Tal signed off and held up a finger. “I know. Just one more.” Hurriedly, she punched in Aldirk’s code.
Her Chief Counselor informed her that the correct vid would be aired on the news broadcasts. “Even though I somehow did not receive notification until it was very nearly too late,” he said.
Tal had to smile. No matter what else was going on in the world, Aldirk would always be Aldirk. “I sent word the moment I could. We hadn’t even wrapped up the mission.”
He nodded, mollified. “Then I presume our delightful Herot Opah has rejoined your company. I’m glad for Raiz Opah.”
Tal raised an eyebrow. “Do I detect a favorable opinion of my bondmate?”
“Why would this surprise you?”
“Because she’s neither warrior nor scholar.”
Aldirk sniffed. “Not all of us can choose our caste. For a producer, she seems quite accomplished.”
A snort came from behind her. “Indeed she is. Aldirk, I need you to clear my calendar tomorrow. I’m going to be in Redmoon.”
He looked briefly horrified before schooling his features into his usual calm expression. “That’s not possible. I’ve already—”
“Do it,” she said. “Colonel Micah is seriously injured. I’m staying here.”
To her surprise, Aldirk seemed saddened by the news, asking no more questions and promising a new schedule by mornmeal. Two ticks later, Tal turned off the vidcom and tensed for the next encounter.
“Salomen, I know you’re angry, but—”
“I’m not angry at you.” Salomen stepped over and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Parser, Herot, the woman who hurt Colonel Micah, yes. But not you.”
“Thank the Goddess.” The relief loosened her spine, and she rested her head against Salomen’s waist.
“Come on, tyrina. We’re supposed to be napping, and it won’t happen here.” Salomen pulled her up and led her across the cabin, where they settled on the wide reclining seats.
Now that she had taken care of the most urgent tasks, the drive that had kept Tal going sputtered to a halt. Still holding Salomen’s hand, she turned in the seat to face her and thought that might be the last physical effort she could manage today.
“If Micah lives, it will be because of you,” she said. “I know for a fact I couldn’t have held him long enough.”
“I was just glad I could finally do something to help.”
“What you did took immense courage. The first time I did that, it scared me halfway to my own Return. And I had much more time to get used to the idea.”
“It wasn’t courage,” Salomen said. “It was fear. Of you losing Colonel Micah, and me knowing I hadn’t done anything to stop it. Besides, I knew you were there. That got me through the dark part.”
Tal shivered as she remembered just how deep that darkness had been. “I’ve never chased someone so far down the path of their Return. For a moment before I broke out, I thought he was already gone.”
“Andira…” Salomen looked down at their clasped hands, then met her eyes. “Why do you think he’s so ready to Return?”
Tal’s throat closed, preventing an answer. She took a shuddering breath, forcing it back open, and said, “Because this is what he wanted most. This is redemption. Not the kind I wanted or even imagined, but it’s redemption for him. He’ll have died on duty, with a disruptor in his hand, in the act of protecting me and my interests. There is no better death.”
“But wouldn’t he want to live now that he’s proved himself? You said he saved himself and five other Guards. Isn’t that a better redemption than Returning?”
“I don’t know. He may not realize exactly what he did. We don’t know what happened down there.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she angrily swiped it away. She had no time for this. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“Shh.” Salomen’s knuckle brushed her face, catching a second tear. “Every one of these is an honor to him.”
“Then he’s about to drown in honor,” Tal managed before dropping her face in her hands. She could have controlled herself in front of anyone else, but Salomen’s gentle understanding undid her. Her breath came in short gasps, her throat burned, and her head felt two sizes too large.
“He cannot Return, Salomen! It’s not right; I can’t lose him. What am I supposed to do? He’s all I have left.” She realized what she had just said and raised her head, trying to ignore the tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” Salomen was soothing her with both touch and emotion, and Tal closed her eyes in gratitude. “Stop apologizing, tyrina. You’re right, there is no one else in your life like Colonel Micah. If he Returns, you will have lost family.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Tal whispered. “And for being here.”
With a soft exhale, Salomen wrapped her in a warmron. “This is a dokshin trade, isn’t it? You gave me back my brother, and now it’s Colonel Micah in danger. I’m the one who’s sorry, believe me.”
Tal thought that if she could choose, there would be no trade at all. Micah was worth twenty Herots.
“I had planned to be here for your reunion,” she said, wanting to change the subject.
“Such as it was. I told him that if he weren’t already so bruised, I would have slapped him right across the face.”
“You really said that?”
“I would have done it. I’ve spent all day watching you and Colonel Micah and twenty others giving everything they had to pull his backside out of the fire. He has no idea, no idea what has been done for him. And there are five Alseans lying dead in that house because of him. I felt you kill one of them, and I know what that did to you. And then I saw Colonel Micah. I’m so angry with Herot that I can’t even look at him.”
