her instruments 02 - rose point (13 page)

“We did just come from a rather successful military operation,” Kis’eh’t said from behind the counter, where the smell of cinnamon and dough was wafting. “If we could come out of one pirate den—two if you count the one we brought Hirianthial out of—then surely that counts for something? Practice, at least?”

“It feels more like we’re pushing our luck,” Reese said. She shook her head. “No, if that was the last we see of things better left to Fleet, I’ll be a very happy woman.”

Irine joined them at the table with the coffee pitcher. “Have you seen your cargo bay today?”

“No?” Reese said. “Should I be worried?”

“We have a Pad!” Irine exclaimed.

“We must have a borrowed Pad because I certainly didn’t buy one,” Reese said.

Kis’eh’t joined them, wiping her floury hands on a towel. “It’s theirs, all right. Those foxes’. Brand new, too.”

“And the modifications to the engines... are we keeping them?” Sascha asked.

Reese eyed him. “The modifications to the engines make us harder to track. I’m hoping we don’t need to use them ever.”

“You have been here for the past year or so, right?” Sascha asked, tail curling. He grinned at her expression, unrepentant.

“I don’t know if we’re keeping the equipment,” Reese admitted. “I’ll ask when we get there.”

“The Eldritch world,” Kis’eh’t said. “What do you think it’s like?”

Reese tried to imagine a world full of graceful, beautiful people with all of Hirianthial’s annoying perfections and none of his humility—because in her experience, people with an Eldritch’s supernal qualities were rarely humble—and said, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be insufferable.”

Hirianthial waited for the inevitable meeting, the one where Reese would arrive to demand an accounting of his behavior, or the twins would come to him privately to ask what they’d done to discomfit him into leaving, or Kis’eh’t to use their shared lab time to ask one of her blunt questions. He was therefore surprised to be stopped by Bryer in the corridor, something the Phoenix accomplished by stretching a hand to rest on the opposite wall and splaying the metallic wing that lined the arm, blocking the way. With his body bent toward Hirianthial, he looked very much like the hunter he’d been modeled on: part avian dinosaur, part bird of prey, all long beak and large, whiteless eyes in a crested head. He extended his face far enough that Hirianthial could sense his aura, usually so tightly contracted it seemed more a second skin. It registered an electric crackle, one the Eldritch interpreted as displeasure.

“You abandoned your charge,” the Phoenix said.

Hirianthial paused. “I was not aware I still had one,” he said carefully.

“You. And I.” The Phoenix pointed to a bare gold breast with one taloned fingertip. “We guard.”

“I had matters that needed attention,” Hirianthial said. “And did not think this vessel could serve them.”

“Did not ask.” Bryer pointed at him now. “Next time ask. Ask me, if not Reese. We are bonded in blood. And duty. Do not make this mistake again.”

“No,” Hirianthial said, startled.

Bryer withdrew his wing and swept past him down the corridor, the grid flooring hissing under the long trailing feathers of his tail.

The
Earthrise
set off from the starbase under the guidance of the Navigatrix, and they’d been several days underway before Malia came to him. He offered her the chair in his room and sat on the bed.

“My lord,” she said. “Forgive me, but there is something I would like to discuss with you.” Her aura was a muted purple, velvety with deference.

“Go on.”

“Your crewmates,” the foxine said. “They seem to have no conception at all of Eldritch customs.”

“I have observed the Veil,” he answered, wondering where she would take the conversation.

“As we all must, my lord,” Malia agreed. “But these people have been invited to the homeworld, and they don’t know what to expect or how to behave. Someone must teach them the basics of courteous behavior.”

“You assume they’ll be going with me on-world.”

“I have been told to expect that they will,” she said, meeting his eyes.

He had wondered how Reese had secured their passage. A message to his cousin directly, no doubt... but what had they said to one another? “I see.”

“Shall I teach them, my lord?” Malia asked when he didn’t go on.

“No,” he said. “No, I would like to discuss the matter with the captain first.”

“Of course,” she said, rising and bowing. “If you need my services, I am at your disposal.”

Very literally, he thought. She was... the ninth? Tenth? Generation of Tam-illee to have entered service in the Queen’s Tams. Year after year, the progeny of Lesandurel’s original mortal friend, Sydnie Unfound, pledged themselves to the Eldritch and died in that service of old age.

