It didn’t occur to her that she was providing the same comfort to Lhyn until the third night, when whispers pulled her from sleep. The words were nonsensical, confusing Salomen in her sleep-dazed state, until she realized they were not her language.

  She rolled over and found her bed partner exuding an odd combination of guilt and excitement.

  “And now we’ve woken her up,” Lhyn said in High Alsean. “I’m sorry. I did try—” She stopped, focusing somewhere over Salomen’s shoulder. “You could have trusted me.”

  “Who are you—?” The answer came before Salomen finished the question. She pushed up on one elbow, wide awake. “I thought you and Ekatya couldn’t connect again!”

  The telepathic connection that had saved Lhyn from her torture had been an accident on her side, due to shock and a deadly mix of injected chemicals, and an intentional intervention by Ekatya, whose chemical alteration was carefully controlled by Dr. Wells. Once Lhyn recovered, they had tried to reproduce it, but every attempt ended in failure.

  “We couldn’t,” Lhyn said. “But then you all healed me. We connected right after.”

  “When Ekatya was recalled to Tashar?” Salomen clutched her hand with a delighted grin. “That’s wonderful!”

  “It is. But here’s the really wonderful part. It only worked when we were both alone and very relaxed. Ekatya usually needs spirits to get her there. I’ve been taking centering lessons from Rahel.” Her smile lit up the room. “But I’m not alone and it’s still working. You’re awake and it’s still working!”

  There was pure joy in her touch, warm and rich. Salomen kept her grip, soaking it up. “Why didn’t you tell us? It’s been more than four moons.”

  “I wanted to. Ekatya thought we should perfect it first. As if a scientific miracle can be perfected.” She turned her head, following the movements of a body that wasn’t there. “She says it’s a matter of practicality. That is steaming dokshin, Ekatya. They’re the two people in the universe we don’t have to be careful with.”

  “Andira would probably say the same thing. She wouldn’t want to talk about it until she knew how it worked and had full command of it.”

  Lhyn listened for a moment. “She says that’s why you’re perfect for Andira. You understand warriors.”

  Salomen dropped back to the mattress, laughing until she coughed from the effort of trying to keep quiet and not wake Rahel. “The day I understand warriors is the day I meet Fahla.”

  “You understood Ekatya within hanticks of meeting her.” Lhyn pulled herself up enough to rest against the simple wooden headboard and wrapped an arm around Salomen’s shoulder. “I’m fine and she’s safe,” she said to their invisible guest. “But you’re stuck. You can’t tell Andira you’ve checked on us without admitting how. And you can’t not tell her you’ve checked on us. Didn’t think about that, did you?”

  Salomen sat up next to her, unwilling to have this conversation—or whatever it could be called—while prone.

  As the ticks passed in an increasingly easy dialogue, she felt that only the thinnest of barriers kept her from seeing Ekatya at the foot of the bed. It was as if she simply didn’t know how, but if she did, it would all become clear.

  She learned that this method of communication eased the physical symptoms Lhyn and Ekatya had previously experienced when separated by great distances. The chest pain, the restless energy, the inability to concentrate—all of them settled when they could speak mind-to-mind.

  “The distance tolerance has really increased, though,” Lhyn said. “Our first time, it didn’t ease up until we saw each other. The second time, Ekatya felt better the instant she set foot on the space station where I was healing. Now we’re fine even when I’m down here and she’s in orbit.” She cocked her head. “Ekatya says ‘fine’ is not the same thing as knowing I’m safe.” In a conspiratorial tone, she added, “She’s trying to justify butting in. She knows Rahel would never let anything happen to us.”

  “Perhaps she’s practicing her excuses for when she talks to Andira.” Salomen stilled, listening. She could have sworn she’d heard a faint chuckle.

  “She says ‘no comment,’ which is Fleet speak for ‘you’re right but I can’t admit it.’” Lhyn laughed. “Well, it is! Don’t try to tell me I haven’t nailed the translation.”

  They chatted for another quarter hantick, but Lhyn put an end to it when Salomen yawned for the third time.

