Kinsman's Oath

by Susan Krinard

  To either side and behind her ranged Kalevi warriors, distinguishable from the Darjai only by the color and cut of their spare surcoats. Cynara suspected there were shaauri of other Paths present, but their respective decorations and markings were obscured by those in front.

  Ronan did not speak human language again for many minutes. He ignored Cynara entirely, his head slightly tilted and averted as he addressed the Second. Sounds, sometimes distinct as words, flowed and volleyed between them. Ronan's voice was always soft, respectful, never submissive.

  At long last there was a pause while Samit considered what Ronan had said, and Cynara tried to make an educated estimate of his success. The fact that the Kalevi warriors hadn't moved forward seemed a very good sign. The long silence did not. Ronan's back was a firm, unyielding wall blocking Cynara's view.

  If ever she had needed patience, it was now. She met Sihvaaro's slanted eyes over the heads of Kalevi warriors. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Five minutes passed, and then ten. Her legs were going numb.

  It is the shaauri way, Ronan said.

  Curse the shaauri—

  "Akai'po," the Second said clearly.

  Tension flowed out of Ronan like a flooding river. "He 'i, ri hi'ir kala, Aino'Va." He reached behind to touch Cynara's waist. We go to Ain'Kalevi-ja.

  Are we safe?

  Samit has accepted my return. She will advise Lenko to listen to my words. You are acknowledged my captive, unless I am challenged.

  Next time I'd prefer fighting for myself.

  You may yet do so. He silenced her with a warning thought and fell in among the Kalevi warriors. Cynara went along with feigned meekness. Somehow Sihvaaro insinuated himself next to her, and she was reminded that at least one shaaurin could be trusted.

  The party of humans and shaauri entered the woods, made up of conifers very much like those she had known on the northern islands of Dharma. There was little undergrowth, and only the occasional rustle of branches indicated other life high above. The path through the forest was unobtrusive, though clearly often used, and Cynara wondered if the shaauri here built roads.

  The air grew noticeably colder when they left the woods for a meadow just awakening with new spring greenery. Clouds obscured the sun. Far below lay a cultivated field tended by several shaauri workers, all laboring with what appeared to be hand tools. There were no fences or obvious boundary markers save for distant woods and the silver thread of a stream.

  From the hill Cynara could see other fields stretching out to the south and east. In the center of it all was a compound of low, sprawling wood and stone buildings of a color and design to blend in with the landscape. Structures of various sizes were separated by what must be irregularly shaped gardens, large and small, lacking the symmetrical order she expected in human design.

  Ronan moved close enough to touch her shoulder with his. "Ain'Kalevi's primary settlement," he said in a low voice. "There are two others, just beyond that wood and to the west."

  Cynara knew from his tone and the sense of his mind that this was the place where he had grown up. Such a landscape would have seemed paradise for an adventurous child, if he had been among his own kind. For Ronan it had been hell. He should have hated the idea of going back, but he walked with a light step and raised head.

  Nevertheless she reached for his hand and squeezed it briefly. He looked down at her with that profound warmth and ran his thumb along the hollow of her palm.

  The path widened into a dirt and gravel road. Curious shaauri field hands paused to stare. Cynara noted that most of these shaauri had little in the way of black stripes, their fur more solidly red than that of the Kalevi escort.

  Ronan searched every face, though he did not raise his hand. Some of the shaauri workers seemed to acknowledge him; others turned their backs in clear rejection. Cynara despised them for it.

  A half-kilometer across the fields took them to the first of the settlement's outbuildings, some kind of barn or byre for storage or the housing of animals. Many such buildings were scattered along the perimeter, and after another kilometer the party reached the garden bordering the central village.

  Now Cynara could make out the heavy wooden walls, pitched roofs, and downswept eaves of the individual, single-story buildings. Some of the doors and walls were carved with geometric or spiral designs. The gardens were still dormant from winter, but obviously well tended. Shaauri workers moved among the buildings with calm purpose, differing only in the cut of garment and striping of fur. Like the field hands, many of these turned away from Ronan, and several made gestures of obvious hostility.

