Far Enough Page 3

  “Skrella-ni-corsa. Pella-na-corsa,” Salomen said experimentally. “Yes. Very close.”

  “That’s intentional. Women needed a phrase that wouldn’t destroy them if they were overheard saying it. They could claim they were misheard.”

  “That is—” She stopped, not wanting to insult Lhyn’s home world. “Unjust.”

  Lhyn managed a smile. “I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.” Her emotional signature shifted, a bright leaf drifting down to a still pond.

  As it neared the water, silent tension filled the room. Salomen didn’t quite understand, yet felt as if she should.

  “Anywhere but on Alsea, I wouldn’t say this.” Lhyn’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But I won’t put you in the position of having to pretend you can’t sense it. I used the wrong phrase today. Colonel Razine knew.”

  The leaf touched down, soft as the wing of a fairy fly.

  One piptick ago, Salomen could see perfect reflections in Lhyn’s emotional signature. Now, with ripples spreading across its surface, everything altered shape.

  “Pella-na-corsa,” she murmured.

  “It doesn’t need to change anything. I don’t—I don’t really know what to do with it.” Lhyn twisted her hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re a piece of my heart and I would never harm that in any way. I love Andira almost as much; I couldn’t possibly—” She made an incredulous sound. “Fucking stars, she’s my skrella-ni-corsa. I’m such an idiot. I’ve mischaracterized my own relationships—”

  “Lhyn.”

  Her eyes snapped up, intently focused. “What?”

  “Stop talking.”

  She froze, fear skittering across the ruffled surface.

  “No, not—” Salomen sighed and rested a hand atop Lhyn’s knee. “Not like that. I need to think. You’re ahead of me on this path. Let me catch up with you.”

  “Are you on the same path?” Lhyn blurted, then drew back in alarm. “Sorry.”

  It was endearing and so typical of her. Lhyn’s emotions had collided with her intellect, leaving her unable to control herself even as she tried to reason it out.

  “I don’t know,” Salomen said truthfully. “But I do know that half a hantick ago, I was wishing I could walk in here and slide under the covers.”

  A sonsales could have felt the effort Lhyn made to not react. Her lips were pressed together tightly, holding back the words piling up behind them.

  Stopping her bordered on cruelty, like trapping a winden that desperately needed to run.

  “What are you thinking?” Salomen asked.

  “I would have said yes.” Lhyn took in a great gulp of air. “I would have been relieved, stars, I was fantasizing about it. But now we can’t, because it’s different, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “I’ve been trying to pull apart the threads. Do I miss you this much just because I’m alone again? I’m used to sleeping alone. I’ve done it for most of my life. Even being bonded with Ekatya, I still sleep alone unless she’s here on leave or I go with her on patrol. But I had three nights with you, and then five with her, and now—I can’t be this shallow, can I?”

  Salomen had to laugh. “You’re about as shallow as Fahlinor Bay.”

  “Well, it’s not very deep at the edges…”

  “Scholars,” she scoffed, looking skyward. “Always so literal.”

  Lhyn put a hand to her chest in theatrical shock. “I’m the literal one?”

  They smiled at each other, their familiar rapport reducing the charged atmosphere.

  “You missed me?” Salomen wanted to know more about this.

  “I was with you nonstop for three days and three nights. Then I didn’t see you at all, except for an evenmeal that wasn’t long enough. Yes, I missed you. And when I saw the end of your march—”

  This time, the tight press of her lips was not for words.

  Salomen reached for her hand.

  “You almost died, Salomen.”

  “I know.”

  “Colonel Razine said I enabled that. Me and Rahel.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She curled their fingers together. “If it hadn’t been then, it would have been another time. Probably one where I wasn’t surrounded by protectors.”

  “I didn’t comprehend what I was seeing at the time. Then the news kept showing those slow-motion replays, and I saw more than I wanted to. My heart stopped every time. I can’t imagine what Andira felt. I can’t imagine what you felt.”

