Graydon chuckled. "Never. You're invested in protecting yourself and others. There's no shame in that."
That seemed like a nice way of saying something inside of Kira was broken.
"Do you know what separates an oshota from a sword?" Graydon asked.
"No."
And not from lack of trying.
As far as she'd been able to piece together, the person they called sword received much the same type of training. It didn't seem to be determined by birth either. Graydon was evidence of that.
"Perception," Graydon supplied.
She frowned at him, not understanding.
His chin dipped. "That's all it is. Someone perceives your strength and asks to lend theirs to yours. Sometimes that strength is physical as it is in my case; other times, it’s because they recognize something deeper. A strength of soul or nobility of spirit. No amount of force or scheming can elevate you to that position. It is something that needs to be earned through your actions."
Kira's gaze fell on Finn as a dismayed look settled on her face.
"You don't seem pleased with this knowledge," Graydon said.
"I never want to be in charge of anyone else's life besides my own, again." Her words revealed much more than she intended, but she couldn't take them back now.
The truth of them reverberated in the air between them.
"You inspire loyalty in those around you," Graydon said as they approached the edge of the city before it dropped to the sea. A waist-high wall ran along the cliff, and Graydon leaned muscular forearms against the stone. "I doubt your fallen would appreciate you using their deaths as a reason to hide."
Kira couldn’t help her weary huff. "You're right about that—but then the dead don't get to choose."
That blessing and curse lay solely with the living.
A pair of youths, not much older than Ziva, frolicked along the wall's edge, catching Kira's attention. She watched the excitement and innocent joy on their faces as they played a game that looked like an energetic version of tag.
They held an innocence that was missing from her young friend. The horrors of life had touched Ziva and Joule, marking them indelibly and forever changing them. They'd tasted the dark parts it had to offer; they'd known loss, and there was no way to wipe away its sting again.
"Do you remember what it's like to be young?" Kira peered at the ocean far below and the lights that glittered and swirled under its waves.
"A little," Graydon said, allowing the shift in topic. "My parents were often busy, but I remember the games my father played with me and the way my mother laughed at the two of us."
"I don't remember ever feeling young," Kira confessed. "My childhood was pain and rage. The closest I came to joy was during the height of the war with the rest of the Curs."
They'd steadied her. For the first time, she'd felt like she belonged somewhere. She'd been good at something. There had been difficulties, sure, but it had felt worth it.
She missed that sense of purpose, even as she knew there was no returning to those days.
"Do you regret not ever having what they had?" Graydon asked, nodding toward the two.
Kira considered. "Regret isn't the right word. I wonder what it would have been like, to grow up assured of my parents’ love, to know they would do anything to keep me from harm."
A hum rumbled from Graydon. "I can't help but notice the distinct lack of questions you have regarding them." He slid her a look. "And I can't help but wonder if that is by design."
Kira allowed herself a brief smile. She should have known he'd see through that. "You can't exactly manipulate someone's desires if you never know what those desires are."
"And yet you'll never learn anything if the questions are left unasked," Graydon returned.
She leaned her chin on her fist. "Right now, I'm more interested in Wren's story."
The man held her immediate future in his hands. She needed to get through him for a shot at the trial and later theadva ka. It was all one giant stepping stone, and he was the gatekeeper.
