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  The hired musicians began the bonding ballad as the great doors of the temple opened, framing the bondmates. Warnic watched them approach, enjoying their wide grins and the excited delight that rolled off them. Times like these made his long cycles of study and practice worth it, when he was privileged to be part of such a momentous and joyful event.

  The ceremony moved forward smoothly. Warnic particularly enjoyed telling the story of the bondmates, during which the smiles on fifty faces and the accompanying love, amusement, and happiness made his own heart swell. Like the bondmates, most of the guests were mid empaths and did not front their emotions during the ceremony. He felt as if he were bathing in light.

  The time came for the Great Sharing, and the templars lined up the guests according to the pre-stated wishes of the bondmates. Once everyone was in place, Warnic slid his hand into the opening of the merchant’s ceremonial robe. She smiled at him, her joy singing through her skin, and he gave himself an extra moment to bask in the brilliance of that smile before turning his head to the crafter.

  The moment his other hand touched the crafter’s chest, his spine snapped into a rigid line, throwing his head back. Power poured through his body, effortlessly holding him in its grip. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his eyes popped wide open, staring involuntarily at the tree limbs overhead. For a few terrifying moments he thought he would fall over backward, destroying the ceremony and making a scene that would haunt his career forever afterward.

  At last he managed to close his eyes. The slow blink seemed to unlock his body, and he forced himself to relax bit by bit, muscle by muscle. He didn’t know how much time had passed while he wrestled himself under control, but the guests were still smiling and the bondmates were only slightly quizzical. Thank Fahla, he had managed to hide it.

  He gave himself another tick to adapt to this ferocious power, then said a silent prayer to the Goddess before sending it outward. If he had not sufficiently controlled it…

  But he had. Sighs and murmurs were the only sounds as the gift traveled on, and no one seemed to realize how much power he was holding back. It surged through him, trying to escape, and he fought it for endless moments until finally, finally he could break the connection.

  His forehead was embarrassingly sweaty. Looking down, he quickly wiped it with his sleeve before stepping forward to make the final pronouncements. Rote memorization came to his rescue, allowing his tongue to form the proper words despite his brain being unable to recall them. At last he reached the end, sagging in relief as he said, “Let the celebration begin.”

  The bondmates grinned and enveloped each other in a blissful warmron, then walked up to the molwyn tree and rested their hands on its trunk.

  Warnic missed the early stages, too occupied in wiping more sweat off his face now that no one was looking at him. But the gasps of the onlookers and the wave of collective shock hitting his senses brought up his head.

  The tree was erupting in divine flames. Even as he watched, they raced along the branches and outlined every leaf, until their blazing glory outshone even the sunlight beaming down through the top of the dome.

  He staggered back a step, then another, before dropping to his knees.

  “Fahla,” he whispered. “You’re here.”

  CHAPTER 18:

  Different worlds

  Lanaril felt them long before she arrived at the little cove. Her front came up without thought.

  She had hoped to find Fianna alone again, but judging by the combative glee in the air, she was in hot competition with someone. A man, and one she trusted enough to drop her front for.

  She stepped off the trail and onto the black sand, but the beach in front of her was empty. They must be on the other side of the cove, blocked from her view by the enormous boulder where she had met Fianna the day before.

  After a moment’s thought, she walked to the side of the rock and began climbing, a tingle of anticipation lending an extra spring to her movements. This time she made it to the top with a little more grace.

  They were halfway between her rock and the cliff that enclosed the cove, in the dry sand just above the waterline. Both were in sleeveless shirts and short pants, and Fianna’s long black hair was tightly bound in a braid. Her shorter opponent had red hair and bulging muscles, and though he was out of uniform, Lanaril recognized him as Ronlin, Salomen’s Lead Guard. The two of them were locked in combat, bare feet thrashing through the sand and skin shining with sweat as they grappled with each other.

  Ronlin found an advantage and threw Fianna onto her back, but before he could follow up, she bounced to her feet and launched a kick at him. He dodged successfully and called, “You’d need two more handspans of leg to connect from that distance!”

  “Shekking sand!” Fianna swore.

  “Yes, blame it on the sand—”

  “As if you weren’t doing exactly that one tick ago, you whining baby dokker.”

  “Come closer and see how hard this dokker kicks, Longlegs!”

  They were laughing as they closed in again, trading strikes and blocks, oblivious to their audience.

  Lanaril watched in fascination. They were like children on the playing field. Their entire beings were sunk into competition, yet there was none of the antagonism that she was accustomed to sensing at adult sporting events. Instead, she felt a wild joy from both of them. She could not understand how two people could derive so much pleasure from what appeared to be barely controlled violence.

  Warriors really were a caste apart, she mused as the two combatants struggled and shouted at each other. She and Fianna had not Shared the previous night, but they had otherwise been as close as two people could be, and yet it seemed as if they were from two different worlds.

  She thought about Ekatya Serrado, who really was from a different world, and wondered whether the Protectorate captain would find more in common with Fianna than she did. What a difficult life that woman lived, where paranoia reigned supreme and trust was given only when all suspicion was allayed. One day, she was going to ask Andira how she had earned Ekatya’s trust so quickly—especially given her friendship with Lhyn.

