“To use a nonviolent means of defense,” Salomen said. “Do you think I’d be involved in this otherwise? I’m a producer, not a warrior. It would make me sick to use violent empathic force.”

  If the tyrees knew the truth of that, Tal thought, they would talk of nothing else for a moon.

  “There are other ways,” she said. “I promise, on my honor, we are not training you to be an offensive weapon. I would not ask that of Salomen and I won’t ask it of you. But if we can learn to reach into orbit and convince a Voloth commander to cease fire—”

  “It would be worth five warships like the Phoenix.” Ekatya’s sharp tone attracted the attention of everyone in the room. “I’ve fought my share of battles. It only takes one mistake, one bit of bad luck, and the tide turns the other way. Yes, I took down an invasion fleet before it could hit Alsea, but I lost my ship in the process.” She let that sink in before adding, “The Voloth know I’m in charge of Alsea’s protection. They’ll have studied my tactical history. If they come back, it’ll be with a specific strategy to counter me and the assets in my battle group.” Her smile was vicious. “But they won’t know about you.”

  8

  Coming home ritual

  The divine tyrees had fewer questions than Ekatya had expected. Rahel had none at all, calling it a sensible strategy and offering herself as a test subject whenever necessary.

  “We’ll work with you as long as we can,” Salomen said after the tyrees had filed out. “But if this goes as far as we hope it will, there will come a time when I’ll need to work with a Gaian mind.” She shook her head as Rahel glanced at Ekatya. “No, I know her too well. Much too well.”

  Ekatya had to smile at that. “It’ll need to be someone new to her. I haven’t decided who to ask. It’s . . . delicate.”

  “You can’t let this get out,” Rahel translated. “Alseans able to affect Gaians in orbit? The DOP would hit the farthest moon.”

  “They aren’t the only ones,” Ekatya muttered.

  “Ask Commander Lokomorra.”

  In fact, he had been Ekatya’s first thought. But his position as executive officer meant he was in Admiral Greve’s target scope. She would not risk his career by asking more of him than she already had.

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” she said. “You have a report to make.”

  “That means ‘go away now,’” Vellmar observed. “And I’m under orders from Lanaril to bring you over for midmeal after you see Colonel Micah. Shall we hit two targets with the same throw?”

  The two warriors went one way, already in animated conversation, while Ekatya followed her friends deeper into the maze of the State House. She appreciated their easy silence and didn’t even mind that it came from awareness of her emotions. The time when she had resented having a transparent head seemed long past; now she welcomed the freedom from having to play a part for the sake of appearances.

  They walked down corridors she didn’t recognize and through an airy room full of arched doorways, each topped by paintings depicting a different scene from Alsean history. Ekatya was lost until Andira led them through one of the doorways and down another hall to stop in front of a familiar lift.

  “Oh,” she said as she turned in place. “That’s where that hall goes.”

  “Another piece of the mental map?” Andira asked.

  “One more piece in place, twelve thousand to go.”

  Salomen chuckled. “I know what you mean. I still have at least eight thousand left.”

  “That puts you four thousand ahead of me.” Ekatya watched the lift doors open. “It always seems incongruous to have such modern lifts in this building.”

  “Modern but disguised.” Andira waited until they were in before tapping the control pad.

  The doors closed smoothly, etched and colored metal coming together to complete a map of Blacksun Basin. This was Ekatya’s favorite lift, though the one where the doors showed a lifelike winden leaping from one mountain ledge to another was a close second. Alsean artistry never failed to impress her, both with its skill and the way it was incorporated everywhere she looked. Even something as utilitarian as a pair of metal lift doors was turned into a canvas for creativity.

  The map split down the middle and parted again, opening onto the quiet elegance of the fourteenth floor. She led the way out, knowing this section as well as her own bridge.

  As always, Andira and Salomen followed her into the suite.

  “Finally!” Lhyn strode out of the kitchen, her face wreathed in a welcoming smile. “You landed ages ago.”

