The Inquest: Deveran Conflict Series Book VI

By Robert Luis Rabello

Haunted by distressing memories of his recent combat tour, Lieutenant Garrick Ravenwood returns home to his beloved wife and family. Against the backdrop of a Senate Inquest probing the conduct of the Expeditionary Force, Garrick is drawn into an ongoing conflict involving his little sister, Kira.

Someone thinks she’s a threat.

Someone wants her dead . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Luis Rabello
• Release date: Dec 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780987829870

Robert Luis Rabello

When I was a young boy, my favorite place in the entire world provided shelter from the blistering summer sun beneath twisted, tangled California Live Oaks. The arroyo lay carpeted in a crisp bed of fallen leaves, beneath which water always flowed. Toward dusk, living creatures moved from their dens and resting places--small amphibians, birds and mammals--coming out to hunt, or be hunted.The contrast between the busy streets of my home town and this quiet place, which lay within a thirty minute bike ride of my house, drew me with increasing frequency as I grew older. My mother never complained when I brought new 'pets' home. I kept tadpoles in a jar, toads and snakes in a terrarium, then dutifully returned them to the 'wild' after observing their behavior for a little while.The day I saw an army of bulldozers arrive, my heart sank. Although somebody once told me that the subspecies of California Live Oak native to the San Rafael hills where I grew up lived in no other place on earth, the giant machines knocked them to the ground without mercy. In their place, a massive, fetid, noisome mountain of garbage rose toward the sky. I vowed to leave that place and live somewhere far away, where my new 'favorite place' could remain pristine. I swore that I would forsake California for Canada.Although that memory has faded, and its impact muted by a myriad of different experiences, somehow it retains an influence over my attitude toward people and the world I observe. It could be a better place, if something within us would change--That restless desire to instigate a revolution lies at the core of what motivates me to write. I put words on paper in the naive belief that somehow you will be different after my work has been read. This is not arrogance,merely hope.

Book preview

The Inquest

Revised Version 2022

a novel exploring the tension of peaceful

conflict resolution in a violent world

by

Robert Luis Rabello

Table of Contents

Distractions

Bad Girl

Homeless

Allies

Bond of Brothers

Traditions and Obligations

Blood

Prayers

Failure

Repercussions

Summons and Sentence

Farewell

Distractions

Are you with us, lieutenant?

He really wasn’t. Echoes of vivid memory distracted the handsome young officer, pulling him far away from the hearing room, its microphones, reporters and the curious citizenry crammed into its gallery. He recalled heat and thirst, swarms of biting flies and dark clouds driven by strong wind that swept across the broad sky. Graphic imagery stormed out of its mental prison and flooded into Garrick’s consciousness. An involuntary tremble betrayed his racing heart. The decorated combat leader wiped his dampened brow with his left sleeve, smearing his dress uniform with sweat. He would never forget the aroma of the grassland, the smell of equine flesh, the acrid bite of smokeless powder, the stench of burnt bodies and emptied bowels. Dark scenes of a thousand hooves pounding the plain shook his soul. Gunfire, mingled with solidarity-inspiring battle cries, the whisk of bullets whispering through the air, the screams of the wounded and the delirium of the dying, wrought a visceral response that drained the color from his face.

Lieutenant?

Fear, that faceless monster no courage could fully defeat, roared from the abyss. Those small people with their strange speech – whose skin, darkened by daylight, whose faces, adorned in rare white clay – mercilessly charged their eager mounts toward his Tamarian platoon with their automatic rifles blazing. Outnumbered and outgunned, Lieutenant Ravenwood’s unit stood against the terror, faced the onslaught alone, and fought their foe with the pluck of the damned. Who were these interrogators to question their valor?

Do you need a break, son?

Garrick calmed his nerves and cleared his throat. I’m sorry, Madam Senator. Can you please repeat your last question?

Senator Anders knitted her brow. She’d seen this behavior in her own boy after he’d come back from a combat tour many years ago. Witnessing similar stress in this handsome 1st lieutenant’s face, she paused as if collecting her own thoughts. Would you like to take a break from questioning?

No ma’am. That’s not what I meant, Garrick replied, speaking into the microphone so that everyone in the testimony room could hear. Could you please repeat your previous query?

Of course, Senator Anders responded patiently. Were you briefed on the full reality of the Tanarak threat before your platoon deployed to the Saradon for the first time last spring?

Garrick mustered confidence and nodded. Yes ma’am. We were briefed en-route.

And yet your platoon engaged an enemy force in hostile territory, all alone, with insufficient numbers for adequate defense?

Striving to avoid letting his attention wander again, Garrick considered his testimony with care before responding. He didn’t want to implicate any senior officer of the 7th Infantry Division. Enemy action prevented a full deployment of Alpha company. Just as my unit, along with the leading elements of Second Platoon, disembarked, hidden plainsmen began firing mortars at the airship. That’s what forced the aircraft into flight.

When he paused, the senator turned to one of her colleagues, covered the microphone and whispered something that drew a nod from the other legislator. The two women exchanged a piece of paper, then Senator Anders returned her attention to Garrick and spoke with a hint of accusation in her tone. Were you aware that the threat assessment conducted by the 9th Division, Tamarian Defense Force specifically mentioned mortars and other types of artillery?

Garrick nodded. The main focus of our briefing centered on automatic rifles and enemy tactics, but yes, we were aware that they possessed mortar tubes and a few light guns. However, due to the Tanarak’s inexperience with artillery operations, these were not considered tactically significant.

You’re telling me that your commanders knew the plainsmen had mortars, yet made the decision to land an airship in contested territory?

Garrick wasn’t sure whether responding to that remark was wise. Among Lithians – the ethnic heritage of his wife, Brenna – permitting a comment to stand indicated tacit agreement. But he’d been summoned to testify before the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence Assessment in Marvic, the capital of Tamaria, and Tamarians maintained no such social convention. Yet the lines between his love of country and loyalty to military institutions compelled a reply that reflected his fidelity.

I’m fully confident that Division leaders drafted deployment plans based on the best information available at the time. But the unfortunate circumstances of our initial force projection could not be foreseen.

Although Senator Anders admired loyalty, she intended to root out the rot in the Expeditionary Force leadership. But this articulate lieutenant, so attractive in his burgundy dress uniform, with his short-cropped hair, hillbilly accent and striking grey eyes refused to pin blame for the disaster he’d faced on the senior officers who’d sent him into danger and abandoned him on the plain.

