“You’re not the same species,” Rax pointed out. “Have you considered the, uh, difficulties that might cause?”

  “We’ve already worked them out,” she said simply.

  Geelish looked like a child who had eaten an entire jar of sweets and gotten away with it.

  Rax rubbed his face, willing that image out of his head. “I can’t make this decision myself,” he said at last. “It’s too big. We’ll have to convene the village and take a vote.”

  Geelish sat upright, grinning broadly and pointing behind him. “Then we’re in! Everyone over there already said yes. They think most of the others will, too. We were only worried about you. But if you’re all right with it . . .” He pulled Siatra in and kissed her. “We’re in,” he whispered, cradling her face. “We just need to build a new house. I’ve helped build half this village; we’re good at it now.”

  They were lost in each other’s eyes, and Rax recognized defeat when he saw it. Of course most of the others would say yes. Geelish’s good fortune was the fantasy of every settler who had been turned by an untrained high empath. If Siatra moved to their village, she would become a beacon of hope, blinding too many of them to the probable consequences.

  When Geelish led Siatra across the deck, a roar of approval rose into the air. “Let’s get the votes!” someone cried, and the whole crowd thundered off, no doubt to canvass the village.

  Rax and Vagron stared at each other in the quiet of the empty deck.

  “Shit on a brick,” Vagron said vehemently. “First he takes a red medal at the Global Games, and now he takes someone’s bondmate?”

  “They’re in love. I don’t see what we can do about it.”

  “We can’t do shit about it. But that is a dangerous love. Ya think the Alseans hated us before? That won’t compare ta how much they’ll hate us now.”

  Rax looked past him to where another squall was approaching, heavy and black with rain.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “They will.”

  10

  High Council

  Anjuli was naturally concerned upon hearing of the attack in Pollonius. But when she saw Bondlancer Opah the next day, striding down a State House corridor looking as if nothing had happened, her concern turned to irritation. How much of an attack could it have been if there were no signs of it a day later? She wouldn’t wish harm on the Bondlancer, but it was so unfair the way nothing ever stuck to Lancer Tal.

  It seemed that Lancer Tal didn’t take the same view of her good fortune. Word swiftly went around that she had climbed to the pinnacle of bad moods and planted a banner on it. She snapped at anyone who came near, lashed out at those who told her things she didn’t want to hear, and even threw a Councilor out of her office.

  The High Council met two days after the unfortunate Councilor was tossed, and Anjuli had a spring in her step as she entered the plush conference room on the fourteenth floor. If Lancer Tal was acting like a mountzar woken too early from its winter sleep, then she would happily poke the beast.

  “Good morning,” she said, crossing to the sideboard. “I hope the kitchen staff made those marmello pastries again.”

  Near the shannel dispenser, Prime Producer Arabisar held up a half-eaten pastry. “They only made one. I already took it. Delicious.”

  “Liar,” Anjuli said cheerfully. “They wouldn’t dare make just one.” She scanned the tray, looking for the telltale dark orange stain where marmello juice had bubbled out during baking. “Ah! Here we go.”

  “Must have missed that one.” Arabisar’s smile crinkled her eyes. She was as lean as Anjuli was round, and where Anjuli’s skin was black as night, hers was a rich brown. She looked good in dark green, the color of her caste, and always found some way to wear it. Today it was a delicate shawl around her shoulders.

  “You two are welcome to the sweet things. Give me something savory.” Prime Warrior Ehron was perusing the tray of salterins, fragrant with their stuffings of meats and vegetables. “Ah, they’re still warm. Best part of a High Council meeting.”

  Anjuli could never share a room with the new Prime Warrior without thinking what a pale shadow he was to Shantu. Where Shantu had been flamboyant and proud, Ehron was quiet and inoffensive. Where Shantu had used his commanding presence to take strong stands, Ehron mostly listened. It was appropriate, given his junior status: both he and Prime Merchant Stasinal had been elected to their positions not half a cycle ago. But sometimes Anjuli wanted to shake him and tell him to speak. He could never replace Shantu, but she wished he had the horns to try.

