~The Lady weaves her pattern carefully. Only she can see all, Saljane said obliquely.
Reisil stared at the goshawk for a long moment. Did Saljane know more than she said? Or was it a reflection of her faith in the Lady? Reisil rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache hatching in her skull. So many questions. But there wasn’t any point worrying about it anymore tonight. She would need all her wits to get through the party unscathed.
Reisil turned back to the mirror, tugging on the long beaded belt that cinched her flowing tunic. The tunic hung to her knees over full, loose-fitting trousers. A pattern of ivy matching that on her face was embroidered onto the midnight material in silky, dark-blue thread. A subtle effect, and one that Reisil appreciated. Her silver gryphon necklace peeked out from between the folds of the deeply slashed neckline. She looked—exotic. Even as much as the sorcerers in their brilliant robes, dark skin and pale hair. No longer wilting and safe, her appearance proclaimed her a woman of power and danger, like the elegant beauty of a finely wrought sword. They wouldn’t know what to think. It would make them nervous. She smiled at herself. Good.
Behind her, Saljane resumed her perch. A happy satiety radiated from her.
“Have you done stuffing yourself? Then let’s be on our way. We don’t want to add tardiness to our crimes against the court.”
A sharp knock on the door made Reisil start. Three raps, a bare pause, and again. Whoever it was was impatient. Had Sodur come to fetch her? Did he think she needed a shepherd? She scowled and crossed to the door, opening it a handsbreadth. Her breath caught.
“Kebonsat,” she said, her voice hardly loud enough to be heard above the pounding of her heart.
He put his hand flat against the door, his lips taut, his jaw knotting. His dark hair was ruffled as if he’d run his fingers through it, and his eyes blazed. A surge of longing rushed through her. Reisil tightened her hands on the door handle and jamb. It had been more than a year since she’d seen him. It wasn’t long enough.
“Are you going to let me in?”
Reisil’s eyes flicked to the corridor behind him, seeking escape. She wasn’t ready to see him. Not yet.
He followed her gaze. “No one’s watching, if that’s what you’re—”
There were sparks and a clattering thunk of something hitting the stonework just above Kebonsat’s head.
He jerked and thrust himself forward with a grunt, shoving Reisil back inside. She floundered backwards, lost her footing and thudded onto the floor as Saljane screeched and leaped into the air. Reisil’s head bounced on the carpet. Black and red erupted across her vision. A split second later, Kebonsat pounded down on top of her, driving the air from her lungs. She coughed, struggling for breath, even as he rolled away, kicking the door shut and dropping the latch.
He crouched by the door, listening, his breath coming hard between his lips, his lohar in his hand. It looked like a miniature pick, the handle inlaid with a complex pattern of silver and brass, the slightly hooked blade glinting. Some might mistake the Patversemese habit of wearing the weapon an affectation. It looked like a child’s toy. But Reisil was not fooled. In skilled hands, the blade could scythe away limbs, block sword thrusts and disarm swordsmen. It never ceased to amaze her that the Kodu Riikian court so blithely permitted the Patversemese to carry the weapons.
After a moment, Kebonsat turned back to Reisil, who had regained her feet. He frowned, scanning her up and down. “Don’t you even have a knife? What if they got in here?”
Reisil flushed. “I was going to the reception for the Scallas sorcerers.”
A look of disgust flittered across his face and then disappeared as his expression settled into lines of wrath. Whether aimed at her or the Scallacians, Reisil didn’t know. “You cannot go about unarmed. Especially among Scallacians.” He looked at her expectantly.
Reisil felt herself flush hotter and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have anything that will go with my outfit,” she said, her chin jutting.
He reached into his boot, yanking out a stiletto in a plain black sheath. He tossed it to her. “Carry that.”
Reisil caught it, turning the slender knife in her hands. She gave a little shake of her head and tossed the blade back to him. “I can’t.”
“You are not going to feed me pap about being a tark and not taking lives, are you? I know better. I saw what you did to the wizards. Besides, as ahalad-kaaslane, you at least have to be able to defend yourself. And don’t natter to me about magic. You won’t always have a chance to use it.”
