Renegade

by Justine Davis

  “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning in to take a closer look.

  The twins exchanged a glance, and then they were both smiling.

  “We knew—”

  “You would not—”

  “Be afraid.”

  “It hardly seems anything to be afraid of,” he said. “But it is . . . curious.” He glanced at Lana as he used the word, in time to see a smile curve her mouth and her eyes gleam.

  “He is harmless,” she said.

  “Is he the only one of his kind?” he asked.

  “He is—” Lux began.

  “The only one—”

  “We’ve ever seen, but—”

  “We have not seen—”

  “All, so there—”

  “Could be more.”

  His gaze shifted from the snake to the twins. “Would that my troopers could be so logical.”

  “The one who—”

  “Tried to—”

  “Kill him—”

  “Was not.”

  They looked a bit perturbed. He found himself searching for something to say. “I cannot explain such reactions. They seem to come from a place deeply buried, where fear without conscious cause resides.”

  The twins did not look appeased. He tried again, even as he was not sure why.

  “Is there nothing that makes you wary upon sight?”

  “Only things—”

  “That we know are—”

  “Dangerous or—”

  “Will bite, like—”

  “Slimehogs and—”

  “Zipbugs and—”

  “Troopers,” they finished in unison.

  He drew back slightly at that.

  “They know it is only by your grace that they have not been taken by now,” Iolana said softly.

  She had come to sit on her chair across from him. He had been intent on the twins, but he could never miss the electrical sort of tingling that he felt when she was close. Somewhat like what he’d felt on his arm after the bridge, only less localized.

  “I would not call mere curiosity . . . grace,” he said.

  “Call it what you will; it has kept them safe, and I thank you for that.” He glanced at her, and the moment they made eye contact something seemed to expand inside him. She added softly, “And in return I can explain something, if you are . . . curious about why you’ve done it.”

  He knew her choice of the word was intentional. What could she know about why he’d given these two his protection, when he was not certain himself? But he had no time to dwell on it for the twins had already had enough of the adult talk.

  “Would you like to—”

  “Hold him?”

  “He will let you because he—”

  “Trusts us.”

  “Just hold out—”

  “Your arm.”

  Paledan held out his left arm, wondering if he was making a mistake. He had just regained full use of it, if not full strength, and now he was about to let some creature he knew little about curl itself around it?

  Yet the snake seemed docile enough as it wrapped itself around his fore­arm. He noticed a hesitation at the end, as if the two heads were set on differ­ent directions.

  “We call him—”

  “Trouble because—”

  “He gets into—”

  “So much—”

  “But mostly because—”

  “He has trouble making up—”

  “His minds,” they finished.

  Paledan couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from him. And the twins looked inordinately pleased.

  He studied the creature, as the twins peppered him with all their know­ledge of the thing.

  “The tongues are how—”

  “They smell—”

  “And he likes—”

  “To eat muckrats—”

  “So that is good because—”

  “There are so many.”

  He shifted his gaze to them. “Do both heads eat?”

  Their smiles widened, and he felt ridiculously like a student who had pleased the instructor.

  “They do!” they exclaimed together.

  “It uses—”

  “Both heads—”

  “And the teeth—”

  “To divide food—”

  “To share.”

  “How . . . equitable.”

  After they had apparently decided the snake had had enough, they gath­ered him back into the bag. He went willingly, perhaps happier in the dark.

  Which makes him wiser than many.

  “We will bring—”

  “More things—”

  “If you would like it.”

  “I would,” he said, and found he meant it sincerely.

  When they had gone, he looked at Lana.

  “They have much of their sister’s gift for taming wild things,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  And the way she looked at him made him wonder what she meant beside the two-headed snake.

  Chapter 37

  “HAVE YOU NOT wondered why they intrigue you so?” Iolana asked as they began walking again after the twins had gone.

  Caze—she was becoming more comfortable with using the name, for better or ill—gave a half shrug. “I told you, I have never observed twins before.”

  “Most who have not, once the novelty of them has passed, simply accept.”

  “Anyone who is not alert around those two will pay a price, eventually.”

  He said it dryly, with a lingering trace of the laugh they had startled out of him. And Iolana found it disconcerting, how much she enjoyed hearing that laugh, and wished to hear more of it.

  “Contention valid,” she said after a moment. “Are you still thinking of the snake at this moment?”

  Looking surprised, he answered, “No.”

  “Because it is not a mystery of any import to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But they are.”

  “Much more than a mishap of nature, yes.”

  She stopped mid-stride. He stopped as well, and looked at her inquir­ingly. “But,” she said softly, “is that not exactly what the Coalition says they are?”

