Chapter 18

"Raheiran." Mack echoed the word, his face devoid of emotion.

"Yes."

"True Raheiran."

She glanced down at her hands knotted in her lap, at the mist lightly swirling over her skin. He could see that as well as she could. It wasn't doubt that made Mack question, but shock. She knew that. "Yes."

He started to speak, stopped, his dark gaze unreadable. His flat demeanor made her insides feel tight. She told herself he was a professional, schooled to minimize his reactions. Tried to reassure herself that at least he hadn't dropped to his knees in abject reverence, as Tobias had. Mack would be lost to her then. His Lady Goddess was someone distant, unapproachable, who belonged in a shrine. A coldness washed over her as if she were already on a pedestal somewhere, the air around her dark and chilled. She prayed he'd believe that she was only a rim-trader captain, albeit a Raheiran one.

She let out a short, tense breath. "I wanted to tell you. But with everything going on, I was afraid to."

His gaze flicked to the slender crystal. A bright lavender energy pulsed softly through it. Gillie knew Mack had seen the crystal glow when Rigo had touched it-knew its brightness and color had been nothing like what he saw now.

"There hasn't..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "There hasn't been a true Raheiran here in over three hundred years.

Three hundred forty-two and-

Shut up, Simon. Not now! It felt as if Mack had taken a few steps back from her, though neither of them had moved. There had to be a way to close that distance. She damned herself for not having answers concocted before this. She should have known her lies would undo her eventually. She should have known Mack would react this way to her lies.

She waved one hand lightly, surprised to see it wasn't shaking from the hard pounding of her heart. "Actually, we come through off and on." That, too, was a lie, but she had to prevent him from labeling her appearance as something unique. "We try to be discreet about it when we do. We're not all Goddesses. Sorceresses," she corrected quickly.

"You're saying your people have been here all along?"

"We've maintained trade relationships with a lot of systems for years. Centuries." That was true, but in a more limited sense than she needed Mack to believe.

"Yet, you didn't want the Confederation to know you were here." Mack spoke slowly. She could almost see his trained logical mind trying to pull her information together. But whether it was to understand her, or to catch her in her lies, she didn't know.

"Our technology is far advanced from yours. We've had experiences with other alliances that wanted to exploit that, artificially accelerate their growth. That's not our purpose, our way." That was why Kiasidiras and Ki'sidrons were carefully, and only under the strictest conditions, placed as advisors.

"It's not just your technology that's advanced."

"Granted, we have some natural abilities the Khalar don't." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "But then, Izaak can play the flute. I can't. That doesn't make him better or worse than me. Or more powerful. Or more wise. He just has a different talent."

"Raheiran talents are very different."

"To you. I grew up with them." With empathic resonances and the ability to diagnose and heal by touch. And telepathy, telekinesis, matter-manipulation. The last three were less common, their occurrence signaling a stronger mage-essence. Naming one a sorcerer. Or in Gillie's case, burdening her with the title and responsibilities of a Kiasidira.

"I didn't grow up with them." He glanced down at the case, at the purple glow hovering between them. Suddenly, she thought she knew part of the problem. She could almost hear him labeling himself as Tobias had-an Impure. The hurt was plain in his eyes when he looked back up. "I understand that your people need to keep a low profile here. But not why you couldn't tell me, personally. Did you think I couldn't be trusted, that I'd exploit you?"

Her heart clenched at his words, almost as tightly as his fingers clasped the case. Yet he didn't resist when she took it from him. She closed the lid, slid the case onto the tabletop. The lavender mist wavered, then faded. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you looking at me the way you are now."

He straightened slowly, as if the import behind her words forced him back. "How -"

"A curiosity. An oddity to be examined, or worse, to be put on a pedestal. On display." She crossed her arms around her waist, hugged them to herself. Her heart pounded. All the warmth she'd sensed from him over the past two weeks was gone.

She'd lost him. Not because he disliked her, hated her for lying. Or even feared her. But because she was the stuff his people's religion was made of. That damned her and glorified her at the same time.

"When Tobias dropped the crystal in your office that day," she continued softly, "he ended up on his knees in front of me. Bowing and babbling prayers and stuff. It was scary."

