Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  Bound them to him. Revulsion turned his stomach. Bairith had tied pieces of him to… to those things. He folded his arms, hands protected. “Safe,” he echoed. “I was safe at Tanoshi Keep. Are you insane?” Truly, he should not have asked that. It was rude and it might alienate the woman when he needed all the allies he could get.

  As she tucked a strand of hair beneath her kerchief, a resigned smile drifted over her features. “I cannot say with any certainty, Sherakai, but I wish only for your safety and comfort.”

  “Why do you care, and what does he want from me that he would kill so many people?” Anger quivered through him. It increased the sharpness of his headache.

  “I do not wish pain and suffering for anyone.” The woman closed the wooden lid of the basket and slipped her arm through the handle. “As to the other, I cannot say.”

  Sherakai stood, crowding her and forcing her to step back. “Cannot or will not?”

  She did not retreat far, neither did she meet his eyes. “I will leave your attendants to bathe and dress you.” She inclined her head in respect, then made her way out.

  In eery unison, the demons approached Sherakai. He clambered up on the bed, which didn’t stop the brown-eyed one from following. It clasped one ankle the instant it hit the mattress. He jerked instinctively, but it grabbed a handful of his hair and showed its teeth. The other pulled his nightshirt up.

  “Stop it!” Sherakai protested. Yanking to free his leg only magnified the burning sensation in his scalp. “I can dress and undress myself, you gecking monster!”

  In a matter of moments, they had him quite bare and utterly humiliated. In short order, Sherakai was bathed, dried, oiled, perfumed, combed, and dressed in an entirely new set of clothes. He tried to stop another application of kohl to his eyes, but a demon held his arms behind his back and that was that. With the ridiculous javannu wrapped around his head, he was escorted to Bairith.

  Bairith waited outside the formal dining room. Hands folded at his waist, he studied a picture hanging on the wall opposite the door. Sherakai and the creatures stopped a few feet away. The painting, done on silk in mostly monochromatic colors, depicted a building in an unfamiliar style. Clouds hovered over steep cliffs. In the foreground opposite, a group of men in strange clothing stood beneath a stylized tree. Sherakai gave it a once-over and turned his attention to Bairith. Every feature was perfect, as symmetrically arranged as though the finest of artists had planned them. Slenderness lent a sense of fragility, but strength of purpose overcame it. And magic, yes. It vibrated within him more intensely than anything Sherakai had ever seen before.

  The thought brought a grimace. How many powerful mages had he ever met? His father said the king surrounded himself with such men, but Sherakai had attended court only once since coming into his Gift. He’d been too young and too overcome with awe to pay much attention. His father entertained courtiers, but none of them captured his attention the way this man did. Bairith had looks, power, coin, titles, security—What more could he possibly need, and why did it spur him to such atrocity?

  “This is a piece by Nashua Yasal the Fat. I am told it should hang in a place of greater honor, but he was a cheat and a traitor. He led the peasants in a revolt against his rightful lord. For his reward he was blinded and castrated. Have you heard of him?”

  Sherakai stared in horror. “No.”

  Bairith turned a pleasant smile on him. “I have something for you.” He turned and gestured toward the dining room door. “I think you will be pleased.”

  “Unlikely.”

  He shook his head. “You have had a difficult few months, I know. First the troubles at Tanoshi Keep, then your trip here. Master Iniki took his duties on the journey perhaps a little too literally, but he kept you safe. I sympathize with your situation, my dear boy, and I would like to ease your mind.”

  He hated the endearment, he hated the polite but false expression of concern. If Bairith cared about him, he would never have killed those Sherakai loved. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Not even a visit with your lovely sister?” He adopted a look of surprise. “I was under the impression you wanted to see her. Am I mistaken?”

  “No!” Alarm that he might be misunderstood propelled him three steps closer. He caught himself before he clutched Bairith’s arm. Mortified, he turned the motion into a small bow, both hands pressed together. “That is, I would like to see her. Please.” His averted face hid a wince.

