by Tanya Huff
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To tell Grandfather. It is customary when you suggest a joining with the second in line to the throne, to inform the King.”
“But you haven’t given me an answer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tavas.” Her smile held a promise of shared exploration into the unknown. “I’d decided we were going to be joined during Third Quarter Festival.”
* * * *
Head reeling, the Imperial Ambassador left the king’s office and hurried back to his own, his speed making the sweep of his robes against the polished floor sound like excited whispering. He had a great deal of work to do and was very grateful that his carefully worded communique would be sent through the almost instantaneous services of the Imperial fledgling still at the Bardic Hall.
His Imperial Majesty had to approve the joining, but that, he was sure, would be a mere technicality.
* * * *
When Gabris bowed and left the room, the Emperor stared reflectively at the scars on his wrist. “So,” he murmured without turning, “I have lost my first hawk.”
“And the chance of immortality, Majesty?” Marshal Usef asked from his place to the right of the throne.
“Flown as well.”
“You believe them, Majesty?” Greatly daring, Usef shook his head. “King Theron may be sheltering the traitor in order to gain the secret for himself.”
“No. The Shkoden bards with their circles, and their connected quarters would never allow so dangerous a skill to continue to exist once they became aware of it.” The Emperor frowned, reflecting on all he’d just been told. “It seems unlikely that the exact circumstances that created such a skill will probably ever occur again.”
Marshal Usef shifted his weight but remained silent.
“So tell me, Marshal, would you be willing to die over and over, in order to live forever?”
The marshal thought about it for a moment. He had been in battles on his way to the command of the First Army and he’d seen a great many soldiers die in a great many unpleasant ways. “No, Majesty,” he said at last, “I would not.”
“Nor would I.” The Emperor sat back and grinned. “I have lost the potential for an unpleasant immortality, Usef, but gained a hold on the Shkoden crown. Not an entirely bad trade.”
“So you will give your permission to the joining, Majesty.”
“Give it?” The Emperor laughed. “I’ve already sent them a pair of assassins, hooded and jessed, as a betrothal gift.”
* * * *
“Vree?” He would have thought she hadn’t heard him approach except he knew better. “Every healer in the Hall took a poke at me and it seems they agree with Magda. This body took no permanent damage from holding Enrik’s dead kigh.”
“Good.”
Reaching out to touch her shoulder, Gyhard let his hand fall back to his side. “Are you avoiding me?”
Vree stared out the window of the Bardic Hall at the wall around the Citadel and shook her head. “If I was, you wouldn’t have found me.”
“You barely spoke to me on the way back to the city.”
“Magda said you needed to get settled in the body.”
“And?”
“I was afr … I thought if I came too close I might pull you back here, into me.”
“And we don’t want that.”
“Yes.” She swallowed and closed her eyes. “Yes, I do. I missed, miss you, so much.”
“I’m still here.” Greatly daring, he gripped her arms and turned her around. His heart pounded a little less violently when she didn’t object. He had no desire to end up on the wrong end of her reflexes. When she looked away, he sighed. “Is it the body?”
“What?”
“The way it looks?”
Holding her elbows, she shook her head. “I like the way it looks.”
“Is it because of Enrik? Have I changed since touching him? Since touching death?”
“No.”
As she didn’t appear to be wearing her daggers, he lifted her chin until her eyes met his. Her skin was as soft as he remembered and her eyes as dark. “Are you still afraid I’ll leave you?”
“No.”
Her breath lapped warm down over his hand and Gyhard didn’t think he could bear it. He’d waited so long to hold her. “Then what? Are you afraid of me? Of what I was? Of what I’ve done? Of what I did to Kars?”
“Of you?” She broke from his touch and stomped across the room and back. “Of you!” she repeated. “Of all the arrogant …” Then she saw he was afraid of exactly that—of what he did to Kars and the possibility of him destroying her as well. The anger left her as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her shaking and confused. “I’m not afraid of you! Not you. You …”
Stepping forward, she grabbed his arm. “You, I’m sure of. How could I not be. We know more about each other than any two people ever have.” Her fingers dimpled the smooth curve of muscle, warm and resilient under her hand, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes, his new eyes were an indeterminate shade under brows that slanted down at the corners and up over the center of a crooked nose. It was a stranger’s face, familiar because she so intimately knew the life that animated it. “I’m afraid of me!”
“Vree, do you love me?”
“You know …”
“I need to hear you say it.”
She closed her eyes and touched the bits of him that remained with her, then opened them and took a deep breath. “Yes. I love you. But …”
Gyhard rolled his eyes; he should’ve known that was coming.
“… I’m not used to having feelings.”
“That’s a load of ratshit. You always had feelings. You were just trained not to notice them. Now they’re all breaking training at once.”
Her gaze tracked the edge of his jaw, slid down the corded muscles of his throat, and lingered where his pulse throbbed just under the skin. “I feel like the first time I ever walked a roof. Like the next move is going to topple me off and when I hit the ground I’ll break into a million pieces. Or like the first time I ever held a throwing dagger and I almost cut my own fingers off because it was so incredibly sharp and I didn’t know how to use it.”