His dark eyes widened briefly. "Is that what that's been all about?"

"I think he wants me sitting in a shrine somewhere."

"You think that's what I want?"

"I don't know." Her voice wavered. She honestly didn't know what he wanted now with this tense coldness between them. She kept seeing the image of Rynan Makarian, kneeling in reverence before her holo in the temple.

"I thought Raheirans could tell what other people are feeling or thinking."

"I can tell you're upset. But I don't go, I can't go," she corrected herself quickly, remembering she was supposed to be an ordinary Raheiran, "probing into people's minds. I'm not mageline," she lied. "Empathic readings aren't the same as telepathy."

"You sense emotions, but not actual thoughts."

She nodded, agreeing to the lie.

"But if you can sense emotions," he continued, "you know I care about you."

Care. Not love. Care. Oh, Gods. She didn't know if she'd lost ground, or was gaining it. Some of the warmth had seeped back into him, but he was still far from the man she knew, and loved, as Mack. This was Admiral Rynan Makarian, on yellow alert, shields up, full sensor probes gathering data. And waiting.

She forced a tremulous smile. "Even though I'm Raheiran?"

"Does it matter to you I'm not? That I'm," he hesitated, "an Impure?"

She hated that word. "That's an absurdity! There are no Pures, or Impures. We don't think that way."

His fingers splayed as if he considered reaching toward her. He closed them into a fist. She could feel his confusion warring against desire. That she was Raheiran bothered him, bothered him deeply. But she wasn't sure now if it was because of what she was, or because she'd lied.

"I didn't tell you, or Doc Janek, when I first got here because I didn't intend to stay. Especially after I saw the temple, all the runestone sellers-"

"You arrived just after the Celebration of the Day of Sacred Sacrifice."

No. She arrived exactly the day she'd left, three hundred and forty some odd years notwithstanding. The day she and the Fav'lhir had clashed in the Rift. A day that had created, for the Khalar, her "sacred sacrifice," honoring a death that had never occurred. Eliciting a mourning for someone still alive. She wouldn't blame the Khalar if they became righteously pissed if the truth were to come out.

She couldn't blame Mack for his hesitancy, his distrust. He'd been raised on legends of the perfect, the revered Raheira. It must be sobering to meet one who could so easily manipulate and bend the truth.

But then, no one had ever made him into a deity.

"All I know is it seemed as if anything remotely Raheiran had been turned into a religion. It-" Angered her. Infuriated her. It wasn't Mack's fault. But it was his deeply held belief. She had to tread carefully. "-disconcerted me. I didn't want to add to all the excitement."

Mack nodded slowly. Emotions shifted around in him, settled. The settling encouraged her. He was sorting, analyzing. He was Mack. "The news media might have tried to make something of it, yes."

"Then I met you." She chanced a second tremulous smile. "I needed to be sure you were interested in Gillie. And not because crystal glows when I'm near it."

He shook his head. "I would never... I don't use people for who they are, what they are. I thought you knew that about me. That's why I've had such a problem with Hebbs here. I told you about that."

He had, a few nights before, dispelling what little jealousy she'd had over the sultry stationmaster whose interest in Mack had been based solely on his rank and position. "I didn't think you'd use me," she responded softly. "But I wanted you to know just Gillie, first."

"You should have told me before now." It was a request. His voice was equally as soft, and held no tone of accusation.

"I'm sorry, Mack. I really am. If you're angry, I accept that."

"You know I'm not."

She did. Surprisingly, no anger emanated from him. An unsettledness, yes. But even that was dissipated by a growing warmth. "You are disappointed, though."

He sighed. "I was trained to know that when captured by the enemy, you tell as little as possible. I guess I never thought of myself as the enemy."

His analogy pained her, literally; her empathic senses broadcasting back to her his expectation of rejection. Hurt sliced through her heart. "I don't-you're not! But I was afraid I'd lose you. I thought-" Her control shattered. Her voice broke. "Damn it!" she rasped, wiping the heel of her hand across her damp eyes.

"Gillaine. Don't cry." His voice was as raspy as her own.

"I'm not. I'm fine. I-" The rest of her words were lost in the fabric of his shirt as he crushed her against his chest. Strong hands stroked her back. She clung to him, took long deep breaths. Felt only love, only warmth. Only desire.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his neck.

