Chapter Two: Faith and Trust

"Irikah." Kaedi Saavas embraced her sister warmly, then held her at arm's length, frowning. "I would say it's good to see you, but you look unwell. Are you all right?"

Irikah hesitated, tempted for a moment to pour out everything right here on Kaedi's doorstep. The sleepless nights, the harried days, the anxiety and the doubt. Now that she was here, it all threatened to bubble over. She and her sister had been close ever since they were children, and even now, they told each other everything. Sometimes she felt it was the only thing that kept her sane. More than anything, it was that connection she needed now.

But for the moment, she settled for a polite lie. "I'm fine." She tipped her head toward her son, standing beside her. Not in front of Kolyat. This conversation was not for his ears.

Kaedi gave her a knowing nod and a look that promised the subject had not been dropped. Arashu bless her, she always understood. Then she turned a bright smile on her nephew and scooped the giggling boy off the ground with an exaggerated grunt. "You're getting bigger every day, Kolyat," she said. "Are you sure you're not a krogan?"

"No, Aunt Kaedi!" Kolyat laughed as he flung his little arms around her neck, and she staggered under the sudden shift in his weight. A wistful smile spread across Irikah's face, and tears welled up in her eyes. At nearly eight years old, Kolyat would soon be too big for such playful antics. He was growing up so quickly.

And Thane was missing it all.

It had been more than five years since Thane had taken up freelancing his… particular skills. In that time, he had been away more often than he'd been home, and Irikah had increasingly relied on Kaedi for help. Not just in caring for Kolyat, but in keeping herself together when she thought the loneliness and worry might drive her mad. Her sister was her rock, her anchor, in ways her husband could never be.

Their father called it shameful—not that his daughters were so close, but that they needed to be. He had mistrusted Thane from the very beginning. He had disapproved of Thane leaving the Compact, calling him dresa'ar, deserter. He had tried every tactic he knew to dissuade Irikah from pursuing the relationship. It had taken Irikah and Kaedi both, pleading and in tears, to convince him to attend the wedding. And now, with Thane "away on business" more often than not, he seemed more convinced than ever that Irikah had made a grave mistake.

The only advice he ever offered her was to take Kolyat and leave. To simply not be there when he came home.

Thane knew none of this.

Kaedi set Kolyat back down on his feet and ushered them both inside. She had already prepared a pot of tea, and poured some for Irikah and for herself as Kolyat scampered off to do his homework. They sat facing each other across the kitchen table, and Kaedi waited in patient silence for Irikah to gather her thoughts.

For her part, Irikah wasn't sure where to begin. Kaedi had no idea what Thane actually did for a living, only that he was an "independent contractor" and traveled often. She had never pried further than that, for which Irikah was eternally grateful. But like their father, she didn't trust him. That Thane was so closemouthed about his career and his past did not sit well with Irikah's gregarious little sister.

Irikah hated having to hide it from her, even if it was for her own protection. With everything else they shared, it felt like a breach of trust. And that made it difficult to talk to her when Irikah needed her most.

As she always did, she briefly considered breaking down and telling her. But what would she say? My husband, your brother-in-law, is an assassin. A murderer for hire. She could imagine no version of that conversation that ended well. Oh, Kaedi would take the secret to her grave, without a doubt. But Irikah feared their relationship would be damaged beyond repair.

No, telling her was, as always, out of the question. Instead, Irikah said simply, "I am worried about Thane."

Kaedi snorted softly. "As am I, Sister. Though in a different way, I suspect."

Irikah bristled. "If I wanted to have that argument, I'd have gone to see Father," she snapped. "Please just listen to me for a moment." Glancing back toward the guest room—where Kolyat was ostensibly working on his assignments and not fooling around playing Extranet games—she pitched her voice low so he wouldn't overhear. "I worry because I've not heard from him in too long. He said he would be gone six days, perhaps seven at most. It has now been nine. I fear something has happened to him."

"Thane's 'business trips' have always been… hmm, unpredictable," Kaedi replied.

But Irikah could only shrug helplessly. "I know. But something just feels different this time. My imagination is running away with me. I can't stop picturing him wounded or dead or… I don't know. Maybe I am going mad, finally." Gritting her teeth, she glared into her tea, watching the play of light on the surface without really seeing it. "He promised he would be home for Kolyat's name day. He promised." Her voice came out in a harsh whisper that bordered on a growl.

Kaedi raised her eyebrow ridge. "That's tomorrow."

"I know."

"He's made these promises before."

"I know."

"And not once has he ever—"

"I know!" Irikah slammed her fist into the tabletop, making their mugs rattle and tea slosh over the sides. But the anger faded as quickly as it had come, and she buried her face in her hands. "I know. Perhaps it was foolish of me to think this time might be different. But of all name days to miss, his eighth…"

Kaedi sipped her tea in silence, allowing her sister space to think.

