Trying to crush my unease, I follow Sadi and the Consul deeper into the house. The other two Consuls are waiting, the boy perched on the edge of a chair as he focuses his mind on shifting a blade. The girl is clearly the oldest. Her features are beginning to smooth out, take the sexless quality that is so eerie in the Renlarte. And she’s struggling to hold the knife in place against the boy. Three haj are standing in the room, protecting the two windows and single doorway.
I feel a pang of memory—we used to do mind exercises, albeit less dangerous ones. Being here—it’s all reminding me of Chosi, at a time when I can’t afford to remember her.
The oldest Consul snatches at the knife, but her brother plucks it smoothly from the air, twirling it around his fingers, and she scowls. “Showoff.”
He laughs, and throws the knife through the air. It flips, end over end, toward the tiny girl guiding us and I step forward. Our haj escort pulls it effortlessly from the air, and bows slightly as he hands it back to the Consul.
The oldest looks at us, a smile on her face. It’s odd, almost out of place, and sets my teeth on edge. “Welcome, Sadi Renult. Juhan’tr. I am Zentra. My brother, Tentra, and our sister, Kentra.”
First. Second. Last. I wonder if the names will change when Zentra is replaced.
“No,” Kentra says sleepily. She’s curled on the couch next to her brother, and smiles at us. “Zentra will end her term as Consul when she turns sixteen next month. Another will take her place: a boy, since I was last appointed. But he will take her title. It would be too confusing elsewise.”
I look at her, shocked by the ease with which she pulled my thoughts from me, and she laughs. “I was born for it, Juhan. Born to serve as Consul, and trained my whole life for my term. It’s all I know.” She pauses, grinning, “Except for war. I’m trained for war, as well.”
“Yes, I suppose you would be,” I murmur.
Tentra motions to the small couch. “Sit. Dinner will be ready soon, but we can use that time to get to know you.”
Sadi sits stiffly, her gaze moving nervously through the room. I place an arm around her, drawing her back and into my embrace. My mind touches hers, wrapping her in calm, and she relaxes a little.
“Why did you come to Renlarte?” Zentra asks smoothly.
“Provisions. We’re on our way to Pente but we needed to outfit the Leen first.”
“But why Renlarte? There are less hostile planets.”
It occurs to me, suddenly, that they already know. Chosi lingers too close to the surface of my mind. It doesn’t matter how hard I try; she’s built into every thought and memory. The Consuls are well-trained, too well-trained not to pick up something that obvious. I lean forward. “Why are you playing games?” I ask softly.
They watch me, and finally, Tentra shrugs. “We’re children. What should we do?
I bite back the sharp retort, the accusation that they are more than children, that they lead this strange and hostile world. I can feel the flicker of anger from Zentra but she shoves it down. “We came here because it was closest. Because going to a friendly IPS planet would have taken two days of travel, and frankly, I’m not sure my sister can afford that.”
They’re quiet, and then, Kentra says, gently, “You love her very much, don’t you?”
It’s not a question, but it pulls my emotions to the surface in a fierce burst, all the anger and longing and loneliness and worry spilling past the mental walls that don’t seem to be doing me a damn bit of good. I look down, struggling to contain my anger and my loss and manage to whisper, “Yes. More than I can say.”
“What I don’t understand is why you allowed her to be Taken.”
The words explode in my head and in the room, and at my side, Sadi stiffens.
“That is uncalled for,” she snaps. The haj behind her shifts and Tentra looks at her curiously. “Juhan couldn’t have done anything to save his sister. To imply otherwise is cruel.”
“Is that because he was Taken at the same time?” Zentra asks.
We both go still at the question, and I feel a flicker of panic from Sadi, a ghost of a memory—Chosi screaming, the insectile Yalten swarming—swims in my mind before I shove it aside.
It is too late. The damage is done. Neither of us could keep the Consuls from our minds after a bombshell like that. I shift a little, away from Sadi. If they kill me, will they also kill her?
“Slaves aren’t permitted on Renlarte,” Tentra says softly, and I nod.
