Firestorm (22 page)

Raina's glance skittered to the bag, then back to Teague's. "I don't need any privacy. I trust you."

The simple statement, and the calm, steady look she sent him as she said it, took Teague's breath away. He managed a taut little smile. "Well, be that as it may, I don't trust myself. I'll return shortly."

At his passing, the tent flap snapped back in place. Raina gazed longingly after him, then sighed and began to remove her tunic. She poured a small amount of water into a large pottery bowl and dipped a cloth into it. As she wrung out the excess water, Rand's voice rose from his carrying pack.

"Your friendship with Teague grows," he said. "That is good."

Raina jerked from the task of washing her face. She flushed and made a move to cover her bare breasts before catching herself and letting her arms fall back to her sides. She gave an unsteady laugh. "How long has your system been turned on?"

"For the past two days of the journey. Teague thought I might overhear something that could be of value when he wasn't around." Rand paused. "I thought you knew. I am sorry if I surprised you."

"Well, I didn't . . . know, that is," she muttered and resumed her washing. "Did you learn anything of interest?"

"Not much, save that Aban is very worried about Bahir. He was discussing it once within range of my communications device."

"And? Did you discover what's wrong with him?"

"No, save mat his illness is fatal and beginning to rapidly worsen."

She frowned. "That doesn't bode well for us. We could use his help."

"I thought you didn't like him."

Raina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I can dislike someone and still see his use."

"I suppose you're right. Is that how you feel about the monk?"

"Teague?" Raina paused in her bath, suddenly wary. "What's it to you, Volan, how I feel about him?"

"He will need your help, your support, in the days to come."

She gave a harsh laugh. "So I'm beginning to realize." She sobered, suddenly awash in a wave of fear and uncertainty. She felt a fool, talking to a box as she was, but for just a moment, she needed to share the terrible burden of league's identity with someone. "I'm not so certain I can help him, Volan. Not with what I've just learned about him."

"He cares about you. He trusts you. And you've yet one additional advantage."

Raina eyed him suspiciously. "What's that?"

"You're a female. From what I've gleaned of your species, males find it much easier in most cases to open their hearts and bare their souls to females. Especially one they might care for and desire."

She really shouldn't be surprised that Rand, even within the limitations of his box, had discerned the tension, the need growing between her and Teague. But wanting someone was one thing. Being able to help him, or even knowing how, was another.

"But you don't understand, Volan," she said softly. "I'm not the typical woman. I haven't the time or the skills for such things."

"And that frightens you."

She immediately bristled. "I never said that."

"We all fear what we are unsure of, of wanting too badly, too strongly, what matters most to us. Fear that if we do and it is taken from or denied us or we lose it, we'll be devastated, and more bereft than we were before."

"Is that how it was with you?" Raina asked, her curiosity piqued. "When you gave up your body?"

Rand didn't answer for the longest time. "Yes, it was— and is," he finally said. "Yet even in the loss, I find I would take the chance again. I felt so alive, so whole, so vital in a body. The ability to feel, and experience, and live was so much more intense—and so much more natural. And yet... I knew there was still something lacking. As if I wasn't quite whole yet. As if a part of me was still missing. As if... as if. . ."

He sighed. "Well, it's not something I'll find the answer to soon or easily. And it doesn't matter this night. You and Teague are what matter."

"You're most confusing. For a Volan, I mean." Raina tossed the wet cloth back into the bowl, quickly dried herself, then grabbed up a clean tunic out of one of the carrying packs.

"How so?"

She tugged the tunic over her head before replying, then combed out her hair and began rebraiding it. "You've surprising insights for an alien species from another galaxy. At times, you seem more like us than unlike us. It makes no sense."

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Rand agreed. "And I have no knowledge of a past, for myself or any of my kind, to explain it. The collective consciousness of the Mother" Ship never allowed for any free thought, or memories, or heritage."

Raina finished her braid and deftly tied it off. She flung it over her shoulder and rose. "Well, just as Teague and I won't solve the problems of our past or future this night, neither will you. But it's past time we all take our rest. I'm going to get Teague."

"A wise decision, femina. Just remember. Don't let your fear hold you back from being the person you were meant to be."

"Indeed." Raina gave a wry laugh and strode across the tent to the entranceway.

***

Teague stood outside a long while, his hands fisted at his sides, his eyes clenched shut. Gods, ah, gods, he silently, repeatedly flung his tormented cry to the heavens. She trusted him. Trusted him, now of all times, when he was the least trustworthy of all.

What was he to do? What was he to do?

Time passed. Teague lost track of how long he'd stood there waiting, giving Raina the opportunity to bathe. Finally, a soft voice intruded on his miserable reverie. "Teague?"

He wheeled. She stood there, her face freshly scrubbed, her hair woven once more into the single neat braid down her back. "Finished, are you?" he croaked.

