Outcaste

  For nearly three tencycles, Salomen walked a path of isolation. She discovered that it was possible to be lonely while working with dozens of field workers and sharing a house with her parents and three brothers. When her mother grew ill and lay on her deathbed, Salomen came very close to telling her the truth. But the habit of deception was too deeply embedded.

  It came to an explosive end on the second day of the challenge. Determined to find out why Lancer Tal had accepted such an impossible challenge, Salomen accidentally probed her—and was caught. Regardless of intent, she had committed an empathic violation. Her fate was in the hands of a woman to whom she could barely speak two civil words.

  Andira chose to save her, bypassing the law by teaching her to control her abilities. In the course of those intimate lessons, Salomen had seen the woman behind the title.

  Their love affair terrified them both, catapulting them into a type of bond that had not been recorded for a thousand cycles. Divine tyrees shared a constant emotional connection, regardless of distance. Salomen went from a lifetime of loneliness to the opposite extreme.

  Bonding with Andira Tal meant she was not just Salomen Opah, head of the second-largest holding in her district. Now she was Bondlancer Opah, the second-highest title on Alsea. That title was a pain in her backside, but the rest of her new life was a gift from Fahla.

  She no longer lived in fear of being found out. Several moons later she still hadn’t gotten used to such breathtaking freedom, nor learned how to move with it as naturally as others did. She had new friends, people who saw all of her rather than the pieces she could allow them to see, yet a lifetime of secrecy left her cautious.

  That was why she understood Fianna’s initial caution so well.

  Turning from the window, she eyed the tall woman sitting across from her in the luxurious private cabin of the state transport. Fianna Vellmar was Andira’s Lead Guard, though she had left her uniform behind on this trip. The moment she had learned that Salomen would be giving her first speech in Pollonius, she had arranged time off and asked for a ride. It was her hometown; her mothers still lived there.

  “Right, I’ll ask,” Fianna said. “Why are you smirking at me like that?”

  “I’m not smirking. I’m smiling. There’s a difference.”

  Fianna pointed at her. “That, right there. That’s a smirk.”

  “If you insist.” Salomen’s smile widened. “I was thinking I’d know you for a Guard at fifty strides, even in civilian clothes. You’re incapable of slouching. Look at this fine example I’m setting.” She swept a hand over one of her legs, which she had thrown across the seat beside her while her booted foot dangled off the edge. The cabin held four wide seats in facing rows of two each. They could be individually reclined or formed into two beds, and she was making the most of her space. With her long legs, it was a luxury.

  Fianna was even taller than she was, yet she was sitting erect with her legs bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

  “I can slouch,” she said as she slid down a finger’s width.

  Salomen laughed at the pathetic effort. “Were you born a fully trained Guard or did you actually have a childhood? Come on, throw that leg over there.”

  With an exaggerated eye roll, Fianna angled herself enough to rest part of her leg on the next seat. “Happy?”

  “Yes.” Salomen could not hold back the grin. “If only your fans could see you now. The famous Lead Guard Vellmar, winner of four blade-handling medals at the Global Games, looking like a winden on ice skates.”

  Fianna huffed, but her blue eyes were sparkling. Those eyes, combined with her long black hair, impressive height, and extremely athletic build had made her a darling of the Games even before she won her medals. Salomen had seen young girls and boys swooning over her, and she wasn’t done teasing her about it.

  “There’s only one fan I care about,” Fianna said. “She doesn’t shovel dokshin at me about the way I sit.”

  “Mm-hm. Would that be a certain Lead Templar?”

  Fianna’s shock was highly entertaining. “How . . . ?”

  “You thought I wouldn’t notice your sudden piety? You’re at the temple more often than an oil merchant. I was fairly certain it wasn’t Fahla you were worshipping.”

  Valiantly ignoring her blush, Fianna said, “You don’t know her if you think she’d allow that. She wants to be treated like a real person, not a templar.”