  “It was a short meeting,” Andira protested.

  “It was still a delay.” She reached for Ekatya’s hands and looked her over with eyes that saw too much. “I’m not used to having to wait. Come on, let’s get you out of that uniform.”

  For most of her life, Ekatya had stripped off her uniform at the end of a shift and never thought a thing about it. That changed when Lhyn introduced her coming home ritual.

  While Andira and Salomen drifted into the living area to wait, she followed Lhyn into the bedroom and shut the door behind them. Cocooned in their ritual space, she stood still while Lhyn detached the captain’s bars from her collar and set them on the bedside table.

  On her ship, she left the bars in place except on laundry day, but Lhyn had been right: removing them each time weighted them with meaning. When she saw them come off, something in her chest began to unwind.

  Next, Lhyn methodically opened each tab on the uniform jacket and slipped it from her shoulders, hanging it in the closet while Ekatya shrugged off the overshirt. This was plucked from her hands and hung next to the jacket.

  The cushioned bench beside the closet was perfect for sitting on while removing boots and socks. Next to go were the trousers, which Lhyn efficiently folded over another hanger while Ekatya peeled off the undershirt. By the time she returned from dropping her underclothes in the hamper, Lhyn was holding out the Alsean trousers, made of a soft and stretchy material that still managed to look elegant.

  She pulled them on and stood erect, waiting.

  “My favorite part,” Lhyn said, pressing against her front and reaching around. A sudden sense of release, a flash of arm, and the bra went flying to land atop the hamper.

  Ekatya chuckled. “So meticulous with the rest, and then you fling the bra.”

  “Bras should always be flung.” Lhyn stepped back, her hands sliding around Ekatya’s waist and then up.

  Ekatya let out a purr as her newly freed breasts were massaged. “This is my favorite part.”

  “I know.” Lhyn glanced up, wide green eyes alight before she refocused on her massage. “It’s a sign of a good relationship when you both enjoy the same thing.”

  “I don’t think this particular thing makes us unique.”

  She bent to drop a soft kiss on each nipple. “Bye, sweeties. I’ll see you later. And don’t listen to her, you’re completely unique.”

  Ignoring Ekatya’s snort, she held open a short-sleeved shirt. Ekatya slipped it on and pulled the sides together, running her finger up the front pressure seam to seal it. Out of habit, she closed it all the way to the top, then remembered that this was not a duty shirt and she could be as comfortable as she wished.

  “Much better,” Lhyn said when she reopened the top quarter.

  “It takes me a while to get out of the mindset. But I always get there, thanks to your ritual.” She had been stripped of her uniform and clothed head to toe in Alsean materials. It was time for the final piece.

  “Welcome home, tyrina,” Lhyn murmured, wrapping her in a hug.

  Ekatya slid her arms around the lean torso and tucked her face into Lhyn’s throat. Here were safety and comfort, the things a warship captain was not supposed to need. But she wasn’t a warship captain now.

  She was just Ekatya, and she was home.

  9

  The seventh star

  “There she goes,” Tal said quietly.

  Standing beside her at the large window overlooking the State Park, Salomen nodded. “She was wound up tight as a coil of baling wire.”

  “Amazing how Lhyn can unwind her so quickly.”

  “It’s the ritual.” Salomen turned toward a pile of cushions in the corner and pulled the first off the stack. “She created a physical demarkation. It does the same thing that flying over the Silverrun River does for me. As soon as we cross it, I breathe easier because I’m on Opah land.” She tossed the cushion at Tal and reached for another.

  “You think this is her Hol-Opah?” Tal dropped the cushion at her feet.

  “This suite? Somewhat. Lhyn in this suite, definitely.” She tossed another cushion and watched Tal set it at right angles to the first. “In a way, I think Alsea is her Hol-Opah. She gave up so much for it, even before she knew us.” She spun the third cushion into its place on the floor, then dropped the fourth and sat on it cross-legged.

