A Prison Unsought Read Online Free PDF Page A

to a
laugh, though she’d meant to keep her sense of humor. “An apolitical in a
situation positively mined with political fallout?”
    With that she rose to her feet, trim and decisive in her
movements in spite of her age. “I’d best comm the Enclave immediately.”
    Nyberg rose with her, tabbing his boswell as he walked her
to the door. His punishment for loading this task onto her was the daunting
pile of urgent communiqués building. “I am in your debt, Vice-Admiral,” he
said, formality—and the clear obligations of duty—restored.
    o0o
    Jaim, once a corridor rat of Rifthaven and now sworn man
to Brandon vlith-Arkad, reflected that the Arkadic Enclave might look like an
old-fashioned villa designed for recluses, but there was nothing outdated about
the gymnasium beneath the main chambers.
    Since Brandon had cut their sparring practice short to meet
with a tailor that some nick had sent, Jaim used the time freed for a private
workout.
    It was there that the former Douloi neurosurgeon-chef who
called himself Montrose found him.
    Jaim was aware of the big man standing, fists on hips, as he
looked about with an appraising air. Jaim continued the two-sword kinesic
without missing a beat.
    Montrose, in his turn, took the opportunity to watch the
young engineer. Montrose had been worried about Jaim ever since the Telvarna had returned from their
triumphant raid on Arthelion to discover their secret moon base on Dis replaced
by an enormous crater in a moon cracked in half, and their other ship left as a
taunting abattoir. No one had survived.
    Including Jaim’s beloved Reth Silverknife.
    “Montrose?” Jaim asked.
    “Done?” Montrose asked.
    Jaim indicated the energy weapons. “I was going to run the
holo and do some shooting.”
    Montrose eyed Jaim, whose tight-leashed energy seemed
scarcely abated, though sweat dripped from the mourning chimes in his braided hair.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he said.
    “No need,” Jaim responded, as
Montrose had expected he would.
    “Well, I am,” Montrose continued
imperturbably. “Ever since Dis.”
    “I would worry about Vi’ya,” Jaim
said as he wiped down the swords and carefully replaced them. Beautiful
weapons—he wondered which old Arkad had had these made. “You know it’s always
bad when she goes silent. And Lokri. Locked away by the nicks under some kind
of death sentence. And Ivard, out of his mind from that Kelly ribbon.”
    “Ivard is in good hands. Or will
be, when the Kelly chirurgeons do whatever it is they do to get that ribbon of
their Archon’s out of his DNA. It looks like they think Ivard is stable enough
to endure it, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. But you . . .”
Montrose lifted a hand toward the ceiling. “You always prized your
independence, more than any of the crew. Yet here you are, shadowing young
Brandon. I’m not saying it’s wrong, or I wouldn’t be running his galley. I
agreed to it for my own amusement, and because the kitchen here is the best I
have ever seen. What chef could resist? But you. Is this where you want to be?”
    Jaim set the last weapon in the case, touched the control that
slid the swords back into the wall, and turned toward the door.
    Montrose persisted. “I can’t help noticing that you haven’t
been performing your Ulanshu rituals. Except for the fighting.”
    Jaim bowed his head, permitting the pulse of anger to fade
before he spoke. “I was once a Seeker of the Ulanshu Path. Now? I don’t know. I
won’t turn my back completely on the faith that Reth and I shared. To utterly
deny it would be to deny her.”
    Montrose tabbed the door open. “I don’t see that.”
    Jaim made a warding motion. “Perhaps because you never
understood.” He lifted his head, met Montrose’s gaze, and watched the impact in
the older man as he said, “Reth’s faith never faltered. Not even in the ugly
death Hreem the Faithless forced on her. I saw it. In little signs. She held to
the Flame to the