Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (16 page)

“Thank you,” she said, and was out the door before the smile on his face had time to feel forced.

Wian returned the following morning, like a wounded bird seeking the dubious shelter of a damaged nest. Eredion had just settled in his favorite chair to work through the dreary process of waking up. Dawn was drawing pale squares on the dark curtains as the girl slipped in through the door, moving quietly as though she expected him to be asleep still; which he normally would have been.

Today, though, he had a number of hurried arrangements to make, and some begun the day before to wrap up. It would all undoubtedly put him further into debt than he cared to be, but there was no help for that. Northern-born or not, Peysimun was a desert Family now, and he found himself unable to help seeing Alyea as something more than just a political ally, after that heated almost-encounter the day before.

The one question Alyea
hadn’t
asked, and Eredion hadn’t volunteered the answer for, was the matter of
how
Deiq had been taken out of Bright Bay. His watchers, late the previous night, had reported her gathering supplies for an overland trip, which meant she was headed for the Horn.

Given that he didn’t know where the hidden way in Bright Bay was, and given that there was no way to track where Deiq and his captors had emerged, one path south seemed, to Eredion, as good as another. And if the teyanain were involved—as one desert saying ran,
The teyanain are involved, eventually, in everything—
the land route through the Horn would shake the matter out quickest.

He really hoped Alyea was up to dealing with the teyanain. She’d matured tremendously since becoming a desert lord, and even more so since her rescue from Kippin’s hands; but Lord Evkit, from all reports, would give an aqeyva master pause. Perhaps he should have sent someone with her after all...but she hadn’t asked. For an ordinary, ignorant northern, he would have pointed it out; but Alyea was a desert lord now, and he hadn’t even thought of speaking up, assuming she would see the need herself.

He kept forgetting how
ignorant
she still was. And how
young.
Like Tanavin, she often acted much older than her actual age. Kippin’s attempt to break her — and her blood trials —had done that.

Eredion wondered what would happen if Tanavin ever went through the blood trials—besides Aerthraim Family’s utter destruction by the enraged ha’reye, of course....

The outer door opened and Wian crept into the room. When she saw Eredion in his chair, her movements instantly turned subdued and her gaze fixed on the floor. Eredion tried to watch her without moving his head; at last he rolled his head a little to one side. Her expression held an underlying sullenness that told him she was spoiling for a fight.

She stood across the room, staring at him with a bleak mournfulness that he saw as an act to make him ask questions. He said nothing, patiently watching her without any reaction at all. At last she came forward in a rush, stopping just out of arm’s reach—which might as well have been across the room, as Eredion didn’t want to make the effort of sitting up.

“She’s gone?” Wian demanded, her fingers twisting together. “I don’t want her back here! Ever!”

Eredion rolled his head back to a more comfortable center position, hearing creaks and crackles from the movement. “Not your decision, Wian.”

“Do you know what she was
doing?
In
our
bed?” Wian practically quivered with indignation.

“Yes.”
And I was very nearly with them,
he thought but didn’t say aloud; and tried not to contemplate the notion of how
that
would have gone. A shiver, half-regretful, half-terrified, worked down his spine.

“How can you
tolerate
her being so—so
disrespectful?”

“It’s not disrespect,” Eredion said, then gave up at her expression. She had no way to understand. “I don’t care,” he added, and saw the sullenness surface openly at last.

“Maybe
you
don’t,” she sniffed, crossing her arms. “But
I
do!”

“I don’t care about that, either,” Eredion said mildly; Wian reacted as though he’d slapped her. Her eyes filled with tears, one hand went to her mouth, and a splotchy color filled her face. He watched without sympathy, knowing her well enough by now to spot the act.

She was a
very
good liar. He never let himself forget that.

Wian, apparently realizing hysterics wouldn’t serve her at all, dropped her hand and drew a deep breath, her expression hardening. “So I’m just a whore to you, then, Lord Eredion?” she demanded harshly.

“Wian,” Eredion said, keeping his tone calm, “you jumped in
my
lap, as I recall. And I made no promises, then or since.”

She turned her back on him, and this time her distress held some truth.

“I thought—” she said over her shoulder, then shook her head and started for the bedroom.

Eredion let her go. A few moments later, the sounds of Wian stripping the dirty linens from the bed and remaking it with fresh sheets came to his ears. Every so often she grunted or made a harshly disgusted noise. At last she slammed the shutters, drew the glass panes shut with more care, gathered the damp towels, then shoved the laundry basket into the main room. He stayed quiet, his eyes half-shut, as she marched around his suite, closing all the open windows and gathering the wet floor towels.

“That’s done,” Wian said at last, sounding less sullen, as though the activity had eased her mind. She set the laundry basket by the outer door.

“Wian.”

She turned, hesitated only a moment, then came to perch on his knee, her expression smoothing into an artificial passivity. “Yes, my lord?”

“Stop that,” he said, not moving. “I don’t lie to you, Wian. Don’t lie to me. That’s all I’ve asked. Is that too much for you?”

She sat very still, and again he was reminded of a wounded bird, fragile and frightened; at last she said, “No. I’m sorry.”

He laced his fingers through hers with a sigh. “What are you more angry about,” he said softly, “me or Tanavin? Tank,” he corrected himself, ruefully aware it was probably far too late to shut that door.

She blinked, looking through him for a few long breaths, then a real shimmer appeared in her eyes. “I like him,” she said, almost inaudible even to his sharp hearing. “A lot. And he—never even—it’s like he sees me as not good enough. And then to take
her
instead—”

She wiped her eyes with her free hand and focused on Eredion.

