by DL O'Neal
Cheyna let a small, secretive smile curve her lips.
Alia gave a loud, disgusted sigh. "Be that way. Keep a friend in the dark, dying of curiosity," then she ruined it by peeking to see if her lament was having the desired result.
It wasn't.
Cheyna was not about to share, not even with her best friend, her manner of persuading Drakthe. It was something private between her and her bondmate.
She tingled down to her toes at just remembering the lesson in Sai and Kai, and its result. By the time the lesson was over, Drakthe had been mellow and willing to concede the point to her.
She diverted Alia's attention. "Tell me how the route is going."
Alia's face lit up. "I can't even begin to describe how wonderful being in charge of a route is. To make the decisions rather than following orders. Jney, Bthany and I have worked out a plan of action making the most of our combined talents. We," she gave a wicked smile, "are getting filthy rich."
"What about the market for the crystals?" Cheyna measured the powdered herbs into individual packets with undue care. She added more dried herbs to the stone mortar and set to work with the pestle.
"We can't keep up with the demand. The crystal is so unique and beautiful. Black, but with all the colors of the prisma contained within, and threaded through with silver or gold. The lords and their ladies love them."
Cheyna concentrated on the herbs, ruthlessly grinding them beneath her pestle. "Trade with Rpiere, what about it?"
"You won't believe the way it's increased. Actually, that's what I came by to tell you. Just this morn I received word that we have sole Scimtarian rights to Rpiere's technology trade. Think what it means, Cheyna. Not only are Bthany, Jney and I the only women to operate trade routes, but we're the first traders in Scimtarian history to get access to Raipierian technology. They've always been adamant about not exporting it. Wouldn't have happened if your bondhusband hadn't released information that the crystals can store memories." Alia's voice filled with wonder. "Who would have ever thought those old fairietales were true?"
"Yes, who would have ever thought," Cheyna agreed neutrally, remembering her reaction when Drakthe had disagreed with her assertion they had nullified the crystal cavern. His claim had taken her aback.
The unique properties of the crystal no longer fascinated her. Standing in the cavern that almost cost Drakthe his life, Cheyna had simply been glad their ordeal was over. In fact, she discovered to her chagrin, she'd taken on a few traits of her bondmate. Now it was she who wished to avoid the topic of the crystal and its power. Drakthe, on the other hand, had refused to let the issue go.
"I'm not so sure this crystal is psi-null," he had said, absently touching the bonding pendant around his neck.
"What do you mean?" She turned from studying the metamorphosis the crystal had undergone. The change in the crystal's appearance reminded her of a flutterfly emerging from its chrysalis.
Drakthe fingered the exquisitely shaped sheathe and krees pendant. "It's warm."
"So?" She frowned, trying to understand the significance.
"I've noticed the pendant only gets warm in the presence of psi-energy. Like when we link or I use the krees," he explained patiently.
"My foster--Slia and Sbraithe did not mention special properties," she said, withdrawing from the implication.
Drakthe eyed her, his expression hardening. "Your foster parents may not have known."
A flash of bitter disillusionment escaped before she schooled the emotion. "Perhaps," she agreed, noncommittal, unwilling to confront the painful subject of Slia's and Sbraithe's betrayal.
Of course Drakthe wouldn't let the subject drop there. He'd kept after her, one logical argument after another, offering justification for their actions. Her bondmate could give lessons in tenacity to a catchtight. His persistence surprised her at first. But then Cheyna realized Drakthe knew firsthand what it was like not to have a family. Despite his disapproval of their actions, he was unwilling to allow her to let hers slip away without at least an explanation. She just couldn't make him understand she wasn't ready to talk about her family's betrayal. Not yet.
Desperate to get some peace, she'd donned a cloak of reserved formality and politely refused to discuss the issue.
She still refused to discuss it.
Cheyna pounded the herbs until a cloud of dust hovered above the mortar. Why could Drakthe just not leave the matter alone?
"Uh, Cheyna?" Alia asked diffidently. "Is everything all right?" She stifled a cough behind her palm and waved her other hand in front of her face.
