“Fahla always has a plan.” Demerah was a devout believer. “She’ll take care of that little girl.”

  “Fahla didn’t make that law.” Salomen turned her head to stare out the window, and neither Demerah nor Ronlin spoke again.

  31

  Roots

  When they passed through the gates and pulled up at the usual side entrance of the State House, Salomen exited the skimmer, looked up at that imposing building, and hated it.

  “Change of plans,” she said abruptly. “I’m going home.”

  Ronlin responded with the equanimity she had only seen him lose once. “Of course, Bondlancer.” Without a pause in his step, he changed direction and began walking toward the landing pad, murmuring in his earcuff as he moved. Her remaining nine Guards, seven of whom were disembarking from the other two skimmers, immediately followed. Three State House Guards, assigned to the building itself rather than any individual person, trotted down the steps to drive the skimmers into the underground parking area.

  It was all a perfectly geared machine, and sometimes she hated that as well. One cycle ago, she could have changed her mind about where she wanted to go and it would have affected no one but her.

  “I’m staying overnight,” she added.

  “I assumed.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to do that.”

  If he knew she was teasing, he gave no sign. “Once you return to Hol-Opah, it’s rare for you not to stay overnight. We’re always prepared for that.” He offered another faint smile. “And it’s easier now that we have a bunkhouse.”

  After the events surrounding Shantu’s death and the threat to Salomen’s family, four additional Bondlancer’s Guards had been added to the unit: two to take turns watching over her 10-cycle-old brother, and the others to watch the house and sometimes her father or older brother on their errands in town. With at least two Guards always on-site, five to eight more accompanying Salomen whenever she was home, and another ten for Andira when she was able to come, a new outbuilding had been required.

  Salomen was not fond of the reason for it, but she had made damned sure that building was a worthy addition to her land. It was built on the traditional circular base of rural homes, with a domed roof and a large skylight to direct natural light into the rooms of the interior core.

  “I couldn’t keep you in my equipment building any longer,” she said. “It was either stare out my dining room window at a bunch of unsightly tents or build you something I didn’t mind looking at.”

  “And we thank Fahla every day for your overdeveloped sense of aesthetics.” The deeper voice came from her left.

  Salomen whipped her head around. “How do you do that? You’re almost as big as Senshalon and twice as quiet.”

  “A lifetime of practice.” Corozen Micah’s craggy face was softened by a smile. “How are you? I hear your secret came out today.”

  “This is why I don’t wear an earcuff. How would you get all your gossip if everyone knew I was listening in?”

  “We’d use a different channel for the gossip, like we do for Tal. She said she can be there for evenmeal, by the way.” He rested a large hand against her upper back, a simple gesture of support that meant the world. Corozen was Andira’s oldest friend, virtual father, and Chief Guardian, which meant he supervised both the Lancer’s and Bondlancer’s Guards. But he was also Salomen’s Chief Counselor and had been indispensable while she learned to navigate life in Blacksun.

  “Jaros will be thrilled to see her. As for me, I just met myself. Did you hear that, too?”

  He nodded. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “She was a beautiful little girl, full of hope. I took it away from her.”

  “You did no such thing. What you did was refuse to lie to her.”

  Ronlin had gone ahead, trusting her to Corozen’s care, and was already stepping onto the tree-lined path that led to the landing pad behind the State House. She watched his purposeful walk and appreciated that he had given her this moment.

  “Don’t you think something is wrong with the world when the truth takes away a child’s hope?” she asked.

  “Salomen, I’m going to tell you something I’ve had to tell Tal many a time. Your shoulders are broad, but they’re not that broad. There are only so many battles you can fight, and some battles are far bigger than you. This is one of them. It’s neither your fault nor your responsibility. You must accept that.”

  She passed under the first of the majestic trees that lined the path and remembered Rusill’s anguished protest. But you’re the Bondlancer.

  What good was being the Bondlancer if she had to sit back and accept that wrongs could not be righted?

  “You’ve been quiet this evening.” Andira’s head rested on Salomen’s shoulder as they lay twined together in bed.

  Salomen made no answer other than to brush her fingertips along Andira’s spine.

  “Except around Jaros,” Andira continued. “I think he’s startled at how supportive you’ve become of his dreams to challenge into the warrior caste.”

  “I’ve seen the damage caused by stunting dreams,” Salomen said. “Rahel was an outcaste because her parents wouldn’t support hers. She was only five cycles older than Jaros when she ran away from home.”

  Andira slid her hand along Salomen’s stomach. “You know the chances are good that he’ll forget about being a warrior in another cycle or two. The builders are getting buckets of interest with the space elevator in the news every other day.”

  “I just want him to be what he wants to be.” Salomen caught the wandering hand and held it. “Thank you for coming out here tonight. I know it wasn’t on your schedule.”

  “I always love coming to Hol-Opah. Listen to that.”

  She cocked an ear. “All I hear is a grainbird.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ah, now she understood. Their quarters in the State House were silent because they were soundproofed to keep the city noise at bay. This room was quiet because there was no noise to hold back, other than the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees outside and the occasional call of a grainbird. Even the insects had stopped singing. Best of all, it was this quiet with their window wide open and the breeze caressing their skin.

