Primary Inversion (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Paperback (24 page)

“Flaming rockets, no. How can you drink that stuff?”

He laughed. “It’s good.”

My heart melted at his angel’s smile in his angel’s face.
For him, I would have Pako order rootberry juice.

“How about mineral water?” Jarith asked.

“That I have.” I poured him a glass, then pulled out the whiskey
for myself. After looking at the flask, I changed my mind and poured myself a
glass of fizzy water instead.

Then we sat together on the sofa. I managed to keep my hands
off him until he finished his drink, but that was my limit. When he leaned
forward to put his glass on the table, I trailed my fingers through his hair.
He glanced at me with a start. Then he sat back and reached for me, sliding his
arms around my waist. As I put my arms around his neck, he bent his head to
mine. And that was when I found out how rootberry drinkers kiss.

No wonder they all guzzled so much of that stuff.

Eventually we paused and just sat there hugging each other.
I laid my head against his shoulder, filled with an incredible relief. Gods,
but I had been lonely.

Jarith murmured against my ear. “You don’t feel like a Primary.”

I nuzzled his neck. “How do I feel?”

“Good.”

I sighed. “Ai, Hypron, it’s been so long.”

Jarith went rigid. After waiting a moment for him either to
relax or to say something, I leaned back in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

He watched my face. “Why did you say that?”

I tried to recall what I had said:
It’s been so long.
“I
haven’t had much company lately.”

He looked at me as if he were searching for an answer. Then
he reddened. “I guess I’m just nervous. I can’t believe I’m here like this with
you.” I touched his face. “I’m glad you are.”

He took my hand, curling his fingers around mine, and drew
me into another kiss. When we came up for air, I smiled. “I think this is where
I ask if you want to see my etchings.”

Jarith looked intrigued. “Ask away.”

So I asked. He didn’t demur.

My bedroom was like an atrium, airy and full of plants. Windows
arched in the walls, with giltwood frames and copper fittings, and a skylight
above the bed let in more light. Lying on the bed, with all of its white fluffy
pillows and blankets, was like being enveloped in clouds.

Jarith and I curled together, bare skin against bare skin,
and explored each other, taking our time in the afternoon light that slanted
through the windows. He fit perfectly into me, his hips stroking my thighs and
his hands stroking my skin. I moved with him, then slowed down, holding myself
at the tantalizing edge, hanging there with him again and again, until finally
we both gave in and surged to a crest that broke with gratifying intensity.

Afterward we lay among the comforters, Jarith on his back
with his eyes closed and I fitted into the curve of his arm.

“Soz?”

I stirred drowsily.

“Soz, wake up.”

“Hmmm ... ?”

“It’s dinner time,” he said.

I made a protesting noise. But he nudged me again, sliding
his hands over me. At first he was trying to wake me up, but his motions soon
turned into caresses. I sighed. “Ai, Hypron ...”

His strokes stopped with an abruptness that jolted me awake.
I opened my eyes, startled by the draft of cool air against my side. Jarith was
sitting next to me, staring straight ahead.

I tugged his arm, trying to get him to lie down again. “What’s
wrong?”

He looked at me. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

“Done what?”

“Called me Hypron.”

My pleasant drowsy feeling vanished. “I called you Hypron?”
But yes, now that I thought about it, I
had
said Hypron. I shivered in
the cold air. “I’m sorry.”

He lay next to me and drew the comforter over us both. “Who
is Hypron?”

Lying under the blankets, cradled in his arms, I felt safe,
maybe safe enough to tell him what he wanted to know. I edged up to that hidden
place in my mind as if I were edging open a drawer. A sun floated in there,
dimmed and dark. I closed the drawer again.

“Soz?” Jarith regarded me with an odd look, like a person
who thought he had won a sweepstakes, then learned it had all been a mistake.

“Hypron was my husband,” I said.

“Was?”

