Deiq sucked in a sharp breath. Those two words, put in that sequence, were the most dangerous he’d heard in hundreds of years. “When?”
Evkit rocked a hand back and forth, indicating uncertainty. “Long time. Before my birth. Before my father’s birth. Started as a small crack, became larger. Now it is a chasm, a big problem. You are caught in the middle.”
Deiq sat up, his attention caught by Evkit’s coherent phrasing.
“Yes,” Evkit said, meeting Deiq’s gaze evenly. “There is no point playing word games, ha’ra’ha. I need your help.”
Deiq stayed very still for a few breaths, studying the lines on Evkit’s face; dryly appreciative of the teyanain lord’s ability to remain unreadable to even a ha’ra’ha’s scrutiny, even in the midst of what must be, for the proud man, a dreadfully humiliating admission.
At last he nodded and said, “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I do not know who is the first behind the agitation, the treachery,” Evkit said, his expression and voice severe. “I know a few of my people who are solid, a few I still trust. But who worked with Chacerly to put the ugren cuffs on the Scratha heir and her mother-sister—the same, I think, who worked to arrange your kidnapping—this I do not know. I do not think they are within the Horn. This worries me.”
Deiq grunted, pushing himself further upright, and regarded the small teyanain lord with unapologetic skepticism.
Evkit shook his head, apparently unoffended.
“I not lie,” he said, then, with a slight grimace, corrected himself. “I am not lying, ha’ra’ha. I did not arrange your kidnap. A faction apparently wanted you let loose inside the Horn to kill me. It almost worked.”
“Almost.” Deiq didn’t bother making it a question.
Evkit’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin. “I am not so stupid or old just yet,” he said, then paused. “Those who made this plan would have seen the entire of my people killed to get to me,” he added, more than a slight hint of growl emerging in his words. “They would have risked every child in our lands for the chance of destroying me. That, I do not accept or forgive. I will see every one of these traitors horribly dead, along with any offspring they may have sired. I will see their names and lineages erased from every Book of Blood in the world.”
Bitter fury edged every line in Evkit’s weathered face.
Deiq nodded, not in the least surprised. “And now you want me to tell you who to kill,” he said, understanding, with the experience of centuries, the next steps Evkit would want to take. “Who within your people has betrayed you.”
“No,” Evkit said. “I know who many of the traitors are.”
Deiq blinked, startled. “And you haven’t killed them yet?”
Evkit’s smile showed too much tooth for any real humor. “The ones within my reach, they do not know what I know,” he said. “They are small, they are fledglings. They did not know you were being brought here; they would have died with the rest. So I will wait until they bring me to the larger ones, who will lead me to the ones who caused this split. The only traitors I have in reach are the little ones. The important traitors who know important things have moved outside my lands, outside my reach.”
Deiq put a hand over his eyes. “Shit.”
He didn’t like this at all. Renegade teyanain wandering the southlands: if they’d forsworn their allegiance to Lord Evkit, they could be anywhere, planning anything. The teyanain had always been the most dangerous and most violent tribe; they held grudges for centuries. There was even a phrase coined to fit their notion of retribution: teyn-shatha hadinn: literally, “justice’s cold bite”. It meant a revenge taken long after the other party had forgotten the initial offense.
Was Evkit telling the truth? He’d dropped the fractured speech, but that just meant he wanted to sound convincing. Deiq wasn’t nearly young enough to think that Evkit knew only one way to lie.
“I make mistake,” Evkit said, but the words only deepened Deiq’s doubt. “Hai, ha’ra’ha, even teyanain do sometimes. I let you live, I forgive your presence on our land when you promised not to return. I am trying to show good faith.”
“I didn’t have much choice about being brought here,” Deiq retorted. He wanted to stand up, to loom over the much shorter man; but Evkit’s prickly pride was already flaring from Deiq’s obvious doubt.
“Not our concern,” Evkit returned, abruptly calming. He even smiled, as though at some fine joke.
“How did I get here?”