Senator Anders had to press her point. As much as she found Lieutenant Ravenwood a sympathetic and praiseworthy spokesman for the Expeditionary Force, his evasiveness effectively prevented this investigation from making progress. So to clarify for the record, the senator continued, the order to bring an airship down in a contested landing zone was made with the full understanding that the enemy was known to possess and wield weapons capable of destroying the craft while it was on the ground.

Anger welled in Garrick’s heart. He trembled indignantly, but kept his emotions under tight control. Colonel Adler had warned him to expect this kind of questioning. After Captain Engels expressed worry that his star lieutenant would get into trouble if he let his feelings influence sworn testimony, he’d counseled Garrick to stick with verifiable facts and avoid speculation.

Madam Senator, the report from the 9th Division Tamarian Defense Force, to which you earlier referred, specified that the Tanarak and their allies on the plains had neither training nor experience in the battlefield use of artillery, particularly with indirect fires, where line of sight cannot be established, Garrick replied. That’s why we felt confident about airship safety in the landing zone.

Did she have him now? Given that fact, you imply that senior leaders gambled by ordering your unit to deploy on contested ground.

Lieutenant Ravenwood shook his head. The orders that sent us to the Saradon came directly from Her Grace, Queen Tamar. She wanted us to stop enemy attacks against undefended towns, isolated homesteads and the small TDF units scattered too thinly across our frontier to mount effective operations in the field. She sent us there to prevent further disruption of agriculture and commerce in the region. Madam Senator, we accomplished every one of those objectives within four months.

I am not criticizing the directives Her Grace issued to your commanders, the senator replied. It’s the poor decision-making that led directly to the demise of your platoon as an effective combat unit that we are investigating in this hearing today.

Garrick bristled as the terror he’d faced on the Saradon that fateful night screamed from his subconscious. He’d seen a lot of combat in his brief career, but the experience of his tiny unit being left to fend for itself against repeated attacks in the darkness haunted his dreams. Witnessing the plainsmen’s savagery, knowing that the men and women under his command mustered uncommon courage to persist in fighting against a significantly larger enemy force who’d completely surrounded Third Platoon, the elderly senator’s depiction of that situation inspired umbrage. She’d not been there. She had no right to criticize the Expeditionary Force commanders. No one could have anticipated the brazen ferocity of the Tanarak.

Garrick swallowed hard, remembering the sense of hopelessness he’d felt that night. The sound of Hannelore Zimmer’s last cry echoed in his mind. Lieutenant Ravenwood trembled, knowing that a stray round intended for her could have killed him, leaving his newlywed bride a widow. Because he’d survived the deadly encounter, whereas Hanne had not, the young officer wrestled with persistent, ill-defined guilt.

No one could have foreseen those events, Garrick responded. The air boss had to balance risk to the vessel, its crew and the rest of Alpha Company, against an attack on my unit. It’s ugly and it’s tragic, but that’s war.

Senator Anders shook her head. You claim that a mortar attack against the airship could not have been predicted, yet you admit your briefing contained information about the plainsmen’s use of mortars in previous engagements with the TDF, the senator continued. How can you say this in good conscience?

Losing patience, Garrick tightened his lips. Again, the Tanarak had no training in the targeting of indirect fires, he stated flatly. "That was the conclusion of the 9th Division TDF, and its truth is affirmed by the obvious fact that the plainsmen were unable to adjust their rounds and successfully hit a very large airship that takes off at a speed not much faster than a man can run.

For that reason, I remain convinced that the decision to take flight was militarily prudent. We could not afford the loss of such a valuable asset, particularly in light of how crucial the airships became to our eventual success in the field. It would have been much harder to prevail without at least two of them operating in tandem.

The senator peered over her glasses, lowering her voice solemnly. How many members of your platoon did you lose in that first fight, lieutenant?

Her question stabbed him. Garrick cleared his throat, used his sleeve to wipe tears that erupted from his grey eyes and paused to finish the water that had been supplied for his comfort. He hated thinking about that dreadful night and needed a moment to compose himself. Twelve, he replied, barely able to articulate the truth without breaking down. That’s nearly half my platoon.

I’m very sorry for your loss, lieutenant, the senator responded. "My intent in this line of questioning involves uncovering flaws in the deployment plans of the Expeditionary Force commanders. The fact that they had no contingencies in place to protect or reinforce your unit concerns me deeply. The fact that they abandoned your platoon in hostile territory is something that should not have happened and must never happen again.

This deployment casts another shadow on the rather inconsistent record of the Expeditionary Force and calls into question the wisdom of investing in the training and equipping of an army to fight beyond our borders.

Unable to suppress his indignation any longer, Garrick leaped to his feet, pressing his hands on the table. He wished he could get into the senator’s face and tell her off, but Sergeant Major Dylan Seller, a middle-aged veteran who’d been seated to Garrick’s left, constrained him. I take issue with your characterization, Madam Senator, Garrick spat. Third Platoon was heavily outnumbered in that engagement, but we fought off every attack the Tanarak hurled against us.

Senator Anders, though taken aback by his outburst, remained completely calm. She’d read Garrick’s dossier. She knew what the gold lions, the Valorous Unit Citation, the Red Star and the Iron Star that adorned his dress uniform meant. This young man personified Tamarian virtues, but he’d been deeply scarred by his combat experience. That was the fruit of your leadership, lieutenant, she replied. Make no mistake about it.

***

A red-backed kite that had been perched atop the Tamarian Senate building when Garrick finished his testimony, flapped into Marvic’s thin, cold air and rode a weak thermal current aloft. Circling in an ever-widening pattern above Equality Park and the walled palace complex, the bird of prey gained altitude until it turned northward, above the isolated manse where Garrick lived with Brenna. From there, the raptor raced over the gorge where Wounded Heart Creek and the north fork of the River Honeywater tumbled into Fallen Moon Lake.

At the crest of Superstition Mesa, the kite caught a stiff wind beneath its wings that carried the scent of recently spilled blood. The bird glided toward the edge of a meadow, joining a collection of crows and three vultures who’d gathered to feed on carrion.

A slender young priest labored uphill on his hydraulic bicycle. The trailer behind his bike bounced noisily on the uneven path. An empty 20 gallon water barrel mimicked the tiny trailer’s motion, creating sufficient racket to frighten the feasting fowl into flight.

