Renegade

by Justine Davis

  She smiled at that. “I will say only to be cautious of your balance for a while yet.”

  “My balance?”

  “It is always a concern when dealing with severe nerve injuries.”

  “But not my back?”

  She waved a hand rather airily, intentionally. “No. That is healed. You should have no further difficulties with it.”

  Caze stared at her. “That simply, you wave away the pain and apprehen­sion I have lived with for over a year.”

  She wondered if he regretted no longer having those things to occupy his mind. Wondered if he had turned to what was clearly a routine of exertion to keep other things out of his mind. Such as the revelation she had made to him.

  And perhaps he might even welcome something else to think about, for a short time at least.

  “I have something I would like to ask you,” she said.

  He didn’t speak, merely lifted a brow at her. Yes, he was rapidly coming back to himself, for she could easily see him looking just like this at one of his troopers.

  “Sit,” she said.

  “Is that an order?”

  She thought she saw the faintest gleam of humor in those green depths. “Or a request. Whichever you will accede to.”

  He sat, but in the chair she had usually occupied when watching over him as he recovered. She smiled at him. “Reclaiming your dominance, Major?”

  “In what small way is left to me.”

  She liked that he admitted to it. But she liked even more that he frowned when she used his rank. She walked over to the table next to the chair and lifted herself to sit on the edge, within easy reach. She saw him note the proximity.

  “You seem certain I will not try to overpower you and escape.”

  “What I am certain of is that at this moment you know where your best interests lay. And,” she added with an even wider smile, “that were you to try, you would not succeed.”

  “Confidence,” he said, sounding almost approving.

  “I have not shown you my entire array of weapons.”

  He just looked at her for a moment. A moment that suddenly seemed fraught. With what, she was not certain. Or did not wish to think about.

  “That, I do not doubt,” he finally said. “You wished to ask me some­thing?”

  “Yes. About your . . . gift to us.”

  Given what he’d been through since, she wasn’t surprised it took him a second of thought to recall. “Jakel?”

  “Yes.”

  “We do not wish his body back, if that’s what you wished to ask.” He said it so acerbically she nearly laughed.

  “That would be difficult in any case, for he is not dead.”

  His eyes widened with obvious surprise. “He yet lives? I would have thought him long dead by now. Why?”

  “It is not our way to capriciously end a life. Nor something we undertake lightly or quickly.”

  His expression changed, and she saw a trace of something she did not care for. Pity? Superiority? Scorn? “Capriciously? After what he has done to your own? Perhaps those blood ties you treasure are not as strong as I assumed.”

  “They are stronger than you, thanks to the Coalition, can imagine.”

  “You will not survive long, if you cannot even execute your enemies.”

  For a long moment she let his words hang in the air, for the parallel to his own situation was too obvious to ignore. And she knew he realized it in the instant the words left his lips. She wondered why both Drake and Brander thought him hard to read. Perhaps it was only since he had come so near to death that he had betrayed himself so easily. Or perhaps it was only to her, because there was still that slight connection between them, although she could already feel it weakening the more strength he regained.

  Or, perhaps he had simply not yet rebuilt those particular mental walls. Whatever the reason, she now knew he still expected that end for himself. Because it was what he would do, were the situation reversed? He would execute any one of them who was classed as an enemy? Drake, whom he admired, or Brander, whose wit he enjoyed?

  Or her?

  When she spoke again, it was as if the moment had never happened.

  “Do not mistake me. We do not say he does not deserve death. And you know too well we have killed in battle, without qualm. But nor do we believe in torture, for that would lower us to Jakel’s level.”

  “Nobility does not win battles.”

  Interesting, she thought. He classed that as noble? Hardly Coalition of him. But she put that aside and went on. “Still, we find ourselves wondering if death might be too great a mercy for such as Jakel. So my question to you is, is there indeed a fate worse than death?”

  “Yes.” The reply came instantly.

  “Without hesitation or thought,” she murmured.

  His mouth twisted slightly at one corner. She found the expression . . . attractive somehow. Which was not a word she should be thinking when it came to this man. Yet she could not seem to help it. And he was the first man she had thought it about since the day her pledged mate had been blasted out of this life by the guns of the malevolent machine this man represented. She must be wary.

  “Because I have had a great deal of time to ponder exactly that,” he retorted dryly.

  She smiled again, despite her warning to herself. Even this he approached with that wry humor. They had not stamped that out of him. Perhaps they had not tried, presuming it harmless. She thought in his case, that had been a mistake.

  “Yes, I suppose you have. But would what seems the worst possible fate to you be the worst for our caged beast?”

  Now he thought. She waited silently, watching him, wondering if he was tackling this so seriously because it interested him, or because it kept his mind off of that thing he did not wish to think about. For he was acting as if she had never told him the truth of his origin.

  After a few moments of that deep thought, he shook his head. “I think the worst for Jakel would be to live in the kind of fear he inspired in others.”

