Beyond the Shadows

by Jess Granger

  He had to keep moving.

  The wide arch entrance of the healing sanctuary loomed over him as he ran into the central courtyard. Great oval pools burst with flowering lilies and swamp irises while an enormous black egret watched him as it waded near a waterfall.

  Damn it. The peace and beauty of the Rastos sanctuary was meant to calm the sick that came from all over the universe for help from the Touscari, but it did nothing for him. He began to pace, and Tuz followed in step. He took a swipe at Cyn’s calf.

  “I don’t know where she is, so don’t ask,” Cyn snapped.

  One of the women that met him at the ship turned the corner from a shaded walkway and nodded to him.

  “Follow me,” she stated with a distinct lack of panic in the low timber of her voice. “Tola wishes to speak with you while he heals the patient.”

  Cyn cursed under his breath. He followed her down the walkway, around a corner, and entered a small room with a single bed.

  Yara remained unconscious, wrapped in clean white linens and nothing else. His eyes immediately fixed on her chest, watching for the soft rise and fall.

  “Cyrus Smith,” Tola stated from the doorway. Cyn didn’t bother to turn around. “I’m surprised to see you here, considering your ship was attacked and destroyed by rogues somewhere near the Farlan cluster. Wasn’t that the official report filed on your death records?”

  To protect his sister, Cyn had faked their deaths to the Union. After that, he’d disappeared back to Gansai, bought fake identification codes for himself and his ship, then enjoyed toying with the Union by continuing to use his Earthlen alias as a trader instead of a cultural liaison. It amazed him how well the bureaucratic jungle of information protected him.

  “Yeah, well, you know how rumors get started,” Cyn hedged as Tuz jumped up on the corner of the bed. Tola crossed too closely behind him. The healer glared at him through dark, slanted eyes as his hawklike features seemed to harden even more with disapproval. The swirling white patterns painted on his temples and winging just above his brow stood out in sharp contrast to his dark skin. “She’s been injected with the latest Kronalen culler, the truth serum, and probably still has kiltii extract in her system if you can channel it.”

  The healer didn’t move.

  “What are you waiting for?” Cyn demanded, his voice sounding like a panicked roar.

  “We haven’t settled our debt.” Tola’s calm voice sounded sharp with accusation.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. Bug negotiated . . .”

  “You negotiated with the sanctuary, but you haven’t settled your debt with me.” Tola jerked off his gloves but still didn’t lay a hand on Yara. “I spied on Cyani for you. Sent messages detailing information about our positions while on the front. It was treason, yet I trusted you. You told me you were facilitating information for Azra, but that was a lie, and now the Union thinks Cyani’s dead. I want the truth.” Tola clenched his jaw and fist. “You were the last person to see her alive.”

  “She’s going to die if you don’t help her, now,” Cyn protested, holding his hand out toward Yara.

  “Then do something.” Tola crossed his long arms.

  “What?” Cyn shouted, as panic nearly choked him. “What do you want from me? I’ve already lost everything.”

  “What happened to Cyani?” It was Tola’s turn to shout while a look of intense pain creased his painted brow. Had Tola been in love with his sister?

  Cyn reached up and ripped open the clasps of his shirt, letting the material fall open, exposing his scar. Tola could read and interpret every chemical signature of his body down to his DNA through the glands in his hands.

  “You want answers?” Cyn dropped his gaze to his chest. “Take them. Just save her.” One touch. That’s all it would take to have his entire physical history laid bare for the intelligent healer. His life story, no lies, no hiding, no disguises. He’d know his connection to Cyani. He’d see the signature of every lover, every intoxicant. He’d feel the mark of every scar and even the chemical echoes of his deepest emotions.

  Tola reached out and placed his hand over Cyn’s heart. The skin of the healer’s palm burned as the glands established a chemical connection to his bloodstream through his skin. The healer’s dark eyes met his, wide with shock.

  “Well? You get it now?” Cyn demanded.