I spoke gently. “I wouldn’t be here with you now if there
were another man in my life.”

The tension in his arms eased. “Why did you leave him?”

“What makes you think I left him?”

“Who in his right mind would leave you?”

I swallowed. “I’m glad there’s someone in the universe who
feels that way.”

“Soz—” His mind brushed mine. “Why do you hurt so much?”

“Hypron died three years ago.” There. I had said it. The
world hadn’t ended. “It was less than a year after we married.”

“I’m sorry.”

I tried to shrug, which was my usual response, but it was
hard to shrug with Jarith holding me so close. So instead I gave a far more
honest reply. “So am I.”

He hesitated. “May I ask what happened?”

It was a moment before I answered—but I did answer. “My
squad was checking on a colony in T-Hea sector. Hypron was an agriculturist
there.” Hypron. He had made me smile from the moment I saw him. And I hadn’t
been able to keep my hands off him. It wasn’t that he was particularly
handsome, though to me he had always looked irresistible with his mischievous
grin. Something about him made me feel good, that deep-down good that warms you
everywhere.

“We were married two weeks after we met,” I said. “Neither
of us had any idea he was sick. The colonists had lousy medical care and no one
knew that the immune system treatments he received for colonization hadn’t
taken properly. By the time we realized he was in trouble, it was too late.” I
spoke softly. “So he died.”

“I’m sorry.” Jarith rested his head on mine, holding me in
his arms under the blankets. And finally, finally, I opened wide that mental
drawer with the dim sun inside of it. The memories were all there,
recollections of so much joy and so much pain. But I could look at them. Today
I could look at them.

After a while I said, “You know when I first met you, I
thought you were an empath.”

“I am an empath.” He paused. “Actually, Empathic Healer is
my official designation in the Kyle registry.”

I lay warm in his arms. “I thought so.”

He spoke softly. “When other people hurt, emotionally, I can’t
bear it. I have to try to reach them, to sooth away their pain. But I really
don’t know if I do any good at all.”

I kissed him. “You do.”

He smiled. “You’re all three.”

“Three what?”

“Empath, healer, telepath.” He touched my hair. “I feel like
I’m standing in a nova when you let down your barriers.”

“I let down my barriers?”

“When we made love.”

“Oh.” I would have to watch that. Then again, maybe I
shouldn’t watch it. Maybe there should be a time in a person’s life when they
could relax their defenses.

A disembodied voice cut into our conversation. “Soz.”

Jarith nearly jumped out of the bed. “Who is
that?”

I laughed. “Just my computer.” I spoke to the air. “Pako,
not now.”

Pako’s voice came out of a console built discreetly into the
wall across the room. “Qox is about to broadcast a speech.”

For pugging sakes. I had told Pako to let me know when news
involving Qox came on. So of course the confounded Emperor had to give a speech
when I was in bed with Jarith.

“All right,” I grumbled. “Play it.”

The holoscreen across the room came on, projecting an image
of the shimmering puma crouched to attack. The Trader anthem began to play, its
haunting strains filling the room. How could such a hideous people create such
a beautiful piece of music?

Jarith shuddered. “What do you want to watch this for?”

“I have to. I have to know what they have to say.” It was
true, however much I hated that fact.

“Every time I see one of them, or hear them, I feel like I’m—”
Jarith paused, searching for a word. “Like I’m being—”

“Raped?”

He gave me a startled look. “Yes.”

The puma re-formed into an image of two people. But neither
was Ur Qox. The man who stood on the left was Kryx Quaelen, the Highton Trade
Minister.

The speaker, the man at the podium, was Jaibriol.

Jarith got out of bed and pulled on his pants. “I can’t
watch this. Not here. I’m sorry. I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

Why did Jaibriol have to trespass into my life again, now,
just when I had a chance to forget him? I got up and went to the closet,
grabbing the first thing I touched, a simple shift. “You don’t have to go.” I
pulled the dress over my head. “I’ll leave. You can stay here.”