She smiled. "Yes. Would you like to trade places, so that you might have your time of 'privacy'?"

"No." He shook his head with a sharp, definitive motion. "On the morrow. I'll wash on the morrow."

"Then come inside." Raina stepped back and held the tent flap up for him. "It's cold. Besides, I need to talk with you."

There was something in the tone of her voice, gone suddenly tense, something in the way she held her eyes, staring yet not quite looking at him, that gave Teague pause. "Indeed?" he asked, forcing a casual lightness to his voice he certainly didn't feel. He entered the tent, walked over to the pallet and, taking one of the larger cushions, tossed it a meter or so away and sat.

Raina followed him in, ambled over to the pallet, and sank to her knees, facing him. "Najirah is my friend from my girlhood days here on Incendra," she began without preamble. "She lived with me in Ksathra, in the court of Malam Vorax. Both our fathers had fought for him against the old king. Both were rewarded by positions of power in Vorax's court. Najirah's father, however, had also once held a position of power under the old king. Though they didn't live at court then, they made frequent visits. Najirah was fourteen at the time of the rebellion, three cycles older than me."

"And your point in all this, femina?"

Raina hesitated, agonizing over the best way to broach the next revelation. Finally, with an exasperated breath, she forged on. "Najirah thinks you're the crown prince Tarik Shatrevar." She paused expectantly, dreading what she already knew in her heart was the answer. Paused, waited.

When Teague didn't reply, she bluntly pressed on. "Are you?"

A muscle worked frantically in the strong expanse of Teague's jaw. The lines on either side of his mouth deepened. His eyes glinted silver and hard. His breathing became harsh, erratic.

"Are you, Teague?" Raina softly prodded.

"What I was is in the past," he snarled. He climbed to his feet to tower over her. "I suggest you leave it that way. I have."

"If you're the king's son, we can't just 'leave it that way.' " She gazed up at him, met his thunderous glare calmly, and gestured to a spot on the pallet beside her. "Come. Sit by me. It's best we not raise our voices."

"There's nothing to discuss, Raina." He shoved a hand roughly through his hair, setting the long strands awry. "I'm a monk of the Monastery of Exsul. That's all I'll ever be."

"Najirah will tell Bahir."

Teague went still. As full comprehension dawned, horror widened his eyes. He flung back his head the cords of his neck stretching tautly. "Gods!"

"What will he do, once he knows?"

Teague threw himself back down on the cushion he'd been using a few minutes before. He cradled his head in his hands, his blond hair threading through his long, strong fingers. "Ah, gods . . ."

"What will he do, Teague?"

With a shuddering sigh, he lifted a hollow, haunted gaze to hers. "I don't know. He seems to imagine he fights against Vorax in my name, until the day I return."

"And you don't want to 'return,' do you?"

Compassion, understanding, and acceptance gleamed in Raina's striking green eyes. Something strong and good arced between them, piercing Teague clear through to his soul. The barriers he'd fought so long and hard to maintain wavered, began to tumble down. The old fear, the spiraling panic, filled him. He dragged in a shuddering breath.

"No, I don't . . . want to 'return.' I-I'm afraid Raina. And I don't know what to do."

At his anguished admission, Raina gave a soft cry. On hands and knees, she scooted over to him, taking him into her arms. "It's all right, Teague," she crooned, pressing his head to her breast, stroking his hair. "I'll help you. I swear it. We're partners, and partners stand by each other."

He wound his arms about her, clasping her tightly, frantically, as if he feared for more than just his life, as if ... he feared for his very soul. He dragged in sharp, little gulping breaths. His heart thudded wildly, heavily against her.

"I'm here, Teague," she whispered recalling the same words she'd spoken to him the night of the thunderstorm. "You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

His breaths came rapidly now, loud, labored as if he were, running, or fighting off some terrible attacker. He broke out in a sweat. His fingers knotted in the fabric of her tunic, twisting, and pulling on it.

Fear flooded Raina. What was he remembering, that affected him so? What could she do to help him?

"What did he do, Teague?" she whispered tautly. "What did Vorax do? Tell me. Purge it from yourself once and for all."

"Nooo," he moaned. "I can't. I can't. It was all . . . my . . . fault."

She froze. His fault? But he'd been just a lad of thirteen. How could any of it have been his fault?

"Tell me anyway," she commanded in a firm, no-nonsense voice. She gave him a small shake. "Tell me."

He went still. The sound of his poor, tortured breathing filled the silence of the night, pressing down on Raina with heavy anticipation. Dread found its chill way into her heart, inexorably sliding through her veins. Gods, what had he gone through? And was she truly doing the right thing, demanding he tell her?

"Tell me, Teague," she pleaded. "You treated me with compassion and understanding when you learned what Vorax did to me. Do you think that I would do any less for you? Let it go, once and for all. I won't judge. I swear it."

