla, the death of the empire -- seemed too simple. Like a rope pulled too tight, the fibers holding Sigil together snapped, the cord frayed, and a fragmented girl looked into eyes like the ocean. Impulse moved her when perhaps she should have been still. But it was too late. Sigil's lips crashed into the surprised, parted mouth of a thrilled man, her hand cupped his cheek, and she acted.




Sigil Ch. 17



A crack, a wheeze of breath, and Sovereign lay under her, his neck broken. Eyes rolling in their sockets to find her, the emperor took in her confusion. How she'd manage it, he was not entirely certain; how she seemed to hover, to lay his body in a position that might increase comfort, bizarre.

Pulling at her hair, Sigil sat on her haunches and stared down at the strongest of the brotherhood laid out before her. It was hard for her to breathe, though not as hard as it was for him. Sovereign's spinal cord, though not severed, was severely compressed.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't speak, lips parting like a fish out of water.

She could kill him at that very moment... and she wanted to - longed for it greatly.

"It would be so easy..." Her voice, the grain to it, sounded nothing like her. Tears fell down reddened cheeks to behold such a sight, to be rubbed away by the back of her hand. "You cannot change what I am."

Icy eyes darted to the invisible door between her and the terrace, the one she could not open, though she'd tried in passing when watchful eyes might not notice. Sovereign was the key. Thoughts of gnawing through his wrist, to taking his hand for a trophy, were quickly abandoned, for Sigil did not know how long she had before the call to arms was made.

She hefted his dead weight, lifted the emperor's limp arm, and heard the hiss of lock decompression when it was waved before the wall. Laying him carefully down, smoothing back tousled dark hair, she left Sovereign with a view of the broken sky over Irdesi Prime and leapt naked from the balcony and into the dark.



Sigil Ch. 18



During another burst of short-lived rain, Sigil found cover beneath a sand colored awning where air was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread. But it was not the rain, or hunger, that drove her there. It was a mind almost as vacant of emotion as Que's – serene – amidst a flock buzzing in a tune she could not ignore. There she found a woman who appeared somewhere between young and old, almost ageless despite the light creases proving time marched on.

Leaning against the wall, arms casually crossed over the brown, stolen raiment of the lowest cast, Sigil watched the woman hum and knead dough.

She felt unharried, oddly comfortable.

After walking much of the city, merging with the pilgrims who moved from holy site to holy site, her bones were tired, her dread disconnected, and a moment's quiet the most precious commodity she might steal.

The city was beyond her. A place like Irdesi should not exist, let alone serve as the seat of Imperial power. Hours searching and Sigil had found no ships, no cruisers, no modern transportation in the capital. Converts moved by ancient means – walking until one's legs ached, carrying burdens on their backs through the city's avenues. Stranger still were the hover-carts pulled by four-legged animals that stank and shit in the street.

Life was lived as if all collected were primitives. Even the woman was making bread when machines could produce food in seconds.

"You may come inside." The baker's voice matched the mind, calm and even.

Sigil's attention left the crowd to make cruel eyes at the baker. "I have no currency."

Freckled cheeks fattened into a smile, left the woman beautiful. "There is a bench there. Sit."

The bench in question was worn smooth from use, carved of wood, and most certainly from off-world. A swish of dirty robes, and Sigil sat, adjusting the hood concealing bright hair and the unnatural vibrancy of her eyes. "Am I to thank you?"

"You're new to pilgrimage, I see."

Lying seemed best. "I am."

The woman's eyes went back to dough braided between precise fingers. "The sensation, assimilation discomfort, will pass."

Humans were no more assimilated than a swarm of mosquitos. Tired vindictiveness saturated Sigil's taunt. "And what makes you so wise? You must have been born here?"

Unworried, a temperate answer was offered. "No. I was purified on Gvtiin IV."

Shoulder blades pressed against walls carved from the hillside, Sigil gripped her cloak tight around her. "And your family?"

"My family lacked the strength to surmount Conversion." No trace of sadness echoed from the woman with flour embedded under her fingernails. She even had the audacity to smile gently.

"I lost my family too." Her mother, her friend... Taking her eyes from the cracked tile floor to once again view the woman making bread, Sigil muttered, "but not to Conversion."

A dark hand lifted a fresh bun from the pile at the baker's elbow. "Here."

Gifts were never freely given, of that Sigil was certain. "What do you want for it?"

"Your opinion." The smile in her words lightened the air. "This is a new recipe I was hoping to take in offering to the palace. Do you like it?"

It smelled good, sat warm in Sigil's grip when she snatched at the treat. One taste was better than all the confections piled high by the Brotherhood up in their citadel. But when Sigil swallowed, the dough sat thick in her throat. Her eyes watered. "I like it."

Sagely, the baker filled an earthenware cup with water and left it on the counter where her guest might reach. "Where are you from?"

Sigil was unsure what an honest answer to that question might be. Condor? The lonely planet where she hunted humans for food? Que's ship? Pax? "I was born on a moon hovering over an enemy world very different from this place. I never liked it there."

"I can't blame you for that. Sounds like the stage for a great deal of discord."

Smarter words no human had ever spoken. Looking to the cup, Sigil took it. The water had a mineral taste, another bite of bread a hint of honey, both softening Sigil's next words. "I have never seen a living being create bread."

"Simplicity is the key to bliss." Thin shoulders shrugged, the woman winking as if her words had been a gentle jest. "I like to be kept busy. It's an art form, I think, to work with one's hands. "

Maybe that was why the people in the strange human city seemed to prefer an antiquated lifestyle. "I used to dance," Sigil found it hard to say aloud, "before Sovereign came. I think I understand what you mean. Now I have nothing... to do."

But there were always things the Brotherhood wanted her to do, not one moment of their schedule interesting in any way.

"We all have our place." The baker reached for another lump of dough. "That is the beauty of our society. If you cannot find yours, the Adherents will assign you a role that suits the needs of the collective. Enriching the whole will enrich you."

The idea was not appealing. "Did they order you to make bread?"

"No. I was originally tasked to supply and clean a warship's galley. In my work, I discovered a talent for enhancing soldier's provisions with things collected from various stations and planets we passed. When my service contract was up for review, Admiral Gethman approved my request for access to Irdesi Prime. Transfer was granted. Now I make bread, I have a shop."

Mention of a Brother chipped at her calm. Sigil confounded that even something as insignificant as a woman making bread had been hand selected. "You were placed here as if part of the scenery. A puzzle piece. The Emperor wants the city this way..."

"This is holy ground, care must be taken in who is allowed to cultivate it."

The conversation could not have been more foreign to Sigil. "I saw many holy sites today - tombs, statues from other worlds, monuments to battles, even the water that runs down the mountain you call holy."

Brown eyes sparkled, the baker asking, "Did you see the Adherent's Cathedral?"

"No." And Sigil had no plan on approaching anywhere near it.

"The emperor's lady has awoken. We live at a time in our empire when the miraculous has begun. Celebrations like Irdesi has never seen clog the square before it. I'll sell my bread there later, and if I am lucky, tonight she'll show herself to us."

The joy in the stranger's voice, knowing a woman ignorant of what the Imperial Consort really was found her existence something to celebrate, lessened the baker in Sigil's eyes. "I understand she is reluctant to bear that title."

Humming as if she too had heard such a rumor, the baker said, "Humility is her greatest attribute. The Consort's example shames those who try to reach too far."

Here was Sigil's chance to see what effect a taboo word might have. "Like the Soshiia?"

Spitting on the floor, the baker lost the internal peace which had attracted Sigil in the first place. "Unsalvageable are a taint she has already begun to flush out. The Imperial Consort will cleanse the ranks of those who refuse all which our lady's suffering has given us."

Face emotionless, Sigil starred. "...and you will make bread."

"And one day my offering may sit on her table."

The amount of food left ignored each day on that long, black table - how much of it had been made by the hands of people who revered a monster? "It was kind of you to give me something you intended for her."

The baker's smile returned, as did her tranquility. "She would not want one of her people to go hungry."

All her life, Sigil had walked through suffering masses and had little interest in those around her. She was nothing like what this woman described. "And the emperor?" The one Sigil had left hardy breathing. "What of him?"

"Incorruptible."

A bit of water caught in Sigil's throat, a cough - almost a laugh. "Next you'll profess that Tessans don't strangle their yellow hatchlings at birth, pretending golden scales denote a child that will be mentally unstable and dangerous to itself and others." Lips curved, white teeth on display. "Have you ever seen a yellow scaled Tessan?"

"... no."

"I have." Dirty hood hiding the majority of her expression, Sigil cooed, "Their genocide is not due to mental instability. The Tessan Authority has them secretly murdered because yellow scaled males possess the same prowess as their superlative female counterparts."

"I know nothing of these things." Another smile, apple cheeked and glowing was offered. "My concerns hardly extend beyond the making of bread."

Too much time Sigil had spent in one place. Standing, she sighed, "And that, lamb, is why you are happy and I am in misery."

Sigil left the kind baker alive, a decision regretted almost immediately when Imperial Soldiers grew thick on the terrace mileage she was confined to.

Enough time had passed. Sovereign had healed, his anger roused. When they found her, he would punish her...

He would lock her away in a jail even darker than the city under its clouds and rain.

And this place - this kingdom - was where converts aspired to be? So they might be some part of a commune specially selected to what? Impress her? Where their dwellings lacked the gaudy opulence in her palace prison? A beacon in the human universe...

What of the sumptuousness on the top of the mountain? What of the Great Houses lurking at court and married to her Brothers?

Irdesi Prime was nothing more than one big stage.

But above palace and city loomed Condor; that was the moon the shifting, angry sky concealed – once the seat of Alliance military innovation. That was reality hanging fat and ugly on the other side of a dim atmosphere.

Sovereign had been born there.

Sigil had been born there.

They may have even shared the same womb.

Maybe that was why her eyes darted up hungry for a sight of it. Maybe that was why she wanted to reach past the clouds and crush that unseen spherical mass, so lies that led to happy, simple bakers might keep.

If this place was how life churned on in the Empire, it was nothing like any life she'd known. The humans, every soul around her, had been something else before the Imperium smashed down on their existence. And now they were happy? The Unsalvageable made more sense, seemed more honorable. At least they fought back.

And what would their cities look like?

Probably like Pax.

The thought made her homesick even as it turned her stomach. Overthinking, paying little attention, Sigil bumped into the man walking before her. He'd just stopped. And it wasn't only him. All around her humans paused, standing still, and looking up at the sky.

Ready to bolt, assuming she'd been found, Sigil felt it before the sound registered. Rich, melodious, noise crawled up the soles of her feet, through bone, over skin, saturating every cell until she vibrated in time with that note.

Sigil's world became quiet, like the mind of the abandoned baker.

There was no pain.

She felt no sorrow.

And that harmony, it came from all the humans pressed about her, beyond her, filling the city to stare up just as the sky fractured into a beauty of prismatic light. Jaw agape, she stared into the cracked canopy, into the flashes breaking up the dark. As if frayed pieces sought out their broken ends, for the briefest moment, Sigil felt whole.

She belonged, felt connected to everything around her.

The sensation was alien, exotic, outlandish – like a memory of her mother singing in her thoughts.

That sound, that balm, ended too soon, leaving her gasping for air as if some invisible hand had squeezed her throat.

The sheep around her began to move, each Convert continuing their path as if no interruption had taken place. The stranger at her side said nothing about how she'd gripped his hand and unconsciously threaded their fingers together. He just let her go, so he too might move on.

