As if to prove her point, Jaros turned and began splashing his sister, who hadn’t even entered the fight.
“Ah, but you’re assuming his mission was to support one side.” Lancer Tal shaded her eyes, watching the flying water. “Perhaps the true objective was more subtle. Perhaps he wants a broader war.”
Salomen dove under and reappeared on Jaros’s other side, drenching him with a sweep of her arm.
“Good point. I think he’s achieved it,” Vellmar said as Lhyn splashed all three combatants in a flurry of indiscriminate flailing.
Lanaril let out a throaty laugh. “You really cannot stop yourselves, can you?”
For another laugh like that, Vellmar would keep joking all day. “A good warrior never overlooks an opportunity to learn. Lancer Tal just taught me a valuable lesson. I underestimated Jaros.”
“Never underestimate Jaros,” Lancer Tal agreed. “He’s as devious as his sister while looking twice as innocent. He won over Ekatya’s grandparents within five ticks of meeting them.”
Downstream, on the broadest section of the pool’s south beach, the rest of their swim party was finishing a late midmeal. The Opah men were dressed once more, as was Marinda, the woman Nikin was courting. Nikolay and Elanor had never removed their swimwear.
“I think all the Opahs have won them over,” Vellmar observed. “They seem much more accepting of your bonds since meeting them.”
“They were more accepting as soon as I mentioned the media announcement. Knowing that we’re making this public put half their fears to rest. But yes, Salomen’s family helped a great deal.” Lancer Tal pushed herself out of the low chair and donned her short trousers. A loose shirt followed, which she sealed only enough to cover her breasts. “May I ask you to accompany me to the house? I have something to discuss with both of you.”
Lanaril pushed back her hat. “You cannot do it here?”
“It’s a conversation best conducted with chilled spirits.” She gestured upstream, where the Silverrun tumbled over the rocky wall. “Shall we?”
Salomen waved as they climbed to the top of the waterfall. Whatever Lancer Tal had planned, she obviously knew and approved. Her wave was cut short when Jaros wrapped his arms around her neck, and she fell back with a theatrical gurgle.
Vellmar laughed as she followed the others across the new footbridge. It had been constructed at the same time as the house, along with the steps that now offered easy access up the canyon wall. Both were built from local stone, blending into the landscape while standing firm against the spring and autumn floods.
They emerged at the top of the canyon and continued down the narrow path toward the house. Native plants bordered it on both sides, fitting the landscape as naturally as if Fahla herself had placed them. They hadn’t been there two days ago.
“When did Salomen have time to do this?” she asked.
At the head of their little procession, Lancer Tal spoke over her shoulder. “She and Elanor finished it yesterday, just before sunset. They’ve been doing quite a lot of planting over the past nineday,” she explained to Lanaril. “It turns out that Elanor is a devout gardener. You can imagine how that’s helped things along.”
“Oh, yes. What an unexpected benefit.” Lanaril’s thin wraparound skirt brushed the ground as she bent to touch a scented herb. She rubbed a leaf, then lifted her fingers to her nose and inhaled. “Divine.”
They mounted the wooden steps to the deck, where Lancer Tal invited them to sit while she fetched the spirits. Lanaril chose a chair facing downstream and pointed at the jar of small, flame-red flowers on the table. “Their State House quarters are always graced with the best bouquets the staff can create. Somehow, I find Salomen’s little bouquets far more charming.”
“She makes them with love,” Vellmar said. “Perhaps we sense it, still lingering on the stems.”
The look Lanaril gave her made her toes curl. “When you speak that way, I want to—”
“Here we are.” Lancer Tal reappeared with three glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Yes,” Vellmar grumbled.
“Well, there’s an unused guest room upstairs if you’re still in the mood after this. It hasn’t yet been sanctified.”
“Where are Nikolay and Elanor sleeping?” Lanaril asked.