  Now he’d surprised her in turn by landing exactly on her proposed solution. “I have often thought those of his ilk were driven by fear.”

  “A valid contention, I think.”

  “Have you ever been afraid, Caze?”

  A brief flicker in his steady gaze as she reverted to using his name. But he said only, “Yes. On that hillside.”

  “That Drake would order you killed?”

  “No.” For an instant his eyes went unfocused, as if he were back on that hillside in his mind. “That he would not.”

  Chapter 40

  “AND THAT ANSWER,” Lana said, “is a good marker of the immeasurable distance between Caze Paledan and the likes of Jakel.”

  He should be grateful for that much at least. She did not smear him with the same brush as the brutish enforcer. But he was too distracted by his continuing response to the way she said his name to dwell on it.

  He tried to shake it off by focusing on those moments on the hillside when he had known he was dead. The only question had been whether it would be mercifully by the Raider’s blade or a long, agonizing helpless eon lying paralyzed, perhaps until some strange beast of Ziem came along and delighted in the discovery of still-living meat.

  “At the time,” Paledan said wryly, “I was not aware there was another option than the two I saw before me.”

  She smiled, but she was looking at him rather oddly. And for an instant he thought he glimpsed an echo of his own response to her presence. As if she, like he, had never expected to find such enjoyment in their conversations. As if she, too, felt the odd spark he did whenever he looked at her. He had never spent much time analyzing if women found anything in him to admire, nor had he ever thought of any kind of future with a woman permanently in it. Such a t
hing was not in the Coalition precepts.

  But he had never before met a woman like Iolana Davorin.

  “And do you now regret that he did not?” she asked.

  “That remains to be seen,” he said, with that same dry humor. And then, to his own surprise, he retracted it. “No. I do not mean that. I do not regret it. This time of being myself again, physically . . . I cannot regret it, no matter how short it may be.”

  She simply looked at him for a moment before saying softly, “You are badly served by the Coalition, Caze. You always have been. What you could become if you could shake free of those enslaving bonds . . .”

  He understood that she was discussing this with him because in some way it told her as much about him as the object of the question. Whether for the sake of the rebels or out of her own interest he did not know, but how much he would prefer the latter rattled him into giving a rote answer.

  “It is the Coalition who does the enslaving.”

  “Is it truly?”

  “You can doubt this? Have you never seen a collared Coalition slave?”

  “And what does the Coalition’s infamous collaring do that is different from what they do to their children? Isolate them, destroy any sense of self, force them into Coalition thinking whether they wish it or not, assign them to a task that is not of their choice, make them live forever in fear of displeasing their masters . . . it sounds very much the same.”

  He stared at her. He had never thought about it in exactly that way. And yet the logic of what she’d said jabbed at him. In his time in Coalition service he had encountered many of the collared slaves, from those who did menial tasks on almost every base, to those kept on Clarion and the rowdier Alpha 2 to service visiting officers in any way required.

  And he’d heard, of course, of the most famous of them, Prince Darian of Trios.

  And look how that turned out for them. Us. For us. Now King Darian, the man had led the only rebellion to ever defeat the Coalition and drive them from his world and that of his mate.

  Drive us. Us.

  That he was more and more frequently having to correct his thinking was an annoyance. He abruptly returned to the original question. “Why did you wish to ask me about a fate worse than death?”

  “Because you know Jakel.”

  His brow furrowed. “But he is from here; surely your people know—”

  “He is not one of us. He never wished to be. He resented being here from the day he was born.”

  “Why has he not left if he hates it so much?”

  She met his gaze levelly. “I believe he thought he would have a place in the Coalition. That they would be more to his liking, more suited to his na­ture. And he was right, was he not?”

  “Frall had use for him.”

  “But you did not?”

  “Once I realized he was out of control, I did not.” He looked at her curiously yet again. “What will you do with him? I believe your daughter men­tioned a little . . . surgery with her blade?”

  She laughed again, and again he felt that odd, tingling response. But when she spoke, her tone was serious. “She feels responsible for what he did to her brother.”

  His brow furrowed. “But why? Surely she realizes she had no choice?”

  “Logic does not enter into it when you are angry with yourself for not finding another way.”

  “Another good reason to eliminate such emotions,” he couldn’t resist pointing out. “So what will you do with him?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Only as a matter of curiosity.”

  “I will do my best to deliver the punishment you suggested.”

  He drew back. What he’d said played back in his head. . . . The worst for Jakel would be to live in the kind of fear he inspired in others.

  “And how, exactly, will you manage that?”

  “I will plant the equivalent of your planium shard in his mind. To ever be there, to jab and prod and tell him he is afraid. Of everyone and everything.”

  He stared at her. “You can . . . do this?” He nearly laughed at his own words. After what she had done, what he had seen, how could he doubt she could do this? “Cancel that,” he muttered. His mind was already turning the idea over and over, analyzing. “It will mean little if he does not remember the time when he was the one who was feared.”

