Shifting Isles Box Set

by G. R. Lyons

  With that, Zevic turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Graeden glaring after him, his hands in fists and his chest heaving.

  * * *

  WHEN GRAEDEN got home that night, he dropped his bag on the floor and sank into a chair, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. A few seconds later, he felt a pair of hands rest lightly on his shoulders for a moment before working at the muscles there.

  “Gods, you're a wonder,” he whispered, looking up at Zhadeyn, standing behind him. “How did you know I needed this?”

  She frowned, puzzled. “Because you asked for it.”

  “I did?”

  Zhadeyn nodded. “I heard it in your thoughts.”

  Graeden reached up and grabbed her hand, sitting up straight while he pulled her around in front of him. She flinched and started to pull away, then went very still, looking down at the floor.

  “You're not in trouble,” he whispered.

  She took a deep breath and murmured, “You were so angry today.”

  “Oh, Deyn, I'm sorry. Here. Come here.”

  He drew her down onto his lap, putting his arms around her and holding her head against his shoulder.

  “I'm not angry now, am I?” he asked, and Zhadeyn shook her head. “You know why? Because your presence soothes me. I can't explain it. It's the most uncanny thing. Something about just being around you…” He shrugged. “It makes no sense, but there you have it.”

  He brushed her hair aside, leaning in to kiss her throat, but stopped at the sight of the cuts below her shoulder. Holding his breath, he cupped his hand over the wound to hide it, and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “I hate this,” he whispered. “Are you keeping it clean? I don't want it to get infected.”

  She nodded against him.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  She hesitated, then rested her hand lightly over his and said, “Not as much as it hurt you to do it.”

  Graeden leaned back and looked up at her as she glanced away.

  “You saw more, didn't you?”

  She nodded, biting her lip. “You were projecting again. And you have nightmares.” She paused, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “I know what it cost you to do this to me,” she murmured. “I–”

  She looked away, pressing her lips together.

  “Tell me,” he said, and she shook her head. “Please?”

  She looked at him shyly, as though afraid she might get into trouble, then looked down at her hands as she said, “I never imagined it could be like this. Everything I was taught to expect– And now it's all so different. I don't know how to please you.”

  “I don't know how to please you, either,” he said, “but we'll learn in time.”

  Zhadeyn shook her head rapidly, her eyes wide. “You don't need to please me–”

  “Alright, that, right there,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “No more of that. Equals, remember? I won't have you thinking of yourself as lesser than me.” She frowned, looking thoroughly confused, so Graeden sighed. “I'm sorry. I know, it's so different from what you were taught, isn't it?” She nodded, and he tilted her chin up until she looked at him. “Alright, I'm going to try to keep an open mind about your ways if you promise to do the same about mine. Does that work?”

  Zhadeyn nodded.

  “And never be afraid to ask me anything,” he went on. “If you're confused, or scared, tell me, and we'll find a way to work it out, alright?”

  She nodded again, but said apologetically, “But I don't know how to help you find her.”

  Graeden went still. “Find whom?”

  “Whomever you're looking for when you look at me,” she said. “The woman in your nightmares…” She trailed off, looking thoughtful, then added, “Unless that means you're trying not to find her when you look at me.”

  She frowned, looking deep in thought, while Graeden just stared at her.

  “I should make your dinner,” she murmured, jumping up and disappearing from the room. Graeden let her go, staring at the spot where she'd been, and forced himself to let out the breath he was holding.

  He sat very still for several minutes, going over her words, then launched from the chair and went to the kitchen, watching Zhadeyn hurry about as she cooked.

  “How did you know all that?” he asked, and she stopped halfway to the sink, turning to look at him. “What you said, just now. You got all that from my mind? From my—What did you call it?—my projections?”

  “And your nightmares,” she said.

  Graeden nodded mechanically. “Gods, I wonder if he already knows.” He blinked and looked up, and saw Zhadeyn give him a questioning look. “My grandfather. If I've been projecting all my life and didn't know it, I wonder what he saw…”

  Zhadeyn frowned in thought, and asked, “But…why wouldn't you want him to know about–”

  “I wasn't ready,” he said, cutting her off before she could say it. “Not while she…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright, how much did you see?”

  “Still just…fragments,” she said, “but, all together, I think it makes sense.”

  Graeden opened his eyes and nodded to himself, looking down at the floor. “I need you to teach me to control this.” He looked up at her. “Starting now.”

  * * *

  LATER THAT night, Graeden collapsed into bed and was asleep in moments without even trying. His meditations had proved a good starting point for learning to control his projections, but the effort of learning to look inside and recognize the barriers—or lack thereof—in his mind had simply worn him out.

  At the same time, though, he was utterly fascinated, especially when he heard Zhadeyn's voice in his head and was able to respond in kind.

  He woke the next morning to the assault of many voices at prayer, and let out a low growl as he tried to force them out.

  Once they were gone, he sighed with relief and opened his eyes to find Zhadeyn looking down at him.

  “Are you helping that?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  She shook her head and kept her gaze on him, but didn't say anything.

