Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

“Yes. Why did you come up here when you know it’s out of bounds?”

His eyes flickered, frown lines forming between them. “I wanted to see the houses from here. Aden told us we’re going to live in them.”

“Come stand next to me.”

His steps were hesitant, his shoulders hunched in. Yet he came, though he could’ve ’ported away. Zaira didn’t like that indication of how his spirit had already been so crushed, but those wounds would take time to heal. And they would, she vowed. Tavish and the other children had a chance, had hope.

Thinking of how her body, her spirit, had soaked in Aden’s touch, how little Jojo had flowered under affectionate contact, she put a hand on Tavish’s shoulder. He flinched and her rage at what had been done to him was a violent roar in her skull. Holding it inside because Tavish didn’t need more violence, she pointed out the layout of the homes being built, how they connected to one another via the pathways being laid even now, and how the central area was to be left open as a gathering point.

There were no military straight rows, the houses set in small groupings instead, the pathways between them curving lines.

“No final decisions have been made on the individual elements in the communal space,” she said, “but there will be a playground, along with trees to climb and provide shade.”

Tavish’s face lit from within before he shot her a scared look and stifled his innocent joy.

Zaira realized at that instant that she hated seeing fear on a child’s face when he looked at her. How had her parents not felt the same?

“You must have control because you are a Tk,” she said with a conscious effort at gentleness. As she could permanently damage or suffocate an opponent’s brain, the harsh fact was that Tavish could break someone’s spine with a thoughtless tantrum or an accidental slip.

His face fell, water gleaming in his eyes. “I know. My father said I was too dangerous to be around my sister.” A hiccuping breath. “I didn’t mean for the wood to hit her and hurt her. I was just practicing.”

Zaira went down on her haunches. “I believe you,” she said. “But I want to tell you that Aden has been speaking with Vasic, Abbot, and Judd.” He’d also met with Stefan, a Tk who’d broken Silence not long after the first high-profile defections from the Net, but managed to keep it a secret. “They all say that control doesn’t have to mean a complete lack of emotion. It means learning to be aware of the effect of strong emotions on your Tk so you can throttle it back before it slips the leash.”

Seeing the wide-eyed and uncomprehending expression on Tavish’s face, Zaira realized she was speaking at too high a level for his childish mind. She changed her approach, ran her hand over his hair. “It means you’re allowed to be happy or excited.” Allowed to be a child. “You must simply never forget your abilities—as a changeling cub can never forget his claws or teeth during play.”

This time, the frown was deep. “I’ll be punished for showing feelings.”

“No, you won’t.” Never again would an Arrow child be hurt for simply being. “You will be punished for violating the boundaries, but only because those boundaries are there for your safety.”

He flinched again, brownish hazel eyes stark and skin going white beneath his slight sunburn. “Oh.”

And Zaira realized she had to answer Aden’s question right now: How did you punish a psychically powerful child? Especially a child who, as yet, had no privileges in his life, and thus couldn’t lose them? Yet to allow this infraction to go unpunished would set a bad precedent—Tavish needed these boundaries, needed rules to follow so he’d learn the necessary psychic and personal discipline.

It was the lack of such conscious discipline that had led to powerful Psy accidentally killing in the time prior to Silence. While the Protocol had been a mistake in many ways, in this the architects of Silence had been correct: psychic discipline had to be ingrained in childhood, until by the time the children reached adult age, they would temper their powers automatically.

Zaira had to get that across without further breaking this small boy’s spirit.

“Your punishment is to be this,” she said, knowing she was probably doing the wrong thing, but unwilling to leave him in painful suspense until someone better qualified had the time to handle the situation. “Go far enough back that you can no longer see the view, then sit down on the ground with your legs crossed.”

Quickly accessing the boy’s files by using the small organizer she had in her pocket, she saw he had consistently low grades in science subjects. “While you’re sitting there, you have to write an extra paper on one of these three topics.” She handed him the organizer to use, the three topics listed at the top of the open page. “I also want you to think about why you shouldn’t have teleported out of bounds.”

Giving her a dumbfounded look, Tavish bent his head to the organizer. It was a bare three minutes later that he looked up. “Can I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to hurt me?”

The question made her rage roar red-hot. “The rules have altered,” she said when she could breathe past it. “Pain isn’t always the answer.”

“Oh.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Aden walked up to the clifftop and glanced at Tavish, who was frowning as he painstakingly wrote his essay, Zaira telepathed Aden an explanation of events. Did I make a mistake? Had she done damage when she wanted only to help?