It was one of the shortest memories of an Elder that Korin could recall, and why the Elders Council had chosen Hozia for this task was beyond his ken to determine. When she’d finished and stepped back to her place, the chanting began. This could last for hours, but no one forced anyone to stay. He lingered, chanting, pondering the deaths of his former friends, how they’d accepted the risk of what they were doing, but he was sure they’d never expected the threat to come from a woman they’d been drugging to paralyze her gifts. He’d tried to set aside his struggle with ambivalence over what Lisen had chosen to do to survive, but it rose up wild and unruly now in grief’s safe place in the Kolii.
She’d killed them. Simply. Killed. Them. He knew she felt the guilt of one who survived at the price of another life. Or, in this case, other lives. He’d seen it in those black eyes and heard it in her halting hesitation as she spoke. He wished he’d possessed the courage to question her—to let her tell him what had really happened up here on the mesa the night of the Farii and what it felt like willing others into doing what you wanted them to do. But he hadn’t, and another opportunity might never come.
And the Bonding. Oh, the Bonding held him in its grip. He wanted her and was glad Ondra and Rika and Elder Barok had died instead of her. Was it love? He’d thought so just as he’d succumbed to the manta’s venom and later when he’d accepted Rinli in the transfer, but now he didn’t know what it was. She was a distant memory to him now, one so close he could smell her.
Mantar the Destroyer, the bringer of death. They chanted Its name to neutralize Its power. They never succeeded, of course. How could they? Death came just as life came. An unavoidable inconvenience.
He didn’t want to be the first to leave, but when he saw a few of those on the periphery of the group peel off and head back to the trapdoor, he brushed Hozia’s hand and left the desert in the moon’s glow behind for the close comfort of the tunnels and caves. He made straight for the caring chamber and found Rinli asleep in Madlen’s arms, her father sitting on the floor with her.
“Ssh,” Madlen whispered as Korin approached her. “She’s sleeping.”
“I see that,” Korin whispered back, the smile on his lips so broad his cheeks ached.
“Are you going to take her?” Madlen asked with genuine concern.
“No, not yet,” Korin replied. “But I’ll sit with you here for a little, if you don’t mind.”
“All right. But you sit there,” the girl ordered, finger pointing to a place a few feet in front of her.
“You give her too much power,” Arma stated.
Korin looked at his friend and smiled. Arma didn’t know, might never know, all the truths which rose up to Korin’s awareness. He only shared one of them, “You can never give a woman too much power.”
Lisen watched from atop the railing as Nalin rode the gentle mare at a walk around the ring. His seat on her seemed tenuous, but for a man up on a horse for the first time since a disastrous fall, he rode with a surprising amount of confidence. Not to mention that he rode with one foot replaced by a boot that had been attached permanently to the saddle, his right leg secured inside that boot by a strap around his thigh. At every step along the way in this journey, he’d questioned the wisdom of Lisen’s “grand idea,” as he’d called it, but now that he was up on the horse and moving, he actually appeared to be enjoying it. Lisen hoped the mare would continue to be easy and calm and not do anything they’d all regret, especially with all the noise produced by the yelling and thumping and bumping of recruits training and the loud chiming from the forge down the hill of hammer beating steel into weapons.
“Now, my lord,” Dekar said from where she stood in the middle of the ring, “try a trot for me.” The saddle maker grinned proudly at Lisen and nodded. Lisen returned the nod. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but this woman had helped give Nalin a taste of freedom back, and Lisen felt she owed her.
Nalin kicked the horse with his left foot and Lisen watched with suppressed glee as she saw that his right leg forced the affixed boot to kick lightly as well. This was exactly what she’d been hoping for—a way for him to recall the sensation of two feet instead of one.
“Go!” she yelled, then realized that the entire stable staff and half the guards seemed to be loitering around seeing if this contraption Dekar had been working on for a month actually worked. But she needn’t have worried. Once the mare settled into a comfortable trot, Nalin began posting. He held onto the pommel at first, but little by little he loosened his grip until his hand lingered over the saddle without touching it.
