“Did Eredion know you were telling the truth?” Alyea asked.
“He must have,” Pieas said, “he's a desert lord. You can't lie to a desert lord, can you?”
The silence that followed hung uncomfortably long.
“You can't,” Lord Scratha said at last, a subtle inflection aiming the words at Pieas. Alyea shot the tall man a sharp look.
Pieas frowned, then shook his head. “Well, then, he must have known. But he chose to call me a liar, and turn against me. I saw no option but to run and try to clear my name along the way.”
“How did you know I was headed east?” Scratha said. “The king told everyone I was going west, to the Stone Islands.”
Pieas snorted. “I knew before you cleared the perimeter of Bright Bay which way you were going, and under what name.”
“I didn't put any of that in the note to the steward,” Scratha said. “Or speak to any but the king about it.”
“You didn't have to,” Alyea said. “Some of the King's Hidden have dual allegiances. Some are to Sessin.”
Pieas grinned sourly. “I wasn't far behind you,” he said. “But that stupid girl slowed me down with her kicking and wailing. I'd have caught up earlier if I hadn't been trying to convince her I wasn't the one who attacked her. I never did succeed. Whatever they used on her drove her half out of her head, and I had no way of curing it.”
Scratha shook his head, brooding, and said, “Apparently I should have waited to see if Yuer could get sense out of her after all.”
Pieas grimaced. “I hope you didn't leave the girl with Yuer, Lord Scratha. That's like dropping a baby chicken into a nest of hungry snakes.”
The silence hung for a moment, then Scratha, avoiding Alyea's glare, said, “Done is done. You're innocent of the one charge and guilty of the other, it seems. You have a choice, Pieas. Alyea is in the middle of the Sun-Lord's blood trial. You can wait until she completes this trial and face her under the original blood challenge she issued, which means if you fall, you fall to a desert lord and your name goes into permanent disgrace. Or you can step up to be the blood-sacrifice of the trial, and regain all honor.”
Alyea drew a deep breath, but Pieas, smiling strangely, spoke first. “I deserve death. Several times over—and that's only for what I remember of past years. It would be a mercy. I'll never be free of my mistakes, and at least this way my name will be clear. I'll only ask one thing in return.” His gaze went to Scratha. “My lord . . . give my sister another chance. I've never seen Nissa so heartbroken before. Don't hold her blame for my sins.”
“It never had anything to do with you,” Scratha said in a strangled voice.
Pieas looked honestly puzzled. “Then what?”
They all stared at him in silence for a moment. Lord Faer finally said, “Pieas, Scratha Family was slaughtered, and Sessin refused aid. Every other desert family held out a hand save yours. You don't know that?”
Pieas's face flushed. “I was told that Scratha refused our aid, alone of all the desert families—that we weren't good enough for him to ally with.”
“I was ten,” Scratha said into the astonished silence, “and grieving. Lord Sessin offered me help if I agreed to conditions which would have given him control of my lands in all but name; of course I refused! After that he had nothing for me.”
Alyea blinked, looking at Cafad Scratha more closely; she'd been assuming he was in his late thirties, possibly even early forties. But as Scratha Fortress had been attacked somewhat less than twenty years ago, if he'd been ten at the time, then he couldn't be above thirty.
Pieas shook his head slowly, his expression clearing. “I'm sorry, Lord Scratha. I never knew that, but it sounds like something Lord Arit would do. He was always looking to gain Sessin more power. But to pressure a grieving child—that was wrong.”
“The sands are about to swallow us all,” Alyea said without meaning to put the thought into actual speech. She covered her mouth with one hand, appalled at her timing.
Pieas turned, gave her a hard look, then shrugged and grinned ruefully. “I deserved that, I suppose. Which brings me back to the point.” He reached to his belt, drew two long, slim daggers out, and dropped them on the sand. He pulled two more from his boots and tossed them to the ground, then another from a neck-sheath. Stepping away from the small pile of knives, he spread his hands and looked at Alyea.
She stared back at him, feeling oddly paralyzed.
“Do it,” he said, and dropped gracefully to his knees, keeping his stare locked on her face.
“I don't. . . .” she started, not sure what to say.
“Gods know,” he said, “my life won't be any loss to the world.”
She drew a deep breath and looked around. The other lords had backed away a few steps, leaving a clear ring of space around her; clearly, none of them intended to interfere. Even Deiq had stepped away and watched her with absolutely no expression.
Pieas dropped his hands to his sides, curling them into fists.
“Out of all the people in this camp,” he said hoarsely, “I'm the most deserving of death right now.”
His clenched hands trembled.
A humorless, strained bark of laughter came from her throat. “I never thought I'd have any respect for you.”
His grin looked forced. “Funny you should say that. I've always thought the same about myself. Best not give me a chance to ruin it, don't you think?”
