Chapter Four: Deliver Us From Evil

"It is good to see you, Daughter."

Irikah swallowed hard as her father kissed her forehead in greeting. "And you, Father. Thank you for coming." She took a deep breath and braced herself for what she knew would come next. "I have a favor to ask of you."

He smiled warmly at her. "Anything, ashi."

The term of endearment settled in her heart like a stone. Though he was a good and loving parent, Yari Saavas had a well-earned reputation in the community for being quick-tempered. And few things angered him more quickly than any perceived slight or injury to his beloved daughters. What she was about to ask was certain to set him off. "For Kolyat's ceremony today… I need you to stand in for his father."

"I see." As she had expected, his face darkened, and his voice turned cold. "And where is your husband, on this of all days?"

Though his anger was not directed at her, it took Irikah an effort of will to keep from shivering from the chill of it. His dislike of Thane felt personal to her, as though he were deliberately trying to drive a wedge between them. Oh, she knew he was only trying to look out for her, to protect her from pain. But he failed to understand that his attacks on the man she loved, the man she'd chosen to spend her life with, the father of her son, caused her more pain than Thane's long absences ever had.

Gritting her teeth, she tucked her hands behind her back. It was a mannerism she'd picked up from Thane, which made it a subtle, private act of defiance that Father almost certainly would not pick up on. Perhaps paradoxically, she also found it helpful in forcing herself to remain appropriately deferential. "Thane is away on business, Father," she said. "He works very hard to support our family."

"He is always 'away on business,'" her father all but sneered. "I am disappointed that he could not find the time to come home for Kolyat's brela."

You say that as if I am not. "It is regrettable that his work has caused him to be delayed," she replied stiffly, "but due to the nature of his work, that is often beyond his control." Before she could think better of it, she added, "We have had this discussion many times before, Father."

Father raised his brow ridge in surprise at her uncharacteristic impertinence, but his tone became gentle. "And yet you do not heed my advice. Nothing will change of its own accord. He will not change, unless you do something."

"You want me to give him an ultimatum," she said. "You've told me this before."

"I just don't want to see you hurt, ashi," he replied. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she had to fight the urge to shrug it off. "I do not trust him. He is dresa'ar. And from where I stand, it looks as though he is deserting you, as well."

Why must he refuse to understand? Irikah forced back the tears that pricked at her eyes. Her back ached, and she suddenly realized how rigid her posture had become. "He is not deserting me, Father. He is doing this for me. And for Kolyat. And for the last time," she growled, giving up all pretense of filial piety, "it was I who convinced Thane to leave the Compact. He did that for me, too. Everything he has done since then, he has done because he loves me."

Her father stared sternly into her eyes, searching. "And you love him?"

Irikah and Thane had been married nearly nine years. That Father even felt the need to ask this hit her like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from her lungs, and she couldn't answer. The tears finally spilled over.

Father's gaze softened, and he gathered her into his arms. "Irikah, ashi," he whispered. "Look at what he's done to you."

She wanted to push him away. She wanted to scream, to shout at him that he had done this to her, not Thane. But they were standing in the atrium of the temple, and Kolyat waited inside with the priests. She didn't want to cause a scene on what was supposed to be a special day. So instead, she buried her face in her father's shoulder until she could get a hold of herself. And she let him think she wept tears of loneliness, rather than anger.

The brela ceremony was a rite of passage for drell children of the Old Faith, and focused heavily on the role of family. The ritual was an ancient one, dating back to the dawn of history on Rakhana. As such, it was a little bit old-fashioned, citing outmoded gender roles and assuming the child involved had both a biological mother and father present. Over the centuries, and especially since the drell had come to Kahje, it had been adapted with variants and contingencies to account for different kinds of families: adoptions, single parents, same-sex parents, and so forth. All of which was to say that the priests were prepared to conduct the ceremony with Kolyat's grandfather standing in for Thane, if surprised at the short notice.

Kolyat, however, was not. As she entered the sanctuary alongside her father, Irikah's heart broke to see her son's face fall. He still had a shred of a child's innocent faith: though he had long ago resigned himself to seeing his father only infrequently, he had remained certain that Thane would be there when it mattered. For the important things. But what Irikah was witnessing now was that last scrap of innocence being torn away.

As she watched, the excitement faded from his eyes. His shoulders slumped, his lower lip trembled, and his little hands curled into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to say something, but Irikah shook her head once, sharply: no.

And just like that, he shut down. His jaw clenched, his back straightened, and his eyes stared stonily ahead. A familiar mask settled over his face: the same mask Thane wore whenever she asked about his work. The mask that pretended to be calm, but hid a turmoil that may never find a voice. The mask that Kolyat was far too young to have to wear.

In that moment, he looked very much like his father.

With everyone in place, the ceremony began. Though she tried for Kolyat's sake to remain focused on the proceedings, Irikah found herself glancing toward the doors every so often, half expecting Thane to come through them at any moment and take his proper place. But they remained stubbornly shut.