  Prime Merchant Stasinal strolled in a tick later, greeting the others in a husky voice that no doubt came from a lifetime of sampling the grain spirits her family had sold for generations. She was as blonde as the Lancer but wore her hair in a short cut that framed her round face and made her look innocent. What came out of her mouth was far less so. She was sharp, cynical, and let nothing get past her, but her ethics were irreproachable. That quality was the reason for her election, and she had already proven herself a far better Prime Merchant than her corrupt predecessor.

  Prime Crafter Bylwytin and Prime Scholar Yaserka arrived together. While both were tall and slender, the similarities ended there. Bylwytin swept in with elegance and grace; Yaserka looked and moved like an underfed dokker. His gray hair was always in a thin tail, he dressed little better than a student, and he was much too aware of his intelligence and education. Bylwytin rivaled Anjuli herself for showy clothing, though her fair skin meant she couldn’t wear the same brilliant colors, and she did not waste her breath unless she had something meaningful to say.

  The six of them conversed comfortably as they waited for Lancer Tal. The view through the large windows was spectacular, overlooking the landscaped State Park, but Anjuli enjoyed the interior scenery more. This was the highest and smallest conference room in the building, reinforcing the elite status of the only people who ever met here, yet the windows and lofty ceiling made it seem spacious. Ancient tapestries hung upon the walls and colorfully spun the story of Unification, when Alsea’s warring kingdoms were brought together under one government. The heavy wooden table was surrounded by matching chairs that were five hundred cycles old and so skillfully constructed that even now they did not creak when moved.

  But her favorite part had always been the intricate wooden scrollwork in the ceiling and cornices. She liked to imagine the builders and crafters on their scaffolds hundreds of cycles ago, meticulously creating artistry to last for many lifetimes. Such immortality, she thought, was the most compelling draw of her caste.

  Lancer Tal arrived as the great bell of Blacksun Temple tolled morn-four. She was in a civilian suit today, her hair loosely pulled back in a clip, and she opened their business without delay.

  For the next hantick they discussed the space elevator, the ongoing effort to root out corruption in the merchant caste, the latest effects of the matter printers coming online, and various agenda items brought up by each of the Primes.

  Near the end of the meeting, a knock on the door startled all of them except Lancer Tal, who rose as if she had been expecting it. “It’s not on our agenda,” she said as she crossed the room, “because I just learned about this through unofficial channels. But we have a serious issue to discuss today. I’ve asked a guest to offer guidance.”

  She opened the door and welcomed Lead Templar Lanaril Satran, who shrugged off a wet rain cloak as she stepped into the room. “Good morning, well met,” she said.

  Anjuli and the others offered greetings while Lancer Tal took her cloak and hung it on a wall hook, then indicated one of the rarely occupied guest chairs. “Thank you for coming, Lead Templar. I know it was sudden.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to aid the High Council when I can.” Satran settled into her chair. She had much the same coloring as Arabisar, but her black hair was wavy and cut just above her shoulders, and her eyes were a darker shade of brown.

  “Will you please share what you told me this morning?” Lancer Tal asked.

  “Of course. As you know, templars often counsel veterans who feel they need a more spiritual aid than the secular clinics can provide. We’re bound to confidentiality with a few exceptions, one of which occurred late last night.”

  Beside Anjuli, Yaserka murmured, “We’re not going to like this.”

  Satran glanced at him. “Probably not. A veteran wanted Fahla’s blessing on the course of action she has chosen, which is . . .” She took a breath. “To enter into a relationship with the Voloth soldier she turned and move to New Haven.”

  “What!” Anjuli exploded. The table erupted with similar outbursts, including an actual swear from the usually quiet Prime Warrior.

  “That cannot be allowed to happen,” Prime Scholar Yaserka growled. “How could she lower herself so far? Fahla, tell me she’s not a scholar.”

  “No warrior would do that,” Ehron snapped.

  “This is what happens when we break Fahla’s covenant,” Anjuli added. She had never approved of that tactic, though she could not argue with its success. It still made her skin crawl, the idea of so many high empaths throwing off the only restraint that kept them from abusing their powers.

