by Cheree Alsop
Liora shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
Devren leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Liora, don’t lie to me. I may not have Tariq’s or my mother’s knack for medicine, but I’m not selfish enough to ignore a friend in need. Let me help you.”
Liora wanted to deny his offer of assistance. Her Damaclan side warned her against revealing her weakness; yet the thought of spreading the salve as exhausted and sore as she was made her want to forget about it entirely. The stress the bending and reaching would put on her aching skin made her muscles tense and her back tighten even more. She didn’t know what the next day would bring and argued with her Damaclan instincts that it was better to be prepared than stubborn. Her Damaclan side didn’t agree.
“I just need it for my back,” Liora said, keeping her tone light. “It’s no big deal. I guess I made things angry going out there.”
“Do I dare ask what things?” Devren asked, rising. He held out his hand.
Liora wasn’t sure she wanted to give it to him. It was the thought of the twisting and turning it took to spread the salve thoroughly that made her finally set the tin on his palm.
Liora shrugged gingerly out of her Ventican shirt. She glanced behind her to see that Devren had turned to face the door in order to give her some privacy. Liora held the shirt in front of her for some semblance of propriety and leaned forward. The stress it put on the skin of her back made her wince. She heard Devren turn.
“What on Verdan?” he breathed.
A flush of red embarrassment ran across Liora’s cheeks. “I can take care of it myself,” she said, rising.
She turned to find an expression on Devren’s face that she didn’t recognize. His countenance looked as though he was the one in pain, but there was an anger in his eyes that made them dark and stormy. He watched her, but his gaze was piercing as though he saw through her instead.
“Liora, what happened?”
She reached out a hand for the tin, holding the shirt in front of her with the other.
“It happened the day Tariq died. It’s nothing. Give me the salve.”
She made a grab for it, but Devren backed out of her reach.
“Your skin is melted, Liora.” Confusion showed in his eyes. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Liora’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She turned away from him. “I had no choice,” she said quietly.
“What?” Devren demanded.
Liora didn’t know how to face him. She had never seen Devren so upset. He was usually the level-headed one of their group. Except there wasn’t a group anymore. It was just the two of them, the survivors, the scarred whether it showed on their skin or not.
“I had no choice,” Liora repeated. “I would have died. Maybe that’s the way it should have been.”
Devren fell silent. Liora stared at the wall, her gaze boring into it as though she could melt a hole through it and escape. A slight discoloration at the bottom edge of the white paint held her attention. The unemotional part of her mind noted that it looked like staunchion hot sauce, the kind Obruo used to pour on everything he ate. She wondered how her father would feel about someone eating so carelessly on one of his Tens.
A hand touched Liora’s arm. She turned away.
“Liora, sit down,” Devren said. When she didn’t move, he repeated himself, his voice gentler this time. “Liora, please sit down. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t want his pity or his understanding. She wanted to be gone from that room, far away from anything remotely related to Devren, Tariq, or the day Tariq had died. Yet she carried it with her wherever she went, and the pain of her back was a constant reminder as much as the pain in her heart. She would never forget, whether she wanted to or not.
She took a seat facing away from him. After a few moments of silence, Devren crossed to stand behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice quiet. “I guess I didn’t expect this.” She heard him swallow through a tight throat. “I didn’t expect any of this.”
She glanced back to see Devren with the tin in one hand and his gaze on the wall across from them. There weren’t tears on his face, but she heard it in his voice.
“I didn’t expect to be here without him, to be attempting to take care of injuries you’ve received and not have him here telling you to be more careful with yourself. Yet he’s the one who’s gone.” Devren lifted his head and met her eyes. “I’m imprisoned by the excruciating irony of the course our lives have taken.”
Liora nodded and turned away. No words could fill the achingly empty silence between them. They were on the same page, lost, searching for something that no longer existed, looking for the familiar face they would never see again. She rested her head in her hands, welcoming the agonizing pull of the skin of her back.
Fingers touched her wounds and the soothing cool of Susa’s salve brought such swift relief Liora felt her muscles relaxing beneath Devren’s careful ministrations.
“There are deep marks here. Are they from the claws of those creatures in the dome?” he asked, his tone level and voice quiet.
Liora nodded. “From them and the Ketulans that attacked during the Council meeting.”
Devren was quiet for a moment as he gently spread the salve, taking far better care than she usually did.
“So you were bleeding out.”
Liora studied the scar on the palm of her hand. “I was dying. I felt it. There wasn’t enough skin left for them to stitch, so I told them to burn it.”
Devren’s hand paused. He began again, his movements slower.
“Chemical burns?”
“Yes. There was a medic on the Council planet who knew how to do it. He had cauterized smaller wounds before. He said he would try.”
“I can’t imagine how painful that must have been.”
Liora kept silent.
Devren had finished applying the salve. She heard the sound of the lid being pressed onto the container.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted.” His voice was distant. He had turned away to give her privacy again.
Liora pulled the shirt gingerly over her head.
