by Sharon Shinn
She made a small sound of exasperation and looked away. He could tell by her stance, by her profile, that she was still furious. “If I had that kind of magic, do you think I would bring it to bear on you?” she asked. “Do you think I would try to cast a spell that brought you misery and grief? I might wish for you to love me, but I would trust to older magic than any I possess to make that happen. I have not ensorceled you, Tayse. I have only made you unhappy. Surely you would not think that is something I would try to do with witchcraft.”
“No,” he said, “but I thought you might be able to undo it if you wanted to.”
“I would make you stop hurting, if I could,” she said. “I can’t honestly say I would cast a spell that would keep you from loving me.”
“Why did you lie to me?” he said. “Why did you not tell me who you are?”
“I didn’t lie,” she said. “You know who I am.”
“No,” he said. “I have discovered you, bit by bit. You are a woman made up of many parts, all of them concealed. As the truth has been forced from you, you have reluctantly showed one side of yourself, and then another. I have assembled you in pieces.”
“And have you truly hated all of those pieces?”
“I have hated none of them,” he said. “But none of them has put you within my reach.”
“None of them has put me outside your reach, either,” she said.
“You were always too rare for me,” he said. “So many days I have felt like Donnal, a mute dog following at the heels of a glorious mistress. But I am not fashioned like Donnal is. I am just as loyal, but not nearly so humble. You asked once before what it might take to break me. That would do it, I think—to be around you so long, and be so despairing. That would tear me right in half.”
She came a step nearer then, so near he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. All her anger seemed to have flown, but he could see the intensity on her face, the thoughtful, considering expression. “You are too strong for that, Tayse,” she said in a soft voice. “Even love will not break you. Even magic you would withstand.” She lifted a hand and touched a finger lightly to his lips, enjoining silence. Not that he was capable of speech anyway.
“I cannot heal you, not of this particular grief, but I can give you something else to consume your thoughts. And it is this: I love you, Tayse. If I were to fashion a man I would want to see riding at my side, I would fashion him just like you. He would look like you, he would fight like you, he would be just as wary and hard to convince. He would be you. But he would learn, no matter how slowly, that he need not put love aside. He would come to understand that I am lonely, that I am frightened, that I am a woman building fires to ward off the dark.
“I am so used to being solitary and strong. I do not like being worried and weak. But I feel safe when you are near me and troubled when you are gone, and these are not feelings, I think, that will easily pass. You say I have the power to break you—well, you have changed me, and I did not think I was capable of changing again. I only hope you will not abandon me, so altered and strange to myself, because you think I am too proud to accept your love. I would hate for my life to go on like that, empty of you. I think I would be the one to finally break after that.”
And while he stood there, numb and dumbstruck, she dropped her hand, arched to her tiptoes, and kissed him softly on the mouth. When she pulled away, he could tell she was smiling.
“And now let us see if either of us sleeps for the remainder of the night,” she said.
He made no reply, and she slipped away in the dark. He watched her make her way directly back to camp and roll herself into her blankets before he took another step, staying on his previous circuitous route. It was a wonder to him that he could move at all, for every bone felt weighted with gold, every vein felt charged with fire. He stumbled twice more around the camp, narrowing his spiral till he was back before the cheerful fire.
His watch might end in two hours, but she had been right about one thing: He would not sleep again this night. He was not sure he would ever sleep again.
CHAPTER 31
LOCHAU was a port town down to its very bones. Senneth thought it was possible that the frame of every house, every tavern, had been built from discarded mainmasts, that the timber from old hulls had been reused to construct the buildings and furnish the wood for the painted signs that hung over every establishment. You could not take a breath without inhaling the scents of salt and fish; you could not speak without having to raise your voice over the cry of the gulls. Even on a day as bright as this one, the cobblestoned streets felt wet with the accumulated moisture in the air, and the wind never stopped blowing off the sea.
“Lochau,” Kirra said, running a hand through her long gold curls. “My hair feels gritty already.”
“Let’s get settled,” Senneth said. “No telling how quickly Halchon may be arriving. If he arrives.”
Kirra sighed. “And we have much to do.”
They found the Dalian Inn with no trouble. It was an old hotel, a little weather-beaten, but maintaining its dignity with a fresh coat of whitewash over all three stories. Senneth and Kirra left the men to deal with the ostlers and went inside to check for accommodations.
“Let’s say Danalustrous only,” Senneth murmured as the smiling clerk approached them.
Kirra nodded, then stepped forward to greet the man with her own smile. In this place, she opted for charm, not hauteur, and soon enough she had secured two adjoining rooms on the second floor.
“We are expecting—we are hoping—to be joined in a day or so by Halchon Gisseltess,” she said very solemnly. “I have sent him a message under a different name. If he comes, could you direct him to my quarters? It is very important that I speak to him.”
“Yes, serramarra Kirra. Most certainly, serramarra Kirra. How long will you be staying with us?”
Kirra waved a hand. “All depends on the outcome of my conversation with the marlord. You understand.”
“Naturally.”
“Do you know if any of my father’s ships are in harbor?” she asked next.
“Indeed, there were three flying the red-and-gold standard as I came to work this morning.”
