The Seer (Tellaran Series) (20 page)

Twenty-one

“Loosen your grip,” Jolar advised, resetting the target. He had reserved the entire Tano-Sertar indoor shooting range to teach her in privacy. “It’s important not to hold the blaster too tightly.”

“Okay,” Arissa said, trying to relax—no easy task with Jolar right next to her. A thousand times a day her heart whispered to her reach for him, to slide her hand into his, to reach for him across the wide expanse of their bed.

It wasn’t the immorality of it, though she imagined if she were of better character that would bother her. Even her resolve not to be hidden had quickly worn threadbare over the past three days. She’d be no more hidden than Kemma was and Kemma wasn’t miserable or ashamed. Certainly Arissa didn’t condemn Kemma and Lian for what they had together.

But she knew Jolar’s mind. How important loyalty and fidelity were to him. She knew once he took those final vows to another, he would forever be torn by keeping her as a shadow consort, no matter how above-board the arrangement was. She knew he would do his best to honor her, and his wife. But he would hate himself for the double life.

And every moment they had after, no matter how joyful, would know that taint.

She couldn’t live with herself if she let him do it.

But her selfish heart didn’t seem to care about noble intentions or sacrifice in the name of what was right. All it knew was that Jolar was beside her, the warmth of him tempting her to turn and bury her face against his chest.

“Try it now,” Jolar said.

Arissa focused on the target, the outline of a person, and squeezed the trigger.

“That’s good,” Jolar said, with a nod toward the target. “You got him right through the center of the throat.”

Arissa lowered the weapon Jolar had purchased for her that morning; it was the smallest blaster available that he deemed powerful enough to provide for her defense. Each cartridge held a charge for weeks and at full charge guaranteed no less than fifty shots before she would have to switch it out.

Initially it hadn’t felt heavy but her arm was starting to ache from holding the diminutive weapon in the firing position for so long. “I was aiming for the shoulder.”

Jolar frowned. “Why?”

“I was trying to wound him.”

“Don’t,” he said flatly. “Once you’re at the point you have a blaster aimed at someone you need to try to kill them.”

“Can’t I just leave it on the stun setting?”

“Stun isn’t foolproof. Sometimes it takes an instant longer than you have to take effect. And you need to hit them square to be sure you are going to knock them out rather than daze them. That’s why when I shot that Utavian, I shot to kill.”

“Because he wasn’t facing you?”

“No, because he was facing
you
,” Jolar said sharply. “And me taking that extra instant for stun would have given him time to burn a blaster bolt through your head.”

Arissa rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t—
they
weren’t—getting much sleep. It might be obvious to Nela and all of Bruscan’s other household that something had changed between them but they still shared a room—and a bed.

That first night Arissa had returned to their room and found that Nela had laid out the pretty new shimmersilk nightgown set she’d bought. She’d sat on the bed, holding it’s soft, slippery fabric against her face and cried.

The bed was used for sleeping only now, what little they got of it. They lay far apart and Arissa could feel every time that Jolar kept himself from reaching for her. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he didn’t hold himself back; one touch of his skin against hers and her resolve would crumble.

They went about to parties and luncheons as Bruscan’s slicers gathered what information they could, continuing the pretense of being a married couple. Their investigation was proving painfully slow.

Danlen Mirat was disinterested in all of their overtures, Broc Attar pursued them like a love starved sluoof cub, and Larner Tovic showed only slight puzzlement each time they sought him out.

But not even Broc Attar was more focused on them than Carlea.

Focused on Jolar, that is.

“Ready to try again?”

“My arm’s tired,” she said.

“Try a few on stun and then we’ll quit.”

“Why practice the stun setting if I’m never going to use it?”

He sighed. “I didn’t say it was never useful. Tactically there are a number of situations where it’s a better choice. If you need to question someone, drilling a blaster hole through his chest isn’t the smartest move. When you’re more experienced you can make a better judgment about when to stun, but for now just practice it.”

Arissa reset the blaster to the stun setting the way he’d shown her. She raised the weapon and fired four shots.

“Much better,” Jolar said approvingly. “You hit him dead on. What did you do differently?”

“I knew it was set for stun.”

Jolar’s mouth thinned. “Things may get to the point where it’s kill or be killed—in which case, Arissa, you need to make it
kill
. Understand?”

She rubbed her forehead. His exhaustion and tension was only adding to her own. “How long do we have?”

“Do you want me to pay for another half hour?”

“I meant before you’re supposed to meet Carlea,” she said, more sharply than she intended.

Jolar looked down the range. “An hour and a half.”

“Then we should get back so you can change.” Arissa set the safety on the blaster and placed it back in its carrying case along with the extra power cartridges. “She hates it when you’re late.”

“I don’t have any interest in Carlea.” Jolar sent out little spikes of annoyance. “I’m not going to sleep with her.”

