“There you are, rayani,” he said in throaty tones.
Akila gasped and whirled from the window. “Nurien. I thought you had gone on the hunt with your father.”
“For those witless cattle? They bore me. I prefer a more exotic form of prey.” He smiled, stepped closer to her. “Perhaps I shall hunt the wolf tonight.”
Akila gave him a withering stare. “You would not dare.”
“Why not? They are only Doma.” His fake smile fell away. “You seem unusually interested in these barbarians, rayani. Shall I inform your father of your approval?”
“That will not be necessary.” If her voice were any colder, she could’ve invoked an Ice Age. “Go and amuse yourself elsewhere, Nurien. I am weary, and not in the humor for company.”
“On the subject of Kemosiri,” he said as though she hadn’t spoken, “he will announce his decision soon. I am certain he will agree to our proposal, and you will be my bride.”
“I am not so certain.” A slight tremor in her voice betrayed her lack of confidence, and she averted her gaze quickly. “My father would not force me to bond with a … a preening peacock such as you.”
Nurien’s jaw clenched. “Your father does not care who you bond with, so long as his personal accounts are fattened and his power is enhanced. We have made a generous offer, and he will not refuse.” He closed the distance between them, grabbed her arms, and forced her against the wall. “Now. Let us celebrate our impending engagement.”
“The lady asked you to leave. Peacock.”
A figure materialized beside the haystack in the corner. Ian—smooth faced, painted with grime like the rest of his clan, more furious than I’d ever seen him. And I’d seen him killing mad. He moved toward the Bahari, one hand resting on a familiar ornamental dagger nestled in his belt. The dagger that now served as his tether in the human realm.
The wide-eyed look Nurien turned on him morphed into smugness. “So the Doma can speak,” he said. “I thought you might grunt like pigs.”
“Remove your hands from her.”
“Or what? Will you poke me with your pig sticker?”
Akila bucked hard and rammed a knee in her assailant’s gut. He staggered back. “I will never bond with you,” she breathed. Concentrated points of color blossomed high on her cheeks. “You disgust me.”
Nurien hissed sharply and raised a hand.
Ian moved impossibly fast. One leap carried him straight into the Bahari, like a torpedo, and knocked him to the floor. Ian straddled his chest, pulled the dagger, and held the edge to his throat. “Speak, and I will sever your vocal cords.”
Nurien glared up at him. He held his tongue, but the fingers of one hand traced a complicated pattern on the stone floor, just beyond Ian’s line of sight and on the side opposite Akila.
Seconds later, a horrified expression infused Ian’s face as his arm moved away from Nurien—and plunged the dagger deep into his own shoulder.
A cry from Akila engulfed Ian’s pained gasp. Nurien twisted hard to one side and sent Ian sprawling. He scooted back and stood against the wall. “Barbarian,” he spat. “I will show you true power.” His eyes rolled back for an instant, and he launched into a low and rapid chant.
Ian bounded to his feet, already drawing his uninjured arm back. His fist flew. A solid crack announced it connecting with Nurien’s jaw. The Bahari, silenced in midspell, entered a boneless slide down the wall and slumped to the floor. “True power, indeed,” Ian muttered. He turned his attention to Akila. “Are you hurt, lady?”
Akila shook herself. “No,” she whispered. “But you are. Your knife …” She pointed.
Ian followed her gesture to the handle protruding from his bloodied flesh. “Ah, yes. I seem to be impaled.” He wrapped a hand around the dagger and pulled, grunting when the blade emerged with a faint pop. “How unfortunate.”
“Let me heal you.” She approached him with hesitant steps. “Thank you. For stopping Nurien.”
Ian nodded. He closed his eyes while Akila worked the spell, only daring to look at her when she’d finished. “You have my gratitude, rayani,” he said. A hoarse note crept into his voice. “I should rejoin my father. And you should take yourself elsewhere, before the peacock regains consciousness.”
“Wait.” She smiled at him. “How long have you been here watching me?”