“Damaclans consider scars badges of honor. Obruo used to say that a Damaclan without a scar isn’t a true Damaclan.” She paused, then said something she had told Tariq long ago. “Sometimes I feel like it’s the scars holding me together instead of the other way around. I suppose now it looks like it.”
Silence met her words. Devren was looking at the door as though debating whether to leave. It was obvious by his expression that he was thinking of things other than her words. At least, she hoped so.
She didn’t know what made her say it. She wished she could take the words back the moment they left her mouth. She was stronger than that. She didn’t need anyone else to understand her. She rose to her feet and held out her hand.
“Thank you.”
Devren gave her the tin back.
“That can’t be easy to spread on your own. Let me know when you need help again,” he said.
He crossed to the door and waited for it to open.
Liora watched for it to close behind him before she said, “I can take care of myself.”
Chapter 6
As soon as the Ten landed on Corian, Liora saw her father dismount from one of the hovercrafts that sped around at exceedingly high speeds. She watched through the window as he hugged Brandis and took Malie’s hand in both of his. The Creetian gave a shallow curtsy, smiling at both Brandis and Senior Commandant Day. When Devren exited the Ten behind them, Liora’s father called him over. She could imagine the gratitude he expressed toward the pilot and captain. He had brought the Commandant’s children home safely.
Liora waited until the others had left the hanger before she stepped out of the Ten’s door. The last time Liora had been in the hangar, Tariq had been leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed and a smile on his face as though he hadn’t just narrowly escaped death. Liora cou
ldn’t help looking toward that same pillar again. She felt his absence as much as saw it. A tingling ran through the tips of her fingers where she had touched his face. A breath whispered across her cheek where his hand had brushed when he kissed her. Her ears longed to hear his voice, his sarcasm, his gentle teasing.
“Liora!” her father called.
Liora gripped the tin in one hand and walked down the ramp. When she stepped onto the hangar floor, she pushed down all thoughts of Tariq. They didn’t make her stronger; in fact, they threatened to make her shatter into a thousand pieces that would never fit together again. She refused to be weak. She wouldn’t let her heart overcome her Damaclan training.
Unfortunately, her father was on a completely different page. The senior commandant crossed to her and opened his arms for a hug, but before he touched her, he hesitated.
“Is it alright if I hug you?” he asked. “Am I going to hurt you?”
Liora shook her head. “I’m okay, Dad.”
He hugged her carefully, a father afraid to cause his daughter any more pain than she had gone through. It made her feel frail like a cracked egg as if he expected her to break open at any moment.
Senior Commandant Day stepped back. He shook his head.
“I keep expecting him to walk down those steps. Tariq was a good man, a very good man.”
“He was,” Liora replied, keeping her emotions out of it.
“I wish I had taken the time to know him better,” her father continued. “Any man you chose to be at your side is someone I accept, of course, but I wish I had known him like you did.”
“Me, too.”
“If Tariq was here—”
Liora shook her head. It was too much. She couldn’t keep Tariq out of her mind if her father insisted on bringing him up. The carefully controlled wall she held around any thoughts, memories, or emotions related to him had so many cracks in it a single push would cause it to crumble.
“Dad, please. Can we not talk about him?”
The senior commandant watched her for a moment, caught off-guard. He nodded.
“Of course, Liora. Anything you need.”
“I need to talk about anything but him right now. Can we do that?” She hated that her tone was curt to cover the way her voice trembled at the request.
Her father nodded. “Of course. I understand.” He motioned for her to enter the hovercraft. “Let’s go to my office. We do have other things to talk about.” He paused, giving her a closer look. “Unless you need some rest. You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I got a bit of sleep on the Ten. Zanden’s a good pilot. He kept the ride smooth.”
Her father climbed onto the hovercraft beside her. “As you know, he’s one of the best. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to fly my children home. I’m just glad Devren found you.”
Liora nodded but didn’t reply.
“The warriors you sent to join our defense fleet have been priceless. They’re hard workers and have protected three of our ships against pirates and salvagers. Korgutan, especially, has shown amazing leadership qualities. I’m thinking of promoting him, but would like your opinion.”
“He’s trustworthy,” Liora replied. She was glad the warriors created by the Cherum were appreciated for their skills. “The others naturally follow him. I think he’s a good choice.”
Her father nodded. “Then it will be done.”
Liora watched the lights rush by on their way up the tunnel. A few seconds later, they stopped in front of the senior commandant’s office. The guards in front saluted them both as they opened the doors.
Liora wondered about her father’s silence during their walk down the windowed hallway. He had requested her presence to discuss something. She had no idea what that could be. There was a hint of tightness to his eyes when he put his hand on the palm reader and waited for the door to slide aside. He motioned for her to take a seat on one of the incredibly comfortable chairs in his luxurious office, and when he sat on the one across from her, his fingers drummed on the arm of it, showing a nervousness she had never seen from him before.
“Dad?”
It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her.
“Yes, Liora?”
