Chapter 14

"What the fuck!" Rigo's bulky form spun around.

Gillie tensed in her crouch. The moment he moved, she had to move. Silently. Opposite whatever direction he took.

He hesitated. Echoes of the crash rattled through the temple. She felt his surprise, his consternation. And a small twinge of fear.

He'd felt her. Felt something Raheiran.

She shut down, shielded. Didn't breathe. Her nose itched almost unbearably from dust and the incense. A sneeze would give her away.

"Fuck." He drew in a quick breath. She felt his weak probe pass over her. He shook his head, strode quickly toward the rubble on the platform.

She dashed to her left, away from him, her soft bootsteps hidden under his heavier ones. She made it as far as the rear rows of high-backed benches when the wide temple doors opened. Light shot in. She dove for the floor.

Two pairs of boots. Fleet issue, it looked like to her as she lay in the shadows under the seats. They hurried down the center aisle, past her.

"Magefather," a male voice called out, "are you hurt?"

Shit. Mack.

"No. Blessings of the Lady." Rigo's voice shook.

"What happened?"

It took Gillie a moment to recognize the second speaker. Pryor. The one with the bushy white mustache and twinkling eyes. She watched the boots move. Mack and Pryor split up, no doubt inspecting the damage. If she stood now, ran for the doors to the corridor, one of them might turn and see her.

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Damn incense!

"The Sacred Symbol... fell." Rigo sounded distinctly perturbed.

"Supports are sliced clean." That was Mack.

There was a murmur of agreement, some crunching of the plastiglass under boots, a few light thuds.

"Panel's intact," Pryor said.

"Were you trying to move the panel?" Mack asked.

"I was nowhere near it. Thank the Lady. I was in the sacristy, getting supplies for this evening's service."

"Nothing unusual preceded this?"

Rigo hesitated. "I felt... no. Nothing. I just opened the sacristy door, tapped on the light."

"Could the door or light system trigger the symbol to fall?" Pryor stepped toward the storeroom.

"Where are your main controls for the temple?" Mack asked.

"By the entrance. There."

Gillie couldn't see where Rigo indicated. But Mack's boots headed straight for her. Her breath froze in her throat as he passed her by. She turned her face, watched as he stood by the wall. Fiddled with something, she guessed from the soft clicking and beeping sounds.

"Emergency overrides?" His voice carried clearly across the long room.

"Behind the panel," Rigo answered.

"Pryor. Go with the magefather and run a systems check. I don't want to initiate it from here in case there's a short."

"But the panel, the Sacred Symbols aren't connected to the controls," Rigo protested.

"Those symbols were sheared cleanly from their supports. The only thing I think might do that would be a sudden energy discharge."

Or one pissed off Raheiran, Gillie thought wryly.

"Show Pryor that emergency panel, please."

She swiveled her head again. Rigo's boots swished under his long overgown as he followed Pryor.

She hoped when they found nothing there, they'd call Mack, just to verify. With the three of them behind the large panel, she could bolt out the main doors.

She let out a soft sigh. And sneezed.

Mack's boots moved quickly toward her row. She tried to curl herself into a ball, bumped her rear on the underside of the bench. His boots stopped. And she knew she'd found that trouble Simon had told her to avoid.

Again.

She peered out from under the bench and stared directly into the small point of an unholstered, and primed, laser pistol. And the most incredible look of surprise she'd ever seen on a man's face.

"Gillie?"

Thank the Gods he'd said her name softly. She could hear the low rumble of Pryor's and Rigo's voices. "I can explain. Really," she whispered.

"You." Mack shook his head, then his eyes narrowed. "Damn it, Gillaine!" His whisper was harsh. He whipped a look toward the platform, then back at down at her. "Stay there."

He shoved himself from between the benches and pounded down the aisle toward the panel.

Gillie's heart pounded as well. She had no idea what she was going to tell him. The truth, a small voice whispered inside her. She pushed it away. The truth scared her more than his anger did. Let him be angry. Let him think she was involved in some lunatic scheme. She could deal with that.

What she couldn't deal with would be the look in his eyes when he realized who she was. She wanted to be in his arms. Not on a pedestal somewhere, worshipped.