Frightened, backing away, Sigil sought refuge from the crowd in the first open door she found, a tavern, empty but for a few Converts wandering back to their seats after the song outside. Sigil sat, ordered a drink, and swallowed the first cup so greedily the knot in her throat was forced to relax.

And then he sat, taking the bench across from her and grinning meanly.

As she had failed to find an escape, it was inevitable one would find her. He'd probably tracked her all day, laughing from shadows when she didn't notice how close he really was. Lowering the cup from her lips, Sigil wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and admitted recognition. "I've wondered why I hadn't been forced to look at your ugly face yet."

Settling his armored mass, smirking as if everything he saw before him could not be more droll, Lord Commander Tiburon asked, "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Exploring." The fizzy drink went back to her lips, the clay cup hiding her answer. "This is the capital after all – the seat of the empire."

The Lord Commander sat quiet, watching her, that unshakable smirk delighted. When her gaze slipped over the metal filled scar running across his face, he audibly purred. Waiting for her attention to slip back to his eyes, waiting for Sigil to see the brilliant green so she might remember it was his eye she'd swallowed first, Tiburon took the waiting pitcher and filled a cup for himself. He spoke, "You look exactly as I expected you would. Pathetic."

"You look the same."

His finger traced the tip of the scar. "More or less."

Sigil breathed, "You were ugly before I tore open your face."

"Brat." A dry laugh stressed that the room had grown utterly silent, every human having left on some unseen order. "You really are impossible to please. It's fucking entertaining watching them try though."

The thought had crossed her mind once or twice. Bracing for calamity, Sigil asked, "How long until Sovereign shows up to drag me back?"

"That implant wired through your brain," Tiburon cocked his chin, eyeing her forehead. "I was the one who demanded the Brotherhood mesh a tracker into the circuitry. Sovereign refused, claiming the risk was too great should your enemies harness technology that could trace you... And you do have enemies, Sigil." He took a long drink, a drip spilling down a strong chin. "My point is this, Sovereign doesn't know you're here. Subsequently, he doesn't know I'm with you. Take advantage of that."

Sigil leaned nearer. "And why, of all your bastard Brothers, do you think I would believe a word that comes from your mouth? I've read Arden's histories... they are full of your lies."

"That's not to say Sovereign won't descend eventually." Tiburon rolled several slender vials across the table, their contents a familiar murky white Sigil found almost as disgusting as she found them valuable. The Lord Commander smiled, two teeth chipped, marring his beauty even as the metal scar enhanced it. "I offer you time. If you're wise, you will take it."

Sigil snatched at the semen filled vials to stuff into her cloak. "Why?"

A parcel was tossed to plop before her. "And there you have currency, citizenship - you're a trader's daughter, widowed and technically useless to the empire. You can run free, brat. Walk the surface of the planet, take in the sites."

Pulling the coarse sack to her breast, Sigil eyes went wide, her psionics snapping as she waited for the trap to spring and crush the spark of hope in her ribs. "You think I'll tell him the truth? Is that why you do this?"

Amusement bent the scar, twisted Tiburon's lips. He refilled her glass. "Tell Sovereign what you will. Tell him how we stood face to face on Condor, and how I told you the path to escape the compound. Tell him I have hunted you, found you, and how you ripped my face apart when I last had you pinned to the floor. Tell him how you let me live after gorging on my eye and tongue, orgasming, rubbing yourself against me, as you did it."

Unsure, Sigil ran her finger over the rim of her cup. "You were already in the room where they kept my mother. The human doctor I'm remembered for murdering, you killed."

"The human? You would call that human? Dr. Saniel was your architect, Sigil - my creator, your creator. Every piece of you was chosen to glorify her; you even vaguely bear a resemblance. And there you stood all those years ago, crying over a limbless, alien lump you called mommy while the nearest genetic relation you ever truly had screamed for you to save her from me." 

A scream Sigil had ignored. "You slaughtered that human."

"I did."

"And told the Brotherhood I was the one responsible for the death of the scientist who designed and implemented Project Cataclysm."

"True."

Watching that face, the clean cut of his jaw, the shaved smoothness of Tiburon's skull, Sigil demanded. "Why?"

"Every last one of us subsists on lies; the Brotherhood glorifies fables. You heard your own today, magnanimous saint of the people. So I offer you this; I will always tell you the truth. They won't. Sovereign lies to you. Karhl lies. Arden lies. They lie to each other."

"And you lie to them." Just like his Brothers, he had not answered her question, simply shifted conversation to enhance his agenda. She asked again, "Why did you tell them I murdered Dr. Saniel?"

Lord Commander Tiburon shrugged. "Because I wanted to. Your madness on Condor gave me a perfect opportunity to further my interests. Her death I found very interesting."

"Did you know her?" Sigil's only interaction with the doctor had been purely clinical – tests, torture, the resetting of limbs.

When his smile disappeared, Tiburon seemed far more dangerous than even Sovereign. "I knew her."

The door was fifty paces to her right, a window twenty paces to the left. All those measurements taken without Sigil moving her gaze from those moss green eyes. "There are facts you want to tell me – Brotherhood lies, you claimed – what are they?"

Head cocking to the left, Tiburon frowned. He watched her; he calculated. "It doesn't work that way, brat. I can't read your mind and we don't have all night. You must ask specific questions. Or do you anticipate I will throw the right answers at your feet, as I have tossed you money and my ejaculate?"

Frustrated with a man that was obviously playing with her, Sigil hissed, "Who are the Soshiia?"

By the way Tiburon leaned back into his chair, Sigil had obviously asked the right question. "Karhl is the oldest of us – a century older than me. The fact he still lives is testament to his unprecedented design. He's all that's left of the original batch. And there have been others who failed, who lacked perfection, who died in service - each of us ultimately replaceable... until I disemboweled our creator," his face, his beauty grew ruined with a hateful snarl, "and crushed her brilliant brain to mush. The expertise in grafting whatever it is we are was lost that day. We cannot be recreated. We cannot be thrown away."

The Brotherhood would have cloned her had they been able to... that is what his words implied. She would have been free, worthless. His actions made her life necessary to the group. "The Soshiia are... more of you... outside your Brotherhood? Soldiers who absconded before the Alliance fell?"

At once Tiburon's nasty mask snapped back. "They could be. Considering that the Soshiia are capable of overcoming the biological alterations of Conversion by replacing it with something else, considering their training and resistance to interrogation. Who taught them? Who meddled with their chemistry? We don't know. But I believe they are pawns of faulty Brothers who ran like cowards long ago and seek to slither in and steal what is not theirs."

It could not be possible. "Was there another Sovereign? One that led before this one?"

One eyebrow cocked. "Once, I was Sovereign."

And Karhl was the oldest...

"How many?"

"Seven." As if disappointed by her indifferent reaction, Tiburon change the subject. "Why have you not asked me how many children were bred from your sleeping body?"




Sigil Ch. 18



It caught in her throat, that first eruption of beer fizzed vomit she choked down. The possibility Sovereign had committed such a horrible act was one she'd not allowed herself to consider. Hearing such an atrocity spoken aloud sent her instantly past caution. Had her psionics been unhindered by whatever mess those bastards had jammed into her brain, the entirety of that lounge would have been blasted apart. Instead, all the furnishings rose and trembled, her cup shattering in her grip.

"Don't tell me you didn't suspect?" False pity shown on Tiburon's face. He pouted his lips. "Almost fifty years you slept, suffering brain damage that required more surgeries than I can count, and you woke in a state of psychosis. Did you really expect Sovereign could respect your... womb? An entire species depends on your genetics."

In a fury, she launched herself across the table. Raking her nails over Tiburon's throat, biting him until she tasted blood – all she did only roused laughter. The Brother that had come close to catching her so many times, she knew his face, his scent, the workings of his mind, and shattered his nose... and still he laughed.

In her rage, Sigil did not see Tiburon's strike, but she felt her cheek break, the flesh of her lip split.

They stilled, Sigil mounted over the smiling snake.

In a shaky breath she demanded, "How many daughters have the Brotherhood stolen from me?"

Under her, the bloodied man offered another truth. "None. Your body refused to ovulate and the circuitry of your reproductive organs is too alien to be manipulated safely. If we were to inadvertently damage you..."

Snarling, she gripped Tiburon's throat. "But it was attempted."

Shoving away the nonplused woman, Tiburon scowled and stood. "You should know your Jerla woke this morning. He asks for you." Sigil made no move to rise, crouched at the feet of a madman who knew just how to mindfuck her. He sighed, "There is no exit from this planet; no ships, brat. The best you can do is hide. Maybe pass your hours baking bread." His eyes went to a vial of semen dropped amidst their skirmish, his toe kicked it toward her. "I have given you the means to be left alone. Use the opportunity to reason like an adult. Your tantrums bore me; gratitude for my effort would be appropriate."

Gratitude? Face red, jaw swollen, she glared at the armored warrior. "And the price for this miraculous help?"

That cruel smile snapped back to pretty lips. He reached out to ghost a touch over her ruined cheek. "Consider it foreplay."

She bit off two of his fingers.



Sigil Ch. 19



Fluid filled vials rattled each time Sigil rolled her palm. Staring down at the sorry collection, her tongue wiggled a loose tooth, the knitting bones of her jaw painful.

Each capped vessel was self-contained, frozen by an unseen power source, and could prove to be ultimately useless - or much more dangerous to the Brotherhood than even the worm, Tiburon, intended. But which one?

Seven cycles Sovereign claimed she'd endured without his liquid contribution. Seven cycles from the time he'd left her on the water planet until she'd asked Karhl to deliver her to Irdesi Prime.

Seven was a grand improvement over those first days on Pax - days when one cycle had sent her on a mindless rampage.

But this was Lord Commander Tiberon's sperm, potentially less potent.

Furthermore, he wanted her to use it. He wanted it badly.

As he'd claimed, the sack at her shoulder held a great deal of money - enough, to see Sigil through for months on Irdesi Prime.

None of that mattered.

Because he'd also told her Jerla was awake.

Sigil was many things - most of them bad - but when her mind was unconsumed, she was not unintelligent. She'd been designed to be brilliant, possessing neural pathways eons of evolution beyond that of a human. But even the most foolish Convert could see Tiburon wanted the Imperial Consort to run amuck. And from what she'd sensed inside him, the Lord Commander believed strongly in what he hoped to inspire in a newly acquired volatile resource. Calculating, having dealt with him in the past, Sigil assumed nothing and questioned everything.

Whatever he was up to was not some artless conspiracy - not when it felt as if centuries were folded into Tiburon's doings.

He, unlike his Brothers, was rooted in intention she could not grasp - like what he'd one to Dr. Saniel on Pax. There was a patience in the man, an ancient, crawling endurance, unhurried to render its goal. But Sigil had seen what happened when Tiburon found his moment; what he'd done to the doctor was beyond even her vicious moments of weakness.

He'd tormented that horrid woman; killed her slow enough the doctor's nerves appreciated optimal suffering.

Most likely, Sigil would have to kill him. But not yet.

Weary of the taste of blood in her mouth, Sigil reached two fingers between her lips. The loose tooth was not going to mend; a new one would have to be grown. Pinching it, she yanked. A squishy hole gaped in her gums. Sigil held up her fingers, the bloody incisor jagged and uninspiring.

Tiburon had hurt her, intentionally inflicted damage with each swing after she'd bit him... so unlike Sovereign. The emperor was always cautious when they'd tangled. He conquered, he didn't crush. He never broke one of her bones or rent flesh.

But Tiburon... both of them took pleasure in giving the other physical pain. They had fought like cats - scraping and biting - until each grew bored, slinking away to their respective corners to lick bloody wounds. She had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it - his bliss broadcasted so violently Sigil had laughed at the familiarity of such raw sensation.

