He nodded, uneasy again for no good reason, and looked around the sunlit room. Worn, but reasonably clean: and empty in an oddly final manner.
“Where’s Lashnar?” he said. “This is his house, right? Where is he?”
“Not home,” his mother said, and steered Idisio outside.
The tavern was no more pleasant than it had been on Idisio’s last visit. The drooping barmaid gave him a look of unabashed loathing when he stepped through the doorway, which moderated only slightly when she noticed Ellemoa.
The tables stood empty, the air somehow the more rank for the absence of other people.
“Take your pick of seats,” Seshya said, throwing her hand out in a wide gesture. “We’re having a fine night, as you can tell.” She glanced over her shoulder, as though searching for someone, then looked back to Idisio. “We’re short on food, too. Biscuits and greens, potato soup, that’s all we’re offering tonight. Take it or leave it!”
“That’s no way to speak to us,” Ellemoa said sharply.
“Why?” Seshya demanded. She pointed at Idisio. “Last time he was here, the only decent person in this town wound up with a knife stuck through her.”
“It wasn’t me!” Idisio said, anger sparking instantly.
“Well, you have an uncanny knack of turning up around death. Lashnar slashed his arms open. No saying why. And then his witch-apprentice wife shows up and takes everything of value that Lashnar could claim ownership over, from stable and home and town: rather a lot, that was, and left Kybeach with the dregs of what wasn’t much to begin with. So do you want the damned biscuits or not?”
“Take them for your supper,” Ellemoa said unexpectedly. “We’ll leave you in peace. Idisio, give her the letter and we’ll be on our way.”
He took three reluctant steps and held out the letter. “For the next News-Rider traveling to Bright Bay,” he said.
She took it, her mouth twisted into a sardonic grimace. “I’ll be sure to send it along,” she said, then hesitated, glancing between Ellemoa and Idisio. “Let me get you a biscuit for the road, at least.”
“That would be a kindness, thank you,” Idisio said quickly, before his mother could disagree.
“It’s been a rough time of late,” Seshya said, shaking her head, then turned and went into the kitchen.
“Why not sit for a meal?” Idisio demanded in a whisper as soon as the barmaid disappeared.
“There’s only enough in that kitchen for our meal or hers,” Ellemoa said as quietly, her eyes a peculiar, glittering color. “Let her have it, son, we can get more.”
“How can they not have any food? It’s a tavern!”
His mother just shook her head and motioned him silent. Seshya emerged a moment later with a wrapped bundle. “It’s not much,” she said a bit awkwardly, “but—well. Thank you.”
The warmth of the biscuits seeped through the cloth, heating Idisio’s palms. “Thank you, s’a Seshya,” he said, then, in a rush: “Are you—will you be—why don’t you have any food?”
She shrugged and folded her arms before her, slumping into a sullen posture again. “More travelers than stock,” she said. “Less money than need. Lashnar was half-owner; he handled the orders and the finances. The other owner’s in some town down the way, never seen him in my life; but Lashnar killed hisself without leaving provision as to who’s in charge—and then his wife came and scooped up whatever she could carry—which included a large part of the kitchen stores. The cook’s more drunk than sober these days, and I avoid him when I can.”
“I’m sorry,” Idisio said helplessly.
“It’ll sort itself out,” she said, then looked pointedly at the door.
“Good day,” Ellemoa said, then tugged Idisio outside again.
“You shouldn’t have asked,” she scolded in a low voice. “That was rude, son, to make her tell her shame like that.”
“How is it her shame?” he demanded. “None of it’s her doing!”
She clicked her tongue impatiently. “Never mind,” she said. “I’ll explain to you one day. For now, we have a long way to travel, son—let’s get started on it.”
He took a step, another; balked, looking back to the west. A heavy dark cloud hung over Bright Bay, which seemed wildly improbable against the crisply clear morning they were walking through: Bright Bay wasn’t that far away.
