Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  She shook her head then glared at Cerdyn. “And you! Stop caressing me with your eyes.”

  He shrugged, an evil grin on his mouth. He was a brute of a man, thick-shouldered and with a ponderous gut that stretched out the padded gambeson he wore. He had a swarthy brow and a thick tangle of dark hair. He looked half-Tethyrian.

  “I mean it,” Avena threatened, tapping her binder against her thigh. “I won’t put up with being ogled. Save that for the doxies at whatever pigsty you wallow in to satiate your thirst for alcohol.”

  “It’s almost poetic the way those words roll off your mouth, Madam Avena.”

  Smiles chuckled while Bran looked at Dajouth in awe. If he starts showering me in compliments, too . . .

  “I’d watched out, Cerdyn,” Smiles said, “she’s not afraid to split your head open with that binder.”

  Cerdyn grunted and spat to the side.

  Avena grimaced. She refused to flee. She was here for her training, to excel so she wouldn’t be a hindrance. The city seethed. The watch marched in patrols despite rotten fruit and excrement hurtled at them from alleys. The riots had raged all day and into the night. The gaols bulged with those arrested while mothers and widows painted their cheeks red in mourning for their slain men.

  Ōbhin arrived just then. They were all here save Fingers, who manned the gate. It was midday, but the watch had to be set. Avena hadn’t seen Dualayn since the riots. He was working hard to save the third patient. The other two had left yesterday, healthy enough now, no longer near death. Some good had come of the terrible day.

  Two lives saved.

  Ōbhin led them through their exercises. Even Cerdyn joined them after facing Ōbhin’s stony glare. The darkness in the Qothian bled from his eyes. Avena could see it in him. He had killed before, and it marked him with the weight of those crimes.

  Her heart racing from the exercise, her face flushed, she matched up with Dajouth for sparring. She groaned, wishing to practice with Ōbhin or Bran. Smiles watched, his leg still mending. He’d limped while the others had run, trailing in their wake until they’d lapped him.

  Before Dajouth could open his mouth and coat her in more of his flowery compliments, she rushed forward and swung. Her feet danced beneath her. Most of the time, she didn’t have to think about them. They stepped where she needed them. In trousers, she had no heavy skirts and petticoats to drag at her legs and to trip her up.

  She could fight with skill.

  Dajouth gasped in shock. Binders crashed together. She didn’t have strength, but she had speed and grace. The binder didn’t require brute force. She didn’t need Cerdyn’s brawn to disable an opponent. Her feet flowed. She flicked her rod out, deflecting Dajouth’s attack to plunge past her. She slammed her rod into his chest.

  Purple bindings sprang around his body. He gasped and she swung low, striking his legs and throwing up a second binding. He fell on his face before her, wrapped up. He stared up at her, a grin spreading on his lips, blond hair spilling across his forehead.

  “When you fight, you show off a different sort of beauty. The fierce falcon swooping down to seize her prey. Merciless and majestic.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t claim that my beauty blinded you and rendered you unable to defend yourself.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “You’re just better at fighting than me. You moved fast. Like the falcon in the dive, swooping in before your prey can react. Then you carry them off to your bower to devour them.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “My bower?”

  “Lair or nest or whatever.” He smiled at her. “It’s a metaphor.”

  “A bad one if you think I’d carry you to my bower.” She glanced around. Bran lay bound up at Cerdyn’s feet while Aduan fought to stay upright against the bindings about his leg. He’d managed to pin Ōbhin’s left arm to his torso at the cost of taking two or three hits.

  Ōbhin pushed his binding rod against Aduan’s chest and thrust him backward. He fell like a stump onto the ground and landed with a thud.

  After the bindings wore off, they switched partners. She traded hits with Bran and managed to trip him up and send him down onto his face. However, he’d landed a hit on her legs, tangling her up in the purple energy. She gasped and fell backward onto her backside, grunting at the impact.

  She threw herself into training. Ust was out there. If he tried to attack them, she wouldn’t be a liability. She would improve. She traded blows. Aduan bound her up in a heartbeat. Cerdyn almost had her, but the way he stared at her fueled her anger. She’d used it. Ōbhin complimented her.

