During their time at Scratha Fortress, Alyea had managed to acquire some understanding of the strange bead-language of the southlands, but Deiq’s bracelets resembled nothing she’d learned about. Green meant wealth, as did gold, of course; and red generally involved bloodshed or death to some degree. And the more strands or width to the bracelet, the more important the wearer.
The variations introduced by material still confused Alyea, but she knew the ruby earring meant something different than the red stone of the ring. Every meaning she’d learned, however, involved metals or gemstones, not wood and bone.
Probably just a favorite piece of decoration, nothing more, she told herself, and didn’t believe it for a moment.
In the peculiar cool light of a clear dawn sky after a night of heavy rain, there was an odd translucence to Deiq’s dark skin. She thought, once, when he turned his head a certain way, that she saw a faint glitter, like silver scales; a heartbeat later it was gone. She decided it had been a trick of the light and her own imagination, and put the moment out of her mind.
She didn’t quite dare to ask why he’d chosen this morning, this situation, to be so clearly visible and remarkable.
People moved out of their way in a great, sinuous wave as they strode through crowded palace corridors to the audience hall. Following Deiq’s lead, Alyea ignored the whispers and pointing, the wide-eyed stares, as if deaf and blind to them. Inwardly, she gaped at the sheer number of people gathered outside, in the halls, and no doubt in the audience hall already.
What the hells had Idisio done?
To Alyea’s surprise, the audience hall doors were still shut, not swung wide as they would be for open court. Stiff-faced guards edged the doors open just far enough to admit them and waved them through, barely glancing at Deiq and Alyea as they passed. Their attention seemed fixed on the gathered crowd in the hallway, as if to ensure nobody else entered the audience hall unseen.
That sent a chill up Alyea’s back. For the first time, she wondered if Idisio’s antics were the only thing drawing people to the palace in such crowds. The sight of the group assembled before the throne—only two of whom she knew—and the taut expression on Oruen’s face did nothing to reassure her.
“Lord Sessin,” Alyea said as she strode forward. “Lord Oruen. Idisio.”
She stopped just shy of the group and met their examination directly, her head high. Although the gathered man all wore “ordinary clothing” rather than Family colors, she had no doubt they were all desert lords—although two of them looked young and a touch nervous, so they were probably in training. In any case, she was one of them now; no need to cower like a child. Eredion’s eyes crinkled with his usual ready smile, but it seemed distinctly strained this time.
Idisio nodded, his expression miserable. He looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all; dark circles marked the skin beneath his eyes, and his hands showed a tendency to tremble. He stood with his hands tucked deep into the sleeves of a rough dun-colored servant’s tunic too large for him, his skinny legs lost in equally large green trousers.
He looked like a street-rat just barely dry after a rainstorm: all waif-thin face with too-large grey eyes, shivering pathetically.
“Lord Alyea,” he muttered. “Deiq. Glad you’re here.”
Deiq bent a glare on the young ha’ra’ha; Idisio shrugged in response, fragile pathos melting into a flash of hard, cynical indifference. Alyea hid a smile at the brief exchange and turned her attention to the man on the throne.
Though Oruen wore full royal regalia of embroidered robes, jewelry, and crown, she still saw the gangly, rough-dressed man beneath: the one who’d walked along the beach and thrown rocks into the water out of frustration with the madness of the city behind him. But he’d developed some new wrinkles since taking the throne, and more since her departure; at the moment, he looked to be carving every one of them deeper.
“Alyea,” he said. “Good to have you home. Apparently things didn’t . . . quite . . . turn out the way I expected.” He glanced at Idisio, his forehead puckering a little more. “Several things.”
Alyea decided to ignore the lack of title. This didn’t quite feel the right time to press that issue. “May I present my escort, Deiq of Stass,” she said, deciding that if Deiq wanted to claim his real status he could speak up for himself. “And you’ve already met Idisio, I see. He’s . . . under the protection of Peysimun Family.”
“And mine,” Deiq said promptly.
