Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (63 page)

He had, actually, done something similar once or twice. It grew boring quickly. “So?”

“So you chose to be here, with us,” she said. “You chose to meddle in our affairs and you try to help us along the way. You chose to breathe air instead of water, and deal with human beliefs and morals.” She paused, watching his face. “You chose to marry me,” she added softly. “You let me talk you into something completely insane, and I don’t think it was because I’m good in bed.”

He opened his mouth, a response to that right at hand. She shook her head.

“No jokes,” she said. “I’m being serious, Deiq.”

His amusement faded into growing annoyance. “Make your point already, then.”

“Something I think you’ve forgotten,” she said, picking her words with evident care. “Something I think everyone’s forgotten: you may be a powerful, thousand year old ha’ra’ha, but...that still means you’re half human.”

He grimaced at that insult, but she didn’t understand what she’d just said. “Alyea—”

“Let me finish,” she said. “Humans don’t like to be alone, Deiq. We need company, and not just for sex. We need family, community, a belief in something larger than ourselves.”

“None of that means anything to me,” he said sharply.

“Really? You’ve been alone for a long time. Now you’re not. Are you really going to look me in the eye and tell me that doesn’t mean anything to you?”

He bared his teeth at her, completely exasperated. “You keep wanting to think of me as human! I’m not, Alyea. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep doing this. Stop it.”

“Deiq,” she said, sitting up and turning to glare down at him, “I don’t think of you as human because you have two arms and legs and a—” She flicked a glance along the length of his body, then looked back at his face. “You’re human because you
care,
Deiq. About me, about Eredion, about the survival of humanity as a whole over the past thousand years. You’re certainly more human than Rosin or Kippin ever dared try for.”

He shut his eyes, despairing. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand. You’re on entirely the wrong track, Alyea. Entirely.”

“Then explain it so I do understand,” she said. “Partner. Husband. Lover.
Friend,
damnit. And while you’re at it, explain why you’re so averse to the notion of being seen as the least bit human by the people that know you the best, while you could care less if the commoners who shit in the street think you’re nothing but a merchant.”

He’d been about to say something; her last sentence drove it completely out of his head. After one startled snort of laughter, he put amusement aside and thought about what she’d said. It made more sense than he’d initially expected her to come out with.

“I never saw it that way before,” he said slowly.

“I know you see
human
as an insult, something beneath you,” she said. “But you’re here, all the same, not down in the dark water with your other cousins. At first I thought you just enjoyed lording it all over us instead of being an equal among your other kin; that’s how you act. But that doesn’t match what you’ve done.” She paused. “Would a ha’rethe do any of what you’ve done? Would a ha’rethe have rescued me from Kippin, helped me through the blood trials, married me, promised not to hurt me? Would any other ha’ra’ha have done those things, or set up self-sustaining farms to make sure southerners didn’t have to rely on the north for food?”

He shook his head. “Never,” he said, voice muted.

“So if you’re half—”

“All right,” he said. “I see what you’re saying. Stop talking, please.”

Unsmiling, she scooted from the bed and went to the sideboard to fill two fist-sized cups with water. He sat up, allowing himself a stretch of his own to relieve the tension built up in his muscles.

He drained the cup she brought him and handed it back, then decided to try brutal honesty in the hopes that approach might get through to her. He said, in a flat, hard voice, “Alyea, I’ve ripped humans apart like rag dolls. You saw one such incident already, but you don’t understand—Alyea, I
enjoy
doing that, as much as Kippin ever enjoyed hurting you. I
like
violence.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her water, perfectly calm; not in the least disturbed by his admission.

“Would you ever hurt me like that?” she asked, her gaze somewhere ahead and down, away from his face. She was finally figuring out how to avoid making a conversation into a challenge; he felt his chest loosen a little with relief. “Or Eredion? How about an innocent child on the street?”

He chose his words with care, not wanting her to misunderstand and grant him more kindness than he actually possessed. “Not if I were rational. In control of myself. But I don’t always have that choice.”

“The blood-rage. Yes. The teyanain explained that to me.” Her chin tucked in a bit more. She stared down at her cup. “It seems to me, though, that what you do when you’re rational is what ought to count. Otherwise, you have to hold me as a whore for—” She stopped, sucked in a fast breath, then finished, “for enjoying what Tevin did to me.”

“But you were stuffed full of dasta and—” he began to protest, then let out a long breath through his nose. “Mnnph.”

She rose to put both empty cups on the nightstand, then sat back down, somewhat closer to him this time. “You taught me the difference between lighting a candle and lighting a bonfire,” she said. “So answer me something. What’s the difference between friendship and love?”

“I don’t know,” he said, annoyed all over again. “I’ve never really understood either one, Alyea. Friends betray one another, lovers abandon one another; the actions implied by the terms don’t match what actually happens over time.”

She snorted. “Thanks for ruining a perfectly good dramatic moment.”

He blinked, briefly puzzled; then, remembering, laughed. “Sorry.”

She grinned back.

“I do understand what you’re aiming for,” he told her. “Candle to bonfire, friendship to love. Even though the analogy doesn’t work for me, I see what you’re trying to convey. I still think you’re using far too
human
an approach to the whole situation.”

“It’s not as though I know any other way to think,” she said dryly. “But I imagine you’ll teach me along the way. Are you going to let me teach you anything?”

He drew in a breath, startled, then grinned again. “You already have. Now go get dressed—Eredion’s going to be here at some point to introduce his replacement, and Rill is standing just outside the door, waiting to bring in breakfast and then take you on a household inspection.”

“Us.”

