Retribution (18 page)

Naomi welcomed me in before I knocked, just
as I had anticipated Magali’s entrance to my room yesterday. She
was still somewhat groggy from her hard labor with me, but she had
slept out and was dressing when I entered. Thinking about her had
made me more observant. With her height and her large hands and
feet she had a gawky look at times, but her strong features and
coarse dark hair suited her large frame, and her movements were
always graceful and controlled. She had a strange kind of beauty
and her bright green eyes, veiled by long lush lashes, were both
penetrating and seductive.

Remarkable for someone who has grown up in
harsh surroundings, she was unfailingly gentle in her role as
healer. In her day-to-day dealings with the household she was
generally taciturn, and the few words she spoke were often acerbic.
Her mother must have loved her very much
, I thought. I could
imagine the unusual family, the gifted woman conceiving her only
child to carry on the ancient heritage, a benign version of the
coldblooded genomic manipulation that had produced the “aliens” and
the twelve ‘Graven Realms.

I began by thanking Naomi for her forbearance
with me during my dramatic homecoming. She accepted my thanks with
a well-bred nod of her head, saying only that it was her job, and
she was pleased that her efforts had paid off so well.
Surprisingly, she seemed to welcome my offer of help with Pavel. It
was as if she wanted a second opinion but was too proud to ask for
help. Even unspoken, it was a flattering request that spoke more of
her fatigue than of my abilities.

Despite my powers and my seminary training, I
do not possess the healer’s skill. My only asset is my Terran
education, with the superior knowledge of human physiology and
disease mechanisms it gave me. Being an empath means I am
distracted by the patient’s pain and fear, unable to distance
myself thoroughly; my talents are limited to the simplest tasks of
easing pain and locating infection.

No, Lady Amalie,
Naomi thought to me
with a sardonic smile,
empathy is no barrier. It makes one a
better healer, but takes years of practice to control.

“I’ve never had the patience to learn such
control,” I confessed, somewhat shaken by the insight.

Naomi lowered her eyes, perhaps to hide a
certain impatience of her own. “You would,” she said, “if you had
to.”

I went on ahead while Naomi grabbed a quick
breakfast. Pavel was in a large bright room usually reserved for
noble guests. Lying on his back, his face in repose, the young man
was stunningly handsome. He had flawless skin, wavy dark brown
hair, and clean-cut features with a strong jaw and wide brow. His
profile, before he turned slightly at my entrance, was classic; his
eyes, when he opened them wide at the sight of ‘Gravina Aranyi
herself, were a deep blue, almost violet. Those parts of his body
not covered by clothes or bedding looked well-built and muscular.
If he had the least spark of
crypta
, I thought, my interest
caught, Niall might have found he had a serious rival for Dominic’s
affections.

I asked permission as I sat by the bed, then
laid my hand on Pavel’s exposed abdomen to gauge his condition.
“Don’t,” I said, as the young guard endeavored to sit up in respect
for my rank. “You might reopen your wound. I am not ‘Gravina Aranyi
at the moment, merely Mistress Naomi’s assistant.” He grinned
uneasily at the name. Something about the tall, quiet woman made
him uncomfortable.

Niall would have had nothing to worry about,
I saw. The young man was beautiful, but completely ungifted, and
with no interest whatsoever in his own sex. That is one talent I
can claim without boasting—I can recognize a
vir
man at the
first touch.

I continued talking, thanking Pavel for his
valor on my behalf, assuring him of his eventual recovery, as I
worked quickly so as to keep his embarrassment to a minimum. His
wound, after the bandage was removed, looked like it was healing
well, but I sensed infection lurking underneath. No doubt Dominic
had saved the young man’s life on the battlefield with a quick
patch-up job. This obligation of a gifted commander to use his
crypta
on the casualties was one of the reasons men were
willing to fight for ‘Graven. The people at Ladakh had been
skillful in their more traditional ministrations. It was unlikely
however that anyone had done a real job of sterilization. Pavel’s
coloring was red and sweaty, the feverish appearance of
infection.

