As much as Maygar infuriated her at times, Chandre felt a swell of anger mixed with compassion at the tired set of his face. It seemed to her that Brother Maygar had not been having a good couple of years, all in all.
But what could these people possibly want with him? He'd been kicked out of the Seven...or at least removed from duty as a member of the active guard. Balidor never approached him to work for the Adhipan, even though he had invited most of the Seven's previous guard. Could his captivity here have something to do with his Rook mother, Elan Raven? Or was this again about that disease that Maygar had helped her track down the year before?
If so, she was still puzzled; Maygar had not known significantly more about the origins of that weapon than the rest of them. His main contribution had been involving Chandre herself...and through her, the Bridge and the Sword. Less directly, she supposed he brought her together with Varlan and Eddard, but that felt staged as well, and not by Maygar himself. He helped with the assault on the compound, but more in the way Chandre herself had...as an infiltrator and essentially another body carrying a gun.
Maygar owned no special skills, no special knowledge or even connections, apart from the indirect one they shared with Allie and Dehgoies. He could not be ranked above a six, in terms of actual. She doubted his potential was statistically higher than most.
Why would they bother to beat him? Did they expect the Seven and Dehgoies to rescue him? If so, perhaps they were not as well informed as they appeared. If all they'd wanted from him was the disease, why not kill him once Eddard used him to get out of the substation? Why keep him here all this time as a prisoner?
"All good questions, Sister Chandre," the man holding Maygar's leash smiled.
He motioned for Maygar to sit at a wooden chair by the door, which Maygar did...without complaint, Chandre noticed, and without meeting her gaze.
"They are also questions we will be happy to answer, now that you are here," the man added, clearly enjoying her anger at Maygar's condition. "All in good time..."
Chandre glanced to Varlan, then to Stanley, and finally Rex. They looked as perplexed as she felt that she was being singled out.
"I am here only as a guest, brother," Chandre said. "You should probably be addressing your remarks to brother Varlan, do you not think? I am temporarily in his employ. Therefore, you are only adding layers to your messages..."
"You are the one who will report what we show back to the Bridge," the man said, a thinly veiled contempt audible in his words. "...You are also the one who spoke to the Sword personally, did you not...just eight days prior to this one?"
Chandre didn't let her expression move. Still, the man's accuracy was unnerving...as it was no doubt intended to be.
"What do you want, brother?" she said finally. "If you know me so well, you must know how little patience I have for games of this kind..."
Her voice trailed as another set of guards appeared at the door, holding a person much smaller in stature than Maygar. Chandre stood up so quickly that time, she had her hand on the place where her sidearm used to be before she knew herself what she intended. But they had disarmed her at the door, of course.
Even so, she was not able to remain silent.
"Cass," she said, her own voice lost-sounding, holding a near-grief. "Cassandra...gods. What are you doing here, cousin?"
Cass bit her lip, looking angrily at the two men holding her. She, too, was bound at the wrists, although she looked significantly less beat down than Maygar. In fact, the fire in her eyes only seemed to grow as she fixed her stare on Chandre.
"Chan," she snapped. "What the fuck is going on? Who are these people?"
Chandre could only stare back at her, still at a loss.
"They killed Baguen!" Cass snarled, even as tears rose to her eyes. "Did you have something to do with that? Are you working for these fuckers now?"
Chandre fought for words.
It took her a few seconds to remember that Cass couldn't possibly know who she worked for now...or that she had come here for Balidor, and for Dehgoies and Allie, not for Salinse or the rebels. Before she could think of how to answer, the first seer who had spoken, the one who brought Maygar into the room, drew her gaze when he raised his voice.
"Sit down, sister Chandre," he commanded coldly. He turned on Cass without waiting for her to comply. "...And you. Be silent, or I'm afraid you'll miss this little reunion altogether..."
Cass glared up at him, her eyes holding an undisguised hatred.
She didn't exactly fight the two men holding her, but the tension in her arms and shoulders didn't abate when they pushed her deeper into the room. Between that and the stiff-legged way she walked behind their prodding, it was clear she wasn't cooperating with them. They brought her over to one of the high-backed wooden chairs rimming the table, a guard holding each of her cuffed arms. Pulling the chair out, the shorter of the two guards positioned her roughly over it, then sank her down by laying a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Cass sat, still glaring at Chandre.
Chandre returned her stare, even as she regained her own seat.
She still couldn't decide if she should speak.
When she finally did, she aimed it at their leader, not at Cass herself.
"What do you want with them?" she said, bewilderment in her voice. "Why have you taken these two? For what possible purpose?"
"That will be clear soon enough, sister. In the meantime, your job is simply to behave as is appropriate for any guest in the home of a great master...which includes all requisite privileges and responsibilities." His eyes grew harder. "In fact, I'm going to have to insist on that point...for you, sister, and for all of your party."
"What?" Chandre's fingers clenched into fists on the oak tabletop. Even so, she heard the confusion in her own voice. She couldn't seem to pull the infiltrator's mask back over her expression. Cass was here. They had Cass...and they'd killed that throwback she'd been sharing a bed with for the last however-many months. Chandre had hated him, sure, but the tears in her ex-girlfriend's eyes hadn't exactly brought joy to Chandre's heart. She may have wished death on the Wvercian in her own mind, but that didn't mean she welcomed it now.
