Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  He looked up, a tiny blossom of hope on his face. “Because we’re family,” he whispered.

  “We’re family,” she repeated. “So you do know that. Then tell me, please, how you could have done what you did to your own family? Because I really don’t understand. Family is something you love and protect. But you didn’t love and protect us. You sneered at us, and denigrated us in public, and told an outsider how to hurt us. And then when he did hurt us, you ran away. You saw the flames and you ran away. You left Andira and me lying on a burning floor, in the wreckage of that room, and you ran away!”

  His face crumpled as he cried, but even in his distress he couldn’t take his eyes off his sister’s. She held him with the power of her fury, hammering him with every word.

  “I know you were jealous of Andira. And maybe I was too distracted by what I was feeling for her to pay quite enough attention to you. But most people deal with jealousy a little differently, Herot. Most people don’t consider murder an acceptable solution. And if you thought that hurting Andira would change things between you and me, well, you were damned right about that. It has. I can never feel the same way about you, do you understand that? Never. You betrayed me, you betrayed your family, and the price is still being paid. Other people are paying the price, not just you, and you had no right to force them into that!”

  He covered his face, sobbing uncontrollably, but Salomen was unaffected. She bristled with rage as she stared down at him, and Tal was shocked at the lack of mercy in a woman she thought she knew so well. Even Shikal was afraid to intervene. He looked at Tal helplessly and shook his head. His children would have to work this out themselves.

  Herot cried for long ticks while no one in the room moved, and the silence finally seemed to get through to him. He uncovered his face, finding Salomen still staring at him, and wiped his cheeks.

  “You’re right,” he said in a voice tight from weeping. “About everything. I did all those things, and even though I never meant for all that to happen, I’m still the one who made it possible.” The tears continued to stream down his face, but he was calmer now, merely wiping them away with every few words. “Lancer Tal said I had to tell you the truth, and I’ve been thinking about that ever since. The truth is…I wanted to hurt her.”

  “Oh, Herot.” Shikal’s shoulders slumped.

  Herot looked over at Tal. “I didn’t want to admit that even when you talked to me, because it means admitting that I did wish for at least some of those consequences. But not like that, never like that. Never in my wildest dreams did I envision Cullom acting on our stupid boasts. If I’d had an inkling that he was actually capable of it, I never would have told him anything. I thought he was my friend. I thought I could speak openly to him; that’s what you do with friends. You can be an idiot and it doesn’t matter. But it did matter this time, and it’s my fault, and I can’t blame Cullom without blaming myself.” He took a deep breath. “I…saw you as a rival.”

  “I know. But do you understand that there was never a question of Salomen loving one or the other of us? Her heart is too big; she didn’t have to choose.”

  He gulped, fresh tears washing down his cheeks. “I know that was true then. I’m not sure of anything now.” He looked up at his sister, but she gave him no encouragement.

  “As soon as she came to our holding, you changed,” he told her. “I’d never seen you so fascinated by anyone. You turned down five bond offers without a second thought, but the moment she set foot in our home, you were different. At first I didn’t think much about it, because…well, I was fascinated too. But she never gave me a second glance; it was always you she wanted. That wouldn’t have been a problem except I could see you wanted her, too. And that made her a threat.”

  “A threat to what?” Salomen asked, breaking her silence at last. “Did you think I would leave our home? Our family? Did you think I would forget everything else in my life?”

  “I thought she would enjoy you for as long as you were convenient,” he said. “And then she would drop you.”

  Salomen’s head went back. “Are you—” She stopped, visibly gathering herself. “Are you telling me that all this was some twisted way of protecting me?”

  “That was part of it, and I wish I could say it was all of it. But I was even more afraid that she might actually be serious.” He met Tal’s eyes. “When you punched me on the porch—that’s when I saw it. You were defending Salomen’s honor. You were doing what I was supposed to be doing. I admired you for it, and I hated you at the same time.”

  Tal nodded. “So part of the time you were trying to earn my respect, and the rest of the time you just wished I would leave.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you know what the real irony was? I had planned to cut my usual run short on my last day and invite you to come with me. I was keeping track of your progress; you went farther every day. I wanted to show my respect for your determination. But I never had the chance.”

  He closed his eyes, then looked up at his sister. “If you’re hoping I can explain everything I did, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’ve been going over it and over it, and it all seems so far away now. I look back at it, and sometimes even I don’t know what I was doing or why. But…I think I was afraid. Afraid of losing you and afraid of being so much less than Lancer Tal.”

  Salomen ran her hands through her hair in bewilderment. “If you were afraid of being less than her, why didn’t you try to be more?”

  “I did.”

  “When? You were unconscionably rude to her and to your family. You went out drinking almost every night, with people you knew were not our friends. You aired your complaints and anger loud enough for everyone in Granelle to hear, and you told Cullom Bilsner exactly how to kill Andira. You acted as if our family was a burden to you, rather than the other way around.”