“Why don’t we both go into the living room?”

Then I understood. He didn’t want the Hightons in our bedroom,
the place where we had made love. “All right.”

I missed only a few minutes of the speech. I sat on the sofa
watching the holoscreen while Jarith made himself a drink. There wasn’t much
substance to what Jaibriol said, just the usual Trader business about how
wonderful they all were. It didn’t sound like Jaibriol. But it wasn’t the way
he sounded that chilled me. To someone who didn’t know him, which meant most of
the galaxy, he must have appeared like a normal Highton. I knew differently. I
had seen him from the inside, that night on Delos in his bedroom. The man
giving this speech was drugged.

Jarith sat down next to me, holding his drink. He had poured
himself a glass of whiskey. He took a long swallow of it, watching the screen
like a man in a trance, unable to look away. But he hardly even noticed
Jaibriol. It was Quaelen who kept him mesmerized.

What power did the Hightons have, that they could terrorize
us even through a broadcast? Was it the language of their bodies, the way they
stood, the cadence of their voices, the flexing of their hands? At some level,
one more subconscious than conscious, we
recognized
them. Just hearing
Quaelen’s name was enough to give me chills. Why was he standing there with
Jaibriol? What connection did he have to the Highton Heir?

A horrible thought came to me. Perhaps Ur Qox had put Jaibriol
in Quaelen’s care. The Emperor of Eube, the monstrous leader of the Traders,
carried the recessive genes of a psion. He was only half Rhon, getting the
genes from his mother, so none of his Rhon traits could truly be manifested.
But he had the genes for
all
of them, every last one. Was it possible
that he felt some trace of empathy? Did it make him human enough to have
compassion for his son? Perhaps he gave his heir to Quaelen because he couldn’t
force himself to make his son take on the role Jaibriol had been sired to play.

I didn’t want to imagine what Jaibriol’s life would be like
with Kryx Quaelen as his “mentor.” I could guess what had happened; Jaibriol
refused to give the speech and Quaelen drugged him to make him do it, perhaps
using threats or physical force as well. What made it even more chilling was
that I doubted Quaelen needed drugs or violence. He was probably around
Jaibriol a great deal. He could easily get enough data to create a convincing
computer simulation of the Highton Heir that would give whatever speech he
wanted—if it were only Jaibriol’s words he desired to control.

Next to me Jarith sat staring at Quaelen, his face growing
more and more pale. Finally I said, “Pako, turn off the broadcast.”

The screen darkened. Jarith glanced at me, relief washing
out from his mind. “You really have to watch every speech they give?”

I nodded. “‘Knowing your enemy’ and all that.”

“It was bad enough before, when Qox had no heir. At least
then we could hope he would be the last Highton Emperor. But now, with his heir
materializing out of nowhere—” Jarith shuddered. “Sometimes I wonder if it will
ever end.”

How could it end? If Qox had never produced an heir, another
Highton would have claimed the title. The new Emperor would have been no better
than Ur Qox, perhaps worse. The hope that the Hightons would evolve into a
gentler people was the fruit of desperation. Aristos were genetically
programmed to be Aristos. Nor would time dilute their gene pool. Their
obsession with the purity of their bloodlines came from far more than
arrogance. They truly were a pathological strain of life; when they reproduced
in a way to expand their gene pool, having children with their providers, they
bore offspring they were driven to destroy.

And now Jaibriol stood there, drugged and vulnerable, the
one person in this star-spanning war of hate who could end it, either by coming
to the peace table ready to talk—or by bringing Imperial Skolia to its knees.

There are people who survive far worse,” I said. “I only
lived through three weeks of it.”

Tager regarded me. “You think that because you endured it
for three weeks instead of three years that makes the scars you carry less
valid?”

I watched him from the safety of my post near the bookshelf.
In the five times I had come to see him, I had never sat down. It made me feel
vulnerable. He usually stood as he did now, near his desk, neither crowding nor
pressuring me.

