She didn’t let go of his arm, though.
“I know,” she said, when their laughter died down. She wiped her eyes, going back to studying his face. “Balidor, I know. About Yarli.”
His smile faded. The humor evaporated from his light.
Her voice grew apologetic.
“I’m sorry, ‘Dori,” she said, sounding sorry. “And I’m sorry I found out without you telling me. Vik told us. It just slipped out… about you staying with him.”
Thinking about her words, he exhaled, nodding.
Truthfully, he felt nothing but relief at the news.
“I should have said something––” he began.
She shook her head.
“No,” she said. “No, you shouldn’t have. Not until you wanted to. But I thought I should tell you that we know. I didn’t feel right pretending we didn’t.”
At his quirked eyebrow, she added,
“…Me and Revik. That’s the ‘we.’ Revik was there. When Vikram said it.”
Balidor nodded.
Again, he felt a knot in his chest relax.
In that brief instant, he was almost tempted to tell her.
About Cass.
He didn’t tell her, though.
As much affection as he felt for the Bridge right then, he knew the news would send this conversation in a whole different, and likely decidedly less-Christmassy direction.
He couldn’t do that to her, to any of them.
Not today.
Instead, he wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her against him in a hug. She hugged him back, her lean arms as surprisingly strong as he remembered.
Not long after that, it was his turn at the gift line.
Raddi, one of the ex-Rebels, yelled out his name, causing both him and Allie to turn.
Balidor had nearly forgotten what was going on around the massive tree behind them. He’d heard names being called, of course, along with laughter, exclamations, even shouts, but it had become background noise, a part of the party that wasn’t related to him.
He was surprised… and touched, truthfully… to find that he had presents under that tree as well.
In addition to gifts from some of his subordinates and friends in the Adhipan, from Jon and even a few from among the ex-Rebels, Maygar gave him a book of poetry, something Balidor couldn’t explain how the young seer could possibly have known he wanted.
It was an old volume, filled with verses from a seer poet who’d died while Balidor was a child.
How the young seer could have known…
He glanced at Maygar as the other gave it to him, and the dark eyes smiled.
It came up in the transcripts, Maygar explained. With Cass. I found the book itself the day I was assigned to help them organize the storage freighter. I saw the name of the poet on the front, and remembered.
Pausing, Maygar’s lips twitched in a half-smile as he added more softly still,
Something to read to her, perhaps? In the off moment?
Balidor actually blushed.
A lot of the poems he remembered from his youth had been of an erotic nature.
He hoped he managed to hide the blush, and figured he had from everyone but Maygar himself. By then, the sun had reached their part of the deck, making everyone’s faces a little red.
He nodded his thanks, managing a few mumbled words before Allie laughingly thrust a large, wrapped box into his hands from her and Revik.
It turned out to be an altar that Revik had made and Allie had painted.
Balidor had no idea when they had done it, given that Revik had only been out of the infirmary for a few days, but it was well-made, fashioned out of a dark, heavy wood. All of the images and writing looked correct in terms of placement, so either Revik had known how to construct an old-school altar, or they had consulted with one of the elders.
Either way, their gift touched him, too.
It occurred to him he’d not gotten a present for anyone.
Well. That wasn’t entirely true.
He had arranged for one present.
At the thought, he found himself suppressing a flicker of pain, hoping no one felt that, either. Trying to force her out of his mind, much less the memory of the night before, only helped marginally.
The truth was, he could feel her, even now.
He’d felt her the whole time he’d spoken to Allie, too.
He knew believing that wasn’t rational.
He couldn’t possibly feel her. She was inside the tank, cut off from the Barrier and from him, cut off from the rest of the world. No one could breach those walls.
Well, his mind muttered. Feigran could. Feigran reached Allie inside the tank. He managed to reach Revik there… and even seems to have access to some levels of the Barrier now, despite his collar, despite his imprisonment.
Balidor frowned.
Yes, Feigran could somehow breach the tank’s walls, at least in certain respects.
But Feigran was a freak of nature.
Even Allie and Revik could not do the things Feigran could do with his light. Much of the time, none of them could even comprehend the ways in which Feigran used his light. Feigran’s aleimic structures and seer skills were utterly inexplicable, even to Tarsi.
They had been inexplicable to Vash, while he’d been alive.
Even so, the certainty was hard to shake.
At the thought, Balidor felt eyes on him and turned.
It was Tarsi who stared at him now.
Tarsi, who had been his first teacher in the Pamir, who trained him after they recruited him out of that shithole in China where he’d lived with his father.
He’d forgotten Tarsi was here.
Even as he thought it, guilt flushed his face hotter a second time.
If anyone would know what he’d been up to over the past few months, it was Tarsi.
He’d deliberately kept his distance from her for that very reason, ever since he started working with Cass. He’d deliberately kept Tarsi herself away from the Barrier containment tanks, knowing she would see it on him, whether he acted on it or not. She would definitely see it on him now that he had acted on it.