  She saw the moment when what he knew of the twins collided with the teachings of an entire lifetime.

  So you are open to changing your mind.

  When not doing so becomes the impossibility, yes.

  She stayed silent, watching the battle play out in his face, in those eyes.

  “Mishap,” he said finally, slowly, “is not the word I would use for them.”

  “What is?”

  “I do not know. But they are not . . . wrong.”

  “No. They are not. They are special.”

  There was barely a hesitation before he said, “They are.”

  “So has the Coalition then made a mistake?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “What is it you wish me to say?” he asked softly.

  “The twins say you wear the Coalition suit, but your mind does not.” He blinked, clearly startled. “So I would wish that you say what you yourself think. Not what the Coalition teaches.”

  He let out a breath. “Then yes. I think they have made a mistake.” One corner of his mouth quirked ruefully. “About the potential of wordless communication, if nothing else.”

  “And will you tell them so?”

  “No.” The answer was instantaneous. Which she found interesting in itself.

  “Why?”

  “It is not wise to even think High Command could be wrong, let alone speak it.”

  “And you always act wisely?”

  He let out a
weary sigh that she guessed had little to do with physical tiredness. “No. No, I do not.” He gave her a sideways look then. “I would not be here, like this, if I did.”

  “Contention valid,” she agreed, with a wide smile.

  He just stared at her for a moment. And then, as if the words were tearing themselves out of him against his will, he said, “If I told them, and if they believed me, they would doubtless want your twins to study.”

  Iolana’s breath shuddered out of her, all humor vanquished. “They would order you to take them?”

  “And send them to some laboratory to be studied, analyzed, tested, and in the end probably dissected.”

  The repulsion in his voice was the only thing that enabled her to keep her head about her at all at the horrific images his words brought into her mind.

  “But you would not do it,” she whispered.

  Again a hesitation, longer this time. She sensed he was wondering at her certainty, suspected he was worrying just how much she had gathered through that connection between them.

  And then he closed his eyes. “No. Eos help me, no. I could not.”

  “YOU BELIEVE HIM?” Eirlys asked.

  “I do,” Iolana said to the group standing on the trail outside her home. “He fought saying it, every word. I believe it is truth.”

  Her daughter looked at her mate. “Then perhaps you are right.”

  “It has occurred, occasionally,” Brander said lightly.

  Drake, who had been listening silently, now turned to face her. “This thing that you have yet to tell him . . . could it be enough to turn him?”

  She studied her son for a moment. More than anything she wished to tell him yes, for she sensed it would win her the time to make the effort. Yet she would not lie to him, not after what she’d already done. And more, he held the fate of Ziem in his strong hands; she could do nothing that would hamper him.

  “Not in itself, no. But I believe it would give a strong start to the pro­cess. And I believe he is ready to hear it.”

  “I am not sure that is enough,” Kye said, although she said it kindly. “Those cannons will arrive any day, and that will make our fight . . .”

  Hopeless? Pointless? Futile? All of those could apply, Iolana thought wearily. But then there were many who would say it had been that from the beginning, and yet the Raider had bedeviled the Coalition for nearly four years now.

  “We can only wait a short time before we must strike to delay the in­stal­lation of those weapons,” Drake agreed with his mate. “But with that stipu­lation, I leave it to you to decide on your timing.”

  She watched her son, daughter, and their pledged mates walk up the mountain path and back to the main cavern of the stronghold. Each pair was touching in some way, Drake and Kye shoulder to shoulder and arms entwined, Eirlys and Brander openly clasping hands. They moved like people treasuring each moment of contact. Which they were, for they all knew these might be the only moments they would ever have.

  Eos give them more. Give them all the time they deserve. And someday children, for they deserve them as well, and will be strong enough for them.

  She bent to pick up the pot of Mahko’s stew that Eirlys had brought, and turned back toward her cave. She could feel that it was still quite warm, so she would scoop some up for him now. And wait for the right moment.

  When she stepped inside, both Grim and Caze looked up at her. She nodded at Grim, who rose, nodded in turn, and left.

  “I have brought you a meal,” she said, placing the pot on the grate over her small fire.

  “Another variation of brollet?”

  “Missing your Coalition menu?”

  “No. Just . . . amazed at how one meat can be prepared to taste so dif­ferently—and good—so many times.”

  She smiled at that as she handed him a bowl and one of the carved wooden spoons Brander made when he needed to distract his agile mind. “It is a good thing they reproduce like . . . brollets.”

  He smiled slightly at that. Then he took a mouthful, and nodded at the savory taste. “And how does whoever does your excellent cooking feel about feeding the enemy?”

  “He is a gentle soul.”