Naomi arrived while I was probing through the
miles of intestines. Together, using our prisms to separate the
powerful blue from the morning sunlight, we located several sites
of infection and zapped them with a controlled beam of
crypta
energy. At one point our hands holding our daggers
touched briefly, and I was stung by a feeling of deep sadness that
seemed to flow like tears from Naomi’s long fingers. I looked up,
intercepting a strange expression in her striking green eyes. She
was studying Pavel intently, like a mountain lion stalking elusive
prey. No wonder the boy had seemed uncomfortable at the mention of
her name. He would not need
crypta
to be affected by such
concentrated scrutiny.

The healer moved her hand away from mine, but
not before I had absorbed something of her thoughts.
Beautiful,
honest, kind, strong
. Naomi had appraised the young guard, had
found all the virtues in him I had seen or guessed, and was ready
to weep with frustration at his one deficiency.
Not
gifted
.

No
, I agreed in thought with her
assessment, keeping my eyes on the young man’s flat stomach.
Ungifted
.

When Isobel, accompanied necessarily by Val,
arrived soon afterward, the look Pavel gave her made it clear that
her love was by no means one-sided. He stretched out a hand to her,
smiled at her anxious questions. “I’ll do fine, love,” he said, in
a highland burr much like her own, “now that ‘Gravina Aranyi
herself is here to look after me.” Even his voice was perfect, deep
and warm. “And Mistress Naomi,” he added dutifully, no doubt
thinking it best to stay in her good graces.

While we finished our work, I took the
liberty of confirming the last of Naomi’s suspicions, the one she
kept so hidden.
Not vir
. It must be important to her; there
would have been no need to ask me about any of Pavel’s other
qualities, things Naomi could easily determine for herself.

Val stood beside me, watching as Naomi and I
sheathed our prism-handled daggers. “Were you dead?” he asked
Pavel. “I was dead,” he informed the startled guard, “but I was
resurrected.”

“No, young master, just wounded,” Pavel said.
“I was sliced by a bandit’s rusty knife, right there.” He pointed
to the faint red scar that intersected the thin line of dark hair
growing down from his navel. “But your mama and good Mistress Naomi
have seen to it I’m not dead yet.” He let Val touch a finger to the
new pink skin of the healing wound, apparently enjoying the young
child’s curiosity and endless questions. Like so many Eclipsians,
he must come from a large family, with many younger siblings.

I felt Isobel’s hovering presence. “I’ll take
Val for a while,” I told her, receiving a grateful smile in return.
When I left them, Isobel was sitting beside Pavel, not on a chair,
but on the bed, her hand holding his—which seemed to be under her
skirts, I noticed, uncomfortable at witnessing such intimacy. No,
it was just the angle of vision. Or perhaps I had sensed their
intentions, what they would do if they were alone, my gift
influencing my sight in the presence of strong emotions. Isobel
murmured softly, Pavel answered her in the same low tone, the words
indistinguishable.

Naomi walked like a zombie, head held high,
staring straight ahead, as we returned to our rooms. “Were you ever
dead?” Val asked her.

The green eyes clouded over, blinked and were
quickly masked by dark lashes. “No, Val,” Naomi said. She never
used titles or honorifics with the children. “It only feels like it
sometimes.”

“Why?” Val asked as I dragged him off to my
room.

“People say that when they’re unhappy,” I
explained when we were alone.

Late in the day my maid, Katrina, returned,
having traveled from her husband’s farm after saying her last
good-byes to her children. I welcomed her back, trying to tread
carefully so as not to upset her, yet not wanting to seem
indifferent to her plight. “If you need more time off,” I said,
“don’t hesitate to ask.”

Katrina stared at me with a hint of
resentment in her usually mild brown eyes. “You’re not divorcing
me, too, my lady?” she asked with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

“Of course not. I’ve managed without a maid
so far, because I didn’t want people to think I was replacing you.”
I tried to keep things on a less emotional level. “But it’s been
very uncomfortable. I’m delighted you want to return to work. I
just want to make sure you have the time and the opportunity to do
whatever you can to help yourself.”

Katrina shook her head. “I’ve done what I
could.” Her eyes filled with tears. “There’s nothing else I can
do.”

“Give it a little time,” I suggested. “Things
may turn out differently in a few weeks or months.”

