Fallen Star (20 page)

“What?” Fallon set her jaw and glared at one then the other. They were
both
sadistic bastards.

Khan coiled the meter or so of leather, smiling tiredly. “It will be enjoyable having your company again.” He handed the whip to Sobehk.

Sobehk took the whip and smiled as well. “If we can keep from tearing out each other’s throats this time.”

Khan turned away. “A great deal of time has passed since the academy. There is only one constant in life, and that is change.” He looked down then took a step away. “I’ll assign crew to move your belongings.” He strode for the far end of the room.

* * * * *

Four Skeldhi men in plain black skin-suits trooped through the oval door of Khan’s room towing large red cases and matching smaller trunks. They set them in a neat arrangement beside Khan’s black cases. One of the men went to the wall just past the double doors to Khan’s wardrobe. He pressed his palm against it. The wall shifted as the mimetic material of the wall reshaped itself. Two more doors appeared, indicating a second wardrobe.

Sobehk orchestrated the arrangement of his belongings while kneeling comfortably on one of the large pillows by the low table in the room’s center.

Her leash tucked into Sobehk’s sash, Fallon knelt at his side on the bare carpet as ordered, her knees tight together, the tops of her feet flat on the carpeting, heels slightly out, and her palms flat on her thighs. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position to sit in, but she’d been in far worse positions for far longer periods of time.

Under Sobehk’s direction, the crew encouraged ledges to form from the mimetic walls and art objects were set on them. A few colorful hangings were posted on the walls between the tall mirrors. Clothing was unpacked and set in the new wardrobe. The four crewmen glanced at Fallon on occasion, but not one of them openly stared.

Fallon found the whole display fascinating.

“Isabeau, don’t stare; it’s rude.” Sobehk’s voice was soft but firm.

Fallon dropped her gaze to the carpet. “What? Am I supposed to pretend they’re not there?”

Sobehk snorted in clear amusement. “Yes, as a matter of fact, you are, and you will address me as
‘Syr
.”

“Not you, too?” Fallon looked up at him and hunched her shoulders. “
‘Syr
.”

Sobehk grinned. “Yes, me, too. In fact, you are to address anyone in possession of your leash as
‘Syr
.”

Fallon turned away.
Leashes, collars, ‘Syr ... Gross!
She suddenly had the most incredible urge to writhe on the floor in complete disgust.

Sobehk had the nerve to chuckle. “You’ll get used to it.”

Fallon cringed. “Do I have to?” She curled her lip. “
‘Syr
.”

Sobehk raised his brow and gave her a broad smile. “You’ll get beaten a lot less.”

Fallon opened her mouth to reply.
I haven’t gotten beaten yet.
And closed her mouth just in time. There was a whip sitting on his knee. Tempting Fate when it was sitting right next to her was probably not a good idea.

The crew trooped out and made the door disappear behind them.

Fallon looked over at Sobehk. “Now what?”

He raised an expectant brow.

Fallon hunched. “
‘Syr
.”

Sobehk nodded. “Now, I teach you some manners.”

Everything went downhill from there.

* * * * *

“Sit.”

Fallon fumed as she sank down toward the carpet for what had to be the hundredth time.

“Roll on the balls of your feet. Keep your knees together, your shoulders back, and your back straight.” Sobehk gestured with the uncoiled whip as he spoke. “Don’t rush! Calmly.”

Fallon eased onto her knees and was never so grateful for her internal augmentations. Without them, she would have fallen on her face more than once.

“Sit
down
on your heels. Set your hands on your thighs gracefully, chin up, and with poise.” Sobehk nodded. “Better, much better.”

Fallon let out a soft breath.

“Stand.”

She stood.

“That’s it. Roll back onto to your heels.” The whip flicked out, tapping her thigh with a sting that was as fast and fleeting as it was accurate. “Thighs apart!

Fallon ground her teeth and parted her feet exactly shoulder-width apart. Sobehk was disgustingly free and painfully accurate with that whip.

“Chin up. Show some pride.” Sobehk’s eyes narrowed. “You are an
upuaht
rehkyt
, a fighter, a
rehkyt
who defends her master, a pet with purpose, not a
saysehn
rehkyt
, a flower, a pet that sits on her master’s lap looking decorative!”

