Kinsman's Oath

by Susan Krinard

  "And if it harms Ronan?" Miklos asked.

  Cynara didn't answer, and Miklos sighed. "If you consent to open your mind to Mes Carter VelShaan, I'll leave this interrogation to her."

  The Kinswoman nodded. "There is much we might learn if Ronan and Cynara shared any kind of link, even if Ronan carried spurious information. Telepathic communication is extremely complex. That's why it has been so useful in interpreting the language of the shaauri, and negotiating diplomatic and cultural hazards inherent in interspecies communication."

  "And it becomes even more effective in the presence of profound emotion," Miklos added. He turned to Cynara. "You do love him, don't you?"

  Cynara choked. "Lord Miklos, I assure you that my personal feelings—"

  "We generally prefer to give the benefit of the doubt to those we love, and defend them in the face of the most daunting odds," he said. "Ronan is my nephew. You can rest assured that I will speak to Damon about his prejudices, but he has ultimate authority in any matter pertaining to the Project. If I could find a good reason to spare Ronan…"

  "I had no idea that love was involved in this," Carter VelShaan said. "If we could turn Ronan to our side, and be sure of him, the advantage could be enormous. He could learn what became of Lady Kori and Jonas, what Constano intended if the Archon was assassinated, and how much the shaauri Kinsmen are behind the blockade and continued hostilities."

  Even love had become just another calculation. "You're suggesting that he become a counteragent for the Concordat," Cynara said.

  "His mind was tampered with before," the Kinswoman said. "It could be done again, if he were willing. He could even be implanted with false information for the Kinsmen who programmed him."

  "The Kinsmen probably expected him to die carrying out their schemes. Assuming they take him back, they'd be very likely to kill him."

  VelShaan looked at Miklos. "Am I wrong in presuming that he is already under a possible sentence of death, at the very least severe mental damage?"

  "I'm afraid, given the circumstances—" Miklos paused, frowning. "It seems a long shot, but if Ronan truly wished to atone for his actions—if he cares for you, Cynara, as I believe he does—he might even turn the tide in this cold war."

  "You can't ask it of him," Cynara said. "Even if he agreed, you could never be sure…" Her mind went blank, and then filled with impossible, absurd notions she was almost afraid to speak aloud. "Unless someone goes with him. Someone who knows him as well as anyone can."

  Miklos looked up at her. "Are you volunteering, Cynara?"

  "What are the alternatives? I'll do whatever is necessary to spare Ronan death or permanent brain damage. He'll have a far better chance among the shaauri."

  "Though I honor your courage," Miklos said, "I can't permit you to give yourself to our enemies. They would most certainly kill you, and you're still a valuable asset to the Alliance."

  "Maybe it isn't necessary for me to cross the border. Mes Carter VelShaan—"

  "Brit."

  "Brit," she said slowly, "bear with me. I have a very unconventional idea that just might work."

  Ronan woke from a dream of Cynara in his arms, whispering secrets he could not quite understand. The moment he opened his eyes, he knew that it had not all been a dream.

  Cynara was here, on Persephone, in the palace. He did not know how long ago she had come, but she was on her way to him now.

  There was only one logical reason why she would have returned to Persephone so quickly. He was on his feet, as close to the field as he dared, when she entered the corridor and spoke to the guards.

  "Ronan," she said.

  He expected accusation, anger, the bitterness of betrayal. It could not have been much worse if An Charis had accompanied her to confront him with his deceit and manipulation of her mind. But Cynara was alone, and the way she looked at him made his legs as weak as an unweaned ba'laik'in.

  "Cynara," he said. "I am sorry."

  "I believe you are," she said. "Chief Charis doesn't seem to have been harmed." She hesitated. "You made her deliver her passcard to you, and clouded the minds of the marine and the other crew. That must have taken a great deal of skill. But when you faced your final decision, you didn't take what you'd come for."

  Her words were like blows, reminding him of every failure and betrayal, great and small. "You returned to report what I had done."