“It was you who invaded my solitude,” he said with the ghost of a grin. “I had entered this building, innocently intending to sleep, only to be encroached upon by a spy watching my clan.”
“You do not look innocent.”
His gaze could’ve melted boulders. “And you do not in the least resemble a peacock.”
Akila caught a breath. “You … are in need of a bath,” she blurted.
He laughed. “Aye. But unless you keep bathing water within the folds of your dress, I am not likely to have one soon.”
“Come with me,” she said. “I know of a warm spring near the palace.”
“As you wish, lady.”
The scene faded quickly, and reality filtered back in around the dissipating thought-form. I rubbed my eyes and stared at the real, present-time Akila. “Holy shit.”
“What is the matter?”
“Your husband throws a helluva punch.” I grinned at her. “I’m just glad I’ve never been on the wrong end of his fist.”
She laughed. “I am glad as well.”
“So … what happened to Nurien?”
“My father rejected the proposal, though my protest was not his reason for turning it down. He never did explain why.” A look of almost pure hatred flashed in her eyes. “On the same day the Dehbei returned to their village, Nurien and his father disappeared. I have questioned Gahiji-an, and he insists it was not his doing, or his clan’s. We assumed they left in shame due to the overturned proposal.”
“Oh.” I ran through a few mental calculations and came up short. “Wasn’t this a long time before you and Ian got hitched?”
“It was. We stayed in communication with one another, and I used reflective magic to visit his village whenever I could escape my Council duties. Omari-el was far more amenable to our bond than my father.” Sorrow crossed her face. “I loved him as well. He was the father I would have chosen, if there had been a choice.”
I almost hugged her—but then I remembered Ian’s right hook, and restrained myself. “Thanks for telling me this, Princess. I’ll try not to call Ian a grumpy bastard anymore.”
“No need to refrain from that. He certainly can be, on occasion.”
“Yeah, like any day that ends with a y.” I sighed and straightened. “Maybe I should head back inside, see if Jazz needs anything.”
“All right. We will … see you later.”
“Sure.” I wandered outside and made my way to the front door. Slowly. I still had no idea what to say, and I wasn’t sure I’d given Jazz enough space. Or whatever. But if she needed more, I’d be happy to crash for a while. My body insisted that not only could I sleep now, but I’d have no choice about it in five minutes or so, no matter where I happened to be.
Chapter 11
Jazz took one look at me and insisted I get some sleep. Not that I was going to stage a protest on that point. By the time I woke up, it was Cy’s turn to go to bed. And somehow I got roped into bedtime story duty.
It wasn’t going well.
Cyrus, seated Indian style on his bed, frowned at me. “No, Daddy,” he said. “Do the monster voice. Like Mommy does.”
“Uh, right.” I cleared my throat, backtracked a few sentences, and growled, “We’ll eat you up, we love you so.” My growl sounded like an angry Muppet imitation, but Cy seemed okay with it. I finished the last few pages without interruption from the peanut gallery and closed the book. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get you covered up.”
He flopped back on his pillows with a sigh that clearly said Daddy, you’re doing it wrong. “You forgot my drink.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.” He pointed
to a bright yellow cup with a sip lid on the table next to his bed. “See? It’s empty.”
I reached over and picked it up. A few drops of liquid sloshed around inside. “I guess it is,” I said. “We’ll have to fix that. What’re you drinking—mud? Worm juice? Maybe tequila.”
He giggled. “Water!”
“Got it. One water, coming up.”
I slipped out of his room into the hallway. Jazz was just coming up the stairs, carrying a pile of folded towels. I met her at the linen closet and opened it for her. “You didn’t tell me about the monster voice,” I said.
“Huh? Oh, right. The book.” She smiled and stowed the towels on a shelf. “I’m sure Cy filled you in.”
“Yeah, he did. ‘You suck, Daddy. Do it like Mommy.’ Thanks for the heads-up.” I grinned at her. “So when do I get to hear your monster voice?”
