She pulled away from Kai and pointed to the protein patches on her arm, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “Leima will bring me real food after her shift.”
He nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him, and wondered what else to say. Anything seemed better than what he’d come here to talk about. Finally he settled on, “I trust you’re comfortable. We found these rooms on the ship’s diagram. They’re a—”
“A safe room. Eithné told me.” She looked around, and he wondered how she saw the space. Compared to most Nhélanei accommodations, the threadbare silk and timeworn stone were the height of luxury. And she said, “It’s lovely. It feels very…personal. My mother designed this space, didn’t she?”
“Probably.”
She nodded and ran her fingers over the bedding, a spare set Eithné had found tucked away in the storage wall. Her color was returning, its golden hue highlighted perfectly by the cream of the sheets. “You saw the painting.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No. But I’ve—”
“Dreamed of it,” she finished for him. She finally met his eyes. “I know.”
“Of course.” And he felt like a fool for forgetting. “Seirsha, we need to talk about the dream.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she glanced away. He realized she had shared his dream of them together, and heat swept him before he could stop it.
Then she said, “Of Lhókesh. I know, but…not yet. Please.”
“Waiting solves nothing.”
“It won’t hurt anything either.” When he hesitated, she lifted a brow. “It’s been a rough couple of days, Mikhél. Cut me a break here.”
It was an English phrase, a strange, out of place arrangement of Inakhí words such as she hadn’t used in quite a while. And it reminded him that in some ways, regardless of friendships or allies or the nexus, she would always be uniquely alone on their world.
It had been a rough couple of months.
So he relented and brought up his other topic instead. “Can you tell me what you remember of the attack?”
She sighed and shook her head. “There isn’t much to tell. I was on the lift during the first explosion and unconscious during the second. I woke up when the gravity was out, so everything I sensed was muffled.”
“But you saw the man who did this to you. You showed me his face.”
“I saw his reflection. Blue eyes and not much else. And I saw a knife.” She gave a brittle laugh. “But we already know he had one of those.”
“Can you tell me anything at all? Height, weight, skin color? Did you smell anything, hear anything?”
“He was pale skinned, big. Height I don’t know, but he was heavy. Strong, muscular. He didn’t say anything. But he enjoyed it.” She paused, and her color faded again. “He was aroused.”
His jaw tightened even as his stomach turned, but he kept his voice even. She didn’t need his rage right now. “He took you by surprise. I didn’t think anyone could do that.”
She shrugged. “If I’d been awake the whole time, or maybe even if the ship hadn’t lost gravity, I could tell you more. I think he just got lucky.” She looked at him again. “It wasn’t Valaer.”
“I know. Eithné cleared him of the attacks.”
“Will you let him go?”
“I haven’t decided.” When she frowned, he said, “He put you at risk, Seirsha. He didn’t murder anyone, but for all we know, his actions prompted someone else to commit the attacks. I can’t just let that go.”
“But you know why he did it.”
“He told you about Bhénen.” When she nodded, he sighed. “What happened to Bhénen wasn’t your fault.”
The look she gave him was somehow vulnerable and indomitable at the same time, and he realized she’d changed. Or the way she saw him had changed. Whatever the difference, he suspected he didn’t hold quite the same sway with her as he had before.
And she said, “It’s not for you to decide what’s my fault. I have to take responsibility for my part in everything that’s happened. Lives have been taken in my name, and that’s a debt I can never repay.”
“Seirsha—”
“Bhénen was his mate,” she cut in. “Wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s pause. “They were mates.”
“What does that mean?”
He told himself to change the subject. She could discuss this with Eithné or probably even Leima and learn everything she wanted to know. She wasn’t the only one who needed a break, so to speak. But then she might wonder why he’d evaded the question.
“Bhénen was Valaer’s one true partner. They were a perfect match for survival and parenthood. The mating is…it’s a biological imperative with genetic origins. There’s no choice in the mating process, and the connection lasts until death.”
She swallowed, and her gaze flittered away. “Valaer loved Bhénen.”
“Yes.”
He wondered that she couldn’t hear it in his voice or see it in his face. Or sense it through the nexus. Everything he felt for her pulsed within him, a force straining for escape, and it was all he could do to keep it contained.
But she said nothing.
He took a deep breath and searched for a new subject. “You’ll have to stay in these quarters till we arrive.”
“I know.”
He gestured toward the closet behind him. “There’s an entrance to a maintenance shaft there. Take the first ladder up two flights, and you’ll be at my rooms. Only come if there’s an emergency, and use your sedfai first—”
“Mikhél,” she interrupted softly. When he quieted, she said, “I’m ready to talk about it now.”
The slight hitch in her voice belied her words, but he almost didn’t notice it over his own hesitation. He understood that he hadn’t been quite ready yet either. “I don’t know when it will happen.”
“But it’s soon, isn’t it? In the next few months at the latest.”
“I think so.”
“You’re in Lan’Vercai?”
He nodded. “In Lhókesh’s quarters.”
“Why would you go back there?”
“There’s only one reason. I go there to protect you.”
