Blood & Bond

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  He glanced at Marla, holding a mug of tea tightly and leaning toward the fire. “Here,” he said suddenly, recognizing her posture. “Take the blanket. You’re not dressed to be out of bed. I’ll be fine. And have some tea yourself.”

  She glanced self-consciously at her shift. “I think I had better go, if my lord has no further need...”

  “No, no,” Luca said firmly. “I will sit here quietly and eat my soup. Take the blanket, I don’t need it.”

  She wrapped the blanket about her shoulders and sat beside the fire, a little distance from him. “I’m sorry about what happened, with your family.”

  He nodded, pressing the warm mug between his fingers. There was nothing to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE BELL AT THE GATE rang, and Luca tried to calm himself. It could be Falten Isen, returning to his house. It could be someone looking for Isen, a friend or neighbor.

  It was Thir.

  He left his litter at the gate and came across the little yard, with Cole following. Luca gulped as they passed the fountain and took a step backward in the tiny entry. “Thir,” he said weakly. “I...”

  Thir came into the shadowed entry and looked hard at Luca. A moment passed, and then he released a long breath. “Flames.”

  Luca shifted, his gaze wavering.

  Thir shook his head. “You’re a different man.” He rubbed his forehead with a finger. “Though of course you’d be; how could you not?”

  Luca licked his lips. “Different...”

  “Not different the way he meant it,” snapped Thir. “Sweet all, I know my own brother.” He shook his head again. “Luca, I can’t believe it. No, I do believe it, but...”

  The slaves were watering at the fountain. Luca made a tentative gesture toward the house’s interior. “Will you come in?”

  “I can’t. I lied about an extra appointment and worked the bearers hard to reach you as it is.” His face was lined and tired. “Last night—I wouldn’t have left of my own accord. Flames, Luca, it was a shock to see you, but I was glad. Most glad. But Father is... I went with him to see that he didn’t—come to harm,” he said gruffly. “To keep him safe. I thought to speak with you in the morning.”

  Luca stared at him with blurring vision. “I couldn’t stay.”

  Thir looked at him. “What passed between you?”

  Luca started. “What?”

  “I found him taking—he eats viante now, did Jarrick tell you? Ever since—but I found him taking it in the dead of night. He said... I thought he’d seen you. And then you were gone.”

  Luca clenched his fists and turned to hide the treacherous emotion. “We didn’t speak.”

  There was a long pause. “He’s not well,” Thir’s voice came finally.

  Luca could not answer.

  Thir sighed. “I have to get back,” he said heavily. “But I had to see you, and I had to bring you this.” Thick paper rustled against leather. “I wrote it out and marked it this morning. It’s wholly legal.”

  Luca rubbed at his eyes and glanced back. “What is?”

  “This is your inheritance.” Thir held out the sealed letter. “After Sara’s dowry, this is one third of our house.”

  Luca stared. “But—but he doesn’t even recognize me! How can I be an heir? And even if I were, one third is—‍”

  “The house has been his in name only for two years now,” Thir confessed. “My signature and seal are binding. You are not living as a younger son in our household, so I won’t see you given only a younger son’s share. And I won’t see you make your way with nothing from us.” He pushed the letter toward Luca. “Take it. Our credit is good again. You can exchange that nearly anywhere.”

  Luca’s hand seemed to move without his volition, reaching for the letter. The heavy paper was richly textured; Thir had used the best quality. His throat closed.

  Thir gave him a sad, heavy look and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Write to us,” he said solemnly. “If you won’t stay—and I understand that—then write to us. We do know our brother.”

  Tears came hot to Luca’s eyes and he couldn’t speak. Thir’s fingers tightened on his shoulders and then he turned, going out into the yard and calling to the litter bearers. He never paused, leaving them to scramble together and hurry out the gate behind him.

  LUCA STARED ACROSS the table, his chin resting on his hands folded across the wood, hardly seeing the lettering on the envelope. The ridges in the wax seal seemed to deepen in the slanting evening sun from the window.

