However, Justice knew as well as Bronse did that he had as keen an eye as the rest of them. He was rarely mistaken about anything. Especially when it came to keeping track of what was happening in the heat of a moment. In the end, that’s what being an ETF soldier was all about. You got to be on the Extreme Tactics Force only if you could keep your shit together in a firefight and perform above and beyond normal endurance to basically pull off miracles. Justice supposed that that explained things all around. The commander was right. Ender could shake off things that no one else would ever be able to.
But just because he could grit it out and shake it off didn’t mean it wouldn’t catch up with him later. Ender could be out there wounded, slowly dying, with nothing but some overprivileged twit to look out for him.
“No.”
The commander said it firmly, stopping the words in Justice’s throat before she had barely taken a breath to form them.
“I could recon out and be back before—”
“I could swear I heard myself say ‘no,’ Captain,” he said implacably. He closed up the heal seal and put it back into the aid kit. “You’re wounded. The last thing you need is to exert yourself out there alone and suddenly your throat swells shut. You’ll do none of us any good if you’re dead in the bushes, kiddo.”
Justice had to bite down a flare of frustration and the half-dozen arguments she knew would only fall on deaf ears. Besides, he was right. There was no logic in taking that kind of risk, and the rest of the group certainly couldn’t stay around the scene of their crimes waiting for backup to come to the Imperial Guards’ assistance.
“Did these guys get a call out? Did they ID Miss Prim?”
Bronse raised a brow. “Miss Prim? I take it something about Princess Ambrea meets with your disapproval?”
Justice shrugged. “I don’t have to like her. I just have to do my job.”
“True. But you haven’t known her long enough for her to get on your bad side.”
“Eh. She lost my vote at mission briefing. What kind of a weakling lets people bully her around all her life? I mean, where’s her backbone? She could have grown a spine and rebelled any number of times, escaped the planet maybe. Anything but sitting there meekly year after year.” Justice shook off a shudder of disgust. She just didn’t understand how someone could be so willing to let others push her around. How the princess wasn’t already dead, Justice was at a loss to say.
Then again she’d never really understood these foreign courts. All of the manners and the ways they dressed. Jockeying for favor with a potentate or for a sound bite in the media. Give her the clear-cut rules of the Tari clans any day. As hateful as living on a space platform could be, at least it was easy to know where you stood, and the only thing that mattered was showing strength. The clan that was the strongest was the clan that ruled. And a clan ruled strongly because it was a family, each member covering the back of the next member. That attitude was also prevalent in the IM. Everyone was very much there for everyone else. That was why, among the clans, it was considered highly respectable to join the IM.
That was the one constant amongst the Tarians. Although those who lived on the platforms were merchants and dealt in and depended on high-end technologies, and those who lived planetside, like Ender, were far more primitive in their needs and lifestyles, the one thing they had in common was the clans. All the members of a clan lived as one family, whether or not they were blood kin. And although members of a clan might fight for dominance, once dominance was established it was respected, at least until unforgivable weakness was shown. You lived and died for your brothers and sisters in your clan. You could travel far and wide, even planet to planet, but you were always clan.
That was probably why Justice and Ender got on so well. They both understood what really mattered. Strength and loyalty. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if Ender had somehow managed to shake off a deadly 240 blast. She had never met anyone stronger. She was positive that, had he remained with his clan on Tari planet, he would be a chieftain by now. Still, she and Ender had both, for whatever reasons, been odd men out in their clans. He’d had to leave for his reasons, and she for hers.
Justice drew her thoughts to a halt right there. She wasn’t in the mood to rehash her life choices and the reasons why things were the way they were. She really didn’t like to waste her time. What she did know was that when things had gotten dicey in her life, she’d pulled herself into a new direction, forged ahead, and lived in a way she could find peace with. Frankly, she had no idea how the princess could stand her own company.
“As usual, Justice, you make no room for differences in culture, temperament, and laws. Princess Ambrea shows great respect for the laws of her land. She understands that there must be an order to things and if she doesn’t show it homage then she can’t expect others to do the same. She wants her place in this world to be earned fairly and cleanly. Otherwise she will be just as bad as those she seeks to replace. She waited for her time to come, and now it’s here. Fairly and without plunging her entire country into civil war. I actually have a great deal of respect for her reserve and her wisdom.”
Justice lifted a noncommittal shoulder. Realizing they weren’t going to see eye to eye on the matter, the commander let the subject drop. He straightened up from inspecting her wound, seemingly satisfied that it had finally stopped bleeding.
“Can you breathe all right? It’s still a bit of a trek before we reach the boundary.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m going to sound like Jenri Hobar for a few days, so we best get me back on the station by starfall so I can take advantage of it with the boys.” She gave him a mischievous grin and put her hand on her hip to vamp it up a second like the husky-voiced actress was known to do when the VidMags were taking her likeness. Chapel laughed and cuffed her playfully on the side of her head. She cuffed him right back, or tried to anyway, as he turned to gather their battle-shocked group together.