"What?" Cheyna looked up, startled. Her cheeks heated when she saw the problem. The fragrant powder hung in the air, refusing to dissipate. "Oh, sorry." A tiny sneeze erupted from the vicinity of her shoulder. She turned a guilty gaze down toward her pet. "I apologize to you as well, Paldin." A blue tongue came out and touched Cheyna's cheek in a miniature kiss of forgiveness. Red eyes closed in bliss as Cheyna stroked him.
"Are you all right?" Alia asked with more understanding than was comfortable.
Heat touched Cheyna's cheeks again. "I am fine." She quit demolishing the herbs. Sitting back on her heels, she assumed a formal position and folded her hands at her waist. Paldin scurried down her arm and curled up on her lap. His little sides heaved once, before they settled into the steady rhythm of sleep.
"I was just thinking of my bondhusband and how stubborn he can be."
"That explains it, then." Alia's peel of laughter rang out, inviting Cheyna to join her.
Soon, the combined sounds of mirth filled the house.
In his office, Drakthe heard them. Leaning back in his chair, he held the stylus he'd been using to wade through the mountain of paperwork built up over his absence between his fingers. Just hearing his bondwife's unfettered laughter was worth the price of having to deal with those blasted tradewives.
His gaze fell on the open page of a journal. Setting the stylus down, he picked up the heavily embossed, leather-bound volume.
After the confrontation with the High Lord, he hadn't been able to get one comment out of his mind.
Recognizing your threat, I gave orders that anyone showing signs of Talent was to be destroyed, then circulated rumors about you.
How had Krthe known of his Talent? Until that moment in the alley, only he and his mother had known, and she'd warned him never to speak of it to anyone.
Unable to just dismiss it, the first thing he'd done when back in Class was to go to Krthe's villa. There, after hours of searching, he'd found several journals. The words in them, written in elegant script, were a chilling account of obsession.
And betrayal.
Krthe had known about his Talent because he'd learned of it from Drakthe's mother.
Using his position and power, Krthe had arranged for his mother to meet and seduce information from Nrth Ktal's closest friend, Dranth Brerl. Information he later used to destroy the royal family.
Upon reading that, Drakthe had waited for the rage, the disillusionment, only to find instead a sad acceptance. His mother had been a weak woman, but not an evil one. Even as a child he'd recognized she would always take the easy way out, but she had loved him in her way.
Somehow she'd managed to conceal his Talent from Krthe until right before the Great Battle. Not until he had taunted her that Dranth would never leave his wife for her had she thrown the fact at Krthe, insisting once Dranth learned of his ability, he'd marry her to protect their son.
She'd realized the enormity of her mistake once the Great Battle raged. Dranth was among the first to die, and she comprehended immediately that she and her son were next.
An old hurt eased inside Drakthe. His mother hadn't abandoned him to be with a lover, but led Krthe and his minions away in order to give him a chance to hide. Perhaps she felt that at seven he hadn't been old enough to understand, but, finally, her last actions made sense. Just before leaving, she had again warned him to hide his ability and pressed a small bag of drekel int
o his hands.
"There is a man I must meet." Even as a small boy, Drakthe had understood at once that his mother was talking about a lover. It was a familiar pattern. She'd talk about meeting a man as if she were going to buy vegetables, but then return with money. One day, Drakthe swore to himself, his mother wouldn't have to meet anymore men. One day he'd be old enough to provide for them.
But then she'd done something different, something strange.
His mother had brushed her fingers over his cheek, staring at his face as if she were memorizing it. "If I am not back by nightfall, leave and never come back." She was gone before he could ask her what she'd meant.
She never came back.
Later he learned she'd been found inside a house belonging to a prominent member of the High Council. He lay beside her, dead apparently by his own hand. A lover's quarrel everyone said.
In his journal, Krthe had been quite proud of his cleverness. He'd managed to get rid of two problems at once: The woman and the member of the High Council, who was attempting to quiet the unrest in the city caused by the deaths of the royal family. All he had left to do now was to kill the boy, kill him and remove any future challenge from someone with Talent.