When he met her gaze, he found that suspicion confirmed.
Her expression startled him however, once he let himself see her past his own defensiveness.
Like Maygar, she didn’t look disgusted.
She didn’t look angry, either.
He didn’t see a warning or disapproval on her aged face, or in those glass-like, crystal-colored eyes––eyes that were so alike and yet so different from Revik’s, who was her blood-nephew, son of her biological sister.
Instead, also like Maygar, the shine in those colorless irises looked mostly amused.
Even compassionate.
Balidor was still staring at her, fighting an urge to frown––or maybe to tell her to mind her own damned business since he wasn’t her student anymore, much less that child she’d dug out of a dirtblood’s hovel in rural China––when the old woman chuckled.
He was still fighting a conflict of emotions when she winked, lifting her glass in a silent toast from the other side of the banquet table.
Merry Christmas, beloved brother Balidor, she whispered in his head. Merry Christmas, my old friend. And good hunting…
Twelve
Another Christmas
He’d expected it to be dark inside the cell by the time he returned.
He’d waited for a number of hours.
Not too long, since he wanted to be there before midnight so it was still technically in the spirit of things––but he returned later than he had the night before, meaning prior to the start of their first session together, before Jon interrupted things.
Balidor knew he was probably being over-cautious.
He knew the Jon thing, and even the Allie thing, had made him paranoid.
Jon didn’t appear to have told anyone, though, even after what he saw that morning, but Balidor couldn’t be sure how long that would last.
He also wouldn’t put it past Jon to keep an eye on him, out of fear for his safety if nothing else. If Jon really believed Cass might murder him––either during sex or in his sleep––he might decide to conduct his own surveillance, either on his own or with Wreg’s help.
Apart from Jon, Balidor knew tonight was not a night he and Cass were likely to be disturbed, though, not by anyone on the infiltration side of the house. Most seers on the ship assigned to military or infiltration roles slept early, even on normal days.
They were on military time and had been for months, which meant they were up at 04:00 or 05:00, not usually much later, which meant correspondingly early rack times for the main shifts among the crew.
Most had been drinking at the party, which meant many crashed earlier than usual.
Jon may even have been among those. Knowing Jon’s mate, Wreg, the two of them had been drinking with the rest of the ex-Rebels for hours.
Even so, Balidor waited.
He waited even though it killed him to do it.
He waited until he was reasonably sure Jon wasn’t watching Cass’s cell, and Maygar gave him the all clear in terms of CIC-requested feeds from the tank area.
Even after he’d double-checked the Barrier space around the tank itself, Balidor still felt more than a small paranoia about who Jon might be telling, even now. After all, Jon’s drinking at the party cut both ways. Jon may have gotten drunk enough to tell his husband, Wreg, what he’d walked in on that morning. In his more paranoid moments, Balidor could also envision Jon being drunk enough to make cracks about it to Allie and Revik, or even Chandre––or Yarli, who showed up to the party late––or others in the team who might have strong emotions around what Balidor was doing down here.
Balidor managed to make excuses and duck out of the party once Yarli herself arrived. The likelihood that she’d noticed anything in his light was relatively slim. Anyway, he told himself, she had every right to spend time with their friends without him there.
It was only right that he should leave.
By then, the alcohol had been flowing for real.
They’d also switched to harder drinks, with less fruit in them.
The kids who’d attended the morning party, Lily included, had all been taken somewhere else, either for post-party naps or to play with their toys somewhere out of range of the adults and their own peculiar version of fun.
Truthfully, Balidor hadn’t minded missing that, either.
When he finally entered the organic-metal cell, his arms were full.
He additionally wore a backpack.
He’d more than half-expected her to be asleep.
He’d already considered what he might do if she was asleep––if he would wake her, or wait for her in some fashion, sleeping outside the circle with a blanket from one of the storage bins.
When he walked in, the lights didn’t rise, however.
They were already on.
She sat with her knees drawn up, her arms on her knees, her back leaning against the wall. Her posture was almost identical to what it had been the night before, but when she looked over at him, he saw less of that mask over her face.
He knew that might be his light.
He might simply be able to see past her surface shields more easily, given the light he and Cass had exchanged… but he honestly couldn’t be sure.
That black area in her heart still looked the same.
As far as he could tell, it had not altered at all.
Moreover, Cassandra’s actual facial expression didn’t look different enough for him to notice a change in her physically.
He kept his own face infiltrator-still.
He felt her eyes on him as he crossed the mirrored green floor.
He could feel her wondering what he might do. She’d obviously already tracked that he’d come in laden with… things. He could tell from her expression that she hadn’t decided how to react to that, either.
He stepped unhesitatingly over the circle painted around her on the floor.
As he did, he felt her tense.
He didn’t let himself react.
Stopping in front of her, he lowered his weight to a crouch and set the tray he held onto the floor within easy distance of her hands.
