Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (70 page)

He raised his gaze to focus on her face, his own expression cold and hard; looked at her for a long moment, then said, “A combination of finely ground ha’reye, ha’ra’hain, and human bones.”

She sucked in a horrified breath; another; then jolted forward and comprehensively lost every bite of dinner. Deiq didn’t move, even when vomit splattered across his bare feet.

“That tends to be my reaction as well,” he said bleakly, his gaze returning to the bag.

Across the room, Eredion whimpered. Deiq straightened and looked back over his shoulder, frowning.

“Oh...damn,” he said; reached down as though hardly aware of what he did and hauled Alyea to her feet. She leaned against the wall, shivering with waves of nausea. He left her there and moved to squat beside Eredion, frowning.

Fimre moaned and rolled over to one side to retch; only thin ropes of drool emerged.

Deiq ran a gentle hand across Eredion’s torso and sighed, then sat back on his heels. “Broke his spine,” he said, then twisted his head to look over his shoulder at Fimre. “What a godsdamned mess. Where’s Tanavin?”

“Gone,” Alyea said thinly. “Down the Coast Road.”

Deiq pulled at his lip, considering, then slanted a glance at Alyea and shook his head. “Would only make matters worse, anyway,” he said. “Go get Nem.”

“He’s a healer, too?” Alyea demanded, suddenly aggrieved.

Deiq scowled at her. “Don’t be dense. He’s
strong,
and Eredion’s
heavy.
Tell him to bring a board.”

“What about Fimre?”

“What
about
him?
Go,
damnit!”

The blackness of Deiq’s tone shook her from her daze and pushed her into movement.

As she stepped through the servant’s entrance she found Nem coming towards her, already carrying a wide, thick board under one long arm. His expression grim, he motioned her out of the way. Behind him, Kalei carried a tray of bandages, towels, and various small jars.

Alyea sank into a seat at the table, unable to think of anything else useful to do, and watched in mild bemusement as Eredion was eased onto the board and carried away, presumably to a guest room. Kalei knelt over Fimre, tending his wounds, wiping away dried blood and fresher drool.

After a time, Deiq returned and urged her to her feet.

“Alyea,” he said. “We need to go talk.
Really
talk. Let your servants handle things for now.”

“Eredion....” she said faintly. His grip on her arm tightened.

“He’ll live,” he said. “He’ll hurt like hells for a while, but he’s a desert lord. He’ll heal. So will Fimre. Kalei’s a trained healer, a true healer. She knows her business, and she’ll take care of them.”

“Solid staff. Worthy of a desert Family,” she murmured, the words like ash in her throat, and couldn’t help giggling a little.

Deiq sighed. “You’re in shock. Not surprising. Here—” He gathered her in against him, gently, coaxing rather than pulling this time. She leaned into his warmth and felt a bubble of panic building in her chest. Before it could burst, the room wavered and disappeared around her.

Cool mountain air washed around them, and darkness. Deiq found his way to the couch with the ease of long practice and sat down, gathering Alyea into his lap, and drew a thick blanket over her. Then he just sat, stroking her hair, letting her shivers work their way out, for some time.

A light evening wind keened over stone ridges. Not far away, a mountain night-bird hooted as it tracked down its prey. Deiq inhaled fresh air untainted by humanity and felt the tension slowly leave him, replaced with a rare, centered calm.

He watched Alyea’s thoughts, careful not to get caught up in her chaos, and waited as she sorted through what had just happened. It took some time; midnight had come and gone by the time she stirred and said, thickly, “Where are we?”

“Safe,” he said, “and alone. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes.”

He ran his hand over her hair once more, loathe to let her go, then sighed and eased out from under her. Adjusting his vision to the dark, he collected a cup, filled it with water from the rain-catch, and came back to sit beside her. A moment’s focus sterilized the water before he handed her the cup.

She drank it all, then sat still, her hands wrapped around the cup as though she needed something solid to hang onto. He eased it out of her grip, not willing to give her any distractions—or weapons, if she decided to hit him with it—and set the mug on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said then. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“No. It doesn’t.” She was quiet for a moment, then shifted as though wanting to get up and pace; settled back with a faint snort. “Can you light a lantern or something?”

