Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1)

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Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1) Page 22

by Lillian James


  Seirsha watched them from a distance, her silvered hair glinting in the sun. Around her, miners bustled about the grounds, shooing the children when they strayed too close to the cliffs. Rodents scurried through the dust, seeking scraps from the meager meals prepared at the base of the mountain. There was life on Vorhódan, despite the toxic, blistering air. There was more joy here than could be found on Spyridon.

  And yet Seirsha seemed separate from it in a way that had nothing to do with physical proximity. He sometimes saw her so on Dhóchas, since they’d told her who she was. He thought he understood. Leadership could be a lonely position in the best of times. In times of war, when it carried the weight of a billion lives, it was crushing.

  “Endeté?”

  He didn’t jump, but it was close. He turned to see Arhúd staring at him, and he wondered how long he’d been lost in his thoughts. “Yes.”

  Arhúd paused, an inventory list in his hand. Then he set it on the desk and said, “We’re at a good stopping point. Should we continue tomorrow?”

  Mikhél was through the door before the question was finished. When he cleared the mountain, Seirsha was still watching the children. They kicked and stomped the dust until it floated around their heads like light and tried to scare each other through the haze. It was a silly game punctuated with delighted shrieks and maniacal giggles, but she bore no answering smile.

  As he approached, her heart picked up speed, and a small, logical voice told him to turn around and walk away. Then he saw the pale of her eyes, and all caution was silenced. On Dhóchas his capacity to offer comfort was dismal at best. That was not the case on Vorhódan.

  “With me,” he said as he passed her.

  They walked west, away from the mines, until the mountain was a distant gleam and they could see nothing else but dust and rock. The dust churned with each step, a golden cloud that coated their legs and the tips of their fingers. When he saw what he sought, he opened his sedfai to the rock. He knew Seirsha had done the same when she gasped behind him.

  “There’s water below us.”

  He stopped before a cluster of blue rocks and murmured a command into his link. “I should have known I wouldn’t be able to surprise you.”

  She cocked her head. “There’s something else down there. What is it?”

  He smiled, and her eyes went dark. “Apparently surprise isn’t impossible after all.”

  The ground opened at his feet. A plain metal plank rose to stop level with the sand, and he stepped onto it and held out his hand. Her hand slipped into his, and his lungs filled with the scent of her. He didn’t ask himself what he was doing as they dipped below the sand, as the ground closed above them. They rode down in the dark, and her heart thumped in time with his, and he refused to consider the risks of such a thing.

  When the walls began to light with a rippling glow, he said softly, “Close your eyes.”

  And he kept her hand in his as he guided her to the water’s edge. He told himself it meant nothing that she didn’t try to pull away, but when he stopped he stood close enough for her warmth to cut through the chill of the cavern air.

  “Now,” he said. “Look.”

  She opened her eyes, and he felt her heart stumble.

  Millions upon millions of tiny points of light fluttered before them. They floated above an underground lake that spread farther than they could see, rippling in waves of blue, lavender, and white. When she spoke they shimmered in response.

  “What are they?”

  “The miners call them lens.” A len broke free and flew toward them, its wings moving so quickly they nearly disappeared.

  “Why are they here?”

  “They stay near the water. On Vorhódan this is where the water is.”

  He smiled again and just barely resisted running a hand down her back. He’d taken the lost look out of her eyes, and he could claim no greater satisfaction. He found a small rock on the ground and chucked it so it skittered down the uneven floor.

  And the lens danced.

  “Oh! Why do they do that? Can they hear it?”

  “They feel it. The sound causes tiny vibrations in the water. When the lens fly down to sip, the ripples in the water change their flight patterns.”

  “Mikhél, it’s beautiful.”

  She’d used his name. It sounded right falling from her lips in a way that his detestable title never could, and he touched her hand again before he could stop himself. “Follow me.”

  He led her along a wide ribbon of rock that rimmed the lake. Narrow strips of stone crossed the water in no discernible pattern, and above them the lens left the air free. Mikhél followed one of them until they stood surrounded by water and glow. Then he spoke softly into his link and set it on the rock at their feet.

  Music filled the air, a swell of instruments and voices that merged into a constellation of sounds that was her birthright. All around them the lens dipped and swayed in a dazzling swirl of light, and he held out her hand so their wings skimmed her skin like mist.

  And through the cool of the air and the rhythm of the music, he felt her heart, her breath, the curve of her lips as she smiled. When the music faded, silence claimed the cave. The lens slowed and steadied as the water smoothed, but Mikhél didn’t move. He was captivated by the play of light over Seirsha’s hair, by the warmth of her skin under his. He realized that he still held her hand, and he dropped it and told himself to back away.

  But she turned to face him, and her nearness dripped through his veins like a drug. She trembled, her skin nearly translucent in the glow, and she looked unbearably delicate. But he’d never known a woman less fragile. He knew her strength, just as he knew her heart.

  And suddenly he knew his own. Eithné had been right all along.

  He was in love with Seirsha.

  Deeply, dangerously in love. His legs threatened to buckle under the realization, his heart and lungs to stop. His body finally understood that its survival could only ever be his second priority.

  He’d found his mate.