Algernon Ravenwood, Garrick’s younger brother, needed to get out of the house. It wasn’t because he’d been fighting with his twin sister, Kira. It wasn’t because he’d had conflict with his fiancée, Bronwyn, either. Solace, the girl whom Kira had rescued from the Opium Guild, avoided Algernon fearfully, and Deirdre – a dancer who’d come to Kira seeking an escape from the sex industry – suffered from depression and spent most of her time in bed. Her frail mental health irritated Algernon because it increased Bronwyn’s workload and forced his fiancée to stay at the homestead, instead of helping Kira in town.

Bronwyn, along with Sister Astrid, also had to mind Deirdre’s seven-year-old daughter, Deanna. This strange little girl lied obsessively and recited lines to horror movies with the passion of a recent convert. She read poorly, hated studying history or science, and spouted strange, superstitious beliefs about technological wonders like the homestead’s wind turbine and electrical system – which provided light in the evening and power to run equipment – its well-engineered heating system and the new telephone that connected the isolated family to the outside world. She claimed these devices channeled evil spirits.

Sister Astrid, the disgraced priestess who’d been Kira’s lover in their days at the Temple Elsbireth, served as the women’s spiritual mentor with gentle gratitude. That role gave her life purpose and helped heal the reproach wrought by her departure from the Temple, its repudiation of her sexuality, and Kira’s rejection. She and Algernon got along well – which occasionally stirred Bronwyn’s jealousy – despite the fact that weedy-framed Astrid had no romantic interest in Algernon whatsoever.

With so many females living under a single roof, Algernon felt his patience wearing thin and needed a break from all this feminine drama. As the weather worsened, forcing him to spend more time inside the polyhedronal house he shared with his twin sister, her friends and the wayward women in their care, the huge building often felt small and little conflicts conflated into large ones. Algernon held his tongue more often than not, but sometimes he felt the need to escape from the social pressure and enjoy a bit of blissful solitude.

Having so many people living at the homestead also sapped its resources. Bronwyn, who planned and prepared every meal, quietly complained that they were depleting winter stores too quickly. Kira had planted her vegetable garden late, and though it yielded abundant produce, the autumn turned cold after a brief bout of rain, bringing a quick end to the growing season.

Below-normal rainfall created two problems for Algernon’s homestead. Anadromous fish supplied a large percentage of their winter protein, but the drought kept stream levels very low during the spawning season, which diminished the run. Kira had collected far fewer fish than they needed. Additionally, the homestead’s runoff collection system couldn’t supply enough water, even after the autumn storms swept in and dumped heavy rain.

Water shortages and bitter winters lay at the root of Superstition Mesa’s grim history. No one had been able to survive here for long, and now, with seven people draining the homestead’s cistern Algernon had to fetch water from the only reliable well on the entire mesa. That’s where he’d been headed when he saw the carrion birds.

Curious, the young priest glided to a stop, dismounted and waded through the dry, waist-high grasses to investigate. Elk and other large ungulates never grazed in this area because its remote location made it difficult to access. The mesa’s eastern edge dropped for nearly a mile, almost straight down, to Fallen Moon Lake. Its northern flank rose abruptly into jagged, forbidding terrain. Its southern side ended in the gorge where Wounded Heart Creek flowed, and its western boundary featured a steep basalt face crowned by thick forest that crowded around a single access point. A gate now guarded the junction where, many decades earlier, Tamarian army engineers first carved a road to the summit.

Superstition Mesa’s unique geography compounded its water problems. Rising high above a gentle, north-south valley dotted with small farms, the regional water table tilted toward the west. Beneath its thin soil, crystalline metamorphic rock yielded productive wells only in places where deep fractures existed. The one spot on the mesa where such a fissure had been found used to supply water to an abandoned army fort at Lookout Point.

In later years, a homesteader took over the military well. But as dreary, windy winters, drought and depleted soil drove human inhabitants away, the mesa gradually reverted to its natural state. Young trees edged into untended barley fields. Weeds and vines smothered the dilapidated ruins of abandoned dreams. Rumors of ghosts and stories of giants stalking in the darkness motivated most people to stay clear of the area. Even apex predators avoided the mesa. For that reason, any kill big enough to attract scavengers was worthy of Algernon’s investigation.

While the crows mocked him from nearby maple trees, the kite kept watch from the breeze-bent upper limbs of a spruce and the vultures circled overhead. With food growing scarce in the early winter, the crows and the raptor might become desperate enough to defend their meal. Algernon eyed them warily. The crows knew of him and hadn’t considered him a threat in the past, but reputations in the avian kingdom could be fickle. He carried no weapon that might discourage dive-bombing birds from attacking him and hoped his size would suffice to keep them away.

A large area of trampled grasses, spattered in blood, whispered of brutal violence. Algernon noticed jagged, broken lower limbs of nearby maple and aspen trees, which looked as if they’d been snapped by a strong wind. None of the upper branches showed similar damage, and that worried him.

Algernon stepped on something soft and recoiled. At his feet lay the partially-eaten remains of a macaque – a sturdy, short-tailed primate – whose crushed body had twisted grotesquely, spilling entrails and excrement onto the hard ground. To his right he found another, a third and a fourth. Torn limbs and bludgeoned brains testified to a murderous rage that claimed thirty individuals, the entire local troupe.

What senseless slaughter!

Disbelief morphed into anger and then despair as Algernon noticed a familiar shape that sent a cold shiver through his heart. At the base of an aspen tree he found a large pair of leathery mammalian wings that had been ripped off the back of a gwynling.

Were they Jhiran’s?

When Algernon returned to the mesa after spending the summer with Brenna’s parents, his twin sister told him that Jhiran, a gwynling thief whom he’d met and befriended two years earlier, had followed her home after their elder brother married Brenna last spring. She’d also explained that the area had recently been designated a wildlife sanctuary to protect a family of gwynling Jhiran had joined. These small, feral humanoids were now living in the army’s deserted fort at Lookout Point, under the legal protection of the Wildlife Department, which strictly prohibited hunting and discouraged any human contact with the gwynling living here.

Macaques were both clever and quick. Killing this many of the wild creatures would not have been easy. Who would do such a thing? And worse, why kill the troupe only to leave their bodies to rot?

Troubled by the disconcerting sight, Algernon backed away from the scene and returned to his bike. As he pedaled along the trail toward the well, he planned a strategy for climbing the old fort’s wall to check on Jhiran after he’d filled his water barrel.

The birds continued their feasting the moment Algernon rode off. He feared for Jhiran, but – believing the slaughter had not been done by human hands – also dreaded having to report the grisly scene to a conservation officer. His people didn’t hunt macaques, nor did they consider the endangered gwynling a delicacy. Further, Tamarian culture disapproved of blatant waste like this. Hunters always utilized the whole carcass of every kill.