“Excellent,” she said. “I need to see a captain about travel arrangements.”
They followed the clerk to their room, which smelled slightly musty but looked clean, and Senneth allowed herself to tumble headfirst onto one of the beds. “Fabulous,” she murmured. “Such softness! Such a sweet cushion for my maltreated bones!”
Kirra grinned down at her. She was braiding her hair back with a length of red ribbon she had conjured from nowhere, and she was already dressed in a pretty scarlet gown suitable for walking. “Why don’t you sleep awhile? I don’t need you for this particular transaction.”
“Oh—well—maybe,” Senneth said, finding herself almost unable to force herself from the bed. “Take Justin or Tayse with you.”
“I suppose it will have to be Justin,” Kirra said wickedly, “since Tayse will not leave your side.”
Senneth wanted to throw a pillow at her, but she didn’t have the energy. “Tayse will be happy enough to leave my side when we’re back in Ghosenhall.”
“Will he? I think our dour Rider will find himself very torn between the two halves of his heart.”
Senneth turned over on her side, away from Kirra. She could hear Tayse and Justin talking in the hall. “Wake me if Donnal arrives,” she said drowsily, “or if Halchon shows up.”
“I will,” Kirra said. If she added anything else, Senneth didn’t hear it; she was already asleep.
She guessed it was a couple of hours later that she woke. She lay there a few moments, trying to determine what time it was and what might be going on around her. Sunlight was still filtering in through the stiff white curtains, but it was weak enough to indicate day was almost over. She could hear no voices from the rooms next door, so her friends were undoubtedly out on their own pursuits: canvassing the harbor for ships
, stopping by some of the local shops for specialty foods or new items of clothing, drinking a glass or two of ale in a tavern nearby. Clearly they had all decided that she was better off sleeping than being informed of their movements.
She turned to her other side, feeling the protest in all her bones as she did so. The ache in her left side was much better than it had been a few days ago, but it was a constant, nagging presence; if she moved too swiftly or injudiciously, it reacted with a fierce contraction. She would have thought magic would have been more efficacious than this. She had truly expected to be fully recovered by now, all through Kirra’s spells and her own force of will.
She supposed she should be grateful she was still alive, since once the wound had been described to her, she had realized she very well could have died. But gratitude was hard to come by when the mere act of sitting up in bed made her grunt with pain. And when she was so anxious—about the Daughters of the Pale Mother, about Coralinda Gisseltess, about Halchon Gisseltess, about the potential for war, about everything.
About Tayse.
Stupid to say those things to him the other night—stupid even though they were true, stupid because he had set himself against her, and she didn’t have the graces or the wiles to win him over. Kirra, now—Kirra had charm and beauty and a knack with men. If Kirra had set her heart on Tayse—or on Justin, even, who mistrusted Kirra as much as Tayse mistrusted Senneth—she would have been able to secure him. She would have seduced him with her soft laugh, her bright hair, her sidelong smile. She would have fascinated him, and he would have followed her anywhere, helplessly drawn to her color and beauty.
Kirra would not have chased a man down on a night watch and baldly declared her love for him, and then turned and walked away.
And he would not have regarded Kirra the next morning with a face utterly unchanged except for having grown more remote.
Even if she could claw off the Brassenthwaite brand, even if there was no visible taint left on her skin, Tayse would not forgive her. She could not seem to make him understand that she had not set out to be deceptive. It was not a lie to fail to mention a past that no longer applied. Justin did not forever go on prattling about his life as a street urchin, robbing rich men and dueling in the streets. Cammon had shared his own story once, and then seemed to forget he had a former life. Donnal could hardly be brought to talk about himself at all. Yet she was supposed to pause every three sentences and say, “By the way, I was born a Brassenthwaite, you know.” That wasn’t fair in the least.
But it didn’t matter. Even if he would be able to accept that she had not lied to him, he would not be able to accept that she came from noble blood. She could say it was unimportant to her, but it was clearly important to him. He would as soon let himself fall in love with Princess Amalie.
She sighed and wondered if perhaps she just shouldn’t bother to get up at all. The sun would be down soon enough. She could just close her eyes and pretend it was night already, and sleep straight through until morning.
She had no chance to put this admirable plan into action, because at that moment, Kirra swept into the room. “Oh! Are you still asleep? Sorry. I’ll leave—”
Senneth yawned and sat up. “No, no, I’m awake. What’s the situation here?”
“Everything in train,” Kirra said, plopping down on the other bed. “Found a ship—cargo transport, loads of room, and I know the captain. They were going to pull out tomorrow, but the captain’s graciously agreed to wait upon our convenience and set us down in Dormas, even though it’s not a scheduled stop.” She grinned. “He feels certain such a kindness to me will endear him to my father, though he did not phrase it quite that way. But he’s right, of course—I’ll make sure he’s rewarded.”
Senneth yawned again. “What about the raelynx?”
“Being brought aboard even as we speak. Well, I didn’t wait to observe the whole maneuver. I imagine it’ll take some time to get the animal lured into the crate and then hauled back on the gig we hired, but Cammon seemed quite convinced that he could take care of the whole operation. Captain Abernot was not thrilled by the idea of carrying wild animals on board, but he did admit he was curious to actually see a live raelynx. Since, I suppose, they’ve never wandered too far west of the Lirrens and lived.”
