“Then give Imbit your cloak before she panics,” Fimre said, grinning.
Eredion loosened his grip. The cloak was promptly whisked away, and the girl pattered away as though afraid he would come after her to reclaim it given a chance.
Not long afterwards, a good southern white wine in hand and a roaring fire at his back, Eredion had to admit that being warm did feel good. In the palace, heat was largely supplied by the massive bank of kitchen ovens, which were kept burning at all hours and vented throughout by means of clever Aerthraim piping. Eredion had almost never used his own fireplace, preferring to wear a northern-style sweater or move to a warmer set of rooms rather than spend the money on wood.
Aerthraim. Eredion remembered Allonin’s strained expression as he bolted off after his sister—not the first time he’d gone off to rescue his twin, gods knew, and likely not the last.
From there, Eredion’s thoughts turned to the venting system in the palace, and an idle wonder as to what negotiations Oruen had managed with that stiff-necked Family regarding long-overdue repairs in a number of areas. Sessin might provide excellent glass windows, but most of Bright Bay relied, wittingly or not, on Aerthraim engineering. From the drainage throughout the city to the heating ducts in the palace, the work done during the reign of Initin the Red had endured long enough to become taken for granted.
It’s really not my concern any longer. All I have to do is make sure Fimre can handle himself without fatal incident and I’m free to leave this rainy, damp, chill place. Eredion couldn’t help grinning at himself; a few days ago he’d been dripping with sweat all over one of Oruen’s good chairs and cursing the heat.
Which brought him round to thinking about the weather, and how erratic it had been, and the reasons for that. He looked up at Fimre and found the other Sessin lord leaning against a wall, studying him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
“Brooding over something, Lord Eredion?” Fimre said softly.
Eredion raised an eyebrow and delivered a rebuking stare. “Prying at me, Lord Fimre?”
Fimre shrugged and eased away from the wall, moving to lounge in a chair. “You’re very tightly shielded.”
“I’ve had to be.” Eredion gathered his temper under control and took a seat as well, rather less casually. “I was thinking about the weather, actually. It’s been remarkably erratic of late.”
“The perennial complaint,” Fimre said, flicking his fingers and looking bored. “Seems like the older a person is, the more they whine over the weather.” He cocked his head and offered a sly grin.
Eredion breathed through his nose. Yes, this was the southern way; test and test and run right up to the challenge line repeatedly before backing down—but be ready to jump in at the first sign of weakness. The young always challenged the old. Desert survival, southern custom.
“Fimre,” he said, deciding that this time, explaining was more important than putting the younger lord in his place, “this isn’t just ordinary fluctuation. When Ninnic’s child died, its hold on the weather in this area went with it. Without a ha’rethe or ha’ra’ha bound to this area, there’s all the hells breaking loose. I have reliable reports of an icestorm not fifty miles to the east of Bright Bay less than a tenday ago. That’s not at all common, and I’ve never seen that happen this early in the season.”
Fimre’s insouciance dimmed. “They can control the weather, too?” He looked shaken at the thought.
“I believe so,” Eredion said, and decided against sidetracking onto a discussion of just how he’d found out about that. Talking about the tath-shinn would turn the conversation far afield of where it needed to go. “And yes, I’ve heard comments that the weather’s changing throughout the southlands as well. That’s not a good sign. It means the remaining ha’reye and ha’ra’hain are losing their strength.”
Fimre’s throat worked. He sipped at his wine as though to ease a sudden dryness. “I see.”
Doubtful, to Eredion’s mind, but it was a start. “Northerns don’t know anything about it. The king knows more than most—that’s unavoidable. But mention ha’reye or ha’ra’hain to the average person or noble around here and you’ll at best be accused of witchery. If you’re going to control people here, you have to be very, very careful and damn subtle about it, Fimre; because even with the main Northern Church run out of town, their influence is far from gone. As far as any other tricks you may have learned, a word of caution: don’t. Just that: don’t. It’s not safe.”
