The point of bringing the Primes here had been to get to know them in a more relaxed atmosphere. Salomen supposed it was working—she hadn’t realized Stasinal was such an unabashed flirt.

  With a squad of Guards following in the six-seater, she drove her guests on a circuit of Hol-Opah, pointing out highlights and hitting the best viewpoints. When they agreed to her proposal of a short walk, she parked at her favorite trailhead and led them to the bank of the Silverrun River, then upstream to her canyon.

  “What a lovely surprise!” Arabisar said when they entered the cool, lush space with its rock walls rising over their heads. “It’s like a self-contained world down here.”

  “You haven’t seen the best part.” Salomen pointed ahead. “Right around that corner.”

  She stepped back and let them pass, then brought up the rear as they rounded the spur of rock and found themselves facing her waterfall.

  It wasn’t tall, only half a body length, but the autumn rains had swollen the river and turned her quiet little waterfall into a roaring torrent. Two giant boulders on either side of the canyon squeezed the Silverrun to a fraction of its width, forcing it into a jet of whitewater that exploded straight into the air before falling and churning over the rocky stream bed.

  “I concede,” Arabisar said. “I thought my family holding was the most beautiful on Alsea, but we don’t have a waterfall. This is splendid.”

  Stasinal nodded. “Imagine growing up with this! I’d have been swimming here every summer’s day. What a childhood you must have had.”

  “I did. It’s a gentle waterfall in the summer. One of my earliest memories is of my mother teaching me how to shoot it in a floater ring.”

  They traded childhood stories as they walked back, and by the time Salomen pulled into the skimmer barn, she considered her social strategy a success.

  The sun had set during their tour, and the bright windows of the dining room framed the now-lively party. Bylwytin’s bondmate was playing a bouncy tune on her little pipe, while Irin demonstrated a hidden skill at percussion using spoons on glasses. The others clapped along, laughing, and Jaros was so fascinated that his nose was nearly in one of the glasses.

  “Wonderful, I’ll be hearing Jaros banging on cups for the next two moons,” Salomen said as she followed Stasinal up the steps.

  Stasinal laughed. “That’s what you get for inviting the rabble to your home.” She went through the door and held it just as Salomen felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “May I have a word?” Arabisar asked.

  “Of course.” Salomen nodded at Stasinal, who let the door shut.

  Arabisar walked to the railing a few paces down the deck and leaned against it, admiring the rosy light of sunset on the Snowmount Range. When Salomen settled in beside her, she spoke without taking her gaze off the mountains.

  “I saw you as a political ally when we first met. A gift from Fahla, a producer Bondlancer at last. Then you did that interview for the Blacksun Spotlight, and I saw you as a political liability.”

  Salomen closed her eyes. “I apologized for that.”

  “Yes, you did. I’m not done.”

  It felt like being scolded, though she sensed no anger. No, she thought a moment later, it felt as if Arabisar had some lesson to impart. Salomen might have the higher rank, but Arabisar held the edge in age and experience.

  “I didn’t know what to expect from our uprising,” Arabisar continued. “All I knew was that we had to try. We had to try because you gave us the opportunity. By the end, you were far from a liability. You were an inspiration.”

  She turned, resting on one forearm. Though Salomen felt the weight of her gaze, she wasn’t ready to meet it.

  “I know the Bondlancer. I made history with her. But tonight I met Salomen, down at that waterfall. I’d like to tell you something, and I hope you’ll take it as it’s meant.” Arabisar touched her wrist, bringing Salomen’s head around. When their eyes met, she said, “I’m proud of you.”

  Salomen had no idea why those words would bring so much pain along with the pleasure. “Thank you. That means a great deal, especially after the earlier impression I made.”

  “You do tend to make strong impressions.” Arabisar hadn’t let go of her wrist. “I suspect you share that with your mother.”

  It must have been the spirits that made her late in realizing what their touch had revealed. Salomen drew back her arm. “You didn’t know her.”