"What Vorax did to you wasn't your fault," he groaned. "But what I did . . ."

"I stayed in Vorax's court for four years after he took the throne. I was his betrothed though he already had a wife, and a young child by her. Yet for a time before I finally saw the true man beneath the smooth, deceitful exterior, I admired him, yearned to life-mate with him when I came of age. There's fault enough in that, I'd say."

"You were young, ignorant of men."

"You were young, too." She brushed the sweat-damp hair from his face. "All I know, all I care about right now, is that you not bear this alone anymore."

He looked up at her in wonder, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Tears filled his eyes and, as quickly as they appeared he fiercely blinked them away. Then he sighed and lowered his head back to her breast.

"I-I used to draw," he finally began, his voice thready, quavering. "My father didn't like that. He didn't like much about me that cycle I turned thirteen. I was small, scrawny, and poor at games and warrior's training. I preferred to read to draw, to take long, solitary walks and explore."

Teague's voice grew stronger, surer, the longer he spoke, almost as if he began to relive the days past. "I was happy, save that no matter what I did how hard I tried I couldn't seem to win my father's approval. Then Malam Vorax came, demanded my father abdicate the throne. And nothing was the same ever again."

"Go on," Raina urged when Teague failed to continue. "How was your father defeated? Some say he was betrayed that Vorax led his army into the fortress through a secret passage, taking the king's army by surprise."

He went rigid. Ever so slowly, he released her and moved back, almost as if distancing himself from her before she could do it herself. Flat, emotionless eyes met hers. "It's true enough. One of my drawings, that day on the parapet when my father knocked them out of my folder, floated down to Vorax's army. Some soldier must have found it and taken it to Vorax. It was a drawing I'd made one day of a secret passage leading from the back of the mountain into the fortress."

He dragged in a shuddering breath, a faraway look gleaming in his eyes. "It was so beautiful there, the passage well guarded by two giant stone sentinels that looked so much like flames leaping from the mountainside. I named it .'The Tapestry Passage,' because the secret door to the passage was hidden behind a huge tapestry in my father's library."

"And you think Vorax used a boy's drawing to gain entrance into the fortress?" Raina smiled. "You put too much importance on a piece of paper, I think."

"Do I?" Teague tautly demanded. "Vorax easily took the fortress, didn't he? And then, as he sent my father out to be beheaded, he pulled a ragged piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced at it one last time, laughed, then tossed it aside and followed after the guards taking my father to his execution.

"As if in slow motion, that paper floated to the floor," Teague said, his voice raw, hoarse. "I caught a glimpse of what was on it just before one of the guards holding me leaned down and picked it up, stuffing it into his breeches. It was my drawing, Raina. My 'Tapestry Passage.' In my selfish, self-centered need to defy my father, to show him I would do whatever I wished, I had betrayed him. Betrayed him, my mother and sister, my people."

"It was an accident, Teague," she hastened to refute his self-accusation. "An unfortunate accident. You betrayed no one. It was your father, by his foolish decisions and overbearing ways, who betrayed his famiiy and people. That was why the rebellion began and ultimately succeeded. But it was never—ever—your fault."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it was in the end." He gave a low, harsh laugh. "I'm no more worthy to rule than my father was. Our blood is tainted, our reign over, as it rightfully should be. And I've no desire to fail the people yet again."

Confusion filled her. Such terrible anguish over a piece of paper? There was more, she feared, experiences that, building upon the trauma of seeing his family die and his life torn asunder, had been even more terrifying and degrading. But Raina also knew he wasn't ready yet to share those.

"But it was never you who failed them, Teague." She reached out to him. "You never had a chance to fail them."

He jerked back from her touch, a fierce pride and bitter resignation carved into his handsome features. "Don't. I don't need your pity. It's over, Raina. Has been for these past nineteen cycles. I made my decision long ago. I just wanted you to know why I am the way I am, why I don't want anyone ever to know what I was. If you truly care as you say you do, if you really mean to offer me compassion and understanding, you won't push me into doing something I reject with every fiber of my being. You'll respect my wishes in this."

Her hand fell to her side. A keen sense of helplessness flooded her. If she truly cared . . .

The realization that she more than cared about the tormented monk swamped Raina in an overwhelming rush of emotion. She more than cared—she loved him. Wonderment filled her. How, when had it happened? And what was she to do about it?

With a fierce inward shake, Raina flung the surprising revelation with its attendant questions aside. Now wasn't the time. What mattered now was Teague— Teague, who, for the first time, had bared his soul and now waited, wondering how she'd react, what she'd do.

If she truly cared . . .

Raina glanced up, forced a brave smile, and nodded. "It'll be as you ask, Teague Tremayne. I won't push. I'll respect your wishes in this. And I'll stand at your side, no matter what happens."