Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (43 page)

He put her down and they stood back from each other. Her eyes were shining with tears, and he touched the edge of them. “Don’t cry. You never cry.”

She gave a smile instead. “I was sure you were dead.”

Silom shrugged. “I’m too bloody minded to kill.” He brought her round so they were out of sight of the rest of the soldiers, and pushed her against the transport. She shifted against him, the way she knew turned him on, and he pushed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her again. When he pulled away, he said, “You know, we had things we talked about doing.”

She nodded.

“When we’re finished here,” he said. “I’d like them, too. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you.” She glanced down, grinning, and then up. Her eyes were crinkled, full of the mischief he remembered. “Looks like you’ll have me, too.”

***

“That’s the last ship in, sir,” said Commander Lyle.

“Thank you. Go and see to your men, Tom.” Kare rubbed his eyes. Lack of sleep was irritating them more than any other part of him. The screens of the floodlit exterior of the port showed no movement by the defence troops.

“Are your men prepared?” he asked Silom.

“They’re bored. We’ve been here for two days; there’s only so much preparation they can do. We’ve carried out the attack drills, the equipment is ready– now the nerves are starting.”

“I know they are,” Kare said. “What do you want me to do– send them over the walkway and let them get slaughtered for entertainment?”

“Of course not: I’m just saying they’re bored, since you asked. Maybe we should have attacked sooner.”

“We couldn’t have; I hadn’t enough troops here to begin with.”

They all wanted miracles. Did they think he could take the palace by clicking his fingers? He clenched his hands around each other, relishing the pain in his misshapen fingers; it distracted him from his worries.

“Are you all right? You seem annoyed,” said Silom.

“I’m fine, and I would be a lot better if everyone would stop asking me if I’m all right, or okay, or coping, or every other way you have found to ask it.”

“Right,” Silom said, and his voice, finally, sounded a little offended.

After a moment’s silence, Silom stood up. “I’m going. But, you know, the only reason we ask is we’re worried.”

“I know,” Kare said, but he couldn’t bring himself to say sorry.

Silom’s footsteps faded away, replaced a few minutes later by a familiar tread. Kare tensed: he could deal with Silom and Lichio by focusing on work; Sam’s persistence was wearisome, but he was able to avoid him a lot of the time; there was nothing he could do to stop Sonly worming her way past all his defences, the way she always had done. The room spun, and his throat tightened. He saw Lichio beside Sonly, his face serious.

“Kare,” Sonly said, her voice nonconfrontational, as if she was managing him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Lichio says he’ll run things for a while. Will you come with me? I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” he asked, and knew he was being impossible. He wondered if this was what one of those hamsters on their little wheels felt like.

“An update; we always get interrupted here.”

It was hard to tell if she was lying, without looking into her thoughts. She’d never know if he did. He forced the idea away. He had promised never to: at least let him keep that promise.

“Okay,” he said, and pushed his chair back. “The next offensive is planned at oh-two-forty-five, Lichio. I’ll be back for it.”

He followed Sonly to the transport Sam had taken for his clinic. It was quiet and comfortable, with blankets for bedding. As they went in he saw Sam, but the doctor backed away and left them. Kare sat on one of the blankets, making room for Sonly beside him.

“Kare,” she said, her voice quiet and calm. “I know you think you’re fine, but I’m sure if Rjala were here, she’d pull you off the attack.” He couldn’t see her face clearly in the dark transport. “You’ve managed to piss off most of your officers, and the campaign isn’t going anywhere. I asked Lichio and he reckons it could be weeks before you take the palace.”

“So pull me off it,” he told her.

“I can’t. You know that; I don’t have anyone else who can lead it.”

“Then what do you suggest, Sonly? We spend the next year in the port? Or run home, and wait to be drummed out of existence?”

“I think you need to tell me what happened. I think you’re so stressed you can’t possibly do what you need to. You’re pushing away everyone who would support you, you’re not taking advice, and you
know
you can’t lead a campaign like that.”

“Sonly,” Kare said. He clenched his fists and tried to push the panic back.
Breathe; that’s all, keep breathing.
“I can’t tell you. I don’t have the words.”

