Blade's Edge

by Val Roberts

  "Someone walking on your grave, Talyn Lunaren?” She froze at the sound of the familiar voice and a shadow detached itself from the wall next to the closet door.

  "Where have you been?” she hissed in the gloom as Tanaka's arms slid around her waist and he pulled her bodily off her feet.

  "I had something to take care of ... in Barian,” he whispered. “I told you I would find out about Blade and his family. They weren't hurt and they made it back across the border mid-afternoon local."

  "Was Taryn with them?” she asked, her voice tight with suppressed anxiety. If Taryn had crossed into Barian in the keeping of the crown heir, she would have to take drastic action to keep her appointment with her destiny. She felt claws start to sink into the skin of her behind and decided not to make a fuss about it.

  "Yes, but that's not your problem.” The claws tightened just slightly, both a warning and a promise. She sighed and deliberately relaxed into him, not that it was difficult. Somehow, with him there and holding her, even Taryn wasn't as much of a problem as she had been.

  "I'm so glad you could make it back in one day,” she murmured into his neck and felt him sigh. He nuzzled the top of her head and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Are you going to make it worth my while?” he countered and she shivered again, but not from cold or dread. She lifted her face without another word and showed him exactly how she was going to make it worth his effort to sneak back into the Lady Palace after traveling to and from the Barian border.

  She realized he had been moving when she felt her bed under her back. He pulled her gently away from him and hurriedly shrugged out of his Bariani-style garments, then slid between the sheets next to her. She was already reaching for him when he pulled the quilts up over them both.

  * * * *

  Blade's lips on her shoulder woke her, and though she knew she'd been asleep for a long time, she was still tired. Taryn moaned in protest. It had taken a lot of work and several different positions to make him serve his penance, pleasant work, but it still wore a woman out. When she finally relented and let him go to sleep he could barely move, and now he was already awake. It almost wasn't fair, even if he'd been roughing it in the Jags for months longer than she had.

  "Time for breakfast, Vixen.” He pulled down the fur blanket and cool air brought her the rest of the way to consciousness. “We need to get going before too much longer if we're going to make it to the Enclave by tonight."

  "What, you can't just wiggle your nose and fly yourself there?” she asked, cranky because he sounded like a morning person. When she could focus properly, she realized he was already dressed. “How long have you been awake?"

  "Maybe an hour.” He wrapped her hand around a flimsy mug. “It's not maidwort tea, but it will help you wake up."

  She sniffed, and the smell coming from the cup was tantalizing. “What is it?” She sipped, and knew her eyes had lit up from the flavor when he smiled knowingly.

  "It's called kava. We imported some seed from offworld about four generations ago, and now all of Barian can't get going in the morning without it. I warn you though, two cups can make you vibrate if you're not used to it.” He started folding the blanket. “I'm going to see about importing several hundred of these fur things. It's warmer than a synthdown sleeper."

  "They're called travelers’ rugs. They were for sale in the market,” she said in between sips of kava. “In Balsom. The trapper guild makes them."

  He hesitated, looking at the patchwork of short fur. “You don't farm the skins?"

  Taryn looked at him over the rim of the cup. “These are much lower quality than the farmed skins, though the trapper guild regulates those, too.” She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, because it was still chilly. “You know, I was still using that."

  "Think of it as incentive to get dressed.” He finished folding it and placed it in the corner, then asked, “What do you want to do with this?” as he held up her ripped, bloodstained shirt. It was pretty much a total loss. Maybe if she was better with a needle and thread she could have made a handkerchief out of the cloth still in good shape, but needlework had never held her interest. At academy she'd been a decent weaver and a fair potter, but never a seamstress.

  "I didn't realize I bled that much yesterday. I guess I should throw it away, because I'll never be able to fix it."

  Blade let his arm drop. “Now you know why I was so worried about you."

  "You were worried?” There were clean clothes neatly folded next to the pallet on top of her pack, so she set down the cup and started pulling them on.

  "When I saw that wolf pack surround you I think it took ten years off my life,” he said, turning his back so she couldn't see his expression. “And when I felt the blood...” His voice trailed off and he shuddered. “I never want to be that scared again, you hear me?"

  She frowned and stopped in the middle of putting a foot in her drawers, only half of which came from the solid ache from the waist down. “Why would that frighten you? It's my—was—my job to do that.” He'd known her for exactly two days and two nights, and they'd spent most of the time arguing, so why would he care? His slow smile and the imperious arch of one eyebrow reminded her of how they had spent the rest of the time. She felt a slow wave of heat crawl up her neck, her cheekbones, her forehead, until even her scalp felt like it was burning.

  "I knew you'd figure that out eventually.” His eyes were starting to glow again, and she recognized it as an expression of mischief. “Now get dressed before I start getting ideas.” He ducked back out of the almost-room and let the other travelers’ rug fall shut behind him. Once she was decently clothed, Taryn started investigating whether or not Leone had thought to stuff a comb into the leather satchel that had been packed in such a hurry. A toothbrush would be nice, too, and maybe something to tie her hair back with, although a strip from her ruined shirt would do in a pinch.