“You are forgiven,” Evkit said loftily, flicking a hand to dismiss the matter. “I need your help. But now, you rest, you recover. You have had a hard time. Morning is early enough to talk more.”
He clapped his hands. Four teyanain no larger than himself entered the room, their gazes only on Evkit. He rattled off orders in the language of the teyanain; Deiq managed to catch the words patio and guest and stay out of the flood of words.
“You go now,” Evkit said at last, turning a cheerful smile to Deiq. “We will talk later. Now you go, you rest. Morning, in the morning, we will talk more.”
“Lord Evkit,” Deiq said, rising deliberately to his feet, “I would rather not wait until morning.” He locked gazes with the teyanain lord.
“But I am the host,” Evkit said, unconcerned, “and you are still weak. I will not speak with a wounded guest. It is impolite. You recover. Then we talk.”
Deiq cast an assessing glance at the four guards around him. Their faces held no expression, but he could see their taut readiness to attack if he refused further. Each one rested a hand on a small belt-pouch.
Bloody godsdamned stibik powder, Deiq thought bitterly, and wondered if any of them actually knew what they were handling when they dug their fingers into the gritty white powder.
“They not,” Evkit said, his brows drawing down fractionally. “You not say.”
Deiq narrowed his eyes at Evkit. “Not say what?” he asked, and bared his teeth in a humorless grimace.
Evkit snorted, his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “You go rest, ha’inn,” he said. “Then we talk.”
Deiq felt his nostrils flare. Resisting a swell of temper that urged senseless violence, he dipped his head in a slight nod. “Thank you,” he said without irony. “I will go rest, and then we will talk.”
And one day, he added to himself as the teyanain guards herded him out the door, I’ll find a way to wipe that damnable smirk off your face.
Chapter Twenty-six
Warm sunlight flooding through the open windows told Eredion he’d slept in. A few moments later, the sonorous braummm of the Palace Bells marking the third hour past sunrise confirmed that. He stretched and yawned, content and refreshed.
The aroma of coffee and oranges drifted from the other room. Eredion sat up, pleased at Wian’s thoughtfulness. She seemed to enjoy offering small kindnesses like this, and he certainly appreciated the gesture. Had he thanked her for it? He couldn’t remember. He’d have to do so today, at the least.
He found himself humming as he pulled on fresh clothes, and noticed that the clothes he’d dropped on the floor had been taken away already. Before Wian’s arrival, he would have simply have kicked the dirty laundry into a pile and thrust the whole stinking mass out the door for the palace servants to handle when it grew large enough to annoy even him. He had been taking her for granted, a bit, even though he paid her for cleaning; a kind word never hurt, after all.
Emerging into the outer room, he saw the small dining-table set: a thick-walled stone carafe of coffee, one of the small teyanain-style cups he favored, and a plate of freshly sliced oranges and star-fruit. A brown napkin had been given a simple, tidy fold and set beside the plate.
He looked around for Wian, then listened more closely to the sounds around him: he was alone in the suite. No laundry basket in sight, so she’d probably gone out to the palace wash-house. Eredion had only a hazy idea of how long laundry took, but he was fairly sure the word hours figured into the estimate.
He sat at the table a
nd laid a hand against the carafe. The stone surface almost scorched his palm, so it hadn’t been sitting too long. He’d have a morning to sit and enjoy the sunlight in peace for once. No doubt something would need his attention, but he decided that this time, he’d tell them all to go to the nearest hell while he took a day to lounge around like a lazy lizard. He’d earned the right to rest. For that matter, he’d earned the right to bow out of this posting and go home. He’d had enough of the northern games and politics. Time to let someone else take over. It had to happen eventually. He’d send the request for a replacement as soon as he finished eating.
Light-hearted and smiling, he poured a cup of coffee—good and strong, almost but not quite teyanain-strength; Wian knew just how to prepare it—and picked up a piece of orange.
Lord Eredion, someone said. The `voice’ held a familiar timbre, and after a moment Eredion recognized it as belonging to someone who always brought trouble in his wake.