“Kopol,” Lisen whispered to the newly promoted captain who stood on the ground behind her. “Now.” As Kopol jogged, buckles jangling, into the stable, Lisen smiled in delight and hoped that Nalin would appreciate her care in holding back until he and the mare had grown comfortable together. A minute later, Kopol reemerged from the stable with another one of the calmer horses in tow. Hearing the chime of the buckles returning, Lisen hopped from the railing and waited as Kopol led the horse into the ring. Within seconds, Lisen had mounted and brought her horse up behind Nalin’s who continued her sweet little trot.
“Don’t worry,” Lisen said when she saw Nalin’s shoulders hunch in response to the sound of her horse riding up behind him. He pulled on the reins and slowed the mare down to a walk. Lisen nudged her horse forward so she could ride on the inside beside him. “I just wanted to join you for a moment. How does it feel?”
“Odd, like my foot is asleep.”
“But it’s working.”
Nalin nodded. “Actually, it feels…good.”
“See. I told you. Nothing like a little fresh air and independence.”
“Of course, I can’t ride a horse everywhere through the Keep.”
Lisen laughed. “No, but I’m working on that with one of the carpenters.” Nalin had a crutch, a very bad one, and only one, so she’d made a drawing of what she could remember of crutches on Earth. She was also struggling with a design for a prosthetic leg, but she’d said nothing about that to Nalin. She didn’t want to bring him hope that might turn out to be impossible to fulfill.
“I think I’d like to trot again,” Nalin said.
“What can I do to help?” Lisen asked.
“Stay back. Don’t want to take a chance on spooking the horse.”
Lisen pulled her horse to a halt and then turned it into the center to stand beside Dekar. They watched as Nalin allowed the mare to trot twice around the ring, and then he slowed her back down to a walk.
“Great job,” Lisen said to Dekar.
“Aye, my Liege. Tomorrow will tell us what needs adjusting.”
“Ah, yes,” Lisen replied, “blisters and such.”
“Oh, that is wonderful!”
All three occupants in the ring—Nalin and Lisen on their horses and Dekar on the ground—turned at the sound of the voice, and Lisen saw Bala making her way towards them.
“It is, isn’t it?” Lisen agreed, feeling her smile grow broad.
Bala stepped into the ring and headed to Nalin. “I’m so proud of you,” she said as she reached him and put her hand on the reins.
Nalin smiled, but Lisen could see him breathing too heavily. This adventure had exhausted him.
“Why don’t you take him into the stable,” she suggested to Bala.
“I would be honored,” Bala replied and moved to take a firmer hold on the reins.
“I can do it,” Nalin said calmly.
“Of course you can,” Bala replied, releasing the reins and accompanying Nalin and his mare from the ring.
“Thank you,” Lisen said and leaned over to pat Dekar on the shoulder. “Is there a way I can repay you? I mean, I am going to pay you for your work, but how about a noble title? Or a holding? I have a couple of extra of those.” Lisen laughed, and Dekar joined in, and then Lisen left the saddle maker in the ring and rode into the stable.
As she pulled in, she saw Bala catching Nalin as he slid off the horse, and
Lisen’s delight flew higher. Dismounting appeared to work better from the left, unlike the mounting which had required a right-sided approach. Lisen jumped off her horse, tossing the reins to a stable hand, and ran over to embrace both of her friends.
“I think this is the happiest day I’ve had since I learned who I was,” Lisen said. “Now, Bala and I will get you back inside so you can rest.”
“My Liege?” Nalin protested.
He must consider helping a friend from one place to the other unseemly in an Empir, she thought. Too bad. I’m doing it anyway.
So she and Bala each took an arm and helped Nalin hop his way back to the Keep. A couple of guards stepped out to offer aid, but Lisen shook her head to wave them off. This was between her and her friends—a moment for her to savor and remember—and she wasn’t giving it up to anyone.
