“You don’t have the authority—”
“I do,” said a new voice from the doorway.
Rahel recognized it and dropped to her knees in terrified obeisance. “Fahla,” she whispered, keeping her gaze on the floor.
“I appreciate your caution,” Bondlancer Opah told the Guard. “But do you really think she’s a threat with one hand and no weapons? Let her use the bathroom.”
“Yes, Bondlancer.”
The Guard’s boots moved away.
After a moment of silence, Bondlancer Opah said, “No, this won’t work. Everyone out.”
Someone protested—Lead Guard Ronlin, Rahel thought—but Bondlancer Opah ordered him out in a tone that said she was on the edge of real anger.
Rahel cringed. May Fahla guide and protect me, she thought desperately, then bit back a hysterical laugh at how inappropriate that prayer now was.
The door closed. Heavy silence weighted the air.
“Get up, First Guard. I’m not your goddess.”
Cautiously, she raised her head. Bondlancer Opah was standing across the room, her dark hair loose around her shoulders and a finely woven jacket covering the wound Rahel had made in her arm. She looked tall and strong and . . . sad.
“Didn’t you need to use the bathroom?”
“Um. Yes, but . . .” She was too frightened to move.
The Bondlancer looked up at the ceiling before fixing her with a level stare. “Would it help if I gave my word that I won’t hurt you?”
She nodded, then thought about the phrasing. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Give your word.”
“Oh. Yes, I give you my word. Will you give me yours that you won’t hurt me?”
“I could never hurt you.”
The Bondlancer raised her eyebrows, then glanced pointedly at her arm.
“I mean, now. I could never hurt you now. I’m . . . I’m so sorry about what I did. I didn’t want to, I swear I didn’t.” She remembered that cry of pain and could have wept from the shame of it. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated in a whisper.
“I know. But you didn’t give your word.”
It seemed ridiculous, promising that to someone so powerful. “I give you my word that I will not hurt you. Now or ever.”
“Then we’re on level ground. Go on.” Bondlancer Opah gestured toward the bathroom doorway.
Her limbs did not want to cooperate, but she managed to force herself upright. Every step toward the Bondlancer felt like facing an upraised sword.
She gave her word, Rahel told herself. The literal word of Fahla. She won’t hurt you.
Then she stopped, realizing that she was this close yet sensed nothing.
“You’re a high empath!”
The Bondlancer gave a cool nod.
“But I could sense you. You weren’t fronting.”
“I was . . . disarrayed by your shock bomb.”
Rahel hung her head, ashamed of that as well. She had much to ask forgiveness for, and no right to ask it. Without looking up, she edged past Bondlancer Opah and shut herself in the bathroom.
She had wondered if she could even manage with that presence outside the door, but her body recognized the opportunity and took over. The relief was almost sensual. She washed her good hand and used the opportunity to wash her face and rinse her mouth as well. It took longer than she expected, yet no one came after her or even asked what she was doing.
When she emerged, Bondlancer Opah was sitting in the room’s chair. A second chair had been brought from somewhere and placed directly in line with the window in the door.
Rahel sat without being asked and ignored the sight of Lead Guard Ronlin glaring at her through the window. He was almost certainly holding a disruptor where she couldn’t see it.
“Thank you for letting me use the bathroom,” she said.
“That doesn’t say much for how you’ve been treated so far.”
She shrugged. “I deserve it.”
“What a world it would be if we all got what we deserve.” Bondlancer Opah watched her with a clear gaze, free of the terrifying power it had held one day ago. “I was told you wished to speak with me. Or with Fahla, who you seemed to think I was.”
Yes, but she had never expected to be given what she asked for. Now that the moment was here, she was having second thoughts.
“I gave you my word. Speak freely. What is so important that you would risk what you fear?”
“I, um, I had a question,” Rahel said carefully.
“Just one?”
She took a deep breath. “Why did you let me live?”
To her bewilderment, Bondlancer Opah closed her eyes and said nothing.
“I know my life is forfeit,” Rahel said into the silence. “I hurt you, and Fahla acted through you. She was executing me. And then she stopped. You stopped. Was it a warning? Because if it was, I understand now. I—” Her voice died in her throat at the sight of silent tears.
“It seems we owe each other apologies,” Bondlancer Opah said hoarsely. “I accept yours for hurting me. But I hurt you far worse. I didn’t mean to, and I . . . I am so very sorry. I’d ask your forgiveness, but it’s not forgivable, is it?”
Rahel was trying very hard to make sense of this. “You didn’t mean to? So you don’t have any control when Fahla acts through you?”
“I wish it were that easy.” She wiped her cheeks and dried her hands on her trousers. “If only I could blame it on Fahla. You threatened my bondmate. I was protecting her.”
“By killing me? I just wanted to beat her in an honor challenge.” The more they spoke, the more baffling this became.
“You wanted to kill her.”
“What? No!” Rahel remembered then that the Bondlancer was a producer. She didn’t know the ways of warriors. “No, not a ritual challenge of combat. Not what Shantu did. An honor challenge isn’t to the death. There are rules. If I could beat Lancer Tal, I could regain my own honor. I knew I’d go to prison for your brother and Colonel Micah, but I’d come out as an honorable warrior again. I wouldn’t be an outcaste.”