Idisio made no protest at being designated dependant, so Alyea’s guess that he wouldn’t want to discuss his true heritage just at the moment had been right. She relaxed a bit.
Oruen nodded at Deiq, his frown shifting to an expression of strained politeness. “Welcome to my court once again, s’e.” He didn’t sound particularly sincere.
Eredion cleared his throat. “I think, as we’re reasonably alone here, it’s time to drop the nonsense, Lord Oruen. You know who—and what—Deiq is.”
Oruen grimaced. “Yes. You’re right. My apologies, ha’inn.” The last words sounded forced, and he avoided looking directly at Deiq as he spoke.
Deiq inclined his head, a faint smile appearing on his face. “’Honored One.’ I do like the sound of that.”
Oruen’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Lord Eredion said dryly. “And I believe you owe Idisio the same courtesy, actually.”
Oruen’s eyebrows rose. “Are you telling me a ha’ra’ha tried to pick Lord Scratha’s pocket?”
A long silence ensued, in which Idisio’s face turned a bright crimson and the other desert lords stared in open astonishment. Alyea bit her tongue against a bark of disbelief; she’d been told Idisio started out as Scratha’s servant, and later discovered his true heritage. But Oruen naming him thief was different from a gate guard’s suspicions, and nobody was arguing this time. She couldn’t believe she’d actually spoken in Idisio’s defense at the gates, putting her own reputation on the line—How could Deiq have allowed that? It only took a glance at the lack of surprise on his face to see that he’d known all along.
He lies . . . Chac had been right, all along.
And now Idisio had “gone walkabout and gotten himself in trouble”, had he? He must have stolen from one of these men. Well, she certainly wouldn’t intervene against his punishment. She’d been embarrassed enough already—
She caught Deiq’s stern stare and felt her own face flush. After being annoyed with her mother for jumping to conclusions, she’d done the same thing herself at the first opportunity. She’d seen no sign of faithlessness in Idisio, but a single loose comment had been enough to break her trust in him. Just because he’d been a thief once didn’t mean he still was; Lord Scratha certainly wouldn’t have put up with such behavior, and she didn’t think Deiq would either. She looked at the floor, ashamed of herself.
“I think,” Eredion said at last, carefully, “that might need to be explained another time. As it’s a less relevant matter just at the moment.”
Oruen nodded and flicked a hand, but his dark stare stayed pinned on Idisio for some time.
Eredion cleared his throat, glancing at Deiq as though for support, then said with more confidence, “Introductions.” He motioned to the five men standing beside him. “Lord Filin of Darden Family. Lord Geier of Eshan Family, and Lord Madioc of Tereph Family. These other two are in training to become desert lords: Wendic, training under Tereph Family, and Rendill, training under Eshan Family.”
He bent a dark glare at the last two as he named them. They looked barely old enough to shave, and with the gangly arrogance of youth were now openly looking Alyea over.
“I’m honored, my lords,” Alyea said, and hesitated, not sure of the proper address to use for the trainees.
Eredion made a dismissive gesture. “Let’s not stand on formality too hard,” he said. His mouth quirked. “I know my family is famed for propriety, but this really isn’t the time.”
Deiq
grinned briefly, then sobered again. “So what is important enough to bring four full lords and two trainees all the way into Bright Bay?”
Alyea blinked, surprised that his first question hadn’t been about Idisio; then realized that whatever had happened obviously involved a much bigger situation than she’d expected. Deiq, of course, had seen that instantly.
Eredion glanced at Alyea, then back to Deiq. “How much does she know?” he asked. “About what really happened with Ninnic?”
“I have no idea,” Deiq said, his mouth thinning as though the question deeply aggravated him. “Ask her.”
“You mean the mad ha’ra’ha who was controlling Ninnic,” Alyea said, and watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Idisio jerked, clearly startled. “Yes. Lord Evkit told me about that.”
