"My level of excellence," I repeated, barely able to believe what I was hearing.
"Just apply yourself to what you're doing now," Suker said, "and I think you have a good chance of putting me out of work."
Recovering myself, I said, "Never fear, Suker. I'll come hire you myself before you're forced to retire yourself to a life of idleness and pleasure."
He smirked. "See that you do." He stood and offered me his hand, as Jushet had done. "Pathen. You'll be missed."
"I'll be back," I said, clasping his wrist.
He left the pot of keddif and stopped at the door, resting a hand on it. "One question."
"Yes?" I said.
"What's it like?" he asked. "Loving an eperu."
How to answer such a question? What could I say? Imagine covering a lover. A strong and smart and fierce lover who smelled of sunlight and honey. And then imagine they haven't known a sensual, loving touch for decades. Imagine being the one to give them that, and to receive it from their willing hands.
How could I put any of it in words?
"It's not the right question," I said finally.
"What is the right question, then?" Suker asked.
"What is it like," I said, "loving a Jokkad."
He met my eyes. And then said, "I look forward to my new contract with you, ke Pathen. Don't wait too long, I'm not going to be this spry forever."
I chuckled softly and drank the rest of the keddif alone before tidying my office. When I left it, I didn't look back.
My companions for the trip to het Narel were mostly familiar: Hesa, Darsi and Abadil; two of Laisira's eperu whom I'd met while packing caravans; and five of Laisira's weavers, all of them master talents. Hesa had introduced them to me months ago when I'd been investigating the House. Looking at them now as I approached, I saw the truth of the eperu's comments... they sat on their rikka with all the seeming ease of people without fear, but I could see the nervousness in their hands on the reins, in the twitch of their ears. I ignored it to pull myself onto the back of the beast they'd brought for me.
Abadil remained unchanged, his glossy dark hair tied back in a neat braid to expose the length of his face and the sheen of his skin. Hesa remained remarkably strange to me; not only because of the bob, but because it had altered its body language somehow. It seemed meek almost to the point of self-effacement.
Tawny Darsi had bleached his brown mane with streaks of gold and dark amber and trimmed it in a blatantly attractive style with a long forelock that fell coyly over his eyes and trailed up the length of his cheekbones like a lover's fingers. He was also dressed like someone who wanted to be looked at, like candy. It made me realize he'd tried to downplay his prettiness in the past. I wasn't sure whether to feel pity for him or to be suspicious that he'd been willing to play this part twice.
"Are we ready?" I asked Abadil, who was positioned with Darsi at the point of the company.
"We are, ke emodo," he said, satisfied.
"And you, my prize?" I asked Darsi.
He showed no surprise, I'll give him that. His mount sidestepped beneath him, no doubt from an abrupt change in the tension of his seat, but his face remained smooth.
"I'm looking forward to our new life," Darsi said.
"Then by all means," I said. "Let's go to it."
I led them down the street, and thankfully there was no one to see us off or stop us. Within an hour we were among the fields, following the outbound traffic on the western side of the road south. This close to het Kabbanil we were surrounded by other Jokka; not just the couriers and traders who used the road to reach other towns, but the Jokka at work in the fields and on the roads and aqueducts. It wasn't until we left the farms behind that we had stretches of road to ourselves.
"So," I said when at last we were alone. "Abadil."
"Ke emodo," Abadil said cheerfully.
"My pefna has been entirely too mysterious on the matter of my House's source of income," I said. "It has referred me to you. And now, here we are."
"So we are," Abadil said. He drew his mount up alongside mine, leaving Darsi and Hesa riding behind us and the others bringing up the rear... and there he leaned toward me, eyes burning. "What do you know about the records kept by the ancients?"
"The... what?" I said, startled by the change in subject. "I trust this is relevant?"
"Of course!" Abadil said.
"I know that we have records," I said. "But not much more than that, I fear."
"Then you don't know that many of them... are on paper," Abadil said.
"Paper!" I said, ears flicking back.
