Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (72 page)

She paused. “He’s leaned somewhat of kathain training during his time south,” she added. “He’s willing to work for you as kathain, if you’ll forgive him the occasional mistake. And you’ve caught Kalei’s attention; she’s asked to go with you, when you go. In whatever role you like.”

“I’ve been that obvious, watching her?”

She smiled. “To Kalei, yes. She’s been interested since she first saw you, apparently.”

Eredion let out a long breath, watching her face. “You still haven’t brought in any kathain for yourself,” he noted.

“I’ve arranged three for Fimre. He seems happier now.”

“But not for yourself.”

“No.” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t really feel the need.” She glanced up at him. “Neither do you, apparently.”

“I’ve had to make do without for so long I learned how to work around various needs,” he said dryly. “Sex aside, any real companionship was too dangerous a vulnerability.”

“And now?”

He said nothing, watching the lines of shadow shift across her face as the lantern guttered briefly. She stood and crossed the room to turn the wick up, then returned to stand in front of him.

“Eredion,” she said. “You don’t remember, but just after Deiq took Fimre—”

“I remember.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You never said.”

“I haven’t been in any shape to do anything about it,” he said wryly. “Figured you might want to forget that moment, yourself.”

She hesitated, then said: “No.”

“All right.” He held out a hand; she took it and let him draw her down onto his lap. “Promise me something, though. After I leave—get yourself some kathain. Please. For the sake of status if nothing else. It’ll make you less remarkable in one way, at least.”

“I will,” she said; he laughed, accepting the lie, and her grin spread to match his.

Chill rain pattered down in restless bursts, then cleared away to allow sunlight to glitter on fresh, ice-edged puddles. In the barn, cows and pigs grunted and snorted over their morning meals, and a wandering farm hand settled on a hay bale, content for the moment, brushing bits of dust and straw from his pale hair. He’d been helping out around the farm for the past two days, filling in for the regular hand, who had broken his leg in an ill-advised agility contest with younger men across a partially frozen pond. A cousin was coming in from a nearby village today; time to move on.

One last question to answer before he left.

Icy air swirled into the barn as a young woman came in through a side door, checking as she saw him. Her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you have work to do?” she said.

He smiled amiably, studying her: shoulder-length dark hair, caught back into a farmwife’s net; she still showed only a thin build and creamy pale skin, unmarked by bruises or welts. He noted that the conservative peasant’s split-skirt and loose blouse she wore would hide her eventual thickening more effectively than the standard palace servant dress, and for a longer time, as would the heavy winter coat she wore.

“I forget your name,” he said. “I’m Estah.”

She hesitated, glanced back over her shoulder, then said, “Nia. You ought to get to work.
S’a
Tirra won’t be pleased with you sitting about.”

“Right,” he said, not moving, still smiling; simple as a cow to look at, unthreatening as a moon-eyed calf. “Nia. You normally don’t come here, do you?”

“No. I work in the house.” She glanced over her shoulder again, then shook her head and shut the side door behind her, setting her back to the wall. She hugged her thick coat more closely around her.

“Why did you come out here to the barn today?”

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Well,” he said, slow and thoughtful, blinking his mild brown eyes, “I haven’t seen you out here before. You work in the house, and you don’t look like you’re out here to milk—that’s my job, anyway. But I was cleaning out a bit, earlier, and I found something odd in one of the back stalls, the one that’s for storage. I wondered who’d be coming by to claim it, and see, I’m guessing that it’s you.”

Her face tightened.

“I thought when I found it:
Now, that’s interesting, why would anyone hide a bag of—”

She came forward three fast steps. “Give it to me,” she snapped, her hands fisted.

He smiled at her lazily. “Not yours to take, was it?”

“It’s mine,” she said fiercely. “Fairly given by a friend.”

“A friend?” He reached into his pocket and held up a small cloth bag. “Generous friend.”

Her stare went from the bag to his face. “Fairly given,” she repeated.

“Why did you hide it out in the barn, then?”

“To keep it from being stolen,” she snapped.
“S’a
Tirra’s house servants are among the worst thieves I’ve ever met, but the farmhands are honest men.”