  “Footwork’s improving,” he’d said as she stood before him, arms squeezed tight to her side, her breathing shallow thanks to the binding.

  She smiled.

  When they finished, the sun working its way to the horizon, elation buzzed through her at her progress. The binder felt natural in her hand. It was a weapon that could protect but didn’t kill. She wouldn’t be stained by inflicting any more harm.

  She only had Evane in the shadow of her heart.

  “You comin’ with us after dinner?” Smiles asked Ōbhin. “Goin’ to the Plucked Rooster.”

  Ōbhin shook his head. “I don’t need to have a headache that bad again.”

  “Fun has to be balanced by punishment,” Smiles said.

  “Is that something Jilly says?”

  Smiles nodded.

  Avena imagined Jilly saying those words with some satisfaction over Smiles’s hangover. The woman never said a bad thing about him except to complain when he visited the Plucked Rooster a few times in the week.

  “How ‘bout you, Aduan?”

  “‘Course,” Aduan said, adjusting his hat. “Though it’ll be strange enjoying a drink there.”

  “Cerdyn?”

  The man grunted, “Duty.”

  “Right, right, you’re on guard. Dajouth, I can see you’re in.” Smiles nodded to the Roidanese. “Avena, you?”

  The words shocked her. “You’re inviting me to go drinking?”

  “Why not?” Smiles shrugged. “If you’re going to brain us with your binder, you should have the decency to buy us a drink.”

  “I didn’t brain you,” Avena said.

  “Well, think of it as a down payment for the future.” He winked at her.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t go, either. You’ll just make Jilly worry about you.”

  “It’s only when we’re apart that my appreciation for her can grow,” he said. “I shall stumble back to her welcoming arms and the love of her embrace.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Avena couldn’t sleep that night.

  She could feel enemies crawling around in the dark as she lay in her bed, sheets pulled up to her chin. Virtue flooded red moonlight through her window. She glanced at the moon, studying the patterns cratering its face. Stars twinkled around it, pinpricks of pure light, the eyes of the devas who served Elohm and shepherded His moons through the sky, guiding them and protecting them from the Black around them.

  The night was never truly dark because of the seven moons.

  She tried to clutch onto that, but a worry grew in her. Restlessness seized her. Cerdyn guarded the compound tonight. She couldn’t trust that man to hold Ust and his followers at bay. Ōbhin had stayed behind, but Smiles had lured the rest of them off to the Plucked Rooster.

  I hope Jilly boxes your ears when you get back, thought Avena.

  She rose from the bed and pulled on a dressing gown, frustrated with her insomnia. She slipped out of her room and padded down to the small conservatory with its couches and large windows. She drifted to one and stared out of it. She could see the eastern side of the grounds, the dark grove that lay beyond the walls. She smiled, remembering fond walks with Chames, holding onto his arm as they wandered the paths that snaked through the peaceful trees. A clearing rested at the center with a marble bench left there years ago by someone long forgotten.

  She’d kissed Chames there for t
he first time. It had scared her and excited her. If he’d pressed her that day, she might have surrendered her maidenhead to him earlier than she had. The lonely ache in her swelled.

  She missed Chames.

  Her eyes drifted down to the stables. Miguil slept above them. Wicked thoughts danced through her head. They were promised, like she’d been to Chames, so was it truly a sin to seek comfort in his arms? To be held by him? Kissed and loved by him? They would be married in a few months, their year’s wait almost up.

  She quivered, knowing she shouldn’t seek out Miguil. It was better to wait. To be modest until her wedding day. She bit her lip, struggling to pry herself from the window and find her bed. She pressed her forehead against the glass, the night’s chill bleeding through.

  “Don’t you do it, Avena,” she whispered to herself as memories of seeing Miguil shirtless danced in her head. His smile. His face, almost beautiful. “Don’t even think of . . .”

