“Alejandra?” Salomen’s voice was a low rasp.
“Yes?”
“I’m done.”
Ekatya had no warning before the bright lights of the surgery bay blinked out.
She fell into darkness and never knew when she hit bottom.
22
Ill-tempered
Before she opened her eyes, Tal knew two things. One, she was in a bed. Two, she smelled hyacot twigs. Which added to three: she was in a healing center. The only question remaining was whether she was still on Blacksun Base or back in the city.
She opened her eyes, took one look at the high ceiling, and knew she was in the city.
Thank Fahla. That meant things were under control. Micah would have kept her secured on base otherwise.
Turning her head, she found Salomen next to her, so deeply asleep that not even a residual buzz of emotions tickled their link. Her color was normal and her expression untroubled, making her look cycles younger.
“Good,” Tal whispered. “You needed it.”
As she rose up on one elbow, a startling sight came into view: Lhyn lay on Salomen’s other side. She was in an adjacent bed, but had moved so far to the left that her body was now in the crease formed by the two mattresses. One hand was wrapped around Salomen’s arm, and her forehead was furrowed, as if she were uncomfortable even in sleep.
Tal slid backward, not wanting to disturb either of them, then slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom.
Three neatly folded piles of clothing waited on a bench, the shoes beneath them a clear sign of which belonged to whom. Salomen’s favorite sandals were there, as well as the comfortable shoes Lhyn usually wore in her suite.
She smiled at the polished boots beneath the third pile. Micah knew her well.
A hot shower left her tingling and awake. She dressed quickly, ran a dehumidifying comb through her hair, and tiptoed out of the room.
Micah was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s about time,” he said.
“For the love of Fahla, I just finished the mindwalk to end all mindwalks, on top of a battle. You’d begrudge me a hantick of sleep?”
“A hantick?”
She gestured at the nearest window. “The sun is still high.”
“Tal, you fell unconscious yesterday. It’s been twenty-two hanticks.” He nodded at her silent shock. “You four are the last ones. All the other divine tyrees were up and about by the ten-hantick mark. Wellernal said you were fine, but . . .” He scratched his jaw, discomfort shivering the air around him. “Not even after you abused stims did you sleep this long. I didn’t like it.”
“Am I the first one up? Of the four of us?”
He nodded. “Ekatya and Lhyn aren’t resting as well as you and Salomen. Though Lhyn is doing better since we moved her. The healers didn’t know about your connection and put her in a separate room. She was thrashing in her sheets before Wellernal came in and realized what was wrong.”
Tal leaned against the wall beside him, unable to look him in the eye. “I didn’t think about it. The moment Lhyn joined our group Sharing . . .”
“Everyone knows now.”
“Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?”
In her peripheral vision, she saw him turn to look at her.
“I’ve known about you and Ekatya since three moons after she left the first time. Am I angry that you found a way to resolve it without hurting anyone? No, Tal. I’m not.” He sighed. “It’s been too long since we shared our lives over a bottle of spirits. I know I’m partly to blame for that. Are you angry that I didn’t . . . see you?”
She held back her first response. He had asked honestly and deserved an honest answer.
“I was. And ashamed to be so. Ekatya helped me understand why I was reacting that way. But I’m happy for you, Micah. She’s a remarkable person. Worthy of you,” she added, remembering Alejandra’s work in the medbay. “She barely blinked at the idea of ground-to-orbit empathic healing.”
“Oh, she blinked.” His tone prompted her to face him. Smiling broadly, he continued, “She said that as soon as she can come down, she’ll be lighting every rack in Blacksun Temple.”
“Those racks are going to be busy. How is Rahel? Ekatya?”
“Rahel hasn’t woken yet, but she’ll make a full recovery. Ekatya is in the worst shape of all of you. She has no tyree with her. Alejandra is doing everything she can to make her comfortable, but—” He stopped, suspicion coloring his emotional signature as she glanced at the closed door of her room. “No, you don’t. I will not allow you to go up there. Ekatya’s not awake, but Admiral Greve is. He thinks Rahel acted on your order.”
“If I’d known to give that order, I would have.” She let her head fall back against the wall. “Shek. I cannot leave Salomen, but I cannot bear the thought—Micah, she’s carried a heavier burden than any of us. When does it end?”
“When you and she make it end. And you will. For now, focus on your own recovery.”
“What is the status of the—”
He held up a hand. “No. I’m not giving you status updates, security reports, or anything else. The war council is handling it. You put good people in place; let them do their jobs. Your job now is to take care of yourself, Salomen, and Lhyn.”
“They’re sleeping! What am I supposed to do, sit there and watch them?”
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” he said with irritating calm. “Perhaps with a good book in your hands. Salomen needs you for her recovery. Lhyn needs Salomen since she cannot reach Ekatya. Now, I’ve ordered a meal appropriate for someone who drained herself of every iota of energy and then didn’t eat for more than a day. Shall we dine in your room? It’ll be like old times. Don’t worry about them,” he added, pointing his chin toward the door. “Wellernal says his bondmate could play her long bells in there without waking them.”