  Graeden gave her a questioning look, but still she was silent. Concentrating, he worked on keeping the voices out while also opening a sliver of his mind toward her, and after a minute, he saw her smile.

  Good morning, she said.

  Graeden barked a laugh. Good morning, he replied, then winced as the voices threatened to get back in. He pushed them aside and focused on the woman sitting before him. Did I do that right?

  She nodded. Now, keep me out.

  Graeden focused, and heard her count, One, two, three, four, five, si–

  Her voice cut off as Graeden found the gap in the barrier of his mind and closed it. Zhadeyn narrowed her eyes in concentration, and Graeden felt an odd pressure in his head. He struggled against it, trying to make sense of the sensation, and winced as he heard, –leven, twelve, thir– before he regained control.

  She nodded again, offering him a smile.

  He slowly opened his mind again and heard her ask, Breakfast?

  “Gods, yes,” he sighed, then snapped his jaw shut. Sorry. I forgot. Total immersion. He took a deep breath and saw her nod. Yes, breakfast. Thank you.

  Zhadeyn hurried off to the kitchen while Graeden got up and dressed for the day, concentrating on keeping the prayers out of his head until he felt the buzzing pressure fall away. He went out to the main room just as Zhadeyn was setting the table.

  Frowning in concentration, he focused on Zhadeyn as he sat down, asking, Do you not say the prayers?

  She sat beside him and shook her head. Only sometimes. Many don't anymore. After the storyteller's rebellion, many years ago, some people stopped saying the prayers altogether, and the Elders eventually gave up on trying to monitor it. She spooned up a bite of her oatmeal and went on: They still encourage it, of course, but I hear fewer voices every year.

  Gr
aeden stared at her, shaking his head. The storyteller, he said, laughing. My gods. This is too strange.

  Why?

  Because all of this—Tanas, the rebellion, the storyteller, everything—it was all just child's stories to me. Just silly little tales of danger and adventure that Granddad used to tell me when I was a kid. It was all so remote from my life that I never considered it was actual history for so many people. Is there still a rebel movement here?

  Zhadeyn looked down at her food, answering carefully, So I've heard.

  Graeden gave her a questioning look, but she only shook her head and finished eating in silence.

  Chapter 20

  DAYS PASSED, with horrid hours at the hospital followed by pleasant nights at home. Graeden kept practicing, working on more advanced techniques of controlling the mind and carrying on conversations as Zhadeyn taught him, and in return, he told her more about his way of life on Agoran, watching her slowly open up to him as she began to consider new ideas.

  She was still more often shy and subservient than not, but as time went by, her Tanasian conditioning slowly melted away, leaving more room for her to think of herself as a valuable individual, which only brought more happiness to their marriage.

  And thank the gods for that, Graeden thought, looking forward to going home each night, since it meant escape from the coercive atmosphere in which he worked every day.

  * * *

  GRAEDEN RUBBED his eyes and looked at his patient again, but no matter how much he tried to focus, he couldn't see past the pounding in his head.

  “You alright?” Jase asked.

  Graeden winced and murmured, “Migraine.”

  “And you're doing stitches?” Jase asked with a laugh. “Oh, no. Don't think so, dude. Why don't you go on home and I'll take over here?”

  “I doubt they'll allow that,” he muttered.

  “Go on, Grae,” Jase insisted. “You can't work like this.”

  He tried again, leaning in close and almost touching the needle to his patient's arm, then gave up with a sigh.

  “I can hardly see straight.”

  “Go on,” Jase said again, pulling on fresh gloves and taking the needle from him. “Get out of here.”

  Graeden nodded absently and stripped off his gloves, barely making the bin as he tossed them aside on his way out the door. He reached the street without running into Zevic, and breathed a sigh of relief as the blocks slowly disappeared behind him, until he shuffled into his apartment and cringed at the sound of the door clicking shut.

  He went straight to the bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and eased himself up onto the bed, lying very still and hardly breathing as he tried to meditate his way into oblivion.

  When he woke a few hours later, he launched out of bed and ran for the washroom, vomiting up his breakfast. His stomach heaved several times, until there was nothing left to bring up, and he collapsed onto the floor, shaking with cold.

  After a few minutes, the nausea and headache eased enough that he was able to drag himself back into bed, where he found sleep for a few more hours.

  The next time he opened his eyes, the world was no longer pressing down on his skull.

  Thank the gods, he thought, slowly sitting up and blinking as he put on his glasses. He sat still for a moment, making sure he wasn't going to be sick again, then got up and padded out to the kitchen, feeling almost light-headed now that he could see clearly.

  He dug around the icebox and found one of Zhadeyn's illegally-acquired onions, which he sliced up and tossed in a pan, savoring the scent now that he could smell again without feeling ill. He went back to the icebox, then stopped and looked over at the knife resting on the counter.

  He froze, staring at it, and slowly walked back over.

  Now isn't that odd? he thought, turning the blade over in his hands. I didn't even think about grabbing it.

  Graeden shook his head, dumbfounded, and carefully set the blade aside while he went to get a bag of rice and some slices of beef they'd been lucky enough to get rationed that week.

