Rift in the Sky Read Free Page B

them.
    â€œI know.” Aloud, to hide his opinion. Which, she thought with some asperity, told her anyway.
    â€œI can’t leave it to Haxel,” she said, turning to face him. “Last time . . .”
    His lips quirked. “What’s wrong with a turn at the watch fire?”
    Aryl didn’t bother mentioning their restless sleep that particular truenight. Had anyone trusted the inexperienced Adepts to stay awake? “If there’s another confrontation, you know what’ll happen. Haxel will insist they go back to Grona. Cetto and Morla would agree in a heartbeat. The rest—?” They hadn’t had an issue divide them. She’d prefer to keep it that way. Sona’s numbers were too few, their cohesiveness as a Clan still fragile. “Having our own Healer is a comfort,” she finished lamely.
    â€œWe wouldn’t need a Healer if Marcus—”
    â€œNo.”
    Aryl recognized the glint in his eye: one of her Chosen’s usually admirable qualities, that stubborn streak. “—if Marcus taught me to use his technology,” Enris went on as if she hadn’t objected. “You’ve seen it. Worin’s leg might never have been smashed. The Strangers’ healing machine is as good or better than anything Oran can do. Marcus would teach me.” If you asked.
    Oh, she understood that desire. The wonders in Marcus Bowman’s camp by the waterfall tempted her as well. But the Human had agreed to let her and her alone decide how much contact he should have with other Om’ray. For good reason. Aryl pressed two fingers gently over her Chosen’s lips. We can’t rely on their devices. They won’t be on Cersi forever. We must depend on ourselves.
    Enris caught her fingers, kissed them, held them in his. “And we will. The Strangers’ machine gives us time to find another Healer. Aryl. You must see it. Those Adepts have to go. Why wait for the next time they cause trouble? Sona won’t be whole as long as Oran and Hoyon fight you for leadership.”
    â€œI’m not fight—” His smile stopped her protest; Aryl settled for glowering. “We can’t send them to Grona,” she said instead. “Oswa and Yao belong here, with us.”
    â€œAnd Bern?”
    Anything but a simple question. Enris was the most easygoing and charming Om’ray imaginable, willing and able to find the best in others, to inspire it. That he’d come to so thoroughly dislike Bern sud Caraat, her former heart-kin, had nothing to do with jealousy. Chosen, Joined for life, could have no doubt of each other. But distrust rumbled beneath the words.
    And contempt.
    Aryl leaned her forehead against Enris’ chest. “He was my friend.”
    â€œWho smiles and whispers, and spreads doubt about everything you say or do, while Oran plays the noble Healer.”
    He supports his Chosen. You do the same.
    Not so. His big arms drew her close. I love my Chosen to distraction, but when you’re wrong— Aryl felt his deep laugh— I’m the first to tell you.
    And you’re so perfect . . .
    A rush of heat. “How right you are,” he murmured into her hair, which squirmed joyfully against its net. His hands began exploring.
    Insufferable Tuana. “I’ll see you later,” Aryl told him, then concentrated and pushed . . .
    Aroused, the M’hir’s heaving darkness was wilder than usual. No surprise, Aryl thought wryly in the brief instant before she emerged.
    So was she.

    Sona’s Cloisters didn’t rise on a stalk, like Yena’s, but rather sat on the ground like a discarded flower. Oud had thrown dirt against its windows and filled in the lowermost platform. They’d sought a way inside . . . curious about what none of their kind had seen.
    Marcus Bowman was curious, too, but knew better than to attempt such trespass. He might hope for an invitation, but even if she could bring herself to