"Hush. It's all right." He nuzzled her face with soft kisses. The pain in her heart abated with each touch of his lips.

She kissed him back, gently, softly, tried to put into her touch all the tenderness she felt. All she wanted to give. Not confusion. Not lies.

He framed her face with his hands. She wondered if he saw "just Gillie," or someone else. She still sensed something uncertain in him. "Sure you're not angry?"

"Surprised, really. But at least, finally, certain things make sense."

She closed her eyes, rested her cheek on his shoulder. "As in incense?" She couldn't help herself. Gods, she was getting like Simon.

A low groan rumbled in his chest. "I don't suppose you want to explain that comment?"

"Nope."

He tucked his fingers under her chin, raised her face. And it was Mack she saw looking at her again. The Mack she knew. His dark gaze was full of promises, of understanding. Then he frowned slightly. "You've been against Magefather Rigo from the start. But he's-"

"He's not." This much she could tell him, had to tell him, now. Time was running out. If she could convince Mack of the threat Rigo represented, maybe the Khalar could take steps to stop him. "He's not Raheiran, Mack. He's Fav'lhir. Possibly partly Melandan."

She felt the information jolt him.

"That's what brought you to Cirrus?"

"I'm here by accident." Or Tarkir's design. Which often looked like accidents to the naïve.

"But about Rigo, you're sure?"

"I wasn't until I bumped into him in your office."

He leaned back against the couch. Wiped one hand down his face. "Gillie, this is serious."

"I'm keeping an eye on what he's doing. As best I can."

"That's why you were in the temple. At the healing service."

"That's also why we have to stop that docking bay from going uncontrolled. I can't prove anything right now other than he has Melandan in his essence. It doesn't automatically mean he's allied with the Fav. But it does mean I don't trust him until he can prove to me he isn't." The words tumbled out of her. She was surprised how good it felt to tell him this, to share some of the responsibility with Mack.

And she hadn't lost him. By Ixari's Eyes, he knew she was Raheiran but he was, for the most part, just being Mack. Although more Admiral Makarian right now. But that was okay. The information he had before him demanded that.

"It's not your job to monitor Rigo."

That definitely was Admiral Makarian speaking, in a voice that held all the authority of command. It was a side of him she hadn't seen very often in their private time. Aggressive, definitive and-she felt, too-a bit over protective. Very much the pantrelon she'd likened him to when they'd first met. She squeezed his arm. "Who better than me? Who has more right, than me?"

He stared at her. Not, as she felt before, as an oddity. But because what she said sank in.

He pulled her back into his arms, held her tightly for a moment. "What you know about Rigo is too important. I have to-"

"Confront him? With what proof? Me?" She shook her head. "I'm your best secret weapon right now."

His hands massaged circles against her back, but if he were reassuring her of his feelings, or reassuring himself she really existed, she didn't know. Nor would she probe to find out. She hadn't lied to him totally about that. Except in the most dire of circumstances, an unauthorized intrusion into another's private thoughts was-

Unthinkable, Simon put in with his usual timing.

She raised a mental eyebrow at his word choice.

Couldn't resist, he told her. Then: So your worst fear has come to pass and the universe has not dissolved to dust around you.

Not my worst. Second to the worst, perhaps. Mack still didn't know she was the Kiasidira. Gods, she hoped he liked older women. About three hundred and forty-two years older.

You intend to tell him?

Not unless I absolutely have to. Simon, I like being just me. Gillie. Now that Mack knows I'm Raheiran, we can do more about Rigo. I might not have to tell Mack who I am.

How are you going to explain me if you don't?

Well, yes. There was that part of it. Simon. A basic starfield-variety Raheiran wouldn't be linked to a sentient nanoessence energy field.

Why should I have to explain anything? Mack would never ask me to sell my ship. As long as the Serendipity's here, you're safe.

Does that mean I'm still invited to the wedding?

Simon...

Yes, My Lady. A sock. I'm searching for a sock right now.