  She emerged with her hair in its customary braid and her pack and scabbard on her shoulder less than ten minutes later, pausing only to take down the rug and fold it before stowing it with the rest of the bedding. Blade was looking at a map set up on one of the folding camp tables with Galen, as usual, at his shoulder. Both of them were absorbed and she was ravenous, so she walked over to the cupboard where Blade had found food of a sort the night before and looked at the containers.

  "Do you need some help, Vixen?” Grigor appeared next to her.

  "I'm starving, and none of these containers is labeled in anything other than arcane symbols."

  "They're from off world. The symbols are supposed to be universal, but you have to learn them like any other language.” He smiled. “What would you like?"

  She thought about it—normally she ate whatever was being served at mess, but if she had a choice, “Protein and carbohydrates."

  "All right.” He stared at the shelves for a moment. “Ham, eggs and some kind of porridge. It's okay, even though we've never figured out exactly what kind of grain it is.” He handed her two containers.

  "Do all Bariani eat like this?” she asked, eyeing them.

  "Gods, no.” He chuckled. “When we're not in the hinterlands trying to sneak around, we eat real food, just like Zonans."

  When she had finished her meal and disposed of the containers, Juvenan and Dorcan were leading horses out of the back of the cavern, Maris was limping for the entrance with Grigor supporting him, and Blade and Galen were putting the map back in one of the cabinets, still conversing in low voices. She didn't belong there, among the half-dozen men who all had their places and who were comfortable enough with their jobs that they didn't require any direction. Would she ever belong anywhere again?

  She pushed away the unwelcome question and buckled on her scabbard, then shouldered her pack and walked outside. The other three horses, including the mare she had come to think of as hers, were tied to trees. Taryn untied her horse and petted her nose, telling her she was pretty and soon she would have a real stable instead of a nas
ty cave, and maybe some carrots.

  "Wouldn't you like a nice carrot?” she asked quietly as men began emerging from the dark opening. “I promise, tonight you can really rest, okay?” The mare whickered some sort of acknowledgment, or maybe greeting. Taryn looked up and Blade was standing only a few feet away from her with the strangest expression. He almost looked like he'd been hypnotized. “Something wrong?"

  "No.” He said it too fast, then looked at the trees. “We should be able to make it to the Enclave today."

  She swallowed her unease. “Good.” She climbed into the saddle and arranged her scabbard and reins. “You're staring at me."

  Blade actually started. “Sorry.” He walked over to the big gelding and she fingered her scar and wondered what that had been about. She was still wondering five minutes later when she was herded into position on his left and they started riding northeast. Again. Only the third day and already it was getting very, very old.

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  Chapter Twelve

  He hadn't been prepared to find Taryn sweet-talking a horse, murmuring gentle little nothings about treats and a long rest, when he came out of the cave. Somehow, with all the fighting to stay alive and running to find safety, he'd never thought of her as ... motherly. And it had triggered a memory that had been buried so deep for so long he hadn't known it was there.

  Another woman, her hair a lighter, honey blond but just as long and usually braided, had tucked him into bed and cooed to him like that. She hadn't been his nanny because he'd had four of those, plump older women who all bore the title Brigha. And that meant the startling snatch of memory had to have been...

  "My mother,” he breathed to himself, because she must have been the mother who had walked away when the shuttle crash had thrust his father into the Crown Heir's seat. Blade didn't even know her name, had thought all memory of her obliterated by time and the betrayal a three-year-old feels when his mother deserts him because his father suddenly finds himself a king. Had his mother been Zonan?

  It would explain the sudden, strong attraction to Taryn, even during that initial disastrous ride through the Balsom marketplace. It would explain his sense of triumph last night when she had accepted an equal footing in their physical relationship. What it didn't explain, of course, was why he hadn't thought about his biological mother in over thirty years.

  Nobody ever talked about her, and his father had married again by the time he'd turned six, so he'd never really thought about it beyond vaguely wondering what kind of woman would leave her child because she couldn't face being in charge. If she'd been Zonan, a number of other things that had been vaguely stinging over the years began to click into place with a revolting logic. Why his exam scores had never been an issue, even when they weren't as high as they should have been, and yet Dar had been hounded about them. Why Dar had been shuttled into the Navy when Blade had been slated for infantry since before puberty. Why everyone always assumed he was the best person to deal with Zonan issues, even if all his work had to be closely overseen in case he did something stupid. Of course he was stupid: he was half Zonan. He might even be a bastard.

  And his mother had probably been a commoner, unaware that her lover was first in line for the Bariani throne after the royal family. A woman like that, still dealing with the vast difference in technology and the sudden obsolescence of almost her entire skill set, would be horrified to discover the truth, totally unprepared for the responsibilities of managing a space-faring economy.

  No wonder she had left. He had still been betrayed, but, looking at Taryn, he was beginning to understand. Taryn could handle it—he had no doubt whatsoever that her background had given her more than ample political acumen and very thick skin. Hells, her own family had been trying to kill her for two days and she wasn't taking it personally.