“And you—you don’t see me as good enough either, do you? You’re only ever going to see me as a whore, at the end of the day.”

He shook his head, squeezing her fingers a little, not sure how to answer that. The images from Tanavin’s childhood returned to his mind. He shut his eyes, wishing he could stop the memories with that gesture.

She pulled her hand from his, without hurry or anger, and stood up. “I’ll go take care of the laundry,” she said, tone distant.

“No,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and look at her again. “I was
just...just thinking about something I learned today. Here—”

He held out his hand, although it felt like a massive, dragging effort to move at all. She let him draw her back down, the artificial passivity returning, and he thought, wearily, that he’d soon lose her if he hadn’t already.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Wian,” he said, “you’re here because you want to be, and I like having you around. Do I
treat
you like a whore, or a slave?”

She stared at him, her eyes once more brimming with real tears. “Sometimes.”

The hells I do!
But he couldn’t say that aloud. “You came to me,” he said, hanging on to the last threads of his patience now, “because you thought I wouldn’t abuse you the way Kippin and Rosin did. Have I done that?”

“No!”

“That’s all you’ve ever asked of me, Wian. I pay you not for sharing my bed, but for keeping my apartment clean.” He motioned to the laundry basket to emphasize the point. “I don’t tell you what to do unless it’s urgently important—which staying here
was,
by the way, and you left—but I’m not even scolding you over that, am I?”

Her eyes narrowed, tears drying. “Why was my staying here important to you?”

“Because there’s something going on that worries me,” he said, “and I don’t want you getting pulled into it.”

She went still again. “Kippin?” she said through barely parted lips.

He blinked, thinking of a blood-soaked room and instruments black with Alyea’s blood; tried not to wonder what Kippin would do if he ever got his hands on either Alyea or Wian again.

“I don’t know,” he said. The words emerged hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Maybe at first. But it’s gotten bigger than Kippin now, and much more dangerous. Until I understand what’s going on, I want to know you’re safe here.”

Her face lit up as though he’d handed her a stack of gold coins, and she threw her arms around his neck, pressing close. He heard her delighted thought:
He
does
care!—
and couldn’t bring himself to correct the gross misunderstanding.

Needs that had been stirred hot by the brief, intense encounter with Alyea and Tank, and which he’d been forcibly ignoring ever since, swamped over him; and enough energy flushed through his body to allow him to stand and carry her to the freshly made bed.

Trying not to think of that moment of potential with Alyea—and almost entirely failing.

The gates to Peysimun Mansion stood shut, with four burly guards—two inside, two outside—at alert attention. Several Aerthraim lanterns burned, bright and steady, casting wide swaths of illumination on both sides of the gateway.

Alyea didn’t recognize any of the guards, but as she approached, the outside guards bowed deeply and opened the gates without waiting for a command.

She stopped well out of their reach, studying them warily.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Bright Bay Freewarrior Hall, Lord Peysimun,” one of the guards answered promptly, producing a thick wooden coin for her inspection. “Sworn out to Lord Eredion Sessin and set to watch Peysimun Mansion until further notice.” He grinned amiably, revealing three missing front teeth; the back of his hand was marked with a shiny, thick burn scar that ran from the base of his fingers to well past his wrist.

Alyea stepped closer and took the offered marker, alert for signs of treachery, but the guard’s genial expression remained unchanged. She turned the disc over in her hands; it had a sigil burned into both sides, neither of which meant anything to her. She handed it back. “When did that happen?”

“Ehh...earlier today, Lord Peysimun,” the guard said with a glance up at the dark sky and the faintly silvered clouds blocking all sight of stars or moon.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Lord Sessin provided a good description,” the guard said, his eyes crinkling as though repressing a smile. “And you come on like you own the place, so I figured it was a pretty safe assumption.”

Alyea hovered on the verge of asking about that description, then put the matter aside as irrelevant. She’d ask Eredion himself about it when she returned with Deiq in tow, and enjoy being able to focus on such a small item. “He’s paying you?”

“That’s the contract,” the guard said. “If you want to buy it out, you’ll need to go direct to the Hall—”

“No,” Alyea said, “no, that’s fine. I’ve just come from giving him authority to act on my Family’s behalf for a time.”

“He didn’t already have that?” For the first time, he looked alarmed instead of mildly amused.

She stared at him, unblinking, for a long moment, then said, “In a sense, he did. I won’t fuss over the timing. Your contract is valid.”

All four guards visibly relaxed. “Don’t like getting into contract tussles, so thanks for that, Lord Peysimun,” the leader said. He tilted another glance at the brooding sky overhead. “Might want to be getting inside soon, if that isn’t too bold.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Alyea shook her thoughts into order, nodded to the guards, and went through the gates towards the house.

The slick mat of leaves had been swept aside into rough piles, enough to leave a wide path to the front door; glancing back, she spotted a large rake and broom leaning against the fence near the gates. She couldn’t help smiling at that thoughtful touch; Eredion had selected good men on short notice.

She tried not to think about her suspicion that he had, somehow,
known
that she would turn control of Peysimun Family over to him; it was only good common sense to set men at the gates, to keep the empty mansion from being looted, she told herself—and tried to believe.

“Gods, I’m becoming paranoid,” she muttered as she climbed the shallow steps leading up to the grand entry doors. Here again, two lanterns sent wide pools of bright light washing over steps and walls. She lifted one of the lanterns from the hook, surprised at how heavy it was; the flame inside trembled and swayed, but stayed remarkably steady compared to a traditional lantern. She wondered, not for the first time, what oil was being used to fuel this lantern, and what craft had gone into it; but as usual, this wasn’t the time for casual queries on trivia.