“Let’s go, son,” his mother said, more sharply.
He wavered, doubtful, another moment: but the letter had been written, and would be delivered, and there was really nothing more to be done. He was going to Arason with his mother, and—
“What happened to Deiq and Alyea?” he said. “Deiq was—he was watching, when you—found me in the rain, he was supposed to—to stop you from—” He paused, frowning, and looked at his mother. Her dark grey stare caught and held his, ferociously intent.
“You’re going to Arason, with me,” she said. A thick layer of cotton began to wrap around his mind, blurring his thoughts into incoherence. “You’re coming home to Arason,” she said from an increasing distance. “You’re coming home to Arason, with me, with your mother....”
Sound and sight faded into a grey, muffled haze.
Chapter Fifty-One
Dasin shook Tank awake as night turned to a deep grey.
“Get up, loverboy,” he snarled, and stomped across the room. “Time to go. I want to get to Bright Bay today.”
Tank sat up, bemused and still sleep-hazed. For an unfocused moment, Dasin’s hostility puzzled him; then he looked down at the girl curled against him.
Wian stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled up at him. It was such an unguarded, peaceful expression that his breath caught in his throat for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” he said, reflexively twisting upright and away.
His bare feet hit the cold floor, shocking him more towards wakefulness, as she said, “You don’t remember? It was wonderful.”
Dasin turned and glared. Tank aimed a severe stare over his shoulder at Wian, mainly to avoid seeing Dasin’s outraged expression.
With a sour grin, she said, “Don’t worry, Dasin, you didn’t miss anything you’d consider exciting. I fell asleep and didn’t have to wake up to service anyone along the way, that’s all.”
“Whore,” Dasin spat.
Tank jerked back around. Before he could take the first step towards breaking every bone in Dasin’s skinny body, Wian stood and came swiftly around the end of the bed.
“No more than I’ve had to be,” she snapped back. Dasin’s eyes widened; then he averted his eyes, a wave of color flushing into his pale face. Wian gave a hissing, contemptuous sound. “So, you won’t look at me the next morning to see what you enjoyed in the dark? Coward.”
Dasin’s head jerked up. He glared at her; then his gaze drifted across her body again, as though helplessly compelled. He dropped his gaze to the floor, the color fading from his face.
“I didn’t realize,” he muttered.
Wian spat on the floor near his feet, then turned to Tank, her eyes fever-bright. “What about you?” she demanded.
Tank blinked slowly, his gaze on the web of scars that criss-crossed her entire body; the purple-black bruises, the yellowing ones, the cuts... the old brands. He looked back at her face and said, “What about me? I’ve got my own set of scars. So what?”
She stared at him, breathing hard, then abruptly turned away and grabbed up her clothes.
Dasin sat on the edge of his bed, back to them, and said nothing.
As Wian yanked her clothes on, she said, “I grew up in Bright Bay under Ninnic, serving the rich and powerful. I don’t have family, nor friends; only these damned scars to keep me company, and whoever I’m told to entertain each day. At least you two have each other.”
“Some of those cuts are less than six months old,” Tank said, keeping his voice flat.
“Changing the king doesn’t change the world overnight,” she said. “The ways for
a female servant to survive inside the Seventeen Gates don’t change all that much when a different rump is on the throne.”
He watched her wriggling into her loose shirt, careful to keep his face still and expressionless.
“If you don’t have any family left there,” he said, “why go back?”
She didn’t answer right away, her attention apparently on arranging the folds of her shirt properly.
“And go where?” she said at last. “I can’t stay anywhere along the Coast Road if I betray my promise to Yuer; and south of the Horn or north of the Hackerwood, he’d find me sooner or later.” She paused, studying Tank. “And he’ll kill the two of you if I don’t arrive at the Fool’s Rest in reasonable time. You may not be family, but I don’t want your blood on my conscience. So let’s get moving.”
“You don’t have to go back,” Tank said quietly. “We can handle ourselves.”
