KINSMAN’S OATH By Susan Krinard

“I greet you, Va-Captain Cynara D’Accorso of the Nine Worlds,” he said in heavily accented Standard. His whiskers rippled with emotion. “I greet you, Ronan, son of Jonas VelArhan, kin of my kin. I am Hraan, Aino’Ken Arhan, brother of your father. We come to take you home.”

It took many hours for Hraan and Ronan, speaking in rapid-fire Voishaaur, to sort matters out between them. Cynara was able to ascertain, with her growing fluency in Voishaaur, that Hraan intended to deliver Ronan and Cynara to human space—something to do with an understandably touchy political situation among the Lines and Clans, Arhan’s ambiguous position as a prohuman Line, and the need to find solid proof of the rogue Kinsmen’s plots.

Cynara kept her thoughts private, but she watched Ronan come back to life and wondered if he would return with her.

That was the moment when she realized that all her resolve had been for nothing, that she had made assumptions she had no right or reason to entertain. She had sworn her love and said she expected nothing in return.

How well she had deceived herself.

She retreated to the cabin assigned to her and Ronan, sitting hard on the double-sized bunk. Coldness filled her lungs and ran in her veins. When had she learned to be so sure of the future? There had been times when any future had seemed impossible. She and Ronan had escaped death by the width of a shaauri whisker. It had been enough to survive, to feel victory within their grasp.

Enough until she faced an enemy far more subtle than destruction.

The Arhani accepted Ronan as the Kalevi could not. They welcomed him as a brother. They had known his parents. He was truly one of them. And he, among all humans, was uniquely suited to the human-shaauri negotiations that would soon become necessary.

That was the future she could not deny him.

There was no certainty. There never had been.

After a while Cynara got up and assembled the ingredients for the shaauri tea Ronan so loved. It was ready when Ronan returned. He exuded such vivid happiness that she was able to put aside her grief for his sake.

“So we’ve won,” she said, pressing a mug into his hands.

“An Arhan skeleton crew has taken possession of the Kinsman ship,” he said, grinning over the steaming arao, “and the Kinsmen are prisoners aboard the Suhtaara.” He tugged her down beside him on the bed and kissed her, filling her mouth with the taste of alien spices. “Hraan and his ship were on their way to Aitu. My message diverted them, but they had already been summoned by Sihvaaro before we arrived onworld.”

“Before Sihvaaro knew we were coming?”

“He knew.” Ronan smiled sadly. “I told you that Sihvaaro had certain gifts. But when he died…” He looked into his tea, struggling to mute his emotions. “Sihvaaro was a telepath.”

Cynara nearly dropped her mug. “But there are no shaauri telepaths.”

“There is much I do not understand. But it would explain a great deal about Sihvaaro… how well he understood me, and his readiness to accept all life as equal.”

“I’m sorry, Ronan.” Cynara linked her hand through his, swallowing past the constriction in her throat. “I know how much you grieve for him. I wish I could take it from you.”

He kissed her knuckles. “Good has come even of this, ina-ma. Hraan has heard tales of shaauri with abilities only humans are said to possess. He said that my father—before he and my mother disappeared—had been hunting legends of ne’li who claimed to speak without words and listen without ears.” He shook his head. “If it is so, it is not an idea that will please many shaauri.”

“They’ve allied with Kinsmen.”

“But Kinsmen are human. That is the difference.”

Who better than Ronan to know the truth of that. “Not all humans are alike, no more than shaauri. Not all Kinsmen are treacherous and out for power. That’s what humans and shaauri must learn to accept.”

“If Sihvaaro had lived, he would have had much to teach those who believe tolerance is impossible.”

“But you carry his wisdom, Ronan. It isn’t gone.”

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