Kinsman's Oath Page 10

  "I would never call you a seacow, Little Mother. It was my disobedient act that placed you in danger. I'm not worth your life."

  "You're beginning to sound like Ronan."

  He strained to sit up and the field pushed him down again. "Ronan," he echoed. "Why did you bring him with you?"

  "It's fortunate that I did."

  "He could have turned on you—" His eyes narrowed. "Unless you obtained some new evidence of his trustworthiness."

  "Not evidence, my friend. You would call it intuition."

  He muttered a string of Siroccan words that she suspected were far from polite. "Is that why you kissed him?"

  "You must have been delirious from your injuries."

  "My vision was unaffected." He craned his neck toward Ronan's bed. "Have you chosen him?"

  The question did not shock her. She had known it was coming, and that Kord would never simply let it pass. Sirocco was a world in which women made nearly all the political decisions and chose their mates, the very reverse of Dharman culture. The crucial difference lay in the fact that men were not regarded as lesser beings, but merely different in nature.

  Kord loved her. He had loved her since he'd first come to Dharma as her uncle's protege, his native brilliance outshining all but a handful of Uncle Jesper's most promising pupils. But he had never presumed to consider her anything but a high-ranking leader, as on his own world.

  When she'd become captain, he had sworn himself to her in the way of his people. Nothing could alter that. He was like the most protective elder brother imaginable, held in check only by his innate respect for women. And his love.

  "I haven't chosen anyone," she said. "But I do trust him. • He saved both our lives and nearly lost his own."

  Kord digested her statement, leaving her alone with her memories. She'd been frankly terrified when Gunter stabbed Ronan, and that had given her the speed and strength to overcome the older man. After that, her entire focus had been on saving Ronan's life no matter what she had to do to assure it. Fear of her own mind had been as nothing in comparison. She had reached out blindly, hoping to find something in him that would fight beyond hope for survival. She had succeeded beyond her wildest expectations.

  When she'd entered Ronan's thoughts on the Thalassa, they had come close to an overwhelming intimacy she'd believed impossible to duplicate. But the crisis on Bifrost had engendered a connection that virtually reproduced what she had shared with Tyr just before his death—so profound a blending that to maintain it would have burned her out like the lightning-struck hull of a fishing boat.

  She'd held the key to unlocking all of Ronan's secrets, and she had cast it away to preserve herself.

  After she'd taken Ronan to the shuttle, he'd collapsed.

  Zheng worked quickly to save him and Kord with the limited medical supplies aboard the Thalassa. Cynara had spent most of the return trip trying to make sense of what had happened.

  "You will take him to your bed," Kord said matter-of-factly. "Be cautious yet, Little Mother."

  Cynara bolted from her chair. "You presume too much. This is my ship, and I will not endanger it."

  "It is yourself you endanger." His mouth twisted up in a half smile. "But I am only male and lacking in the deeper wisdoms. Disregard me as you choose."

  She didn't intend to disregard him, but someone else demanded her attention, someone whose claim on her couldn't be ignored.

  Common sense told her that she shouldn't be so acutely aware of Ronan when he lay in a bed meters away. They were not touching. She did not feel his mind, or even the residue of his thoughts or emotion. Yet she sensed his stare raking her body, and that second, desperate kiss seared her mouth anew.

  She'd kissed him on Bifrost because it was the surest way of reaching the part of him best able to fight for life. Did he even remember, or was he anticipating a third kiss in the privacy of her quarters?

  Deliberately she turned to face him. The intensity of his gaze pulled her across the room, and she fought it every step of the way.

  "Captain," Ronan said. "You are well?"

  "Shouldn't I be?" She examined him critically. "Zheng says you're lucky to be alive."

  "I will heal." He said it with a verbal shrug, dismissing his pain. "Ve Kord?"

  "He is also healing," Zheng said, stepping up beside Cynara. "You both came very close to death, and it didn't help that you exposed your body to subfreezing temperatures."

  Zheng had the full report and knew very well why Ronan had acted as he did. "You continued to function and even fight in conditions that would immobilize or kill an average human," she said. "I'd like to find out how you managed it."