Reisil winced, feeling the lump on the back of her head with delicate fingers. Why can’t he just leave it alone? She sighed. But inside, there was a growing warmth that he still cared, enough at least to harangue her.
“It isn’t that. But your knife wouldn’t do me any good except to cut bread. Or myself.”
Kebonsat snarled. “What in Ellini’s name have you been doing this last year and a half? Is there no one with enough sense to teach you to defend yourself? Or are you trying to get yourself killed? Reisil?”
The concern in Kebonsat’s voice undid her. Tears rolled down her thin, pallid cheeks. He reached a hand to brush them away, his own face contorting. Kebonsat slid the lohar back into its sheath and then pulled her into his arms. His body pressed hard and warm against hers, radiating reassuring heat and healing.
“Gods, I am a jackass,” he growled against her neck. “This is not what I had in mind for us.”
Reisil gave a choked laugh. “There’s a lot I didn’t have in mind.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Reisil didn’t reply. There was no need, and he knew why as well as she did. Still she could not bring herself to pull away as she ought to. He sighed, his chest fluttering beneath her cheek. He rubbed his hands over her back, and she felt herself relaxing into his embrace, desire dancing over her skin.
“I cannot deny the reason that I have come to Koduteel,” he said, his breath whispering across her skin like butterfly wings.
She tensed.
“I have come to pay court to Vertina Emelovi.”
Reisil flinched. Her hands dropped to her sides.
“Yes, so I’ve heard. Making any progress?”
Kebonsat pushed back on her shoulders and captured her cheeks between his palms. He waited. At last she looked up—his face was so close, so impossibly far. He wore a haggard expression, his lips stiff and white beneath his aquiline nose. Longing to match her own pooled in his dark eyes, like liquid jet. Reisil’s hands crept up to cover his.
“This is my choice,” he said in a hard voice that denied his want. “This is my honor to do for my family and for my Karalis.”
Reisil nodded again. He was a man of honor, a man of courage and pride, and he had a duty to his house and his Karalis. Kebonsat had been sent to strengthen the alliance between Patverseme and Kodu Riik. He would no more chance ruining his mission with an illicit romantic liaison than he would torture a child. And he valued truth too much to pretend otherwise.
Reisil closed her eyes and took a breath, fighting the tears that continued in a slow, gelid trickle down her cheeks. She stepped back and went to Saljane. The goshawk jumped to Reisil’s fist. In those moments with her back turned, Reisil grappled to gain a semblance of control. After long moments, soothing cold rose to frost her heart, settling over her in a longed-for numbing glaze.
She swung back around, the corners of her mouth turning up in an offhand smile she did not feel. “I never thought we were meant for one another.” Before he could pursue the topic further, she changed the subject. “But apparently someone thinks to be certain of that.”
Kebonsat glanced at the door, frowning. “I had not thought I was followed here.”
Unthinking, Reisil said, “Perhaps you weren’t.”
His head jerked around. “You think they were waiting? But no one knew—No, that isn’t it. You think they were after you.” His expression, already hard, turned feral. “And you don’t ev
en carry a weapon? What in Ellini’s name is wrong with you?”
Reisil gave an inward sigh, kicking herself for opening up that subject again. “What do you want to do now? Both of us are late. I’m sure the Vertina is wondering at your absence.”
His expression darkened, and Reisil could tell he wanted to say something caustic, probably something about wringing her neck. Instead he took a quick glance around the room, assessing the furniture, the doors leading to the balcony, and returning at last to the door through which he’d entered.
“Really only one way out,” he said. “And as you say, we are late.”
With that he went to the vanity table beside her wardrobe. It was about three feet long and a foot and a half wide, made of bird’s-eye walnut with slender, rolled legs. Nodding to himself, Kebonsat set it on its back and kicked off its legs.
“Open the door, and keep out of sight. Latch it as soon as I pass.” He drew his lohar and held the table before him like a shield. Reisil slid back the latch. Kebonsat eased out into the corridor. Reisil hesitated, then shut the door. There wasn’t much else she could do. After a moment, she reached for one of the sundered legs and held it like a club.
