Allegiance of Honor (Psy-Changeling #15) - Nalini Singh Page 0,154

Nikita in terms of advantages.

“Naya,” Sascha said in a gentle tone. “This is your grandmother.”

“Gram?” the child said with impressive enunciation for her age.

“Yes.” Sascha’s smile grew deeper. “Gram. She’s my mother.”

The baby stared at Nikita again for so long that Nikita felt the child was judging her, weighing up whether or not she was worth Nadiya Hunter’s time. Yes, there was definitely some of Nikita Duncan in this Psy-Changeling child. It would stand her in good stead in a harsh world. She’d be far more able to protect herself than her empathic mother . . . though Sascha had acted impressively against the mercenaries who’d attempted to take Nadiya.

Maybe Nikita’s child was finally growing claws of her own, now that she had a fragile new life to protect.

That was when the baby smiled, slapped its palms onto the blanket, and began to crawl up Nikita’s legs. Nikita went still as deep, deep inside her, awakened a memory. “You did this,” she found herself saying to the beautiful woman with cardinal eyes who’d once been her baby. “In the months after the birth, I was still . . . influenced by carrying an empathic child. I allowed you freedoms proscribed under Silence, allowed you to crawl where you wished when we were alone in my room.”

The day the technicians had informed her that the eight-month-old fetus in her womb showed signs of the E gene, she’d felt the stirrings of something even more primal than the maternal protectiveness that had awakened the day she found out she was pregnant. At that time, most mothers carrying empaths were never told the truth, were instead fed lies while the machinery behind the Council ensured those E-designation children were funneled into special early-conditioning classes designed to suffocate the E ability.

Nikita, however, had been the scion of a strong family group and a woman who showed significant promise in her own right. She’d been given the findings—and in the eyes of the technicians who’d informed her, she’d seen death for her child, seen judgment. They’d wanted her to consign Sascha to an institution where she’d be raised as a broken cardinal, no doubt after enough damage was done to her brain to make her pliable, thus ensuring a cardinal E remained in a PsyNet that needed those Es but had abused them for so long.

Her mentor at the time had wanted her to try for a more “perfect” child. A woman of her strength and potential, he’d said, shouldn’t be “saddled with the burden” of an E. Nikita hadn’t been able to do anything but keep Sascha then; she’d done so by flexing what power she had—and by convincing those more powerful than her, including her own mother, that a cardinal child, even one considered flawed, would be a symbol of Nikita’s strength.

She’d told them she would dispose of her child in an “accident” should Sascha prove problematic.

More than two decades on, Sascha lived and those technicians as well as Nikita’s once-mentor were long dead.

Nikita didn’t ever forgive those who threatened her family.

She hadn’t had to kill her mother—Reina Duncan had died a natural death, but even before that, she hadn’t interfered with Nikita’s raising of Sascha. Reina had signed what Nikita asked her to sign, requested regular updates on Sascha’s progress, and been content. Because, by then, everyone in the Duncan line knew it was Nikita who had the killer instinct, Nikita who’d take the family to serious power in the Net.

Nikita respected her mother for having understood that, for not getting in her way.

“I don’t remember,” Sascha whispered.

“Of course not. You were an infant.” Nadiya had crawled up to Nikita’s thighs.

Sascha reached out. “I’ll get her. I know your injuries—”

“It’s fine.” Well able to handle a toddler, even in her weakened state, Nikita sat her grandchild against her, one arm around Nadiya’s waist.

Content because she could see her mother, the child began to “talk.” One out of every seven words was possibly comprehensible. “She has excellent vocal skills for her age.”

“Yes, she’s a chatterbox,” Sascha said with a smile that exposed her heart.

Sascha’s gaze met Nikita’s when Nadiya fell silent, more interested in playing with the organizer Nikita had handed her. The child couldn’t do any damage, and the logic puzzle Nikita had pulled up for her to solve was all bright-colored blocks, a program still in Nikita’s archives from Sascha’s childhood.

“I’d like to remember.” There was a wistfulness to Sascha’s tone that once more betrayed the softness inside her that Nikita