Damia (39 page)

D
AMIA roused the next morning, aware first of having slept very deeply. Then, of feeling unusually refreshed, relaxed, and self-satisfied. Having established those states, she was abruptly aware of what had transpired the previous night. And sat up in the bed.

Curled on his side and still sound asleep was Afra, his long arms dangling over the edge of the bed. She couldn’t see his face, but she gave him just the briefest mental touch and sighed with relief: his mind-tone had noticeably improved overnight.

That can be a fringe benefit of loving, you know
, said Isthia in a whispery mental voice.

Grandmother!
Even as Damia bridled at Isthia’s amused observation, she also noted that receipt of the carefully tendered message caused her mind no pain.

I would have had to be mute or dead not to hear the way you two were vibrating.
Isthia kept her “voice” quiet, but Damia could not miss the amused quality of it.

The two of us? Then Afra’s able to ’path?

Well, let’s just say that there are certain emotions that
broadcast in spite of themselves. Just let him find his own balance.

Isthia appeared in the doorway, a cup in each hand. Entering the room quietly, she gave Damia one cup and then went to the other side of the bed, to scrutinize Afra’s sleeping face. Damia bristled possessively.

Down, girl
, Isthia said with an ironic smile,
I’m on your side. Afra has been special to me, too, for vastly different reasons.

Damia wanted to discover them, but Isthia waggled a finger at her the moment she felt Damia’s pressure.

Don’t, Damia. Enough that I’m on your side.

Damia tried a different tack.
What did you mean then? Let him find his own balance?

Isthia’s expression became rueful.
I couldn’t help overhearing your very creditable offer to him last night. But that won’t be needed. Nor any notion of yours to sacrifice yourself to restore him. Now, now, don’t hackle at me. Professionally, I’ve every reason to believe that he’ll make a full recovery, given time and plenty of quiet. That’s one reason I convinced your parents to let me bring you both here to Deneb. Callisto’s far too frenetic a place for mental convalescents.

Any Tower would be, Damia thought, and sipped at the hot brew, eyeing her grandmother speculatively.

Then what did you mean—you’re on my side?

Isthia regarded her with exaggerated incredulity.
You mean, you think you can jump from mooning over that Sodan character to a liaison with Afra and not expect repercussions?

It’s NOT a liaison. It’s a bonding!
Damia said in an unequivocal tone.
You should know that
 . . .

Isthia held up one hand in rebuke.
I closed my mind when I realized which way your . . . ah . . . suddenly discovered rapport was heading. I do practice discretion as well as metamorphics, you know.

Mother will object.
Damia gritted her teeth. During last night’s passionate consummation, she certainly had had no time to consider “repercussions.”

Well, she has had Afra’s support for many years and she’ll be annoyed at having to replace him, but I suspect you’ll find that your father might have more cogent objections.

Dad? Why should he mind? He’s far more likely to suggest that Afra will be just the stabilizing influence I need!

Possibly.

Damia frowned, regarding her grandmother with apprehension. Isthia had a habit of predicting reactions.

How could they object to Afra? They both know him so well. And he’s a T-3.

He’s also nearly a quarter of a century your senior.

Don’t put it like that, Isthia. It’s not as if age makes that much difference for Talents!
Damia was openly scornful.
I know mother won’t like it.

Isthia perched on the low chest, sipping her drink.
Nonsense, although you may hear words like “backlash,” “martyrdom,” “self-sacrifice,” “compensation.” You’ll improve your position if your attitude toward him is devoid of guilt or the least tinge of reparation for the Sodan disaster.

Damia flinched, hunching against the pain of that reminder.

Sorry, love
, Isthia shot back in sincere apology.

Do they hate me? For not saving Larak?

Slipping off the chest, Isthia embraced Damia in tender, loving arms.
No, love. No one hates or blames you for that. Nothing could have saved Larak. Unfortunately!

I will never, never, NEVER, let anyone else be focus!
Damia said resolutely.

The focus-mind is always at risk in a merge, Damia love, and never is a long time. Don’t store guilt for future use.

Afra stirred and Isthia rose to her feet.

