Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (55 page)

“You know him?” Fimre said, still casual, his gaze apparently on the wall hangings and various decorations they passed.

“We’ve spoken a few times.”

Fimre pursed his lips and gave Eredion a sideways stare. He dropped his voice to a low murmur. “There’s rumor it’s more than that, Lord Eredion.”

“Is there.”

“It’s relevant to my job as liaison, Lord Eredion,” Fimre said, still barely audible. “Knowing what rumors you’re leaving in your wake, so that I can handle them.”

Desert lords serve ha’ra’hain and ha’reye as required, when required,
Eredion said, tightly controlling the thought.
Northerns don’t understand anything about that. You don’t talk about this here, do you understand me?

“I’m not talking about our oaths,” Fimre said quietly. “I’m referring to rumors of a more personal arrangement. Desert lords aren’t supposed to become kathain to anyone.”

Eredion tightened his jaw against letting his initial response out, well aware Fimre caught the slight shift in muscle tension and read it accurately.
We’re in a godsdamned public hallway with Hidden following us as we go,
he snapped.
Are you insane?

Fimre flicked a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Nobody’s nearby,” he said in a normal speaking voice. “Can’t you tell?”

Eredion shook his head. “You’re an idiot. You think the Hidden don’t know how to conceal themselves from a desert lord after years spent dealing with Rosin? You wouldn’t know they’re nearby unless they tap you on the shoulder.”

The younger desert lord said nothing for some time, a dark frown on his face as he worked through that information.

“I see,” he said at last. “My apologies, Lord Eredion.”

Eredion sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Fimre hadn’t said anything, after all, that the Hidden wouldn’t already know. “It’s all just experience. You’ll learn.”

“I already have learned rather more than I ever expected to,” Fimre murmured, so quietly that Eredion almost didn’t catch it.

“Life’s like that,” Eredion remarked. “Here we are: the carriage yard. Do me a favor, Lord Fimre, and don’t try to learn anything new on your way back to your quarters.”

“Be a good boy and don’t cause trouble tonight?”

“Something like that.” Eredion grinned, and saw an answering flash of rueful humor from Fimre. The coachman swung the door open and waited, politely attentive; the horses whuffled, patient and placid.

“I’ll behave,” Fimre promised. “For tonight.” He paused, an odd expression crossing his face, then added, “Could you—please—offer my apologies to your—to Wian? I do see that I was...rude. I regret causing her discomfort.”

Eredion felt his eyebrows go up. “I’ll tell her,” he said, deciding not to make an issue of the odd attitude shift. He was too tired for another long discussion at the moment. “Good night, Fimre. Gods hold you lightly.”

“Good night, Lord Eredion, and the same to you,” Fimre said, then climbed into the coach.

Eredion caught the coachman’s eye and said, quietly, “Only to the mansion,
s’e,
nowhere else. Don’t lose him on the way, please.”

The coachman bowed soberly, touching the fingers of his left hand to his heart in silent promise, then climbed up to the driver’s seat and set the team in motion.

Eredion watched the coach rattle away, a dreary exhaustion dragging through his entire body. The distance to his suite seemed like endless miles; dealing with Wian on arrival felt like an even more daunting task.

A more personal arrangement...kathain.

With
Deiq?
Good gods. Eredion had no idea how to handle that incredible accusation. He shook his head.

“One step at a time,” he muttered at last, and headed back to his suite.

If teyanain had kings, Alyea thought, this would be their throne room. The large room had one wall almost entirely missing; the remnants of the wall, carved into a series of four thick pillars, did little to block the view of pure cerulean sky. A chill breeze shifted tapestries and banners and tugged at clothes, leaving an icy shiver in its wake.

Sitting with his back to one of the pillars, a teyanin boy played rippling, crystalline melodies on a peculiarly shaped, harp-like instrument. His eyes were bound with strips of bright blue cloth.

Blind,
Deiq said softly. She flinched, still not accustomed to his voice in her mind. “Don’t look at him for long, it’s rude,” he added aloud, nearly subvocalizing the words; then:
The teyanain blind all their best musicians. They believe it helps the artist focus on the music better.