“You asked me to come here for a reason,” she reminded him.
An embarrassed expression crossed his face and he sat up.
“I did. I apologize. I guess I don’t know how to start.”
His tone held Liora’s attention. There was regret in his voice along with something else. She couldn’t decide if it was sorrow or shame.
“You can tell me anything,” she said. Worry about what he needed to say filled her for the first time. He had called her all the way back from Cree after telling both she and Brandis to recuperate there. It had to be related to something that had happened either on Corian or after their landing on Cree.
“Dad, is the fleet okay?”
A hint of a smile touched his gaze. “Yes, the fleet is okay, though I almost wish that was the reason I needed you here. It would be easier.”
The way he skirted the topic bothered Liora. He had always been a straightforward person. His discomfiture set Liora on edge.
“You’re starting to worry me. Please just tell me what you need to talk about.”
The senior commandant nodded. He reached across the space between them and took Liora’s hand in a fatherly gesture.
“I’m sorry, Liora. I guess I didn’t think it would be this hard.” He let out a breath. “I’m going to make this easier on both of us and just come out with it.” He paused, looked at her small hand that sat in his bigger one, and said, “Liora, I lied to you.”
Liora forced herself to smile. “I’m used to being lied to.”
He shook his head. “This time, it’s unforgiveable. I didn’t have a choice, or at least I didn’t think I had one. I thought I was protecting you.” He paused, then changed his words. “We thought we were protecting you.”
Liora had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I mean….” Senior Commandant Day blew out a breath. He let go of her hand and sat up. “Liora, I lied to you about your mother.”
Liora sat back, winced at the pressure of the seat against her skin, and straightened again. “My mother was Tenieva, Queen of the Damaclans.”
Her father shook his head, making her words fade before she had finished speaking them.
“You loved her,” Liora tried again. “You said you met her on your ship. She loved you back.”
“I loved Tenieva,” her father said. “I didn’t lie about that.”
His vague answers tried Liora’s patience. She asked him straight, “Dad, what did you lie to me about specifically?”
He met her gaze. “Tenieva was not your birth mother.”
Cold ran through Liora. She shook her head. “I grew up on Ralian. She taught me about my heritage. She took care of me when Obruo….” Her voice faded to nothing when the senior commandant shook his head.
“Liora, I shouldn’t have let you go there. I was wrong.”
“Let me go there,” Liora repeated, her thoughts whirling. “Dad, you’re not making any sense.”
The Senior Commandant sat forward. His expression was intent as he willed her to understand. “Liora, I did care for Tenieva when she boarded my ship. She was strong, confident, a woman who garnered respect from everyone who saw her.” He paused, then said, “We spent plenty of time together, and spoke in the cafeteria as I told you, but it wasn’t about our lives or potential future together; it was about you.”
A chill ran across Liora’s skin. “But I wasn’t alive yet.”
“You were three days old,” her father replied. “And being the daughter of the captain in a merchant fleet wasn’t safe for you for many, many reasons.”
Liora turned her head at his tone. “What reasons?”
He let out a breath. “A Foundling baby is a target for every major political body. If your presence was foun
d out, assassins would be sent from every direction. The peril of one of your origin threatens the security of anyone in power. You can adapt, you can survive situations that would kill normal races, and every move you makes sends ripples throughout the Macrocosm.”
The words beat against Liora with the toll of a drum. She shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “You sent me away to protect me.”
He nodded. “I sent you to the one place nobody would think to look. Tenieva promised to raise you as her own, to protect you, to make you strong.”
Liora tried to remain calm. “Are you saying I’m not a Damaclan?” The thought was barely comprehensible. Being a Damaclan was all she had that kept her from falling apart. Her race, her heritage, everything had begun with the half-Damaclan blood in her veins.
“You are a Damaclan,” her father replied. His tone was urgent when he tried to explain it to her. “With your Foundling blood, wherever you were raised, you would take on the characteristics of the race who lived there. I figured that being adopted as a Damaclan would give you strength to draw on.”
Liora shook her head. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. She looked at him and her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. “He tortured me.”
Her father’s gaze lowered to the floor. “I didn’t know, Liora. Honest. If I had known the condition in which you were living, I would have taken you away from them. When we heard about the death of Obruo’s clan, there was no trace of you. The moment I heard rumors of a Damaclan causing a stir in the Macrocosm, I sent Brandis after you. It took years to track you down, but you are my daughter. I never gave up.”
Her father saw the lost expression on her face. He touched her arm.
“Liora, there is one constant in your life. I am your father, and that will never change. I promise you that.”
Liora shook her head. “Dad, there are no constants, ever. One minute, you think you have things figured out, life makes sense, and people in your life fill it with purpose, meaning, and direction.” She paused and shook her head. “Then they are erased, torn away as easily as a knife slicing flesh. They vanish into thin air as though they never existed, and the only sign of them left is the hole in your heart they used to fill, the hole that becomes you, consumes you.” She let out a slow breath. “I am nothing left but a shell, Dad.”