  "Yes. But matters aren't nearly so black and white as they may seem." She braced her legs apart and clasped her hands behind her back, all First and commander. "Did you come here to kill the Archon?"

  "I did not," he said, "but the compulsion was within me. They put it there."

  "The shaauri Kinsmen."

  He nodded once, letting his eyes speak for him. "I did not know their full purpose. I still do not—"

  "You don't know what else they had in mind for you," she finished softly. "It must be terrible, Ronan."

  "You speak so to me after what I did on the Pegasus?"

  "I can't punish you any more than you punish yourself." She lifted her head, and he felt in her a new confidence that made his own helplessness all the more contemptible. "I know some of what you've done has been within your control, and some has not. But I don't hate you, Ronan. Believe that."

  And then, without warning, she opened her mind to him. He saw that she did believe him; he felt that incredible generosity of spirit and courage that allowed her to forgive and yet find regret for what he might have suffered. If there was any fear, it was so well hidden that he could not discover it.

  She challenged him to take what he could of her thoughts and what lay beneath. He refused the temptation. But in his refusal, he let her feel what should have remained locked in his own heart. She shut him out as firmly as she had done at the end of their night on Dharma.

  "I'm here alone," she said. "The Pegasus is en route to Dharma, as before. I won't leave you until this has been resolved."

  "If I am judged a murderer, I will be punished," he said. He reached toward the field, irrationally wishing to touch her even if that touch brought him pain. "Do not stay, Cynara."

  She shook her head fiercely. "You won't be executed. I can't explain it all now, but—"

  Her words were interrupted by the sudden attention of Ronan's guards and the entrance of Lord Miklos. He came to stand beside Cynara, his gaze hard and uncompromising.

  "Ronan," he said. "I've spoken to Lord Damon, and I have convinced him to let you go."

  "He believes… you also believe that I was sent to kill the Archon."

  "It doesn't matter what I believe." He gazed at the floor between his feet. "Even among humans, kinship means something more than social advantage and accident of birth. You are the son of my sister, Lady Kori Galatea Challinor, and her husband, Jonas Kane VelArhan of the Kinsmen. For that reason, and for that alone, you will be permitted to leave Persephone and return to your adopted people."

  * * *

  PART III

  Shaauri-ja

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  « ^ »

  Challinor.

  Ronan heard the words, and there was a part of him that understood instantly, even accepted as if in some way he had always known.

  But the part that was shaauri revolted. He sat down on the cool floor of the cell, placing his hands flat at his sides to support his unsteady weight.

  All his life he had wondered about his human parents. He had been told that they were human colonists on a backwater world, left alive but childless when he was taken in a be'laik'i raid. Even when he had doubted the story—even when he had fled shaauri-ja convinced his escape was real—he had never seriously believed he would see them again.

  Lady Kori Galatea Challinor. Jonas Kane VelArhan.

  "You are Damon's brother," Cynara said. She came nearer to the field and knelt, one hand lifted. "Lord Miklos is your uncle. Your mother and father were lost in shaauri space on a diplomatic mission twenty-three years ago, and presumed dead along
with one of their three sons, Achilles. You, Ronan."

  Ronan was not his real name. He had known that, too. But Achilles meant less than nothing.

  Damon was his brother. Phineas Janek, the man who hated him, was as close to him as any human could be by birth.

  "The Archon feels some sense of obligation to his sister," Miklos said coldly, "as do I. We recognize that it was not your choice to be raised among our enemies, and that your will has not always been your own. Nevertheless, you'll be allowed to leave only with the understanding that any attempt to return to human space will meet a lethal reception." He looked away, as if he couldn't bear to see this pathetic creature that was his kin. "We can't risk the danger you present to all humanity. Go back to the shaauri, and remain there."

  Sickness bent Ronan to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and let his forehead rest against the hard gray surface.

  "Ronan," Cynara whispered.

  "I understand, Aino'Kei," he said. "But if you let me go, I will promise nothing. I cannot."

