by Tanya Huff
*Told you.* Bannon’s mental voice was matter-of-fact. *Another day or two and he won’t be able to keep his kilt down.*
Vree ignored him. “If this inn caters to rich travelers, why would it accept two butt-sore riders?”
“Because we have a great deal of money.” He patted his bulging belt pouch. “And what’s more we’re very well-dressed, riding expensive animals, and I intend to behave as though I have every right to be there. An attitude I’m sure you’ve had intensive training in assuming given that you usually work where you have no right to be. What are we missing?”
The road ahead had momentarily cleared. As her horse seemed inclined to continue toward the bridge, Vree glanced over at her companion. “We have no servants,” she said.
“Died.”
“What?”
“They died.” Gyhard smiled, his expression suddenly so like one her brother had molded those same features into that Vree started and had to hurriedly relax her grip on the reins. “Died of one of those flux diseases while we were in the south.”
“Both of them? How? No rich sot would go to a place without healers.”
“Oh, there were healers, but our servants were Olaki.”
“Why would anyone hire one Olaki let alone two?” The Olaki were a small sect who believed their god would heal them with no direct intervention up to and including, in extreme cases, bandaging. They were a standing joke in the army where the burial squads were often called Olaki healers.
“Because besides being stupidly mortal, the Olaki also believe that a life of service will strengthen the bond with their god. This makes them excellent, albeit frequently replaced, servants.”
“What about their horses? Or did our loyal but stupid servants run alongside?”
“We sold their horses for a tidy profit as we had no wish to lead the now useless beasts all the way back to the Capital.”
Distracted by the necessity of guiding her horse through traffic and up over the arc of the wide stone bridge that lifted the South Road above the Pymba River, Vree wondered when this riding nonsense became instinct as Gyhard kept assuring her it would. “It’s an asinine story,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “You can tell it.”
“I had every intention of doing so.”
* * * *
A wide marble portico separated Evion’s from the North Road. As Gyhard led the way up to one of the columns, a well-scrubbed girl of about ten ran out to take their reins.
“Will you be staying the night, sirs?” she asked as Gyhard dismounted.
“We will.” He flipped her a quarter-crescent.
She snatched the coin out of the air with practiced dexterity, and it disappeared into a fold of her blue tunic. “Very good, sirs.”
After eight days in the saddle, Vree no longer returned to earth feeling as though she’d gladly cut off her own legs. Muscles hurt more from hours of use than abuse. “What about the saddlebags?” she asked when Gyhard started for the inn’s double doors.
“Leave them. The page will bring them to the rooms.”
Vree stared down at the girl who stared fearlessly up at her. “If anything’s missing, I’ll cut your living heart out and feed it to you. With onions.”
The page made a face as she vowed not to touch a thing.
“I never imagined that you’d have such a way with children,” Gyhard murmured as they went inside.
* * * *
*Not bad.*
Vree felt her lips purse to whistle and forced them flat.
*It’s not like we haven’t seen places like this before,* she reflected.
*Yeah, but we saw those after dark with knives in our hands and garrotes in our pockets.*
“I hope you don’t mind that I turned down the services of a bath attendant,” Gyhard said, coming out of the larger of the two bedrooms wearing a loose robe, “but you’re not exactly schooled in the behavior this establishment expects, and I didn’t want to put unnecessary pressure on you.”
Vree shrugged. “If they swallowed that stupid story you told about the servants without choking, they’ll believe anything.”
*You know, Vree, insults aren’t usually considered foreplay.*
*I said the story was stupid. I didn’t say he was.*
Watching her eyes narrow, Gyhard smiled. “I’ll leave you two to discuss whatever it was you were discussing while I bathe. Don’t worry about going second. Our private chamber taps into the boilers that supply the common baths, so there’ll be plenty of hot water.”
As he brushed past her, Vree stepped aside, very aware of his body under the light cover of the robe, not wanting them to touch.
*You should follow him. Offer to wash his back.*
She turned and headed for the smaller bedroom.
*Vree?*
*If I do anything at all, Bannon, I’ll do it when I’m good and ready.*
* * * *
Gyhard settled into the steaming water and allowed himself to relax for what seemed like the first time in eight days. The journey thus far had been less stressful than he’d feared it might be and much too stressful to have been comfortable. He shuddered to think what it might have been like without the riding lessons forcing his brooding companion to cooperate.
His six-day gallop to the Capital had been drastically amended by the army’s insistence on using infantry above all else. It had never occurred to him that the inevitable assassin whose body he intended to steal would not be able to ride. And it had certainly never occurred to him that said assassin would be part of a team.
Stretching the kinks out of his back, he reached for a loofah and froze. Suppose the sister had arrived in Aralt’s tower first? Could he have made the jump into a woman’s body? Would he?
“I am luckier than I have any right to be,” he murmured. “And far stupider than I would have thought.” He’d had an equal chance of the assassin being a woman right from the beginning and he’d never even considered the possibility. Perhaps I’m getting old.
