16. Kaelus #4
“No. For the males of Titus Four don’t have a savage bone in their bodies anymore.” Sendar sounded regretful—as though the fact that the males of his planet no longer savaged the females was a pity and a shame. What was wrong with the male?
Kaelus stepped away from the chair, glad to put distance between himself and it.
Sendar watched him for a moment.
“You are very protective of your Clair, are you not?”
Kaelus looked at him sharply.
“She is my wife. It is my responsibility to guard her.”
Sendar nodded.
“I was once protective of my wife too,” he said softly.
Kaelus remembered their conversation the day before.
“Galandra,” he said.
Sendar’s expression changed immediately. His shoulders slumped and sorrow settled over his features with almost theatrical speed.
“Ah yes—my dear Galandra.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Kaelus said stiffly.
Sendar nodded.
“Thank you.”
“What happened to her?”
Kaelus hadn’t intended to ask so directly, but something about the other male’s grief bothered him. It seemed false somehow—put on like a convenient costume.
Sendar sighed.
“It was a terrible accident—she drowned.”
Kaelus frowned.
“In open water?” He hadn’t seen many large bodies of water since they’d been here.
Sendar shook his head.
“No. In our bathing pool.”
For a moment Kaelus simply stared.
“She drowned in a bath?” It seemed really improbable, though he supposed it could happen.
Sendar nodded sadly.
“She was exhausted the night it happened. Galandra worked here in the Archive as well. She had become rather obsessed with some very old records and had been staying late night after night. She was having difficulty sleeping, so she had begun taking a mild calming draught before bed.”
Something cold moved through Kaelus’s gut.
“And then?”
“One evening I was working late. She went home before me, took her draught, and apparently decided to bathe.” Sendar looked down. “When I returned, I found her beneath the water.”
Kaelus was silent. On any other world, it would have sounded like a tragic accident. On Titus Four it sounded wrong.
Every male on this planet seemed unable to let his wife cross a room without making certain she was safe and comfortable.
Varell watched Maera as though she was the center of his universe.
Husbands carried their wives’ burdens, tasted their food, walked beside them, kissed them before leaving, and practically built their entire lives around keeping their goddesses protected.
And Sendar’s exhausted wife had been taking a substance to make her sleep—then climbing alone into a bathing pool while her husband remained at work?
Kaelus couldn’t imagine Varell allowing Maera to do such a thing. He couldn’t imagine himself allowing Clair to do it either.
That realization troubled him almost as much as Sendar’s story.
“I am surprised you left her alone if she was taking a calming medication,” he said carefully.
Sendar’s eyes flashed.
“It was perfectly safe. Thousands of people use such draughts.”
“I did not say it wasn’t.” Kaelus lifted his hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture.
“Then what are you implying?” the other male demanded.
“Nothing.”
Kaelus studied him.
“What records was she working on?”
Sendar’s mouth tightened.
“As I said—old ones. Pre-Accord medical histories. Ancient viral samples. Records of the Savage Period.”
Kaelus’s pulse quickened.
“The same period I just asked to access,” he remarked, keeping his voice neutral.
Sendar nodded.
“An unfortunate coincidence.”
Kaelus did not believe in unfortunate coincidences.
“What was Galandra looking for?” he asked.
Sendar shrugged.
“I honestly have no idea.”
“But you said she was obsessed with the records.”
“She became convinced there were inconsistencies in some of the historical data.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?” Kaelus asked.
Sendar shrugged.
“She never explained it clearly.”
“Did you ask?”
“Of course.” Sendar frowned.
“And?” Kaelus prodded. There must be more to this story than Sendar was telling.
For the first time, genuine irritation flickered across the other male’s face.
“She could be very stubborn when she became fixed on an idea,” he snapped.
Then his irritation vanished almost instantly.
“My apologies. I should not speak ill of the dead. She was brilliant and passionate. I miss her every day.”
Kaelus stared at him. The words were correct. The expression was correct. Even the slight shimmer of moisture in Sendar’s metallic eyes was correct. And yet something felt wrong—felt off.
He thought about Sendar saying Galandra had become obsessed. He’d said that she was stubborn—fixed on an idea she refused to let go of.
Kaelus had the sudden uncomfortable impression that Sendar’s greatest grief might not be that his wife had died…it might be that she had refused to stop asking questions before she did.
He had no evidence—only instinct. But Kindred instincts existed for a reason and were seldom wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Sendar nodded.
“Thank you. Shall we return to our work?”
Kaelus nodded.
“Of course.”
They left the old containment chamber, though Kaelus looked back once before the heavy metal door closed behind them. For some reason, the sight of those ancient restraint chairs remained with him.
He hoped he would never see them again.