He swallowed, his heartbeat picked up with sudden hope. “Will you help me?”
“I am trying to, Commander.” She nodded to the bottle. “It will be painful, but do not underestimate the suffering if you do not do this. I would not have grief and longing drive you mad.” High Priestess Celara touched his cheek gently. “Trust that the Goddess will not abandon you.”
What did I expect? Of course she’s talking spiritual matters, she’s a priestess.
“What happens . . . what will I feel when it’s done?”
“Peace,” she promised. “Your heart and mind will be clear again.”
“I don’t want them clear,” he said hoarsely. “I want to stay just as I am. I want her just as she is.”
“Commander,” Celara urged. “There is little time.”
Numbly he took the box. She finished the instructions for an unbinding that he didn’t want, then laid her hand on his head—he had to bend down so she could reach—to give Lashima’s blessing.
The guards pushed him into the courtyard and Utar met him there with the bag he’d brought from Rusco. A quick check when he put the wooden box in it showed his Tellaran uniforms neatly packed inside.
“I was proud to serve you, Kyndan Maere.”
“I don’t know how Mezera managed to pull this off but this is not over, not by a fracking long shot,” he snarled, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I’m going to get back here, I’m going to get her back.”
Utar regarded him silently and Kyndan realized he must sound like he was raving. The guards still had their swords at the ready but they were a half-dozen paces away.
“Come with me,” Kyndan urged, pitching his voice low so the guards wouldn’t hear. “You’ll be free in Tellaran space. Just as I promised.”
“No.” Utar’s glance slid away. “I cannot.”
“You might never see them again,” Kyndan said. “Your children. They wouldn’t look at you if you did.”
“But do I look upon them, I will see them safe and living in honor. And know all I have suffered worthwhile.”
“There’s no fracking way it could be worth—” The breath rushed out of Kyndan’s lungs. “This is for them? You became clanless for their sake? Why?”
The former warrior regarded him with dark, pained eyes.
“You want to tell me but you can’t, can you?” Kyndan breathed. “You can’t tell anyone because if you do . . . gods, your children will be cast out too.”
Kyndan wet his lips. They were bringing the shuttle to return him to the Dauntless, still in orbit around Az-kye. He had a minute, maybe less, to figure this out. Utar couldn’t tell him but the warrior wanted him to know.
“All right, you were cast out but they wanted you to keep silent even after you were dishonored, so they threatened your kids. That means what you know can still hurt them. Something really bad that you saw or heard—”
There was the tiniest of flickers in those dark eyes.
“You overheard something, something that your clan leader had to shut you up about and quick. But clan leaders are powerful, so who does Helia of the Az’shu fear so much she’d cast out a warrior who didn’t deserve it?”
The shuttle was landing; something Kinna had once said about having to lead the Az-kye forces—
“The empress,” Kyndan said. “Because the empress can destroy a clan.”
The shuttle doors opened, and the warriors moved in, pushing him that way.
“Utar!” he cried. “What did you hear?”
Utar turned his face away, then, so low he could scarcely hear it, the disgraced warrior said, “I am sorry, Kyndan Maere.”
Six hours later Kyndan sat in the command chair of the Dauntless, the blue and green of the Az-kye homeworld spinning below as the last of the shuttles docked.
It was a mad scramble to locate and get everyone on board. They were going to have to push the Dauntless’ engines to the breaking point to make it across Imperial territory and back to Tellaran space in the thirty hours of safe passage they had left. As it was they’d be lucky not to wind up on the wrong side of the Badlands and target practice for the Az-kye ships. With the new weaponry they might be able to fend off one warship, maybe two, but Kyndan was willing to bet there would be a bunch on hand to make sure the disgraced Consort left Imperial space.
The bridge lift doors opened and Kyndan’s brow furrowed.
“Nisara? What are you doing here?”
Nisara came to attention. “Permission to come aboard, Sir.”
He gave her a searching look. “I thought you were going to remain on the Imperial world and become Dael’s mate, become Az-kye.”
Her face tightened. “That isn’t the plan any longer.”
Guilt tightened his throat. The lengths the Az-Kye were going to in order to get rid of him were hurting a lot of people.
It was ultimately going to hurt them all—Tellaran and Az-kye.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Her eyes showed pain for a moment, then she gave a short nod.
“Permission granted,” Kyndan said.
Nisara took up her position at the helm and from her movements he could see she was as grateful to have something to do as he was.
His eyes were drawn again to the image of Az-kye on the screen. He was aware of the movements of the bridge crew around him, the reports coming in, Nisara running her final checks before breaking orbit.
Even now he considered trying to stay behind, though it would be insanity. Kinara had offered to hide him, to find some way to conceal him within her clan, but he wasn’t about to put his little sister and her new baby in any more danger than they were already in.
His gaze narrowed on the image of the planet, trying to plan, trying to think this out.
He hadn’t altered those records, which meant someone else there had. Someone who didn’t know a festering thing about Tellaran engines because they chose to add a signature that could only belong to a smaller ship, not a Fleet cruiser—the signature read like a civilian freighter. But it couldn’t have been real. There was no way in hell a Tellaran freighter could go up against an Az-kye warship and survive.