Something far more sinister had done this deed.

Algernon concluded that giants were responsible for the killing; a fact that created a sticky situation for him, for his twin sister’s right to homestead here, and potentially compromised their mission work. He didn’t want to think about the national security issues his discovery revealed.

Forty minutes later he shoved open the inner airlock door to his house, holding his left hand to suppress blood flowing from an injury just above his eye. Kira! he cried, staying in the vestibule so that he didn’t have to take off his shoes.

The platinum-haired woman held two pins in the corner of her mouth as she fussed with the hem of a wedding dress she’d cut out for Bronwyn. Hold still! she ordered, her annoyance at being distracted compounded by Bronwyn’s nervous fidgeting.

Aren’t you going to answer? Bronwyn asked.

Kira paused from her work and glanced up to make eye contact with her friend. Recognizing anxiety in Bronwyn’s dark eyes, Kira reconsidered the snide remark she felt like uttering. She took the pins from her mouth and turned toward the bedroom door. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait for a few minutes?

When she saw her brother Kira rolled her eyes and vented vulgarity. Don’t move! she ordered. You’ll get blood all over everything!

Hearing this, Bronwyn scurried toward the door. What happened? she asked, concern etching her voice. Is he okay?

Kira held her friend back with an outstretched hand. Don’t let him see you wearing your dress, she warned. It’s bad luck."

Although she stood taller and was a lot heavier than Kira, Bronwyn lacked the assertive nature of her prettier, charismatic friend. But if he’s bleeding . . . .

It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last, Kira retorted, gently pushing Bronwyn away. Don’t worry. Facial injuries always look worse than they really are.

Seeing that Astrid dashed from the bathroom with a damp cloth in hand, Kira closed the bedroom door, returned the pins to their cushion and helped Bronwyn step out of the unfinished dress. After she folded the costly fabric, Kira picked up the lacy Lithian halter Algernon had brought back from Kameron.

Why don’t you at least try it on?

A rare scowl crossed Bronwyn’s face. It’s from her! she snapped. I wish he’d left it behind.

Kira shook her head. The her to which Bronwyn referred happened to be Brenna’s not-so-little sister, Cynthia. It’s you he wants, Kira soothed, not Thea. Besides, the camisole is from Brenna’s mother. Put one of those on and you’ll never go back to wearing a bra.

Bronwyn knew that both Kira and Brenna wore expensive Lithian halters like this one, but every time she looked at the little garment, she remembered Algernon reporting that Thea had promised, Oh, she’ll love it!

Brenna’s not-so-little sister had nearly lured Algernon away last spring. What business did she have commenting on the likes or dislikes of someone she’d never met? Though Bronwyn didn’t habitually judge others, Thea Velez represented unwelcome competition. Algernon might have left her behind, but she’d clearly left a favorable impression on him.

And the pretty Velez girl wasn’t the only one. Though Bronwyn knew the twins had long been emotionally close, she often felt like an unwelcome third-party observer of their intense and affectionate relationship. He always turned to Kira first. He consulted her about everything important and never made a decision without carefully considering her counsel. Algernon supported and defended Kira with a single-minded devotion that Bronwyn admired; yet the ferocity of his sibling fidelity inspired an unspoken worry that his primary concern would remain focused on his twin sister, even after he and Bronwyn married.

While the heavyset woman trusted Algernon and wasn’t prone to envy, little doubts about the wisdom of choosing him as her husband crept into her mind. Bronwyn brooded that her family would not appreciate Algernon, and she wasn’t sure how to explain her involvement in Kira’s ministry to her conservative parents.

Just before her mother and father let Bronwyn join the priesthood, they had warned her against taking a vow of poverty. Since she was her parents’ only daughter, they wanted her inheritance to stay in the family. Bronwyn entered the cloister at the sacred Temple Elsbireth determined she’d honor their wishes.

But much had changed since then. Bronwyn experienced harsh discipline for a single indiscretion with Kira and would never serve as an ordained priestess. Yet disqualification from taking vows didn’t solve her problem, as Algernon had chosen to live in perpetual poverty. If Bronwyn married him, she fretted that her mother would transfer the family estate to her eldest son’s wife.

While the young woman felt less concerned about acquiring her family’s property than she did about relations with her parents and her three older brothers, once they witnessed Algernon’s obvious loyalty to Kira; once they learned about the Ravenwood twins’ public service to strichmadchen and strippers; once they found out that their only daughter had been dismissed from the Temple for impropriety, they would surely question her judgment. How could they approve of her desire for Algernon? She didn’t want anyone to know how much their consent mattered, but neither could she make these nagging apprehensions go away.

With a sigh, the husky, full-figured woman folded the Lithian halter Algernon had given her and put it back in its scented box. Though she wasn’t pretty, like Kira, and should have felt triumph that Algernon had chosen her over Thea Velez, would a broken heart be easier to handle than a lifetime of familial opposition?

That thought didn’t linger. Bronwyn loved Algernon and he belonged to her. She dressed in a sweater and skirt, then scurried toward the front door where Astrid stood near a window, watching Algernon argue with Kira.

The slender, stringy-haired, green-eyed priestess glanced sympathetically at Bronwyn before returning her attention to the scene outside. I’m not sure you want to get in the middle of that, she warned.

While Bronwyn’s concern was difficult to sideline, she’d known the Ravenwoods for years, and Astrid’s wisdom harmonized with personal experience. Once the twins had their emotions up like this, they’d been known to turn on anyone who meddled in their disputes.

He was bleeding, Bronwyn said worriedly. Is he okay? How did he get hurt?

Astrid kept her eyes on the altercation. He said one of the gwynling at the old fort started slinging stones at him when he got near the wall.

That was strange. Aren’t we were supposed to leave them alone? Bronwyn asked. Jhiran’s the only one who knows him. What was he doing over there?

Astrid shrugged. He said something about making sure she was okay. I know nothing more than that.

Bronwyn scrunched her brow. She’d first met the gwynling woman during the summer after hearing Algernon, Kira and Astrid talk about her quirky behavior and spooky psionic skill. Bronwyn thought she was adorable, but what business did Algernon have with her?

Lost in that thought for a moment, Bronwyn didn’t notice that Solace had quietly approached. The young woman put her arm around Astrid’s waist and leaned her head against the shoulder of the skinny, disgraced priestess. Someone hurt ‘im? she asked.