Fimre’s lip curled again, his confidence returning. “You’ve been here too long. You’re more worried about what the northerns think than your due as a desert lord, and a Sessin lord at that. I understand you had to survive through bad times, but that’s over. Now, you’re just sounding paranoid, Eredion.”
“I’m not so old yet,” Eredion said, warning; saw only laughter in Fimre’s eyes. “You’re a fool, Fimre, if you think everything’s perfectly fine these days. Six months is not long enough to mend more than a decade of abuse.”
“I don’t expect it is,” Fimre said. “But how is that my problem, Lord Eredion? I’m here to keep the king interested in what Sessin Family has to offer, and to report back to Sessin Family with suggestions on how to get the most for the least. What frightens the commoners isn’t my concern.”
“If you frighten the commoners,” Eredion said, “Oruen will be markedly unhappy, and you’ll be sent packing very quickly indeed.”
“A northern king caring about the commoners?” Fimre snorted. “Not likely. Family leaders and kings alike care about their nobles. They care about the taxes the nobles pay. The commoners only matter if they refuse to work, and that only happens if you pay too much attention to them and spoil them into wanting more than their station allows.”
Eredion sat still, blinking slowly, breathing slowly. At last he said, “It was a common-born who won Bright Bay for us, Fimre. We wouldn’t have managed without Tanavin of the Aerthraim.”
“Aberration,” Fimre said. “And didn’t I hear rumor that the Aerthraim trained him in ways they supposedly forswore hundreds of years ago? Even overlooking that breach of the Agreement as something for a Conclave to handle, if the boy was able to learn those skills, he wasn’t common-born at all. His bloodline involved a desert lord at some point, or a ha’ra’ha. No way around that. Where is he, by the way? Quite a few people interested in having him back south, you know.”
That question had been inevitable at some point, and Eredion had long since decided on his response. He said without hesitation, “He died in the attack.”
Fimre’s eyebrows went up. “Really? I’d heard rumor that he was seen round here recently.”
“No,” Eredion said. “There’s a redheaded boy who looks similar; but I’ve spoken to him, and it’s only a slight physical resemblance, nothing more. For pity’s sake, the Aerthraim boy struck a full-grown ha’ra’ha, all by himself, with no allies or protection to hand! Nobody walks away from that unscathed, let alone a half-trained human. He was a sacrifice.”
Fimre’s mouth pulled over in a sour grimace. “Pity. A few lucrative arrangements were riding on finding that boy and taking him back south in any shape that involved breathing.”
Eredion kept his expression carefully placid. “Lucrative for yourself, or for Sessin Family?”
“Both, of course,” Fimre said, grinning. “Eh, well, there’s sure to be other opportunities.”
“Who was the high bidder? Just out of curiosity.”
Fimre shook his head. “That would be telling,” he said. His eyes gleamed. “But speaking of curiosity—that servant of yours. Wian. Did you convey my apology?”
“Yes. She found it kind.”
“Kind.” Fimre seemed to turn the word over as though unsure how to take that response. “I see. Do you think she’d be willing to—to walk round the city with me, perhaps?”
Eredion studied Fimre with a growing disquiet. “I asked you to leave her alone.”
“I’m not going to ra
pe the girl! I just find her—intriguing. I’d like to get to know her better, nothing more.”
Eredion watched the lines at the corners of Fimre’s eyes and mouth and gave up. “I don’t know where she is,” he said. “She left last night.”
Fimre’s face brightened. “Excellent,” he said. “I’m sure I could track her down without difficulty, and perhaps she’ll even take on a post in my household.”
He’s after status points. “She’s not kathain,” Eredion warned. “Don’t underestimate her, Fimre. She’s not a whore to be tossed about lightly.”
“No,” Fimre said, very seriously. “I saw that. I do understand that, Lord Eredion. I won’t press her for more than a walk now and again, I promise you.”
Eredion looked at the sly laughter in Fimre’s eyes and sighed. “You’re mocking me for being overprotective,” he said, “and maybe I deserve that, gods know. But credit me with enough sense to have survived this long, Fimre, if you please. If you’re not going to listen to my words, there’s no point my even sitting here. You may as well turn back to Sessin right now, because you’ll hash this post up beyond salvaging.”