Another burst of laughter came, pulling Drakthe from his morbid thoughts.
Thanks to his bondwife he'd come to terms with his heritage before reading Krthe's journals. There were worse things than being a bastard. He could have been a man like Krthe, totally lacking in honor or decency, and mad to the core.
He'd rather be a bastard.
At least he got Cheyna. And that reminded him. He closed the journal and picked up a letter from his desk.
The time had come.
Chapter 21
Drakthe entered their bedchamber. He spied his wife chasing the lively Raipierian cub, Scmp. He knew his eyes reflected his inner contentment, but didn't care. For the first time he had love and laughter in his life. Let others think what they would. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, admiring the way the fine moonsilk of Cheyna's tunic pulled tight over her backside.
"I take it, bondwife, you are pleased with my surprise?"
He had taken it upon himself to secretly contact Slia and Sbraithe. He had wearied of attempting to reason with Cheyna. Whenever he mentioned the subject of her adoptive parents that remote air of serenity he so hated would descend.
Deep down, he knew his bondwife understood why her foster parents had acted as they had, knew she forgave them. Nevertheless, she couldn't quite seem to put aside her hurt.
He'd met with her foster parents, using the need to secure a contract between the two planets as a cover to seek them out without Cheyna's knowledge. He needed to be absolutely certain he was doing the right thing, that he wouldn't be adding to his bondwife's pain if he carried out his plan. To Drakthe's bemusement, he found himself unhesitatingly adopted by the couple, and the Clan, itself.
Her parents had known their actions would cause hurt, had even considered telling Cheyna the entire truth, but had, after much discussion, decided against doing so. By necessity, discovering the past was something Cheyna had to do alone. In order to withstand the trials of defeating the evil seeking to use the power of the talisman, her powers had to be tested, honed.
Slia and Sbraithe confided their conflict to Drakthe, confided the pain their ultimate decision had cost, to them, to the Clan and, most of all, to Cheyna. They were pitifully grateful for news of their daughter.
To Drakthe's surprise, he'd felt sorry for them.
Cheyna straightened, her face flushed from effort, wisps of scarlet hair hanging down in her eyes. She blew one away, smiling at him.
"Very much so, my lord." She slanted a wry glance down at the wriggling cub in her grasp. He was still too young to recognize the value placed on rectitude.
Drakthe smiled in satisfaction at the happiness Cheyna didn't try to hide.
It had been his idea to have Sbraithe and Slia bring a cub as an ice breaker. His bondwife was a tenderhearted little thing. He knew she could never maintain a facade of polite distance with a cub around.
After first removing the spool of embroidery thread from tiny, clawed fingers, Cheyna set the cub free and walked across the room. Her arms went around his neck, pulling his head down to hers. Drakthe forgot their intent audience.
A curious nail poking at his waist pouch recalled him to the fact they were not alone. He glanced down. Bright amber eyes returned his look. "Run along and find your clanparents," Drakthe instructed, slipping the cub a sweet. He gave a sheepish smile when his glance meshed with Cheyna's amused one.
"The Fire Krees did not fight fair."
He knew what she meant immediately. He didn't even try to deny the mild accusation. "You missed your foster parents, Cheyna, and they missed the closeness with you. I thought having a little one along would ease the transition. Was I wrong?" he challenged.
Taking in his arrogant stance, Cheyna sighed. She loved even the warrior in him. Besides, try as he might to hide it, she alone saw the vulnerability hiding behind the arrogance in the gold eyes. He didn't want her to hurt. Still, no law stated she had to make it easy for him.
"No, my lord, you were not wrong," she admitted.
Drakthe cupped his hand beneath her hair, his hand almost encircling her neck. "I know I've displeased you when you call me 'my lord'. Was what I did really so bad?"