  Cynara soon became lost in the twistings and turnings of the paths and gardens. Samit finally brought the group to a halt before a plain one-story structure. Two Kalevi guards herded Ronan and Cynara into the building and shut the door.

  The interior was somewhat warmer than the outside air, though not quite comfortable by the criteria of furless humans. There were no partitions in the single room, only a series of beds with wooden box frames, toilet facilities at one end, and a simple table and chairs in the center. The windows were shuttered against the elements.

  "Well," Cynara said, "we've survived so far." She steered Ronan to the nearest bed. "You did say you have friends here, didn't you? Most of the Kalevi seem to hold you in considerable dislike."

  "Did I not tell you that Kalevi—"

  "Hate humans. And you were lucky enough to be stuck with them."

  "Do not be so hasty in judgment," he chided, wincing as he eased onto the bed. "There is much you have not seen."

  "I hope I get the chance." With gentle fingers she tilted back his head and examined his lip. "These wounds need tending, and your broken fingers have to be set. Where is this healer of yours?"

  "The Second will send him." He met her eyes. "Once again you did well, Cynara."

  "As I remember it, you did everything and I watched." She pulled the torn edges of his shipsuit away from a particularly nasty cut. "I don't know why you haven't bled more than this."

  "I stopped the bleeding."

  She rocked away from him. "That was useful."

  "Yes."

  "You also stopped the pain, I suppose, as Sihvaaro taught you."

  He cocked his head at her. "It hurts, but I can bear it."

  Oh, yes. "You need to lie down until the healer arrives." She pushed him gently back on the cot. "This is where you lived as a child?"

  "No. Wrongdoers are kept here, though there are seldom many at a time."

  "Shaauri wrongdoers. I'd like to see more of those."

  "I doubt it."

  "Humor, Ronan?"

  "We have, as you said, survived. I will have my time to address the va'laik'i, and Sihvaaro will also be permitted to speak."

  Cynara was sorely tempted to demand a complete accounting of everything he had said and what he planned to tell them, but he truly did need rest. "Are they going to keep us in here until then?"

  "I hope to be permitted to return to my own lodging."

  "Off on the edge of the settlement, like Sihvaaro's?"

  "Not as far." He laced his fingers through hers. "It was what I preferred."

  She sighed and adjusted the roll of cloth that served as a pillow. "Will you try to find out what happened to your parents?"

  "If I can."

  Cynara suspected that he felt much more strongly about the subject than he let on. If he could learn the fate of Lady Kori Challinor and her Kinsman mate, it would be of great comfort to Lord Miklos. And such a discovery might convince Ronan, once and for all, to change his loyalties.

  A faint scratching came from outside the door, and two shaauri entered the room: Sihvaaro and another with a medium concentration of stripes and a benign manner. He carried a pouch slung across his chest. Ronan propped himself up on his elbows.

  'The healer," Ronan murmured, and offered a shaauri greeting. The healer replied briefly and approached Ronan's bed. Cynara retreated to the next bunk and watched curiously as
the shaaurin examined Ronan's wounds.

  "Va D'Accorso," Sihvaaro said, coming to stand beside her. "You are well?"

  She decided against sarcasm. "Yes, Sih—how should I address you?"

  "Sihvaaro is sufficient."

  "You speak my language extremely well."

  "It is a simple tongue, and I have had much time for study. Do not be concerned; few other shaauri understand it." He dropped into a crouch with easy grace. "I know that you are a female of some importance among humans, but Ronan has told me that you are to be considered his hostage for your protection. This was not sivuj'avar, kidnap-for-mating. How is it that you have accompanied him here?"

  She well remembered how he'd immediately assumed she was Ronan's lifemate, and felt heat rise under her skin. "I didn't want him to be alone among shaauri, or Kinsmen."