Bondlancer Opah was shaking her head. “But I sensed it! You were—” Horror spread across her face. “Oh, no. Fahla, no.” With a strangled sound, she lunged out of her chair and disappeared into the bathroom.
The door had hardly shut behind her when the main door opened, spilling Lead Guard Ronlin into the room. “What did you do?” he demanded.
“Nothing! You were watching; you know I didn’t touch her.”
“What did you say to her?”
She paused, then looked him in the eye and said, “That’s between us.”
His hair was a much brighter red than hers. At the moment, his face matched it. “You don’t have that right.”
“Maybe not. But she does.”
With a deep scowl, he turned to face the bathroom door and waited.
Rahel ignored him as she went over the conversation in her mind. Very little made sense, but she was now certain of one thing: Bondlancer Opah had not intended to kill her. She had not been a willing vessel for Fahla’s power.
Then the warning truly was from Fahla, and Rahel had nothing to fear as long as she heeded it.
Bondlancer Opah emerged a few ticks later, paler than when she had gone in. She took in the standoff at a glance and said, “It’s all right, Ronlin. Please leave us.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She retook her chair as he closed the door behind him. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“Anything.” Rahel straightened her spine and waited.
“Why did you attack me?”
She winced at the word attack, but it was accurate. “I needed Lancer Tal to agree to an honor challenge. The only way she would was if I had leverage.”
“What did you think would happen in that challenge?”
“Well . . . I’m an expert with the stave. She’s not. I would have disarmed her in a few moves and then knocked her unc
onscious. I would have won the challenge.”
“The way you knocked my Guards unconscious.”
She nodded.
“Then why did I sense murderous intent from you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve hated her. Shantu said—” She stopped and tried again. “My nightmares got so much worse when she let the Voloth settle here. And she killed Shantu. I had to watch the man I considered a father bleed out on the Council chamber floor—”
“Shantu? You considered him your father?”
“From the age of seventeen. He meant more to me than my real father.”
Bondlancer Opah dropped her face into her hand. “Dear goddess,” she mumbled. When she lifted her head, she seemed weary. “And you thought Andira cheated during that fight.”
“I know she didn’t do it by herself. But I didn’t know she really is Fahla’s Chosen. It makes sense now.” She was still thinking about the earlier question. If the Bondlancer was a high empath, then she was sensing more than surface emotions the previous day. She would have felt everything. “I never planned to kill Lancer Tal, I swear it. But I’ve, um . . . I’ve fantasized about it. I’m sorry. I would never do that now. I didn’t know . . .” She trailed off, mortified by the confession but driven to make amends. “I mean, maybe that’s what you felt.”
The Bondlancer stared at her in silence for an uncomfortably long time. At last she said, “I’m trying to find some good that could come out of this, but it’s just getting worse and worse. So let me say this. There were charges filed against you yesterday on my behalf, but I wasn’t . . . in a position to sign them. I’m supposed to do that today. I give you my word, right now, that I will not sign those and I will actively fight any effort to punish you for your actions yesterday.”
It was Rahel’s turn to stare. “Why? I hurt you!”
“Yes, you did. You’ll have to live with that. I hurt you, too, and I have to live with that. I think we’ll both be punishing ourselves for a long time. We don’t need someone else to do it for us.” She pushed herself out of the chair without using her right arm. “You said you had nightmares. I read your records. You fought at Whitesun.”
Rahel looked away from that stiffly held arm and tried to swallow her shame. “Yes.”
“Is that what your nightmares are from?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever seen a coun—”
“No. No high empaths.”
Bondlancer Opah sat back down. “I have a friend who is very good at helping veterans. If you’re sorry about hurting me, then perhaps you’d do me a personal favor and speak with her.”
“But she’s a high empath,” Rahel concluded.
“Yes, but she would never hurt anyone.” The Bondlancer pressed her lips together, then added, “She doesn’t have that instinct.”
This woman was Fahla’s vessel. There was nothing Rahel would not do to prove to her that she was a better warrior than her past actions indicated. But letting a high empath into her mind? It was the highest price she could possibly pay.
A good warrior knows her limits, Hasil had often told her. A great warrior uses her resources to overcome them.
She had the most powerful resource on Alsea right here in front of her.
“Would you stay with me while I talk to your friend?” she asked.
There was a startled pause. “Would you want me to?”
“You hold the power of Fahla. You could make sure that nothing happened.”
Bondlancer Opah looked as if she might choke. She cleared her throat and said, “I’ll stay with you. I don’t know when she’s available, but I think she’d rearrange her schedule for you.”
Rahel held up her splinted hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
58
REASONABLE JUDGMENT
Salomen was trying to unravel a particularly dense paragraph of legal code when Andira stalked into her office and smacked a reader card onto her desk.
