Wolf's-own: Weregild (19 page)

He had a vague idea that it should piss him off—
right, because you know me
so
well
—and he could feel the familiar rage pooling in his gut, almost comforting, but he couldn't take hold of it.

"You can't stand to be content,” Malick went on, gently relentless, “because you don't understand it, and things you don't understand frighten the hell out of you."

Bloody hell, was
every
one a fucking oracle?

Jacin's teeth clenched. “I don't—"

"I know you don't,” Malick cut in, stretched a little against Jacin's back and nestled in closer. “That's all right. I'll show you."

"Show me
what
?” Jacin snapped, too loud, but it didn't make Caidi even twitch, and Malick didn't answer, the steady rise and fall of his chest against Jacin's back speaking sleep, as though the past two minutes hadn't even happened.

Maybe they hadn't. Maybe Jacin was dead after all, and this was what it was like to have been sent to the suns—not the blissful oblivion of nothing at all, but enforced life that you couldn't make sense of, but went on and on and on. Maybe Shig had driven him completely insane and this was all the twisted conjuring of his own sick, guilty mind. Maybe he was still unconscious and delirious and he was lying on the road in Asai's lands in the rain, the torn corpses of everyone he loved scattered about him.

Maybe he was wounded and sick and exhausted, and living with silence for the first time in years. Maybe this was what sanity was like, and he'd just forgotten.

"If this is what sanity's like,” he muttered bleakly, cutting his gaze up to the cupboard, the corpse of the moth lying just like it had done since he'd opened his eyes, “I think I retract my wish for it."

"Too late now,” Malick murmured, making Jacin jump.

A growl rolled up Jacin's throat and he let it come. “Bite me,” he muttered. He hunched down over Caidi and buried his nose in golden curls. Ignoring Malick's snort, Jacin glared at the moth for a few unsatisfying seconds then gave up and willfully shut his eyes, imagined a blizzard of cherry blossom petals, and threw himself at sleep.

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The rain, Samin decided as he stared moodily out his small window, was only making things worse. And if there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was that things could always get worse.

"Bloody hell,” he muttered irritably, and buttoned his shirt with perhaps a little more force than was good for it.

There was only so much Samin could take, and he rather suspected he was reaching his limit, if he hadn't already. He couldn't tell. There was too much to take into consideration.

The revelation that he'd been working for a
Temshiel
all these years had been a little bit staggering, certainly, but Malick was still Malick, and it rather put some things Samin hadn't really thought about before into perspective. That icy look Malick could get sometimes, like all his emotions had just dried up and he could kill you without giving it a second thought, regardless of the years and experiences between you. How they'd all walked away from all of their jobs over the years without serious damage, even those they shouldn't have walked away from at all. How Samin had only rarely seen Malick use magic, but when he had, it had been a different sort every time, like he had every kind there was, and Samin had never been able to pin down exactly what Malick was—spirit-bound, earth-bound, elemental-bound... apparently, Malick could do it all. It all made sense, now, once you added in the word
Temshiel
, and it had clicked in Samin's head almost audibly when it had come out that crone's mouth.

Unexpected, certainly, but then Samin had been more or less making an effort not to see it, so it hadn't been shocking.

Lord Asai a maijin?
That
had been shocking, but again, it had put Fen's apparent past with him somewhat into perspective. Samin couldn't exactly blame the lad for getting as deeply entangled as it seemed he'd done, not when the man entangling him was centuries old and made to manipulate. It made Samin glad that Malick hadn't allowed him to kill Fen that first night in the alley. He liked to think his kills were morally justified ones, that he served the gods in some way by doing what he did. Killing Fen for what had been made of him, what he'd been duped into being, would have been an injustice, and Samin didn't need any more black marks on his soul. Anyway, he truly liked Fen, which had made the business of the other night actually hurt, and Samin hadn't thought that possible.

Now, the business of the other night—getting attacked by a pack of not-wolf maijin, and then watching Shig drive Fen into some kind of mental break... that was pushing things. Samin had worried that first night they'd taken Fen in the alley that Fen had the potential to be a real danger to Malick. Now he thought perhaps Malick was the bigger danger to Fen, and that if Fen one of these days put a knife through Malick's heart, it would be because Malick deserved it.

