by Robin Hobb
“You and Hest,” she said awkwardly, at last. “You love each other. He holds you, kisses you, touches you. That’s what this means?” She touched the coiled chain of the locket and then drew her finger back as if the cold metal had burned her. Her question had burned him.
He’d been so strangely calm up to now. He’d been able to tell her his life’s largest secret, without any display of emotion. But now the tears seeped up, flooding his eyes, and his throat closed as if distant hands were choking him. “I’ve loved him. I don’t think he loves me anymore. If he ever truly did.” He bowed his face into his hands and the tears came. Had he thought he’d told Alise his most private secret? He’d been wrong. The deepest secret in his life was the one he had just uttered aloud for the first time, the deception he had hidden from himself.
He felt her stand. She would hit him now, she’d call him the names he had feared ever since he was a boy. He waited.
Instead, he felt one of her hands hesitantly touch his head and then smooth his hair, just as his mother had stroked him when he was a small boy. “I’m so sorry for you, Sedric. I’m angry and I’m hurt; I never thought you capable of such deception and betrayal of our friendship. But mostly I’m so sorry for both of us. Especially you. How could you love such a man? What a worthless waste of your heart. Look how it has destroyed both our lives. With Hest, there is no chance of happiness for either of us. But I don’t think he’d care about that at all.”
He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t lift his face from his hands, could not even mutter an apology to her. He felt her cross the room. She took her candle with her, and when she left, the light diminished by half. The door shut firmly.
He sank into his bedding. There. It was done.
He’d just destroyed the last good thing in his life. His friendship with Alise was gone, shattered by what he and Hest had done to her. It shamed him now to think that he’d ever suggested such a marriage to Hest, even when he was in his cups. It shamed him more that he’d allowed Hest to follow through on it. What would it have taken to stop it? One call on Alise to inform her quietly of Hest’s true intentions? Of course, that would have betrayed what he was to her. And possibly brought misery crashing down on him then and there. Hest would have cast him aside. No doubt of that. And found a way to discredit him completely.
Why was it only now that he could admit how ruthless the man could be? If he were back in Hest’s presence for an hour, if Hest threw a casual arm across his shoulder, or made Sedric his evening’s companion for food and theater and wine, would he forget and forgive him? When Hest focused on him, when Hest was in full howl as he rampaged through any city in search of entertainment and mischief, then he could make Sedric feel as if he owned the world. To be Hest’s chosen companion for a night of raucous play was the most invigorating, heady rush of exhilaration that Sedric could imagine. Even now, in the depths of his despair, a sour smile came to his mouth as he recalled such evenings.
Arm in arm with Hest, surrounded by cohorts of well-dressed friends, they had stormed public houses and theaters from Chalced to Jamaillia. When Hest wished to, he could charm the most recalcitrant tavern owner into keeping his doors open and paying his minstrels for an extra hour. With that suave smile and a scattering of coin, he could procure the best tables, the finest seats in the playhouse, the best cuts of meat, and the finest wine. And people always smiled as they gave it to him. People who only knew his public face found him charming and gracious and witty. To be his companion at such a time, to be his chosen, preferred companion was to be toasted and honored right alongside Hest.
The smile slowly faded from his face, leaving only the bitterness. Never again. Never again would he be publicly lauded alongside Hest.
Never again would he be privately belittled and humiliated as the price of those hours.
That thought should have cheered him. Instead, he tried to imagine a life without Hest. He tried to imagine returning to Bingtown to find himself turned out of Hest’s home, reviled by Alise. Would she tell others? Dread gaped wide to consume him, but then a cruel comfort came. She would not. She could not tell anyone without revealing how she had been deceived and that her marriage had been a lie from the start. If she told, she would lose everything: her library, her studies, her social standing. She’d have to return to her father’s house, to live at the edge of poverty, a woman who would be either pitied or mocked by all who had known her.
The same fate would await him, if she told.