Fallon took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

“And get that look off your face!”

Fallon worked to school the annoyance from her expression. It wasn’t easy.

“Sit.”

And so on.

“Bow.”

While kneeling, Fallon made a triangle with her thumbs and index fingers on the carpet and lowered her head. Her overlong hair fell in a straight black curtain around her face as her head lowered to only a few centimeters from the floor, her gaze concealed yet never leaving Sobehk’s form.

“That was graceful, finally.” Sobehk smiled tightly and raised his hand above his head. “What do I have in my hand?”

She flicked her gaze up without moving her head in any way. The mirror behind him showed her that he held one of Khan’s back-curved daggers. “A knife.”

“Describe it.”

“Black handled, eight centimeter live-steel blade, back-curved. One of
‘Syr
Khan’s.”

“Good.” He released a deep breath and lowered his arm, setting the dagger on the table behind him. “At ease.”

Fallon sat back on her heels as smoothly as she was able, her hands placed where they were supposed to be, open-palmed on her thighs, elbows slightly out.

Sobehk nodded. “Very nice.”

Fallon released her breath and relaxed, a little. All this poise was a freaking pain in the ass.

“Stand.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sobehk leaned back on the thick sitting pillow, setting one elbow on the low table behind him. “Do you sing?” He unfolded his knees and extended his legs, crossing his slippered feet at the ankles. His movements were a little stiff, and his mouth tightened. It was obvious that he was tiring.

Sing?
Fallon’s brows shot up as she knelt before him in the proscribed manner. Her gaze slid from his. She wasn’t supposed to look him in the eye anyway. “No,
‘Syr
.”

“Play a musical instrument?”

She found herself frowning and worked to get it off her face. “No,
‘Syr
.”

“Know any poetry?”

Poetry?
Fallon’s fingertips bit into her thighs. What
was
this? “No,
‘Syr
.”

“Dance?”

Fallon lifted her shoulder the tiniest bit. “Some,
‘Syr
.”

Sobehk snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re classified as
upuaht
. You’d need intensive training to be a successful
saysehn
rehkyt
.”

Intensive training?
To be a
decoration?
Fallon felt the hair rise on her neck and had to fight the urge not to hunch down. He made it sound as though she wasn’t good for anything.

“I know you know knives ...” He rolled his eyes.

Knives? Fallon straightened immediately.
Oh, bloody Fate, yeah!
She bit back her comment. He hadn’t asked a direct question.

Sobehk tilted his head to the side and a smile kicked up the side of his mouth. “Do you know anything about swords?”

Fallon flinched before she could stop herself. “No,
‘Syr
.”

“Would you like to?”

Fallon’s heart stopped, just for a second. She would kill to know how to use a proper blade like a real duelist. She looked directly at Sobehk. Screw manners. “I would love to learn the sword,
‘Syr
.”

Sobehk nodded and his smile widened. “As long as you continue to do well in your other lessons, I’ll see to your sword training as well.”

Fallon blinked. “You know the sword?” She flinched. He hadn’t asked a question. Too late now. “
‘Syr
.”

“Yes, he does indeed.” The doorway disappeared behind Khan. He moved toward them in a whisper of heavy robes. A small smile curved his lips.

Fallon jumped in surprise. She hadn’t heard the door open.

Khan nodded toward Sobehk. “
A’syr
Sobehk was a very fine sword master before he ever became
mahf’dhyt
, an enforcer.” He smiled at Sobehk then raised his brow at Fallon. “He was my sword master at the academy.”

Sobehk rolled his eyes. “And a more stubborn student I never had in my life!”

Fallon tilted her head. Sobehk taught
Khan?

Sobehk smiled. “At the time, my father was the headmaster at the school, and he thought the young lord ...” His gaze drifted toward Khan. “... would have an easier time dealing with someone closer to his age.”

“More like he thought a little humility would do me some good.” Khan curled his lip as he tugged at his over-robe. “Sobehk was already a master-level swordsman at a good three years younger than I.”

“You were master-level at other things.” Sobehk nodded at Fallon and tilted his head toward Khan.

