Steelflower

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Evidence of what?

  He reached the horses. The bay nosed him, affectionately, and he scratched the bay’s face. “In’sh’ai, ataraun,” he said, quietly, to the animal. “And a good evening to you, adai’mi.” He spoke G’mai, and his inflection was as intimate as possible.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” I answered formally, in commontongue. “I see your hunting went well.”

  “Well enough.” He changed to commontongue as well. Was it courtesy, or unwillingness to let me have the upper hand? “Dinner?”

  “Soon.” I kept combing the gray, watching my hands move. Darik’s gaze was a weight I could not shoulder just yet.

  The minstrel made a low sound that might have been a laugh. I glanced at him, daggers in my gaze. Gavrin dropped his gaze to the nag’s back. “I think I should help the boy.” His voice was choked with something—laughter, perhaps. I hoped it was not—I was already in a black mood, growing blacker by the second.

  Like Darik’s eyes.

  Diyan scampered between the barbarian and Janaire, laughing. He seemed at ease, and I caught sight of Atyarik performing a small hand-trick for him. Janaire ruffled the young one’s hair, and he ducked his head, shyly.

  Darik simply stood, watching me. His eyes were quiet and depthless. A slight breeze played with his clothing, touched his dark hair.

  I might as well tell him what I fear. “I wish you to take watch with me tonight. Atyarik and Janaire can have the first watch, and we shall take the second. Redfist and the minstrel should take the third—the closer to dawn, the less danger.”

  He nodded, his black hair falling softly forward. “You think the wyverns will come during the second watch, in the deepest part of night.”

  I drew the comb down the gray’s neck. He made a low horsey sound of pleasure and leaned into the stroke. Darik’s eyes were still and flat as a painted surface. “I think if something has forced three wyverns to act so contrary to normal wyvern behavior, why not an attack during the night? And the second watch is the most vulnerable.”

  He nodded. “You wish me to watch with you?” He used the word that could have meant ”wish” and could have meant “trust”.

  “Of course.” My eyes locked firmly onto the gray’s mane. “You are my s’tarei.”

  He said nothing, but when I looked up through my lashes he smiled. It was the slight upward quirk of his lips I had seen before, a shared expression, something tender and amused I had never seen him practice in anyone else’s presence.

  Only with me.

  “You are a continual surprise, Kaia’li.” Soft and intimate, the words just brushing the air.

  I ducked under the horse’s head and turned my back to him, starting to comb the gray’s other side. “If the wyverns attack, the best we can hope for is to hold them while the others flee.”

  “We have two adai.” Thoughtfully, a strategist's tone. “Surely that counts for something. I begin to think sorcery is involved with this.”

  “It certainly stinks of something unnatural. We have one adai, and one not-even-half-trained, severely flawed adai.” My voice, for once, held no bitterness. I am G’mai. I have Power. The thought was a wonder, again.

  “Nevertheless.”

  “I am not certain I wish to go further with Janaire and her taih’adai.” Somehow, with my back to him, twas easier to speak of. “I know she needs help, but…”

  “It cannot hurt, to aid her. Can it?” He sounded uncertain. I felt his fingers brush one of my braids.

  “I do not know. Tis strange, to have the taih’adai speak to you. I almost feel I am shapeshifting to someone else—I am not myself anymore.” I drew the comb down, the horse whickered and flicked his ears.

  He said nothing.

  “I think it frightens me.” My neck and shoulders were tight. Me, the sellsword Kaia. How long have I lived without fear, or simply denying it? Running from fear does no good, as Kesa says; it only pursues you faster. And now that I have admitted my fear to him, what will happen?

  “I would ease your fear, if I could.” He spoke in G’mai, and I could not imagine him speaking otherwise.

  I blew out between pursed lips again, whistling in place of speaking. Silence bloomed; I finished brushing the gray and turned to face Darik. He stood with his feet braced against the earth and the twin dotanii rising behind his shoulders, a tall, thoughtful man with all the harsh beauty of the Dragaemir.

