“I know.” Ekatya poured again, then set the bottle aside and lifted her glass. “You’re asking a question I can’t answer. We don’t have that kind of rape. We only have the physical kind. And there sure as Hades isn’t a way to legally rape someone.”
Salomen made a face as she tried her own drink. “You have physical violation without the mental? Is that common for you?”
“More common than I’d like. It’s not here?”
“No. The power, the control… I don’t think the kind of person who needs that would get it from just compelling someone physically.” Her forehead furrowed in thought, making her ridges stand out. “And how would a smaller person physically force someone larger? Unless they’re like Andira and trained all their life for that kind of fighting. There has to be empathic force.”
Ekatya stared at her, startled by the realization of just how different Alseans were. “Our rapists don’t have that option. That’s why most of them are male and most of their victims are female.”
She watched the horrified understanding dawn on Salomen’s face.
“Great Mother. I cannot imagine.”
“I wish I could say that. For Gaians, the violation is physical. But the mental trauma—it takes a very long time to recover. Some people never do, not fully.”
“It’s the same with us. Empathic rape leaves very deep scars.”
“Wait. First you say empathic force, then empathic rape…are they the same?”
Salomen gave her a slight frown, as if she were a child asking a simple question. “No. One is mental, and the other is both mental and physical.”
Ah. Of course.
“Empathic rape is the only crime worse than illegal empathic force,” Salomen added. “Thank Fahla, it’s very rare.”
Ekatya had been about to speak, but now she stopped as an unbidden memory surfaced: the moment right after their challenge fight, when she had asked Andira why she planned to force Lhyn if she hadn’t meant to keep her as a lover. Once again she saw Andira folding in on herself, shocked beyond words at what Ekatya thought her capable of.
Not until this moment had she understood just how terrible an accusation that was.
“It’s a severe crime for us, too,” she said slowly. “Unthinkable, for any civilized person. And the best analogue I have. So I’ve thought about Andira’s choice in those terms. Could I rape an innocent person to save half a billion others?”
Lifting her head, she met Salomen’s steady gaze. “It’s an impossible moral dilemma. If I refuse, I save a single individual and my own sense of morality. But I condemn everyone else, which makes it a terrible and cowardly act. How could I live with the consequences? All of those deaths and destroyed lives on my hands? Yet not refusing would make me a rapist, and I’m not certain I could live with that, either. Even imagining myself doing that to someone…”
She drank off the remainder of her glass and rolled it in her hand as she swallowed. “The only way out of that dilemma is to never get into it. That’s why I can forgive her. Because I’m the one who put her in the impossible position of having to choose.”
Salomen looked at her in silent sympathy. “You have thought about it.”
“A few times, yes.”
“The warrior penchant for understatement.” Salomen leaned back in her chair, and though nothing changed in her expression, Ekatya felt as if she had just passed a test. “Thank you for telling me, despite your discomfort. I imagine you never thought you’d be discussing this with me.”
“Not with anyone,” Ekatya muttered.
A quick smile crossed Salomen’s face. “No, but you’ve had the advantage of time. I haven’t. Hearing you, feeling you…it helps a great deal.”
“Then I’m glad.”
“I have one more question, if you don’t mind. Andira said that what she did put a strain on your bond with Lhyn, but if she didn’t do it…” She trailed off when Ekatya sighed.
“We strained our bond all by ourselves. Andira helped us rebuild it—without mentioning that it might hurt her,” she added with a trace of annoyance. “Your tyree has a habit of taking on burdens that don’t belong to her.”
Salomen’s lips twitched. “I think she might share that trait with her best friend.” She picked up the bottle and rose. “Take this, please. Andira won’t need it tonight, and I would rather it go to better use elsewhere.”
Ekatya knew when she was being dismissed. “Thank you. You’ll be all right?”
“We will. Good night.”
She got as far as the first step before turning back. “Salomen, wait.” As Salomen looked over, one hand on the door handle, Ekatya closed the distance between them. Too aware of Andira’s presence just beyond the door, she spoke softly. “I don’t know what you’re planning to tell her, but there’s one thing she needs more than anything else. She needs to know that you still feel safe with her.”
Salomen let go of the handle and turned, clearly caught off guard. “You really do know her.” She stood still for a moment, then rested her hand on Ekatya’s chest. “Your bond with her no longer surprises me. You have a good heart, Ekatya. The real tragedy here is that none of Andira’s pain was necessary, because you would never have left Alsea. Your heart would not have allowed it.”
She was through the door of the cabin before Ekatya could recover.
CHAPTER 10:
Absolution
Tal stood at the far side of the dark cabin, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she watched the breeze move through the treetops below. Feeling Salomen’s horror at the very thought of her forcing Lhyn had used up her tolerance for the evening; the shock and confusion that followed made her long for a drug-induced coma. For the first time since she and Salomen had sealed their bond, she wished she could block her tyree’s emotions.
In a way, she could. By focusing on her own disgust and anger, she was able to push her sense of Salomen out to the periphery. And there was plenty of anger to keep her attention.