  “No, but I’ve read her caste records. They have quite a bit in common with yours. Either you’re genetically incapable of staying quiet in the face of injustice, or she taught you that.”

  “Or both,” Salomen managed.

  “Do you realize how many of those stories you told at the waterfall involved her?” Arabisar asked. Her eyes were too sharp, too knowing. “I think I know a little more about what drives you. You’re listening for an approval you can no longer hear. That voice is inside you now. Listen for it there.” She wrapped her fingers around Salomen’s wrist again, not a light touch this time but a solid contact, meant to transfer emotional truth. “Nashta Opah is surely beaming with pride over what her daughter has done. You might need to lower a few walls around your heart so you can hear her.”

  She let go and turned away. Salomen stared at the mountains, tracking her footsteps across the deck and through the door.

  The sunset had intensified, turning the clouds over the Snowmounts into brilliant streamers of fire. It was a beautiful evening, but she felt cut off from it, as if she were observing from a distance. Her mind was too full to settle on any one thought.

  Behind her, the door opened again. The comforting presence of her father surrounded her as he stepped up to the rail.

  “Lovely night,” he said.

  She made a noise of agreement.

  “Are you coming back inside?”

  “In a tick. I needed a rest.”

  He planted his hands on the top railing. “Hosting is taxing. Your mother was good at it, for a hantick or so. Then she’d hit her tolerance and end up out here.”

  She tried to keep quiet, but it burst out of her. “I miss her.”

  “I do, too. Every day.”

  “Do you think she’d be proud of me?”

  His surprise was a flash of heat tinged with guilt. “Of course she would.”

  “Are you?”

  “Salomen.” He rested a hand on her back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can you not answer?”

  After a pause, he said, “I am ridiculously proud of you. And worried that you need to ask. I thought you knew.”

  Yes, she knew, but she didn’t want to have to interpret emotions. She wanted it to be simple. Undeniable, the way it was with Andira. How could she explain that?

  “Have I been remiss?” Shikal asked. “Goddess above, I thought it was coming out of my pores. I didn’t think I needed to say it.”

  “She never will.” Salomen’s voice was hoarse as she finally met his eyes. “I’ll never hear it from her.”

  His understanding crashed around her, a wave breaking on the shore. “Oh, Salomen.”

  “I wish I could hear her. Just one more time. Why does it suddenly hurt more?”

  “Because it comes and goes. It’s the nature of mourning. Grief keeps its own calendar, and pays no mind to our expectations. You’ve done something phenomenal, something you want to share. If she were here, you’d be telling her every detail.”

  “But she’s not here.” She didn’t understand why tonight of all nights, she seemed trapped in a pain that should be behind her.

  “Some days are harder than others,” he said. “Some hanticks are harder. But you have something you didn’t when she Returned. You have a bondmate standing at our back door, trying to decide whether or not to disturb us.”

  Salomen didn’t need to look; Andira’s concern filled their link. “She’s courteous that way.”

  “She’s courteous in every way, except when Nikin catches you in the kitchen.” He rested a hand against her cheek and touched their foreheads together, a priceless gesture of family love when she needed it most.

  She closed her eyes and reached for his other hand, his work-roughened skin rasping against her own. The memory hit with such strength that she could hear her mother’s exasperated tone.

  “You’re not using your lotion,” she said, echoing the voice in her mind.

  He chuckled. “I’ve had my hands in and out of water all evening, what’s the point? I’d only wash it off again.”

  They separated, still holding hands, and smiled at each other. He had always answered Nashta the same way, and she would always toss up her smooth, cared-for hands in a show of despair. It was a ritual, one that held no significance outside the two of them—and Salomen, who had spent many evenings in the office overhearing these interactions that now held so much meaning.

  “Sometimes I see her in you,” he said. “Looking out through your eyes.”

  “Or speaking with my voice?”

  His smile grew. “Yes.”

  “Then she is here, isn’t she? In a way.”

  He pressed his free hand over her heart. “She always will be, for as long as this beats.” With a quick kiss to her cheek, he released her and made his way to the door.