  An entire life lay before him. He did not know what a third of their wealth might be, but their house had obviously recovered and fared well enough at the moment. If they thought they could sustain a contract with an army... Whatever that envelope represented was enough to allow Luca a small home and a reasonable start wherever he liked.

  Where did he want to be?

  Cole cleared his throat from the door. Luca dragged his eyes away from the envelope without lifting his head. “Yes?”

  “I’ve finished.”

  “Nothing else, then,” Luca answered flatly. He looked back at the envelope. “Your time is your own.”

  “Would you like something to eat, my lord?” another voice asked. He hadn’t seen Marla behind Cole. “You’ve not had much today.”

  “I don’t want anything.” A moment passed. “But, you two, go ahead and eat. Don’t wait on me.”

  The bell at the gate rang, sending a thrill of apprehension through Luca. Who now? He rose and placed the precious envelope on a high shelf, weighted by a jar of honey. He could hear indistinct voices from the garden.

  He met them as they passed through the entry. “Luca!” Sara threw herself at him. “Where did you go? Why did you leave?”

  Luca held her automatically, looking first at her and then at Jarrick behind her. “I... I couldn’t stay.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Come in, please.”

  Marla was ready with drinks, and she served them silently and then retreated to the kitchen. Luca saw Cole pass the sitting room doorway and continue without pausing. He looked back at his siblings’ anxious faces.

  “What happened?” Jarrick asked simply.

  Luca folded his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. How could he tell them? “I saw Father. He—he wouldn’t speak to me.”

  “Still?” asked Sara in disbelief.

  “I couldn’t stay in his house! Do you understand? How could I stay in the house of a man who won’t even—‍”

  “But it’s not his house alone!” protested Sara. “It’s your home!”

  Luca shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  Sara hesitated, bowed her head, nodded. “It’s not mine, either. I’m marrying Stefan—now, I mean, not next month. I’m staying in Abbar tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll have a justice there.”

  “Tomorrow?” Luca echoed. “In Abbar?”

  She nodded. “Thir gave me my dowry today. After what Father said last night—I understand, Luca. I don’t want to be a part of that, either.”

  So Thir had spent the hours before dawn writing out the dissolution of his family. Luca turned toward Jarrick questioningly.

  Jarrick shook his head. “I’ve already made my stand. I won’t be a part of the mercantile alliance anymore, or anything like it. Thir knows that.” He sighed. “I’ll stay on with Thir. There’s nowhere else for me to go, and he’ll need help. Father will be little use in a few years.” The bitterness was heavy in his voice.

  “What about you?” Sara asked Luca. “You could stay with Jarrick and Thir. I know they’d have you.”

  Luca shook his head. “I’m going to find a place where no one knows my history.”

  Jarrick nodded slowly. “I have some money saved. I can give you—‍”

  “Didn’t Thir tell you? He gave me money, too. My inheritance.”

  “Your blood money,” Jarrick muttered. “Good, I’m glad you have it. Where will you go?”

  Luca chewed at his lip. “I haven’t deci
ded yet.”

  Jarrick looked at him steadily. “Wherever you go, you write. Do you understand? I don’t want to lose you again for his actions.”

  Luca nodded. The strands between them were tenuous, but holding. “Will you take care of Andrew?”

  “Of course.”

  “Come tomorrow,” Sara urged. “Come to the wedding. It will be nothing like we’d thought, but I don’t care for that, and Stefan understands.”

  “You told Stefan? About me?”

  “In part.” She looked at him. “Don’t you want it known that you’ve come back?”

  Luca hesitated. Did others need to know? Deserve to know? He tried to think of his first days in slavery, chained in Trader Laren’s stable, waiting desperately to hear his father’s voice ringing down the aisle. He had barely thought of his friends, those with whom he passed his free hours. Of course, he’d had fewer friends as their fortunes slipped, and they had not come for him, either. They had not been so dear as they pretended.