“Oh, godsdamnit,” Eredion groused aloud, setting the fruit down and sighing. Allonin? What the hells are you doing in Bright Bay?
May I come see you?
Of course.
You’re still at the palace?
Yes. Here—a map flashed from mind to mind in the space of a heartbeat.
I see it. Thank you.
Eredion sat back in his chair and regarded the now unappetizing breakfast with bleak annoyance. “So much for lounging,” he sighed. “Bloody damn Aerthraim.”
His first thought, when the tall Aerthraim man showed up at his door some time later, was that Allonin somehow looked dreadful and serene at the same time. He’d lost weight; there were grey strain-lines and dark hollows mapping his once-proud face. But the deep-set, gnawing anguish he’d carried last time Eredion had seen him seemed to have lifted at last. It lent him a younger appearance than he probably deserved.
“Coffee?” he said, sniffing the air, as soon as the door had closed behind him. Eredion pointed him to the table without a word and fetched another of the small cups from the sideboard. The two men settled down and sipped coffee without speaking for a few moments, each studying the other without any attempt to hide it.
“You look like shit,” Eredion said at last.
Allonin laughed and raised his cup in mocking salute, then leaned forward and refilled it as he said, “I was about to say the same about you, Lord Eredion.”
“Knock it off, Allo.”
“Yes.” Allonin set his cup on the table, his amused expression deepening, then fading to sobriety again. “All right. Eredion. What’s going on?”
Eredion tilted his head and squinted one eye almost shut. “Why?”
“I ran into Tanavin last night.”
“Tank,” Eredion said reflexively, then blinked, realizing he’d actually forgotten the boy was supposed to have shown up this morning to help look for Alyea’s family. Not that it was necessary any longer, but Tanavin wouldn’t know that. “Where is he?”
“Recovering,” Allonin said. “When he saw me, he ran.”
Eredion couldn’t help smiling. “He’s still faster than you?”
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t have caught him if his legs hadn’t given out this time. Ripped the shin muscles half to hells. Thank the gods he’s gained some weight over the past year; that probably helped. I think he’s in the middle of another growth spurt, too.”
“You think he’ll get bigger?”
“Probably another hand-span in height and some muscle bulk, yes.”
“Good gods.”
They refilled their cups and sipped in silence for a few moments. “So Tank told you we have troubles here?” Eredion finally said.
“He said you’d dragged him into some mess or other, and asked me to come instead.”
Eredion squinted again. Allonin caught the look and laughed, raising a hand.
“He wasn’t so much asking,” the Aerthraim man admitted. “Never mind that, I’m here now. What’s going on?”
“It’s been resolved,” Eredion said, looking down at the small cup nesting between his hands. “I’ll have to go to the king about it later, but there’s nothing you can do to help at the moment.”
“Tell me and let me decide,” Allonin suggested.
Eredion gave him a cynical look. “It’s not really your concern, Allo.”
Allonin looked away, studied the room for a long moment in silence, then said, “Why are you still here? I’d expected you to return to Sessin by now.”
Eredion grunted. “Too much to do here.” Allonin’s gaze returned to his face, intent, searching; dangerously perceptive. “Don’t want to take time to train a replacement.”
“Do the other Families have representatives here yet?”
“Not officially. There are a few unofficial people, but nothing formalized yet.”
“Disposables,” Allonin said. His mouth pulled to one side in a sour expression. “In case Oruen proves problematic.”
“Probably. Won’t be long now, though. I’m already seeing a sharp rise in traffic coming into the city through the ports and the Horn.”
Allonin sat back in his chair, his cup cradled loosely in his hands, and frowned at nothing in particular.
“I’ve been on the coast,” he said with apparent irrelevance.
“Dangerous place to be of late,” Eredion said dryly. The faint smile that twitched across Allonin’s face confirmed Eredion’s suspicions on that matter. “I’ve heard rumors. You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”
“There’s a kathain collective set up now,” Allonin said, his expression softening. “I left good people in charge, but I’ll have to go back. I just felt the need to come north and find Tanavin, tell him that I’d taken him seriously at last. I’d hoped he would come help.”
