Blindfold. Kevin J. Anderson

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      He got up to greet her, ready to offer comfort and support. She sealed the door to their suite with great pleasure, as if she were blocking off the problems of the day. She straightened her white robe then untied the crimson Mediator’s sash and came to embrace him.

      “A long one?” Tharion asked.

      She nodded, resting her chin on his shoulder as if she wanted to melt into sleep standing in his arms. “Same old problems,” she said. “Different names, different details.

      “Toth claims that Dokken Holding is irrigating their kenaf fields too much and thereby depleting an underground aquifer that feeds the springs watering his pine forests. Bondalar and Carsus have jointly issued a formal grievance against Koman, alleging that the raw materials the mines are shipping for their mag-lev rail project are defective, resulting in months of lost work. The Koman representative brought out quality inspection sheets to prove that the raw materials had been undamaged when they were shipped from the Mining District, but Bondalar brought out their own analysis to show the flaws in the material as received.” She drew a deep breath. “And so on and so on.”

      Her pale hair was the colorless blond of all Guild members, done up in a long braid that spiraled like a helmet around the top of her head. “I can give you the mental details if you like, but frankly I’d rather spare you the misery.”

      Tharion laughed. “Let’s sit down before our meal gets cold.”

      She slumped into her chair and closed her eyes. Her sash hung loose, and her white robe fell open. “So how was your day?” she remembered to say, keeping her eyes closed.

      “Murder,” he said.

      Now she blinked and stared at him. “What? Another one?”

      Tharion nodded soberly. “I’m beginning to suspect the Veritas smuggling goes deeper than I thought. More than just a few stray capsules that somehow managed to trickle into outlying villages.”

      “And this murder had something to do with it?” Qrista said.

      “I believe it’s a vigilante killing, removing one of the smugglers. But Franz says our problems are all over now.”

      “Franz Dokken?” Qrista scowled. “If he’s behind it, I’m sure it’s not all over.”

      Tharion took a mouthful of rice and vegetables, chewing slowly to grant himself time to think. “I never said he was behind it, Qrista. He’s trying to help. Don’t be so hard on him.”

      “Give me the details,” she said skeptically. “I want to know what he really said.”

      Tharion raised his head, and she reached over the small table to stroke his forehead. She closed her eyes and gently ran her fingers through his thoughts, enhancing them with her telepathic abilities.

      “Convenient,” Qrista said. “And Dokken decides to play his own games with you, getting rid of your only direct connection before a Truthsayer can interrogate him. What about his suppliers?”

      “That information is lost. But if it cuts off the Veritas smuggling, I think it’s for the best,” Tharion said. “Otherwise, we’ll raise a lot of questions we don’t want answered. How could the Guild lose control so badly? Think of the outcry.”

      “Think of the outcry if people find out that we’re holding a man in the detention chambers who is almost certainly innocent! Dokken supposedly knows the identity of the real killer, but you never bothered to ask him. Are we supposed to ignore the unsolved crime?”

      Qrista was visibly upset, turning away from him. “It goes against all our ethical training. We can’t just ignore a crime.”

      “No, we can’t,” Tharion said. “But if Cialben truly was smuggling Veritas, taking it away from the Guild and giving it to … to outsiders who aren’t prepared to handle it, and if I declared him guilty—as he assuredly was—it would have been my option to sentence him to death.”

      “But you wouldn’t have.”

      Tharion sighed. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

      “You’re just doing what Dokken wants,” Qrista said.

      Tharion shrugged. “I do what he wants only if it’s the same thing that I want. We can think alike, you know.”

      “That’s a scary thought,” she said in a noncommittal tone and fell to eating again.

      Tharion felt the need to keep explaining, though his wife already knew every one of his reasons. “Franz has assisted me through my entire career. I’m Guild Master, in part, because of his support. None of the other landholders has been as objective or as helpful. They come here only when they want something. None of the others offered to become my mentor as I was going through difficult times. Now everyone wants my favors, of course—but Franz was there at the very beginning. He’s given me no reason not to trust him.”

      “Have you used Veritas to read him?” Qrista asked, “to see if he’s really telling you the truth?”

      Tharion was shocked. “Qrista! We took an oath. I would never read a man without just cause and without his consent. Franz has done nothing to warrant such treatment. Why have you always disliked him?”

      She met his gaze evenly. “Because you believe everything he says.”

      Tharion ate in silence, concentrating on the taste of the rice and the spiced vegetables. His hangover headache had faded with the afternoon, but now it threatened to return as a dull throb at the back of his skull. Finally, Qrista finished and nudged her plate off to the side of the serving tray.

      “Look, I’ve had a rough day,” she said in an apologetic tone, “and I’m taking it out on you since I couldn’t very well slam the Council members’ heads together. My mediation didn’t work well, even when I could read what each party wanted. I’m upset with all the landholders—and Dokken’s one of them.”

      She stood up and her robe fell completely open to reveal her rounded breasts. “Let’s go to bed. Give me a back rub?”

      Tharion smiled. “With pleasure.”

      She smiled back. “That’s the point.”

      On their wide sleeping pallet, with the yellow-orange lights still turned low, Tharion carefully slid the cotton robe off her shoulders and dropped it to the deck. He ran his fingertips along the pale skin of her shoulders, tickling her shoulder blades.

      Qrista purred, arching herself up as she rested her head on the pillow, eyes closed. He pressed into her flesh, rubbing the tense muscles. Her skin was so pale it seemed transparent. She’d let down her braid and combed out her long whitish blond hair.

      A lifetime of exposure to Veritas had made them sterile in addition to pale. Most Guild members never married, finding it intimidating to be in the presence of a mate who knew every innermost thought—but Tharion and Qrista had no secrets. The two of them had the same expectations, had gone through the same sacrifices.

      He gave her a long and luxurious back rub, and then found they were both too tired to make love. They shared quiet soothing thoughts as they pressed СКАЧАТЬ