Once Nalin was settled in bed, she and Bala returned to her office.
“Do you think it’s good?” Lisen asked. “I mean, I know you’re not happy with him being in battle and all, but….”
Bala smiled. “No. He was happy, and, like you, he hasn’t been happy in a long time. It’s all good. It’s definitely all good. Thank you.”
They stood there for another minute or so, silent, no further words necessary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
until the world ends
“Welcome back,” Lisen said as she took a seat in her chair at the conference table, setting her notes down in front of her.
Nalin smiled as everyone else sat down after her. Nearly six weeks after the celebration of Greatdark, the privy council had returned for one last meeting before everyone gathered to take on the anticipated attack from Thristas, and Lisen had come to dominate these proceedings every time she walked into the room. He’d taught her, but she’d risen higher than he could have ever imagined. She didn’t push with her mind as a hermit would push; she pushed with words and ideas and the strength of an Empir.
“Hope you all had a lovely holiday.” Nods and mumbles greeted this, and she continued. “All right, so much for manners. You’ve probably already noticed that a great many tents have been set up in the park. Our population of recruits continues to grow, and I thank you all for your contributions.
“Now, let’s see, what else? Oh, the horses have arrived from Sudas. Thank you, Felso, Malaki. Commander Tanres is currently working on their placement along the route from here to Pass Garrison. We haven’t heard anything yet, of course, but as I said before, I don’t really expect to hear anything for at least another few weeks, maybe more.”
“My Liege?”
“Yes, Melanda?”
“When are you going to want us here?”
“Well, you’re here now.”
Nalin smiled at that. So far the meeting didn’t need a contribution from him; Lisen was moving it along like she’d been doing it for a lifetime.
“I know, but—”
“Oh, you mean, on a more permanent basis. In preparation for the conflict.”
“Yes,” Melanda said.
“Commander?”
She delegated, she deferred, and Nalin loved watching her. All the traits he’d seen in her and found worrisome in the beginning—her sarcastic retorts, her unbridled contempt for any and all manipulation and her insistence on being treated like anything but the Empir—had transformed her into the formidable ruler who now sat beside him.
“A return by the middle of February would be preferable,” Commander Tanres replied. “Although I doubt we’ll be heading out much before the beginning of March.”
“And how will that be accomplished? This ‘heading out’ thing I mean,” Sirin Tor asked.
“We’re working on that,” Lisen said. “We have certain expectations of where and how they’ll come over the Rim, but we don’t have enough information right now to be absolutely sure. One thing I do know. I want each of you in command of your own forces. We’re training them here for the sake of discipline and consistency, and the commander has training set up for all of you as well when you get back. But in the end, you know your people, and as long as you remain steadfast, they will, too.”
“I keep hearing back from my people,” Sirin said, “that even the guards themselves can’t agree on the training procedure.”
“It’s true that the training procedure has had its problems,” Captain Palla responded. “I understand how someone on the outside might interpret this as disagreement, but the truth is we’re refining our approach as we go.”
“Forgive me, my Liege,” Melanda stated, “but I must be frank. It sickens me to think we’re putting lives at risk all because you used hermit magic.”
“Excuse me?” Lisen said, forced back into her chair as though Melanda had shoved her.
“Melanda,” Nalin said, stepping in because someone had to and because Melanda’s words had set off a ripple of anger within him that was working its way into a tidal wave. “She was abducted, drugged, held captive for over a month, had no idea when or if anyone would find her—indeed, had no idea why she’d been kidnapped. She took action, necessary action, the only action she could take. How does that make it her fault?”
“She’d spent time in Thristas. She knew how they felt about the hermits.”