  “Perhaps a little less judgment?” Lancer Tal’s voice was calm but cutting. “And a little more sense. We need to determine whether the government has reason to intervene. The first issue, as Lead Templar Satran pointed out to me this morning, is consent. How can the Voloth soldier consent to a relationship with the woman who empathically forced him to love her?”

  “You’re worried about the Voloth?” Anjuli was stinging under the subtle accusation regarding her lack of sense. “Who cares about his consent? He gave up his rights when he invaded and tried to kill us all. I’m more worried about what happens if we don’t stop this. We already had one revenge episode after the Global Games, and I think we can all agree that letting that soldier compete was a mistake.” She paused to give everyone time to remember that she had voted against it, and Lancer Tal had been the tie-breaker.

  “If word of this gets out,” she continued, “New Haven will be burned to the ground and we’ll look like weak fools who have lost all touch with what it means to be Alsean.”

  “I don’t think consent is the issue either,” Yaserka said.

  “How can you say that?” Satran looked as if she hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “My apologies; I know I have no voice here. But you’re talking about the function of government. Government exists to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Regulating issues of consent is one of the most important parts of that.”

  “No need to apologize, we appreciate your voice. And if this were any other situation, I would agree with every word. We cannot set a legal precedent for the perpetrator of empathic rape or force to benefit from that violence. We made the Betrayer outcaste and erased his name from history to ensure that.” Yaserka touched the tips of his fingers together in a steeple formation. “But this is a very specific situation born of war. The violence committed here was not a crime. Do we want to set the precedent of criminalizing one of its outcomes? I don’t believe this should be allowed, but not for reasons of consent. I’m concerned about the social precedent. No Alsean should be . . .” He made an ineffectual hand gesture. “. . . with a Voloth.”

  Prime Crafter Bylwytin spoke up in her quiet voice. “We shouldn’t forget that this Alsean, whoever she is, did not commit empathic force of her own accord.” Her gaze went to Lancer Tal. “You asked her to do it. And you, Lead Templar, stood beside the Lancer and endorsed the strategy. Are you now thinking of punishing her for doing what you asked?”

  “You’re supporting this?” Ehron demanded.

  “No, Prime Warrior, I’m not supporting it. The idea makes my stomach churn. But what I’m hearing sounds like accusations of emotional profiteering against this woman. What about her consent? How much control did she have over tying her mind and emotions to an invading soldier? She agreed to be a weapon of terror. Halfway through the battle her orders changed, and she was told to empathically project love on him. A violent perversion of an intimate act. Did she have a choice? Could she have said no? I don’t know about the rest of you, but to me that always sounded uncomfortably close to a kind of reverse rape.”

  “That is an extremely disturbing thought,” Prime Merchant Stasinal said.

  “Words for Fahla,” Anjuli agreed.

  “There is no part of this that doesn’t disturb.” Prime Producer Arabisar adjusted her shawl over one shoulder. “But isn’t the real issue one of reproduction? I’m not sure it matters what two individuals do, regardless of how we personally feel about their relationship. Yes, it’s unhealthy and it comes from an unhealthy situation. That’s not a governmental concern. What should concern us is that they cannot be allowed to bear offspring.”

  The room was silent as everyone no doubt felt the same sense of horror. Of course a producer would be the one to consider hybridization, Anjuli thought.

  Yaserka cleared his throat. “Well. We haven’t actually studied that.” The since no one thought it could happen went unsaid. “Given the fact that Gaians are gender-locked, we know the Voloth can’t get pregnant. That leaves the Alsean, and I greatly doubt it would be possible for her either.”

  “It’s not,” said Satran. “The Alsean we’re speaking of was also concerned about that. Her lover assured her it was impossible because all Voloth soldiers are sterilized when they enter the military.”

  “Great Mother,” Arabisar murmured. Bylwytin made a noise of disbelief.

