Dragon said something about the halfbreeds. Elves didn’t brown in the sun, but halfbreeds did; they tended to inherit their human parents’ hair color, but the elven green eyes with the oval pupils. As long as a child kept its head down until it learned to conceal its eye color with magic … and the collars only blocked the human magics, not the elven. For that matter, since the halfbreeds tended to have stronger magic in the first place, they might even be able to work around the collars’ inhibitions.
There were elven women who headed their Clans … and needed heirs. She wondered if any of them ever toyed with the idea of making an official alliance, then quietly stepped over to the slave quarters. And would those halfbreeds look the same? The child’s mother would probably put an illusion on the child from birth to make it look elven. There might well be some halfbloods among the elven women, even now.
But even a halfblood with an elven father could probably make it into adulthood, if he was hiding in the ranks of the common servants or field hands. And then he’d reach adulthood. That meant a collar, and possible detection. What would he do then, she wondered.
He could run. She knew there were ‘wild’ humans, although the elven lords didn’t like to admit the fact. At least one of the great hunts last year had been for two-legged prey. There were plenty of places to hide – the Kin might not even find them, given that there were plenty of areas in the wilderness they didn’t care to frequent.
The woman was quiet now, sleeping in the shade of the wall beside the pool, her exhaustion overcoming everything else; she had drunk her fill of the pool, and its magic had healed her burns enough for her to sleep, but the water’s very purity was working against her. It wasn’t only moisture she lacked, it was minerals lost in perspiration and the damage the heat had done to her already overburdened body. The sleep she had slipped into would probably tip over into shock before too long. Alara came very close to feeling sorry for her at that moment, and only the memory of Serina’s own callousness towards her fellow humans kept her from sympathy.
She and Dyran were well matched, the dragon thought cynically. He was right when he accused his underling of thinking of him as a pervert. The older elven lords had been saying for years that his ‘sympathy’ for humans was due entirely to his sexual fixation on them. Most of his generation kept one or two concubines at most, and then only because they had no intention of doing without when their ladies were indisposed. And the ladies did tend to be ‘indisposed’ a great deal, poor things; it was the one weapon that the weak ones had in dealing with their mates …
But the elders were discreet; they didn’t talk about their concubines, often they didn’t even admit that the women were concubines, and they kept the women closed up in special quarters. They certainly didn’t go about openly with human females, allow them to dance attendance on them in public situations.
But Dyran – to the other elders, he was like a man who not only openly mates with animals, but one who flaunts his preferences as if to dare the rest to challenge him on his behavior. It was only his magic power that kept them from doing just that – he wouldn’t kill anyone, it was against law and custom, but he could certainly work a lot of sabotage magically. And his duelists were better than anyone else’s. And then there was the number of nasty little secrets he had collected about the rest of them.
She reflected on all the things she had learned about Lord Dyran over the years; little tidbits stored away against a later time. It took a lot of concentration; draconic memory was excellent, but dredging up information relegated to long-term storage required a near-trance state, and a great deal of patience.
There was no doubt that he was sybaritic and self-indulgent; one had only to look at his estate through Serina’s eyes to know that. No expense was spared for his comfort and pleasure. But most of the elven lords were like that, if they could afford to be. And as soon as one of the elvenkind rose to any amount of power or acquired wealth, he immediately set about making himself as cozy a little nest as he could manage. The luxury trade was a profitable one for many elves, and no few Clans had built fortunes that way; silken fabrics, jewels, perfumes, delicate foods and rare spices and incense, all things found, grown, excavated or created by the hands of their slaves. Very few elves could create things out of the thin air, as could Dyran, when he chose to expend the considerable energy this required. The most they could manage were illusions; most convincing illusions, but still, illusions. Though that in itself was another profitable trade; there were elven illusion-artists, and their services were in high demand.
But on the whole, especially for the higher elven lords, reality was always preferable to an illusion. Elves were acquisitive by nature, and hungry for new sensations, and things of beauty. And for those elves who were the laborers themselves, the apparent idleness of the High Lords kept them in a continual state of envy. The height of ambition for many elven lords, especially the pensioners or underlings, was to be in a position to be able to do nothing unless it were pleasurable.
Since Dyran was one of the elders, he had spent two or three centuries doing just that. Which was probably why Serina had been such an attractive piece of property; she had been able to surprise him, which made her very valuable to a being as jaded as Dyran had become over the decades.
Now that he had acquired the leisure to be idle, and had exhausted the possibilities of sloth, he sought other pleasures. His chief amusement, recreated in miniature in his harem, was to manipulate the lives of those around him by exploiting their weaknesses and emotions. Hence the way in which he encouraged rivalry, even feuding, among his concubines and underlings.
Like what he did to that overseer of his … Alara stirred uncomfortably at the memory, and realized that in her preoccupation with her own memories, she had transformed back to her draconic form entirely. If there had been anyone here to actually see her, a lapse like that could have had terrible consequences.
Well, the only one here was Serina; the woman was unconscious, and it probably didn’t matter.
What Dyran had done was so calculatedly cruel, it was beyond horrible; destroying the man by giving his only child to an unfeeling monster, then ordering him to exhaust himself to rectify what could well have been his enemy’s fault. It was typical of the way Dyran operated. If he didn’t have a way to control the lives of those around him, he would make a way.
Dyran went to great lengths to gain information on his rivals, his peers, and his underlings. More than once, when in elven form on missions of her own, Alara had discovered herself being questioned by those who later proved to be his agents. Persistent and patient, he was not content unless he had hold over anyone he came into contact with.
And there was something Serina had only guessed at, when she had seen him in defeat: he was absolutely ruthless when thwarted. Obsessive, even. And his obsession with defeat could well have begun with the incident with Lady Alinor. While Alara could not be certain, she suspected it might have been the first time in a very long time that he had met with real opposition. And at his age – that could do some odd things to the elven mind.
Serina had been lucky he had been in a good mood when he came home, and assuredly she knew it. If he’d been defeated, or even blocked in Council, he’d have blasted her on the spot. If he’d even come home annoyed, he’d have held her paralyzed until his guards found her, then he’d have made her execution as long and painful as possible, and probably part of a public entertainment.
Instead, he was quite pleased with himself, and chose to amuse himself before sending anyone after her. And her own little spies told her that her rival had given away the secret of her pregnancy and that the guards would be coming at dawn.
Alara would have been willing to lay a bet that Dyran had guards watching the edge of the desert, to make sure Serina died out here. He couldn’t