  Bairith had no such qualms about physical contact. He lifted Sherakai’s chin and stroked his jaw pensively. The youth twitched to escape, but dared not. The mage might change his mind and he’d never see Mimeru again.

  At last the jansu withdrew, folding his hands into his sleeves again. “Your guards will wait here for you. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  “Your lordship,” he murmured and bowed again, properly this time as befit Bairith’s station.

  Mimeru sat on the left side of the table and three seats down from the jansu’s place of honor at the head. As his wife, the seat closest to him should have belonged to her. Light streamed from overhead, but Sherakai ignored the marvel to greet his sister.

  “Ru!” he exclaimed, and with the door shutting behind him he hurried to her side.

  She lifted her head, blanched, then came half out of her seat. “Kai! Oh, blessed gods, Kai!”

  “Yes, it’s me.” He grinned and pulled her up into his arms, mindful still of her frailty. “Do they encourage you to swear here?”

  She clutched him to her, then pushed him away, gripping his tunic in her fists. She looked no better than she had before, and the circles under her eyes had grown even darker. “Don’t tell Papa,” she quipped, her voice a breezy contrast to the stark terror on her face. “Are you going to scold me or hug me?”

  “I—oof!”

  Arms around him, her lips touched his ear. “What are you doing here?" she hissed.

  “Bairith caught me,” he whispered back.

  “Caught? No, never mind. Act casual. Happy. I will find you later. Where has he put you?”

  “North tower, third floor,” he breathed, “but there are demons.” What was going on?

  “Oh.” For a minute she simply held him. When she stepped back, she trembled so much Sherakai had to catch her and ease her down into her chair.

  “Glad to see me, are you?” he teased, forcing a cheerful note. She’d asked him to and he would comply because he trusted her implicitly. He crooked a brow in silent question, but she shook her head.

  Later. “You know you’re my favorite youngest brother. Here, sit down and eat with me.” She pointed to the place set across the table, then to the chair beside her.

  “Oh, Ru, I’m so—” He pressed a fist against his mouth to keep from blurting the terrible news. He was likely her only youngest brother. “Hungry.”

  At her probing look, he reached for the dishes, setting them down with a noisy clatter. “Zar is dead,” he hissed. Too much emotion colored his words, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the hurt and the anger their loss kindled. Act casual. He gritted his teeth and shoved his passion down deep.

  Mimeru stared at him in shock. “H-how?” she whispered.

  It was his turn to shake his head. Now was not the time or the place, particularly if Bairith stood listening at the door. “I haven’t had stewed fruit in ages. This is wonderful.” He picked up the bowl and took a noisy inhalation. An abundance of cinnamon made him turn his head aside to sneeze. He took a perverse satisfaction in wiping his nose on a fine cloth napkin, then dragged the platter of bread and cheese closer. Pointing to the door, he drew his flattened hand across his throat, then held up two fingers to show the brothers he was certain had died.

  She blinked furiously, trying to stem tears. Her jaw quivered, but she brought her chin up.

  In spite of his resolve, it took an effort to speak without his voice shaking. “You know Papa wanted to send me to the school in Kesurechi, but Bairith insisted on
taking me under his wing and teaching me himself. Isn’t that generous of him?”

  “More than I can say. He’s a very busy man.” Mimeru caught his collar and unfastened the top to turn the fabric back. Beneath, he still wore bruises. She tipped her head toward the door and raised a brow.

  Sherakai nodded, then turned his hands palm up for her to see the new scars. “I have to tell you, the trip here was miserable.”

  “Oh, you poor boy…” Though her lips moved, no further sound came from them. She focused on refastening his tunic.

  He didn’t mind when she called him “boy,” not when she said it with so much sympathy and dismay. He squeezed her arm before he reached for an earthenware jug and poured them each a cup of wine. Watered, he discovered.

  “You do look a little pale,” she managed. “Are you well?”

  “Bit of a headache.” He tipped his head toward the door. Bairith’s fault. “I’m sure it will pass.”

