When I published “Empathy” three years ago this month, I was confronted in the comments by the dumbfounding realization that some otherwise-intelligent people do not understand that the protagonist of a story need not be good, morally-upright or even admirable in the author’s eyes; she is merely the person the story follows, not some moral exemplar. Marilith is a courtesan on an Earth very different from the one we know, who has used her paranormal ability to excel in her profession and climb the social ladder. This tale takes place three years after the first, and if you haven’t read that one yet I strongly suggest you do so before embarking on this one…but do yourself a favor and skip the comments. You’ll be glad you did.
“Mistress, please,” begged her handmaiden; “let me bring you something to calm you. I have never seen you in such a state.”
“No!” snapped Marilith. “It’s too late for that, Cynthia; he’s long overdue already, and I’ll need all my willpower for this. I’ve done all I can do, and now all that remains is to wait.” As if in punctuation to her sentence, the soft gong which signified a new arrival on the landing stage sounded in the antechamber. And yet Cynthia hesitated with uncharacteristic inefficiency until her mistress ordered her to go.
The trip to the roof and back was not a long one, yet today it seemed interminable; by the time the Prince was announced, his hostess felt as though she was about to scream. But luckily for her, the emotional communication enabled by her psychic gift was unidirectional; he had no idea of the turmoil which raged behind her penetrating purple eyes and her soft, enigmatic smile. “Welcome back, Your Highness. It has been too long.”
“Lies do not become you, Marilith,” he said, and a wave of panic engulfed her; did he know what she was planning? How could he have discovered…”You would be just as happy if you never saw me again, except for the fact that you would then be cheated of the ridiculous fee I pay you.”
“Your Highness does me an injustice; surely you don’t believe I could hide such unkind thoughts without wearing them on my visage.”
He laughed, an especially unpleasant laugh even by his standards. “You must think me a very great fool, woman; even a common whore knows how to disguise her true feelings for the men who pay her, and you are no common whore.”
“As you say, My Lord. But if you believe this of me, perhaps you should find another courtesan more to your liking.”
He pulled her up against him, and the wave of anger and hatred which engulfed her almost drowned her doubts and fears. “I would, if there were another fit to wash your feet,” he said in a tone which weirdly mingled resentment with admiration; “besides, you know very well I couldn’t trust anyone else.”
“So you have said, My Lord,” she said, suppressing a shudder as his right hand moved down from her waist, “but I fail to comprehend what makes me especially trustworthy. I can sense your feelings, not the other way around.”
“You do more than just sense feelings, witch,” he spat; “they become a part of you and overwhelm your own. I had prepared quite a dossier on you ere I approached you the first time; my advisors feel you would be incapable of violence because your victim’s terror would overwhelm you.”
“That is true, My Lord,” she whispered in his ear, “but I am not the only one here.”
Once she had pressed the prepared wine to her mistress’ lips, bathed her tenderly and tucked her exhausted body into bed, Cynthia returned to scrub the carnage from the other room; she was unsurprised to find another man waiting there, surveying the scene with satisfaction. “So it’s done?” he asked unnecessarily.
“As you see, Your Highness. My mistress’ plan worked perfectly; she was able to remain focused on your emotions and thereby exclude Prince Jamal’s, at least until I could strike. The kinsman who so troubled you is no more.”
“Good, very good. And my other operatives have informed me that all of his precautions have been foiled; he will not return this time.”
“Forgive my boldness, Your Highness, but are you absolutely certain there is no chance my mistress will be implicated in this?”
“None whatever. Once you physically clean the area with the fluids you have been provided, my people will arrive before morning to remove the more intangible residues. If the investigators come here at all – which I doubt – they will find nothing.”
“She has done you a great favor this evening, Mighty One.”
“I am aware of that, Cynthia, and she will be handsomely rewarded as we agreed.”
“You know that she will never be the same again.”
“Indeed she will not; her patent of nobility is already in process, and once that’s done it will be a small matter to negotiate an advantageous marriage for her.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Before she rose from the deep bow, the lifelike image had faded from view. And as she began the arduous process of cleaning, Cynthia thought to herself that though it might be disrespectful, she was very glad indeed that she was not human.