Be assured, I have missed you, also. His thought was weak, and although his feelings surrounded her, she discovered what he had done on Dalhum. When he had shut down his body in meditative protection, he had forcibly shut her out. He had actually thought he was dying and had wanted to spare her that drastic separation. Did he think her so weak? How could he think such a thing? She had successfully led Kasara’s warriors in his absence. With great effort, she suppressed what she knew was Kasar-linked anger and sent only loving thoughts to him. She would tackle his misconception about her strengths when he was healed. She’d wait—but not for long.
FOR WEEKS, VADYN felt Cayla’s warmth and healing touch surrounding him. He had missed her so much, had felt so alone. For a time in his captivity, he had longed for death, hoping she would live without him for the sake of their child. Finally, when it looked like death was imminent, he had nearly killed himself with the slowing of his heartbeat. Thankfully, for a while, the Xeetag had thought him to be dead and left him in slumbering numbness. When awakened by the Xeetag leader’s prodding, he had been shocked to see Cayla in his wavering sight. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming. He had thought himself still in captivity until laser fire fully awakened him to his rescue. Surely he hadn’t seen the nightmare of Tyrei sacrificing himself. Helpless, he had roused again when he was carried on board and placed in the med unit. Imagine, the el’kota of Kasara carried like a babe! He vowed that it would be the last time he would be so dependent on others. Kasara’s el’kota was strong. He led his people. Bah! How he had failed them! Once again, the recent past taunted him. How could he be the leader of his people? He wasn’t strong enough to lead or protect anything. Stars! He hated being this weak! And still weak after days of healing. As always, upon waking, he thought of Cayla and their child. Why had she risked so much? Her voice in his head startled him. He hadn’t felt her link.
Because I am Kasara’s ly’teal. I could do no less for you, my mate, than you have done for me. Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the pride in her statement. Vadyn was no fool. But he faced what a weakling he had become.
Go away. He rejected her link, forcing her out of his thoughts.
Cayla fumed at the failed connection. Vadyn had sorely changed—a vague blackness surrounded his soul, separating her from him. But she also felt his heavy sigh of fatigue, and her anger drained away. Carefully, she gently brought on sleep even though he resisted. She tested his stout barriers erected against her probing, but even when she wanted to fight them, she only induced him to rest.
Later, when finally back in their room, she let her threatening anger vent. She tore through their bedroom, smashing fragile crystal, tearing wall hangings and ripping bed silks. Only when their child stirred in her middle did she halt. Startled by the sudden swift movement, she gasped in wonderment. Her unnoted tears dried. How could she have been so careless? What if her anger was harmful? She loved this active little child with all her heart. A scowl narrowed her eyes. His father had better come around soon—if he knew what was good for him.
PAIN STILL LANCED through Vadyn despite the hazy painkillers from the red healers’ psi. He wondered how much of his pain really existed and how much was phantom pain from his nightmares. Fretfully, he turned on his side, his recently dreamt tortures over. But he couldn’t fall asleep again. Morning light greeted his vision. Kasara’s golden light. Beside him rested a red-crowned head. Like some faithful servant, Cayla slept at his bedside, resting her head on her folded arms, her body draped in a chair. He growled under his breath. She was heavy with their child and should be sleeping in her own bed. Evident concern for him was etched on her wan features. He tried to speak to her, but his voice came out so thin and weak that he shut his mouth with an audible teeth click. But she roused at even such a slight sound and stirred closer to him. Her palm sleepily patted his chest. Her worry was obvious, but he closed his eyes and refused to use their mind connection.
How could he let her see him in such a helpless weakened condition? He was Kasara’s el’kota! A warrior warlord! He should have protected her and the babe. “Out—get out, Cayla—leave me.” His intended bellow came out in a trembling, mumbled snarl. Her glance jerked to his as she awakened. Moisture gathered in her eyes as he turned away from her. Glancing back, he caught the hurt in her gaze just before her face hardened. After that one flash of surprise, she never betrayed her feelings. Since he refused their connection he didn’t know what she thought, but stony control ruled her countenance, as regal as any ruler could hope to look. She never even tried their mind connection. She just gave a cool whisper.