  Mimeru pressed her hand against her mouth as she pulled herself back together as well as she could. “If that’s all you’ve got, it’s a wonder. We’ve had nothing but rain for days. You must have been soaked to the bone.”

  How bizarre to carry on two conversations at the same time with one person. It only added to the sense of unreality that had settled on him with such tenacity he did not know how to shake it. “Captain Nayuri said it would improve my character.” A gulp of wine almost choked him.

  “Is he—” she whispered, and he shook his head. “Mama and Papa? How are they?” she asked as if she might not want to know.

  “Mourning still. Losing Tasan was a terrible blow. Elinasha and Okata left with his family shortly after you did. She said she’d come home before the baby is born. She wants Mama to deliver the child.” He realized as he said it that the subject might be sensitive, but Mimeru only dipped a pieced of bread into her wine with a resigned expression.

  “A good choice. I would, too.”

  He didn’t know what to say after that so he followed her example, helping himself to cheese and bread.

  “You must get away from here,” she breathed.

  He banged the spoon against the side of the fruit bowl as he dished it out, covering the sound of their voices. “Not without you.”

  “I can’t come with you, besh me.” Under any other circumstances he’d have protested the endearment. “I will only slow you down, and if you are to get away, you must run. Papa doesn’t know who is behind this, does he? You must tell him, so he can come take me away from here. I need you to do this.”

  “Nayuri sent word. I don’t know if it reached him.” A chill crept into Sherakai’s heart. “Are you dying?”

  Her hand gripped his arm, and she held herself very still, thoughtful, then she sighed. “He is killing me. He and his so-called healer. Tylond Corlyr is a snake with poison in his veins, Kai. Be careful of him.”

  He couldn’t feel shocked. Why not? Such news should shake him to his core. “The half-elf with the pale eyes?” he asked, recalling the man who’d been with Bairith and Iniki when he woke.

  “Yes.” She straightened and lifted her chin, then nodded. “How is the fruit? We have a wonderful cook here. I don’t know where he’s from, but he makes some of the most exotic dishes I have ever tasted.”

  “It’s good.” He stuffed a spoonful in his mouth, then spoke around it. “Sh’very good.” He had to swallow to keep talking. “I’ve been here a few days, you know, and taken meals with Bairith. I’m sorry you weren’t well enough to join us. The food, though—mountains of it. And it smelled so good.” What can we do? He gestured toward the door and hoped she understood the question.

  Her illness had not stolen her wits. “You’ll get fat and lazy.” I’ll think of something, she mouthed.

  “Me?” What would happen to her after he left?

  “You’ll have to work hard at the ‘fat’ part. Cook will be pleased. Isn’t it funny that I don’t know his name? I don’t know many people here,” she confessed. “It is good to see a face from home.” I have so many questions…

  I will stay until you are better.

  No, please no.

  “I felt a little guilty leaving.” No, not a good direction. If they weren’t careful, they’d both dissolve into tears. “Papa went to the capital for the king’s funeral.”

  “Muro is dead?” Her spoon wavered.

  “Yes. Suddenly. It was hard on Papa. It was hard on me. Master Chimoke decided I needed to work about a thousand times harder than I ever did before.” He had plenty of stories about his torture at the hands of his arms instructor, and after a while Mimeru relaxed a bit. He even coaxed a smile out of her with a tale about an accidental victory over Chakkan—and he didn’t tell her that his best friend was dead, too.

  The thought of her possible death walked in tandem with that miserable thought. Sherakai avoided them both the way he’d avoid a cess pool. For now there was just himself and Mimeru.

  Chapter 42

  Sherakai did not see his sister the following day. The woman who’d tended his various hurts did not put in an appearance either. He worried about Mimeru, and while the unnamed woman hadn’t been particularly friendly, she had been gentle. Barring the constant presence of the demons, he had the freedom of the keep—except for rooms behind locked doors or passages blocked by armed guards.

