Without a Front (25 page)

CHAPTER 43
Fear

 

Spinner set his reader card
down and smiled. The news was full of nothing but the economic report, and opinions were flying. A few defended Lancer Tal's policies, but new and sensational always beat old and established. She had lost a significant amount of support, particularly in the producer caste. He couldn't help feeling smug that it had taken him just one day to tear down what she had spent so much time building up. She was too idealistic, thinking she could reach the people through education and dialogue. But fear was always the most powerful tile on the board.

The challenge had been too quiet. If Lancer Tal had any sense, she'd have made regular statements from Hol-Opah, speaking about her “learning experience” or some such garbage. She should have released vids showing her working in the fields, side by side with the other workers—playing up her image as the people's Lancer. But for some inexplicable reason, she had let all of the publicity possibilities slip through her fingers. He couldn't understand it, given the brilliance of her initial acceptance of the producer's challenge.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking about the most intriguing report of the day. According to his spy in Granelle, all was not well at Hol-Opah. The middle son—who until now had been throwing around references to his special relationship with the Lancer—had apparently suffered a setback and been taught a stinging lesson. Of course, he hadn't put it quite that way while complaining at his favorite tavern, but it was obvious to anyone who could read between the lines. For Lancer Tal to interfere in family matters was very interesting indeed. And she told Herot that she was stepping in due to an alliance with the youngest son.

Was it possible that she wasn't taking advantage of the public image possibilities because she was actually becoming invested in that family?

He drummed his fingers again, staring out the window. How ironic it would be if the final tiles he needed were on Hol-Opah. Because if they were, then Lancer Tal herself would hand them to him.

CHAPTER 44
Closed door

 

“Your message was very well
done,” Salomen said as she settled in for their evening session. “You made me believe.”

“Good. One believer on my side, five hundred million to convert. No, wait, make that three believers. I think Micah and Jaros are with me as well.” Tal pushed her reader card to the other edge of the window seat. She had already received the preliminary assessments from her strategic team, who felt the message had been as successful as they could hope. But that hadn't assuaged the general poor temper that left her feeling unsettled all evening.

“I don't even have to skim you to feel your anger.” Salomen spoke carefully. “What happened between midmeal and now?”

Tal rested her head against the window with a sigh. “Everything and nothing.”

“That's a politician's answer. And you are not a politician.”

“Yes, I am,” Tal snapped. “If I were not, I'd simply exercise my power as Lancer and inform everyone that the matter printers are being implemented in three moons whether they agree with me or not. Instead I'm playing a game of approval, and it galls me that I should have to do so after an entire cycle of being so Fahla-damned careful with the concerns of every shekking caste!”

She closed her eyes, ashamed of her outburst and vividly aware of Salomen's surprise. In the long silence that followed, she listened to Salomen's shifting emotions and waited for the battle of words to begin. After all, it was what they did best—what they had done through their entire relationship. The last two nights had been different, but she wasn't convinced that it signified a true shift in their interactions.

And that, she realized, was what had been bothering her all day. She didn't know if their truce would hold, and her strange connection during the strategy meeting had left her feeling much too exposed.

“I think,” Salomen said at last, “that I believed the lie just like every other Alsean. And now I see the truth.”

Here we go, Tal thought.

“And what is the truth?” she asked. It was almost like a ritual bow before the fight.

“You're Alsean.”

“I think that particular truth might be self-evident.”

“No, it's not. You work very hard to convince all of us that you're omnipotent. The all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful Lancer Tal. Someone above and beyond a simple Alsean. But you're not. You're one of us. And yet you carry a burden far above and beyond what any Alsean should carry, don't you? And so the lie is necessary. Because without it, we wouldn't believe that you could carry that burden. It's our very belief in your omnipotence that makes your office possible.”

While Tal was recovering her tongue, Salomen continued. “I'm thinking out loud, because I've never thought about it in these terms before. But your predecessor was removed by a caste coup because he couldn't sustain the lie. Not because he was incapable as a leader—he certainly was an idiot, but that alone wouldn't have unseated him. The critical issue was the lie. Wasn't it?”

The smile came despite Tal's best efforts. “Have you any interest in becoming an advisor? I have need of one who sees as clearly as you.”

Salomen smiled back. “Then I'm right.”

“You are. Tordax was an idiot, but we've had idiots in power before. His true failure was in losing the faith of the warriors. When we ceased to believe in his effectiveness, we removed him.”

“And the warrior and scholar castes chose you to replace him.” Salomen's curiosity regarding this secretive process was easily readable. “Why you?”

“Do you mean why me as opposed to another, more qualified candidate?”

“No, I do not. I mean, why you? How were you elected?”

Belatedly, Tal realized that she had slipped into sparring mode. She was dreading a battle, yet she swung the sword first.

“Partly because of my connections,” she said. “I had the support of some powerful families in both castes. I think I owed that to their sense of justice. My parents were assassinated for a misinterpretation of Father's intentions, and though that truth isn't commonly known, those who do know it wield a great deal of power. And partly it was a backlash against Tordax. He was scholar caste and had failed. That swung the favor to the warrior caste. But because I come from both castes, the scholars could also support me. It was ironic, really—my mother believed I would never rise to Lancer as a warrior, and in fact if I were only a warrior, I probably wouldn't have. It was her influence in raising me as both scholar and warrior that made the difference.”

“Hm.” Salomen stretched out her legs and leaned back in her chair. “You say nothing about strategy. Did you not strategize for much of your life to be in the right position when the time came?”

Tal had been distracted by her graceful movements and those legs, which she didn't remember being quite so long. When she looked up again, she found Salomen watching her with a steady gaze.

