Chapter Nineteen: So Be It Done

Kaedi hummed contentedly to herself as she tidied up after dinner. There was something so blissfully peaceful about a quiet meal with her husband, undisturbed and unhurried. They had settled into their routine long ago, but something about it just felt different now. She couldn't put her finger on how, exactly, but she reveled in the warm glow it kindled within her.

Before the wedding, she'd had some last-minute reservations about getting married. Watching her sister's marriage, which had seemed at first so solid and storybook-romantic, slowly disintegrate—seeing rational, practical Irikah dig in her heels and deny it was happening—had shaken her to her core. And the mess it was making of poor Kolyat positively broke her heart. Kaedi found herself wishing more and more often that he was her son instead, so she could shield him from the chaos no child should have to weather.

And so, the night before they were to bind their souls together, she had sat down with Adaan and laid everything out before him. All her fears, all her doubts. Every nightmare and every troubling question. She had been prepared to call it off then and there, for his sake as much as hers. She had begged his forgiveness for bringing it all up at the last possible moment, but it wouldn't be fair to either of them if she had entered into this covenant with fear in her heart.

But Adaan, Arashu bless him, had only listened solemnly and quietly. He had taken all of her fears and studied them, gently dissected them until he understood why they bothered her so. He hadn't argued, hadn't offered any empty promises. He had actually thanked her for sharing them with him, and vowed only to keep them in mind so he would never give her reason to doubt him. He had left the decision of whether to cancel the wedding entirely up to her, promising only to support her no matter what she chose.

By the end of the evening, she had fallen into his arms, sobbing, overcome with relief and shame: relief to know she was on the right path with the right man, and shame at having ever doubted him in the first place. And even then, he had held her and whispered to her until he'd soothed away that shame, leaving only certainty and love.

The wedding had gone on as planned, her brother-in-law's not-unexpected absence—or more specifically, the pall it had cast on Irikah's mood—the only small hitch in an otherwise perfect day. Kaedi counted herself many times blessed.

And although she and Adaan had flaunted tradition somewhat by moving in together before the wedding, the early days of marriage recalled the first blush of new love. Only better, because all the heady excitement was there, but none of the uncertainty. Even now, two months on, it still made her heart flutter as her husband—her husband!—came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, nuzzling her shoulder and pressing soft kisses to her neck.

All of a sudden, it was no longer important that her cooking pots get washed right this instant. She could feel exactly what he wanted, pressed up against her back as he was, and an answering need coiled low in her belly. Purring, she quickly dried her hands, then turned in his embrace, draping her arms around his neck and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Adaan slipped his hands under her shirt, his palms warm against her scales, his fingers skating gently over her ribs and across her back, stoking the fire within her until she moaned into his mouth. Her own hands trembled slightly as she stroked his frills, drawing a breathy growl from his chest until he—

A knock sounded at the door.

"Ignore it," Adaan rasped against her lips. "We're busy."

Kaedi pushed him away with a playful shove. "Don't be ridiculous, matali," she giggled. "We mustn't be rude. Whoever it is, I'll send them on their way, and then we'll have all night to ourselves."

Folding his arms, Adaan pouted in mock disappointment, and stepped back to allow her to straighten her clothes and answer the door.

All thoughts of lovemaking immediately flew from her mind the moment the door slid open.

In his hotel room in Nos Astra, Thane stood before the large picture window, staring out over the city, unseeing. Though his body was still, his mind raced, spinning in dizzying circles until his head ached and his stomach lurched.

Ceris had him well and truly snared. Her ruse had been devilishly clever: designed not to physically trap him, but rather to force him to become attached to the baby, to acknowledge her as his own. Once he'd done that, Caia became a devastatingly effective hostage.

So now, he had a choice. The life of his daughter—conceived by rape, about whom his wife knew nothing, and whom he had until mere days ago thought already dead, but his daughter nonetheless—or the life of his longtime friend.

Surely there had to be a way to save them both.

"Spoken like a man who's never lost anything in his life," she hisses, and the pain and venom in her voice send a chill racing down my spine. "But you will. I swear to the Goddess, you will."

Irikah stood at the threshold, wringing her hands, shoulders hunched, her eyes puffy with unshed tears. "Sister," she croaked, and cleared her throat, frills flushing red with embarrassment. "I… may I come in?"

"Of course!" Kaedi ushered her sister inside and guided her toward the table. "I'm afraid we've just finished dinner, but can I get you anything?"