He echoed her insides. Had she ripped him open and crawled inside, it would have been her own entrails poked, yanked, and savored.

Whether or not Tiburon understood the effect his actions had on her mattered little. What did matter were facts.

Fact One: The Lord Commander had claimed there were no ships, no way off the planet. Sigil believed him. But after a century of escape, she knew one thing to be true above all others: there was always a way out.

Fact Two: Even if she ran, there was nothing but the promise that madness would return no matter how far she fled. Secondly, without Que, what she'd do once possessed by that madness would be terrible.

Fact Three: Que was dead. He wasn't coming back. Ever.

Que was dead. He was dead. He was dead and she was alive. That was not going to change. The money in her sack would not change it; the vials in her grip would not change it. Rampaging through the Convert's capital would do nothing to alter what had come to pass.

Every urge she ached to satisfy would ultimately prove pointless.

Killing puny, little humans who had been chemically mutilated by the Brotherhood seemed... redundant. She could break even the strongest Convert specimen with a flick of the wrist. She could hunt them, play with them, they could even serve as her food.

But how strange Converts were.

Her history with humans had been... uncomfortable. Memory of her long-dead Handlers, of the outlaws who'd shot her ship from the sky, a cold reminder that - as a collective - the species was very dangerous. Humans had designed Condor and enabled Dr. Saniel to experiment on sentient beings. Humans had wielded dominion over Project Cataclysm against their own kind. Humans had tortured a little girl so she might be a better killer.

Sovereign believed them dangerous; so much so, he had conquered every last feral he could reach, firm in the notion they posed a threat to her. Now this new breed were his weapon.

They sang at the sky when day became night. They baked bread.

Sigil had walked amongst them, watched their dealings, seen them meet in droves anticipating a glimpse of the Imperial Consort. They seemed content with their lot in life.

Of course, this was only the example of one tightly controlled population. Outlying worlds, newly conquered soil, would echo differently.

Or did Conversion wear the same face, only the environment changed?

Sigil didn't know.

Looking at the bloody tooth, at the dirty fingers pinching it, she frowned and tossed the thing away. The vials jingled again, the noise they made similar to the chimes in Karhl's hair.

The thought stilled her hand. The image of tightly veiled pain in his eyes when she'd told him to leave her alone, the echo of disappointment inside him - itching memory came with that sound. The Lord Commander had retreated, he'd stood waiting, guarding the gate into her rooms.

To keep others out, or keep her in?

In a sparse room set aside for those making pilgrimage, Sigil sighed.

Too long she'd been chaff blown about by the Brotherhood's wind. This way and that way, up and down - she'd been flung, stretched, and damaged. It was exhausting. But Sigil didn't have to be so pathetic. She need not be Sigil or Quinn. She didn't need the vials or Tiburon's money. There was no reason to languish so fools might paint her white and Heralds might seduce with stories and play.

********

Sovereign stood ridged, glaring upon a population packed before the Adherent's Cathedral. They'd begun to plead up at the viaduct where palace met basilica, calling out for Sigil as if their cry might coax the elusive female to appear.

"Report." The coldness of the order warned further disappointment was not an option.

"I have been unable to find her, Sovereign."

Stormy eyes left the frenzied crowd to burn upon at the Brother who disappointed him most. The emperor said nothing.

Even Arden was unable to conceal the darkness that threatened his expression. "She is in the city, I am certain of it. It is only a matter of time..."

Tiburon stood nearby, chewing on a hard roll as he watched the exchange.

Sovereign shot his displeasure toward his scarred councilor. "Show him."

There was no movement between the men, but an image projected in their midst. The Herald focused his sole attention on the figure sweeping a floor.

Arden hated all he saw. "...Our female stands in rags performing menial labor."

Lord Commander Tiburon grinned. "Is that all you see? Open your eyes, schemer. Sigil is engaging with a human. She talks to this one; she asks questions, returns daily and remains longer."

"Daily?" As if he were emperor, Arden hissed, "How is it you possess such information yet Sigil is not in our presence?"

Tiburon made no answer, his silence condescension enough.

The Herald's hands tightened until knuckles popped, the golden one undone. "Karhl will not support this! You will not have your way!"

Tiburon's smirk became a sneer.

"She smiles." Sovereign's voice cut through the Brothers' squabble. "Right there," he froze the image, "Sigil is smiling."

It was a shy thing displayed by that flickering hologram, the smallest offering of curved lips, like the creature emoting was unsure how to do it.

As if the joke ended, Lord Commander Tiburon lost all pretense. Grave, he addressed Arden, "A new companion for her has been found. You are no longer required, Harold, and are to be reassigned immediately."

"YOU CANNOT DO THIS!"

"He can, with my sanction." The emperor barely contained his vast anger under a grim mask. "Three days and you have failed to find her. Yet over those three days one human has had a profound influence on my Sigil, you failed to inspire. Your enthusiasm is noteworthy, but your results lackluster. Be grateful you live and may see her from time to time."

Arden shook in his rage, muscles flexed, jaw ticking. "He wants her firstborn." Golden eyes full of hate flashed toward the Lord Commander. "Tiburon doesn't love her. He can't!"

Sovereign had heard enough. "You are dismissed, Arden."

The Herald marched off, stiff and awkward at the order, what had once been Sovereign's favorite Brother swallowed into the dark of the palace. Only the emperor and the Lord Commander remained. As if there had been no unpleasantness, Sovereign reached out to touch the projection of the woman he pined for, his fingers distorting her image. "There is no commendation earned in your actions, Tiburon... I find your practices hardly above Arden's. Continue on this path and I will be forced to act against you."

"The empire would fall."

"You, of all of us, most understand the concept you are replaceable." Sovereign turned his back on the deadly soldier. "Remember that. And remember that I love her."

Sanctimonious, Tiburon purred, "No. You don't."

********

Days watching and it was the same. The children, they ran through the streets - fearless. They played outside, unmonitored, loud. Sigil could not help but stare. Her eyes tracing a girl kicking a ball, Sigil spoke to the baker working at the table behind her. "I like it here. You're quiet."

Light laughter came with no comment.

As Sigil was always asking questions and demanding answers, silence never lasted long in the bakery. Turning to the Convert, Sigil tapped her fingertip against her skull and explained, "You misunderstand. You're quiet here." her attention went back to the street. "Everyone else makes so much noise. Always something, something they want, hunger, greed, sadness, lust, guilt, thirst, pain - each something pointless in a place like this - a place where you have everything. But then there's you; you're... quiet."

"And that is why you come here each day?"

"Yes," trying to invoke human politeness, Sigil added the baker's name, a name she'd purposefully asked for so the human might recognize she held interest, "Elba."

Elba nodded at the nonsense and wisely remained silent.

Sigil slipped toward the bench, she formulated. "I want you to take me to the Adherents Cathedral. If you will do so, I will help you sell your bread in the square this evening." The offer was a generous one... considering.

The baker stopped fiddling with her dough. She wiped her hands on the sackcloth at her waist. "This is not an evening for selling bread in the square. Condor is visible. Few will gather past the fracturing. It's a night for reflection and seclusion."

Too late to stop her hiss, Sigil lost a touch of control. "And what is Condor to you?"

The baker's answer was immediate, memorized, "A remnant of pain, of loss, even Conversion cannot wash away."

Adjusting her hood, Sigil looked for the words required to get her way. "Am I to say please?"

"You are frustrated." Elba took a seat at Sigil's side. "Yet I didn't say no. I only claimed it was not a good night to sell bread."

"So you will escort me to the cathedral? You will tell me, in your words, not in Adherents' preaching, why it matters."

The woman nodded, her dark skin slightly greyed by a day's dusting of flour.

"Can we go now?"

********

Few mustered on terraces, streets, or public areas, just as the baker warned. That was as much a blessing as a curse. The change in atmosphere altered the weather. The typical crispness sat instead like cold sweat on the skin; fabric clung.

The effect was obvious on shivering Elba, Sigil unaffected as they stood near enough the cathedral to view the gates. It stuck from elevation, like a broken bone jutting through flesh. Unlike the other earth shaded buildings on Irdesi, unlike even the mountainside palace, the cathedral was covered in white stone - The Adherents Cathedral stood as focal point of the capital, with its turrets and bleak colorlessness.

Sigil had seen it from afar. She knew it was markedly different, but approaching such a monolith in person was uncanny.

Banked on either side of the Adherents' seat of power stood two figures, each stone warden facing the other. Like warring kings, on the left rose Tiburon, formidable and frowning in his armor - to the right Karhl, his statue far less welcoming. Almost tall as the pale edifice itself, they acted sentinel, dwarfing all brave enough to pass between the Empire's titans.

Even considering the citizen's disquiet with Condor's rising, a great many Citizens and Pilgrims alike lingered on the sprawling steps that reached down to every level. The closer Sigil approached, the more she found the minds around her took in that building in the opposite sentiment. Standing on white steps brought them comfort, gave them succor.

In the Cathedral's shadow there was a tone to what she sensed. Love.

The real kind.

The kind Jerla's mother never had for him.

Sigil glanced at the profile of her guide projecting such a feeling. Elba smiled in the way that made her high-cheeked face pleasing.

Unsure what her companion found so splendid, Sigil sought clarification, "Tell me of the gates."

"Lord Commander Tiburon spearheaded the campaign against my world, killed our royals himself. He delivered me, offered purpose and compassion. Across from him stands the figure of Lord Commander Karhl. He does not exist to forgive; he exists to cleanse the soul. Worlds under his thumb shall be swept barren, ready for devoted Converts to populate."

Sigil frowned. "That is common sentiment... admiration for those who ruined worlds?'

"Should it be different?"

Was that why Karhl had been brought to Pax? To cleans it? Was the white-haired warrior who'd tried so hard all those years ago to be gentle with her only waiting to hand her off and kill all the lifeforms Sigil had slaughtered in her rage? "Karhl was amongst those sent to my home." There would be some reaction at her words, Sigil was sure of it. "I had heard rumor of him, terrible things. Seeing him again, was unsettling."

A thick brow rose. "Again?"

"I first saw him when I was only a child."

Elba's oval chin pointed to the cathedral gates. "Perhaps that is why you were chosen for pilgrimage?"

And that was another thing Sigil had come to learn from the baker. Not all Pilgrims chose to walk the path seeking absolution and power; some were chosen by governing Adherents. Imperial law - the compulsion of Conversion - made the honor one that could not be willingly refused.

Elba saw Sigil hesitate, took her hand and guided her up the steps. Together they passed high ranked Imperial retainers, elite soldiers, the dregs of the lowest pilgrim... no less than three Brothers. "Successful pilgrimage will raise your rank. If you exceed expectation, you may even be allowed to make your home here... We could talk more often."

The doors, though tall, let in very little sun, but scant light sliced in, illuminating a single stone figure and forcing the eye right to it. Atop a pedestal stood a little girl holding a basin in fragile hands, her slow dripping tears caught to pool within the platter.

It was Sigil.

Seeing it hollowed out her breath, it stopped her feet. That statue was a lie. Never. Never in her childhood had Sigil been so undamaged. Yet the rendered girl showed no obvious broken bones, no weekly disfigurement. The sad face was carved to be unbruised, even pretty.

"The Imperial Consort as a child." Elba dipped her fingertip into the basin, as did others who passed by. A single captured drop of fluid the baker swallowed.

Sigil mimicked the action; she dipped her finger set it between her lips.

It did not taste of tears. It did not taste of water.

Seeing the stony reaction on the face of her guest, Elba explained, "The serum of Conversion. Her gift to us, so all humanity might be joined and transformed."