He grinned. “Have you met many thieves, then?”

She stood still, glaring at him. “What do you want?”

He made a show of considering the question; her fury smoldered at him. At last he said, “A kiss. Just one, freely and fairly given, and I’ll leave you alone afterwards.”

Her rage turned icy. “I’m not available,
s’e
Estah, not for a kiss, not for a tumble. Keep the damned trinkets, if you’re so set on your price. I’ll do without.”

She turned for the door.

“Wian,” he said. “Don’t go just yet.”

She froze, then slowly turned around again, her face very pale. “Who are you?” she whispered.

He held out one hand, bag resting on his palm. “Take it.”

She searched his face, not moving. “Who are you?” she said again.

He smiled a little. “Same price for that answer,” he said. “But take your jewelry. Eredion would want you to have it.”

She came forward a step, another, gaze fastened on his face. “What do you want from me?”

“A kiss,” he said amiably. “Or the honest answer to one question, if you prefer.”

The kiss would give him the answer he wanted, if she went that route. He laid bets with himself on whether she would, and kept an easy smile on his face.

She eased a step closer, her gaze darting to the bag on his palm. “What’s the question?”

Pleased that he’d won his own bet, he said, “Who’s the father? The real father, not the pretty lies you’ve told for your own amusement.”

She froze, color flooding her face; put a hand over her mouth, her eyes huge. “How did you know?” she said, voice muffled behind her hand.

“Kippin left no children behind,” he said. “No woman ever quickened from his seed; given how active he was, it’s hard to believe you were the one exception.”

“All right,” she said, watching him closely. “It’s Ere—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone hardening. “Don’t try to lie, Wian. Just the truth. A simple answer. Let one other person in the world know one small piece of truth about your life. I don’t care what the answer is, as long as it’s honest. You’ve come a long way towards changing yourself. Don’t go back to old habits now.”

She shivered, a wholly unfeigned reaction this time. “A guard captain,” she said after a few moments. “Nobody particularly important, or particularly kind. He insisted on seeing me...and as I wasn’t in good favor at the time, he was allowed as much...time...with me...as he liked for a few days. I stood it for as long as I could; then I realized it was only going to get worse, and I ran.”

He regarded her with a deliberately vague, puzzled expression. She was responding well to the slightly stupid farmhand face. “Why didn’t you abort the child?”

She stared at him, her eyes bright with hatred: not of him, but of something in her past. “I’ve been fed potions and herbs since I reached puberty,” she said bitterly. “This time they weren’t paying attention. That’s how I knew they would kill me sooner or later; they didn’t care if I caught. I won’t destroy what woke me up and saved my life.”

He sighed. “There. Truth. Thank you. Here.” He offered the bag again.

She advanced a step, another; hesitated, then came up to him in a quick rush. “Who are you?” she said, staring down into his mild-mannered face. “I feel as though I should know you.”

He just smiled and pressed the bag gently into her hand. “You probably don’t want the answer to that question,” he said. “Goodbye, Wian. Good travels.”

She flinched, startled. “How did you—”

“It’s the only reason you’d be coming to fetch the bag. And I hear there’s a handsome redheaded fellow passing through the next village over, sometime in the next day or two, part of a regular merchant run; they don’t come out this far, but it’s well within a day’s walk if you get started early in the morning.”

Her lips thinned; then she relaxed. She tucked the small bag into a belt pouch and said, soberly, “Thank you.”

He watched her leave the barn, then sighed and looked around. “I’ll never have the patience to be a farmer,” he said to the nearest cow. She stared at him, eyes as mild as his own, and flicked her ears to the sound of his voice. “Setting them up, yes. Actually working the land? Boring.”

He stood. His eyes deepened to black as he surveyed the placid animals, and his hair became a more coppery-blond shade.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he told them, then walked out of the barn without looking back.

He walked south and east, pushing his way through brambles, bushes, and stickweed, until he reached the road; leaned against a tree for a time, waiting. At last a dusty form appeared to the west, trudging steadily through the early morning light. He stayed still, watching, smiling a little.