“Do you know what I’m afraid of?” Gyhard asked softly. “That now I’m out of your head, you won’t want me.”
She took a step closer and breathed in the scent of soap and sweat and clean clothes. Of him. “I want you. I just don’t want to fall off the roof.”
“If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
She snorted. “You’re up here, too.”
“Then I’ll jump after you.”
“And if I cut someone’s fingers off?”
He closed his hand over hers. “Won’t happen.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I won’t let it.”
“You can’t stop it! I can’t stop it! Don’t you understand, it’s completely out of our control!”
“Is that why you practically ignored me on the way back to the city?” he demanded incredulously. “You didn’t want to lose control in front of an audience?”
Vree had a sudden image of what would have happened had she surrendered to need surrounded by two bards, Gerek, Magda, and her brother, and hurriedly shoved it aside. “You don’t understand!” she protested, cheeks flushed. “I’ve spent most of my life learning control, it’s not that easy to surrender it!”
“I do understand. Like you said, we know each other better than anyone ever has. But you’re not an assassin anymore; if you lose control, what’s the worst that can happen?”
She stared at the walls, at the ceiling, at the empty hearth, anywhere but at him.
“Uncertainty might kill assassins, Vree, but it’s the state the rest of the world lives in.” His free hand cupped the side of her head, the callused edge of his thumb tracing the full curve of her lower lip. “You’ll get used to it. And you’ll never need to be uncertain of me; we’re a par
t of each other.”
Leaning into his touch, her tongue followed the path he stroked. “It’s not like it was.”
Gyhard swallowed and looked at the moisture glistening just above his thumb. All at once, the room seemed a great deal hotter. “It’s better,” he assured her, adding hoarsely, “there’s no audience now. Maybe we should lock the door and see how much better it’s going to be.”
“Maybe …” She could feel the tempo of his heart quicken, and her heart began to beat in time. “Maybe we should.”
“Karlene told me once that there would be no happy ending,” he murmured against her mouth.
Teeth closing around his lower lip, she pulled her fingers from his because she wanted to use both hands. “Karlene,” she said, finding certainty in opposition, “was wrong.”
Keep reading for a preview of the last book in the Quarters series
The Quartered Sea
Benedikt Sings the most powerful water in the kingdom, but water is the only Quarter Benedikt can sing, which isolates him from the Bardic Captain and his fellow Bards. When the Queen of Shkoder outfits a voyage to discover the lands across the sea against the Bardic Captain’s objections, Benedikt is the only Bard willing to brave the Captain’s wrath and volunteer.
In uncharted waters, a storm strikes and the kigh of the deep seas rise. All of Benedikt’s skill is unable to save ship or crew. Shipwrecked in an unfamiliar country and unable to send word to Shkoder of the ship’s fate, Benedikt must play the part he’s been given: a pawn in the game of politics and religion between brother and sister — who both intend to use his Song to their advantage.
As the Queen waits for word, the kigh of the deep seas rise again...
Pick up a copy to see what happens next in...
The Quartered Sea
One
The fishing boat rose to the surface of the bay like an abandoned vessel of the old gods. Such was the angle that the masthead, draped in pennants of torn and dripping sail, had barely emerged before the bow broke through, water sheeting over the gunnels back into the sea. A moment later the stern followed, cradled on the crest of an unnatural wave. Long ropes of weed trailed off the rudder as though the depths had attempted to hold their prize.
Ignoring waves and wind, the boat cut across the chop toward a nearly identical vessel carrying four oilskin-wrapped people. Three of the four watched the approach, openmouthed. The fourth, a young man standing alone in the bow, watched the water and Sang.
A few moments later, the salvaged boat drew parallel with the other and stopped, both boats keeping their position as though held by unseen hands.
“That’s her, that’s my Second Chance.” Leaning over the gunnels for a closer look, one of the identical trio pushed her hood back off salt-and-pepper hair and squinted into the spray. “Well, I’ll be hooked and fried, they even brung up both pairs of oars.” Half-turned toward the bow, she lifted her voice over the combined noise of wind and sea and Song, “Hey bard! We’re close enough to use the gaff. Should I hook her in and make her fast?”
Still Singing, Benedikt shook his head and shuffled around on his damp triangle of decking to face the shore. Shoulders hunched against the chill, he changed his Song, and both boats began to move toward the gravel beach at the head of the bay where the tiny figures of the villagers paced up and down.
When the keels scraped bottom, he changed the Song again.
Two roughly human translucent figures rose up out of the shallows on either side of the bow and brushed against the ends of Benedikt’s outstretched fingers like liquid cats. Closing his eyes, he allowed the four notes of the gratitude to linger a moment or two after the kigh dissolved back into the sea.
“Right, then!” The owner of the Second Chance took command of the silence with an authoritative bellow. “Let’s have some help here before the tide turns!”
His part in the salvage completed, the bard stayed where he was until it became obvious that there was nothing left to do but disembark. Clambering awkwardly over the side, he winced as the frigid water seeped into borrowed boots. The uneven footing threw him off balance. He staggered forward, then back, then forward again.