“Let’s make distance away from here. The sooner we’re off the planet and in the safety of the IM space station, the happier I’m going to be.” He looked back at Justice as he pulled his weapon into his hand. They hadn’t walked around armed before, hoping to blend in and act normal. Now with Justice covered in blood and both he and Fallon sporting scrapes and bruises of their own, it was unlikely they could pass without arousing suspicion, even without the flame-haired princess as a dead giveaway. It was better they be armed and at the ready rather than having to scramble for weapons the way they had this time. Justice sheathed her emergency knife back onto her hip and drew her weapon as well. She nodded to her commander and they headed out.
Rush pulled Ambrea up to the boundary and, as usual, situated her behind the bulk of the better part of his body. Still, he kept her slightly off center so he could keep a steady eye on her. This section of the boundary was tight up against a copse of trees, providing a good cover. Now all he had to do was wait for the rest of the group to show up and they could move as one entity through to the tarmac on the other side, backing up one another and making their insertion through the boundary in a smooth, single act of precision.
“Rush?”
“Mmm?”
He was shrugging out of his pack, pulling it around in front of himself. He didn’t want to look up at her because, truth be told, he’d spent far too much time studying her ever since they had left their hiding spot after the attack. The soldier in him had wanted to find a cap or scarf of some kind to cover that brilliant hair of hers. It stuck out like a sore thumb, stood out in contrast to the blue-green leaves and gray-brown bark of the trees. Short or long, it was still her crowning glory, and it was a very distinctive trademark that told everyone exactly who she might be and, for those searching specifically for her, exactly who she was.
But it wasn’t the soldier in him that preferred to leave it uncovered. He couldn’t seem to help it, it fascinated him. A lot about her seemed to fascinate him. Tarians as a rule were either bright blon
d, as he was, or raven black, as Justice was. There were hardly any in betweens, although there was always the occasional genetic anomaly.
He chuckled noiselessly to himself at that. Occasional genetic anomaly indeed.
The black-haired Tarians seemed to be mostly concentrated on the space platforms. The blonds were planetside. It was hard to say what had happened between the planet and the platforms to create such a distinction. He imagined at some point they all must have lived mixed together on the planet. Or perhaps something about living in space had created the change. Anyway, he hadn’t really given it much thought because he hadn’t cared to think of his home planet much at all these past years.
But he had since seen his share of hair colors, from blue to violet to red, each more shocking than the last to a man born in a monochromatic society. Still, nothing compared to that golden red of Ambrea’s hair, not to mention the way it seemed to reach out for everything with caressing fingers, the way it framed such a pretty face that was somehow strong and fragile all at once.
“You should do something about your shirt.”
“Hmm?” He looked into her eyes. As much as he had tried to avoid engaging her again since they’d kissed and he’d hurt her so unwittingly, he felt the click of instant connection as easily as if he were a piece of a puzzle meant to interconnect with her. It was unnerving to him, even as it was strangely comforting. Rush had never before experienced anything like this sensation, and she was in such a ridiculous position for him to feel connected to her in any way, shape, or form. She was destined to be a queen for a single land. He was destined to be a soldier of many lands. When this assignment was over, it wasn’t likely he would see the inside of the Allayan borders again for months. Perhaps even entire cycles. And anyway, what kind of friendship could a Tarian mutation ever expect to cultivate with the woman of station she was? They were, literally, worlds apart.
Now if only he could shake this instinct inside him that wanted to compel him to feel otherwise.
“Your shirt. Your teammates are sharp, clever people. They will see that burn hole and …” She trailed off, but there was no need for her to continue. She was right. He had been so absorbed in keeping them safe as he got them to this point in the mission that he hadn’t remembered to cover any evidence of his mutation. He felt a strange, sick feeling at the realization, but then the even more important understanding that she was trying to protect him washed it away. He stripped off his shirt and balled it up in his hands for a moment.
“Thank you,” he said. He hoped she could understand that his appreciation extended much further than the simple reminder to remove his shirt. He didn’t really have the social skill needed to pretty it all up and make his gratitude known anywhere near the level she deserved. But when she reached out to brush fingers of comfort over his bare biceps, he knew she understood. She traced her thumb over the ink that had been painstakingly colored over his skin, her touch so soft in such a hard and harsh world. It was a strange thing, but he thought he could smell the warmth and beauty of her. In truth all he ought to be able to smell was the remnants of soil and leaf litter that had dirtied her clothes. And although he could recognize signs of the forest all over her, it was as though that outside influence couldn’t compete with the natural sweetness that was just her. Without realizing it, he had turned toward her, his body leaning closer to her, the easy intimacy he felt with her all of a sudden coming back into play.
Damn, this was stupid of him, letting himself get distracted. Over what? A pretty face? That wild hair? She was just a woman. Just like any other woman. Just as untouchable as any other woman. She wasn’t even the kind of woman he always thought he might take to. He liked them strong and sassy. Sexual and vivacious. Like Justice. He had always considered that if he were ever going to try to hook up with someone, it would be Justice, or someone like her. A Tarian, most likely. Tough, bold, and wild, and not so easily burned.
