Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4)

by Leona Wisoker

  “Gods,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice too low for her to hear the words, “please not another crisis tonight.”

  If there had been anywhere else to go, he’d have turned and left on the spot. With a half-suppressed sigh, he moved forward, threading his way unerringly across the outer room into the bedroom. She sat up as he neared, and moved the covers aside for him. He stripped, dropping clothes on the spot, and almost fell onto the low bed beside her.

  Without a word, she curled up against him, rubbing his near shoulder with one hand. He made himself stay alert for a few more moments, just in case she intended to speak. As the silence lengthened and turned comfortable, he relaxed towards sleep.

  “My lord,” she said then, in a barely audible voice.

  He let out an annoyed grunt and hauled himself back to half-consciousness. “What?”

  “Lord Alyea...the way she went after Deiq. I wondered....”

  He rolled and propped himself up on an elbow, knowing she wanted some proof that he was actually listening.

  “What about it?” he said, knowing that his irritation was emerging in his tone and unable to stop it.

  “If something...if Kippin found me, and took me...would you? Come after me, just for my sake?”

  Too tired to lie, and too annoyed to be gentle, he said, “Just for your sake? No. To get my hands on Kippin? Yes.”

  He thought, dimly, about explaining that Alyea wasn’t going after Deiq in the name of love, as Wian seemed to think: that there was a very hard political reality driving the entire situation. Before he could shape those words, Wian stirred, rolling onto her back.

  “Because Kippin’s done things to another desert lord,” Wian said in a stifled voice. “What he did to me doesn’t matter, does it?”

  Slightly more awake by now, he said, “Of course it does. That’s a part of it. Look, can’t this wait for morning? I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone make sense of what you’re asking me.” He stroked a hand down her stomach and hip, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “It’s been a damn long day, Wian. Let me get some sleep and I’ll explain in the morning, I promise.”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said in the same muted voice.

  He pulled her close against him, reassured by her warm pliancy; fell asleep moments later, with the musk of her hair tangling against his nose.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The wide wooden benches of the dining-hall were the same, the table arrangement identical, the servants behaved with the same cool politeness; but Alyea sat much further up the main table than she had on her first trip through, and couldn’t help remembering Deiq’s steady, dark stare. It all felt surreal, and she stared at the food on her plate without really seeing it; ate without really tasting it; listened to the chatter around her without really hearing it.

  I should have gone with him down the side trail, she thought ruefully.

  “My lady,” someone to her left said, pulling her out of her brooding.

  She blinked back to alertness and offered a cool smile to the speaker. “Lord,” she said without emphasis. “Lord Alyea Peysimun.”

  Silence filtered rapidly down the entire table, and all eyes turned sharply to her: curious, startled, questioning. The man who’d addressed Alyea blinked, looking taken aback, then inclined his head gravely and corrected himself.

  “Lord Peysimun,” he said. “My apologies.”

  “Accepted.”

  “You’re not wearing any rank indicators,” he commented, his dark eyes tracking along her arms and neck in a very nearly offensive fashion.

  She gave him an emotionless stare. “Do you doubt me, s’e?”

  His gaze came up to meet hers, and he visibly flinched. “No,” he said. “Again, I seem to be overstepping myself.” He looked away, raising a hand to summon a servant, and murmured, “Water, please. The wine here is proving stronger than I expected.”

  Alyea’s eyes narrowed. Everything is important, here, and everyone could be, she remembered Chac saying. This man had just used a line almost identical to something Deiq had said during her initial trip through the Horn. It raised her suspicions instantly.

  “And your name, s’e?” she said a little sharply as the servant retreated, taking away the man’s wine cup as he went.

  He smiled at her easily and said, “Jin will do, Lord Peysimun.”

  She said nothing, studying him more closely. He had a long, narrow face and large dark eyes, dark hair with reddish highlights clipped unusually short, and a gangly build. His large hands sported overlarge knuckles and wrist-bones, giving them a knobbly, deformed look. His jewelry was deceptively simple: the bracelets alternated between thin metal and chunky, rough-looking beads linked by thin strips of braided leather. A closer look revealed the metal to be intricate braids of silver and gold, the beads to be rough-tumbled emeralds and sapphires. He wore no earrings, but looped around his left ear was an arc of surprisingly thin silver wire, from which dangled a tiny silver feather at one end and a tiny silver star at the other.

  He sat quietly, his expression mild and amused, as she looked him over, then resumed eating without comment on her appraisal. She allowed silence to settle and finished off her own meal before speaking. As the servants cleared the dishes away, she said, “Would you care to go for a walk, s’e Jin?”

  He stood, a faint smile quirking across his mouth. “There’s not much of a walking path here, I’m afraid, and the night air is chill and unpleasant this time of year. I’ll have to regretfully decline, Lord Peysimun; but do enjoy your stroll.”

  He bowed, then turned and strode away before she could find words to hold him back.

  “Damnit,” she muttered, wondering if she’d just missed something important.

  “Er, Lord Peysimun?” someone said tentatively. She turned to find a group of merchants standing not far away, their expressions ranging from hopeful to hungry.

