Without a Front (26 page)

CHAPTER 45
Dreams in the field

 

It was a subdued Tal
who made her way to mornmeal the next day. She had skipped her morning run, having thoroughly exhausted both herself and her Guards the night before, and enjoyed a rare opportunity to lounge in bed. Had she been given the choice, she would have stayed there rather than face Salomen across the table.

Salomen was equally reluctant to appear. Her front no longer had the strength it had briefly developed the night before, and Tal could not prevent herself from skimming the emotions of the woman who had occupied her thoughts all night long. The head of Hol-Opah was hiding in the kitchen, delaying her entrance until the last possible moment. When it could no longer be avoided, Tal sensed her consciously gathering her courage before walking through the doorway.

When their eyes met, an electric charge ran down her spine. She offered a cautious smile and was ridiculously gratified when Salomen responded in kind. Part of her was lost in contemplation of those lovely lines at the sides of Salomen's mouth, and part of her was disgusted with the whole situation. This was not the behavior of Alsea's highest-ranked warrior; it was the behavior of a trainee barely past her Rite of Ascension.

But then Salomen sat across from her, giving Tal her first close-up view since the previous night, and she forgot everything else in her appreciation of a pair of dark brown eyes.

Until Micah kicked her under the table.

“I'm sorry, Jaros,” she said, realizing what she had missed. “I didn't hear the last part of your question.”

“I said, did you know that our continents used to be squished together?”

Thank Fahla, it was something easy. “I did. You're learning about continental drift in school?”

He nodded. “They keep going back and forth. They crash together on one side of the globe and then bounce off and crash together on the other side. My teacher said that right now they're bouncing off.” Frowning, he added, “But he didn't say when they'd crash again.”

“Not before you finish school,” Nikin said. Salomen gave him a playful push on the shoulder.

“Your brother is displaying just how much he has forgotten since his own days in school,” she told Jaros, and received a push in her turn.

“If I am, then I've forgotten more than you ever knew.” Nikin looked at Jaros. “It won't happen for a long, long time. Millions of cycles.”

“Oh,” Jaros said in disappointed tones. “I wanted to see it.”

The rest of mornmeal was spent on discussions of travel and how alike or different Alseans were in other cities and holdings. Even Herot took part, with no signs of the sullen behavior that had so marked the meal yesterday. Tal was grateful for the distraction. But the reprieve lasted only until the meal ended and Jaros left for school; his departure was always the cue for the rest of the family to scatter to their various tasks for the day.

She walked to the skimmer and leaned against it, wishing her heart would calm itself. It was embarrassing to have so little control over her body.

With her gaze fixed on the landscape and her back toward the house, she gave herself every possible moment of delay as she sensed Salomen's approach. Only when the skimmer door opened did she turn, catching Salomen looking at her.

They both froze in place, and Salomen's front slipped. Tal was horrified at what she felt.

“Salomen—”

“We are not discussing this now.”

The clipped tone was far too familiar, a relic of their interactions before Salomen had opened up. She was well and truly closed now, and the loss was painful. Tal hadn't realized just how much their nascent friendship had come to mean to her until it had been withdrawn.

Salomen ducked into the skimmer without another word, and after a pause Tal followed suit. They sped down the hill and over the fields in silence, both staring straight ahead, until Tal could stand it no longer.

“You don't need to be afraid of me,” she said.

“I'm not afraid.”

Tal looked at her incredulously. “First you walk out on me, and now you lie?”

“Andira…I need some distance from this. Please.”

“I can give you distance. But I'm not certain our minds will cooperate.”

“That's
what I'm afraid of.”

“Not having control over your mind?”

Salomen nodded.

“Then you're in excellent company. I'm less than ecstatic about it myself.”

She felt the surprise right before Salomen said, “Do you know, that hadn't occurred to me.”

The surge of anger was so rapid and so strong that Tal could barely front it in time. Her voice shook as she said, “Yes, Salomen, there
is
another thinking, feeling Alsean on the other end of this connection.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared resolutely out the side window. She'd had just about enough of women assuming her lack of emotion due to her title. The only woman who hadn't made that assumption, who had treated her as an equal, was Ekatya. And she had never even been available.

Tal had thought that old pain was done and buried, but it felt just as powerful now as it had a cycle ago. Letting her head fall back against the seat, she breathed deeply and focused on thoughts of running, free and alone, through an ancient forest. It was her place of serenity, the place she had used during her mental training and which she still found necessary on occasion.

By the time they reached their destination, she had boxed the unwanted memories and put them away, but the anger was still there. She barely waited for the skimmer to stop before leaping out, grabbing her gloves and soilbreaker from the back, and striding through the tall grass to the pile of freshly dug soil that marked Salomen's most recent efforts from the day before. She threw the soilbreaker to the ground, jerked on her gloves, and picked it up again, her mind transforming it from a tool to a weapon. With a vicious swing she buried it to the hilt, tore it free, and swung again. The exertion was exactly what she needed, and she threw herself into it with such ferocity that Salomen, who was coming behind her with the spade, could not keep up. For more than a hantick Tal sweated out her frustration, losing herself in the physicality of it, until a hand on her shoulder made her jump and twist around.

“Shek!” She glared at Salomen, who had stepped back with wide eyes. “Don't ever do that! Fahla, I nearly knocked you flat.” With a huff she threw down the soilbreaker and put her hands on her hips, waiting for her breathing to come down to normal.

“Thank you for restraining yourself,” Salomen said, but the sarcasm didn't match the tentativeness in her gesture as she held out a water flask. “I just thought you should hydrate. You've been working very hard.”

Tal stripped off her gloves, took the flask, and drained half of it. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back. “I lost track of time.”