“I’ll listen without mocking,” Fimre said, “as long as you stop loading my ears with a mess of superstitious and paranoid nonsense.”
Eredion studied him for a moment, feeling an oddly distant sense of despair. “You’ll have to learn it your own way, I suppose,” he said at last.
He wanted to say: You’ll have to learn that this isn’t the Bright Bay that existed in the time of Initin the Red. The culture has shifted significantly since then, and what you’ve obviously been taught to expect doesn’t even exist any longer. But you won’t believe me. I can see that. So I’ll try to explain what I have to teach you in words you’ll understand, and with luck you won’t get yourself killed within a tenday. But Fimre wouldn’t sit still for all that, so he didn’t say it.
Fimre just smiled and raised his glass. “Here’s to learning,” he said cheerfully.
Chapter Fifty-four
The tower had long been Deiq’s refuge, his sanctuary, in a city filled with humans who generally made no sense at all. Walking through the crowded streets only confirmed that impression; red-faced men shouted at their wives over spilling a drink or something equally trivial. Children squalled as they fought over a toy already reduced to near rags. The stink of horse dung and human feces alike drew clouds of buzzing flies, which the humans cursed and batted aside without even a thought of removing what drew the insect invasion.
Revolting.
At least the humans still moved out of his way without even looking; avoided looking at him as a matter of instinct beyond their conscious control. He hadn’t lost that much yet. That he’d been able to bring Alyea from the teyanain fortress to where her horse waited was another good sign. Whether he could do as much without her by his side was an open question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.
Safer not to test the limits of his chains just yet. Stay calm, stay quiet, stay sane.
The Tower, visible across most of the city, was an imposing structure up close—and an abandoned-looking one. Even the street thieves stayed away from this area, thanks to a few carefully spread stories about restless and vengeful spirits—and a few even more carefully orchestrated incidents by way of proof.
Deiq let out a long breath, tipping his head back to stare up the length of the tower. Its height, and the silence in the immediate area, always made him feel a small and insignificant creature in a vast universe of creation.
For some reason that tended to reassure him.
He smiled, tension easing from his shoulders, and went up the steps. The moment he put his hand to the knob, his muscles bunched tight again: someone had gone inside without his permission. He’d been taken without the chance to ward the door, and human locks were easy to slip past.
Someone had invaded his territory.
He stood still, feeling the rage slithering through his veins like a living creature loose in his body; waiting to see if the bonds would stop him. Nothing happened.
A moment’s focus gave him identity for the intruder. Eredion. Damnit, he ought to know better. Deiq snorted a hard breath through his nose and went through the door, moving silently as a hunting snake.
Eredion was in one of the second-floor rooms, staring at the murals, this set of an ocean view from the top of the tower on a clear day. He began to turn, eyes widening, as Deiq came through the open doorway; managed a step back, hands rising, before Deiq’s hand locked around his throat.
Mine, Deiq said, letting his eyes slide out of human-normal. My territory, tharr. Mine.
Eredion’s eyes fluttered shut. He stood very still, barely breathing. Vaa ha’inn-va ne, he said.
Deiq tilted his head to one side, vaguely surprised by that: it was a very old phrase he hadn’t expected Eredion to know. In the closest modern translation, it would run: Master, I am yours.
No attempt at defense. No resistance at all. Eredion had simply—stopped thinking, at any level, and stood wide open and vulnerable to anything Deiq might attempt.
Alyea would have been kicking me in the shins and screaming at me, Deiq thought suddenly. Why is Eredion acting the worm? It bothered him more than it ought, and his anger faded. He released Eredion’s throat and stepped back a pace.
Eredion’s face regained some color. He opened his eyes, pupils almost wholly dilated, and blinked at Deiq as though waking from a bad dream. A tremor swept through his entire body; a moment later he went to his knees, bending forward to put his forehead against the cool stone floor.