Drawing a shaky breath, Irikah forced herself to calm down and be rational. "It's probably too soon for me to worry about this," she said. "After all, Kolyat's name day is not until tomorrow. And it is not unusual for Thane to be unable to contact me when he is delayed. The nature of his work is… sensitive." She shook her head. "I choose to trust him. I must."

"Hmm." Kaedi set her mug back down on the table and leaned forward, folding her hands. "And who are you trying to convince of that? Me?" She fixed Irikah with a level stare. "Or yourself?"

Irikah could only stare back, slack-jawed, uncertain how to respond.

Deena had picked him up at the hospital personally. From the passenger seat of her skycar, Thane stared out at the Nos Astra skyline, unseeing, absorbed in his own thoughts.

He had never had much patience with hospital stays, and this one had been particularly trying. Though his wound was healing well, a minor infection had settled in his lungs: according to a nurse, likely a result of the breathing tube. It was an uncommon but not unheard-of complication, she'd said, especially in drell. A course of antibiotics had cleared it up fairly quickly, though Deena had no shortage of sarcastic remarks about the competence of the hospital staff—less genuine criticism, however, than helpless worry.

And as soon as the attending physician had learned of his memory loss, she had ordered a battery of physical and psychological tests. Brain scans, blood draws, endless barrages of repetitive questions. He had drawn the line when she'd suggested, as a last resort, a form of hypnotherapy—he wasn't sure he believed in its efficacy, but he couldn't risk revealing anything that could put his family in danger.

Between the post-operative complications and fruitless testing, his discharge had been delayed by days, and he had grown increasingly anxious during that time. He needed to complete his contract and get home. Kolyat's name day was approaching, and though Thane had missed name days before—and holidays, and anniversaries, and plenty of other important occasions—his son would be turning eight. A father should be present for a milestone like that.

When it had become clear that he would not be able to return in time, however, he had considered trying to get a message to Irikah. She would be worried, and angry. Perhaps he could at least alleviate the former. Certainly Deena should be able to get a secure communication to Kahje, or if she could not, Cecilia could.

But he had quickly dismissed that idea as far too dangerous. Though he had decided to work with Cecilia, the idea of letting her contact his family made him uneasy. Even Deena did not know about them. He could not give such information to a woman he barely knew, no matter how much Deena trusted her.

No, his only choice was to wait out the testing until the doctor saw fit to let him go, track down and eliminate Aselda Ceris as quickly as possible, and get home as soon as he could. He would beg Irikah's forgiveness, and accept whatever consequences she deemed appropriate.

Sweet Arashu, he didn't deserve her. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had stayed with him this long. He knew he tested her patience to its limits, and he knew Kolyat was beginning to resent his long, frequent absences. But he had to provide for them in the only way he could. And Irikah understood that. She knew his heart.

Of course, there was the option of just going home. He could break the contract, forfeit the pay, and be back on Kahje in a day and a half. Money would be a little bit short until he recovered from his injuries and found another commission, but they had made do with less before.

But he had to think logically. Breaking the contract would have serious consequences. Though his employer for this job had insisted on anonymity—not unusual for those seeking his services—that was not to say they weren't well-connected. Thane would forfeit more than just the pay for Ceris; his professional reputation would be permanently damaged, if not destroyed. This employer would certainly never trust him again, and would likely spread the word of his failure to others who might seek him out. He might even find a target on his own back.

This was all he knew how to do. He had tried, for Irikah's sake and for Kolyat's, to find another way to support them. But freelancing his Compact-trained skills had been the last resort. If he lost this, it would ruin them.

Surely, Irikah understood that. She must.

When the utterly frustrated doctor had finally released him into Deena's care, it was with strict instructions to return if any additional neurological symptoms presented themselves, and a prescription for pain medicine he had no intention of filling. It would be some time before he was wholly back in fighting shape, but he needed his mind clear. He would need a way to take Ceris out from a distance, and to do that, he needed to outsmart her. To stay a step ahead. A little pain he could ignore, but he could not accomplish anything with his brain addled by drugs.

"You'll stay with me and Cecilia while you recover," said Deena, pulling him abruptly from his reverie. "I've prepared the guest room for you, and I had your things brought over from the hotel you were staying in."

He frowned, uncomfortable with the thought of intruding in her personal life thus. "Thank you, Deena," he replied, "but that really won't be necessary."

"Nonsense. You're not just a client, Thane, you're my friend." She flashed him a wink and a cheeky grin. "And if that's not enough for you, well, then you'll just have to forgive a five-hundred-and-twenty-something her motherly instincts."

Thane raised his eyebrow ridge. "I am not a child."

"Compared to me, you are," she shot back. The tone of her voice suddenly brooked no argument. Her eyes narrowed slightly, giving Thane the distinct impression he'd inadvertently offended her somehow. "Besides, I have a plan to keep Ceris from looking for you—one which will be much easier to execute if you fall off the grid for a while." She shrugged. "At least until you get your strength back."

