by Gail Dayton
Instantly, she went beyond alert to that bodyguard state of awareness, cataloguing every person in the square by level of threat. Was this the beginning of an attack on her family, or merely theft? People stared at their passing, but with curiosity, not malice. Mostly, they went about their business.
There. The youth walking away toward the fountain, adjusting his clothing as he went. Slightly better than rags, they were not the sort of clothes one fussed over.
“Stop!” Leyja cried, using one of the words she remembered from Obed's language lessons. “Thief!” she shouted in Adaran. She pointed at the boy—man—his age didn't matter—and set her horse after him.
“Stop him.” She ordered a pair of foot soldiers out of ranks to circle round and intercept him as she took the more direct route straight through the crowd.
The thief looked back over his shoulder at her, showing wide, startlingly blue eyes above the cloth that wrapped his face and hair. Then he ran.
He was fast and slippery, sliding through the crowds like an eel through water. He left the soldiers—unaccustomed to the heat—behind easily. Leyja, mounted, was harder to shake. He climbed to rooftops. She followed from below. He ducked into buildings and she found her way round to the exit. He wove through a warren of narrow streets and narrower alleys, doubling back until she was utterly lost, and still she followed.
Until finally her horse clattered into a tiny square with a well in the center and no sign whatsoever of the thief. He wasn't on any of the rooftops, hadn't gone down any of the streets. He had simply vanished.
Shehadn'theardasplash,butsherodeover tothewellanywayand peered into its depths. Nothing. She screamed out her frustration to the sky.
“That necklace was my daughter's,” she shouted then, hoping he might still be close enough to hear. “Do you steal from children?” Probably he did and was glad to. It was easier.
The thief would speak only Daryathi and she'd shouted in Adaran. It would do no good, but still she added an appeal. “Let me redeem it. Come to the Adaran embassy and I will pay you what it's worth. You won't get half that from anyone else."
Leyja scanned rooftops, doorways, windows, looking for any sign of a response, but they remained empty and silent. “Adara!” she shouted. “Leyja.” She pointed at herself. “Ask for Leyja."
She waited another long moment, but finally had to give up. Now she looked around her for some indication of the way back to her ilian. A faint tug at her magic came from—mostly west, but a little north. Kallista was showing her the way home. Leyja found a street leading west and followed it.
* * * *
Inside the well, far enough below the level of the street to be hidden in shadow, a niche had been painstakingly dug out of the well's side and lined with stones pried up from the paving. The niche had been enlarged over the years, made taller, wider, deeper, but still the thief barely fit inside it. He had grown as his hole had.
He held his breath, or rather breathed as quietly and smoothly as he could. After that chase, running across most of Mestada, not to mention all the climbing, jumping and ducking, it was breathe or die. Though if the choice was between not breathing, fainting from lack of air and falling to the water some fifty paces below to drown, or being dragged out of the well by his hair and skewered by that warrior queen...?
He rather thought he'd prefer the skewering, if it came from such a magnificent specimen of female. Not that he lacked female companionship when he wanted it. When he could pay for it. But the females of his general acquaintance tended to be soft and somewhat squishy, women who wheedled, who used tears and seduction to get what they wanted instead of chasing him halfway across Mestada, then offering straightforward bargain.
It wasn't the bargain that intrigued him. It was quite literally the words that Leyja the warrior queen had shouted. Words in a language he hadn't heard in fifteen years, a language that reminded him of who he'd been. Who he truly was.
Padrey. That had been his name once. Before.
He was a thief now, one whose head would be parted from his body if he was caught. He was a very good thief, which was why his head was still attached at the ripe old age of twenty-six or thereabouts. But once, he might have become something else.
Padrey reached inside his shirt and pulled out the gaudy trinket he'd stolen, carefully, lest he drop it in the water just past his left elbow. The well was low this time of year, but still deeper than he cared to dive through after the thing. The chain weighed more than he'd expected. Could it truly be gold? Could the stone be more than glass?