“I strategized to be as prepared as I could if the time came,” she said. “But I never wanted to fight that kind of battle, removing competitors and putting myself where I thought I should be. I've seen those fights and defended myself against them. They're dirty and I wanted no part in them.”

“Perhaps that's another reason you were chosen.”

“Sometimes I think it might be. Other times, when I'm in a cynical frame of mind, I think it might actually have worked against me.”

“Are you in a cynical frame of mind now?”

Tal hesitated, wondering about the motives behind that question. But Salomen's expression was open, showing no signs of the wariness which had so marked their interactions until two nights ago.

Perhaps it was time to take a chance.

“Yes, I'm feeling cynical,” she admitted. “But more than that, I'm tired. I've spent a cycle trying to bring six squabbling castes into a united vision of the future, and just when I thought my efforts were coming to fruition, that coalition released a warhead. So now I begin a new battle, trying to make up ground I thought I'd already won, and I'm just…” She raised a hand and let it drop into her lap. “Tired.”

“I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. Thank you, but there's nothing you can do. Unless you'd be willing to offer a public testimonial as to how you once opposed my policies but now believe in them wholeheartedly.”

“I could do that. Actually, I've already made plans. The Granelle Producer Caste House has called an emergency meeting in three days to discuss this new situation, and I'll be speaking on your behalf. I know,” she added at Tal's obvious surprise, “I've not been your greatest supporter.”

“You have a gift for understatement.”

A faint embarrassment surfaced. “I can be…stubborn. But I like to think that I'm also willing to admit my error when facts prove me wrong. Which occurs very rarely.” A full smile creased her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes and deepening the dimple in her chin.

Tal chuckled. “Once per cycle, I'm thinking.”

“No, no, more like once every five cycles.”

“Then I'm privileged to witness such a rare event.”

“Yes, you are.”

She had to know. “So you really believe in me? When did that change?”

“I said I will be testifying to a belief in your
policies
.” Salomen raised her eyebrows.

“Oh. I suppose that was too much to hope for. Perhaps in another five cycles, then.”

“Would it really matter whether I believed in you personally?”

With a single question Tal was disarmed. She could lie, but…

“Yes,” she said. “It would.”

“Why?”

“I told you last night. I care.”

“Good, because I care, too. And I don't like to see you cynical and tired.” Salomen stood up, stepped to the window seat, and held out a hand. “Come. I have a potential aid for you.”

As Tal slid out of her seat, Salomen reached for her other hand and said, “Sometimes, when I was a girl and my responsibilities seemed too heavy to bear, I would tell my mother that I was too tired. Too tired to go into the fields, too tired to make yet another flight to the distribution center, too tired for school. And she'd tell me that she understood. Then she would say, ‘You need a little more strength. Here, take some of mine.' And she would give me a warmron.” A sense of warmth and safety rose in her emotions, the by-product of her memories. She tugged gently on Tal's hands. “You need a little more strength, Andira. Here, take some of mine.”

Tal allowed herself to be pulled into the warmron, marveling at the improbability of it even as she sank into the freely offered comfort. Gradually she relaxed—until a flash of Salomen's emotions nearly burned out her empathic senses.

She jerked her head back, her eyes squeezed shut in an instinctive effort to shut out the intrusion. It was the emotional equivalent of staring into the sun, an overdose of sensory input that left the viewer temporarily blind. Not even in her Sharings with Ekatya and Lhyn had she experienced a power like that.

She stumbled backward, bumping into the window seat. When her head cleared, she looked up to see Salomen staring at her with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Salomen whispered.

“You felt it too?” But she already knew the answer. Oh, no. This wasn't possible.

“Fahla, I felt
you
. As if I were inside you.” Salomen was unsteady on her feet, fumbling her way into her chair. “And…I felt…” She met Tal's eyes briefly before looking away. “Something I cannot put a name to.”

Tal buried her face in her hands. “Shek. Nor can I. But now we have to.” She pushed herself up onto the window seat and leaned against the cool glass. “Did you sense anything unusual this afternoon? Sometime around mid-three?”

“No,” Salomen said thoughtfully, and Tal breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait. Yes. I remember now. Just for a moment, I thought you were there in the field with me. I actually looked around for you, but of course you were here in the house. I didn't think much of it, but… Why do you ask?”

“Because at mid-three I was taking a break from my strategy meeting, and I connected with you.”

“What? You were nine lengths away!”

“I know. Don't look so shocked; I'm not the only one in this room who sensed another mind from nine lengths.”

“I didn't…” Salomen's eyes widened. “That was really you?”

Tal nodded.

“But…” The rapidly moving kaleidoscope of emotions settled into pure denial. “No. This is not possible.”

Tal had to laugh. “Precisely what I was thinking.”

But Salomen wasn't laughing, and when she stood up, her emotions vanished behind a front that was suddenly impenetrable.

“I require a break from our lessons. Please excuse me.” She walked out and shut the door behind her with a decisive click.

Tal stared at the closed door, then up at the ceiling. “You do have a sense of humor, don't you?”

She jumped off the window seat and began to pace, too wound up to stay still.

This was really happening. But how could it be? They had done nothing but battle each other from the moment they met. Weren't tyrees supposed to sense it from the beginning? For Fahla's sake, she was one of the strongest empaths on the planet and Salomen might be in the same category—how could they not have known?

And Salomen clearly didn't want her. She couldn't even stay in the same room with her.

A strangled laugh escaped. In any other situation, Tal would have dropped to her knees to thank Fahla for making her tyree. It was the dream of her life. And when it finally happened…

Pacing wasn't enough. She needed to run.

She stripped off her shirt and yanked her running clothes out of the drawer. Micah was about to become an unhappy man. Guarding her at night was a whole different prospect than guarding her in daylight, but she would not wait. Besides, she was on Opah land.

Though after this, she might not be welcome on Opah land much longer.