  Too much beauty for this part of the world. He belonged home, in the Blessed Land, where he would not frighten me with the weakness I had fought so long to overcome and conceal.

  I stepped close to him, fascinated by the play of failing light against his black hair. “Ah, D’ri. You are not to blame.” I found my hand touching his shoulder again—the one that had been wounded. The first wound of his I had ever felt. “Watch with me tonight, then. We shall see if the wyverns come.”

  He looked down at me, wearing that small smile again. “My thanks for your trust, Kaia’li.”

  My fingers caressed the brocade of his shirt. Such a small thing, the feel of fabric made by others of my kind. Homesickness I thought I had banished forever rose in my throat, pricked behind my eyes. “My thanks for your patience, D’ri.” I studied the shape of his mouth, the arc of his cheekbone, the harsh beauty of his face balanced gracefully against the tensile strength of his body. I had noticed his beauty before, and his deadliness, and his patience; but I had not noticed them together, all at once.

  He was truly a s’tarei.

  “What will you do, if we have three wyverns to deal with?” My hand cupped his shoulder, feeling muscle tense under my palm.

  “Defend you as best I can. As a s’tarei should.”

  I nodded, my braids falling forward over my shoulders. He touched one, lifted it, the rope of hair slipping against his fingers. He pushed it back over my shoulder and paused, looking down at me.

  “Keep your distance from the wyverns,” I said, softly. “Let me deal with them.”

  “Kaia—”

  “You will be responsible for making certain the others escape. I can face anything short of a wingwyrm, princeling.” My intonation took the sting out of the words. “I am worried for their safety.”

  “I will not leave you to face wyverns,” he said softly, but with great force. “Is that clear to you, Kaia?”

  I sought for a conciliatory tone. “D’ri, I need to know you will care for the others. It will free me to fight effectively.”

  “You are not the only one with a blade,” Darik said tightly. “Three wyverns may prove even a match for you, Kaia’li.”

  I have fought wyverns before, prince. I even killed a sorcerer terrorizing a village after I left G’mai. For a moment I felt panic rising, the unsteady terror that drowned me whenever I thought of the caves under the earth, the sorcerer’s soft laughter and the hissing of flame.

  I had thought it luck, the chance stumble that saved me from the trap of the sorcerer’s eyes. What if it had been untrained Power, or some other difference? What if I was not nearly as strong as I thought?

  I shook myself free of memory. I did not like to think on that time in my life. “I have faced wyverns before, and left the fight whole. I wish you to care for the others.”

  “No.” Stubborn to the last. “I did not take my oath to them.”

  “Please.” Twas the only weapon I had against him. Sharp words had not worked, and ignoring him had only made me sick with fever. “Please, D’ri. If the wyverns come tonight, you must protect the others and take them to safety. Then you may return and fight beside me, but I need you to do what I ask. Please.”

  He shook his head, his jaw set stubbornly. “Kaia. I cannot let you face three wyverns—or possibly more—alone.”

  Mother Moon, do not push me, princeling. “I am requesting your aid. You seem only to obey when tis advantageous, s’tarei mi.”

  Twas an unparalleled insult, even from me. For a moment I thought he was about to strike me. He certainly looke
d angry enough to do so. His hand even twitched, though I was not sure what he intended—to slap me, or to merely brush his hair back from his forehead.

  Then his Dragaemir face opened into a smile, and I almost took a step back. I was not ready for such an expression from him—tender, pained, and wry at the same moment, his black eyes dancing and his mouth relaxed into a grin. “It cheers me that you would take me to task, adai’mi.”

  I realized I had spoken in G’mai, and addressed him just as an adai would. My heart leapt inside me, traitorous piece of meat that it was.

  It almost managed to distract me. Almost. “Good. Then you will take the others to safety, and I will deal with the possible wyverns. Should it become necessary.”

  Now we hit the snag in the reel of silk. “You cannot command me to leave you. Tis against the Law.”

  “You are quick to invoke the Law to your benefit.” A scorch of anger rose under my breastbone. “You are not commanded to leave me. You may return and aid me against the wyverns if you like—if they even show their snouts tonight!”

