Renegade

by Justine Davis

  “How many?”

  “As many as those two little boats of theirs will hold.”

  “Thirty, then,” he said grimly. Against the five of them, with the twins to protect? He didn’t even stumble over the “them” this time, for he had cast his lot, and he would not change now. “How far out?”

  “They’re going slow, afraid of the falls I’d guess. But they’ll be here before we finish arguing about it if we don’t get moving.”

  “You must go,” he said.

  “We must go,” Lana corrected.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he shook his head. “If they find me, they will not continue to look for the twins. They do not see them as that important.” He glanced at the two, who were wide-eyed now. “Which makes them the fools,” he added, and it was worth it to see them draw themselves up straight, strong.

  “But a traitor to the Coalition,” Brander said, with a nonchalance that reminded Paledan of those games, when this man had been playing a much more reckless game than that on the table, “would be the real prize. You figure they’ll execute you on the spot?”

  I know they will. I would have. But he said nothing.

  “No,” Lana said, so fiercely it eased some of the chill that had overtaken him. He shifted his gaze to her face, trying to memorize it, then nearly laughed at himself for thinking he needed to look at her for that. He would hold this image in his mind to his last breath. Which was likely to be in the next few minutes.

  “You must know I did not come to you simply because they turned on me,” he said, the words hard to get out; he would not have chosen this time or place or company, but all choices had been taken from him.

  “I already know this, for I know what is in your mind and heart, Caze Paledan.”

  “Do you?” he whispered.

  She met his gaze steadily, and he saw in her eyes a reflection of what she saw in his. “Yes, for it is in mine as well.”

  “Time,” Pryl said, rather sharply this time.

  “Yes,” Lana said. And suddenly she was giving orders with all the com­mand presence of any Coalition general. “Pryl, you must report to Drake. Brander, Eirlys, take the twins to safety.” The two children protested, but she hushed them. “Caze has risked his life for you. Do not make it for nothing.”

  That succeeded in silencing them, but the duo looked at him worriedly. “Go,” he said. “And know that you helped me break free.”

  And in that moment, as he watched the others go, his only regret was that he would know that freedom for such a short time. Then he realized Lana was making no move to follow the others.

  “You must go, too,” he said, wondering that the words made it out as all, given the tightness of his throat.

  Her head came up, and she looked at him regally. “Do you think I, the Spirit of the mountains, will let you sacrifice yourself? When you have only just discovered that self?”

  “Lana—”

  “And when I am learning to love that name only you use?”

  “But—”

  “Before,” she added, with a heat that nearly swamped him, “we have discovered what we can learn from each other?”

  He nearly gasped aloud at the images that flooded his mind. It took him a long moment to right himself, and he wondered if he would have ever gotten used to this constant poking and prodding of feelings and sensations. And felt a sense of profound sadness that he would never know.

  When she spoke again it was with that same crispness of command. “Will they have sent the same men who were here before and found the twins?”

  His brow furrowed, and it took him an instant to drag his befuddled mind back to a Coalition mindset. “No. They were merely patrollers. They will send fighters.”

  She gave him an arch look. “Thirty of them, for one man and two small children? That says much of the man.” Before he could react to that, for he did not know how, she spoke again. “And what are the chances those men will have been to this spot before?”

  “Zero. Fidez would only trust his own, who just arrived with him.”

  “Ideal,” she said with a smile he’d seen before.

  Then, to his shock, she walked out of the trees and into the clearing along the edge of the separated stream of the river. In plain sight she stood, and all he could think was that at any moment two boatloads of Coalition troopers sent to kill would be here. He went after her; he would drag her to shelter if he had to, somehow keep here there, while he surrendered himself to them to keep them from her.

  “Be still, Caze,” she said as he reached for her arm. She had turned back to face the trees. She reached into a small pouch tied to the belt of her Sentinel gear. She came out with a palm-sized, polished, oval stone. He felt a strange, hair-raising sort of vibration, that seemed to be coming from the stone itself. But then a sound drew his attention, and he turned to look at the river, expecting to see the boats whose motors he’d just heard to appear at any second.

  “They are closing,” he said, urgently. “You must go.”

  “Hush.” She closed her eyes, wrapped her long, slender fingers around the stone she held. The strange vibration increased, but he could not tear his gaze away from the river. He was on the verge of breaking, of grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder and making a run for it, when she said, “That should do it.”

  She said it with such satisfaction he turned back to her. And gaped. For where a thick forest of trees had once stood, there was now nothing but a towering wall of rock. A soaring cliff, unclimbable and impenetrable.

  With absolutely no place to hide.

  Chapter 56

  CAZE STARED AT HER, then toward the forest he could no longer see. Lana smiled back serenely.

  “Shall we?” she asked, and took a step toward the image of a towering cliff. He didn’t move. “I understand, but they are getting close and I really must ask you to trust me.”

  “I . . . do trust you.”

