“I accused him of helping Lhókesh,” she said. “What was I thinking?”
“You’re not the first person to make that mistake, child. There are many secrets I cannot tell you, because they are not mine to share. But I can tell you about the day I met Mikhél. Would you like to hear that?”
Another story. Jane wondered if that was all she’d ever know of Mikhél, pieces of his life shared by the people in it. In a way that made her feel more like an outsider than anything else. And then she wondered why she cared.
She nodded, and Eithné said, “It was over a year ago now. I was working in a medical facility in Lan’Vercai, treating Meijhé soldiers. I went into storage for supplies, and he was waiting there. Alone. I thought he was going to kill me. Instead he told me about you.”
“How did he know he could trust you?”
Eithné smiled. “He is far more perceptive than any of us give him credit for. Highly intelligent. And he’s been playing his role for a long time. I never asked how he knew, but I’m sure he had no doubts when he approached me. I, of course, had many about him. So he suggested I use my gift to determine his loyalties.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “He knew about your gift?”
“I was surprised too. It occurred to me that he was guessing, trying to trap me in my lie. But the opportunity to bring you back was too important to ignore. So I asked him what he thought of Lhókesh.”
“What did you see?”
“A monster who cares nothing for those he hurts. Mikhél showed me one atrocity after another, but it wasn’t what I saw that convinced me. It was what I felt.”
Jane thought of the coldness in Mikhél’s voice when he’d named his father. “Hate,” she guessed.
“Yes, so strong it almost sent me to my knees. Nearly every response I receive through my gift bears emotion. It’s a natural part of the response process. But at that moment, I had never received an emotion stronger than the loathing Mikhél feels for Lhókesh. And I knew he would do anything to stop his father.”
“So you trusted him.”
Eithné laughed, but there was no humor in it. “No, I didn’t. I thought much along your lines. That he wanted to take Spyridon for himself, or perhaps he didn’t care about our world at all. I even feared he might destroy us just to end Lhókesh. But I was wrong. And it almost took me too long to realize it. Please, don’t do the same. See him for who he really is and not just as his father’s son.”
Jane scrubbed her hands over her face. “I owe him an apology.”
“I imagine you do.”
Jane stood and called open the door. Then she turned back. “You said there’d been nothing stronger at that time. Does that mean there’s been something stronger since?”
Eithné hesitated. Then, “Yes. Once.”
Jane’s hand went to the scar on her wrist. “Was it guilt?”
“No,” Eithné said, but her eyes were sad. “It was love.”
Mikhél sat on the edge of the bed and willed his hands still, but they shook as they tugged free the amulet. He tried to focus on the symbol of his home, but he felt like a fraud for considering Spyridon as such. This small piece of metal had served as a reminder of his purpose, a touchstone in a tumultuous life, since the day his mother had died.
But it also served as a reminder of everything he was not. And at the moment, it showed him not the ideals of freedom, equality, and peaceful rule but the hypocrisy of a Meijhé trying to return Spyridon to the Nhélanei while in command of nearly a million slaves.
It showed him Seirsha’s face, twisted in horror and disgust as she backed away from the truth of what he was.
She would be done with him now. Any protection he could offer must be from afar and in secret. And whatever had been building between them had been stamped out. He realized he need no longer push her away, but the thought brought no solace.
When she slipped into his sense range, he straightened, acutely aware that she could see him through the walls. She slowed at the door to her quarters, and he rose to leave his. He couldn’t bear to be so close to her right now. Not when he knew they were separated by far more than the wall between their rooms.
But she squared her shoulders and then walked to his door and requested entry. Surprise had him calling open the door automatically, and so he stood staring dumbly at her when she entered. Her gaze darted around the room, touching everywhere, it seemed, but on his face. When it finally landed on the amulet, she took a deep breath and called closed the door.
“You should have told me before.”
He didn’t bother with excuses. If he were in her position, he’d have no patience for them. And besides, only his own heart would sympathize with his reasons. He said, “I know.”
She frowned and took a step forward. “Do you? You’re asking me to do this huge thing, this dangerous, crazy, massive undertaking, but you’re keeping me in the dark. And I know—” Her voice was rising, but she stopped and took a breath. When she continued, her tone was even. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but at some point you’re going to have to trust me to deal with these things on my own. I’m stronger than you think.”
He lifted a brow. “Then you must be very strong indeed.”
She flushed and glanced away. “Are there other things you haven’t told me?”
He thought of Vorhódan. Of watching her laugh with Arhúd over a meal, of his ridiculous jealousy over a cría that could be held so closely while he had to keep his distance. Of the glow of len light on her skin.
But of course that wasn’t what she meant.
“Seirsha, I’ve been a double agent in the war against the Meijhé since I was a child. And for most of that time, I’ve worked alone. At this point I probably have secrets from myself. But,” he added when her brow furrowed again, “you have proven yourself to be intelligent, competent, and discreet time and again since I met you. And beyond that you are the Baanrí. I will tell you everything about this war that I safely can.”
