TKC 251 and 252
Less than an hour later, Damin and Lyra join us in
Gennerin’s camouflaged shuttle. Hidden under a canopy of trees and further
blended with nets, branches and leaves, the shuttle becomes the command centre
as a matter of practicality.
Other shuttles fly further afield to guard the terrain,
while being far enough removed to not give our position away. The bulk of the
force has returned to the vicinity of the Spire to keep the Glonu distracted
there.
Damin and Siri fly into each other’s arms. Joseph and Hal
immediately begin muttering together, while Marian and Hanna fall into intense
discussion.
No one, not us, not them, speaks of the horror that went
before this reunion. Perhaps no one will ever speak of it. War forces a soul
into silence.
While the rest of the Arc troop is fed outside, we gather in
the central area. This time Siri refuses to budge, daring everyone with a
fierce gaze to say anything to the contrary. Kay grins at her side.
I explain the plan.
As expected, Lyra nearly disembowels me with her fury. “It
is suicide! Why Damin? Send someone else!”
Damin grips her hand. “I trust no other to do this.”
Her lips compress and flames erupt around their clasped
hands, her elemental self ignoring the usual controls. Abruptly she withdraws
her hand and smacks it flat upon the metal table. Flame licks at the surface,
skittering from her fingers to spread.
Commander Gennerin backs up, his eyes wide. Thereafter he
hurtles to his feet to bow from the waist. “My Lady,” he breathes. “We believed
you lost.”
Lyra swallows and retracts her fire. Until this point her
features had been in the shadows created by the bulkhead where she is, and thus
the Ilfin has not yet marked her eyes, but the flames are an unmistakable sign.
She gives me a look, which I meet with a skewed smile.
“Gentlemen, meet Iniri Makar,” I murmur, watching her.
Sighing, she straightens. The light captures her eyes in
that moment. The blue is sapphire in the halogens overhead, while the green is
emerald. It is akin to staring into my orb.
Every Ilfin in the vicinity slams to knees.
Touching my nose, I grin at my sister.
“Stuff you, Enris,” she mutters. “I have no knowledge of
that past.”
Gennerin glances at me from his lowered position. I gesture,
and he straightens. “At ease, everyone,” I add when the soldiers on board do
not move from their knees. They rise, but are no longer the focus of my
attention.
Standing myself, I lean over the table and grip Lyra’s
wrist. Ignoring Damin when he shouts denial, I press my orb into the palm of
her hand and force her fingers to close over it, holding them in place.
“Deny it now,” I say, staring into her eyes. I lift my hand
away, leaving her in possession of the orb.
Siri’s slender fingers creep in to rest upon Damin’s
shoulder, for Damin has frozen. He stares at Lyra as if he has never seen her
before.
“What is going on here?” Commander Gennerin demands, his
gaze flicking from me to Lyra, to Damin, to Kay, to me, and back and forth.
I ignore him. I am waiting for Lyra to react.
Long and silent minutes pass.
Finally the dark-haired woman with her two eyes looks up
from her closed hand, but she is no longer Lyra. Iniri Makar is now gazing at
me.
She opens her hand and displays an empty palm. Her eyebrows
hike up and she offers me a twisted grimace. “I am the orb.”
“Yes, sister,” I whisper. “Indeed.”
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