  He heard the front door open, and glanced out the window, seeing the light of early afternoon shining down on the world.

  You're home early, he said, projecting the thought.

  I was f– Zhadeyn began, then gasped aloud.

  “What's wrong?” he asked, seeing her stare at the pan on the stove.

  “You're cooking for yourself,” she whispered, visibly shaking. “Oh, gods.”

  She sank to her knees, and Graeden shut off the burner and crouched before her.

  “Deyn? Honey, what's wrong?”

  She frowned, looking on the verge of tears, and asked, “What did I do? I'll fix it. I'll do whatever you ask, I promise! I just–”

  “Honey, stop, please,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

  “But…” She glanced up at the stove, then down at the floor between them. “But a man should never have to cook for himself, unless his wife has displeased him and he means to kill her.”

  “What?” He laughed. “That's ridiculous.” She winced, her lip quivering, so he sighed and pulled her into his arms. “I was just hungry, that's all. You're not in trouble. You didn't do anything wrong.”

  She was silent for a minute, then shook her head against his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I will learn, I promise.”

  “Hey,” he whispered, pulling back enough to see her face. “It's alright. This is going to take time, for both of us. We knew that.” She nodded rapidly and jumped up, turning the burner back on and picking up where he'd left off. “You don't have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do,” she murmured, then stopped, and turned to look at him. “I want to.”

  He shot her a look. “Honestly.”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright.” Graeden hopped up on the counter and watched her while she worked.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

  “Much, yes.”

  “I wish I could have done something.”

  Graeden shook his head. “Usually, sleep is the only thing that works for me. It's gone now.” He paused, looking at her. “I'm not in trouble for leaving early, am I?”

  “No,” she said, expertly moving things about the kitchen so fast, Graeden couldn't keep up. “Actually, Zevic was glad of it, just this once.”

  “Why's that?”

  Zhadeyn paused in her hurry from the stove to the sink, and looked away as she said, “So you wouldn't be there to argue when he fired me.”

  “He what?”

  Graeden slid off the counter to his feet and stared at Zhadeyn.

  “What in seven hells did he do that for? What did he say?”

  She went back to the stove to finish cooking and said, “He told me my place is in my husband's home now. That my duty was to provide for you, and that I couldn't do that if I was also working. He said there was someone else who needed the job instead, so he sent me home.”

  “Why that gods-damned bastard,” Graeden muttered, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead. “After you said you wanted to keep working.”

  Zhadeyn shut off the burner and set the pan aside, coming toward him with a concerned expression.

  “Maybe he was right,” she murmured. “I should have been here to care for you today.”

  “No, really, I–” he began, then cut off as she gently massaged his temples. “Mmmm, wow.”

  “Does that help?”

  “Well, migraine's gone, but…” He closed his eyes and sighed, smiling softly as she found all the right pressure points. “Still feels amazing. How do you always know right where to go?”

  He opened his eyes just a slit and caught her smiling before his eyelids fell again, and she said, “There's a layer to your mind that resonates pain, stress, tension. It's very easy to read without digging deeper into your thoughts.”

  She ran her fingers down his neck to his shoulders and went straight to a knot on the right side, alternating the pressure of her f
ingers as she worked at the muscle.

  After a moment, he felt an ease of pressure from the base of his skull all the way down to his fingers once the knot started to release. Zhadeyn smiled and started to move away.

  Graeden caught her hands and pulled her back toward him.

  “Your food will get cold,” she said.

  “Let it,” he breathed, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her back to the bedroom.

  * * *

  GRAEDEN LAY on his back with Zhadeyn in his arms, feeling her hesitantly trace her fingers across his chest.

  She shifted against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and let out a squeak, snatching her hand back when she saw him watching her.

  Graeden laughed and caught her hand, pressing it back to his chest.

  “You can touch me,” he whispered.

  “I thought you were asleep,” she said, smiling nervously while she blushed.

  “Mmmm, I was, for a bit,” he said, tilting her chin up to kiss her. “But now I'm hungry again.”

  Zhadeyn sat up. “I'll go make you some–”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said with a laugh, pulling her back down. “Not so fast.”

  She settled back on his shoulder and asked, “Do you want what's left of the rice or would you like something else?”

  “No, that'll be fine. I have no idea what you did to the rice but it turned out hells better than I could have done.”

  He felt her smile against his shoulder for a moment before she looked up at him apologetically.

  “I'm going to have to be more sparing with the herbs now,” she said quietly. “I'm not sure how to get more if I don't already have an excuse to leave the apartment.”

  Graeden took a deep breath, grumbling to himself that he was going to kill Zevic, but pushed the thought aside while he had his wife in his arms.

  “Where– Hmmm. I was going to ask where you found them, but I doubt they'd let me go wandering about the city.”

  Zhadeyn nodded. “It's tricky, getting past the guards, and with you not in uniform…”

  “I stand out,” he finished, and she nodded again.

  “It would be hard to describe how to get there, anyway. I always took a different route to make sure I wasn't being followed.”