Shards of Hope

Chapter 63

SILVER MERCANT WAS loyal to her family.

It was at the core of every Mercant, that familial loyalty. “Politicians and kingmakers come and go but family is forever” had long been the family motto. That didn’t mean Mercants didn’t know how to be loyal to others, too. According to Silver’s grandmother, once, long ago, the Mercants had been the loyal knights of a king. Many had died in battle to save that king, until only a lone Mercant knight was left and the king’s enemies were slain.

“That was when we were given land on which to rebuild our family.”

Silver didn’t know if that was truth or old family legend, the time of kings so far in the distant past that she couldn’t imagine it. What she did know was that the gene for loyalty—if there was one—ran strong in her family line. So strong that once they gave their loyalty, it would take a cataclysm to break that bond. It was why they didn’t offer their allegiance lightly.

Kaleb Krychek had, however, earned it.

Not only had he kept his word in his dealings with the Mercants, Silver had watched him over a number of years and come to understand that Kaleb didn’t turn on those who’d given him their loyalty, even when the people in question broke or got hurt or were otherwise unable to perform their duties. He treated his people as if they had worth beyond temporary usefulness. She was in no doubt that he’d chosen her as his aide because she was a Mercant, but she also knew that had she proven bad at her job, she’d have been demoted without hesitation.

Instead, she’d been promoted to a position of sprawling responsibility, her task to act as the liaison between all three races in emergency situations. Her contacts—effectively Mercant contacts—had spread out across the world as a result of that promotion and had led to a decision that had never before been made in the past three generations.

Kaleb Krychek was now considered a Mercant.

Whether or not he was ever told of that decision remained Grandmother Mercant’s decision, but from this point forward, he’d be treated as a member of the family unit. They’d already given him their loyalty, but now, no matter how bad the situation, they would never abandon him, would fight for him and with him to the death. Family always stuck together. It was why the Mercants had survived where others had fallen.

“Sir,” she said, walking through the open doorway of his Moscow office an hour after Nikita Duncan was shot.

He wasn’t at his desk, but at the shelves on the far right wall, pulling out a hard-copy volume. She didn’t understand why he kept those volumes when he had a direct link to the PsyNet, but even lethally disciplined cardinals had their peccadilloes. “Silver,” he said. “Have you heard anything about Shoshanna or Ming on the grapevine?”

“Nothing beyond the obvious—financial maneuvers and political games to consolidate power.”

Moving away from the bookshelf, he said, “You wanted to speak to me.”

“The matriarch of my family has recalled something that happened eight months ago that might have some bearing on today’s events.”

“Nikita’s shooting?”

Silver inclined her head in the affirmative. “The matriarch was approached via anonymous channels and invited to join a small group of ‘visionaries’ who would nudge the world in the right direction.”

“Did Ena Mercant say yes?”

“Of course.” The Mercants liked information, and the best way to get information was to be in the thick of things. “But she was never again contacted. Her belief is that my connection to you was deemed too high a risk factor.”

“A pity,” Kaleb said, cardinal eyes thoughtful. “If she is approached again, please let her know I have no argument with her joining the group.”

“The matriarch wouldn’t take kindly to being given permission.” Kaleb was now family, and as such, he had to understand family.

“Ah.” Kaleb folded his arms. “In that case, ignore that last request. I appreciate the information.”

“Would you like me to see what I can dig up on Shoshanna and Ming?”

“Yes. It’s always better to be armed before heading into battle.”

That, too, was why Kaleb fit into the Mercant family: he wasn’t only powerful but mercilessly intelligent. “I’ll begin now.” Before leaving, she said, “Has there been an update on Nikita’s condition?”

Kaleb shook his head. “She remains in surgery. Tell Ena the Net may undergo a power shift if Nikita dies—and if the position does open up, there’s no one better placed to step in.”

“I agree, but grandmother doesn’t like the spotlight, and I believe she appreciates Nikita.” Silver had always thought it was because the two women were both at peace with their ruthless natures, and both as viciously loyal to their young. “I will, however, pass on the information.” The Net was already in turmoil after the shooting—Nikita’s death would disrupt things on the meta-level.

If the worst happened, the Mercants would make sure they were ready to ride the storm tides.

HAVING raced to San Francisco from Yosemite with Lucas at the wheel, Sascha ran into the hospital wing to find security blocking her way. They moved aside the instant they recognized her, and when she pushed through the doors with Lucas by her side, she saw Sophia Russo walking toward her. “Sophie,” she said to the woman who’d become Nikita’s right hand despite the fact that the ex J-Psy was in no way Silent.

