Tal nodded as she sat back. “Do you think I could forget it?”
“You told me about your parents, and that you avenged them, and it frightened me. I saw you as a creature of violence, and for a while I thought I’d made a big mistake bringing you under my roof.”
“I know.” Tal felt a pang at the memory of Salomen calling her a “terrible enemy.” But it was true; that was part of her nature. She would not bear the title of Lancer without it. She could not have saved Alsea without it.
“And you said you were also a good friend and ally. I didn’t understand then how those different identities could exist in harmony. And though I’ve never seen the warrior part of you in true violence, I have seen the other side of it now. I saw it when you saved my life.” She picked up one of Tal’s hands and examined it, running her fingers over the palm as she spoke. “You’ve said that was pure instinct, as if you deserve no credit for it because you didn’t think about it in advance. But I know you would have done the same thing for my father or Nikin or Jaros. Colonel Micah, too. He may be your Guard, but I think you guard him just as much as the other way around.”
“Don’t tell Micah,” said Tal, trying to lighten the mood.
“I won’t.” Salomen gave her a knowing look. “Sorry to be embarrassing you, but I need to say this. It may have been instinct to pull me off that window seat, but you made a deliberate decision to roll us over. You chose to burn so I wouldn’t. You cannot dismiss that as some sort of warrior-trained reaction, Andira. It’s simply who you are. And that’s what I mean when I say that night gave me a gift of understanding. I have never in my life felt so loved and so protected. I once feared you as someone with blood on her hands, but now…” She reached out for Tal’s other hand. “…these make me feel safer than I ever thought possible.”
Tal squeezed her hands. “Thank you. That means everything to me.”
“I know. I’m sorry I ever hurt you by saying otherwise.”
“It’s all right. That was before. This is now, and I just want to savor the fact that you’re here.”
“In your bed?”
“In my life.” She pulled their hands out to the sides and pressed her body forward, nudging Salomen onto her back. A moment later she remembered and rolled them over.
Salomen pushed up onto her forearms, her hair falling over one shoulder. “I hope I can make you feel that safe.”
“You already did, last night.”
“Then why am I suddenly on top?”
“Because I’ve realized that I very much enjoy this view,” Tal said, her gaze traveling lower. She was treated to an even lovelier view when Salomen chuckled.
“I had no idea you were so single-minded.” Salomen leaned down for a leisurely kiss, but came back up with a more serious expression. “You need to speak with someone.”
“I know. I’m sorry—”
The gentle finger on her lips stopped her.
“No apologies. This is a battle wound, like the wounds you bore on your back. Would you apologize for those?”
Tal stared up at her. She hadn’t thought of it that way. She wasn’t sure she could think of it that way with anyone other than Salomen.
“I’ll talk to Lanaril,” she said. “She’s been counseling battle veterans; I’m certain she’s seen this before.”
Salomen nodded. “She’s good for you. I’m glad you can speak with a friend.” She began a slow exploration of Tal’s jaw and throat, coming up now and again to tug a sensitive earlobe.
Tal hummed happily. She could hardly believe this discussion had been so short and easy, but it was clear in Salomen’s emotions—the topic was dismissed for now. “I love our bond,” she murmured.
Salomen made a noise of agreement, then kissed the hollow of her throat.
“I hate the way you were forced into it,” Tal continued, “but I cannot be sorry for what we have now.”
Salomen lifted her head. “I wasn’t forced.”
“What?”
“I Shared willingly, Andira. I was ready.”
“But…you were terrified of it just the night before.”
“I was terrified of it that night, too.” Salomen smiled at her confusion. “I was getting closer to it every day. Every hantick, actually. I loved you, I knew you loved me and you were ready…everything I wanted was there, except one thing. And I kept telling myself that it wasn’t important; I’d have it eventually. But apparently I wasn’t convincing myself.”
“What thing?”
“Knowing that you saw me as an equal.”
“Salomen—”
“Don’t tell me you already did, because I know better. In some ways you still don’t see it even now, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I know you’ll get there. It’s just going to take a while for you to overcome a lifetime of training to be the Lancer.”
A prick of familiarity flitted through Tal’s mind—she’d used almost the same words in her prayer to Fahla at Whitemoon. It seemed Salomen knew her as well as she knew herself.
“What changed your mind?” she asked.
Salomen brushed Tal’s hair back from her forehead, then began running her fingers through it in a soothing motion. “You said you needed me. You were burning; I don’t even know how you could be coherent. But you looked at me and said you needed my strength to find the assassin.”
“You’re not going to tell me you wouldn’t have Shared if I hadn’t said that. I know that’s not true.”
“Of course not. A herd of winden couldn’t have kept me from giving you everything I had no matter what you said. What I’m trying to tell you is that in that moment I was no longer afraid of it. I was afraid of everything else, but not that.”
Tal remembered all too well the look of terror in her eyes. “I’m guessing you’ve figured this out after the fact.”
“I did a lot of thinking while you were asleep in the healing center.”
