Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (59 page)

Deiq found himself astonished that Eredion had survived the abuse with his sanity intact. Then again, it might be perfectly normal for a desert lord of any real experience to have such soul-markings. Deiq generally avoided looking at the collars. They always made him feel vaguely nauseated. He didn’t even think about them if he could help it.

So this might be normal, but he didn’t think so. Not given Eredion’s history.

Deiq drew in and let out another breath, keeping his hand steady. “This is probably going to hurt,” he said curtly. “You have to stay relaxed and trust me. If you fight me, I’ll kill you out of sheer reflex.” No questioning that boundary, not with Eredion.

Eredion shivered all over, not opening his eyes; then he drew a deep breath and dropped into a deeper stillness yet, a full aqyeva trance.

Without hesitation, without moving a muscle, Deiq reached through skin and bone to untwist and untie every binding thread he could find. He eased them out like drawing a worm from its hole. While the main binding collected around the brain, groin, and throat, there were trailing threads, like a jellyfish’s tentacles, wound into other critical spots: heart, stomach, lungs—every major organ in the human body. He unwound them all, little by little, with infinite patience.

Eredion stayed still, breathing evenly, perfectly calm and more than likely unaware of what was happening. He’d gone deep into a trance, thank the gods.

A slick, greasy mass began collecting against Deiq’s palm, clinging to his skin like mud. He pulled his hand away slowly, drawing the last of the binding out and away, gathering the writhing mass into his cupped hands. Human eyes couldn’t see the hypnotically dancing colors in this thick tangle of ethereal threads. Deiq himself had never seen a binding gathered all together like this, outside its host; there was something dreadfully beautiful about it.

He brought his hands up to his face and breathed on the coiling strands. They dissolved into a million fluttering pieces, like chromatic ash, and dissipated completely a moment later.

Eredion made an odd choking sound and went to his knees, both hands clutching his throat. Deiq took another moment to whip-stitch a colorful simulacrum of the binding through the relevant points; it would pass a casual inspection, but had none of the tiny barbs that had kept Eredion jumping to do anything asked of him. That done, Deiq leaned back against the nearby wall, dry-washing his hands.

Eredion, on his knees, gagged and coughed as though trying to turn his insides to the outside.

Deiq stayed clear. There was nothing further he could do at this point, except to clean up the body if Eredion didn’t have the will to fight through this moment. It might feel, he speculated idly, rather like a drug addict going through withdrawal. The binding had been driving Eredion for a long time.

Eredion gasped, rocking back on his heels, and fixed his watering gaze on Deiq. “You fucking
bastard,”
he rasped; shut his eyes again, shuddering all over.

Deiq waited, breathing evenly.

Eredion gasped again, a horrible, sobbing sound; then drove himself to his feet and stood swaying like a drunk.

“Bastard,”
he said again, more clearly.

There still seemed no point in answering that, so he didn’t.

Eredion’s eyes opened, focused, fixed. He took a single step forward and swung hard without any warning at all. The floor came up under Deiq a moment later, tumbling past with surprising speed.

Deiq rolled to his feet and turned to face Eredion, astonished by how badly the blow had hurt—more surprised that he hadn’t been able to stop it in time. He’d expected the punch. Violence was a natural human way of testing boundaries. He hadn’t expected Eredion to actually knock him over.

Eredion hadn’t moved forward in pursuit. He was shaking his hand and grimacing. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said. “May have broken a knuckle, but
damn
was that worth it.”

“No doubt,” Deiq said dryly, staying where he was. “Feel better now?”

“Much. Seeing as I’m still alive.”

“For the moment.” Deiq touched his jaw lightly, wincing. His own lack of anger served as confirmation of a guess: his own reflexes were slaved to that damn collar. He’d been just as trapped as the desert lords.

Not smart to tell Eredion that, though. Especially now.

Something else needed to be tested before he let Eredion leave the room.

“Welcome to freedom,” Deiq said. “But you’re still a desert lord. You still have your oaths to uphold. You’re just not going to be
forced
into upholding them any longer.”

Eredion stood very still, dark eyes tracking Deiq’s every twitch. At last he said, “I’ll hold to my promises, ha’inn. For you.” He spread his hands. They trembled noticeably. “Take what you need.”