  Slowly Tola laid his other hand on Yara’s chest. Cyn felt the cool rush of relief pour through his body as the healer established a connection with Yara. Finally.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were Cyani’s brother?” Tola whispered.

  “It would have meant my life if I did. I’m wanted on Azra. I didn’t know if Cyani was brainwashed,” Cyn admitted. “Hell, even this one’s on a bloodhunt for me.”

  “You’re kidding,” Tola huffed. “You have strange taste in women.”

  Cyn shrugged. “Can you neutralize the poison?”

  “Cyani?” Tola prodded.

  “She’s alive and hidden. I can’t tell you where. Her safety is at stake.”

  The healer slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then released it. “Thank the Maker. Is she happy?”

  “Yes.” Cyn smiled.

  Tola nodded, but there was no mistaking the shadow of sadness over his deep eyes. “Good.”

  Cyn shifted, feeling uneasy as Tola’s hand grew even hotter. “Uh, you can take your hand off now.”

  “I’m reading the chemical structures of the antibodies in your immune system and transferring them into her while I neutralize the poison,” Tola explained. “Unless you want me to stop.”

  “Whatever it takes.” Cyn was willing to do it. He just didn’t like the feeling of being so exposed.

  “Your immune system is remarkable,” Tola commented. “Hers is terribly weak. She’s been very sheltered, hardly even a head cold in here.”

  “I guess being raised in filth has one advantage.” Cyn took a deep breath.

  He tried to hold still, feeling more raw and open than he ever had as the hours slowly ticked by. Tola hardly moved, his face a hard mask of stark concentration. Yara didn’t move at all. Though she’d stopped sweating, and her face didn’t seem as pale, Cyn couldn’t shake the sick dread in his heart.

  With the sheer force of his thoughts, he tried to will his own powerful immune system to somehow heal her through Tola. It all seemed futile.

  He couldn’t shake the terrible gripping dread that he was going to lose her.

  Slowly Tola withdrew his touch.

  “Will she make it?” Cyn dared to ask.

  “I don’t know, but the poison is neutralized. If she has the will to live, she has a chance.” Tola stood and stretched, then pulled his gloves back on. “Get some rest. We’ll try again in the morning.”

  Cyn gathered her hand in his. He wouldn’t leave her side. She sighed and rolled toward him, her bright hair sticking out in crazy wisps around her face.

  Tola retreated from the room as the chorus of insects rose with the light of the twin moons.

  A stacarn let out a mournful cry in the distance, answered by his herd.

  For nearly fifteen years, Cyn had kept his restless mind immersed in learning to keep his terrible memories at bay. Now alone in the dark, he had nothing to protect himself except the lingering hope that this time, it would be different.

  This time, he wouldn’t lose her.

  13

  YARA FELT THE PULL OF AIR WITH EACH BREATH, AN EASY IN-OUT RHYTHM that reassured her she was alive. Her ears rang, and she didn’t want to open her eyes.

  Her whole body ached and felt hot and cold at the same time. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t ever want to move again.

  She was alive.

  She felt her heart thud with long, heavy beats in her chest. Thank the merciful Matriarchs and the Creator in all his glory she’d survived.

  As the soft ringing in her ears died down, music swelled to take its place. An intricate and exotic melody danced around her. It was as if a
chorus of hundreds sang in strange harmony, each tone ringing with an individual voice. But it didn’t sound like bells. It didn’t sound like anything she had ever known.

  Maybe she hadn’t survived.

  Yara cracked open her eyes. Curtains of sheer, loosely woven white cloth hung around her like spiderwebs. They surrounded her soft bed, keeping her in a shimmering cocoon.

  Where was she?

  Through the veil, she saw him. Dressed in the dark blue Earthlen pants, and a simple black long sleeved shirt that clung to his chest and long arms, Cyrus reclined in a wooden chair, caressing a strange instrument as he played the haunting melody filling the room.

  He cradled the voluptuous form of the instrument, her golden curves reclining in his lap like a familiar lover. His fingers fluttered over her long neck as he stroked the tender cords over her entrance.

