Twelve
Tara groaned as she came to, swallowing hard against the dryness in her throat, the canopied bed, the flowery riot of silken wallpaper of Rose’s bedroom coming into focus.
“Ki’san . . .”
“Remain still,” his voice was clipped, his gaze on the instrument in his hand as he ran it over her. He passed it over again, slower this time, his frown deepening. “This instrument is damaged. These readings cannot be correct.”
“Oh,” she croaked. “They’re probably correct. May I have some water please?” She gave him a wry smile. “Come on, can’t let me die of thirst, right?”
Ki’san’s gaze met hers, and understanding dawned in those glowing depths.
His face blanched of color, and he put down the instrument. With stiff movements he did as she asked, bringing back a glass filled from the bathroom faucet.
She pressed her lips together and pushed herself up when he returned. Instantly he was beside her, helping her sit up, holding the glass for her to drink. When she nodded that she’d had enough he grabbed the pillows from the other side of the bed to pile them up behind her, easing her back against the cushioned headboard.
“You knew?” His voice was taut. “Tara, this illness—it is virulent—”
“And rare.” She gave a humorless smile. “I’m one of only a hundred identified cases in the whole world. There’s a theory that some of the people thought to have died of consumption actually had Farren’s Syndrome—named for the scientist who identified it. She and I still email.”
“Then this scientist, she has developed an effective treatment?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Don’t snarl at me. I’ve got a splitting headache. And I’ve been to specialists from San Francisco to Switzerland. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“This is my fault.” He took an unsteady step back. “I rerouted power to the signaling array. If I had not, I might have had enough to reactivate the biobed. If I had not exhausted most of the ship’s power treating myself—”
“You would have died, Ki’san. I spent most of my childhood in hospitals, Death’s come to visit me so often I’m not even afraid of him anymore. We’re old friends, he and I, but I wasn’t about to let him take you.”
“I am g’hir.” His fangs flashed. “It is not for you to protect me.”
“Don’t do this,” she said tiredly. “Since I was three I’ve been poked, prodded, poisoned as they tried to diagnose me, tried to keep me alive. Doctor Farren’s surprised I’ve lasted this long.”
“What is—?” He shook his head again as if trying to clear it. “What is your prognosis?”
“Considering that at twenty-six I hold the record for oldest surviving patient with Farren’s Syndrome? Death, pretty much. Oh”—she snapped her fingers—“unless I get really lucky. In which case, it’s insanity, then death. That happens in about seventy-two percent of the cases.”
“Why?” His gaze was agonized. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Maybe so you wouldn’t look at me like you’re looking at me right now.” Her eyes stung. “Maybe because I didn’t want your pity.”
“Pity?” he rasped. “How can you—You will show me.” He seized her iPad from the bedside table and pushed it at her. “You will show me now. I must know everything about this illness.”
“I can show you all my medical records, but there’s no point. There’s nothing that can be done.”
“There must be a treatment!”
“A bone marrow transplant might have slowed it down—but it’s never been tried before for Farren’s Syndrome. And at this point it doesn’t even matter. Brice isn’t a donor match and none has been found. Besides, a marrow transplant is so likely to kill me now no doctor will even consider performing it.”
Ki’san sat on the bed. “I must find a way to slow this illness, to delay its progression until we are rescued.”
“We?”
“My people will send a rescue vessel, my mate. They must.”
“Wait—mate?” She blinked. “When did that happen?”
“Last night.” He cupped her cheek, his fingers tracing her skin. “We are lifemated now.”
“But didn’t you say—” Tara’s body went cold. “A g’hir male has only one mate?”
“Yes and now that we have joined I am —the closest in your language would be ‘imprinted’—to you.”
“Ki’san,” She wet her lips. “What will happen to you when I die?”
“You will not!” His bright eyes flashed. “I will find a way—”
“But if I do, what would happen to you?”
“It will not matter,” his voice was rough. “For I will no longer care.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“What I must do,” Ki’san took her hand in his, “is heal you.”
“I meant, to undo this lifemating thing so you can . . . find someone else.”
“There can be no other for me but you. Why do your eyes water at this?” His fingers brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “I feel nothing but joy to be lifemated to you.”
“I didn’t understand! I should have asked how g’hir—” She shook her head. “Ki’san, I don’t have long. Weeks, months if I’m lucky.”
“My people will come for us.” His gaze was serious. “But I do not know when. We must find a way to slow the progress of this illness until the rescue vessel arrives to transport us to Hir.”