“Very well, el’kota. Call if you need me.” She left in a soft swirl of perfumed silk. He almost missed the rest of her words, “you stupid ass,” that followed. He ignored the insult and mulled over her words. Need her? Hell, his whole body yearned for her like a dying man yearned for life, but he wouldn’t call her. What a fool he was! Why would his brave Cayla, Kasara’s first battle ly’teal, giving her the same ranking as the el’kota, need with a warrior like him? He was a weak mate. She surely deserved better. Not an addlepated leader who let Xeetag use him for target practice. Gods, he had been helpless, and she had witnessed the sight! Well, he would see to it that she was taken care of. Even if it meant he had to step aside and let another warrior become Kasara’s el’kota—and her physical mate. How he would do that with their bonded mind-link, he didn’t know—yet. He had done it for her parents for twenty-five years—surely there was a worthy warrior who could become Kasara’s new ruler. He reflected over his choices.
Tyrei would have made a great leader. That thought suddenly became the hazy memory he held of his brave lieutenant’s sacrifice. It only proved that Cayla deserved better than he could give her. The thought of losing her sickened him. But for her own protection and that of his heir, he had to make sure she was safe. He was too weak to be ruler of anything. He had become an ineffectual leader, responsible for too many deaths. And, oh, how his head ached now. Blackness overcame him, body and soul.
During the next few days, his noble thought of abdicating ate at him with jealous little claws. He dreamed of Cayla at night, dreamed of their loving encounters, but those explosive episodes were interrupted by vicious attacks from countless enemies that he couldn’t protect her from. He hadn’t even protected her parents when he should have. And Tyrei died along with countless others because he couldn’t even protect anyone. He’d let himself be captured like some idiot juvenile cub.
At daybreak, after another such nightmare, he awakened in sweaty resolve. He vowed to somehow see that Cayla ruled Kasara with a strong warrior, stronger than himself, at her side—even if the nights still haunted him, bringing dreams of loving her back to him. In his weakened state, he had refused to see anyone but Lycos, Kasara’s chief red healer. Today, the healer’s long fingers probed under his bandages as he sent his psi thoughts deep into Vadyn’s mind. The healer’s concern caused his eyes to mist, drawing even more of that human-inspired weakness. He fought to regain control, and a growl escaped him. Bah! These weaknesses had gone on long enough! He was acting more stupid than ever. With sudden insight, he wondered how much the healer was doing to his troubled mind. Was he adding thoughts? Admitting nothing, Lycos stayed and talked with him long into the afternoon. New confidence came with the healer’s insights.
Perhaps—and this was hard to admit—perhaps, he was wrong in some of his thinking. It was time to rise above self-pity. But was this confusion just self-pity?
THE NEXT DAY, Cayla was surprised to find Vadyn up and moving about his room. He had even made an attempt to dress himself. True, his long hair still flowed in an unkempt golden mass, but he had smoothed it back by tying a band of silk over his forehead. It lent a rakish look to his drawn features. She tried to sound cheerful.
“Well, well, decided to join us in the land of the living again?” She stood near the door, wary of his temperament. He grunted, thereb
y grudgingly acknowledging that he hadn’t been the most cooperative when she had tried visiting. Most of those days, he had just yelled her out of his room. But she knew he needed her help. She smiled, remembering that for the first time in many years, his staff refused to listen to him. They did as she ordered. Vadyn’s voice sounded gruff, unused to speaking.
“Yes, I have decided just that, honored ly’teal. But I find that I need your help. I must travel to the Alliance Council meeting by the end of the week.” He ignored her sputtered protest and continued with a growl. “If you won’t help me, Cayla, then at least, send Batla in to me. Because, by the end of the week, I will be going to Dara V.” His determined gaze never left her face, and his jaw muscles flexed in controlled strength.
