“That nest parent gifted you with an heirloom, a blade that is more important to my people than life, more precious than the hatchlings he was prepared to die protecting. You spared him. Do you not recall it?”

  Oh, God. Yes. Yes, I recall it, Felix lowered her hands from where they had been cupped beneath her chin, and set them on the surface of the desk, using the faint warmth of the feregaw to steady her. It helped, but not enough. She had not told Medical of the flash backs, had not warned Mika she walked the knife-edge of sanity where her time in the forests of Aquapearl sometimes swept reality from around her, taking her back. Back to a time of blood and war, and a sorrow—truly, immense sorrow.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, but she was no longer speaking to the lizardine diplomat sitting in her office. She was looking into the eyes of a lizardine elder and nest parent. She had found him, and the half dozen hatchlings he had been trying to hide from the slaughter.

  “You do not have to admit to finding us,” the elder had said, holding the sword between them, but not in defense. He held it across his body, the blade resting lightly against one palm. “You could lower the hatch and none would be the wiser. My grandchildren do not have to die in this war.”

  One of the hatchlings squeaked in terror at his words, and Captain Felicity Jones had found herself hushing it in unison with the elder, hushing also the hatchling who had rattled head spikes defiantly as it growled at her.

  The irony was that the elder was right. She had found them, and to announce her discovery to the rest of her squad would result in the elder and his young dying—easy just to lob a grenade into the pit with them, slam the lid shut seconds before it blew. Nothing left but jam and lizards’ innards, nothing to reveal how young, and old, the victims were. It would have been easy, and so very, very wrong. Apart from the archaic weapon in its hands, the elder was not armed, and the young were too small to have talons. They were defenseless, and not part of the fighting—protected under interplanetary law.

  Felix had lowered the covering and walked away.

  “All clear,” she’d said, and her squad had believed her. Her abilities were without fault. Mercy was not a quality any had reason to suspect of her.

  She had woken that night to find the lizardine elder crouched beside her bed. A taloned hand over her mouth had been all she could see as he drove the hollowed spike into her shoulder, close enough to her heart to make it look like a miss, deep enough to make the Medics believe she was lucky to survive.

  The drug that entered her bloodstream had been designed to paralyze rather than kill. She’d had enough time to wrap her hands around his wrist before her limbs had seized into immobility. He had carried her away, propped her against the latrines and given her a message, while the rest of his troops had slaughtered the butchers she had not been able to restrain.

  Another lizardine’s touch brought her back to her home world, as she repeated the words the elder had said.

  “Mercy begets mercy. For my life, and the lives of my heirs, I return yours.”

  Felix twisted under Mika’s grip, crying out as remembered agony flared from the healed wound in her thigh. The elder had driven a barbed spear through that as he spoke. Her cry had mingled with the screams of her dying colleagues.

  “I cannot allow you to remain a threat to my people, so remember, mercy begets obligation. As you have saved my race, I now give you the chance to save yours.” He allowed her to see him, dropping the blend under a clear sky as dawn came, then drew the blade across his arm, staining it with his blood before laying it across her chest, and bending her arm so he could wrap her hand around its hilt.

  Torn between memory and the reality of her office, Felix again repeated his words, “This blade is not yours to keep. It is in your custody so that my child”—Felix stumbled over the word, corrected herself—“my heir”—it translated as ‘the one who carries my blood and the right to rule’—“can know with whom to negotiate.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “You will not be able to see the blade, but you will know it is there. Keep it as secret as you are able, and keep it safe until he can retrieve it. When the time comes that you need to see it, or those of us who are blended, drink of this, but only when my heir has come. The change is permanent.”

  “Forgive me.” Mika’s voice called her away from that distant night. “I did not know he had done this. I will bring you tea.”

  Felix wanted to protest, to say that it was she who should be bringing the tea, as he was her guest, but she couldn’t. As always, even though her mind was aware she was home and safe, her body took a little longer to convince. She continued to stare straight ahead, not moving as Mika crossed her vision, returning with a tray bearing a pot and two cups.

  Setting his burden on the desk top, he looked down at Felix. She wanted to turn her head to acknowledge him, but couldn’t; the memory held her in its thrall. The elder had set off the distress beacon at her belt and disappeared back into the forested gullies and foothills that were his home. He had yet to be found.

  “Your grandfather”—‘the one from which your authority flows and who bears the weight of rulership’—“does he live?”

  Mika found a jacket she’d left draped over a bookcase and placed it around her shoulders.

  “He will depart soon.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. You gave his old age purpose, and he will see it fulfilled. It is I who am sorry.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, and his words became formal. “Will you return what has been placed in your keeping?”

  This time, Felix managed to raise her hand from the desk and place it over his own.

  “Yes, but first I must drink what was given for this time.”

  “You don’t know where it is?” There was astonishment in Mika’s tones.

  “I used the flashbacks to help me hide it.”

  “But why?”

  Felix did not wish to tell him how close she came to losing the heirloom, but she did. She explained about the medic who unwrapped her hands from the hilt and laid it carefully aside, thinking she had merely snatched a weapon from her opponents and been lucky, sure the lizardine had run when she’d set the beacon off. If she had not struggled so hard to find it, he would not have lain it carefully beside her as the evac team took her out.

  Another medic had felt it, and tried to take it away, but Felix had broken his wrist in what had appeared to be a fit of manic fury, and he had not returned before she’d called in a favor from a high-ranking friend and had them take it home for her. ’Diplomatic immunity’ was a magical phrase.

  She’d used the flashbacks to hide it so she couldn’t reveal where it was hidden, even if someone seeking it used drugs or probes to ask her. Nothing in the flashbacks could be relied on.

  “But where is it now?”

  Instead of answering, Felix rose slowly to her feet and took a decorative flask from one of the shelves. It looked delicate, but wasn’t. Temenwood was also known as fake lapis lazuli, and was so common that the flask had been considered a trinket, heavy, impractical, nothing more than a memento. It had suited Felix to let them believe it.

  She sat down and broke the seal.

  “Can you see your people when they blend?” she asked.

  Mika looked startled.

  “No. It is what makes the skill so long-lived. It was a defense against each other as well as outsiders.”

  “Would you like to?”

  He looked at her, staring into her eyes as though he might find a hidden truth. Felix returned his gaze and raised the flask to her lips. She took several large swallows, expecting bitterness, or something acid. Instead, she tasted water touched with honey and something else she couldn’t define.

  Waiting for it to work was always the worst. She might have hidden the blade, but she hadn’t been fully conscious when she had. All she knew was that it was in the office, and that she still could not see it. It was the best defense against mind scans. Anyone venturing into that part of her mind was more likely to trigger an episode than find the truth. And, even if they did find the truth, they wouldn’t be able to tell it apart from the nightmares. Perfect.

  Unless she had to find what she had hidden.

  “Drink,” she said. “I doubt your grandfather would give me poison.”

  The look on Mika’s face said he wasn’t so sure, but he took the flask, anyway, hesitating just before it touched his lips.

  “It’s too late, now,” Felix said. “I have already shared your cup.”

  With a wrinkle of his upper lip that indicated irony, Mika drank, taking the same number of swallows as Felix had.

  “Blend for me,” she asked, to pass the time. “At least I will know if it works, then.”

  Mika faded from view, and Felix sighed. He stayed blended as she asked, and they ate dinner, but she still could not see him, so he contented himself with sliding in and out of sight as he sat opposite her.

  “Where are you staying?” Felix asked, and Mika was affronted.