  Andira opened it for him and let him pass, then crossed the deck to stand next to Salomen. In an unspoken choreography, they both turned to the view, resting their forearms on the top railing and one foot on the bottom.

  Salomen smiled faintly in recognition. Like her parents, they were building their own tiny rituals.

  “We’re missing your company, tyrina,” Andira said.

  “Sorry. I just . . . fell into a hole, I suppose.” Salomen leaned their shoulders together, her gaze on the fiery clouds. “It’s one of those nights where it feels like Mother died yesterday.”

  The immediate understanding soothed her in ways that even her father’s could not. Shikal had lost a bondmate, but Andira knew what it meant to lose a parent too soon.

  “Sometimes it hits you on the side of the head,” Andira said. “I’ve been expecting this.”

  “You have?”

  “This isn’t just about Nashta. It’s about losing people you trusted.” She moved her arm around Salomen’s and laced their fingers together. “I wish it had been anyone but Demerah.”

  Salomen’s first thought was to correct her. She hadn’t given a thought to Demerah today. But the words resonated inside her, a reverberation that said they had struck something solid.

  Demerah should have been among her Guards tonight, but she was gone forever. Her brother Herot should have been in their dining room, helping to serve drinks and entertain guests, but he was only halfway through his prison sentence.

  Herot, she would someday trust again. Demerah, never. And her mother . . .

  “I didn’t realize,” she said. “I didn’t understand what she gave me until I lost it.”

  “Demerah?”

  “My mother. Unconditional love. Unconditional trust. I wish I’d understood what that was worth.”

  Andira was silent, her only response a squeeze of their hands and a deep surge of sympathy. At last she said, “I think it’s a good thing you didn’t understand then.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s only one way to learn that lesson. By losing. We don’t often value what we’ve always had.”

  Salomen turned that around in her mind, examining it from all angles. “All right, but why learn the same lesson over and over? I keep losing people. I try so hard not to, but it keeps happening.”

  “I know. Have you noticed what else keeps happening?”

  “What?”

  “You keep gaining people.” Andira straightened, pulling Salomen up with her. “Me, for one. Lhyn chose you as her family; do you know the value of that? I think the only person she loves more than you is Ekatya. Vellmar overcame a lifetime of training to see past the Bondlancer and be your true friend. Rahel has been through the fires with you, and she’s still there, immune to the heat. Lanaril, Ekatya, Micah . . .” She held up a hand and made a show of counting. “How many is that now? I lost count.”

  Salomen wrapped her in a fierce warmron, her heart suddenly lighter. “Me too. You made your point.”

  “Did I?” Andira kissed her throat. “You feel better.”

  “I still miss my mother.”

  “You always will.”

  “Does it get easier?”

  “It does.” She pulled back and looked at her solemnly. “There will always be times when it hits you like a posthead. They get farther and farther apart, though. And in between those times, you have so many people who love you.”

  “I’m feeling very loved right now.” Salomen folded her back into an embrace, absorbing the rich depth of their connection. A soft pattering reached her ears, and she lifted her head to see the rain falling once again. “I suppose we should go in.”

  Andira held her hand past the railing and let the drops hit her skin. “That reminds me. Your brother changed your name. He said Rainbringer is too hard to say, so he’s shortened it to Rainbird.”

  “Rainbird,” Salomen repeated. “Really.”

  “I think it’s rather sweet, don’t you?”

  “I think it’s rather close to grainbird.”

  “I’m certain that’s a coincidence.” Andira’s grin and her emotions said the opposite, and Salomen couldn’t help smiling.

  “Let’s go, tyrina. I have to speak with Nikin about a matter of respect.”

  Andira dried her hand on her trousers. “You’re all right?”

  “I’m all right. As long as I have you to keep reminding me of what I’ve gained.”

  “You’ll never get rid of me,” Andira promised. “And for the record, the count is seven. So far.”