Samin's jaw clenched, and he dragged on his belt, slapped it through its clasp, and buckled it.

And yet, none of the recent events and revelations had shaken Samin's resolve to see it all through. What he'd seen at Yakuli's had, if not shaken it, at least wobbled it a little. Warhorses, gates and guard towers, barracks, and... more barracks. Something more was there, something big, Samin knew it, but he couldn't set it in its proper shape in his mind. And Shig's reaction...
that
had shaken him. She knew a hell of a lot more than she was saying, and everyone else was too preoccupied to notice. Malick was more obsessed with Fen than usual, Yori was so sickeningly smitten with Joori that Samin had taken to avoiding them both, and Umeia....

Fuck.

Samin pushed himself away from the window, quit the room, and stalked down the hall to the common room. It was Shig and Yori's turn to bring up breakfast, and he saw when he got there that they'd already done so, everyone already seated and digging in.

Caidi called a cheery, “G'morning, Samin-seyh!” to him when he entered, even though he'd told her at least two dozen times to leave off the “seyh,” but he couldn't help but smile back at her. He nodded at the more subdued greetings from the others, his gaze turning to Shig, not at all surprised when he noted that she was looking at him expectantly and hadn't even bothered to fill her plate yet. And he hadn't even known he was going to do this until ten minutes ago.

"Ready when you are,” Shig said.

Samin almost sighed, but kept it in, giving Shig a nod as he stepped in to pour himself a cup of tea to take with him. “Anyone take them breakfast yet?” He kept his eyes on his hands as he added the honey and stirred, but he would have to have been blind to have missed the abrupt tension in the set of Joori's shoulders.

"I was hoping—"

"You will,” Samin interrupted. “Shig and I have some business to discuss first, but you have my word that you will not be kept from your brother today.” Samin didn't give a shit what Malick's reasons were for keeping Joori at bay. It wasn't right, and Samin had had enough.

Joori subsided—perhaps a little confused but willing to accept the promise—but now Yori had turned suspicious. “What business?” she wanted to know.

"Business we can't discuss here.” Samin shunted a pointed look around the table, again a little thrown by Caidi's sudden but very sincere smile when he caught her eye. Save him, she was so bloody cute, and always happy to see him. If Malick was half as smitten with Fen as Samin was with Caidi, they were probably all in some very deep shit.

Yori half stood. “Should I—?"

"No.” Samin turned the remnants of the smile Caidi had raised on his face to Yori, and then darted a quick look at Joori. Winked. “You keep everyone else company, yeah? We'll fill you in later."

Yori subsided with a slight blush, which Samin had known she would. All the better. With things out of kilter between Malick and Umeia... well, he didn't know. Yori had been circumspect enough not to tell Joori yet that they'd found his mother—there would have been a hell of a scene already if she had, Samin had no doubt—but if she took up for Umeia in whatever this falling-out had been... Samin didn't like the thought that loyalties might now be in question, but Yori had always been Umeia's devotee, and her new involvement with Fen's brother might end up being more compromising than Samin would have even thought to consider a few days ago. Best he leave this one up to Malick.

Anyway, Yori didn't seem to mind the slight. She didn't even seem to realize there'd been one. If Samin was not very much mistaken, she and Joori were actually holding hands under the table. Samin rolled his eyes. Apparently, regular sex made one's brain go all slushy. Then again, that was hardly a revelation—look at Malick.

"Ready?” Samin grumbled at Shig.

Shig merely gave him that faraway smile that made his teeth want to clench, tossed an oblate absently from hand to hand, and gestured to the tray at the end of the table. Two covered dishes, two teabowls and a teapot, with all the necessary trappings. Samin tried not to see it as further evidence that Shig was at least one step ahead of him in everything. He merely bit his lip and took up the tray, sparing a nod all around as Shig sauntered past him and down the hall.

"Bye, Samin-seyh!” Caidi chirped.

Samin merely grunted and followed Shig down the hall to Fen's door. She didn't pause for the courtesy of a knock, but flung the door open and turned to Samin, tossed the oblate lightly in the air and caught it with a small shrug. The eerie little smile she'd been sporting tweaked just slightly ‘til it took on a hint of malice.