“We know.”
“Why come here then?” He is truly baffled, and I feel the emotion echoed in his sisters. “Why risk it at all, if you could so easily go to another IPS planet?”
I shrug, putting as much defiance as I can in the gesture. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding my sister.”
“And the lie you’ve told everyone?”
I hesitate, and Zentra’s eyes narrow. “The truth,” she demands.
“It was Sadi’s idea. But only because she thinks enslaving a race of people for an odd ability is wrong. She gave me a choice. I could have gone home.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t,” Zentra says, her face a mask of distaste.
“Have you ever had a sister? Someone who shared every thought, every breath, every joy and heartache, every victory and defeat—everything—with you? I learned to fly when Chosi’le fell out our bedroom window and grabbed me for balance. I learned to swim because she dared me to leave the treetops. The first girl I ever kissed was a friend of hers, because Chosi felt sorry for her. The first time a boy made her cry, I broke three fingers fighting him—it’s the only time I’ve ever fought. I know every emotion she’s ever felt, every impulsive thought she’s ever had, everything—I know her heartbeat better than my own.” I hesitate, and look at them. “If you could understand that kind of bond, you wouldn’t ask why I’d risk my life, my freedom, to find her.”
Kentra sniffles. Wordless, Zentra opens her arms, and the tiny Renlarte girl scoots into them, curling on her lap. But it is the haj who surprise me. They bow deeply at me, and all of them sink to sit cross-legged on the floor by their post. It is as close to relaxing as a haj can come.
“They are twins,” Tentra explains. “You cannot become an assassin without a psychic twin. If anyone understands your loss, it is them.”
“Enough talk,” Zentra says. “We’ve heard enough.”
Kentra stands. “Dinner is ready.”
I exchange a quick look with Sadi but she looks as confused as I am. I squeeze her hand—when did I take her hand?—and we follow the Consuls into the dining room, where the Renlarte I saw earlier is putting dinner on the table.
We sit, and I reach for my water as the Renlarte serves the Consuls, and then Sadi and me.
Finally, Tentra looks at me. “Why don’t the Eleyi fight back?” he asks bluntly.
I take a bite of the roast, the warm meat almost melting on my tongue in a wash of spices and cream. I chew slowly, thinking. Finally, I shrug because it is simple. “It’s not our way.”
“You mean your people are weak,” he says.
I frown and lower my fork, shaking my head. “We aren’t Renlarte. Our people are not trained from birth in the art of killing, or psychic offensives. We just want to live in our trees and be left alone.”
“But you aren’t,” Zentra points out. “At some point, shouldn’t you change the way you are. Sometime before the Others Take all of your people?”
The thought makes me uncomfortable, and I’m not sure why. Kentra looks up, a slightly savage smile turning her lips, and says, “Necessity breeds change, Juhan’tr. Your sister needs you. And you have changed.”
The words are spoken softly, but they slam against me like a battering ram. I feel again the press of the laser blade hidden in my boot, and flash to the kuduva forms that are becoming as easy as breathing. She’s right; I’ve changed. So much from when I first was Taken. It would never have occurred to me, then, to fight back, to fight first.
&
nbsp; “Can you blame me?” I ask, hoarsely, and they all stare at me. “I’ve been stolen from my home, ripped from my sister, sold in the auction houses, forced into a lie told to the entire galaxy. Can you say that I am wrong to change? That it would not change anyone?”
Kentra shakes her head, her dark knotted hair slipping into her eyes. “Of course not. It should change anyone. We’ve watched the Eleyi for years, waiting for the Taking to change you. Wondering why it didn’t.”
For the first time, I feel a wash of guilt and shame and anger. Why haven’t we adapted, fought back?
I open my mouth to say something, and the front of the house explodes. Sadi screams my name and I catch her as the blast throws us backward, shielding her from the debris.
Black-clad haj storm through the gaping hole of the Consuls home, kicking the dead Renlarte aside as they arrow straight for us. For Sadi.