  "You hoped to protect him?"

  There was no mockery in his question. "I didn't realize you would be here, and I wanted him to have at least one ally."

  His ears flattened and rose again. "It is more than that, Va D'Accorso. You serve human interests and wish him to remember the species of his birth. You are also bound to him, even if you fear to acknowledge this."

  "I was among those who rescued him from shaauri pursuit."

  "And you know that he was sent with his memory impaired, to work against humans."

  Cynara met his gaze. "I must ask whom you serve, Sihvaaro—Ronan, or your own people?"

  He hissed laughter, earning a startled glance from the healer. "Humans believe that shaauri loyalties are simple, but it is not always so. Ronan's welfare is of great importance to me. So are my people, and yours."

  "Mine?"

  "All Paths are one. I will listen with great interest to the tale of your meeting with my apprentice, when circumstances permit." His whiskers quivered. "You prevented him from serving Kinsman interests. Your will is strong. The others must not realize your importance."

  "Will you protect Ronan from those who would harm him?"

  "I will do all I can." He turned his attention to the healer, who was applying a sticky substance to Ronan's wounds and wrapping them in pale cloth. The fingers of Ronan's left hand were already splinted and bound, but he hadn't made a single sound while they were set.

  "You taught Ronan very well," Cynara said. "Thank you."

  Sihvaaro inclined his head. After a few moments the healer completed his work and spoke to Ronan at length as he packed his supplies in the woven pouch.

  "Rest is indicated," Sihvaaro translated for Cynara, "but it must wait. Ronan, the Arva'Kir is prepared to hear you now."

  Ronan nodded and pushed himself up, only the slight tension in his face marking discomfort. Cynara hurried to help, but Sihvaaro barred her way.

  "He must not show weakness, now above all times," he said. "I will stand with him." He anticipated her protest before she spoke. "You may not come, Va D'Accorso. Your presence would remind them he is human."

  She pushed past him. Ronan held up his good hand and smiled, benevolent and very far away.

  "They will not kill me," he said. "Wait. Food will be brought to you. Eat to maintain your strength, and do not worry."

  "That you can't prevent, my friend." She took his face between her hands. "Keep yourself safe. Whatever you have to do—stay alive and come back." She leaned forward and kissed him, ignoring Sihvaaro and all the alarms going off in her head. "Come back to me."

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  « ^ »

  Cynara was pacing back and forth just inside the door when Ronan returned. His wounds burned in spite of every discipline he had employed during the interrogation; his eyes were blurry from lack of sleep, and his broken fingers throbbed with each beat of his heart.

  Yet when he saw Cynara, he forgot everything but the brightness of her eyes.

  "Ronan!" She ran toward him and stopped, afraid to touch him lest he shatter. "You look ready to collapse. Lie down."

  He let her support him to the nearest bed and half fell onto the pad. She sat beside him, settling his weight against her shoulder.

  "Thank God you're safe. It's been hours since you left—do you realize it's already dark?" Anxiously she smoothed his hair and peered into his eyes. "Did Lenko threaten you? Did they listen to our suspicions about the Kinsmen?"

  'They listened." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Lenko did not wish to, but Samit and the Arvi'Va pressured him to do so. I explained that the Kinsmen had altered the assignment for which I was originally intended—not simply to gather information about new human technology, but to kill the First of the Concordat by dishonorable stealth."

  "They believed you."

  "They did not deny the possibility." He flexed the undamaged fingers of his right hand. "I also told them that I would not deal with Kinsmen, but must report to the War-Leader and his advisors directly. Arva'Kir agreed to consider this."

  "And if the Kinsmen demand your surrender?"

  "They can demand very little on Kalevi soil." He opened his eyes and looked upon her face, the lines of tension between her brows and about her mouth that spoke of hidden fear—not for herself, but for him. "You are still in my charge, and I have been given the freedom of the settlement."

