Emelovi lunged to her feet, striding across the floor again, beating her thighs with her hands. What could she do?
“What can I do?” she wailed at the room’s whitewashed walls.
She opened her hands, staring at the alabaster skin and manicured nails. A pink pearl set in an etched gold band circled the middle finger on her right hand, and another band of sapphire circled the index finger on her left. They were the hands of indolence and idleness. She dropped her hands, hiding them in her skirts.
A knock on the door made her start and jerk around with a gasp. There was an exchange of voices: Gelles’s and a deeper, masculine voice. The knock came again.
“Emelovi? Are you there?”
Hearing Kebonsat’s voice, Emelovi leaped for the door, scrabbling at the latch and yanking it wide. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her arms twitched to reach out and snatch him in an embrace, but she held herself rigid. Gelles stood just behind him, peering over his shoulder, a frown furrowing her brow.
“You’re here,” Emelovi said in a thick voice. Then, “Come in. Please. What news?”
Kebonsat strode past Emelovi, catching himself up short as he encountered her bed. Emelovi shut the door firmly on Gelles, who followed a half-step behind. She leaned back against the door, examining Kebonsat for wounds. He was filthy, caked in dried mud that flaked off as he walked, despite the fact that he’d clearly sought to brush himself clean outside. His hair was matted and his face smudged. Tension pulled his mouth down. His eyes were bloodshot. He smelled strongly of sweat. But he was not wounded. Relief made her almost giddy.
Silence pooled thickly between them as Emelovi tried to think of something to say. Kebonsat stared at her, saying nothing.
“Would you sit?” Emelovi asked at last, unnerved by the intensity of his expression. He shook his head, glancing down at his muddy clothing.
“Is there news?” she asked breathlessly when he continued in ominous silence.
“Of the battle? No. It goes on, I think. I can’t really say.”
Emelovi’s brows furrowed. “You can’t say?” she repeated uncertainly.
Kebonsat chewed his lower lip. Something seemed to click in him and he straightened, speaking briskly. “You know we wanted to move you to Hawk? Make Fox the quarantine?”
“Yes,” Emelovi replied with an uncertain frown. What did that have to do with the battle?
“I’m afraid we’ll have to move you now. Have your girl pack what she can, but you’ll have to be ready as soon as you can.”
Emelovi pressed her hand over her mouth so that he wouldn’t see her chin tremble. “The plague.” It wasn’t—quite—a question.
He didn’t try to soften it. Emelovi was bolstered by the confidence he showed in her strength to handle the news.
“Probably. It’s early to tell. But we’re moving everyone out tonight.”
“Fine.” A hard lump rose in Emelovi’s throat. “Is there anything . . .” Her voice faded as he gave her that spellbinding look, the one that made her body flush with unfamiliar heat. He looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. As if he couldn’t live without her. Her heart thumped. If he’d reached for her, if he even stretched out his hands . . . she would wrap herself in his warmth forever. She licked her lips, not even blinking as she searched for some sign. But he did not move. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked at last, forcing her voice to be calmly firm.
But he began shaking his head even before she finished speaking. “Nothing. Just be ready to move. The rest is carrying and fetching.”
“I could do that,” Emelovi offered quickly. Her cheeks heated when Kebonsat smiled.
“It’s not the work of a Vertina,” he said.
“Then what is?” she asked sharply, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I came to here to find my father, and all these months I’ve done nothing. He’s the answer, the only way to stop Aare. I know we can’t afford to take men from Honor, but we can’t afford not to, especially now that the plague is here. Promise me that as soon as this battle is over, you’ll send out searchers.”
He stiffened, his face paling. His expression rippled with discomfort and something else she couldn’t read.
“I—” He looked away, wiping his hand over his mouth. “We’d better get going.”
Emelovi stared, waiting for more. He only crossed to the door and grasped the handle firmly. Just like that he was going to leave? He paused. He began to turn to face her, and Emelovi’s chest tightened in hope. But then he yanked open the door and strode out.
