Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (49 page)

The man nodded, as Bekluth had known he would. “It’s a problem that time might cure—either
their
impatience or
yours
.”

Bekluth felt a flash of annoyance.
He
wasn’t the one—except that he was playing the part of a young man misunderstood by his elders, and apparently with his usual easy success. But the man was still talking.

“But there’s more, isn’t there? Nothing you’ve told me so far is anything you would need to hide.”

There, now he had the man hooked completely. He let his head bob up and down a few times as though he were weighing his options. “You’re right,” he said, exactly as if he’d made up his mind to confide in the man. “Impatience isn’t the only thing that time will cure.” He took in a deep breath and looked the Mercenary right in the eyes. “You know my story, what happened with my mother. A part of me is still angry, a part of me
never
wants to forgive them. But another part . . . another part wants to go back.” He quirked his eyebrows, displaying, now that he’d committed himself, an endearing uncertainty . . . and then let his glance fall away.

“Why?” But there was no disbelief in the man’s voice, only a sympathetic curiosity.

Bekluth looked sideways and managed his most sheepish look. “I’m successful here. I’ve quite a stockpile of goods and money. But I’ve nowhere to spend or show it where it matters. I was right about the trade, right about the Horsemen—you should see the sky stones I get from them, worth almost any effort—but no one knows it but me. I’ve been telling myself for years that I despise them, my uncles and aunts and all my dear cousins, who spend their days and their evenings and their nights counting profit and balancing the scales.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “But they’re the only ones who can understand and appreciate what I’ve achieved.”

Bekluth waited, and when the other man chuckled, he joined in, just as if he were seeing the humor of his situation for the first time. He felt something like a real warmth for this man, this Mercenary, who was so ready to understand and feel for someone else. It was easy to see why there was so strong a bond between him and Dhulyn Wolfshead.

But though his outer self kept on chuckling, smiling, shrugging, and pouring hopes and dreams into the man’s sympathetic ear, his inner self grew colder, and more aware.

Bonds are still bonds
, he thought, as he accepted the man’s advice and his pats on the shoulder. This Parno Lionsmane had a darkness hidden within him, a secret. Bekluth could see it, if no one else could. And he was never wrong about such things. Never. Not since he had seen the darkness in his mother for what it was, something that made her beat him, punish him, and bind him. Something that needed to come out, to be exposed to the light. He’d helped her with that, as he’d helped others after her. Including the young shaman he’d first followed through the Door.

Dhulyn Wolfshead, so clear, so open. How could she have such a strong bond with someone like Parno Lionsmane? As usual, the moment he posed the question, the answer flashed into his mind. The bond was obviously there to help the man, not the woman.

If I free him, I would free them both
. If he could open the man, the bond would be unnecessary. They would both be free. Parno Lionsmane could go his way, fulfill his own destiny as he was meant to.

And Dhulyn Wolfshead can help me
.

Parno Lionsmane was glancing up at the sky. “That’s my watch over,” he said, getting to his feet.

“I think I’ll be able to sleep now,” Bekluth said, following the other man back to where Dhulyn Wolfshead still lay on her back. “Thanks for letting me bend your ear,” he added.

“Sometimes it’s easier to tell things to strangers,” the Mercenary said. “They go their way, and there’re no embarrassing questions.”

He does understand
, Bekluth thought. He wasn’t a stupid man. He was reacting in exactly the right way—if any of what Bekluth had told him had been the truth. And he wouldn’t have been easy to fool if Bekluth weren’t so very good at it.

Maybe I don’t need to wait. Maybe I can help him right now. He deserves it. No one should have to live with that secret hidden inside him
.

Parno Lionsmane motioned Bekluth closer with a tilt of his head and squatted an arm’s length away from Dhulyn Wolfshead. He tapped his cheek just under his right eye, and Bekluth put on his best look of concentration. What was the man up to?

As he watched, Lionsmane reached out very slowly with his right hand, moving it closer and closer to the sleeping woman’s shoulder. Closer, slowly, closer—

Her left hand flashed out and grabbed Lionsmane’s wrist, her right hand pointed a dagger at his throat.

Bekluth jumped back, genuinely startled this time. She had moved literally in the blink of an eye. One moment asleep, and the next alert and menacing.

“Do you all wake like that?” he asked, when the other two had finished chuckling at each other.

“Of course.” Dhulyn Wolfshead was now on her feet, just as if she hadn’t been asleep five breaths ago. “Otherwise, we might not wake up at all.”

“More of your Common Rule, I suppose,” Bekluth had said, shaking his head ruefully.

When he had wished them both a good night, and the woman had gone to the lookout place, and the man had rolled himself in their bedding and dropped off immediately to sleep, Bekluth lay in his own bedroll and thought. He’d need more of the drugged brandy, that was certain. No just waiting for either of them to fall asleep. And somehow he’d have to use it on both of them at the same time. He mentally waved this problem away. He’d solve it when the time came—he always did.

Now, where was his closest supply of brandy?

Alaria became aware she was dozing only when she came abruptly awake as the bed moved under her. Enough light came through the open door of the bedroom to show her a profile she recognized. “What are you doing?”

Falcos was sitting on the far edge of the bed, his blue eyes catching the light and his mouth twisted into a sideways grin. “You didn’t expect me to sleep on the floor, did you? I thought you trusted me.”