“Growl,” she deadpanned.
“Whoa, baby. That’s sexy.”
“You should hear my big bad wolf.” She reached across, pulled the closet shut. “He all set in there?”
“Not quite.” I shook the cup. “The boy’s thirsty.”
“Right. You got that? I’m going to say good night.”
“Sure. I’ll be—”
She’d already started for Cy’s room.
“Right there,” I mumbled. I held back a sigh and went into the bathroom. It wasn’t hard to tell she was distracted at best, and probably still pissed off. Couldn’t really blame her there. And I hadn’t even given her the good news yet.
I filled the cup and made my way back to find Jazz drawing a blanket over Cyrus. She leaned down and kissed him, then stepped back to let me through.
“Thank you, Daddy.” Cyrus accepted the cup and took a quick drink. “Wait! We hafta make a wish.” He sat up, pushed the blankets back, and swung his legs over the side. “Mommy, can Daddy wish with us?”
“Sure, baby.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What are we wishing for?”
“Whatever you want. It’s a secret when you wish on a star. Right, Cy?” Jazz scooped him up and carried him to the big window. She pulled the curtains back. Outside, only a faint line of light remained on the horizon, and a handful of bright stars dotted the sky. “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
They spoke in the same breath. “Star light, star bright …”
I listened to the familiar poem, but couldn’t bring myself to join in. This ritual belonged to them. The simple harmony and comfort in it, the unconscious intimacy, the small gestures—a point and a laugh from Cyrus, Jazz’s answering smile—almost made me feel like a voyeur. When they finished, Cyrus scrunched his eyes shut tight.
I concentrated on the brightest star I could see. I wish this curse will never touch my son.
“Okay, little man.” Jazz carried him back to the bed. “Time for sleep.”
After she settled him in, I went over and ruffled his silken curls. “Sleep tight.”
He rolled onto his side and looked at me. “What’d you wish for, Daddy?”
“I thought it was a secret.” I smiled, and whispered, “A pony.”
“Really? I’m gonna wish for a pony tomorrow.” He yawned. “G’night.”
“Good night, Cy.”
I slipped out and left the door ajar, like I’d seen Jazz do. She waited at the top of the stairs. “Akila and Ian are on their way over,” she said. “I guess Ian wants you guys to head out again tomorrow.”
“Terrific. Can’t wait.” I sighed and plodded over to her. Might as well make her completely pissed at me. “Jazz, I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.”
“You mean about the curse?”
“Uh … yeah.” I didn’t have to add How’d you know—my expression said it for me.
She smirked. “Akila told me. While you were sleeping.”
“Great. Guess I should be glad you two are getting along so well.” I followed her down the stairs, toward the living room. “So what’s next? Are you gonna start painting each other’s toenails and going out to strip clubs together?”
“Been there, done that.”
I stopped. “You’re not serious.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She turned, and a teasing smile flitted across her mouth. “You’re still cute when you’re jealous, Houdini.”
Some of the crushing weight on my shoulders eased. She hadn’t used that nickname in months. I wasn’t sure why she’d suddenly lightened up, but I didn’t want to risk dampening the mood again. “And you’re beautiful when you’re screwing with my head,” I said.
“Which one?”
I gave a desperate moan. “Not fair. We’re having company.”
The front door opened right on cue, as if my life were a crappy television sitcom. I half-expected to hear a canned laugh track. Instead, I got a low chuckle from Jazz and a whispered promise of Later. It’d have to be enough.
Akila entered first. When Ian came in behind her, for an instant I thought I was seeing a ghost. Wearing only a vest, pants, and boots, he looked just like his father in Akila’s vision—but scrubbed clean of dirt and any trace of good cheer. Exhaustion lurked in his stance and his eyes. A good wind could’ve carried him off to the next county.
I would’ve felt sorry for him if he had better timing.
Watching Akila make a thought-form the second time was just as fascinating as the first.