“In the downstairs guest room. They’re blissfully unaware of room choices upstairs and no wiser when we come down for mornmeal. Nor do they wish to be.” A practiced twist of the wrist opened the bottle, blue vapor emerging only to be whisked away by the light breeze. She filled the glasses, handed two across the table, and held hers up as she took her seat. “To Fahla and Alsea.”
“To Fahla and Alsea,” Vellmar echoed. It sounded so different as a toast, rather than a battle cry.
“Thank you for coming today.” Lancer Tal set her glass down and leaned back, looking as rested and comfortable as Vellmar had ever seen her. “It may not be an official bonding break, but it feels like one when our friends are with us.”
“It’s an honor to be considered so.” Lanaril set a hand on Vellmar’s thigh, a casual gesture that still made her heart beat faster. “What sort of discussion requires these very fine spirits? And must be opened with a declaration of friendship?”
A smile flitted across the Lancer’s face as she looked downstream, where the swimmers could be heard above the sound of the waterfall. “I’ve had time to slow down and think here. Think and watch and, perhaps, understand things I didn’t before.” Her gaze shifted to the little jar on the table. “Salomen put these canyon starfires on the dining table yesterday morning. They were closed then, so all we saw was this.”
Gently, she bent the petals of one flower upward, showing their silver undersides.
“She said that’s the source of their name. When they’re closed, they’re the color of starlight. When they open, they’re like the star itself. A heart of fire.”
“Starfires.” Vellmar tilted a flower back and forth, captivated by this different view of a plant she had seen hundreds of times. “I didn’t know that. It’s a perfect name.”
“Isn’t it? I’ve watched Salomen and Ekatya unfold this past nineday, like starfires. They’re both stunning when they’re open and free. Absolutely beyond compare. I realized that I’m enjoying their freedom while imposing constraints on others.”
Lanaril’s hand tightened on her thigh. “Andira. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that Vellmar deserves to make the choice.”
Their attention swung to Vellmar, who felt like a first-cycle trainee being inspected. “What choice?”
Lancer Tal drew the flower from the jar and spun it slowly between her fingers. “When you told Lanaril about your role in the battle plan, she didn’t talk to me for five days. She ignored messages, wouldn’t take my calls—I had to resort to trickery to get her to see me. She was furious with me for risking your life.”
Lanaril looked shamefaced. “It was not my finest moment. I regret that now.”
“You have nothing to regret.” She lifted the starfire to her nose and inhaled, then held it out. “But I do.”
Vellmar accepted the flower automatically. There were undercurrents here that she didn’t understand.
“Lanaril is a dear friend,” Lancer Tal told her. “Losing her regard hurt in ways I didn’t expect. The kindest thing would have been to let her be angry and work through it in her own time. But I didn’t know if you would survive your mission. If you were killed, I feared losing her friendship forever. So I did the selfish thing. I told her the truth.”
“Why was that selfish?”
“Because it burdened her with a secret. One she had to keep from you.”
For half a piptick, she wondered why this was an issue when Lanaril kept a thousand secrets a day due to her temple work. Then the understanding hit: this was a secret about her.
It was a blow straight to her weakest point. Having convinced Lanaril to give her a chance desp
ite her youth and far lower rank, she was ever aware of their differences and always striving to bridge them. Lanaril holding a significant secret about her, in concert with Lancer Tal, made that gulf seem wider.
“I understand that she can’t share everything with me,” she said, trying for an even tone.
“She can share this, if you choose it.” Lancer Tal leaned forward, her expression shifting. Despite her short sleeves and damp, swim-tangled hair, she suddenly looked every bit the Lancer. “Be aware, though, this is a heavy truth. There is a good reason why I haven’t told you, and why she agreed to keep the secret. She did it for you. She wanted you to enjoy your life unburdened by it.”
Vellmar tilted the flower, watching the brilliant red-orange petals shift to a silvery white. “It sounds as if you’re saying only one of us can live freely. Either Lanaril keeps your secret so I can stay happily ignorant, or I take this burden, whatever it is, and free her.”