He debated, then said, “I could. But I won’t. Not yet.”

She twisted, found the arm of the couch, and pulled herself over to curl against it, facing him, arms wrapped around her knees.

After some more silence, Deiq said, “If you recall, I told you once I don’t have homes. I have places I stay. Places that are mine. This is one of my places.” He paused. “Eredion was the last—visitor. I don’t share my places often.”

“So you didn’t bring Fimre here.”

He bit his tongue, counted to five, then said, steadily, “No. I should have. It might have gone better. But I didn’t know if I could—because of the chains. I can move around Bright Bay. This is...a little further than that. I didn’t have time to risk being wrong.”

“Where are we?”

“Near Terhe Port. In the Jagged Mountains.”

Her shocked silence lasted a long time. At last she inhaled, noisily, and said, “I’m at your mercy, then.”

“You always have been, Alyea,” he said as gently as he could.

“Yes....” She dropped her forehead to rest on her knees.

He let out a long breath and wrapped a hand lightly around one of her ankles.

“Alyea,” he said. “The marriage...the binding....” He paused, then made himself say it. “I’m at your mercy now, as well.”

Her breath stilled for a long beat, another; then sucked in noisily. She raised her head and stared blindly through the darkness at him. “What?”

“Anything I do now has limits,” he said. “I’m chained, Alyea. I’m collared, like a damn asp-jacau on a leash.” He breathed through his nose, feeling the thin mountain air, calming himself again. “If it hurts you—I can’t do it.”

The moment of hurling her against the wall had proven that: he’d felt the impact in every nerve of his own body, her pain mirrored and doubled into his own flesh. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to slide into blood rage at that provocation, but at the same time there had been an odd film over the rage, a restraint that had never been present before: a block, as though even had he desired to let loose, he couldn’t have done so.

“You were able to compel me,” he said into the silence. “This morning. No human has ever forced me to their will.”

“I made you answer me at the Qisani,” she said. “Before we were married.”

“I was weak then,” he said. “This morning I was at full strength. I’m guessing you can still compel me.” He hesitated, weighing risk, then added, “Try it.”

“Light a lantern.”

He inhaled hard, fighting the request; a heartbeat later, a single lantern across the room flared to weak, uncertain life. He sighed and delicately strengthened the flame, then met Alyea’s wide-eyed gaze.

She shut her eyes a moment later and said, in a bare whisper, “Put it out. Please.”

Not a compulsion this time; a simple request. He allowed darkness to reclaim them with a sense of vast relief, and felt Alyea relax as well.

“Evkit never expected this to work,” Deiq said into the renewed quiet. “He expected to have me lose my wits and kill you during the ceremony. There was enough stibik powder there to render me helpless for two dozen years at least.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Gods only know,” Deiq said. He ran the back of his hand along her shin. “Evkit has ten different plans for any situation, and anything you do plays right into one of them. He’s supremely dangerous, Alyea. He doesn’t lose. Ever.”

“So what does it mean that we did survive the ceremony?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m hoping that was the one wild factor he wasn’t anticipating, but he’s quick enough to have figured out a way to take advantage of it by now.” He paused. “Here’s the dirty little secret of the southlands, Alyea, and something even Eredion—I think—doesn’t know yet: the teyanain and the Aerthraim are behind everything. The other Families follow the path put out in front of them, and never realize they’re being led. Everything that happens in southern politics—everything—benefits one or both of those two at the end of the day. That’s information you’d be killed to get, or for having, by the way, so be damn careful showing you understand that part of the game.”

Alyea sighed. Her head resting on her knees again, she said, voice muffled, “Can’t I just quit?”

He grinned, then let go of caution and allowed laughter to emerge. The release of inhibition prompted him to pull her close; he stopped that impulse as his hand lifted from her ankle, and rolled from the couch instead to lie flat on his back.

“Alyea,” he said. “Come here. Please.”

She settled on his stomach, her back against his bent knees, more readily than she had last time, and with far more understanding.

They sat quietly for a time, listening to each other’s breathing.