She scowled, remembering the “old times” with far less nostalgia. It was just before the Battle of Alsea, when he was furious with her for abusing stims and had punished her in his own quiet, effective way.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“I’m enjoying the fact that you’re awake and grumpy. You worried me, Tal. All thirty-three of you dropped like you’d been shot. Wellernal was the only one left standing. It looked like a Fahla-damned massacre. I thought—”
She recoiled at the distinct flavor in the air, metallic and stale like old blood. Though his words had failed him, Micah’s emotions spoke of remembered terror.
“Micah,” she murmured.
He shook his head.
“I’m all right. We’re all right.”
“You are now. So give me some time in your ill-tempered company.”
When he put it like that, how could she stay grumpy? He was right; there was little she could do at the moment.
“At least tell me those ships are under control,” she insisted.
He pursed his lips, then gave up with a sigh. “Fine. Not only are they under control, the Council is already wrestling with the issue of asylum. It seems there are quite a few Voloth who would rather throw themselves on the mercy of Fahla than go back to a collapsing, vengeful government.”
“Collapsing?”
A healer’s assistant came around the curve of the corridor, pushing a laden table toward them.
“I suppose it would be simpler to tell you a few things than keep deflecting,” Micah said with a martyred air. “Since you’re making it so difficult.”
She didn’t bother hiding her triumph. It really did feel like old times.
23
Phoenix
Rahel woke with a contented hum, her subconscious recognizing the familiar touch before her conscious mind identified the emotional signature.
She opened her eyes to a comforting sight: Dr. Wells sitting on the stool beside her, smiling as she trailed her hand down Rahel’s cheek before pulling back.
“I hoped that
might help you wake in a good space,” she said. “Looks like it worked.”
“It did,” Rahel rasped. Her throat felt like a desert.
“Don’t talk until you’ve had this.” Dr. Wells raised the head of her bed and held out a water packet.
With a grateful nod, Rahel sucked up the too-small amount of water. She wanted more, but knew from experience that the packets limited their output. Handing it back, she cleared her throat and tried her voice.
“How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember the impact. Debris everywhere. Candini getting it under control. That’s all.” She tilted her head at the cloud of relief. “Is that what I’m supposed to remember?”
“You woke twice. Once right after we retrieved your fighter, the second time about four hours ago. It’s normal to be missing some short-term memory after a significant physical trauma.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re happy about it.”
Dr. Wells hesitated. “I had to cut you free. I’m glad only one of us remembers.”
Cut her free?
She inhaled with the flash of memory and looked down at her chest. “The sabot. There was—did you get it out?” What a ridiculous question. The medshirt lay smoothly on her skin; of course it was out. But how was she alive?
“We got it out and pieced you back together, with a little extra help. Your mother says Fahla always watched over you. I believe her.”
There was a wealth of meaning beneath those words, but Rahel could not parse it. Too tired to ask, she lifted her collar instead and checked the damage. Where metal had once protruded, she saw only healthy skin and a red line running from the base of her sternum to her pelvic ridges. A second scar started at the top of the first and arced down to the right, following the curve of her ribs.
“I’ve been working on minimizing the scars,” Dr. Wells said apologetically. “If I’d done a normal closing, they wouldn’t be so prominent. The accelerated nature of your healing meant we bypassed that part of the treatment. I’m afraid you’ll always have them, but give me another week and they’ll hardly show. Please don’t mention them to Salomen. Not for a while, at least.”
“Salomen? Why would she care if I have scars?”
She listened in stunned silence to a story straight out of a templar’s fever dream. Had a high empath been telling it, she might not have believed them, but Dr. Wells spoke nothing but the truth. Her next truth was equally improbable: five Voloth ships currently at stationkeeping, with bridge officers newly loyal to Alsea and a significant number of crew now devout believers in Fahla.
“I always said she was Fahla’s vessel.” Rahel brimmed with pride. “She can’t tell me not to call her that now! To think she claimed she wasn’t a fighter.”
“She certainly fought for you. Right up to the very last moment.”
Her smile dropped at the reminder. Salomen had burned herself out and still wasn’t awake more than a day later.
“Oh. That’s why you don’t want me to mention the scars.”
Dr. Wells nodded. “It would hurt her to think she harmed you in any way.”
“Harmed me? I don’t care about scars. I never expected to live.” She lifted her collar again. “Huh. Maybe I should put the phoenix here instead.”
“The phoenix?”
“I promised Candini I’d get a tattoo. I wanted a phoenix on my back, like Mother’s sculpture. But now . . . Salomen would never see the scars if they’re hidden by flames and feathers.”
With an odd pulse of yearning, Dr. Wells indicated her medshirt. “May I?”
“It’s your work. Go ahead.”
Dr. Wells opened the shirt and traced an invisible pattern on her abdomen. “How big?”
“Um. I don’t know, I hadn’t given it serious thought. Big enough to cover those scars?”
