Future Dreams (23 page)

“Why do you think Tigh and I won’t be happy together?” Jame asked.

“It’s obvious. Look at her family. You come from completely different backgrounds. You have nothing in common.”

The last thing Sark expected was Jame’s laughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, but I have more in common with Tigh than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You’re as different as night and day,” Sark said.

“Argis and I are as different as night and day,” Jame said. “Tigh and I understand each other so well it’s almost as if we share the same skin. Before you say that I’m blinded by love, you should know we would have been companions even if we were just friends.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because she’s my best friend.” Jame smiled at the simple answer. “There’s no judgment or expectations, just supportive acceptance between us. I can be myself around her and she shows her true self to me.”

“Argis was your best friend,” Sark said.

“Argis is a close friend but our friendship has always been based on a kind of role-playing,” Jame said. “She plays the role of the warrior worthy of being the consort to her princess. She only sees me in terms of what everyone expects me to be and not who I truly am. I asked her if she’d be willing to be my companion as I pursued being an arbiter for a while and the idea was so foreign to her she couldn’t see my need to be an arbiter was the same as her need to be a warrior.”

Sark was startled by Jame’s mature observation. “Argis only acts that way because it’s how she was raised to act. It doesn’t diminish how much she loves you.”

“She loves an image of me that doesn’t exist,” Jame said. “I’ve been able to discover myself here and I like who I am as an arbiter and as a member of this community. Being an arbiter will help me be a better queen than living under the protective watchful eye of Argis. I know you’ve always felt my peaceful leaning equals the inability to take care of myself. I can take care of myself very well. But to make you feel better, I’ve been lucky to have found someone who not only understands my desire to be an arbiter but who is capable of protecting me if need be.”

“Jyac would have convinced Argis to be with you while you practiced your trade,” Sark said.

“Jyac knows my feelings for Argis have changed,” Jame said. “She knew it during my last visit to Emoria. I don’t love Argis and even if I had never met Tigh, I’d have broken off my relations with her. I told this to Argis a scant week ago. I truly believe she’s only in love with the person I was before I came here. I’m not that same person and I don’t regret who I’ve become. Argis and I would be miserable together.”

Sark had observed
Jame’s reserve toward Argis in Emoria and now realized the reason behind it. Maybe they had all been a little too certain about what turned out to be just another adolescent romance.

“If you’ve broken off your relations with Argis, then that’s between the two of you.” Sark tried to pull together the most diplomatic words possible. “All we ask is you don’t rush into anything with Tigh. You’ve only known each other a season. Not long enough to undertake something as serious as a joining.”

“If Tigh were an Emoran you wouldn’t be saying that,” Jame said.

“All the more reason to take it slowly,” Sark said. “She comes from a different culture and she’s been subjected to all sorts of mental and physical alterations. You can understand why we’re apprehensive about your association with her.”

“I understand.” Jame nodded. “That’s why I invited a delegation to witness her hearing and to observe her behavior. That’s why I’ve asked for permission to bring her to Emoria so everyone can see what a perfect companion she is for me.”

“I’ll fairly report what we’ve observed here,” Sark said. “But I can’t guarantee Jyac or the Council will believe me.”

“All that’s needed is for Tigh to come to Emoria with me,” Jame said. “That’s all I ask. Just give her a chance to prove she’s a worthy life companion for me.”

Sark studied Jame, knowing that, under normal circumstances, she made a reasonable request. But the specter of Tigh the Terrible loomed too darkly in their minds. “I’ll make sure Jyac understands how important that request is to you.”

“Thank you.” Jame smiled. “I know Jyac will want to see Tigh when she knows how happy I am with her.”

JAME WANDERED THROUGH her new quarters, taking in the interesting mixes of people. Tas was flirting with Pakar, the assistant healer at the injury ward. Sark was talking with a pair of soldiers. Daneran and Jadik were teaching a young girl how to juggle fruit. She hoped they remember to clean up any resulting mess. Tigh and her father exchanged quiet words in the small front yard. Poag and Paldon Tigis were having an animated conversation near one of the food tables.