Get him out of that bed and to my kitchen table. He hasn’t eaten properly since we got him here. And you’ve both got to start moving about on your own. Now mind, no mental games until I give the go-ahead!
Isthia stood, but her piercing gaze and stern face stressed that prohibition,
and the force of the tone she used, no longer a whisper, set Damia’s mind to throbbing: the clearest possible demonstration of her invalid state. Then her whisper returned.
I shouldn’t even be talking to you like this now, but you’re able for short distances and I wanted to clear the air privately
, she added as she left the room then.

Mulling what Isthia had said, Damia watched as her lover restlessly turned onto his back, and flailed an arm against her. That woke him and he shot upright in the bed, anxious eyes seeking hers, a hesitant, shy smile on the lips that had tantalized her the night before. She found herself blushing and evaded his gaze. Giving herself a stern shake, she lifted her head and met his eyes.

Damia blushing?
he teased her, lifting his hand to caress her cheek in a lingering fashion.

“You’re not supposed to ’path, Afra,” she scolded, more because his “tone” was so weak compared to the mental touch he had always projected.

His expression altered subtly and his hand dropped to her bare shoulder.

My love, I will do what I can with what I have
, and his tone chided her.
And what I have is much better this morning.
“Thank you!” he added aloud and, tilting his head, kissed her pursed lips.

The intimate touch was shatteringly electric and once again swept away any half-formed resolution of circumspect behavior while Isthia was in range.

Hold breakfast
, she managed to convey to Isthia on a tight thought.

Was that Afra’s soft chuckle for her willing compliance in her mind or Isthia’s for their delay?

“Actually, it’s lunch,” Isthia said blandly when they finally did appear in the kitchen. It was a very pleasant room, south-facing, with windows that opened onto the front with a view of the lane that wound through the forestry to the major link road with Deneb City. Isthia preferred to know who was approaching her retreat so that she could take evasive action if necessary. When she had begun a profound inquiry into metamorphic treatments,
she had needed such a refuge. She had no neighbors nearer than sixty kilometers, and that family had absolutely no Talent.

With the courtesy that was second nature to him, Afra settled Damia into a chair at the long table that was work space as well as dining surface. Then, turning his chair around he sat, his arms crossed on its back. He didn’t appear to be watching Isthia intently, but Damia knew that he was. Of Isthia’s earlier observations, Damia had only told him that Isthia had said she was on their side. One of his eyebrows had quirked slightly and his lips had twitched, but he didn’t make any further comment. With Isthia’s emphatic ban on ’pathing, Damia did not try to “hear” what thoughts had crossed his mind.

As Isthia served them coffee, she wondered how her mother and father handled that intimate aspect of their life together. She knew they always kept a light touch but, in each other’s minds constantly? Of course, right now, even the most delicate link could exacerbate. But she could watch him, learn every subtle nuance of body language: had Afra always had such an expressive face? Droll, humorous, pensive, observant? Though he was listening to Isthia, he winked at her.

“I think you two are now able to handle your own convalescence,” Isthia was saying, ladling one of her hearty soups into bowls. She brusquely waved Damia back into her chair when she started to rise and help. “I’ve laid in plenty of supplies. Damia, you are not to ‘reach’ for anything yet. Use the comunit,” and she grinned as she pointed to the unobtrusive set in one corner of the big room. “Prosaic, I know, and nowhere near as swift as ‘lifting’ something but, if I feel either of you ‘lifting’ anything, I’ll slap you back into deep sleep again. Your minds have to rest to recuperate, have to be free of even the pulse of other minds. You won’t be bothered by casual visitors because this place is known to be off-limits, and I’ve made it plain that I’ll flay anyone who disturbs you. Anything you should require,” and her tone suggested that she’d be
surprised if she hadn’t anticipated every need, “can be delivered.”

Afra nodded, glancing at Damia to be sure she was as obedient. “What I don’t know is how long we’ll be convalescing. I have absolutely no idea how much time has already elapsed.”

Damia winced at even that tactful reference and, her appetite abruptly disappearing, she put down her spoon.

Isthia gave one of her evasive sniffs. “Sleep,” and she bent a stern look on both Damia and Afra, “was the best remedy. You’ve been kept quiescent—when we could—” and there was an element of exasperation in her manner as she pinned Damia with her stare, “for sixteen days.”