  "There are disciplines among shaauri," Ronan said, "that grant the mind mastery over the body's limitations."

  "Is that how you learned to fight as you do?" Cynara asked. "One of these shaauri disciplines?"

  "There was an old shaaurin who taught me his way."

  Cynara hid her surprise. He hadn't spoken so frankly of his past before Bifrost, but she remembered the image of the elderly shaaurin, so vivid in Ronan's mind.

  A shaauri mentor had taught Ronan to fight with deadly skill. What had his captors thought of that? Why had they allowed it?

  "Was it this old shaaurin who taught you to lure an armed guard into your cabin, disable him, and leave him with no memory of what happened—not to mention getting past everyone else to board the shuttle?"

  Ronan's brow furrowed in bewilderment. "I do not remember doing this," he admitted. "I thought only of reaching you, Aho'Va. The rest is a dream."

  "Axe you certain telepathy wasn't involved?"

  No one could feign such genuine confusion. "Even if such abilities remained available to me, would they not require great mental strength? Would you not have discovered this within my mind?"

  He was right, of course. Concealing skills of that magnitude would be extremely difficult—especially after Bifrost.

  "I'll need to do more research on these blackouts," Zheng said. "They could indicate some trauma or condition the regular scans haven't identified." She examined his diagnostic screen. "Don't keep him too long, Captain. He needs his beauty sleep."

  "No amount of rest will change my appearance," Ronan said. "Will the young male, the one I disabled—"

  "Bhruic."

  "—accept my regrets for this indignity?"

  "You didn't hurt him. He doesn't seem to remember much more than you do." Though he very well may once Janek is through questioning him.

  "Nevertheless, I regret my actions. What of Gunter?"

  He spoke the hermit's name as if he would gladly finish what he'd begun before Gunter stabbed him. Cynara couldn't blame him; she'd like a few rounds with Gunter herself. But she hadn't forgotten the ruthless efficiency with which Ronan had been prepared to end the hermit's life.

  A child, beaten again and again, learning at last to defend himself…

  "I've pulled up his records," Zheng said. "He's listed as a veteran of the Second Shaauri War. Apparently all his living relatives were lost on a colony ship bound for Bifrost, where his family was to join him. Shaauri attacked the ship and presumably killed all aboard. The colony was abandoned, and Gunter refused to leave with the others."

  Cynara exchanged glances with the doctor. Such tragedies had been far from uncommon since the blockade. For years most trade between the two human territories had ceased. Only the Pegasus had changed the odds back in human favor… if its secret was preserved from their enemies.

  "This suit stinks of shaauri," Gunter had said. Cynara didn't want to know how he'd made that connection. Perhaps madness had heightened his senses. He had lost his family and become stranded on an abandoned world. Who could blame such a man for his hate?

  "Gunter has cause to despise shaauri," Ronan said, "as I do."

  Ronan didn't despise all shaauri. He had respected, perhaps even loved, his mentor. Yet it was an apology of sorts, or at least an attempt at understanding.

  "
Whatever his reasons," Cynara said, "he's mentally unstable and will remain confined until planetfall."

  Ronan looked sharply at her. 'The Pegasus nears its destination?"

  "A matter of days."

  "Days that you will spend resting," Zheng put in, "either here or in your cabin."

  Ronan seemed not to hear. "We are bound for your world, Aho'Va?"

  How strange his formality sounded after Bifrost. "We have stops at several planets, and finish at Dharma."

  "And then?"

  And then, indeed. Once she might have promised him the freedom to choose his own destiny, but Janek would make that impossible. He wasn't going to let Ronan wander about Allied territory without a thorough debriefing. His authority on Dharma was limited, but he still had considerable influence with the Offworld Trade Council.

  Cynara had her own kind of influence. She'd left Bifrost convinced that Ronan's telepathic abilities could be on the brink of recovery, perhaps triggered by her mental touch. Specialists on Dharma could be of great benefit to him. And if Ronan volunteered to share his knowledge of shaauri with the Alliance, it would certainly prove his loyalties.