Thanks to Sophia’s husband Max’s friendship with a member of DarkRiver, Sascha had come to know Sophia well, and to like her even more. This time, she’d thought, her mother had chosen someone both strong and loyal.

“The surgeons have the bleeding under control,” Sophia told her, coming forward to take Sascha’s hands in her own. Fine black gloves covered her skin to negate the possibility of skin contact, Sophia’s shields problematic as a result of the work she’d done scanning the minds of the vilest criminals. “They’re hopeful.”

Sascha held those words to her heart. “I never imagined I’d be here,” she said to her mate when Sophia went to get a glass of water. “I never thought my mother could get hurt, she’s so strong and ruthless.”

It wasn’t until some time after her defection from the PsyNet that Sascha had begun to understand that Nikita wasn’t as one-dimensional in her pursuit of power as Sascha had once believed. This past year, she’d consciously looked at Nikita’s history and realized that, while her mother had always liked power, she’d gone into hyperdrive twenty-nine and a half years ago.

After the birth of a cardinal E daughter who needed every protection her mother could provide.

It was Nikita who’d sent her the book that gave her some idea of the scope of her empathic abilities. And it was Nikita who’d made sure Sascha survived to adulthood in a world hostile to empaths. Nikita wasn’t “good,” would probably never be good, but she’d been as much of a mother to Sascha as she could be, given her own experiences and the state of the world while Sascha was growing up.

Lucas cuddled her close, his touch, his scent, the warmth of his body her own personal anchor. “One thing I know about your mom, kitten. She’s as tough as an old wolf. I figure she’s probably snarling at the surgeons right now.”

Surprised into a wet laugh, Sascha looked up when the doors opened again. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see the man on the other side. Her mother and Anthony Kyriakus had always spoken more than Nikita did with most other Psy. Sascha had never picked up a deeper emotional tie, but then, they both had titanium-strong shields. And both had come of age in Silence.

“Your mother,” Anthony said, “is she stable?”

“They’ve controlled the bleeding but she’s still in surgery.”

Not saying anything further, the head of PsyClan NightStar took a standing position not far from the doors, his hands behind his back and his patrician face set in expressionless lines. Yet Sascha was certain there was emotion within. His mere presence here confirmed it. That emotion wasn’t directed at only Nikita, either. This powerful and apparently Silent man hadn’t ever given up on his daughter, for one. Faith had left the PsyNet, but unlike Sascha, she’d never been cut off from her family unit. Anthony had kept her safe.

The same way Nikita had protected Sascha as a child. Nikita’s tactics hadn’t been maternal, hadn’t been gentle, but they had kept Sascha safe.

Don’t ever be anything but perfect, Sascha. This is the result of failure.

Nikita had taken Sascha to a rehabilitation center as a child, shown her the mindless husks of those who’d been psychically brainwiped. As a warning, it had been stark and merciless—and it had stuck. It was fear that had spurred Sascha to build intricate shields nothing could penetrate. “I love her, Lucas,” she whispered. “I think she did the best she could, given her own life experience.”

“It’s all right, kitten. You’re permitted to love her.”

“She’s not a good person.” Nikita had done terrible things, things that could never be forgiven.

Lucas’s hand curved over the side of her face and into her hair. “You can love someone while being aware of their flaws.” He shook his head, his green eyes suddenly panther-bright. “I hate that word, but it’s the only one that comes to mind.”

She knew the reason for his aversion to the word flaw. For so long, it had been used to describe Sascha—she’d used it to describe herself. “I can’t forgive her the horrible things she’s done . . . but I still love her.”

Sophia returned just as the doors to the operating suite opened.

“Councilor Duncan’s surgery was successful,” the white-haired surgeon said, using Nikita’s former title. “She’s currently being moved to a recovery room.”

Sascha’s heart thudded. “I’d like to see her.”

“We have to wait for her to wake. I’ve given her the prearranged psychic command passed on to me by her personal medic.”

“How long will the healing process take?” Sascha knew her mother; Nikita would hate being laid up, though she might not put it in those emotional terms.

“Because of the depth and nature of her injuries, we made the decision not to use fast-healing techniques. It’ll allow for a complete and more stable recovery, but it will take some time.”

Sascha thanked the surgeon for the information, then waited while he went to check on the state of Nikita’s consciousness. It was a half hour later that a nurse came to fetch Sascha. About to enter through the doors to the surgical ward, she paused and glanced over her shoulder at Anthony. I’ll tell her you’re here, she said after a polite telepathic knock. You’ll wait? It seemed important that he do that, that he not leave.

Yes.

