She felt a light touch on her elbow and turned to see Lissa standing behind her.
“Is it true what Saber tells me, that you can damp down or filter out the emotions around Reddix?” the Kindred girl asked.
Nina nodded, wondering when the two of them had had time to talk. “Yes, I don’t know how I do it, but that’s how it seems to work.”
“Then go to him,” Lissa said in a low voice. “The emotions his sister is feeling must be agonizingly sharp. Think how bad they’ll be for Reddix. He’ll feel all his own grief and hers as well.”
“You’re right,” Nina said. She’d gotten used to keeping close to the big Kindred on the planet of the Feeling People, making sure she was always within reach so none of their emotions could overwhelm him. Now it occurred to her that Reddix was about to face something more awful and overwhelming here on his home world than anything they had encountered on the alien planet. And when he did, she wanted to be there to help him.
She followed him down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-six
Minda’s grief hit him like a sharpened ax to his chest before he even saw her. Reddix staggered briefly, one hand going involuntarily to his heart and the other to the wall to hold himself up.
It’s all right—it’s just pain, he reminded himself. And if Minda has pain, I want to help her bear it.
Still, it was difficult to make himself open the door at the end of the hallway and go to her. Minda had always been the one person in his family he could stand to be around—mainly because she made a real effort to remain calm whenever she was with him. She alone had undertaken to learn about the RTS which afflicted him, she alone still treated him like a person instead of a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about. Their parents had tried to ignore his condition but not Minda—she faced it head on and talked about it with him, trying to find solutions and hope even though there was no hope to give.
As I have no hope to give her, Reddix thought. But maybe at least he could offer her comfort. He paused for a moment, his hand on the latch, and took a deep breath, bracing himself. Then he opened the door.
The grief that rushed out to greet him was like a tidal wave—it nearly knocked him, over, and for a moment he felt dizzy. He leaned forward, like a man walking into a stiff wind, and went to the bed where his little sister lay anyway.
“Reddix,” she whispered. “You came.”
“Of course, I came,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t I always promise you I’d come if you needed me?”
“Yes.” Minda tried to smile and failed.
Reddix wanted badly to hug her, but her grief stabbed at him, like a sword piercing his chest. It hurt like hell, but he was careful not to show it. He sat in the chair beside her bed and looked at her instead.
The Minda he remembered was always laughing and smiling with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. Now she was white and thin and pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed with weariness and sorrow.
“Reddix,” she whispered brokenly. “I…I lost it. Him. It was a he…a little boy.”
“Oh, Minda…” Tears stung his eyes, and he had to clear his throat. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so damn sorry.”
“So am I.” She began to cry too, tears leaking from her warm brown eyes. Reddix felt them like acid rain on his face—stinging, burning droplets that felt like they were etching rivulets down his own cheeks. Something else was running down his face too—something warm.
Minda wiped her eyes and looked at him in concern. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“It’s fine.” Reddix swiped at it with his sleeve. “I’ll be fine—you’re the one I’m worried about. Are you going to be all right?”
“The doctor says maybe, if I can stay strong. But Reddix, I’m not sure I want to. I feel so…empty now. We already decorated the nursery and we…we…” She shook her head, unable to go one.
Her despair washed over him like a drowning flood. Reddix took a deep breath, feeling like he was inhaling pure darkness. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes, but he couldn’t pass out—not now.
“You have to stay,” he told her urgently. “You have to live. I know it’s hard, but you have to be here for Sterx…and for me. Please, Minda. Please.”
Her white hand lay on the coverlet. He reached to take it, but she pulled it away.
“No. I know touching makes it worse.”
“Don’t care about that,” Reddix growled.
“Well, I do. I shouldn’t have called you—not now, when I can’t be calm.” She started crying again. “I…I know this is hard.”