Looking at that bowl, at more and more fingers dipping in with each body that passed into the cathedral, Sigil whispered. "I had a doll once, something worn... old."

"My mother carved my toys," Elba spoke, the memory of a woman who was most likely murdered by the empire remembered with no bitterness, no fuel for revenge, only fond feeling.

It bothered Sigil for a human to speak as if they shared a special memory, to lack wrath for the dead. "No, woman, you see... I had the doll for less than a cycle." Unable to peel her eyes from the stone girl, Sigil reached out to touch the lie. The statue was warm, the ripples of its carved rags seemingly soft, unlike her chilling voice. "When they took it; they sawed off my hands. I had to kill the woman who gave me the gift with my teeth. She screamed a great deal, though mostly from what was done to her before I was thrown into the room. That's the only time I recall childhood weeping that was not inspired by an involuntary reaction to torment." And that had to have been why Sovereign had thought to mention the painful moment on Pax. "I could not have held your shiny basin, and my tears were not an offering for you."

Elba heard Sigil's growled litany, looking both alarmed and bellicose. It was quite an alteration in the baker's natural cool. The woman prepared to take a step back, to summon Adherents who could correct the problem or remove the female who just might bear the corruption of an Unsalvageable. Elba's escape was immediately prevented when an iron grip on her arm yanked her nearer.

A grimy hood blocked the view of her face, but not the firm set of Sigil's lips as she warned, "You are not to leave; we have not finished."

The quiet inside Elba was quiet no more.

As if pulling an errant child, Sigil dragged the captive baker forward. More white stone marked the ground, a backdrop for slithering mosaics - some in muted colors, others in stark reds - branching as if those who understood what they saw could grasp the proper paths. Through the pious, past countless statues depicting men - men Sigil recognized as Sovereign's brothers - they traveled deeper into the vast sanctuary. Wood smoke, incense, a sound similar to the soothing hum shared when the sky of Irdesi Prime fractured, grew thick and changed the air.

It affected Sigil, who gripped her captive with an arm around her shoulders, not sure if she herself sought support or needed a greater hold to control. Converts, human-Adherents shuffled about in their caps and robes, they soliloquized on the empire and the greatness it inspired in the hearts of mere men and women; they chanted. Where the floors' mosaic was widest, the trunk of the proverbial tree - a pool, small but seemingly serene, lapped. Most who entered gathered there. When pilgrims were offered their chance to kneel and drink - to take clear, pretty poison into their mouths - many fell and died in moments. Few - very few - lasted long enough to be collected so they might attain higher conversion under the watchful eye of the Adherents.




Sigil Ch. 19



That's why pilgrims came to Irdesi; it wasn't to see monuments - not unless the sight of such tributes was to inspire strength in their time of trial - it was to offer themselves so they might rise above the low rank all common Converts seemed reborn to. Or be conveniently disposed of.

Mosaics branched; Sigil chose the path the led furthest into the massive chamber. There was more to be seen - it seemed she'd chosen the way those deigning to glorify themselves as 'military' chose.

Another carved fixture of Karhl, another of Tiburon, one for each of the empire's five admirals, all possessing either a cup a bowl, or an upturned, open mouth. Inside the hollows still fluid waited so pilgrims might collect a portion and drink.

Sigil beheld three soldiers swallow the liquid dripping from Tiburon's open mouth. Sigil watched three Pilgrims die.

This was how the elites - the hybrids - were chosen.

Sigil looked down at Elba. "I see no basin for Sovereign, only his Brothers."

What had been warm chocolate eyes seemed pitch in such low light. Glassy and committed, they stared up at her captor, as if Elba suspected something that could not be true. The baker swallowed and nodded. "Every male statue in this temple depicts a Convert who survived Sovereign's serum. It is so small a number, that we understand to swallow one so powerful is sure death. One must be invited to drink of it. No soul has been granted the opportunity in over a century."

So that was how the seemingly immortal Brotherhood was explained and accepted. It was clever, even brought the tiniest tick to the corner of Sigil's mouth. "And what made Sovereign so powerful?"

Elba was breathless. "The Imperial Consort blessed him long ago."

Sigil could not help but mock, "Then why is she not Empress?"

The question precipitated a programed response. "Our Emperor was born to hold the position in service to her. Her place is not at the head of government; it would distract from her greater purpose - enriching our hearts and unifying our species."

"By crying into a basin?"

"...we all carry a piece of her inside us. She... salvaged us from the mire."

Enough religious babble; Sigil had a purpose. "You have not noticed, baker, but many of the men carved in stone, their living likeness have arrived." She held the mystified woman nearer, Sigil's lips going to Elba's ear. "Behind me Karhl, behind you Tiburon. Sovereign stands in the middle of that patch of dark. He is watching us right now."

"You never use their proper titles when speaking their sacred names."

Ignoring the woman's muttering, Sigil gripped Elba's wrist and demanded, "I need you to bear witness. You are not to leave my side." Sigil entwined their fingers, her whisper edging on desperate, "You are not to speak. Be quiet... calm for me... and you will have my gratitude. For one evening, I will help you sell your bread."

At Sigil's harshly whispered words, Elba nodded.

The sound of Karhl's hair preceded his approach from her back, Sigil analyzing Tiburon advance from the opposite direction. Both the giant and scarred one stopped at a reasonable distance, only observing, yet armed and armored.

Shoulder to shoulder with her guest, Sigil poured her attention upon the third male, voice colorless. "The baker is not to be meddled with."

Ignoring the human at her side, Sovereign's fingers caught Sigil's hood, pulling it back so icy eyes were no longer shielded from his view. "Beloved." The calm, steady voice expressed no anger, no frustration. "Why would I harm a Devout? She has been nothing but exemplary in her behavior."

It was not the time to argue the semantics between the words meddled with and harmed. Sigil had more pressing matters to address. "I knew you would come if I entered this place." In that flickering light the planes of his face, the edge of Sovereign's cheeks, seemed carved like the stone men surrounding them, Sigil inspecting every inch as she breathed, "I thought we might engage in a new experience and... talk."

One corner of Sovereign's mouth rose. He seemed entranced, emotions content. "I enjoy talking with you."

He spoke so gently. She sighed. "I do not want to live in your palace. I cannot... it's too loud. There is too much."

"It wasn't premeditated, not for all your threats. It wasn't your fault." Sovereign's whisper came urgent. "You know I know that."

"I am unhappy there, Sovereign." And she looked vulnerable in that moment, openly admitting weakness.

The emperor seemed surprised at her words, at the melancholy creasing on her brow. He reached to cup her cheek, fully aware she did not flinch or draw away as she usually did. "No one keeps you in your rooms, beloved. You could have left at any time."

"Don't they? Would I be free to wander alone if I wished? No, there is always a Handler, protocol. You have recreated the conditions of Condor."

Pain lanced Sovereign whisper, a look of longing mirroring the internal burn of those words. "Please... you cannot mean that."

Sigil's brows fell, her eyes pleaded. "Understand that I know. On a ship, how far would I get before all this progress came undone? What would happen without a guardian willing to do whatever was necessary to subdue what I became? Am I to enslave one of you - someone easy to overwhelm physically and turn into him what you would make me - a kept thing used to satiate urges? How long, how far could I run?" Her grip left the fingers of the baker, Sigil fisting the fabric of Sovereign's sleeve. "The knowledge is prison enough. I can't leave you. This. Is. My. Life."

"You're saying you would not run."

"I want a ship; I want to see." Sigil closed her eyes, and rubbed her lips together. "And when I do, it is Tiburon who must escort me."

"What?" The question was sharp.

Sigil glanced briefly at the Lord Commander smirking enough to pinch the metal scar. "I have not read so far in Arden's journals. But Tiburon has cornered me more than once, you know. He likes to chase and will hurt me where you won't." Icy eyes went back to Sovereign, Sigil's eye ticking. "What's inside him, eats him - both of us poisoned by the same drive. But that is not my point. My point is this: I give you my word that I will stay. Find a Kilactarin empath to confirm my honesty, if you must."

"Sigil, beloved, this must stop."

She knew he alluded to the savage rampaging through her psyche and staining everything with guilt. "I know."

"Do you?" Sovereign did not seem so sure. Fingering her hair, closing in on his female, he pressed warm lips to her furrowed forehead.

Allowing him the intimacy, Sigil whispered, "I slept for so long, worlds are beyond my memory. I know nothing of the universe now... I hardly understand the empire. These few days outside have relieved much of my unease, but reading of you history irritates me; I cannot help it."

"And you've been bored." Sovereign pulled away just far enough to see her eyes flame can you blame me? It seemed Sovereign was not so indifferent to her request. "Then let us negotiate. Send off your Convert and we will continue to talk, like you wished." 

Sigil turned her head, felt Sovereign breathe in the scent of her hair, and looked to the nonplused baker witnessing an exchange that would change the empire forever. "I thank you for the bread." There was a moment's hesitation before Sigil added, "You're unusual, worthy of the holy ground you love. Having walked it, I'm not sure if it's worthy of you."

Elba did not move, the baker looking to Sovereign as if understanding coercion and desire cracked in the conversation she could not fully comprehend. Addressing Sigil, the woman probed, "Imperial Consort, do you wish me to stay?"

She couldn't help it, Sigil smiled at idealistic support. "You will only ever call me Quinn."

Tiburon was the one to move - almost too fast for human eyes to follow - to snag the arm of the Convert and whisk her toward the door.

"Quinn?" Sovereign asked, cheeks hollowed as if the name tasted bitter.

"In the city I will be nothing but lowly Quinn. In your palace I will be Sigil." That was how it had to be so she might maintain this new level of calm. "I will retain my residence by the bakery. She will not be meddled with."

By his emotions, by his expression, such a thought was inconsiderable. "That residence, it's a cell, beloved, not intended for extended use."

"In this compromise, my lodgings and my life outside the palace walls are mine to live." Her throat grew hot, Sigil looking for words than might be sung as eloquently as Arden might sing. "If you will give this to me, half my time I will be a willing Imperial Consort, Sovereign. I will appear to the people, attend court..."

He thought to catch her another way. "What of Jerla?"

The boy's name lessoned her tension. "Children need stability; the palace will offer what I fail to supply. When I am there, I will see him. He is not to know how I spend my days outside."

Sovereign had so much more to gain from this than she did. They both knew that. It did not mean he liked it. "I can't trust you, Sigil, you know that."

"Do not make me desperate." And there it was, her violence flashing deep in those chilly eyes. "Next time I might kill you."

"I'm going to give you what you want."

Sigil nodded. "When he can spare the time, I want Karhl to teach me how to use psionics. Tiburon is to train with me in combat - hitting him is something I enjoy."

The scarred Lord Commander was still far across the room, standing at the Cathedral's gate. Sovereign held her eyes and drove home a very important point. "Be cautious with him, beloved."

"We're the same thing, you know that. Dr. Saniel made us the same."

The emperor was not going to elucidate, only warn. "She made him something else."

********

A/N: I didn't think I would be able to get this to you until November, but thanks to my excellent Beta, it's all yours now. My Sigil readers have gone a bit quiet. So, I want to ask, what are your thoughts? Are you a fan of the new story arc? Are you bored? Do you just wish I would hurry up and post another chapter of BTBB? Lol

If you've got time to leave me a quick note, I would appreciate the feedback. Such information helps a ton when working on a second draft.

Thank you, as always, for reading and supporting my stories!



Sigil Ch. 20



A/N: I asked for feedback and you did not disappoint! Every ounce of constructive criticism and encouragement was excellent. I took some notes, have plans for alterations of this first draft of Sigil, and have you all to thank for it! You're making me a better writer, and I could not be more grateful.