Sam stepped into sight. “Then tell me, Kare. I already know. Tell me, and Sonly will listen because she’s right, you need to tell her.”

Kare dropped his head. Could he tell Sam? Sam, who was almost as ashamed as he was. Sam, who’d been there and still helped, who hadn’t been disgusted by him. He couldn’t hold out much longer, not against their combined barrage.

“All of it?” he asked. He was exhausted, totally drained, but one part of him was relieved that this moment had arrived. At least it’d be over, and he’d know what she thought of him.

“All of it,” Sam said. “Just focus on me.”

Kare looked at Sam, and ignored Sonly. He told them about the attack on the base, about Phelps handing him to Beck, how he’d known he was in his dad’s vision. He talked about the flight, how he’d pissed himself and thought it was such a big thing. He even managed to tell them about being taken to Omendegon, the place he’d dreaded all his life, and the first day with the Great Master, how the pain had started to blur into a single entity, even then.

“It wasn’t the pain that was the worst,” he told them. “It was what came after– ” He stopped, his mouth closing against his next words, and shook his head. “I can’t…”

“You’re doing well,” said Sam. “This was all before I met you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” He breathed in, as deeply as he could. “They warned me in Omendegon if I didn’t let go of the block, they’d show me I had no control over anything.” The memories were rushing back, and it was like he was in the torture room, being dragged from it, unable to speak through the pain and fear. “I was so tired and sore, I didn’t care what they’d planned. They took me back to the cell and chained me down.”

In the darkness of the quiet transport he turned to Sam, but Sonly reached out and held his hand. He wondered if she could feel the scars that ran across his palms, and the badly knitted bones.

“That’s one of the things I do remember; that he chained me down, as if I had any chance against them. Anyway, that night, a group of them, they…. ” He stopped, looked up at the ceiling of the transport, and tried to force the lump in his throat away. “They– they r…” He looked at Sam, desperate for help. “I can’t…”

“You’
re doing well,” said Sam. “Can you say what they did?”

Can I?
Kare closed his eyes–
he said he’d stitch them open if I tried to hide–
and willed himself not to throw up. It was only one thing in a long list of horrors, but this one, telling Sonly… it was the hardest to voice. He opened them and looked at Sam, who nodded, encouraging him.

“They raped me,” Kare said, and it was out. He didn’t look at Sonly, couldn’t look at Sonly, but she squeezed his hand, and he could feel waves of worry and horror coming off her. “More than once. Very roughly, very painfully. Each time one left me, I thought it was over, and they came again. Silom and Lichio were there– they could hear it all. After, they brought Sam in, and then a healer, and when he put his hands on me I felt like I was a kid, with Karia.”

Kare looked at Sam desperately.
Help me.
His throat closed with remembered fear, and he heard his breath rasping, the way it used to when he’d worn his collar.

“They healed you and took you back to the torture rooms. They kept that up for most of the day,” Sam said. “Healing you, hurting you; trying to get past the block.”

Sonly’s fingers tightened in his, and Kare glanced at her. She gave him a small, brave smile of support, but he could see the tears in her eyes and wished he could hold her, or let her hold him.

“I’m not trying to be evasive,” Kare said, “but I was… I…I can’t remember the details. My mother kept coming into my mind, invading it, and I had nowhere to hide. She knew everything about me.”

“You called her a twisted bitch,” Sam said.

“Did I?” Kare thought for a moment. “Well, that was stupid of me.” Once reminded, he vaguely remembered the unceasing pain, and the Empress revelling in it, enjoying her power over him. He’d shouted something at her with the very last of his strength.

“She broke the block,” he whispered. “And I told her everything…”

“Nearly everything,” said Sam. “You knew the Banned was ruined– you said so– but you didn’t give up the spies.”

“No, I held onto that, just. Should I go on?” Kare asked, and Sonly nodded.

“Now you’ve started, you should finish, I think. If you can.” Her voice trembled and he glanced at her, hoping that she’d hold herself together, knowing if she didn’t he couldn’t go on.