When the door opened, she wrapped her arms around herself and dropped her head, staring at the tiled floor as she waited.
Familiar footsteps crossed the room, bringing a warm presence with them, and a moment later she was pulled around into a warmron.
“You have extremely good taste in women,” Salomen said. “If we weren’t bonded, and Ekatya wasn’t bonded, I’d ask her how she feels about interspecies relations.”
Tal lifted her head, startled not just by the words but also by the inexplicable absence of anything she had expected to sense. Where was the judgment? The fear?
“She has put a great deal of thought into that situation. Her emotions have a depth and grounding that speak of maturity—she has not come to her conclusions recently or lightly. It’s a complicated web you three have woven, but the most tangled threads are between the two of you. The very things that should drive you apart are what pull you together.”
Salomen’s gaze was unflinching as she continued, “I’m neither a warrior nor a philosopher. I cannot pretend to understand the reality of planning a war strategy or weighing the moral costs. But I am your tyree, and I know the truth of who you are. Ekatya said you needed to hear one thing, and I think she’s right, so here it is.” She tightened her arms and spoke softly. “I am still safe in your hands.”
Tal choked, her breath expanding in her throat and refusing to move in or out. She had no chance to stop the tears; by the time she was even aware of them rising, they had already escaped.
Salomen smiled as she wiped away the moisture. “It’s been a memorable first day of our bonding break, hasn’t it? What do you have planned for tomorrow?”
Tal’s laugh was a rasping sound, very close to a sob, but full of wonder and joy. “I do have excellent taste in women,” she said. “The very best, and you prove it every day.”
“True words,” Salomen agreed. “Please
remember them the next time we have a fight.”
“I promise.” She would have promised anything then. “I never meant for you to find out this way, today of all days…” She trailed off as Salomen shook her head.
“The truth about your bond with Ekatya? And those Sharings? That, you should have told me about. But this…it has nothing to do with me or our bond. It’s a part of your past that I would hope you felt able to share at some point, when you were ready, but you never owed it to me. I’m somewhat uncomfortable knowing now, when Lhyn does not. I didn’t want to keep any more secrets.” She held up a hand. “And do not apologize for burdening me with another secret; that’s not what I meant.”
“I won’t, then.” Tal looked into her eyes and was suddenly desperate for the very thing she had wished away five ticks ago. “I need to feel you,” she whispered, sliding her hands into position. “Will you…?”
Instead of answering verbally, Salomen slipped a hand around the back of her neck, cupped her jaw, and brought their foreheads together.
The sudden explosion of awareness still rocked them, even after so many Sharings, but they had fine-tuned their abilities with practice. This night, they had no interest in the minds around them. Pulling their senses into a tight, close net, they dove into each other, and no walls stood between them.
CHAPTER 11:
Watching
The next day, Ekatya did not let Lhyn out of her sight. They were all still interacting as a group, which meant Lanaril was always nearby, and she did not trust that woman around Lhyn.
She knew it was ridiculous. Lanaril was hardly going to pop out from behind a tree, grab Lhyn, and empathically force her. She was harboring an indefensible double standard, forgiving Andira while keeping a wary eye on Lanaril.
Unfortunately, intellectual understanding had no impact on her emotions, and the very casualness of their situation somehow made it worse. If Lanaril were still in her Lead Templar garb, cloaked in the solemnity of her office, Ekatya might have felt better about it. But to see her walking around barefoot, in a thin, sleeveless top with a colorful bit of fabric wrapped around her hips—the incongruity of it chafed. Someone that dangerous should not be dressing and acting as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
She remembered her first view of Lanaril, at the memorial after the battle with the first ground pounder, and how impressed she had been both by the woman’s calm beauty and her easy command of an audience of fifty thousand. The audience was gone, as were her formal clothes, but she seemed even more beautiful here than in the stadium. The sun brought out blue highlights in her wavy black hair, and when she laughed, her dark eyes sparkled and her white teeth made a sharp contrast with her olive skin. Worst of all, she carried the same serenity that Ekatya remembered. It showed in her walk, the way she spoke, and especially her slow, easy smile, which seemed to say that she was entirely at peace and wished only to make those around her feel the same way. Every time she turned that serene smile on Lhyn, Ekatya tensed.
She spent half the day tensing.
A side effect of following Lhyn everywhere was that she saw firsthand how her tyree was indeed turning this bonding break into a field study, despite all protestations to the contrary. Lhyn had an unending supply of questions, and the others seemed happy to oblige, probably because her interest in their answers was always genuine.
“Why do you still call her Tal?” Lhyn asked Colonel Micah as they sunned themselves on the beach. “She’s nearly your daughter. Why not Andira?”
“Because she is not Andira to me. Not any longer.” Micah tested the dryness of his skin—he had only recently come back from playing in the surf—and pulled on a pair of short pants that ended at mid-thigh.
Ekatya tried not to be relieved, but she really could not get used to seeing Alsean men naked. It was easier with the women, since their lack of Gaian genitalia was not immediately apparent. But seeing a smooth, curving ridge where the penis and testicles should be… She had to work not to stare.