"Hey!” Malick's voice, still a little sleep-scratchy. “Don't you people bloody
knock
?” He cursed low and grumbled, “How'd you get over there?” somewhat thick and befuddled.

Samin didn't think that last was directed at him or Shig, but he couldn't tell yet—Shig was still semi-blocking his way. Samin lifted an eyebrow at her. He really wasn't in the mood for her games this morning, and they
were
games, he knew now. The other night on the road had been too carefully calculated for her to not have known what she was doing. She'd only been heeding the spirits, she'd told Samin later, like she didn't give the slightest fuck if he believed her or not, which he didn't, not anymore. “Heeding the spirits” Samin's great ass, and even if she was, a person just didn't
do
the sort of thing she'd done to Fen, and especially not to one of their own. It was things like that—the
abuse
of what some called a “gift"—that made Samin hate the idea of magic.

"Don't look at
me
,” Shig told Samin, tossed and caught the oblate again like she was a child playing with a ball. “This one's all on you.” She leaned up, lowered her voice so she was almost whispering in his ear. “Who d'you think will be left to deal with the afters? Shall we take bets?"

Too cryptic as usual, and she got far too much enjoyment out of it, like she always did. Things that, perhaps a week ago, Samin had thought a little unnerving but mostly cute and “just Shig” were suddenly grating on his nerves like sandpaper on sunburn. His jaw set tight. If his hands weren't so full, he might've hit her. All right, no, he wouldn't have. But he might have clenched his fists threateningly. Or growled. Or something. “Out of the way,” was all he rumbled, and when Shig pushed the door wider and stepped aside, Samin gave her a glare as he passed her that was thoroughly unsatisfying. His expression was probably fairly thunderous as he stalked in—not the best sight to greet one in the morning, Samin knew, and especially on a face like his—but he didn't care.

Samin peered over at the bed, surprised that Malick was the one in it, and that he was in it alone. Fen sat slumped in the chair beside it, thick-bandaged leg set stiffly in front of him, but Samin noted that he was extended far enough that his toes remained in contact with Malick's hip as Malick dragged himself up against the pillows and blinked at them blearily. Malick was fully dressed but for his boots, but Fen was clad only in linen drawers and an open tunic that exposed the swathes of bandages about his torso, but hid the one Samin knew had to be around his right arm. Samin had watched one of those things latch onto Fen's arm and shake its head like a rat terrier, and he'd watched Fen snatch his arm out of the clamped jaws without much apparent concern that he was leaving chunks of meat behind.

"You're looking better,” Samin said, a little embarrassed for the obvious lie, but it was what you were supposed to say to people in situations like this one, wasn't it?
You look better
, and,
You've got some color to you
, and all sorts of other polite propaganda. Certainly not,
Fuck's sake, I can almost see through your skin
, or,
You shouldn't be sitting up like that; your head looks like it's too heavy and might fall through your neck and crush the rest of you
. Still, Fen did actually look better than Samin had been expecting him to. Samin cleared his throat and kept himself from shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “More color to you,” he finished lamely.

Mostly true. Fen still looked halfway ghastly, but his hair was neater than two days of bed would have indicated, at least. Not washed, but combed and braided as efficiently and tidily as always.

Fen didn't answer, didn't even spare Samin a glance. His eyes were nailed to Shig, all narrow and murderously hostile, but with a glint of fear beneath the glare. Samin understood and was immediately sorry for it, but he'd had no choice—Malick wouldn't leave the room, and this couldn't wait anymore.

Samin set the tray on the edge of the bed, lifted the cover on one of the plates, and shoved it at Malick. The other made him pause—a neat mound of rice in the center, a bowl of broth to one side and a slice of bread with honey on the other. A soft chirp of a whistle from Shig, and when Samin looked over, she tossed him the oblate she'd been playing with. Samin didn't know who'd filled the tray for Fen, but for some reason, he suspected it was Shig, and the incongruity of the thoughtfulness of the gesture threw him a little. Samin pursed his lips, then poured Fen some tea and carried it and Fen's breakfast over to him. The tea Samin set on the little bedside cupboard, within easy reach, but the rest he set right in Fen's lap, purposely blocking Fen's line of sight to Shig. Samin waited until Fen slid a slow glance upward at him.