by DL O'Neal
He gestured harshly. "Be realistic House-daughter. How many people still believe in the Crystal? How many people even know memory crystals exist? I believed its importance overrated by you, your foster parents, the NaturPaths. Especially the NaturPaths. They like to accord everything a mystic touch. It heightens their power."
"My mother died hiding the memory crystal. Someone murdered my father for the power of the Crystal Sheathe. How could you not believe its importance?" she cried.
"How could I?" Drakthe countered. His big hands fisted on his thighs, the wicked scar on his right gleamed whitely in the flickering light of the fire. "Your father was murdered," he granted, "but do we really know it was for the Crystal Sheathe and not the Great Lord's office? Your mother does not mention the Crystal Sheathe. She only mentions that the memory crystal must be protected. The memory crystal, Cheyna, not the Sheathe. It is your foster parents and the NaturPaths that talk about Consonance being restored through the Crystal Sheathe."
"Are you saying you now believe?" Cheyna questioned. He glanced away. She watched as his hand flexed several times on his thigh. Drakthe speared his fingers through his hair, dislodging the thong that confined the inky darkness.
"No. I'm saying others believe. People who will stop short of nothing to possess the Sheathe's powers. I'm saying my refusal to accept even the concept of the Sheathe blinded me to the fact others might not be so reticent." His voice lowered to a painful growl. "I failed you, bondwife. I did not keep you safe."
Cheyna flowed across the space separating them, her hand finding the angles of his face. "Oh, no, my lord. Never believe that. You rescued me. When are you going to believe me when I say I trust you?"
"It has nothing to do with whether or not you trust me. It has to do with my duty of keeping you safe." He made another chopped off gesture, the air palpable with his barely contained frustration. "I failed." Anguish and self-disgust darkened his gaze to the color of ancient gold.
Cheyna cupped his hard cheeks between the soft palms of her hands. "Tell me, my lord, how did you fail? Did you not keep me safe from the firecat? Did you not guide me through the Plains of Skaen? Guide me through a crystal storm, risking your own life and eyesight? Did you not follow and retrieve me when they took me from you?" she breathed.
His gaze dropped to the ground, but Cheyna would not allow the evasion.
"They shouldn't have taken you in the first place!" he rasped, his voice so raw that just hearing it hurt.
"My lord, you had no way of knowing they would snatch me from our room. You cannot be by my side every minute of every day." She massaged the tense muscles in his jaw. "You had to buy supplies for the mission. My mission. If not for me, we would have never been in Akuchi, and, if not for you, I would be dead. I trust you to keep me safe, Drakthe. I trust you with my life." She touched his lips with her fingers, smoothing the compressed line.
When he spoke, his breath was hot against the sensitive flesh. "No. No, you don't, bondwife. You don't trust me. If you trusted me, you would have linked with me. You would have told me where they were holding you!" His eyes glittered.
"You are so wrong, my lord. I shut my mind from yours precisely because I knew you would follow. I could not countenance you walking into a trap for my sake. Do you not understand?" she asked, her voice a low throb, "I had to protect you because you would not protect yourself." Something shifted and eased in the gold eyes before a shutter slammed down.
"It makes no difference, bondwife. Comes down to the same thing. I failed you!" Drakthe ground out from between clenched teeth.
"You saved me," Cheyna countered, and pressed a tiny kiss at the corner of his mouth. Her heart swelled with feeling. Surely Drakthe had to feel more than duty to be so upset. He stiffened beneath her light touch, his entire body rejecting her arguments. "You saved me," she murmured again. "At the risk of your own life, you saved me." She nipped at the opposite corner of his mouth. "I knew you would."
She sat back on her heels, her fingers finding the toggles on his tunic with unerring accuracy. Once she had them undone, she placed her palms on his chest. Beneath her splayed fingers, his heart pounded. She rubbed her hands over his chest, smiling slightly when his breath caught as her thumbs found the small, masculine nipples.
"You will keep me safe on the rest of our journey. I trust you." She caught the flat nipples between thumb and forefinger, pinching gently to emphasize her statement.