She flinched at her title, but she nodded and closed the distance between them. Then she sat on the bed, within arm’s reach of where he stood, and he wondered if he could dare hope that she trusted him once again.
He sat and said, “My mother was Nhélanei.”
“That’s how you have a sedfai. But wait.” She frowned again and pressed her fingers to her temple. “You didn’t go through the jagat. Eithné said you couldn’t. You were off planet when it would have occurred. So how…”
He hesitated. This was his oldest and most closely guarded secret. One that had the potential to save his life and countless others. As much as he wanted to tell her everything, in this matter he had no choice.
“She was just trying to protect the secret of my heritage. Because of my Meijhé blood, the jagat affected me differently.” That, at least, was true. “I do have a sedfai but no gift.”
“And your mother. Was it true what you told me about her?”
“Lhókesh killed her.” He could say it flatly, as if it didn’t matter, only because he’d been training to do so his whole life.
Her eyes paled, and he wondered if she would reach the same conclusion other Nhélanei found. He braced for a recrimination that had always been harder to take than any directed at him, but she asked, “What was her name?”
His shoulders loosened. “Aida. Niyhól Elestra Aida.”
“You loved her.”
No one had ever asked. Everyone had assumed they knew the answer, but no one had guessed correctly. Until now.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice was harsh. “Very much.”
Her eyes gleamed, and he realized the tears were for him. When one spilled over, he started to reach for her, to brush it away. But he wasn’t sure she would want that, so he kept his hand at his side.
“She died the same day as my parents, didn’t she? He killed both our families.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I’m so sorry.” Another tear spilled, and she pressed her trembling li
ps together. He wondered if she was aware that she’d spoken in English, that she did so only when her emotions were high. Then her next words wiped the thought from his mind. “I should never have accused you of helping him. You would never do that, and I knew that. I think I’ve known that since the day I met you. I just forgot to trust myself, but I never stopped trusting you.”
His fingers tightened on the amulet, and he stood abruptly. “You shouldn’t.”
She shook her head and stood to face him. “Why do you keep saying things like that? You act as if pushing me away is another layer of protection. What have you done that was so terrible?”
“I never stopped him!” His roar echoed off the metal walls, and he worked to get his voice under control. “Murder, slavery, torture. Rape. And a thousand other crimes I never stopped. He’s kept me at his side since I was a boy. All those years, and all I had to do to end all of this was to end him. And I never could.”
“Because you love him?”
“No.” Could she possibly think that of him? And if she did, would it be a sign of faith or damnation? “He’s not a person to be loved, Seirsha. He’s a thing, a monster. A nightmare. I would have ended him a dozen times over if I could have gotten close enough. But I could never find the right skill, the right moment. I could never find his weakness. He lives because I fail.”
She stared at him, and he could almost see her mind working. Analyzing the data, trying to find some reason to exonerate him. It was what she did. For someone who’d seen the worst a thinking species had to offer, she had a remarkable need to look for the good in everyone around her.
“You’re wrong,” she finally said. “He lives because you haven’t succeeded yet.”
“Seirsha—”
She took a step forward, and there was something in her eyes. Some fire, some confidence that hadn’t been there before. It lit a fire within him, and he had to take a step back to keep from grabbing her and yanking her close.
She took another step. “And if you want success measured in lives, just take a look around. Arhúd lives because of you.”
He stepped back. “And he suffers under my command.”
She stepped forward and shook her head. “He admires you. He knows what you’ve sacrificed for his people. Their children have homes and families because of you.”
He stepped back and hit the wall. And still she kept coming.
“You’re simplifying—”
“I’m alive because of you.”
She took one more step, and then she stopped. When he stood frozen, his eyes locked on hers, she took the amulet from him and slid the cord over his neck. He caught her hands, but whether to push her away or keep her close, he didn’t know.
Her eyes began to darken, amethyst whirling in their depths. Her lips parted, and she swallowed over a hitching breath. And he forgot where they were. He forgot why this was dangerous. He forgot everything except the feel of her, close enough to kiss and almost, almost in his arms.
And in that moment, he could have sworn he saw the stars swim in her eyes.
“Seirsha.”
She touched his cheek, and his entire body went still. Their hearts pounded in concert, a giddy race that threatened to make his head go light.
And he wrapped his arms around her. Could have done nothing else in that moment but hold her, with his heart finally open.
And the agony ripped through him.
It started in his chest and then raced out, an ever-expanding blaze that threatened to consume. The floor trembled, and the air seemed to sizzle and steam away. He heard a crash so loud the sound might have come from within, and then he heard Seirsha cry out through the din.
She looked at him, eyes pale and wet, hands fisted into his uniform as if she feared she’d be swept away. Then she bowled over and fell to her knees.