Alaria felt her face and neck grow hot—though with any luck her blush couldn’t be seen in the scant light. She could hope so, at least. She cleared her throat.

“My mother said that men were never to be trusted,” she said in as conversational a tone as she could manage. “Most especially never in any sexual situation. That they control themselves only with great difficulty, if at all.”

Falcos nodded slowly, shifting until he was sitting with his back against the headboard—a far less elaborate one than the one in his mother’s bedroom. “There’s some truth to that, for certain men and, as you say, in certain situations.” Alaria, blinking, sat up herself, and shoved her combs back into place. “But I’m not one of those men, and in case you hadn’t noticed, this is not a sexual situation.”

“You
are
in my bedroom,” Alaria pointed out, keeping her voice as firm as she could. “About to lie down on my bed.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “This is not anyone’s bedroom, and it’s no one in particular’s bed.” His mouth drooped, and Alaria could see again how close to the edge of despair Falcos really was. “Alaria,” he said, “if I do not rest soon, I’ll go mad.”

Alaria sat up straighter, pulling her feet up to sit cross-legged. At least she’d gone to sleep fully clothed. “Come,” she said. “Stretch out. Shut your eyes.”

He curled up on his side, facing her, one arm tucked under the pillow. He didn’t look younger, as she’d been told all sleeping people did. And sleep couldn’t make him more beautiful—but only because he was so beautiful to begin with. Even with the smudge of a bruise on his left cheek and dirt under his fingernails. She still found it surprising that Falcos was not the vain and featherheaded fool that his beauty had led her to expect.

Which was a good thing, all things considered, since she’d thrown in her lot with his. Agreed to stay here, marry him, become the Tarkina of Menoin. And nothing that had happened since she’d sat hand-in-hand with Falcos in the stables, watching the new foal, had given her reason to change her mind. On the contrary. Her breath caught a little in her throat. She would rather be sitting here on the bed with Falcos, their futures uncertain, than on the throne of Menoin if it meant she sat with Epion.

“I want you to reconsider surrendering to Epion.”

Alaria jumped; she’d been so sure that Falcos had fallen asleep. How strange that they’d both been thinking along the same lines, even if they hadn’t reached the same conclusions.

“Hear me out,” Falcos said when she didn’t answer. He propped himself up on his right elbow. “You could say you have grown afraid of me, that you now think I tricked you in some way.”

“Falcos, we’ve talked about this. He wouldn’t believe me. Abandoning you won’t make me safe.”

“I think he’d
want
to believe you, and I believe you
would
be safe,” he said. “You must think I’m not a very good judge of character if Epion could fool me for so long, but trust me, knowing the truth about him now just puts all I’ve observed over all these years into the right context, and I assure you, you’d be safe.” He took a deep breath. “You are not the one who is standing between Epion and his throne. On the contrary, since we can change from one Arderon princess to another to answer the demands of the treaty, I should think we can change from one Menoin prince to another. Oh, no.” He shook his head. “You are in no danger from Epion. And besides,” he continued when Alaria opened her mouth to argue, “you have the horses to think about.”

That made Alaria stop and think. The queens
were
her responsibility, though perhaps not her first priority.

“He’ll never believe it,” was all she could think of.

“I tell you he’ll want to. That’s your strength. You must use it. You cannot go down with me.” His lips pressed tight and Alaria wondered what he’d stopped himself from saying.

“I don’t want to leave you.” She surprised herself, but only by saying it aloud.

“And I don’t want you to have to deal with Epion alone.” Falcos reached out and touched her cheek.

“As if I couldn’t manage one man,” she said.

But Falcos didn’t return her smile. “That’s the overconfidence that will lead you wrong,” he said. “You have a poor opinion of men and you think that because you can manage the men in Arderon who don’t have any real power, you won’t have any trouble here. But you’re not in Arderon now. Do not underestimate Epion, what he will do, how he will think and act.”

Alaria was stung, but she bit back her angry retort. Part of her knew that what Falcos had said was true, and just. Her own upbringing might lead her astray, as it almost had with Falcos himself. Part of her simply didn’t want what might be the last words they said to each other to be angry ones. “I’ll think of him as a woman then, shall I? Someone close to the Tarkina and ambitious.”

“You will be safer if you do.” He was smiling, but his eyes were sad.

She put her hand gently on his bruised cheek, leaned forward, and kissed him on the lips. Somehow they were warmer than she’d expected.

“You’ll be careful,” he said. “Promise me.” He was leaning his forehead against hers, his blue eyes shut. Something clutched at Alaria’s heart.

“Promise me,” he repeated, leaning away from her.

“I won’t marry Epion.” She held up her hand. “And if you tell me that Menoin needs a Tarkina from Arderon, very well, but Epion won’t survive the marriage night. That I
can
promise you.”

His blue eyes suddenly became much warmer. “Menoin will need an heir from the line of Akarion.”

Alaria smiled.

“Let me do the talking,” Mar said. She slipped the satchel off her shoulder, letting it rest on the ground at her feet.

“Why not? I’ve been letting you do pretty well everything else.” Gun’s voice was flat, but Mar smiled nonetheless. The spirit of teasing was there, even if the strength to lift his tone was not.