The Seer (Tellaran Series) (6 page)

She jumped when he rolled toward her.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

He sighed. The blankets slid as he shifted again.

She had never shared a bed with anyone and he warmed the bed just by being in it. The turmoil of his mind gradually slowed, calmed. It was soothing just to be so close to him.

After a time his sense settled and smoothed into sleep.

She wished she’d had the courage to take her clothes off in front of him.

She closed her eyes and, after a moment, scooted a little closer
.

Six

Arissa started awake and panic sent her heart racing at the sight of the dark, unfamiliar room. She cast about with her Seer’s senses and blue eyes flashed in her mind.

Jolar.

Feeling his presence in a room nearby, memory came rushing back. Arissa put her shaking hand over her face. She was in the bedroom of their suite on the
Queen’s Light
, not cowering in a filthy rooming house in Xan-Tellar waiting for TelSec to track her down.

She stretched her awareness a little farther toward the living room, to Jolar, shyly touching the weight and heft of his mind, his pensiveness, his determination, drawing comfort from his shimmering depths.

A flutter of thought came back at her.

Probably wondering how long I’m going to sleep.

She withdrew the contact and rubbed her eyes, wondering what time it was.  They’d left Tellar’s orbit sometime when she was sleeping and the viewport showed nothing but distant stars and empty space now. He felt like he’d been awake for a while and the space next to her was cool to the touch.

Shower first or eat first?

It was pure luxury to have the option at all.

The rooming house had a shared ‘fresher and weak shower with tepid water and she’d gotten five minutes to wash yesterday before they left the Fleet base. Food had become more scarce when she’d had to choose between eating and rent. Driven by desperation when the money she’d brought from Apovia ran out, she seized on a moment’s inattention of a man who’d drunk one too many lums and quickly had his billfold in hand.

The money in it had kept her for a week.

It had been a dizzying risk to take. Always terrified she would be caught, and knowing that arrest for her meant execution, there were many days she couldn’t bring herself to steal.

It made her ashamed too, imagining what her parents would think. Maybe it would have been better to offer herself as an Ornament. At least it was something for something.

Fleetingly she wondered what someone like Jolar could possibly want a telepath for, then sighed. Whatever it was, this was far better than being locked in a cell, far better starving in Xan-Tellar. She was safe, for now at least, with delicious food in the dining room and plenty of hot water in the marble bathroom.

After so many months of fear and hunger and filth, it was like a dream.

Shower first.

She reached out again, trying to gage how impatient he was for her to get up and yanked the blanket up to her neck just as he came in.

Jolar stopped in the doorway. “You’re awake.”

She tried to smooth her hair. It must be a wild mop now. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “What—how long did I sleep?”

“It’s ship’s morning now.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Sorry. You should have woken me.”

His chagrin rippled. “Yes, well, why don’t you get dressed? I’ve gotten you something to eat, then we can talk.”

“About what you want me to do?” she asked quickly before he could go. “You said yesterday you would explain.”

He hesitated. “Yes.” He took a step back. “Tea or caf?”

“Oh, uh, tea, please.”

The door closed behind him. Grabbing her clothes Arissa went into the bathroom, and winced when she saw her reflection. Her dark curls were as wild as she feared. Her skin looked as thin and pale as parchment, the black brows over her too-large green eyes arched like frightened birds in flight.

She cleaned her teeth and washed her face, rubbing her chapped lips a little with a damp cloth in hopes of making them look better. She’d worn balm on her lips at home but she’d run out of it months ago.

A quick search of the bathroom yielded a lucky find and she was able to make her bare nails neat and presentable again with the complementary manicure tools. She smoothed her hair but didn’t have any way of styling it or pinning it up. She put the tan tunic and pants back on and tied the belt and examined at the results of her efforts in the mirror.

She sighed. Scrawny and still plain as a mud sparrow, but at least she was tidy.

Jolar’s expression was pensive, his long legs stuck out in front of him as he sprawled in one of the dining room chairs but he straightened and offered a smile as soon as he saw her.

“I thought you might be hungry again,” he said with a nod at the dish-laden table. 

She flushed, remembering her appalling manners yesterday.

He was already pulling off the covers. “I didn’t know you’d like so I ordered a bunch of different things.”

He certainly had. The table was nearly full. Some of the selections were meat dishes, some traditional evening fare, some more usual for breakfast. A number of the selections were Apovian — including one of her favorites, fried hoss. A quick, nervous brush against his mind showed he was intentionally trying to put her at ease.

Made shy by his unexpected thoughtfulness, she sat down and filled her plate. Jolar sat across from her but took nothing for himself.

She stopped, fork in hand. “Aren’t you having any?”

“I’ve already eaten.”

She frowned. There was a lot of food. “I can’t eat all this.”

“You don’t have to. Eat what you want and we’ll have the rest cleared away.”

She fingered her fork for a moment. Throw all that away? It was enough to keep her for a week if she could save it.

“There’s plenty to eat on this ship, Arissa,” he said gently. “I promised, remember? I won’t let you go hungry.”

She nodded, embarrassed that so much of her thoughts showed on her face, and started on her meal.