  Her words to herself trailed off as she spotted movement. Someone had slipped out of the kitchen and moved across the grounds. Something in the way the figure scurried felt . . . furtive. The fear that had kept her from sleep tightened about her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked herself. The figure passed by the stables on the way to the eastern gate, a postern in the wall that led to the grove. Her breath fogged the window before her. The spy stepped out of the stable’s shadow into moonlight.

  It was Pharon.

  Memories stirred in her. She’d noticed him returning from that gate the night the sneak thieves had set off the alarm. Suspicion itched at her. She saw no sign of Cerdyn. He should be patrolling the perimeter, making sure no one slipped in. Or slipped out. Pharon passed through the postern and headed for the grove.

  The perfect spot for a meeting.

  Fear squeezed at her heart. Had Ust obtained a spy?

  *

  Heavy pounding dragged Ōbhin out of sleep.

  He bolted upright and rolled out of bed in his long, cotton shirt. It fell down nearly to his knees. He grasped the hilt of his resonance blade leaning in its scabbard against his nightstand. Gripping the leather-wrapped hilt in his naked hand was an alien sensation to the Qothian. He marched to the door and wrenched it open.

  Avena stood there in her nightgown hastily tucked into a pair of trousers, her hair falling loose about her pale, uncovered face. The red moonlight bleeding through his window painted highlights across her face. A flush warmed his cheeks. Her naked features were young and beautiful. She showed off openly what women in Qoth hid from all save their lovers.

  Realizing his naked hand was in sight, he shoved it behind his back, cheeks burning hotter. “Yes?” he asked, voice hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Pharon,” she said.

  “Did something happen to him?” Ōbhin asked. He didn’t hear the alarm jewelchines resonating their piercing notes. If you knew about them, they were easy to disarm. “Is Dualayn with him?”

  “No, I spotted Pharon sneaking out of the side gate.” She quivered, her nose twitching. “It’s the middle of the night, and he’s heading to the grove. It’s the perfect place to meet with someone in secret. With Ust.”

  “You certain?”

  “I’m certain that he snuck out. Why else would he do that?” Avena swallowed. “It makes sense, right, for Ust to bribe someone on the inside? He was waiting for you at the hospital. He knew you would show up there.”

  “He has men watching the house.”

  “How did he know where we would travel?” Her eyes shone, catching crimson highlights.

  Ōbhin sighed. “I guess it won’t hurt to look. Let me put my pants on.”

  “Right.” The red in her cheeks intensified. “Sorry.”

  He closed the door and sighed. He remembered the night Lady Foonauri had knocked on his door. She’d removed her mask the moment he’d opened it, allowing him to gaze upon the features of her light brown face. Her delicate nose, narrow eyebrows, full lips.

  Fire burning in his loins, he found a pair of trousers and slammed his legs into them. He didn’t bother tucking in his shirt, just wrapping his sword belt about it. He jammed his feet into his boots and tied them with haste. Last, he grabbed his gloves and covered his hands with proper modesty.

  Something Avena and every other woman could learn. It baffled him sometimes how Lothonian women hid their breasts with the same protectiveness a Qothian took with her face.

  “Come on,” she hissed. He heard her bouncing on her heels.

  He rushed down through the hallway to the main doors of the house. They disabled the alarm before rushing to the postern gate. He didn’t see any sign of Cerdyn, who would be patrolling the grounds, but it was a big lawn. He could be on the other side of the house.

  He better be, Ōbhin thought darkly.

  “How long has Pharon worked here?” Ōbhin asked.

  “A year and a half,” Avena answered. “Maybe closer to two years. He replaced the cook’s husband after he fell and cracked his head open. Why?”

  “People commit betrayal for good reasons,” Ōbhin said. “That’s all. A year and a half . . . Has he ever given you a reason to mistrust him?”

  “Not really,” she said. “He doesn’t talk much to me. I think he resents me. I’m a maid, but I’m also Dualayn’s assistant. I bypass Pharon.”

  “No money problems. Gambling? Does he have a sick mother?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Well, he wasn’t planted here by Ust.”

  “Like one of your guards could be.”

  Ōbhin grimaced. “Maybe. Smiles vouches for Aduan, but the other two need watching.”

