strands in Sentinel Anna Dabarrah's waist-long hair glimmered by candlelight. Anna frowned deeply and answered, "Even if they offered to help, the Fed-eracy would refuse. No one would work alongside a Shuhr search team, even if they honestly didn't harm your daughters—and I doubt that."
Carradee had let Netaia's Federate governor send Iarla and Kessaree to safety on another world, but they never arrived. Not knowing their late . . . that was the hardest part. Even now, Federate teams were searching for them.
She pursed her lips. This candlelit dinner table stood near the sanctuary's underground lake, and her husband's mobility chair had been pulled close by. A student-apprentice Sentinel, a sekiyr, cut Prince Daithi's umi steak into small bites. Daithi worked manfully to spear them with a fork attached to his hand splint, talcing obvious joy in keeping up with his nephews' physical development. Carradee no longer worried whether he would recover from his injuries.
Mouth full, he didn't respond to Anna, so Carradee stared out over the underground lake. Forced to abdicate in favor of her vanished daughter, she'd slid gratefully into the sanctuary's pastoral lifestyle. Sometimes Hesed House seemed far more elegant than the palace where she'd grown up.
When she arrived here, she hadn't understood why even the evil Shuhr would attack her innocent daughters. She'd learned so much since then, about the Shuhr . . . and her sister Phoena.
The events that followed Phoena's departure from Netaia—the explosion that injured Carradee and nearly killed Daithi, their daughters' disappearance—supported only one theory. Phoena had tried to enlist Shuhr help in a grab for the throne. According to what Brennen's captors told him, though he couldn't remember witnessing it, Phoena had paid for her crimes in agony.
The Shuhr must not be believed or trusted. What had she been thinking? No wonder Rogonin deposed her. "Carradee the Kind," she'd been called, and "Carradee the Good."
"Carradee the Hopeful Romanticist" might be a better title. She arranged a cloth serviette on her lap. One of the Shuhr's announced fields of study was genetic research, and Firebird had proved that one of the Sentinels' distant relatives married into the Angelo line, several generations back. So maybe the Shuhr—
Not even the healing blocks that Master Dabarrah had graciously placed on her grief could strengthen her to finish that thought. She could not envision her precious daughters as research specimens. She would not rest until someone found them. A demand for information had been sent to Three Zed but not answered.
Master Dabarrah leaned over the table. Carradee had grown quickly to respect this psi-medical specialist. He and Mistress Anna supervised Hesed's student-apprentice Sentinels, who in turn helped Carradee care for Daithi and her nephews. This was all the realm she really wanted.
Daithi swallowed his mouthful, then spoke up. "'Dee, Mistress Anna is correct. The Shuhr would be no help. Let the Federates keep their promise. They will find whatever clues can be found." Daithi's diction had almost normalized, thanks to Master Jenner's treatments. He and Carradee often read to each other from the Sentinels' holy book, Mattah. That way, they could research their host family's faith while he practiced enunciating.
Back on Netaia, after being injured, Daithi had been under electoral pressure to suicide, leaving Carradee free to marry again. Saving him had been her justification for abdicating. Here, without the pressure to conceive more heirs, they could celebrate each day's millimeter of progress.
Seated on her other side, in side-by-side transport chairs, the Caldwell twins were reaching for bread bits but not quite grasping them— Kiel's fair hair fluffed on one side and Kinnor with a smear of bread crumbs along one flushed cheek. Carradee nudged a bread bit closer to Kiel, who promptly mashed it, then mouthed his hand.
"You're right, of
Carradee had let Netaia's Federate governor send Iarla and Kessaree to safety on another world, but they never arrived. Not knowing their late . . . that was the hardest part. Even now, Federate teams were searching for them.
She pursed her lips. This candlelit dinner table stood near the sanctuary's underground lake, and her husband's mobility chair had been pulled close by. A student-apprentice Sentinel, a sekiyr, cut Prince Daithi's umi steak into small bites. Daithi worked manfully to spear them with a fork attached to his hand splint, talcing obvious joy in keeping up with his nephews' physical development. Carradee no longer worried whether he would recover from his injuries.
Mouth full, he didn't respond to Anna, so Carradee stared out over the underground lake. Forced to abdicate in favor of her vanished daughter, she'd slid gratefully into the sanctuary's pastoral lifestyle. Sometimes Hesed House seemed far more elegant than the palace where she'd grown up.
When she arrived here, she hadn't understood why even the evil Shuhr would attack her innocent daughters. She'd learned so much since then, about the Shuhr . . . and her sister Phoena.
The events that followed Phoena's departure from Netaia—the explosion that injured Carradee and nearly killed Daithi, their daughters' disappearance—supported only one theory. Phoena had tried to enlist Shuhr help in a grab for the throne. According to what Brennen's captors told him, though he couldn't remember witnessing it, Phoena had paid for her crimes in agony.
The Shuhr must not be believed or trusted. What had she been thinking? No wonder Rogonin deposed her. "Carradee the Kind," she'd been called, and "Carradee the Good."
"Carradee the Hopeful Romanticist" might be a better title. She arranged a cloth serviette on her lap. One of the Shuhr's announced fields of study was genetic research, and Firebird had proved that one of the Sentinels' distant relatives married into the Angelo line, several generations back. So maybe the Shuhr—
Not even the healing blocks that Master Dabarrah had graciously placed on her grief could strengthen her to finish that thought. She could not envision her precious daughters as research specimens. She would not rest until someone found them. A demand for information had been sent to Three Zed but not answered.
Master Dabarrah leaned over the table. Carradee had grown quickly to respect this psi-medical specialist. He and Mistress Anna supervised Hesed's student-apprentice Sentinels, who in turn helped Carradee care for Daithi and her nephews. This was all the realm she really wanted.
Daithi swallowed his mouthful, then spoke up. "'Dee, Mistress Anna is correct. The Shuhr would be no help. Let the Federates keep their promise. They will find whatever clues can be found." Daithi's diction had almost normalized, thanks to Master Jenner's treatments. He and Carradee often read to each other from the Sentinels' holy book, Mattah. That way, they could research their host family's faith while he practiced enunciating.
Back on Netaia, after being injured, Daithi had been under electoral pressure to suicide, leaving Carradee free to marry again. Saving him had been her justification for abdicating. Here, without the pressure to conceive more heirs, they could celebrate each day's millimeter of progress.
Seated on her other side, in side-by-side transport chairs, the Caldwell twins were reaching for bread bits but not quite grasping them— Kiel's fair hair fluffed on one side and Kinnor with a smear of bread crumbs along one flushed cheek. Carradee nudged a bread bit closer to Kiel, who promptly mashed it, then mouthed his hand.
"You're right, of
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