Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (61 page)

Eredion hadn’t been entirely forthcoming on his own activities and conversations over the past few days. Of Wian, he had merely said, “She left, and I don’t know where she went”; of the Scratha letters, he said nothing; of Lord Fimre, he said as little as possible.

Deiq’s sharp, amused stare spoke volumes about what he was seeing in the gaps of Eredion’s story, but thankfully he had stayed quiet.

“I think the question we need to look at, before talking about—anything,” Alyea said, leaning back in her own chair, “is how far we trust one another.”

Eredion almost choked on his mouthful of bread. He swallowed hastily and took down half of his mug of wine before looking up again.

“Not actually a stupid question,” Deiq murmured. He met Eredion’s astonished stare, then switched without hesitation to:
Who do you serve now, Eredion? Do you still serve Sessin Family?

Eredion sipped his wine more slowly, thinking about that.

What are my alternatives?
he said at last. Deiq and Alyea grinned, identical cynical expressions. Eredion hid a smile of his own behind another sip of wine.

Servants came in, quietly, and removed empty plates; replaced them with bowls of bean and noodle soup, then withdrew again. The curling steam wafted garlic and ginger through the air.

Nobody spoke, aloud or otherwise, until the soup bowls had all been emptied down their throats and servants had replaced the bowls with a tray of sliced fruits. Then Deiq said, “Ally doesn’t mean
friend.
I’m more aware of that than ever. But....” He paused, frowning at an apple slice in his hand. “This entire situation isn’t one I ever expected to be in.”

“Me neither,” Alyea said dryly, at the same time as Eredion.

Deiq’s dark face creased in a rueful smile. “Yes. I know.” He glanced at Eredion.
Don’t tell her about the collar,
he said.
Please. She isn’t good enough to hide her thoughts from a close look yet. You are. She’ll get us all killed if she knows.

Eredion dipped his chin in a scant nod, reluctantly agreeing. Years of agonized experience had taught him about shielding his mind in layers—giving an intruder something that looked like complete access while hiding the bulk of his mind. Even Ninnic’s mad child had never pried all the way to the bottom, once Eredion perfected the trick.

“You each know things about me,” Deiq said aloud, turning his wine glass slowly in both hands, “that would get you killed if you said them to the wrong person, and get me killed if put into other ears. And I have the same leverage on both of you.”

“Not to mention the ability to destroy the world,” Alyea said, then very nearly turned scarlet through her bronze skin.

Eredion felt his own breath nearly stop at the statement and the resulting look on the elder ha’ra’ha’s face. Deiq sat very still, barely breathing, his gaze locked on Alyea’s face.

“Who,” Deiq said, very quietly, “dropped that particular word in your ear, Alyea? The teyanain, I’m guessing.”

“I’ve heard it as well,” Eredion said, abandoning caution. “From Teilo.” To his surprise, Deiq flinched at that name, the color washing from his face.

“Both of whom lie as they breathe,” Deiq said harshly, regaining his composure. “When did you see—”

“Is it true?” Alyea interrupted. “Look me in the eye and lie to me if you can, Deiq.
Husband.”

Deiq shut his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Damnit,” was all he said, in a tone devoid of emotion or inflection.

Nobody said anything for a while.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eredion said at last, suddenly feeling very weary, and let caution fly out the window. “I’m not going back to Sessin. Alyea’s not going back to the south, and neither are you, ha’inn. We’ve all made our choices. Fimre’s a young ass with a rude awakening on the way, and he’d see me thrown to the snakes before offering me help, if helping me caused him the least bit of trouble. Without Sessin backing, I have no standing here in Bright Bay, and a double handful of political enemies who’ll drag me down in a heartbeat. As head of her own Family, Alyea has a hellacious job ahead of her, and needs all the help she can get. That the two of you got—married—”

He stumbled over that word, and saw Deiq’s eyebrows arch in sardonic acknowledgment, but nobody interrupted.

“—makes that one nightmare of a hellacious job. And Deiq—well, you’re seen as a rich merchant by most and a deadly threat by a few, and you’ve limited your own dodging ability by getting married to a new power. It’s all completely insane, so we might as well agree to work together to get through it. What options do any of us damn well
have,
if we want to survive?”

