Heart of Obsidian

He had no windows like that in his room at the remote training facility where he lived, and logic said it made the office vulnerable to attack, but the design also had good points. The biggest was that it gave Anthony an uninterrupted view of the main gates that guarded the sprawling compound that housed most of the PsyClan NightStar.

In the reports that Santano had given Kaleb to read as part of his political studies, it said that “strong familial loyalty” was a characteristic NightStar trait. Kaleb had no family, hadn’t understood the concept of loyalty the first time he’d read about it—but after researching it, he’d realized it meant being connected to someone who would care if he lived or died, someone who would fight for and with him, someone who didn’t want to hurt him.

He had never experienced any of those things.

“Shall we begin?” Santano said to Anthony, placing a datapad on the desk between them. “I brought a copy of the relevant files.”

“A moment.” Anthony glanced at the small girl who stood in the main doorway, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Please show Kaleb around the grounds, Sahara.”

Kaleb didn’t move, even when Anthony nodded at him in silent permission. He knew Santano wouldn’t allow him to interact with anyone outside of the Tk’s control—Kaleb didn’t have to be an adult to know it was all part of his trainer’s strategy to break him down, erase his will. It was the same reason the other Tk had burned a large part of Kaleb’s back minutes before they teleported to the NightStar compound.

It had been—was—excruciatingly painful, but Kaleb hadn’t made a sound, his expression impassive. He’d learned long ago never to react; that only fed the ugliness that lived inside Councilor Santano Enrique, an ugliness no one else ever seemed to see.

“That child,” the other cardinal now said, after a dismissive look at the girl in the doorway, “is too young to provide conversation that will in any way interest Kaleb. He can remain.”

Kaleb waited for Anthony to back down. Everyone did. Santano was a Councilor, while Anthony was merely the head of a family.

Except Anthony, his tone as firm as his gaze, said, “I don’t conduct business with children present. We can schedule another appointment next month to discuss the forecasting services required by your company.”

Rather than rising to make an immediate departure, Santano steepled his fingers and turned his head toward Kaleb. “Go. Behave yourself.” A wrenching tug on the psychic leash around Kaleb’s mind, the compulsions that kept him silent about Santano’s perversions in full effect.

Ignoring the additional pain, Kaleb walked to the door and into the compound with the girl called Sahara. They were in the hydroponic vegetable garden when she suddenly said, “My father’s an M. We can go see him.”

Kaleb froze. “Why?”

Sahara’s face held an expression he recognized as concern, but she said, “He has interesting scanners in his office,” and he knew it for a ruse to get him to the medical center.

“I’ve seen medical scanners before.” It was an answer forced out by the compulsions.

Searching his face, Sahara finally nodded, “Okay,” and carried on.

It wasn’t until ten minutes later that he realized she’d slowed the pace and ignored at least one slope . . . because she knew he was wounded. No one else had ever done anything to help him and he didn’t understand why she did, what she expected to gain.

“There’s fish in the pond,” she said at the end of the tour. “Do you want to see?”

Kaleb nodded to delay his return to the office . . . and to extend his time with this girl who saw his pain when no one else did. “Why was this created?” he asked once they reached the large pond bordered with smooth rocks.

Sahara knelt down beside him with a slight betraying movement of her shoulders that said she’d been about to shrug. “I heard Father say it was an ‘approved meditation aid,’” she said, her khaki-colored pants wet by a droplet of water as she dipped her hand in the pond and swirled. “The F-Psy who live here use it.”

“Are you an F?” he asked, echoing her movements in the water.

“Not really.” Nothing in her said she was troubled by her lack of status in a family so well-known for its foreseers. “I’m subdesignation B. That means I have backsight.”

Flicking her hand dry, she looked at him with eyes of a deep, distinctive blue vivid against the thick black of hair contained in two neat braids. “What are you?”

“A Tk.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes shining. “Can you do any tricks?”

Accessing the part of his telekinesis that Santano hadn’t strangled when he wrenched the leash, Kaleb thought about what Sahara might consider a good trick and lifted her small body off the ground.

Eyes wide when she realized she was floating, she stood up and, after glancing furtively around, jumped up and down on the cushion of air, the sun sparking off hidden strands of red-gold in her hair. Waiting until she’d sat back down and was stable, he lowered her gently to the grass.