  “We have to stop. She needs to sleep.” She shook her head. “No, I really am fine. I sleep better with her. It feels safe. Comfortable.”

  Salomen offered an encouraging smile that turned into yet another yawn. She slid back down and plumped her pillow before crashing into it and closing her eyes. “She’s right. I cannot stay up all night.”

  “She says good night, and thanks you for watching over me.”

  “We’re watching over each other,” Salomen said sleepily. She listened to Lhyn murmuring in her own language and realized that over these last days, she had grown so accustomed to the relentlessly powerful flow of Lhyn’s emotions that their very strength was a source of comfort.

  The murmurs stopped, and Lhyn brushed a soft kiss to her temple. “Go to sleep, skrella-ni-corsa,” she whispered.

  Salomen wondered what that meant, but the words were too heavy to push up her throat. She was asleep a moment later.

  48

  Ocean of color

  The day of the uprising dawned gray and cloudy, and Salomen’s first waking breath told her the autumn rains were coming today. When she opened her eyes, Lhyn was watching from the other pillow.

  “Early riser?” Salomen asked in a rusty voice. “Or did you never get back to sleep after Ekatya’s visit?”

  “Some of each. Sorry we woke you.”

  “I’m not.” She stretched and rolled to face her. “Do you think she’ll tell Andira?”

  “Mm-hm. And Andira will scold her about lying by omission, and Ekatya will deserve every word of it.”

  “They’re not fast learners, are they?”

  They shared a chuckle at the thought, but Lhyn was abruptly serious. “I lied by omission, too. I didn’t tell you about the brain damage—”

  “You didn’t owe us—”

  “—because we’re the ones who caused it. When we connected.”

  “What!” Salomen lowered her voice. “It wasn’t the drugs?”

  “It was both. Turns out that connecting is a high-energy activity. By itself it’s fine, but the drugs magnified the effect so much that it burned me out. Literally.”

  “Oh, Lhyn.” For such damage to be even partially self-inflicted . . .

  Lhyn’s dismissive shrug was belied by the echo of grief in her emotions. “I told myself it was worth the price. That piece of my brain in exchange for my life; who wouldn’t make the trade?”

  “That doesn’t make it any less of a loss.”

  She gave a sharp nod, her mouth too tight. “Thank you for understanding that.”

  “Of course.” But Salomen’s words were lost in the flurry of blankets as Lhyn threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. It was a definitive punctuation mark to an obviously painful topic.

  Salomen slid out more slowly, wondering whether Ekatya’s reason for keeping their renewed connection a secret was truly about perfecting it or about protecting Lhyn from further trauma. Had their telepathy failed again, no one would have been the wiser. Lhyn wouldn’t have had to acknowledge another loss.

  She was belting her robe when a memory surfaced. “What did you call me last night? Skrella . . . something. Right before I fell asleep.”

  Shyness was not a characteristic she associated with her confident scholar friend, but Lhyn’s nervousness clung to her skin and she would not meet Salomen’s eyes.

  “Skrella-ni-corsa. It’s an endearment in my language.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The closest translation would be ‘sister of the heart.’ It means, um—” She pushed her hands into sleep-tangled hair and offered a wry smile. “I don’t know why this is so hard. It means a person not related by blood, but someone we choose as family. Closer than a friend. Much closer than family we don’t choose.”

  “Skrella-na—”

  “Ni. Skrella-ni-corsa.” Lhyn spoke each part separately, then nodded as Salomen repeated them. “Good. A little flat on the accent, but anyone on Allendohan would understand you.”

  “I’m honored to be your skrella-ni-corsa. Can I choose you as mine, too? It might—” Salomen stopped at the spray of incredulous joy that spattered across her senses. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “It’s not that, it’s—” Lhyn swallowed, her eyes a little too bright. “I don’t think your love comes in rations.”

  Salomen heard the message and swept her into a warmron. “It does not,” she said firmly. “I either do, or I don’t. And when I do, I don’t stop.”