He frowned, pushing the thought aside. In the beginning, one hundred and thirty-two years ago, he’d wondered if, in spite of an infinite supply of new bodies, his life force would someday weaken and he’d die, sharing the fate of everyone and everything else. It had been some time since he’d allowed that speculation to surface.
He would live forever.
He would never die.
And soon, I’ll once again have a life worth living. He’d been rich and he’d been poor. Rich was better. Rich and powerful, better still.
There was nothing wrong with the body he now wore. On the contrary, there was a great deal right with it. He worked the muscles in his arms, watching them roll beneath the slick surface of the skin. He could understand why young Bannon wanted it back.
Only five days left, my children. When are you going to make your next move? Scooping a handful of soft soap from the glass jar on the edge of the bath, he began lathering his hair. They had to be planning something, that was a given. But what? Young Bannon didn’t seem the type able to beat his own body to the point where the life in it barely held to consciousness. For that matter, Gyhard doubted that his loving sister could strike the blows.
He rinsed, surfaced, and remember the feel of her gaze. She had amazing eyes. Darker than her brother’s, almost too large for her face; every now and then over the last eight days they’d burned with emotions too intense for her to contain. Hatred. Rage. Frustration. Fury. Her lithe assassin’s body like a sculpted vessel made to hold dark passions.…
Unable to stop himself, Gyhard burst out laughing. Gods keep me from thinking like a bad poet or an apprentice bard. Glancing down the length of his body, he shook a chiding finger at his groin. Governor Aralt had been an old man. It had been a long time since he’d had such a spontaneous reaction. “And you, you should be ashamed of yourself. Your own sister.”
Except that she wasn’t his sister.
And she was a beautiful woman.
And not only does she intend to k
If anything, that intensified the physical response.
I’d forgotten the immediacies of being twenty, he sighed and surrendered to the moment.
* * * *
Strenuous exercise and a scalding hot bath had helped Vree regain both her composure and her distance. Dinner threatened to undo it all.
A parade of servants in blue tunics carried dish after dish to the low table in the center of the suite’s main room. Sitting cross-legged on a pile of cushions—while the inn’s dining room provided benches and chairs, Gyhard had requested the suite with southern furnishings—Vree stared at the food and wondered what half of it was.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Gyhard declared, scooping what she thought might be rice onto his plate. “Aralt lost his sense of taste years ago and nothing we’ve had so far can equal the cooking at Evion’s.”
“Or so you’ve heard,” Vree muttered, trying to identify a platter of heavily sauced meat.
“You can’t spoil this for me.” Grinning broadly, he passed her a bowl of glazed vegetables. “So you needn’t bother trying.”
*He seems awfully relaxed,* Bannon observed.
*Why shouldn’t he be? He knows what he’s eating. What do you think this is?*
*Vree, I’m tasting exactly the same thing you are.*
*So what is it?* She popped another small piece into her mouth.
*I think it’s pork.*
*Pork?* Army pork swam in a puddle of grease. *What did they do with all the fat?*
*Beats me.*
Suddenly aware of being watched, she glanced across the table. “What are you staring at?”
“You.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I was just wondering, actually, what you see when you look at me.”
Vree closed both hands around the table edge and stared at him.
He paused to chew and swallow, then continued. “I mean, I was wondering if you see your brother or if you see me?”
“That’s the most ridic …”
*It’s a good question, Vree. I’ve wondered, too.*
She sighed, closed her eyes, and opened them again. The very last thing she needed was for the two of them to start agreeing on things. “I see my brother’s body,” she said. “But you wear it differently.”
*What do you mean differently?*
*I don’t know. Differently. He doesn’t move as much as you did. And when he does, he’s not so … well, extreme about it.*
*What did I do? Jerk around all over the place?*
*No. He’s older, Bannon. He’s going to move less.*
Grumbling inaudibly, Bannon subsided.
“I’m sorry.” To her surprise, Gyhard actually looked as if he meant it. “I hadn’t intended to cause a fight between you.”
She raised a hand to both accept his apology and cut off any further discussion. As silence could too easily be broken by dangerous subjects, she asked questions about the meal until they’d emptied every dish on the table. Gyhard was amusing, articulate, and not only knew what they were eating but also how it had been prepared and how it could’ve been prepared differently. Vree actually found herself laughing at a story of sheep’s eyes and Aralt’s old chamberlain. When she noticed she was enjoying his company, she almost choked on the guilt.
“I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing the conversation,” he said as they stood. “So I’ll apologize up front. It’s been a long time since there’s been someone I could be myself with.” And then he paused as though he’d just realized what he’d said. He looked almost startled.
Vree rose as well, wishing she hadn’t eaten quite so much. An overfull stomach brought with it a dangerous loss of control. “Don’t try and convince me you’ve been living in a tragedy, ’cause I’m not buying.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He inclined his head, as he would to an equal. “We’ll be leaving early in the morning. Sleep well.”
She watched him pick up a lamp and disappear into his bedroom, strangely unwilling to move until he was out of sight.