All at once, she could feel every uncounted, interminable light-year between them. She had no idea where Thane had gone on his mission, of course, but some part of her could sense the distance. It was an emptiness inside her, as cold and dark as the reaches of interstellar space, and it threatened to consume her utterly. Only for Kolyat's sake did she fight it.

Father's voice echoed in her mind: Look at what he's done to you. Less than a decade ago, she had been happily single, supporting herself with a job she enjoyed, needing no one. Fulfilled and secure. But all that had changed, in a sense, when she'd met Thane. The more time they'd spent together, the more his presence had started to feel like home. Even after the heady rush of new romance had worn off, she had found that they complemented each other, shoring up each other's weaknesses and bolstering each other's strengths. Together, she felt they could take on the world.

And every time he left, she felt his absence more keenly. The fundamental difference between her perspective and Father's, she thought, was that she didn't necessarily think this was a bad thing. Thane was doing what he had to, to support his family. And when he was away, she missed him—it was only natural. Yes, she was disappointed that he couldn't be here today. But sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

"Semme Krios."

Irikah snapped out of her reverie at the priest's voice, calling to her for what was clearly not the first time. Her frills flushed hot with embarrassment at Father's raised brow ridge and Kolyat's baleful glare. The murmurings of her family and friends assembled in congregation seemed suddenly thunderous—or maybe that was just the roaring of her pulse in her ears. "My apologies," she mumbled.

The priest frowned, and repeated the ritual questioning. "Who is this child you bring before the Gods?"

"Kolyat Krios, son of Irikah and of Thane," she replied.

"And who presents him?"

"I, his mother."

"And I, his grandfather." Father stared at Irikah as he spoke. She avoided his gaze. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could feel judgement in it.

"And what is it you ask of the Gods on this day?"

She gave the prescribed answer. "We wish to give thanks to Arashu for his life and health, and to ask Her blessing that he may live long in happiness and peace."

As the priest began the prayer of invocation, Irikah closed her eyes and let the sonorous chant wash over her. She remembered the words, the rhythm, the melody from her own brela, and those of her younger relatives. And the multi-colored light streaming in through the stained-glass windows, the warmth of the Eternal Flame on the altar, the smoky-sweet smell of incense—all these trappings and trimmings of faith helped to ground her, to remind her of why she was here, and what was important.

And what was important was Kolyat. She could not allow her fears and insecurities to interfere with his needs. He deserved better than that. She needed to be fully present with him, not wallowing in tu-fira feeling sorry for herself.

It would take strength, and it would take faith. And she had both in abundance.

She had to.

"Hello, Cece." Deena dropped her briefcase just inside the door and swept her bondmate into her arms. "I missed you today."

Cecilia laughed and shook her head. "You say that every day."

"That's because it's true, my love." Deena kissed Cecilia's forehead, lingering to breathe in the scent of her hair. It smelled of flowers, and comfort, and home. She ran her fingers through the silky strands, allowing herself to be soothed by their softness and warmth.

Goddess, it had been a long day, and twice as difficult without Maralei to rely on. She had diverted all of her time and resources to the pursuit of Aselda Ceris, leaving other work to pile up. People were getting angry—she would likely lose a few clients before all this was over—but she didn't especially care.

What bothered her was that her searches were coming up empty. Ceris seemed to be a master at covering her tracks, managing somehow to move around the city without leaving a trace. It was as if she were sweeping away her footprints behind her. She was a ghost.

Finally, Deena had given in to the frustration and gone home for the night. She would look with fresh eyes in the morning. In the meantime, she did her best to put those difficulties from her mind.

She released Cecilia and smiled at her—though she couldn't see it, she would hear it in her voice. "How are you doing? How is Thane?"

Cecilia shrugged. "I'm fine. But Thane, well…" She gestured toward the guest room, with the door shut tight and the lock glowing amber. "He's been in there all day. To be honest, I'm a little worried."

"I'll go talk to him."

But Cecilia caught her arm as she passed. "I wouldn't interrupt if I were you, Dee. He's been rather…" She grimaced. "Testy."

"Wouldn't you be?" Deena countered. She gently disengaged Cecilia's hand from her elbow and kissed her fingers. "I'll just be a minute."

Deena crossed the room to knock softly on the guest room door. "Thane?" she called. "May I come in?"

There was no answer from within, but the lock turned green. She took that as an invitation, and entered.

She and Cecilia rarely entertained visitors overnight, so the guest room was what her bondmate described as "Spartan," comfortably but sparsely appointed with only a bed, a dresser, and a desk and chair. It was at the desk that she found Thane, rising wearily to his feet to greet her. "Deena. Do you need something?"

"I just wanted to talk to you, if that's okay," said Deena. She frowned as she studied him, taking in the tightness around his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and the tense set of his jaw. "Are you all right?"

Thane's brow knotted, and he hesitated. "I… no," he admitted. "Since leaving the hospital, I have spent most of my time in meditation, attempting to recover my missing memories. But I have made no progress." He began to pace back and forth. "Everything from leaving Kahje to waking up in the warehouse remains utterly blank. It's as though the memories are… sealed off, somehow. And every time I attempt to push past the barrier, my mind recoils into fantasy and nightmare."

