Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “No, no. You’re all wrong.”

  Lisen pulled up short. She’d done exactly what Korin had told her to do—over and over again she’d done it—but for some reason it kept turning out, as he put it, “all wrong.” It seemed she couldn’t do anything right around here.

  “Piss and vinegar, Korin, I’m doing all I can. You said, ‘Advance, advance, strike, parry.’ That’s what I’m doing.” The practice room felt too warm, too humid, too tiny, even though they were alone.

  “No, I told you to advance, strike, advance, strike, parry.”

  She shook her head. “No,” she murmured under her breath. “That’s not what you said.”

  “I can hear you.”

  “I meant for you to.”

  They’d had the chamber to themselves all day; Lisen didn’t know why. Maybe everyone was hard at work planting whatever they planted right after the fertility ritual. Well, she didn’t know how effective the ritual had been, but she’d done all she could to make it work. And now, alone together, she and Korin took advantage of the opportunity that allowed them to speak relatively freely. Still, they did exercise caution; you never knew who might be listening, and there were some things you should never bring up.

  “And I know what I said,” Korin countered. “Now, let’s try it again.”

  Advance. Strike. Advance. Strike. Parry. She took it slow the first time because she wanted to make sure she had everything in place. When he nodded silently, she tried again, increasing her speed. That’s when he stopped her, again.

  “Your footwork is all off,” he said. “You get any closer to true fighting speed, and the way your toes turn in, you’ll be tripping over your feet.”

  “Why are you so mean tonight?”

  “I’m not mean, just hard, and I’ve been hard on you before,” he replied.

  “It’s not your words. It’s the way you say them.” He was barking at her, jumping on every little mistake.

  He stared at her briefly, then turned his head away, in disgust it seemed to her. Maybe he was still recovering from the manta’s toxin. Or maybe he’s regretting what he said up there. Does he even remember? She shut that one down. No point in belaboring it.

  “You haven’t exactly been easy to deal with either, you know,” he said.

  And then, between one breath and the next, the room began to spin. To hell with Korin, something had taken hold of her mind, her soul, and the headache came upon her like a smack upside the head. She reeled and sat down before she fell down, and Korin was on her before she could refocus on the room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, studying her face as he felt her arms, her shoulders, her legs and her hips.

  “Not there,” she managed. “Head. Again. Watcher.”

  “Damn. We need to get you back to my chamber.” He put her arm over his shoulder, and with his own arm, he started to pull her up onto her feet.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Will pass.” She slowed the panting which had begun as she’d dropped to the floor. As her breathing normalized, she regained some control over the whirling room, and only then could she exert every bit of mental force she possessed to exorcise the freakin’ rogue. She’d thought herself immune to her brother’s watcher here, so far away from Avaret. Then she remembered that hint of a headache she’d awoken to on the night of the Farii. Was that…?

  She closed herself to that thought, continued to push against the intruder, and the pain in her head slowly withdrew. After several moments of Korin’s face not more than six inches from her own, she nodded to encourage him to back away, shook off the sensation of imbalance and made to rise. Korin cupped his hand beneath her elbow. He’d accepted her desire to do this on her own, but she appreciated the support to her still slightly tilted equilibrium.

  “Let’s get back to it,” she said, shaking free of Korin, shifting her grip on her sword and repositioning herself in preparation to continue.

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “We’ve barely begun,” she protested. “And we’ve done nothing since before Evennight.”

  “I think it’s time to bring in another teacher.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” She didn’t want another teacher; she wanted him.

  “It’s become personal.” He smiled, his dark eye focused on her. “It can’t be personal between a teacher and a pupil. Not when so much is at stake.”

  She stared at him, her mouth open as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Finally, she found words. “How can you bring someone else in?” She lowered her voice. “You’re not suggesting we tell someone about me, about who I am, are you? Especially here where every Empir is the enemy.”

  “No. Of course not,” he replied softly. “We maintain our story.” His dark hair remained in the beads and ribbons of the ritual, and she found it deliciously attractive. She, on the other hand, had been unable to sleep in all that extra frou-frou stuff and had re-braided her hair yesterday, weaving only the black ribbon back in.

  “You won’t leave me alone with this person, will you?” She felt small, defenseless, abandoned even.

  “I won’t. I won’t leave you alone ever again.”

  She wanted to wonder what that meant but didn’t dare go there. “It better be someone you trust,” she said, pouting.

  “I have the perfect teacher in mind.”

  She sheathed her sword, the sword that had once belonged to her mother. “I won’t be able to continue working with this.”

  He smiled. She did like his smile. It was a gift he gave rarely, tending, as he did, towards the somber. So when the corners of his mouth turned up in pleasure, his entire face warmed from its normal frostiness to something nearing kindness. “No. I’ll lend you mine. We’ll keep yours hidden.”

  “Because it was one thing when anyone else who might be around was concentrating on what they were doing, but to have one person concentrating on what I’m doing…well….”

  “I know. We probably shouldn’t have brought it down here in the first place.”

  “Do you think someone would recognize it?” Her stomach lurched in that way it did only when she was frightened.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it is the sword of a noble, that’s obvious.”