Should she have told him about the assassins’ attack? She shook her head. Nothing she could have told him would have made any difference. Her fingers tightened on the table leg.
Please Lady, keep him safe.
Chapter 17
Several minutes passed. Sweat trickled down Reisil’s back and slicked the hand holding the table leg. Saljane was heavy on her shoulder. Just when she thought she couldn’t wait any longer, she heard a tapping and Kebonsat’s low voice. Relief swamped her. She opened the door, and he squeezed back in.
“Whoever it was is gone. I found this outside.” He held up a crossbolt, the tip glistening. “Poisoned. Should have had me dead to rights.” He looked at Reisil. “Unless you’re right and it was you they were after. You could have healed any poison in me.” The last was pitched like a question, and Reisil nodded. “So why did he shoot at all? There was no hope of hitting you and no point to hitting me.”
Reisil shrugged. “I might have missed tonight’s gala if you were injured,” she suggested. Strangely, the idea of someone shooting at her didn’t frighten her much. Quite the opposite, in fact. She felt angry. The emotion rolled through her like thunder, powerful and cleansing. Saljane caught that anger, raising her wings and snapping her beak. Kebonsat flicked a glance at the bird and back to Reisil.
“Distraction? But why?”
“Any number of reasons. Let’s see.” Reisil ticked them off on her fingers. “I sat in someone’s favorite chair. I sneezed at just the wrong moment. I forgot to smile at someone. I blinked. I breathed.” When Kebonsat flushed and opened his mouth, Reisil held up her hand. “No, I promise, I’m taking this seriously. But I am not popular in court. You must know that already. Plenty of people would like to see me embarrassed or worse. Most are like rats. They work from the dark behind walls, and I don’t know their names or their faces.”
She paused, thinking. “Not that you couldn’t have been the target. Even if I neutralized the poison, you might not have been in any shape to go. It might have undercut your position with the Vertina. Perhaps you have become a threat to someone.”
Kebonsat rubbed his hand over his jaw, scowling as he began to shake his head. “He shouldn’t have missed.”
“Maybe he was hurried. A maid might have come along, or anyone.”
He lifted his brows. “Very pragmatic. Taking this all in stride, are you?”
Reisil’s mouth twisted at his unexpected thrust, and she felt pain erupt from the wound as if he’d actually struck her. Taking it in stride? Knowing that someone was hunting her? That someone wanted her dead? It could be anyone, even Sodur, if he thought it would help Kodu Riik. That realization sawed at her anchoring ties to Kodu Riik, to the ahalad-kaaslane, to everything she was.
Reassurance. Pride. Devotion.
Reisil felt Saljane’s fierce strength runnel into her, wrapping around her like a heat from a fire. There was one anchor still firmly intact, strong as steel and stone and ocean waves.
~How have I managed without you, dear heart?
~You have managed. But I am here now.
Bolstered, Reisil returned her attention to Kebonsat, aware that he was waiting for a response.
“Pragmatism seems like a good choice right now,” she said, pleased with the steadiness of her voice. “However, if you’d like, I can attempt hysterics.” Not that she’d have to try very hard.
Kebonsat crossed his arms, shifting back on his heels to scrutinize her. Reisil flushed. She glanced down, realizing she still held the table leg. Jerkily she retreated to the fireplace and set it on the coals. Kebonsat’s next words took her off guard.
“You look . . . ,” Kebonsat began and then paused, sighing. He collected himself. “Nice. Striking.” He paused again, as if considering saying more, but then changed subjects again, his tone shifting suddenly to courtly formality. “We are both overdue, though I need a shave and a change of clothes. All the same, I shall walk you down before I return to my chambers.”
Reisil nodded, relief and disappointment washing through her.
They proceeded down through the corridors of smooth stone and dark paneling, their footsteps silent on the woven rugs. Reisil had been assigned rooms in the north tower of the western wing. The Scallacian sorcerers were housed in the south tower—within easy reach, yet far enough away to lend Reisil privacy and seclusion.