“But I’ll be on the other side of the world. How can you protect me from there?” When he didn’t have an answer for her, she asked, “Whatever the reason is…if we find another way, will you stay with me?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I’ll go wherever I have to go. And Seirsha,” he added, wanting her to understand that when it happened, it would be his choice, “for your life, I’ll make any sacrifice.”
Leima tried to look as though she wasn’t hurrying through the halls, but her feet wanted to race. Every crew member she passed was a threat; every Nhélanei older than she possessed of a sedfai and all of the knowledge it brought. They could hear her nerves as easily as she could hear her own footsteps, and at least one of them would wonder if she had something to hide.
She didn’t draw in a full breath until she slipped into the dining area. It was nearly empty, but she still didn’t see the man by the door until she’d pulled her ration. Even then she suspected she wouldn’t have noticed him unless he wanted her to. There was something secretive about him, something that seemed easy to miss.
But it wasn’t his looks. He was incredibly attractive, leanly muscled, with straight, even features and a full mouth. His skin was beautiful, dark and smooth but for the ripple of scar that ran over his scalp and down the side of his face. But it was his eyes that captivated. She thought at first they were pure gold, but when they locked on to hers, the color shifted and deepened into a kaleidoscope of gilded copper and amber.
She stopped where she stood as her cheeks warmed and her breath caught. She couldn’t look away, wasn’t even sure she wanted to, as something like recognition moved inside her. And she wondered why she’d thought she could ever overlook him. She was just as certain now that she’d see
him anywhere. Even if he tried to hide.
Then someone dropped something behind her, metal clanging onto metal. She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. When she turned back, the man was gone.
But her heart still raced, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just missed something vital.
She made her way back to the safe room more slowly, her gaze on the hall behind her as much as it was before her. When she reached the first set of lifts, she paused and glanced around. She saw no one, but she felt watched. She had no sedfai to justify the sensation, but she’d learned long ago not to ignore it.
She chose a single-width lift, so no one could slip on at the last moment. And she added a second detour level before heading to storage, just as a precaution. By the time she reached the safe room, the watched feeling was gone. But her stomach was still in knots as she pressed her palm to the life scan, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t quickly settle.
“Did he say anything?” Seirsha settled into one of the chairs by the window and called open a blind.
“No.” Leima sat down with her own meal and stared through the window, but she didn’t see the stars. Her mind was still back in the dining hall, on the man with the golden eyes. “He didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at me.”
Seirsha frowned. “He scared you.”
“Not exactly.” It was more that he’d made her feel aware, and in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable. Her cheeks warmed again, and she forced her attention to her food.
“What did he look like?”
“He’s handsome. Dark skinned, tall. His scalp is covered in scars. Part of his face too. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before, but there was something so familiar about him.”
“Did he have golden eyes?”
Her gaze shot to Seirsha. The Baanrí was watching her, eyes pale, food forgotten in her lap. Leima’s stomach dropped. “You’ve seen him before.”
“I’ve talked to him. He approached me on the growth deck the night before I was attacked.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me about Mikhél and my training. He said I reminded him of someone he’d seen when he was young. And then he leaned in and asked…” She paused and frowned. “I think he said, ‘Do you know the truth of him?’”
“That’s what the Watchers say.” Leima’s mind raced, but there was no other explanation. The man was a Watcher. How could she have missed that? “It’s how they identify each other. My father told me if anyone ever asked me that, I had to say, ‘He’s Myrna’s gift to Spyridon.’ Exactly like that. He said if I said that, they wouldn’t know I was a hider.”
“What does it mean?”
“Only Watchers know for sure, but there are rumors in the Other. Some people say the Watchers aren’t just spies. They’re a religion, and Myrna is their god. Others believe she’s a prophet. That she’s helping the Watchers the way Armín tried to help us.”
Seirsha set aside her food and began to pace. Kai whined and rose to follow her. Finally she asked, “Leima, how common are eyes that color?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Something I saw in a dream. We need to talk to Mikhél.”
Once they knew who they were looking for, it was simple. Mikhél had the ship’s manifest stored on his link. Twenty-four crew members were assigned to the generator level.
One of them was named Zar Belamhí Fareg.
“Fareg,” Seirsha whispered, her irises paling as they met Mikhél’s.
“The boy in the centers.” The one he’d harmed in order to save. “Now we know why they want me dead.”
“Do you think he’s the one they call Endetar?”
“Let’s ask him.”
But they couldn’t find him. His link was in his quarters along with his personal effects, but he was nowhere near them. Without it they had no way to track him. Even Seirsha failed to sense him, which meant he’d somehow masked his body heat and heartbeat.
He was completely hidden. Mikhél began to search for him, but he knew the effort was futile. He had to check every possible hiding space on the ship where Seirsha didn’t sense a person, which was nearly the entire ship.
The man who’d arranged the attempted murder of Mikhél had disappeared, without a clue left as to where he might have gone.
CHAPTER 34
Ten days till arrival
Valaer wished the lights were off. In the dark the glass of the cell was obscured, and there was no reflection to stare back at him. With the light he saw his own face while he waited through the passage of another cycle. He could think of no worse view.