“Kill us now and get it over with,” Alyea murmured, scarcely audible. To Eredion’s surprise, Deiq laughed.

“Compelling argument,” he said, leaning forward to refill his wineglass. “Let’s take a moment to define
working together.”

“Eredion,” Alyea said promptly, “would you consider joining Peysimun Family?”

Mid-sip, Deiq sprayed wine halfway across the room. “Holy fucking gods!” he coughed. “That’s not half jumping in the deep with the first word!”

Eredion leaned back in his chair and let out a bellow of laughter. It felt ridiculously good, as though all the tension in his body and mind simply dissolved with the sound.

“You don’t even know what you just
asked
of him, Alyea,” Deiq said, shaking his head as Eredion wound down. “Gods, that’s the cart not just in front of the horse but ahead of the fucking purchase of goods!”

“No,” Eredion said, holding up a hand. He had to fight not to laugh over Deiq using coarse northern swear-words; it seemed so incongruous. “No, it’s all right, Deiq.”

“All right, hells! Alyea, you don’t ask a sworn desert lord to just—abandon his Family, not so directly, out of nowhere. It’s not
done.”

“I was asked with little more ceremony than that to join Toscin.”

Eredion’s eyebrows went up nearly to his hairline. “When was this?”

“On my way south.” She glanced between them, her eyes narrowing. “He gave his name as Jin of Toscin.”

“Holy gods, that’s brazen,” Eredion said. He set his empty wineglass down on the table, deciding he’d had more than enough already. “Deiq is right. It’s not normally done so bluntly. The normal way is to coax. Suggest. Seduce, if you don’t mind the term.”

She smiled; Deiq grinned. Eredion resisted the impulse to roll his eyes and went on:

“You never say it directly. Asking outright like that—it’s very poor manners, at best, and outright dangerous at worst.”

“A desert lord changing Family alliance isn’t a casual matter,” Deiq said, amusement fading. “Even one desert lord changing their oath over to another Family can significantly shift the overall political balance.”

Eredion nodded. “If I swore over to Peysimun, for instance, your Family would hold two full desert lords; one as head of house, one an experienced statesman with—apparently—something of a reputation. I’m a prize, Alyea, and I say that without ego. Politically, swearing me over probably counts more than five youngsters straight from the trials would.”

“You’re a prize yourself, Alyea,” Deiq remarked, “because you’re female. The last female desert lord I can think of was Azaniari Aerthraim-Darden, and that set off the gods’ own ruckus. I’m not surprised Toscin came after you; I am surprised they were so blatant about it. You turned them down, obviously?”

“We were interrupted,” Alyea said. “By an owl hooting nearby. It was a late-night conversation. Jin said something about the owl being the favored animal of the teyanain, then spooked out and never came back.”

Deiq said nothing, his eyes half-lidded and lips pursed, for a few moments. Then: “He’s probably dead. The teyanain wouldn’t have appreciated him trying to poach you over while in their territory; and if they heard him being that blunt over it, they would have been seriously offended. Damn shame. He sounds like an interesting one. I’d have liked to meet him.”

Alyea looked down at her hands. “I thought—probably something like that,” she admitted quietly. “I hoped I was wrong.”

“No. There’s not much happens in the Horn the teyanain don’t know about.” Deiq sighed and arched his back in a yawning stretch. “He was a fool to try it.”

“Toscin doesn’t usually let fools out in public,” Eredion observed.

“No. They don’t. But nobody’s perfect, and even smart people make dumb mistakes at times.” Deiq flicked a hand as he settled back into his chair, dismissing the matter.

Eredion caught the faint warning glint in Deiq’s glance and let the subject drop. Deiq likely knew something he wasn’t saying; and
trust
meant not pushing him to explain.

Alyea seemed to be thinking the same way. She stared at Deiq with a distinct frown, then shrugged and relaxed.

“All that aside,” she said, returning her attention to Eredion, “lack of ceremony and rudeness and political shifts all by the way: what can I offer you to make joining Peysimun an attractive option, Lord Eredion?”

“Better, if still far too blunt,” Deiq said, not smiling. “At least that’s a question he can answer with dignity intact.”

Eredion leaned further back into his chair, thoroughly shielding his thoughts as a matter of habit. “I think,” he said at last, “that I need to respectfully request an extension on answering that question, Lord Peysimun, if I may.”