  “And not a goddess.”

  “No, not at all.” Fianna fixed her with an imploring look. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’s new, and . . . and special. And she doesn’t need any more pressure. Or expectations.”

  “But who would—oh. You don’t want me to tell Andira.”

  “They’re friends,” Fianna said, as if that explained everything.

  “Are you sure Lanaril is the one worrying about pressure?”

  Fianna’s face grew even redder. “Salomen . . .”

  “You don’t pick the easy ones, do you?”

  “No. But she’s worth it.”

  Salomen put a finger to her ear. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “The sound of all those hearts breaking. Your fans will be devastated.”

  Fianna slid lower, swung her leg, and hooked Salomen’s dangling boot. A quick yank had Salomen grabbing at her armrest, laughing as she tried to keep herself from landing on the floor.

  “All right, I won’t tell! And I won’t tease any more.” She pulled herself back up. “Today.”

  “You’re lucky you’re in formal clothes, or I wouldn’t have stopped.” Fianna looked her up and down. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in those. Do they still fit, or did you build up too many muscles working in the fields?”

  “I think I’m insulted. You’re implying I went soft in Blacksun. You can’t take the producer out of me that easily.”

  “Soft is possibly the last word I’d use to describe you.” Fianna relaxed a bit further, but still couldn’t reach Salomen’s level of sprawl. “How does it feel to be the Bondlancer again after running away for the spring planting?”

  “Odd.” Salomen accepted the redirect without comment. “Like I’m pulling on a second skin, and it’s a little too tight. I breathe more easily at Hol-Opah. No city sounds, nothing between me and the mountains but green, fertile land. I’m gradually getting used to Blacksun, but thank Fahla I can leave it behind.”

  “Except for the ten Guards surrounding you.”

  “True words, but that feels somewhat normal now. We’ve had Guards on Hol-Opah ever since Andira came for the first day of her challenge.” She frowned. “Though I really do think ten is excessive for this trip. It’s the producer caste house. I’m one of them. Andira keeps forgetting that.”

  “I don’t think Lancer Tal can ever forget you’re a producer.”

  “No, because I won’t let her.”

  “I also don’t think you can forget you’re the Bondlancer.”

  Salomen looked at her more closely, but Fianna was wearing her most innocent expression. “Did she put you up to that?”

  Giving up on the slouch, Fianna returned to a more upright position. “She didn’t put me up to anything. She said she won’t get involved in our friendship.”

  “Smart of her,” Salomen grumbled.

  Fianna smiled. “We discussed it. Before the Global Games. I was, ah, not entirely comfortable with the idea of being friends with the Bondlancer.”

  Salomen suspected that was a howling understatement. Of the six castes, warriors had the most rigid hierarchy, and Fianna was the daughter of two warriors. She had probably absorbed awareness of rank along with her birthmother’s milk, and a Lead Guard was far removed from the Bondlancer. Worse, Andira was her oath holder and could ruin her career with a word. It took a great deal of faith to put herself in this position.

  “I’m glad you resolved it.” It was as close as she could come to Thank you for trusting us without causing embarrassment. “You’re t
he only friend I have in Blacksun who didn’t know Andira first.”

  “What about your friends from outside Blacksun?”

  “Perhaps I should have said the only friend among those who truly know me. Hiding most of who you are tends to put limits on friendships. Speaking your mind does the rest.” She saw the pity in Fianna’s eyes and headed it off. “How did you manage to get Andira to make a promise like that? She wouldn’t have done it lightly.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can imagine,” Fianna said in a breezy tone. “We poured cups of shannel and chatted for a few hanticks about the emotional and political intricacies of being Lead Guard to the Lancer and friend to the Bondlancer at the same time.”

  “You did not. You probably said fifty words to each other and then clasped forearms. There may have been grunts of agreement.”

  “Now I’m insulted. It was at least sixty words. And we didn’t grunt, we threw knives.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Fianna pointed. “Smirking again. I was practicing for the Games. She practiced with me sometimes. We did it again just last nineday. It’s . . . peaceful.”