“Please tell me this is a joke.” Andira rested her knuckles on either side of the reader card, looking impeccable as usual in tailored trousers and a black-and-white patterned jacket. It set off her bright blonde hair and made her light eyes stand out, and Salomen wished she could simply sit here and look at her. It would be far preferable to the argument they were about to have.
She picked up the reader card, found exactly what she expected, and set it down again. “I’ll have to disappoint you.”
“What are you doing? I need your signature to put this in motion.”
“You’re not getting it.” She pushed away from her desk and walked to the wall of glass that was the single best thing about this room. The Bondlancer’s office was one floor below the Lancer’s and offered the same view: a sweeping vista of the forested State Park, the dome of Blacksun Temple rising above the treetops, and the city skyline behind it. She rarely looked at the skyline, which gave her no pleasure. What she loved was the forest and its patches of beautifully landscaped gardens. It was a producer’s paradise tucked into the largest city on Alsea.
Andira came over to stand beside her. “Why? I don’t understand this.”
“I don’t want her to be punished. Not for yesterday.”
“She assaulted three Guards, took you hostage, shot you—”
“How many people did she try to kill?”
“That is not the point!”
“Then perhaps the point is that I did try to kill someone.” Salomen envied her, so righteous in her protective anger and so uncomprehending of how unfair this was. “Where are those charges? Or the charges for empathic assault? I assaulted seven of my Guards and one of yours. Why am I running around free while she was cuffed to the bed without even being allowed to use the bathroom?”
“Goddess above, what did she say to you?”
“She apologized.” A hollow laugh escaped. “And asked why I let her live. Why I stopped the execution. She thinks I’m channeling the power of Fahla and that her life is forfeit for hurting me. She wouldn’t even get off her knees until I promised not to hurt her.”
Salomen had almost spun around and left the room when Rahel knelt in front of her. The sheer terror rolling off the formerly confident warrior had turned her stomach.
“I know you feel guilty for what you had to do—”
“I didn’t have to do it! That’s the real joke. Do you know what she wanted? What that whole disaster was about? Honor. Hers and yours. You warriors and your shekking honor. Fahla, the worst moments in my life have been about that!” She put a hand to her stomach as the queasiness returned. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I could find some sliver of justification there, and now I don’t even have that. I broke her will, violated her mind, forced her to nearly kill herself, and the only reason she’s alive is because two other people stopped me. All she wanted was to meet you in a stave fight.”
And Rahel had been deeply ashamed. How could the same criminal who had kidnapped Herot and shot Colonel Micah be so repentant for a lesser crime? Salomen didn’t think she had ever received a more heartfelt apology.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Andira said in a quieter voice. “You acted without forethought. It wasn’t malicious empathic force.”
“I’m sure it felt malicious to her. An execution, Andira.” She glanced out at the temple. “I’m taking Lanaril to talk to her this afternoon.”
“Why in Fahla’s name would you bring Lanaril into this?”
“You said yourself that her story doesn’t make sense. A decorated, honorable warrior who just fell off the cliff. I think there’s a reason she fell off. Did you know she considered Shantu her father?”
Poor Andira; she was getting hit with one shock after another.
“No! She did?” Andira rubbed her forehead ridges and muttered, “Unbelievable.”
“And she knows you didn’t win that fight alone. I don’t know how, but she knows.”
“Family honor and professional honor in one twisted package. She really did
have reason to challenge me.” The relaxing edges of Andira’s emotions snapped back into rigidly defined lines. “But not by taking you hostage.”
“I won’t argue, but I do see her point of view. She’s a criminal. The AIF has been hunting her for six moons. How was she ever going to get you to agree to a challenge?”
Andira scowled.
“Oh, and I think her records are wrong.” Salomen was beginning to get a perverse sort of enjoyment out of this conversation. “They say her association with Shantu started when she was twenty. She said she’s considered him a father since she was seventeen.”
“Seventeen? But that’s . . .” A spark of interest brightened their connection; Andira’s agile mind was turning this over. “He must have secretly sponsored her. His own private warrior, kept hidden for her entire career. He bought her loyalty with a sponsorship, and then he was the only oath holder she ever had.”
Salomen rested a hand over Andira’s heart. “I felt that. This just softened a bit.”
“I’d still just as soon kill her as look at her.”
“I know. But you also want the truth.”
“Your heart is too soft,” Andira grumbled.
“But I’m right.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Be right?”
“Upset my perfectly reasonable judgments.”
Salomen looked past her shoulder to the temple, her brief moment of humor crushed by the words.
She had thought her judgment was reasonable yesterday. But she had confused fantasy with intent, something that would not have been possible before Andira taught her to focus her senses. Now she was strong enough to sense fantasy but not skilled enough to differentiate it from intent. She had learned just enough to be dangerous.
“That was an abrupt shift,” Andira said. “What are you thinking?”
“That I need a cup of shannel.”
Andira followed her to the corner of the office and bent to pull two cups and saucers from the cupboard.
“Do you remember when I said I didn’t want any more training?” Salomen asked as she accepted the first cup. “And you thought I was wasting my talent?”
Outcaste: Book Six in the Chronicles of Alsea Page 37