* * *

Mack woke, as he always did, ten minutes before his cabin lights started the morning sequence. Gillie was curled against him, her breath soft on his shoulder. Her hair, pale as moonlight, was ruffled. He thought about smoothing it, just because he loved to touch her. But he didn't want to wake her. Not yet. Not until he had his fill of gazing at her, seeing her now, not only as a woman, not only as his lover, but as a Raheiran. A people empowered by the Gods. He'd been taught that since he was a child.

He remembered what she'd said, remembered her eyes glistening with tears, and felt slightly guilty. She wanted to be, as he often heard her call herself, just Gillie. She was, to him. She truly was. Everything about her, from the way she wrinkled her nose, to her intriguing laugh, to the unending compassion he sensed in her was just Gillie. Very Gillie.

Yet when the crystal's purple glow had embraced her, he'd known that just Gillie had taken on another quality. One that had, he admitted reluctantly, scared him. Awed him more than he was comfortable with, even if she weren't mageline. Why now, after more than three hundred years? Had she brought a message? She'd denied she was here because of Rigo. Could there be something important about to happen?

Except it hadn't been three hundred years. "We come through off and on," she'd said. But discreetly. Not openly. Because others had tried to exploit the Raheira. And because of the runestone sellers, the shrines. He'd clearly heard the disgust in her voice.

But wasn't that Lady Kiasidira's wish? Generations of magefathers and magemothers had deemed it so. He had questions, lots of questions. The heat of her body next to his convinced him his questions could wait. He traced the line of her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." He brushed his mouth across hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and when the lights slowly came on a few minutes later he barely noticed. Didn't notice much of anything save for Gillie for another twenty minutes after that.

"You want to shower first?" He ran his hand down her arm, over the curve of her hip. Her skin, like his, was damp with the heat of their lovemaking.

She smiled. "If you had a bigger shower, you could join me."

Regrettably true. A larger apartment-and shower-might be on the agenda soon. "I'll make coffee instead."

When he carried her cup in she was wrapped in his robe, toweling her hair. She'd brought a few items of her own clothing to his place last week, but not a robe. He told her to use his. He liked the way it kept her scent, keeping her with him even when she wasn't there.

He followed her movements, seeing Gillie and yet seeing someone else for the first time. No, the second. He'd seen Gillie-Gillaine, he corrected himself as her formal name sounded more Raheiran. He'd seen the real Gillaine last night, sitting on his couch, an intense but ethereal purple mist wrapping around her.

Raheiran. Kinspeople of the Gods. That phrase lingered in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

He thought of those questions he wanted to ask. Some he'd broached last night but they'd talked far more of Magefather Rigo and what could be done. That was the crucial issue right now. Their discussion had kept them awake until well after midnight. Made him realize that as much as he didn't want Gillie involved, she had to be. She was, as she'd said, his best secret weapon.

She tapped his arm with her hairbrush. "Are my ears on upside down?"

"Hmm?"

"You're staring."

He grinned self-consciously. "Are all Raheirans blonde?"

She wrinkled her nose in response. "Don't be daft. Are all Khalarans darkhaired?"

"Lots."

"Not all."

"Lady Kiasidira was. Blonde," he added. He caught the slight but immediate tension around her eyes. The same thing had happened last night. When the topic was Gillie's life, or when he mentioned Lady Kiasidira, there was a tension. Was there something else she didn't want him to know?

But maybe not something, but someone? He thought of Simon. An older man, like an uncle, from all she'd told him. There could be another man, a lover. Ex-husband. He didn't want to dwell on that.

Her reaction to Lady Kiasidira was more understandable. She'd briefly mentioned last night that the Lady wasn't part of the Tridivinian belief. The Raheirans didn't view her as the Khalar did.

She handed him a fresh towel. "You're going to be late, and no, we're not all blondes. And," she added as he stripped out of his underwear, "Kiasidira is a title, not a name."

She smacked his bare behind playfully. "Not that it's going to change anything after three hundred and forty-two years."

"What do you mean, a title?" He tabbed on the sonic shower, not the water spray and leaned out of the bathroom to catch her answer.

"It'd be like calling you Admiral Admiral."

He ducked back in, thought about what she'd said as he quickly showered. Realized while he always said "Lady Kiasidira," Gillie had said "the Kiasidira." Like the captain. Or the admiral.

