Anguish swept through her, and self-loathing, tenderness, avarice, and pain.
“I think,” she said unsteadily, “you had better tell me.”
“Yes, I suppose I had better.” He sighed, and took his hand away, settling back into the corner of the bench. It took a ridiculous amount of willpower, not to snatch his hand back to her, but she managed to sit seemly, fingers folded tightly together.
“The other thing that the Healers did is that they 'pruned away,' as Master Kestra styles it, a layer of scar tissue—again, an approximation—from the old trauma. She felt that you might be . . . 'easier,' van'chela, though there was no healing it entirely.”
“It had happened too long ago,” Aelliana said.
“And compensations had been built. Yes, exactly so.” He took a breath, and exhaled, carefully, she thought.
“What they found, when the thing had been done, was—a hint, Aelliana—that you and I are the two halves of a natural lifemating.” He raised his hand, as if to forestall the question she could not think to ask.
“Master Kestra warned me, most plainly, that the seed which ought to have blossomed into a full joining, had been . . . stunted; oppressed by the scarring. She did not—she would not—say that we should ever become what we were intended to be.”
Ran Eld, Aelliana thought bitterly, had been a genius, indeed. Always, it had been given him, to know precisely how best to harm her. Yet, she had loved Daav, now that she was not too craven to call it by its proper name—had loved him perhaps from the first . . .
“You understand that my brother whom you met, is linked to his lady, heart and mind. He—they—speak of their bonding as . . . the greatest joy of their lives.” Daav cleared his throat. “In our circumstance, with the link stunted, or dead—”
“It may not have had room to grow, but it is not dead!” she cried, and stood up, one knee braced on the bench as she put her hands on his shoulders.
“Can you not feel it?” she demanded.
Silence was her answer; or perhaps the shiver of wonder, leavened with fear, was her answer.
She looked down into his face, angular and beloved, his lips just parted, black eyes watching her with such care. Her blood heated, and a longing so fierce that her eyes teared tore at her, even as she bent and put her lips against his.
Deeply, she kissed him, feeling his answer in every cell of her body.
* * *
Her mouth was sweet, and unexpectedly cunning. Desire stiffened him all in an instant, and he ran his hands into her hair, sweeping it free of the silver ring, returning her kiss wholly, as her fingers stroked deliciously down his throat. With him wedged into the corner of the bench, it was she who had the upper hand, and it seemed she wished to exploit her advantage, as she explored him, each touch an agony of pleasure, as if her desires and his were one. Never had a lover known him so well; nor played him with such surety. He was molten, all but beyond thought.
But not quite.
“Aelliana—” Her name was scarcely more than a moan; the question: “How do you know these things?” incinerated as her mouth found him.
Too fast, too fast. A laborious thought, but thought nonetheless. He reached for her, but she eluded his hands, focused entirely upon his pleasure, and in such manner . . . Aelliana did not know these things.
He moved, not in passion now, but in horror, his blood going from molten to ice. Loud as he was, he had overtaken her, who could access his inmost feelings through a touch! She started back with a strangled cry, lost her balance, and crumpled to the grass.
“Aelliana!” He threw himself after her—and froze as her hands came up, warding him, green eyes dazzled, panting with mingled horror and lust.
“Help me,” she gasped, and closed her eyes.
Help her, when her danger was all from him? And, yet, who better then her copilot—her lifemate?
He took a deep breath, reached through the turmoil of emotion and spun himself into a circle of quiet peacefulness. For the space of three heartbeats, he only breathed, letting calmness inform his mind. When he was certain of his control, he opened his eyes, and settled himself comfortably on the grass beside her.
She was panting yet, and shivering where she lay, her hands fisted at her side, muscles hard with anguish.
“Aelliana,” he said, softly. “Look at me.”
She whimpered, her brows drawing together, but she did not open her eyes.
“Look at me!” The command mode, flicked with precision against abused nerves.
Her eyes snapped wide, and met his.
“Copilot's duty, Aelliana,” he murmured, willing the sense of his words to reach beyond her disorientation and fear. “I will help you. Can you trust me so much? And do exactly as I say?”
“Ye-e-s . . . ”
“Good. I am going to teach you the Scout's Rainbow. You saw it, this morning, and thought it useful, eh? And so it is, useful. It is the first tool we learn, and the one we reach for most often. There is nothing to fear in the Rainbow. However, if at any step you should begin to feel anxious or afraid, only open your eyes. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Close your eyes, now, and visualize the color red. Let it fill your head to the exclusion of all else. Tell me, when you have it firm.”
Three heartbeats, no more, which was better than most hopeful Scoutlings achieved.
“Now,” she whispered.
“Good. Allow your thoughts to flutter away, unconsidered. Focus on the color red, warm, comforting red. Let it flow through your body, beginning at the top of your head, warm and relaxing—down your face, your throat, your shoulders . . . ” His voice was soft, softer, the rhythm of the words timed precisely to aid the student in achieving trance.
Watching, he saw her muscles lose some tension and felt a flutter of relief.
“Visualize the color orange. Let it fill your head, to the exclusion of all else. Tell me, when you have it firm.”
There was a pause, and a whisper of velvet along silk. He glanced away from Aelliana's face, just as orange-and-white Relchin settled himself at her opposite side, chicken fashion, his eyes slitted in approval.
Distantly, Daav felt relief. Relchin had an . . . affinity for the Rainbow. That he appeared to oversee Aelliana's inaugural journey could only be a good omen.
“Now,” Aelliana whispered.
“Good,” he answered, drawn back into his role as her guide.
Color by color, he took her through the Rainbow, watching her relax more deeply at every level.
Once, at yellow, and again at purple, he reminded her that she might exit the exercise simply by opening her eyes, which was the protocol. She chose to continue, which everyone did.
In the choreography of the Scout's Rainbow, the ultimate safe place lay beyond violet. Each person who traversed the colors found a different door at the end of the Rainbow, uniquely theirs, the room behind it always a refuge.
At the far side of violet, with Aelliana breathing as sweetly as a child asleep, he asked the question, softly as her own thought: “What do you see?”
“Hatch,” she murmured. “Ride the Luck's hatch.”
Oh, indeed? And what shape had her safety taken before she acquired her ship, he wondered, and shuddered to think that there might have been none.
“Will you enter?” he suggested.
She did so, and he guided her into a deeper trance—not as rich as the Healers might provide, but restorative beyond mere sleep.
Copilot's duty done, he stood, ordered himself, and took stock. Reviewing the Rainbow had lent him an extra level of lucidity beyond even what the grandmother's art had given him. Which was well. For now, he must take up lifemate's duty, which was stern. Stern, indeed.
He dropped to one knee and gathered her into his arms, his lifemate, his love. Rising, he turned toward the path, and the house, Relchin his high-tailed escort.