She relented. "No, Drakthe. Reuniting me with my parents was not wrong. Going behind my back was wrong. You should have consulted me. I was giving myself time to adjust, time to acknowledge that despite the reverence for knowledge and truth my foster parents had taught me to cherish, they had deliberately withheld the same from me. I wanted to be absolutely sure, here," Cheyna spread her hand over her chest, "in my heart, that I harbored no ill-feelings."
He nodded, but his eyes were serious when they met hers. "Meanwhile, you were unhappy." He touched her cheek as he told her, "I must confess, if I felt it necessary I would do it the same way again. I can't bear to see you unhappy."
"I know. Now that my parents are here, I do not regret what you have done." Suddenly, she gave an impish grin. "Although you may have second thoughts when you find our pallet invaded by Scmp. On Rpiere, a cub is never shut out." Her mouth quivered with the effort of holding back laughter as the full impact of her statement hit Drakthe.
"Then we must take care to see he is thoroughly worn out and sleeps through the night," he stated firmly.
"See, my lord, you did not think this through. Another reason you should have spoken with me first."
"I thought it through just fine. If we can't wear him out, we'll send him to sleep with your parents."
"Have you ever seen a Raipierian in a bad mood because of lack of sleep?"
"Do Raipierians have bad moods?" he shot back. "I thought it went against their code or something." In retaliation, she dug her nails, ever-so-slightly, into the back of his neck. Drakthe winced and caught her hands in his, moving them to his chest. He kept his hands firmly over hers.
"They aren't perfect, my lord, just nearly so."
Drakthe let her have the last word. For now. "Cheyna? Do you ever wonder how the Raipier came to leave this planet?"
"Yes. I didn't see the answers in the memory crystals. The answer may lie in the reunited Krees, but I just haven't been able to bring myself to access it. Not yet." Anguish darkened her eyes.
Drakthe knew the fact she had taken a life still haunted her. She was recovering from the ordeal, but far more slowly than he liked. He wished he could do more but unfortunately this was something she'd have to work through on her own. All he could do is be there if she needed him.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her right hand. "Well, I talked quite a bit to your parents, told them what we learned from the memory crystals and Krthe. I asked them if they knew why the Raipier left to colonize another world. Turns out, they did. Upon learning of the House of Hagar's defeat, the rest of the Raipier came to their senses and rea
lized what their quest for ultimate power had cost. Ashamed of their unbridled lust for total mind control, they decided that the entire Raipierian populace should have a say in what happened next. Most wanted to go elsewhere. Just leave the past and the atrocities committed behind. They took a vote. The final verdict was to leave Scimtar and colonize Rpiere. According to Slia they were afraid temptation would prove too great if both races stayed on the same planet. That they would repeat past mistakes. Besides, feelings were running high on both sides. Someone was bound to seek retribution for wrongs, real or perceived."
"But why the Raipier? Why not the humans? They were the interlopers."
"I gather the Raipier saw it as some sort of penance. The augmenter was their creation. Therefore, it was only proper they sacrifice the most. If you ask me, the Raipier have a real thing about martyrdom. They should have stayed and worked matters out."
"And started another war?"
He shrugged. "At least it would have been in the open. How many have died because both races were afraid to face the consequences of their actions? What would have happened if Krthe had succeeded in controlling the augmenter?" A shiver ran through Cheyna and he pressed his point. "Do you for one minute believe he'd have left the Raipier alone?" He shook his head. "He hated too much, bondwife. Krthe would not have rested until he destroyed them."
She freed her hands and smoothed them over his chest, staring at his throat. "What I still do not understand is how you knew Lcrier had a partner. Nor how you knew why Krthe took you in as a child."
Drakthe slipped his hands down her sides, letting them rest on her hips. The warm, supple flesh under his palms reminded him that his bondwife was safe and that she was his. "Remember when Lcrier was taunting me about the mindtouch being the most intimate form of sex there was?"
Cheyna nodded.
"Well, if he knew from being told then he couldn't have been the one invading your mind. And if he wasn't--"
"--the one, then there had to be someone else," she finished for him, sounding disgusted with herself.