  And she sang for him.

  Passion, longing, terrible, terrible pain. The music poured out of him like a confession.

  A look of deep concentration etched his handsome features as his fingers continued their work with blinding speed and surreal beauty. His inky hair fell in haphazard locks across the intense furrows of concentration in his brow.

  Yara swallowed the dry lump in her throat as her body burned with a new fever.

  Her imagination began to roam as she watched his hands. She could still feel them fluttering over her skin, toying with her nerves.

  She closed her eyes.

  She could feel his warmth, his strength as his body pressed so near hers. His silky voice had sounded so pained as he whispered reassurance and salvation into her ear. He had saved her life.

  He had burned her with his hands. She shivered as she drew a hand up to her bicep. No bands. He had saved her. At what cost? Why?

  The music swelled once more, so filled with pain. This was not the man she thought she knew. The man playing this music was no pirate, no criminal. The thought unnerved her.

  Who was he?

  And what had scarred his soul so deeply that his pain could transform into music that nearly broke her heart?

  “Where are we?” she whispered, suddenly aware that her only clothing consisted of a very loose shift and a cool clean sheet. She turned her head and glanced at the wound on her shoulder.

  A pale pink scar that looked like the corona of an eclipsed sun blossomed over her skin. She tried to lift her hand but let it fall back onto the sheet. She felt so weak. “Where’s Tuz?”

  “He’s hunting stilt rats,” Cyrus stated as he gently leaned his curvy instrument against the wall and pulled a chair near the side of the bed, just on the other side of the netting. “We are on Oriana, guests of the Touscari.”

  “Can you open the veil? I want to see you.” She shifted, trying to lift herself up some.

  “Right now, there is a Tici swarm in the city. Until it passes, you have to stay in this net to keep you safe. They’re nasty little bloodsuckers. You don’t need another fever. Your immune system is very weak right now.”

  Yara groaned as she let her head flop back onto the soft pillow. “Where’s Ishan? Is he okay?”

  “He’s with Xan. They had to return to Gansai to recharge his converter and testify against the Bacarilen that sold you.” Cyrus’s voice sharpened with an angry edge.

  Yara felt the burn of betrayal in her gut. “Good.” If Brill survived pirate law, she could look forward to dealing with Azralen law as soon as Yara took the throne. If she took the throne.

  “How long have I been here?” Worry gnawed at her mind. What if she was already too late and Palar was on the throne? She had to communicate with Azra.

  “You’ve been healing for about thirty-two standard hours. And the Grand Sister still sits on the throne.” He smiled. “She’s getting anxious for you to find this mudrat traitor, I think it was.”

  She sank back into her pillow. Thank Ona the Pure.

  “You intercepted my messages?” Yara didn’t hide her irritation. She had come to terms with the fact he was a pirate, but a snoop was a different story.

  He shrugged. “You have time to heal. By the time Xan gets back, the swarm will have moved on, and you will be strong enough to return home and teach your rivals a thing or two.”

  “How do you know all of this?” She still couldn’t believe he’d be brazen enough to read her private messages.

  “Maxen, the leader of the Circle on Gansai, got some interesting information about Azralen’s political situation out of his guests. Don’t worry, Yara. Your planet hasn’t fallen apart yet.” He chuckled. She wasn’t sure she understood the joke so she huffed at him.

  “Oriana’s pretty diverse. I’ve met a couple of Lilkia-Orianalen, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a Touscari-Orianalen.” Yara shivered. The deep feeling of cold seemed to clench around her ribs and hold her in a terrible grip. She had never been so sick or wounded in her life. It shocked and frightened her. She didn’t know what to do to feel better.

  Cyrus strolled to the far side of the room and lifted a thick blanket off a rack of reedy sticks tied together with twine. He carried it back to her bed, carefully inspected the outside of the net, then unzipped a long seam and stepped within it before closing it behind him.

  Yara scooted backward on the bed, feeling very vulnerable. The world closed in around her until it was just her, him, and the soft bed between them.