She sat on the couch, her back to the big folding mirror we used for bridges, with Ian beside her watching intently. Jazz and I hung back. Inside the circle she’d formed hovered a bird’s-eye view of rolling, forested mountains under a full and blazing moon. I had the vague impression I’d seen this before—but I couldn’t be sure, since at the time I’d been falling a zillion miles an hour toward certain death.
“So, Princess,” I said. “You going to teach me how to make these?”
She laughed. “You are not Bahari.”
“I’m not Dehbei either. Not really. So maybe it’ll work for me.” Some kind of bird soared across the image—a big one. It might’ve been an owl. “At least tell me how you’re doing it,” I said.
Akila shrugged. “I am scrying, and projecting an illusion of what I see.” The image wobbled, flickered, and solidified again.
“Donatti.” Jazz elbowed me. “Let her concentrate.”
“Sorry, Princess.” I shut my mouth and watched. This was the first time I’d been involved in the actual search for a tether. Usually Ian just told me where we were going and what we were looking for. He hadn’t offered an explanation for this, but I suspected it was the closest he could come to an apology. That, or he just wanted an extra pair of eyes in case he missed something.
“There.” Ian pointed to a deep canyon that scored the face of a mountain. “We crossed this. It should be close.”
Akila nodded, and the view zoomed across the canyon to skim the tops of the trees beyond. “I do not sense anything here,” she said quietly. “He may have replaced his wards.”
“Keep searching.”
I resisted the urge to smack Ian in the back of the head. The trees grew closer, until it almost seemed we could reach out and touch them. A few patches of wobbly bare ground appeared between the branches rushing past. The overall effect was like someone had strapped a webcam around the neck of a geriatric bat and kicked him out of his cave before he’d woken up for the night. Apparently, Akila didn’t have as much control over live thought-forms as remembered ones.
“Is anyone else getting dizzy?” Jazz murmured.
I nodded agreement while the woozy bat-o-vision sluiced by a small stream, a massive deadfall, and a big furry something that probably had sharp teeth. Nothing looked familiar to me, but if this was the right place, I’d covered most of this ground trying not to fall off the back of a running wolf. I didn’t expect any landmarks to jump out.
The image canted drunkenly to the right and skimmed across a spacious clearing with flashes of gray stone. It slowed, zoomed out, and backtracked.
“Here,” Akila said. The vision centered on the clearing, and the familiar building it contained. “This is your monastery, yes?”
“Yes.” Ian leaned forward. “Is his tether there?”
Akila rolled her eyes. “I am not that fast, my heart. Give me a moment.”
He opened his mouth, and with a sharp look Akila made him shut it.
Jazz grinned. “Now there’s a trick I wouldn’t mind learning. Nice death stare, Akila.”
“Thank you, Jazz. I will teach it to you.”
I let out a groan. “Do I get a vote in this death-stare thing?”
“No,” both women responded at once, and then laughed together.
After a minute, Akila frowned. “I feel nothing here. No magic at all.”
Ian released a frustrated snarl. “Then we will go there, and force him to reveal his tether.”
“Come on, Ian. He already said we’d never find it. It’s probably nowhere near the place.” A shudder snaked down my spine. “And I’m really not into torturing monks.”
“Blast it, thief ! I have explained this. He must be destroyed, or we will—”
“Wait.” Akila gestured at the thought-form, and the image started moving again. “I sense … something. Not far from here.”
At least her statement shut Ian up for a few minutes. The view rushed across the mountain, direct and purposeful. It passed over thick patches of evergreens, deep and tangled thickets of underbrush. Finally, the rapid motion slowed and focused on a gated chain-link fence—complete with a couple of armed guards. Beyond the fence lay a collection of wooden buildings arranged in three straight lines. Something about them didn’t look right, but I couldn’t quite decide what it was. If the guards had been in uniform, I would’ve thought military base. But there were no flags, no insignia of any kind. And last I checked, the military didn’t issue sawed-off spearguns.
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