“Thank you,” he said, and she let herself out.

Did they ever tire of it? Of living so briefly and dying while their Eldritch patron lived on?

Did Lesandurel ever tire of it, of loving them and watching them die?

He did not linger on the matter—could not bear to linger on the matter—but went in search of Reese and found her on the bridge with Allacazam, staring out the viewport. She looked relaxed, but her thoughts were a tangle if the haze of static and colors in her aura was any indication, and in her arms Allacazam was a determined light green. At the sound of his boots, she glanced at the lift and then returned to the view. “It’s strange to see the ship flying itself on a course I didn’t okay personally.”

“That will be the least of the things you will be unable to decide on personally, if you continue on this course,” he said. He had her attention, he saw. “What did you ask of the Queen?”

Reese ran a slow hand over Allacazam’s fur, leaving a darker green swath behind her fingers. “I said I wanted to bring you home, and that I had some things to trade if she was interested. We both agreed it would be nice to meet in person finally.”

“She said that?” Hirianthial asked, hiding his surprise. “That she would meet you?”

Her voice became guarded, and he found he didn’t like that he had caused it. “Is that so strange?”

“She is the head of state of an entire world,” Hirianthial said, to lighten her mood. “Do you make a habit of personal meetings with such luminaries?”

“I can’t say I have,” Reese said, and her wariness became asperity, if touched with something pale and bright. Was it humor? “But I did fight a sector full of slavers on her behalf. I’d say I’ve earned it, with her at least.”

“So you have,” he said, after a moment, hoping for some clue as to her true mental state and failing to divine it. He sighed. “If you are planning on this, there are things you should know about the maintenance of decorum among my people, so as not to give offense if you are seen by more than the Queen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is there some reason she’d be hiding me?”

“Foreigners aren’t permitted on our soil,” Hirianthial said. “Except by royal dispensation, and even then it is a matter not to be undertaken lightly.” He thought of the polarization of the court. “It creates... issues.”

“Issues,” Reese repeated, her aura developing a tremor that traveled its length. “What you really mean is ‘problems,’ don’t you.”

“That would be a dramatic interpretation,” Hirianthial said. “But not incorrect.”

He expected a protestation or a demand for more information. Instead, she said, “You really aren’t comfortable with any of this, are you. Going back, us going with you, the reason you’re going.”

Startled, he drew back. Her silence did not require filling, but was so unusual in her that he found himself doing so anyway. “Did you understand what you saw on Kerayle?”

“You explained it, yes,” Reese said, petting the Flitzbe. “You killed some people who’d kidnapped you.”

“I killed people without the use of weapons. With my thoughts,” Hirianthial said. He repeated it to force her to face it. “I killed people by wishing them dead. I would think you’d find that marginally more distressing than my simply reading their minds.”

But she ignored his sarcasm. “I’m assuming this isn’t a random thought that ran through your head,” Reese said instead, the words slow. “Not something that could happen by accident.”

“No,” he said. Then grimaced. “I don’t know. I didn’t know I could do it; I’m not sure
how
I did it.”

“But you were under duress.”

Hand fisted in hair, the muted clap of the bell against his shoulder. “Yes,” he said, grim.

She nodded. “So, you’re not likely to make Sascha drop over because he said something that upset you.”

“No!” Hirianthial exclaimed. “God and Lady. I hope not.” He composed himself, but he felt cold. “I am going home in order to see that I am not capable of such accidents. There are... teachers, there. They may be able to instruct me.”

She studied him, then said, “Most people would be grateful, you know. To know they could defend themselves without a weapon.”

Hirianthial flexed stiff fingers. “Some weapons are never right to use.”

“And this one is one of them?” she asked. “Why?”

It seemed appallingly obvious to him. “Because it cannot be defended against.”

“You sure?” she asked, surprising him. “You’re telling me this talent of yours always works, and you’re sure there’s no way to fight it?” She shook her head. “Look, I know you’re upset about this. But—don’t get mad at me for saying this—you are much too quick to think badly of yourself. You’re not a monster because you can kill people. Lots of people can kill people. It’s how they use—or don’t use—that ability that makes them monsters.”