There has been a lot of enthusiasm for another chapter of BTBB, which made me hesitant to post this now. The edited version of this chapter (written months ago) I received today -- and I did not want to sit on it when that would be pointless. For those eager for more BTBB, expect something around the 25th, after I return to the country. Sorry I don't have time to put finishing touches on the next chapter or pester my gracious beta reader.

Hopefully this, and another chapter of A Trick of the Light, will tide you over in the meantime.

********

Chapter 20

A wall of windows framed the bland cityscape built into Irdesi's mountain range. Sigil stared absentmindedly at decrepit, beige flotsam, at black banners snapping stark in the streets, distracted by the feel of another's hand carding through her tangled hair.

Warm at her back, the emperor asked, "Might we talk a little longer?"

That was the third time Sovereign had made such a request since she'd willingly followed him into the palace. Every time silence came, every time he lost her attention, he would ask again and she'd respond with, "We can talk."

"Who is the Convert—"

Sigil's shoulders stiffened. "You know Elba's name, her rank, her history. Do not insult me, Sovereign, by pretending otherwise. Tiburon told you where I was."

Strong fingers tangled near her scalp, Sovereign pulling just enough to draw icy eyes to meet his. "What is it about her that drew your attention?"

Finally, a good question. "The baker's mind is..." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "...soothing to be near. Enough that I can ignore all the Convert babble your Adherents polluted her with. She's friendly; she showed me kindness, having no idea who I was - wanting nothing in return. The only other person who'd treated me that way was Que."

Sovereign's fingers went to the knots binding a pilgrim's rags to Sigil's shoulder. He began to pull at the laces, completely ignoring her mention of the dead Axirlan. "Adherents merely exist to see you protected. You imagine enemies out of accomplices."

Feeling the knot give, the slide of her dirty cloak being pulled aside, Sigil turned her attention once again out the window. "They exist to assure your godlike stature through a pseudo-religion based on lies."

Mouth warm on Sigil's exposed skin, Sovereign asked, "And which part is lies?"

Talking was less appealing if he was going to play games. Sigil's annoyance grew obvious. "I have no interest in roundabout chatter. If you have a point, Sovereign, make it."

Teeth grazing her nape, an arm circling her middle to warmly palm a breast, Sovereign created an embrace that could become a restraint should his next words anger the female. "If I were to tell you Adherent preaching is not untrue - at least in the basic sense - I am convinced you will not take it well."

Sigil curled her lip, laughing softly. "I am not the compassionate savior of Converts."

Sovereign's hold tightened. He spoke as if serious, "Your part in their creation is greater than you realize. At the Cathedral, Elba told you - in so many words - that you reside inside them all. Her claim was not an Adherent lie. Conversion serum is a virus created from your fetal cells; it attacks its host and alters key parameters in human DNA, making them susceptible to herd dynamics and suggestion from beings they recognize on a cellular level as dominant."

His hold tightened fractionally, in a strange blend between a hug for comfort and a reminder he was stronger should she think to fight. "Some Adherents would argue they are your offspring - a subspecies edging toward a hive mind that can be further conditioned to mimic our race. Though your virus is milder than that created from males of our kind, our influence - should they survive - is much more direct and consuming. It serves us all."

Sovereign had expected an outburst; Sigil's silence inspired even greater wariness. Asking no questions, making no comments, she stared forward out the window, chewing her bottom lip.

Sovereign's sigh heated her ear. "What are you thinking?"

That not once in her existence had her body belonged to her. When she was small, it was a weapon of despots and psychopaths - a toy to torment and train; left to her own devices, it became a vessel for madness. Sigil was not surprised the Brotherhood had been using her all along. "I am thinking of nothing."

"I had hoped to discuss this after you'd grown comfortable amongst your family. But you have chosen to seek information, and I will not deny you." Sovereign kept the words light. "Your friend, Elba, is content. She is content because Conversion saved her from a life of slavery. It gave her purpose, satisfaction to pursue a future she found appealing, while still serving the greater good."

Sigil breathed, took her time formulating her words. "There are holes in this story, Sovereign. You said fetal cells. How did you have access to such things, yet failed to clone me?"

"Our genetic architecture was constructed in such a way that should we be captured or our corpses recovered, a failsafe assured Alliance enemies would not be armed with Commander Dimitri's magnum opus of military strength. Our bodies degrade almost immediately at death, tissue samples rendered unstable. When our creator, Dr. Saniel, died on Condor, our secrets died with her. But even if it could be done, I would never clone you. Do you understand that, beloved?"

"Answer my question. How did you create the virus?"

There was no tone Sovereign might employ that would hide from Sigil his discontent to say, "What we now call the Serum of Conversion existed before the Alliance fell. Dr. Saniel created the original infection; it was fed to every member of Project Cataclysm. As all your Brothers have been exposed, you could say that we were the first Converted -- the virus switching on a dormant condition so we might recognize our only female should we come into contact. We were predisposed to hesitate to harm our designed killer when she was sent to thin the ranks."

There was deeply buried shame in the emperor; Sigil could not help but sense it. The sensation turned her head so she might see the man. "I remember you in the hall on Condor. I didn't like the way you looked at me."

"You were conditioned to suffer detachment when you naturally felt a bond, it's the only way they could have inspired you to kill us. But when you looked at me that day, your lip shook."

Lies. Sovereign was telling lies and she didn't have to listen. "That is not what I remember."

"It is fact, Sigil."

"Fact," the word was spat. "What is fact in this circus?"

The pressure of his body at her back increased, Sigil crushed against every line of him, every muscle. "You would be surprised at how much fact is layered into our myths."

Sigil's neck craned over her shoulder, her fingers tangling in Sovereign's black hair. One yank and they were eye to eye. "Then tell me. Who are the Soshiia?"

What vibrated from him, what hummed through and around her, was dark. "They are your only real chance of escaping the Brotherhood. And should you be foolish enough to pursue them, what they would do to you would be beyond any nightmare you survived on Condor."

Sigil wrenched his head until they breathed the same breath, hungry to know. "Enlighten me."

"No. I won't tempt a child into snatching up poison she believes are sweets."

He could be so infuriating! Releasing her clutch on his hair, she took a deep breath. She swallowed. And she forced herself to look away from eyes so gripping it almost hurt to see such a shade of blue. He refused to discuss the Soshiia, fine. There was something else - so blaringly obvious - she could sink her teeth into. "It's the serum that made you think you love me."

"No."

Tongue sour, Sigil wondered aloud, "I'm unaccustomed to feeling pity."

He took her chin and turned it so she would have to listen. "Don't imagine we were unaware of what the draught was before we swallowed it. Decades of intel, of watching, of plotting... we knew practically every last Alliance secret. Swallowing your virus was willingly done by each of us - planned for. Days later, I entered the labs and changed you just enough."

She understood what he'd really done that day. "With a serum made from you..."

It was to be a two way addiction. That was the reason his physical release had such power over her, why she craved him beyond the need to kill.

Sovereign tightened his arms and spoke with confidence, "We were all reborn together, made new."

Mocking, Sigil asked, "And you just knew how to make a serum?"

"We had a mole in her labs. But there is no point pretending our version wasn't flawed. No living mind in over a century has been able to match the genius of Dr. Saniel." He wasn't sorry, but he was unhappy his strategy had been less than perfect. "High Adherent Corths did his best."

"You told me he was only a child when the Alliance fell."

"A brilliant mind is a brilliant mind." Seeing her concentrating, knowing each developing conclusion was incorrect, Sovereign said, "You were created to tempt me, Sigil. We cannot prove it was the draught that inspired my adoration for the female secluded from us. I had years to think on it as you grew. In the hall, all my previous aspirations for our attachment solidified. Love at first sight is a concept hailed by even the ancients before the humans destroyed Earth. Why can the same not apply to us?"

Sigil could see through sentiment, because she felt none. "Because Dr. Saniel's drought was designed to inspire that feeling. When Karhl saw me in the yard, when he tried to help me, I felt it from him too - that obsessive infection. Arden was the same..." running through a century of memory in the blink of an eye, one difference stood out. "...Tiburon."

"Was... immune to any feeling, draught or no. Before you were designed, he was altered to belong to someone else, and she didn't want to divide his affection."

What Sovereign hinted at, Sigil found all too easy to believe. "He belonged to Dr. Saniel."

"Not originally. But by then, he'd been reassigned."

Because Tiburon had been the leader of Cataclysm once, usurped by an improved model and made into some type of pet by the very woman Sigil watched him massacre. From esteemed soldier to sex slave, the parallel to her life was too familiar. "And because, unlike you, he isn't compelled to adore me, you question his intentions despite his history of loyalty. He isn't one of you..."

"He can't love you. He can only love her... and you killed her." Sovereign's hand slid to Sigil's hip, giving her the opening to shift away should she choose to. "His purpose now is less refined than what the rest of us desire."

The more she heard, the less Sigil wanted to know. Tiburon's history wasn't her business; just as the way he'd tried to help her escape Condor long ago was not for Sovereign to know. And what of their other dealings, the few times he'd hunted her down? Had he ever intended to catch her, or did he just want the fight? Was his motivation displaced because he felt alone?

"I hear you telling tales." Smug, smiling like a shark, Tiburon leaned against the archway. "Think to scare her from me, do you Brother?"

The disfigured Lord Commander did not hesitate to approach, to wrap a calloused hand in a tight grip around Sigil's upper arm, and pull her from the Emperor - just enough so she was caught between them.

"Unsalvageable; that's the slander Sovereign won't use." Charmed eyes flashed toward his leader, Tiburon smirking. "A harsh title used to label broken Converts. Considering the same applies to our little slut, here, maybe a sweeter word can be found. How about 'transfigured?' That sounds pretty, doesn't it? After all, Sovereign's imperfect serum was unsuccessful in doing anything more than damaging Saniel's greatest masterpiece." Those deadly eyes went back to the female measuring his every breath. "You hear that, Sigil? What a mismatched pair we make, and how very threatened they are by it. Whatever we feel for each other... is genuine. Can't tell you the amount of delight this situation has given me over the last century."

Sovereign was covering Sigil's bare shoulder, projecting his temper like a blaring trumpet. "Leave."

"Let go of your emperor, Sigil." Tiburon yanked her, his eyes fixing on the mass of Sovereign's uniform Sigil's unknowingly clung to. "I cannot contest a direct order, none of us can - each of us were designed to prevent insubordination in the chain of command. So release your hold on him and come with me. I am eager to have my turn in your company."

There was the sound of steps. Karhl's thick arm pythoned around Tiburon's throat, his mass greater than the scarred man's. "Let her go, Tiburon. You've made your point."

Whatever that point might be, Sigil suspected it was not the most apparent one. No other Brother had dared to enter that chamber, though Sigil sensed many edging nearer.

Feeding off so much animosity, her lip curled, and she stoked the fire. "Tiburon, will you close your eyes while you fuck me? Will you picture Dr. Saniel?"

The male outright laughed, unconcerned Karhl had yet to release his throat.

Sovereign's touch was all over her, magnified from the simple possessive hold he'd been fostering during their talk. His lips were at her ear, their words gently insistent. "It is cruel to mock him, beloved. Tiburon is still your Brother, and a great warrior who has reshaped the universe for you."

The wrong emption echoed from Tiburon. He was disgusted, even if he simpered and stared.

Looking to the giant, to Lord Commander Karhl, Sigil called to him. "Karhl."

One name, spoken on a sigh, and the tableau was forced to end. The white-haired warrior let Tiburon free, and held out his hand to the woman. "You are hungry and need rest. Let us go see to such things."