  But he sounded so cautious she knew stronger measures were needed. If they had time, she would let him fight through it in his own way, but they did not. So she reached out, took his hand, and tugged.

  “Close your eyes if you must, it helps some the first time.” Still he resisted, and she sighed. It was directed at herself, for underestimating the tenacity of his mind. “The choices are these. You come with me, and we both survive. Or you insist this is impossible and we stay here. You know what will happen then.”

  She felt the tension through his hand, felt the battle going on within him. She curled her fingers slightly, knowing they were down to mere moments.

  “I . . .”

  “Have I not led you through worse, Caze?” she asked softly, putting all she was feeling into his name.

  She felt the moment he changed. The moment he gave in. And barely in time, for they were so close now she could hear the shouts of the leader of the troops, directing them into the branch of the river that would bring them to the beach just a stone’s throw away. She moved quickly then, and he was no longer following; he was beside her. When Caze Paledan made up his mind, he did so completely, she thought with an inward smile as they stepped through what to her was a shimmering fall light and energy.

  She saw him stop dead and stare when they were through and the forest surrounded them once more. He looked back toward the river. The boats had come into view, and she felt him tense.

  “They will see only what you saw,” she said.

  His gaze came back to her. “As with my office,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “Yes. This is the same sort of illusion, on a grander scale.”

  “The stone,” he said.

  “It magnifies the power,” she answered, although it hadn’t really been a question.

  The Coalition boats had beached now, and she felt him tense as he heard the shout
ed orders to search. He moved, she thought instinctively, behind one of the larger trees. She went with him; although she knew it was unneces­sary, he did not.

  “They will not see us,” she whispered, “but they could hear us, so we must stay silent.”

  They watched as the Coalition troopers scattered along the beach, searching. Behind the boulders that genuinely lay strewn there, beneath the shrubs that clung to edge of the clearing. They barely glanced in their direction.

  When their search proved fruitless, one of the men took out a set of distance goggles, donned them and scanned the cliff he saw. Iolana felt Caze tense again, but again she squeezed his hand to let him know the illusion would hold.

  “No way in hades they climbed that thing, and there’s no way around it,” the scanner announced to the troop’s leader.

  “If they didn’t come back here, then where did they go?” the leader said in frustration.

  “I’ve heard from a couple of the troopers posted here that Paledan knows this wretched planet. That he’s spent hours on reconnaissance.”

  “Sounds like him,” the leader muttered. “But if we don’t find him we’ll face his fate. The general will drop us on the spot.”

  “Or leave us here,” one of the others said, sounding as if he thought that a worse fate.

  As they watched, the troopers made one last sweep of the area they thought was all there was to search, and then they got back in the boats and began the fight upstream, away from the falls. Caze and Iolana stayed silent, watching, until the troopers were well out of sight.

  “Will they come back?” she asked.

  “Possible,” he answered, still staring after them. “How long can you hold the illusion?”

  “As long as I am here,” she said. “Or at least relatively close. The stone, and Ziem herself, is doing most of the work.”

  “We should move to the farthest extent, then.”

  “So when I release it and it fades, we will be as far away as possible? Agreed. I know a place we can shelter unseen.”

  They had walked through the trees to the faint path she and the others had followed to come after the twins before she said, “I thank you for trusting me.”

  “It is as you said. You have led me through much worse.”

  “I know it is not in your nature to . . . follow.”

  “I have done many things I thought not in my nature since coming here.”

  She laughed. “I am glad to hear it.”

  He stopped in his tracks. For a moment he did not speak, but when he did he said only one word. But he said it with everything in him; she could feel it. “Why?”

  “It is the real Caze, the one the Coalition tried so hard to crush, that I wish to know.”

  Again it was a moment before he spoke, and she sensed this usually articulate man was having to search for words to express things entirely new to him.

  “I believe you . . . already know more of him than even I do.”

  She had not thought of it quite like that. And that pleased her in a way even she did not understand, which contrarily pleased her as well. He would ever be a challenge to understand completely, and that was a prospect she looked forward to with joy.

  She heard him make a sound, take a choking sort of breath, and she realized her thoughts must have shown in her face. Or perhaps shone, for she was feeling as if she were glowing.

  “Lana.”

  That name only he used echoed in her ears, and the sheer urgency in his voice fired her every nerve. She saw what glowed in turn, and how fiercely, in those impossibly green eyes. And when she spoke, she knew what she was answering, just as she had known this was inevitable, probably from the first time she had seen the image that went with the reputation of this man.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  IMPOSSIBLE.

  He had applied the word too often since he had come to Ziem, yet it was the only one that fit. For surely it was impossible, this rushing, swelling tor­rent of sensation, both inward and outward.

  Mating was a need, but only slightly more than an itch to be scratched. At least, he had ever thought it so, for that was as high as it had ever mea­sured on his scale of needs. The Coalition had made certain of that.

  It had never been like this, a craving so deep and so powerful, it was more important than his next breath.

  It had never been imperative.

