When the symphony faded, it was time. She let go, returning to her individuality with only a slight jar, and opened her eyes.

  “I had a thought,” Lhyn said immediately.

  “When do you not have thoughts?” Salomen teased.

  “When she’s sleeping.” Ekatya rubbed her eyes. “Stars and Shippers, I needed that. Thank you.”

  Tal laid a hand on her knee in quiet acknowledgment. “What was the thought?” she asked.

  “Hold on.” Lhyn scrambled up, tossed her cushion into the corner, and strode across the room, resealing her shirt along the way. At her desk, an extra-wide affair with few drawers but a great deal of surface area, she shuffled through stacks of old books that were no doubt borrowed from either Blacksun Temple or one of the caste houses.

  Finding what she sought, she returned with her gaze fixed on the pages. “Ah! Here we go,” she said, settling into a cross-legged position. “I was thinking about the fact that we have six bonds between us, and every one of them is different. But we forgot one thing. The seventh star. The single entity we create when we’re Sharing.”

  She turned the book and set it on the floor, her finger marking a specific point on the image shown.

  “Great Goddess,” Salomen breathed.

  The book was open to a beautifully hand-colored Shield of Alsea, an image that adorned every temple and government building on the planet. Tal saw it nearly every day, carved and inlaid in the doors of her office.

  In the shield was the molwyn tree, sacred to Fahla, creating a perfect circle with its roots, branches, and leaves. Above it shone six stars, representing the six castes, which were also seen in the six main branches. In the fork of the top two branches, sheltered beneath the tree’s crown, was a seventh star, larger than the rest.

  The star representing Fahla.

  “Normally, I’d call this an interesting coincidence with no correlation,” Lhyn said. “But what we make when we Share—what all Alseans make when they Share—it’s a piece of the divine, isn’t it? If we define that as being something existing outside of us yet rooted within us.”

  “Well, I know what you’ll be discussing with Lanaril tomorrow,” Ekatya said. “She’ll love to dive into that philosophical question.”

  “True words.” Tal could easily picture it. “Can you wait until the midmeal you’ve planned, or will you be running across the park after mornmeal?”

  “I’m not that impatient.” But Lhyn’s eyes were bright, and she cradled the book against her chest.

  “Of course not.” Ekatya rolled forward, landing on all fours, and leaned over to kiss her. Then she pushed her cushion an arm’s length away, in perfect position for her head, and collapsed onto her back with a groan. Her open shirt fell to the sides, exposing her torso.

  Lhyn set down her book. “Ekatya?”

  “Hm?”

  “If you’re not ready to explore the physical aspect of Bond Number Three, maybe you should close your shirt.”

  “Too tired.”

  “Andira’s eyeballs are about to fall out of her head.”

  “It’s good for her. Gets the blood pumping.”

  Salomen glanced from Ekatya’s supine form to Tal. “I think I see it. Right there.” She leaned forward to brush a finger over Tal’s throat and let out a startled squeak when her wrist was caught and pulled. Off balance, she braced herself against Ekatya’s leg with her other hand.

  “Are you volunteering your medical assistance?” Tal pulled her closer.

  “If she does, could you take it somewhere that’s not right on top of me?” Ekatya grumbled.

  “She has a point,” Salomen said with a wicked smile. “We wouldn’t want to break any vases.”

  Ekatya’s eyes popped open. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That’s what that young man said to Rahel.” She sat up, pushing Tal and Salomen apart, and sealed her shirt. “What was he talking about?”

  “Remember the day of the uprising?” Salomen said. “When we caused a slight bit of damage during our reunion?”

  “Yes . . . ?” She drew out the word in a suspicious tone.

  “I told Pilannon about it. He was too stiff and uncomfortable in that salon, and the other divine tyrees weren’t much better. Especially once they saw Andira. So I told them that story to loosen their spines.”

  She looked as if Salomen had admitted to dancing naked down Fahlinor Way in midday traffic. “You told all of them?”