Eredion snorted, unable to help himself.
“No,” Allonin said, his lips thinning. “I know. I saw. He’s not ready yet.” He paused. “But I’m also here to find my sister. I owe her an apology too.”
“But she’s not here!” Eredion said, startled. “Didn’t you hear about the Conclave?”
“I’ve been busy,” Allonin reminded him, sitting forward with a gathering frown. “Where was the Conclave?”
“Scratha Fortress.”
“What?” Allonin’s hand closed convulsively around the cup. Eredion heard a sharp crack, and coffee dripped from the man’s fist. Allonin opened his hand, brushing the dripping shards of ceramic from his palm impatiently as he rose, and glared down at Eredion. “Azni went there? Why would she do something that godsdamned stupid?”
After a brief glance at the scattered pieces of coffee-drenched cup on his carpet, Eredion blinked up at the furious Aerthraim, reflecting that he’d have to have the carpets cleaned or replaced soon, at this rate.
“I imagine Scratha asked her to attend,” Eredion said. “Why is it stupid for her to attend a Conclave? Is there still trouble over whether she’s sworn to Aerthraim or Darden?”
“No,” Allonin said, his fists clenching again. “Worse than that.”
“Then what—”
“It’s not your concern, Eredion.” Allonin’s mouth thinned. “I’ll handle it. I have to go. Tanavin’s at an inn just outside the East Gate; I think it’s called Basil’s Inn. He’ll be asleep for hours yet, I think. I did what I could for his legs, but you’re the better healer—don’t let him go far on what little I managed to repair or he’ll rip it all open again. “
“Basil’s? Don’t you mean Fern’s?”
“No, there’s a great pot of basil just outside the door, you can’t miss it,” Allonin said. “Give my apologies to Tanavin when he wakes, and tell him I said to let you work on his legs. Hit him over the head and do it while he’s unconscious if you have to.” He yanked the outer door open, delivering the last few words over his shoulder.
“Call him Tank!” Eredion yelled after him.
The door thudded shut without reply. Allonin’s booted feet galloped down the stone-tiled hallway beyond, fading rapidly. Tan
k might have outrun him, but Allonin was no slow mover himself when he was intent on a chase.
Shaking his head, still bewildered, Eredion returned to his coffee and his interrupted meal with a sigh.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Tank awoke to find himself alone in a room stripped of any trace of Allonin—save for a note left on the bare wooden table. Late afternoon sunlight striped through the shuttered window, and the laughter of men telling each other bawdy jokes came from a nearby room.
He rose and crossed to the table, moving with caution. Only a faint stippling of pain marked his steps. The rest, the salve, and whatever previously unsuspected healing ability Allonin had invoked had compressed days of healing into a matter of hours. Tank could feel the fragility of the restored muscle. He’d need to be damn careful for a few days.
Sitting down in the simple wooden chair, he read the note slowly. It was in Aerthraim dialect, unlikely to be readable by anyone local.
Tanavin—
I have to go south. There’s a chance I won’t return to finish our talk, and there’s not time to write all I wish I could say. Briefly: I’m sorry. My Family used you even as they healed you, and I was a part of that. Believe me when I say I was as trapped as you were, with worse options.
The katha village I found you in has been razed to the ground. The kathain from that and four other villages—including Dasin’s—have gathered in a small place within the Jagged Mountains. They are building their own home there, and taking in refugees from the other katha villages. My hope was to convince you to help them, but after seeing you, I know you’re not ready for that just yet. Maybe you never will be.
In the meanwhile, I have recruited allies to continue the work I began. You said to finish it without excuses—I can’t. Not now. This matter in the south is too important. But I have done my best to fill that part of my apology to you, and I hope that it suffices.
As final reparation, I betray my own kin and tell you this: stay away from the south. Especially stay away from Aerthraim Fortress. Mahadrae Kallaisin has plans for you, and they are no kinder than her first ones. Be an ordinary mercenary if you must, but stay north—above the line of the Horn, no matter what the inducement.
Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) Page 19