The princess was off-limits. Complicated. Breakable. Naïve as all get out.
Just the same, a breath later his fingertips were brushing her face along her hairline. His hands were thick, his fingers rough and covered with hard calluses that he’d earned and earned again over his lifetime. She was smooth as cream, soft as feathers. Regardless of the other dangers he presented to her, he could easily imagine himself touching her too harshly, breaking something on her by accident. The realization made him pull back, but she was quick and had hold of his hand in both of hers. She pulled open his fingers and drew the flat of his palm onto her cheek. Again she nuzzled against him for a long moment, the action slow and stimulating, the brush of her lashes along the inside of his thumb surprisingly intense. Her breath pooled in his palm, spinning warmly against his wrist.
Then she seemed to realize what she had done, and awkwardness flushed over her face. She dipped her head, drawing back a little.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not used to … No one touches me. Everyone else who knows who I am would never think of touching me like this. Except for you. The sensation is so strange for me, and yet I find I am drawn to it.”
“Why is it that no one can touch you?” He didn’t point out the obvious, that he should be the last person she should allow to touch her. Those scorches on her back made that all too clear.
She sighed. “The idea is that I am royalty and too precious for the common touch. But I am also poisonous fruit, the daughter of a traitor and a whore. I am doubly cursed, then, to know no comfort.”
“I am as common as it gets, Princess. And I don’t really care who your parents were. They have no bearing on who you are as an individual. There is only so much you can blame your parents for. At some point you have to hold yourself responsible for your own actions.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she whispered. She studied his face, her gaze sharp and discerning.
Whatever else she was, he could tell she was intelligent. Perhaps not learned in worldly ways, but that would quickly change once she was out of her controlled exile. He could see that very clearly.
“I suppose you blamed your parents for what you are for quite some time,” she speculated carefully.
He nodded shortly. He had treated his mother abysmally during his adolescence, his anger overtaking his love for her. He had hated what he was, and she had not made him feel any better about it, refusing to even discuss the matter. She wouldn’t even tell him who his father was. No one else had known, either. It was a strange sort of thing in a tight-knit clan like theirs. Everyone always knew what was going on with whom, and who was in whose bed. But apparently his mother had been intensely discreet about her affair. She had never spoken a word of it, had never given him a clue as to whether she felt positively or negatively about the experience. He could only assume a negative. If she had loved his sire, wouldn’t she have wanted to share that with him? Or perhaps what had once been love had turned to hate the moment she realized she had given birth to a freakish little child who one day could destroy everything she held dear if he didn’t learn to control himself?
He had resented her for what he had determined to be a lack of love for him. A real mother, he had thought, would have loved him no matter what he was. If anyone should have loved him, it should have been his mother. So his behavior to her just before she died had been horrible. The lashing out of a confused boy under the pressure of becoming a man in a tribal system that worshipped personal strength above all else. After all, wasn’t he the strongest and most powerful of them all? He could make a scathing mark in his clan, be the most powerful of men. It hadn’t been until he had taken that brutal, life-changing step that he realized she had been right all along. That she had only been trying to protect him out of love for him, not trying to hold him back, as he had mistakenly accused her of in his heart.
“I learned it was wrong to blame my parents. They could no more control the manner of their genetic material than I could. Perhaps they ought not to have had children at all,” he amended, “but for me to say t
hat would be to say I believe that my life has no value. My life has had its trials, but it is because I am here that other lives have been spared. Not just one or two. Many.”
“The lives of an entire nation, Rush,” she reminded him quietly. “If not for you, countless people would suffer in Allay.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged it off. “If it hadn’t been me it would have been someone else. My team could have gotten you out of here just as well without me.” He tried to repress a quick smile. “But I did it with far more style.”
That made her laugh out loud, and he had to hush her with two fingers resting heavily over her lips. He regretted the need to do so. He felt that she probably didn’t get the opportunity to laugh very often. It was a shame. She had a nice-sounding laugh. Not jolly or even raucous like Justice’s could be, not even genteel like Ravenna’s was. It was just … normal. Not what he would consider the laugh of an empress, but eminently suited to the woman before him.
“Ender?”
The sound of Bronse’s voice in his ear made him jolt away from her guiltily. He straightened up and touched the comm piece in his ear. “Yes, sir?”
“We’re two minutes out. You?”
“Sittin’ and waitin’,” he assured his commander.
There was a distinct beat before acknowledgment.
“Hang tight.”
Rush’s brow furrowed. In just a few words he heard things that no one else would have heard unless they were as tightly knit into their squad as he was. Chapel was notoriously sharp and efficient. It wasn’t like him to hesitate in the least. In that small nuance, he knew there was something wrong, something left unsaid because he didn’t want to share it over an open communications channel. Was someone injured? Had there been a casualty?
“Shit.” He stuffed his shirt deep into his pack as tension ratcheted through his body. He had been under orders to protect their principal at all costs, but had his absence from the squad caused him to lose a good friend? Who hadn’t he been there to protect? Fallon? Justice?
Seduce Me in Flames Page 13