He’d dishonored his mate.
He understood it now as easily as he’d ignored it before. Bhénen would not have wanted this. He’d given his life to protect Seirsha, and Valaer had laid waste to that sacrifice.
He could not redeem himself. He knew of no action that would allow him relief, no payment that would abdicate this debt. He sat on the cot, his gaze fixed blankly on the prison that held him, and waited for his punishment.
When the guard slid a tray of food into the cell, Valaer didn’t move.
“You should eat,” the guard said.
Valaer looked up, startled by the voice in the silence. He thought he’d seen all of the guards during his imprisonment, but this one was new. He looked young, earnest, and wholly out of place on the dying ship. Valaer waited for the scorn to rise, but he’d lost the self-righteousness necessary to fuel such condescension.
“I have no appetite,” he said, his voice flat.
“Guilt is a heavy burden. If you admit your crimes, your appetite will return.”
“I have not denied them.”
He couldn’t. To do so would be to admit Seirsha’s health.
“The absence of defense is not a confession,” the guard said, his voice hardening. “Perhaps if you tell me what happened, your conscious will clear.”
Valaer frowned. The guard suddenly seemed older. More aware of the precariousness of his position here and somehow stronger for it.
And he seemed as if he knew something Valaer did not.
Before he could find out what, Bavoel arrived. Valaer stood, his shoulders painfully straight, and he wondered if his time had come. He’d expected Mikhél to deliver the punishment himself, but the Endet’s address was scheduled to take place within the hour. If Valaer was to be sent to his death now, it would happen while Mikhél boasted to the crew of the journey’s success.
No bitter rage rose at the thought. Whatever punishment Bavoel had in store was less than Valaer deserved.
The guard turned toward Bavoel, his head held low in a gesture of deference. Bavoel’s hands fisted at his sides. And then he drew a hand cannon and shot the guard.
Bits of blood and tissue splattered against the glass as the blast shattered the quiet. The guard cried out and clutched at his scorched and bleeding shoulder. He reached for the baton on his hip, and Bavoel’s lips peeled away from his teeth in a horrible grimace-grin. He shot away the guard’s hand, destroying his link.
The guard turned to Valaer with pleading eyes, and Valaer found himself staring back, helpless. When Bavoel shot at the guard’s legs, Valaer began to shout, his fists beating against the bloodied glass. But his cries went unanswered as the guard slid to the floor.
Valaer’s voice died away. Bavoel turned to him and commanded immobilization, and a magnetic field projected out from the walls and floor, securing the cuffs around Valaer’s wrists and ankles. Valaer tried to yank away, but he couldn’t escape.
The guard mumbled, his voice a weak imitation of what it had been moments before. Valaer just barely made out the words “release cell five.” But even as his cuffs flashed in response, Bavoel overrode the order.
The guard looked at Bavoel. “This is not the will of Endetar.”
Bavoel stilled and glanced back. “It should be. It is the will of Myrna.”
He turned back to Valaer, and the palletar swallowed at the look in the
soldier’s eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
Bavoel grabbed Valaer’s captive hand, and Valaer’s mind filled with the image of Seirsha, bloodied but breathing. Eithné flew through his thoughts next, her beloved face achingly familiar. Then Leima, child of his friends, not yet possessed of the jagatai senses that blessed so many on the ship.
And finally Mikhél, son of Aida and Lhókesh, betrayer to his people no matter which way he was viewed.
“You’re a truthseer,” Valaer hissed as Bavoel released his hand. “And a Watcher.”
Bavoel ran a finger down the side of Valaer’s face. Drops of the guard’s blood smeared against Valaer’s skin, and Bavoel leaned in and inhaled.
“Watchers,” he sneered. “So obsessed with ritual and prophecy that they forget the point. I’m no Watcher. I’m a patriot.”
Valaer couldn’t stop the disbelief that twisted his voice. “For what world?”
“Ours!” Bavoel bellowed the word, and his skin reddened over the muscles bulging in his face. “You see a traitor in me? Well, I see the same in you, but only one of us has turned our back on the ruler of Spyridon.”
“Lhókesh has no right to the throne.”
“Will they say so in a hundred years? In a thousand? We’re in the midst of a revolution, and you’ve chosen the wrong side.”
Valaer yanked his head away as bloody fingers slid across his throat. “And what have you chosen? Slavery. Murder.”
“Justice.”
“You call this justice?” Valaer’s stomach turned as he looked into those cold, dead eyes. Could they possibly think they sought the same cause? He glanced at the guard, slumped in a pool of his own blood, his eyes not quite closed. He thought of Lagun and the others. Of Seirsha, alive thanks only to a rare twist in genetics. “You’re killing your own people.”
“And what do you think Niyhól does? He’s turned his back on his own father, on half of his ancestry, for a woman. Where is she?”
“She’s dead, and by your hand. What could you possibly want with her body?”
“You forget, Palletar. I’ve seen her health through your eyes.” He drew from his belt a long blade stained dark with blood. “I’m not without mercy. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll kill you quickly.”
Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1) Page 31