Drakthe groaned and caught her up next to his heart. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. "Ah, bondwife, I don't know why after this fiasco you have this belief in me," he whispered hoarsely. "Just whatever you do, never stop."
Cheyna wound her arms around his broad shoulders, and squeezed as hard as she could. "Never, my lord. Never."
"No, House-daughter, it has to be instinctive. Use Sai and Kai as more than just an exercise," Drakthe instructed yet again. "You cannot stop and think of the hurt you are going to inflict. You have to react. You can bet the other person isn't going to be agonizing over possible damage caused."
Cheyna crossed her arms with that hint of belligerent stubbornness Drakthe found so exasperating. "I cannot harm another person."
"I don't see why not. You weren't so hesitant when I took you from the travel-train," he retorted, just as determined to win this battle. He had no choice. His obstinate bondwife's life depended on her willingness to act. It haunted him that he might have prevented her kidnaping if he had just taken the time to work with her.
"I was not thinking."
"Exactly. You reacted. That's all I'm asking now. To react." He put his hands on her shoulders. "There might come another time when I'm not there to protect you. I have to know you'll protect yourself, House-daughter."
She covered one of his with her own, much smaller, hand. "My lord, do not ask this of me. It goes against everything I am. I heal people, not injure them."
"Even if the life you save is my own?" Drakthe heard her indrawn breath and pressed his point home ruthlessly. "Would you place someone else's life before my own, bondwife?" Her blue eyes widened with distress. Drakthe hardened his heart to her misery. "We have to work as a team. If I cannot depend on you, what point is there in going forward?"
"You do not wish to continue?" she asked in a small, stunned voice.
"Not if it means I cannot count on you." His throat closed at the abject misery reflected on her small, pale face. "I remember, back at the resthouse, when you swore to me it was your duty to protect me. Is that vow contingent on the circumstances? You protect me only when it means not harming another?"
"You know it does not." Cheyna stepped out from under his light grasp. She inclined her head in a stiff, formal acknowledgment. "I concede your point. I will practice as you wish."
"House-daughter." She refused to look at him. "Cheyna," Drakthe entreated. She met his gaze, hers full of resentment. "I don't wish to be cruel. If it is at all within my power, you will never have to use your skill against another." Drakthe opened his arms. She hesitated for a moment, before her aura of formality crumbled, and she stepped into his embrace. "You have the word of the Fire Krees," he whispered his pledged into her hair.
"I would settle for the word of my bondmate," she corrected softly, touching her lips to the bonding krees and sheathe nestled into the hollow of his throat.
Drakthe closed his eyes. "As our blood and breath flows as one, you have my word." He held her for a long moment, then stepped back.
"Again. This time come at me as if I were an attacker."
Later, his own chest heaving after the strenuous session, Drakthe surreptitiously watched as Cheyna wiped the sweat from her face. He took a small swallow of water from his flask, and steeled himself for what he knew he must ask next.
"I know you are tired after our workout, Cheyna, but we must know more. Are you up to reading the memory crystal again?" He leaned down and picked up the crystal, holding it in his hand. The smooth, oblong stone ran the length of his palm. Drakthe couldn't quell his distaste
for touching the thing.
Her hand went to her throat as she stared at the crystal. She let the towel drop to the floor of the cave and moistened her lips. "I will try."
"We need information, Cheyna. Right now everyone but us seems to know what is going on."
She reached for his hand and briefly squeezed it. "I understand." She took the crystal from his hand and sat, clutching it between both of hers. She stared into its depths. Her face took on that intent expression which meant she was accessing the crystal. It seemed to happen faster this time. Minute flashes of emotion flickered across her face. Drakthe wondered what she was seeing, wondered what it was like to see images from the past as if they were happening today.
An hour passed, then another. While he waited, Drakthe sharpened his krees and daegar on a whetstone. He tested an edge against his thumb. Not satisfied with its sharpness, he again began the rhythmic sweep of steel against stone, keeping a close eye on his bondwife at the same time. The only sign of stress was a small pleat that occasionally formed between her brows. Finally, the long sweep of her lashes rose. He put the stone and weapon to one side. "Well?" he demanded.