“Enough!” Lisen barked, and Nalin pulled back to allow her to respond. “What precisely about the concept of lacking other options do you not understand? I spent a month with my hands tied behind my back, a hood over my head, tolerating this knife…” Lisen pulled a foreign-looking weapon from her belt… “being used to trace angle after angle of my body.” She sheathed the knife again and took a breath. “I was drugged to the point of blindness and had to fight through the drug to save myself because nobody in Garla seems to have the least idea what the people of Thristas do when they’re here in Garla.” She held her palm up in Nalin’s direction. “No, I’m sorry, Nal. I know you did your best, but we Garlans are so filled with ourselves we think Thristas is just this little settlement over the next hill. I said it before, but this time, damn it, I’m going to make it clear. They are their own people. They have their own customs. They are probably more united as a people than we are. So what in the name of the One are we doing even fighting them over this? I’m done.”
She burst out of her chair and strode from the room. Everyone else stood, Nalin included, expressions filled with shock. This was the Empir they hadn’t counted on. This was the Empir who’d seen too much and been through too much to respond in calm and measured tones.
“I should probably…apologize,” Melanda said softly.
“Yes, Melanda, you should,” Nalin replied. “Now, perhaps everyone who doesn’t live here should make plans to head home and be back in a couple of weeks.”
They filed out, every one of them, and Nalin sat at the table for a long time after they’d left. Even Bala, recognizing his displeasure at the tone and ending of the meeting, had kissed him good night and headed back to the old palace.
“Nalin?”
It was hard for him to turn all the way around in the chair, but he was able to catch a glimpse of Lisen standing just outside the closet. She’d returned via the secret passageway.
“Come on,” he said, motioning her in with a hand raised over his head. He heard her soft footfalls until she sat down beside him.
“I should apologize,” she said softly. Her eyes were red; she’d been crying. “And don’t tell me I shouldn’t, all right.”
He reached out and took her right hand. “Melanda said the same thing, and I told her she should. But you don’t owe anyone an apology because you told them the truth. Truth should never apologize.”
Lisen nodded, sniffed, then looked at him with an earnestness he couldn’t fathom. “You know, don’t you. You know what I went through. Just like I know what you went through.”
Nalin nodded. “The not knowing, feeling trapped, wondering if it’s ever going to end.”
“And I knew you were hurt, but I didn’t know how bad.”
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p; “I didn’t even know if you were alive.” He shivered at the memory.
“But you didn’t give up.”
“No. I wish I’d known more though.”
“And the day Ondra pulled the hood off and I couldn’t see. I’ve never been so scared.”
“The amputation was brutal.” It was the first time since then that he’d allowed himself to remember. What was it about this woman that called out to his soul?
“There were seven of them, and I was all alone.”
“It took five to hold me down.”
They both paused.
“You don’t owe them anything,” he said finally.
“Neither do you.”
They sat quietly there, hand in hand, silent in their singular experience. They sat for a long time, the only noise their breathing, not looking at but fully aware of one another, accepting that love isn’t just about lovers.
A few days after she’d railed at the privy council, the sun had set, the day’s rain had finally halted, and Lisen set out for a walk to the stable. It had been weeks since she’d spent any time with Pharaoh—her beautiful, wonderful Pharaoh—and she needed to see him, to touch him, to stick her nose in his mane and revel in the joy of him. She headed out through the dining room, down the steps and over the short walkway to the stables. She paused before stepping inside, closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of the freshly washed world. She’d always loved how rain brought everything back to a state of purity, and not so very long ago, she would have counted herself amongst the purified. No longer. Too many lives.
She took one last deep breath of the rain shine, then barreled into the stable. All the horses here in stalls were her horses, or so everyone told her. They’d built paddocks out in the park for the Mira horses, now nearly all gone to their stations along the “pony express,” as she thought of it. But in here, the Ilazer horses were pampered. She rounded the corner to Pharaoh’s stall, went directly to him and rubbed his muzzle. Pharaoh lifted his upper lip and nose, and he tossed his head. He was glad to see her.
Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3) Page 30