He was watching her eat again.

“Why don’t you tell me what you need to do?” she suggested, ducking her head.

“It can wait till you’re done.”

She finished a plateful in minutes. He poured her a cup of tea and catching the aroma she smiled widely.

“Gods, I can’t remember the last time I had white tea.” She took the cup he offered and inhaled the spicy, sweet fragrance. She took a sip. It was too hot but it didn’t matter.

“How long were you on Tellar?”

Her smile faded, the cup cradled in her hand. “Right after my—almost eight months. My uncle put me on the transport the next morning.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” he said quietly.

“Thank you.” Her eyes stung and she swallowed hard. “No one . . . You’re the first person who said so to me.”

His sense grew heavy.

“I didn’t mean—I don’t want you to regret saying something.”

His blue eyes were guarded now. “I don’t know how I feel about you being able to sense my emotions all the time.”

“You feel vulnerable,” she blurted, then flushed.

He went still. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And uneasy,” she added carefully.

He gave a humorless laugh. “What a diplomatic way of saying you scare the piss out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked at the cup in her hands. “I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t scare anyone. I wish there were no reason to be afraid of me.”

He gave her a searching look. “What about your parents? They knew you longer than anyone. Were they afraid?”

“No.” Hot tears blurred her vision. “They felt—but they were my parents, I guess it’s just natural that they’d feel that way.”

“What way?”

Her brow creased. “Proud.”

He gave a half-smile. “Of course. When did they figure out that—well, that you’re . . .?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’m not sure even
they
could tell you when they started noticing things. I was really little, that’s for sure. I remember being confused because I didn’t know that other people didn’t feel things the same way I did. I used to think they were pretending. But one day when I was very young one of my primary teachers lost a necklace. The other said she hadn’t seen it but I knew she was lying; she had it in her pocket. I told my teacher and—anyway my parents were called. My parents took me home and questioned me. They tested me a little and it was frightening how afraid they became for me. They never let me go back to school.”

“So, you know when someone is lying?”

“Sure. Why is that so important to you?”

He looked away.

“Sorry,” she mumbled into her tea.

“No.” He took a deep breath then squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “I need to get used to this.”

“If there’s—” She stumbled over the words, rushing to get them out. “If there’s anything I can do to make it easier, tell me, okay? I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I don’t want to be either.” She felt him weighing his words. “And I really need to trust you, Arissa.”

“Because of what you need my help with? Because of what you need to do?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, his blue gaze steady. “And in return for your help you’ll get a new ID—not as Arissa Legan, a permanent one. A non-telepath one. When our work is completed you’ll be free to go to whatever world you please, to work or train for a profession if you like. You’ll be paid too, well enough to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, if you’re sensible with it.”

“It sounds wonderful, too good to be true, really,” she admitted, her throat tight. “But what do you want me to do?”

“Right now I just want you to become Arissa Legan. Learn your role, make it automatic. Once I know you can handle that we can talk about the rest.”

It was more than needing confidence in her playacting abilities—he didn’t trust her. He was holding so much back but it wasn’t as if she could refuse, no matter what he asked of her.

She wet her lips. “Okay.”

He stood. “I have some information for you to memorize.”

She followed him the few steps into the living area, standing beside him as he retrieved the datapad he’d left on the table there.

He hesitated. “Can you read?”

“What the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, scowling. “Of course I can read!”

His face colored. “You said you didn’t go back to school.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t educated! My mother was director of medical arts at the university in Galt-Apovia. My father was a professor of comparative literature. I would put the depth and breadth of my education against yours any day. If I had an ID I would have earned four advanced degrees—two in the literature arts, one in neurochemistry and one in biomolecular engineering—before I was seventeen.”

“I see.”

She folded her arms. “So a smart telepath makes you
really
uneasy.”

“I barely managed to earn one degree in contemporary arts by the time I was twenty.” He gave a short, self-conscious laugh. “Maybe I’m just a little intimidated.”

“By me?” But he was and she frowned. “Gods, why?”

“That you’re better educated? Apparently brilliant? That you know what I’m feeling as soon as I feel it? Take your pick.” He shook his head. “You say you can’t hear my thoughts but damn, it sure seems like you can.”

She shifted. “I can’t.”

He searched her face. “What’s it like?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.” She gave a half-shrug, embarrassed. No one had ever asked her before. “I’ve never been any other way.”

“Right,” he said, shaking his head again. “Never mind.”

“No, I—” She nipped her lip. “Have you ever swum in the ocean?”

He rippled with curiosity. “Yes.”

“Well . . . it’s like when you’re in the water; it surrounds you and you can feel it moving. When the emotion is really strong, like anger, it’s like the breakers hitting you hard. But happiness is like when you’re past the breakers and warm water is moving around you, buoying you up. But some feelings, like anticipation, rustle instead, like the way leaves sound but you
feel
it. And they’re all around you.”

“But how can you tell which emotion it is?”        

“You just—Here, give me your hand.”

He put the datapad down and put his hand in hers. She turned it, holding it palm up in hers.

She rubbed the fingers of her other hand over his palm rapidly. “This what anticipation feels like.”