He'd stolen it on a whim, just to prove he could. The vast caravan with its huge guard escort had been too tempting to ignore. But a stone this size—he'd seen the glint of red before he'd hidden it in his shirt. He didn't dare hold it out in the well's drop to try to catch a ray of sun. No sunlight reached inside the well this time of day anyway, and there was a chance someone might see the jewel. In fact, if he did not exit his hidey-hole soon, he would have to stay till full dark, after everyone had drawn their water for the evening.
Padrey tucked the necklace inside the box he kept in his hiding place. The box had been his reason for digging out this niche, back in the beginning, a place to hide the coins he saved to purchase his freedom—before he understood that he would never be allowed to do such a thing, that any time he neared the amount, the price would go up. And so he had freed himself from his slavery, after a fashion.
A thief's life was only marginally better than a slave's in terms of food, shelter, or housing, but one advantage it did have. It was his own.
Padrey closed the lid on his new treasure. If the necklace was indeed gold, and the stone a garnet or even—wonder of wonders—a ruby, the warrior woman was right. No one he knew would give him full value. But before he presented himself at the Adaran embassy, hand out to trade, he wanted to know more about these people. Who were they? What were they doing here? Could he perhaps gain more from them than mere money?
Idiot. When had money ever been mere? What else was there of value? Nothing. He'd learned that lesson well. The things he remembered could be nothing more than child's illusion. He was a child no longer. He knew how to see through illusion. So he would watch and learn and decide how to best use what he saw.
He listened another moment more, hearing only silence in the afternoon's heat. Finally he unfolded a leg from its knee-to-ear position and the arm that had been wrapped around it, reaching out of his niche for the carefully concealed hand- and footholds. Tonight he would find the Adaran embassy. He tried to squelch the tingle of excitement, but he couldn't quite eliminate the lingering whisper of home.
* * * *
Kallista strode into the extensive family quarters set aside for the Reinine, playing the best “majestic” she could summon at this moment. She was tired. More than she should be, she thought. She waited, then waited a bit more while a whole army of servants carried in luggage. She would have wondered how much luggage nineteen people could require, but she knew. Mountains of it.
Especially when one of them was ruler of half a continent and required to wear ridiculously ostentatious clothing for a hideously enormous number of occasions. Kallista hid her shudder. She understood the need to impress, but she could only go so far. And she could only wait so long.
When the servants stopped bringing in more bundles and trunks from the courtyard and began opening them to remove the contents, Kallista decided she had waited long enough. “Out!"
She clapped her hands to get their attention, then waved them to the doors. “That's enough unpacking. Go find food. Arrange for baths. Go away from here."
“There are gardens.” The head of the nursery servants, gestured toward an enclosed courtyard beyond gauze-draped doorway openings. “The children can run."
“Take them. Go.” Kallista ruffled River's hair as he rushed by. “Make noise. Have fun. When the food arrives, we'll come out and join you. No, Keldrey. Stay, please."
The children flowed away. The s
ervants departed. Bodyguards disposed themselves at entrances and windows and courtyard walls. When she was at last as alone with her ilian as she was ever allowed to be, Kallista stretched.
“I don't remember aching like this the last time we traveled in caravan.” She groaned as Obed dug his fingers into her aching shoulders. She had felt ... off since they'd left Arikon. Not bad, exactly, just wrong somehow. It had to be the worry. What else could it be?
“We were younger then, love.” Torchay winked at her. “We've reached forty. It changes things."
“Speak for yourself.” Stone sent a cushion flying across the room at the red-haired man, who caught it and sent it flying back. “Some of us haven't reached thirty yet."
“Stop reminding me,” Keldrey grumbled. “Some of us are older than all of you.” He and Leyja were nearing the half-century mark.