Tal couldn’t help the snort of laughter, then a second one at Salomen’s confusion. “I know, you think my boat is sinking. It’s just that I spent the whole hike into that house imagining how happy you would be when I brought him back. And you wanted to slap him? I couldn’t have gotten it more wrong if I’d tried.” She laughed again, a great, gulping sort of laughter that turned into tears as she shook her head, embarrassed to be so out of control. She knew it was just her body releasing tension; right now laughter and tears served the same purpose. That didn’t make it any easier.
“I wish I could feel that happy,” Salomen said. “Before, all I wanted was to get him back safely. And now that he’s back I seem to have skipped right past the relieved stage and straight into anger. I’m furious with him.”
Salomen’s emotion helped Tal get control of hers. Wiping her wet cheeks, she said, “Not that I ever want to defend him, because I’d like to knock him out the transport door myself. But Parser said Jaros was his original target. It would have happened anyway. This much of it is not Herot’s fault.” Even as she spoke, she realized the truth of it. Herot carried a great deal of blame, but he could not be blamed for Micah.
“But Parser couldn’t have used Jaros for anything other than a hostage. He couldn’t have threatened you with political annihilation the way he did with Herot. And that is Herot’s fault.” Salomen sighed. “I don’t know what to think anymore. And Herot is a changed man. I’ve never felt him so…subdued. He doesn’t have that edge of arrogance and entitlement that drove me so insane.”
“Herot had no idea what was in the world beyond the borders of Hol-Opah and Granelle. He got hit with a large dose of reality and found out how small he really is. That usually does change a person. And…” Tal hesitated.
“And what?”
“You should probably know this anyway. That warrior you felt me kill? Herot saw it. All of it. And he saw two other dead bodies on the way out. So I think he’s learned more about the world than even I could have wished. He looked terrified when I killed the guard in h
is room.”
“Good. Then maybe he’ll think twice before talking big in a tavern about how easy it would be to kill you.”
Tal stared.
“What? You thought I’d be horrified that my innocent brother saw death? A nineday ago, I would have. But everything has changed since then. Herot lost the right to innocence the moment he told Cullom Bilsner which window to shoot at.” Her voice caught as she added, “But he did not have the right to take away my innocence at the same time.”
With an aching heart, Tal enfolded her in a warmron. “No, he didn’t.”
Salomen tucked her head under Tal’s chin. “I’ve learned more about the world than I wanted to as well.”
Tal wished she could blame all of it on Herot, but she could still hear Salomen in that field, furiously informing her that she had dreamed of a producer tyree, not a warrior. And today had been one long lesson in the difficulties of being Tal’s bondmate. What had she given up for this bond? An emotional privacy she no longer cared about? Salomen was the one making all the sacrifices.
“Stop feeling guilty, for Fahla’s sake.” Salomen lifted her head. “What I lost to Herot, he took. What I’ve lost to you, I gave. There is an ocean of difference between the two.”
A tiny smile tugged at Tal’s lips. “We need to get you assessed. You might be the first Alsean telepath.”
“It doesn’t take a telepath to know what you’re thinking. You take on too much, Andira. Leave some responsibility for the rest of us.”
“A fitting speech from the woman who would rather have been reported than give up responsibility for her family and holding.”
“Not the same thing.”
“You walked the path of the Return with me, too.”
“Because it—”
“…had to be done,” Tal finished with her. “Exactly. And that’s why you’ll be such a good Bondlancer.”
Salomen made a noncommittal hum. “I do wish you had given me the manual earlier.” After a pause, she added, “I was just remembering how afraid I was when I first understood what was happening between us. But the truth is, you’re the one who should have been afraid. My family has caused you so much pain. And now there’s Colonel Micah.”
Tal had only just boxed that up; she was not about to reopen it. “Your family didn’t cause this. And you had every reason for your fear.”
“It doesn’t really go away, does it? It just changes to a different form.”
“As long as we have something to lose, we’ll always have fear.” For the first time, she wondered if the common interpretation of the Truth and the Path—of warriors not giving their hearts—was meant to make them impervious to fear. If that was the case, whoever came up with that was a dangerous fool.
“I have so much more to lose now,” Salomen murmured, her eyes closing as she rested her head against the seat.
Her weariness seemed to exacerbate Tal’s own, and she could barely lift her heavy arm far enough to press the seat controls. As the chairs reclined to a horizontal position, she said, “So do I. But I would fight to my last breath to keep from losing you.”
Salomen snuggled in sleepily. “I know. That’s why I feel so safe with you.”
Tal nuzzled the top of her head, reveling in the clean scent of her hair. A faint spiciness still clung, not any lingering perfume but the unique scent of Salomen herself.
A warrior with a whole heart is a better servant to Alsea, Micah had said.
She smiled into Salomen’s hair, letting the wave of drowsiness wash over her. The last thing she thought was that Micah was right. As usual.