  My voice hit a pitch I had rarely heard before, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. I glanced behind Darik and saw the boy staring across the packed earth of the waystation, his dark eyes wide and frightened. Janaire and Atyarik watched, Atyarik’s face dark with anger and trepidation, Janaire’s hand to her soft Gavridar mouth. The Skaialan stood with his legs braced wide apart, staring at the sky, apparently lost in thought while fingering his axe. And the minstrel? He stirred the stew for our supper, pretending not to notice. It was the first sign of tact he had shown.

  I swallowed roughly, took a firm hold on my temper, and took a firm hold as well of Darik’s shirtfront, wrapping my hand in G’mai fabric. “You will listen,” I hissed through my teeth. “You may be a princeling in G’mai, but here, in my life, you are nothing more than a problem I cannot solve short of my own death. You will not bandy words with me. I am the leader. This little troupe of street-performers is under my protection, and my direction. If you wish to disobey me, go through that door and do not return.” I jerked my head toward the aperture in the front wall leading to the outside world. “I have not come through hell, war, hunger, sorcery, and thievery to have some jumped-up princeling tell me when he will and will not obey. You may return to G’mai and die of twinsickness on the way, for all I care.”

  He did not look at me. Instead, stared down at my hands caught in the front of his shirt. I shook with something too complex to be called rage. “No,” he said, and nothing more.

  I made my fingers tear free from the cloth. “Go to the fire,” I said, harshly, in commontongue. “I do not wish to see your face until the dawning, s’tarei. You are a disgrace.”

  It took a physical effort not to draw my dotanii. If I drew on him now, I would not be fighting coldly, with calculation. I would strike to kill, and he would not stop at defending himself.

  I would make it impossible for him to stop at defending himself.

  A faint inner voice reminding me of Kesa’s sought to tell me to calm myself. I could not. For the life of me, the man could irritate me just by breathing. Was he not satisfied that he had entirely ruined the life I had made for myself?

  Though I could not blame him. After all, I had picked Redfist’s pocket, and plucked the dauq’adai out neatly as could be. The fault was mine. Who was to say the gods had not had a hand in gifting him with a flawed adai, for some purpose only they knew?

  Even if I had Power, I was still none of what a G’mai woman should be.

  I could not blame Darik for that, but it did not stop the furious pain in my chest. It did not salve my need to hurt him, a simple extension of my need to hurt myself.

  I put my hands flat on his chest and shoved him. He moved back, gracefully, his face closing with an almost physical snap.

  I turned on my heel and stalked for the gap in the wall. I had almost reached it when the boy pounded across the packed earth and nearly collided with me. “Cha, do not leave!” he yelled. “Do not leave!” He clutched at my belt and I found I had locked his wrist, stopping myself from squeezing roughly with an awful sweat-prickling effort. His eyes were wide, his thatch of hair was wild and tangled.

  You are in a fine stew, Kaia. You must calm yourself. “No fear, little one. As long as you are loyal, I shall not leave you.” Too late I realized I spoke in G’mai, something this little one would not understand.

  I did not understand myself now either.

  “Do not leave!” he repeated, hysterical strength in his small arms. I could only imagine what he thought I intended.

  I took him by his thin shoulders. It was an effort to speak in commontongue. “Go back to the fire, Diyan. Now.”

  Something in my face made him obey. He stumbled back, his eyes locked with mine.

  “Kaia—” Twas Janaire. I set my jaw. If I paused to speak, I would call her something so filthy her s’tarei would never forgive me. Not that I cared, but twould be impolite. And a G’mai should always be courteous.

  Even a flawed one.

  Twas not courteous at all, Kaia. You are wrong. He is right to insist, it is his duty.

  The thought only fueled my fury.

  I stalked out of the waystation and made for the small stream the watermark on the wall told me should be near. Chedgrass swirled around my hips once I left the beaten earth of the small track. I was so angry I barely noticed the way the grass swirled and flattened, my anger a silent wind touching the stalks.

  Power. I had Power, of whatever uneven quality, and it threatened to escape my control.