“I know. Andira…I'm sorry. I've been selfish, and I hurt you.”

“Surprising, isn't it? I imagine you hadn't realized I could be hurt.” She didn't know where her anger was coming from, but even after a hantick she hadn't worked it out of her system.

“No, I didn't.” Salomen's voice was steady. “And that is your doing.”

“
My
doing!”

“Yes. Your lie. The lie of the omnipotent Lancer. I only discovered the truth yesterday; I need a little more time to fully realize it.”

Tal blew out a breath and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Well, you have a point.”

“It's not just the loss of control that frightens me.”

It took Tal a moment to catch up, but when she did, her anger began to drain away. “What else?”

Salomen looked over her shoulder. “Them. And what they represent.”

“My Guards?”

“You've dressed them like field workers during the day, and they keep their distance, but there's no hiding what they are and what they do. They're here because of you.”

“No, they're here because of my title.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

Tal heard Darzen's words, heavy with betrayal.
There's just one problem with that, Lancer Tal. Your title
is
everything.

“No, it is not
.
” Her voice came out in a growl, and she spun on her heel to walk away. Three steps later she reconsidered and spun again, striding right into Salomen's personal space. “Yes, I am the Lancer,” she said furiously. “But I also have a name. And behind that name is an Alsean who eats, drinks, sleeps, and loves, just like every other Alsean. I can be hurt, and you've become surprisingly proficient at it, Salomen! I've dreamed of a tyree bond my whole life, and now that dream looks like some kind of sick joke. Why Fahla matched me with you I have no idea, unless it was to satisfy her damned sense of humor!”

Salomen glared at her, giving no ground. “How dare you call this a joke! Don't you think I've dreamed of this, too? But in my dreams, my bondmate was someone who understood the joys and responsibilities of working a holding. Someone who understood stability, and tradition, and the rewards of growing something. Not someone steeped in violence, with blood on her hands. Not someone who lives and breathes power and politics, and goes nowhere without five or ten Guards to keep her from being killed! That is not what I want!”

“And this is your view of me? After everything I've shared with you?” Tal was so infuriated she didn't know whether to spit or cry. “You don't see the woman who loved her parents and lives their dream? The woman who showed you that warmrons should not be limited to pre-Rite children? The woman who—” She choked on her words and turned away. “Fahla. I would wish this away if I could.” The truth of that brought tears to her eyes. How could something she had longed for all her life be so completely wrong?

“Andira…” Salomen's voice was suddenly gentle, and Tal shook her head.

“Don't. I cannot abide this. You pull me in and then push me away, and I will not play this game.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Your front has improved dramatically. I can't sense you. I've taught you the very thing that allows you to keep me on the edge.”

Salomen stepped around and looked her in the eye as she deliberately dropped her blocks. “I'm not fronting now.”

Tal went still as the emotions bombarded her. It wasn't normal; they were much too strong. Had they been making a physical bridge, she could understand it, but they stood an arm's length apart and yet she could hardly find the line between their minds. Why were their words so combative when their feelings were almost identical?

“I'm not trying to hurt you, Andira. Please, I don't want it to be like this. I'm sorry for what I said, but…I'm drowning in this, just as you are, and trying to find my way back to solid ground. It scares me.”

“What if there is no solid ground?” Tal whispered.

“Then perhaps we will drown together.” Salomen gave her an uncertain smile. “But…I would prefer that we hold each other up.”

The first breeze of the morning sighed through the grass, carrying the scent of freshly turned soil and lifting a few wisps of Salomen's hair away from her face. A nearby grainbird whistled its short, high call note, as if in response to the wind, and another answered from farther away. The first one burst into song, and Tal remembered a time when she and Micah had stood toe to toe just like this, in a forest ringing with birdsong. Then she had been running from the loss of a love she could never have; now she stood facing a love that might be hers—if only they could both accept it.

“I'm frightened too,” she said. “But the one thing that scares me the most is the way you wield your weapon. I don't seem to have any defenses left.”

“What weapon?”

“Your words. They're effortlessly damaging. I'm not ‘steeped in violence.' That's not what the Truth and the Path is about. That's not what
I'm
about.” She held up her hands between them. “I do have blood on my hands, yes. But I swear to you that none of it is innocent, and none of it was spilled lightly.” Her hands shook, a barely visible tremor, and Salomen reached up to interlace their fingers. The touch calmed her enough that she let go of her own front.

“Fahla,” Salomen said in wonder. “It's so strong…”

“I do understand stability and tradition. Can you not feel how much we have in common, in the truest parts of our selves? We want the same things. What we see on the surface is not who we are.”

“I can feel it.” There was a slightly dazed look in Salomen's eyes. “I think…I knew that before. But this feels so different.”

“If you knew that, why did you say what you did?”

The dazed expression cleared. “You called this a joke. It hurt. You wield the same weapon I do, and you're a damned expert at it.”

“I'm sorry. Believe me, I don't think this is a joke. It couldn't possibly be less humorous.”

Salomen lowered their hands and stepped closer. “Then why did Fahla match us if it wasn't for her sense of humor?”

“Perhaps because we have more in common…than we thought.” Tal faltered as Salomen's proximity registered on what felt like every nerve in her body. This close, she could smell the salty warmth of her skin and had to restrain herself from pressing her lips to the hollow at the base of Salomen's throat. “I know that our caste differences will be hard to overcome,” she said, forcing her gaze back up. “But maybe that's the point. Fahla doesn't choose many tyrees and never bestows the gift without reason. But she chose us.”

“I know. I just don't know why.”

“Maybe she heard us. We've both wished for this all our lives.”

“But you didn't wish for me.”

“And you didn't wish for me.”