Astrid suppressed a smile that would have revealed her delight in the girl’s attention. It was a glancing blow. It bled a lot, but he’ll be fine.

Solace twisted her lips and forced a short breath out of her nose. Well, ain’t that too bad! she replied.

What kind of talk is that? Astrid demanded, a little shocked to hear such a response.

I don’t like him, she stated flatly. Solace set her chin on Astrid’s shoulder, flashed her eyes toward Bronwyn accusingly and whispered, I seen his hands all over you when he figures I ain’t looking.

Bronwyn’s dusky face flushed with warmth. She liked Algernon’s attention, but felt embarrassed that Solace had noticed behavior that should have, in Bronwyn’s view, been respected as private. Was the girl deliberately spying on them?

In the midst of the subsequent staring contest, Deirdre called for help from her room. Bronwyn pursed her lips, wisely holding her tongue as she turned away to offer assistance.

That was rude! Astrid said to Solace quietly.

Ain’t no lie! the girl replied. I seen ‘im feel her up, and she lets ‘im! Solace noted the disapproval in Astrid’s alluring, longing eyes, so she refrained from expanding on her disgust.

Astrid stroked the younger girl’s hair. One day you’ll understand, she whispered. One day a boy will love you as much as Algernon loves Bronwyn. One day you’ll know all about desire and passion. You’ll think differently, then.

Solace shook her head and placed her cheek on Astrid’s shoulder. I don’t like boys, she muttered. They ain’t nothing but sore trouble.

Something stirred in Astrid’s heart, straining against the vow of celibacy she’d taken. She took a deep breath and stepped away from the girl. Perhaps, but you should still respect your host. Like it or not, Algernon built this house for Kira. We live here in comfort because of him.

But Solace mistrusted the young priest and had felt ill at ease ever since he returned from Kameron in the late summer. As far as she was concerned, things at the homestead had been much better before he came back.

The way he commanded Kira’s attention inspired envy and self-loathing in the girl’s heart. His confidence, strength and the big words he always used made Solace feel vulnerable, weak and stupid.

Why couldn’t she be more like beautiful Kira?

***

What an idiotic idea! Kira argued. Once the authorities learn about the giants we’re done here. And then what are we going to do?

You’re not listening! he countered. There is no other way an entire troupe of macaques could have perished all at once, so close together. If we say nothing, the Wildlife Department will figure this out when they do their next survey. If we’re supposed to report any hunting in the reserve, it’s going to make us look complicit when a conservation officer discovers a whole bunch of dead primates right off the trail.

Kira felt panic rising in her heart. An official inquest into Algernon’s discovery might reveal their treasonous, secret treaty with a local giant clan. After all, why would giants bother with macaques when they could easily attack her isolated, undefended house and kill everyone living inside? The fact that they hadn’t done so would quickly raise suspicion and very likely ruin everything for the Ravenwood twins.

Okay then, let’s collect the carcasses and dump them down a gully, she suggested. If the conservation officer doesn’t find bodies, he’ll never know anything about the killing.

Algernon shook his head. Astrid told me that she recorded all the resident wildlife, including the macaque troupe, in the initial application for the homestead’s water exemption. Someone is bound to notice that they’re suddenly gone . . . . His expression grew dark and he lowered his voice, as if worried that someone might overhear his next revelation. Besides, I also found a pair of wings at the site. They’d been torn off the back of a gwynling to keep it from getting away while the hapless creature was still alive. The giants have to go.

Hearing this, Kira’s eyes widened in horror. Jhiran said that giants eat gwynling . . . .

I know, he admitted. She once projected her memories into my mind. Giants use nets to trap small and agile prey, then club them to death. They kill everything but take only the biggest ones back, leaving the rest to rot. It looks like that’s what happened with the macaques. I saw a lot of damage to the lower limbs of nearby trees. A nine-foot-tall giant wielding a club overhead can make a mess of low-hanging foliage, and that’s going to be impossible to hide.

Great God! Kira cried. If it’s Jhiran they caught, it’ll break my heart!

Algernon sighed. That’s why I went to the old fort, but I couldn’t find a way in. It’s got a wide ditch, spike traps, and high walls that are so smooth it’s impossible to use a grappling hook on them. The main gate descends into rock that’s guarded by a barbican. It’s too small and narrow for any giant to enter. I’d been coming up here for years while we were living at the Temple, but couldn’t get inside. As long as Jhiran stays there, she’ll be safe.

I hope so! Kira replied worriedly. She said you told her in a dream that she’d find security here. I’d feel responsible if anything bad happened.

Well, her new clan doesn’t know me and they’re clearly in no mood to be neighborly. But they’ve seen you, and they know that Jhiran trusts you. That’s why I need you to go up there with me – not tomorrow, not next week, but now. We’re wasting time arguing.

I can’t be late for my meeting with Mrs. Bettancourt, Kira warned. Let me get changed first. I’ll go straight to town on the trail from there.

Algernon extended his left hand and Kira smacked it with hers, a signal of solidarity they’d begun using as small children that persisted into adulthood. He dragged his bike trailer over to the auxiliary cistern inlet, coupled the water barrel to the plumbing and let it drain.

As Kira changed into dressier clothes, Deanna, Deirdre’s daughter, flung the door open and bounded into her room without knocking. She treated the homestead and the Ravenwood twins as if they were her own siblings. Take me with you! the girl pleaded. I’m bored and I never get to go anywhere!

Kira tucked her blouse into her skirt, examined her athletic figure in a mirror, then tightened her belt. It’s not safe. I’d rather you stayed here with your mother.

Why do we live here if we can never go outside? Deanna lamented. Please! Please! Please! Mommy says you can take me to a cinema and drop me off. I’ll come back with you after the matinee is done. I promise!

Although she didn’t think this was a good idea, Kira relented. You’re sure your mom says it’s okay?

Deanna’s face brightened as she dashed off to put on warmer clothes, ignoring Kira’s question entirely. Movies offered a reprieve from her miserable life, and she’d often spent all evening in the theater while her mother danced at The Bloody Bucket. Deanna preferred the fantasy of film to the grimy reality of personal experience, and because she felt hopeless about her future, she had no interest learning. Deanna hated being cooped up in the house. It felt like prison.

But when the girl followed Kira outside Algernon growled, Miss Deanna, did you finish your school work?

Yes, she replied, lying.

The young priest raised his brow knowingly. So if I check your notebook, everything will be up to date?

Kira intervened. You said we don’t have time for this, she stated. If it’s not done now, she can do it tomorrow. The poor girl could use an outing.