  "Scylla's teeth—"

  "Listen to me, Cynara. I promised them that I had information that would benefit Kalevi and all shaauri-ja—not only of possible Kinsman treachery, but of the human technology that permits Concordat ships to evade shaauri patrols."

  "We've discussed this before. You can't know anything that will help them—only that the Pegasus exists."

  Once more he was sure that she truly believed her mind contained nothing of worth he could trade to the shaauri for her life. Yet there was a new unease in her surface thoughts, a fear that his knowledge could indeed harm the Concordat.

  "What did you offer them?" she demanded.

  He sank back on the bed and stretched his legs. "Only a promise, in exchange for your safety."

  "No, Ronan," she groaned. "Not for me."

  "As an enemy human, you are not afforded even the minimal protection of one adopted by Kalevi. If they believe you have information I do not, they will give you to the Kinsmen to obtain the contents of your mind. The Kinsmen would destroy you without hesitation, no matter what shields you possess. Only by claiming I fully share your knowledge was I able to prevent this."

  She scrambled off the bed and paced wildly across the room. "And when they find out you know nothing of real value?"

  He closed his mind so that she would not feel the doubt and self-contempt eating at his gut. "We will face that as it comes. It is enough to know that we have the freedom to move as we will, and much may still be done." He held out his hands, and she took them. "I do have allies—friends—who will help us. I will show you—"

  "Not now. You need sleep."

  He could not deny it. He permitted himself the luxury of accepting Cynara's generous little acts of solace, obeying her command to lie down and let his body heal.

  Though the bunks were meant for only one shaauri apiece, they were just wide enough for two humans. Cynara lay down beside him, careful not to disturb his injured hand or touch his wounds. She pulled up the blankets and tucked her body against his side.

  For a time he lay awake, savoring the uncomplicated joy of her nearness. But his limbs grew heavy, and he drifted into a half sleep filled with images of accusing human fingers pointed at him, faces contorted with rage, shaauri ears flattened and teeth bared to drive him from shaauri-ja forever.

  "Ronan. Ronan, wake up."

  He opened his eyes to darkness. Cynara's face, loving and beloved, replaced the cruel masks of his dreams.

  "You had a nightmare," she said, smoothing the damp hair from his forehead. "Sometimes it helps to talk."

  Talk, as if they lay together in a soft bed on a human world, mate and mate, with no concern other than unpleasant dreams. Ronan breathed out the lingering terror and shook his head. "They were only
dreams."

  'Then you should go back to sleep. I'll be here."

  But he knew sleep would elude him. Just as the dreams were absurd and irrational, so was the desire Cynara awakened in his bruised and battered body. At least one part had been completely unaffected by the fights.

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tentatively, giving her the choice. Her answer could not be misinterpreted. When he began to roll her beneath him, she locked her muscles and stopped him.

  "Your injuries," she protested, wincing in sympathy. "You need—"

  "I will be very careful," he said, kissing the soft skin under her jaw. "I need you, Cynara."

  She released her breath and relaxed her muscles. "Yes."

  For a time Ronan only held her, and they exchanged gentle caresses, resisting the urgency that had driven them on Miklos's yacht. Their fate was no more certain than it had been then, but Ronan knew, as Cynara did, that they would remain together until it was over.

  Together they felt their way to a new tenderness, a healing of more than physical wounds or harrowing visions. They shed their shipsuits. The blankets hoarded their warmth and captured Cynara's scent, distilling it to an intoxicating, seductive vapor.

  Ronan tasted her skin, lingering at every slight variation of her body's essence. She accepted his leisurely exploration without protest, responding with gasps and moans. She opened her mind, and he felt what she felt: not merely physical pleasure, but the very love she had professed at die cost of pride and security.

  He tried to show her that her gift was not in vain. The fullness of his heart guided his hands and his mouth, caressing her breasts and her belly and the soft, fragrant place below. She signaled her readiness with nectar that flowed over his tongue, crying out when he licked her clean.