“Look,” I said. “Most providers live their entire life in
captivity. What happened to me was nothing.”

He came over to me. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m trained to—”

“Bullshit.”

I blinked, startled as much by his intensity as his
reaction. Both were out of character, at least as much of his character as he
had shown me. “Why do you say that?”

“No training in the universe could make you impervious to
what Tarque did to you,” Tager said. “Yes, your armor is strong. But a human
being lives underneath that armor. You were physically and sexually abused, and
the fact that you’re a Primary, that it was only for three weeks, that you’re
trained to endure hardship, that other people have had it worse—none of that
lessens your injury.”

“It was ten years ago,” I said. “I should have been over it
a long time ago.”

“Why?”

Why? There was that maddening question of his again. “Because
time heals wounds.”

“Only if you treat the wound.” Tager’s voice gentled. “Repressing
the experience is a survival mechanism, a way to keep functioning. But no
matter how much you deny it, what happened still affects you. It can hurt your
self-esteem, hamper your ability to function, make it hard to maintain
relationships.”

“You think I have problems relating to people because of
that?”

“It’s possible.”

I stepped back from him, feeling crowded. “I’m just overly
sensitive.”

“Why do you say that?”

I snorted. “I went to a holomovie last month. It was one of
those ‘Jagernaut goes insane’ things. It made me furious. I walked out and
ruined it for the rest of the people with me. Then I almost busted someone in
the face just because he said my attitude annoyed him. You don’t call that
overreacting?”

“No,” Tager said. “Not given the combat experiences you’ve
had.”

“The people with me thought I was crazy.”

“The fact that they didn’t know why you reacted that way
doesn’t invalidate your response.”

Why couldn’t I make him see? “You don’t understand. I almost
stabbed a man in the heart just for being obnoxious.”

“You almost stabbed him,” Tager said, “because his actions
reminded you of a hideous experience where you were repeatedly and violently
assaulted.”

Did he really believe Hilt had triggered my memory of
Tarque? Did that Highton have so much power over me even now, years after he
was dead and buried? “No. That can’t be true.”

Tager spoke quietly. “You had no control over what happened
when Tarque kidnapped you. If you had been robbed of material possessions, you
could have recovered or replaced them. But if you’ve been robbed of your
self-respect, of your sense of worth and security, where do you get those back?”

“I knew the danger when I went to Tams. I should have been
more careful.” I voiced the thought that had pressed on me for so long. “What
happened was my own fault.”

Tager shook his head. “The problem was never yours. What Tarque
did to you was wrong. Period.” He regarded me steadily. “It’s not your fault.
No matter what he said to you, what he called you, what anyone has ever said to
you about it—
it’s not your fault.”

I was testing mental ground I had left untrodden for years. “But
why should it all stir up now, when I’ve been fine for so long?”

“What makes you think you’ve been fine?”

“Well, of course I’ve been fine.”

“Then why,” Tager asked, “was it seven years before you were
able to have a serious relationship with a man?”

“You mean Hypron?”

He nodded. “Seven years is a long time for anyone to stay
alone. For an empath it’s almost unheard of.”

I almost objected. I had always avoided large groups, or
situations where I had to deal with the emotions of people I didn’t like. But I
knew what Tager meant. In love, empathy was a gift, especially with another
empath who could feel me the way I felt him. The lack of that intimacy created
a loneliness so intense it hurt like a deep wound. Jarith and I shared a bond
that fulfilled me on a level I couldn’t reach with a normal person.

I thought of the locked file in my mind, festering in the
dark. I knew what had shaken it, releasing a barrage of memories I so wanted to
hold back. Jaibriol Qox.

All I said was, “It can’t all be Tams.”