  She stared at her feet. “You’re thinking about the other night.” She certainly thought about it, but he’d said nothing, admitted to no knowledge of anything.

  “Not really. It’s over, and it seems to have accomplished everything we’d hoped for. I can’t go anywhere without someone stopping me and commenting on your daring, your courage. They’re all impressed with their little Garlan immigrant.”

  She looked up. “Really?” She heard herself and knew she sounded far too eager.

  “Yes. Now, pack up. Tomorrow I’ll bring you a new teacher.”

  Lisen nodded and began pulling her things together. She just had to survive another month. Then they’d be gone from Thristas, and she would have new and greater worries to occupy her mind.

  Later that next morning, Lisen lay in the dark, her mind foggy with swirling, indistinct thoughts. She should be sleeping. She knew she should be sleeping, but how could she sleep when Korin’s “I love you” kept echoing through her brain and tonight her training would begin anew with someone she didn’t know? And more than that—it was as though her mind and body knew something they refused to share with her. All these unfathomables denied her sleep. She might have thought this restlessness signaled the aftereffects of possession, but that was so long ago—three weeks or something—so why hadn’t she felt like this before? No, she concluded, this is something else, something fresh.

  At Solsta, she could have gotten up and climbed up to her parapet to contemplate the ocean’s sweet reminders of constancy, of ebb and flow, but she was about as far away from Solsta and the ocean as one could get without leaving this world entirely. Besides, Korin would sense her movement if she tried to rise from the pallet they shared, he with his back always to her. Yes,
getting up and wandering was definitely out of the question.

  But what if she moved very slowly and made no noise at all? She could do that, couldn’t she? She felt oppressed, enclosed, as though fighting for air. She had to get up and move. She had to find an opening to the outside somehow. Claustrophobia. I’m claustrophobic.

  She shivered, then slid slowly, barely an inch at a time, until she’d freed herself of the blanket. She sat up with care and turned back to see if Korin had sensed her change in position. No, he still breathed like a sleeper. She let her own held breath out silently and reached for her cloak. With each movement, she would study Korin again, reassuring herself that he continued to sleep as she slipped from his sphere of awareness. At last, she stood up, her cloak under one arm, her sandals in the other hand, and with one last look to her captain, she took her leave of him and stepped out into the passageway.

  The entire mesa slept, save for those who stood guard below at the desert level entries. If she moved with caution, she could wander these tunnels for some time before anyone knew she was about. She slipped into her sandals, threw on her cloak, pulled a torch from the wall and headed up, always taking the steeper side of every fork in the passage, drawn by a need to ascend, a need which had motivated her Garlan life since childhood. The worst that could happen would be she’d get lost, but even with that, by nighttime someone would find her and direct her back to Korin’s little cave.

  But, by instinct or by memory, or merely by fool’s luck, she eventually found herself at the apex of the passage, below the trapdoor which opened onto the mesa’s crowning plateau. She stood there staring up at it, breathing heavily from the climb, and slipped into an internal debate with herself as to whether or not she should venture up and outside.

  She hungered for air—the fresh kind—even though she expected it to be very hot out there with the sun beating down from above. Winter hot, like Death Valley was winter hot in December. But warmer than in here for certain. And what if she couldn’t get the door to open for her when she wanted to come back in? She shook her head. Fresh air could wait. Besides anything could happen out there. The manta couldn’t be the only danger. And, beyond everything else, she must survive. It felt like the stakes rose with each passing day, the demand to excel pressing down on her.

  She surrendered to the necessity of keeping herself physically and mentally sound, but she didn’t leave. She sat down and waited for the call from above to subside. She hadn’t been left on her own for nearly two months, and although she wasn’t really alone now, she felt the touch of freedom, the magic of autonomy for the first time since Malibu. Everything since then had rolled forward with such hell-bent inevitability that it hadn’t allowed her to breathe properly.

  Then, between one heartbeat and the next, she made a decision. All the I-love-yous in the world would never survive the cruel heat of a Garlan sun. Korin was her captain, her guard. They both knew that. She would leave sentiment behind and move forward. It seemed that he certainly had.

  She looked up at the trapdoor. If she pulled down the ladder and just popped her head out, she’d be free, if only for a breath or two. But, no. Sitting here alone seemed to relieve her, however briefly, of the need to escape what could not be escaped, and eventually, satisfied, she rose and somehow managed to make her way back down to the cave Korin called home.

  When she awoke on her pallet that night, Korin was gone, but as she sat up, he returned from the wet room, dressed and clean.

  “Where did you go today?” he asked, and she snorted a laugh. How naïve she was, believing he hadn’t sensed her leave.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”

  “I’m not comfortable with you heading off on your own like that,” he said as he hung a wet cloth over the short stool, then turned to face her. “Thristans don’t trust Garlans. There are those who don’t trust me because I’m half-Garlan. They all smile at you, but can you tell which of them would slit your throat simply because they resent and despise all things Garlan?”

  “You mean Ondra?”

  “An easy guess,” he answered with a grin, then quickly sobered. “But there are many others. And Mantar only knows what they’d do if they found out who you really are.”