  “I know,” Lhyn murmured. “It’s one of the things that makes you special.” She kissed Salomen’s cheek and pulled back, pulsing with new confidence that shone through her wide smile. “I should warn you that I’ll be impossible to get rid of now. Sponge in the rain, remember? I’m a very big sponge.”

  “I’d say something about how much rain I’m capable of, but it’s too early for metaphors.” Salomen gestured toward the door. “Rahel is probably setting out the food. Shall we?”

  Mornmeal was difficult. Salomen’s own confidence had hidden itself back in the bedroom as the reality of this day reared its intimidating head. With her stomach tied in knots, she picked at a few pieces of panfruit and tried to leave without eating.

  Rahel was ready for that.

  “You’re walking how many lengths today? And on a global broadcast every step of the way? I’m sure Alseans will be impressed to see their Bondlancer collapse halfway through.” She laid a slice of fanten on bread and briskly cut it up along with a variety of fruits, until everything was bite-sized. “Eat,” she said, pushing the plate across the table.

  “You’re making me feel like a child.”

  “I’m taking care of you because you need it. You’re going into battle. Don’t do it on an empty stomach. That’s a first-cycle trainee mistake.”

  “Fine.” Salomen took a bite of the fanten and bread. It tasted like dust, but she chewed through it.

  Then Rahel began telling Lhyn about a client she’d had when she was a prime, a man who couldn’t become aroused unless he was tied up and beaten with his own shoes.

  “Your shoes wouldn’t work?”

  “No, they had to be his. And not clean shoes he brought in a bag. The shoes he wore to meet me. Sometimes he’d walk through mud puddles on purpose, just to get them dirty before I used them.”

  “How does a person end up with a need like that?” Lhyn wondered. “What causes it?”

  “I don’t know, but after the beating, he could only finish in one position. And it wasn’t any of the usual ones.”

  Salomen ate mechanically, her attention devoted to the outrageous tale Rahel was spinning, until she reached for another bite of food and found nothing.

  “Distraction is a powerful tool.” Rahel picked a starfruit from the bowl. “Learned that as a prime.”

  “I should be offended at how easily you just managed me.”

  “But you’re smarter than that.” She popped the starfruit in her mouth and smiled.

  Twenty ticks later, Salomen was washed and dressed in her formal regalia—the same clothing she had worn to the funeral pyres at Melladin and never returned to the State House. Her dark gray trousers were embroidered with green thread that would match her cape when she donned it, and her shirt was designed to go beneath the cuirass: smooth and plain in the torso, but with metallic discs studded all along the sleeves, reflecting the light with her slightest movement.

  Her one concession to the practicalities of the day was to substitute her dress boots for a comfortable pair of walking shoes, which she had polished to a shine before leaving Hol-Opah.

  Lhyn arranged her hair, putting it up in a formal twist that left her neck bare. “That should stay up even in the rain,” she said in a satisfied tone.

  Rahel stood next to her, holding the cuirass. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  They lifted it over her head and adjusted the sliding shoulder tabs that snugged the breastplate and backplate against her torso. Salomen held out her arms, giving them room to close the side buckles with a series of sharp clicks.

  She looked down at the silver shield of Alsea blazing across her chest and thought that today, she truly was living up to its promise. This was not merely a decoration that came with her bonding to Andira. It was an identity she was seizing with both hands.

  They swung her dark green cape into place, with its far larger shield of Alsea embroidered in black and gold. As Lhyn smoothed it on her shoulders, Rahel fastened the decorative chain across her upper chest. When they finished, they stepped back to view their handiwork.

  “Wow,” Lhyn said. “You look—”

  “Magnificent.” Rahel thumped her fist to her chest and lowered her head. “Bondlancer. It’s an honor to serve you.”

  Salomen pulled her into a warmron made awkward by the armor. “It’s an honor to be served by such a strong and loyal warrior. And a good friend.”

  “Where’s mine?” Lhyn asked as soon as Salomen let go.

  “Right here.” She opened her arms.