  And he did not want to be a social oddity, the once-slave now paraded through Ivat’s homes and held at arm’s length for observation... He shook his head. “I don’t want to announce myself.”

  “But Stefan and I will know, right? And you’ll come?”

  He felt his stiff face fold into an awkward smile. “I’ll come. Where? When?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TAMARYL FRETTED. HE had been trapped in the White Mage’s house for days, avoiding windows, hiding from Mother Harriet during her regular visits, drumming his fingers impatiently while Mage Hazelrig and his daughter worked in the Wheel and left Tamaryl and Maru to wait in their house.

  Tamaryl had hidden fifteen years in this house. He did not want to hide here now.

  Maru’s wing rarely pained him now, but he was understandably ill at ease in the human realm. But even if Tamaryl’s strength returned, he could never carry them both safely home, much less the Subdued Parrin’sho as well.

  That strength was a liability. If he recovered his power, he would need to be bound and sealed to remain hidden. It should not chafe him so after he had spent fifteen years without his natural ability, but he did not particularly want to be bound again—powerless before Ariana’s eyes and helpless before Shianan Becknam’s.

  The bastard was besotted with Ariana. Everyone could recognize it, Ariana and Ewan Hazelrig and perhaps even Becknam himself. Tamaryl did not want to admit his own feelings for her, feelings which embarrassed him both for their inconvenience and their root, which he was just beginning to suspect and shied away from exploring.

  Regardless, alignment with the commander would set Ariana against the Ryuven, and against the Ryuven friend she had known most of her life.

  Maru entered the kitchen. “Ryl, where are—you’re washing dishes?”

  Tamaryl looked at the suds. “Why not?”

  “You’re sho. You’re the Pairvyn ni’Ai.”

  “Both mean little here, and I’ve washed these dishes for years and years.” He scrubbed listlessly at a platter.

  Maru crossed the room and took up a towel to dry the stack beside Tamaryl. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not so.”

  Their best hope was to find a raiding party carrying the broken-off bit of the Shard of Elan, to return home through the shield with them. But there was no way to predict where the next raid would come, or to travel safely to meet it. Reports delivered to the Wheel had suggested the raids were growing larger, striking erratically across the countryside, with more and more nim and che crossing to challenge larger targets, and were correspondingly meeting more resistance. Tamaryl had helped to craft the end of the war, had sabotaged it, and had created the identical situation, now with his friend injured and trapped with him.

  Tamaryl did not want to say this aloud. “I don’t know how we’ll get home. And I don’t want us to stay. I had the choice once, and I made the decision to leave. You never had a choice.”

  Maru was silent.

  Tamaryl voiced the questions he wished Maru weren’t afraid to ask. “What if we can’t go? What if we’ve exiled ourselves forever?”

  “The mage’sho says we’ll find a way.” A moment passed. “Oniwe’aru will be furious when you return.”

  Tamaryl smiled sadly. “I appreciate your optimism, but you needn’t pretend for me. Once, I thought I might be here always; I suppose I should face that again. At least I am not alone this time.” He pushed a plate through the suds. “You, myself, and Parrin’sho...”

  Maru set aside a dried dish. “Will we have to hide as humans?”

  “We cannot stay in this house forever.”

  “I hope they think my human disguise very handsome. Irresistible to human women.”

  Tamaryl laughed.

  “And you too—we’ll carouse together.”

  “I think I’ll leave the women to you.”

  Maru sobered. “After Daranai’rika?”

  “No! No, I don’t miss her. I regret what happened, on all parts, but I don’t regret losing her.”

  “Then it is Ariana’rika.”

  Tamaryl gave him a level glare.

  “I like her, too.”

  He sloshed suds over a cup. “I have watched her grow from a child into a woman. She is special. But...”

  “But?”

  Tamaryl shook his head. “No.”

  Maru wrapped the drying towel between his fingers and squeezed it until his knuckles whitened. Tamaryl sighed and nudged him with a wingtip. “I’m sorry. It’s all right. And I’ll find a way to contact the raiding parties.”