  “I didn’t get lost. I didn’t run into anyone. You said it yourself last night. They’re impressed with me. I’m fine.”

  He sat down on the floor in front of her and grabbed her chin harshly, forcing her to look directly at him. “You’re not fine, and you’re never safe. You will never be safe again. Do you understand?”

  She jerked her head from his hold. “Stop that.” Korin nodded and dropped his hand. “Yes, I understand,” she continued. “But there are no windows, no doors. And I never get a minute alone.”

  “That’s something I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to,” he commented and graced her with a half-smile. “For the rest of your life, however long that may be, someone will be nearby watching, even if you’re not aware of them.” She started to interrupt, but he hushed her with a finger to her lips. “For now, it’s only me. And I know it’s not fair, but it’s the way it is.” He spoke now in a whisper. “What if your brother learns where you are and sends his guards for you? Or worse? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, is it?” She glared at him resolutely. “Is it?”

  With a sigh and a shrug, she relented. “No, it’s not.”

  “And then there’s the threat from those here in the mesa. So promise me you’ll tell me the next time you decide to go wandering.”

  She turned away, sighed again, then looked back at him. “All right. I’ll tell you.”

  He bounded up from the floor. “Get up and get dressed. I’ve arranged for Elder Hozia to train you. My father trained her, and she trained me. She should be up to the challenge.”

  “Of training me?” Lisen looked up at him.

  “Of training anyone, but yes, you especially.” He smiled. “She questioned the level of your current skills when I spoke with her.”

  “And?”

  “I told her you were new to the Guard when we left.”

  “Which will explain my incompetence.”

  “Which will explain why you aren’t any better than you are.”

  She grimaced. She’d never be ready. Her brother had years of training; she, merely months. And if it came to a duel—there has to be some other way. “Korin?” She paused. She had to ask, and yet…. “Are you sure a new teacher is really for the best?”

  “You need someone you will not question. Or at least not as much as you question me. It’s too early in your training for you to be constantly demanding to know why a thing is the way it is. Later, it will be appropriate, but for now, you must trust the experience of your mentor.”

  “I trust your experience.”

  “We’re too close. The Farii…changed me. It changed us. I’d hoped we could set it aside, but we can’t change who we’ve become because of it. I wish that weren’t the case, but it is. Your survival comes first. Now, get up. Mustn’t keep the Elder waiting.”

  She nodded, and as he left the chamber to allow her some privacy, she stood up, pulled off her nightshift and slipped on her tunic. She plopped back down on the pallet to pull on her boots, touched her mother’s sword once—for luck, she supposed—then tucked it under some bedding.

  She sat there for a moment. Life at Solsta had been simple, regulated, easily managed. Thank God and the Creators for seven years of freedom and fun on Earth to prepare for all these complications, all this chaos. Plots and conspiracies seemed to swirl all around her. Who to believe. Who to trust. Could she trust the man who’d just left her here? He was half-Thristan after all. Yet, he’d sacrificed a lot—not just his eye, but potentially his career in the Guard and his standing in Thristas as well.

  If Korin Rosarel had wanted me dead, she concluded, if he were in my brother’s employ, I’d be dead before now, left to the ravages of the desert sun, to the winds and the predators, long before reac
hing Mesa Terses, no witnesses to complicate things.

  In mid April they’d leave here, and by May she’d come out of hiding officially and reveal herself to the world. This was new, this feeling of actually wanting it, actually looking forward to the moment of revelation, and she liked it. She stood up and stepped out of Korin’s chamber to find him waiting outside.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Mustn’t keep the Elder waiting.”

  Ariel sat at his desk, alone in his office, fiddling with a stylus. He had no intention of writing anything; he simply needed something to focus his energy. Lorain had turned cold on him, seemingly overnight, and he continued to struggle with it. The ring. I know it’s the ring. But why? He’d given it to her as an expression of his adoration, a symbol of a promise to make a promise. His father had given it to his mother, for Creators’ sake, before they had committed to unite. Could the ring really be the problem?

  She’d treated him with respect and shown her usual consideration for his needs, but the veneer that usually hid her ambition seemed to have worn away to reveal a woman of discontent. He didn’t like her this way, but he couldn’t act to bring his Lorain back if he couldn’t be sure what was wrong. Because it couldn’t be the ring. It was a lovely ring. Nothing too flashy, but clearly an expression of his gratitude for her sacrifices for him—the devotion she’d shown to finding the necropath, the commitment in her pouching his Heir, her willingness to put up with his moods.

  Oh, yes, he knew about his moods. He may not care, but he did know about them. He was Empir, and it was the duty of all those around him to see to it that he remained happy and satisfied. If he didn’t, then whose fault was that? Certainly not his. He did have to admit that most of the staff did all they could to fulfill his needs. He liked that. It made him smile. With his mother gone, they had evolved into an entirely new sort of people—eager to respond to his every desire. His mother had ordered him—ordered him—not to make demands of the staff. Well, she was gone now, and they had to do what he said. And they did. If they didn’t…well, he hadn’t been forced to make an example of anyone. Yet.