“Oh!”

Isthia laid a comforting hand on Damia’s head as she put her own bowl on the table and sat down beside her granddaughter.

Afra gave an odd chuckle. “No wonder my legs are rubbery.”

Isthia gave one of her sniffs. “A great wonder you’ve been able for anything!”

He refused to rise to the gibe.

“Mother and Dad?” Damia asked anxiously, irritated that it was only now that she thought to inquire.

“I kept them asleep for four days. You deflected a lot of that final thrust, Damia, and saved them from the worst of it. Believe me, you did,” Isthia added when Damia seemed to droop further, remembering who she hadn’t been able to save.

“Who ran FT&T then?” Afra asked in a brisk tone. “Jeran?”

Isthia nodded. “With Cera. They made a formidable team.”

Afra chuckled. “I expect they did. So long as they didn’t noticeably improve on what Rowan and Jeff can do.”

“Some detractors,” Isthia said with a snort of disapproval, “feel that the Gwyn-Ravens have far too much power in FT&T chain of command.”

“Then let them breed up their own Prime Talents,” Afra replied abruptly. “Meanwhile, they should be immensely grateful that Jeff’s planned for every contingency. Who’s working Callisto with the Rowan? Gollee?” and when Isthia nodded, he shrugged. “In that case, I have no need to hurry back. Frankly, this will be the first proper holiday I’ve had, bar the occasional weekend, since I had the gall to apply to the Rowan twenty-eight years ago.”

Damia stared at him, appalled. “Twenty-eight?”

Afra regarded her levelly. “That’s right, love. That’s how long I’ve been Towered. Not that I minded, for I’d nothing else to do with my spare time.”

“Nothing?” asked Isthia sardonically.

“Nothing,” he said, giving her the same level regard, “that mattered. Unlike you dilettantes, we Tower folk become dedicated—”

“I’d call it enslaved,” Isthia said with a sour look.

“Inseparable from the needs and deeds of our particular Tower.”

“Who’s managing Aurigae?” Damia asked in a guilty panic.

Isthia chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “They’re going to appreciate you when you return, Damia!”

“They do want me back? I will go back?” She hadn’t quite dared to ask yet.

“Since they have to tailor their exports to the abilities of a young T-4 . . .”

“Who?” Damia was abruptly jealous of anyone taking over her Tower, however briefly.

“Oh, Capella lent a promising trainee: your oldest nephew, I believe, Afra; your sister Goswina’s son.”

“Veswind?” Afra was mildly surprised. “Yes, I suppose he
is
old enough for responsibility. Gossie would be pleased. I wonder she never mentioned it.”

“They wouldn’t, would they?” Isthia said in a mildly barbed voice.

“No, come to think of it,” Afra replied, and broke off a piece of bread to soak up the soup juices at the bottom of his bowl.

“How soon?” Damia asked Isthia.

“How soon what?”

“How soon can I go back to work?”

Eyebrows raised quizzically, Isthia favored her granddaughter with a very long and piercing look, then sent a mental probe that made Damia gasp with pain.

“When you no longer have that sort of reaction, my dear. I repeat, since you have a hard time absorbing the information, you’ll both recover, and with no reduction in potential. But it will take time, peace, quiet, and no messing about.” Isthia waggled a finger first at her granddaughter. “Have I made myself plain?”

Damia swallowed, her head throbbing. “Completely.”

Immediately she felt a kinder touch and the throbbing was reduced to a minor ache.

“Have I made myself plain to you, too, Afra?” Isthia now turned on Afra, who had gone slightly paler. “Yes, I see I have. Now, will you both stop worrying about the galaxy and eat my nourishing soup? You need to reintroduce your abused stomachs to real food instead of nutrient sprays. I’ve prepared a diet sheet which,” and again she pinned them with her forceful stare, “you will both follow assiduously.” When they nodded meekly, she went on. “I’ll leave tomorrow since a third party is unnecessary—or should be. You certainly are adult enough, Afra, as well as old enough to admit, and yield, to your current physical and mental disabilities.” She gave a sniff. “And to boring each other in close proximity. Nothing like that to demonstrate compatibility.”