Irikah dropped wearily into a chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she visibly struggled not to cry. "Some tea would be lovely, please," she all but whispered. "Thank you." Drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath, she turned a wan smile up at Adaan. "Hello, Brother."

"Welcome, Sister." Adaan returned her greeting with a worried frown, and sat down across from her as Kaedi set the water to boiling and measured tea leaves into the pot. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I… well, no," Irikah admitted. "It's just that…" She snorted softly and shook her head. "Goddess of oceans, this is ridiculous. I'm fine. I just—"

"Irikah." Kaedi folded her arms and fixed her sister with a level stare. "You are not fine. And you needn't be ashamed to tell us what is bothering you."

Irikah sighed. "Kolyat is on an overnight trip for school," she said. "And with Thane away on business again—"

Kaedi winced at the oblique mention of her brother-in-law's work as Adaan demanded, "Again? Didn't he just return home?"

"Hush, matali," Kaedi scolded him.

"He did," Irikah bit out through gritted teeth, "but he was called away again almost immediately. And I…" She dropped her gaze to the tabletop. "The house is too quiet, Too empty. It's driving me mad."

The teapot chirped its readiness as Kaedi cast about for the right words, saving her from having to respond right away. She poured three cups of tea, set one before Irikah and another before Adaan, and took a seat with the third beside Irikah. "Oh, Sister."

"I know. I'm being foolish. A child afraid of the dark."

"Not at all," said Adaan gently. "There is no shame in being lonely."

"Gods know, you've put up with far more than I could," Kaedi agreed.

But Irikah sighed and shook her head. "It's not just that. I… it's something Thane said just before he left. Or rather, what he didn't say." She sipped at her too=hot tea, wincing as it surely scalded her lips and tongue. "I don't know how I haven't picked up on it before. Looking back, all the signs were there."

"What signs?" Kaedi asked, her heart in her throat, fearing the worst. "What has he done?"

"I don't know," Irikah growled, her hands curling into tight fists. "That's the problem. He is keeping something from me, something important, and I cannot figure out what it might be. Nor can I imagine why."

Her hands relaxed, and her gaze grew distant as she stared into her teacup, losing herself in a memory. "'I've left a mission incomplete,' he says. Voice devoid of emotion. I follow him to the bedroom, hoping I can stop him. Knowing I can't. 'She's talking about Ceris, siha. I have to go.'

"The name makes my stomach twist. 'Go?' I protest. 'Thane, she nearly killed you!'

"But he will not be moved. 'There is an innocent life at stake,' he tells me.

"I am stunned. What about his life? What about Kolyat's, or mine? 'And why is it your responsibility?' I demand.

"He stops and stares at me. I can all but see the answer on the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell me, but something holds him back. Fear? Shame? I cannot tell, but it makes me sick to realize he has hidden this from me for nearly a year.

"'There isn't time to explain,' he says.

"Of course there isn't. There's never time anymore."

Irikah blinked, shuddering, as she pulled herself out of the memory. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Kaedi gave her a few moments to collect herself. Then, though she didn't want to ask, she knew she had to. "Sister," she said quietly, "who was he talking about? Who is Ceris?"

"A target," Irikah replied bluntly. "One he thought dead. But he was wrong."

"And the other 'she' he spoke of?" Kaedi pressed.

"An asari named Deena T'Neri. One of his contacts, an information broker on Illium." Narrowing her eyes, Irikah fixed Kaedi with a defensive glare. "What, exactly, are you implying, Sister?"

"I am only trying to understand." Kaedi held up her hands in a placating gesture. "You drew that conclusion yourself."

Eyes flashing, Irikah slapped the tabletop with open palms and stood so quickly she nearly overturned her chair. "No," she ground out. "I do not need to sit here and listen to this. Thane would never… perhaps coming here was a mistake. Good night, Sister."

It wasn't entirely true. Thane was not a complete stranger to loss. Though he'd been given over to the Compact when he was too young to remember his true parents, his mentor, Arren Xiphas, had become like a father to him. And watching Arren crumble and collapse as he succumbed to his Kepral's Syndrome remained a difficult and painful memory.

But Arren had been ill for as long as Thane had known him, the glory days of his storied career long past. His death had been inevitable. Dreaded, but prepared for.

Thane had lost much when he'd left the Compact, too: a measure of certainty, of stability, and what few friends he'd made among his fellow assassins. But that had been a sacrifice willingly made, and he'd gained so much more in return.