  “And he trusts you.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Do not think,” he said softly, “that I don’t know that you are likely the reason I am still alive, in more ways than that you healed me.”

  “Do not be so certain,” she retorted. “My son is a very wise leader. And,” she added, deciding that he was too intelligent not to have guessed, “he is very much aware of what executing a Coalition officer would cost us.”

  He didn’t even blink at the enunciation of his own potential death sentence. He simply continued to eat as if it were a fueling process to be finished as soon as possible. Brander had told her that Drake had once said that the only way he could continue this fight was to consider himself already dead. She had the feeling that was a sentiment this man would understand perfectly.

  Finally he spoke again. “They would wreak havoc. For the insult,” he added, as if he felt he needed to clarify that it would not be he himself they would avenge, but the status he held as an emblem of their total rule.

  She nodded, wondering at herself that she found even this sad, that a man such as he had no more significance to the Coalition than the rank and honors he had achieved.

  “He is also aware,” she went on, “that your replacement could be much worse.”

  He set down his spoon in the now empty bowl. “Worse?”

  “It would seem the next step. Frall was incompetent, so they send the paragon of competence. If you fall, would they not send destruction?”

  He did not deny it. “Yes. In one manner or another.”

  In the same instant she heard the racing footsteps, he turned his head. He’d heard them too. But she kept her gaze on his face, and caught the slight smile that played over his lips for a brief moment.

  Yes. This is the key. The beginning.

  The twins skidded to a halt and called out, asking for permission to enter. She knew only Drake’s sternest of orders slowed them even that much. When she bid them enter, they darted inside. They stopped before Caze, their gaze pausing on the empty bowl he had set down.

  “Good, you are—”

  “Finished. Because—”

  “We brought you—”

  “A kwill.”

  Caze blinked. “A what?”

  Lux held out the fist-sized thing that looked prickly enough to be danger­ous.

  “I have seen these about,” he said. Iolana knew he could hardly avoid it, for the trees were nearly as ubiquitous as mistbreakers.

  “You must be—”

  “Careful or—”

  “It will—”

  “Stick you.” Lux tipped it gently onto his outstretched palm.

  “So I see.”

  “But it is—”

  “Worth the risk—”

  “For they are—”

  “Very sweet.”

  He looked from them to the brown, oval-shaped thing. “You’re saying this is edible?”

  The twins grinned at him. “Look right there—” Nyx began, pointing.

  “There is—”

  “A seam and—”

  “If you press it—”

  “It will split open—”

  “If it is ripe enough.”

  “And if it is not?” he asked. “Does it spit the spines at you?”

  The twins laughed. “No,” said Lux.

  “But that would be fun.” Nyx grinned.

  She saw him barely stop a smile. Then he did as they’d instructed, and the brown, prickly fruit indeed split open along that seam, revealing its bright-red interior.

  “Just push—”

 
“One side and—”

  “It will—”

  “Pop out.”

  Again he did as instructed. And when he at last tasted the offering, the smile broke through. “It is sweet indeed.”

  The twins grinned again. “We have many—”

  “Such treasures—”

  “On Ziem. We will—”

  “Go find more—”

  “To bring you.”

  She watched him watch them go, saw the moment when his thoughts turned inward, as if he were wondering at himself as much as them.

  Now.

  “Would you like to know why they fascinate you so?” she asked quietly.

  He looked at her. Didn’t speak, only waited. As if he believed she truly had an explanation. So his trust had come that far. This was no small thing, and she hoped what she said next did not destroy it.

  “You are—rather were—a twin, Caze Paledan.”

  Chapter 38

  PALEDAN STARED AT her, this woman who had so disrupted his pur­poseful life, rendered speechless by the unexpectedness and absurdity of her claim. As much as he had been forced to accept since he had awakened here, as many inexplicable things as he had seen, this was the most ridiculous. The reasons why piled up like the useless Coalition documents he immediately consigned to the waste bin.

  This notion of his being a twin was not true. Of course. It could not be true. And even if it had been, she could not know. No matter her uncanny skills or her bafflingly accurate guesses, she could not know something like that.

  But of course it was not true, so it did not exist to be known, even by her.

  Perhaps it had all been part of some plan. To present him with all these things that were nearly impossible to accept, to condition him for the most impossible of all. But why? What did she or these rebels, have to gain by such a claim? Did they hope to convince him of the Coalition’s ruthlessness? He already knew that; only he saw it as mere efficiency.

  . . . send them to some laboratory to be studied, analyzed, tested, and in the end probably dissected.

  His own words rang in his head. And visions of the twins, her twins, subjected—no, sacrificed—to that kind of Coalition efficiency came with them, and he had to suppress a shudder.