by DL O'Neal
His teeth ground audibly as he weighed the possibility. A timeless moment passed before he conceded. "If you are not finished negotiating and back in our chambers in two hours, I will physically remove you from the premises. Is that clear, House-daughter?" He leaned over her, using the full force of his personality to emphasize his terms. He knew how intimidating he could be. Drakthe waited for Cheyna to crumble.
"Two hours! You cannot seriously believe I can renegotiate the opening of a trade route that has been shut down for a twenty-month in a mere two hours!"
"Is it clear, House-daughter?" he repeated, his hand seeking the krees resting on his hip.
She gave a short, unwilling nod. "I understand." She turned away, going toward the open office door.
Cheyna's mutter floated back to him as she went inside. "Two hours. The man expects miracles. Obviously, he was out on the Plains too long."
A tiny grin tugged at his mouth.
"Daughter of Kyla, welcome." The voice was deep, resonant, and yet utterly feminine.
Cheyna turned toward the woman seated at the negotiating table, puzzled by the address. "I am sorry, but what did you call me?"
"Daughter of Kyla." The woman was well past middle years, but her face was as smooth as Cheyna's herself. Only in her eyes did the passing of time show.
"My mother's name was Kyla?" How did the woman know that when even she had not known her mother's name. More importantly, how had the NaturPath known to expect her? Slia had not mentioned notifying the Agora NaturPaths of her arrival.
A deep eddy of unease swirled through Cheyna. All at once, she wished Drakthe were at her side in the stark meeting hall.
"We have much to discuss."
"Yes. We should proceed with the negotiations." She grasped for the obvious as the swirls of tension darkened and deepened around her.
"The negotiations are not important. The herbs are yours and the Merchant Master's for the usual rate. The other Guild members will also agree to a standard contract." The older woman waved the matter aside.
"Who are you?" Cheyna straightened her spine to the point of snapping as she waited for the answer. She really wished Drakthe were with her. She had a feeling she was going to need his strength.
"I am Treena, Mistress of the Agora and Keeper of the Records of Scimtar. You are Cheyna of the Clan Ktana, Daughter of Kyla Ktal of the House of Talis." She paused.
"And Daughter of Nrth Ktal, Great Lord of Scimtar."
Chapter 12
Shock rendered Cheyna mute. She found her voice and denial tumbled off her tongue.
"That is not possible. My father or mother would have told me."
Please, she pleaded silently, please may it not be true. Slia and Sbraithe could not have lied to her all these years. They would not have withheld such crucial facts from her. It just was not possible.
"You are Cheyna Ktal, the last of the House of Talis." Treena's calm tones denied even the merest chance of error.
"You are wrong. I have studied the holopics. The House of Talis died with the Great Lord. Not once is offspring mentioned. There is not even a minor branch of the House left. They all died out long ago."
"You are of the Raipier, are you not?"
Cheyna flinched at the question that was not a question. "They would have told me. You do not understand. They hold truth and honor above all else. If what you say is true, my foster parents would not have kept this information from me." She would not believe it. She rose, anxious to find Drakthe, to have him take her from this place.
"Your foster mother was Advisor to the Great Lord. It was not her place to tell you. This she knew. You, who were raised on a different world, were sent here to recover the Crystal Sheathe. Do you deny this?"
Cheyna felt the blood drain from her face and, for one awful minute, was afraid she'd disgrace herself and faint before the Elders. She sat back down.
"How do you know the Raipier sent me here to recover the Crystal Sheathe?" she asked, her tone flat and filled with shock.
"We felt you coming. Your mind spoke to ours. We have been waiting for a long time."
"I am mindblind outside the empathic ability inherent in a NaturPath. My mind could not have spoken to yours." Despite the fierce control Cheyna was exerting, her hands began shaking. Under the table, she tangled her fingers in the hem of her tunic.
"We felt the touch of your mind over three ten-days ago." The clear grey eyes looked at Cheyna with unnerving directness.