Jame stopped and stared at the two older women. She approached the food table, acting as if she were looking for a particular morsel to eat. When she slithered close enough to the women to be in earshot, she almost dropped the pastry she had picked up.

“It doesn’t matter how much greater the distribution, we’d still be paying you a part of our current profit.” Poag’s voice was edged with the joy of battle, a sentiment reflected in the eyes of Paldon Tigis.

“If we take care of everything but the production, you can concentrate on making the best swords and knives possible,” Paldon said.

“We already make the best swords and knives.” Poag’s eyes glistened with a knowing humor. “You wouldn’t be discussing them with me if we didn’t.”

Paldon graciously nodded her head. “You got me there, my friend. The House of Tigis has a nose for finding the best of everything.”

Jame sighed and decided she needed some air. It would be the greatest of ironies if the House of Tigis became the distributor for the single moneymaking industry Emoria had to boast.

She took one step out of the front door, stopped, and stared at the strange spectacle in front of her. Tigh and her father were doubled over with laughter. She had never witnessed such demonstrative behavior from either of them. Tigh, without a doubt, had inherited her quiet personality from her father.

The tension Tigh had worn like a second skin was gone, Jame realized. The result was a relaxed, good-humored young woman.

Tigh saw Jame and held out an inviting arm to her.

Jame accepted the invitation and wrapped her arms around Tigh. “You two seem to be enjoying yourselves.” She smiled at Joul.

“My father was just telling me about my younger sister’s joining,” Tigh said. “Everything that could have gone wrong, did. And then some.” She caught her father’s eyes and both shook with laughter.

Jame grinned. “You’ll have to tell me the story sometime.”

“Let’s just say Pandon is more like her mother than Tigh is,” Joul said with quiet humor dancing in his eyes. “Patlin is going to be joined within the year, we think. I know she’d like for her big sister to be there. You were always her favorite.”

Tigh nodded. “Just send word but it’ll depend on Jame’s job.”

Joul smiled at Jame. “And what about your own joining?”

Jame exchanged a long look with Tigh.

“Jame has petitioned for an Emoran joining,” Tigh said.

Joul frowned. “Petitioned?”

“Emorans must have special permission to be joined with an outsider,” Jame said.

“Ah. We have no such restrictions in Ingor.” Joul raised meaningful eyes to Tigh.

“We’ll remember that.” Tigh tightened her hold around Jame’s shoulder.

Several boisterous women burst through the door onto the front yard. Tas, trailed by a bemused Pakar, faced off with a young lean soldier. They drew their swords and the clash of metal echoed in the quiet lanes of the arbiters’ corner.

Jame dramatically covered her face with her hands. “Warriors.”

Tigh laughed. “I guess Rodel didn’t take kindly to Tas flirting with Pakar.”

“That’s the story of Tas’s life,” Jame said. “If there’s trouble, she’ll find it.”

“I thought that was the story of your life?” Tigh ducked a good-natured slap from Jame.

Joul grinned. “I find your people rather refreshing.”

“I know one thing. This little celebration is going to be memorable,” Jame said.

“YOU LOOK REALLY good in blue.” Jame was stretched out on the bed, watching Tigh pull on the blue dyed leathers worn by peace warriors in training.

Tigh grinned at Jame. She was still adjusting to the incredible feeling of taking the first steps of their life together. She had just one small barrier to pass through, and she hoped the answer would be there when she was face to face with the question.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have some observers today.” Jame rolled off the bed to help Tigh tighten her bracers.

Tigh released the laces into Jame’s capable hands. “They’re just doing what they were sent here to do.”

“I can’t believe they still think you’ll turn into a monster once you have a weapon in your hands,” Jame said in frustration. “You walked around the compound yesterday holding your sword.” She looked up as Tigh went still. “You can’t possibly believe you’ll suddenly become Tigh the Terrible if you start fighting again.”

“That’s not it,” Tigh mumbled as her fears tumbled forward in her mind.

Jame frowned. “What then?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight at all,” Tigh said. “I have the want to fight, but I don’t know if I have it in me to actually raise a hand against another person.”

Jame frowned. “What would you do if someone burst in here with a sword and came straight for me with it?”