  Because that seemed to be the issue, Lanaril’s friendship with Lhyn. It wasn’t jealousy, which she could have understood. It was more an expectation of harm. Ekatya had been guarding Lhyn from her yesterday. And today…

  She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Andira had brought Ekatya back from some morning adventure in a fighter, and the two of them were glowing with happiness. They had been so excited at midmeal, talking over each other about volcanoes and waterfalls and shooting down drones in space. Lanaril had been astonished to hear the captain laugh. She had never heard it before, nor sensed the giddy delight that went with it. This, she realized, was the Ekatya that Lhyn spoke of. Her emotions were those of a completely different woman. Lanaril had asked her a question—she couldn’t even remember what it was now—and watched as the smile slid off her face and walls so thick they were nearly corporeal went up in her mind. A new smile appeared quickly, but it bore no resemblance to the one it had replaced.

  It had been a very long time since Lanaril felt that ostracized. The sensation brought back unpleasant memories of her childhood, before the testers took her away to be with others of her empathic strength. She had excused herself as soon as she could and walked to the back side of the island in search of easier company.

  Though perhaps she should redefine easy, she thought as she watched the two warriors brawl. When Fianna had taken that first bold step yesterday, Lanaril had welcomed the distraction, wanting nothing more from it than what she received: an evening of simple, mutual pleasure, nothing else asked and nothing given. But here she was, wanting more after all, because she didn’t understand Ekatya and perhaps Fianna could.

  Fianna tripped Ronlin and ducked away, laughing as he threw a handful of sand at her. Then
her head lifted and a wash of recognition pulsed through the air when she saw Lanaril. She smiled brightly, raising a hand.

  Lanaril returned the gesture, her own smile coming unbidden as she felt the warmth of Fianna’s happiness. It wasn’t often that she could be so certain of her own welcome, and it was especially pleasant to feel so very wanted now.

  Ronlin asked something in a lower tone, and Fianna turned back to him. Lanaril would have given a great deal to hear which terms Fianna was choosing to explain her presence.

  Ronlin nodded and waved, but Lanaril had barely raised her own hand before Fianna barreled into him.

  With a wordless shout, Ronlin stumbled backward, and their combat began anew. It had a different flavor now, with faster movements and a more competitive edge. Lanaril knew nothing about fighting, but it seemed that Fianna was overwhelming Ronlin. She winced as he was flipped into the air and thudded to the ground.

  Fianna landed on top of him, sand flying as she scrambled to immobilize his limbs. They thrashed for half a tick before everything went still. With a startling suddenness, the edge drained out of their emotions, leaving behind a sense of satisfaction, combined with pride from Fianna and amusement from Ronlin.

  Fianna rose to her feet and extended a hand to help Ronlin up. Both of them brushed sand off their short pants and shirts, though Ronlin soon gave up and simply took off his shirt, exposing a broad torso rippling with so much muscle that it nearly hid his chest ridges. Lower down, the tops of his pelvic ridges were sharply defined.

  “Good Fahla,” Lanaril murmured. Had she not already chosen a lover for this trip, she might not have let Ronlin leave this cove without an invitation. Apparently, she had been missing some opportunities with these Guards.

  Ronlin slapped Fianna’s shoulder and trudged toward the other side of the cove. He looked up, offering a farewell wave, and Lanaril admired the play of muscles in his thighs as she waved back. Then she glanced over at Fianna and promptly forgot Ronlin and everyone else on the island.

  Fianna had also given up on getting the sand out of her clothes and was in the process of taking them off.

  All of them.

  No power on Alsea could have budged Lanaril from her spot as Fianna wriggled out of her short pants, left them in a heap with her shirt, and calmly unbound her hair while facing out to sea. When her hair was once again a free, sweeping curtain of black, she ran into the water and dove under a wave. Her head popped up on the other side, and she tilted back, smiling into the sunlight with her eyes closed.

  Lanaril discovered that she had not been breathing sufficiently and took a great inhale to balance it out.

  Fianna ducked under twice more, then swam to the shallows and rose out of the water like the Goddess herself, slicking back her hair as rivulets ran down her creamy skin. Her gaze never left Lanaril’s while she waded the last few paces and stepped onto the sand. She looked away only long enough to scoop up her clothing in one hand, then walked to the base of the boulder.

  “I hate to feed your ego,” Lanaril said, smiling down at her. “But you’re the most magnificent sight on this island. I’m not certain I can safely get down from this rock now that half of my brain has switched off.”

  Fianna’s laugh sent a jolt through her stomach. “I could get dressed, if that would help guarantee your safety.”

  Lanaril let her gaze rake over the strong, sleek body still dripping water. “That might be for the best.”

  She regretted her moment of pragmatism as soon as Fianna shook out her shirt and pulled it over her head.

  “Please do feed my ego.” Fianna flapped her short pants vigorously and put one leg through. “I can only benefit from it. And as long as we’re confessing, I should admit that seeing you gave me an extra incentive to finish that fight. Ronlin said I cheated.” She fastened the waistband and looked up again.