  It was the so far that made her heart swell. When they rejoined the party, Arabisar caught her eye with a questioning look, and Salomen gave her a confident nod. She looked around the dining room at her family conversing with four Primes and their bondmates—and one badly chosen date she was certain she’d never see again—and nodded once more, this time to herself.

  Yes. Her mother would be proud.

  Epilogue

  Rax pulled his skimmer into the lot at the plant and seed store and had to maneuver carefully to find a place to park. Belsara and Galor were having a sale on winter planting stock, and it seemed that half of Blacksun Basin was taking advantage. It was a good thing he had asked Belsara to set aside his order yesterday. Judging by the jammed lot, he would be lucky to find anything left.

  He jogged across the soggy ground, anxious to get indoors before the rain got worse. Vagron joked that autumn in the Basin consisted of two kinds of weather: rain that soaked you and rain that drowned you. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

  Inside the high-ceilinged shop, he was too busy shaking water off his rain cloak to see the Guards spaced around the walls. But he recognized her voice instantly.

  “Well met, Rax.”

  Bondlancer Opah stood in front of him, wearing mud-stained boots, a rain cloak that had seen hard use, and a bright smile. She could hardly have been more removed from her regal appearance the day of the march.

  He stuttered a greeting, and her smile grew as she waved a hand down her body. “I’ll tell you a secret. This is who I really am. They only stuff me in the fancy clothes when I need to be the Bondlancer.” She lifted her hand for a palm touch and focused sharply when he met it. “It looks good.”

  He made a fist, then wriggled his fingers, still amazed at the Alsean medtech that had returned most functionality to his hand within a nineday and full use in less than a moon. Yet even that had paled next to the experience of empathic healing. To have a high empath sit with his hand in hers, using those terrifying powers to help rather than hurt, was a revelation he hadn’t fully come to grips with. He had seen how the effort tired the healer, who told him that such skills were normally reserved for more grave injuries. But Lancer Tal herself had asked that he be given the best of care.

  “I thought I’d have limitations,” he said. “Your healers are nothing like what we had back in the Empire.”

  “Yes, Dr. Wells had a few things to say about Voloth healers.”

  “You know her?” He shook his head; what a stupid thing to say. Of course she knew Dr. Wells. Lancer Tal did, so—

  “I’m getting to know her. She came to our anniversary party last nineday. She says what she thinks. I like that in a person.”

  He did, too. It was something he was trying to learn to do himself, but the training was hard to overcome. Vagron was much better at it. “I wish I could always have her for my healer. Wasn’t your anniversary half a moon ago?”

  “I’m impressed you know that.”

  “It was in the news.”

  “Ah.” She looked down and kicked the toe of one boot against the floor, seeming ten cycles younger. “I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the vote then.” Planting the boot, she crossed her arms and said, “We didn’t want to celebrate until all of that was done. Then we had a party at Hol-Opah, and Dr. Wells told stories about landing on exotic planets and curing plagues. My little brother has suddenly decided that he wants to be a healer and work for Fleet so he can rescue aliens.”

  “Is that possible?” Rax tried to imagine Alsean healers working in Dr. Wells’s medbay and found that he could easily picture it.

  “I think it will be. Our first Alsean in space is working out well. The next step is expanding the program.” A rueful expression crossed her face. “For the last cycle, my brother wanted to be a warrior. I spent all that time wishing he’d outgrow that dream and move on to a different one. Now he has, and I’m thinking Fahla has a nasty sense of humor. She gave me what I wished for.”

  “We have a saying like that. Wish not, lest it come to pass.”

  “It must be universal. How are you, Rax? Is it easier?”

  He flexed his fingers again, a habit developed during the last moon. “It is. It was never going to change overnight, but it’s changed more than I thought it could.” His gaze went to the front counter, where Belsara was speaking to a customer. “I used to come here just before they closed, so I wouldn’t be seen by other customers. Now I come when I want to, and the customers don’t hate me. They’re not suddenly friendly, but they don’t hate us. It’s progress.”