  But some very primitive part of him wanted to lock her away someplace beautiful and protect her from everything ugly. Had his father tried to do that with his mother? And had she responded the way Taryn undoubtedly would that kind of high-handed treatment? After all, Taryn had walked away from everything she had ever known when it turned on her, so there was nothing to keep her from walking away from him.

  The thought was shocking enough that he almost missed the stirrup when he was mounting the gelding.

  He had to tell her. He had to tell her soon, even if it meant she would leave him. Of course, he wouldn't just let her go like his father had. He would track her down and ... what? He couldn't drag her back without making her deepest stereotypical beliefs about Bariani a reality. He couldn't talk her into coming back on her own, because he was no good at that kind of thing—no, he'd never been trained as a diplomat because everyone knew Zonans were wild to their bones—and she was too important to screw it up.

  Fortunately, he had the rest of the day to figure it out. The tension eased slightly when she fell into place on his left and they started the long ride to the Enclave. It was his third full day on a horse and he was getting sore in places he hadn't known existed, so sore he might not even be able to make love to her that night. But he would find a way.

  They stopped for lunch by Carolla Falls, near the head of the Great Wooded River, after a peaceful morning ride in warm sunshine, with just enough of a breeze to bring the scent of winterbells every once in a while. It was one of Blade's favorite places on Timarron, and he had to restrain himself from wandering into the surrounding forest to look for one of the aromatic flowers to give to Taryn while his escort broke out food. If he started into normal courting now, she'd probably think he was crazy, and he hadn't thought of a way to tell her his identity and his plans without losing her for good. He chose a food container at random and sat on a flat rock.

  Taryn likewise picked one up without looking at it, hesitated briefly, then sat next to Maris and spoke with him quietly as they ate. Quashing the sudden spike of possessive jealousy wasn't easy, and it left him frustrated and furious. He had to think of a way to make this work. He wasn't going to allow a Zonan to abandon him a second time in this life. She was too important, and not just politically.

  * * * *

  "Your Majesty.” The blue-haired stranger swept down in a full-court bow with an elegant flourish, rising again to reveal extended canines and yellow eyes. Silean tried not to recoil, but he looked so—odd. Not even ugly, just—odd.

  "Have we met, my lord?” she asked through the nagging sensation that she'd seen him before. It must have been déjà vu, because she was quite certain she would have remembered, well, that.

  "I believe you met my progenitors some twenty years ago at the last Dozen Worlds convocation on the Timarron application,” he supplied. She raised an eyebrow in discreet astonishment.

  "I met several thousand people at that convocation, and as you pointed out, it was a long time ago.” She felt her forehead crease, trying to remember anyone over six feet tall with blue hair, but drew a blank. “Perhaps you could refresh my memory?"

  He bowed again. “I am the fourth Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, first heir to the Hauptmann Cartel presidency.” Silean felt the skin over her cheekbones tighten. Hauptmann might claim to be a loose affiliation of commercial ventures, but as an organization it ruled three planets in the Garnford system, a string of orbital habitats, and several commercial and military fleets. Its newly acquired artificial moon, Calexi Seven, was the sector's largest duty-free port, if one didn't count the taxes levied by the cartel itself. And this strange man was heir to the president's seat. What, by all the goddess loved, was he doing in Zona? “I was commissioned to replace the third Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, currently the President of the Hauptmann Cartel."

  "Yes, I do remember your, ah, your father,” she said into the silence perhaps a beat too late. “What brings you to the Lady Palace, my lord Tanaka?” She didn't remember Mustafan Tanaka the original—or the third, or however they put it—at all and was fairly certain she had never been introduced to someone that important.

  "Oh, I'm mad for a
ll things Zonan,” he replied, smiling again and giving her a better look at his fangs than she wanted. Fangs. Ugh. “I've come here several times looking for new objects to add to my collection.” He leaned toward her and it was all she could do not to step back away. “Such incredible workmanship,” he murmured, “such clean, purposeful lines. Each item is unique and each item is perfect. I've never seen anything like Zonan work anywhere else. It's a privilege to walk the same streets as the masters who live here."

  "I see. Thank you.” He was letting her know, in as subtle a way possible, that he drove the offworld market that had kept her little piece of land and her people alive. This was someone she needed to make happy, except that she didn't need him wandering around the Lady Palace in the middle of a political mess. “But there are no artisans in the Lady Palace, Lord Tanaka, and you are in a secured area without an escort."

  "I am?” At least he had the manners to look surprised before he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Well, to be honest I was hoping to catch someone from the Matriarch's Own to see if I could get any news of the Barian Crown Heir. I just heard what happened a couple of days ago.” He shook his head slowly. “Poor Blade. This sort of thing always happens to him, and it's never his fault."

  "You know the Barian Crown Heir?” It was out of her mouth before she could censor it, but at least the astonishment and surprise were not only genuine, but appropriate. If the von Stassos family consorted with the likes of the Hauptmann royals—and an inheritable presidency was just another name for a monarchy—then it was time to give up all pretense and get the best deal she could.