She met Cass's gaze across the long table, and saw tears running down her cheeks again, coupled with a rage that seemed barely contained within her expression.
Cass looked different. Chandre didn't know if it was the death of her lover, or something else, but something had changed in her since Chan had last seen her.
"I will do whatever you want," she heard herself say, still looking at Cass. "What are your conditions? What are your intentions for the two of them?"
When she looked up at the first seer who had walked into the room, he had a near smirk on his face. Only then did she realize Eddard had joined them again too, standing in the shadow by the double doors like the vermin that he was.
"No need for worry, sister," the taller man in the white suit said, smiling. "All of you will be perfectly unharmed, as long as you do exactly as we say..."
Looking at him, seeing the glint in his white-blue eyes, Chandre felt a kind of resignation grinding down in her light as she gestured her understanding in seer.
She'd been wrong, of course. She hadn't been brought here as a guest of Varlan, to meet this mysterious Shadow for whom he worked. In fact, the opposite had been true...Varlan had only been allowed inside because Chandre was with him.
The real audience for whatever they intended would be Allie and Dehgoies.
9
WAKING
I DIDN’T KNOW where I was.
Truthfully, I didn't much care, either...not for what felt like a really long time.
Weight pinned me down, but I was all right with that, too. Whatever it was, it cocooned me in a familiar, protective warmth, even as it kept me from having to do anything else. In time, I noticed other things, too, but they all fell within the same collective sensations of comfort and safety. Breathing paced mine, a heartbeat, the occasi
onal stir of muscle and skin...for another timeless stretch, those things were all I noticed, all I thought to notice.
Slowly, though, I opened my eyes for longer and longer periods.
The room around me started to look familiar.
Even more gradually, I became aware that I had to go to the bathroom.
The knowledge irritated me at first, if only because I could feel the clock winding down on my previously blissful lack of doing...as well as the lack of caring about the non-doing which in some ways felt even more precious. I mulled this over in my mind, trying to decide if the downsides of leaving my nest, even for a short time, would be worth the relief to my bladder.
Part of me thought the quicker I did it, the easier it would be...and the sooner I could return. Getting it over with might be the best strategy. I was still thinking about this when the weight around me shifted...then pulled me closer. Looking down, I found what I should have expected to find, if I'd thought about it for anything longer than a few seconds.
It was an arm.
I knew the arm, recognized it, even before I saw the tattoo on the smooth inner skin. My brain was back enough for that. It also made the decision about the toilet harder.
"Just go," he murmured. "Come back."
I glanced up at him, but didn't see his face as he'd already lowered it to kiss my neck. Even so, his words ended up being the tie-breaker.
Despite what he'd suggested, he resisted moving his arm off me. He didn't do it at all in fact, but left me to slide out from under him, disentangling myself from the sheets after a brief moment of panic where I felt trapped there, too. When I finally got free, I only sat there for a moment, perched on the edge of the bed. My fingers were still wound around his lower arm, massaging the muscles and skin, stroking down the light coating of dark hair. I could see the bathroom door in the light shining through the curtains, but it looked really far away.
"Go," he prodded. He pushed at my back with his hand, his eyes still closed.
You're awfully pushy, I told him, struggling to form words, even in my mind. My fingers still clutched at him, along with the edge of the mattress. ...Trying to get rid of me?
"No," he said, clasping my hand on him. I want you to come back...
Realizing he probably needed the toilet too, I stood up. Too fast, it turned out. My knees buckled, quickly enough that I found myself abruptly kneeling on the carpet. When I glanced back, he'd raised his head, but didn't seem to be able to quite focus his eyes.
"Are you all right?" he said, rubbing a hand over one side of his jaw. He had the beginnings of a beard. Something more than just end of the day shadow, anyway.
I nodded, puzzled by what had happened.
"I'm okay." I looked down, laughing. "Carpet, see?"
"Are you going to get up? Or do I have to carry you?"
I was already gripping the night table by the side of the bed, using it to leverage the rest of my body up. I got it mostly vertical again, but didn't really trust it to stay that way. My legs still seemed wobbly, but it was the dizziness that confused me. I kept a hand on the wall, taking careful steps until I reached the opening into the bathroom. Moving my hand from the doorframe to the sink took another moment of gathering my thoughts. Then I hung there, gripping the marble counter that dipped down to become the sink's deep basin. I squinted into the dim space until I found the toilet. For some reason, it took me another few seconds to figure out how the whole thing worked again, but then I was sitting there, and it was a relief.
I peed, still gripping the marble counter in one hand.
After that, I felt a lot better.
Struggling back up to a standing position, I managed to get my underwear and shorts up before I turned back to try and figure out the rest of it. My sense of smell was strangely acute, enough that I found I couldn't make myself leave the room without first figuring out how to flush the toilet.
"Leave it," said a voice by the door.
I looked up, realizing only then that I hadn't bothered to close it on my way in.