Algernon muttered under his breath. Deanna’s disinterest in learning would likely leave her with few employment options as an adult, leading the girl down the same path toward exploitation that her mother had taken.

But she wasn’t his child. Even in his priestly role Algernon had limited influence over Deanna’s upbringing. Besides, he needed Kira’s cooperation, she was already in a bad mood, and debating would make matters worse.

He typically visited the water well every other day, but since he’d be accompanying Kira to the old fort, it made sense for Algernon to pick up another load of fresh water for the homestead. He pushed his bike along the trail following his twin sister and the ever prattling, energetic Deanna.

Distracted by the need to arrive at her meeting on time, Kira didn’t stop when she saw the feasting birds. Deanna, engrossed in telling a tall tale about her early childhood, remained oblivious to the carnage. Algernon, however, noticed many more crows than he’d seen previously. It wouldn’t take long for the scavengers to pick the bones clean.

Algernon stayed beyond the edge of the meadow with Deanna as Kira approached the high wall at Lookout Point. He watched his sister’s platinum hair flutter in the wind as she paced to and fro near the fortress wall, fruitlessly calling for Jhiran. Her unanswered cries echoed off the stone.

Frustrated, Kira trotted over to her brother. I have to go. If I don’t leave now I’ll be late, and Mrs. Bettancourt doesn’t think highly of anyone who can’t meet their appointments on time.

Promise that you’ll stop by the Wildlife Department when you’re done, Algernon insisted.

Kira rolled her grey eyes and shook her head. Both of her brothers could be a pain if she didn’t follow their edicts to the letter. I’ll get it done after my accounting class, okay? She reached for Deanna’s hand and leaned forward to kiss her brother’s cheek. Her lips felt cold against this skin, but her affection warmed his heart.

Don’t be late, he warned.

I’ll call you if I can’t get home before dark. We’ll stay with Garrick and Brenna. Don’t worry! Kira smiled before turning toward the overgrown trail that snaked into Wounded Heart Canyon, crossed the creek and climbed up to the city gate.

Algernon watched her go with worry rising in his soul until she vanished beneath the canyon’s edge. He unhitched his trailer, opened the pump’s outlet and set his bike on its roller assembly so that the rotation of his rear wheel would draw water from below. Eight minutes after he’d begun pedaling, the barrel’s water reached its limit. This was about two minutes faster than Kira typically performed the same task.

As he was disconnecting the apparatus Algernon heard the sound of wind on wings, followed by rapid footfalls. Startled, but unafraid, he stood and turned toward the sound.

A diminutive humanoid female trotted forward. Greasy blonde hair framed an expressionless face featuring large, imploring eyes. Jhiran folded her wings behind her back and stood still. Dressed in hand-stitched furs, she could have passed for a feral child, but her swollen belly proclaimed maternity.

Algernon hadn’t seen her since leaving for Brenna’s wedding. A wave of happiness washed over his face. He knelt and opened his arms. I didn’t know you were expecting, he said, accepting the gwynling woman into his embrace.

She held him far more tightly than he ever remembered her being willing to do. I need your help, she squeaked. When she pulled away, Jhiran locked her gaze onto his and projected memories directly into Algernon’s mind. He experienced her terror, her vulnerability, her deep sense of loss. Earlier that morning, Jatsu – her mate – had bravely distracted one of the giants just long enough for her to escape.

Algernon understood the rage in Jhiran’s heart, and it inspired anger in his own. But the giants probably believed that their hunting activities didn’t violate the agreement they’d made with him. As he thought about it, Algernon looked away so that Jhiran wouldn’t be able to discern his deliberation. What could he do? What a mess!

Help me! she pleaded. Avenge me!

Don’t worry, Algernon replied, drawing Jhiran close again so that she couldn’t perceive the conflict tearing at his soul. I’ll find a way.

***

What’s the point of defending the top brass like you did this morning? Lieutenant Talon Waldheim demanded. Do you think that if the Senate inquest ever targeted you they’d return the favor?

Garrick shook his head as he boarded the Paradise District trolley. He’d known Talon ever since the two of them attended Officer Training School, and while he appreciated his friend’s candor in private conversation, Talon would never have expressed such sentiments where other officers or enlisted might overhear. No one is targeting me, Garrick countered. My combat record is above reproach. That wasn’t a boast and both young men knew it. Garrick had simply stated fact.

Talon strode to an empty seat and sat down. Yes, you’re the shining example of everything a platoon leader should be, he conceded a little defensively, but something deeper than a bungled start to our deployment is going on here.

He scooted close to the window so that Garrick could share the bench. From the founding of the Expeditionary Force, powerful people with an interest in seeing us fail have been doing everything they can to paint us in a bad light. How do you know Old Man Martz and the rest of them haven’t been bribed or blackmailed to make us look incompetent and ineffective?

That’s ridiculous, paranoid ranting! Garrick spat. You were out there. You know better!

What I know is that everything ends badly for us. We were stuck in our trenches last year in Kameron. We couldn’t maneuver. We couldn’t stop the rebels from killing civilians. We had to sit like birds on a wire and wait for the bad boys to hit us before we could so much as fire a shot.

An expression of incredulity washed over Garrick’s face. "Whose side are you on? No senior officer had any say in that and you know it. High-level diplomats negotiated those stupid Rules of Engagement. We were just following orders, like we always do.

I don’t know why you’re buying into that steaming, editorial-page dung heap, Talon. There is no conspiracy at work in our deployment history. Ignorant ranting from a civilian is one thing, but you and I took an oath to defend our nation beyond its borders, and that’s exactly what we’ve done.

Talon scowled. If there was no point to the criticism, then why are you answering questions in the Senate? He let his words linger in the air for a moment before continuing. We’ve been in two wars in two years, and we didn’t win either of them.

That’s not true, Garrick replied. We didn’t deploy in Kameron to win their civil war. They’d still be fighting if we hadn’t been there. And we also stopped refugees from flooding across our southern border.

So the rebels butchered them right in front of us, Talon groused. Your woman wouldn’t have been hurt if we’d minded our own business and stayed home.

That was a very sensitive issue, one that Talon should have known better than to broach. Garrick lowered his voice menacingly. "She wasn’t going to leave her family to the mercy of a megalomaniac like that self-proclaimed El Caudillo. She wasn’t going to let his fanatic insurgents overrun her father’s land. My wife has far more courage in her leftmost toenail than you do in your whole body!"

