Cats in Space and Other Places by Bill Fawcett (best book recommendations txt) 📗

beginning of the day. The dark had begun to fade, but barely. The stars still winked, but Ki could feel that very soon they would dim and disappear.

This was the only time of day when the entire palace was still. The men on guard were not stirring yet, restless to be relieved. The men who would do the relieving had not yet awakened. The serving staff was still abed as well. And the residents of this place, the cream of society, would not stir until well into the day.

Every morning without fail, duty permitting, rain, snow or sleet notwithstanding, Ki sat in his garden. He would rise very early and work out, hard, in the gym when he had the place totally to himself. Then he would shower. With his mane still wet, he would come to the garden to listen to it dry. He would get down on his knees, place his swords in front of him within easy reach, sit on his heels and rest his hands on his thighs. It was ritual with him, this time for reflection and peace. The only thing that would change from day to day was the position of his head. At times, if things were well within him, he would watch the sky as the stars died and the sun was born. If he needed to see inside Ki, he would lower his head till his chin touched his breast. Then there was nothing to see but himself.

This morning, though disturbed by the events of the day before, he watched the sun come up. His mind was too jumbled even to begin a logical process of thought. He would need time to sort through the events and the emotions they evoked in him. There had been the kill. Clean, swift, it should have been satisfying, but it was not. It left too many questions and too few answers. Then there was Aubin. He had seen the hoj, held it naked in his frail human hand, and he did not bear the tattoo of an adult Nidean male of the Lawwnum Pride. Did that mean that Ki, without Pride consent, had conferred member status on Aubin? The way he, Ki, interpreted the legend, it did. His mouth turned up at the corners, smiling at what Mikal would say to that. Then the smile broadened as he tried to picture Aubin wearing Pride tattoos. The smile fled. The Empress. She was tired, so tired that her fragile human beauty was beginning to fade. Her husband's excesses had finally begun to take their toll even on her. And those excesses had moved into the realm of murder. The corners of his mouth turned down all the way into a frown. Seven men died yesterday, only one with cause. They died because Ozenscebo needed revenge for the threat against him, and the perpetrator of the threat was already dead. So he had pointed at six of the servants, quite randomly, and had declared them traitors. Lionmen had executed them as ordered, but it had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. More than that, it was a waste.

As the sky began to lighten, faint bands of pink appearing where the sun would soon be, Ki realized that he, too, was tired. He needed Nide and a good rest, something he had denied himself for too long. Perhaps he would invite Aubin to join him there, to instruct him, subtly, of course, in the ways of the Lionmen now that Aubin was an unofficial member of his Pride. It would not hurt that hedonist to toughen up a bit. Vaguely he wondered what the response of his people would be to a Nidean bringing a human home to a planet that did not have a single foreigner anywhere on it outside of the Emperor's embassy compound. Would they resent Aubin as ferociously as only a Nidean could? Would they harass him openly? It was conceivable that they would accept Aubin with open arms while rejecting Ki for enlisting him without Pride consent. He sighed. He needed to go home, with or without Aubin. If only he could talk to Ambassador Maaeve. Her reaction would reflect all the others' . . .

At last his thoughts drifted off, leaving him in quiet peace. Finally he could lose himself in the sound of the running water, broken only by his own breath. His heart beat loudly in his ears, a drum to accompany the beginning fluting of the birds.

He left his drifting in the split second it took to recognize the sound. Someone was at his door, the exterior door that joined his apartment to the public hallway. Though he did not appear to have moved, his muscles, which had been slack, were now tensed, ready for whatever came through his door.

It opened, then shut carefully, quietly. The steps were hesitant, furtive, the culprit obvious and loud in his caution. Ki's right hand edged down his thigh closer to his knee, that much closer to the swords that rested just in front of him. He attempted to catch the scent of the intruder and was frustrated by the ventilation system that kept the air constantly moving out of his quarters to be replenished with fresh. When he finally caught the scent, well known, the hand crept back to its original position. The sounds changed again. The maker was attempting to sneak up on him. The effort at stealth was clumsy at best, but Ki waited.

"Beautiful sunrise, is it not?" Ki asked the intruder. About three feet behind him, the Princess stamped her foot in disgust. "How? I thought I'd caught you with your back to a door. How did you know it was me?"

"I heard you, I heard you, I smelled you, I heard you."

"I beg your pardon?" Natanha said as she came around to sit by his side. "I don't understand."

"I heard you at the door. Quite noisy. I heard you moving about the room, I suppose attempting to find