KINSMAN’S OATH By Susan Krinard

He released his grip on his fabrication and sank deep beneath its meaningless chatter, retaining just enough physical awareness to reach for Cynara. Her hand was ice-cold, fingers unresisting.

Cynara. Hear me.

It seemed that he walked in a fog, lost as she was lost in the caverns of her mind. The bright presence of her being was muted and cold.

Cynara. You have nothing to fear. Come to me.

No response. But within the mist shone a faint luminescence, ghost-lights to guide the weary traveler home. Ronan made his way toward them, memories sucking at his legs with every step.

Memories.

They danced before him like the veils worn by Dharman women, floating within his grasp and then snatched away by invisible fingers. He stood very still. A memory black as VelRauthi’s heart wrapped itself around him.

The Pegasus—the scream of sirens—a dying man sprawled on the deck at the foot of the captain’s chair. Tyr Siannas. His face was twisted with pain and some deeper torment.

Ronan crouched over him, cradling Tyr’s head in his hands. Tyr coughed. Bright blood spattered Ronan’s shirt.

Don’t blame yourself, Cyn. It wasn’t your doing. But Tyr’s lips did not move. The voice was not his. It came, bodiless, from the very air. From Cynara’s mind.

Ronan blocked the voice and concentrated on Tyr’s face. Green eyes opened, staring at Ronan with the fury of madness.

“You,” he whispered. “Little bitch. If not for you—” Tyr clawed with rigid hands, dragging Ronan down until Tyr’s fading breath mingled with his own.

“You want my ship?” Tyr rasped. “You want to be captain?” He barked out a laugh. “I’m dying. Does that please you?”

Ronan shook his head wildly. “No, Tyr. You can’t die.”

“You were always a fraud, Cynara. A farce. Nothing. Now… you’ve betrayed Dharma, D’Accorso… my father…”

“No.” But in Ronan’s mind was the sure knowledge that he had brought disaster upon the Pegasus, upon this cousin he had always loved, because he had not been content in the life to which he had been born.

“Will you do anything… to save me?” Tyr croaked.

“Anything.” Tears scalded Ronan’s eyes. “Anything.”

“Then come closer, little Cousin. Look at me. Trust me.”

He locked his hands around Ronan’s face. In that touch was nothing of tenderness, of farewell, of regret. Tyr’s mind struck out, a master’s thrust aimed at a novice. Ronan jerked back, but he could not escape.

He saw the truth of Tyr’s character, the ambition, the willingness to sacrifice anything or anyone to win and keep power. He felt the depth of Tyr’s hatred. And he knew Tyr’s weakness—the mortal defect that had held him immobile with fear when he could have acted to save himself and the crew.

Tyr thrust inside Ronan’s mind with groping fists, seeking the continuation of life in any way he could take it. Ronan’s vision faltered. A million microscopic teeth gnawed at the space inside his skull, emptying it of thought and will and self.

You will be captain, Tyr whispered. Your body will walk this deck. But nothing of you will be left to enjoy it.

The blows came without ceasing, bruising phantom flesh and snapping spectral bones. Tyr drove inside him—unimaginable, excruciating violation meant to destroy utterly.

But something of Ronan remained. All the petty rebellions that changed so little, the minor revolts against tradition, everything he had fought for on Dharma came to his aid like the angels of legend. Mental abilities judged so insignificant rose to his defense. He found the strength to fight back.

Tyr was not prepared. His astonishment cut through Ronan’s newfound resolve for the fraction of an instant. Tyr recovered first. He launched his final, fatal assault.

Ronan raised his shield, mirror-bright. Tyr’s blow struck and rebounded onto itself, splitting Tyr’s mind asunder.

Ronan’s shield shattered, driving shards of glass and metal into his body. His screams mingled with Tyr’s. He was Tyr, spinning into an abyss of his own making.

He died. A strong, slender hand grasped his collar and pulled him from the womb of darkness.

Ronan?

Cynara released him and stepped away, hands shielding her eyes. Where is Tyr?

He shook the veil from his face and held out his hand. Come back with me, Cynara.

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