But even if she did not, he feared it would be little better. He was virtually certain now that Hest was preparing to cast him off. He suspected he would return to find himself replaced. He, too, would have to return in humility to his father’s home and hope to be taken in and given work. The well-funded society of Hest’s friends who had welcomed him would not snub him, not at first. But he would not be able to afford such company, and once they found that he had lost Hest’s regard, few would wish to be seen as his friend. Hest’s displeasure had frozen out more than one friend or acquaintance over the years that Sedric had known him. It had been but one more of the uglier facets of Hest’s character that he had once been able to ignore. Now it would be the sole facet turned toward him.
No. There was nothing to go back to. Nothing at all.
His spirits sank and gloom closed in all around him. Even the room seemed to become darker. He closed his eyes and wondered how much courage it would take for him to end it. Once he had imagined he could throw himself into the water and drown, that once that decision had been undertaken, it would be irrevocable. Well, he knew better now. Once in the water he would struggle. Whether he willed it or not, he would shout for help.
And I would come to save you. Again.
As the thought entered his mind, a warm feeling suffused him. Comfort and contentment, without reason, rose up and permeated him as if he were an earthenware mug filling up with hot tea. He struggled briefly, trying to find his way back to his misery. And then, like a flame claiming a wick and sending forth life, he suddenly wondered why he was holding so tightly to that misery. He let go again. His dragon’s affection filled him and warmed him and crowded out the pain that had been there.
There. You see? We’re going to be all right. Both of us.
“MY OLD FRIEND, we need a private word or two.”
Leftrin looked up from scowling at his mug of coffee. It was the second pot made with the same grindings today, and it was both weak and bitter. He thought about dumping it over the side and then reminded himself that it was marginally better than plain hot water. He turned to his old friend. “Finding a place for a private word is going to be the trick,” he said. He and Carson both turned, putting their backs to the aft rail and looking over the decks of the Tarman. Keepers and crew mingled in conversation knots. Harrikin and Sylve and Skelly sat cross-legged on the roof of the deckhouse. Skelly was pointing up at the stars and telling them something about them. Boxter and Kase were belly down on the deck, arm wrestling. Alum and Nortel were keeping them honest while Jerd looked on grinning. Greft stood next to her, scowling. As Leftrin watched, the boy worked his mouth and then rubbed the sides of his jaw as if it pained him. The shape of his face was changing; it looked uncomfortable.
Past the keepers, he could see the silhouette of Swarge and Bellin, heads together, leaning on the railing, talking. As his eyes roved the decks, seeking a quiet spot, he found none.
“My stateroom, then,” he said quietly, and Carson followed him. He lit a candle in the galley and then led the way to his small room.
“So, what is it, then?” Leftrin asked him as he shut the door behind them. He pushed the candle into its holder and then sat down on his bunk. Carson, his face grave, sat down on the chair by the chart table. He took a heavy breath.
“Jess is dead. Believe it or not, Sedric and the copper killed him. Sedric says he had to kill him because Jess was planning to kill his dragon and sell the body parts in Chalced.”
“Sedric killed Jess
?” Leftrin’s disbelief was plain in his voice. He had been so sure that he had killed Jess. How that bastard had survived his beating and a drowning was nothing short of a miracle. And then to be killed by a Bingtown fop and a dim-witted dragon?
“He and the dragon both said so.”
Leftrin scrambled for words. “Don’t get me wrong, that man needed killing if anyone ever did. It just seems so unlikely that Sedric was up to the job, let alone he’d do it to defend a dragon…” He let his comment trail away. If Carson had killed the hunter and was, for whatever reason, putting the deed at Sedric’s door, he wanted the man to know he could own up to it and Leftrin wouldn’t think less of him.
“The deed was done before I got there. Nothing left of Jess but some blood in Greft’s boat. Dragon ate him.”
