Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (67 page)

In a single morning he accomplished what had taken Eredion years. Granted that Eredion had been laboring under multiple handicaps, but still—The spectacle was infuriating, and Fimre’s increasing smugness didn’t help.

“You know more about northern custom than I expected,” Eredion said as they began the walk towards Peysimun Mansion. The carriage that had brought them to the Seventeen Gates was ostentation within them; Eredion had opted to walk from the West Gate, and Fimre hadn’t protested.

“I did spend
some
time preparing for the post,” Fimre said, as dryly. “Given that I knew I had a large set to match.”

Eredion grinned. “You’re doing well,” he admitted, letting go of his irritation.

“You’ll be able to leave within the tenday, I expect,” Fimre said, then glanced sideways with an arched eyebrow.

Eredion hadn’t been able to keep his smile alive at that remark.

“I might travel a bit,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Instead of going right back to Sessin. I think I’ve earned a vacation.”

“Lord Sessin won’t like that.” The tone was a warning.

Eredion shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just a thought. Here we are.” He was pleased to see that the gate stood shut with guards inside and outside; Alyea had learned some sense.

“Good morning,
s’es,”
the outside guard said respectfully. “Your names and business, if you would?”

“Lord Eredion Sessin and Lord Fimre Sessin,” Eredion said. “I believe Lord Peysimun is expecting us.” He glanced at the inside guard and restrained a grin.

“Yes, Lords. One moment.” He bobbed a polite half-bow, then turned his back on them to glance at his companion, who nodded, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. Together they pulled open the heavy gates, which were still sticking a bit from decades of disuse.

Eredion paused before stepping through onto Peysimun lands. “One question. What was that look and nod for, if I may ask?”

“He was checking to make sure I’m not witched, lord,” the guard answered promptly.

“And if you had been?”

“You wouldn’t of got in, lord.” The guard grinned crookedly and bowed again.

Eredion smiled, but Fimre snorted.
As though they could stop us,
he observed.
This is useless.

“Nar,” the inside guard said, his grin revealing a mouthful of ruined teeth. “Look at the roof, thar.”

Fimre’s eyes narrowed. Eredion put a hand out in warning.

“There,”
he said. “Not
tharr.
It’s dialect, not insult.”

Fimre’s stare moved to the roof briefly, took in the archers stationed there, then returned to the guard a few steps away. “How did you know to say that?” he asked, very quietly.

“Yer face,” the guard said, and spat, politely to one side. “Blind man could read it. By the by, watch yer purse, lord, until you get known.”

Fimre stiffened with instant anger. Once more, Eredion intervened.

“Not a threat,” he said, “it’s an honest warning, meant as helpful advice. Thank you, Ferrow.”

“Yeh. Go on, then, we’ve the gate to close.”

Eredion steered Fimre through the gates and to the mansion beyond.

“He’s no Hall-trained freewarrior,” Fimre observed as they reached the steps.

“No,” Eredion said. “But he knows what’s needed, and won’t fool easily.”

Peysimun Mansion being technically independent of kingdom law had given him a lot of rope to work with, and he’d used every length he could. He didn’t explain that to Fimre: the incoming liaison didn’t yet know about the recent disposition of Peysimun into Eredion’s hands, and hopefully wouldn’t until Eredion was safely out of his—and Lord Sessin’s—reach.

A tall, lanky young woman stood at the top of the steps, waiting. Her serious face and servant-simple dress offered little to attract interest; her mild grey eyes and slightly ragged brown hair did nothing to raise it.

“Lords Sessin,” she said, dropping a formal curtsy. “Welcome to Peysimun Mansion. My name is Kalei, and I will be at your disposal during your visit today. I cannot, unfortunately, offer you a tour today, as the Mansion is undergoing some overdue repairs; but if you would care to take your ease in the gardens, Lord Peysimun will join us there shortly.”

“That would be fine, Kalei,” Eredion said gravely. “Lead the way.”

She nodded and turned away with a graceful gesture. Eredion glanced at Fimre as they began walking, and found him studying Kalei with narrowed eyes and pursed lips; not salacious, but thoughtful.

“I’m beginning to get the feeling,” Fimre said in a low voice, “that Lord Peysimun has an unusually well-trained staff for a northern house.”

“Peysimun is no longer a northern house,” Eredion said.