Deiq stared, taken aback. No human had bowed so deferentially to him for hundreds of years. “Eredion,” he said, “get up, damnit.”
“Ha’inn-va,” Eredion muttered, and scrambled to his feet to stand with eyes directed at the floor. His breathing became sharp and shallow. “Ha’bit vaana.” Forgive your servant’s offenses, Master.
Deiq bit his lip, then said, “Ana-ha, va’bit. Forgiven and forgotten.”
Eredion’s muscles relaxed, his breathing evening out. He straightened to look Deiq almost in the eye. “Welcome home, ha’inn,” he said in a more normal, if hoarse, voice.
“What the hells,” Deiq demanded, “was all that about?”
Eredion looked away, blinking hard. A faint flush rose to his face.
“I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “I felt—compelled. I don’t even know what I was saying.” One hand rose to touch his throat—but the base of his throat, not where Deiq had grabbed him. A faint wince ran across his face, and he dropped his hand back to his side.
“Compelled,” Deiq said, voice flattening. A shivery dread worked through his chest.
“Like when you’re in need,” Eredion said, “but—different. Stronger. Do you know, I don’t think you’ve ever been angry at me before. Not like that. And I’m—I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to invade—” His breathing quickened again.
“Never mind,” Deiq said quietly. “Ana-ha, va’bit.” He turned away and looked at the murals for a while. Sunlight streaming through the unshuttered windows caught out highlights in the paintings that he hadn’t expected to show so clearly; he had done a good job.
Eredion waited without speaking, apparently understanding that Deiq needed some time to work matters out in his own head.
At last, Deiq turned and moved to stand before the desert lord. “Hold still,” he said, very softly, and put one fingertip against Eredion’s throat, just above the notch; released a tiny, tiny nudge of irritation to that spot.
Eredion flinched, his eyes dilating rapidly. “Ha’inn-va,” he whispered. His breath went shallow, and a fine tremor worked through his sturdy frame.
Deiq took his hand away, an ache coiling through his own chest. Eredion’s breath deepened instantly, the tremor stilling. He blinked, regarding Deiq with open puzzlement.
“It’s the collar,” Deiq said, his voice thick.
“Collar?”
Deiq
shook his head and moved to stand at one of the windows, looking out over the ocean; so similar to the view on the walls around him, but from a different angle. His own perspective had just shifted as subtly on the nagging question of why Alyea’s reactions were all wrong.
She hadn’t flinched when he touched that same spot. Hadn’t bowed before his anger; hadn’t rushed to serve his needs. Had fought back when she should have been cowering like Eredion. The teyanain, who certainly knew about the collar, hadn’t painted the symbolic line on her throat.
Damnit, I saw it! She’s bound, she has to be.
But no other answer made sense: Alyea’s collar had to be a fake. The Qisani ha’reye would never have left her unbound, even with their clear intention that she not survive the trial; the list of who would have and could have removed that binding was very, very short.
I’m supposed to kill her for that, even though she doesn’t know anything about it. I’m supposed to hunt down and kill whoever was damnfool enough to remove the collar.
A short list. A damn short list, when the ability to create a convincing fake was added in; down to one name, when opportunity was considered. And that one was a name he didn’t want to tangle with.
He’d lose, and badly.
Eredion stood beside him. Deiq could feel the desert lord studying his face, not the ocean view.
“Deiq?” Eredion said, very quietly. “What collar?”
Deiq exhaled hard, damning his careless mouth. He wondered if he should erase Eredion’s memories of the last few moments and start over. Looking sideways into the desert lord’s dark, wary stare, he knew he couldn’t do it.
“When desert lords go through the trial of Ishrai,” he said, returning his stare back to the water far below, “there’s a binding added. A compulsion. To ensure that desert lords always obey the ha’reye and ha’ra’hain. No matter what.”
A long silence ensued. Deiq risked a sideways glance and found Eredion staring out over the water, jaw taut. A vein beat hard in the man’s temple. Deiq had to admire Eredion’s self-control: not a hint of the immense anger that had to be churning through his mind leaked out.
Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) Page 43