"I don't want anyone in here until I bring in a safety inspection team." Mack's voice rang out authoritatively across the room. "I'm sorry, Magefather, but you'll have to cancel tonight's service. Or hold it somewhere else."

Mack was angry. He was really, really angry. Gillie listened to the expected protestations from Rigo as Pryor herded him out the door.

Then all was quiet. The bench above her squeaked. She saw the back of Mack's boots and crawled out.

An ion storm hovered in the depths of his dark eyes.

She pulled herself off the floor and sat beside him. "Hi."

"Don't tell me you had anything to do with what happened here."

"Okay."

He laced his fingers together, stared at the empty panel for a long moment, then back at her. "My office. Now."

She followed him out of the temple and down the corridor in silence. Even the parrots had nothing to say.

He perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest. "Sit."

She did.

"Tell me."

Her mind had churned the entire way over here, decided it was tired of lies but still afraid of the truth. Decided it would try for something in between.

"I don't trust Rigo," she said. "But I don't have proof, yet, as to why. I thought I might find answers in the temple."

"This is because of the shrine's docking bay."

"To a great extent, yes."

He let out a long sigh. "I've probably told you more than I should have about this matter. This is Fleet and Confederation politics. Normal politics. I've dealt with it my whole life. I appreciate your trying to help, but you don't know what you're meddling with."

No, she thought. You don't. And that's why I have to. "I think more than just the Confederation is involved here."

"There's no substantive proof the attack was the Fav'lhir."

"There's Tobias's proof."

"That wasn't enough for HQ."

"It's enough for me."

He held her gaze for a long moment. "All right." He splayed his hands against the edge of the desk. "Let's say for argument's sake an unfriendly faction may be involved. Let's say, and I assume that's what you're thinking, that Magefather Rigo is part of that. Those possibilities alone should tell you to stay out of this. Leave it to me, to Fleet, to handle."

"I understand."

"But you don't agree."

"Mack..."

"Damn it, Gillaine! If Rigo's involved with the Fav'lhir, you could get killed."

Again? She suppressed a derisive laugh. Can they kill me twice? But his words, and his fear, told her Mack had the same suspicions she did. The same suspicions Tobias did. Rigo's motives were more than personal aggrandizement. "Someone has to stop him," she said.

"Not you," he replied sharply, then the hard lines on his face softened. He reached forward, brushed one hand through her hair. Dust shimmered in front of her eyes. "Not you."

He touched her nose with the tip of his finger. "No one's cleaned under those benches in awhile."

"Incense. Damn stuff's lethal."

His gaze traveled to the utility belt at her waist. She anticipated his next question. "How'd you cut down the Sacred Symbols?"

"You know what it's like in the lanes. Sometimes the tools you need are a bit more than spec," she lied.

"Since I didn't hear you tell me that, I won't have to confiscate them. But answer me this. Why?"

She knew he wasn't asking about any fictitious, high-energy and highly illegal lasers. "Rigo's able to do what he wants because people think he speaks for the Kiasidira." She suddenly realized how she could use her desperate attempt at diversion, and turn it into a method of discrediting the magefather. "I hoped people might interpret something like that as a sign of her displeasure. Especially if your safety team finds no physical explanation for it."

"The supports were obviously sheared by an intense energy source."

"Which they won't be able to produce. Or identify. You and Pryor can confirm there was no one else in the temple." She shrugged. "That's all you have to announce. Leave the rest up to gossip."

His gaze shifted away from her as he wrestled with her suggestion. But only for a moment. Then he seemed to remembered who, and what, he was.

"I can't, Gillaine. You're asking me to participate in the fabrication of a rumor that could potentially destroy a man's career."

"I'm asking you simply to report what your team finds. An unknown energy source sheared the Sacred Symbols while only Rigo was in the temple. That's all."

"But I know you did it."

She stood, unbuckled her utility belt, handed it to him. "Prove it."

He took the belt, but didn't look at it. "You ditched the laser somewhere between the temple and my office, didn't you?"

She smiled. It was a non-answer. It didn't feel quite as bad as a lie.

He shook his head. "I don't trust Rigo. You know that. But I have to work things my way. My methods. Fleet's methods. I'm not going to start any rumors."

He was an honorable man. She'd known that from the first time she'd met him. She never really expected he'd go along with a plan like hers.