It was true, perhaps, that he knew little of the kind of loss of which Ceris had spoken. The sudden, unexpected, and violent death of someone dearly loved, a life cut far too short—fate had thus far spared him that pain. He'd had a taste of it nearly a year ago, when he'd thought Ceris had killed his family, but he'd learned the truth within the hour. There hadn't been time for the shock to wear off; there had always been that spark of hope. He did not, could not, truly know what it was to lose a child.

And he would do whatever it took not to find out.

"Sister, wait."

Irikah glared down at Kaedi, her hands on her hips. "What?" she snarled.

Kaedi stood as well, and laid a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Please accept my apologies. I'm only trying to understand, so I can help you. That is why you came, is it not?"

The fire in Irikah's eyes faded, and she sighed heavily. "You're right. I'm sorry." Sinking back into her chair, she buried her face in her hands. "What is happening to me?" she groaned. "I am angry all the time now. Ill-tempered and impatient. I look in the mirror, and I don't like the person I see there anymore."

Kaedi rubbed her sister's back in silence, letting her lay everything out on her own terms.

"Maybe it's all in my head," Irikah continued, raising hopeful eyes to Kaedi's. "Maybe I'm making more of this than I should. "Thane never tells me all the details of his… his missions, for both of our safety. And I don't want to know. But it is only natural that some of those details would disturb him. Is it not?"

Perhaps it was. Privately, however, Kaedi thought that someone like Thane, trained to kill from a terribly young age by the Compact, would be well inured to most of his profession's horrors by now. It was one of the reasons he made her so uncomfortable. But Irikah didn't need to hear that at this particular moment, so she only said, "Indeed."

Only one option remained.

Thane turned away from the window and gathered what few things he would need. Then, as the sun set and the room grew dim, he knelt on the floor, folded his hands, and began to pray.

Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. Harden my heart for what I must do, and grant me forgiveness when it is done.

May this sacrifice not be in vain. May the blood of the one spare the life of another. And may I grant a swift and painless death.

So be it done.

Now nearly a year after Cecilia's death, Deena's life had returned to something approaching normal. Her grief was no longer an open wound, but a scar, still tender to the touch but no longer overwhelming. She could go about her work mostly undistracted, could greet clients with a smile, could laugh and joke with Maralei the way she'd used to. She could be a mentor to Nika, present and focused.

Yes, during the day, things had stabilized. She'd had no trouble from Anaya since her release from prison, as the detective no doubt nursed her wounded pride. Most of her slighted clients had forgiven her, and for as many who hadn't, two more had taken their place. Work kept her busy. Kept her distracted.

But at night, even now, the bed still felt too big. Empty and cold. Deena slept fitfully most nights, alternating between nightmare and nostalgia and waking up gasping or crying in between. The smallest noises snapped her to alertness, and even the omnipresent traffic outside was maddeningly loud and bright. Oftentimes, she couldn't tell whether she'd been woken by a real sound or only a dream.

So it was tonight. Deena jolted awake from a dream in which Cecilia had come home, half convinced she'd heard the front door open. Eyes wide, she held her breath for several seconds, still as stone, listening for any sounds of an intruder.

But of course, there was nothing. Her door was locked and alarmed—one couldn't be too careful, living in Nos Astra. It would take someone who knew the code to get past it, and no one who did had any reason to be in her apartment in the small hours of the morning.

Was that a footstep?

Deena's heart raced, but she shook her head, closed her eyes, and tried to settle back down. It was on;y her imagination running away with her. She pulled the blankets tighter around her body and forced herself to take deep, even breaths. No one was here but her.

Outside, a skycar engine backfired. It sounded like someone swallowing back a cough.

Slow, deep breaths. No one was here.

That was definitely a footstep. Almost inaudible, but close. Someone was in her apartment.

In her bedroom.

Momentarily frozen with terror, she could only listen as the intruder grew nearer. Now she could hear the soft creak of leather, the faint hiss of a shaky breath. The scrape of a blade being drawn.

Deena broke through her paralysis with a cry that was almost a scream, and bolted upright, flinging out her hands with the most powerful Throw she could muster. The intruder slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor, stunned, the weapon thudding on the carpet. Her breath coming in short, rapid pants, Deena reached out and turned on the light.

For a moment, she couldn't believe her eyes. This was only another nightmare. It had to be.

Except it wasn't.

"Thane?"