One of the Consul’s haj has recovered and lunges at the invaders. For a moment, I can’t tell who is who as they fight, silver knives flickering in the firelight. Then a knife is driven into one of their shoulders, and the haj’s gasp of pain is drowned out by Kentra’s scream.
Another haj is slitting the throat of the Consuls personal guards, a third stalking toward me and Sadi, who cowers behind me. The Consuls are being contained by soldiers, and even though I can feel their psychic assault and see the wounds they’ve dealt out, they aren’t going to stop these haj.
No one is.
Rage almost blinds me, rage at the circumstances that have put me here, rage at the assassins who came here, never thinking an Eleyi would do anything to stop them.
-Enough.-
I throw my mind out, slamming into the haj, through their mental walls. I apply a little pressure, and one of them falters, almost falling as I shatter his walls. It’s surprisingly easy to wrap myself around his mind, to pick out what I want: who paid them, who they came to kill. Not surprising—a Yalten queen put out a contract on Sadi.
“Wha—what’s happening?” Sadi demands, and I wonder what it must look like, the haj paused, blades ready to plunge into me, staring blankly ahead. But I don’t answer.
“He’s controlling them,” Zentra says quietly.
“Eleyi can’t control minds,” Sadi spits out, and I laugh. I give the haj closest to me a nudge. The assassin spins, throwing his blade with deadly accuracy—into the eye of its fellow assassin.
Sadi screams a little, and I smile, coldly. “Not all of us. But some—some Eleyi are strong enough to send armies against each other, strong enough to control the elements.”
There’s a sharp gasp, a shiver of fear, and then her mental walls—walls I’ve never pushed—slam into place and I can’t feel her.
“You will give them to us,” Kentra says, steel and fury in her voice. I glance at the little girl, and my control slips a little to the fire.
“They came to kill her,” I say as the flames swell.
“Their lives are ours. The attack was against us.”
I pause. I could let them go—let the Consuls kill the assassins. Let them carry the blood. I glance at Sadi.
Her hair is falling around her face, her gorgeous dress torn, blood dripping from a cut on her arm. My vision blurs, and I can’t breathe through the anger choking me. I wrap around the two minds I’m still holding, and yank.
Kentra screams, a tiny startled noise, as their minds shatter, ground to dust in my hands. They slump to the ground, and Sadi peers around me, her hand hot on my wrist. I shiver. “What happened?”
-If you tell her, I’ll kill everyone in this house,- I tell the Consuls, and they go very still, staring at me.
“Nothing,” I say. “I put them to sleep. The Consuls can deal with them.”
Sadi eyes me, and I can feel the shadow of mistrust, but she doesn’t push.
“You need to leave,” Zentra says, her voice remarkably steady. I nod, and pull Sadi up behind me.
“Why are you letting us go?” Sadi asks, her eyes wide.
“Because of him,” Kentra says, standing. “He’s changed. And in an Eleyi, that is rare enough that we won’t kill it. Use your gift well, Eleyi. Your people need the change you can bring to them.”
“I don’t care about that,” I say. “I just want my sister.”
Kentra looks at us, yet past us somehow, and she nods. “And if you hold on to that, maybe you can help both your sister and your people.”
The last haj escorts us back to the Leen, winding its way effortlessly through the empty streets lit by the greenish light of Renlarte’s moon. Sadi is rigid, stiff with tension, and I reach for her mind to calm her only to have her slap me away wordlessly. As soon as we are within sight of the Leen, she breaks into a run, her feet slapping the hard ground as she races something I can’t explain away. Suppressing a sigh, I turn to the haj, offering a slight bow. “Thank you. I’m sorry for that.”
As I turn away, it touches my wing and I tuck them close to my back in an automatic gesture. “Your sister,” it says, its voice flat, “you honor her. Even if Sadi does not say so. Even if your people do not agree.”
It spreads its arms, palms open and empty, a gesture of goodwill, before it turns, gliding back into the darkness.
A rap on the bulkhead makes me stumble in my forms, and I twist to look at Brando.
“What happened?” he asks furiously.