  “That’s hearsay,” Yaserka said in an unimpressed tone. “I’ll need something a little more trustworthy than the word of a Voloth soldier wanting to—never mind.” He wrinkled his nose as if he had smelled something foul.

  “I’ve confirmed it,” Lancer Tal said. “I also wanted more solid data, so I contacted Captain Serrado. She said it’s the Voloth Empire’s way of ensuring that none of their soldiers lose their utility. Female and male soldiers are both sterilized, and the technique cannot be reversed by anyone other than a military healer.”

  “Why not?” Yaserka asked.

  “Desertion.” Ehron raised his eyebrows. “Correct?”

  “Yes. We already know the Empire holds its military together through fear and punishment, with the promise of rewards. Any soldier considering desertion will also have to consider the fact that if they leave, they’ll never have children.”

  “That is barbaric,” Arabisar said. “They treat their own people like livestock!”

  “I’d bet there’s a black market for reversing that procedure,” Prime Merchant Stasinal mused. “Probably a lucrative one.”

  “Captain Serrado said the penalty for illegally reversing sterilization is extremely harsh. Citizens are stripped of their citizenship. Hangers are sentenced to slavery.”

  Stasinal nodded. “Very lucrative, then. The higher the risk, the more expensive the service.”

  “As revolting as this is, it does resolve my concern.” Arabisar looked around the table. “If they cannot reproduce, then we needn’t fear hybridized offspring and the legal horrors that would unleash. Now it’s simply a matter of two people entering into a relationship. However ill-advised or unhealthy or morally wrong that relationship may be, the government has no basis for interference. We are not in the business of regulating individual lives.”

  There was a short silence before four people began speaking at once. Lancer Tal had to shout to bring order to the room.

  Thirty ticks of heated discussion later, Arabisar’s opinion was grudgingly accepted. To a person, every member of the High Council hated the idea of this relationship, but it could not legally be prevented.

  It wasn’t until Lancer Tal stood up to leave that Anjuli remembered the one topic that hadn’t been discussed.

  “Excuse me, Lancer Tal,” she said loudly. “How is Bondlancer Opah?”

  The Lancer froze, then straightened and turned. “Salomen is well, thank you. Fully recovered from the attack.”

  Lead Templar Satran shot her a glance, her brow slightly furrowed.

  Interesting. If Anjuli didn’t know better, she would say Lancer Tal had just lied and Satran knew it.

  “What happened?” she persisted. “We only saw the news reports.”

  “That’s all anyone needs to know,” Lancer Tal said shortly. “She was attacked, the assailant is in custody, the situation was resolved.”

  Ah, there was the irritation she had expected earlier. “The High Council is not ‘anyone,’ and the Bondlancer is a rather important figure in our government. I believe we’re owed a more detailed report.”

  The look Lancer Tal leveled at her was molten. “This is a personal matter—”

  “No, it’s not.” She was thoroughly enjoying herself. “It’s government business. If you want to keep your life private, I suggest retirement.”

  Lancer Tal flushed, a rare loss of composure, and took a step forward.

  Satran stood abruptly and put a hand on her arm. Leaning close, she spoke quietly into the Lancer’s ear.

  With a tiny nod, Lancer Tal stepped back. “We’ve run over our time. I have another meeting, but Lead Templar Satran has agreed to give you the details you’ve so kindly asked for.” The sarcastic emphasis on kindly was not subtle, and she gave Anjuli another heated glare as she added, “I’ll be sure to convey to Salomen how concerned you are for her well-being.”

  The door closed behind her a piptick later.

  Lead Templar Satran retook her seat. “I’m sure you can understand that this has been very difficult for Lancer Tal.”

  “Naturally.” Ehron frowned at Anjuli. “Her bondmate was injured and she wasn’t there to protect her. Any warrior would have difficulty with that. The fact that they’re tyrees makes it ten times worse.”

  “A hundred times worse, I’d say.” Yaserka wrinkled his nose again, and Anjuli wanted to slap it off his face. “They’re divine tyrees. Always empathically connected, no matter the distance. Imagine feeling your bondmate’s emotions while she’s being attacked.”