  Oh, no, she thought, understanding at once; they wanted to sell her their wares, or gain Peysimun Family as a sponsor. It was her own fault, for declaring herself a desert lord. Their sharp ears had picked up that information, and their sharp wits had calculated the situation with merchant swiftness.

  Well, she did need to make some alliances for her newly designated Family, and merchants were a part of that. She held back a sigh and said, “Please, have a seat, s’ieas....”

  Two hours later, Peysimun Family had acquired a southern supplier for exotic spices and another for finely crafted stoneware such as she’d seen at the teyanain fortress; and Alyea had acquired a throbbing headache from keeping her face politely attentive. When the disappointed rejects and the ecstatic successful had all left the dining hall, she let herself slump forward onto her folded arms and moan.

  “Lord Peysimun,” a dining-hall servant said softly from behind her, “do you need assistance returning to your room?”

  Alyea sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “No. Thank you, no.” She swung around on the bench and stood, weariness dragging at her.

  The servant retreated a few steps. Alyea blinked around the empty hall, realizing that several other servants stood around the room, cleaning supplies in hand. They watched her with expressionless faces that still managed to convey a hint of impatience.

  “Oh,” she said blankly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “Good night, Lord Peysimun,” the nearby servant interrupted.

  “...Yes. Good night.” She turned and left the dining hall, trying not to hurry.

  Outside, stars glinted in cold splendor against a black sky mottled with quick-moving clouds. At ground level, the wind gusted in chill swirls, ruffling Alyea’s hair. She shivered, wishing she’d worn a thicker wrap to dinner. At least it wasn’t raining at the moment. She picked her way over the unevenly lit path to the long, low hostel.

  As she reached the plain wooden door, an owl soared by overhead, issuing a long, mournful call. Alyea felt the chill bumps on her arms solidify with sudden, superstitious horror: owls were bad l
uck in every folktale and story her various nurses had told her, an omen of death and loss.

  She swallowed hard, looking up to see if she could spot the bird, but it had gone: a shadow among darker shadows, hunting some smaller prey scurrying about, hapless, on the ground. Something about that image froze Alyea where she stood, a deep unease coiling through her stomach. Her certainty that she was on the right track, the right purpose, wavered as she recalled, again, the bloody horror her family home had become.

  Owls are cleaner, she thought muzzily, then shook her head, annoyed with herself.

  “Maybe I ought to stick to water in the future,” she muttered to herself, and went into the hostel without looking back.

  Just inside the main doorway, following southern custom, she slipped off her shoes and padded, barefoot, down the flagstone hallway. Outside, another night-bird hooted, but not an owl this time. Rock slithered and rattled as from the passing of some small animal. Stillness returned, and she found herself listening for any sounds as she made her way towards her room. Faint snores, coughs, and grunts—even one resonant fart—reassured her that there were people behind the doors she passed, and eased her odd feeling of wafting through the dark utterly alone.

  Reaching the door to her room, she stopped, squinting; it hung ever so slightly ajar, a strip of flickering light visible from the hallway.

  Letting out a long, shallow breath, she pushed the door open with an outstretched hand, remaining in the hallway. The unsteady light of several candles revealed a thin, knobbly-wristed man sitting cross-legged and perfectly calm on her bed.

  “S’e Jin,” Alyea said, mildly surprised at how calm she felt, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’ll do you the courtesy of assuming you’re not here to seduce me.”

  Jin shook his head, a faint smile lighting his long face for a moment. “More than willing, Lord Alyea, if that’s what you want,” he remarked. “But no. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Alyea glanced around helplessly. The small room offered no chair this time, just a bed, washbasin, and chamberpot. Her gaze fell on her pack, which had been under the bed when she left and now sat openly by the foot. She turned a hard stare on Jin.

  He shrugged and said, without apology, “I didn’t take anything, Lord Alyea.”

  “You’ve taken liberties,” she said sharply. “Rather a lot, so far. I suggest you talk quickly, s’e Jin, and be damn convincing.”

  He snorted, unworried. “For all that you’re a desert lord now,” he said, “you don’t have enough real status to boss even servants around past the Horn. You have no alliances yet, Lord Alyea.”

  “Scratha,” she pointed out.

  “That doesn’t mean what it used to,” Jin said. He moved over, making room for her to sit. “And only one alliance isn’t worth much, in the south.”

  She sat, drawing her own legs up into a southern-style sit, glad she’d chosen to wear pants rather than a dress to dinner. “And you’re here to offer me an alliance?”

  “Maybe,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “What do you have to offer?”

  “You’re the one came to my room in the middle of the night,” she said, indignant. “I think I’m the one ought to be asking that!”

  He shook his head. “You’re still thinking in northern terms,” he said reprovingly. “I’m doing a favor by showing interest, Lord Alyea.”

  “A favor to who?” she cut in, and won a smile from him at last.

  “Now you’re thinking in southern terms,” he said. “Good. But I won’t answer that question just now, because you haven’t given me anything yet. What can Peysimun Family offer towards an alliance?”