  Maru shook his head. “Maybe not.”

  Tamaryl stopped scrubbing the cup and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been listening, Ryl. The reports were of raids happening every two days, occasionally three. But the last few reports were delayed, speaking of old raids. No one has actually crossed in over a week.”

  “That... may not mean...” But Tamaryl did not believe his words. There would not be a shift in pattern without reason.

  Maru said it. “Maybe they’re not coming anymore.”

  That would mean the raids had stopped, as he’d wanted. That would mean the fighting had ended. That would mean they were trapped forever in the human world.

  The cup slipped from his wet fingers and bounced against the tub’s edge before shattering on the tiled floor. Tamaryl stared at the fragments and groaned, grateful for the inane complaint. “That is Mother Harriet’s favorite tea cup. She uses it while waiting for a meat pie to finish. She would scold me blue if she knew little Tam had broken it.”

  Maru set aside the dish he was drying and crouched to scoop together the pieces. “Surely we can repair this one.”

  “Not before she comes this afternoon.”

  “Can’t we replace it with one that looks similar? Isn’t there another cup with this pattern?”

  Tamaryl went still, staring past the dishes, seeing the cellar of the Wheel, the Shard of Elan, a bloodied slave. “We should look for it.”

  ARIANA ROLLED THE STICKS between her palms and then dropped them to the table. Three showed red, two black. “Yes!” she cheered. “I can take your footsoldier.”

  Maru groaned as she seized the game piece. “I’m finished. I can’t come back from that.”

  “You’ve still got three pieces left,” Ariana said cheerily. “It’s possible I could cast four straight failures.”

  Maru gave her a patiently disbelieving look, and she laughed.

  “Well, I’m not out yet,” Tamaryl said, collecting the throwsticks. “Four red, four red, four red!”

  The throwsticks came up five black.

  Tamaryl turned up his hands and sat back from the table. “I do believe Ariana is cheating.”

  “I am not!” But Ariana was a little pleased at the accusation. She had made great progress and had acquired nearly all her previous skill, and she sometimes wondered if her aptitude in magic had act
ually deepened with the second passage.

  Maru laughed and leaned forward to collect the pieces. “I will concede, and we can start again. Would anyone like something to drink? We really should have some philios for this.”

  “Is that a Ryuven drink? We have wine, both grape and plum, and cider, and apple brandy.”

  Maru looked up, confused. “So many kinds?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean you should drink them all at once.”

  “That’s not what he meant.” Tamaryl straightened from his posture of defeat. “In Ryuven society, different drinks are used for different occasions.”

  “We do that here, too.”

  “Not nearly to the same degree. Philios is drunk to seal or renew bonds of friendship, at gatherings like this. Muruka is for business transactions. There are others which are drunk only at births, or only at ascensions, or only to celebrate milestones.”

  “Really? Not by taste, but by occasion?”

  “There is even a wine made only for the bonding of a former silth bonding to an aru, and other for a former aru bonding to a silth—but to be honest, I think that’s a relic of more extravagant times when minute details of etiquette were a form of ostentation.”

  Ariana raised an eyebrow. “Were?”

  Tamaryl cast her a petulant rebuke.

  Maru was still looking between them. “You mean, you just drink whatever you want, whenever you want? No sense of decorum or propriety?”

  “There’s certainly propriety,” Ariana hurried to say. “Being drunk in a street and drunk in a night tavern and drunk at breakfast are all viewed very differently.”

  Maru looked unconvinced.

  Tamaryl laughed. “Men defending while women stay home, and people drinking beer or wine or ale as it pleases them. Poor Maru must feel quite adrift. Don’t ask about the magic.”

  “What about the magic?” Maru promptly asked.

  “What’s wrong with our magic?” Ariana followed. “I mean, it’s not thick enough to choke a human, like yours, but we’ve done all right with it, I think.”