She was already dressed when he came out. She handed him a hot cup of coffee. He pulled on his pants, took a big mouthful of coffee, grabbed a black shirt. "So what was her name?"

"Who?"

"Lady... the Kiasidira."

A slight shrug accompanied her answer. "Damned if I know."

That surprised him. Lady Kiasidira-old habits die hard, he realized with a grimace - had been sent by the Raheirans. Granted, that was almost three hundred and fifty years ago. But that wasn't all that much time. "Wouldn't your people have records?"

"Of course. But it's not the kind of data I've needed as a freighter operator."

True. Something about her demeanor, about the way she handled herself made him forget she was a freighter captain, not military, where data accumulation surpassed being an art and evolved into an obsession. "Could you find out?"

Another shrug. "Probably. But Mack, look at what you're asking. You really want me to challenge your people's belief system after all these years? I'm telling you because... well, because I'm telling you. This isn't for public consumption."

"Part of her name was on the section of the ship." He remembered Tobias trying to spell it out. He wondered if his second-in-command knew the distinction between name and title. After all, he'd been raised in a household closely tied with a Kiasidiran temple. Tobias had once told him he'd even viewed the Sacred Holovid of the Lady, taken only a few days before the Sacred Sacrifice.

He was also the only other person who knew Gillaine was Raheiran. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell who, what? Mack, when you don't get enough coffee you can be totally incoherent. Drink up, please."

He sipped, then spoke. "Did you tell Tobias that Kiasidira's a title?"

Gillie closed her eyes for a moment. "I might have, in passing. Why?"

"Because he knows you're Raheiran." As he spoke he realized he was slightly jealous of his brawny second-in-command, who'd known first.

Gillie padded over-she'd not put on her boots yet-and kissed him lightly. Jealousy. Had she'd sensed his jealousy, then responded?

"He found out accidentally," she said, pinning him with a stern look.

She definitely sensed his jealousy.

"So did I."

"I would've eventually told you. Not him, if I'd had a choice."

He smiled down at her. "When."

"Twenty-fifth wedding anniversary?"

He laughed. The fact that she intended to share, not the information, but that anniversary with him dispersed what little jealousy was left.

* * *

Gillie's hand hovered over the commlink in Mack's quarters moments after the door closed behind him, then stopped. She had to talk to Fitch Tobias, update him, but not this way, not here. Not where it might leave a record of the call, or worse, a copy of the conversation for Mack to listen to.

She'd worked so very hard to gain Mack's acceptance of her Raheiran heritage last night. When it had finally come, her relief, her joy had been almost inexpressible. Simon had been right: one of her worst fears had been faced and the universe had not evicted her. More importantly, neither had Mack. He knew she was Raheiran. He loved her. Life was damn near perfect. Except for one thing.

She palmlocked his door on the way out. Simon, where's Tobias?

There was a moment of silence while Simon searched. In Operations, lower level.

Alone? Could she reach him there on a public link? She still didn't like the idea. Mack had intimated station security was not uncompromisable, partly due to technical lapses and partly due to his unconfirmed belief about Hebbs's snooping.

I take it you don't mean is Ops fully staffed. No, he's working with Pryor.

He needs to know that Mack knows I'm Raheiran. He needs to know Mack doesn't know I'm the Kiasidira. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for an available lift. Suggestions?

The admiral is headed for Ops. I suggest we discount an in person chat there.

Not in Ops, that was for sure. The lift arrived. Gillie hesitated, waved in a group of Fleet personnel ahead of her. A flash of blue and green hurtled up the atrium. Over the din of voices she heard the jaunty notes of a flute. Izaak had taken to serenading the parrots. Can you ruffle a few feathers, Simon?

My Lady?

The parrots. Can you do something to excite them, agitate them? Gently, of course. They seem to be Izaak's and Tobias's pet project.

Excellent unintentional pun. And idea. Give me a few moments. I'll see what I can do.

Gillie headed for the stairs and one level up to Ops Lower. Mack had at least a five-minute lead. He should be through Ops and on his way to his office by the time she got there.

Then she could grab Tobias in the corridor. She only needed a minute or two to put a few words of wisdom, and warning, in his ear. To prevent what might be a potential disaster from coming out of his mouth.

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