  He spread out the blanket and tucked it in around her feet. The secure pressure of the blanket helped infuse her body with warmth. She clung to the edge of it as he reached for the seam to let himself out.

  “Wait.”

  He paused and looked down at her. His eyes still shone bright green. A shiver ran down her spine and a different kind of warmth spread into a sweet throb.

  “I don’t want to be in here by myself. I feel like I’m in a cage.”

  He smiled and sat at the foot of the bed. “In that case, I should’ve grabbed my guitar, too.”

  “The instrument you were playing?”

  “Yeah, I needed something to pass the time. I’m always surprised by what I find in the marketplace here.” He lifted one shoulder in a lazy sort of shrug. Yara felt her skin warm.

  “You play beautifully. I’ve never heard anything like it. How long did it take you to learn?”

  “I learned on Earth when I was young.” He shifted, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. The gauzy, white walls of their tiny room seemed to press in. She felt it, too, the growing sense that they were too close, too confined for comfort. She just couldn’t bear to be alone in her pure white cage.

  “And you’re already a master,” she teased.

  The skin at the edges of his jewel-like eyes crinkled slightly as he chuckled. She was glad he’d kept the green contacts. They fit him. “I like a challenge.”

  “The music suits you,” she offered. “It’s very passionate.” As soon as she said the word she felt her face flush hot. Instinctively she grasped the sheet and pulled it higher on her chest to shield herself from his amused smile.

  “I relate to it.” Again he half shrugged, letting her off the hook.

  “You saved my life,” she mumbled. “I guess I should thank you.”

  “Yeah.” He smoothed the blanket near her hip. The gentle tug of the fabric on her skin sent a shiver of pleasure down the backs of her legs. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. With the still silence and the protective shelter of the clean white cloth all around her, she couldn’t shake the images of the slaves out of her head. Their eyes, she couldn’t erase them from her thoughts. They chilled her. “I can’t stop thinking.”

  “I know how that feels.” Cyrus reached for her hand, and gently lifted it. With skillful hands, he massaged her palm, then stroked her fingers. The tender touch brought all her focus to him, and the horrors she’d witnessed receded into her mind, while something else came to the forefront.

  “Why are you still wearing your contacts?” She had to stop thinking about him.
Every time she looked into those green eyes, she remembered how it felt to have her body exposed to him. She trusted him. He took that trust and saved her life.

  “What?” A strange expression flashed across his face.

  “Your eyes are still green. Why are you wearing the contacts that made you look Ankarlen?”

  He seemed confused, like he was searching for an answer.

  “You said you liked them,” he murmured, then stroked the back of her hand again.

  She felt a soft melting somewhere deep in her chest.

  “Will you be able to get your ship back?” her voice sounded deeper, husky. She tried to clear her throat, but couldn’t.

  “No.” He looked out the window for a moment, his expression unreadable.

  “Why not? Aren’t the pirates going to arrest that Kronalen mudsucker?”

  “They’ll execute him.”

  Yara felt like his words punched her in the chest. She shuddered as she thought about the stark terror the slaver had inflicted on her. He deserved to die, but Cyrus’s certainty felt so hard, so final. “So what happens to your ship?”

  “Since it’s the property of a pirate criminal, as soon as he’s dead, it will become salvage for the Circle. Those in rotation will bid on it.”

  Yara remained silent for a long time.

  By Yarini the Just, it wasn’t fair.

  She didn’t invoke her own bloodline often, but nothing else seemed to fit. “I’m sorry,” she finally admitted.

  He squeezed her hand. He couldn’t just brush this off as nothing.

  “It was your home.” She thought about the quilts, the broken-in warmth and comfort there.

  “I sent Bug with Xan to help strip the ship of my things. I’m not sorry, Yara. It’s just a ship. I’m just thankful you survived.” He reached up and brushed his fingertips over the sensitive skin of her cheek. She turned toward his touch as if pulled to it. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment and she sighed.