“It’s not that great a burden,” Lanaril said. “Nor is it something you need to know today. It will come naturally, in its own time. Don’t do it for me.”
“Of course I’ll do it for you.”
“Fianna—”
“What did I promise, that night in your garden? To take what burdens I could from you. If this is so big that it will affect how I live my life, I don’t see how it can also be so small that you don’t mind the burden. Can you give me skin contact and tell me that again?”
Lanaril’s hesitation was answer enough.
She set the starfire back in its jar. “Tell me.”
With an approving nod, Lancer Tal relaxed into her chair. “Lanaril and I have dropped our fronts with each other for a long time. I would like to do that now, if you’re willing.”
Of all the things she had imagined, this was at the bottom of the list. It was equivalent to a promotion. No, it was better than that.
“I would be honored,” she managed.
The Lancer’s front fell a moment later. Lanaril added her familiar emotions to the mix, leaving Vellmar so overwhelmed by the combination that she only belatedly realized her own front was still up. It took conscious effort to let it go.
Lancer Tal was proud of her. Vellmar didn’t give a fanten’s fart what this mysterious truth might be; it was worth it for that alone.
“When Lanaril finally spoke to me, I realized that her anger wasn’t only because I was risking your life. She thought I considered you expendable.”
Well, that was a confusing opening. “I am. We all are, in service to Alsea.”
“That wasn’t the issue,” Lanaril said reluctantly. “This is not an easy thing to admit. In my fear of losing you, I lost sight of the truth. I believed that Andira . . . didn’t care about you.” Relieved at getting the worst out, she spoke more quickly. “I thought she couldn’t, not if she was willing to throw you into the most dangerous part of that battle. How could she do that unless she saw you only as a resource to be used?”
That didn’t help; of course she was a resource. She looked to Lancer Tal for clarification.
“I told Lanaril that nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, you were an asset. But not just any asset, and not one I risked lightly. Vellmar, you’re more valuable to me than any warrior other than Micah.”
This was straight out of her fantasies and therefore suspect. She glanced at the bottle, wondering if those spirits had a little something extra.
“Have you noticed that I’ve been mentoring you? Spending more time teaching you to think tactically and plan long-term strategies?”
“Yes.” It came out as a croak. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t do that with Gehrain when he was your Lead Guard?”
“Micah taught Gehrain, not me. If I’m going to train a warrior to that degree, it won’t be for the position of Head or Chief Guardian. I would only invest that kind of time for a higher post.”
What was higher than Chief Guardian of the Lancer? That was the ultimate fantasy of most warriors in the protective services, equivalent to a base commander but at the heart of government. The only positions higher than that were caste Prime or—
Her brain froze.
Lancer Tal smiled. “I did warn you that it was a heavy truth.”
“You—I—but that’s—you’re not joking,” she finished weakly.
“No, I’m not. I want you to be Lancer after I retire.”
“Fahla on a shekking funstick!” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Amusement curled around her senses as Lanaril rubbed her thigh. “Don’t ever change.”
“I’m sorry, it just came out.”
“I think, in this instance, it might be justified.”
Vellmar covered her hand, taking comfort from her presence while the world tilted on its axis. “Why me?”
“Oh, so many reasons. I chose you after you helped me kill my monster. No, that’s not quite right. It was after our talk in Lanaril’s garden, when I realized what you had done. You learned quickly, you adapted under combat pressure, you made a hard choice with hard consequences, and you were willing to pay the price for it. You were loyal, courageous, and honorable beyond reproach. I’ve seen all those traits displayed repeatedly since then, not least when you seized control of the Vengeance.”
“But I’m not qualified!” she blurted, dazzled by the shower of compliments. With her front down, it was clear that Lancer Tal meant every one of them.