“Fine! Fine, I’ll help you, warlord, but I think this is a mistake. You need to rest far more than just a few days more. Medicine and the healers can only do so much. But I know you won’t listen to me. Who am I, after all?” She tried to help him walk the rest of the way back to the bed, but Vadyn shook off her steadying hands. So she watched him struggle; his leg muscles, furthered weakened by so much bed rest, threatened to buckle, but he forced himself to walk one foot at a time, one step ahead of the other until he reached the bed. Ignoring the sweat that trickled down the sides of his jaws, he faced her; his shoulders squared. His voice shook only slightly.
“This is all I want from you. Order the staff to bring me solid food again, and lots of it.” He thrust his chin forward, obviously waiting for her denial. Well, he must know she was the one ordering their servants, in other words, countermanding his orders. After a moment, gathering her thoughts and temper, she blinked, her voice sounded carefully neutral.
“Very well, el’kota. Starting now, you’ll have your normal high protein and see what happens. If your digestive tract has a problem, don’t come whining to me.”
“I never whine.”
“We’ll see. For now, you’ve had enough exercise. Lie back and let me check your wound. If you’ve broken the healers’ stitches, I swear I’ll cut you again just for the pleasure of watching them suture you back up.” She attempted to smile but felt only a tightening of her stiff lips. Despite her attempt to be careful, he grimaced at the pull of the bandage from over his reddened scars. Ruefully, she noted that the glue had ripped his chest hair. He only gasped and rubbed the reddened spot. She felt thin satisfaction, but that died at the sight of his scars. Quickly, she ducked before he caught her sympathy. After a moment, she raised her head, all expression wiped from her face. But he never looked, never spoke again. In fact, he mostly ignored her.
“You are indeed healing nicely.” She bandaged him quickly with gentle sure hands. Shadows had darkened the area under his eyes. Obviously, he still wasn’t sleeping well. In reflex, she almost reached out to him with her mind. But even without a touch, she could feel the cold blankness that waited. She drew her shield thicker around her. Damn him and his pride!
“GOOD.” THE HEALER pulled the blanket to Vadyn’s chin. Lycos smiled, evidently pleased with his healing progress and in, no doubt, Cayla’s careful nursing. “She’s done a good job. Have you talked with the ly’teal about the future yet?” His red eyebrows rose expectantly.
“No!” The denial exploded from his mouth, and he quickly shook his head, speaking softer. “I don’t want her or anyone else to see me now. I don’t know why this is taking so long. I’m no good to her like this—useless—weak. I’m no good to anyone.” He knew his frustration was misplaced but couldn’t help feeling angry. The healer seemed not to notice.
“Whatever are you blathering on about, el’kota?” Wrinkles curled on Lycos’s forehead. “I thought we had settled all that patient self-pitying talk.”
He scowled at the red healer and swallowed a growl. “I’m talking about being as helpless as a newborn babe. I’m talking about Cayla needing a stronger mate to protect her. Kasara needs a strong ruler. Even when I was well, I wasn’t able to protect Cayla’s family.”
“She didn’t appear to need protecting when she rallied the clans and fought off the Xeetag.” Lycos shook his head at Vadyn’s deepening frown. Fearlessly, he ignored the warlord’s displeasure and continued. “Perhaps Kasara’s ly’teal drew enough of your strength to see her through the whole ordeal.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she found some of her own. And perhaps, she just knew what to do from your shared experiences. Regardless, with your bond to her, you both used your strengths to survive handily. You are a good pairing. You should be proud of your joint success. The Elders can’t stop talking about it.” Lycos continued along in the same vein for so long that Vadyn thanked the gods when the old healer finally stopped spouting his philosophy. Finally the red settled back in his chair, crossed his arms and regarded him with a steady gaze. “El’kota, I think only your male pride is suffering now because you were injured—badly injured.” He held up one hand, forestalling Vadyn’s interruption and dared to speak plainly. “In a few days, you’ll be kicking yourself for being so stupid—ah, lax”—he amended his words at Vadyn’s scowl—“for hurting the ly’teal in the process.” His voice grew sterner as did his admonishing amber gaze. He leaned in closer. “And you are hurting her. Hurting her badly. You’d better wise up before it’s too late—and she gives up on you.” The healer stood. “I’m sure there are other warriors that would consider her concern an honor.” With that disturbing statement, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Unconvinced of his worth, Vadyn shook his head and closed his eyes. His chest throbbed in pulsating thumps. His legs still trembled from the stressing walk he had taken. Well, he had to do better than this if he was to go to Dara V in the morning. At present, he didn’t trust himself to speak to Cayla. And he didn’t need reminding that his coldness hurt her. But it hurt him to even see her. It hurt not to see her. But it was too dangerous for her to lead Kasara by herself. She might get warrior knowledge from him, but she needed physical strength at her side, guarding and protecting. He had to get out of this damned sickbed! In frustration, he pounded his fists against the mattress. His vision blurred. He never thought he would wish for the day that he wasn’t Kasara’s el’kota. But he did so now . . . fervently.