  “It wouldn’t have done much good to tell just one.” Salomen glanced over with a why is she asking expression. Tal shrugged.

  “You shared details of your sex life with thirty strangers.”

  “We were training for a group Sharing. They wouldn’t be strangers for long. It was an easy way to break down barriers.”

  “With stories of your sex life?” Ekatya pointed at Tal. “For the love of flight, she’s the Lancer!”

  Lhyn, whose amusement had been growing by the piptick, gave up and laughed. “I told you the Alseans have an open culture when it comes to sex. I told you that the day we crashed. Did you forget?”

  “No, but I didn’t think—stars and Shippers, I can’t imagine telling any of my crew why I had to requisition that new computer display. I can’t think of a faster way to destroy my credibility.”

  Intrigued, Tal asked, “You broke a display? In your quarters or your office?”

  “Quarters,” Lhyn answered. “Your star will go nova before Ekatya joins in her office.”

  “How . . . limiting,” Salomen said. “Andira’s office is wonderful for that. Even better than mine.”

  “Fucking Hades.” Ekatya fell onto her back and covered her eyes. “I need a brain wipe.”

  Her embarrassment was hot, flavored with an interest that Tal chose to leave unremarked. “Lhyn isn’t this juvenile about joining. Why are you?”

  Scowling, she uncovered her eyes. “Juvenile?”

  “You’re acting like Jaros,” Salomen said. “Sometimes we kiss in front of him just to hear the horrified sounds he makes.”

  “Come to think of it, Nikin isn’t much better,” Tal commented. “Perhaps you and he should talk.”

  Lhyn put up a hand and gave a slight shake of her head.

  Tal’s senses had told her the same thing: Ekatya had abruptly reached her limit. Tilting off her cushion, she kicked it away and stretched out beside her friend, head propped on her fist. “I’m sorry. We only tease because you give such good reactions.”

  “Could you not? I can’t—this is hard.” Ekatya stared up at the ceiling. “I’m walking a tightrope every damned day. They’ve taken so much away from me. But I know that I can come here and let it all go, and that keeps me sane. Then I get a reminder like this that I’m still an outsider here, too. I’m an outsider everywhere.”

  Shocked both by the admission and the surge of grief, Tal reached for her hand. “That is not true.”

  Salomen shifted closer to Ekatya and rested a hand on her stomach. “It’s not within ten lengths of being true.”

  “I am . . .” Ekatya hesitated, squeezing Tal’s hand. “I’m so envious, sometimes.” She rolled her head to focus on Lhyn, now beside Salomen. “Of you. You fit in here like you slipped on a comfortable old shoe. You know the culture. Nothing surprises you. Every time I come home, you know something else I don’t. You’re a citizen and in the scholar caste. And I know you’ve paid a horrible price for it and I would never, ever want anything less for you. I’m so glad you’re here and so grateful, but I—” She clenched her jaw and refocused on the ceiling.

  Tal looked to Lhyn for permission and received a nod. Carefully, she scooted forward to press herself against Ekatya’s side, paying close attention to her emotional signature. There was no discomfort, only grief and shame.

  Lhyn had moved at the same time, going around to sit at Ekatya’s head. “You grainbird,” she murmured, brushing back her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to feel bad about it.”

  “One of these days, you’ll learn that I’m strong enough to carry you when you need it.” Lhyn dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I want you to notice one thing. You said ‘every time I come home.’ You don’t come home to a place where you’re an outsider.”

  “Words for Fahla.” Tal looked into the dark blue eyes that met hers and added, “You are not an outsider. I’d make you a citizen in a heartbeat, you know that.”

  “You can’t. It would end my career. They’d say I can’t serve two governments.”

  Tal swallowed the regret at pushing her to this point and focused on fixing the damage. “But someday that won’t matter. When that day comes, I’ll sign the declaration that’s been sitting in my desk drawer since Lhyn received hers.”

  “You did mine at the same time?”

  “I’m efficient. And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to sponsor you into the warrior caste.”