  Tal tidied the placement of the third, which had landed slightly crooked.

  Salomen’s amusement fizzed through their link. “How do you get anything done when you worry about tiny details like that?”

  “I delegate them. To very professional people.” With the cushion now properly aligned, Tal sat across from her.

  “And then terrify them into making sure they meet your standards.”

  “My title terrifies them, not me.” At the audible sound of disbelief, she added, “Unlike the person in this room who is famous for her sharp tongue.”

  “Yes, but not over a cushion.”

  They were chuckling when the bedroom door opened.

  “They’re laughing already,” Lhyn commented.

  “Always a bad sign.” Ekatya followed her out, transformed both in appearance and emotional signature.

  “I beg to differ.” Salomen patted the two empty cushions. “There’s no better way to start a Sharing than with laughter.”

  “With you, I don’t think there’s any bad way to start a Sharing.” Lhyn’s long legs easily cleared the two cushions, putting her in her favored spot nearest the windows.

  She and Ekatya settled in unison, their bodies a study in contrasts. Lhyn was even taller than Salomen and slender enough that the State House kitchen staff were forever trying to “pad her bones,” as one had put it. Ekatya was the same height as Tal, but her compact body was well-muscled for a Gaian, and she knew how to use it. A winden and a treecat, Salomen called them, and now Tal thought of it every time she saw them together.

  Ekatya hadn’t sealed her shirt all the way, leaving her upper chest exposed. Tal did not resist the downward drift of her gaze, instead appreciating the hint of beauty there and the fact that she was no longer bound by honor to turn away from it.

  From adolescence onward, Alseans negotiated their varying abilities to conceal and detect sexual attraction. Mid empaths could rarely hide their desires; for low empaths, it was an impossibility. But if they chose not to speak of it, the subject was closed. It was the height of rudeness to speak of another’s unacknowledged attraction, though good friends and family had more leeway in the social nuances.

  As a high empath, Tal never had to worry about being unable to hide an attraction. Her experience was all on the other side: that of politely ignoring what she sensed. She could not count the number of times she had blocked her perception of another’s desire for her, but they had certainly increased with her rank.

  Her desire for Ekatya tilted the world on its side. She had thought herself successful in hiding it until Lhyn, unaware of the unspoken rules, said she knew.

  That had been the first shock. The second was when Lhyn advised her to tell Ekatya.

  Nothing in her life had prepared her for the emotional nakedness of admitting what she had failed to conceal. She had no idea how mid and low empaths lived with such exposure. The only consolation was that her friends took their knowledge with them when they left Alsea.

  She had not expected them to return. She had certainly not expected that when they did, it would be for her bonding ceremony. And she had never imagined that foursome Sharings would become a constant in her life.

  In the Sharings, there was no concealing her attraction, the fact that it was reciprocated, or the tyree bond she had accidentally created with Ekatya. It became an issue at one point, when Salomen lost faith in her own place within their complex web of connections. But Salomen had been right from the very beginning: whatever they did, they would all decide together.

  Five and a half moons ago, events around the uprising made it clear that they were building something new. Tal had sat the others down to share their thoughts about the changes. To her surprise, each had come to the same conclusion: their emotions could not be confined to two bonds. Salomen and Lhyn had formed a unique relationship, new and fragile with desire that had only begun to germinate, while that between Tal and Ekatya remained static only through their mutual honor. The remaining two connections lacked a physical draw but grew emotionally deeper each time they Shared. Unknowing and unintended, they had created a six-pointed bond.

  Six, Lhyn had said. The most important number on Alsea.

  They chose to accept the truth and follow where it led. Ekatya asked only that they keep the physical aspects unexplored for now. With the uncertainty and stress of her Fleet service, she needed stability at home.

  Before the next moon passed, it became apparent that Tal and Ekatya were not alone in having two tyrees. Salomen’s connection with Lhyn flared up to a new level, ushered into existence by the power shared between the four of them.