She drew another, long, steadying breath, and bent to pick up one of his knives.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cafad had been gone for a long time when Riss opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. She stared at nothing for a while, seeming dazed. Eventually her gaze focused on the world around her, and then on Idisio.
“That was . . . interesting,” she said hoarsely, and shut her eyes again. “Water?” Idisio offered, holding out a flask. She took it and drained the contents in one long steady swig.
“How long was I out?” she asked, handing him back the empty flask.
“I don't know,” Idisio said. He glanced up at the high windows, long since dark. A strange, steady glow had filled the room at dusk; it rose from several alcoves along each wall and reminded Idisio of the odd lighting in the Bright Bay palace dining hall.
He had prowled the room earlier, examining the alcoves, and found them hot enough at close range as to discourage close inspection; but the alcoves seemed to be thin shafts cut down into the walls, and the light came from beneath. Idisio guessed at a fire, somehow reflected upwards into the room, and amused himself by thinking out possible ways that could be done.
“It's probably almost midnight by now.”
“Oh,” she said, looking relieved. “It's only been hours? That's good.”
He stared at her, astonished at the odd reply.
“Never mind,” Riss said. She rubbed her eyes. “Idisio. . . .”
The tone of her voice would have terrified him in the recent past. Now he found himself evaluating it, calculating possibilities, comparing the tone to the motion of her hand and how her gaze slid awkwardly away from him. He considered responses, decided on patient silence as the best path, and waited.
She drew a deep breath, another, and finally said, “I'm pregnant.”
“I never,” he said involuntarily.
She grinned, coughed half-laughter, and said, “No, stupid. Not yours. It's from when . . . back north. Before I met you.”
“Oh,” he said, then, “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” She regarded him steadily, her expression sober but somehow content. “I thought I might be. I hadn't had a chance to . . . prepare.” She looked away, a faint flush coming to her cheeks. “And by the time I woke up . . . anyway, the ha'rethe confirmed it.”
“Oh,” Idisio said again, unable to come up with anything more coherent.
She shrugged a little, sighed, and looked up at him. “Do you think I'm a whore?”
“No,” he sa
id, astonished. “No, nothing like that.”
“Do you—”
“Wait.” Idisio cut her off with a gesture and tilted his head, listening to distant sounds. “Someone's coming. Cafad. And he's not alone. Two others.”
She rubbed at her face with both hands and raked her hair into a semblance of order. Idisio watched, mulling over what she'd told him, and found himself glad of the interruption. He didn't know what to say to her, didn't know the right response to make. He had an uncomfortable feeling that she wanted to hear that he liked her, or thought she was beautiful, or something equally soppy.
Words bounced from the stone walls, muddied into incoherence by the echoes, then clarified as they moved into the passageway outside the room; one voice held a female timbre, and the third set Idisio's arms into gooseflesh. He stood up just as the door swung open.
Cafad strode into the room, followed by a man and a woman. The woman stood almost as tall as the desert lord, with glossy dark hair that hung, unbound, well past her shoulders. Dark eyes, olive-tan skin, and the stern pride in her carriage marked her as having at least some measure of noble blood, although it probably came from a Bright Bay, not a desert Family, line. At a second glance, Idisio read tremendous weariness and a deep grief beneath the surface. She seemed ready to drop where she stood. Only willpower kept her on her feet.
The man whose voice worried Idisio stood slightly taller than the woman, with a darker skin and broader face. His expression, at the moment, held as much bleak and powerful bitterness as Cafad's madness had ever produced. Idisio suspected that he never wanted to see this man upset, not even a little; but here, too, a second glance showed more. Something weirdly familiar and at the same time frighteningly alien glittered in those dark eyes. Idisio found himself backing away. “It's all right, Idisio,” Cafad said. “This is—”
I am named De'sta'haiq, a quiet voice said, just audible.
“—Deiq, and Lord Alyea—” Cafad's voice echoed over the words in Idisio's head.
Deiq is simpler, the voice agreed, and the man smiled.
“Gah,” Idisio said, and backed up again.
“—Idisio?” Cafad stepped forward, stretching out a reassuring hand. “What's the matter?”
“He's never met another ha'ra'ha before,” the man said easily, still smiling.
“Of course not,” Cafad said, looking thoroughly chagrined. “I should have remembered that. Idisio, I'm sorry, it's been . . . a bit hectic the last few hours.”
“I would like to pay my respects, if I may,” Deiq said, “and Lord Alyea needs to rest.”
“Of course,” Cafad said. “Riss, come with us; you'll be attending to Lord Alyea. Idisio, guide Deiq wherever he wishes to go. He has full access to the fortress; no door is closed to a ha'ra'ha.”
“Gods,” the woman said, wearily sardonic, “you're letting me out of your sight, Deiq?”
“You're safe here,” the dark man said. “Go get some rest. If you need me, just call my name. I'll hear you.”
