anyway. I just came in when I heard you playing."
"When are you free for your first piano lesson?"
"Not until after midday," Zealon replied. "I'll come back then."
"That'll be fine," I said with a nod.
The Princess waved her goodbye and left us. I went over and sat down at the table, taking a good, long drink before I did anything else. Tiger was still arranging the dishes and seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time and care to do so.
"So," I ventured. "What was that name again?
Tycharian?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice sounding wooden and neutral.
"I seem to be able to pronounce it without too much trouble. Why were you being so mysterious last night?"
He'd been keeping his eyes on his work but turned to face me then. "I wanted to hear what you would call me if you didn't know my name."
"Any special reason for that?"
"You did not call me 'slave.'"
"I think I see your point," I said. "And, no, I didn't call you 'slave,' but I did call you Tiger, which is a type of animal," I added ruefully. "That's not much better than calling you 'slave,' is it?"
"But tigers are not slaves, are they?"
"Well, no," I admitted, "but you do see them locked up and on display in zoos from time to time. That doesn't sound very good, either."
He seemed to think differently. Perhaps he liked the idea of being a tiger. "You may call me whatever you wish," he said finally. "Tiger, Tycharian, Tychar, or even Ty, which is what my brother, Trag, calls me." A mischievous little smile touched his lips. "So, tell me Kyra: would you prefer to have breakfast with a slave, or with a tiger?"
Returning his smile, I said warmly, "I'd much rather have breakfast with you, Tycharian." Gesturing toward a chair, I added, "Have a seat, and if the Queen doesn't like it, she can fire me."
"I don't believe she will."
"Like it, or fire me?"
Tiger looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Fire you," he said. "She has told me to see to your needs as much as I am able. You are my exclusive... assignment.
She wouldn't object to us sharing a meal together."
"Really?" It seemed surprising to me that she would give him up entirely, though she did have two of them.
Perhaps I wouldn't be executed for sleeping with him, after all. "Well, what if I need something during the night? Since you slaves are locked up—for your own protection, of course," I added, "who do I call if I get sick or something? Or do I get locked up, too?" I hadn't gotten up to try the door last night, but that didn't mean it hadn't been locked.
"Scalia didn't say specifically, but if you're locked in, perhaps it is because she feels that you need protection, as well."
I pondered this for a moment, remembering the armed escort from the spaceport, and consoled myself with the fact that at least Scalia hadn't asked Wazak to make me his "exclusive assignment." "Do I really need protecting?"
"Even slaves hear tales of unrest within a country,"
he said carefully, taking a seat across from me.
This sounded interesting. In an attempt to make the question seem casual, I bit into an odd-looking piece of fuzzy green fruit that reminded me of a kiwi. Tasted rather like one, too. Spitting out the fuzzy peel, I savored the sweet flesh. "What sort of unrest?"
Following my lead and helping himself to some fruit, Tychar said, "Whenever there is change, there is also unrest."
"True, but do I have anything to do with the changes?"
"You are an offworlder, teaching music to the Princess,"
he replied. "That could be seen as a radical change."
"Music?" I echoed in disbelief. "Radical?" I was about to deny having any radical tendencies whatsoever, but then I remembered my music history: musicians had been on the cutting edge of radicalism for a very long time. Funny how I'd never considered classical pianists as being radical, but, given where I was at the time, perhaps we were. "Well, yes, I see your point." Sighing regretfully, I added, "Guess we won't get to go on that vacation to the mountains,
"When are you free for your first piano lesson?"
"Not until after midday," Zealon replied. "I'll come back then."
"That'll be fine," I said with a nod.
The Princess waved her goodbye and left us. I went over and sat down at the table, taking a good, long drink before I did anything else. Tiger was still arranging the dishes and seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time and care to do so.
"So," I ventured. "What was that name again?
Tycharian?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice sounding wooden and neutral.
"I seem to be able to pronounce it without too much trouble. Why were you being so mysterious last night?"
He'd been keeping his eyes on his work but turned to face me then. "I wanted to hear what you would call me if you didn't know my name."
"Any special reason for that?"
"You did not call me 'slave.'"
"I think I see your point," I said. "And, no, I didn't call you 'slave,' but I did call you Tiger, which is a type of animal," I added ruefully. "That's not much better than calling you 'slave,' is it?"
"But tigers are not slaves, are they?"
"Well, no," I admitted, "but you do see them locked up and on display in zoos from time to time. That doesn't sound very good, either."
He seemed to think differently. Perhaps he liked the idea of being a tiger. "You may call me whatever you wish," he said finally. "Tiger, Tycharian, Tychar, or even Ty, which is what my brother, Trag, calls me." A mischievous little smile touched his lips. "So, tell me Kyra: would you prefer to have breakfast with a slave, or with a tiger?"
Returning his smile, I said warmly, "I'd much rather have breakfast with you, Tycharian." Gesturing toward a chair, I added, "Have a seat, and if the Queen doesn't like it, she can fire me."
"I don't believe she will."
"Like it, or fire me?"
Tiger looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Fire you," he said. "She has told me to see to your needs as much as I am able. You are my exclusive... assignment.
She wouldn't object to us sharing a meal together."
"Really?" It seemed surprising to me that she would give him up entirely, though she did have two of them.
Perhaps I wouldn't be executed for sleeping with him, after all. "Well, what if I need something during the night? Since you slaves are locked up—for your own protection, of course," I added, "who do I call if I get sick or something? Or do I get locked up, too?" I hadn't gotten up to try the door last night, but that didn't mean it hadn't been locked.
"Scalia didn't say specifically, but if you're locked in, perhaps it is because she feels that you need protection, as well."
I pondered this for a moment, remembering the armed escort from the spaceport, and consoled myself with the fact that at least Scalia hadn't asked Wazak to make me his "exclusive assignment." "Do I really need protecting?"
"Even slaves hear tales of unrest within a country,"
he said carefully, taking a seat across from me.
This sounded interesting. In an attempt to make the question seem casual, I bit into an odd-looking piece of fuzzy green fruit that reminded me of a kiwi. Tasted rather like one, too. Spitting out the fuzzy peel, I savored the sweet flesh. "What sort of unrest?"
Following my lead and helping himself to some fruit, Tychar said, "Whenever there is change, there is also unrest."
"True, but do I have anything to do with the changes?"
"You are an offworlder, teaching music to the Princess,"
he replied. "That could be seen as a radical change."
"Music?" I echoed in disbelief. "Radical?" I was about to deny having any radical tendencies whatsoever, but then I remembered my music history: musicians had been on the cutting edge of radicalism for a very long time. Funny how I'd never considered classical pianists as being radical, but, given where I was at the time, perhaps we were. "Well, yes, I see your point." Sighing regretfully, I added, "Guess we won't get to go on that vacation to the mountains,
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