“I’ve always hated causing unnecessary pain,” Deiq said at last. “Hurting those who served me. It’s why I left home and began walking the human lands. Something about it felt wrong. But I was taught, and everyone around me, even the humans, believed that it was my
due...
that it was just the way of things. I was taught that ha’ra’hain don’t...well, to put it in human terms you’ll understand, `ha’ra’hain don’t cry’.”

He could sense her smile.

“Human emotions are a weakness,” he said. “Weakness leads to madness, and a mad ha’ra’ha is killed in short order. I learned that from seeing my brothers hunted down like rabid asp-jacaus. Which they were, in a sense.” He paused, sorting through memories and thoughts, then went on, “If they hadn’t been killed, they would have wiped out the entire world very quickly. They
really
loved destruction. So it’s good they were stopped; but I didn’t want to end up like that. I wanted to prove I could be
different.
And I am, but it’s never going to be...a comfortable fit anywhere I go. To a human, I’m too violent; to a ha’rethe, I’m too gentle. To a ha’ra’ha who’s chosen to follow the ha’reye manner, I’m unpredictable and incomprehensible. To everyone, I’m next door to insane. And maybe I am; I don’t know.”

Alyea said nothing for a while. He could sense her thinking over what he’d said and comparing it to what she’d seen of him over the past few tendays.

“To me,” she said finally, “you’re my mentor. Partner. And husband.”

“Even now?” he said in a low voice. “Even now, Alyea? I’ve nearly killed you more than once, and if I’d hit Eredion an ounce harder, he’d be dead.”

“But you didn’t,” she said. “You’re
trying.”

He let out a long breath and closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said, and lay still, allowing the tension to ease from his body; comprehensively relaxing, being
vulnerable
in a way he’d rarely managed in the presence of any human or desert lord.

She sat as quietly, her back heavy against his thighs and weight fully on his stomach, her thoughts rolling in gentle, serene waves.

After a while, he said, “Eredion’s the only one who knows so far?”

“About the marriage? Yes.”

He sighed. “Don’t tell anyone else.”

“What? But—”

“I won’t be around to cause problems to your reputation.”

She stiffened. “Deiq—”

“I have to travel,” he said, keeping his eyes shut. “I have items to tend to that you can’t be involved with, at any level. I’ll be gone years, more than likely, and you’ll need freedom to maneuver. Being known as married will offer too much restriction.”

“The chains,” she said, not quite a question.

“We’ll have to find out.” He slid his hands up to her knees. “You’ll have to trust me. And I’ll have to trust you not to plot against me in my absence.”

“I won’t,” she said, shocked into vehemence.

He smiled without humor. “You say that now,” he murmured.

She leaned forward, her hand landing across his throat in a hard grip. “If I wanted to kill you,” she said, “I’d give it a direct try.”

He lay still, no longer surprised by his lack of reaction to her aggression. His smile held real amusement this time.

“I know you would, love,” he said, then slid his hand lightly up her arm. “And I’ll do my best to hold still if you ever decide to try.”

Her grip tightened, then loosened. She leaned the rest of the way forward to sprawl against him, and his mouth found hers without hesitation even as he rolled to put her beneath him.

Eredion opened his eyes to a hazy impression of blue and white veils draped across his face. Blinking did nothing to resolve vision. He shut his eyes and tried not to panic.

Movement nearby; a cool hand on his arm.

“Lord Sessin,” a soft female voice said. “You’re awake. Good. Headache? Blurred vision?”

“Blurred vision,” he said. “Everything’s blue and white and hazy.”

“No headache?”

“No.”

“Keep your eyes shut for a while longer, then.” A cool, damp cloth scented with ravann draped across his eyes, pressed down with a gentle hand. “Can you feel this?”

Pressure on the toes of his left foot.

“Yes.”

Right foot.

“Yes.”

A light tapping on his left shin, then right shin.

“Yes to both.”

“Good,” she said, sounding pleased. “I’d expected another few days for that. You heal quickly, Lord Sessin.”

“Desert lord,” he said. “Heal from what?”

Her voice slowed to caution: “You don’t remember?”

“I....” He struggled with memory for a moment, then said, “No. What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“Sitting down to dinner. Then everything goes...hazy.”