  “I’d offer to sponsor you into my caste,” Salomen said. “But I’ve heard that you can kill a Filessian orchid.”

  The laugh that burst from Ekatya disintegrated much of her grief. She let go of Tal’s hand and reached for Salomen’s instead, holding it against her stomach. “There’s a reason I give the botany staff access to my quarters. Lhyn isn’t any better.”

  “I object to that. I know how to take care of a Filessian orchid. I just get . . . distracted.”

  “Same end result.”

  “You’re both disqualified,” Salomen announced. “On behalf of all plant life everywhere.”

  Ekatya shook her head with a watery smile. “Thank you. All of you. This helps, so much. I’m sorry I ruined our Sharing.”

  “Ekatya Lucia Serrado. You cannot think you could ruin our time together by showing us your true emotions. What is a Sharing about if not that?”

  “Three names,” Tal said in a stage whisper. “I’d pay attention if I were you.”

  “I’m paying attention. I never stop paying attention.”

  Stopped mid-scold by a few strained words, Salomen gentled her voice. “That’s not what we want. Not all the time. Home is a place you go to be yourself. To relax and know that you’re loved for who you are, not who you try to be. Fahla knows it’s taken me a lifetime to learn that lesson.” She lifted their clasped hands. “You are loved. Because we see you.”

  Ekatya took in a quick breath, her eyes brimming. Her emotional signature shivered with urgency as she released Salomen’s hand and draped her forearm over her eyes.

  Tal understood. Tears were a step too far for a warrior like her, even in trusted company. But if they were to push past this sense of exclusion, it had to start here.

  She brushed her knuckles down Ekatya’s jaw, the only part of her face she could reach. “We do see you.”

  “All of us.” Lhyn rested a hand on her bondmate’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Whether you want us to or not,” Salomen added.

  At that, Ekatya let out a gasping laugh and abruptly rolled, burying her face in Tal’s shirt and tucking her arms between them.

  Tal embraced her rigid form and looked up at Lhyn, unsure what to do next.

  Silently, Lhyn held a finger to her lips, gave a nod, and stood up. Salomen rose as well, tossing her cushion into the corner before following Lhyn into the kitchen.

  Their quiet voices blended with the creak of cupboards opening, glasses tapping on the counter, and the pop of a bottle of spirits being opened. The normalcy had a calming effect on Ekatya, though she did not move.

  Tal caressed her hair, an indulgence she had not allowed herself before now. It was such a deep black that it shone beneath the lights, and the strands slipped easily between her fingers.

  Ekatya settled under the touch, her body gradually releasing its tension.

  From the dining room came the scrape of chairs sliding against wood: Salomen and Lhyn were sitting at the table. It seemed to be the final key, allowing Ekatya to relax completely.

  “That was good of them,” she mumbled.

  “They do know how to handle us.”

  The chuckle was muffled in her shirt. “All too well.” She remained still for another half tick, then pulled back and wiped her cheeks. “I hate doing this.”

  “You and me both. I also hate admitting that it helps.”

  This time, Ekatya’s laugh was unencumbered by tears.

  10

  Lecture

  His timing was good; Lhyn was just turning onto the main path leading from Blacksun Temple when he reached the junction. The first warm day of spring had brought out residents and tourists in droves, filling paths that had been quiet a nineday ago. Lhyn stood out from the crowd like a winden on a city street: graceful, exotic, clearly out of her natural habitat.

  She hadn’t seen him and was moving in a leisurely stride, her arms full of books. Given the length of her legs, even her unhurried pace meant he needed to hustle to catch up.

  “Lhyn!” he called from a few steps behind.

  She stopped and turned, her face lighting up at the sight of him. “Micah, well met! Can you believe these crowds? It’s like the sun came out and suddenly everyone remembered there’s a park here.”