  “Throwing deadly weapons as a meditation; how apropos for you two.” Salomen rested her elbow on the armrest and leaned her head against her fist. “My turn. Tell me about growing up in Pollonius. How often did you get in trouble?”

  “They named the detention center after me,” Fianna said with a grin.

  Fianna left to visit her mothers after they landed in Pollonius, while Salomen stayed aboard the state transport until her Guards had thoroughly checked and secured the caste house. She used the time to go over her speech again, despite having done it twice already. At this point, she probably didn’t need her notes.

  “Bondlancer Opah?” Lead Guard Ronlin appeared in the open doorway of the private cabin. He was short but built like a cargo transport, with muscles that strained the seams of his uniform.

  “Am I allowed out now?” she asked.

  He scrubbed a hand through his shoulder-length red hair, a tell for when he wasn’t sure how to respond to her. “Yes, I’ll take you. They’re already lining up to get in.”

  “Isn’t it odd?” She rolled up her reader card and followed him out the door. “This time last cycle I could have come here and nobody would have cared. Now they line up to hear me. I’m still the same person.”

  “You’re the Bondlancer,” Ronlin said.

  “Like a second skin,” she said under her breath, and shifted her shoulders.

  When she walked onto the stage a hantick later, five hundred producers jumped to their feet and applauded. She stopped behind the podium and waited, thinking of all the times she had spoken in her own caste house in Granelle. So many of their debates had degenerated into verbal battles. She had never let them shout her down, always standing her ground no matter how unpopular her ideas or beliefs might be. Now she looked at the crowd of producers, applauding her before she could even say a word, and missed those obnoxious dokkers back home.

  Then she saw bright blue eyes and a friendly grin in the third row, level with the stage and to her right. She hadn’t asked Fianna to be here, not wanting to interfere with the short amount of time she could spend with her mothers. Seeing her now loosened some of the tension in her shoulders. Five hundred producers were here for the Bondlancer, but Fianna was here for her.

  “Thank you for such a warm welcome,” she said, her amplified voice reaching every corner of the auditorium. “Like you, I’d rather be out in my fields on such a sunny day, but I’m told the Bondlancer has other duties. So I thought if I had to take off my comfortable work boots and put on these”—she swung a leg out from behind the podium and let the heel of her dress boot come down, her toe pointed toward the ceiling—“that I’d make you get dressed up, too. No one loves a fine suit and tight shoes as much as a crowd of producers.”

  They whistled and stomped their feet, many grinning widely. She smiled back, settling into it. If she had to be the Bondlancer, then by the goddess, she was going to do it her way.

  52

  EYES OF FAHLA

  Rahel blinked awake, soothed into a gentle awareness by the automatic injection. She sat up, stripped off the wristband with its injection timer, and reached for her thermal scanner.

  May Fahla guide and protect them, she thought, activating the scanner. Her success depended on preventing any Guards from detecting her intent for the next two ticks, so she focused on the ancient prayer instead. The trick that had worked when she was servicing clients at sixteen had worked for her many times since. She had even practiced it with Shantu on occasion.

  . . . on the dark path they must walk.

  The scanner showed three Guards right where she had expected them: one at the back entrance and one on each side of the stage. The dot in the center of the stage would be Bondlancer Opah, whose voice was now echoing over the caste house’s sound system.

  And if she calls the heroes home . . .

  Happily for her, thermal scans were not the norm for Guards sweeping buildings prior to a public appearance. High empaths depended entirely too much on their senses. She did not have that luxury.

  She turned off the scanner and climbed down the shelving unit.

  . . . their deeds shall ever be taught.

  Stave grip in hand, she crept toward the back entrance.

  May Fahla guide and protect them . . .