“Captain,” Hirianthial said, quiet, “You do not know all the things I have done in this life.”

“No,” she agreed. “You haven’t told me. But that doesn’t change my opinion. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re a serial killer? Or a drug lord?” She lifted her brows. “No? Didn’t think so.”

“It’s not so simple,” he said.

“Maybe you’re just trying to complicate it too much.” She tilted her head, her braids crumpling against one shoulder. “So what are you going to tell the crew? You have to tell them something. They like you too much to say it, but they feel abandoned.”

And she did not? He couldn’t tell from the shimmer of coral and pale gray that flickered through her aura. Hirianthial looked away. “I had not planned to say anything, Lady.”

“You want me to tell them instead?”

“No,” he said. And thought of Malia’s concerns. He sighed. “No. We can have the discussion when I make the attempt to dissuade them from following you on-world.”

Reese snorted. “This should be good.”

It was exactly as good as Reese expected.

“You’re telling us we can’t go down ourselves?” Kis’eh’t asked, feathered ears flattened. “Why? There’s some kind of non-Eldritch quarantine? Is it medical?”

Hirianthial rarely looked flustered and didn’t look it now, to Reese’s eyes. But she got the feeling he was uncomfortable and didn’t blame him. The entire crew was staring at him from around the table in the mess, and none of them looked happy.

“No,” he said at last. “It isn’t a medical issue.”

“So it’s... speciesism?” Irine asked, ears sagging. “Is that even a word?”

“Xenophobia is a word.” Kis’eh’t folded her arms, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” Sascha said quietly. “It is.”

“We’re not leaving Reese alone on a world full of xenophobes,” Irine said, her ears now flat against her golden hair.

“I’ll be there,” Hirianthial said.

“No offense,” Sascha said, voice still low, “but you walked out on us before. How do we know you’re not going to do it again, and to her?”

“The Eldritch will not do this again,” Bryer said suddenly. Everyone looked at him, and the Phoenix stared at Hirianthial.

“No,” Hirianthial agreed after a moment.

“Maybe you should explain why you left,” Reese said finally. She didn’t like forcing the issue, but she also didn’t like the hurt she could hear in the room. Even Kis’eh’t, blessed with the normally imperturbable Glaseahn disposition, sounded upset. He’d started this, by making the crew his friends...had accepted their friendship before Reese forced herself to do the same, admitted that she cared about them as much as they did her. She wasn’t going to sit back and let him walk away from the pain he was causing, not without trying to fix it.

Hirianthial looked away, and this time she saw his jaw grow taut, and his fingers... they were gripping the edge of his stool so tightly it amazed her that he could carry off the otherwise nonchalant use of it. He didn’t speak for so long that she worried she’d pushed too far. So she took a chance and spoke for him. “The esper abilities he’s got are acting weird.”

“Weird?” Kis’eh’t asked, distracted from her distress.

Hirianthial cleared his throat. “I am evincing abilities I was not aware of, and the ones I am aware of are... surprising me. I am concerned there may be something wrong.”

“So he wanted to get back to the homeworld and see if they knew anything about it,” Reese finished.

“When esper abilities go strange it can be very disturbing,” Kis’eh’t said, studying the Eldritch now thoughtfully. “Do you think the Eldritch healers can help you? If not, we can try my people. The Glaseah have mind-healers.”

“I thank you for the suggestion,” he said. “And if I find no aid where we go, I will be sure to consult with them next.”

“All right,” Sascha said. “I get that you had to leave the ship because you thought we wouldn’t be able to get dispensation to go. But why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

Reese leaned forward, face cradled in her palms. Since Hirianthial’s attempting to sneak away had struck her as cruel, she was not inclined to save him from any more questions. No doubt he knew it too, if he could read her thoughts. Was he? She imagined telling him ‘you brought this one on yourself.’

He didn’t move his head, but his eyes shot toward her. She straightened in her chair, but he was already looking at Sascha again. “Would it be acceptable for me to admit I didn’t think I could bear it?”

That answer surprised them all.

“I think if we could hug you, we would hug you,” Irine said. And then, frustrated, “But you’re one of us, Hirianthial! You’re supposed to lean on us for help! We work together to solve our problems, all right?”