She laughed a little, without humor. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Yes, we do,” Dasin said unexpectedly. He stood, turning to look at her. “We know.” He glanced at Tank, ducking his head a little, then back to Wian. “He’s right. You can—we’ll be all right. If you go.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve done what I’ve done,” she said. “I’ve earned these bruises and whippings ten times over. Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t try to help me. It’ll get you killed, and that’s the first truth I’ve handed out for free in years. I’ll meet you at the stables.”
She walked out without looking back.
“Damn,” Dasin said after the door had closed behind her. “Tank....”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, rubbing at his mouth, wishing he could wipe away the bitter taste in the back of his throat; then bent to pull on stockings and boots, glad that he hadn’t actually gotten around to undressing the night before. He’d never allowed Dasin to see his own childhood memorabilia, and didn’t intend to start now; especially considering the inevitable comparison Dasin would make, with that sight fresh in his mind. Tank needed every ounce of respect he could wring out of Dasin’s cynical mindset.
“We can’t....” Dasin made a helpless gesture.
“We have to.”
Dasin shook his head, looking as miserable as a kicked asp-jacau. “It isn’t right.”
“Right is for priests and children,” Tank said. He grabbed up his gear and left the room without waiting for Dasin’s reply.
In spite of Dasin’s best intentions of reaching Bright Bay before dusk, the sky was already black by the time they reached Kybeach, and Wian was sagging sideways against Tank’s back.
“We’ll have to stop,” Tank said. Dasin growled a string of southern obscenities but reluctantly agreed.
“Stick to trail food,” Dasin said.
“Intended to.” Tank nudged Wian awake; she offered the same overall opinion of the choice as Dasin, if more wearily.
They booked a single room, with one bed for all; whether that was honestly the only room left, or the only option the sour-faced innkeep was willing to offer, Tank saw no point in arguing. A quick, shared glance agreed: none of them wanted the service to get any worse, if that was even possible.
Tank slept in the middle of the worn and lumpy mattress without a word needing to be said. Dasin kept his back stiffly turned and as far to the edge as he could. Tank pushed Wian away twice during the night; although to be fair, he could tell that she was asleep and seeking nothing more complicated than contact each time.
Dasin and Tank both rolled out of bed equally surly; Wian, quiet and moody. None of them spoke much on the way to Bright Bay.
Tank had never ridden into Bright Bay before. It was a nice discovery that the nods from the gate guards turned respectful as he went by. People moved out of the way, hardly looking up at him, and children stared with open envy and admiration—just because he was on a big horse. It was all surprisingly exciting, and he grinned like a newborn fool as he and Dasin went through the eastern streets.
“Loon,” Dasin muttered, glancing over. “She got her hand in your pants or something?”
“If I did have,” Wian retorted before Tank could answer, “I’ve a feeling it would be a better handful than you were.”
Dasin bared his teeth at her. “Try again with some spirit next time, you’ll see a difference.”
“That’s enough,” Tank said, irritated. “Gods, have some taste!” Then he tilted his head back, accepting their shared eruption of laughter, and shrugged at his own poor choice of words. At least they were bantering; even crude humor was an improvement over the sullen, icy silence that had hung over most of the day’s ride.
At least the weather had warmed; while a thick line of scattered dark clouds promised more rain that night, the air hung warm and relatively dry for the moment. Tank put his attention to enjoying that while it lasted, and ignored the shots Dasin and Wian took at one another from time to time.
When they reached the easternmost of the Seventeen Gates, the burly, bristle-haired captain of the day squinted with visible suspicion.
“Your business?” he asked, his tone clearly implying they couldn’t have anything legitimate to do in noble territory and that they’d likely stolen their horses.
“Fool’s Rest Tavern,” Tank said.
Wian leaned around him and said, “Captain!” in a tone filled with warm honey. “How have you been?”
He stepped forward and squinted at her. Tank realized the man was likely near-sighted.
