Steelflower felt it through him, mind to mind, her hand on him. To mingle life was a primal intimacy. So had the First Queens fed, mind to mind and heart to heart. So might any demand the life of their blades, life given back to favorites as profound sharing. So might brothers in spirit.
That was what he had given Sheppard — full life taken and restored, as brother to brother. That was what he gave the Fair One.
She coughed, and her body shook. Hair like ripe grain again, her cheeks full and pink. Her eyes opened. The memory of pain was in them even as life flowed through her veins, even as he withdrew his claws, skin closing to faint white lines against her flesh.
“Jennifer! Jennifer, can you hear me?” Steelflower’s voice was low and urgent, her other hand rising to rest against the Fair One’s neck, checking the pulse there. “Jennifer?”
And then knowledge flooded through her. She turned her head and coughed, sweat breaking out on her forehead, her face against Steelflower’s hand. “It didn’t work,” she whispered.
“It did not,” Guide said, and his voice was heavy.
“Jennifer?” Steelflower turned her face gently. “Can you see me?”
“Yes.” Her voice was thready, but her eyes fastened upon Steelflower readily enough. “It didn’t work.”
“That is not important right now,” the queen said, and there was anger in her voice. “What is important is that you live.”
“I…”
“I fed your life back to you,” Guide explained. “As I did for Colonel Sheppard, time and ago. Like him, you will live. And in time it will trouble you as little as it does him.”
“It didn’t work.” She closed her eyes.
“It did not,” Steelflower said. She turned her eyes to Guide. “What does she need?”
“Rest,” Guide said. “It is shock. Nothing more. All the life that was hers has been restored to her, every year. I have kept nothing.”
Steelflower’s eyes were hard. “I see that you did not.”
Guide spread his hands and let her see the truth in his mind. He had held nothing back, no more than with Sheppard. And yet this defeat was bitterness in his throat. He reached down again and saw the Fair One flinch.
*What do you do?* Steelflower demanded in his mind.
“I would merely carry her to her chamber,” he said aloud. “So that she may lie down in comfort and rest.” His eyes went to Steelflower. “Unless you would rather carry her.” Queen she might be, but she had only a human’s strength, and the Fair One was taller and heavier.
“Carry her,” Steelflower said. “Come, Jennifer. We will put you to bed. You will lie down and sleep to regain your strength.”
He half expected the Fair One to argue, but she did not, only closed her eyes like a tired child and he lifted her up as though she were one in truth. Steelflower went ahead of them through the halls, doors opening before her, to the rooms they shared as though they were sisters. He laid her on the bed and she curled into a knot, her face tight.
“Sleep,” Steelflower said, and laid her hand against her hair. “I will not go away.”
The Fair One nodded, but she did not speak, her eyes closed.
*Come,* Steelflower said mind to mind, and she drew him away, to the other side of a fall of cloth that screened the sleeping chamber, her hand on his wrist.
*I did as I promised,* Guide said, for he did not like the anger he felt in her. *You know that I have not played you false.*
*I know,* she said, and her eyes slid away from his. *It is not that.* Her head dipped, and for a moment she looked like a young queen in truth, faced with first darkness as anyone will be.
*What then?* Guide asked more gently.
*It is only that I had stopped hating you.*
*Only that.* Guide turned his hand in hers, palm to palm. *That is a small thing.*
*It does not work,* she said.
*It does not work this time,* he replied. *It would be unusual if it did. These things take much work. Next time…*
“There will not be a next time,* Steelflower said, and her voice was sharp. *Is that what you propose? To do this to her again and again?*
*I had suggested some other…* he began.
*You sicken me.*
*Yes.* He willed her to meet his eyes and she did. *But tell me you have never killed, Teyla Emmagan.*
She turned her face away, and he knew it was not he she hated. *There will be no second trial,* she said. *I will not be a party to this. I will not let you kill her and revive her again and again, as though you were her torturer. I am taking her back to Atlantis to Dr. Beckett’s care.*
He felt the diamond-hard edges of her mind and he nodded slowly, knowing there was no challenge that would persuade her. *As you will, My Queen.*
Chapter Twenty-two
The Things You Leave Behind
Ronon Dex was a tough guy. Mel had watched him knock down three Marines in the gym, and she was impressed. She thought pretty much everyone was. And so the last place she expected to find him was sticking out from under a couch in one of Atlantis’ TV lounges, muttering and grumbling. She’d been looking for a place that wasn’t in use to watch a DVD, seeing as how the poker game had lost its luster. She would have just moved along if it hadn’t been for the muffled yelp. What in the hell was he doing?
“Is there a problem?” Mel asked.
Ronon righted himself, or at least looked up scowling. “It’s Keller’s cat,” he said. “I told her I’d feed the thing while she was gone, but it got away from me. I can’t get it out from under there.”
“Keller’s cat?” She hadn’t known pets were allowed in Atlantis, and they probably weren’t. But everywhere people went in the service they found pets. Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia, Kosovo — there was always a stray dog sleeping under somebody’s cot, a guy with a couple of raggedy kittens that he fussed over. Anywhere they were settled for very long there were pets, babies, or both.
“Yeah.” Ronon glared at the couch. “It’s name is Newton.” There were deep scratches on his left forearm, evidence of previous attempts to extract the cat. Probably some rough old mouser Keller had started feeding, mostly feral and untrusting.
Mel put down her DVD. “Let me have a try,” she said. “I’m kind of a cat person.”
“Watch it,” Ronon said, stepping back. “It goes for the eyes.”
Mel lay down on her stomach, turning her head sideways to glance under the low couch. Right in the middle, unreachable from both sides, a half grown Siamese kitten looked at her appraisingly, sitting like a tiny sphinx with its paws neatly folded.
Ok, not an old mouser. A kitten with too much energy to stay shut up all day.
“Hi Newton,” Mel said. “You about ready to come out from under there and play?”
The kitten meowed back discontentedly. Yep, a Siamese all right. Ready to talk about its woes.
Mel fished in her pocket and produced a ball point pen. “Hey Newton. Look. Shiny thing!” She wiggled it back and forth in front of Newton, just out of reach of its paws. “Shiny, shiny, shiny thing!”
Newton looked at her with an expression that stated louder than words that he was much too smart to fall for a trick like that. And then did anyway. He batted at the pen, missing as Mel pulled it back.
“Not quite. Try again.”
Four or five tries, four or five times the pen retreated, and then she had her hand on the scruff of its neck and backed out, standing up with Newton dangling from one hand. “Got him.”
Ronon looked astonished. Even more so when she grabbed him with the other hand, holding him against her chest while he chewed on the end of the pen, which didn’t turn out to taste good at all. “How’d you do that?”