  They were family through their ties to Tal and Salomen, their connection sanctified by the rituals of the bonding break. She had the right to call him Corozen. But once she learned of the warrior naming conventions and his preference for Micah, she had given up her right in favor of his comfort. Ekatya followed her lead. Only Salomen and her family called him by his first name now, though from them it somehow fit.

  He indicated the books in her arms. “May I offer my assistance?”

  “Only if you want the responsibility. They’re from Lanaril’s personal library.” She laughed when he jerked his hands away. “That’s what I thought. This one on the bottom? It’s two hundred and eighty cycles old. That’s why I’m holding onto it with both hands.”

  “Why didn’t she give you a bag?” he asked as they resumed their walk.

  “She didn’t have one handy, and we used up our time. There was a patient waiting at her door when I left.”

  “Don’t tell me you got distracted by philosophy.”

  “You know, I don’t need empathic senses to detect sarcasm.”

  “Good. I won’t have to try very hard.”

  Her sideways look indicated only partial amusement. “She said she trusted me to take care of them. Which is the heaviest weight she could possibly put on me. Now I’d rather break a leg than let anything happen to one of these.”

  He had to admire the tactic. “Lanaril knows what she’s doing.”

  “I know, believe me. We should all be grateful that she only uses her powers for good. What brings you into the heaving sea of people today?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he knew her mind was working through the possibilities. He pushed up his shirt sleeves, letting the sun soak into his skin. The last ninedays of winter were always the worst, giving everyone a collective case of weather-induced despondence. It was why they all ran outdoors at the first sight of warmth and sunshine.

  He wondered if high empaths could sense the universal lifting of spirits.

  “It would have been easier to see me in my suite,” Lhyn said. “But Ekatya’s there, so you want privacy. Does this have to do with her?”

  “No. Well, in an indirect way, possibly. But I hope not.”

  She tilted her head toward a side path angling off to the right. “Shall we?”

  For all the teeming masses in the State Park, tranquility was easy to find. Most people stayed on the main paths, which were popular for good reason: they featured the most jaw-dropping views of the great buildings and passed through the most extravagantly landscaped areas.

  But there were smaller paths winding all through the park, lingering in little copses and clearings which were no less carefully landscaped. Offering privacy in place of sweeping vistas, these spaces were sought by lovers and bondmates, readers seeking quiet, crafters looking for inspiration, and politicians pursuing deals outside the usual channels.

  Lhyn walked with the assurance of one who had explored them all.

  “There’s a lovely water feature over here,” she said, stepping onto an even narrower path. It meandered downhill to a dense grove of trees, where they passed from brilliant sunlight into dappled shade fragrant with the scent of shade-loving winterbloom.

  At the heart of the grove was a single bench facing a scene Micah had seen in images but never in person. Three massive stone slabs were set horizontally at different heights, each carved with multiple curving channels. The water moved quietly and with nary a ripple, sliding through its channels and dropping from the top slab to the next and the next. At the bottom edge of the lowest slab, it plashed onto pebbles and vanished.

  Lhyn settled on the bench, protectively cradling the books atop her legs. “Privacy and beauty, what more could you ask for?”

  “Answers.” He sat beside her and rubbed his hands nervously on his thighs. “Lhyn, I need to ask for your discretion.”

  The way she examined him was reminiscent of Alejandra. Their eye color was quite similar, he realized, though the shape was not. Alejandra’s eyes reminded him of a complacent feline. Lhyn had a perpetual look of wide-eyed interest.

  “You mean you don’t want me to tell Ekatya.”

  “For now. It’s personal.”

  That reassured her. “I promise.”

  “Good. The situation is—” He broke off, realizing he was about to give the equivalent of a security report. What was the point of couching this in any language other than the most straightforward? “I’m interested in courting Alejandra Wells.”

  Her eyes grew even wider. “You—fucking stars! How long has that been going on? I can tell you Ekatya has no clue.”

  “It’s very recent. Right now, she’s probably asking Rahel Sayana for advice on joining with an Alsean. I’m asking the same thing. Not the same thing,” he corrected himself. “In reverse. I mean—”