  She studied his amiable expression, considering. “That depends on who’s interested in the alliance.” His expression froze, then thawed into intent interest. “Sessin doesn’t need any help, from what I’ve seen, so you’re not from Sessin. The Aerthraim, if I understand correctly, don’t ally with anyone, so you’re not from there; the teyanain wouldn’t bother sending you out, they’d pull me in for a talk. So it’s Darden or F’Heing, and given my choice I’d say you’re from Darden Family.”

  “Well thought out,” he said. “Why Darden?”

  “Instinct,” she said. “You look like Lord Irrio, a little.”

  He rocked back, caught himself with an outstretched hand against the bed, and regarded her with considerably more respect.

  “Really. Not many people see that.” He paused, thoughtful, and finally said, “I was warned you’re sharper than most northerns. Very well. You’re close, but not entirely accurate. Lord Irrio is a cousin, but I’m not Darden. I’m from Toscin subfamily, and we’re looking for one of two things: either an alliance with Peysimun Family, or to lure you away to become our first desert lord. I’m allowed to offer you quite a bit of inducement for either path.”

  She let out a sharp, surprised bark of almost-laughter. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, no humor in his face or voice. “Rather unusual, really, that I’m telling unvarnished truth; but I have the feeling that nothing else would work with you, Lord Alyea.”

  Alyea sat still and stared at him, blinking rapidly. She felt, briefly, as though all the blood in her body was congealing in a swirly, nauseated mass in her stomach. “You want to lure me away from my family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Toscin does not have any desert lords,” Jin said as though it should be obvious. “To gain any status, to break away from subfamily status, we need desert lords.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Are you implying that Toscin isn’t worthy or capable of hosting desert lords?”

  She shut her mouth with a snap, inhaled sharply through her nose, then said, “No. Of course not. I apologize for my reaction.”

  His lips lifted into a faint smile. “Accepted.”

  In the following silence, the owl hooted again. Alyea shivered and glanced at the single, heavily shuttered window, the sense of dread stronger than before. She looked back to find that Jin’s expression had gone distinctly strained, his own gaze fixed on the window.

  “Did you know,” he said, not removing his stare from the shutters, “that the owl is the favored animal of the teyanain?”

  “I—”

  Jin slid from the bed and stood, still regarding the window warily.

  “Perhaps another day,” he said, “we can continue this conversation. Good night, Lord Peysimun.”

  “What—”

  The door shut silently behind Jin before the word had even fully left Alyea’s mouth.

  “Godsdamnit!” she exploded, then bit a knuckle hard to keep from shouting further. Middle of the night, she reminded herself, people sleeping all around you, shut up!

  She shut her eyes, drew a deep breath, let it out.

  The owl hooted again, closer and more mournful than ever.

  Alyea opened her eyes slowly, more than half expecting to find someone standing in the doorway or by the window, but the room remained empty in the uncertain candlelight.

  “Bloody hells,” she muttered, and went to secure the door; a matter of throwing a hook into a loop, and not tremendously reassuring against her growing sense of unease. She knew perfectly well by now that the simple lock was intended as a gesture to placate northern sensibilities, and that the south relied more on status for protection than barred doors.

  For the first time she regretted coming south alone. It would have been far safer to secure an ally to at least share a room, taking rest in turns. Instead she’d left herself utterly vulnerable to whatever games were underway now. Had Jin Toscin been sincere in his offer of alliance? Should she have jumped on it without hesitation? If she had, would she now be feeling less worried over her safety—or more? And what did Jin really want? Claiming honesty only meant he’d given her a piece of truth to mask deeper lies.

  They use you, Tank’s voice said in the back of her min
d; a memory of a memory, oddly overlaid with a female timbre. Desert Families use their people until there’s nothing left, and then they spit you out and discard you like garbage.

  She blinked, rubbing her temples against the growing spikes of her headache, and wondered who’d said that to Tank, and why. But thinking about Tank threatened to bring up his childhood memories, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—look at that again right now; so she pushed that issue aside and paced restlessly until the headache forced her, whimpering, into bed.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Deiq woke to the warmth of sunlight on his face and the weight of thick blankets tucked around him, a soft pillow under his head and the smell of harsh black teyanain coffee nearby. Without a word, he put out his hand and felt a rough mug pushed into it with equal lack of comment. He rolled to one side, his eyes still shut; propped himself on an elbow and took several sips of the steaming-hot, bitter liquid.

  “Thank you,” he said then, and used his free hand to rub his eyes clear.

  “You are welcome,” Evkit said composedly.

  Deiq sipped coffee and looked around the room: small, and stone, of course, but not—surprisingly—aenstone; a mark of trust, that. It soothed his temper considerably. A series of ceiling tubes allowed sunlight to pour into the room, catching glints from veins of quartz and mica in the walls. The bed was northern-style, and soft; the blankets were thick teyanain weave, worth their weight in gold in any market north of the Horn and unsalable in any southern market.

  Evkit offered no conversation, apparently content to wait.

  “Explain,” Deiq said at last, holding out the empty mug.

  Evkit took it and set it on a side table. “Teyanain split.”