The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (34 page)

“I’ve been married, Daniel, and I still
love Seth, despite all our fights and our problems.”

“But you don’t want to be his wife
anymore,” said Tyrion. “You don’t want to live with him.”

She nodded, “I had a choice, and I made
it. What would you choose?”

He looked into her eyes, “If I could go
back, or if I could escape all of this, I would take you and forget everything
else.”

“But you’d still love her.”

“Part of me would,” he confessed.

“That’s good enough for me then,” she
said, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “You can’t very well run away can
you?”

Tyrion looked out the window, he could see
Emma and Violet guarding one another as they practiced against Abby and David.
“Once maybe, but now…”

“I wouldn’t love you if you could abandon
them. I can barely stand myself for leaving Aaron with his father,” said
Kate. She paused thoughtfully and then continued, “We need her.”

“We?”

“You, me, your children, without your
She’Har lover, none of us would have any hope. She’s probably the only reason
they’ve let you do all of this,” she said, waving her arms around to indicate
the house and the buildings beyond it.”

“What are you proposing?”

“When she finally returns, if necessary,
you should put me aside.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’ll do what you
have
to do,”
she said emphatically.

“She already knows about you,” he informed
her. “I don’t know what she thinks exactly, but it won’t be as simple as that.
I can’t lie to her.”

“You never could lie to me either,” said
Kate ruefully.

“No, I mean I
can’t
lie to her.
Whenever she touches my mind, she sees my thoughts and feelings. She already
knows our past, and sooner or later, she will know about this,” he explained.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he replied with equal eloquence.

Kate stood, smoothing her hair with one
hand out of habit. “Nothing is ever simple around here.”

“No it isn’t” agreed Tyrion. “What are
you going to do?”

“Start working on lunch,” she said pragmatically.
“Send one of them in to help, I think today is David’s turn.”

“I meant about the future,” he clarified.

“That will just have to take care of
itself,” responded Kate. “Let’s hope she’s as understanding as I am.”

A month passed as spring deepened and the
world exploded with renewed growth. The arena battles had already become a
matter of routine. Tyrion’s children were veterans now, and one on one matches
held little challenge for them. Their bodies were fully tattooed now, with enchantments
that gave them both weapons and shields that made them untouchable. It was a
point of pride however, that they never relied upon them.

Tyrion had impressed upon them the fact
that they should improve their skills rather than rely upon their tattoos for
victory. As a result they had become adept at manipulating the air and soil,
at creating fine webs of aythar to detect invisible opponents, and at using
impromptu shields to control the field of battle, forcing their opponents into
positions more favorable to them.

The arena had become a game for them, and
if they were still sickened by the inevitable ending of each match, they had
learned to harden their hearts against it. The children of Colne were becoming
masters of tactical combat, implacable killers without peers among the slaves
of the other groves.

So it was inevitable that the She’Har
would change the rules. Tyrion wasn’t even surprised when Koralltis gave him
the news, but he didn’t expect the form that it took.

“How many?” he asked again, to make sure
he had heard the arena master correctly.

“Any two you select from your own,”
repeated the She’Har.

“No, how many did you say they would
face?”

“Six,” answered Koralltis.

“They’ve never fought more than one at a
time. That seems like a big jump to make.”

“We have not forgotten your years in the
arena Tyrion. The other groves are certain that they would be able to manage
two at once already, even three might not be a challenge. What is not known is
how they will work in tandem. The betting has grown stale, but this
combination of numbers has created a strong interest. If they win, the
Illeniel Grove will reap a large reward,” explained Byovar, who stood nearby.

“Did you make this deal, Byovar?” asked
Tyrion, giving the Illeniel lore-warden a hard stare.

“I did, but I was bound to silence,” said
the She’Har without flinching. “As their trainer it was deemed to be too much
of an advantage for you to be told in advance.”

“And what about our opponents? Were they
told?”

“They have been preparing for this for
several weeks now,” said Koralltis.

Tyrion was furious. “My children could
die. This isn’t fair.”

“Other groves lose slaves in the arena
every week,” said Koralltis. “How is this different?”

“You’re stacking the odds against them,”
insisted Tyrion. “It’s as though you want to kill them. Am I wrong?” Sudden
thunder rumbled in the distance, although the sky had been clear all morning.