  "Captain D'Accorso has agreed to escort you to the edge of the Shaauriat, and I have made my yacht available for this purpose. Its lifepod's engine has the range to get you through the wormhole and into the hands of the shaauri—if that is where you wish to go."

  Ronan almost laughed. There was nowhere else to go, even if his loyalty did not pull him back to Aitu. But he had nothing to give them—only word of new drive technology that must be retrieved by an agent far more capable and ruthless than he. It was quite possible that his failure merited punishment with the execution his human kin spared him.

  But he would not go willingly to the Kinsmen.

  "Do not return, Ronan," Miklos said, his voice breaking, "or we'll be forced to kill you."

  Ronan struggled to his feet. "I will go," he said. "But let another of your warriors take me from human space."

  "No, Ronan," Cynara said, rising. "That decision is final."

  "There is a risk," he said, forgetting Miklos and everything he had learned. "I will not let you take it."

  "What are you afraid of, Ronan?" she countered. "That you'll become deranged and ravish my mind? You've been my responsibility from the beginning, and I intend to see this through."

  There was no yielding in her eyes. He knew it would not be possible to escape and leave her behind.

  "Lord Miklos," he said, "I ask that you convey my regrets to the Archon."

  But Miklos had already gone. Cynara stood with Ronan a little longer, and then she, too, left the detention area.

  Without the Eightfold Way, Ronan could not have passed through the next few hours with his composure intact. He recited the chants over and over again until his mind could accept Miklos's revelation, emotionless and serene.

  They had known, of course, those Kinsmen who had trained and prepared him. They had relied on his kinship with the Archon to permit him access, and perhaps even to win his freedom should he fail. More likely they had expected him to die in the attempt.

  At least there would have been some honor in death. He would have earned his place among shaauri, even in failure. What purpose could he serve now?

  Guards brought him a meal, and then a second. Hours later they took him from the cell and escorted him through the corridors and to the edge of the palace grounds. It was night; the Acropolis was quiet, though the lights of traffic flashed in the city below.

  Cynara was waiting for him. Together they entered a palace skimmer and rode to the spaceport, where Lord Miklos's yacht was ready for departure. One of the Challinor pilots was on hand to instruct Cynara in the peculiarities of the ship's helm; the guards took Ronan to the passenger lounge and installed him in one of the plush seats.

  At last the guards and pilot disembarked. The ship hummed under Cynara's hand and lifted, unchallenged, in that peculiar darkness that always comes just before dawn.

  The yacht cleared the atmosphere and settled into its course. Cynara emerged from the cockpit, her hair loose about her shoulders. She sat down in one of the swivel chairs opposite him.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "You should not have come, Cynara."

  "Haven't you figured out that this—these things that have happened to us—are not entirely within our control?"

  "It is a most disturbing philosophy."

  "Shaauri don't control Selection, do they? It just happens. And lifemating—it strikes me as almost a kind of destiny."

  Her question took him unaware. "Humans believe such things?"

  She dropped her head so that her red hair veiled her face, but her shoulders moved in silent laughter. "Never mind. What's done is done. You're on your way home." Suddenly she looked up again. "Unless you'd rather go somewhere else."

  Miklos had asked that question on Persephone, and the answer was the same now as then. "I must return to my people on Aitu."

  "Did they know why you left?"

  "The Arva'Kir—our leaders—and a few of the high-ranked va'laik'i knew, for they approved my original purpose to gather intelligence."

  "They gave you to the Kinsmen."

  "I wished to serve. But my status as an agent would not have been widely circulated. Ain'Kalevi was informed that I had finally gone on Walkabout."

  "From which you might not return. But you're coming back empty-handed, Ronan. You'll be punished."

  "I have allies. I will be given the chance to speak."

  "You'll still have nothing to give them." Her anger beat against him like the heat of a midsummer bonfire. "I can take you… anywhere, Ronan. Anywhere other than the Shaauriat."