Deiq scowled thunderously; Eredion didn’t look pleased to hear that name himself. The trainees stopped ogling Alyea and stood up straight, their expressions now showing startled, wary respect. Oruen leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
Before the king could speak, Eredion said, “Did Evkit tell you we had to kill it?”
“He didn’t say who was involved,” Alyea said carefully, keeping an eye on Idisio.
The boy looked terrified, and she could guess why. He’d only just found out he was a ha’ra’ha; now he’d been presented with the information that ha’ra’hain could go mad, and would then be destroyed by a group of grim-faced men like the ones around him—who already regarded him with intense distrust. It would make anyone nervous.
She added, pointedly, “I believe you had good reason, though.”
Eredion followed her gaze and winced. “Idisio, you’re in no danger from us,” he said hastily. “This was an extremely exceptional situation.”
“And you’re not going mad,” Deiq added. “Believe me, Idisio, I would know, probably long before you did.”
Idisio didn’t seem much relieved by the assurance, but his face regained some color.
“I was involved,” Eredion confirmed, returning to the earlier question. “As was Lord Filin. The two trainees are replacing lords that were lost in the . . . conflict. And two others have gone their separate ways; Lords Geier and Madioc stepped in to replace them. We stayed to clean up the . . . aftereffects.”
“Aftereffects,” Alyea said flatly; found herself briefly amused by the realization that phrasing questions as statements was becoming a habit for her.
“Mm,” Eredion said, uncertain, and glanced at Oruen. The king watched them with a distant expression, his attention mainly fixed on Alyea, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She ignored him.
“Well,” Eredion said, scratching his cheek, “it was rather a large . . . event. Situation. The . . . child. . . .” He glanced at Idisio apologetically, then went on, “It had been influencing things in Bright Bay for a long time. The city had gotten . . . used to it. Some people, some things had started to almost depend on its presence. We had to keep things from getting out of hand afterward. It’s taken a lot of subtle persuasion in the right spots, at the right moments. And it wasn’t exactly a job we could hand over to the Guard.”
“No,” Alyea said, musing. “I can see that.” And she could. What Lord Eredion was hinting at had little to do with the physical and economic chaos of a regime change, but a deeper, more spiritual set of problems.
People had grown accustomed to hard lives, had begun to expect horror on a daily basis; had learned to devalue their neighbors as nothing more than a distraction to be thrown in the face of an advancing threat. And when the threat no longer existed, the behavior didn’t just fade away overnight. The population as a whole needed—she groped for the right words—to be retrained. She wasn’t entirely sure just how Eredion’s fellow desert lords were going about the matter, but this didn’t seem the time to ask for details.
The only other people who might have understood the problem were the priests, but their reaction to the crisis hadn’t been at all helpful, as she recalled. Even without Alyea pressing the issue, Oruen likely would have banished the s’iopes, just out of exasperation with their idiotic behavior.
“I stayed fairly public, while the others have been moving around the city more quietly, addressing the worst problems.” Eredion said. “I kept my ears open in court. Cleaned out the . . . debris . . . throughout the palace. And beneath it.” His expression turned slightly ill for a moment. “It’s not a particularly pleasant job, and it’s far from finished even now. But I found something unexpected when I started clearing the underground areas. Someone, actually—”
“Oh, how tactful,” Filin snorted, crossing his arms.
“I’ll admit the term might be a bit shaky at the moment,” Eredion said, not looking at Filin. “But it serves the moment. The child had kept someone alive down there in its lair. I still don’t know how, or why, or who; the moment I opened the door it—she—attacked me. I wasn’t expecting it.” He scratched his cheek again, his mouth quirking in an expression of deep embarrassment, and glanced at Deiq and the king as though checking reactions. “I went down. Blacked out. And when I got up, she was gone.”
“When was this?” Deiq demanded, intent. “How long ago?”
Oruen glanced at him, seeming irritated that Deiq had cut in, but made no open protest.