“Then how can you say you Shared based on that, when you didn’t even understand it until afterward?”
“Do you understand everything you do when you do it?”
“No,” Tal admitted after a pause.
Salomen smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Your honesty. You gave that to me from the very first day. It’s one of the things I love about you. So tell me this, tyrina: How would you feel if you had never been able to do anything for me? If you hadn’t been able to train me or help with Herot or teach those bullies a lesson? How would it feel to know that I never needed or wanted your help?”
“I’d feel like I had very little to offer. I’d probably be looking for a chance to prove myself to you.”
“Precisely.”
“Salomen…” The thought was painful. “You never had anything to prove to me. I cannot even recall how many times I watched you and thought to myself how proud I was of you. Fahla, I admired you even when I was arguing with you at our delegate meetings. Did I never show you that?”
“You did. Well, not at the delegate meetings.” Salomen ran her fingers along Tal’s cheekbone ridge. “But admiration and pride do not add up to equality. It meant everything to me that I could be there for you when you needed me. It still does.”
Tal turned her head into the caress and remembered thanking her for being what she needed after the flashback. That’s all I ever want to be, Salomen had said. It had seemed out of character for someone so independent, but now it made sense.
She wrapped her up and held her close. “My tyrina,” she whispered. “I hope I never need you that way again. But I’ll always need you. You’re a part of me now.”
Salomen made no answer save to squeeze her more tightly.
CHAPTER 14:
Herot’s message
With a hantick left bef
ore the first meeting, Tal and Salomen finally dragged themselves out of bed, showered, and sat down to enjoy the breakfast Tal had ordered earlier.
“I could get used to this,” Salomen said as she broke open a steaming biscuit. “You make a call, the food magically appears, and when we’re done the dishes magically disappear, yes?”
“Rank does have its privileges. I have enough memories of kitchen duty to never take this for granted.”
“The idea of you peeling panfruits all day just doesn’t go with my image of you as the glamorous warrior.”
“That’s because warriors peeling panfruits don’t make it into those stories,” Tal said, indicating her book on the clothing organizer. “Or nights guarding a warehouse in the rain, or sleeping while sitting on a cold boulder to train your body to ignore its environment.”
“The part about the boulder gets in there,” Salomen said. “Mmm. Whoever makes these biscuits knows their business.”
“So physical privation is glamorous?”
“Of course. Because it’s all part of training yourself to be a ranking warrior. Now, producers working all day in the rain or rubbing salve into their screaming muscles because they spent a day forking horten into a transport, and then going out to do the exact same thing for another day—none of that is glamorous physical privation. It’s just hard work. So we don’t get our own stories.”
“You are a snob, did you know that?”
Salomen popped another piece of biscuit into her mouth and smiled. “To be a snob, I’d have to be convinced that my caste is better than the others.”
Tal raised an eyebrow as she lifted a cup of shannel to her lips.
“I’m not convinced of that. But I know my caste is just as good as the others, and that’s a perception I find in rather short supply among some castes. Particularly scholar. Now there you can find some true snobs.”
“My mother was scholar caste, thank you very much.”
“So is Darzen.”
“Ouch. You really do have a warrior’s heart. You have an unerring instinct for where to land a blow.”
“That wasn’t meant to be a blow. Just a point.”
Nodding her acceptance, Tal reached for her own biscuit and was sprinkling grainstem powder on it when Salomen asked, “What was your mother like? You’ve never spoken much about her.”
Tal took a thoughtful bite. How could she describe her mother in a few words?
“She was driven by a thirst for knowledge. Mother loved to learn new things; she collected information like other people collect souvenirs or memorabilia. I’ve never known anyone so informed in my life. I could go to her for anything at all, and she always knew the answer. And it was always right. But more than that, she had an understanding of life, a wisdom that I always thought was just part of being a mother. It wasn’t until I was grown that I realized her wisdom wasn’t the norm for adults or parents. It was unique to her.”
“What a wonderful resource. It must have been very hard to lose that.”
“It was. But oddly enough, I found it again in the strangest place.” Tal watched Salomen’s expression change as her meaning sank in.
“She sounds remarkable,” Salomen said, valiantly ignoring her rosy cheeks. “I wish I could have met her.”
“She would have loved you.” Tal knew that without a doubt. “You would have kept her challenged forever. Once she knew all about something or someone, she tended to lose interest. The challenge was gone. Simple people bored her, but she enjoyed people with depth and complexity.”
“You carry some of that tendency. I’ve seen the way you absorbed the workings of Hol-Opah; you soaked up every detail. And you certainly love a challenge in any form.”
Tal nodded. “True, though I can’t say that came entirely from Mother. Father loved a good challenge, too.”
“Why were you so much closer to your father than your mother?”