1Talon let the insult go. He found Garrick’s attractive woman easy to like. Despite her beauty, she always acted humbly. "No one questions her valor, or yours, either. But we’ve put our lives on the line two consecutive times without clearly defined objectives when we went in. Despite your testimony this morning, you know that our last deployment started out wobblier than a newborn colt.

The Tanarak had been raiding settlements and attacking convoys for weeks before you left for your wedding. There was plenty of time to plan a proper deployment, to send heavy equipment by rail, pre-position food, water and munitions. Our almighty leadership did absolutely nothing while you were away. They handed down the warning order just two days before you returned. If it were my call, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence Assessment would be grilling General Martz, not you.

When Garrick tried to respond Talon stopped him. I’m not done, the older lieutenant warned. We were told that the Tanarak were finished. They killed that crazy prophet of theirs; we took in thousands of weapons; and we were supposed to come home as heroes. So, why are the winter boys still fighting out there? Have you seen the casualties coming in from the 4th Division? Why is this supposedly defeated enemy still killing our people?

I don’t know, Garrick muttered, though he knew Talon spoke the truth. Whenever an airship came in from the Saradon, Brenna took time off from work and used her uncanny healing skills to care for the wounded at Victory Memorial Hospital.

You don’t know, yet you don’t question what’s going on? They subpoenaed you to testify because they’re looking for an excuse to de-fund the Expeditionary Force. Who’ll stick up for you when you lose your job?

I don’t answer to you! Garrick replied angrily. Why are they still fighting the plainsmen? Maybe it’s because the Tanarak don’t have an organized government and some of their clan leaders are unwilling to lay down their arms. Maybe they’re a warlike society whose members just don’t know any other way of life. Maybe the whole thing is more complicated than we realize but your attitude is insubordinate, and that doesn’t solve anything!

Talon sat against the hard bench as the streetcar stopped to take on additional passengers. We’ll see if you’re still talking like that when this ordeal is over. You’d better watch your back, Ravenwood. If they need a whipping boy to take the fall for someone higher up, your illustrious career will be over faster than you can sneeze.

Garrick fell silent. Did Talon have a point? Had the senatorial hearing revealed secret machinations that would lead to the demise of the Expeditionary Force? Were the senators and other national leaders so cynical that they’d willingly toss aside the lives of devoted soldiers for the sake of promoting some personal political agenda?

That possibility made him shudder.

Although he didn’t share his wife’s faith in God, Garrick believed in ideas like loyalty and sacrifice. His identity as a soldier had its root in the will to risk his own life protecting his nation and defending the weak from their oppressors. His denial of the divine notwithstanding, Garrick had to admit that faith in the abstract and noble ideals of soldiering somehow sustained him during the grim deployment to Kameron, when his beloved Brenna had been captured, tortured and nearly killed.

During the last spring and summer he’d faced the most dangerous light cavalry ever to confront Tamarian forces. The Tanarak horsemen quickly learned to avoid flinging themselves en-masse into the teeth of modern firepower. Instead, the plainsmen relied on stealth and speed to scout Tamarian units, attack exposed flanks and disrupt re-supply. Skillfully, they lured unsuspecting units into ambush. They often fought dismounted, using the contours of local terrain to hide their horses as they poured death on outnumbered soldiers with automatic weapons, then fled on swift hooves if the battle turned against them. Over and over again the Tanarak proved they were tactically clever and exceptionally brave. Any Tamarian unit that couldn’t stand its ground against them faced near-certain annihilation.

A chorus of combat terrors wailed from deep within Garrick’s consciousness, remembering how he’d faced a resourceful and deadly enemy on the plains. What commander in his right mind would knowingly deploy unsupported infantry to face predestined slaughter? He couldn’t accept that any professional officer would issue such an order. Only the unanticipated presence of the plains cavalry in the immediate vicinity or brute command incompetence explained the terrible ordeal 3rd Platoon faced that first dreadful night on the Saradon.

Members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence Assessment repeatedly asserted the latter, but Garrick simply didn’t concur that this conclusion had any merit. Talon’s deluded mistrust and the civilian critics of the Expeditionary Force command had it wrong. General Martz and Colonel Adler were honorable men. After the debacle of 3rd Platoon’s initial deployment the colonel had sworn to Garrick that he’d never again face the enemy alone, and he’d made good on that promise.

Garrick mused over how he might humor his wife by weighing the integrity of his commanders on some kind of scale. That thought inspired the first genuine smile since he’d left home early that morning. Thinking about Brenna often did.

For the rest of the day Garrick struggled to sustain concentration. His attention wandered from its focus on task to memories of his lovely wife, who breezed into his consciousness like a welcoming wind. Her pretty face, alluring form and the melody of her voice stole his attention, distracting Garrick from completing his work, leaving him staring blankly into space.

LT, are you okay? Corporal Schiffer asked.

Garrick snapped back to the present. I’m sorry, Oswin. What was that?

It’s about the search request for your sidearm, sir. The corporal tapped a form he’d laid on Garrick’s desk. Inventory records from the mobile armory show a .45 caliber long automatic pistol. That’s not a standard issue sidearm and it matches the description of yours. If the serial numbers line up, you can reclaim your weapon.

That news inspired relief. While the Expeditionary Force had no formal policy prohibiting private sidearms among officers, enlisted soldiers weren’t permitted to carry their own guns, even if – like Garrick – they had a concealed weapon permit. That made personal sidearms like his valuable on the black market. Any such weapon handed in to the mobile armory or collected during a post-battlefield sweep might wind up having its serial number ground off for subsequent sale.

Because Garrick had fallen seriously ill while conducting combat operations a few weeks earlier, Sergeant Ria Lowe – who served as Third Platoon’s senior squad leader – took temporary command of the unit. Knowing from experience that a personal weapon might fall into the black hole of post-battle bureaucracy, she’d insisted that a warrant officer in the mobile armory catalogue her lieutenant’s gun so that it wouldn’t vanish.

But in thinking of his sergeant’s competence, a cascade of related issues flooded into Garrick’s mind. He had to write a formal review for Sergeant Ria and arrange a unit transfer for Private Gant, a soldier whose aversion to the sight of blood made him ill-suited for combat.

Since being promoted to Alpha Company’s Executive Officer, Garrick also had to request a new platoon leader to replace Rudy Akers, who’d been slain in a suicide attack by a Tanarak woman wielding a hidden grenade. That incident opened the XO slot into which Captain Engels promoted Garrick, but it also burdened him with remorse. The tragic event that claimed Rudy’s life had been targeted at the leader of Alpha Company’s Third Platoon. Had Garrick not been too sick to lead his unit, that attack would also have made Brenna a widow.