“Hir? But if that rescue ship has an infirmary, biobeds, couldn’t you—”
“A biobed is designed to treat injuries and to stabilize the patient. I may be able to program one to hold this illness at bay but it is a stopgap measure only. I need access to the resources and staff of a fully equipped medical facility to understand this illness. I need time to develop possible treatments and test them safely. I must take you to Hir.”
“You mean . . . to live there?”
“You are all the home I could ever wish for.” His fingers tightened reflexively around hers. “But I cannot live on this world.”
“I don’t suppose,” she gave a hesitant smile, “I could commute? Live on your world and drop in sometimes to hit Nordstrom’s for boots in the fall and maybe see my brother?”
“Travel to your world is very strictly regulated.”
“So if I do go, if I have any hope of a cure, I can’t come back.”
“Once you are well you may return to Earth . . .” He shut his eyes briefly. “But I cannot. And you will not be permitted to keep the memories you have of my world, or of me.”
“What do you mean,” Tara frowned. “I won’t be ‘permitted’?”
“The council cannot allow our existence, our presence here, to become known. It is possible to suppress certain memory engrams, to ‘forget’ what has occurred. All memory, since the very moment you spotted the ship, would be erased.”
“I wouldn’t remember you at all?”
“Not consciously. But you will be healed. And you would be home.”
“You’d do that?” Her throat tightened. “You’d cure me and let me go? Even though you’re, uh, lifemated to me?”
“I would long for you without end. But your wellbeing, your happiness, means far more to me than my own.”
She had resigned herself to leaving this life. But now to have a chance at a new one, with Ki’san—
“But you—you really think g’hir medicine can help me?” She looked at their hands, their fingers intertwined. “That it’s possible we could really have a life together?”
“We have one now.” His mouth took a tender curve. “To see it lasts many, many years is a task I would gladly undertake.”
“I want that. I can’t tell you how much.” Her heart picked up speed. She’d settled a lot with her attorneys, set arrangements for after she was gone, but Brice would hardly accept his terminally ill sister just disappearing . . . “Guess I’ve got some stuff to put in place pretty quick then. And you’ll have to brush me up on g’hir customs of course. You know, since I’ll be living there.”
A brilliant smile lit his face. “Come,” he urged, standing. “We must get you to the ship.”
“Hold on,” she protested as he gently pulled her to her feet. “There’s a whole bunch of things along with that portrait—we haven’t even looked at them.”
“They must wait. Even if the ship were not damaged I do not have the equipment aboard to fully analyze this illness. But I may be able to slow its progress with the equipment I do have. I rerouted all available energy to the bridge to boost the distress signal, but that is using reserves I need to treat you. If I cut the signal there could be enough energy to power the biobed for a brief time. But we must go, now, before the energy is too depleted. The secrets of your ancestors have been concealed for generations. They will still be here when we return.”
“Won’t turning off the distress signal make it harder for your people to find y—uh, us?”
“It is a calculated risk. Our expedition is not yet overdue for our return to Hir but it soon will be. When the Karnack does not return the council will dispatch a rescue vessel. Their scans should detect our ship on the surface. And if you have received intermittent medical treatment for most of your life then this Farren’s Syndrome is dangerously unpredictable. My first priority must be to stabilize you as quickly as possible.”
“Are you speaking as my new doctor?” Tara lifted an eyebrow. “Doctor Farren is not going to be happy about that.”
“She is welcome to file a complaint with the Healer’s Guild in Be’lyn city.” He drew her along. “I shall be happy to provide her with a detailed response once you are well.”
“You know, I’m really enjoying the machine arms hovering ominously over me.” Tara eyed the metallic limbs from her place on the cold biobed. “Hey, if I nod off, promise you won’t let me sleep through dinner, ‘kay?”
Ki’san could see—and work—in almost total darkness, but since her phone’s flashlight wouldn’t use up any of the ship’s precious power reserves he had no objection to her using it. She’d set it on the other biobed before maneuvering through the still-frozen arms onto this one. The flashlight pointed up, bouncing off the white ceiling in the otherwise dark infirmary so she could at least watch Ki’san as he moved around.
“I cannot waste energy to return them to their casing. The position of the biobed arms will not affect this treatment.”
“I’m not a big fan of jump scares, Ki’san. They won’t to spring to life or anything, will they?”
“If enough power remained for them to ‘spring to life’ I would not be syphoning off every bit of energy left onboard. There is scarcely enough to run the simplest transference sequence.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found myself saying that exact same thing.”
“You are anxious.” Ki’san paused, laying his hand on her arm. “How can I make this easier for you?”
“You’re good at that.” She clutched at his hand, feeling some of her worries ebb away at his touch. “I bet you actually talk to everyone you treat like they’re not just a patient, they’re a person too.”