  And his heart shattered. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He’d risked too much, and she’d be the one to suffer the cost of his mistake. She stepped toward him, and he tried to back away. But he couldn’t move through the need to make her his. A biological imperative, Eithné had told him. He now understood the power of such a thing.

  She took another step. Her eyes were dazed, her lips parted, and he realized she felt it too. She couldn’t know what it meant, but her innocence did nothing to minimize the pull of their connection. He needed to take no action to bind her to him; biology and instinct would do what he dared not.

  But even inaction could be a crime. He had no right to her. Whatever he wanted, he had to put her needs first.

  And she needed to remain whole after he was gone.

  He backed away. The first step was like pulling apart stone with his bare hands, but the second was easier, and the third easier still. He’d been right about the danger of proximity. He could afford it no longer.

  He said, “Seirsha,” and his voice sounded like gravel. He cleared his throat, and the lens twitched and shivered away.

  She blinked and shook her head as if to clear a trance. Then her cheeks flushed, and she stepped back with a mumbled apology. And just like that, she was no longer close enough to touch.

  “I should return,” he said, as if it would cost him nothing to leave. “Arhúd is waiting for me to…”

  He could think of no suitable lie, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Of course,” she said, her gaze landing everywhere but on his face. “My gratitude for this. For you, taking the time to…to show me…”

  She finally met his eyes, and her voice faded. He realized he would never be done pushing her away, because he would never stop wanting her. His hands flexed against the need to reach for her.

  And then something touched his leg.

  He saw nothing when he looked down, but his senses detected the camouflaged animal stepping nimbly ov
er rock. “Stay still,” he whispered, his hand moving toward his weapon.

  Seirsha looked down and frowned. Then she must have opened her sedfai, because she caught her breath. “What is it?”

  “A cría. They stow away on the shuttles from Hermaset sometimes. Don’t move. They’re vicious when they feel threatened, and their teeth inject acid into their bites.”

  She lifted a brow. “Does that mean it’s going to bite me?”

  “If you keep calm and stay where you are, it should just ignore you. They don’t usually like people.”

  But the cría sniffed her leg, and then it curled around her ankle and sighed. Seirsha looked up at him, her lips twitching. “If only humans had disliked me this much.”

  He stared for a moment, and then he shook his head and released his weapon. In spite of everything, she’d almost made him laugh. “I think you’re safe to move.”

  She drew a protein stick from her pocket and knelt slowly. The cría pulled back to sit before her and nipped a morsel from her hand. She looked up at him and smiled, and his heart broke anew.

  “We should return,” he managed. “I have work.”

  Her smile faded. “Of course. My apologies, Endeté.”

  Endeté, he thought. She’d called him Mikhél moments before. He turned and closed his eyes, and then he forced himself to walk away.

  Jane watched him go as her skin cooled and her pulse slowed. She told herself she’d done nothing wrong, but she wanted to bury her face in her hands.

  She’d almost touched him. And maybe she’d almost done more than that.

  She didn’t know what had come over her. The music, the dark of the cave, the magic of the lens. The nearness of Mikhél. It had all converged and overwhelmed until her blood had rushed in her veins.

  She thought of the way his eyes had shuttered, of the wall of cold that had erupted between them as he’d backed away. He’d still been close enough to touch, but he might as well have been on the other side of the lake. He’d finally made clear where she stood with him, and it was firmly outside the realm of attraction.

  And she had almost thrown herself at him.

  She gave in and buried her face in her hands, and the cría nudged her with his head. She let her hands drop and sighed at the camouflaged creature. When she looked at him through her sedfai, he shone against the rock in a glowing, silvery silhouette. When she closed her sedfai, he disappeared.

  Curious, she left it closed and let her fingertips graze his side. He didn’t shy away, so she ran her hand down his invisible flank and felt open air tremble and stretch.

  It was so wonderfully weird.

  And then he showed himself to her. White, downy fluff slid under her fingers like silk. Vivid blue eyes were set in a head that merged dragon with wolf. His four-jointed legs moved with feline grace, and his tail easily doubled his length. He nudged her again with that strange, long snout, and then he ran his tongue over the back of her hand. It was course but gentle, and it made her smile.

  And if her smile grew wistful as she studied Mikhél’s retreating form, at least there was no one around to see it.

  CHAPTER 26

  Fifty-three days till arrival

  Vorhódan

  The mines permeated the planet, a maze that hid in the dark and the quiet. With her eyes Jane could barely see ten feet into the dim.

  When she used her sedfai, she saw for miles.

  The heat of the sun was lost underground. The walls were coated with moisture and clay, the floors slicked with the stuff. Far from where she stood, rodents that never saw the light of day scurried through long-abandoned tunnels. Closer by, workers toiled in toxic fumes they could neither see nor smell. She saw them, though, a swirling, shifting haze that rose from the walls with every burn of the lasers.

  Mikhél was in the mountain, too far away to sense her. She wondered if that was how he’d wanted it. She’d seen him so little since the lakes that she could almost believe she’d imagined him taking her there.

  “Watch your step,” Arhúd said.