She drew in a shallow breath and kept her expression placid, her thoughts quiet. Deiq’s mouth twitched in apparent amusement; no—she could sense his amusement, like a low burring sensation against her lower spine. And his satisfaction that she’d grown to the point where she didn’t flinch over something she’d have railed against, not long ago, as barbaric brutality.

Notably flinch,
he corrected her.
I don’t care about your real feelings as long as you don’t let the teyanain see you react. Their musicians are sacred to them. It’s an honor to have this boy present, a mark of high favor.

She dipped her chin in a minute nod, her eyes ahead and on the floor, her back straight, hands folded politely over her stomach as they approached the spot where Evkit sat waiting for them.

The teyanain lord’s stool and a long, low table were the only furniture in the room. The stool was short enough to allow Evkit’s bare feet to rest squarely on the floor of the raised dais, the dais high enough to give visitors a perception of being loomed over. The surface of the simple blackwood table, set just in front of the dais, was painted with intricate and delicate designs. Alyea knew better by now than to assume they were merely decoration.

It’s called an
oamver
—a negotiation table,
Deiq told her.
If the oamver holds tea fixings, it’s a very favorable sign. The table being empty means we’re not here to chat. This conversation won’t last long.

I thought we were allies.

Allies. Not friends.
The answer held a grim tinge.

They paused before the oamver, eyes downcast. Alyea followed Deiq’s lead as he dropped briefly to one knee, then straightened to look Evkit full in the face.

“Lord Evkit,” Deiq said. “We are honored by your summons.”

Evkit’s eyes crinkled as though that tempted him to smile. “So formal, ha’inn?”

“When I have rested and filled my needs,” Deiq said with matching dryness, “I
do
have manners, Lord Evkit. Would you prefer I not use them?”

Evkit’s mouth twitched. “Manners good,” he said gravely.

Alyea sensed a faint tension rippling through Deiq, but he showed no outward reaction. “Manners it is, then, Lord Evkit.”

Evkit’s gaze moved to Alyea for a long, thoughtful moment.

“You are
daimaina
to ha’inn now,” he said. “And ha’inn is
daiman
to you. This is powerful and rare, this equals. You need be much careful. Many people hurt much, you do this wrong.”

At a loss for a reply, she said, “I understand, Lord Evkit. Thank you.”

He stared at her for another moment, all traces of humor gone from his face, then looked back to Deiq. “How you leave, ha’inn? You have horse, waiting near road. You want athain take you horse, take horse to city; or you want take hidden way and ask teyanain bring horse?”

Alyea glanced at Deiq, not sure how he would answer. The thought of having the athain transport her back to where she’d left the horse didn’t appeal in the least. The walk back to the road, if it was along the same path as before, was long, and also unappealing. Having teyanain leading a horse from the king’s stable right into Bright Bay would probably cause a panic.

Deiq’s expression, not surprisingly, was dark. He frowned at Evkit and said, “Hidden way?”

“It is how you arrived here,” Evkit said placidly. “Kippin and allies find Bright Bay entrance and bring you.”

Deiq’s eyebrows reversed into a startled arch.

“You not know?” Evkit inquired, showing his teeth in a brief, malicious grin. “You who walk the city so often, you not know of hidden way? Tch.”

Deiq said nothing for a long moment, visibly thinking that over; then glanced at Alyea and shook his head slightly. “I’ve never claimed to know everything there is to know, Lord Evkit. A man can live ten thousand years and not know everything.”

Alyea blinked at that. Evkit’s daimaina had used the same phrase.

It’s a standard southern homily,
Deiq told her. Aloud, he said, “I’ll take us to the horse, if you can remember the location well enough.”

“Athain give location,” Evkit said. “Clear visual, no trouble at all.”

Deiq let out a harsh breath, as though inclined to object to something about that, then shook his head again. “Thank you for your
ahnn,
your honorable hosting graciousness, Lord Evkit.”

“You have been good guests,” Evkit said, and yipped laughter, a broad, unsettling grin flashing over his narrow face.
“Interesting
guests.
L’chin.”

