Free Hero's Welcome by REBECCA YORK Page B

chute as they were coming through the front door. They didn’t find me.”
    He tried to imagine Kasimanda of Renfaral hiding among the household garbage. Unthinkable. Yet he could see from her eyes that it was true—that and maybe worse.
    “Why did you come here?” he demanded.
    “To work.”
    He gave a short, sharp laugh. “You? Work?”
    “Yes. The place was a mess. I cleaned it. I can keep it for you. I can cook. And I can help you with the rokam.”
    “Let me see your hands.”
    She kept her eyes on him as she held up her hands for inspection. He remembered them being soft and white, the hallmarks of a pampered woman. Now they were red and chapped.
    Before he could comment, she went on quickly. “I was studying botany at the Grand Institute when the war started. I know about rokam. It’s temperamental. You could lose the whole crop if you plant at the wrong time or if the minerals in the soil are out of balance.”
    He gave a tight nod. He knew the risks.
    “I—”
    “How did you get inside the house?” he interrupted her.
    “I visited this estate several times before the war. I knew the access codes.” With a gesture toward the south-facing window, she added, “I sold the ring my father gave me on my Passage Day—and some other things from the estate. With the last of the credits, I paid for a ride as far as the river.”
    His eyes narrowed. It was thirty klicks to the Little Jodda and two hundred klicks to the nearest settlement. “Some damn fool flyer pilot left you in the middle of nowhere?” he asked, his anger rising.
    She gave a little nod.
    “This is dangerous territory. You could have died if a storm had caught you on the plains. Or you could have run into a gang of deserters,” he ground out, imagining the worst. “They’re desperate. Dangerous.”
    “I have a laser gun.”
    “Weapons are forbidden to Farlians.”
    She met his gaze with steady eyes. “Are you going to turn me in?”
    He heaved a sigh. “No.” When she let out a little breath, he fixed her with a quizzical look. “How did you find me?”
    “A woman who worked for my father is in the office where they keep information on troopers, and after . . .” She stopped, started again. “After I’d been on my own for a couple of months, I went to her, and she looked up your record.”
    “Why me?”
    Her gaze dropped to the floor. “My parents and my sister are dead. So is my brother. There isn’t anyone else. And my options are very limited.”
    “You’re well educated. A lot better than me,” he said. “Surely you can find something to do.”
    “Not many people are hiring ex-Farlian nobility.” A shudder went through her. “There are houses where young women of my station entertain Dorre men. I would rather starve.”
    He struggled to keep his expression impassive as she continued.
    “I won’t beg you to let me stay, Link, but . . . I’ve brought something for your leg.”
    The blood drained from his face. Farlian hell, she knew about that, too.
    “I bought some salve Farlian soldiers use,” she whispered. “It draws out the poison.”
    His eyes widened. “There’s a cure ? Give it to me!”
    “It’s . . .” She stopped, shook her head. “They were testing it. I don’t know if . . .”
    He turned away so she wouldn’t see the crushing disappointment in his eyes. An experimental drug. Probably it didn’t work.
    His jaw rigid, he stomped out of the room—to the extent that his limp allowed for stomping. He’d come here to hide his ruined body— from others or from himself, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how to cope with either the sudden reminder of the man he’d once been or with the false hopes she offered.
    He threw his pack onto the floor in the hall and sprawled on the steps leading upstairs. Cursing under his breath, he rummaged in the pack. When his fingers closed around the tube of dried brew malt, he made a grateful sound. Not quite as good as pain pills, but it would do. He set the