  “Cerdyn’s nowhere to be found,” Avena pointed out. “How fortuitous for Pharon.”

  Ōbhin agreed.

  They reached the gate, Avena opening it and racing through the moonlight. The red painted the trees ahead in strange lights. He rested his hand on the pommel as she vanished into the shadows of the path.

  He followed, tension mounting in his heart. Beneath the trees, the world grew darker. He could hardly see anything. Avena was ahead of him on the path, a darkling drifting through the night. He followed her, the gravel trail crunching beneath his boots.

  Through gaps in the trees, he caught a glimpse of the glade, illuminated by what the Lothonians simply called Virtue. Firedrop had been full the night before and still blazed with fiery intensity. Figures moved. Pharon wasn’t alone.

  Avena slowed and stopped. He reached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, her unbound hair whipping over his gloved hand as she looked behind her. He caught a gleam off the whites of her eyes.

  “Hear that?” she whispered. “Talking.”

  He frowned, straining to hear over the creak of trees. A slight breeze rustled the top of the canopy. There was something. It could be talking, but the words were indistinct. He tightened his grip on Avena’s shoulder and then slipped forward. Her hand found his. She gripped his glove as he led the way.

  The whispers of conversation grew louder.

  *

  Avena trembled as she held Ōbhin’s gloved hand. She imagined dark dealings in the grove beyond. The voices were definitely both male. It had to be Pharon meeting with Ust, selling out Dualayn’s secrets. She knew the bandit captain wanted vengeance. Petty men couldn’t stand to be slighted.

  Is that why you stole poor Carstin’s body?

  She despised Ust. She hoped he was there. They could capture them both, unmask Pharon’s villainy, and remove Ust from being a threat. The tension mounted as they approached the grove. The sounds of talking grew louder. They were masculine. Deep. They sounded like grunts. Heavy breathing.

  Her brow furrowed. Are they fighting?

  She heard a moan, like a man had been hit hard. She peered ahead and saw two men grappling. They were in the middle of the glade. One was shirtless, the moonlight painting off the flexing muscles of his back.

  Ōbhin halted.

  “Wh
at?” she hissed, staring at the men. They were locked in a fierce embrace, battling each other. She could see hands running up the naked back, fingernails clenching. The men turned and . . .

  Her jaw dropped.

  Scarlet burned across her cheeks as she saw the men were kissing. Pharon still wore his undershirt while his hands stroked the muscular man’s back. Her stomach twisted in shock at their sinful behavior. She clutched tight to Ōbhin’s gloved hand, disbelief rippling through her.

  Then she saw who Pharon was with. It punched her in the guts. Her promised kissed Pharon with more passion then he’d ever shown her. The forest glade suddenly spun around her. She held tight to Ōbhin to keep from stumbling off the path into a tree.

  Her promised, the man she loved, betrayed her with Pharon? She wanted to sick-up. She leaned over, her heart screaming in her chest. She wanted to look away, but the scene burned into her mind. She had to march in there and demand answers.

  Why was this happening?

  Had Pharon forced her poor Miguil out here?

  That had to be it. Her promised couldn’t be willingly kissing another man. He should be kissing me!

  She took a step forward when a leather hand clamped over her mouth. Ōbhin yanked her backward. Shocked by it, she didn’t resist as his arm went around her torso. Then he pulled her away. Infuriated at his treatment, she bit into the glove as he hauled her from her promised. Her heels dragged furrows in the gravel. She thrashed, struggling to break free, but his other arm was wrapped around her midriff, holding her like an amethyst binding.

  He dragged her down the path until they were out of the forest while she was helpless to stop him. No number of elbows in his guts or heels to his shins stopped him. Finally, Ōbhin pulled his hand away from her mouth.

  “How dare you manhandle me like a sack of buckwheat!” she hissed as she whirled around to face him. “I need to march in there and get answers.”

  “I think you have all the answers you need,” he said.

  “What are you saying?” Anger boiled through her. “Did you see what they’re doing? What Pharon is forcing my Miguil to do?”