Siegel

Arden observed a drip of perspiration fall between the nearest collared human’s cleavage. The enslaved female offered a tray topped with a cool, extravagant beverage, she had offered a smile, and she had offered stillness so he might inspect her. One sip from the silver cup, and 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, he smiled at his hostess, the Tessan lounging on her couch, and the emissary sipped again. Wry expression confirmed their mutual understanding. 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?” Drinta 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.”

Golden head bowed subtly, he replied, “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,” the envoy of the human Irdesian Empire assured her. “In exchange for absolute access to your byway.”

“I don’t deal in”—Drinta cocked her head, quick-moving lids shuttering around 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 tranquilly, mirroring a predator’s stillness. “The Tessan Authority finds your empire’s growth in power unsettling. Offering access to a warmongering species might complicate my comfort.”

“Your sisters have labeled you as an intergalactic felon, pretty Drinta. Your former piracy gave you an intriguing reputation. But decimating and systematically destroying the Uresa Quadrant...” Arden smiled, a beautiful thing on a face created to attract. “Now, 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 distant flashing 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 intergalactic governments to rise up and stop her. But it had turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. 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 became 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, but she did not reinvest the money into her 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, how it stretched the words, 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.”

[...continued identically through the end of the chapter...]

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