Fimre shot him a sideways glance. “No?”

“You hadn’t heard yet? She’s convinced the king to give her full autonomy as a southern Family.”

Fimre’s eyebrows arched. “That was quick.”

“She’s not particularly patient,” Eredion said with a faint smile. “Even for a northern, sometimes, she’s quick on her feet.”

“Good to know. And in bed?”

Eredion kept his thoughts carefully shielded. “She hasn’t invited me yet. I think she’s had other partners to keep her busy.”

“In a northern city? They don’t even have kathain here.” Fimre shook his head. “She must be tearing up the walls by now.”

Eredion restrained a grin. “Not noticeably,” he said dryly, and left the warning there.

“Invitation,” Fimre muttered, sounding disgusted, and shook his head again.

The gardens were less impressive than they had been a few days ago. Many of the blossoms had closed, the leaves showing dark, dry areas where the erratic weather had damaged the delicate cells. A few small birds hopped through the dying flowerbeds in search of bugs; a handful of enterprising bees and flies wandered through the air in search of something interesting to do.

There were no butterflies visible today. Eredion suspected that if he looked around, he’d find more than one dead blue-speckled king butterfly among the flowerbeds. They didn’t handle sharp weather changes well.

A section of garden had been cleared to make room for a southern-style pavilion of red and white silk. A narrow, curved table inside offered enough space for six to sit at tea; the seats were wide-bottomed, sturdy-legged stools, and thick reed mats covered the ground.

Pebbly rock and sand shifted and crunched underfoot as they stepped onto the mats. Eredion repressed a smug smirk at the surprise on Fimre’s face as he looked around.

“I hadn’t expected...This looks almost like home,” Fimre commented, then slanted a quick glance at Eredion. “Been helping the new Family redecorate, have you?”

“I’ve offered advice a few times,” Eredion said blandly. “It seemed appropriate.”

Kalei motioned them to take whatever seats they liked, then quietly sat at the far end of the table from them. “Tea will be here shortly, Lords. My apologies that it’s not already here. Please don’t consider it an insult.”

“Kalei,” Fimre said, somehow managing to lounge on his stool, “are you kathain? I don’t recall you using the actual term, and I don’t want to assume.”

“No, Lord,” Kalei said with remarkable composure. Eredion saw a muscle twitch in the side of her jaw. “I’m your guide and servant today, but not kathain as you understand it.”

“That’s a shame,” Fimre said, smiling. “I’d love to have you rub my back.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to task your own kathain with that, Lord,” Kalei said.

“I didn’t bring any,” Fimre said. “I thought to find some locally. You seem very intelligent, yourself, which I always value in my kathain.”

Eredion kept quiet this time and waited to see how the girl would handle the implicit offer.

“I’m not the one to talk to about kathain, Lord,” Kalei said. “I’d imagine Lord Eredion would know more than myself on such matters.”

Two servants came into the pavilion, carrying trays laden with tea supplies. Kalei made no move to help, which prompted a sour glance from one of the servants. Fimre caught the moment just as Eredion did, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.

Some resistance to the way of things yet,
he observed.
I take it that Kalei didn’t always hold such a lofty station?

Eredion shrugged and didn’t answer.

“You’re more involved here than you’ve been admitting,” Fimre murmured, watching the servants arranging teapot, cups, and various other supplies. He switched to Sessin dialect. “Not making the classic mistake, are you? Thinking of switching over allegiance to Peysimun, maybe, if that’s the only way to get into her bed?”

Eredion snorted. “Hardly.”

Fimre aimed a dry, unconvinced glance his way and made no reply.

The rich, smoky scent of thopuh tea—real thopuh—laced the air as the tea was poured. Eredion inhaled, grinning openly; it had been a long damn time since he’d been graced with the real thing. Fimre looked startled all over again, and more so with his first sip.

“Good gods,” he said. “This is incredible.”

“Thank you,” Alyea said, stepping into the pavilion. “It was a gift from Lord Evkit of the teyanain.”