“No,” he said. “You haven’t announced us as married yet. It’s not my place. And you’ll want to be the one to tell Oruen about that change first, not have him hear it from your household staff.”

Her eyebrows dipped into a sharp scowl, her chin rising in indignation. “You knew about Nem?”

“Of course.”

She sat still, studying him, her expression grim. He permitted it for a few moments, then delivered an unsubtle mental nudge. She rose, then checked, glaring at him. He stared back without any apology.

A moment later, abruptly, he found himself standing beside her.

“If you can shove me around,” she said in response to his own ferocious glare, “I can shove you around. That’s how this works.”

He turned his back and reached for clothes without offering her the satisfaction of an answer.

Breakfast was a simple, light array of sliced fruit and pale cracker-bread. Apparently Rill had spoken to Nem at sufficient length to know Alyea’s preferences. Deiq excused himself from the meal with unusual courtesy, murmuring that some business items needed his attention today. Alyea didn’t argue.

“My lord,” Rill said when Deiq had left, “there is a matter to discuss.” She surveyed Alyea for a moment. “I know you will not appreciate my saying so, but your clothing is not suitable for a head of household.”

Alyea glanced down at her dark-green tunic and pale leggings. Rill was dressed similarly today, although the fabric was plainer and the cut slightly less than flattering to her rounded figure. “I don’t see the problem.”

“I know,” Rill said without censure. “But that is too common of a garb, no matter that the cut and material are fine, for your new station, Lord Alyea. If you would allow, I have some items that should be suited to your current measurements in the wardrobe.”

She’s right,
Deiq cut in.

Stop eavesdropping.

Faint amusement trailed off into silence. Alyea nodded to Rill. “Let’s see the outfits, then.”

To her relief, they weren’t all fancy dresses like the ones her mother had pressed her into wearing for years. The styles came fairly close to her preferred simplicity for the most part, but radiated an indefinable air of status. A touch of lace, an extra bit of piping or ruffle, a slightly wider sleeve or narrower waist; Rill definitely did know her job.

“What am I paying you, Rill?” she asked as she sorted through the clothes. “Hopefully quite a bit; you ‘re earning it.”

“I’m content with my wages, Lord Alyea. That red shirt, I think, would suit you today.”

Alyea pulled out the ruby-colored shirt and held it against herself. It was a brighter red than the robe the teyanain had given her, but she was amused at the similarity all the same. The thought reminded her that she had a load of teyanain gifts to handle at some point soon, and more probably incoming from the other Families. But that could wait a bit longer. “Yes. Thank you.”

“The grey pants—no. Forgive me. I think the cream pair would suit better—” Alyea smiled but made no comment. Rill shot her a questioning glance, then went on: “Perhaps with those black boots over there. And that sash—”

In short order, Alyea found herself arrayed from hat to boots, tiny gemstone hoops dangling from each ear, carefully matched rings on each hand, and an ethereally thin golden necklace circling her neck. The hat offered just enough rim and shape to avoid being a skullcap, and sat at a stylish slant, with an accent piece of a burst of tiny firetail bird feathers whose quills were studded with tinier white gemstone chips.

Rill gathered Alyea’s hair into a loose, nape-covering bun with quick, practiced movements, and fastened it in place with a simple pin shaped like a small bird. “Very good,” she said, stepping back to study the final effect. “Do you want the mirror, my lord?”

“I’m afraid I’ll laugh at myself,” Alyea said ruefully. “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Very well. I will take you to your personal servants first. They are responsible for selecting and maintaining your wardrobe and accessories, room furnishings....”

Alyea stifled a sigh.

Rill’s eyes crinkled in an understanding almost-smile. “It won’t take long. Good servants like to be about their business, not standing to be inspected. They’re as impatient as you to have it over with, believe me, so appreciate the value of
their
time, Lord Alyea.”

Alyea nodded, chagrined at her own arrogance, then followed Rill from the room without further protest of any sort.

As promised, the inspection of the various layers of servants involved in running a noble estate went quickly. Alyea recognized few of the servants, as there seemed to be a number of new faces; likely some of Hama’s servants had gone with her, and not been welcomed back once Rill took over.

Personal servants, stable staff, gardeners and grounds-keepers, laundry and housekeeping; Alyea was surprised to find that several servants filled multiple roles. One tall, angular woman handled landscaping and groomed any horses. A shorter, dumpy man worked with laundry and gardening, and mucked out stalls at need.

“I had a limited budget,” Rill murmured when Alyea commented on the multiplicity of skills among the staff. “And an even more limited pool of trustworthy servants to choose from. Which reminds me: one item I hesitated to hire special servants for is the bird rooms. I was given the impression you are not fond of birds. May I have permission to send the birds to new homes, or do you wish me to hire an additional servant for that task?”

“Send them away,” Alyea said, and couldn’t keep the relief from her voice.

Rill nodded blandly. “I took the liberty of making inquires already, in case you said just that. I’ll have them gone by the end of the day.”

“Thank
you.”

A faint smile twitched across Rill’s face. “I believe the kitchens are next.”

Alyea stopped walking and drew in a deep breath. “How many—servants are in the kitchens at the moment?” she asked.

Rill raised one eyebrow. “Three, my lord. Nem is in charge, of course, and he asked for two assistants.”

Alyea shut her eyes, remembering her long talk with Kam about a number of household matters she’d never been aware of before. “Both boys, weren’t they?” she said, not moving. “Just above puberty.”

Rill said nothing for a few breaths. Then: “A reliable cook of such skill is very hard to find, my lord. And I was under the impression that you were particularly fond of Nem.”

Alyea opened her eyes and stared at nothing in particular. “I’ll handle this—inspection—myself, Rill,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”