“I thought I’d survived Omendegon; what more could they do?” he said, speaking now to Sonly and not Sam. “I honestly believed the worst might be behind me. And then, the day I was released from the hospital block, he brought in the collar and told me he’d make me his dog.” He swallowed at the memory of the collar going on and choking him. “I didn’t believe him, not then. But he was utterly relentless– he never stopped, ever– until I got to the point where I’d do anything to please him, and stop him hurting me.”
I did. “
Pretty much anything you can think of to demean a person, he had me do. Sam knows, he watched.”

“Sonly knows some of it; I reported back.”

Sam looked away and Kare knew he wasn’t the only person reliving it here in this dark, quiet transport. He looked at Sonly, swallowing so that it was painful. “It’s so hard, telling you.”

She nodded, tears falling down her face, but she hadn’t turned away. Not yet. Gently, he reached out and wiped her cheek, and she didn’t flinch from him.

“I talked to myself,” he told her, his eyes focused on her. “I sang to myself. I talked to you and told myself at some point they’d fuck up the medicine, or I’d grow used to it, and my powers would come back. And every day I clung on and on, for as long as I could.”

“I know you did,” Sonly said. “You were so brave.”

“The last thing was the pit,” he said, and his own tears came now, hot against his cheek, surprising him. “I had to submit; he was never going to stop until I did. I’ve been dreaming about it for years but when I was there, it was so much worse. When they released me from it, I let them do anything they liked with me. They paraded me to the planetary leaders, the dignitaries. I went on my knees before the Empress and gave her my fealty many times. I thought, as much as I thought anything, that it would be good to die: the sooner the better.” He paused. “I still do.”

Sonly pulled him against her. He stopped talking and let the tears flow, finding it hard to believe the hitching sobs were coming from him. Now they’d started, he was frightened they wouldn’t stop and he’d been right not to want to do this: that he would be sitting in this transport forever, trapped by his own fear.

“You mustn’t feel like that,” she said to him, speaking to him like he was a child. “It’s going to be hard, love. You need time.”

“I’m so angry,” Kare said, through the tears. “I’m angry about everything: that the others didn’t face as much; that they heard it and don’t know what to say; that you didn’t come when I begged you to; that Sam didn’t help sooner. I’m angry at my mother, too, but at least I’m doing something about her.” Sonly nodded at that. “Mostly, though, I’m angry at myself for letting it happen. For being so sure I could survive anything they threw at me.”

Kare looked up and realised Sam had left, and he was glad. He stayed against her, he didn’t know for how long, until the tears eased, and he sat up and tried to compose himself. Her face was white, shocked, but she didn’t look away.

“So now you know why I can’t let anyone come close. I can’t let anyone touch me: I’m so angry, and ashamed, and scared."

“It wasn’t your fault, Kare.”

But he’d known what opposing his mother could bring on him. He’d known that and still stood for the Banned.

“I know. Logically I know. Maybe I should lock myself away for six months, and then come back out.”
I just made a joke.
He smiled a little at that.

“The only thing I want is for you to be at peace,” Sonly said. “If you want to walk away, I’ll support you. If you want to keep going, I’ll back you, but you have to do it properly: with breaks, with support. If you don’t, I’ll end the campaign, because I want what’s best for you. I love you.”

“That’s the one thing I do know, Sonly. I love you, as well. As much as ever. And, Sonly, something I haven’t said to you, and should have done. I’m so, so sorry about Kerra. It must have been hard for you, losing everyone at once. I’m only starting to be able to think about her now; you’ve had to live with it for months.”

“I miss her,” she admitted. “We had her for such a short time. There are so few memories to carry of her.”

“I do, too. You know, that makes my mind up. She’s another one to repay the Empress for. We can’t pull out, not when we’re so close.”

“Okay. We’ll do it, for Kerra.”

“For all of them,” he told her. “If I’m going to do this I need, amongst other things, to sleep– but every time I stop, I panic. So then I start up again, and now I’m exhausted.”

“Sleep here,” she said. “I won’t disturb you.”

“I have nightmares,” he warned her. “Worse than ever. I had them in my cell. Beck used to kick me awake and boot me around the place to shut me up. Somehow, that didn’t cure me.”

He paused, remembering the cycle of nightmares, the screams trailed from him in his sleep, the horror of knowing he’d brought another beating on himself.