* * * *
A spill of brilliant moonlight lay diagonally across the bed. Beyond it, the room was dark and so quiet she could hear the rustle of the blanket against her body as she breathed. What had awakened her? Slowly, silently, she closed her fingers around the hilt of the dagger lying on the mattress beside her.
Instinct, training—both told her she was no longer alone.
Closer now, almost at the bed. Moving with an assassin’s stealth.
Muscles tensed, she waited. Whoever it was, in order to strike a killing blow, would have to bend into the moonlight. When they did, they’d die.
A heartbeat. Another. A shadow at the edge of the illumination.
“Bannon?”
The sudden realization delayed her long enough for him to shove the pillow he carried down over her face. She twisted and fought while her lungs screamed for air and finally got both hands against his chest and pushed with all her remaining strength.
*VREE!*
*Bannon?*
*VREE, STOP IT! YOU’RE KILLING ME!*
Gasping for breath, she shoved a tangle of blankets aside and threw herself out of the bed. She was alone in the room. Alone.
*No! Bannon?*
It took a moment to find him amidst the terror, hers and his.
*Bannon, are you all right?*
His voice shook. *You tried to push me out. Why, Vree? Why?*
*I didn’t mean it.* All at once, her legs couldn’t hold her and she sank to her knees. *It was a dream. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.* Her hand came up to clutch the onyx pendant that hung between her breasts. But there was no strength there. This was not a battlefield Jiir ruled.
The door opened, and she whirled to stare into the soft light of a shielded lamp.
“I heard you cry out …” Gyhard’s voice trailed off as she turned and laid her head on her knees, exposing the vulnerable curve of her spine.
“Go away.” She forced her voice to carry as far as the door. When she heard him leave, when she heard the door close, she started to tremble.
*Vree?*
*I didn’t mean it.*
* * * *
“Want to talk about it?”
Vree scowled at nothing. “About what?”
“About last night.”
“Why?”
Gyhard shrugged although he knew she couldn’t see the gesture. “I just wondered if you often had nightmares like that.”
Never like that. Never so obvious. Assassins examined their dreams for messages from the goddess, warnings of weaknesses or fears that could rise up to defeat them as they moved alone in the darkness. But to learn that Bannon was her weakness was merely to relearn something she’d known most of her life.
*Slaughter it, Vree, it’s perfectly normal for you to want me out of your head. Just don’t do it again and stop flogging yourself over it.* Bannon, once his terror had calmed, had found his balance with practiced ease. As usual, he’d placed himself at the center of the problem and looked no deeper.
Deeper. Vree had glanced once into the shadowed depths of her heart where dark desire hid and refused to look again.
Gyhard watched the tiny movements of muscles beneath the surprisingly delicate angle of her jaw and found the answer to his question. So her sleep is not entirely peaceful. Somehow he doubted that the lives she’d taken over the years haunted her. “Still sane?”
The expression she threw at him held anger but no taint of madness. “Why are you asking?”
“Curiosity.”
“Eat it.”
They rode in silence for the rest of the morning. He couldn’t get the image of the vulnerable curve of her back out of his mind.
At noon, they stopped in a small village that seemed to have grown up merely because it was exactly half a day’s leisurely travel from Kiaz. Oblivious to Gyhard’s indulgent smile and pig noises made by her brother, Vree devoured a bowl of honeyed figs and felt her mood lift a little. Perhaps there’d be a way out after all.
When the sun had moved a safe distance past its zenith, they remounted and continued toward the Capital. The South Road was deserted, and Vree actually found herself relaxing into the movement of the horse. For a glorious moment, they became one creature, not two, and she began to understand what Gyhard saw in this method of transportation.
And then she saw the rider, hidden by a sharp bend in the road until he was too close to avoid.
“What is it?” Gyhard demanded as she stiffened.
“Army courier,” Vree snapped, squinting to bring the sunbursts on the flapping pennant into focus. “I can’t tell which army.”
“What are the odds you’d be known?”
“Long,” she admitted, but shifted to ready a dagger.
The courier was almost on them, close enough to count the sunbursts on his tunic. Six sunbursts. Sixth Army.
*Shit!*
*Probably on the way back from telling the Emperor about Ghoti.*
*Lousy slaughtering timing!*
The eyes under the crested helm flicked toward them as the courier passed, then widened with sudden recognition. “Bannon?”
*Avor,* said the Bannon in her head, not the one wrongly identified beside her.
Avor put his heels to his horse just a heartbeat too late.
Gyhard had never seen anyone move so quickly. One moment Vree sat stiffly beside him, the next instant she launched herself from the saddle, slammed into the startled courier and rode him to the ground, landing almost impossibly in a crouch straddling the body.
No, not a body. Not yet. He had the breath knocked out of him by the fall but appeared to be unhurt. Before he could move, a dagger pressed against his throat.
“They think you’re dead, both of you. You were killed getting out of Ghoti!” By the time Avor’s brain caught up with his mouth, the damage had been done. The information he’d just blurted out had been the only thing keeping him alive. “I won’t tell!” His heels dug impotent trenches in the dust.
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