  He had, she thought, a very good point. After a moment, she nodded. “I will leave him that.”

  He drew in a long breath. “Then you will achieve that fate worse than death. And a most fitting one.”

  “That was my assessment.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “I think I should begin to fear my own fate, if it is left in your hands. You have such powers, I can but wonder what you would choose for me.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of her mouth. Something fierce kicked to life within him, catching him off guard—something that happened all too often around her—and he was certain it showed in his face.

  “What I envision when I think of your fate in my hands,” she said softly, “might surprise you, Caze.”

  A string of hot, erotic images suddenly flashed through his mind, as if some long-locked door in his brain had burst open. They stunned him with their force, for he thought he had walled off such things completely. The Coalition had slaves aplenty, from any world an officer had a thirst for, but he had given up that pursuit long ago.

  Many found the ability to program the slaves to do exactly their bidding, to fulfill any and every desire, and to make them believe it was their desire as well, no matter how degrading or brutal or unnatural to them, arousing. He had stopped availing himself of that privilege long ago, after the second time, when the collar had malfunctioned and he’d seen the real fear in the mind of the slave even as she serviced him. It had destroyed completely the illusion that had already been questionable in his mind.

  He fought the wave of images, but when he at last succeeded in beating back the unexpected flood, she was gone. And he was left with a single ques­tion at the forefront of his mind. Could she do such a thing as the collars did? Forcibly plant such desire in him? Had she been doing so? Was that the explanation for his obsession—for he had come to admit that is what it was—with her?

  But it could not be, for he had been captured by her portrait long before he’d encountered the still-living woman herself. And no matter how suspicious his training made him, he could not quite bring himself to believe she would do so. Logic argued it would be a fine tool to use against him, but something else within him, something he had no name for, was insisting she would not do it. For she believed in that Ziemite mandate about the sovereignty of each individual. Only in just punishment would that be waived.

  And the illogic of confidence in her care for him—for was he not Coalition, their sworn and mortal enemy?—nearly swamped him. And for once the power of logic, which he placed above all else, was no match for this strange certainty rising within him. A certainty he had no name, no explana­tion for.

  Except, perhaps insanity.

  Chapter 41

  IOLANA SENSED A difference in the atmosphere in the cavern the mo­ment she entered. She saw Kade standing to one side, his gaze fastened on her son. She walked over to him.

  “They are discussing a raid,” Kade said without looking at her. “This time of idleness may be ending.”

  The boy said it eagerly, clearly weary of the lack of action. Curious, she asked him, “Why do you think it has been so long?”

  Kade did glance at her then.

  “We are safe here. The Coalition searches, but cannot find us.” His mouth quirked. “And I think he wished to spend as much time with Kye as possible. And give Brander more time with Eirlys.”

  She smiled at the boy who was rapidly beco
ming a young man. “And do you approve?”

  He shrugged. “It is the way of things, isn’t it? When people are in love, they wish to spend all their time together. That is what my mother used to say.”

  For a moment she studied the young man, knowing his pain upon the brutal death of his mother at the hands of Jakel was still raw.

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  A few minutes later, she hastened over as the Sentinels scattered and Drake headed for his quarters. When he saw her, he paused and gestured her into the room that served as his planning room. Then he turned to face her. “You have spoken with the major of Jakel?”

  “I have. He had a very valid . . . suggestion.”

  Drake lifted a brow at her. When she explained, his other brow shot up to meet the first. She could see him turning it over in his mind. “I think,” he said slowly, “that were it me in Jakel’s place, I would not wish that man to decide my fate.”

  “I think that were you his prisoner, your fate would be quite different.”

  “Why?”

  “In part, for the same reason he is not yet dead by your hand.”

  “Which part?” Drake asked, his mouth quirking.

  “Mutual admiration.”

  “I cannot deny I would rather he was at my side than against me.”

  “He has said as much of you.” She sensed someone approaching from behind her. Kye, judging by the look that came into Drake’s eyes.

  “Pryl and Eirlys have gone to check the emplacement locations,” she said, with a nod at Iolana.

  Drake nodded at his mate, then he looked back at Iolana, who had to suppress a shiver at the thought of her daughter undertaking yet another dan­gerous mission.

  “You can do with Jakel what he suggested?” Drake asked.

  “I believe so. Is that the decision?”

  He nodded. “He deserves the worst we can give him. But I must ask . . . what will it cost you to do this?”

  She was beyond moved that despite everything, he both cared enough and thought to ask.

  “I will not deny it goes against my nature. But I have not forgotten your condition when Kye brought you out of that beast’s lair. Or how he forced you to give yourself up to him, to save Eirlys. And I see everyday the pain in young Kade’s eyes, knowing what Jakel did to his mother. And I have, glow­ing as if in fire in my mind, a list of those of my people he has slaughtered. What I will feel will be brief, and easily forgotten.”