Rift in the Sky

Something that didn’t belong. She bent to pick it up. “An image disk.”

“Ordinary enough.” Enris put his hands behind his head.

“Here,” Aryl emphasized. “Has anyone else found a Trade Pact device in their gear?”

Oran and Bern appeared near the doorway. The Adept noticed the clutter on the floor. “Redecorating?” Oran asked with a sly smile. “I thought you’d wait till we’d all left.”

“Aryl found a Trade Pact image disk in her things—from the Homeworld,” Enris offered, being a little too helpful, Aryl thought, closing her hand over the palm-sized device. Her Chosen loved a puzzle.

For no reason she could name, she couldn’t share this one. Not yet. “Is everything settled with Yao?”

As she’d hoped, the change of subject made both frown. “No,” Oran snapped. “The child’s being difficult.”

Enris chuckled. “Haven’t found her yet, have you?”

Not helping. The Powerful child’s ability at ’port and seek was becoming a problem. Though Aryl sympathized. When Council had insisted the unChosen be tested for Talent, Yao had turned out to be the only potential Healer. Each of the M’hiray’s adult Healers had been considered as her teacher; Council and Yao’s parents had picked Oran di Caraat.

No one had asked Yao. Who’d been hiding ever since.

Aloud, “I’m sure Yao’s grateful for the opportunity you’ve offered, Oran—”

“You’re First Chosen,” Bern interrupted. “Can’t you control those in your own House?”

Any desire Aryl had to be conciliatory vanished. “M’hiray don’t control one another, Bern d’sud Caraat,” she told him, hair billowing over her shoulders.

“Excuse my Chosen,” Oran replied smoothly and Bern subsided, looking sullen. “He doesn’t appreciate the burden of our new responsibilities. As First Chosen of the House of di Caraat, I’m sure I, too, will have the occasional—difficulty—to handle.”

Smooth, dignified, and with a flick of Power. Perhaps unintended.

Perhaps not. Aryl let her own swell past her shields, saw with no satisfaction how the other’s mouth tightened in response. Games. Did Oran not see how pointless they were? How destructive they could become?

“Feel free to leave this particular difficulty to the House of Sarc,” she suggested. “I appreciate how much work you have ahead of you.”

The two disappeared without another word.

Enris raised an eyebrow. “Husni’s right. ’Porting could use some manners.”

Aryl gazed at the place where they’d been. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she sighed. “Bern’s . . .”

He stopped being your heart-kin the moment he let Oran control him. Beneath, something cold. Enris wasn’t about to forgive Bern.

“She’s more Powerful—”

“Since when did that matter between Chosen? Between any of us?”

“Since we came here.”

Once said, the words were like the mended clothing spread over the expensive floor. Out of place. Impossible to ignore. Aryl gestured apology and wasn’t sure why.

“Is that what we tell our children?” Enris asked, drawing in his feet, his face clouded. “Is that our future? Power to be the measure of a M’hiray’s worth. Power to be what decides right from wrong. Will it be our excuse for every mistake?”

Aryl went to sit on the floor beside him. She laid her cheek on his knee, felt his fingers seek comfort in her hair. Power is all we have. We need it to protect ourselves. We need it to survive among the Humans. The wealth from the artifacts wouldn’t last; already scouts on other worlds sought Humans who could keep wealth flowing to the Clan, more Humans susceptible to their “influence.” They had no other choice. Only Power will keep our children safe.

Enris pressed his lips to her head. What if that’s why we’re here?

She twisted to meet his somber gaze. “What do you mean?”

“What if our mothers and fathers had planned a different path for our kind? What if we—the M’hiray—were the ones who became ‘difficult,’ like Yao, and refused to do what we were told?”

“So our families threw us out? Took our memories so we’d never come back?” About to protest, Aryl found the words died in her throat. Being terrible to contemplate didn’t make it wrong.

He sighed. “All I know is that believing we left because we were somehow superior is dangerous. It encourages M’hiray like Oran, who already judge others by Power alone. Power shouldn’t mean privilege.”

“Of course not,” Aryl scowled. “Those with more Power have a duty to those with less.”

Enris smiled slowly, his eyes growing bright. “Which is why you—” he interrupted himself to give her an enthusiastic kiss, “—will be such a fine First Chosen for the House of Sarc. And mother.” With a nerve-tingling surge of affection and heat.

Pushing all other thoughts aside, she leaned in happily. He laughed and held her away. “Yao?”

She’d had to mention duty.

But first . . . with desire blazing across their link, Aryl took his hand and concentrated . . .