“I know that voice,” he said, a smile moving the bristles on his face into sow’s jowls. “I wondered where you’d gone, sweet. And the Fool’s Rest? That’s a step up, I’d say, and well deserved.”
“Thank you. I took a short trip with some friends,” Wian said. “It’s good to be home.”
The man’s squinting gaze moved to Tank and Dasin, clearly assessing whether they were the friends in question.
“These two ka-s’es are my escort,” Wian added. “They made sure of my safety along the way.”
The man’s scowl cleared instantly. “Will I be able to see you tonight?”
Tank’s hands tightened on the reins; Wian’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I’d really like to have some rest for tonight, and settle in to the new place,” she said easily. “It’s been a terribly long road. Perhaps the day after tomorrow?”
“Fair enough,” the captain said expansively. “I’ll be looking for you in two days, then. Don’t you go hiding on me, sweet!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered.
The captain’s gaze moved to Tank. “You’ll need to bind that,” he said, pointing at the sword slung across Tank’s back. He dug into a large belt pouch and handed up a length of slender red cord with knotted ends.
“I’ll do it,” Wian said, taking the cord, and secured the blade with a few swift looping movements.
“Good enough,” the captain said, and waved them through. “Two days, sweet, don’t forget.”
“Not a chance, Captain,” she crooned. “I’ll be watching for you.”
“They won’t fuss over me, will they?” the captain said, raising his hand to stop them once more and suddenly looking a bit anxious. “Being not a noble-born, that is. They won’t deny me entrance for that?”
“I’ll be sure to tell them to let you through,” Wian said. She nudged Tank in the back as the guards stepped aside. “Go, Tank,” she murmured in his ear. He ground his teeth and nudged his horse forward, pointedly not looking at the captain as he passed.
On his way through the gate, Dasin’s gelding went abruptly sideways, almost crowding the captain into the wall; he tugged the horse clear at the last possible moment amid a volley of curses.
“Sorry,” he called back, waving. “Stupid damn beast....”
Wian laid her forehead against Tank’s shoulder, shaking with suppressed laughter.
When the gate lay safely behind them, Dasin said, “I thought you were returning to the Fool’s Rest, not goin
g there for the first time.”
“No,” Wian said. “I’m in Yuer’s service now, like yourselves. I was working for—someone else, before this. And in—other places. I think the Fool’s Rest will probably be a good bit nicer, at least, than some of the places I’ve been.” She sighed. “And if the gods are in any way good,” she added, so softly that Tank barely heard her, “the Fool’s Rest won’t let that pig-fucker in.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
He should at least know his father tried....
What difference would it really make? Would it erase the years he spent in dark places?... Think about it... What would hurt more; not knowing that his father tried — or knowing that his father never tried?
Idisio rolled through the grey haze of memory, mulling over a new question: if Red and his son actually met, would they even like one another? Perhaps, sometimes, being an orphan was better after all....
“I’m going to be a good mother,” someone murmured. “The very best. I will take care of you, son. You can trust me. I won’t let anything harm you, ever again. You can like me. You can love me.”
Idisio blinked, the grey dissipating, and discovered sandy, edge-of-road soil slipping by under his feet. He worked his mouth, discovered it dry, and summoned up saliva with an effort.
“Your father will teach you,” the woman beside him said, not looking at him. Her grey stare seemed fixed on some unknowable point in the far distance, and her hand held a steady grip on his upper arm. “He’ll show you the way, as a father ought. He said to return when it was safe. It’s safe now. That evil man is gone. We’re going home, and I’ll raise you as I should have been allowed to do from the beginning.”
Idisio stumbled to a halt, resisting the pressure of the woman’s tugging.
“Where am I?” he said, looking around. The sun was setting at their backs, sending vast streamers of color across still-pale sections of sky. “Who are you? What’s happening?”
Still gripping his arm, she turned with him to look at the sunset.
Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) Page 31