  “Did you?”

  “No, but I might have turned a friendly sparring session into something less friendly.”

  “Will you pay for that later?”

  “If we end up sparring in front of Varsi or Thornlan, definitely. Then it would be Ronlin having something to prove.”

  “So you were proving something to me.” Great Mother, she really was like a child. Lanaril studiously ignored the warmth moving through her lower abdomen, which had nothing to do with the idea of a warrior fighting for her.

  “Let’s just say that defeat is not an aphrodisiac.”

  “You’re assuming a great deal.”

  “Am I? Why are you here, Lanaril? And why is your front still up? There’s no one here but me.”

  This was always the tricky part of any new relationship: the negotiations around dropping a front. She hadn’t even considered doing it last night. Fianna had been just as guarded, even when she had come undone beneath Lanaril’s hands.

  “Why isn’t yours?” she asked. “Doesn’t it give your opponent an advantage if you’re fighting without a front?”

  “Why don’t you come down from there, and we’ll discuss fighting philosophy on level ground.”

  Lanaril nodded, rose, and moved to the other side of the boulder while Fianna began walking around it. Going down was not as easy as coming up, but she was saved the last few steps when Fianna lifted her by the waist. Her feet had barely touched the sand before she was pulled back against a warm, damp body smelling of sun and salt.

  “Much better,” Fianna murmured as she brushed Lanaril’s hair to one side.

  Shivering at the touch of lips on her neck, Lanaril said, “I thought we were discussing fighting philosophy?”

  “I thought you might have forgotten about that by now.”

  She pulled away and turned, meeting an unrepentant grin. “You have a low opinion of me if you think my attention span is that short. Or else you have a very high opinion of yourself, thinking you can drive all thoughts out of my head with one kiss.”

  “I think I demonstrated my high opinion of you yesterday.”

  “Ego it is, then. What am I doing with a warrior?” she asked with an exaggerated eye roll. She was only partially joking, but with her front up, Fianna could not know that.

  “Accompanying her back to her cabin, I hope.” Fianna frowned as she pulled her shirt away from her skin. “The swim helped, but I still have sand in places it doesn’t belong. I want a shower and a tall glass of Jarnell’s special fruit drink. Care to join me in either or both?”

  “The drink, definitely.” Lanaril turned to lead the way back to the trail. “The shower, probably not. But I’m happy to wait for you to finish yours. Now tell me about fighting without a front.”

  “Normally, we don’t.” Fianna stooped and pulled a pair of sandals from behind a small log. Balancing easily on one foot, she brushed the sand off the other as she said, “You’re right, it would give an opponent too much of an advantage. But Ronlin and I can fight as friends.” With the sandal in place, she switched legs, brushing sand and looking as if she could balance this way for a hantick.

  “Is that so unusual, fighting as friends?”

  Fianna shot her a startled glance before slipping on the other sandal. “Sometimes I forget how little the other castes know.” She started up the trail.

  “I’m rather glad your front is down, or I might have taken offense at that.”

  “Then I am, too, because that would be a bad way to begin our afternoon.” Fianna reached the main trail and waited until they could walk side by side. “I meant that I don’t have much practice at explaining things. Things that everyone I know just knows.”

  “And here I am, still waiting for the explanation.”

  “Right. Ah…it’s all about rank. I spar with all of my Guards, but I’m also responsible for them, which means I can’t be one of them. I don’t drop my front around them.”

  “That’s understandable.” And very similar to her own experie
nce. She never dropped her front in the temple; it simply wasn’t possible when her duties meant she was responsible for everyone in the building.

  “And my superiors don’t drop their fronts around me for the same reason.”

  Lanaril stepped over a tree root. “And then there is Ronlin, holding the same rank.”

  “Exactly. And I like him. I respect him.” Her emotions made it clear that the latter was more important than the former. “We have a lot in common, and we’ve become friends. It’s a relief to have someone in Blacksun that I can just…be with. Someone I can fight without it being a lesson from me or to me.”

  “Then I’m glad you have him, and sorry you don’t have more like him. We all need someone we can just be with.” She cast a sideways look at the woman pacing beside her, damp clothing sticking to her skin, and thought it was a shame that she couldn’t just be with her. Fianna was such a restful presence, but their differences made anything more than a vacation joining impossible.

  Remembering what Fianna had said earlier, she asked, “You mentioned him having something to prove to…other Guards in your unit, I think? Is that allowed?”

  “Only Varsi is in my unit. Thornlan reports directly to Head Guardian Gehrain. There’s no conflict of interest or authority with either of them, since Ronlin is the Bondlancer’s Lead Guard. He could never find a lover in his own unit, but he’s free to choose from mine.”

  “Which gives him a much larger pool than it does you. And explains why you made me an offer.”

  Fianna stopped walking. “You cannot think we’re here because I have limited choices. I have all of Blacksun, Lanaril.”

  “Not on this island, you don’t. But it wouldn’t matter either way. The result is the same, and I’m content with that.”

  “You’re content.” Fianna reached out to touch her bare arm, an uninvited emotional skim. “You really are. I’d have thought the Lead Templar would expect more.”