The pattern shifted, moving to her right side. “You have two wounds. Entry and exit. If you wanted to make a powerful statement, you could put the body here. Mostly on your back, for the flat canvas, with the head resting on your scapula.” She slipped her hand under Rahel’s shoulder. “But its wings would reach around. One across your back, the other curving to this side.” Her warm hand wrapped around Rahel’s ribs, barely skimming the surface on its way to her chest. Then she drew a finger down to her stomach. “It could drop a flaming feather here, and you’d have enough to cover all three scars. A phoenix, embracing you.”
Rahel caught her hand. “Right before the sabot hit, Candini said you’re the best tattoo artist in space. Would you do it?”
The yearning blossomed into cautious delight. “You don’t want to hire an Alsean artist?”
“I want it to be someone I love.”
“Rahel . . .”
“I woke up knowing I was safe and loved. My subconscious knew who you were before the rest of me caught up. I was thinking how unfair it is that you don’t know that. You can intuit exactly how I want my phoenix to look, but you don’t know how I feel unless I tell you.” She pressed their hands against her heart. “I don’t have a name for what you are to me, just like I could never put a name to what I have with Sharro. What do I call someone who fills so many roles?”
“Your friend,” Dr. Wells whispered.
“My friend, my mentor, another adopted mother, a healer who put me before her own comfort. Fahla, I’m glad I didn’t die in that surgery bay. Not for myself. I was ready to Return, even before we destroyed that missile. But for what it would have done to y—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was harsh, yet she made no attempt to pull away. “The only way I managed that surgery was by refusing to think of the likely outcome. I still can’t think of it. Don’t say it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes and gave a tiny shake of her head, regret and exasperation pouring through their skin contact. “No, I am. You’re telling me something beautiful and I’m—dammit.” Gently, she freed her hand and began pulling the medshirt back together. “I prayed to the Seeders once, like the naive fool I was, never imagining they wouldn’t answer. Never imagining that their response would be to take my son.” With the sides lined up, she sealed the shirt. “When I got the call about you, I took my team to the shuttle bay and stood there, watching the tractor beams bring in a mangled mass of metal, and I didn’t pray. Not one word to Fahla, not one bit of hope that she might help. The only things between you and death were these hands”—she sat back, staring at them—“and a lifetime of expertise.”
Rahel held out her own hand.
Dr. Wells clasped it and met her eyes. “Isn’t it ironic? She answered a prayer I was afraid to voice. She was there, Rahel. I know exactly who was involved and what happened, but the science I’m aware of can’t explain what I saw. There are a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t be here and one reason why you are. I am so—”
Her breath hitched, and Rahel didn’t know what to do. Dr. Wells hated feeling exposed. Even knowing that Rahel could sense her, she never acknowledged certain emotions aloud.
“I’m so grateful,” she finished, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “I love you too, you brave idiot. Don’t ever hurt yourself like that again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Do more than try. Your poor mother, stars above, I feel for her. What you’ve put her through! I had to tell her. She’s your emergency contact. Now I know where your strength comes from.” She shook her head again, this time in admiration. “I aspire to be like her someday. You’d better call her as soon as you’re ready. She needs to see you. Sharro, too.”
“I will.” Rahel squeezed her hand once more and let go before she grew too uncomfortable. “But first, how are you doing?”
“Me? Fine, why?”
Rahel looked at her askance. “Who heals the healer?”
“Who has time?” she quipped. “Captain Serrado is still unconscious, I have half a million reports to write—”
“Have you spoken to Colonel Mica
h?”
She deflated. “Yes.”
“Is he all right?” That slumped posture was alarming.
“Hm? Yes, yes, he’s fine.” She hesitated, then straightened with a pulse of determination. “I did the same thing to him that I just did to you. He told me something beautiful, and I turned it into something else. There hasn’t been time to address it since then. It’s weighing on me, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him. I won’t do it over the quantum com.”
“Would it help to talk about it?”
“Not subtle,” she said with a scowl.
“No one ever accused me of that.”
“And I won’t be the first.”
Rahel was a veteran of many evening discussions with Dr. Wells. She knew when to be quiet and wait.
Sure enough, after another minute of silence, it came spilling out.
“I researched it after I got over being angry,” Dr. Wells finished. “Do you know what it takes? The surrogacy?”
Rahel shook her head.
“Five injections.” She let out a scornful huff. “Five damned injections. I was envisioning days of three-way sex and forced interaction with some Alsean woman who can do what I can’t, and all it takes is a daily injection to help bring the hormones up to the required levels. And five days of pleasure the surrogate can get at a pleasure house. It’s so simple. He was giving me a gift, a way to have something he knew I’d want, and I walked out on him.”
“But you went back. You apologized. I don’t know Colonel Micah that well, but one thing I know for sure. He doesn’t hold a grudge.”
“Ha. If he did, we wouldn’t have lasted three days.” With a groan, she planted her elbows on her knees and dropped her face into her hands. “I don’t know, Rahel. I want it, and I don’t.”
“I understand why you want it. Why don’t you?”
Her head tilted up, chin resting in her palms. “My age. Wondering if I’ve forgotten how to be a mother.”
“Truly? Scratch that one off your list. I can attest from personal experience that you’d be a fantastic mother. Loving and ferociously protective. And that child would always know where the boundaries were.”
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 17