Immediately Gelles filled the empty doorway, her long, narrow face a study of annoyance, worry, and solicitousness. “Dazien Emelovi, are you all right?” The girl grasped Emelovi’s suddenly limp arm and settled her into the chair. “Would you like some wine? Mint tea, perhaps—kohv would be too heavy, I think. My mother always said so. Are you cold?”
Before Emelovi could begin to answer the patter of questions, the girl had snatched up a throw from the foot of the bed and swaddled Emelovi within it; then she began digging furiously at the fire with a poker. Ash puffed up and clouded the room.
Emelovi rubbed her eyes, pressing her fingers hard against her eyelids. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t Gelles’s fault, she told herself. The girl wanted to serve well; she just had no idea how. But she was about to have a lesson. Emelovi dropped her hands to her lap and sat straight.
“Gelles, please pack my things. We will be moving to Hawk as soon as possible.”
At the sharp authority in Emelovi’s voice, the maid jerked up as if stung. When she would have expostulated about the lateness of the hour and the Dazien’s health, Emelovi narrowed her eyes, chin jutting.
“Begin now, if you will. I shall wait in the other room.”
With that Emelovi returned to the sitting room. She went to stand at the window. It was barely a foot tall and only half again as wide. It was set high in the wall; her chin barely reached to the bottom of the sill. To keep invaders out. If she hadn’t been who she was, they would not have allowed it at all. She shuddered. Without windows she may as well have been in a prison.
She pushed open the shutters and peered out. There was a startled grunt below, the soft squelch of boots in mud, and the rustle of clothing. She frowned. At a time like this, the guard remained outside her window?
She abruptly pulled the shutters closed and latched them, tearing a fingernail as she did. Blood oozed from the torn skin. She stuck the offending finger in her mouth and wandered across the room and back, hearing Gelles packing in the other room. Sudden purpose prodded her. She snatched up her cloak, tying it about her throat. She would fetch and carry. It might not be the work of a Vertina, but at least it was something she could do to help. And her guards too.
She nodded to herself and went to the door, ignoring the nauseating worry swirling in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter 12
“No. It cannot be. I will not and you cannot.”
Reisil sat huddled in a chair. She was shivering, despite the two heavy quilts tucked about her and the roaring fire on the hearth. Saljane nested in her lap. Juhrnus stood in shirtsleeves near the door, as far from the fire as possible. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His ahalad-kaaslane, Esper, lay blissfully on the hearth, his tongue working slowly in and out of his jaws as he tasted the air.
Gamulstark fussed at Metyein, who had arrived leaning on Soka, his face gray. Soka was propped in the corner, arms crossed. A scratch down his left cheek made him look all the more rakish in combination with his customary crimson eye patch stitched garishly in gold. Yohuac slumped against the headboard, mottled with bruises and bandages. He too was layered in quilts and shivered like a frightened kitten. He held a hunk of bread in one hand, hardly able to get it into his mouth.
But he was alive, thank the Lady. Reisil closed her eyes, stunned by the feelings that spiraled through her. When had he come to mean so much? She reached wordlessly for Saljane, steadying h
erself in the goshawk’s fierce strength.
~What about Baku?
As if in answer, a wailing howl surged through the walls, vibrating in the bones of Reisil’s skull and making her teeth ache. It went on and on until she thought she’d throw up. At last it ended, but only long enough for Baku to draw a breath. Then it rose up again.
“Get him in here.” Reisil gasped, dropping her cup of broth with a clatter. “He needs to see Yohuac himself, else he’ll never stop.”
Juhrnus left without a word.
Nurema closed on Reisil from where she had been standing near the fire. Her face was set in rigid determination beneath the bristled, steel-colored hair. She’d lost too much weight since Reisil had last seen her. And she’d aged—like a pumpkin left outside through the winter. Still, she had the presence of a battle-scarred sword. For all her age, she was still tough and dangerous, with an awful bite.
Reisil dragged at herself, trying to collect the whirling fragments of her mind. Suddenly Baku’s ferocious wail cut off. Reisil rocked back in her chair as if a hand pulling on her had let her go.
“It must be done. You haven’t any choice. They’ll be coming again and again until you’re dead or worse.”