  “I don’t know how you managed it, growing up in Blacksun,” Salomen said. “You never knew what the night sounded like.”

  “I never knew what I was missing until I came out here. You ruined me. For so many things.”

  “Mm. One of my better accomplishments, I think.” Salomen was finally relaxed, with the beautiful silence of Hol-Opah and the warmth of Andira pressed against her. “Andira?”

  “Hm?”

  “Why do we stunt the dreams of so many children? Why does that law still stand?”

  Andira did not ask what she meant by “that law.” No doubt Corozen had told her before she arrived.

  “Because its roots go into the bedrock of our culture. It’s been the law forever. Changing it would mean changing everything.”

  “But would it truly?”

  Andira shifted away, propping her head on her hand. “She really got to you, didn’t she?”

  “She was me. The only difference is that her birthfather knew she was a high empath. No,” Salomen corrected herself. “There are two differences. The other is that she doesn’t have a prayer of staying in her caste.”

  “Salomen—”

  “It’s not fair, Andira! It’s wrong. We didn’t always push our high empaths into the warrior or scholar castes. It was a strategic tactic that gave a queen the advantage she needed to conquer, and other rulers copied her. But it was always about subjugation. We’re one world now; we don’t war against each other. We should have given up this law when we created the unified government.”

  “I agree. We should have, but we didn’t. And now the roots have spread too far.”

  “Don’t use a plant analogy on a producer. I know how to trim roots. As long as you trim branches too, and keep the system in balance, the plant will live. It will thrive, if those roots were diseased.” Salomen matched her position. “Our roots are diseased. When four out of six castes are missing their high empaths, the system is out of balance.”

  “It’s not out of balance. Just because it’s not fair doesn’t mean it’s not working.”

  “But it is. I can grow horten in the shade and get a straggly, unhealthy plant that’s searching for sun. Or I can grow it in full sun and get a compact, bushy plant full of leaves. They’re both alive. They’re both working. But only one of them is healthy.”

  “I think you’re taking that analogy a little far. Pull back and look at the bigger view. High empaths are a minority of our population. High empaths who want a different caste are a minority of that minority. Our culture is not unhealthy because a small number of people are initially unhappy with their caste options. And being initially unhappy doesn’t mean they stay that way.”

  Salomen stared at her. “You really don’t understand.”

  “Of course I do—”

  “Of course you don’t. You had a scholar mother and a warrior father; you never spent a single day worrying about your caste options. The law happened to work perfectly for you. Well, it didn’t work perfectly for me. I spent a lifetime hiding who I was because of it. A lifetime of keeping a secret and being terrified of anyone finding out. And it’s not working for Rusill.”

  “Salomen.” Andira’s voice was as pained as her emotions, but for the first time in their relationship, Salomen turned away from it.

  “I’m tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “This is not about us.” Andira skimmed her fingertips down Salomen’s bare back. “Please don’t let politics into our bed.”

  “Goddess above, Andira, you’re the Lancer and I’m the Bondlancer. How are we ever going to keep politics out of our bed?”

  “Hard work and love?”

  Andira’s hand traced a path over her waist, and Salomen softened enough to bring it down to her stomach and hold it there.

  “I do love you, you know that,” she said. “But you cannot understand what this means to me. That’s not your fault. I just need to accept it.”

  Andira scooted up against her back. “I’m not fond of that word. Accept. Not unless it’s spoken by someone on the other side of the negotiating table.”

  “What else would you call it?” She was suddenly as weary as she had claimed to be a tick earlier. “We’re never going to resolve this argument, tyrina. Can we not simply enjoy the quiet, and sleep?”

  “We can.” Andira brushed a light kiss against her shoulder blade, making her shiver. “I’m sorry this is hurting you.”

  “I know.” Salomen lifted their joined hands to her lips and returned the kiss to Andira’s fingers. “You’re right. It shouldn’t come between us.”

  It shouldn’t, she thought. But it was.

  32

  Bondlancer's choice

  For three ninedays, Salomen tried to forget about Rusill. But every time she gave a speech, she looked in the audience for children of that age. Every time Ronlin asked if she wanted to meet people at the back door or be swept past, she had to force herself to not take the easier path.

  When she went home to work her fields, she watched her younger brother and thanked Fahla for his mid empath rating and the choices it gave him. If high empathy was such a gift, why did it cost so much?

  One evening, Andira took her to a concert in an attempt to break her melancholy mood. Salomen listened to a magnificent symphony backing four superlative singers and wondered how many musicians had been blocked from their life’s calling because they happened to be high empaths. They could perform as amateurs, but the support of the crafters was not extended to those outside their caste. They would not be trained by the best, nor mentored by the experienced, nor given free access to the library of instruments every crafter caste house made available for its members.

  She had often thought about what she would have done had the testers taken her. Studied crop science, no doubt, and returned to Hol-Opah the instant she finished training. But she would have missed cycles of living and working under the tutelage of her parents. She could not have spoken in Granelle’s producer caste house except as a guest. Her older brother Nikin would have taken that role, and he hated public speaking. Worse, there was no scholar caste house in Granelle. The nearest one was half a hantick away by skimmer. She would not have belonged to the Granelle producer community, nor would she have belonged to the scholar community of a town she didn’t live in and had no history with. She would have been adrift.