  He winced at that. “Because I was still angry about everything.”

  “Just what do you mean by ‘everything,’ Herot? Don’t give me that vague dokshin.”

  He looked from her to Shikal, nervously rubbing his hands on his pants. “I, ah…I don’t feel that way anymore. I know now that I just didn’t understand that you all showed your feelings differently, and you fronted different things. But…” He sensed Salomen’s ill-concealed impatience and finished in a rush, “I thought the rest of you didn’t love Mother the way I did. Because you all got over her Return so quickly.”

  “Oh, that is the last straw!” Salomen growled. “How dare you, you shekking—”

  “Salomen!” Shikal stepped up and laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough.”

  To Tal’s surprise she went silent, but she was nearly vibrating with renewed fury.

  Shikal looked down at his son and said, “And this is how you would honor Nashta’s memory? With anger and self-pity, disrespect for everyone who cares for you, and a betrayal that tore your family and your home apart?”

  In just a few words he reduced Herot to tears once more. “I’m sorry,” he choked, and this time the tears flowed faster than he could wipe them away.

  “Let me explain something to you, Herot. I loved Nashta more than I thought it was possible to love. I had a long and wonderful life with her, and when she went to her Return, I thought it was a crime against Fahla that I should even be breathing. It hurt to be alive when she was not. The first time something made me laugh, it felt like a betrayal of her memory, because how could I possibly be happy without her?”

  Herot mutely shook his head, pulling up his shirt to wipe his eyes.

  Tal cautiously opened her senses and was instantly battered by the strength of his grief. Shikal might as well have been describing Herot’s emotions.

  He had never mourned her.

  Salomen looked over, her eyes wide with the same understanding.

  “But life cann
ot be lived that way,” Shikal continued. “I had three sons and a daughter who missed her just as much and needed me more than ever. I had to move past it; to go on with my life because there was no other way. I miss her every tick of every day. I talk to her at night, when I get into the bed that I shared with her for longer than you’ve been alive. Do you know that I still sleep on my side of the bed? A lifetime of habit cannot be broken so easily, and there’s still a part of me that would feel guilty for taking up her side. She’s with me when I go into the fields, and she’s with me when I come into the dining room and see our children at the table. She took a piece of my heart with her when she Returned, but she also left a piece of her heart in mine. As long as I breathe, that piece of her breathes with me.”

  He reached down and touched Herot’s shoulder. “There’s a piece of her heart in you as well. And in Salomen, and Nikin, and Jaros. She loved all of us, and she would never leave us for good. Your mistake was in thinking she left you alone. She did not. She left you with her family. With the people she loved, and the people who love you.”

  Herot leaned forward, burying his face in his father’s stomach as his shoulders shook. Tal had to block her senses again; she was too raw to handle this. These emotions were much too familiar to her, and she knew that if Micah died, she would be in precisely the same condition as Herot.

  Salomen looked at her with tears in her own eyes before sitting on the other side of her brother. “You stupid grainbird,” she said. “How could you ever think we didn’t love her as much as you did?”

  He pulled away and sat up straight, wiping his face with his shirt. “Because I was an idiot.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “I was angriest of all with you,” he said. “Because you seemed to get over it before anyone else. You just buried yourself in the holding and took Mother’s place as if you’d been waiting for it.”

  She shook her head. “I buried myself in the holding because it was the only thing I could do. And I took Mother’s place because she told me it was my responsibility. She asked me for three things: to take her role as head of the family, to watch over Jaros, and to remember how to be happy someday. I fulfilled her first two wishes right away. It wasn’t until last moon that I finally fulfilled the third.”

  She smiled at Tal, who was startled by this revelation. Her feet moved of their own volition, carrying her to Salomen’s side where she reached for her hand. “Once again I’m wishing I could have met her,” she said. “The pieces of her heart that you all carry tell me what a special person she was.”

  “I think she would have liked you,” Herot said, surprising her for the second time in as many ticks.

  “She would have,” said Shikal. “I’ve told her all about you. And I get a warm feeling whenever I do, so I know.”

  “Salomen…” Herot hesitated. “You said sorry wasn’t good enough. I understand that. When Lancer Tal told me what really happened, I wanted to die. No,” he amended, “I wanted to kill Cullom first, and then I wanted to die. There’s nothing I can do to make up for it. I swear in Fahla’s name that if I could undo that night, I would. But I can’t. All I can do is ask your forgiveness.” He took a steadying breath. “Please, Salomen. Forgive me for my blindness, and my stupidity, and most of all for betraying the people I love.”

  The room held a charged silence as everyone waited for her answer.

  “I cannot,” she said finally. “Because I’m not the first person you should ask. You betrayed me by accident, but you betrayed Andira intentionally.”

  Tal took a surprised breath, finding herself unaccountably nervous about what she knew was coming.