“Take your time, Lord Eredion,” Alyea said gravely. “I’m not going anywhere. Come back to me with your answer when you’re ready.”

Eredion nodded, then moved matters back out of the formal area. “I should let you two get some sleep,” he said, standing. “It’s been a long day for all of us.” And Eredion still had a discussion to hold with the king, before he turned in, on the matter of Kam’s voluntary surrender and its implications. “I’ll come by with Lord Fimre tomorrow, for formal introductions, if that’s acceptable.”

“Of course,” Alyea said, rising. “Thank you, Eredion. For everything.”

He bowed to her, then to Deiq, and retreated with a profound sense of relief.

In the wake of Eredion’s departure, the room seemed very quiet, even with servants clearing trays and glasses from the tables. Alyea moved around the room restlessly, not wanting to face Deiq; not sure if she was still angry at him over walking off so abruptly that afternoon or just generally irritated with an increasingly complicated situation.

“Alyea,” Deiq said, “that was a good job with your cousin. Damn good job.”

She nodded, not even annoyed that he’d evidently lifted the memory from her mind without a twitch of respect for privacy.
Desert lords never really do have any privacy,
Eredion had said; and married to a First Born ha’ra’ha, she doubted she ever would again. No point getting upset over it any longer.

A faint ripple of amused agreement came from Deiq; she ignored that, too. After her talk with Kam, she had much more important issues to be angry over. One of which involved Nem, but she’d handle that in the morning.

“So what’s my title going to be now?” Deiq asked. “I’m curious what you’ve come up with.”

She turned and found him smiling; amiable and relaxed, but watching her with a narrow intentness all the same. “What do you think it ought to be?” she threw back at him. “What’s your preference? Deiq of Stass? Deiq of Bright Bay? Lord Peysimun?”

He grimaced at the last name. “That would cause too much confusion, for northerns,” he said. “You’re Lord Peysimun.”

“Yes....” She turned away again, pacing along the length of the room; pausing to pick up and examine small statuettes, carvings, empty vases as she went. Their heft and smooth curves reassured her. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t much care for titles,” he said after a few moments of quiet. “I’m more than content to stay Deiq of Stass, and be your rich merchanter husband.”

She turned to look at him, caught by something in the way he’d said that, and found him sober now, unsmiling. “Why would a northern noblewoman marry a merchant, however rich? After the king himself had made advances?”

He sat still, watching her with an odd expression. “Maybe because the merchant threw himself at her feet and begged.”

Breath stopped in her chest for a moment at the humiliation that story would serve up to Deiq’s pride.

“No,” she said, barely able to voice the word aloud. “I won’t do that to you, Deiq.”

“There’s always the option of leaving it as a great mystery,” he said, smiling a little now. “Let them wonder.”

“I like that idea,” she said, relieved. He held out his hand, palm up, inviting. She came a few steps towards him, then stopped. His face took on a wary cast, and he dropped his hand.

“Should I plan to sleep in the Tower tonight?” he said, harsh lines settling across his face.

“No,” she said. “No, that’s not it.” She looked around the room. “This is all—so strange. I remember playing in this room as a child. There was a rug—with green and blue squares on a black background, a very strange rug. My mother—Hama—let me play on it because she said it wasn’t worth anything so I wouldn’t do any harm if I damaged it. I don’t know whatever happened to it. When I grew up, it disappeared. She probably threw it out.”

Deiq didn’t say anything.

She looked back to him. “What games did you play, as a child? Where did you grow up? What—You had parents, didn’t you? What were they like?” She heard her voice going higher and tighter with each question, and couldn’t stop herself.

He shut his eyes, his mouth tight. “You don’t—want—Don’t, Alyea. Don’t. Please. You don’t want the answers.”

“Why not?” she said, all her nerves suddenly raw as though seared by a momentary flame.

“Because if you stop thinking of me as human,” he said, not opening his eyes, “I’m afraid I will too.”

Eredion sat quietly, waiting for the king and reflecting that he was getting awfully tired of seeing the king’s casual room. Or any other part of the palace, for that matter. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Stone Islands were as wild and beautiful as he had heard; and while the odd ice storm had come through Bright Bay over the years, he’d never actually seen snow. That seemed, suddenly, a terrible lack.