“I think the captain will come,” VelRauthi said.
The agony resumed, and for a time Ronan was senseless. Blurs that might have been human figures passed in and out of his vision. Sound bored into his eardrums like bone nee-dles. Once more the pain stopped. He tried to breathe with a throat skinned raw.
The hands on his arms fell away. He became aware that the movement around him had ceased. His legs collapsed from under him. Sometime later the noises that made no sense began to take on definition, and Ronan pushed to his knees. His wrists were no longer bound. Aside from the lingering shock to his body, he could function again. He could see.
All the places where Kinsmen had stood were empty. The bridge was clear except for a lone figure bent over a monitor. A stack of weapons of various sizes lay on the workspace beside her.
Cynara abandoned the monitor and ran to Ronan’s side, dropping to her knees. She embraced him gingerly, hands stroking with a healer’s touch. He could not have borne any touch but hers.
“It’s about time,” she said. Her voice shook. “VelRauthi assured me—after some persuasion—that you would recover, and I had to leave you for a little while. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Ronan thought better of standing up and let Cynara support him. “You shouldn’t… have come back.”
“I could feel what they were doing to you.” She seemed to have some difficulty speaking. “VelRauthi counted on that. He didn’t have a very good idea of what I was capable of.”
Even mild shaauri laughter hurt Ronan’s throat too much. “You have suffered no ill effects from the use of your new abilities?”
“None that I’m aware of.” She peered into his eyes. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I will recover. Where are the Kinsmen?”
“All confined to the briefing room, with the medic to tend the wounded, and I’ve sealed off all other quarters and cabins to isolate as many of the crew as possible. I’ve also sealed the bridge—no one else is getting in. At least not until our guests arrive.”
Ronan tried to isolate the sounds in his memory: shouting, a few sharp cries, and then the wail of alarms indicating the approach of an unidentified starship.
The alarm was silent now.
“They have come,” he said, sick with relief.
“They’re sending a shuttle as we speak. I told them to expect resistance, but I don’t think that should prove a problem for them.” He thought he detected moisture in her eyes—tears from a woman who never wept. “You believed in my strength, and I had to believe in yours.”
He began to rise, and she took his weight. For the first time he had a clear view of the bridge’s main screen. On it was the image of a ship—a very large ship of unequivocal shaauri design. The markings painted on its hull were equally distinct.
“You never did tell me whom you intended to call,” Cynara said, her lips brushing Ronan’s cheek. “I trust these are the right shaauri, since they asked for you by name. They were certainly quick in getting here.”
“Arhan,” Ronan said. “My father’s Line.”
“But still shaauri. I hope—” She broke off as a new alarm sounded, indicating the shaauri shuttle’s approach to the Kinsman ship.
Ronan gathered his feet under him. “I should go… greet them—”
“You’ll stay here. We both will. They’ll come to us.” She steered him to the captain’s chair and made him sit, then examined him minutely for injuries. Belloq had barely begun, and he hadn’t bothered with mere flesh.
“I see that VelRauthi told the truth,” she said. “I think I convinced him that it was a very bad idea to do otherwise.”
Ronan felt such pride and awe that only the sharing of thoughts could express them. He had not regained that ability. “Ska’eival Aho’Va,” he said, bowing his head.
She snorted. “Save your humility. We aren’t out of this storm yet.” She took his hand, and they waited until a shaauri voice hailed them on the intercom. Cynara unsealed the bridge doors.
A shaaurin walked in, va’laik’in flanked by two Arhan warriors. He stopped, stared at Ronan and Cynara with calm curiosity, and gave a small salute.