Reisil shook her head vehemently, and then stopped as pain drove screws through her head. “No. We’ll be as bad as the wizards. . . .” She trailed off, looking at Yohuac.
At that moment the door thudded open as Baku thrust his head against it. He was too big for the opening, and it shouldn’t have been possible, but his body shifted and changed. For a moment it seemed as if he were made of shadow and oil. And then he was through. He humped up onto the bed, his hindquarters trailing onto the floor, his tail snaking to curl around the footboard. He pushed his muzzle beneath Yohuac’s elbow, careful to keep his weight off the injured man’s body.
Reisil smiled at the momentary sheer happiness that suffused Yohuac’s hawklike features. But as quickly as it came it faded. A knot rose in Reisil’s throat. She looked away, stroking Saljane. The goshawk rubbed her beak against Reisil’s arm.
“You’d best stop now with all that piddle,” Nurema said sharply.
Reisil’s gaze snapped back to the other woman.
“You have to be healed to fix Mysane Kosk. Everybody’s makin’ sacrifices. They have to, too.” She scowled as Reisil shook her head.
“They’ve been sacrificing. The wizards have been stealing their power. It kills them.”
Nurema shrugged, unimpressed. “Doesn’t change what has to be done. You still got to be healed if yer going to save Kodu Riik and the beasties too. I ain’t got enough magic. They do. All’s you gotta do is let me borrow it.”
“There has to be another way.”
“Mebbe there is. But we ain’t got time. We was lucky this time—them wizards helped you weaken the nokulas. That was the only way we could drive ’em back. But they’ll be tryin’ agin. And when they do, my bitty wards won’t hold ’em. And yer not going to be able to stop them, weak as ye are. They’ll raze Honor. And it’ll be that”—she snapped her fingers—“for Kodu Riik. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. But I’m supposed to protect all of Kodu Riik, including the nokulas,” Reisil said, unconvinced.
“Some have to sacrifice so the rest can live,” Juhrnus said slowly, grimacing as Reisil’s head jerked around to look at him. His brown eyes were both unrelenting and sympathetic. “I don’t like it.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. I’d raise a glass if the Demonlord saw fit to sweep the nokulas into his third pit and we never heard from them again. But if we are to protect them, then they’ll have to pay part of that price, whether they want it or not. Just like the rest of Kodu Riik. No one has asked for it, but it’s what we have to do. Call it duty, call it pride in your country, call it bad luck.
“And we all know that you dying means we won’t have a snowflake’s chance in summer to save Mysane Kosk or Kodu Riik, and then what’s the point? If they could be reasoned with, the nokulas would agree. But they can’t. So. Get yourself healed, get out of that chair, and get on with it. ’Cause sure as anything, the Regent and his army will be coming before long, and then we’ll really be in a mess.”
Reisil continued to stare at him, unable to break the lock of his gaze. At last she closed her eyes, head drooping back against her chair. For a miracle, Nurema held her tongue.
~I don’t know what to do. How can I use them that way? I know they’ve tried to kill us and we’ve killed them, but that was battle. This . . . this feels so wrong. Like Kvepi Uldegas and Kvepi Debess. What they did to Yohuac and Baku . . . what I helped them do!
She squinched her eyes tighter, chills radiating harder as she pulled herself inward, struggling with the morality of the decision.
Saljane didn’t respond to her right away. Reisil felt her ahalad-kaaslane thinking and didn’t intrude, but waited, hoping her friend and heart-companion would know the path through this bramble-patch. But when Saljane replied, she did not offer the solution that Reisil wanted to hear.
~The path of the ahalad-kaaslane is never easy, never safe, never straight. Upsakes made wrong choices. This may be also. But I can see no other. You must allow it.
Reisil stilled, feeling as if a wagon of sand had been dumped on top of her. Her heart sounded loud in her ears, and her lungs refused to draw breath. Heat filled her throat with an unending ache. Upsakes had thought he was saving Kodu Riik, even as he betrayed his country and the Lady. Was this the same?
She sighed, opening her eyes and looking at Nurema. She nodded slightly.