  He spent most of the first day sleeping off the remains of the headache. Servants brought meals. He hid his relief in silence. The last thing he wanted was another ‘friendly’ chat with his brother-in-law.

  On the second day, he found the mage Iniki waiting for him outside the door. At Sherakai’s back Teth growled low.

  “Feeling better?” the man asked, ignoring the beast. His fierce smile made the question more of a challenge than an expression of concern.

  He debated punching the man in the throat, but would likely only get himself hurt. He needed all his strength and wits to make his escape. “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Somewhat.”

  “Which some?”

  Iniki fondled the hilt of a small knife tucked into his belt. “Do you think you are clever?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “You are mistaken. Come with me.” He chose a sedate pace that didn’t overtax his invalid ward and did not speak as they descended the tower steps. At the end, they turned down the corridor, then another flight of stairs to the underground levels. “You fought like a tiger when we captured you.”

  Sherakai did not recognize the route they took. He tried to memorize it, though there were dozens of halls and rooms and stairs. “What is a tiger?”

  “A very big cat with gold and black stripes. It has a reputation for fierceness.”

  A compliment? He did not have a chance to ask.

  “How is your leg?” Iniki demanded. “You have no limp.”

  “Not yet. It’s early in the day still.”

  The sound of shouts and clashing metal came from below, muffled and hollow. The noise grew as they descended. At the bottom, a walkway protected by a low stone wall continued all the way around a cavernous room. Pillars wider than Sherakai could reach across interrupted the balcony at regular intervals. Going to peer over the side, he found a practice arena filled with sand and lit by scores of torches. It made the square almost as bright as day. Beneath the balcony, tiered wooden benches provided seating for spectators and fighters alike. Men and women both sat in the stands, some watching the fighters and shouting, others with their heads together talking.

  “Is this a competition?” Sherakai asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “Practice. These are some of the jansu’s men. Others are on patrol or engaged elsewhere.”

  “So many? Is he planning on taking over the country?” With Alshan in chaos after the king’s death, it would present a good opportunity to someone wanting a quick route to power.

  “Whether he chooses to tell you his plans or not is up to him. I am merely in charge of this aspect of your trainin
g.”

  “What?” Thunderstruck, he turned to the mage.

  Iniki smiled. “Do you think I am not proficient at arms?”

  “You’re a mage,” he blurted, as if that prevented him from doing or being anything else. “And Bairith said he would teach me.” It dawned on him that Bairith hadn’t said what or how he would teach.

  “You expect the master to personally instruct you in every area of your education?”

  He had no idea what to expect from a bloodthirsty lunatic. His silence made Iniki smile wider.

  “First, we must rebuild your strength. Come.” He led Sherakai around the balcony to where a doorway punctuated the wall. Stairs led downward, then a short corridor took them into the arena. “Give me your tunic and your shirt.”

  “No, I am fine with them.” He started to roll up his sleeves.

  Iniki slapped the back of his head hard enough to force Sherakai to take a step to keep upright. “Do not make me repeat myself. Ever. You will run around the outside of the arena until I tell you to stop.”

  He swallowed a surge of resentment and peeled off his clothing to drop on one of the benches. When he walked out onto the sand, Iniki snapped his fingers.

  “Fesh. Teth. Make him run.”

  One of the demons jumped high into the air, yipping. Excited. The other made a strange barking sound, then the two sprang past the mage. The brown-eyed one nipped at Sherakai’s backside, teeth sharp and energy bright.

  “No!” He whirled away and pushed at it. The other snapped its jaws just shy of his ankles.

  Sherakai ran.

  He sat at the bottom of the last flight of stairs leading to his rooms. A hot bath—and perhaps a good rubdown—awaited him if he could only make it that far. Iniki drove him through another grueling workout every morning, with the demons nipping at his heels or sitting to either side as he did gymnastic exercises. Today his bones were jelly. If he hadn’t sat down, he’d surely have fallen. He stuck out his lower lip and blew a breath that lifted the fringe on his forehead. Or it would have if his hair weren’t plastered to his skull with sweat.