  “Anger, mostly. Now I’m trying not to think about it. Rahel says Demerah loved me, and I think she’s right. What I don’t understand is how that love could turn into hate and murder.”

  With a start, Salomen realized why she hadn’t been able to sleep without Andira. Tightening her grip on Lhyn’s hand, she said, “I know it’s not a good idea, but may I stay here tonight? I need to feel a love I can trust.”

  Somehow, that was exactly the right thing to say. Lhyn’s emotions stopped their frenetic dance and settled into a warm, protective resolve.

  “I have an idea,” she said, sliding off the bed and pulling Salomen with her. “Remember the night of the summer windstorm? When we imagined what would happen if Ekatya and Andira shared a bed?”

  As if she could forget. They had roared with laughter while picturing their bondmates lying stiffly atop the covers, fully clothed and with a barrier of pillows between them.

  Lhyn was straightening the bedclothes. “I don’t think we need a pillow wall, or the dress uniforms…”

  “I refuse to wear my cuirass to bed.” Salomen crossed to the closet and pulled out a spare blanket. They stretched out on the freshly made bed, spread the blanket over their bodies, and turned to face each other.

  “This is silly,” Salomen said with a laugh.

  “This is accepting the social and emotional implications of sharing a bed,” Lhyn corrected. “We’re not in bed. We’re on top of it.”

  “We’re still sharing a bed.”

  “There’s a difference and you know it.”

  She did. Lying atop the bedclothes was a constant, tactile reminder that she was not fully tucked in, enjoying the heavy warmth of the comforter on a rainy night. This was more like settling in for a nap.

  “I have a new understanding of Andira’s strength,” she said. “The way she feels about Ekatya—for cycles now!—yet she’s never done a thing to compromise our bond or yours.”

  Lhyn’s gaze was steady, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Do you feel compromised?”

  “No, but only because I know that if I called Andira right now and told her what was happening, she’d tell me to get under the covers and be done with it. In fact, I think she’d be relieved.”

  “Because if we pursue this, then…”

  “It’s permission.”

  “Do you want that?”

  Such a simple question, Salomen thought. Four short words to express a thunderous realigning of their worlds.

  “Do you?” she asked, shamelessly redirecting.

  Andira would never have let her get away with it. But Lhyn glanced down, her emotional signature quiet and thoughtful.

  “It’s not a startling concept for me,” she said.

  “Because it’s your culture?”

  A short laugh escaped. “Hardly. Multiple mates, sure, as long as they revolve around one man. Multiples with no man in sight? There would be a planetwide implosion of heads. No, I’ve studied other cultures that practice this kind of polygamy. It tends to be a matter of enhancing survival by pooling resources and skills. Children are raised by multiple parents, the men work together on these jobs, the women work together on those…” She moved her hand from one side to the other in illustration. “It’s a practical way of living that permeates their social attachments as well. They don’t think in terms of exclusivity. They think in terms of, um…favorites would probably be the closest word. Or inner circle.”

  Her gaze had gone distant and her lips moved slightl
y, a look Salomen recognized. Lhyn was going through different languages in her head, trying to find an Alsean word that corresponded to the concept.

  This woman had traipsed across the galaxy, studying cultures on planets Alsean technology hadn’t even detected. That she was here now, wanting her, was almost beyond belief.

  But she still hadn’t answered the question.

  “Are you saying that you have no trouble giving Ekatya permission to love Andira?”

  Lhyn smiled. “She doesn’t need my permission for that. She’s loved Andira since shortly after they met.”

  “Fahla, you’re as bad as my bondmate,” Salomen grumbled, rolling onto her back. “Using words to dance around the meaning.”

  “Well, I am a linguist…” Lhyn’s amusement fizzed off her skin before she sobered. “I don’t have any trouble, no. I never feared losing Ekatya to another woman. I feared losing her to her sense of duty.”

  Salomen could think of no answer to that. Lhyn’s fear had come to pass at one time, and though the wound had healed, it left a scar behind.