Deiq bared his teeth, not quite a smile; Alyea forced a smile of her own, praying he wouldn’t turn the moment into a fight. He’d been on edge all morning, without telling her why. She thought she could guess: allies or not, the teyanain weren’t particularly safe to be around. Her understanding of southern custom was still thin enough to make every moment here dangerous, and she remembered enough of Chac’s teachings to know that with Deiq at her side, the leeway she’d be granted for ignorance was growing narrower by the day.

Safer, far safer, to get the hells out of here, as quickly as politeness allowed.

“We send gifts,” Evkit said, his dark stare returning to Alyea’s face. “Wedding gifts. We not scare Bright Bay,
h’na;
we send northern-suitable allies as messengers.” He grinned again.

She kept her breathing even and tried not to think about anything in particular.

Deiq made a vaguely impatient sound in the back of his throat. “Our thanks, Calcen.”

Evkit’s eyes narrowed. The two men stared at one another, cold on cold. Alyea bit her tongue, not at all sure what was going on. She guessed something about the terms
h’na
and
Calcen
had set off a mutual antagonism.

Allies, not friends.
Worth remembering.

Deiq made that soft sound again.

“Our thanks again, Lord Evkit,” he said, and Evkit bowed without leaving his stool, a deep and suspiciously florid movement.

“Our honor, ha’inn,” Evkit said. He motioned without looking behind him. An athain emerged from behind a tapestry and bowed, then looked directly at Deiq. “You take visual now, ha’inn, and then gather yourself and go.”

Deiq glanced at the athain, then nodded. “I have it.
Saishe-pais.”

“Saishe-pais.”
Evkit turned on the stool so that his back faced them. The athain withdrew quietly.

Alyea began to turn for the entrance they’d come in by, intending to work her way back through the maze of tunnels to their room and retrieve her pack. It was resting by the doorway.

They’re ready for us to leave,
Deiq observed sardonically.

The pack was heavier than she remembered. Glancing inside, she found a few new items. She stared at the contents, her heart thudding against her ribs, then laced the flap shut again, hoisted the pack over her shoulder, and turned to face Deiq.

“I’m ready to leave too,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He studied her face, frowning, for a moment. “Something wrong?”

“A few unexpected gifts,” she said. “I’ll show you later.”

Deiq nodded, but the frown remained as he opened his arms. “Come here.” He drew her into a close embrace, his breath warm against her ear. “You have to relax,” he said softly. “You have to trust me.”

“I do,” she said. His arms tightened around her briefly, then everything turned upside down.

Familiar with the sensation by now, and mindful of his admonition, she drew phantom breath and blinked without eyelids, deliberately placid in the midst of complete disorientation.

Drizzle erupted around them, a grey, misty morning; a crow called out somewhere nearby; a horse whinnied from somewhere much closer to hand. Her feet were steady on the ground, and Deiq’s arms laced around her, a warm and solid protection.

“Good,” he said. He released his embrace, touched the side of her face lightly. “Good. Let’s go—home.”

The last word came out strangely tight and choked. She tilted a questioning glance at him.

“Not a word I’ve used much,” he said, not looking at her.

She sucked in a breath, seeing something she’d never thought about before. “Don’t you have—”

“Places to stay,” he said. “Places I’ve stayed for years at a stretch. Places that are mine. Yes. I’ll take you to see them, at some point. But that’s not quite the same thing as what you would consider
home.”

Drizzle condensed to streaks of moisture on his dark face, beaded in his black hair. He wouldn’t look at her.

“Home is a human concept,” he said. “Not a ha’ra’hain thought.”

She said nothing, not sure what there was to say. He snapped his fingers: the horse snorted and ambled over to his hand, nosing up against his fingers as though searching for a treat. He turned his hand over, scratched the silky muzzle and up through the rougher hair above it, then grabbed the cheek-strap of the bridle and tugged the horse to stand sideways to its previous position.

“Give me your pack,” he said, still not meeting her eyes, “and mount up. I’ll walk.”

Alyea unslung her pack and swung into the saddle. Whatever was nagging at him, he’d talk about or he wouldn’t, in his own time. If that took too long, she’d press him; but just now, matters between them felt too unsettled for much conversation.

He knows.

But that was stupid. He wouldn’t be quiet about that discovery, and the daimaina had given her absolute assurance that the athain had sealed the entire conversation and any thoughts regarding it from Deiq’s view. From anyone’s view.