  He walked along a narrow ledge flanked by rock and abyss. He slid on a ribbon of clay, and she caught him, her webbing translucent against his arm.

  When his cheeks pinked, she said, “It’s slippery here.”

  “You don’t seem to have any problems.”

  She smiled and shrugged. Something about him put her at ease, a luxury she wasn’t inclined to take for granted. “You’ve been doing this a long time,” she said, remembering what Mikhél had told her.

  “Since I was a boy.”

  “Where I come from, children aren’t supposed to work in places like these.”

  She almost winced when she realized what she’d said. Where I come from. It was the kind of phrase guaranteed to set Valaer off, an unconscious denial of her Nhélanei heritage. But if it bothered Arhúd, he didn’t comment.

  “It was children who opened these mines,” he said. “The Meijhé have no rules against such things.”

  “It seems so dangerous. I’m amazed you survived.”

  “Not all of us did. None of us would have if it weren’t for Mikhél.”

  Nothing else could have caught her attention more fully. “What did he do?”

  “He saved our lives. A few years after we were brought here, an uprising started. I can’t tell you who started it; I don’t know if it was really any one person. All I know is we were old enough to be angry but still young enough to be stupid. We decided to fight for our freedom.”

  There was a bitterness to his voice, an admonition of his younger self that made her heart ache. “It didn’t go well,” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “It went too well. Our only way off this rock was a shuttle, and the Meijhé controlled those. So when one arrived for a shipment, we attacked. We…”

  His voice trailed off, and he stopped and leaned against the wall. He wouldn’t look at her. His pale eyes were glued to the abyss, but she wondered if he saw anything beyond his memories.

  “We killed them. Five soldiers were on that shuttle. Three men and two women. But there were over fifty of us, and luck”—his voice broke on the word—“luck was on our side. I tried…”

  He fell silent again, and she closed her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me this. I had no right to ask.”

  “You have every right.” He straightened, but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I tried to stay out of the fight. I was afraid. There’s no worse cowardice than letting others finish a battle you’ve started, but I was young and cowardly. Then someone shot me. I don’t even know if it was a soldier, but I picked up a weapon and started firing. I killed a man.”

  He met her eyes then, wariness in his, and she floundered. She was wholly out of her depth. He needed more than she knew how to give, and she said desperately, “It was a war.”

  “Not then. The war was over then. Had been over for years—”

  “It was a war,” she insisted, her voice strengthening. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he shuddered beneath it. “It is a war. It never stopped. The fact that I’m standing here with you is proof of that. And you didn’t start it. You were a child fighting for a freedom that should never have been stolen. Don’t ever be ashamed of that.”

  He opened his mouth as if to answer and then closed it on a swallow. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Some of the older boys stole the shuttle. They promised to return and free the rest of us, but Lhókesh…he was close. They’d just managed to clear the atmosphere when we saw the explosion. He blasted them out of the sky. He was going to kill the rest of us from the air, but Mikhél convinced him not to.”

  “How?” All she could manage was a whisper, her mind racing with thoughts of the child slave who’d stood helpless on the planet’s surface—and the one who’d stood up to a warlord and won.

  “He convinced Lhókesh that we would work harder after what we’d seen. That we’d never revolt again. But if he killed us all and brought in a new crew, he’d have the same prob
lem on his hands in a matter of years. It was a cold argument, and it worked. In less than a year, Lhókesh gave authority over the mines to Mikhél. And we haven’t seen Lhókesh since.”

  Jane thought of the look on Arhúd’s face when he’d greeted Mikhél. There’d been pleasure, but she realized it was more complicated than that.

  There had been, first and foremost, loyalty. And now she knew why.

  But the story baffled as much as it awed. That Mikhél would argue so cogently at such a young age. That Lhókesh would trust such an important holding to a Nhélanei boy. She was struck by the realization that she didn’t understand Mikhél nearly as well as she thought. In this moment she wondered if she really knew him at all.

  “I had no idea.”

  Arhúd’s mouth bent in a weak approximation of a smile. “Most don’t.”

  That night she dreamt of war.

  There was blood everywhere. Only a handful of militia still lived, and still the fighting continued. Men and women, old, young, thrust and fired weapons. There seemed to be no reason to it, no discernible pattern. No way to know who fought whom or why.

  The battle was grim, the movements gauche. All around her, soldiers fell, weapons slipping from lifeless hands. They sank into the blood that pooled on the ground, landed on the bodies that already lay there. The air hung heavy with the stench of burning flesh and the thick, putrid clouds of sulfur and ash.

  Over the clink of metal and the staccato bursts of weapons, she could hear weeping. And the distant, chilling sound of screams.

  She looked at her bloodied, useless hands and wondered how it was possible that she had already lost this war. How it was fair that she should be unharmed when so many around her lay bleeding and dying.

  Then, under the impossible quiet, the ground trembled. The silence fell prey to a growing roar that seemed to rip from the corpses themselves.

  She turned to see a horde of new soldiers surging over the hill, filthy but unharmed. They ran as one, a solid wall that blocked the beauty of the setting sun, backlit until their weapons began to flash. Scrap metal slashed through her arm, and she dropped to the ground as her flesh healed and her heart broke.

 

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