Disclaimer: There's a poem by William Blake called The Tiger that I quote bits of.

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Dame Vaako

Jaron apparently felt better about her going out alone now, since he wasn't insisting she stay in. Or he just felt guilty enough to not tell her no. Either way, Zemma was back in her drab grays and focusing on now.

W'Rdah might be watching, but there was little he could do.

Well, someone had to change the dates on all the Furians hiding behind the screen.

True, and it might have been W'Rdah. But then he might not care that she was breaking into Vaako's room.

Doesn't matter Now. Try the next code.

That one worked. Zemma was glad that at least the guards had been removed from Vaako's doorstep. She let herself into the dark suite, twitched up her lenses, and sniffed the air.

Well, didn't smell like decomposing body in here. Was that a plus?

She could be alive. She could be locked in…

Zemma crept quietly through the rooms sniffing for Dame Vaako's perfume. She always wore enough to choke a cat. But while there was lingering scent, nothing smelled fresh, or potent.

There was a light on in the Lady's bedroom. Zemma was extra careful now, moving like Nor stalked.

Haven't seen Nor in a week.

Shh, busy here.

The door was cracked open and the light was dim. Zemma peeked in. Nothing looked out of place. She listened carefully, holding her breath.

Breathing!

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

Zemma held her position and concentrated on what she was hearing. Just breathing. No movement. Possibly slow enough to be someone asleep.

Were there any Ladies not at the party tonight?

None came to mind.

So, probably not another lover awaiting the return of the First Commander.

So, probably Dame Vaako.

Okay, Zem, decision time. Look, or leave?

Her hand landed silently on the edge of the door. She tested it for sound with the tiniest wiggle. No noise. Good to know the Lady kept the service people busy. Her Ferrin had taught her to leave certain squeaky doors un-oiled.

She pushed ever so slightly on the door and waited again. She could afford to be patient. She counted her heartbeats and kept her breathing under control. And pushed a little further. No noises indicated the sleeper was doing anything but still sleeping.

Take your time.

Breathe. Quietly.

A little more and Zemma could almost get her head in, but she wasn't in a hurry. She wanted free movement when she finally stepped in.

Listen. Breathe. Move a little more. Ten minutes wasn't a long time in the Now.

Eleven minutes, no changes, except the door was wide enough for her to just squeeze through. A little more…

Twelve minutes. Thirteen. Now Zemma could step through easily without brushing the door and making any noise. She held her breath and listened again. Slow steady breathing.

But why is she sleeping with the light on?

You're not afraid of the dark are you, Lady?

Zemma slipped sideways into the room in one graceful step and froze at what she saw there.

Dame Vaako was in bed. Lying perfectly still. With her eyes open.

Zemma didn't breathe; she was wound tight as a spring and ready to do just that, straight back out the door. But the Lady didn't speak, or even move. And as Zemma's eyes took in the scene before her she realized Lady Vaako maybe hadn't moved for some time.

Her hair was in disarray, down from it's usual style and draped across her shoulders. She wore no make up. Her face was a deathly pallor, and her nose still looked freshly broken. These things were enough to make Zemma sure something was very wrong with this picture. But there was more to see in the room now.

Stacks of clean linen stood to one side of the room. Bags of it awaited removal against another wall. Had it been closer to the door she would have smelled it sooner. But there was nothing wrong with the Vaako's air scrubbers. A clutter of empty soup bowls piled up near the Lady's bedside table. She still hadn't moved.

Zemma looked back to Vaako's seemingly lifeless body, dropped her lenses and took a step forward. Was that the tiniest movement in the muscles around the Lady's eyes? Certainly nothing else moved. Zemma looked at the silken nightshirt Dame Vaako was dressed in. It showed some staining and now Zemma could smell it clearly. Urine.

Dead bodies aren't consistently incontinent. And they don't eat, scratch that, they weren't fed soup.

What happened here?

"Dame Vaako," Zemma's voice was quiet and compassionate. She never liked the woman but this was sad.

A little scary, too.

"Dame Vaako, can you hear me? Are you ok?" Zemma couldn't bring herself to do more than whisper as she approached the form laid out on the bed.

Zemma touched the Lady's wrist, the one she had nearly broken… a week ago? The bruising was still fresh as if it had just happened. And her skin was cold. Not lifelessly cold, more like… she honestly wasn't sure what suspension would feel like. But that was the thought Zemma had of the Lady.

Alive, but suspended somehow. She hasn't even healed…

Zemma noticed another unhealed mark. It looked like a puncture wound and it was slightly discolored. Zemma put her hand to her mouth. Was this what the Lady had in mind for her when she tried to hit her with the ring? Was the Lady poisoned with one of her own devices? When?

When Lord Vaako returned from the near debacle on the bridge, I'd bet.

"Oh, Dame Vaako, you didn't. You didn't try to poison your own husband, did you?" Zemma felt very bad, but she wasn't sure if it was for the Lord, who appeared to love this snake, or the viper herself.

Zemma picked up the arm nearest her. Bedsores. And as unlikely to heal as the rest of her wounds.

"Oh, Lady you shouldn't have attacked his honor, and then the man." She couldn't look at the mess Dame Vaako had created for herself any longer. She turned to go…

And felt her heart go cold.

Lord Vaako was standing in the doorway!