“Not long after Alyea left,” Eredion said. “It took me that long just to reach that spot. There’s a maze of tunnels and caverns under Bright Bay. I’d been clearing the tunnels for months when I found that room. I thought there was nobody left alive down there. I was tired and impatient, and careless. She got past me. And ever since, she’s been haunting the streets of Bright Bay; looking for something, but nobody can figure out what. She seems drawn to the graveyard at the edge of town, which is where we set a trap last night—and caught him.” He jerked his chin at Idisio.
“There was a certain amount of confusion over his identity,” Lord Filin said as though impatient to have his turn at everyone’s attention, nodding at Idisio pompously. “While we were standing around arguing, the creature—”
“Woman,” Eredion murmured.
Filin shook his head but otherwise ignored the comment. “—attacked us. Thank the gods Eredion had his wits ready and a handful of stibik in its face while the rest of us were scrambling. These idiots drew swords on it.” He glared at the trainees; they studied the floor intently, looking abashed and a touch sullen. “But after the stibik hit it, the creature took off.” He directed a hard stare at Eredion, as though challenging the Sessin lord to argue the term again; Eredion’s lips thinned but he stayed quiet.
Deiq’s expression turned dark. “That stuff shouldn’t even exist anymore!” he snapped. “What the hells are you doing with it?”
“Saving our lives,” Lord Filin said sharply. Deiq ignored him, staring only at Eredion.
Eredion wouldn’t meet Deiq’s glare. “The ketarches made their own decision,” he said, staring at the floor, much as the trainees were still doing. “And it was a weakened dose we used, not full strength—”
“That doesn’t make it better!” Deiq retorted. “It’s banned, damn it!”
“Talk to the ketarches about that,” Eredion said, still not looking up.
“I’ll damn well talk to the ones using it!”
“Knock it off! This isn’t the time to argue,” Lord Filin cut in, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms over his chest. “Worry at that bone later. It worked; it drove the creature off. And that means we’re definitely dealing with another mad ha’ra’ha. Unless you want to argue that?”
Eredion sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose; whether annoyed by or resigning himself to Filin’s continued attitude, Alyea couldn’t tell. The continuing clash over gender-specific terms was giving her a headache; she hoped they’d stick with female from this point out.
Deiq seemed to slump where he stood, the anger fading from his face. He rubbed both hands over his face. “No. You’re right.”
<
br /> Idisio’s eyes widened and his face lost color again. Alyea tried to catch his gaze to offer a reassuring smile, but the boy seemed lost in some inner worry.
“Another one?” Oruen said sharply, leaning forward. “How many mad ha’ra’hain are there, exactly, if I may ask? I was under the impression that Ninnic’s child was an exceptionally unusual occurrence.”
“Ninnic’s child?” Alyea said, startled. At the same time, Deiq snapped, much louder: “It was.”
Everyone turned to stare at Deiq. An awkward moment of silence ensued, in which Deiq’s ugly expression only intensified. At last Deiq shrugged, his scowl easing, and added, “Rosin Weatherweaver had more to do with the madness of Ninnic’s child than heredity.”
“He’s right,” Eredion said. “Ninnic’s child wouldn’t have twisted so far without Rosin’s help.”
Oruen sat back in his chair, frowning, and looked unconvinced. “And yet, I have another mad ha’ra’ha in my city, less than a year after the first died.”
Filin said, as though generously conceding a point, “Well, we’re dealing with a crossbreed of some sort, or the stibik wouldn’t have driven it off so fast. And after all that time imprisoned, it’s likely barking mad, too. But it might have started out human-sane. It’s not acting like Ninnic’s child did.”
Alyea took advantage of the following pause and said, again, “Ninnic’s child?”
“Gets a bit complicated,” Eredion said, avoiding Deiq’s renewed glare. “There used to be a full ha’rethe under Bright Bay, you see, and . . . er . . . well.” He pursed his lips, visibly unhappy. “It would take so long to explain, and I know you’ll ask too many damn questions to let me get to the main point here. Can we just say—yes—Ninnic’s child, and skip the rest for now?”
Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) Page 20