Page 51 of Silent Lucidity

“I had a life before this,” she said softly. “A family, friends, a home.”

“So did I.”

“You did? Before you were…”

“Changed.” He clenched and relaxed his jaw. For most of his life, he’d carefully guarded his memories of his home world, knowing the Master would take them if Tenthil allowed them to rise too close to the surface. They’d faded significantly over time, so much so that he knew many of them were lost to him forever, and it pained him that he could not remember more of what he was, of the place from which he’d come.

“I lived with my people when I was young,” he said. “Was six or seven years old when slavers came, packed my tribe into ships, and brought me here. I had a mother. A father. Brothers and a sister. I had a tribe.”

“Oh, my God. And you never saw them again? None of them?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Some of them were on the ship, but…I cannot remember clearly, anymore. We were all sold to different owners. The Master bought me…to make me into what I am.”

“I’m so sorry.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his chest before resting her forehead against it. She laughed humorlessly. “All this time I was crying about going home, not realizing everything you’ve suffered and endured… My experiences seem mild in comparison.”

Tenthil slid a hand up her back to her neck, gently brushing the pads of his fingers across the spot he’d bandaged after removing the tracker. She shivered and held him a little tighter.

“My pain does not invalidate yours,” he said softly. “You were taken, too. Our experiences are the same.”

Abella tilted her head back to look up at him. Lifting her hands, she lightly traced the scars on his cheeks with her fingertips. “Will you tell me how you got these?”

He covered her hands with his own, meaning to guide them away, but stopped himself. The scars were part of him, and he was Abella’s. “The Vow of Silence. It is a ritual the Master performs so acolytes may prove their devotion to the Order and its secrets. It involves the removal of organs necessary for speech, so it varies between species. All are required to take it save the Master and his favored second. I refused.”

“And these were your punishment?”

Tenthil shook his head. “No. These are the result of one of their failed attempts to force my vow.”

“Oneof their failed attempts?”

“The first time, they poured a concoction down my throat meant to destroy my vocal cords.” The reminder made the discomfort caused by his speaking just a little more pronounced. “I sent two of the acolytes involved to the infirmary. The next night, they tried again. I was ready that time. The second group of acolytes were in recovery for more than a week. The final time, the Master sent a group of five acolytes into my room while I slept to cut out my tongue.”

Abella expelled a soft breath. She stared up at him with eyes wide, brow creased, and lips parted.

He moved her hands down so only the tips of her forefingers touched his scars and guided them both outward from his mouth. “This is as far as they got. I killed two of them with the knife they brought in. After that, the Master decided it best to allow me what remained of my voice, and I vowedhewould never hear it again.”

Her fingers curled around his. “Talking hurts as much as it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

Tenthil nodded. “Worth it with you.”

Abella’s already flushed cheeks reddened further, and she pulled her hands free. She lowered them to his sides; Tenthil stiffened when her nails brushed over his energy blade wound and sent a jolt of fresh, electric pain across his chest.

She drew back. “Youarehurt!”

He leaned to the side and shifted his arm backward to look down at the damage. The scorched gash on his ribs was clearly visible through his torn shirt. Reaching down, he pressed his fingers on the flesh above the wound and pulled it tight. He hissed through his teeth at the fresh agony.

“Low priority,” he said.

“It’s not low priority now.” She took his hand and led into the bathroom. “Take off your shirt.”

He offered her no resistance; with many of his earlier distractions gone, Tenthil’s awareness of the injury—and the pain it caused him—had only increased. He took a step back from her and unfastened his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Even the small amount of twisting he had to do to divest himself of the garment produced another flare of pain.

Abella watched silently, her gaze trailing over his torso, and hunger kindled in her eyes before they settled on his wound. Just seeing the heat in her gaze was almost enough to make him forget his pain. He’d not nearly had enough of her yet.

Tenthil forced himself to dip a hand into his main pouch and took out the medtool from within. It was cylindrical, with a forty-five-degree curve on one side that ended with a metallic disc. The disc had a central circle with eight blue lines radiating from its center. There was a simple switch near the opposite end of the handle, just in front of a tiny projector port. The whole thing was perhaps ten centimeters from one end to the other.

Abella covered the device with her hand. “Let me clean your wound first.”

“Might as well shower,” he said, unable to pry his gaze from their touching hands. Her skin was so soft, so warm, so enticing. Even wounded, he didn’t think he could control himself if she touched him again. His blood was still too hot, his emotions too raw. “You should get some rest.”

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