He had to force himself to nod when Nisara asked permission to get underway.
He could almost feel Alari, alone in their chambers, kneeling on the hard floor, her heart hurting so much that death seemed easier . . .
Think, godsdamn it! Think!
If a ship with that small a signature had attacked an Az-kye warship—especially one deemed worthy to transport Princess Saria, Heiress to the Empire—they wouldn’t have had the firepower to dent her ship’s plating, let alone destroy the vessel. A ship that size would have been blown to dust in seconds by the warship’s pulse cannons.
The Dauntless broke orbit and sped away from the Imperial world. Clenching his fist, Kyndan forced himself to focus past the sick, tearing feeling in his chest, past the agonizing terror he might never see her again.
Someone added that ship to make the Tellarans look guilty, to make me look like a traitor.
The question is who. I certainly made my share of enemies.
That palace was a nest of vipers.
And someone had just forced him to leave Alari in the middle of it.
An heiress must attend to her duties, not her wants.
Or so her mother had reminded her. But still Alari delayed. She brushed aside the urging of her advisors, her mother’s demands, the compassionate coaxing of the high priestess to be unbound immediately.
After three days without him she could hardly eat or sleep, after six she no longer cared to and the longing for him grew with every heartbeat . . .
But that was all she had left of him. The traitor. The false mate.
It shamed her to love him still.
She hoped desperately that she might have gotten with child. Something of him, something perhaps that she could use to force them to allow him back. Surely they would not risk the strain on her body to have her unbound i
f she were carrying an heiress. They would not risk her health to have her separated from her bound mate for the length of the pregnancy.
That hope proved foolish and on the tenth day after Kyndan’s banishment the healers assured her she was not with child after all.
Alari looked at the sky, the same blue as his eyes, as she circled the Imperial park alone. She could stand to have none with her as she walked, round and round, knowing the court whispered that she neglected her duties to pine for him.
He was in Tellaran space now; her warships had reported the moment he left Imperial territory.
By her own order it would be his death to return.
Her mother was relieved to have his treason at last revealed, pleased to have him gone. Far too ill to rise from her bed she had priests of Ren’thar bring the ancient book that cataloged the names of all those within their clan so she could witness for herself Kyndan’s name being struck from the record.
Mezera, the war leader, was almost strutting in her triumph, and Alari felt such hatred for the woman that made it hard even to look at her. One good thing about being forced to take another for mate would mean Mezera would be removed from her position of power, denied the fruits of her cruel ambition.
Alari knew they would press her to choose another consort as soon as she was unbound. Already names were being mentioned by clan leaders eager to push their sons forward for her consideration. The thought of it brought such dread she could not even speak to it.
Only the High Priestess Celara, who visited daily with her young attendant bearing the box that Alari refused, and Sechon showed any consideration for the depth of her pain.
Utar, too, watched her with grieved eyes. No other clanless had ever served in the Imperial house but she kept him as an attendant, finding comfort in his silent presence.
Over tea the previous evening Sechon had relayed Kyndan’s last message to her. The china rattled in her hand at his words and Alari handed the teacup to her maid and rose, leaving the room without a word.
Had he loved me then? Had he, but simply not enough to choose me over his people?
Alari closed her eyes against exhaustion.
I cannot bear to let him go but I cannot rule like this.
And my people are all I have to live for now.
An hour ago the High Priest of Behur and healers confided that none of their remedies had made any inroad against the empress’ illness. There were no medicines or treatments left to try.
It was full summer now, the Imperial gardens ablaze with blooms. The rains would start in a few short months and there was no question her mother would not live to see them.
There is no other choice. And there is no more time.
She paused at the path’s edge. The gardener, his fingers knotted with age, stood and bowed at her approach.
At her feet were sprays of flowers, one color among dozens of the blooms and flowering trees in the park.
“Gardener?”
“Yes, Imperial Majesty?”
“That flower,” Alari said with a nod at the bloom. “What is it called?”
“Lovers’ blush, Your Majesty.”
She reached down and plucked a bloom to examine the delicate petals, the sweet fresh scent; the pale pink color that matched exactly the gown Kyndan had purchased for her.
Alari let the flower fall to the stone path.
“Take it and all its like from the palace garden and burn them,” she said. “I do not wish to look on it again.”
The gardener bowed again and Alari walked, alone, into the palace.
“How do you feel?”
Kyndan lay looking listlessly at the ceiling of his quarters. He couldn’t even summon the energy to answer Nisara’s question.
At that moment he honestly didn’t care if he never spoke again.
They’d crossed into Tellaran space yesterday. Somehow he knew he could tolerate the separation—not that it would be pleasant—if he knew it were temporary but the idea that he would feel this way forever, unchanging, when he would never see her again broke him apart. The Dauntless was still two days out from Rusco and he was ready to claw open the hull of the ship to get back to her.
Nisara got him to his quarters. Between rages and the sobs shaking his chest she got out of him where he’d stashed the box Celara had given him.