The servants bowed and retreated. Eredion stood and offered a formal bow. Fimre, a beat later, scrambled to his feet and did the same. Alyea inclined her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Her dark hair had been partially braided in an informal style that exposed her narrow face while allowing most of her hair to drape loosely over her shoulders. Her jewelry, from earrings to rings, echoed a theme: delicate strands of silver woven together by a master’s hand and tipped with a single, small red or white stone. Her trousers were a deep red and her blouse, an ivory cream, caught at the waist with a wide blue belt; all very nearly peasant-style but for the silken material and a slight extra bit of piping or lace here and there.

Without any hint of brazenry, the outfit left no doubt as to her curves. Eredion sat down as quickly as was polite, biting his lip, and tried not to think of her naked and willing in his arms.

Thank you,
Alyea said to Eredion as she sat down.
I understand your people were responsible for finding and returning my gifts to me. I thought it fitting to serve you some of what you were honorable enough to save.

Impressed with her control—Fimre, clearly, hadn’t heard a hint of the comment—Eredion nodded and poured her a cup of tea.

“Lord Peysimun,” he said aloud, sliding the cup politely towards her, “may I present Lord Fimre Sessin. He will be replacing me as liaison within the next tenday.”

“That soon?” Alyea picked up the cup and took a sip of tea, regarding Eredion steadily, then glanced at Fimre. “Lord Fimre. Welcome.”

Fimre hadn’t taken his eyes away from her since her arrival. “Lord Peysimun,” he said, his voice considerably huskier than usual. “I’m honored to be your guest.”

Alyea raised an eyebrow; Eredion stifled a sigh.

“I understand you’re staying out along the western edge of the city,” Alyea said. “How are you finding your accommodations?”

“Chilly,” Fimre said, his eyes gleaming.

Alyea opened her mouth to answer, then shook her head. “Lord Fimre,” she said, “let me save you some time. I’m not interested.”

Eredion roared with laughter, almost unbalancing off his stool as he leaned back too far. Fimre, his face a deep crimson-bronze, made no effort to catch him. Eredion grabbed the edge of the table and put out a leg for balance, then shoved himself square on the seat again, still grinning.

“I did try to warn you,” he told the mortified younger Sessin. “She knows her own mind, this one, and picks her own partners.”

“Thank you,” Alyea said dryly. “If we can move away from my sex life now? I’ll spare you the light social chit-chat. Lord Fimre. I have an understanding with Lord Eredion as to the alliance between Sessin and Peysimun, but changing liaisons means changing those terms, won’t it? So what exactly do you have in mind to offer me as a benefit, and what are you looking for in return?”

Fimre blinked, an entirely different flavor of shock overlaying his face. He glanced at Eredion. “You did say she’s impatient. You didn’t say brazen.”

“She’s not quite aware of all the fine nuances just yet,” Eredion admitted.

“Lords Sessin,” Alyea said, “when I’m in your homes I’ll observe as much nuance as you like. But you’re currently on
my
lands. You get to play by my rules.”

Eredion shrugged at the scandalized glance Fimre sent his way. “Technically, she’s right. We’d do the same for any other desert Family.”

Fimre shook his head, bemused; but his mood had shifted from amorous to political keenness, and Eredion saw a faint smile tug at Alyea’s mouth.

Well done,
he told her privately, and saw her shoulders relax a fraction in relief.

“I don’t know what sort of arrangements you’ve made with Lord Eredion,” Fimre said, “but you’re right: I probably won’t like them.” He paused to grin at Eredion. “We see the world in different ways, he and I. From my view, you’re a new Family—since you want to be blunt—and have almost no real power. You’re the only desert lord; you have no heirs, siblings, or cousins of note; no history, no significant alliances yet. I see no reason to offer you anything; I see every reason for you to be finding ways to interest me.” He paused again. “Since you seem to prefer bluntness,” he added, “that’s what I see.”

Alyea sipped her tea, smiling a little, then said, “Understandable, from your perspective, Lord Fimre. I will consider what you’ve said. How extensively have you traveled the city so far?”

Eredion stayed mostly quiet during the resulting discussion, watching as Alyea deftly steered Fimre along conversational roads. Rarely did Fimre score any admissions from her; meanwhile, she steadily gathered a complete picture of him without ever asking a direct question. After having seen Fimre do the same to several nobles all morning, watching Alyea outmaneuver him amused Eredion tremendously.

At last, the tea pot empty, she set down her cup with a regretful smile and said, “I thank you for the visit, Lords. I do have some household matters I must attend to, so we’ll have to talk further another day.”