Katrina’s head snapped up at my words. I had
never seen this deferential young woman so angry. “Children can’t
wait for months!” she said. “How would you like to have yours taken
away? Would you be saying ‘wait for months’ if they were yours?”
Her face went white after her outburst. She knew she had gone too
far.

I knew she, more than anyone, had reason to
blame me for her trouble. If I had not insisted on that reckless
journey home we would all be safe. For the rest of us, we had
managed to make it through to a happy ending, but not Katrina. She,
innocent of any wrongdoing, or of any initiative at all in this
situation, had suffered the worst consequences. “I’m sorry,” I
said. “I know it’s my fault you were put in this impossible
position. If you think of anything I can do to help you, say it, or
just think it, and it’s as good as done.”

Katrina burst into tears at my words, sobbing
and falling limp into my arms. I sat down with her on the bed, not
yet able to support the weight of another person, slim and light as
she was, on my slowly-strengthening legs. Poor girl, she was still
in her early twenties after marriage at sixteen, and separated
forcibly from an Eclipsian woman’s most precious possession—her
children.

“It’s not final yet,” I said. “That’s all I
meant.” I tried to soothe. “Marcin can’t want to punish you so
terribly, not forever. After his first jealous anger cools, he
might become more reasonable.”
What did I know of ordinary
Eclipsian men?
All I knew was Dominic, and even he was becoming
a stranger to me at times.

My words comforted Katrina, however. She
sniffed and sat up. “Thank you, my lady. Forgive me for forgetting
myself.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “A mother always
forgets herself when it comes to her children.” I had learned
something else when Katrina was in my arms, thought briefly of
concealing my knowledge, but decided I should see if Katrina needed
my help with it. “The child you’re carrying now. You’ll be able to
keep her?” Marcin would have to get past me and my prism and the
entire spectrum of light, I vowed, before he took this one.

Katrina seemed to absorb something of my own
confidence, standing up and wiping her eyes. “Yes, my lady.” She
puckered her pretty lips and spat into the fireplace at my
demonstration of sorcery, but I overlooked her instinctive,
mountain-girl’s reaction. She stared boldly into my eyes and said,
“No one wants a bandit’s bastard. The mother is free to keep
that.”

What had that to do with anything? “No,” I
repeated, feeling foolish, “no one wants a bandit’s—” I stopped and
listened to the words. What was she trying to tell me? Katrina’s
behavior may not always have been as demure as she appeared, but
there was no way she would have been unfaithful to her husband,
much less with a bandit. “Katrina, that child you’re carrying was
conceived at least two months ago. I don’t believe for one minute
you betrayed your husband while you were living at Aranyi, and
nobody will believe you did it with a bandit.”

Katrina’s laugh had a hysterical edge. “Men
aren’t as clever as you, my lady,” she said. “They’ll believe
anything, if you know how to tell it.” Her voice shook; she was
ready to weep again. “Anything they want to believe, at least. And
this child—” She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her belly,
daring me to contradict her. “—this child was got on me by a bunch
of stinking bandits, a couple of weeks ago, right there in the
trail, for everyone to see.” Saying such things aloud about herself
was so difficult for Katrina that she blushed purple and had to
twist her apron into a knot to get the last part out.

My first reaction, that the loss of her
children was causing Katrina to hallucinate, was disproved as I
read her thoughts. She had not felt it necessary to explain to me
the reason for such a wild charade, which was obvious to everyone
else. Marcin’s child, as this little two-month’s fetus undoubtedly
was, was his to take in the divorce, despite the fact that he knew
nothing of its existence. Once he learned of it, he could snatch it
from Katrina practically at the moment it dropped from between her
thighs.

But a bandit’s bastard, as Katrina knew, was
just about the most unwanted thing in a world where every scrap of
Terran rubbish, from snippets of copper wire to shards of plastic,
was carefully gathered up and put to use. If Katrina could convince
Marcin that the baby was the result of gang rape by bandits he
would almost pay her to keep it away from him and their legitimate
children. He might suggest that she abandon it or expose it, but he
would have nothing to do with it himself. It would be Katrina’s to
rear if she wished.