“The other groves will no longer wager
shuthsi if they feel there is no chance of winning,” said Byovar, his eyes
calm.

The wind picked up, and the sky seemed to
darken slightly as clouds began to form near the horizon. Tyrion leaned
closer, until he was almost nose to nose with Byovar. “Fine, if this is what
you want, you’ll do something for me as well.”

“What?” asked the Illeniel She’Har.

“Double, no—
triple
the Illeniel
bet. If my blood is on the line, I want it to be costly for the loser,” he
said bitterly.

“But if they lose…” protested Byovar.

“Same difference, Byovar,” said Tyrion.
“If they lose, then I want it to be all the more painful for the ones who put
my
children in this damnable situation.”

“I don’t think you realize how much has
already been wagered,” responded Byovar.

“I don’t care,” he growled. “If it were
up to me, they’d have to wager it all.
My children
mean more to me than
these stupid games.”

“The match is supposed to start in a few
minutes,” interjected Koralltis. “There is no time to renegotiate the
betting.”

“Then
make
time,” ground out
Tyrion. “Otherwise there will be no match today.”

“We do not have the option to refuse at
this point,” insisted Byovar.

“You don’t have the option to go forward
if you don’t meet my demand,” said Tyrion menacingly.

Byovar stared at him in surprise, “Tyrion,
what are you implying?”

Dark clouds had covered the sun, and the air
seemed heavy and foreboding despite the quickening winds. “I’m not implying
anything, Byovar. I’m
threatening
.” A loud rumble echoed in the
distance, underscoring his words.

The lore-warden met his gaze evenly, but
didn’t reply. Tyrion could almost see the She’Har’s mind working, calculating
risks and doing the math regarding the Illeniel bets. Finally he turned to
Koralltis, “Will you allow me the time to bring this proposal to the other
groves?”

Koralltis eyed the encroaching storm, “You
have an hour.”

Tyrion smiled, “I will go select my two
participants.” He left the two of them and returned to where Kate and Layla
were waiting.

Kate’s coppery hair was being tossed by
the heavy breeze. “Are we done for the day? The weather seems to be turning
bad,” she said.

He took a few minutes to explain the
situation to them.

“You risk punishment by arguing with
them,” observed Layla.

Kate nodded, “At least that explains the
weather.”

“I’m not doing that,” insisted Tyrion.

“It happens every time you get upset,”
noted Kate. “You either need to learn to control the weather better, or learn
to control your temper.”

“I haven’t lost my temper,” said Tyrion,
even as he realized that the voice of the wind
was
playing strongly in
the background of his mind. He made a conscious effort to block it out. “I
forced Byovar to renegotiate the wager to give us a little time to prepare.”

“There’s not much you can do in an hour,”
said Layla.

“We can choose our two and notify them,”
he returned. “Give them a little while to think about how they will cooperate
with each other.”

“Brigid is the strongest,” observed the
warden. “She is also the most confident among them.”

“But she doesn’t work as well with the
others,” he argued. “She isn’t likely to cooperate with a teammate.”

That was a foreign concept for Layla.
“You should choose the strongest and the most aggressive. Brigid is first in
both regards.”

Kate spoke up then, “I don’t know about
their abilities, but Ryan is the best planner. He has a sharp mind.”

“Then send him out with Brigid,” said
Layla, “but I think both Sarah and David are stronger.”

Tyrion agreed with Layla in that regard.
In terms of absolute strength, all of his children were powerful, but Sarah and
David were the closest to Brigid in raw aythar. Strength wasn’t the problem
though, even if Layla couldn’t understand that. The two chosen had to be able
to support one another.

“What about Emma?” suggested Kate.

He nodded, that had been the same
direction his own instincts had been leaning. Emma was almost as strong as the
two Layla had mentioned, but more importantly, she was naturally supportive.
She had also proven herself to be decisive and determined even in her early
battles. If anyone could work well with Ryan, it would be her. “Ryan and Emma
it is then,” he pronounced.

He went to Ryan’s holding cell first. The
boy looked up at him with anticipation, “Time to go home?” Each of them had
already fought once, so it was understandable that he expected his father’s
next appearance to be when the arena matches were done.

“I’m afraid not,” said Tyrion. “They want
a special match today, but I’ve managed to force them to postpone it for an
hour.”

Ryan nodded in acceptance, appearing
unconcerned. “What sort of match?”