Letting go of the handles, he straightened and walked until he stood beside her at the wall. Taking the backpack off one arm, he slid to a seated position, leaning on the wall next to her.
As he settled, she turned her head, looking at him.
He kept his expression blank as that cynical smile curved her lips. Her eyebrow quirked more pointedly as she looked him over.
“Feeling a bit presumptuous, are we?” she said.
“Not at all.” He set the backpack on the floor next to his outer leg, exhaling before he crossed his ankles. He motioned towards the tray. “Aren’t you going to look?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it will melt if you don’t.”
She blinked, then went back to staring at him.
He couldn’t help smiling when she bit her lip, feeling as much as seeing the curiosity tugging at her eyes.
“Am I going to have to blow you for whatever I find in there?” she said.
He laughed. He knew she said it to jab at him, but for some reason it made him laugh anyway. Maybe because he was happy to see her.
“Not that it would be easy to turn down,” he said, still smiling. “But no.”
She snorted, blowing her black curtain of hair out of her face. “Yeah. Right.”
He laughed again, then leaned towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Ignoring her body’s stiffen, he gave her a strong hug and kissed her on the cheek.
Then he released her, retracting his arm.
He leaned against the wall, determined to keep his hands to himself.
“Go on,” he said, waving her towards the tray when she continued to stare at him. “It was a momentary lapse. I won’t molest you again… I promise.”
He saw confusion skate over her eyes at his words.
It took her another few seconds to drop it, but he felt pain rise in his belly when he saw disappointment flash briefly over her expression. Then she turned away from him, reaching gingerly for the handle of the cover on the silver tray.
She lifted it and he heard her give a low gasp.
He’d brought her an ice cream cake.
Not the same one shaped like a snow-covered mountain that they’d devoured on the deck earlier that day, but a smaller one. He had the baker make this one in the shape of a Christmas tree. In the center of the tree was a replica of the sword and sun ornament she’d hung on the Taylors’ tree as a child.
He felt her recognize it, and flinch.
Then she looked at him, eyes wide.
He saw the conflict there and fought not to smile again.
“You like it?” he said.
“What’s in the backpack?” she demanded, clenching her jaw.
“Presents. Do you want those now, too?”
She stared at him, then at the backpack. Then back at him.
“You brought me a cake. And presents.”
He nodded, once. “Yes.” He glanced at his watch, tapping it. “Just under the wire. It’s 23:46, unless this thing has stopped working.”
She stared at him, clearly stumped.
He watched her fighting to decide whether to say more. She even made a few false starts. He felt her struggling to not speak, to not let him see her reacting, but in the end, she did anyway. She wasn’t looking at him though, but at the cake.
“But you don’t want to fuck again?” she said, her voice lower.
He laughed aloud. “What in the gods would give you that idea?”
She turned, sharply, staring at him.
He saw suspicion in her eyes, the certainty that he was toying with her. He held up his hands, a seer’s version of the gesture of surrender.
“Because of what I said just now?” he said, quieter.
/> She nodded, her eyes still wary.
He sighed, clicking. “I only meant I wouldn’t grab you without permission.”
Leaning his back against the wall, he exhaled again.
“…In seer culture, the female initiates. So you’d at least have to tell me if you want me to be the aggressor. If you don’t, I’m going to assume I’m molesting you. Especially when you accuse me of trying to orchestrate quid pro quo exchanges for sex within seconds of seeing that I’ve brought you something. Not to mention you accusing me of violating Code… which I did… and in the process implying that the power imbalance between us with you as my prisoner makes what I’m doing here sketchy in the extreme.”
At the end, his voice was inexplicably amused again.
“You think this is funny?” she said, frowning.
He shook his head, once.
“No. Well. Not really.” Frowning, he added, “Truthfully, I have these concerns, too.”
“Then why are you fucking laughing at me?”
He thought about that, too.
Still thinking, he resettled his back on the wall, gazing up at the ceiling.
“I’m happy to see you, Cass,” he said finally, glancing at her. At her stunned look, he used his hand to brush her long hair out of her face. “I missed you.”
She flinched at that, too.
Then her jaw hardened more.
She didn’t move away from him, though, or remove herself from his hands.
Ignoring her stare, he caressed her hair back again, tugging at the ends.
“The red is faded,” he observed, looking at her hair rather than meeting her wary look. “I could re-dye it for you again, if you want. The tips, I mean. I could help you make it like how you had it before. Or I could bring dye for you, if you’d rather do it yourself?”
He felt surprise flicker through her again.
Before he could make up his mind whether to say more, she turned her body to face his.
Moving abruptly, she climbed into his lap, sitting astride him in seconds.
He was instantly hard.
His skin flushed in the same set of seconds, even as pain rippled his light, his hand wrapping around her hip.
“Your cake is going to melt,” he said. “It’s ice cream, Cassandra.”
“What’s in the backpack?” she demanded.
A Glint of Light Page 13