Lucas walked into the surgical ward with her, checking Nikita’s room for threats before allowing her to step in. Closing his hand over hers when she would’ve gone in, he tugged her close. “Don’t feel guilty for loving her.” His own love for Sascha pulsed through the mating bond. “At this instant, she’s simply your mother and you’re her cub. That’s a bond that’s difficult to break.”

Turning her head to kiss his palm, Sascha took a deep, shaky breath and walked in.

GROGGY from the aftereffects of the deep sleep into which she’d put herself during the surgery, the pain from her wounds requiring her conscious attention to manage, it took Nikita’s eyes a full minute to zero in on the woman walking toward her. She didn’t, however, need the visual cue. She’d known who was at the door the instant it opened.

Sascha. The only child she had ever borne. The cardinal who everyone had told Nikita was flawed, but who she’d known was a power who could not be allowed to come into her own. To do so would equal her death. So she’d crushed her child, and in so doing, saved her life and forever lost her.

“Mother.” Sascha closed her hand over Nikita’s, her fingers warm.

The contact was jolting. Nikita rarely touched anyone, and she hadn’t touched Sascha in years. It was the way she’d been brought up to be, until nothing could alter the foundation of her nature. “Why are you here?” The words came out a croak.

Sascha didn’t let go, didn’t step back. “I wanted to see that you were all right.”

“Not safe.” Nikita had done everything in her power to disassociate herself from Sascha, to convince the world her child meant nothing to her, but Sascha’s presence here could negate all her careful groundwork. “Find you.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she’d betrayed too much, her brain yet sluggish.

Sascha’s hand tightened on hers. “I’m an empath, Mother,” she said softly. “I understand.”

Nikita met the white stars on black that was Sascha’s cardinal gaze and allowed herself to live fully in this moment when her daughter was with her and Nikita didn’t have to pretend she didn’t matter. “You are well?”

“Yes.” Sascha’s lips curved shakily. “The baby’s in good health, too—getting bigger every day. More mischievous, too. Yesterday, she smooshed her hand right into a chocolate mud cake after I turned my back for a minute. Had chocolate frosting all over her face.” A laugh that made her eyes fill with sparks of color. “Her mother’s daughter.”

No one could say that about Sascha. Where Nikita was hard, Sascha was gentle. Where Nikita’s conscience was a fluid thing that had led her to make decisions that ended lives and destroyed careers, Sascha would sacrifice her own life before harming another being. And where Nikita had shoved her child out into the darkness, Sascha would hold on tight to hers no matter what.

“Does your child look like a Duncan?” Nikita had seen visuals captured by photographers she’d contracted, but they were all from a distance.

Sascha nodded. “And a Hunter. She’s the best of both me and my mate.” A pause. “Would you like to meet her? I can bring her.”

“No. Not safe.” Nikita drew her hand away. “Go.”

Instead, Sascha touched her hand to her hair. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mother.” Leaving when Nikita said nothing, she closed the door behind her.

Expecting it to stay that way for a considerable period, she found it opening again within the span of two minutes, the man who entered familiar. Nikita felt her body stiffen. She was used to speaking to Anthony as an equal. Right now, she was vulnerable, weak. “Is there a problem the Coalition needs to handle?” she asked in an effort to gain the upper hand.

Anthony halted beside the bed. “No.” He scanned her with cool brown eyes that had always seemed to see right through her. “You’re in significant pain. Why are you conscious?”

“Do you really expect me to allow myself to be unconscious in an unfamiliar environment?” The only reason she’d put herself under during the surgery was that she knew Sophia and Max would make certain she had guards throughout. Those two might argue with her more often than they agreed, but they would also never stab her in the back.

Max and Sophia had integrity stamped on each and every cell in their bodies.

The trade-off of having to accommodate their viewpoints in her decisions, even when the accommodation equaled less profit or power, was worth it. Because there were very, very few people Nikita could trust in this world. She wasn’t about to discard two who had agreed to work with her on the proviso that they would immediately sever their contracts should she act against their conscience.

Who knew, after long enough under their influence, she might even become an honorable person. Like the man who stood looking down at her. Anthony was ruthless, but she knew he had never crossed the lines she had. He protected where she destroyed.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he said, voice hard. “Go under.”

Other than Max and Sophia, Nikita didn’t trust anyone to watch her back. Well, except for Sascha—her child didn’t have the killer gene. Anthony did. “Pain is nothing.”

“If I wanted to kill you,” he said, “all I’d have to do right now is rupture your healing wounds. You’re too weak to stop me.”

Nikita wanted to disagree, knew she was wrong. “Why did Sophia allow you in here?”

Anthony just looked at her.

Turning her head, Nikita stared at the wall . . . and then she closed her eyes and put herself under, where the pain didn’t stab at her.