“I wonder if your father would like a raelynx,” Senneth said. “We could leave it with—Captain Abernot, you say?—and let him take it all the way to Danalustrous. Your father’s a resourceful man. He’d be able to think of something to do with it.”
Kirra grinned. “My father’s a practical man. He’d have it slain and its coat turned into a red fur collar for Casserah. No, I don’t think you’ll be able to palm this trial off on anyone till you get to the Lirrens.”
Senneth sighed. “And I suppose that’s where I’ll be going once we leave Ghosenhall.”
Kirra tilted her head. “But you could come to Danalustrous once you completed your journey. My father would love to see you again.”
“I don’t know where I’ll be headed after that,” Senneth said lightly. “Perhaps the king will have more work for me. I’ll have to see.”
“Aren’t you tired of wandering yet?” Kirra asked quietly.
Senneth covered her expression by pretending to yawn again. Sharp, stupid stab of pain for that question. She didn’t even know how to answer it. “I expect to be wandering most of my days,” she replied and made herself stand up. She actually felt better once she was on her feet. “Do they have any kind of baths here? I could soak for a week.”
CLEAN, rested, and in a rather better mood, Senneth joined her traveling companions for dinner a couple of hours later. All six of them were present for the meal, since Donnal had arrived while she and Kirra were bathing. His news was good, she supposed: Halchon had agreed to come to Lochau as soon as he could gather a party and ride. It was what she wanted, of course, though she could not bring herself to look forward to the meeting.
Nonetheless, like the rest of them, she was able to summon a hearty appetite for the meal. The dining hall at the Dalian was nothing like the taprooms of most of the small hotels they’d stayed at along the way. It was elegant and formal, though its white paint was peeling a little from the onslaught of incessant humidity, and a few of its ceiling beams looked warped from the same cause. They had their choice of several entrées, and all the food looked tasty.
“Have I mentioned this? I’m never eating rabbit again,” Kirra said.
Donnal grinned. “At least not cooked rabbit,” he said with rare humor. “But if you’re traveling in hawk shape, and you get hungry—”
Kirra shuddered and bit into a forkful of chicken that had been grilled in some kind of wine-based sauce. “At the moment, I can’t ever imagine being so hungry again.”
“I like rabbit,” Cammon said. “But this is good, too.”
“I like rabbit well enough, but I like it better if I get to vary the diet now and then,” Senneth chimed in. “You know, perhaps deer meat one night, and grouse the next—”
“Well, considering that I’m the one who caught us the last few rabbits we ate, and all of you seemed pretty damn happy to eat them at the time, I just want to say you’re a bunch of ungrateful wretches,” Justin said.
“Not ungrateful,” Kirra said. “It’s just that it’s so clear that these elegant surroundings are really what suit me best.”
Conversation went that way for the entire meal, all of them seeming relaxed and happy for the first time in days. Senneth supposed there was no guarantee that Halchon’s men wouldn’t burst into the inn and suddenly take them all hostage, though she thought it was less likely now that Danalustrous men would be aware of the outrage and take word instantly back to Kirra’s father. So she abandoned her own habitual wariness, and she could tell that the others did, too, and the resulting sense of freedom made them all a little silly.
Except Tayse, of course. He did not seem relaxed at all. He sat with his back to the wall, his eyes on the door, and h
e put his attention on each individual waiter and customer who entered the big room. He ate hungrily enough, laughed when the conversation called for it, and even added a comment or two—but only, Senneth thought, so no one would remark on his quietness. She wondered if he would relax even once he was back in the Riders’ barracks behind the palace in Ghosenhall.
She probably would never know.
“So!” Justin said, pushing his plate aside and glancing around the table. “What shall we do tonight? Anyone up for—entertainment?”
“I am,” Cammon said.
“I might be,” Kirra said cautiously. “Depending on what you had in mind.”
Donnal nodded.
Tayse said nothing, but his eyes lifted to Senneth’s face. “My idea of entertainment right now is dreaming,” Senneth said. “I’m going back to bed as soon as we finish the meal. But have fun without me. Keep in mind that not everyone in Lochau is your friend.”
“Yes, but they can’t all hate us,” Justin said. “Tayse? You in?”
Tayse shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Senneth caught Kirra’s quick glance but refused to look in that direction. Tayse will not leave your side, Kirra had said. Senneth had to believe that if she had agreed to join the others, Tayse would have accompanied them as well. But he had a charge to keep her safe, and he was not about to fail now. His stubborn shadowing of her meant nothing more than that.
“Tell me the truth,” Kirra was saying. “Will it inhibit your revels if I come along with you?”
“Oh, you’ll be welcome at the brothels, never fear,” Justin said, grinning. “Glad to have you.”
Senneth gave him a pained look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in such a rollicking mood,” she said.
He laughed. “Too many days under too much strain,” he said. “Everybody feels a little crazy.”
“Careful about just how crazy you get tonight,” Tayse warned. “Limit your drinking. And never forget you’re in hostile country.”