It did make sense, he had to admit—he was in no shape to face Ceris again right now. He tipped his head, conceding her point. "Very well. Again, thank you."

Deena smiled, whatever had troubled her a moment ago apparently forgotten. "I knew you'd see it my way."

"Cecilia, darling." Despite the endearment, Ceris's voice was cold and sharp as a steel blade. "I do not appreciate being lied to."

Cecilia swallowed hard, her heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

"'He's alive. He'll recover,'" Ceris snapped, throwing Cecilia's words back at her in a nasal mockery of her voice and accent. "Do you care to tell me why the hospital says he's dead?"

Damn it. Ceris had actually checked the hospital records? Why would she do that? She was supposed to be staying away from Krios, not hunting him down. And she'd given Cecilia the job of keeping him off her back.

Ah, but that was the problem. Ceris had the leverage to blackmail Cecilia into doing anything she wanted, but that didn't mean she trusted her. Quite the opposite. She kept Cecilia on an extremely short leash, second-guessing her methods and double-checking her results, almost paranoid that Cecilia would one day betray her.

It might have been hurtful if it wasn't so damned frustrating.

But Cecilia had an opportunity here. A chance at, if not a way out, at least a way to turn the tables a little. Manipulate the manipulator, maybe keep her crazy in check long enough for her master plan to come back and bite her in the azure.

All she had to do was keep Ceris convinced that Krios was dead for a little while. Just long enough for him to get back on his feet. Then he would do what he did best—and Cecilia would be free of her once and for all.

It was really fucking risky, but she had to try. "It's what you wanted, ultimately. Isn't it?" she asked, testing the waters tentatively, silently grateful for the audio-only connection. God only knew what her face was giving away right now. "You wanted Krios dead. Does it really matter how?"

She regretted it instantly.

"Of course it matters!" Ceris all but shrieked. "Do you know what he did to me? Do you know? He took away the only thing that ever mattered to me! And you…" Her voice dropped to a snarl. "You have robbed me of my revenge."

Cecilia's hands shook, her breath came hard and fast, and she couldn't tell if she was about to throw up or pass out. "Aselda, please, you can't blame me for—"

"I'm going to destroy you, Cecilia. I'm calling the police right now. I'll expose everything you've ever done for me, and you'll rot in an asari prison for the rest of your short, miserable little—"

"Wait!" Cecilia cried.

Silence, her only response. Expectant and judgmental.

Cecilia let out a long, slow breath, feeling her opportunity slip from her grasp, the spark of hope guttering out before it could light. "I never said he was dead," she mumbled. "I only asked if that's what you wanted."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Ceris drawled. The sudden change in her voice from volcanic fury back to icy suspicion left Cecilia dizzy. "And I suppose you'll expect me to believe he faked the records himself."

"No, I… that was me," Cecilia replied dully.

Ceris hummed thoughtfully, that low, rumbling purr that often foreboded her darkest ideas. "And why, pray tell, would you do that?"

"Deena asked me to. And I still have to be"—she caught herself and shook her head—"to appear to be a good wife."

There was an instant's pause, during which Cecilia thought her heart might stop. Then Ceris burst out laughing. "Excellent!" she crowed. "That's my good little human pet. This is why I like you, Cecilia—you know how the game is played. You understand. You get it."

"Yes," Cecilia whispered. "Yes, I… I understand."

"Where is he now?"

"He's…" Cecilia's heart sank. She had hoped she wouldn't have to tell her, but as she'd just learned, she couldn't lie. "He's here. With us. Deena invited him to stay at our apartment while he recuperates."

"With you? Oh, how perfect!" Ceris cried, clapping her hands in delight. "That could make this whole debacle actually work to our advantage."

Your advantage, not ours, Cecilia thought sourly. "Really? How is that?"

"Why, having you right there to run interference, my dear," said Ceris, her voice high-pitched and cooing as if she spoke to a child. "You can keep an eye on him. Pretend to help him in his little hunt, and… you know, redirect him if he gets too close. Fake some evidence or something. Couldn't be simpler."

"And how will I know when he gets close, Ceris?" Cecilia demanded. "I have no idea where you're hiding."

"Good point, darling. I suppose… I suppose I'll have to trust you a bit after all." Her tone darkened as she continued, "You will not make me regret this."

It was not a question, nor was it an observation. It was a command—and a threat.

Cecilia's jaw clenched, but she forced herself to sound fawning and innocent. "Of course not."

"Of course not," Ceris repeated dryly. She gave a short, resigned sigh. "I'm on Cyone. That's all you need to know."

"I'll keep him as far away as I can," Cecilia promised.

"Keep me apprised."

"I will."

As the line went dead, Cecilia sat back in her chair and let a smug grin spread across her face. Cyone. It wasn't much, as far as intel went. And she had nothing so much as resembling a plan. But it was something. She'd gotten Ceris to trust her with something.

Small victories.