"That must be frustrating," Deena replied. "I can't really imagine how unsettling this must be for you. But maybe you just need to give it time. Concentrate on the job for right now. The memories might come back on their own."

But Thane only shook his head. "I have tried." He stopped his pacing, leaning heavily on the desk with both hands flat on the surface, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. "But no matter how determinedly I focus on the task at hand, I still find myself worrying at the edges of that void, as if I can find some thread to pull that will unravel the veil. It haunts my dreams as well as my waking hours. It has become an obsession."

A thick, heavy silence fell between them. Deena had considered this problem as well, and an idea had presented itself almost immediately. She wasn't sure how he would take it, but it was the only solution she could think of.

"Perhaps…" Still, Deena hesitated, fidgeting. What she was about to suggest could easily be taken the wrong way. She could only hope Thane would understand how she intended it and not jump to any unseemly conclusions. The last thing she wanted was to damage their friendship, or cause him any more distress.

But if it came down to their friendship or his sanity, she knew which to choose, without question. "Perhaps I can be of help," she said.

Thane froze. Very slowly, he straightened and raised his eyes to hers. His voice was flat and icy as he asked, "What, precisely, are you proposing?"

Clearly, he knew exactly what she was proposing. He just wanted her to say it out loud.

Fine, then. Deena lifted her chin and met his gaze squarely. "A meld," she said firmly. "If you allow me to join my consciousness to yours, I may be able to help you recover your missing memories."

"No."

His answer came so quickly, so sharply, and so unequivocally that Deena was momentarily taken aback. He seemed to be taking her suggestion exactly how she had hoped he wouldn't. Evidently, she didn't know him as well as she thought. She gritted her teeth. "Will you at least hear me out before you dismiss me?" she bit out, perhaps more harshly than she'd intended.

Thane raised his eyebrow ridge and tucked his hands behind his back. He said nothing.

Deena took that as acquiescence and forged ahead. "I know it would be an intimacy far beyond anything we've shared in the past," she said, forcing the irritation from her voice so the words came out gently. "But I had hoped you'd have come to trust me enough by now to know that I would never harm you or take advantage of you. In any way. I only want to help."

His rigid posture relaxed not a fraction, but he lowered his eyes. "Of course," he said softly. "My apologies. I did not intend to imply that… it's only because there is…" He coughed once as he stumbled uncharacteristically over his words. "There is… information that I cannot share with anyone," he admitted. "Information that could put people in danger. And it could put you in danger, if you knew. I cannot risk anyone else finding out."

Goddess. He's terrified. Deena reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but stopped when he flinched away, almost imperceptibly. Withdrawing, she wrung her hands nervously instead. She had never seen him like this before.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her own racing heart, willing her restless hands still. "Thane, I'm an information broker. A very, very good one," she said. "Managing information, keeping secrets—it's what I do, and I do it well. Anything I learn, I have the resources to bury it so deep it can never be found. And besides." She paused until Thane made eye contact with her again. "You are my friend, Thane. Whatever I find in the meld, I swear to keep in the strictest confidence."

Thane stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, and for a moment Deena thought he might agree to try. Then he blinked and shook his head. "No." He walked away from her, to the window, to focus on the Nos Astra skyline rather than her face. "I understand what you're trying to do, and I appreciate your concern. But there must be some other way."

"You said it yourself, Thane. You've exhausted all other avenues." Deena shrugged helplessly. "Maybe all it'll take is time, I don't know. I won't push you on this. But know that the offer still stands if you change your mind."

She turned to leave.

"Deena… wait."

She stopped and looked back at him. He still stood by the window, but his head was bowed.

"Are you certain this will work?" he asked. The tone of hollow resignation in his voice made the words seem to drop onto the carpet between them. "What are the risks if it should fail?"

Deena hesitated. She'd never melded with a drell before, especially not with the express purpose of exploring his memories. There was no telling what kinds of flashbacks she might trigger, how intense they would be, or how much of them she would share. But there was little chance she would actually harm him by trying. "I can promise nothing," she admitted, "but the risks are minimal. I may see things you prefer remained private, that's all."

"I see." Thane was silent for a long, thoughtful moment, then his shoulders sagged and he sighed. "Very well. We will try." He straightened and turned to face her. "What do you need me to do?"

"Come, sit." She gestured for him to follow her, and they sat on the bed, angled to face each other. Deena reached out to rest her fingertips gently on either side of his face—it wasn't necessary for the meld, but it helped her concentrate. "Go back to the last thing you remember before waking up in Nos Astra."

Thane tensed, closing his eyes as he fought to control his breathing.

"Relax, Thane," she said soothingly. "Look at me."

He opened his eyes, and in the slanting light of the sunset, she could see the emerald irises behind his ocular scales. He seemed suddenly so terribly young and vulnerable.

"It's all right," she murmured, speaking as she might to a child. "You have nothing to fear from me. Now, open your mind. Focus. Embrace eternity!"