“What do you mean, not any longer?”
He turned onto his side, the motion surprisingly nimble for a man as large and well-muscled as he, and propped himself up on his elbow. “When she was a child, she was always Andira. When she chose her caste and entered her warrior training, she became Tal. After that, the only time she was Andira again was when she and her father were in the same house, because he was Tal then. Once he Returned, that became her name at all times.”
“Then she changed her name?”
“Changed it?” He looked blank.
“On the caste rolls.”
“Ah, I understand. No, her full name has never changed since she chose her caste. Neither has mine. But we’ve used different parts of our names at different times in our lives. Most warriors have, though it’s not limited to our caste. It’s just more common for us.”
“That is fascinating.” Lhyn’s fingers twitched, and Ekatya knew she was wishing she had a pad to record this. “Then do you think of yourself as Micah or Corozen? I mean, if I do something stupid, I’ll think, ‘Lhyn, you idiot.’ Which name would you use then?”
“Micah,” he said immediately.
“Even when you’re around family who call you Corozen?”
His smile creased his cheeks, making his cheekbone ridges stand out. “That’s a very new experience for me. I’m still getting used to it. But yes, even then.”
“What about Andira? Salomen doesn’t call her Tal. No one in our cabin circle does, except you and Jaros.”
“You’ll have to ask her, but I’d guess she thinks of herself as Tal. Her father did.” He hesitated. “To be exact, which I think is what you want, I do call her Andira under certain circumstances, just as I called her father Andorin from time to time. But those are unusual occasions.”
A shadow moved past Ekatya, and Lanaril walked to a spot near Lhyn. She sat in the sand as if it were a throne and said, “I overheard the last part of your conversation. If I may add to it?”
“Of course.” Lhyn shifted to give her room.
“I counsel warriors more often than I used to. One thing I’ve learned is that they feel freer to speak of private things if I use their first names. When addressed by their family names, they tend to stay in a warrior mentality, but hearing their first name seems to break them out of a set of self-expectations. It certainly enhances the type of communication they seek with me.”
“So you use names to tame them.” Micah grinned at her.
“When necessary,” she said in an amused tone. “Some warriors do need a bit of taming.”
“Is that what you did with Andira?” Lhyn was the picture of innocence. “You’ve always called her by her first name.”
“I have nothing to say about any taming of our Lancer, and if you were really my friend, you would not be trying to get me in trouble.” She shook her head at Lhyn, whose laugh proved the truth of the accusation, and added, “I did ask her for that privilege. She was shocked by the request but allowed it nevertheless. Of course, she took it away the very next time I spoke with her, but I got it back.”
They all turned when a shout came from near the water. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you—Andira!” Salomen let out a shriek as Andira tackled her right into a wave. After what appeared to be a significant battle involving a great deal of splashing, both women staggered onto the beach, laughing as they wrung water out of their hair and clothing. Ekatya watched with relief, delighted to see that the previous night had ended well.
“Why did she take away your privilege?” Lhyn asked.
“Hm?” Lanaril was still watching Andira and Salomen, but then her head turned sharply. The expression on her face was nothing Ekatya had seen before, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. “Ah…I didn’t do something I had promised to do. She was not happy with me. It worked out for the best, though.”
“Hard to imagine you bre
aking a promise.” Lhyn was smiling, oblivious to the undertones, but Ekatya had her suspicions.
“Sometimes promises are made for the wrong reasons,” Lanaril said, her answering smile serene once more. “Despite the warrior belief in honor at all costs, there are times when breaking a promise is the most honorable thing to do.” She met Ekatya’s gaze and held it.
Ekatya suddenly remembered Salomen’s stunned reaction upon learning that she had intended to obey her orders and leave Alsea to the Voloth. As the shame swept over her, she looked away, unable to face the knowledge in those dark eyes.
In the end, she hadn’t done it. Neither had Lanaril. What was she doing now, following Lhyn everywhere to protect her from a threat that didn’t exist?
Making an asshead of herself, it seemed. And worst of all, Lanaril knew it.
“I believe I just heard a scholar impugning the honor of warriors.” Micah let out an exaggerated huff. “As if we’re too dense to know the difference between good promises and bad.”
“If the description fits, Colonel.”
Ekatya dared a glance up to find Lanaril’s attention back on Micah.
“It occurs to me that you’re the only scholar on an island packed with warriors, Lead Templar. Perhaps you might reconsider those words.”
“I object to that,” Lhyn said. “There are two scholars here, thank you very much. Don’t worry, Lanaril, I’m here to back you up.”
Ekatya could not remain. Making an excuse that she would not remember two minutes later, she stood up and walked into the forest, losing herself in the quiet gloom beneath the trees.
CHAPTER 12:
Simplicity
Andira had said the trail around the island was thirteen lengths. Lanaril thought she might have walked half that by now, putting her on the opposite side of the island from most of the others.
The track she was following hugged the island’s edge, always in view of the water as it rose up a series of low ridges and descended back to sea level. Now she stood at a fork in the trail, deciding whether to continue ahead or take the narrow path that led down to a small cove.