But that was all right. She knew who would. Tobias.

Mack was also still a damn good kisser, even when he was angry with her. He snugged the belt around her waist, threaded the buckle. Then with his fingers curled around her belt, he leaned back against the edge of the desk and pulled her against him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Easier to do when he wasn't towering over her.

His kiss was long and deep, made her heart flutter, her body feel electric. She luxuriated in the feel of his short thick hair against her palms, of the solid warmth of his chest against hers. His breath shuddered slightly in her mouth, sent a thousand fluttermoths soaring through her senses. Then his hands, which had been sensually massaging their way up from her waist, stilled.

He pulled back, reluctantly. "I have to be in a meeting in five minutes." He stroked her cheek. "Promise me. No more adventures. Without telling me first."

"Promise."

"Dinner will be late. We can have it at my place?"

She thought of what Simon would say. "Only if I'm allowed to be dessert."

Desire flashed like a surge of heat in his eyes. Then he closed them, as if he knew she'd seen. Knew he was at the limits of his control.

Gillie knew. She teetered on the edge of her own, every time he touched her.

"I'll call you. When the supply ship's cleared." He pushed her back gently then stood. "No more adventures. That's a promise now."

"No more adventures. At least," she added huskily, "not without you."

"Damn it," he said, but it wasn't a curse. He crushed her against him, kissed her hard. She felt his body throb against hers, felt his heart pounding in time to her own.

He dragged his mouth away, rested his face against her hair. His breathing slowed. "You're very distracting, Captain Davré."

"Thank you, Admiral Makarian."

He released her. "Dinner later. And...dessert."

She smiled. And tried not to laugh when he almost bumped into the edge of the door on his way out of his office.

Simon was tsk-tsking her when she walked into the bay. Not one of your more flawless performances, to be sure.

I thought I handled Mack's questions-and his kisses-pretty well.

That, yes. I'm also aware that was no performance. But I'm speaking of your assault on your own temple.

She climbed the rampway stairs. The airlock slid open as she reached the top step. Rigo's got something in that storeroom. That sacristy, as he calls it. I need to find out what it is.

It contains a significant measure of Raheiran crystal.

No kidding. I was there, remember? The unknown case in the sacristy was more of a curiosity than a threat, however. She leaned against the back of the captain's chair, surveyed the readouts on the bridge. Simon was doing better, much better. But he was still far from being in fighting shape.

Interesting symbols, the crescent moon. Basic female symbolism. But the lightning bolt. That's traditionally male.

"The Sorcerer and the Kiasidira," she said out loud. "Ancient history, Simon. You taught me that."

Glad to know you were listening. I've had my doubts over the years. Do you also remember their names?

"Lady Khamsin was the first Kiasidira."

And the Sorcerer?

"Rothal-kiarr, of course. He was her mage-soul. Her lover. Her husband." She also carried part of his name in her own: Gillaine Ciran Rothalla Davré.

That's his mage name. What did she call him?

"She?"

Lady Khamsin.

"She called him...." Her mind ran over the legend, remembered the Sorcerer had often used a more common name for himself. When she found the answer, she stumbled over the name. "Rylan." She'd almost said Rynan.

Interesting, don't you think?

"It's similar. Not the same." She turned from the console, leaned over her navigation array. Refused to let her mind play with the coincidence. It frightened her, and intrigued her, at the same time.

Speaking of names, I have a few more. The ones you asked me to find.

She straightened, glad the conversation was back to business. "The guest list. Who's invited to our humble abode?"

Some people who could well push us into the high rent district. The admirals of the First, Third and Fourth Fleet will be here for the official inspection. And will stay, of course, for the dedication, the following day. That's when "they" arrive.

"They?"

Prime Hostess Honora Syrella Trelmont and her daughter, Roannan Charity. The wife, and daughter, of the chancellor of the Confederation.

Gods. In a little more than three weeks, Cirrus would contain three of the highest ranking officers in the Khalaran Fleet; four, counting Mack. And the Prime Hostess, the wife of the political head of the Confederation.

And a huge gap in station security that the Fav'lhir could fly a crystal ship right into. To kill, if that was their intention.

Or to take hostages. And gain control of the Khalar, in this, the final battle. And there was no way Gillie could stop them.

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