A sudden grip on his elbow kept him from falling.
* The figure beside him, indistinguishable from all the others in the ubiquitous oilskins, was considerably shorter than his own six feet. Under his hood, he felt his ears burn. Bards were not supposed to need rescue. Especially not from rescuers so much smaller than themselves.
The hand remained around his elbow until dry land was reached, then it released him and rose to push back the masking hood. Fortunately, he recognized the face. Bards were not supposed to fumble for names either.
“Lucija.”
The woman who’d offered her boat for the trip out into the bay smiled up at him. “Benedikt.”
Wobbly on the slippery piles of beach gravel, he had no idea of what he was supposed to say next.
As though she sensed his unease, Lucija’s smile dimmed a little. “That was an impressive bit of Singing out there; what with Tesia swamping right over the cleft and all. I never knew bards could control the kigh so deep.”
He could feel the tension start to leave his shoulders. It had been an impressive bit of Singing, and he was pleased that she’d noticed. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing?” Drawn around by the sound of her name, Tesia stomped over and smacked the bard enthusiastically on the arm. “You’ve given me back the fish, boy. That’s an unenclosed sight more than nothing. Now you head over to my place around dark, and I’ll cook you a meal that’ll make a start at payin’ you back.”
“You don’t have to …”
“I know that. I want to.” She grinned around him at the younger woman. “I can see what you’re thinkin’, Lucija. You may as well come, too.”
* * * *
The entire village ended up at Tesia’s cottage. From where Benedikt sat, there seemed to be a man, woman, or child in every available space—occasionally, two deep. Lucija had a seat close by, and the heat in her pale eyes made him wish his place of honor wasn’t quite so close to the fire.
When they called for a song, he dried his palms on his thighs and lifted his quintara like a shield. He wasn’t good in large crowds; there were just too many people to please.
* * * *
“It’s all right, these things happen.” Up on one elbow, Lucija stroked the soft triangle of golden hair in the center of Benedikt’s chest. “Don’t worry about it.”
It took an effort, but he kept his voice light. “Easy for you to say.”
“Maybe you just need a little encouragement.”
As her hand moved lower, Benedikt closed his eyes. When Lucija had finally come right out and invited him to her bed, he hadn’t been able to think of a believable way to say no. He’d wanted to be with her, but he’d been afraid that exactly what had happened would happen.
It wasn’t his fault really, it was the pressure. After his performance in the afternoon, he’d known that she’d expect an equivalent performance in the dark. He’d been magnificent out on the bay. The need to be that magnificent again—and the fear that he wouldn’t be—had made him so tense….
It would’ve been easier to raise another fishing boat.
“Maybe you’re just too tired.”
There was sympathy in her voice, not blame, but he couldn’t have her telling others that Singing the kigh had exhausted him. Grasping at straws, he began a silent Song, calling up the one thing that had never failed him. Sleek, fluid, the image of the water kigh was not entirely human-seeming.
Not that it mattered.
“Ah, there we are.”
* * * *
“A lot of us fatten a pig and pretty much everyone keeps some chickens,” Lucija explained, forking the strips of bacon onto Benedikt’s plate beside the two fried eggs. “There’s a limit to how much seafood a body can eat.”
“It does lose its appeal after a while,” Benedikt agreed with a
laugh. “When I first went to the Bardic Hall, I didn’t eat fish for almost a year.”
“You’re from a fisher family, then?”
He nodded around a mouthful of breakfast. “My three older brothers fish out of Three Island Cove,” he told her when he’d swallowed, adding proudly, “They all go out to the deep water.”
“Brave boys.”
“Yeah, they are. Absolutely fearless. But not reckless,” he hastened to explain. “Just really good at what they do. And my father’s the factor at Three Island Cove. There hasn’t been a surplus in the last twenty years that he hasn’t convinced the Duc of Sibiu to pay handsomely for.” One dark-gold brow lifted. “Whether she started out wanting the fish or not.”
“Your father’d be bored stiff here, then. We’re so close to Elbasan that all of our surplus is contracted in advance, and all we have to do is hand it over to the regular traders.” Grinning and shaking her head, she sopped up egg yolk with a bit of toasted bread. “But you’re a bard. You already know that.”
“You’ve heard the rumors that we know everything, then?”
Her laughter added a special savor to the food and he almost stopped worrying about the impression he was making. He’d only been Walking on his own for a year and, sometimes, being a bard of Shkoder was as much a burden as a blessing.
“So, where do you go from here?”
“Fort Kazpar for the Queen’s visit.”
“So she’s actually going through with it this quarter?”
“I don’t know.” Sighing contentedly, Benedikt pushed his empty plate away and picked up the heavy clay mug of tea. “I won’t know until I arrive.”
Lucija mirrored his movement. “Seems a shame you have to go all that way if nothing’s happening. Can’t you send a kigh ahead to the fort?”
The silence stretched and lengthened until the distant screams of scavenging gulls moved into the cottage to fill the void.
“Benedikt?”
“I Sing only water.” Hands flat on the table, chin lifted, he dared her to comment.