Cheyna took a moment to marshal her thoughts and bring herself fully back to the present. "They stored nearly a chiliad worth of memories on this crystal. Far too much information to do an in-depth search right now. I did learn several things that might be of importance, however."
"The Raipierian advisor, Tlor, warned that the Great Battle of Destruction was coming over five hundred years ago. A gifted historian, she studied, along with the memories on the crystal, written accounts of Scimtarian history." She drew a deep breath. Tlor's shock was as fresh and real to her now, as it had been to the Raipierian woman, dead for centuries.
"She discovered a systematic assassination of members of the Great Lord's house going back as far as she could research. She believed it more than an attempt to usurp the right to rule Scimtar. She believed it aimed at annihilating those with Talent, however weak. Aided by the assassinations, the House of Talis--never very numerous despite its power, or, perhaps because of--steadily declined."
"Tlor predicted a battle would rage aimed at obliterating the last of those even suspected of Talent." The arrested look in Drakthe's eyes caught Cheyna's attention.
"What is it, my lord?"
"I was nearly killed in the Battle. I hid for days to escape the death squads. A fact of war, I thought."
Cheyna's heart skipped a beat. "Do you believe differently now?"
"It would put a different light on my near execution if someone suspected I possessed psi talent, wouldn't it?" The fingers of his right hand began a slow drumming on his thigh. "It puts a different light on everything." Drakthe focused on her. "What else did you learn?"
"According to Tlor, the next inevitable step would be to remove those of the Ruling House acquainted with the power possessed by the Crystal Sheathe and Krees."
"What power?" Drakthe demanded, sounding provoked. "First the legends and now this Tlor, allude to the power the Sheathe and Krees possess, but never do they say what it is. I can understand someone wanting power for themselves. Makes sense. I just wish we knew what that power was!"
Cheyna tasted disappointment at not being able to provide more help. "She does not say, my lord. However, Tlor discovered something even more insidious than the assassinations. She discovered people tortured and killed for knowledge, however slight, of the Crystal Sheathe and Krees. She mentions a rival House stealing the Krees and its subsequent retrieval." Cheyna reached out and stroked Drakthe's forearm, soothing the defined hardness of his muscles. Old scars traced a ghostly path through the tanned darkness of his skin while the marks left by the fangs of the firecat were still an angry red.
"She leaves the oddest message, Drakthe. Tlor says that to halt the vicious killing and to protect his House, the Great Lord hid the Crystal Krees. She also mentions the answer is found in the memory crystal." She paused in her stroking. "I have searched, my lord, but that is the only reference to the Krees."
"Perhaps she meant in the other memory crystal."
Cheyna shook her head dubiously. "That is not the impression I gained. It is most troubling, my lord. Raipierians are noted for clarity of thought. Why is Tlor so vague?" She removed her hand from his arm. Within seconds she was resting it on his thigh, as if compelled to touch him.
"For protection," Drakthe stated, but his gaze was fastened on the little movements of her hand. "She couldn't chance someone being able to access the memory crystal. We have to find the next memory crystal before he does, and before he gets another opportunity to harm you.
"You know who was behind my kidnaping?"
Drakthe nodded, deadly determination highlighting the hard strength in his face. "I do. Lcrier."
Chapter 16
"How much further, my lord?" Cheyna wiped the sweat from her brow. By the Saints, it was hot. And humid. The heat she could tolerate, Rpiere was a desert planet, considerably closer to Saiphaira than Scimtar. Yes, the heat she could handle. This oppressive humidity, on the other hand, left her feeling wrung out. She'd thought the trip between Skbre and Class bad, but this was something else again. Each breath was like sucking air through a wet, steaming rag. Her lungs were practically swimming.
Cheyna coughed, a reflex reaction, even though her rational mind told her she wasn't breathing water.
An intensely green fern brushed and clung to her cheek. She pushed it off with an irritated gesture, only to find herself swallowed up by the frond of a clada. Cheyna opened her mouth to again query Drakthe, only to stop and spit out the tiny leaves of a pvara flower.