  "To Dharma, where they already believe you to be a traitor? The Challinors would learn of it, no matter where you left me. I will not permit you to betray your loyalties for my sake."

  "And what if your shaauri brothers cast you out, Ronan? What then?"

  It was a possibility he had considered, more terrifying than any other. To become ne'lin in truth, a ghost, unseen, unable to win his way from the twilight of a half-life…

  "It will not matter, as long as I know you are well."

  'That isn't good enough." Abruptly her mood shifted, and she compelled him to meet her gaze. "When you were in the cell on Persephone, Brit Carter VelShaan saw images in your mind—images of the Kinsmen who trained you. She also said that shaauri would not have sent you to kill the Archon."

  "They do not hire assassins. It would be dishonor and cowardice."

  "And they wouldn't think that killing a single human leader would paralyze the Concordat, no matter how important the Archon is. But humans—your Kinsmen—might have other, more subtle reasons for wanting the Archon dead. That's why I believe these Kinsmen are as much your enemies, the shaauri's, as they are humanity's. It was Kinsmen who programmed you to assassinate the Archon. They're operating clandestinely for their own purposes."

  "Programmed." It seemed a most appropriate definition. "I have reached the same conclusion," Ronan said.

  "We know you weren't aware of everything the shaauri Kinsmen intended for you. They corrupted your memory, even your emotions. That was one reason Miklos let you go." She paused, becoming suddenly fascinated by the pattern of the carpet. "When did you begin to remember, Ronan?"

  He could not misunderstand her. "On Bifrost, when you forced me to remain alive. Our sharing… released my memory."

  "That was also when you began to regain your supposedly lost telepathic abilities."

  "They were lost to me, for a time. I was meant to employ them, but not until it was absolutely required."

  "The Kinsmen didn't expect you to recover your memory so soon."

  "I am sure they did not, but they did not anticipate your… interference in their work. After Bifrost, I remembered only that I was to gather information about the new technology that permitted human ships—the Pegasus—to pass through shaauri-ja unscathed."

  "That wasn't your ultimate goal."

  "It was a secondary objective, in the event that I failed in my f
irst."

  "To assassinate the Archon."

  "I believe that I would have been driven to use any means necessary to reach Persephone."

  "And I took you there." She looked away. "You did an excellent job of deceiving me. I didn't become wary until that night at Uncle Jesper's…" Her words slowed and stopped.

  He wanted very badly to touch her, hold her, but he dared not. "I intended to retrieve the intelligence just as I was instructed, but it brought me no pleasure to deceive you."

  "I've wondered how many of the things you said were genuine."

  "Not all was deception."

  "But your first loyalty is to the shaauri."

  "I knew much less of humanity than I do now. I believed what I did would protect shaauri-ja from Concordat invasion. Matters are not so clear as they once were."

  "That is a vast understatement." She looked as though she wished to attack the bulkhead with her fists and teeth. Gradually her anger gave way to poorly feigned indifference.

  "We'll reach the wormhole any minute," she said. "I'll need to take the yacht through manually. Stay webbed in."

  She disappeared into the cockpit. It was only then that Ronan considered the one question Cynara had failed to ask: why he had not taken the Pegasus intelligence directly from her mind when they had joined on Dharma.

  He would have found it very difficult to answer.

  Ronan lay back until the alarm sounded and he felt the ship enter the wormhole. After a moment of disorientation, he knew the yacht had reached the other side.

  'Two more legs," Cynara said at the door, "and we'll reach the border. You have six hours to make up your mind, Ronan."

  "I do not require it." He unwebbed and rose to face her. "I cannot go to any human colony. I would live on an uninhabited planet if humans could survive there, but I do not wish to spend the rest of my life alone. Shaauri go mad when they are alone, Cynara. I think humans do the same."

  "Like Sam Gunter on Bifrost," she said. "Yes, humans do the same." She stood before him, hands on hips. "Have you considered that the Kinsmen aren't just going to leave you alone? You know too much. They'll find you on Aitu, Ronan."