"Yes," Abadil said, satisfied with my reaction. "On paper. If we are to believe the evidence, there were far more trees in the Age of Mysteries. And their paper lasts in a way ours doesn't."
"If you're telling me we're going to make paper," I said dryly, "I hope you also have news of magical forests."
"No," Abadil said. "We don't have the trees to waste. But what we do have is grass."
"Grass," I said. "I thought grass had been tried."
"Yes," Abadil said, once again eager. "Yes, it has. And it had no longevity! But I have been talking with the weavers of Laisira about some rather enigmatic commentary in the records. The ancients regularly added the pulp of some flower to their paper, a flower that no longer grows as far as we know. But the weavers are of the opinion that it was added to keep the paper from becoming frail and yellowing, and knowing that we can use the same sorts of techniques the weavers do on fabric." He straightened. "We are going to make paper, ke emodo! Cheap paper!"
"You've tried this process?" I asked.
"Not yet," Abadil said. "But I'm confident it will work."
"So you hope we will be making cheap paper," I said dryly.
"It should work," Darsi said from behind me, surprising me. He sounded sullen. "We've discussed it amongst ourselves, and the theory's sound."
I glanced behind me at Hesa, who said, "If it does work we'll be wealthy. And we'll have a reason to ship an exclusive product to every het in the empire. We'll be able to write messages, Pathen. Cheaply. Messages that will be easy to dispose of."
"Paper burns," Abadil agreed. "Very nicely, in fact."
The possibilities were suggestive. I considered them at length while my councilors rode alongside, watching me. When I noticed their stares I said, "Are you waiting for something?"
"Your approval, obviously," Abadil said. "We can't very well go off and do something you don't support, ke emodo. You're Head of Household."
I glanced at him, surprised. "Well, there's nothing to be lost in trying. We have the money to risk. If it fails we'll still have enough to do something more conventional."
"Excellent!" Abadil crowed, and fell back to share the news with the weavers. I listened to the cadence of their conversation and heard the excitement as it passed among the other emodo: this had obviously been a decision they'd been awaiting for some time.
"You're going to have to act like it, you know," Darsi said, interrupting my thoughts.
I looked at him, but he was staring ahead. "Act like—?"
"Head of Household," Darsi said. "So get used to making decisions and giving orders, because you're going to have to look like someone who does when we get to het Narel or all this will fall apart." And with that, he reined back to join Abadil, leaving a void where his anger had been.
The silence alongside me was conspicuous. I sighed and said, "You're no doubt trying to find some diplomatic way of telling me his advice is sound, so I'll save you the trouble. I know he's right. I just wasn't expecting everyone else to take the role seriously inside the House."
"Of course they will," Hesa said. "Otherwise they won't be able to keep the play going outside it. Besides, this was your plan. Who else did you expect to be in charge?"
I watched the road crawl toward us, my eyes on the horizon. "We're making something for Thenet to use when it returns."
"And for that to happen," Hesa said. "Someone must do
the making... and it will not be me. Not alone." At my look it lifted a hand and rested it on its heart. "Remember. Pefna, support... "
"Head of Household, vision," I said, chuckling. "All right. But only because you're at my side, ke eperu."
"Ke emodo," Hesa said, serene, "I wouldn't be anywhere else."
That evening we stopped at one of the wayhouses that studded the route to het Narel. I was still in uniform, so the keeper didn't ask for my token; I showed it to him anyway and asked for lodging for myself and my companions. This close to het Kabbanil the facility was already crowded, so the eperu slept outside with the rikka, much to my disquiet. The weavers and Abadil were given space on the common room floor.
I had the single room left in the wayhouse, and when I retired to it I found it already occupied.
"Pathen," Darsi said warily, sitting on one of the cots. "I hope you're not upset but we talked about it when were planning all this and Hesa and I agreed, and Abadil too, that we should make every effort—"
"Darsi," I said, because he was rambling. "Darsi. I agree. In fact, you should push the cots together."