“Two on six,” answered Tyrion. “And the
six have been preparing for this for weeks without our knowledge.”

His son winced, “That’s bad odds. I’m
guessing you want me to be one of our two?”

He nodded at the young man.

“Who’s my partner?” asked Ryan
immediately.

Tyrion had a sudden thought, “Who would
you choose?”

Ryan looked thoughtful, “Well I wouldn’t
have expected you to pick me for starters. Is it Brigid?”

“I asked who
you
would choose.”

“Hmmm, I suppose Emma, or maybe Tad,” said
his son at last. “Tad and I work well together, but he’s a bit more
impulsive. Emma would probably be my first choice.”

“That’s what I thought too,” said Tyrion.

“Honestly, though, you should choose Ian,”
commented Ryan.

“Why?”

“The odds are bad. If we’re going to lose,
you’d miss him the least,” said Ryan with a grin.

Tyrion laughed at the morbid humor. “Stop
thinking like that. You’re facing six opponents who may be from a mix of
different groves. They’ve been practicing for weeks together, and they may
have a working knowledge of what you’re capable of. I want you to win. You’ve
got maybe forty-five minutes to plan your strategy, and you won’t be able to
talk to Emma until I retrieve you both at the beginning.”

Ryan grimaced, “Any ideas?”

Tyrion shrugged, “I’m an older version of
Brigid. My solutions usually revolve around mass destruction or surprise. I
chose you for a reason. You’re smarter than I am.”

The boy’s brows lifted at that statement,
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, old man.”

“You don’t have time to waste flattering
me,” said Tyrion, backing out of the holding cell. “I have to go inform your
sister.”

Emma took the news with pragmatic aplomb,
“Ryan’s a good choice.”

“Do you want to know why I chose you?” he
asked her.

She shook her head, “Wisdom.”

Tyrion frowned.

“It’s obvious you didn’t pick us for raw
strength or talent. Brigid’s better, and some of the others are stronger than
us,” said Emma clinically. “Ryan’s the brightest, and I’m probably the only
one with the wisdom and resolve to trust someone else to make decisions with my
life.”

Not for the first time, he marveled at her
exceptional maturity. Emma had proven her inner strength more than once. “You
make my point for me.”

She nodded, and he turned to leave, but
she spoke once more before he closed the door, “No matter what happens, Father,
don’t blame yourself. You made the best choice for all of us.”

Startled he glanced at her once more as
the door closed. He stood there for a moment looking at the wooden cell door,
and his vision blurred momentarily.
She called me ‘Father’.
He knew he
would never deserve that appellation.

The next forty minutes passed with
dreadful slowness. Tyrion wasn’t accustomed to anxiety. He normally dealt
with things directly and without hesitation. Even in his own days in the arena,
he had learned not to worry over upcoming matches. His own life had come to
mean little to him. This was different, however.

“Stop it,” said Kate.

“Stop what?”

She glanced up at the sky, “That.”

The weather had begun to clear up after he
talked to Ryan and Emma, but it was clouding over again. Once again he was
forced to close off the voice of the wind, it had snuck into his mind almost
unconsciously.

“Some men bite their nails,” observed
Kate, “but not you. No, you have to be dramatic even when you worry.”

“Sometimes the weather is just the
weather,” he suggested to her.

“Not when you’re around,” she said wryly.

He sighed. He couldn’t really argue with
her, since he knew she was right. Koralltis was walking toward them now.

“It is time,” said the arena master.

Tyrion nodded and went to collect his son
and daughter. Once they stood together, there was no mistaking their
resemblance to one another; both of them were lean and tall for their ages.
Ryan’s sandy brown hair was similar to Emma’s mousy curls, and their eyes were
almost the same chestnut shade. Emma took her brother’s hand as soon as he
offered it to her, and they walked together toward the arena with an air of
distraction.

Layla wrinkled her face in disgust at the
sight of them holding hands. “That’s just not right,” she commented.

Tyrion laughed, for he knew what it
meant. While they had all learned to speak mind to mind, physical contact made
a deeper level of communication possible. With their hands clasped together,
Ryan and Emma were able to share more than just words—sounds, shapes, and
mental images would be passing between the two of them.
That’s something
their enemies would never think to do. Their aversion to physical contact
makes that sort of intimacy impossible,
he thought quietly.