His coolness poured through her, Sigil reaching out so he might remove her from the chamber. "I am hungry."

Karhl took her hand. "Nor have you slept in days. You shall do so by my side once bathed."

Sovereign said nothing to dissuade Karhl's course, releasing Sigil even if his touch lingered until she stepped away. All he gave was one word in a promise, "Tomorrow."

Sigil disappeared around the corner, on the arm of the male both infamous and revered throughout galaxies for the genocide of billions. In that moment, Karhl was most certainly, the lesser of three evils.

********

Stretching - arms over her head, silken sheets at her back - Sigil arched into the touch of a roughened palm skimming her flat belly. Karhl had stroked her for an hour, watching as his attention hardened the tips of her breasts, pinken her skin, even before Sigil had woken.

The woman bowed again, and he tasted. One languorous lick, that's all he offered her pert nipple, abrading the puckered thing with the tip of his tongue.

Dipping thick fingers lower, watching Sigil's lips part on a perfect intake of breath, Karhl found her dripping wet. "You wake aroused." Twisting about inside her, pale fingers were removed so the Lord Commander could taste.

With loss of touch, Sigil reached for his hand, pulling his fingers from his lips so she might put them back to where her clit ached, throbbing as it peaked from it hood.

The female's impatience inspired the most minuscule of smirks, Karhl freeing his wet fingers to trace lazy circles around rosy nipples instead. "I imagine these swollen with milk." Sea-glass eyes left her tits, waiting to see if the female might speak. "I long to drink from you..."

They were in her bed, the massive tree branching high above them, the ostentatious decoration blocked from view when Karhl leaned down and sucked a ripe breast into his mouth.

Sigil's hand threaded into white ropes of hair. She pulled his head from her breast, stared as her nipple popped from wet lips. Something like regret hung between them, created when she'd asked him to leave her alone. But there had been no Brother inside her in several days, and she did crave the touch.

Limpid eyes adored, Karhl asking softly, "Would you prefer I call for Sovereign?"

"I gave him my word I'd be a willing Imperial Consort."

"Young one, your body responds to me. It has from the first time I touched you." Palming her hip, rising above her, Karhl continued, "But I will not make love to you because you bear a sense of obligation... so you might live in the city and learn of your people. It would cheapen my faith in your eyes."

His erection sat heavy on her thigh, Sigil's attention drawn to its studded beauty. "What if I want you to fuck me? Do you desire to hear me beg like Sovereign does?"

"Is that what he does?"

Her brows creased. "No... yes. Maybe."

"I've watched you mate him. The violence..." Karhl ran his lips over hers. "That will not be what we share."

Karhl slipped several fingers inside her dripping slit, sharply hooking her pubic bone to reach a wondrous buried nerve. Sigil squirmed and danced, making noises that made his cock jerk. Mouth, neck, ear, nipples - he sucked, chewed, and tasted, grinding his palm against her pussy, rubbing hard inside her to stroke a place no other lover had discovered. When her legs began to twitch, his little Sigil crying out before orgasm might send her past sleepy delirium, Karhl's manic touch grew rough.

That hint of pain and she lost all control. The mattress grew wet beneath her, his hand dripping her fluids. Soothing the passage that clenched and wept, Karhl assured the woman was pliant, panting, and willing to let him do as he pleased.

If the Lord Commander was not feasting between her legs he was devouring her breasts, those same fingers working inside her to manipulate strange nerves. Brushed aside her touch each time Sigil thought to reach for the pierced organ purple with the need to fuck. It was not until she was slick with sweat that he stroked his crown through her folds. Up and down her slit he ran those metal piercings, Sigil angling her pelvis to catch him. But he would not align and enter her.

"Karhl." Had she really just panted? Had she begged him?

And had he laughed...?

Sea-glass eyes held hers, Karhl bracing his arms beside her head. "I told you I did not need you to beg. My claim that I would not take you unless you wanted me was sincere."

He was teasing her, and instead of making her angry, it only heightened her desire. "I want you."

Once it was said, his face turned dark, fiery with the passion of a demon ready to devour another's soul. That bulbous organ was not offered gently, but shoved forward to fill her so sharply her body shook and her back scoured over the sheets. Had she been lesser, Sigil might have been frightened by the change in the Lord Commander.

Instead, she reveled in it.

He roared as he fucked her, that jabbing pierced cock internally attacking the very flesh his fingers had made sensitive and swollen. And it felt so fucking good, Sigil's eyes rolled back, her claws gripping his ass to urge deeper penetration. Downward thrusts, and her clit received the attention of his pelvis.

The second it seemed her pussy might draw tight and orgasm, he made her wait, altering his rhythm; he found every nerve, his tongue in her mouth and his fingers pulling at her nipples.

It was unlike any fucking she'd ever known - unique in its calculated physiology - Sigil made docile, spreading eagerly, and willing to lie beneath him. She showed no temper, didn't bite to harm or scratch to draw blood. Instead, she licked at him and whimpered. She stroked and urged.




Sigil Ch. 20



And the quiet one cooed out nasty words as he promised lust and salvation like fresh water to a woman trapped in the desert. "You love your cunt stuffed full of my cock. If feel you trying to suck me in, greedy because you know I belong there!"

Her mind was on another plane, lips answering on their own. "Harder."

Five snaps of his hips, deep, hard, and punishing.

Overloaded, her moans so shrill the city must have heard, Karhl showed his teeth. He changed the angle back to punish the spongy flesh on the roof of her pussy, savoring when Sigil arched like one possessed, her cunt choking around him. One flick of his finger twisting her clit and what had been a powerful orgasm became all out seizing.

Mouth hanging open, Sigil's body was flooded with so much feeling, everything else was washed away - just as her pussy was washed when Karhl squished his sac between them and gushed a mess inside her.

He kept pumping though it, displacing more of his come with each thrust, until her pussy lips were sloppy with it, until her thighs stank of him.

And his sweetness returned while her mind floated somewhere free. Buried hilt deep, soft kisses were pressed on her lips, soft words formed at her ear.

It may have been poetry he whispered to her in that daze. It may have been an update on Irdesian border expansion. Sigil didn't know.

"...forever."

She managed the barest of breaths, "What?'

Smug, Karhl dipped his tongue past her lips and swept her mouth with his flavor. "Tell me what you feel."

He was pressing down on her belly just enough so the size of his cock could not be ignored. "I feel you."

"And not just my cock, young one. My offering pools in your belly, shot deep, where I will keep it plugged in that delicious cunt until you absorb my mark."

It ached beautifully, the places inside her he'd manipulated. "I've never had it... that way."

"I have practiced on many human women in anticipation of this moment, the technique learned when I claimed the Gret Palace's famous archives. Their manuals on sexual method are... intriguing."

"And the Gret?"

"There are no Gret." Because Karhl had seen every last one of them destroyed as soon as infiltration had uncovered the population was highly resistant to Conversion.

Pinned under a giant, Sigil panted, her hair damp and her sore pussy fluttering each time Karhl's heartbeat pulsed through his dick. "And how many worlds, how many Grets, have you eradicated?"

Karhl, still inflamed by fucking, growled, "As many as it takes to assure you, your children, and our people, will be safe in a treacherous universe. Your skittishness on the subject will alter the instant you feel love for something fragile that could be taken from you, young one. What wouldn't you do for you child?"

"I don't have a child."

He looked at her as if he meant to invoke the name Jerla. Instead, Karhl formulated. "But you will, soon." Karhl kissed lips grown petulant, easing her back against the pillow. "You have been especially difficult lately, your chemistry odd. Though I have not discussed my suspicion with Sovereign, I believe conception resulted from our previous group mating."

Hearing such a thing made her skin buzz, her heart race. "You're wrong."

"We shall see." How proud the man could look even while offering practically no expression. "And you will be so happy to hold her."

********

Sigil allowed the process, Dryden and his Convert attendants dressing her in what was deemed appropriate attire for the Imperial Consort. The white gown was heavy and uncomfortable, enough decorations having been stabbed into her hair that - like the deeply satisfied male watching from the corner - she jingled with each minuscule movement.

Karhl had personally bathed her, prepared himself beside her in a fresh uniform Dryden had carried in.

Sigil had told Sovereign she would be a willing Imperial Consort. Now she was to walk out the massive gateway of the family quarters and parade through gawking subjects.

The sooner it was done, the sooner she could go back to the city - near the baker's quiet mind.

The attendants helped her off the dais, Dryden swearing she was a vision. Arden was not there to agree.

So long as Quinn was camouflaged under the paint, Sigil welcomed the ridiculousness of it. For once scrubbed clean, her hair set free of the cement worked through it, no court retainer would know her.

It made bearing the weight of a solid metal sunburst on her head far more tolerable.

Picking at the skin around her fingernail, Sigil asked, "They must be done by now. Can we go?"

Dryden interceded, smiling as if everything wonderful was his doing. "I will be with you, should you need guidance. Ask me anything."

Many nasty retorts sat stinging her tongue, Sigil swallowing them down. "Isn't that Arden's job?"

Dryden bowed gallantly, his robes swishing. "The Herald was required for a sensitive diplomatic mission, Sigil. I am afraid he is not here."

Sigil stopped her parade toward the door, the train of her dress hitching. If Arden was gone, did that mean she would have to deal with Dryden in his place? The High Adherent grated on her nerves. "When will he come back?"

The sparkle in the Dryden's eyes made his joy at the new dynamic obvious. "Sovereign may be better able to answer that question."

Ignoring the smiling sycophant, Sigil scowled at the Lord Commander. "Karhl?"

"He's gone to serve as ambassador before the Tessan Authority. It will be some time before he returns."

If the Empire was in talks with the Tessans, Arden seemed the natural choice for Herald. But he had been useful to her... and Sigil felt strange to hear he would not be around.

There was no time to frown. The bronze portal spread wide, Karhl setting her fingers on his arm.

There were no humans so near the family wing, only the occasional smiling Brother standing guard. Many more she sensed but could not see.

Through galleries and anterooms, chambers and halls, Karhl led her. The farther they went, more overdressed Converts accumulated. Watching her every step, Irdesi's highest ranking retainers whispered at the site of her.

The last room was by far the largest, packed and humming with shushed conversation. In that place Sigil ignored all others, because only one had all her attention - a woman with soft grey hair.

A blue sash hung from her shoulders, and unlike most other high ranked ladies, her jewels were few and far between. The woman held the little hand of Jerla, whose tail flicked happily in match of his grin.

"You look funny!"

Sigil took in the child, scrubbed clean and dressed in Imperial black. "Do I?"

The boy repeatedly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "My room is HUGE. Outside there is lots of water that falls down and makes the air wet. But there are no trees..."

Robotically quoting what had once been drilled into her brain, Sigil reached out a hand to take the child, "Irdesi Prime is a planet of rock and water, chosen for strategic purposes in the system's relation to long ago unconquered human governments. The atmosphere is filtered by algae and moss."

Jerla was still too enthusiastic to see Sigil's silent command. "The Emperor says we get to see The Fracturing. Lady Belloy told me it was even more exciting than the waterfall outside my window."

Lady Belloy?

Icy eyes darted back toward the human touching her Jerla, and measured the older woman's gracious smile. Looking over every last inch of the matron, Sigil wondered why that human was more important than the rest. Why she was allowed near. Why could she wear blue when all others in the room wore black? "You have cared for Jerla since he woke?"

"It was my honor, Imperial Consort."

The boy seemed happy, his tail swishing in a sure sign of contentment. "She can't fly, but we played games with numbers. I know twenty now."