He tried to reach for her, but he could barely move. Then he could barely stand, and his knees buckled as the weight of a thousand worlds bore down on his shoulders.
He wondered if he could have already failed her so completely, and then his capacity for thought was gone as well.
Consciousness drifted back slowly: image, thought, sound. His cheek itched; his body ached. He opened his eyes to a sea of midnight and blinked. He was on the floor, his face smashed against a rug grown coarse over time, his body twisted into angles that had his joints protesting.
He pushed up onto his elbow, and blood flooded his brain. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. When he heard the groan, he first thought it was his own. Then he remembered.
Seirsha.
He meant to say it, but his throat made no sound. He forced his eyes open, forced himself to sit up. She was lying on her back, still enough that his heart stopped. Then he saw the slight rise of her chest, felt her pulse. Steady and strong. She was unconscious, but she was alive.
He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t yet take his weight. He pulled himself across the floor and said through a throat gone painfully dry, “Seirsha.”
A line formed between her brows, and she murmured and turned her face toward him. He ran his link over her even as his senses performed its own scan, but he found no injuries. And then, unwilling to overlook anything, he thrust his hands into her hair to check her skull. The knot at the nape of her neck came loose, and silver silk flowed through his fingers. As far as he could tell, she was unharmed.
She groaned again, and her lids fluttered. She murmured something, and this time he just barely recognized his name.
“Easy,” he said and brushed the hair from her forehead. Her lids lifted, and her eyes focused slowly on his face.
“Mikhél.” She winced, groaned again, and pressed her fingers to her temples. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a self-scan but found no cause for his own discomfort. A glance around showed him the room was unchanged. The sirens were silent. And now that he thought about it, he realized he’d never heard them sound. Another check on his link had him shaking his head. “I thought there was an explosion, but nothing is registering on ship diagnostics.”
She started to sit up, and he put a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Maybe we were hit by something.”
“It would show up on the diag. There’s nothing.”
“How long were we out?”
He checked his link again. “Almost two passes.”
“Something happened.” She closed her eyes on a grimace, and he tried not to notice how lovely she looked with her hair down. Then she flushed and looked at him, irises darkening. “What?”
“I said we were out almost two passes.”
“No, I…” She frowned. “Never mind.”
“Can you stand?”
“Um.” She stared at him for a moment and then blinked and looked away. “I think so. I could use a protein stick, though. I feel a little weak.”
When her voice seemed to double, he realized he needed one too. He managed to stand and walked over to the storage wall.
“So if it wasn’t a collision or an explosion,” she said, “then what happened?”
“Possibly a malfunction in the power grid,” he said as he rummaged through the drawer. “It seemed to come from the floor.”
Although that wasn’t entirely true. He’d felt it in his chest first, and then it had ripped through his body. And then the floor had trembled.
“It was the same for me,” she said from behind him.
“What was?”
“It started with a pain in my chest. Then the floor shook, and then…”
But he didn’t hear the rest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her voice died away, but he barely noticed. He told himself he had to be wrong, that he couldn’t have let this happen.
“Wrong about what?” she asked. “Mikhél, what’s going on?”
He closed his eyes, but the mistake was made. All he could do now was hope to reverse it.
“Reverse what? You’re not making any sense.”
Wit
hout turning, he thought, We’re linked.
And she said, “Linked? I don’t know what that means.”
He turned then. Even pale and shaken, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She flushed again even as she frowned, and he knew she’d heard that thought too. But she didn’t understand how she could hear his voice when his lips didn’t move.
So he said, “We’re joined, Seirsha. We’ve created a nexus.”
CHAPTER 28
“A nexus,” Jane said. “I still don’t understand.”
He sat down hard on the bed and bit into a protein stick. Her hands shook as she caught the one he tossed to her, and she suspected the tremble had as much to do with the look on his face as with what had happened here two passes before.
She was suddenly terrified, and she had no idea why.
“It’s a mental connection,” he said. He looked at her then, as if she should understand the significance of that statement, and she wondered why he thought the phrase mental connection should hold any meaning for her. He frowned and shook his head. “My apologies. I don’t know the English translation. It’s a connection between our minds, a…conduit that allows us to transmit thoughts.”
“You mean…” Her heart thudded once, twice, and she thought she heard him mumble, though his lips didn’t move. “Are you saying we’ve formed a psychic connection?”
He hesitated. “I assume that’s the correct terminology. It’s a sharing of the minds. Thoughts, emotions, memories. Dreams.”
“Memories.”
Before the word left her mouth, she was flooded with images. Things she’d never seen, places she’d never been. People she’d never known. There was a woman with a kind smile and sad, tired eyes. A man, Meijhé, his face cold and emotionless as he walked past. Creatures she had no name for, worlds she had no frame of reference to understand.
And then she saw her own face: eyes dark and closing, lips parted. His arms wrapped around her.
It was a memory. Mikhél’s memory.
He’d almost kissed her before this. Before the nexus.
Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1) Page 24