"You could not have! I cannot! You do not understand," she cried out. "I tested and was found psi-null. I lack telepathic ability. I cannot," she repeated in a whisper. "I cannot touch another's mind in that fashion." Little eddies of doubt crept in, throwing her into chaos.
What of the way you touch Drakthe's mind, an insidious voice whispered inside her head. Are you not able to feel what he is feeling? to see what he is seeing?
Be quiet. That is different, she ordered desperately.
Is it? What then of your ability to insert images into his mind? Is that also different?
An unnatural calm settled over her. She rose to her feet and faced the women, her expression as serene as theirs.
"I shall return later." She turned and left with no further explanation. Her feet, seemingly with a will of their own, sought out a path leading toward a high plateau.
Dear Saints, where was her warrior when she needed him?
Drakthe was pacing the utilitarian confines of the guest quarters. Anger radiated from every pore in his body.
He should have heeded his instincts and not have allowed Cheyna to go in by herself. Something was not right. He stopped pacing as he suddenly remembered her threat to seek Sanctuary the eve he'd kidnaped her.
Drakthe began pacing again.
He'd ring her neck if that were true. No, he corrected himself with grim relish, he'd show his errant bondwife an entirely new level of Sai and Kai. When he was finished, she'd know exactly where her loyalties lay.
So why, if his bondwife was busy untangling her life from his, couldn't he dismiss the feeling she needed him?
A pithy curse on his lips, he slammed out of the guest lodge.
"Look. I want to speak to my bondwife. Now." The door of the meeting hall crashed against the wall, punctuating Drakthe's demand as he stormed into the room.
For a moment, he thought the women around the table were going to ignore him. Slowly, a NaturPath turned to face him. Drakthe felt shock ripple through him as he recognized Treena, the elder NaturPath of the Agora. The whisper of unease ruffling his nerve endings erupted into a unignorable roar.
"She is not here."
"Where is she?" His hand dropped to his krees. The elder NaturPath disregarded the gesture.
"Ours is not the place to tell you, Merchant Master. That belongs to your bondwife."
Drakthe gritted his teeth. "Look, lady. I want to know where Cheyna is. What have you done with her?"
"We have done nothing with her. If your bondwife wishes you to know her whereabouts, she will inform you." The older woman turned a perfectly straight spine in his direction, signaling the end of the conversation.
Jkael take all women. NaturPaths especially. Drakthe stalked out of the meeting house, his blood pumping in ever-increasing spurts.
The sun lowered behind the horizon. A single, beautiful verdant moon glided from behind the plateau that dominated the surroundings.
He didn't stop to question why he found himself striding the hard-packed path toward the plateau instead of toward the NaturPaths' Hall, the logical place to find his errant NaturPath.
Just for a moment, he caught sight of a furred winged creature slipping through the night. His hand thumbed the release on his krees's sheathe. From the corner of his eye, Drakthe saw the shuffled movement of a plant.
He shook his head. Jkael. Not content to just mess with the Plains, now they were messing with his head.
The eerie cry of a night denizen echoed on the air as the single moon dissolved into
familiar twin disks.
Drakthe crested the rise and found Cheyna sitting on the very edge of the plateau. He halted. The sense of isolation emanating from her struck fear into his heart. Afraid to startle her, almost afraid to speak, he cleared his throat.
She continued to stare out into the deepening twilight.
He stood there, uncertain whether to go or stay.
"They lied to me."
Drakthe almost dropped to his knees with relief when she spoke, her voice a breath of sound. "Who lied to you?" he asked, just as quietly.
"My parents."
Another type of fear began unfurling inside Drakthe. A fear that burned a slow hole in his gut. Cheyna was withdrawing from him. He could feel it.
This was different from that time in the city. Different even from the withdrawal he had sensed out on the Plains. No, this withdrawal went far deeper.