For once Tager didn’t disagree. “Going into combat against
Aristos, feeling people die—that’s got to be a nightmare.” He regarded me with
that compassion of his that seemed to have no limit. “You’ve lived through hell
a thousand times. That you’ve survived, psychologically intact, is miraculous.”

I stared at him. There was nothing miraculous about me. I
was a mess. “Everyone has troubles in their life. They don’t all go around
pointing Jumblers at their own head.”

“Primary, it’s—”

“Soz,” I interrupted.

“Soz?”

“That’s my name. Soz.”

“Well. Good. Soz.”

That was his only outward reaction, a pleasant nod. But I
caught his true reaction even though he thought he had masked it. His pulse
leapt. He had made a breakthrough with me, a big one. And that mattered to him.
It
mattered.

 “Why?” I asked.

He blinked. “Why is your name Soz?”

“No. Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Because I think you’re a remarkable person.”

“How can you think I’m remarkable? You hardly know me.”

He smiled. “I’m trained to understand people.”

“It’s more than training.”

He looked at me curiously. “Why do you say that?”

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I think you
naturally care about people. I’m not used to that. I’m used to Traders. Or ISC
politics.” I grimaced. “Both get pretty vicious.” I thought of Rex, of Hypron,
of my first husband, Jato. “When I do find love, it doesn’t ... stay. The only
person I’m capable of maintaining a relationship with is a boy less than half
my age who has no political opinions and looks as different from an Aristo as
is humanly possible.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not normal.”

“Why not?”

“I should have a more mature lover.” Like Rex. But Rex didn’t
want me anymore.

“Why?”

Why
did he always ask me that? “I don’t
know
why.
Because it’s embarrassing when doddering old Jagernauts fawn over beautiful
young boys, that’s why.”

Tager actually laughed, as if I had made a joke. “I would
hardly call you doddering.”

“I’m almost forty-eight.”

“I would have guessed younger. But even forty-eight is young
for your rank.”

I shrugged. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Why does that make you angry?”

“Angry? It doesn’t make me angry.” That was a lie and I knew
it and Tager knew it. Yet until this moment I had never consciously thought
that my rank made me
angry.
Why should it?

I spoke slowly, like someone reading a book they had owned
for years but never before summoned up the courage to open. “He sent me to Tams
knowing what could happen. He sent me out there on the front lines with the
Traders, for years, far longer than most officers, and he sent out my brother
Althor, and he sent out my brother Kelric.” I forced myself to go on. “And
Kelric never came back.”

Tager spoke with his quiet compassion. “Who is ‘he’?”

“My brother.”

“Althor?”

I shook my head. “No. My half brother. Kurj. The Imperator.”

Tager’s face paled. I had more than shaken him this time, I
had thrown him into an earthquake. But he was right. I was angry.
Angry.
Now
the words were coming, breaking out of the dam I had put around them.

“I lost my first child,” I said. “The only child I’ve ever
dared conceive, because Kurj told me that if I left active duty I abdicated my
claim to his title. I lost my first husband because of it, I lost Rex because
he didn’t want to be my crippled consort, I lost my baby brother to death and
my older brother to distrust, I lost my ability to relate like a
normal
human
being—” My voice shook. “Kurj would take my
soul
if he could.
He has
no right.”

Tager stared at me. It was a long moment before he answered.
That he spoke at all was a marvel. His position was the nightmare of every
heartbender, knowing he could bring the Imperator’s wrath on himself by one
wrong word. I never intended to tell Kurj I had seen Tager, but no matter how
strong an empath Tager was, there was no way he could ever be sure of that. Yet
he didn’t back down, not even now, when he knew the danger. In that he earned
my respect forever.

“Why does he ask so much of you?” Tager asked.

“Because if I can’t give it to him, I’ll never be strong
enough to face Ur Qox.” I spread my hands. “It’s not like I can say, ‘Oh, I
changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore.’ If neither Althor nor I
becomes Imperator after Kurj, who else is going to do it? Who else has the
military training, the Rhon traits, the knowledge, all of that combined? A
thousand worlds, Tager. And how many people on each? A hundred? A million? Ten
billion? Do I have to carry the burden of every damn one of their lives?”