  There was the Guard, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted. He was listening to the Bondlancer’s speech. She reached into the pouch at her belt and activated the jammer, beginning her countdown in earnest. The first time the Lead Guard called any of the others within range of the jammer, he would know something was wrong and this place would be locked down.

  . . . on the dark path they must walk.

  “Excuse me, can you help me find something?” she asked, striding toward the Guard.

  He was too startled to react properly. “What? Hoi, you’re not supposed to be—”

  Her stave was extending as she swung, striking him in the temple before he could raise a hand.

  And if she calls the heroes home . . .

  She dosed him with her sedative and turned toward the stage, walking as swiftly as she could while remaining silent.

  . . . their deeds shall ever be taught.

  The Guard standing in the wings and facing the Bondlancer had been taught to trust her team and focus on the audience. She never heard the footsteps behind her, though she may have heard the whistle of the stave just before it hit her head. As she crumpled to the ground, the Bondlancer stopped speaking and turned.

  Rahel threw her shock bomb across the stage to the other side and crouched down. In the piptick before it exploded, she sedated the Guard she had just knocked out. Then she plugged her ears and bent her head.

  The sound of the blast set the audience shrieking in panic. Rahel jumped up and ran onto the stage, retracting her stave and holstering it as she went.

  The third Guard had been thrown backward and was lying still. The Bondlancer herself was reeling. She had been out of shock range but was still affected by the extremely loud sound and the flash. Confused and probably neither seeing nor hearing clearly, she put up no fight when Rahel pulled her into a neck hold and held her tight against her own body.

  She now had the planet’s best shield against attack. Bondlancer Opah was a bit taller than she was, blocking her completely.

  “Listen carefully,” she shouted over the clamor of the audience. Her voice boomed through the caste house as the sound system picked it up, and the audience quieted. “I’ve no wish to harm anyone else. Evacuate this caste house at once. Lead Guard Ronlin, I know you’re calling Lancer Tal right now. I want to speak with her.”

  With her free hand, she deactivated the jammer, then pulled the stud driver from its holster and rested it against the Bondlancer’s temple. “You’re going to put down your disruptor, and then you will bring me your earcuff and put it on the podium, within reach of
Bondlancer Opah. Move slowly.”

  “Why are you doing this?” the Bondlancer gasped. She was starting to recover, her muscles hardening in preparation for resistance.

  Rahel pulled her closer when she felt the fingers digging into her forearm. Her nose was nearly in the woman’s neck, and she could smell her spicy natural scent. It made her think of her mother’s soap, a memory she banished as soon as it appeared.

  She watched Ronlin set his disruptor on the floor. “It’s nothing to do with you. I have a debt of honor to repay to your bondmate. I just need you to get to her. Don’t fight me, Bondlancer. I only have to tighten my arm a bit more and you won’t be able to breathe.”

  She had to be careful about what she said. She could not threaten Bondlancer Opah’s life, because she could not kill an innocent woman. The Guards would know she was lying and she would lose her leverage. But she had to say and do enough to lead them to the right assumption.

  Her sleeves were long, preventing skin contact. Just as she couldn’t let the Guards sense her intent before, she could not allow the Bondlancer to sense her lack of it now. They were close enough for general perceptions, however, and she wondered why the Bondlancer felt no fear.

  The Guards were rapidly evacuating the audience, reducing the noise and distraction. Two of them, midway up either side of the auditorium, were ignoring the evacuation. They held their disruptors in a low ready position and watched Rahel with fierce concentration. She had no doubt that if she let the Bondlancer move at all, they would take the shot.

  Ronlin finished speaking to Lancer Tal and took off his earcuff as he walked down the now empty right-side aisle. The last of the producers were crammed into the center aisle, pushing and shoving to get out.

  “When Ronlin puts that earcuff on the podium,” Rahel said quietly, “you’re going to pick it up and hold it over your right shoulder. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t cooperate.”

  Still there was no fear, but the level of anger now radiating from Bondlancer Opah could have felled a fanten at ten paces.