Kallista shivered, suddenly cold, though the air was scarcely cooler inside these thick walls than out under the sun. Now that they had arrived, the reality of the pretense they would be forced to live in this place was sinking in. As long as they'd been on the road from the coast, it had been almost a game, something they played at during the journey. But now, here, a slip could result in the collapse of all their plans.
“Torchay—” she began.
“Where is Leyja?” Fox asked. “I heard the noise, but I was too far back to tell what happened, except for people running in all directions."
“Here.” Leyja walked in, hatless and coated with dust—more than the rest of them who had taken the chance to shake off the worst of it.
“Where'd you go?” Keldrey demanded. Kallista let him, willing to put off the awful discussion a little longer.
“Thief chasing.” Leyja found the water carafe on the low central table, poured and drank. She told them of Rozite's disobedience and her own adventure in a few succinct words.
“So where did you stash this thief?” Stone peered around the room, as if suspecting her of hiding him in a corner.
Leyja scowled, slamming her cup down hard enough to dent the thin metal. “He got away."
Everyone stared, shocked. No one escaped Leyja, unless they were very, very good indeed.
Kallista sighed. “I suppose we should see about getting a copy of the necklace made. Rozite will be impossible if she never gets the thing back."
“See if he brings it for ransom first.” Leyja collapsed onto the nearest divan, sprawled out in weariness. “I offered."
“You think he understood?” Stone collapsed next to her.
Leyja shrugged. “At least, since it's been confiscated, I'll have time to find it before I have to tell Rozite I got her necklace stolen."
“Rozite got her own necklace stolen by wearing it when she was told not to.” Kallista perched on the edge of a round upholstered stool. “But you're right. It's been taken up. She doesn't have to know it's missing. Not yet."
She sighed. The diversion was over. “While we have a moment to ourselves—” She tried to sound casual, but knew she failed miserably when every head turned toward her, every body tensed, drifted closer. They all sat, as if awaiting some news too awful to receive standing.
“We have to be careful,” she said. “You know how things are here, without iliani."
“We know. Believe me, we know.” Stone made a face, eliciting a few chuckles. “I don't like sleeping alone. And I especially don't like doing without—"
At Kallista's upraised hand, he broke off, changed direction. “Without other things,” he finished.
“We're alone in this room, but how alone are we?” She indicated the room with its pierced stone tracery and wall hangings that servants were meant to lurk behind. “We brought as many servants with us as we could, as we needed for the journey, but more were hired locally. Every one of those local servants is a Daryathi spy—perhaps not bearing tales to the en-Kameral, but to their neighbors, their local prelate. Tales about the scandalous behavior of wicked Adarans. We need to be careful. More than we are used to being. More than we have been."
“Goddess.” Torchay swore a few more choice oaths. “It was me, wasn't it? I did it. I said—I called you—I'm sorry, Kallista. I didn't think—” That one word, one endearment—love—at the wrong time could ruin everything.
“No, you didn't think—” Obed stopped when Kallista touched his arm.
She spoke for his ear alone. “It's going to be hard enough. Don't make it worse."
Obed put on that perfect blank-face he did so well, hiding his emotions, but he subsided. Kallista couldn't read anything through the link either. Having grown up in Daryath, Obed had struggled with jealousy from the beginning. Jealousy that tended to focus on Torchay because of the years the bodyguard had spent at her side before ever the godmarked magic struck. Would it become a problem again?
She looked up at Torchay. She wanted to hold him, tell him his mistake didn't matter, that he could call her “love” all he wanted. But it did matter, and he couldn't call her that or any other sweet name, couldn't touch her even in passing because if he did, she would be touching him back, and more. She sent as much love down the link to him as she could.
“We have to remember at every moment that things are different here. We might be able to share quarters because we are bound as godmarked, but here, we cannot all be married together.” She kept her voice quiet, reinforced the sense of what she said through the links. She couldn't speak through the links, save to Joh when she was seeing through his eyes, or when the others were dreaming together with her, but she could send a sort of knowledge. “Here, we are paired."