Cheyna spoke again, her low monotone sending a slow shiver crawling up his spine.
"All my life, they lied to me." She seemed to have a hard time comprehending that fact. "I believed in them and they lied to me. Why?" she asked, sounding lost and so very vulnerable.
Cautiously, Drakthe sank to the ground beside her. He linked his hands between his knees. "How did they lie to you?" He reached down and picked up a pebble. The tiny stone still held the warmth of the day, but it didn't even begin to penetrate the chill encasing him.
"You would not understand." She shook her head, her distant gaze on the horizon. "I trusted them."
Drakthe held his breath and hoped he was doing the right thing. He dropped the pebble and cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. He exerted just enough force to turn her head so she had no choice but to meet his steady gaze.
"You can trust me."
"Can I?" she asked. "Can I trust you when you do not believe in me, either? When you deny what is happening between us?"
"I've never denied that what we have is good," he objected. Drakthe had the disturbing impression Cheyna wasn't referring to their physical relationship. "Trust me, bondwife. I won't let you down." His mouth went dry. For the first time he realized how she must feel each time he made it clear he didn't fully trust her, each time he questioned her actions. He didn't much care for the feeling.
Cheyna just shook her head. "I need to see the NaturPaths." She pulled her chin from his hold and started to rise.
Drakthe was on his feet in an instant. "Forget them, bondwife. I will deal with them from now on."
"Do not worry, my lord, the contract is yours."
Drakthe made a slashing motion with his hand. "Forget the contract. Can't you see what they are doing to you? To us?" Even now he couldn't bring himself to admit outright he wanted their union to be permanent. Given the chance, would Cheyna insist he honor his original proposition? It was one thing to accept the lack of a House name in a mate you considered temporary, but altogether another in the man that would one day give you children. Jkael, he hated feeling so uncertain.
The blue eyes Cheyna turned toward him were filled with a sadness and determination that even the gathering darkness couldn't hide. "They have done nothing to me that was not accomplished years ago."
The cryptic response made him want to shake her, but before he could utter the question shaping on his lips, she turned and started down the path.
He swore as he saw the resolve in her slender spine and in her measured pace. Jkael, the woman was driving him mad. He started after her.
"Listen, House-daughter, these women are up to something. We haven't been here for a full twenty-hour and already they've gotten you even distrusting your parents. Talk to me, bondwife. Tell me what is going on!" When Cheyna continued walking, not even glancing in his direction, he caught her by the arm and dragged her around to face him.
"Talk to me. I can't help you if I don't know what is wrong."
Her face utterly composed, she raised her eyes until she was staring into his. "I did not request your help."
Fury and pain collided and ignited. "What have those benighted women done to you? We are bonded, woman, lest you forget. You belong to me." Drakthe shook with the force of his anger. And another emotion, one he was loathed to name. He slanted his mouth over hers with a ruthless intent, wanting--needing to demolish that hated mask of composure.
With a sense of detached interest, Cheyna felt the urgency of Drakthe's mouth moving on hers. His tongue insinuated its way inside her mouth and she felt the first flutter in the barrier in which she had encased herself.
A flicker of fear pierced her serenity. She did not want to feel his anger, his pain.
His hands came up and cupped her face with exquisite lightness instead of the force Cheyna expected. The fingers tracing the high arch of her cheekbones, the fragile hollows of her throat, trembled.
The barrier fell with a shattering completeness.
"I need to speak with them. There are things I need to know."
She felt his chest rise as Drakthe took a deep breath. He smoothed his hand down her hair. She shivered under the caress.
"I'm going in with you." He rested his forehead on hers. Their breaths mingled.
"They will not allow it."
"I'm going in with you." His tone brooked no argument.
Cheyna allowed Drakthe to take her hand in his much larger one and lead her down the path to the meeting hall. Opening the door, he motioned for her to go inside first. The nerves in her stomach jumped at the final sounding bang when he closed it behind them.