"What?" he said, going gray at the cheek.
"The cots," I said, unbuttoning my tunic enough to loosen it. "You should push them together. It's a small building and there's no guarantee someone won't look in the room while we're sleeping. And anything seen here will get carried to the four corners of the empire with all the travelers passing through."
I turned away from him to pull the tunic over my head... and give him time to compose himself, since he obviously needed it. I was starting on my shirt when he said, his voice cracking, "What are you doing?"
"Undressing?" I said. "Keep your voice down, please. Do you sleep in the clothes you spent all day riding in? I don't."
"Pathen," Darsi began.
"Darsi," I said, tired. "I am not going to touch you any more than is necessary to convince someone looking in on us that we're together. So move the cots together and get undressed and stop worrying about me pushing up your tail."
That made him blanch and slick his ears back, so I thought the anger might succeed in whelming the fear. I ignored him to finish stripping down to my hip-wrap, and eventually he rose and pushed the cots together and I heard the rustle of his clothing as it left his body. I tried not to clench my teeth at the sound; the last thing I wanted to do was get in bed with Darsi. But to protect Hesa from the pedestal and to keep our new venture virtuously clean of scandal, I would do far worse things. When I judged from the noises behind me that Darsi had climbed into our makeshift bed I quenched the lamp and joined him.
"Do you have to be behind me?" he hissed.
"I'm taller than you," I said. "It will make it more obvious we're embracing."
"And do we really have to be doing that?" he asked. "There's a blanket on us."
"If I don't put this arm over you," I said, "one of us will fall off. It's not a very comfortable bed, you'll note."
"Pathen—"
"Darsi," I hissed through my teeth, ruffling his mane. He stiffened in my arms and I could feel, suddenly and painfully, just how anxious he was. I gentled my voice as much as I could and said, "Darsi. It's just for the road. Once we reach het Narel we'll keep separate beds. Which you'll observe we both obviously desire."
"Right," he murmured, but his shoulders were still tight.
I stared at them, trying not to feel the tremor in his body against mine, and failed completely. "And you really expected to lie with me when I first came to Laisira? Were you planning to mask your revulsion?"
"No," he said, subdued. "I was expecting you to find it enjoyable."
"And how long did you plan on lifting your tail for me despite that revulsion?" I asked. "How long before you flew apart from the misery?"
"As long as it took," Darsi mumbled. "I thought... if it got harder for me, maybe that would excite you more. I know someone who was broken by a Claw that way... the more their trysting hurt, the more desperate it made him, the more it seemed to... distract... his abuser."
I said nothing for so long that Darsi eventually looked over his shoulder at me. I could just see the gleam of his eye in the dark. "You're not like that, though."
"No," I said, finding my voice. And then, fighting my outrage, "Did you really have to wait until you could feel the lack of my reaction against your body before you believed me?"
"Yes," Darsi said. "You're a predator, Pathen. Predators like to overpower their prey. They like fear. They like the hunt."
"I," I said from between clenched teeth, "am not an animal."
"You did a good job of fooling everyone," Darsi said.
If he'd only known... a real predator would have shoved him into the cot and choked him until he'd taken the words back, maybe raped him in the bargain. I shook from the effort of not repaying his cruelty with violence, but I mastered the urge. That was the difference between us, perhaps. He used his weapons carelessly, thinking them only words. He wounded with them with impunity and expected to go unpunished for it. But I... I knew the myriad ways I could destroy someone and had trained myself not to do so without cause, without knowledge, without an understanding that there would be consequences.
Like the prey he'd called himself, he had stilled himself alongside me, the utter stillness of a creature hoping its hunter would miss it. I gave him that much credit: he'd known he was in danger.
"I would suggest," I said when I'd fought my anger down at last, "that you cease to bait me, Darsi Laisira-emodo."
"Or what?" he asked.
