KINSMAN’S OATH By Susan Krinard

“Only one shaaurin watches the spaceport. It requires time for Aarys’s message to reach Ain’Kalevi.”

“Because they don’t keep advanced communication systems.” Even with Ronan’s description, she wasn’t sure what to expect of the Kalevi settlement. Woods crowded close around the cleared area of the spaceport, and she could see the white tops of mountains to the north and east. The sky was blue, heavily overcast in the west, with a brisk wind threatening to blow the storm directly toward them. The look of the place reminded Cynara of the northern islands of Cabiria on Dharma, lands where summers were brief and winters often snowbound.

According to Ronan, Kalevi House compounds were widely spaced, sprawling communities divided by natural borders. Their people grew cold-hardy crops, kept domestic animals, and hunted as their ancestors had done.

Given Ronan’s experiences in childhood, the colonists were as primitive in their behavior as they were in their chosen way of life.

She shivered. Ronan moved closer to her, sharing his natural warmth.

“It is cold for you here,” he said.

“No worse than the Cabirian taiga during Solstice. Don’t worry about me.”

“Remember what I told you—”

“Keep quiet, avert my gaze, and don’t speak unless spoken to.” She grimaced. “It’s not in my character to be quite so… retiring.”

“I know.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “At least your hair is red.”

She was about to ask if he intended that as a joke when he looked sharply toward the edge of the clearing opposite the buildings. A lone shaaurin emerged from the trees. He—it—was very tall, and its fur was faded with age, but it carried itself like a warrior.

Ronan had stopped breathing. She grabbed his cold hand. His mind was in the grip of emotions so intense she could not help but feel them.

“Who?” she asked.

He tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the shaaurin. The thump of his pulse leaped from his palm to hers. Only as they neared the shaaurin, so close that she could see his broad, bewhiskered face, did she realize who the alien must be.

“Sihvaaro,” Ronan whispered.

Cynara released his hand. He strode the last few steps and dropped to his knees, overcome.

The old shaaurin gazed down on him with as benevolent an expression as a nonhuman face could hold. “Ronan,” he said, the name recognizable to Cynara’s untrained ears.

Ronan bent his face skyward, exposing the length of his throat, and Sihvaaro took his head between long-nailed hands. It was a welcome, and a benediction. Like a child meeting a much-beloved uncle, Ronan jumped to his feet and embraced the old shaaurin. Then he turned toward Cynara. His face shone with a joy and serenity that took her breath away.

“Sihvaaro,” he said, followed by a string of sounds that included her full name. His eyes were warm with pride.

“Cynara D’Accorso,” he said, “my teacher and friend, Sihvaaro Kio’laii.”

Sihvaaro inclined his head. “It is an honor,” he said in fluid Standard, “to greet Cynara D’Accorso, lifemate of Ronan VelKalevi.”

* * *

Chapter 23

« ^ »

Cynara barely remembered not to stare. “Pardon me?” she stammered.

Ronan flushed. He spoke rapidly to Sihvaaro and joined Cynara.

“He does not understand,” he said quietly, not meeting her gaze. “Sometimes he… senses things, and can be mistaken.”

“Are you saying he’s a telepath?”

“There are no shaauri telepaths. Sihvaaro has a… gift.”

Cynara decided that circumspection was better than awkward questions. “Did you expect him to be here?”

“I hoped.” He smiled with an almost childlike pleasure. “It will be easier with Sihvaaro’s aid.”

She studied the alien more carefully. Ronan had never said anything but good about his teacher, yet their relationship remained a mystery to her. Sihvaaro had taught Ronan how to defend himself, and how to bear his difficult life. He had given Ronan something like love. That was enough for Cynara.

“Honored teacher,” she said, hoping the salutation was adequately respectful. “I value your welcome.”

Sihvaaro’s ears flicked forward and back. “I welcome you,” he said, “but I do not speak for Ain’Kalevi. They will be here soon, and perhaps others.” He turned to Ronan. “Your mission?”

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