“The search for the Hoveny—important. But many Triads search, on many other worlds. Most look for years and nothing worthwhile. Our families forget us. Those who sent us here, they send supplies and wait for reports. Forget us.” A hand pressed to his chest with the word. “Security checks, back at First. Offworld protocols. Good enough, understand? No risk, no one cares, forgotten. Unless we find something. Or think we have. Once find confirmed, every protection sent.” That desperate edge to his voice. “Reports secret. Go only to the office of the First. No one else should know.”
“Why?” Aryl narrowed her eyes. “Who shouldn’t know?”
“Those who take what isn’t theirs.”
Why had she thought his vast Trade Pact would be safe from greed and thieves? Maybe, she realized, because the alternative was terrifying. “You think that’s what’s happened.” She licked dry lips. “That someone’s come to Cersi, to take from you.”
“I could be wrong.” Marcus lifted his hand from hers; guessing he worried about the contact, she released his arm. “No leak in history of First—no secret exposed. None they admit,” this heavily, as if he, too, had suddenly found an alternative difficult to bear. “If happened, maybe my fault, too. I delayed reports, kept some information out—” a faint blush on his cheeks. “I could have drawn attention. Wrong attention.”
What does this mean for us? Naryn sent.
She was right to ask. “You said ‘danger.’ What kind of danger? What would they do?” Whoever “they” were.
Marcus consulted his screens—not, Aryl judged, because they told him what to say. Finally, he gave her that uncertain sideways glance. “The bad kind. I flew over Site One on the way here. The tower is damaged. I thought—hoped that explained the com silence. A broken machine, not—not—Then you called. Coms work, Aryl. No one’s using them. No one.”
And she’d worried he was leaving.
A physical threat. To him. To those who worked with him. Something that could disrupt the Strangers’ seemingly invincible technology. “Do they threaten us?”
“I’ll take you home,” he said as if he hadn’t heard. “You get everyone inside the Cloisters. Stay there until I come. Promise me.”
Haxel would have her blade against the softness of his throat by now, demanding answers. Not that it would work, Aryl knew. No threat would move Marcus Bowman to say anything he didn’t want to say.
And she’d never allow it.
“We’ll go with you.” Two of the Triad sites were between here and Sona. He wasn’t a fool.
Not a fool; not happy either. Marcus frowned. “No.”
“You need to check on your people. You’ve already wasted time coming for us.”
Behind her, Naryn sighed, but Aryl could feel her agreement. Naryn might not care about Marcus, but she knew they had to learn about this mysterious threat. Enris? She sensed his presence close to her thoughts, careful, wary.
“Bad idea!” Marcus lurched around in his seat. “Enris. Tell her.”
“I like it.” Her Chosen leaned back and put his massive arms behind his head in a show of ease. “The sooner we’re home, the sooner Haxel puts me to work.”
“I’d—” Naryn bent double, her hands holding her abdomen. “Leave me be!” she gasped.
She didn’t protest to them.
Anaj! Aryl sought the other through the M’hir. Stop!
Interesting. The other’s mind was a solid spot of light, their connection locked instantly. Trained Power; practiced control. So this is your version of the Dark. You look like flame, Child of Power.
Anaj. Please. Leave Naryn in peace. We must learn more.
Not an esan.
No. Aryl risked the other’s reaction and shared a quick image of the aircar and Marcus. Not-Om’ray, but a friend.
Interesting, Anaj repeated. What you wish to reveal and what you think you can hide about our new companion, this Human.
Aryl checked her shields.
Don’t worry. I’m in no position to argue. A ripple through the M’hir; it might have been laughter. It might have been despair. I’ll be patient as long as I’m able.
She knew what Anaj meant. If I can help—
Save your strength. Find the truth, then get us home.
Aryl blinked herself free of the M’hir to the sound of the Human’s voice, loud and vehement. “—go home. This is Trade Pact problem. Triad problem. Not Om’ray. Not yours! What of babies?”
What would he think of the acerbic old Adept currently living inside Naryn? She was real to Om’ray, but would she be to the Human?
Some things, Aryl reminded herself, Marcus didn’t need to know.
One he did. “If you take us to Sona, we won’t get out of this machine. Unless you think you can force us out? And our babies?”
Enris made a choking noise.
“Aryl,” the Human pleaded. “Not safe!”
Her grin faded. “Did you think we were friends only when it was?”
Marcus stared desperately at the screens. A muscle jumped along his jaw. She waited.
“Promise to stay in aircar, no matter what,” he said finally, not looking at her. “ ’Port away if I say so. Promise.”
She’d do no such thing.
When she didn’t answer, a glance assessed her expression, then the Human sighed. He dug into a pocket, brought out a small disk she’d seen it before, the one that held images of his family. He handed it to her. “Keep this safe for me. Promise that?”
As a trick, it wasn’t up to his usual standard. Aryl took the image disk and put it in a pocket. “What I promise is to give it back when we’re all safe.”
“Stubborn,” he commented, but almost smiled.
Behind them, Enris chuckled.
The Lake of Fire took its name from strange clouds, like curls of smoke, that often rose from its still surface. Aryl pressed her nose to the now-transparent side of the aircar but could see only one. She’d meant to ask Marcus if the Strangers knew what caused the smoke, if it was something to do with the structures beneath the surface.
Today wasn’t the time for curiosity.
Marcus wouldn’t talk to her, busy with the controls when he wasn’t staring at the small screens as if their flow of color and symbol offered some final hope. She’d seen him afraid for his life, but this was different.
Odd. The solitary curl of smoke was taller and darker than those she remembered. “Marcus?”
He lifted his head and looked out. “Site One,” Marcus announced grimly, his face set in unfamiliar lines.
Meaning the smoke was from the Strangers’ platform over the underwater ruins, where Marcus and his Triad had been working when she’d first met them. The aircar veered toward the nearer shore.
If the buildings were still on fire, why was he heading away? For their safety? “Don’t worry about us,” Aryl said quickly. “We’ll help. Go back!”
Marcus tapped the small screen. “No one to help,” he said. “No lifesign.”
Enris got to his feet, loomed between Marcus and Aryl. “Who did this?”
The Human looked up. “No proof who. Could be accident, malfunction. Artrul—her Triad. Evacuationprotocol. Means they go to Site Two. Damaged tower. Local coms down, that’s all. Confusion.” A too-casual shrug. “See? Take you home now.”
He tried to get rid of them again. “Site Two,” she insisted. It lay a ridge beyond Grona.
“Not safe.”
Now the truth, or some of it. “What is?” Aryl said gently. “You waste time arguing, Marcus.”