“Ask her,” I say, sliding back into the Tranquil stance. I flow evenly into Winds on the Water.
He throws a sparring stick at me and I catch it. “I did. Now I’m asking you.”
I pause, holding the sparring stick and testing Brando’s psyche. Not for the first time, I wish he didn’t have such strong walls. -Let me in,- I say and his eyes widen a fraction, just enough to tell me I’ve startled him. For a long moment, I think he’ll refuse, think he’ll stalk away in silent disgust. Then his eyes close, and a shudder racks his body. Slowly his walls weaken and open. Cautiously, I reach out.
It’s so foreign. His thoughts are screaming that this is wrong, and as I first brush his mind, he recoils, his walls wavering. Without thinking, I slip past them, deeper. Where his emotion wars with duty and the sense of betrayal that she loves a slave—even an honorable one—screams from every passing thought. There is worry, concern that the security team with the Senator won’t do as good a job as he needs and beyond that, a deep frustration that Sadi has locked him so completely out of her life. And even deeper—he gasps, stumbling, and I know I’ve gone too deep, but I can’t stop myself—is what I’m looking for. It shines in the center of his psyche, radiating out to touch every thought and action. A brilliant, abiding love for Sadi.
I ease back, aware suddenly of how intrusive my presence is. When I feel his mental walls, he jerks, almost forcibly throwing me from his mind.
As I blink, clearing my head, Brando glares at me with quiet dislike. “Did you find what you wanted, Eleyi?”
I nod. “Yes.”
His glare falters. For a split-second, he looks lost. And then it’s gone. “What happened?”
“The Consuls are creepy,” I say, spreading and fanning my wings. “And they are incredibly gifted psychically.”
He tenses. “They found out you’re her slave?”
“I think it’s safe to say Tentra knew that when he invited us to their home. No. I think what disturbed Sadi was finding out how much I need Chosi.”
“She knew that,” he says.
“But she’s never heard it in my own words. Combine that with the fact that I hate being her slave, hate this facade she’s forced us into, it’s no surprise she’s moody.” I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him about the attack. She told me not to, but he’s supposed to keep her safe.
Brando nods, distractedly. He begins to turn away but hesitates.
“Will you talk to her?”
I slide into Striking Eagle, slowly transitioning to Winds on the Water, and nod. “I don’t know that it will do any good, but I’ll try.”
The ship i
s quiet, Brando and Tin both asleep, when I rise from my bed. I reach for her psyche, and find enough turmoil and fear to convince me she’s awake. In the galley, I warm a large cup of hot chocolate, then add a little mineral salt and stir in a bit of cream.
When I tap on her door, Sadi is quiet for so long I wonder if I read her wrong—maybe she is asleep. Then I hear the soft whisper of the door as it slides open and she regards me warily.
I extend the cup wordlessly, and I feel as much as see the stirring of amusement as she takes it and retreats to the bed. She scoots to one side and I take the silent invitation, settling next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into me. The chocolate jostles and she makes a soft noise of distress before sipping it.
How did this girl become so close to me that I could sit with her in silence and calm both of us? That I know the way to slip past her anger and worry and fear as effortlessly as I would do for Chosi’le? That I would kill for her?
There it is—the truth I’ve been avoiding since we reached the Leen. For all of my passive nature, I killed those haj. Without thinking. For Sadi.
The thought is disturbing and I push it away, struggling to hold onto my anger instead. But it’s getting harder to do. “You want to tell me what has you so upset?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Want to tell me what that was today?”
I look away. “It was nothing.” I pick up her free hand, holding it between my own. It’s the first time I’ve touched her with no agenda, no manipulation or game in mind. It makes me nervous, and I almost let go, but her fingers curl around mine and I look up to see her staring at me, questions in her dark eyes. “Do you think the Renlarte senators are children?” I ask.
“They aren’t,” she says, “The IPS doesn’t want them until their psychic skills have begun to fade.” She’s quiet for a few minutes, sipping her chocolate before she pauses and looks at it in surprise. “This is really good.”
Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) Page 23