  It made sense, they agreed. It balanced them.

  Ekatya said they were two pairs of binary stars orbiting each other. Lhyn said there was precedent in several cultures she had studied. Salomen said nothing in her life had ever fit social expectations, so why should this be different?

  Tal, the master of choosing words to affect outcomes, could not find words for this. After a lifetime of constricting herself in pursuit of her title—and then in service to the demands of that title—her joy at this freedom was beyond her ability to express.

  But she could show them. And so she did, in every Sharing.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Lhyn smiled at her. “It’s sweet that you still ask.”

  “Consent is never not necessary,” she said, trying to sound stern.

  “I for one am glad you always ask.” Ekatya ran a finger down the front seam of her shirt, separating it entirely. “And yes, I’m ready. I’ve been ready since my last leave.”

  Lhyn opened her shirt as well, then scooted forward to a more comfortable position on her cushion.

  They were in a square, with Tal facing Salomen and Ekatya facing Lhyn. Tal braced her elbows on her knees and rested one hand on the swell of Ekatya’s left breast. Salomen did the same for Lhyn, carefully finding the correct placement. Her other hand settled atop Tal’s, pressing it into the warm skin, while Tal mirrored the gesture, doubling up on Salomen’s connection with Lhyn. In the beginning, they had taken turns being the primary skin contact, but found that this worked better.

  Completing the four-way circuit snapped a multiplying lens on their empathic senses, rocketing Tal and Salomen up to a point where they could perceive the life energy of every Alsean in Blacksun Basin. Though they had tried, they could never contain this initial burst. It was as if they had to use up the excess power before they could retake control.

  As the power leveled out, they dove back to the combined mind created by their Sharing and found a familiar imbalance. Though greatly reduced by the coming home ritual, Ekatya’s anger and grief were still weighing her down.

  Working together, the four of them lifted the weight and sent it outward to dissipate in the vastness of the mindscape—for that was how Tal visualized it. Ekatya saw it as knots tied in colored threads, which they worked to untie and straighten. Salomen saw diseased leaves on a great, noble tree with its roots in bare rock and its branches reaching to the stars. To her view, they were carefully pruning away the unhealthy leaves and discarding them, allowing the tree to pour its energy into proper growth.

  Lhyn saw abstract patterns she could never adequately describe, other than to say that it was blindingly obvious where the patterns were disrupted. She saw them rubbing out the sections that didn’t belong and redrawing them to perfection, or as close as they could get.

  Ekatya always needed this rebalancing, a fact she detested despite the obvious cause. But she was never the only one. Tal sometimes arrived at a Sharing with a feeling of diving into cold water on a sweltering day, seeking relief after dealing with intransigence, idiocy, or simple small-mindedness. Lhyn, the most even-tempered of the four, was surprisingly harsh in her self-expectations and judgment. She did not give herself the benefits she so freely gave to others, and her apparent ease often hid anger or disappointment that was viciously directed inward.

  Of them all, it was Salomen who required the least rebalancing. Her tendency for quick bursts of anger and scorching words, which she often rued, had the effect of burning off her frustration. She also credited her work, which kept her hands in the soil and her mind centered.

  Once the balance had been restored, in whichever way each of them viewed it, they settled into the comfort of their bond. They could wander at will among the emotions, soaking up the best of them. They could float in the embrace of this unity, reveling in the depth of peace it offered. Or they could listen to the harmonies they all heard regardless of individual visualizations, a symphony Ekatya called the music of the spheres.

  Today, Tal listened. She would never grow tired of this beauty, or of trying to discern the melodic progression. The symphony was a living thing and wonderfully unpredictable, but she often guessed correctly. Hearing the expected notes filled her with a joy she could not explain. It wasn’t about being right, but rather a sense that these particular notes were proof of her belonging. She was exactly where she should be.