“Good,” the old woman said. She held out a cup for Reisil. “Drink it. It’s laudanum. It’ll go better if yer unconscious, what with yer power. I don’t want to have to fight it.”
Reisil hesitated, her gorge rising. The sickly-sweet smell of the drug reminded her again of Upsakes. He’d become addicted to the stuff. Had it been that that turned him traitor? Convinced him that what he was doing was right? Her stomach twisted, but she grasped the cup firmly. It had been mixed in a cup of cool water and flavored with mint leaves. She held her breath and swallowed.
Before long, her eyes grew heavy and the room turned misty. As she began to fade entirely, a thought struck her like a bolt.
“Nurema,” she graveled, trying to lift her heavy arm.
~Saljane . . .
Kek-kek-kek-kek.
The piercing cry shredded the murmuring silence inside the room.
“Nurema . . .”
“What’s it now?” Nurema bent close, a smudge of darkness against the gauzy brilliance of the fire.
“Yohuac . . . drug him too.”
Silence met Reisil’s words and she struggled to open her leaden eyes. “Nurema?”
“Yes, girl. I understand.”
And the obsidian sharpness in the other woman’s tone indicated that she really did understand. Well, and she was one of the nahuallis who’d bred Yohuac to be what he was. Could she really be angry that they’d succeeded? And then she thought nothing at all as consciousness slipped away like oil from wet skin.
Reisil swam out of the murk slowly, drifting toward consciousness. She felt a sensation of warmth and . . . no pain. The searing, aching rawness that had bound her like chains was gone. Since the night she’d freed Yohuac and Baku and the plague-healers—Dear Lady! The plague-healers! She flailed against the darkness of her mind. She had to tell them!
She kicked upward toward the surface of consciousness. It was . . . there . . . just beyond her fingertips. . . . She stretched—and recoiled. Tapit’s face swelled in front of her, looking bloated and swollen. He smiled, his lips widening past the point of reality, cutting his head in half. Blood cascaded down his forehead and dripped into his eyes, staining them crimson. But nothing disguised the brutal cold there, the unending animosity.
But Reisil wasn’t running any longer. She wasn’t playing desperate rabbit to his fox. She bared her teeth and thrust herself at him, through him. And he was gone, dissolv
ed into nothingness. She woke smiling.
She pushed away the pile of quilts and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Yohuac grumbled sleepily. She yawned and stretched, reveling in the feeling of strength and health. Her stomach growled loudly. She licked her lips, making a face at the sticky sweetness lingering from the laudanum.
Baku whuffled, and she turned to find him lying at the foot of the bed like an enormous hound. He peered at her with brilliant yellow eyes. The bloodred striping across the center reminded her of her dream. She closed her eyes. Then she opened them, firmly setting aside her fears. Wherever Tapit was, she’d deal with him when the time came. But for now . . .
A hand curled around her wrist. Yohuac yawned at her. His jaws cracked. He sat up, the covers falling from his chest. He slid his hand up her arm to curl around her neck. Pulling her close, he kissed her. Reisil tasted the laudanum and something uniquely him.
The kiss intensified as he held her tighter, sliding his hands over her back. Reisil sank against him, tangling her fingers in his hair—
“Your hair?” she said, pushing him away.
It fell in a thick black wave to his shoulders. Reisil threaded its coarse length through her fingers. He lifted his own hands to follow hers, his eyes widening.
“How?”
“Nurema. She healed me. You too. Apparently she didn’t like the shorn look.”
Something hollowed out in his eyes, turning them inward and dark. Baku lifted himself from the floor, making a gravelly noise in his throat.
“What is it?” Reisil asked, stroking Yohuac’s cheek with her fingers, smoothing the graven lines that pulled his mouth tight.
Yohuac pulled away, climbing out of bed and reaching for the stack of clean clothing that had been left in readiness.
“Yohuac?”
He said nothing, continuing to dress silently. She touched her lips regretfully and then got out of bed, eyeing her new clothing with a raised brow. It was not meant for fighting, but for comfort and ease. She hadn’t worn such things since . . . since before becoming ahalad-kaaslane. The Reisil from back then would have been delighted with the pretty garments.
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