Raised to Kill

The sacrificial blood smeared her all over, leaving traces Allara couldn’t wipe away, though she tried. She could feel the hot tears on her cheeks as clearly as she felt the Song Leaders’ words weaving into her brain, forcing her to acknowledge their power, and bend to their will.

You are bound, whispered a voice in her head. You must complete your mission.

It was the voice that sounded so like her aunt’s. Yet, when Allara came back to herself and looked up, she realized that the voice was echoing in her ears, not just her mind. Her Aunt had spoken the words and doomed her—just as she had stood by all those years ago, watching as a naked, frightened girl stood shivering while the Song Leaders forced her into a mold she didn’t want to fill.

“I didn’t want to,” Allara whispered, looking up at her aunt. “I never wanted to. I remember now—I must have blocked it out. You told me for years that I must kill my Kindred husband and I always refused until the ceremony at the Song House—until the Unbreakable Oath.”

“The Oath was thought by some to be unnecessary,” her aunt said sharply. “Now I am glad I insisted upon it. Go back to the Kindred Mother Ship, Allara, and fulfill your duty.”

“I—” Allara wanted to say that she would not do it, but somehow the words wouldn’t come to her lips. She tried again. “I…I…” But no more words would come out than that.

“Remember…” Her aunt pointed a finger at her. “Your soul is bound. Never will your Song be free. Complete the mission.”

Then the viewscreen went dark and her Aunt was gone. But in her head, Allara again heard the chants of the Song Leaders and felt the slimy, sacrificial blood on her bare skin…

“By the Oath Unbreakable we bind thee

For its power, stern and strong, will find thee

Your mission is to kill

Your task you must fulfill

Never shall your Song be free.

Thirty-Three

Brand was worried about his wife. Allara had barely spoken a word to him since the apparently disastrous viewscreen conference with her father and her aunt. Brand had been carefully out of earshot—he didn’t want to invade her privacy—but he’d heard some angry shouting on both sides and from the look on his wife’s face, things had not gone well.

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart,” he tried to apologize again as he landed the long-range shuttle in the Docking Bay of the Mother Ship. “I should have asked you before I put in a call to your family—I just thought it would be a nice surprise. I thought—”

“Never mind that, husband.” Her voice was wooden and she stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. “May we please go back to our suite now? I find myself much fatigued.”

“Of course we can, baby,” Brand said. Gods, it was worse than he’d thought—she wouldn’t even look at him! What could he possibly say or do to make up for his awful mistake?

Unfortunately, he had no idea. Apparently, he had screwed up big-time—as he had heard the humans say sometimes—and he had no idea how to make it right.

They got out of the ship and were heading for the suite when he heard someone call his name. Looking up, he saw Commander Sylvan waving to them from across the Docking Bay.

“Look, sweetheart, I need to talk to Commander Sylvan,” he told Allara, who still had her head down and was being uncharacteristically silent. “Do you want to say ‘hi’ to him too?”

“I would prefer to go back to our suite, husband,” she said in a low, toneless voice. “I am, as I said, much fatigued.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Can you find the way yourself?” Brand asked anxiously.

When she nodded, he bent down to kiss her cheek. Allara didn’t pull away, but she didn’t return the kiss either. She just stared silently down at her feet, as though waiting for him to be finished.

When Brand straightened up, she turned and left without another word or a single glance behind her.

Brand watched her go, his face twisted in a worried frown.

“Is everything all right, Brand? Is your new bride ill?”

Commander Sylvan’s voice brought him back to himself and he looked up to see that his commanding officer was standing right in front of him.

“I don’t think so, Commander—at least, not physically.” Brand sighed unhappily.

“Then what’s the problem, if you don’t mind me asking.” Sylvan raised an eyebrow. “Was it something that happened on Darden Three?”

“Darden Three? Oh, no—no, Darden Three was wonderful,” Brand told him. “Clearly an excellent alliance for the Kindred. We were treated cordially and the Prime Minister has even asked that we send a permanent Kindred ambassador to live there.” He shook his head. “I envy whoever gets that job.”

“It sounds like the first diplomatic mission went perfectly, then,” Sylvan said. “Am I to understand it was the second mission that went amiss?”