“I was taught to imagine what I would want to hear, if it were me lying there, in pain, alone.” He brushed her cheek gently. “And you are more precious to me than anything.”
“Look, I want you to know I can handle it, I just like to know ahead of time—will it hurt?”
“No. And you must tell me immediately if you experience any pain. This sequence is designed to boost your own immune response. That should slow and possibly reverse the progression of this illness.”
“Reverse it?”
“This is a makeshift treatment only,” he warned. “It is not a cure. The benefits will be temporary.”
“I understand.”
“I will finish the calculations and we will begin.”
The biobed lights were weak and it didn’t get any warmer, almost like the surface was leeching heat right out of her body. Tara wrapped her arms around herself, unwilling to distract him to ask for a blanket.
“I will to begin the sequence now.” Ki’san tapped the tablet in his hands. “You should feel tingling, but no pain.”
Tara tensed despite his reassurance. The light level of the biobed rose, then fell.
“I don’t feel anything at all.”
“Allow me a moment to recheck the levels.”
“You’re a good doctor, but you’re not much of a liar. What’s wrong?” He kept his gaze on the tablet. “Ki’san?”
“Not enough power remains in the ship’s systems to bring the biobed’s systems online.” His shoulders fell. “I cannot run the sequence.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, let’s get me out of this thing, at least.”
His warm hand clasped hers, supporting her as she maneuvered around the biobed’s frozen arms.
“I am sorry.” His face was taut. “I have failed you.”
“No, you haven’t.” She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. “I’m still on my feet. Still breathing. I just have to keep it that way till your people arrive, right?”
“I will reset the distress signal. It is paramount that we reach Hir as quickly as possible.”
Tara picked her way around debris and the cobbled-together conduits to the other biobed and grabbed her cell. She didn’t have a signal in here of course, but—
“Ki’san, if there’s not enough power for the biobed.” She held up her phone. “What about something smaller, like that portable device I used to heal you? Could you reprogram something like that?”
“I had not even thought—” He was a burst of energy now, seizing up the tablet, pulling open the cabinets to retrieve other instruments. He evaluated one, tossed it aside and seized another. “This is used as an adjunct field treatment for deeper injuries. I may be able to reconfigure . . .”
He had the thing half-disassembled in seconds, and Tara busied herself with a search of the nearby cabinets.
“I have altered this to—” He broke off at seeing she’d appropriated a blanket to wrap herself in. “You were cold? You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you.” She indicated the instrument in his hand. “Will it work?”
“I believe so. I will need to run a few tests.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiled. “This isn’t my first time playing a Guinea pig. What do you want me to do?”
“I will conduct a scan of your hand to establish a baseline. After I perform the regeneration sequence with this instrument, I will repeat the scan to determine the effect.”
He’d done a couple scans already so she knew what to expect with that, but she pressed her lips together when he started the treatment.
He hesitated. “Are you experiencing pain?”
“Tickling.” She tensed, trying not to squirm. “Make that a tickling itch.”
“Is it tolerable? Altering the output now will impact the test.”
“Bearable, just not fun.”
Still, she let her breath out in relief when he cut the beam off. Her hand was still tingling as he ran another scan, but at least the damn itch was gone.
Just his glance at the readings told her she’d be doing a lot of gritting her teeth against that itch. “It worked?
“Degeneration of the peripheral nerves has slowed to below point zero five.” He gave a quick smile. “Not my first choice of treatment protocols but repeated systemic regeneration should slow the illness enough.”
Her stomach sank. “Repeated treatments?”
“Twice daily would be optimal. However, since I do not know when assistance will arrive, I think it best to string out treatments as far apart as possible.”
“Every other day?” she asked hopefully.
“Daily.” His tone was firm. “If your scans indicate the necessity I will increase the frequency to twice a day.”
“I guess the good news is that it worked.” She rubbed her hand. “And it’s annoying, not painful.”
“Can you give me a rating of this discomfort?”
“About the level of being stuck on Fifth Avenue with a cabbie who insists on oversharing the intimate medical history of his entire extended family while he’s driving me to Mount Sinai. And before you ask, yes, that’s happened to me. Twice.”
“I will continue to refine the process and adjust the beam to the lowest effective level,” he promised. “This instrument has limited power but it is portable. I will return to the Karnack to reinitialize this instrument as needed, but treatments can be performed at your clanhall.”
“That’ll save some time, if we don’t have to trek out here every day.”
“I am more concerned with conserving your strength. I have been able to modify and power this instrument to offer partial regeneration. Rest will be paramount to extending the effects. You must not overexert yourself.”
“Hold on, what comes under the heading of ‘overexerting myself’? No,” she groaned at his regretful look. “You’re kidding, right?”