“She’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you do,” Arissa said bitterly, slinging the case over her shoulder. “Maybe that would be best.”

Jolar pulsed with anger and hurt. “So it’s all the same now to you if I do?”

Arissa turned away. She had to stop this. What he did and with whom he did it were Jasa’s concerns now, not hers.

“We have dinner plans,” Arissa reminded. “Bruscan said Broc was very insistent he see us tonight.”             

Jolar didn’t answer and Arissa followed him out, the lights of the range powering down as they exited.

Outside Jolar settled into the passenger side of the groundcar and gave her a meaningful look.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Arissa took up her place on the driver’s side as the vehicle’s anti-grav field powered up. “Maybe we should try another couple runs around Bruscan’s property before I do this.”

“It’s a short drive back to Bruscan’s,” he reminded. “And almost the whole drive is through residential areas.”

Letting her breath out, she took the controls and scanned the area around them then started the vehicle forward, slowly.

“You’re better at this than you think,” Jolar said. “You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing fine,” Arissa said, adjusting the groundcar’s antigrav a little, then increased speed. “My hands shake the whole time.”

Very glad the groundcar was equipped with multiple repulser fields around the body to prevent collision, Arissa increased speed. Navigation would keep her from getting lost even in the twisting streets of Tano, and it would be a simple matter to set the groundcar to autopilot and ride as another passenger but Jolar wouldn’t allow it.

“Autopilot is fine when nothing goes wrong,” he’d argued. "The whole point of this is to prepare you because something
has
gone wrong.”

Street after street showed nothing but high walls and intimidating security gates. “Not much of a walking city,” she murmured, tilting the yoke and slowing to make the turn navigation indicated—and bit her lip when as the groundcar swiveled more jerkily than she’d intended.

“Not a safe one either,” Jolar returned. “If you’re on this side of those gates.”

“Is the rest of the planet like this?”

Another groundcar ahead, its driver far more confident took the next turn a great deal faster. Chewing her lip, Arissa didn’t slow the groundcar, this time making the turn smoothly.

“Most of it. There’s too much money here, too much greed. It’s spoiled what beauty Sertar has.”

Seeing no groundcars nearby—and this lane a reassuringly straight one—Arissa risked a quick smile at him. “But Zartan isn’t like that?”

He gave a self-conscious laugh. “If Sertar has too much greed, I guess Zartan has too much pride.”

“It’s natural to be proud of your homeworld.”

“Is that how you feel about Apovia?”

“Of course.” Arissa felt her shoulders start to relax. Talking was helping her nervousness. Talking and the very light groundcar traffic during mid-morning in a residential area.

“It’s beautiful there,” Jolar said. “The meditation gardens, the museums. Your world has produced most of our greatest literature, our most important artworks. You have a lot to be proud of.”

“My father said the Apovians uplifted others with their art, that we helped people bear the harsh realities of life. He believed we were on the cusp of a new golden age.” She gave a fond chuckle. “But he was a poet as well as a professor.”

Jolar shook his head. “My father believed that Zartan’s golden age ended when the Tellaran royal family fell. A man born too late to ever be happy.”

The pulse energy field of Bruscan’s reinforced security gate flashed once as it deactivated. A moment later the tarasteel gate itself retracted and Arissa engaged the forward drive again.

“Too bad they never met. My father was a born optimist.” Arissa brought the groundcar to a stop and set it in standby mode, thrilled with her accomplishment. Maybe she
could
try her hand at piloting a shuttle soon. “Bruscan will be happy to see us back. I think he’s more nervous about me driving than I am.”

“See?” Jolar said warmly. “You did great, just like airskating.”

“‘Great’ because no one wound up at the medcenter?”

Jolar laughed and she gave him a smile. He cupped her cheek in his broad palm, already bending in for a kiss. Instinctively she leaned toward him . . .

Suddenly she jerked back and wrenched her face away.

The pain she sensed slash through him left her gasping. Her fingers curled into fists to keep herself from reaching for him. From the corner of her eye she saw him pass his hand over his eyes.

“We should go inside,” she managed, powering down the groundcar with quick, shaky movements.

“Right,” he said hoarsely.

Bruscan looked anything but relieved as he came out into the courtyard to meet them; the icicles of his tension stabbed at her mind.

“We’re free for dinner tonight after all,” Bruscan said, his face tight. “Broc Attar is dead.”

Jolar lifted Carlea’s hand from his thigh; grateful again he insisted this lunch take place at a public restaurant.

But he’d blundered in letting her chose the establishment. Located in a respectable enough commercial zone, the restaurant’s design – dimly-lit and cozy semi-circular booths each obscured by frosted plexisteel and sharp corners – made it an ideal destination for those seeking to discreetly meet a paramour during work hours.