Tigh stared at Jame. “I would have fought the Lindigan sisters, if they had given me the chance.”

“Right.” Jame smiled in relief. “Remember what Pendon said at the hearing? You have the natural impulse to defend who you love.”

“But how do I find the impulse to raise my blade against a sparring partner?” Tigh asked. “I can’t explain how I feel. It’s as if I’d rather be injured myself than risk hurting someone else.”

Jame captured Tigh’s eyes. “You were going into training with this uncertainty hanging over you?”

“To be with you and to be the one to protect you, I’d do anything,” Tigh said. “I’ll find a way.”

“And how many bruises and gashes would you come home with before you found that way?” Jame asked. “You’re not going to do me much good if you’re always injured.”

Tigh wove this new idea into her complex psyche. “I must learn to keep both of us safe from injury.”

“You’re a skilled warrior, you can fight without doing injury to yourself or a sparring partner,” Jame said. “Look at this training as a way of honing that skill.”

Tigh enveloped Jame in her arms. Once again, Jame’s simple logic had liberated her from a constricting barrier. “I love you.”

“How can I not help but love you?” Jame asked when Tigh released her. “You’re the only person I know who can leave me speechless. Not to mention turn my insides onto a quivering ball of mush.”

“And you’re the only person who can heal the wounds within my soul.” Tigh grasped Jame’s hand in hers. “I thank all the deities who oversee my destiny for sending you to me.”

“I always thought the deities sent you to me.” Jame brushed her lips against Tigh’s. “Either way, I’ll be thanking them forever.”

Tigh happily wrapped her arms around this walking miracle in her life. She now had something to fight for.

CALLING THE OPEN sandy yards behind the main fortress building a sparring field had always been a joke amongst the Guards. All the long practice they endured in the desert heat was against inanimate or imaginary opponents. The Guards would have killed each other if they had sparred.

Kartlin, a leathery-skinned woman in her middle years, strode across the sand, the wind picking up the puffs of dust produced by her determined boots. She stopped in front of Tigh and crossed her arms.

“We know you know how to fight,” Kartlin said. “We know you have the temperament for the job.” Tigh raised an eyebrow. “The proper temperament is the most important qualification for a peace warrior. It’s been a while since you’ve handled a weapon. You can work with that lot over there.”

Tigh looked at a half-dozen competent fighters practicing their formations. “I’ve never sparred with anyone before.”

Kartlin nodded. “I’ll get you warmed up.”

Tigh took in Kartlin’s desert-stung features, surrounding world hardened green eyes and nodded. “I don’t know how I’ll react.”

“Do any of us really have so much control over ourselves that we don’t experience a heartbeat of eagerness, fear, anticipation, uncertainty, and every other emotion in between when someone raises a weapon against us?” Kartlin asked.

Tigh followed Kartlin to a worn patch of ground. The students across the field stopped their practice to watch.

Tigh saw the three Emorans skirt the sparring pits until they stood along the edge of the area where she and Kartlin selected staffs from a long rack of weapons.

Tigh flipped and maneuvered the staff, reacquainting her mind and her body with its feel. It felt . . . liberating. She raised steady eyes to Kartlin, who watched her while twirling her own staff.

Kartlin lunged forward, caught Tigh on the calf, and landed her on the ground in a cloud of dust.

All noise around them ceased. Tigh climbed to her feet, oblivious to everything except she had let Kartlin hit her. She had to focus on fighting back yet couldn’t find the impulse to raise the staff against the waiting Kartlin. Her panicked mind tried to reach out for Jame’s words.
Fight without doing harm.

Kartlin sprung forward and Tigh got her staff in place to stop the blow. She stepped back and allowed Tigh to get used to the sensation of weapon against weapon.

“Now come at me,” Kartlin said.

Tigh swallowed. The wood in her hands felt foreign and clumsy. She gave her head a rapid shake. “I can’t.”

Kartlin looked around at the spectators and lunged at the unarmed Poag, who stood apart from the others. Without thought, Tigh sidestepped in front of Poag, whipped around her staff, and knocked Kartlin’s weapon from her hands.

With her sword drawn, Tas rushed to Poag’s side and watched Tigh with a wary expression.