“I was close to both of them. But Mother was a little more unreachable for me, I think. And I don’t mean that in any negative way; it’s just that she was a parent first and a friend second. But Father was more of a friend first. He was my playmate. And Mother could get lost inside her head. She taught me a great deal, but I don’t think she understood that for me, especially when I was young, learning something just for the sake of knowledge wasn’t all that important. I wanted things to mean something. When Father taught me, it was because the knowledge was practical, or he felt I needed to know it, or because it was just fun.” She smiled. “We had a lot of fun together.”
“Doing what?”
“It seems like we were always playing when I was a girl. Looking back, I see that he was teaching me even then, but at the time it just felt like a game. We played Hunter and Prey, and I became very good at closing myself down so he couldn’t find me empathically. I remember being devastated the first time he opened the door of the closet I was hiding in, only a few pipticks after the game started. I was so certain he would never find me, and when I asked how he had, he told me he could feel me. Then he told me what I could do to keep that from happening, and I sweated for a couple of moons practicing the technique with him. I’ll never forget the day he found me by accident instead of by my emotions. He was so proud of me.”
“Goddess, I’m envious.”
“I’m sorry, tyrina. I wish you’d had the same kind of childhood.”
“Well, I’m only envious about that.” Salomen plucked a second biscuit from the bowl. “Other than hiding my powers, I had a wonderful childhood. And I was allowed to keep my parents for longer than you. If I could change anything about your life, it would be that.”
Tal suddenly found it difficult to swallow and had to chase her panfruit down with some shannel. “Thank you. I know you would.”
Salomen reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I think your parents would be enormously proud of you right now. You’ve brought so much honor to their names.”
“Fahla knows I’ve tried. I had to make their sacrifice mean something.”
“You’ve done more than try. You succeeded in a very big way.” She tilted her head. “May I ask you something that might be sensitive?”
“Of course.”
“Are you Lancer because you want to be or because you owed it to your parents?”
“Micah asked me that a long time ago. The answer is both, but mostly the first. I’ve wanted to be Lancer all my life. Now if you asked whether that was truly my dream or whether my parents instilled it in me, I’d have no response. I’ll never know that. Nor do I need to.”
Salomen squeezed her hand before releasing it and picking up her shannel cup. “I’m glad. And now I have another question.”
“Clearly I didn’t tire you out enough last night.” Great Mother, but she loved the way Salomen’s eyes crinkled when she smiled.
“How odd. I seem to recall that you were the one pleading for rest.” The cup clinked back to its saucer. “Who can I petition for inclusion into your family?”
Tal sat back in her chair. “No one, really. My father was the youngest child; his parents and both of his siblings preceded him to his Return. One of my maternal grandmothers died when I was still a baby. And we lost Grandmother Neltowin just after my Rite of Ascension. She was a sharp blade right up to the end—I wish you could have met her. The only living elder relative I have is my Aunt Sima, but she and Mother weren’t close, and I never really knew her. The last time I saw her was at my parents’ funeral pyre. I wouldn’t give her the power of granting you inclusion; she’s not truly my family.”
“You really were alone,” Salomen said. “I didn’t realize that you didn’t even have family.”
The self-castigation felt acrid to Tal’s senses, especially after the ease they had just been enjoying. “I do now. And how could you have known when I never to
ld you?”
“I could have asked earlier.”
“I could have asked you a thousand things earlier. You’re a producer—your life is entwined with your land, and I don’t even know what your favorite flower is. Or tree. Or where you go on Hol-Opah when you have time to walk just for the enjoyment of it.”
The acrid sense faded as Salomen’s smile reappeared. “Windstars. I love windstars. They’re so small and brave, blooming when nothing else will because it’s still too early and the winter winds are still too harsh.”
Of course she would love a flower that was both beautiful and tough. Tal rested her chin on her hand. “And the tree?”
“Cinnoralis.”
“Because of the scent?”
Salomen nodded. “Sometimes, when there’s no one around, I’ll pick a leaf and crush it just to fill my nostrils with that scent. And sometimes I find those crushed leaves in my pockets even after my clothes have been washed.”
For some reason, this tiny domestic detail made Tal love her even more. She saw it in Salomen’s eyes a heartbeat before it hit her senses, a reflection of emotion met and matched that made her breath catch. Her voice was husky as she said, “Your special place…”
Salomen leaned forward. “On your runs, did you find the place near the southeast corner where the Silverrun drops half a body length?”
Indeed she had. It had been a small waterfall when Tal first found it, which swelled to an impressive torrent once the rains had begun. “It’s a beautiful spot. There’s a big boulder on your side of the river with a perfect saddle on top—”
“Yes, exactly. That’s it. Did you sit on top?”
“Only once. I don’t… It’s not very relaxing to do things like that with five Guards waiting for me.”
In the silence, Salomen ran her fingers over Tal’s wrist. “Tell me where your favorite places were when you were a child and there were no Guards.”
They traded childhood stories over the rest of the meal, and Tal nearly choked on her last bite of panfruit at Salomen’s tale of climbing into the composting bin as a little child, then crawling onto her parents’ bed for a nap afterward. Her parents had not been pleased at the disgusting mess she had made of their sheets.
Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3) Page 13