  In truth, she thought, the two of them shared the same rival. Andira’s love was not at risk, but Andira herself was. Duty and honor had nearly killed her not even a nineday after their first joining.

  It nearly killed you five days ago, she reminded herself. Andira has just as much to fear as you do.

  She had not thought of it that way before. How small and petty of her, to walk out on Andira believing Ekatya to be a threat when the true threat was so much larger—and looming over them both.

  “What about you?” Lhyn asked cautiously. “Could you give Andira permission? Do you want this?”

  Yes, she almost said. If Ekatya wasn’t the threat, why would she stand in the way? But Lhyn had asked two questions, and she didn’t know the answer to the second. Even as she grasped for it, exhaustion pressed her into the mattress with an unexpected weight. The sleep that had so stubbornly eluded her now beckoned, as if her body had held out only until it could relax with a loved one nearby.

  “I want you here,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Is that good enough for now?”

  Lhyn found her hand beneath the blanket. “Yes. Go to sleep, pella-na-corsa.”

  She didn’t need the heavy bedclothes. The warmth of love spilling from their skin contact spread through her body, leaving her boneless. She felt safe, comfortable, and far removed from the baffling hate of a woman who had wanted her dead.

  As she slipped into sleep, Andira was suddenly there, slipping with her. Through their emotional link, they were both being lulled by the same comfort.

  Perhaps this wouldn’t be a thunderous realignment. Perhaps it would simply be the quiet sound of hearts moving into their right places.

  3

  Summit view

  Lhyn woke to an empty bed and the blanket tucked snugly around her body. Either Salomen had returned to her own room sometime during the night, or she had stayed but risen with the sun.

  Her brain seized on the two options and began weighing up probabilities. Lingering in bed was out of the question this morning; she would get no peace until she had an answer.

  She dressed swiftly, then sat in the chair beside the window to brush and braid her hair. The last time she had slept here, the autumn rains had not yet begun and her view to the Snowmount Range was unimpeded. On this gray and wet morning, not a mountain could be seen.

  Ready for the day, she strode the length of the hall and down the back stairs. Though the front stairs were closer to her room, she preferred this route because it led straight to the heart of the house. With its wall of windows looking northwest and a long wooden table bearing generations’ worth of nicks and gouges, the dining room was where the Opahs truly lived.

  But none were there now.

  Nikin, she knew, had spent the night at Hol-Remor with his lover. Jaros was enjoying his free days and wouldn’t be up for another hantick at least. Shikal might be sleeping or he might already be out for a walk; his routines were less predictable.

  Judging by the scents and sounds coming from the kitchen dome, Salomen was making mornmeal.

  Lhyn walked through the arched doorway and stopped, needing a moment to breathe.

  She had always known that Salomen was attractive. Objectively so, by Alsean standards: her narrow cheekbone ridges and the elegant fan of her forehead ridges stood out in any crowd, along with the dimple in her chin and the matching lines beside her mouth that showed when she smiled.

  Even by the standards of Allendohan—those Lhyn had internalized, despite her best efforts at eradication—Salomen’s height, physical fitness, and pleasing facial symmetry made her desirable.

  But knowing this intellectually and feeling it were two very different things.

  Salomen wasn’t even facing her. She was turned toward the counter, cutting fruit into a bowl while something bubbled on the stove. Her dark hair was swept into a careless tail, her sweater was made for warmth and not style, and her trousers and house shoes showed cycles of wear. Yet the grace of her movements and the power of her presence hit Lhyn like a posthead to the chest.

  Salomen set down the knife and turned, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed and those lovely smile lines in full force. “Well, that’s something to feel first thing in the morning.”

  “I hope it’s all right, because I’ll never be able to hide it.” She advanced cautiously, unsure of herself in this new dynamic. “You’re the same person today that you were yesterday. But I’m seeing you with new eyes.”

  “I know.” Salomen watched her approach, then uncrossed her arms and braced her hands against the countertop.