And the pairing made things awkward. Over the past years as the ilian settled in to their ordinary life, they had formed smaller groupings within the whole. Sometimes they changed around or all ten of them came together, but generally, Kallista slept between Obed and Torchay, Viyelle with Stone and Joh, and Aisse, Fox, Keldrey and Leyja all together. But threes and fours were as frowned upon in Daryath as tens.
“Obed is my only mate here,” Kallista said. “And Torchay is my bodyguard only, not ilias. Viyelle and Joh, Aisse and Fox, Leyja and Keldrey. You know this. We worked this out together. If we are going to pry our people out of the hands of the Habadra Line, we are going to have to play their games—"
“Do not think of them as games,” Obed interrupted. He spoke quietly, his voice fervent. “The attitude here against iliani, against more than two in a marriage is so strong that people have been killed. Traders who are incautious have been slaughtered in the countryside, and even here in Mestada. As members of the Adaran diplomatic mission, we are exempt from Daryathi law, but not from Daryathi prejudice. As servants to the Habadra, Merinda and her child are under Daryathi law until their status is changed. They could refuse to return them to wicked blasphemers. Or worse. We dare not risk them."
Kallista took up her warning again. “Do not forget who you're paired with. Especially you, Stone. Since you claim Sky as your son, that means Merinda is your mate."
They had no idea what Merinda had named the boy, nor whether he was Stone's child in truth or another of Fox's, but they couldn't keep calling him “the boy.” Stone, with consultation from Fox, had named him Sky.
“It is hard, I know, and not what we are used to. I miss you, all of you, more than I can say, even though you are right here with me, because I must watch my words and my actions.” The catch in her voice stopped her for a moment. “The One willing, we will have our ilias and our son back with us soon. Once that is done, it won't matter so much what gossip the local servants spread. Then, if there is a demon here to destroy, we will do that, and we can go back home. But until then—be careful."
Kallista watched Torchay until he looked up and met her gaze. The sadness in his eyes at their separation tempted her to throw aside every caution she'd just spoken. Except—they still had their lost ones to consider—Merinda, and their son.
* * *
Chapter Four
The food arrived, and the meal in the shad
e of the vines and flowering trees with the children clamoring around did much to restore the mood. Baths immediately following did more.
The enormous sunken stone pools, similar to the smaller ones in the lower levels of Summerglen palace in Arikon, were obviously meant for more than one person. Once the children were clean in a massive orgy of splashing and dunking, their parents bathed in pairs, in an attempt to reinforce Kallista's reminder.
Obed waded into the steaming water and turned, too late to watch Kallista get in as he'd hoped to do. She slid all the way under, her hair floating out in a dark swirl, hiding her. Finally, just as he was about to worry, she came up, air bursting from her lungs as she dragged in fresh.
“I was beginning to wonder if I ought to pull you out.” He moved in behind her to press a kiss on her nape, hungry for the feel of her skin against his. The journey upriver had been devoid of opportunity and he'd missed her.
Kallista eased away. “I think the dirt has gone an inch deep into my skin.” She picked up the soap, its scent carrying him back to his childhood with its fears and anxieties. But she turned to rub the soap over his chest, her fingers moving over his skin, so it was all right again. She was touching him. He didn't mind washing first, especially if she wanted to wash him.
“Perhaps the dust is an inch-deep coating on the outside.” Obed captured her hands and chuckled at her expression as he rubbed his chest against the softness of her breasts, sharing the soap. “I like washing this way."
Kallista's chuckle sounded strained, as if it caught in her throat. “I'm too dirty to get clean this way. Turn around."
Rather than wait for him, Kallista turned him, washing his back and body with brisk efficiency. Obed wanted more, but at least she washed him. Touched him. She did love him. He was sure of it. She washed his shoulder-length hair, letting him lean his head against her breasts. And she let him wash her without rushing, allowing him to take his time. Somewhat. He could sense her impatience, so didn't linger as long as he would have liked. Others were waiting their turn.