Loss of this kind compounded Garrick’s combat trauma. Though he’d been hit in the left arm by a grenade fragment late in the campaign, his most serious wounds were invisible and unlikely to heal without help. Thus, he qualified to continue treatment with Dr. Bauer – the regimental psychologist – who’d been overseeing his case.

Lieutenant, sir? Oswin continued.

Sorry, Garrick replied, reaching for a pen and signing the requisition with his left hand. I have a lot on my mind right now.

Corporal Schiffer furrowed his brow and subconsciously bit down on his lower lip. He’d been a member of Third Platoon since its inception and had watched Lieutenant Ravenwood work through personal loss enough to realize that this capable and decorated combat leader seemed extraordinarily distracted of late.

Sergeant Klippinger from Second Platoon just completed his squad equipment inventory. Oswin added as Garrick handed back the requisition form. That’s the last of them, so you’re all set to do the final check and write your report.

Thank you, Garrick replied.

Oswin lingered near his lieutenant’s desk for a moment, waiting to be dismissed. Garrick’s attention drifted away again until the corporal cleared his throat. Is there anything else you’d like me to do, sir? he asked.

No, said Garrick. That will be all for now.

1After this, he finalized payout reports for his fallen soldiers’ families, checked the inventory of company supplies and sketched out a three-month training plan for Captain Engels’ approval. As evening approached Garrick retrieved his personal sidearm from the mobile armory. He made a mental note to thank Sergeant Ria, but after visiting the Quartermaster’s office and arranging a replacement leader for First Platoon, darkness had fallen and Garrick wanted to get home for dinner.

Despite his good intentions, not acting on the thought to thank Sergeant Ria right away pushed it out of his consciousness. Garrick forgot about his gratitude and never remembered it again.

Bitter wind shrieked across Equality Park as Garrick stepped off the Victory Street transit car and trotted toward the fortified wall separating Marvic’s palace complex from the rest of the capital city. Grateful to escape the cold for a moment, he had to leave his gun with the Defenders, Queen Tamar’s elite guard, as no weapons of any kind were permitted beyond the wall.

Anticipating his wife’s soft embrace, eager to spend time in her company and enjoy her intimate delights, Garrick’s heart pounded as he scurried down the hill and over the bridge separating the storybook music manse from the rest of the palace complex.

Towering redwood trees screened a semicircular, stone-paved courtyard framed in weathered columns to the west, while a fork of the River Honeywater roared over a precipice to the east, where the river had carved weaker rock from a steep scarp face. The Honeywater’s warmth created a pleasant mist in winter that permitted redwoods to survive at an altitude that normally should have been too high and cold for this type of tree.

Though the house looked dark to his eyes, on a clear night like this one, he knew that Brenna didn’t need artificial light. Garrick’s heart raced and fingers trembled as he stepped into the airlock and closed the door.

Warm air caressed his face, a function of clever engineering that kept the manse at a perfectly even temperature, enabling the piano dominating its central rotunda to stay in tune. With its polished floors and expansive windows overlooking the gorge where Wounded Heart Creek plunged to Fallen Moon Lake far below, the manse blended a sense of living in an untamed, pristine landscape with a privacy well suited for a newlywed couple. Brenna loved it here.

Garrick, is that you? she called from their upstairs living quarters. Something in her voice sounded unhappy.

Yes, it’s me, he replied. I’m hitting the light switch. What’s wrong? Garrick hung his overcoat on a rack by the door and unlaced his boots.

Brenna squinted while adjusting to the bright interior light. She leaned over the rail, her lengthening hair falling into a frame around her saddened, heart-shaped face. Your sister called. She’s at the Paradise Precinct police station and needs to stay with us tonight.

Alarmed, Garrick took off his uniform coat and quickly climbed upstairs. What happened?

She got into another fight, Brenna replied. I think it’s best if she explains everything to you in person. I promised that we’d come to see her as soon as you got home. I’ve already put out some warm clothes for you.

Garrick stifled a curse as his plans for a romantic and intimate evening unraveled. He gently slid his left hand along Brenna’s neck and pulled her into his embrace with a soft kiss. Her fine, black hair felt like soothing silk against his skin. He relished the strength of her arms, the sensation of her fingers caressing his back and the wondrous yielding of her bosom against his belly.

Noting his arousal, Brenna unbuttoned her husband’s shirt, rubbed her cheek against the coarse hair growing on his chest and slowly breathed in his masculine scent. She glanced into his grey eyes with a wordless longing that vanquished all other thought.

Kira could wait . . . .

***

Long-lived Lithians carried a languid perception of time into every activity. Brenna, though descended from a mixed heritage, retained this cultural perspective to the extent that it occasionally created friction with her husband. She’d also grown up in a wealthy household with a personal servant. Thus, while Brenna was capable of hanging up her clothes, making the bed and putting things away, she exhibited no sense of urgency in these matters and tended to create clutter everywhere.

She knew that Garrick didn’t like this, but planning lessons for the Royal Education Department’s music program demanded sustained attention. Though she had windows of time between her devotion to piano practice, private students and vocational duties, Brenna didn’t feel the need to clean as often as a typical Tamarian woman.

Besides, the young couple lived on the upper floor of the manse, an area off-limits to students. Residing behind the palace wall also made it difficult to entertain visitors, particularly anyone foreign. Thus, while Brenna’s youngest sister, Camille, was currently conducting business for their father in Marvic, she hadn’t yet seen her eldest sibling’s home.

But Kira, unlike Camille, was Tamarian. She’d already gone through the requisite criminal background check for palace visitation and passed through security as easily as her eldest brother.

We can’t have her visiting a mess like this! Garrick complained, gazing in despair at unwashed dishes, fruit and salad cuttings that littered the kitchen counter, scattered piles of laundry and music books mingled with handwritten notes strewn across Brenna’s desk.

She felt warm and wanted to linger in bed a little longer, but she knew that once his desire had been sated and his focus moved to the next task, even her amorous attention could not distract him.

Working together, the young couple tidied their apartment. As Garrick finished drying the dishes, someone knocked on their front door. Brenna paused from folding laundry, her face expressing dismay until Garrick tossed his dish towel on the counter and headed downstairs.

It was Kira. Her face showed significant bruising, her lower lip was swollen, abrasions marred her brow and little bits of dried blood clung to the flesh around her nostrils.