  Why am I so angry? Because he will not leave me? Because I have lost control of my own life? I shared my bed only with loneliness before, and wished for him, even if I did not know it was him I wished for. Why do I balk now?

  I set my teeth in my lower lip. Twas pain that was needed, to restore my restraint. What was it about the man that could drive me to the very brink of my self-control? It did not bode well. I had never thought there would be a s’tarei for me, since I had no Power, so I had never paid attention to the finer points of the Law dealing with relations between a s’tarei and his adai. Twas very true I could not shun him, unless he directly did something to make himself sharauq’allallai, outcaste. Which he had not—he would merely not leave me to the wyverns. I could not blame him.

  But twas more important to let the others escape than to have him prove once again that he could force himself into my life.

  And just this afternoon I had felt…

  What exactly had I felt? Did I even know, anymore, what I was capable of feeling?

  Kaia, you must cease this. I found myself at the stream without knowing how I had arrived, walking with anger covering my eyes.

  I was even thinking in G’mai again, my birthtongue slipping to the surface with an ease that belied long absence. I had learned commontongue quickly, not wishing to be reminded of anything resembling my native land. I was a sellsword, an assassin and a thief, something no G’mai girl dreamed of being.

  Something no s’tarei would want.

  I went to my knees and dipped my hands in the water, seeing a patch of meatroot off to the side. I did not want meatroot.

  I did not know what I wanted.

  I cupped cool water in my palms, brought it up to my face. The shock helped clear my head. Here in the bowl of the plains, low scrub bushes clustered around the streamlet, providing some cover. The hills rose and pleated gently away, covered in chedgrass, a sea that bore the ships of caravans toward Shaituh and the other coastal cities, a sea that held a few wandering nomadic tribes and the ever-present grasscats and coneys. Not at all a wyvern’s hunting ground.

  The caravans were still smoking. Yet I saw the smoke before.

  That was what bothered me. The caravans were still smoking and scorch-hot when I reached them. Fired once, or fired twice? But the wood underneath had been sound, still.

  I sighed, dipped my fingers in the water again as the light failed in the sky. N
ight here on the plains fell swift, like a hawk from the sky's blue vault.

  What could I do? Leave them to their own devices and return to Vulfentown on foot? It would not be long before Darik tracked and found me. And the others were my responsibility now. I had taken on the burden of being the captain of this small detachment. I did not wish to steer the ship of others’ fates. I had enough trouble with my own.

  I have never sought command, but sometimes the only thing to do is guide those too tired or inexperienced to guide themselves, especially in the wilderness, where a misstep can bring death. Or in a battle, where death is quicker, striking like a foulmouth-serpent, with not even a hiss to betray its intent. I had suffered hard for the ability to survive no matter where I found myself; to deny those who trusted me the benefit of those harsh lessons seemed unworthy of even a flawed G’mai.

  I splashed my face again. I was not accustomed to this. I was accustomed to traveling alone or with a caravan, silent or singing as the mood took me.

  Lonely, even if I did not acknowledge it.

  The hissing sound startled me—a snap and crackle of flame, and I glanced up, startled, before I dove to the side, rolling.

  Twas sheer instinct, learned on so many assassinations and silent thieving attempts, not to mention scouting against the Danhai. When a bolt streaks for your head or heart, the safest thing to do is roll away, blindly, even if you are not sure the bolt is meant for you. To hear the whistle of the crossbow is of no use unless you act, at once, without thinking.

  I gained the safety of the stream, blindly, thinking of wyverns. Water was poison to them.

  My dotanii left its sheath with a low singing note. I stood knee-deep in the stream, water dripping chill down my back, and stared wildly at the gathering dark, breath coming harsh and fast. The hissing sound circled me. I smelled burning, a dry sour lizard-smell wedded to the sharp odor of navthen, a combined scent that dragged me back to caves under the earth and whispering, chittering laughter.

  Memory was pushed away. I could not fight battles both past and present. I could only fight the battle now.

  Instinct had driven me into the water. So, in the water I would remain. My boots were sound, even if they would be sodden before long.