The high priestess talked about unbinding as if it were a relief, as if it freed one from heartache. Maybe it was a welcome end for an ill-suited pair.
Kyndan knew now that to be unbound from one you loved was agony.
“Like hell,” he rasped finally.
“You look it.”
Ordinarily he’d smirk, throw out a crack of his own, but he couldn’t dredge up the motivation.
She sighed. “Was it bad?”
“You can’t imagine.” Tears stung his eyes again. “I thought I’d lost her before, now I’ve really lost her. I can’t feel her anymore.”
Nisara’s frowned. “Feel her? Wait, is being bound some kind of telepathic connection?”
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes again. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
He could hear Nisara moving around the cabin. After the palace this really did look the size of a snouse’s nest and his chest felt emptier than eternity itself.
“Here.” She held a drink pack to his face, the straw already pointed to his mouth. “You must be dying of thirst.”
He looked at it dully.
“Come on, Kyn,” she urged. “It’s going to get better from here. I’m sure of it.”
He wasn’t, but he let her put the straw in his mouth. He took a pull on the straw, the jinja juice hitting the dry tissues at the back of his throat. It hurt to swallow.
It hurt to live.
“Am I still in command?” he asked when he’d finished the juice.
“Yup.” She pushed the empty pack into the trash receptacle. “You’ve been in here, reading reports or whatever it is you command-types do.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. Covered for me.”
“Yeah, you know.” Nisara folded her arms. “I seem to remember someone saving my life during the last Az-kye–Tellaran confrontation. Coming back when the ship was about to blow to hell and carrying me over to the Sundragon.” She pursed her lips. “Probably shouldn’t have done that either, Kyn.”
His body ached everywhere. High Priestess Celara hadn’t said anything about that either but at least his mind was finally starting to clear.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Nisara frowned. “Because we’re friends. Because you needed me.”
“No.” He managed to wave his hand a little. “Why didn’t you stay on Az-kye with Dael? Why didn’t you get married?”
Her face clouded. “He wanted to but Cenon—his sister—was afraid to bring me into the clan. Afraid of the backlash. Az-kye aren’t supposed to notice blue eyes or blond hair once you become part of the clan but . . .”
“Alari and I changed that didn’t we?” he asked. “Suddenly here was an Az-kye married to a Tellaran, one in a Tellaran uniform, and no one could pretend not to see it.”
He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Kinna was sure she was going to be all right, but—”
“She’s been there for a while and she’s the Az’anti clan leader. She’ll be okay.”
“I know Aidar will do everything he can,” he swallowed, “to protect her and the baby.”
I’ve got to get back somehow.
“I couldn’t ask Dael to—Anyway, Dael and Cenon had it out. It got pretty ugly, vicious even.” Nisara gave a bitter snort. “I’m sure you know how sisters can be when they’re determined.”
Kyndan froze. “What did you say?”
“Nothing against Kinara—” Nisara stammered. “It’s just, you know, sometimes sisters are hard to deal with.”
Sisters . . .
The empress looking at him with hate from her sickbed, Alari in her white mourning gown, the erased Tellaran ship
, the self-hatred in the Jazan’s eyes . . .
And it all fell into place.
“Oh, fracking hell,” Kyndan whispered.
There was far more going on within the walls of the Imperial palace then he’d ever imagined.
“That’s why.” Kyndan shut his eyes. “That’s why he did it.”
Gods, this wasn’t about getting rid of me at all.
Alari!
Every muscle screamed in protest as Kyndan pushed himself up to sitting.
“Why who did what?” Nisara asked.
Sweat broke out on his brow and he had to take a few breaths through clenched teeth before he could speak. “Tell the bridge to reverse course and head for the Badlands.”
“The Badlands?” Nisara frowned. “Why do you want to go there?”
“Because that’s where Princess Saria was murdered.” Kyndan gripped the cot, his stomach roiling. “Change course then get me a priority signal to the Tellaran Council.”
“Sir?” Nisara’s sudden formality showed she was worried that he’d lost it completely. “May I ask why you want to speak to the Council?”
“Because I think they might be interested to know”—Kyndan’s jaw hardened and he pushed himself to his feet—“that I’m about to conquer the Az-kye Empire.”
Alari shifted on her bed. Her whole body hurt, her chest cracked open to an emptiness that seemed to stretch into forever.
The high priestess wiped her sweat from her brow with a cool, damp cloth. “How do you feel, Your Highness?”
“Torn,” Alari rasped. “As if I will never again be whole.”
My heart is his, and his heart is Tellaran . . .
His treason was so clear now. So irrefutable. But she was unprepared for the depth of grief, the scalding agony of losing even this last hopeless link to him.
“To long for him and feel nothing but emptiness in return was torment. I thought now that I am unbound it would be better,” Alari said, unable to keep the accusation from her voice. “I thought the pain would be less.”
“It will be bearable,” High Priestess Celara said.
“Someone else’s pain always seems bearable,” Alari said bitterly.
The Consort (Tellaran Series) Page 25