Deiq drew in a long breath and moved forward the few steps to stand within arm’s reach, more shaken by that
for you
than he’d expected. “Even if I hurt you?”

Eredion’s eyes slid half-shut. “Yes,” he said. The tremors steadied. “Go ahead.”

Deiq put a hand to Eredion’s chest, remembering, for just a moment, the blazing blue hand-print still on his own body.

He feathered a light draw. Eredion’s breath hissed, his eyes opening in clear surprise. Increasing the draw brought Eredion’s eyes wider and his hands up to rest on Deiq’s hips.

“Gods,” the desert lord said around a gasp, “that isn’t what I expected!”

Deiq trailed a fingertip down Eredion’s chest, with just enough pressure to push thin shirt fabric against the flesh beneath. Eredion shuddered, but not in protest; arousal flared from him, hot and musky. Deiq reluctantly took his hand away and allowed his grin to surface instead. Eredion matched it a moment later, understanding replacing astonishment.

“Good to know,” Deiq murmured, and let the draw fade away. He didn’t need the energy; the point had been proven; and Eredion wouldn’t welcome further attention, whatever his body’s reaction said.

Eredion backed up a long step. “Is that all it was?” he said, voice unsteady. “The damn collar?”

“Apparently,” Deiq said dryly, “humans really don’t appreciate being forced to serve. True willing is another matter.”

“Why the hells would anyone refuse this sort of—” Eredion glanced down at a visible bulge. His face darkened with embarrassment.

“I don’t know,” Deiq said, and shrugged at Eredion’s skeptical look. “Even a ha’ra’ha forgets, over time, and this was hundreds of years ago.”

“I can guess,” Eredion said after a moment. “Just from what I’ve seen in my own lifetime. Seeing a child you used to spank for misbehaving turned into someone who can order you around like a puppet, or throw fire, or move chairs without touching them, or read your mind—it’s frightening.”

“That sounds about right,” Deiq admitted. “And in the beginning there was much less consistency in the training. Some teachers no doubt abused their power. Some supplicants never should have been allowed into the training.”

“Mistakes were made,” Eredion said, desert-dry. The last of his arousal faded from the air around them. Deiq drew in a deep breath, found himself relieved, and grinned.

“You could say that, yes. And one flashy mistake is all it would have taken to start a misunderstanding that the trials created monsters.”

“Not something parents want for their children,” Eredion observed.

“No. And it never has taken long for humans as a whole to change direction when they’re afraid of something.”

“And fear translates to resistance,” Eredion said. He shut his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “Which makes you grab harder, because you expect absolute compliance; which hurts the target and confirms the rumors. Gods. It must have cascaded into a waterfall of panic within a few years.”

Deiq said, thoughtfully, “That does sound accurate. I don’t think anyone ever really understood what was happening. I never saw it clearly, until just now.”

Eredion shook his head. “Someone must have figured it out.”

“If they did,” Deiq said, “their voice was smothered before it came clear. It wasn’t a particularly tolerant time, and a lot of knowledge was lost along the way.”

“But something so simple...for so many years! It should have been seen before now.”

“It’s easy to call something that you already understand simple, Eredion.”

“Yes...you’re right.” Eredion stood looking at nothing in particular for a while, his breathing even. “What now?”

“Now you stay out of the range of any ha’rethe or ha’ra’ha,” Deiq said promptly. “I gave you a fake that will pass casual inspection, but don’t test it too hard.”

“I’ve been recalled to Sessin Fortress. Lord Fimre’s already here. Refusing that order...I’ll be blacked out of the Sessin Family Book of Blood, at best.”

“Better exile than death,” Deiq pointed out. “I’ll put you under my protection, if you like. That should shield you from some problems.”

“And raise a host of others. There’s already talk I’m your kathain.”

Deiq laughed, unable to help himself. Eredion shot him a sour glare, then broke into a reluctant grin.

“Yes,” Eredion said, “a bit late for that to sting, isn’t it? Still, it puts more power into your hands. Two desert lords following your orders? You’ll be accused of building up your own Family, outside of normal boundaries. Of taking control of a northern Family to create your own power base. You’ll set the south into a frenzy.”