Face blank, Sigil blinked, and extended her palm to the child. "Well done, Jerla. Thank Lady Belloy and take my hand."

Lady Belloy interjected, her tone polite. "At a later time, may we discuss his course, Imperial Consort? Tutors must be chosen to suit the path you intend him to walk."

Jerla's little hand gripped the painted fingers Sigil outstretched, the boy confused, "Why are you covered in white dust. Why is everyone quiet? I want to go outside."

The chatter made her nervous.

Yellow eyes stared up, Jerla's brow dipping. "What's wrong?"

There were so many humans in the halls, all of them watching her. Sigil snapped Jerla up to her hip, his tail already wrapping around her middle, his little hand smearing the script between her breasts.

Lips at the indentation of his ear, Sigil whispered, "Be cautious, Jerla. Not everyone who smiles is a friend."

Reaching up his scaled mouth to coolly brush her ear, Jerla mimicked her whispering, "She's nice."

Sigil's eyes bore into the placid expression of the matriarch waiting to be dismissed. No drop of suspicion was concealed. "You've already won him over."

A steady reply awaited. "The boy was well chosen, Imperial Consort. He loves you."

There was that word again. Those four letters held such power.

Sigil turned the weight of her skull to see the child leaning into her shoulder. The little one's forehead pressed in, his snake-like face hidden as he squeezed.

Pitiless eyes darted up and circled the crowd, Sigil's face one of severe warning while she employed that word. "I love him too. I love him greatly, and I will crush any who think to make use of that love. I will harm your children, your house, your people. I would destroy anything a Convert heart might hold dear until you were nothing but dust forgotten in history."

No one in the assembly would meet her eye, all genuflecting just enough to cover shock and show favor. But hearts were nasty things, and the room was pinging with several minds that set Sigil on guard.

No living thing was passive when more could be gained; everyone wanted an edge.

Standing there she saw it; the city below might have been some ideal, but Irdesi's court was Pax, only much more pretty. But Sigil was no longer the invisible pleasure slave. Now, she was Drinta.

"Imperial Consort," Karhl retook her arm, allowing little Jerla space between them. "If we linger, we shall miss what Sovereign would share with you."

He had not called her 'young one,' and the alteration hung between them. One hundred steps and the final set of grand doors opened out onto the highest terrace on the planet.

Sovereign waited.

As did the population of Irdesi Prime crowded down below.

Sovereign flicked his fingers. He smiled.

A little boy who adored without question tugged her pointed collar, "Look at all those people!"

"Come now, beloved. Step to the balustrade so everyone can see you."

Sigil obeyed, her susurrating steps confined by that ridiculous gown.

The air was blazing with cheers, the noise so loud Jerla's excited chatter could not be heard. Looking to the boy in her arms, seeing his state of bliss, she smiled.

The sky broke, scattering light veining in and out of atmospheric storms. The Converts' hum vibrated through them all until the world felt perfect - until it was even easy to feel the love she'd claimed she bore the child.

Upturned, inky Tessan eyes looked into hers with so much joy.

That expression sat on his face in the instant of his death. The hum had yet to cease, but pain tore through Sigil's right lung, the boy in her arms sagging forward, a gaping hole in his back.

"Jerla...?" Blood came from Sigil's mouth.

His mind was gone from her reach, the broken thing cradled at her shoulder shot straight through. Though the child had taken the brunt of an assassin's fire, the attack had been well aimed. Wheezing through a collapsing lung, through the fire of torn skin, Sigil stumbled backward.

The sky was still beautiful.



Sigil Ch. 21



A/N: I'm still out of the country, and have not gone over this chapter with a fine tooth comb, but I thought it might be fun to get out there anyway, even if it has a typo or two. Please enjoy!

********

Chapter 21

The Adherents were buzzing frantically in the antechamber of the family wing. "She walked back to her rooms with the Tessan child's body in her arms. She walked the entire way bearing a wound that would have claimed the life of any human. The court saw! Those who sought to help her, she harmed."

Another voice broke through the din. "She refuses to give up the body. She won't let Corths attend her."

High Adherent Corths spoke up, focused on his projections, face drawn by concentration. "Sigil knew how to drain a collapsed lung herself. My help was unnecessary and unwanted. If you try to take the boy from her, she will rampage. Allow her to mourn."

"The corpse will begin to rot..."

Tiburon approached with his faction, indisputably furious. It was he who shouted, "Get the fuck out!" to the chattering priests. "Go into the city and do your fucking jobs before Sovereign slaughters the entire population!" While his orders were followed, that scarred face went to Corths. "Ballistic reports offer little information; shards of the missile broke apart on impact. I need them."

Corths looked to a projected scan. "They're still inside her and the boy. I suspect the pain is keeping her brain functions level. The readouts from her implant... she is calming slowly. It's a brilliant approach, really."

Tiburon rolled his eyes and marched forward, "I'll take them out of her myself." The second his hand went to the access panel, The Lord Commander found it would not move, the mechanics unnaturally twitching. "Open the door, brat!"

One of the lesser Adherents, a low ranking Brother explained. "Her psionics have been holding that door for twenty-seven hours."

"She has been alone in there all this time?"

Corths shook his head. "The emperor swore to her he would lay the one responsible at her feet. Neither he nor Karhl have returned. But she is not alone, Dryden followed her in."

Tiburon laughed, the sound hollow and cruel. "Then she's killed him." Measuring the younger Brother, the one who held great power in his title yet preferred his lab and experiments, mockery outlined truth, "Looks like you've been promoted."

Muted by her implant, wounded and tired, the Imperial Consort could not continue her mental grip against the onslaught when Tiburon put his hand to the door. One violent burst of psionics and he broke her thready hold.

Shoving busted mechanics out of his way, Tiburon entered.

It was dark, but he could see her lying on the bed next to Jerla's stiff body. The boy's eyes were open, sunken, and the smell of his open chest cavity, repulsive.

She'd been sick, the floor spattered with blood and vomit.

Tiburon's distain rolled off a sharp tongue, "Get up."

"When a Tessan pilgrimages, it's known as going to the sands. The same term applies to their death." Sigil turned her head, matted hair crusted to the pillow. "Jerla was afraid of the sands."

Tiburon scowled. "What have you done with Dryden?"

A filthy finger pointed to the far corner. The shadow of a body lay crushed into the dark.

"That was unwise, Sigil."

Voice flat, Sigil sighed, "He might be alive..."

No way was that lump alive. Just to make sure, Tiburon toed it with his boot. Dryden was indeed, very dead - already decayed into mush. "He was your Brother, Sigil. You've murdered one of our family."

Sigil ran her fingers over the skull of her boy. "I'm trying to contain myself. Dryden was the unwise one, forcing his way in. He would not leave me alone."

Approaching the bed, Tiburon folded his arms over his chest. "That body needs to be incinerated."

Sigil did not agree. "Not yet."

"When?"

"What do you want, Tiburon?"

Focusing on the tatters of blood stained cloth and torn skin, the Lord Commander grunted, "What you were struck with was not only cloaked, but unusual. I require what's in your chest for further diagnostic."

"I know what it was, a Keppling Heart-Seeker - a black market modification of Tessan design; very expensive - difficult to obtain."

"How can you be sure?"

Disdain clouded narrowed eyes. "I lived on Pax."

Sitting at the edge of the mattress, Jerla between them, Tiburon tore back the remnants of Sigil's bodice, feeling around the most obvious of wounds. She let him. Some pieces he pinched with his fingers, two were wrenched out with psionics.

She was bleeding, face white under the paint and gore. After a shaky breath, she said, "There are three more buried deeper. It would be easier to remove them from my back. Just yank them through."

Stern, Tiburon shifted to follow through as suggested. "If you don't eat you won't heal."

"I'll eat Dryden."

She was not joking. Still, Tiburon chuckled. "He's no longer fresh, brat."

Before she could respond, he acted. The remaining fragments erupted from her back, tearing open three new injuries, leaving her struggling for breath.

"If you're waiting for Sovereign to return with the ones responsible for the death of that child, your wait will be indefinite. If we knew how to differentiate the Soshiia from Converts, they would have been slaughtered already. All you had to do to find an agent was stand within fifty paces of one. If you want justice, get off your ass and find them yourself with that crazy empathic brain of yours. Otherwise, Sovereign will continue to cleanse this entire city. He'll kill them all, your Elba included."

Sigil was in far too much pain to speak, her lung malfunctioning from the latest damage, but she grabbed Tiburon's arm and sank in her nails.

"That's right, brat. Fight back."

She wheezed, "He wouldn't..."

"It's already begun. Now, get up."

********

"There is nothing else I can do for this child."

Corths sighed, his patience with humans having never developed to the steady acuity High Adherent Dryden had claimed. "The Imperial Consort wants you to stay with Jerla."

Lady Belloy looked down at the table, at the small Tessan she'd washed so the corpse might not lay so sadly. "I have done what I can for the boy, but the planet is being cleansed. I should be in prayer, preparing for the passage of my soul from this body."

Pulling fine black fabric to hide exposed rib bones and the boy's hollowed chest cavity, Corths said, "You might survive the draught."

Lady Belloy gave a tired smile. "I'm an old woman, High Adherent. It is merciful for wives to be given an opportunity to transcend by swallowing the serum of the elite warrior class. But it will kill me."

It would kill them all, Corths was certain. "You lack faith."

"No," Lady Belloy tucked the blanket around the body, just as she had tucked her children to bed when they had been small. "I have every faith that the Soshiia infection must be stopped. At any cost."

"Agreed." But Corths was not content. A full scale cleansing of a Convert world had not been required in sixty years. The fact one was taking place on the capital planet was a blow. Perhaps that's why he spoke to a human of things better left to the Brotherhood. "Our lady would see the cleansing stopped. It seems her mercy extends beyond what she imagined."

"I agree with our Emperor..."

Now, Lady Belloy intrigued Corths, the man raising a brunette brow. "You would die, see millions dead, to assure the removal of what might be only one Soshiia agent?"

"The Imperial Consort was struck before the entire population, almost killed the first night she gave herself to us. And what of my children, my grandchildren, on other worlds? Should I allow this villain to make an escape, to flee and spread his disease through our great empire?"

"And the children dying in the city right now?"

The old woman nodded, her face one of anguished acceptance. "It is unspeakable what must be done in the name of peace. All Converts know that."

********

No one stood in her way because no one walked the streets. Soldiers sectioned off the city by region, stood at posts highly armed. Sigil did not allow them to see her. Irdesi Prime, by all appearances, suffered under occupation. But it was by their own kind - humans were the soldiers aiming weapons at civilians, at people who might be their sister, their son.

Segments that had already felt the hand of the emperor were just... gone; only craters of burning rubble left in their wake. The smell of smoke burned in Sigil's weak lungs, drove her closer to the frontline. The white head of Karhl she saw first. He stood taller than the elite surrounding him, than the Brothers taking orders to lead their own squadrons.

She was not a pretty sight. Not when blood caked the crushed design of her hair, not when the white makeup was smeared into a blur of grey foulness. But Sigil wore the uniform, one Tiburon had pulled on her limbs. For that reason alone the soldiers did not shoot her on sight when the female revealed herself.

The night was stygian, smoldering remains doing nothing to increase visibly, but Sigil's voice carried over the tramp of marching boots, over shouted commands. "Stop this, Karhl!"

Turning so fast his hair flared, a provoked Lord Commander glowered to see her where she should not be. "Young one."

She cried over the crowd again, "I do not condone this!"

Pushing through the men that separated them, the Lord Commander charged forward. Limpid eyes took in the uniform, the dried blood stain running from her mouth down her neck. "You should not be here. It is obvious you are still wounded."