  "We can't make any decisions now," she said, hating the need for deception. "You'll have plenty of time to consider all the possibilities on Dharma."

  "The captain is correct."

  Janek strode into the ward, grim-faced as always. "Ronan VelKalevi will have ample opportunity to contemplate his future as the guest of the Trade Council." He challenged Cynara with a long stare. "Since you seem determined to bar me from questioning him myself, I'll leave the task to the experts."

  Cynara stepped into his path. "Ronan has assured me that he doesn't remember what happened between the time he was confined to his cabin and awakened on the Thalassa. I believe him."

  "His memory lapses are remarkably convenient."

  "He also saved Kord's life. I thought that Persephone's laws assured that a person is considered innocent until proven guilty."

  "If I were convinced he was a shaauri spy, he'd be in the brig, Captain, regardless of your opinions."

  "If he were a shaauri spy, Ser Janek, he could have chosen a much safer method of gaining our trust than by risking his life and almost losing it for the sake of a stranger. I'm sure the doctor will be happy to tell you how close he came to death."

  "Yet Bhruic has no explanation for what happened to him."

  "No one was hurt. Whatever Ronan did—"

  "He presents far too much of a mystery," Janek interrupted, "and has too many convenient and unusual skills for a former prisoner. He may be equally adept in the matter of clouding human minds."

  "As in telepathic compulsion? Even most Kinsmen can't do it, Ser Janek. You and I are presumably protected from such incursions—at least any your Concordat Kinsmen could anticipate. If Ronan possesses residual telepathic abilities, they couldn't be powerful enough to approach such an extraordinary act."

  "Forgive me, Captain, but I doubt your objectivity where our guest is concerned. Telepath you may be, but you are not trained to conduct the kind of interrogation necessary to clear VelKalevi of suspicion."

  Cynara narrowed her eyes. "You don't speak like a mere observer, Ser Janek. Why don't you share with us the source of your expertise in these complex and confidential matters?"

  "I'm sure everything will become clear on Dharma," Janek said. He stepped to the side for a clear view of Ronan, who returned his stare. "You're being watched, VelKalevi. Cooperate, and you may find your stay on Dharma relatively pleasant compared to captivity among the stripes."

  Ronan smiled. "Perhaps I will, Va Janek."

  "Until we reach Dharma and contact the Council, you will not obstruct ship's operations," Cynara told Janek. "We'll proceed on the assumption that Ronan is a friend and ally."

  Janek clicked his heels and bowed. "As you wish, Captain D'Accorso. Until Dharma."

  He left the ward as abruptly as he'd come. Zheng grunted in annoyance. "Bastard, upsetting my patients—"

  Cynara patted her shoulder. "For a tech-bureaucrat from the bowels of the Persephonean Space Authority, Ser Janek is a little too used to getting his own way. I don't intend to see Ronan subjected to the tender mercies of the Council without adequate representation. I'll be sending a message to my Uncle Jesper as soon as we clear the wormhole."

  "Isn't he the most liberal-minded burgher-lord on Dharma?"

  "And one of the most powerful. If he's convinced that Ronan is safe, Janek won't have an oar to row with." She turned to Ronan. "You'll have to trust me."

  "I do, Aho'Va," he said, his eyes bright with something perilously like adoration. "Ta'i'lai, ta'i'ma."

  Cynara found an excuse to escape soon afterward, evading Kord's knowing gaze. Only when she was on the lift to the bridge did she consult the Voishaaur-Standard database and translate the meaning of Ronan's last phrase.

  By my Path and my soul.

  It was her own soul most in danger now.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The mess was crowded with crew, every member except those few required to manage the ship in its last leg of the journey home.

  Ronan stood beside Cynara at the captain's table, facing a mob that regarded him with curiosity largely shorn of suspicion. Kord sat in the chair to Ronan's right, relieved of the necessity of standing on his mending leg. The woman Charis sat two seats down from Cynara. Lizbet Montague, Cargomaster Basterra, Toussaint, and two other unnamed males had their seats in this place of honor.