"My lord? Drakthe?" Her voice rose in near desperation. "How much longer before we break?" Tiny, dark spots danced in front of her eyes as just taking a full breath became a struggle. Her hands tightened convulsively on the reins, and she had to concentrate just to stay in the saddle. She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, tasting the sharp tang of sweat.
He twisted in the saddle at her call and glanced back. Busy trying to regulate her breathing and quiet the rapid thud of her heart, Cheyna barely registered the quick flare of concern that darkened his gaze.
"Cheyna? Are you all right?"
Drakthe's voice came from far away. It sounded like he was calling from the end of a long tunnel. But that couldn't be right. They weren't anywhere near a tunnel. Were they?
Cheyna shook her head to clear it and nearly fell out of the saddle. Drakthe called her name again.
Why wouldn't he speak up so she could understand him? She attempted to focus on the sound of his voice, and frowned when she couldn't. The ground in front of her began to sway and spin alarmingly. Abruptly, her hand went to her mouth.
"I am going to be sick." She moaned and swallowed hard as the bitter taste of bile flooded her mouth.
Drakthe heard. He was off his taiger and by her side before the whisper died on the air.
"Shh, take it easy, House-daughter. That's it. Take deep breaths. You've a touch of heatstroke." He lifted her out of the saddle and carried her to the deeper shadows of a large tree where he knelt beside her, supporting her back with a bent leg.
Cheyna plucked fretfully at her tunic. "It is not the heat, but the humidity. It steals my breath away." The skin over her cheekbones felt swollen, to the point of bursting.
Drakthe dampened a cloth and gently wiped her flush face and throat with the tepid water.
"Ah, that feels so good." She closed her eyes and savored the coolness of the rag.
"I wasn't thinking."
Cheyna heard the disgust in Drakthe's voice and opened her eyes to stare at her bondmate.
He met her gaze, his dark with remorse. "I never stopped to consider how the North Continent would affect you."
"You had no way of knowing, my lord."
"It's my job to know. Jkael knows I had enough clues." He poured more water on the folded cloth, and bent Cheyna forward so he could wipe the nape of her neck.
; "What do you mean?" She caught his hand, holding it still while she waited for his answer.
"Your reactions on the trip to and from Class. I thought them strange then. Your wonder at the lushness, your uncomfortableness in the humidity. Then there was your admission you were from Rpiere, a desert planet. How could you be accustomed to humidity with such a background?" He shook his head. "I failed to allow for your vulnerability."
Cheyna studied him for a moment. "Do you always take the blame when something goes wrong?"
He looked startled. "The blame is mine. I didn't plan our trip with the proper thoroughness."
"How were you to plan for a journey that arises out of thin air?" Cheyna questioned with what she thought was the utmost of reasonableness.
"I'm the Merchant Master. It's my job to allow for the unexpected," he growled.
Cheyna tried a different tack. "Let us say I agree with that ridiculous statement." She ignored his glare and continued, pressing her point. "What would you have done differently? Would you command the air to dry? Would you tell the jungle to retreat?" She winced when his fingers tightened in warning on her neck, but persevered. "Or, perhaps, you would have commanded the jungle to become a desert for my comfort."
"Don't mock me, bondwife."
Cheyna softened her tone. "I am not, my lord. I am trying to get you to see that no matter how thorough the planning, I would still find the travel uncomfortable. I was reared in drier climes. I am accustomed to sand and heat, not the sultriness of a jungle. Possibly I will never become acclimatized to the humidity of the North Continent. That does not alter the fact that what we seek is here. Nothing you could have done, short of an atmospheric shift, would have change matters."
He shook his head. "I could have taken it slower, not pushed so hard."
"Stubborn man. Listen, have you ever found me unable to vocalize my needs, my lord?" Cheyna asked, managing a tiny quirk to her lips.
A spark of humor lightened his gaze. "No. Just the opposite, in fact. There are times you are most vocal." Despite the fact he insisted on shouldering the blame, something in his tone made Cheyna believe her defense pleased him.