“Well, that’s fitting,” Leftrin said quietly. He tried not to smile. He wouldn’t tell Carson that his earlier fight with the hunter had probably softened him up substantially for Sedric. It was over. He heaved a sigh that was part relief and part amazement. Sedric had finished the deed for him. He owed the man a debt of thanks.
“It’s fitting because Jess was on board to harvest dragon parts. Right? And you knew about it. Maybe had an agreement about it?”
Silence filled up the room like cold water filling up a sinking vessel. He hadn’t seen that coming. Carson was quiet, waiting. Leftrin cleared his throat and made his decision. Truth time. “Here’s how it was, Carson, exactly. Someone had me over the fire and thought they could demand I do this. They said they’d be sending someone on this expedition who would be hunting dragon bits for the Duke of Chalced. I didn’t agree to it; it was just done to me. At first, I wasn’t even sure who their man was. I even thought it might be you, from one comment you made. Then, not too long ago, Jess made it clear to me that he was the one and he expected me to help him.”
Carson was sitting quietly, listening as only he could. He nodded slowly and let Leftrin take his time and pick how he told his story.
“Just before the wave hit? I was on the beach, doing my best to throttle the life out of Jess. All this time, I’ve been thinking that I’d done the job, or maybe the wave had finished it. So I’m surprised it was Sedric. But I’ll admit that I’m just glad it was done.”
“So that’s all there was to it? You don’t have plans to butcher a dragon and sell the parts to Chalced?”
Leftrin shook his head. “I’m a lot of things, Carson, and a lot of them aren’t nice. But I’d never betray the Rain Wilds that way.”
“Or Alise?” Carson watched his face as he asked him.
“Or Alise,” Leftrin agreed.
Day the 29th of the Prayer Moon
Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
In a sealed case, covered in wax and marked with his signet, a message from a friend to Jess Torkef, to be left at the Frog and Oar tavern with Innkeeper Drost, until called for.
Detozi,
Please send a bird back to me with a note to let me know of Reyall’s safe arrival. If you would, let us try it on one of the swift pigeons he is bringing with him. It would be particularly interesting to me if you sent me a duplicate note on a regular bird, releasing both at dawn of the same day. I wish to see if our efforts to breed for speed are yielding a measurable advantage to our birds. As for the kings, large and lovely as they are, I have had no success with them as messengers. They are too heavy-bodied to be fast, and many of them seem indifferent about returning to the home coop. They are, I fear, condemning themselves to be meat birds.
Erek
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHOICES
It was strange to move upriver again, as if nothing had happened. Thymara stood on the Tarman’s deck, the tool in her hand forgotten, and watched the jungly riverbank slowly slide by her. When she was in her own little boat, she’d never really had a chance to look down at the shore like this and see how the banks of the river changed as the hours of the day passed by. She missed being in her small boat but was almost glad it was gone. If it still existed, she’d have been paired with someone who wasn’t Rapskal, and it hurt to imagine that.
Counting Carson’s boat, they were reduced to five small boats, and only three had a full complement of gear. The Tarman had shipped extra oars for all the boats, she had discovered to her relief. Even so, the keepers had to rotate their days on the water. And when they were not in the small boats, they served on board the barge, doing whatever the captain asked them to do.
The expedition was now short on everything; knives, bows and arrows, spears, and fishing tackle had been lost, not to mention blankets, spare clothing, and the few personal items that each keeper had brought along. Greft had repeatedly congratulated himself on how well he had stowed his gear. It made Thymara want to hit him. It was sheer luck that his boat had wedged in the same tangle where the Bingtown man washed ashore. If it hadn’t, he would have been as beggared as the rest of them. As it was, he now functioned as a hunter alongside Carson. Those two boats had departed at dawn, with Davvie helping Carson and Nortel riding along with Greft. She was just as glad; Nortel had come to her with a bruised face and muttered an apology for “treating her like trade goods” and then walked away. She wondered if the words were his or Tats’s, and if Tats hoped to gain anything by forcing Nortel to apologize to her.