  Cynara held up her hand, silencing the murmur of voices. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "the Pegasus is fully repaired, we're less than a day's travel from Nemesis, and I can think of no better time to introduce the newest addition to our crew." She smiled broadly and laid her hand on Ronan's shoulder. "I take great pleasure in presenting Ronan, the man who saved the Pegasus and the lives of myself and Ser Kord d'Rhian O'Deira."

  The applause was loud and sustained. Ronan listened to it with distant curiosity, comparing the gesture of acclaim to the far more subdued whistling of shaauri commendation.

  So easy it was to win human trust. He might have died on Bifrost, but the unwitting act of self-sacrifice had been well worth the risk.

  He was alive and exactly where he needed to be.

  Something tapped his leg. He glanced down at Kord, who wielded his crutch very much like a weapon.

  "They want you to talk," he said. "Half the crew is Dharman; they always expect speeches, at least from males."

  Ronan glanced at Cynara. She nodded encouragement, clearly pleased at the reception and at Kord's change of attitude. Even the young warrior, who should have known better, had abandoned his sensible caution.

  Ronan lifted a hand. The crowd fell silent.

  "I am not eloquent in the language to which I was born," he said. "I do not know the way of making speeches. I can only say that it is a great honor to repay my debt to this ship and its crew, which preserved me from my enemies, and to serve its captain."

  More applause. "Is it enough, Aho'Va?" he asked Cynara. She nodded and tapped his shoulder to indicate that he should sit. The others sat as well. Serving crew entered the mess with trays and food, the smells overwhelming in their alien savor.

  Conversation broke out immediately, no polite silence maintained during the meal. Ronan concealed his distaste. The food laid out before him was identical to that of the others—fish, a root vegetable, and risen bread. Shaauri, too, were omnivores, but they served meat and vegetable dishes separately. He had not yet become accustomed to the odd feel of human utensils in his hands.

  "This is the first time you've sat down to eat with the crew," Cynara said, breaking off a piece of bread. "Does it feel strange? Are shaauri customs similar?"

  "They are not so different, Aho'Va. But I seldom took meals with the shaauri."

  "I see." She smothered her bread with a white substance and took a bite, eyes narrowing in pleasure. "This is the one part of the
ship where all are equal, regardless of rank or social position." She glanced about the table. "Some of my officers you've met. Let me introduce the rest. Charts Antoniou, chief engineer."

  The tall woman two seats away from Cynara nodded, chewing vigorously on her vegetables. She was well curved and padded in her shipsuit, her pale hair like a cap cut close to her skull. Only her hands were delicate, nails precisely trimmed at the ends of long, agile fingers.

  "Ser Ronan," she said, swallowing. "Pleasure. Take it you've never been to Persephone."

  "Your home, An Charis?"

  "Aye." She cocked her head. "What's this 'an'?"

  "A prefix indicating profession," Cynara said.

  "Anki—body," Ronan explained. An'laik'in. You would say… those who work with hands, though it is a poor definition."

  "Fair enough." She took a sip of her beverage, a sort of weak arao that Ronan found extremely bland. "When you lived in shaauri territory, did you ever hear of Lady Kori Galatea Challinor and her consort, Jonas Kane VelArhan?"

  Arhan. Ronan grew alert, studying Charis with greater attention. "I have heard the Line name," he said. "He is Kinsman?"

  "Was. Lady Kori was second heir to the throne of Persephone. She and Kane tried to stop the Kinsman Rebellion—almost managed it, too. They vanished on a diplomatic mission to the shaauri just before the Second War. The Concordat received reports that they'd been killed by antihuman shaauri, along with their second son."

  Ronan's bread grew bitter on his tongue. "The shaauri are killers," he said. "It is their way."

  "I wondered if you'd heard of them, raised as you were. The Lady's son might be your age now, if he'd lived."

  "I knew no other human children," he said. "I was taken on a raid by be'laik'i, wanderers. The Kalevii chose not to kill me."

  "Hell of a way to live. Pardon, Captain."

  Cynara stared at Ronan. "You've finally remembered how you came to Aitu?"