  Yet with every taste of her, that imperative grew. He savored the warm, soft feel of her lips, the taste of her mouth, more intoxicating than the finest of lingberry liquor, sweeter and smoother than the clingfruit juice he had once bought in Drake Davorin’s taproom. The taproom which had held the image of the reality he now had in his arms—the woman who had haunted him, captivated him, entranced him from the first time he’d seen her portrait.

  She made a tiny sound, and it was as a blaster to his control. This, too, was impossible; it had never mattered overmuch to him if his companion in mating was taking pleasure from it, for they were merely doing their Coalition- prescribed job. As he had ever looked upon that mating merely as something he needed to get out of his system so he could get back to his own Coalition-prescribed job.

  But this . . . this was consuming, overwhelming. And uncontrollable. An­other word he had rarely used before he had come here.

  He felt a sudden swipe of fire across his ribs, and his breath jammed in his throat. For a split second, he wondered if they had been found. In the next, he realized it had only been her fingers on his skin; she had tugged his shirt free and slipped her hands beneath, while he had been drowning in the depths of her luscious mouth.

  “Lana.” It was nearly a gasp as it broke from him. She lifted her head, and the expression on her face drove what little air he had left out of him. Slowly, like a dazed animal, he shook his head. Some small, still-functioning part of his brain reminded him of what mating meant to the people of this world. What it meant to her. And for the first time in his life that mattered more than his own need. “You . . . want this?”

  It was all he could do to focus on her answer, because she was still touching him, stroking the skin of his chest now.

  “Caze.”

  He realized as her voice caressed that one syllable that he’d even begun to think of himself with that name. Changing even that, since her. And there was no doubting, no questioning the husky promise in her voice. And it struck him that she knew so much more of this than he, this kind of con­nection, of need, of one person being essential. And even though the thought itself was heresy, he could not deny the truth of it. Not now with her in his arms, with his body, mind, and heart for the first time in his life utterly in tune.

  He felt like a starship bursting free of gravity, no longer held back, free of constraint. And he stared at her in wonder.

  “This is, and has been for some time, inevitable,” she said softly. “Why are you surprised?”

  He struggled to find the words. “Because it has never mattered to me before. Nothing has mattered to me . . . as this does. As you do.”

  She merely looked at him, with those blue eyes that both saw and Saw, and suddenly he had to kiss her again. And again and again.

  He had thought this kind of compulsion, this fierce, driving urgency a thing of legend, or a sign of more primitive beings, and his usual control of the urge a sign that he had succeeded in conquering it, as the Coalition required. But now, as with so many things the Coalition required, he was on the verge of letting it slip away.

  No. You are casting it away, consciously, with full awareness and willingness. Because nothing, not your career, not your reputation, not the Coalition itself is more important than this woman, and this moment.

  He hovered on the edge, some small part of him amazed at how clear it was and how easy it seemed to shed the trappings—the shackles, as she h
ad so correctly called them—of a lifetime. Incredibly, although he supposed he should not be surprised, she seemed to sense the moment when the light burst through, and she laughed, that silvery laugh that was so full of joy it seemed to well up and wash over him.

  They went down to the mossy floor of the misty glade, shedding clothing as they went, for she seemed as eager to have him naked as he was her. Yet another sharp, fiery difference, and a realization that eagerness in return was more arousing than he could have ever imagined. She made him feel perfect, whole, in a way he’d never known.

  She was more beautiful even than he’d pictured. Her scars were as nothing to him, for he had enough of his own. And one, which marked the place where she had not only saved his life but changed it forever, was even precious to him.

  He stroked, caressed here, kissed there, feeling like a man newly born into a world full of color, sound, taste, and the sweet smell of mistflowers. He nuzzled her lovely breasts, teasing the tips with his lips and tongue, amazed at how her arching response sent a renewed jolt of hot, fiery need through him.

  And when she touched him in turn in the same way, as if he were some­thing she had long coveted but only now had in her grasp, the blaze grew to a firestorm. Her hands touched every place, every nerve that was tingling and raised the sensation to a fever pitch.

  “Eos, Caze,” she moaned, “please, I have waited so long. Do not make me wait any longer.”

  He wanted to savor, but he could not. He wanted to go slowly, to be sure she was with him, but he could not. He wanted to linger over every inch of her, but his control wavered, and he could not. And when her fingers curled around rigid flesh that had never in his life been so demanding, his control snapped.

  He shifted, and her legs parted to welcome him. He could not hold back; he drove his body into hers in one fierce stroke. She cried out, but it was full of that joy that washed over him anew. He heard an echo of it, realized it was his own voice, and that it held that same joy.

  Again and again he moved, able to stand being out of her warmth for only a fraction of a second before he had to sheath himself again. She clung to him as if he were a lifeline, urging him on, saying his name in that way only she ever had. And then he felt her body clench around him, low and deep and hot, heard her cry of that name, and felt as if he were spinning off into space.