Fallon nodded slightly. One of the things Sobehk had spent far too much time on was the intricacies of Skeldhi dress. She rolled to her feet and approached Khan.

Khan’s brows shot up. He glanced at Sobehk.

Sobehk smiled. “I thought I’d teach her something useful.”

Useful, my ass ...
Fallon barely stopped herself from growling.

Khan dropped his hands and raised his chin. “Indeed?”

Fallon tugged at the twist-fastenings of his robes. She slipped behind him to draw the robe from his shoulders and folded the heavy fabric over her arm.

Khan stepped away. “How has her civilizing progressed?” He tugged at his robes and rolled down onto his knees, dropping onto a sitting pillow at the low table with an unconsciously graceful ease that made Fallon instantly envious.

Sobehk sighed. “We have the very basics, but I haven’t approached table manners yet.” He caught Fallon’s eye and nodded toward the wardrobe.

Fallon walked over to Khan’s wardrobe to hang the robe.

“She has absolutely no cultural skills whatsoever.”

She caught the shake of Sobehk’s head in the mirror just before she opened the wardrobe door. Fate and damnation, he made her sound like a total barbarian. She struggled briefly with the heavy robe and the hanger, making damned sure to hang it with all the other robes like it. Order, precision, and grace.
Bleck
. She closed the door.

Khan chuckled. “Good thing she’s
upuaht
.”

“That’s my opinion.”

Fallon turned in time to catch Sobehk’s smile.

Khan nodded. “The midday supper should be arriving shortly.” He turned to face Fallon. “I guess we’ll see if she can manage a table or will have to eat from a bowl on the floor.”

Sobehk snorted. “Well, she knows how to sit and stand properly. I don’t hold high hopes for anything else.”

Fallon decided right then and there that she really, really wanted to bite Sobehk, and not in a good way.

* * * * *

The midday supper arrived on an anti-grav levitating tray escorted by two youthful, slender Skeldhi. They wore knee-length gray robes with white smocks cross-tied over them. The smell of something juicy, meaty, and delicious wafted from the tray.

Fallon knelt on the carpet by the edge of the table, while Sobehk on her left and Khan on her right got to sit on nice cushy pillows.

The attending Skeldhi set a large smoked-glass bowl holding a good-sized chunk of meat in a golden broth in the center of the table, followed by two smaller bowls with other meats in broth. Square plates of exceedingly expensive black Shido porcelain edged in gold were set before Khan and Sobehk. Matching cup-sized bowls were set on the plates, with snowy-white rolled cloth napkins bound in gold paper twists above them, and utensils above that. Crystal goblets and matching tumblers were set beside the plates, and a carved crystal decanter filled with a deep-gold liquid was set between Sobehk and Khan.

The arrangement was done in complete silence with swift efficiency and a formal elegance that Fallon found surprising. Watching their reflections in the mirrors rather than staring openly, Fallon found the whole thing fascinating.

One of the attendants bowed to Sobehk and presented him with a rolled mat, a shallow bowl of red glass with some kind of lettering around the bowl’s rim, and a broad spoon.

Sobehk nodded in thanks and then raised a brow at Fallon as he set them on the far left. “In case eating at the table proves too difficult for you.”

Fallon’s cheeks flushed with heat, but she didn’t growl. She dropped her gaze to the bare table before her.

At the last second, a square plate of plain clear glass was set before Fallon with a matching clear bowl. A napkin and utensils were added and a simple plain glass tumbler was set beside her plate. A clear pitcher filled with what looked like water was set by the crystal decanter.

Fallon took a deep breath. Obviously she did not rate the good porcelain, but it wasn’t a bowl on the floor, though that was still a distinct possibility. She eyed the rolled mat and the red bowl by Sobehk’s elbow.

The attendants bowed and left, directing their floating tray between them.

Khan leaned forward and gestured for Sobehk’s cup and plate. He scooped meat from all three bowls onto the plate and broth from the largest bowl into the cup, then served himself.

Sobehk reached for the crystal decanter and filled both Khan’s goblet and his, then filled his tumbler from the clear glass pitcher. He turned and filled her tumbler from the pitcher, as well.