She quirked an eyebrow, shook her head, and followed Cafad from the room, Riss trailing behind. Idisio wanted nothing less than to be alone in a room with Deiq, but Cafad swept out of the room too fast for protest. Idisio tried to think of an excuse to leave, and came up blank. Deiq watched him with an amused expression. “Most of us grow up knowing what we are, in the company of our own kind and kin,” he said. “You seem to have had an unusual life.”
Idisio felt his face flare into bright, mortified color.
“Scratha didn't tell me details,” Deiq said. “He said you needed instruction, nothing more. Excuse me.”
He walked to within an arm's length of the pool and sank to his knees. He sat that way, head bowed, for several minutes. Idisio watched, fascinated, as a faint mist formed above the surface of the water. As if subject to a localized breeze, the mist swirled into patterns that looked almost like writing for a few moments, then slowly dissipated.
Deiq drew a deep breath and stood, turning to face Idisio; incredibly, tears streaked down that imposing, dark face.
“Scratha has no idea,” Deiq said, “how lucky he is. Neither do you.” He shook his head and walked away from the now-quiet pool, motioning Idisio to follow him.
Deiq moved through the silent passageways as though entirely familiar with the fortress. At that thought, Idisio realized he knew the halls they walked, knew when a door or turn in the passage lay ahead. He could have found his way to the kitchens, storerooms, main hall, and more: as if he had lived here all his life.
He stopped and rubbed at his eyes, feeling disoriented. Deiq paused, waiting patiently. After a moment Idisio said, “I . . . feel like I know this place. It's weird.”
“You'll never be lost,” Deiq said, “with a friendly ha'rethe around.” He smiled and started walking again. Abruptly aware he had no value as a guide, Idisio grimaced and followed. He wondered if Cafad had known that Deiq didn't need a guide and, if not, whether he should say anything about it.
“Friendly?” Idisio said after a few steps.
Deiq made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “One of the great myths about them is that they're all the same: emotionless, interested only in their own survival, and without personality or preferences. It's an understandable mistake, given how little contact even the desert lords have with them.”
Idisio felt a burst of excitement. “Is that why I couldn't stand being around that one at the Wall,” he said, “but the one here was all right?”
Deiq paused again and looked at Idisio with a curiously intent expression on his face.
“The one at the Wall?” he repeated.
Idisio told him the story, cutting it to a brief and relatively dry account.
“Ah,” Deiq said, and resumed walking. “That's another mistake humans make, one that I think is rather less forgivable than the first. They assume that every voice in a dark place is a ha'rethe.”
Idisio had been walking slightly behind Deiq; now he moved to walk beside him. “It wasn't? Then what was it?”
Deqi's expression remained serene as he said, “It's been over a thousand years since the original Agreement, and the ha'reye were old then. How many do you think are still alive?”
“Good gods,” Idisio breathed, stunned. “I never thought about that.”
“Most people don't,” Deiq said. “There were about a hundred ha'reye left when the first Agreement was made. Today, I'm guessing there are probably fewer than twenty still alive. One of those lives under this fortress. Most of the Families think they have ha'rethe but what they actually have protecting them is a first generation ha'ra'ha. Sometimes it's even a second generation ha'ra'ha. Nobody lower than that could pull it off— they're too weak. Too human.”
“So what I met at the Wall was a ha'ra'ha?” Idisio said, intensely relieved and not sure why.
“More than likely,” Deiq said. “Probably first generation.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I'd advise against you going anywhere near the Wall again until you're fully trained, Idisio. Some of the first ha'ra'hain . . . it's complicated.”
He turned into a side corridor, sharply, as if he'd made the decision to do so at the last second. Idisio almost bumped into him.
“We both ought to rest. I'll have to finish talking to you later. Go find your friend Riss. She needs you right now.”
“She what?” Idisio said involuntarily.
Deiq increased his pace until Idisio had to jog to keep up. “Trust me. Go.”
They came to a cross-passage which Idisio instantly knew led to the honored guest quarters. Deiq took it without pause or farewell. Idisio stood silent, watching the tall man hurry down the passage, and chewed on his tongue. He'd finally started getting some of the answers he needed. Deiq's abrupt departure felt like a splash of winter-cold water on a hot day.
You'll have time to talk, the ha'rethe said unexpectedly. He's right. Go see her.
“Is she all right?” Idisio said out loud, suddenly worried, and started
jogging again. He realized he could feel her presence in the servant's quarters. Cafad must have assigned her a room; she was probably unpacking or resting there. What could be wrong with that?
Go see her, the ha'rethe repeated.
“For what?” Idisio said, still speaking out loud; stubbornly reluctant to use any form of telepathy.
Humans, the ha'rethe sighed, and fell silent.
Riss was crying. He could feel her distress. He hesitated, considering whether to knock. As he dithered, the thin door seemed to shift slightly; now it hung open just a little.
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