VADYN HAD SPENT nearly three weeks separated from her before Cayla saw him again. Healing, he had said. Now, the week was ending when he had promised to attend the Alliance’s meeting on Dara V. Grudgingly, when asked by anyone, she admitted that he had almost recovered his strength. But, secretly, she still despaired of him accepting her back into his life. His eyes had a haunted look. Yellow and green bruises covered his face and body in their bilious half-healed colors. But his dreams were the most chilling with their vivid recall. And she relived each one, hovering in his mind’s shadows without his knowledge.
Night after night he dreamed of his torture and confinement. Even when he used the deep Kasar meditation, he couldn’t block all the pain. It was physical as well as mental. He kept seeing the lifeless bodies of his beloved Quanta and Sabre, brutally killed as a lure; Tyrei, his childhood friend and imperial lieutenant slain while helping to rescue him. Countless others had died in battle above Kasara. Did he even know who was missing yet? The pain was nearly unbearable. What kind of a leader was he when he couldn’t prevent the senseless deaths of his friends? She snorted at his misconceptions. Just where did he come up with all these guilt-ridden feelings anyway? Did he think he was responsible for everything? Bah! Such an arrogant male god complex! How she wanted to correct him, to share his grief, but she didn’t dare intrude. How cruel of him to shut her out. But his dreams told a horrid tale that left her waking and gasping for air.
Not only feelings of failure haunted the warlord but the lingering ghosts of torture also gave him night sweats. His fear for Cayla’s safety had almost crippled him in the hands of the Xeetag. He had nearly bargained with them for her release. Yes, he admitted to himself, he had been willing to sacrifice Kasara for her.
He would have risked all for her, before he realized she wouldn’t have wanted her freedom that way. Thank the gods, Tyrei had finally managed to do what he asked. His faithful lieutenant had gotten her to safety. He choked on his memories.
Cayla’s heart twisted inside, and she felt sick knowing Vadyn’s guilty thoughts about Tyrei. But, gods, they had come so close to losing him, too. Well, now that she had him back, she’d never let him go, regardless of what he did or thought. And, he was not going to Dara V. Not if she had anything to say about it.
IN A SNIT OVER his failure to get a crew to take him to Dara V, Vadyn returned to his war room and Kasara’s business, discovering that Cayla had handled affairs of state with a sureness that rivaled his own. She had even ordered Tyrei’s name set in Kasara’s Heroes’ Hall, again circumventing the warlord who thought of the honor himself as soon as he had recovered enough. Just one more way in which she had shown him up as ruler. But she said only that she, too, had wanted future generations to remember Tyrei’s sacrifice. She owed him her life. But why did she thwart him at every turn? Again, he saw himself as a failure. Visions of all the recent sacrifices made by others still haunted his thoughts and dreams. He tried to shut the taunts away, tried to thicken his mind’s wall, but again he knew he failed to shut Cayla completely out. She had become too strong and too persistent to be dealt with in that way. He even knew she was invading his sleep, bringing him comfort. Awake, he could refuse, but, while he slept, she spread her healing, sleep-inducing touch over the guilt, the torments, and the fears. And she insistently whispered her love over and over in his head. Now, even when he tried, he couldn’t shut her out—not for very long. He knew his remembered agony chilled her soul, but she rose above the anguish to bring him peace. How had she gotten so strong?
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