  Herot turned to her, and they looked at each other for a moment that stretched to an uncomfortable length. At last he mumbled, “I guess this is the rest of Fahla’s joke on me.”

  For all the tension in the room, Tal couldn’t stop her smile. “I guess it is.”

  He gathered himself and looked her straight in the eye. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things, I know. But the worst by far was what I did to you. Because I wanted to hurt you, even while I convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault. Can you forgive me, Lancer Tal?”

  There was no quick response, she realized, because he was really asking for two different things. But everyone was watching her, Herot was waiting anxiously, and Salomen had put the whole thing in her hands. She had to say something.

  Slowly, she answered, “I can forgive the physical harm you caused me, because I know it was more than your intention. And I can even forgive your intention, because I’ve done much worse myself. But I do not have it in me to grant absolution for the anguish you caused Salomen. You hurt the woman I love, and that I will never forgive.”

  To his credit, he did not speak a word in his defense, simply nodding in acceptance.

  “My answer is the same,” Salomen said. “I can forgive what you did to me, but I still feel Andira’s pain in my dreams. She was hurt because of my own family, in my own home, and I will never be able to forgive you for that. So I guess you’ll have to settle for two halves of a forgiveness, because it’s the best we can do.”

  “It’s the best I can expect,” he said. “Thank you.”

  An awkward silence ensued as everyone looked at everyone else, none of them having any idea what to say. Finally Shikal cleared his throat and asked, “What can we expect regarding Herot’s sentence?”

  “The range for his crime is two to ten cycles,” Tal said. “And I’m sorry to say that because of my title, the adjudicator will almost certainly declare the maximum sentence.”

  “So much,” Shikal said in dismay. “I thought it might be less because of his lack of intent. I mean, his lack of intent to kill.”

  “It would be, had I been anyone else. But justice is not the same for everyone. I wish it were different, but that’s a fact of our system that cannot easily be changed. However, the title that will make Herot’s sentence longer is the same title that will give weight to my statement.”

  Herot gaped at her. “You’ll petition the adjudicator?”

  “Yes, I will. And I’ll ask for the minimum sentence, on the basis of your apology, your understanding of your crime, and your request for forgiveness. I think the adjudicator will listen.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try ‘thank you,’” Salomen suggested.

  “Thank you, Lancer Tal.” He was completely sincere. “That’s more than I had a right to hope for.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Shikal.

  “Well, he is family.” Tal raised an eyebrow at Herot, whose expression gave him away. “Not comfortable with that idea yet, are you?”

  Before he could answer, Salomen said, “He’ll miss the bonding ceremony, won’t he?”

  “Not necessarily. Leaves can be granted in the cases of bonding ceremonies or funeral pyres, so we should be able to count him among our guests…if he wants to come.”

  “Of course I want to come! I wouldn’t miss Salomen’s bonding for the whole world.” He looked at his sister. “You really did keep this close. I knew you were fascinated by her, but I never had any idea you felt…well, like that.”

  “You mean that I love her?” Salomen said pointedly. “Yes. I do.”

  “It just occurred to me that Herot missed the most startling news about our family,” Shikal said.

  “What? What else could possibly have happened?”

  Shikal smiled at him. “There’s something you need to know about your sister,” he began.

  CHAPTER 51:

  A breed apart

  After leaving Herot—who had taken the news of his sister’s empathic gift surprisingly well—Tal sent Shikal’s Guard back to the State House in his transport so she could fly Salomen and Shikal privately. Both Opahs were subdued after their meeting with Herot. Other t
han Shikal’s appreciative comments over her luxury personal transport, the flight back to Blacksun was quiet. It wasn’t until they were over the outermost homes of the city that Salomen finally said, “You were right, Andira. I do feel better. But I also feel worse, in a whole different way.”

  “Why is that?” Shikal asked from his seat behind her.

  “Because as long as I was angry, I wasn’t so upset about him being in prison.”

  “Ah. And now the reality is coming home.”

  “It came home already. I just put it out of my mind when I was so furious with him.” She sighed. “I’ve wished so many times that none of this had ever happened. It still feels like a bad dream. I want to go home and look at Mother’s portrait or pick up one of her books, and then I remember that I can’t. Not anymore. And now Herot is in prison, and Colonel Micah nearly died in the rescue mission, and the consequences keep rolling on.”

  “Don’t forget what those consequences would have been had Herot not betrayed us,” Tal reminded her. “Rescuing Jaros would have been much harder and far more scarring to him.” She didn’t even want to think about having to kill someone in front of Jaros.

  “I’m missing something,” Shikal said. “What’s this about Jaros?”

  Salomen explained what they had learned from Parser, and his normally calm manner vanished. “This man will be in prison for a very long time, correct?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” said Tal. “Not just in prison. In the Pit. Fifth level.”

  “Good,” he said, and his simmering anger suppressed any conversation for the remainder of the flight. When they landed, Salomen invited him to see their quarters, but Shikal said he needed a little time to himself.