  “Oof. That’s definitely bombproof.” Lhyn rapped her knuckles on the cuirass. “You really are the Bondlancer,” she said as they separated. “The only person who didn’t know it before now was you.”

  Salomen bounced lightly, settling the armor and making sure everything was tucked in properly. “I kept trying to think of a way to take those,” she said, nodding toward the worn gloves lying atop her bag. “Short of wearing them, I don’t see a way.”

  Rahel picked them up. “These are old.”

  “They were my mother’s.”

  “You want to bring her with you.” At Salomen’s nod, Rahel indicated the utility belt wrapped around her black Fleet combat vest. “I wouldn’t presume, but I can tuck them here if you’d like.”

  It was such a simple thing, yet Salomen’s throat nearly closed. “I would like that,” she managed. “Thank you.”

  She rode in the front seat this time, needing the extra space and easier entry with her cuirass. As Rahel drove, Salomen attached her new wristcom and slid the earcuff into place. With a tap, she activated it and called Prime Builder Eroles.

  “We’re on our way. What are the latest percentages?” she asked.

  “Astounding. Ninety-one percent compliance with the merchants in Whitesun.”

  Salomen listened in growing awe as Eroles listed off the results of the caste directives sent out the previous day. An itch set in at the base of her brain, nudging her to acknowledge what she had been avoiding.

  Rahel left the road and skimmed up to the top of a hill, stopping where a break in the trees offered a view of the floodplain below. The Fahlinor River cut through it, broad and smooth, and vanished into the southern edge of the city. To the west, the Silverrun River wound its way in, much wider here than at Hol-Opah. Blacksun was founded on the junction of these two great rivers, a point of power that was now contained within the State Park.

  This was the gathering place, just outside the city where the Fahlinor made its entrance. Salomen stared down, feeling as if she had taken a posthead to the chest.

  She had thought they might start with fifty to seventy thousand. One hundred at the most.

  An ocean of color shimmered in the meadow below, each drop a formal, full length cape worn by someone from one of the four lower castes. They were walking out from Blacksun’s southernmost magtran station, moving away from the massive numbers of skimmers parked at the edges of the crowd, and shifting about in conversational groups. Beneath the threatening sky, their capes shone in a vibrant palette: the light blue of the builders, the dark green of the producers, the purple of the merchants, and the distinctive tricolored stripes of the crafters in yellow, green, and blue.

  “Holy shekking Mother,” Lhyn said. “How many are there?”

  “Prime Builder,” Salomen asked, “how many are marching in Blacksun?”

  “So far? Confirmed participation from five hundred and eighty-six thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two. I expect that to easily hit six hundred thousand, possibly six-fifty by the time you start. Your announcement will bring them out. And it will grow as you move through the city.”

  “You’ll have to keep the head of the march tight,” Rahel said when Salomen repeated the numbers. “So the Voloth can cover you. They’ll be lost in those crowds otherwise.”

  She drove down the hill and circled around the teeming mass of Alseans, then slowly moved through the thinner crowds near the river. Finally, she resorted to opening her window and calling, “Make way! Make way for the Bondlancer!”

  The word passed like fire through a summer-dry field, and people moved to the sides, staring as they eased through. Then the shouts began.

  “She’s here!”

  “The Bondlancer is here!”

  “Bondlancer Opah is leading us!”

  By the time they reached the tall platform that had been erected overnight, the crowd near the river was cheering. Salomen stepped out and found Prime Producer Arabisar waiting, her own cuirass bearing the tree of the producers.

  “Welcome to the uprising,” Arabisar said with an elated grin. “We seem to have a few more than we expected.”

  Salomen met her palm touch and sensed very little nervousness. Arabisar was excited and fully committed. “Are you sure you don’t want to take over for me?” she asked.

  “I’m not the one they’re waiting for.”

  “Will they be able to hear me?” She had to focus on the practical or lose her mind.

  “Our builders have been moving out the holographic generators and adding new ones for the last hantick. We’re keeping up with the crowd. Come, Bondlancer. Time to show them what you’re made of.”