“We do not know when help will arrive. It would be best to refrain from unnecessary exertion until then.”
“I wouldn’t categorize sex with you as ‘unnecessary’.”
“I believe I did mention this was not my first choice of treatment protocols.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “And may the All Mother speed the rescue ship’s way.”
“They aren’t . . . I mean no other g’hir will be dropped off to hunt here when they do come, right?”
“No.” His face clouded. “The destruction of the Karnack will suspend voyages until an investigation is conducted.”
“You mean until they find whoever sabotaged your ship?”
“And who murdered the warriors aboard.” He hesitated. “I know our ways are strange to you, but the men who died here—they endured much to be selected, were deeply honored to be chosen. They journeyed here with open hearts, longing only for a lifemate to bond to.” He touched her cheek. “As I have done.”
“I understand them wanting a future.” Tara covered his hand with her own, pressing her face to the warmth of his palm. “I’d stopped hoping to have one.”
“I will do whatever I must,” he said roughly, “to give it to you.”
“I feel fine,” Tara objected an hour later as Ki’san carried her up the main staircase of Heatherbell. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt this well! I could have jogged back here.”
“You are not well.” He wasn’t even out of breath from the climb as he strode down the hall and into the flowery suite. “The less you exert yourself, the longer the effects of each treatment will last.”
“Aren’t your arms tired?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “From what?”
“From lugging me all the way back from the ship. Okay, that’s it—Stop!” Tara squirmed in his arms before he could reach the bedroom doorway, thrilled that she had strength to put toward squirming at all. “Seriously. Put me down. I should have insisted on walking.”
“Allowing you to walk five kilometers,” he huffed, setting her on her feet, “could hardly be considered helping you conserve your strength.”
“I am not spending the rest of whatever time I have on Earth—literally!—confined to bed.”
“You may utilize this room as well,” he said grudgingly. “If you agree to rest.”
“I’m eating in the dining room.”
“I will bring your meals up.”
“Garden time.” She folded her arms. “And you can’t tell me that fresh air and sunshine is bad for me.”
“I will carry you down once a day.”
“At least there’s something I can do in here.” She indicated the portrait, the wall safe. “Maybe if I figure this out I can get Rose to lift her fucking curse. I’d like to be the one Douglas woman who makes it to thirty.”
“That is why you seek to make peace with your ancestor? So she might heal you?”
“I was actually kind of hoping to do it before you found out about the whole Farren’s Syndrome thing. Does that sound crazy?”
“The spirits are powerful allies for a healer.” His face was solemn. “I was taught to revere them.”
“I wasn’t—but I’d sure like to do right by this one, and I don’t have a lot of time. There’s more in there. Can you get it down? Please? Get it all down and just let me—I need to see everything.”
“I will. And I’ll even unwrap them if you sit.”
“You’re a bossy doctor.”
“And you,” his lucent eyes narrowed, “are a headstrong patient.”
“Well,” she muttered, flopping down onto the chaise, “you got me there.”
Piece by piece, he began emptying the safe. He unwrapped a jewelry box and lifted the lid. Faded green satin embroidered with ribbon-knotted roses lined the box. With care, Tara picked up the necklace—a diamond masterpiece fit for Marie Antoinette.
“You must wear it.” His smile was a little wistful. “Jewels suit you well.”
“I usually wear emeralds with yoga pants,” she said mock-seriously. “Maybe one day I’ll be a little more daring.”
Other jewels were stashed here too: a sapphire brooch, a string of pearls that reached from Tara’s neck to her hips, each pearl as large as a marble. And just as carefully wrapped as any jewel was a photo in a frame. The photograph was so old it had browned a bit with age, but it showed Rose, her hair piled high, her mouth caught in the moment of a smile, her dark eyes turned toward the adoring young man seated beside her. Tara had seen other photos of him before, but in those he’d been older, always somber, always burdened. But here—
“God, Allaster didn’t hate her,” Tara murmured. “He loved her . . .” She shook her head. “But why hide all of this? Why hide a happy marriage? They had a son together.”
“Perhaps like my father,” Ki’san settled beside her on the chaise, “he could not bear reminders of the mate he had lost.”
“If Allaster couldn’t bear it he would have had this room redone for his second wife or sold the house. Except for these mementos in the safe, this room is exactly as it was made for Rose. He didn’t eradicate her memory, he enshrined it.”
“But did you not say no one was permitted into these rooms?”
“No one except Mrs. O’Neil, the housekeeper, then her daughter when she took over, and Hannah of course.”
Tara traced the heavy silver of the frame with her thumb. An instant frozen in sepia, a love entangled in generations of secrets . . .