  Those body cues signaled nervousness. Stopping an arm’s length away, Lhyn pushed her hands into her trouser pockets. “Did you go back to your bed?”

  She shook her head. “I slept like a rock until sunrise. Andira did, too.”

  “You can feel that?”

  “No, I talked to her. She was glad to know you’re here keeping me company. How was your night?”

  “Good. Short. I’m not even sure I dreamed.”

  They were awkward around each other, but she didn’t know how to fix it. Salomen apparently didn’t either, slipping away to pull a glass from the cupboard, then crossing to the cooling unit to fill it with juice. “I know you prefer this before shannel. Odd as that is.”

  “It’s not odd. It’s normal.” Grateful for the diversion, she accepted the proffered glass and sipped. “Mmm. See, this gives your stomach something to actually work on before you pour a bunch of stimulants into it.”

  “My stomach likes its stimulants straight in, thank you.” Salomen stirred the pot, then went back to her fruit. “I have a request.”

  “Name it.” Lhyn leaned against the counter next to her.

  “I’d like to keep this between you and me for the next five days. If you wish to speak with Ekatya, I have no objection, but please ask her to be discreet.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue. She doesn’t often call Andira from the ship these days. Not with Admiral Greve sniffing after her.”

  Salomen did not look up, focused on her deft handling of the knife. “You’re feeling guilty about Andira, but we haven’t done anything to feel guilty about. I’m not ready to tell her when I don’t know what’s happening myself. I need time to understand it. To adapt.”

  “That’s fair. I did put a big load on you.”

  The knife stopped, and she met Lhyn’s eyes unflinchingly. “No, you didn’t. You told me the truth as soon as you knew it. You know I hate secrets and you knew I wouldn’t want to pretend that I couldn’t sense the change.” Her expression warmed. “You know me. That means a great deal.”

  She turned back to her cutting board and finished up while Lhyn puzzled over her words.

  “I know you, so it means more that I’m, um, changing my feelings toward you?” she asked.

  Salomen didn’t answer until she had washed the board and set it aside
. Drying her hands on a towel, she said, “It’s not that it means more. It’s that I trust it. Your emotions aren’t based on a—” Her mouth quirked into a half smile as she tossed the towel on the counter. “A fantasy. Who turns into a fallen idol.”

  It didn’t take a genius to translate that.

  “No, I’m not Demerah. I don’t usually wish unpleasant things on people, but that woman—” Caused far too much damage, she didn’t say. Demerah hadn’t quite managed murder, but the emotional aftermath was greater than Salomen would admit.

  A wooden spoon was pressed into her hand. “Go stir the pot, please. Don’t let it stick.”

  Obeying with alacrity, Lhyn gave the pot a stir, then lifted the spoon and watched a disgusting brown goo slide off. “What is this?”

  “Tulla slime.”

  “That sounds as bad as it looks.”

  Salomen’s laugh filled the kitchen, a welcome sign that perhaps they could find normal again. “It’s good for you. And very filling. I wanted a mornmeal that would last.”

  “Because…?”

  “I’m going for a trail walk. I need to get out of here and move. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Yes,” Lhyn said, eyeing the tulla slime. “But does that mean I have to eat this?”

  Salomen appeared beside her and briskly crumbled a pinch of dried herb into the glop. “Stir, please.”

  Mixing in the herb turned the slime from brown to orange-brown. Visually, it was not an improvement. But the scent that rose up was startlingly pleasant.

  Without asking, Salomen plucked the spoon from her fingers, knocked it against the pot to remove most of the slime, then dipped out a small amount and blew over it, her eyes locked with Lhyn’s. “To answer your question, yes. If you want to come with me, you have to eat it.” She held out the spoon in invitation.

  They had done this a hundred times. Salomen was an accomplished cook and loved to demonstrate the effects of different spices and techniques. But Andira already knew most of them and Ekatya cared only for the result, not the process. Lhyn was the one who enjoyed these details.