Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(87)

“This man she speaks of was not a soldier,” the Captain went on. “Lucius has heard that from her nightmares. He was good with children. He stayed behind, which means the children were taken to safety. He was probably trying to buy them time so they could escape. Noble. So they saved children, caretakers, and their best soldiers. Interesting. I wonder where they were hidden…”

“They saved those with fighting skills and the mental part, too, sir.” Marc flinched. Why did he have to speak? And now he’d caused silence. That couldn’t be good.

“And they followed her ruling. They valued her leadership. They had faith that she should go alone to get this thing done. They thought a young woman was the best choice to walk across the land in search of an ancestor a hundred or more years removed with nothing but weapons and her father’s ring. And she almost made it.”

“She thought our forest was still intact. If not for that, she would be long gone,” Marc said in resignation. If the Captain was determined to make him a sounding board, he might as well move the thoughts along.

“We are not alone in this, either, Cadet.”

Marc didn’t know what he was talking about, so he said nothing.

“But she has to go—I see that now.”

“But sir, you can’t let her leave!” Marc said in desperation. “We cannot withstand those Starchars, or whatever they are. You have power, I hear, but you can’t heal with your mind. Or cause pain. Or whatever else she does that helps the army. You can’t—“

“That is enough, Cadet.” The Captain’s deep, graveled voice set Marc’s bones to vibrating. Marc could feel a warning tingle in his ball sack that said he was probably about to be bodily thrown somewhere. He was prepared for flight and was not ashamed to admit it.

“She has to leave,” the Captain went on, walking now, “but you are right, she has valuable skills we need to harness. For right now, though, she needs to stay alive, and her spirit needs to heal. You are in charge of monitoring that, and reporting to me whenever she suffers a blow. The rest of what she said you will not speak of to her or anyone else, save me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suck your emotions deep within you. She does not seek them unless it is dire, so if you keep your thoughts close to your chest, she should glean nothing of this conversation.”

Mark had no idea what that meant, either, but it was always wise to agree with the Captain. “Yes, sir.”

As they walked up, Shanti grimaced, eyes still closed. “Marc, you are a tattletale.”

“See, that’s weird,” Leilius mumbled, scooting around the tree.

“It’s not weird. Marc’s brain is all soft and squishy and caring. The other one’s brain looks like the ugly rugs he is so fond of. I am not reading his thoughts, just that he is unhappy about something. As usual.”

“You two boys can leave now,” the Captain said, his gaze trained on Shanti.

Neither Marc or Leilius wasted any time.

Chapter 48

Shanti waited for the probing mental contact she knew would come. When it did, she gave it a tug, then gave him the mental equivalent of a kick. “You need to ask before you try to look in on someone’s thoughts.”

“You seem to have no qualms about it,” Cayan replied, sitting down beside her.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but he smelled dirty. And sweaty. “I don’t look. I maintain a connection with my head like people do with their eyes. I monitor to make sure everyone is alive, is okay, and is not in need of help. I cannot help, and really do not appreciate, that your people seem to constantly advertise their every damn emotional feeling.”

“Do you even know what damn means?”

“No, but I know how it is used, and how people respond to its use, which is really all slang is anyway.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad.”

“You need to eat.”

“You need to butt-out. And no, besides its use, I don’t understand that one, either. I know what a butt is, of course, and what ‘out’ is, but I don’t see how a na**d butt, or a protruding butt, or a butt hanging out of something, makes sense in language. But yet, it makes the boys close their mouths or go away. Often times both.”

“Why won’t you eat? Or look at me?” Cayan was getting impatient.

“Jerrol won’t talk to me, you know. He stares often enough, and nearly vomits lust when he passes, but he won’t say two words. Was that your doing?”

“No. Not directly.”

“Undo it.”

“Why?”

A hot tear ran down Shanti’s cheek. “Because…I need him.”

“Him, or a man?”

“Him.” Another tear followed the first. She felt a deft finger wipe them away.

“Why him?” the Captain whispered.

“Because he has the same eyes. Earth brown. Deep, rich, gravitating earth brown. I want to make love to him, Cayan. One last time. I want those eyes looking into me while I hold him in my body.”

“Jerrol isn’t…your lost love. He doesn’t look at you the same way. The eyes are the same color, that’s all.”

“Romie.”

“Sorry?”