Kebonsat paced in silence. He radiated tension, his eyes darting down cross-passages and up stairways.
“Have you heard from Ceriba?” Reisil asked, feeling the silence straining.
His answering smile was unfettered. “She is well. I visited her on my way here. She tells me Elutark is a hard taskmaster , but she has regained her color and her spark.” He paused. “She’ll never forget what they did to her—” He broke off, looking as if he wanted to spit. After a moment he continued, his voice like gravel. “But she has purpose now, and she is thriving. I am glad she did not remain home. I think that might have killed her.”
Reisil nodded, remembering the future Ceriba had described for herself. A life of snubbing and ostracization, of being the family scandal—a permanent, immutable disgrace. Another kind of rape to add to the first. Ceriba would certainly not have survived, and her family would have suffered greatly to watch their once vibrant daughter dwindling, her former friends avoiding her, her former haunts barred from her. And they would have been able to do nothing for her against the might of social judgment.
Reisil had learned firsthand what gossip and intrigue could do—how snubbing and whispers could humiliate and degrade, and make a person want to hide in shame. Ceriba had expected it, had expected to withdraw into seclusion, to become a ghost in her own home until she died in fact. Had Reisil not done the same? Retreating into the lighthouse, scurrying around in the shadows, snatching scraps of food when no one was looking, running at the slightest hint of discovery? Rats in the walls indeed.
~They aren’t going to like this. Are you ready?
Kek-kek-kek-kek! Saljane’s cry echoed down the corridor, accompanied by a flash of fierce pride.
“What’s that about?” Kebonsat asked, brows arched.
“Fair warning.”
The look he cast her was as sharp as his lohar.
The corridor they followed emptied into a gallery overlooking the Grand Foyer. Reisil and Kebonsat gazed down at the brilliant spectacle. The floor was a vividly colored mural of inlaid stone, polished to a high sheen. It depicted the Blessed Amiya in her glade, surrounded by gryphons and a host of animal ahalad-kaaslane. In one crystal-taloned hand she held a crimson pomegranate. In the other, the hereditary crown of the Iisands. Her face wore a smile, but her unworldly eyes, filled from corner to corner with polished opals, spoke a solemn warning. A wide skirt of trees and vines bordered the oval, and from its edges sprouted an imposin
g white marble staircase ascending into the Great Hall, and several smaller flights of steps leading into various salons and galleries. Seven crystal chandeliers dangled in a descending circle over the Foyer.
“Magnificent,” Kebonsat said in a low voice that held none of the awe Reisil felt. But then, he was used to such sights. He pulled back, gesturing for her to accompany him.
“I must return to my rooms to dress. However, before we part, I must ask a boon of you.” His tone was once again formal. Reisil gave a hesitant nod for him to continue. “I count you as a friend, and as such, I cannot accept that you have no weapons skills, especially given tonight’s attack. I ask that you meet me in the morning, every morning, at first light in the copse behind the barracks. I shall instruct you.”
“Is that wise? There will be rumors; it could make things difficult for you.”
“I’ll worry about that.”
Reisil hesitated another moment. She could not argue that she didn’t need instruction, and more, she did not want to. She had felt entirely silly and useless holding the table leg. She nodded. “I will.”
A pleased grin lit his face, and he bowed with a fluid, courtly flourish. “Your whim is my fondest wish, Dajam Reisiltark.”
The answering merriment bled from Reisil’s face, and she stepped back. “Don’t mock me. That’s what they do.”
Kebonsat scowled. “I cannot imagine how my words could be considered mocking. Nor how you could have so little opinion of me that you accuse me of doing so.”
Reisil looked away. He was right to be insulted. He wasn’t one of the lords like those gathered downstairs. They called her Dajam and bowed to her, all the while hating her, even plotting her death.
But even though he was nothing like them, he was nonetheless one of them. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Everything about him—his carriage, his expression, his clothing—spoke of gentility and breeding. Though he called her friend, he was not. He could never truly be one, for his interests and those of his country did not coincide with hers as ahalad-kaaslane.
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