She was, but she was also strong enough to start a fight if she had to. "Where is Sovereign? I need to speak with him."

The Lord Commander put a heavy hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch too roughly. "I suggest that you do not."

The last thing Sigil desired was to be coddled. Forcing his hand off, she threatened him with every ounce of intimidation she could produce. "You cannot annihilate an entire population in hopes you might ferret out one unsalvageable. What justice is there for Jerla in genocide?"

The man who possessed the patience of the sea, growled, "None of this is for Jerla."

Her throat grew tight, icy eyes wet. "I know... I know he was only a tool in the eyes of your family-"

"It is our family, Sigil."

As if she had not been interrupted, Sigil continued, "-but Jerla was mine. I will be the one to hunt those responsible. I will destroy all they love. Do not take that from me!"

"So what would you have us do? Offer rebel agents who successfully and publicly shot our Imperial Consort time to regroup? I can see the entire planet cleansed in less than five days. There will be no escape for them, not with warships orbiting, ready to shoot down any vessel."

"Would you not rather gather intelligence through interrogation?"

"Torture is ineffectual against Soshiia."

Every mind could be broken. After all, look at her. "If you are responsible for the death of one more Convert in this action, Dryden won't be the last Brother I murder today."

Face blank, Karhl stared down at the female; he calculated, waited. When her fingers twitched and began to spark, the Lord Commander turned and walked away. "Come with me."

He led her farther up field to where fresh fires burned and bodies were stacked for incineration. Women and children, young and old, it made no difference; all their minds were silent. It was like looking into the faces of all those she'd killed on Pax.

Wasted life, not one her enemy. Not one of them anything to her. "Why do you kill the children? How can they be considered responsible for an assassination attempt?"

Karhl had stopped by her side when Sigil hesitated near another pile of corpses. "Children become adults."

The thought turned her stomach. "And the empire is concerned they will grow up drunk on the desire for revenge."

Karhl explained softly, "It is better to remove the potential problem than feed a latent uprising." Karhl's logic was cold and pragmatic, the way he eyed the dead as unfeeling as the Axirlan he resembled.

"You're wrong..."

"Our history proves he isn't." Another spoke, in a voice that sounded nothing like the emperor who had hunted her, who had taken her from Pax.

Sigil had sensed him, the rage and the violence so harsh it had a physical effect on her. But when she turned to face him, what stood against the smoke wasn't Sovereign. It was a breathing demon, the creature walking over a pile of broken bodies.

Sovereign stared, eyes burning, blood dripping from his fingers. "This is not for you to see."

No. The fixed agony, the faces locked in dead screams called out to her - they judged her.

Sigil had committed atrocities, murdered on a whim, wallowing in her madness when it descended. She had played with the bodies of the dead, eaten them, tossed limbs about and reveled in it. She had done those things because she was a monster. "You're no different than me..."

Stepping down, heedless of mashing skulls or crunching bone, Sovereign closed the gap between them. "I am much worse."

He went to embrace her, affection from something so horrid, so blood thirsty, unexpected. Sigil startled, froze, breath hitching when he pulled her against him and nuzzled her hair.

It was the feeling coming from inside him, the perversion of it, choking her. Sigil was frightened of Sovereign. The fact that she was scared, that she recognized her feelings as such, petrified further.

When his mouth worked a path near her lips, Sigil whimpered, "Stop."

"Stop?" Sovereign's grip tightened, his voice razor blades. "It is always stop, isn't it? I give you gentleness, you fight. I build you an empire, you hate me for it! I could take you here, on these very dead right now. I could make you, and you couldn't stop me - just like you could not stop me on Pax. I could push into your body anytime I wanted." He bit at her mouth, lapped her lips before he shoved the startled woman away. "There is no STOP! There is only wait - wait while you fuck my Brother; wait while you mourn a being that never loved you. And I will wait, Sigil. You would be surprised how far my patience will extend. But there is never, ever going to be a stop. I don't even think the grave could keep me from you."

She'd tracked his movements, hearing each layer of the monster's shouted threat, and found it was only the two of them left in the circle of the dead's judgment. Karhl had gone, all soldiers having followed.

Smoothing back the tangled black that hung over his eyes, Sovereign straightened to his full height. Even furious he was beautiful, flawless... no matter the corruption of blood or filth. For some reason, that frightened Sigil more.

She felt small, defenseless in the face of so much power.

Like crashing waves, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Sovereign took a step toward her.

Sigil backed a step away from a thing too overwhelming. "You promised to bring me the ones who hurt Jerla. They are mine to kill. The massacre of millions is not what I want."

Sovereign looked incensed at her words, at the way she shrunk from him. "First there was the Soshiia agent on the ramparts upon your arrival to Irdesi. Then, a coordinated attack against our only female that must have involved many, considering all the possible unknowns a sniper had to counter and prepare for. You could have died! The infection permeates this entire planet and it ends now!"

A little jerk - left to right - a slight negation, was all she could offer when Sovereign's emotions seared through her and sent her brain to pounding. All she wanted was to put her hands to her ears, as if the internal screams, the roaring crash of too much fury, might be shut out.

Seeing her brow crease, seeing her concentrate, Sovereign growled, "The implant, Sigil, is it malfunctioning?"

The space behind her eyes boiled; a drop of blood fell from her nostril. "You're hurting me."

Something in the man changed; he pulled on majesty like a cloak, mannerisms altering. And there he was, the fabrication she'd come to know - the thing he'd pretended to be so the male might appeal and draw her in.

The real Sovereign was far more terrible, beyond her, and Sigil was lost in the magnitude of him. "How did Commander Dimitri think I would have ever been able to kill you...?"

"You kill me every time you turn away, and I have to force myself not to make a grab for you." His lip curled in an expression very similar to the one Tiburon wielded at all times. "You kill me when you look at me as you are now."

"Sovereign," Sigil swallowed, the burn in her throat scuffing her words, "please."

He reached out as if to touch her. Sigil closed her eyes, bracing. The bloody hand paused mid air, fingers curling as the arm was dropped.

His voice was toneless. "Ask yourself why you are afraid right now."

"I killed Dryden."

"I know you did. I was monitoring you through his communications implant. I am always watching you, always with you even when you share the company of the others."

"If you are trying to ease my anxiety, you're failing at your goal."

At that he touched her cheek, palmed it to wipe the trace of blood over her mouth. "Perhaps my approach has been too indirect. I've let you formulate and misconstrue. You do not respond well to cautious handling and subtle manipulation. Should I force you? That is what you were conditioned to appreciate."

Sigil was not even sure what they were talking about anymore. "Order a cessation of the cleansing, Sovereign. I can find the Soshiia; I will help you."

"No."

"Jerla was taken from me." And she would not let the ones responsible be killed in a mass murder - not until she got her taste of them and made them suffer. "Don't take the city from me too."

"They are only humans, beloved. Irdesi Prime could be repopulated and at optimal output within a year."

It wasn't that simple. Had he not told her so a million times? Sigil grit her teeth. "I'll give you anything you want."

Sovereign was quick to answer, to let his eyes burn. "I want a child."

Sigil glanced away, defeat lowering her brow. "I don't know how to give you one."

The smile that bloomed on his face was one of extreme anticipation. "Lay down."

********

The demon that had crept over her in the ash and gore, the one who'd torn open her uniform and lapped at the blood crusted on her healing chest, was not the man who'd fucked Sigil over and over again since the moment he'd found her on Pax.

He did not let her scratch or bite, he didn't try to console. He took.

Though not with pain; even when Sovereign spread her thighs he didn't maul. It was a smooth entry, and an almost lazy motion drenching each thrust. If a dragon could stretch in the sun and roll with the utmost pleasure over his horde of coins, Sovereign was that creature.

That is not to say he let her off with any amnesty. His vocal mandates, the way they licked at her ear, were almost too much to bear. "Admit I am stronger."

She was so cold, even lying under a mountain of heat. Shivering, she nodded, as if that might be enough to meet his demand.

"Tell me..."

Those eyes - in the dark they seemed bottomless, a great abyss ready to suck her into nothingness. "You are stronger."

Sovereign thrust deep enough her breath stuttered, her lips parted, and her hips angled for more. He looked to where he joined their bodies, gave her a reprieve from the intensity of his gaze. Fucking her deliberately, watching his cock vanish over and over into his trembling female, he felt her writhe and shudder from his hands and mouth. But she was not doing as he commanded.

Hand knotting into her hair, Sovereign pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Her yelp was ignored, the tensing of her body disregarded. He lapped at her pulse points, at the soft place under her chin. Every weak spot was thoroughly attended to, Sigil stuck staring straight into the flat eyes of a corpse lying right behind her.




Sigil Ch. 21



"Tell me you recognize what I am, that you're mine in every way."

His hips, that same ruthless easiness, the way his cock stretched and pulled at her, made pleasure weave itself through every nerve... Sigil wanted him to stop making her feel things. His very presence was consuming, his smell - the way she had found herself more comfortable near him than when he was away. But that Sovereign wasn't this Sovereign. That gentle Sovereign had never really existed. That Sovereign's habitual physical seduction, the mindless pleasure he wielded to keep her full of his sperm, had been a ploy.

This Sovereign, this creature that bombarded with desire had no intention of heeding her should she say no. Had she not lain in the dirt when he'd told her to, he would have forced her down and bitten her into a frenzy of need.

The view changed, Sigil unsure when he'd released her hair or exactly how long she'd stared into his eyes. The feeling of his ass clenching under her palm, of the way his ribs expanded with each breath - she was touching him, learning his muscles, seeking the warmth of his flesh to drive off the chill.

And how he reveled in such attention. "That's right, beloved. Smile at me." The demon smiled back, parted his lips to pant. "You don't need the city to sing to remember what you are. That feeling that overwhelms you during each night's Fracturing, that is your love - and it belongs to me."

It was only a response to stimulus, that fluttering in her chest - a response to hunger, followed by fear, followed by the friction of his cock. The sensation was fleeting, coming and going, building and ebbing in time with Sovereign's slow thrusts.

He filled her to the brim and ground his pelvis against her pussy. "Tell me that you'll love me."

Spread beneath him, cunt stuffed full, Sigil breathed almost too softly to be heard, "I'll love you."

His tongue was in her mouth, his body full upon her. It took him less than three full thrusts until Sovereign came, crying out her name in perfect pleasure.

The blasting heat that always accompanied his eruption satisfied, but it did not bring her to completion. Laying spread under him, needing friction to relieve her need, she squirmed.

Sovereign did not leave her unattended for long. But his eyes commanded her to hold his gaze as he reached between them to run his thumb where she throbbed. He controlled her pleasure, could give it or deny it. He controlled her body in that pile of dirt and ashes.

He always had.

Arching up against the cock plugged deep inside her, starved for more of his touch, she wanted him to burn her away. "Bite me..."

"No."

Unsure why his refusal was all it took for orgasm to crash upon her, Sigil keened, her cunt milking him, drawing his spilled seed deeper.

"It is your custom to retreat into apathy each time you make progress. Such behavior is cowardly and done out of fear." Sovereign grinned, the demon blazing in triumph. "This time it will not be allowed. Not even as you mourn Jerla."

She remained sedate, her thighs spread and her pussy full, as he fixed her clothing, covering the breasts he'd licked clean. When he had her dressed, he pulled her to stand and righted his own mussed uniform.

"Will you spare the city?"

Sovereign put a hand over her womb and hummed. His thumb traced back and forth. "I will give you thirty cycles to find the Soshiia. If you fail to do so, all humans on this world will die."