“Not yet. That’s why I’m training you. I could teach anyone the art of politics, but to govern—that requires characteristics that cannot be taught. You have them all. Given time, you’ll be more qualified than anyone on Alsea.”
“Except you.”
“I won’t be Lancer forever.”
That was a terrifying thought. “I don’t want you to retire.”
The moment it left her mouth, she heard how childish it sounded. Fortunately, Lancer Tal understood.
“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“You can say no,” Lanaril offered.
Vellmar caught Lancer Tal’s eye and saw the knowledge there. “No, I can’t. Not now that I know she’s chosen me. It’s my duty.”
“It’s your life, Fianna.”
“My highest duty is to Alsea.” If Lancer Tal thought she was the best person to succeed her, then that was her path. To step off would be a cowardly betrayal of not just the Lancer’s belief, but also her oath as a warrior.
She closed her eyes, absorbing the sun’s warmth and the faint sounds of the swimmers. A heavy truth? This was the weight of the world. Yes, she would have to win an election someday, but with Lancer Tal behind her, she did not doubt the outcome. Someday, she would be responsible for everything and everyone around her.
In that moment, she understood the gift Lancer Tal had tried to give her.
“You spoke truth about the burden,” she said. “But I think it might be better this way. I’d rather know what I’m preparing for.”
“It does make it easier to train you,” Lancer Tal agreed.
“What would you have done if I’d chosen not to know?”
“I’d have begun the search for a better candidate.”
Lanaril looked between them, confusion blurring the edges of her emotional signature. “Why?”
“Because I would have put my comfort before yours,” Vellmar answered. “It was a test.”
“A test?!”
Lancer Tal held up a placating hand. “Not like that, Lanaril. I truly did want to lift the weight I laid on you. If I’ve learned anything over the past cycle, it’s that living openly is the greatest freedom we have.”
“But if I chose selfishly, I wouldn’t be the kind of Lancer Alsea needs. I’d be the kind we’ve had too often before now.”
“You validate my choice more with every word.” Pride washed across the table as Lancer Tal lifted her glass. “To the State Chair. May it go to the deserving and not the desiring.”
That was a toast Vellmar could drink to. “I�
��ll have to start thinking about my own Chief Guardian,” she said, reaching for the bottle to refill their glasses. “Since I won’t be one myself. I’d want Rahel, but she’s too happy in space.”
“One of the most difficult duties of a Lancer is to make decisions for the sake of Alsea, not individuals. If you truly believe Rahel would serve Alsea better as your Chief Guardian than on one of our ships, you should ask her. She would not refuse.”
Not too long ago, that post would have been Rahel’s dream. No, she would not refuse. She would even make the best of it, serving as ably in the State House as she did on the Phoenix. Vellmar would love nothing more than to have her friend so close, both a companion and a warrior she could trust with her life.
But would that be the best use of her skills?
“We need her up there more than I need her down here,” she concluded. “We have too few trained people for the crews we need to fill. Ronlin would be a better choice.”
The warmth of approval confirmed her decision. “I agree.” Lancer Tal tilted her glass toward the waterfall. “But even if I didn’t, you still couldn’t have her. I’m not the only one who has chosen a successor.”
44
The gift
Shortly after dawn, Rahel left the pleasure house and took a magtran to the central park, where she walked among the great caste houses and fretted.
That joyous rush last night had been from Micah, a product of instinctive knowledge that the sperm packet and egg had met. Contact was only the first step, however. The packet had to dissolve and release its sperm, and fertilization took several hanticks. They had all gone to sleep last night not knowing the outcome, and Dr. Wells and Micah were still asleep this morning.
She didn’t know.
Our child, they had agreed, and she didn’t know if it existed.
The uncertainty drove her hardest workout since the battle. After showering, she unrolled a mat in the centering room and attempted to calm herself. Such ridiculous agitation over a small issue, a matter that affected just three people and endangered no one, was not worthy of a warrior.
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 33