CHAPTER 39:
Prisoner waking
Vellmar looked at her wristcom one more time and gave up. She had been in the notification area for almost a hantick now, and the assistant healer kept telling them the same thing over and over: “We cannot know anything until the surgery is complete.” Which was a lie; of course they could know by now whether Colonel Micah was likely to survive or not. Healers were alike the world over—they all seemed to feel that false hope was better than none.
“I’m going back to the transport,” she told Senshalon. “At least the seats there are more comfortable.”
“True words,” he said. “These were made for pre-Rite children.”
She hid a smile as she rose. The chairs weren’t that small, but Senshalon was a big man. “Join me if you want.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather be here.”
She understood. Every Guard not on watch was crowded into the notification area, waiting for the first whisper of news. They were being given a wide berth by the locals, who continually cast sidelong glances as if they were watching some sort of exotic species. Vellmar thought they should have charged a viewing fee.
Turning away from the “Main Arch” sign, which pointed toward the public entrance, she walked down the curving corridor toward the back of the huge dome. A “Landing Arch” sign marked a smaller side corridor, which opened onto the healing center’s brightly lit landing pad. Their transport took up almost all of it. She expected they would be asked to move it by sunrise.
Before the Guards at the bottom of the ramp could ask, she shook her head. “No news,” she said, moving between them.
“That’s probably good,” one of them said behind her.
The transport felt like home after the crowded, pungent confines of the notification area. Healing centers always smelled like narnell root, the plant extract used for sterilization. She had hated that smell since childhood.
“Vellmar! Any news?” Corlander asked from the back.
“No, they won’t tell us anything. We did learn that Gehrain has a mild concussion, which was no surprise. He’s under observation now and complaining to anyone who will listen. And Herot is getting his ankle properly wrapped. His torso looks like someone held a village dance on top of him.” She took a bag of shannel from the storage unit and squeezed it to activate the heating reaction. When the indicator strip turned from yellow to red, she pulled off the top and sucked on the mouthpiece. “Aggh,” she spluttered. “I forgot how much I hate bagged shannel.”
“It’s probably still better than that recycled piss in the healing center,” said Windenal.
“I didn’t try it, but if it’s the same here as it is in Whitesun, then yes. They must import it straight from the fanten farms.” She walked to the back of the transport and leaned against the nearest seat. Still sucking on her shannel—which at least was hot and energizing—she eyed the prisoners. “They’ve been out a while.”
“This one twitched just before you walked in.” Corlander reached across the aisle and poked the male prisoner. “I think he may be coming around.”
“Did you tell the Lancer?”
They exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“What?” she asked.
“Well…” Corlander began.
“She’s in her cabin with Raiz Opah,” said Windenal.
“So? Did she ask not to be disturbed?”
“No…she told us to come in even if she didn’t answer a knock.”
The man groaned and shifted his head.
Vellmar looked from him to her Guards. “And the reason you’re sitting on your hands instead of obeying her order is…?”
They looked like pre-Rite children caught with their pants down, and she rolled her eyes. “Are you afraid of seeing something that might burn your retinas?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Fahla on a funstick, what a pair of grainbirds. I thought you were sworn warriors.” They all looked at the prisoner, who moaned again. “I’ll tell her,” she said. “But the next time you piss around instead of obeying her order, or mine, I will roll over you like a boulder. Clear?”
They were still a little too relieved, but she h
ad gotten her point across. Half a tick later she rapped sharply on the private cabin door. “Lancer Tal?”
No response. She tried again, counted to five, and touched the palm pad. The door slid open silently, revealing a spacious room with large windows. In front of her stood an empty conference table surrounded by six chairs that locked into place, and the forward bulkhead was dominated by a large vidcom unit above a rather ingenious pull-down desk and another locking chair.
She stepped in and turned, taking in the waist-high preparation cabinet right by the door, with its plates and glasses in polished wooden racks. Next to it was a sink and a food storage unit, and the aft bulkhead was solid drawers and cupboards. Four wide, very comfortable-looking seats sat in two facing rows by the windows. Two of those seats were reclined into a horizontal position, forming a bed.
Lancer Tal, now in her regular uniform, was lying on her back. Raiz Opah was wrapped around her, an arm and leg draped over her bondmate’s body in a casually possessive position while her head rested on her shoulder. It was more intimate than anything those two grainbirds outside had been afraid of, and Vellmar was suddenly glad that she was the one standing here.
She crossed the cabin and knelt next to the Lancer, whose breathing indicated a deep level of sleep. “Lancer Tal,” she said in a low voice.
The breathing didn’t change. She put a hand on her shoulder and jumped as her wrist was caught and held in a tight grip.
Alert blue eyes bored into hers. “What is it?”
“One of the prisoners is waking.”
Lancer Tal nodded as she released Vellmar’s wrist and rubbed her eyes. “No news about Micah?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“How long has it been?”
“About eighty ticks.”
“Too early anyway.” She stroked Opah’s hair away from her face. “Salomen. I need to get up.”
“Hmm?” Opah tightened her grip and snuggled in deeper.
Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3) Page 29