“I doubt Alyea would follow my orders if her life depended on it,” Deiq said wryly. “Nor you, for that matter. And they’re already going to be in a froth.” He touched the corner of one of his eyebrows lightly, rubbing a fingertip over the tiny scar there. “I married her.”

Eredion’s mouth opened and stayed that way for a few moments, all color draining from his face. At last he shut his mouth and said, with precise care, “I would ask
You did what
and
Are you insane,
but I’m assuming you’ve already said that to yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Last I knew,” Eredion said, very steadily, “you were captured by some unknown enemy and Alyea had run off to hunt after you. Do you mind if I ask just how in—” He paused, swallowed hard, and went on with commendable calm. “How all that wound up with you getting married?”

“It’s a very long story,” Deiq said, smiling. “And you have a few questions to answer, yourself. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night’s talk, so I’d very much like a bath and a meal, and a mug or ten of good wine, along the way. Let’s go back to Peysimun Mansion. You did a nice job there, by the way; and that bill is one of the things I want to talk to you about.”

Eredion shook his head. “Already paid,” he said, voice muted by some distress. “Odd story in itself. We’ll talk on that later. But Peysimun holds no debt over the repairs.”

“Good to know,” Deiq said, one worry easing. “Let’s go find some of that wine I suspect you stocked in Peysimun cellars.”

Eredion grinned.

Alyea walked through the familiar halls and rooms of Peysimun Mansion, haunted by a persistent sense of never having really seen them before. Rill walked a step behind her, obdurate in the face of Alyea’s attempts to wave her off; and after a short while, Alyea found the company reassuring. She didn’t ask Rill any questions, mainly because she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to hear the answers.

None of the servants Alyea passed seemed familiar. They glanced at her without recognition, then at Rill for a prompt; then bowed respectfully. On impulse, Alyea turned her steps towards the kitchens.

“Lord Peysimun,” Rill said quietly. “I suggest not disrupting the kitchen staff at the moment. They’re hard at work on the evening meal.”

Alyea stopped and turned to look at her head housekeeper. “My presence won’t be a disruption.”

“Yes, my lord, it will be. I’m sorry. We can have a full review of the estate tomorrow morning, if you like, but for tonight it’s best not to go poking your head in unexpectedly. It makes servants nervous to have the head of a household wandering into their territory without warning.”

Alyea stared, disbelieving. “I’ve never worried over that before!”

“You’ve never been head of household before,” Rill pointed out. “And you’re a desert lord, my lord. That’s bound to make more than a few people nervous all on its own. Please trust me, Lord Peysimun. I do know my business. You need to do a proper tour in the morning, as head of Peysimun.”

Alyea bit her lip. “I just...wanted to know if Nem is still there,” she said in an absurdly small voice that wouldn’t rise despite her best efforts.

“He is,” Rill said promptly. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again, I believe. In the morning.”

Alyea sighed. At least Nem was in his proper place. The world hadn’t gone utterly off its axles just yet. “May I...see my former rooms, then?”

Rill’s face went very still. “They’re—being cleaned, my lord. I’d suggest not, just yet.”

“I saw them before they were cleaned,” Alyea said bluntly. “I doubt the sight will bother me now.”

Rill pursed her lips, clearly unhappy.

“Look,” Alyea said, trying to sound reasonable, “I’m too restless to sit quietly and bathe and dress and behave like a proper noble lady. It’s been a very strange few days,
s’a,
and I want to walk around and look at my home. My—estate. I’m not so easily upset by blood.”

A smile ghosted across Rill’s face. “Lord Eredion warned me you’d be a handful,” she murmured. “Very well, Lord Peysimun. I understand. But if you’ll excuse me—I don’t care to walk into those rooms, myself.” Her nose flared, her lips thinning in distaste. “The workers have left for the day, so you won’t be disturbing anyone. I’ll tend to some other matters, and meet you back at your proper suite of rooms in a short while.”

“Thank you,
s’a
Rill,” Alyea said. She watched the sturdy form out of sight, then headed for the corridor leading to her former rooms.

The entrance to the hallway had been covered with a thick, rough cloth hanging. Alyea stood in front of it for some time, trying to work up the courage to push it aside and walk through. In spite of her brave words to Rill, she found an uncomfortable knot of nausea in her stomach at the prospect. She remembered, all too well, the insane chaos Deiq had wreaked on the area.