  After the concert, they walked down the broad staircase to the lobby, surrounded by Guards and watched by hundreds of attendees. Most continued their conversations, drinks in hand, but their body language and darting eyes indicated where their true attention lay.

  Over by the refreshment bar, a young girl with long, black hair paid them no attention at all. She reached up for the drink she had purchased, showing more of her profile.

  Salomen’s heart slowed. It wasn’t Rusill.

  “What’s wrong?” Andira asked.

  “Nothing.” She winced internally at the transparent lie, which served only to elevate Andira’s concern. “I thought I saw someone I don’t want to meet.”

  “Ah. That’s how I spend half my days in the State House,” Andira joked.

  It was an easy conversational out, and Salomen took it gratefully. But she could not shake the growing sense of shame that while she had escaped her fate, she was turning her back on others who would not be so fortunate.

  But you’re the Bondlancer, Rusill had said, with her broken heart pushing jagged edges through her front.

  The shame grew in leaps and bounds, every day weighing more, until Salomen sat down with the ancient paper volume Chief Counselor Aldirk had loaned her during her first lesson in what it meant to be the Bondlancer. She found the section she had remembered and read it carefully.

  The prime function of the Bondlancer, overriding all others, is to assume the role of Head of Family for Alsea in the event of the Lancer’s Return. The Bondlancer must set aside personal grief, for the needs of the people are greater, and of greater importance, than the needs of the surviving bondmate.

  The Bondlancer shall sit in the State Chair and present an unbroken leadership to the people until such time as a new Lancer is elected. During the interregnum, the Bondlancer will have no governmental power, as the Lancer’s powers will vest in the High Council. In the event of a tie vote within the High Council, however, the Bondlancer will retain the Lancer’s vote and be called to break the tie.

  This duty requires an understanding of High Council proceedings and the legal and governmental issues of the Lancer’s incumbency. Therefore, the Bondlancer has right of access to the High Council at any time.

  She put her finger on the final sentence and read it again. Then she closed the book and walked out of her office.

  In the antechamber, Guard Demerah hurriedly set a cup on the sideboard and drew herself straight.

  “I’m just going upstairs,” Salomen said, lifting a hand to stop her. “Finish your shannel.”

  “Thank you, Bondlancer.” Demerah smiled as she retrieved her cup.

  Trotting up the single flight of stairs to the fourteenth floor, Salomen grumbled to herself. Andira had promised freedom of movement within the State House but failed to mention that she would have to account for her whereabouts every damned piptick or be chased down by worried Guards.

  She entered the antechamber of the Lancer’s office, which held not one but three Guards plus an aide, and consoled herself with the thought that however fussed over she might be, Andira had it twice as bad.

  “Does she have anyone inside?” she asked as she crossed the room. Guard Senshalon, closest to the office doors and in her immediate line of sight, shook his head and opened one of the doors for her.

  Andira was behind her desk, reading something on her Gaian pad. “Why would Dr. Wells want meteorological data from the time of the Caphenon’s crash and the Battle of Alsea?” she asked by way of greeting. “The last I heard, she was mapping the genes involved in a tyree connection. What does that have to do with which way the wind blew two cycles ago?”

  “Good afternoon to you, too.” Salomen walked around the desk and leaned against it, her hands braced on the polished wood and one of her feet pressed against a leg of Andira’s chair. “I’m here on business.”

  Andira looked up, now fully focused. “I can feel it. Will I need to hurt someone or throw them in the Pit?”

  “No, it’s not personal business. Though I appreciate your willingness to abuse your power on my behalf.” She took a moment to absorb Andira’s affection before dropping the bomb. “I formally request access to the High Council at its next meeting.”

  Andira sat back in her chair and pressed her fingers together. “This is about high empaths.” At Salomen’s nod, she said, “You know you’re entitled to it. But it won’t work.”

  The assumption sharpened Salomen’s tongue. “Perhaps you could do me the courtesy of giving me a chance before declaring the outcome?”

  “That’s not what I—” She held up a placating hand. “This is a matter of caste law. General caste law. You’d need a unanimous vote of the High Council to bring it before the full Council. It will never move out of the High Council because the Prime Warrior and Prime Scholar will always vote against it.”

  “Then maybe they can be shamed into doing the right thing,” Salomen snapped.

  “Possibly.” Andira reached for her leg, bare beneath the long skirt, and caressed the back of her calf. “But it’s not just a matter of the ruling castes wanting to keep their power. It’s also a matter of timing. Alsea has been constantly roiled for two cycles.” With her other hand, she counted off. “We’ve had the crash of the Caphenon, the Battle of Alsea, the Voloth settlers, the introduction of the matter printers, the space elevator that will open us for interplanetary trade, and now the divine tyrees. There hasn’t been a tick to breathe, and you want to throw a complete caste restructuring into the mix? It would blow up. We need stability, not more instability.”