"This is not the place for a male," came the icy voice of Rta, second-in-command to Treena.
"It is now." Before Cheyna could stop him, Drakthe disengaged his hand from hers. Muscles tensed, he balanced lightly on the balls of his feet.
Rta gestured scornfully toward his battle-ready posture. "That is why you will leave. Violence has no place here. Leave now."
"Make me," he invited softly to Cheyna's horror.
"You will jeopardize negotiations."
"According to my bondwife, we have gotten the contract."
Cheyna, by his side, shivered when he curled his lips, showing his teeth in a savage smile.
"We have not signed it."
"Look, let's cut to the chase. Either we have the contract or we don't. I don't much care which. You want me to leave. I intend to stay. Do your worst."
A restrained motion from Treena, the elder NaturPath, checked the other woman's retort. Treena eyed Drakthe.
"Why are you here?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Cheyna needs me."
"You may stay." She gestured for everyone to take a seat.
Cheyna was infinitely aware of Drakthe as he took a stance behind her chair. His hands rested protectively on her shoulders, his fingers forming a V at the base of her throat.
"You are here for a reason, Cheyna Ktal."
Cheyna felt Drakthe's hands tighten before they relaxed. The muted light from the flickering flame of the dying fire gave everything an oddly surrealistic appearance.
Shock, Cheyna analyzed. Their discord on the trail seemed petty when compared to the enormity of what she'd learned--would learn--in this stark room. She needed the comfort only her bondhusband could offer. Cheyna leaned back until her head rested against Drakthe's muscled abdomen.
Her disbelief multiplied as The Keeper of Records began weaving a story. A story that had its beginnings in the mist of time, yet was young as the birth of a child just a few years past.
"You were scarcely born when your mother placed you into the keeping of the Advisor's mate. The Great Battle of Destruction raged. It soon became obvious the House of Talis was not destined to survive. At Kyla Ktal's behest, you were spirited away to the Advisor's home and raised as her own until it was your time to return."
Cheyna shook her head in confusion. "I do not understand. How can you know these things when I, her daughter, did not?" Pain lanced through her. Pain at finding her biological family only to have to accept they were forever lost to her. Pain at
her foster family's betrayal.
"You have much reason to be proud of your mother, Kyla Ktal. Her mate murdered before her eyes, she, herself, grievously injured trying to carry out his last orders, your mother crossed the Plains of Skaen to our doors. She did not plead for sanctuary. She did not ask to be healed."
"She was dying?" Thick tears for a woman she had never known, clogged Cheyna's throat.
"Not then," the NaturPath answered cryptically. She took up the thread of the story. "Instead, she requested we safeguard a journal for her. According to your mother, it was vital the journal remain undisturbed. For over two chiliad, the House of Talis has been the Keeper of the History of the Great Lord and his descendants and, through the journal, Scimtar. We were to retain guardianship of its whereabouts until such time it was needed. That time has come. Consonance is in jeopardy of slipping to the dark end of the Prisma."
"My moth--, foster mother said something similar to me."
Treena smiled serenely. "We were certain the time had come. Your words prove we were correct."
"If the journal is so powerful, why did my mother not use it to stop the destruction that killed my father?" Cheyna burst out, her heart beating raggedly with the pain.
"It was not her destiny."
Cheyna clasped shaking hands in her lap, a desperate attempt to maintain control. Drakthe's thumbs began slowly stroking her nape, his flesh alive and warm against the chill of hers. Strength flowed into her and she was able to ask without her voice shaking, "How do you know? The journal might have saved their lives."
For the first time, a hint of strong emotion showed on the NaturPath's face. "She died safeguarding the journal for you, Cheyna Ktal."
Shock rendered Cheyna mute. The NaturPath continued implacably.
"We have always known our destiny was to keep the journal safe when it was no longer in the House of Talis' power to do so. Now, your duty is to unravel the journal's mysteries. Your foster parents knew this. That is why they sent you to us."