"Or I will make you ride pillion with me," I said. "And insist you wrap your arms lovingly around my waist all the way to het Narel. And sing me love songs. And feed me cakes. I believe I am a good enough rider to eat cake off your fingers without guiding the rikka off the road."
For a heartbeat he remained stiff in front of me. And then he blurted out a shocked laugh. I gave him just enough breath for that and then set my fingers on his ribs and tickled; that I didn't let up on until he was gasping. When he was making inarticulate begging noises I stopped and drew the blanket back over him.
"Wh-why," he panted.
"Because you were being an idiot," I said. "And it was irritating me. We have a job to do here, Darsi. I don't care if you like me but the work has to be done and for some gods-pissed-upon reason the lot of you have decided that we're the ones who have to do it. And I can't do my part with you sulking at me—"
"—I wasn't sulking," Darsi objected.
"—or having petty tantrums," I finished. "Damn it, Darsi! At very least admit what you're doing."
"Fine," he said. "I still resent you for what you put us through when Jurenel died. I'm not done with that yet. I don't know if I'll ever be done with it."
"All right," I said. "I can work with that." And settled down with my arm over his waist, on top of the blankets where it could be seen.
"All right?" Darsi asked, incredulous. "That's it?"
"That's it," I said. "Except for sleeping. Which I suggest you do as well."
He sighed and settled down and I thought I had silenced him—thank the gods—but he had to give vent to one last act of rebellion. "Pathen... 'my prize'? Really?"
"Yes," I said against his hair. "Do your best to live up to it."
Darsi never did quite conquer his fear of me. I slept with my nose behind his ear where the proof of it was unavoidable; I could smell it off his skin. It made the nights very uncomfortable—how could anyone relax knowing they were terrifying the person next to them? But other than that, the ride to het Narel was almost... enjoyable. Abadil told us about the town on the way there, as much of it as he remembered from after the arrival of the Stone Moon. He discussed the time before it also, but he refused any questions about the process that saw het Narel engulfed. When I pressed him, he said only, "I would tell you if I could, ke emodo... but it's not mine to tell. There's a lot of pain there too intimately bound up in it all."
"I thought you were a historian,"
I said, for by then I felt I could tease him without him taking it amiss.
"I am," Abadil said. "But part of being a historian is knowing what stories are ready to be told."
I liked Abadil. He liked me too, and his ease in my company did a great deal to soothe me after spending the nights trying not to notice Darsi's discomfort. I even got used to my "new" pefna, for Hesa kept to the false reserve so different from its real personality. We were never alone, which chafed, but at least the eperu was near. The time I'd spent parted from it after the razing of the settlement had felt interminable.
On the last morning of our journey, we set off at a pace slow enough to conserve the rikka for we did not plan to stop before we'd reached het Narel. The weather was cool in the shadows, warm in the welling sunlight, and we were all—dare I say it—in good spirits.
I had left the most difficult of my questions for this day. "Abadil."
"Ke emodo," Abadil said, affable.
"Tell me now about Thesenet."
"Ahhhh," Abadil said, and trailed off. I'd gotten used to these unexpected silences of Abadil's. His thoughts distracted him, as so often happened with Jokka who'd spent more time among the quiet of letters than among other people. "Thesenet. I think... you might like him."
"Pardon me?" I said.
"Our first minister," Abadil continued, more to himself than to us. "Our first minister was a tyrant. Petty, cruel... you could have plucked him out of a bad clay drama. Nelet, that was. Nelet would have given you problems, Pathen. But Thesenet... Thesenet only wants to do right by the het, if his actions are any indication. A practical sort, and very focused on the well-being of the Jokka in his care. There's some value to being both a large city and not the host to the Stone Moon seat. There's no direct oversight from the emperor and all his ministers, but the het is also too large for its minister to become too personally involved in anything." He pursed his lips, then smiled crookedly. "Yes, though it seems ridiculous, I'd have to say... if you take care with him, you might make an ally of Thesenet. He'll already be flattered that you chose het Narel to settle in."
A Bloom in the North Page 8