And there was her other painful subject. She didn’t want to think about Rapskal’s death, and she didn’t want to waste time thinking about Greft’s stupid plan for their lives.
“You won’t finish it that way.”
Tats’s voice called her back from her pondering. She considered her clumsy attempt to shape a piece of wood into an oar. She knew next to nothing about woodworking, but even she could see that she was making a bad job of it.
“It’s just busywork, anyway,” she complained. “Even if I get this to where someone can use it, the river will eat it in a matter of days. Even our old oars were beginning to soften and fuzz at the edges, and they’d been treated against the acid water.”
“Even so,” Tats said. “When the ones we’re using give out, the oars we’re carving now will be our only spares. So we’d best have some.” His effort did not look much better than hers, except that he was further along with it. “Any oar or paddle is better than none,” he comforted himself as he looked at his handiwork. “Would you brace this for me while I try to use the drawknife on it?”
“Of course.” She was happy to set her own tools down. Her hands were tired and sore. She braced the half-finished oar as Tats went to work with the drawknife. He handled the tool awkwardly, but still managed to shave a short curl of wood from the oar’s handle before the tool bounced over a knot.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said quietly.
They hadn’t spoken about it since the incident. He hadn’t tried to put his arms around her or kiss her since then; he probably knew the reception he’d get. His face wasn’t as battered as Nortel’s had been, but a black eye was still fading. “I know,” she said shortly.
“I told Nortel he had to apologize to you.”
“I know that as well. I suppose that means you won.”
“Of course!” He seemed insulted that she had to ask.
He’d stepped right into her trap. “What you won, Tats, was a fight with Nortel. You didn’t win me.”
“I know that, too.” From being apologetic, he was moving toward angry.
“Good,” she said, biting the word off short. She picked up her chisel again, trying to decide where to set the blade to take another chunk out of the wood when Tats cleared his throat.
“Um. I know you’re angry at me. Would you still hold the oar while I try to shape it?”
That wasn’t really the question he was asking. She picked up the end of the oar and braced it again. “We’re still friends,” she said. “Even when I’m angry with you. But I don’t belo
ng to you.”
“Very well.” He placed the drawknife carefully and then drew it down the shaft of the oar. She watched how his brown hands gripped the handles of the tool, how the muscles in his forearms stood out. This time the curl of wood he shaved away was longer. “Let’s turn it this way,” he said and guided the oar through a half turn. As he set the drawknife to it again, he asked, “What would I have to do to win you, Thymara?”
It was a question she had never considered. As she thought about it, he said into her quiet, “Because I’m willing to do it. You know that.”
She was startled. “How can you be willing to do something when you don’t even know what I might ask?”
“Because I know you. Maybe better than you think I do. Look, I’ve done some stupid things since we left Trehaug. I admit it. But—”
“Tats, wait. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to give you a list of tasks you have to do. I won’t. Because I wouldn’t know what those things would be. We’ve been through a lot lately. You’re asking me to make a big decision. I’m not playing a game when I say that I don’t think I’m ready to make that decision. I’m not waiting for you to do something or give me something or even be something. I’m waiting for me. There’s nothing you can do to change that. Nothing Greft can do.”
“I’m not like Greft,” he said, instantly insulted.
“And I’m not like Jerd,” she replied. For a moment, they stared at each other. Thymara narrowed her eyes and firmed her chin. Twice Tats started to speak, and then paused. Finally he said, “Let’s just make this oar, shall we?”
“Good thought,” she replied.
EVENING WAS FALLING as Sedric emerged from his room. He’d spent the day alone and in darkness, for his last candle had burned down to nothing and he hadn’t wanted to ask anyone for another one. He’d fasted as well. He’d half expected Davvie to come tapping on his door with a tray of food, but that hadn’t happened. Then he’d recalled that Carson had told him he’d be keeping the boy clear of him. Just as well. Just as well if everyone stayed clear of me, he’d thought. Then he’d heard the self-pity in that statement and despised himself.