Revik stood there, leaning on his hands against the doorframe. He was naked, but somehow, it took a few seconds for that to penetrate, too. Instead, I found myself focusing on the sink, tugging on the silver handles while he took my place at the toilet. It didn't occur to me until he was already relieving himself that maybe I should have given him some privacy. I was too preoccupied by how happy I was to have figured out the soap dish and the soap itself, well enough to wash not just my hands, but my arms and my face. I still had my cheek under the cold stream of water when Revik flushed the toilet, startling me into raising my head, then nearly falling against the wall next to the light fixtures.
He barely seemed to notice.
With a series of hand-gestures, he motioned for the water, and I nodded, watching in a blank kind of fascination as he washed his hands and face as thoroughly as I had, dunking his head partway under the stream. The sink basin was deep enough that he got his hair wet, even the back of his neck.
"You have a better sink than me," I told him.
He laughed, raising his dripping head.
"Do you want a shower?" I asked.
I was almost proud of myself for remembering the word.
He shook his head. Turning off the water, he walked towards me, curling an arm around my waist as he pulled me up against him. He didn't pause at the door, but continued walking with me held in front of him. He brought me with him back into the other room, his free hand still balancing both of us against the wallpapered wall. I didn't really think much of it when we both ended up back in his bed a few seconds later. Once he'd burrowed back under the covers, he was holding me against him, tugging the blanket and bedspread and sheets over my legs and back. Seconds later, I felt him pulling at my shirt, his fingers questioning.
The question had pain behind it, but I felt the vulnerability there, too, the asking, and I kissed him even as I was already starting to comply, tugging the dark blue T-shirt over my head. I got it caught somewhere around my shoulders and head, and panicked again, but his fingers were there, helping me pull it off, easing it over my head and off my second arm. He didn't ask about my shorts, but began tugging them down around my hips himself, holding my shoulder carefully in one hand as he pulled them all the way off my feet. Kissing me between the shoulder blades once he got them off, he shoved them off the bed to the floor.
I saw my underwear go with them, but didn't care about that, either.
I turned around as soon as he finished, sliding my arms around him, relieved to feel nothing but skin when I pressed against his chest. I felt relief on him, too.
I was still melting my light into his when another thought tried to penetrate my awareness. It nagged at me for a few seconds, trying to find purchase, before I finally managed make sense of it. Even then, the question was vague, lost somewhere in a more detailed context.
"...Your back," was all that came out of my mouth.
He must have felt enough off me that he understood.
Using one hand, he tugged the covers off again to expose most of his upper body and mine. Once he had them off, he shifted to his side, pushing me with his light so that I would know where to look at him. Within seconds, I saw the patch there, and frowned, touching it gingerly with my fingers.
"Does it hurt?" I said finally.
No. I don't feel anything, he sent.
"Are you sure?"
I think it's gone, he sent. Whatever it was, it's gone, Allie...
I prodded it again with my fingers, harder that time. His light coiled over it, and over my hands, but all I felt off him was curiosity. I didn't feel pain, and when I scanned that part of his back, what I felt was more a memory of damage, not the damage itself.
Take the patch off, he told me. "...It's okay, Allie. I'm all right."
You don't want me to call someone else to do it?
When I glanced back at his face, he shook his head. His fingers were massaging my back where I lay, pausing long
enough to curl through my hair, combing and stroking it with both hands as he tugged it around the side of my neck. He didn't take his eyes off my face.
I want you to do it.
Leaning over him, I examined the patch more closely, resting my weight on his waist. After scanning him a third time, I began pulling at the edges of the patch gingerly with my fingers, separating it from his skin. He didn't take his hands off me as I worked. When I got closer to the middle of his back, he shifted further to his side, giving me more access even as he began stroking my foot with his fingers.
Just yank it off, Allie, he told me. I'm okay...I promise.
His other hand continued massaging the muscles in my back, sliding lower to knead the base of my spine. Briefly, the motion distracted me enough that I found myself just lying there, nearly forgetting what I'd been doing. But that vague worry nagged at me still, prodding me to see what was under the greenish square.
"Get it off, Allie," he said, his voice more gruff.
His hand was on my rear now, sliding down between my legs. He didn't move his fingers higher, but I felt his skin flush as he looked at me. It occurred to me for the first time that I was giving him an eyeful, lying on him the way I was.
He laughed, tugging at my hair.
I yanked harder at the organic material, reminded of an octopus for some reason...maybe from the rubbery feeling of the edges, or maybe from the way it clung to him, almost like a parasite. Once I got one edge all the way up, it was easier. The rest of the patch peeled up in a single piece, making a kind of sucking noise as it separated from his skin.
Tossing it off the bed, I couldn't help grimacing a little, feeling like I'd killed it.
"Can you see?" he said, prodding me again with his light.
I stared down at the reddish star pattern there, opening my light so he could see the same view through my eyes. Both of us looked at him through me for several seconds.
"It looks okay," I said. My voice sounded doubtful.
"It's fine," he assured me, sliding an arm around my waist.
Allie's War Season Three Page 22