The traveler’s shoulder-length dark hair carried a northern styling, and his clothes proclaimed his standing at just above poverty; but there was no concealing the sharpness of his gaze as he flickered a wary glance across his surroundings. He seemed not to notice the man leaning against the tree, though, and went on by without pause.

“Eredion,” the man said when the desert lord was five steps past him; Eredion whirled, eyes wide, and winced with the motion; backed up a hasty step, then stood still, jaw tight.

“Who the hells are you?” Eredion demanded.

“I’m hurt. You forget me so quickly? In less than two months?” He grinned.

The desert lord’s eyes narrowed. A long moment of silence passed, then he said, “Another trick I didn’t know you can do. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Deiq smiled. “Off to wander the northlands like a wandering tinker? I thought you’d be staying close by Alyea. Or at least that you’d take along some servants. Kathain.”

“I’m not ready to swear over yet. And I’ve discovered that I rather like the feeling of being alone. Why are you off wandering?”

“My own restless nature,” Deiq said lightly. “Eredion, I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

Eredion drew in a long breath, then let it out in a sigh. “I know,” he said. “You never do want to hurt me. And you always hurt me anyway. It’s just the way of things. Never mind.” He spread his hands, palms up, and tilted his head questioningly.

“No,” Deiq said. “I don’t need anything. Thank you for offering. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, and wish you the best of days ahead.”

Eredion nodded. “May the gods lighten your load and smooth your road,” he said, with more sincerity than Deiq had expected.

“Thank you,” Deiq said quietly.

Eredion sighed again, then turned and continued along the road without further comment. Deiq watched him until the stocky form faded from sight; Eredion didn’t look back, not even once.

Deiq continued south and east once more, until he stood on the shore of the King’s Sea. He stood barefoot at the edge of the water, listening to the waves washing over his feet and breathing the salt air.

“De’sta’haiq,” a voice said beside him after a time. “Are you done wasting your time with human trivialities yet? There are important matters to handle.”

He dug his toes deeper into damp sand. “Godspeaker,” he said with deliberate irony. “I wondered when you’d catch up with me.”

She snorted. “You’re not old enough to call me that, child. Don’t push at me.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her sideways. Her long white hair, bound back into a rippling tail, swung past her mid-back; her eyes, free of the usual concealing white overlay, gleamed a hard coppery-gold edged with black.

“And you’re too old to be meddling in human matters,” he said. “Not to mention how much trouble you’re already in. Anything you do will just bring lightning down in your wake.”

“The lightning is here already,” she retorted. “Thanks to your idiocy.”

“I’m not the only one to point at for that,” he said mildly. “Take a moment to enjoy the water, Teilo. It may be a while before we can do this again.”

She sighed, then stepped forward, working her own feet into the damp sand beside him. They stood quietly, watching the sun move across the sky, and breathed in the aromas of the world for a rare stretch of mutual peace.

“Teilo,” Deiq said eventually, “I have a question for you. About Alyea.”

Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, but her mouth moved in a tiny smile for just a moment.

“You took her collar off.”

“Is that a question?”

“Why?”

Teilo’s expression turned pensive. “She’d suffered enough. She deserved some compensation. There was no reason for her to be a slave to those who’d tried to kill her once already. They’d broken the Agreement first, far as I’m concerned, and she didn’t owe them anything.” She paused. “How did you find out?”

He shook his head, not willing to risk that answer, not even with her.

“So,” she said, “now you know. Care to try killing me over it?”

He snorted, dry and unamused. “Hardly.”

“You haven’t killed her, either. Why not?” She tilted her head to look up at him, her gaze sharp.

He swallowed back a sigh and said, “I married her. Before I knew.”

“Ah. Interesting choice.”

He swallowed again, in a drier throat this time; but she needed to know this part. “In a hanaa-aerst-yin ceremony.”

“What?” She jerked round to face him, her eyes wide and golden in unabashed distress.

He set his teeth and tried not to look at her as he gave her the rest: “Under the auspices of Lord Evkit.”