Tager spoke quietly. “You’re the Imperial Heir.” He made it
a statement, not a question.

“One of them. There are two.” Two left. Out of three. “How
do you like that? The future of the universe may be in the hands of a crazy
woman.”

“Do you think you’re crazy?”

“Aren’t I?”

He spoke as if he were walking through a forest of fragile,
crystalline trees with branches that might break at the slightest touch, their
fractured ends sharp and deadly, ready to shred his skin and pierce his body.

“Injured, yes. You’re suffering from so many forms of stress
disorder I’m not sure I could count them. And even for a psion you’re
extraordinarily sensitive, so much so that you’ll probably never be able to
endure crowds of people or their uglier emotions without withdrawing
emotionally. But crazy? No. To have experienced what you have and still
function takes a phenomenal strength of mind.”

I swallowed. He stood there watching me with that empathy of
his and I didn’t know what to say. So I just looked at him. And he let me look.
He didn’t push, didn’t crowd, didn’t retreat, didn’t turn away.

Finally I said, “Well.” It wasn’t the most articulate
response, but it was the best I could do. Tager smiled as if I had said something
intelligent.

I walked over to a corner of his office where the walls met
at an acute angle. Outside the tinted glass I saw the halls of the embassy
stretching away. Here on the inside, a mirror sat on a shelf, an old-style mirror
with silvered glass inside a frame of jade. As I looked at my reflection, I
could almost see Kurj behind me, always watching, always waiting, never
satisfied.

Watch carefully, brother, I thought. Or I may surprise you.

When Jarith came into the bedroom I was just waking up. I
lay in the warm sheets, absorbing the sight of him walking across the room. It
was a nice view. He wasn’t wearing anything but his snug pants. The down of
hairs on his muscled chest caught the sunlight and glistened like gold.

His face was flushed, though. Red. Really red. In fact, he
looked frantic. He was staring intently at the pile of our clothes on the floor
by the bed. When he reached it, he searched rapidly through the clothes,
throwing them here and there.

I peered over the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

He jumped up. “You’re awake.”

I smiled. “Just barely. Come on back and make us sleepy
again, hmmm?”

“Soz.” His face turned even redder. “We have company.”

“Company?” Why was he so rattled? “What do you mean?”

“Out there.” He motioned toward the living room. “When I
woke up, I went out to get a drink—and she was
there.
Reading a
holobook.”

I stared at him. “Someone is
inside
my apartment?”
What the hell? I scrambled out of bed and scooped up the underwear and jumpsuit
Jarith had tossed on the floor earlier, after he peeled them off me. “Who is
it?”

He finally found what he was looking for, his sweater. “She
says her name is Cya Liessa.”

I stopped, and straightened up. “Ah.”

He pulled his sweater over his head. “Ah?”

“That explains your reaction.”

“It does?”

I laughed. “Jarith, she has that effect on everyone.” I
finished putting on my clothes and headed for the living room.

I saw her as I came through the archway that connected the
hall from my bedroom to the living room. She was standing by a window now,
looking out at Jacob’s Shire. Gold hair poured over her shoulders, her arms,
her back, her hips, shining, curling hair that looked like spun sunlight, or
spun gold, or both mixed together, with copper highlights. When the ringlight
shone on that glorious mane, it glistened.

She was wearing a rose-colored dress, Foreshires style, with
the same lace and straps that had felt so awkward on me. On her it didn’t look
awkward. Nothing about her looked awkward. She had the face of an angel, the
body of an erotic holomovie goddess, and the grace of a ballet dancer, which
was what she used to do for a living, performing under the assumed identity of
Cya Liessa.

“My greetings, Mother,” I said.

Jarith made a strangled noise behind me.
“Mother?”