01 - The Compass Rose

by Gail Dayton

The copper-haired woman laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s cruel of me, but to watch you dance between me and your ilias—I can’t help laughing. And if you fight it, the magic will fight back. I find it very difficult to believe that you didn’t want to make love to a man such as that. Or the blonde. Did—you said two mistakes. Both of them? At once?”

  “Not at once.” Kallista’s face burned, though it had no reason to. They were both her iliasti.

  “Why would you want to deny yourself?”

  “Stone is di pentivas. I thought to give him time. And Torchay—” Kallista frowned at the other woman. “I thought you had to leave shortly after my last question was asked.”

  “Shortly after I answer. And the answer is this—The magic cannot make you do anything against your nature. It cannot force you to—to murder, for instance, if you are not a murderer. But if the magic needs a thing, and it is within your nature—despite your denial of that fact—then it will get what it needs.”

  “Why would it need me to—” she began, but Belandra was gone. She couldn’t help wondering why the magic would need her to have sex. It didn’t make sense, and she didn’t want to compound the existing mess by doing it again. With Torchay angry at her, resisting his temptation would be easier. But somehow she had to mend things so they could at least work together again, even if their friendship was shattered beyond mending by the stupidity of sex.

  It would have to wait for his return. Until Stone was awake and mobile, she was stuck here while Torchay talked with the guard lieutenant at the far end of the parlor, just inside the door. How long had Lieutenant Suteny been there? Had he seen her talking to Belandra? She wanted to like the man, but his constant watchfulness unnerved her.

  Kallista opened Stone’s door and stopped just inside. She wanted to wake the man, not his magic. “Stone,” she called. “I’ve things to be doing and I need you with me.”

  He lifted his face from the pillow where it was buried, and looked at her through his manic hair. “Kallis…ta…” He seemed bemused by his ready use of her name. He pushed his hair back and looked at her without its veil, his eyes losing their drowsiness. “Did I dream it or was it real? You with me—”

  “Real enough. It won’t be happening again. Get dressed. We have work.”

  As she left the room, she heard him mutter, “Didn’t expect it this time, don’t know why she thinks I’d expect it again.”

  As Joh talked with the naitan’s bodyguard, he could only hope that his words made sense. His mind was reeling with what he had heard and seen. Or rather not seen.

  He had been up early as usual, but reasoned that the ilian would not have slept much on their wedding night and thus would not yet be astir. When he heard voices, he had knocked. He hadn’t knocked very loud, true, mindful of his intention to understand the naitan’s purpose and motivations. But he had knocked. And when he opened the door, he had seen the naitan talking and listening intently to no one at all.

  No one visible to Joh, at any rate. With the hair rising on the nape of his neck at this blatant display of West magic, he left the door ajar and listened. The naitan spoke of demons and magic and forced sex, and with every word, Joh’s neck prickled more until he could have sworn his triple-length queue had to be pointing straight out behind him. This wasn’t right. It could not be the hand of the One.

  But before he could retreat and add this information to his report, he heard the bodyguard sergeant speak, heard his boot heels sound between the rugs as he approached the door. Omvir would notice that it stood ajar. He was too good a bodyguard not to notice, naitan’s ilias or no. So Joh pulled the door open and stepped in, greeting him with the felicitations owed a newlywed male. And they had talked, but Joh could not have told what either had said.

  “Lieutenant.” The naitan approached, Joh’s former prisoner trailing behind her. Stone didn’t look too much the worse for wear under casual inspection. In truth, he looked rather…cat in the cream.

  Joh came to strict attention and saluted. “Captain, how may I serve?”

  “We need a space, preferably away from population I think, where we can practice.”

  “If I might inquire—” He did not want to offer insult, not to a naitan with her strange magic. “What do you intend to practice? So I know what sort of space you need.”

  “Magic,” she said.

  “And combat,” the sergeant added. “I would know my iliasti’s skills.”

  Joh touched his overlong queue. It was lying flat against his neck, despite his unease. “I am not familiar with the…practice of magic. Do you require—”

  “Much the same sort of space as for practicing combat.” The naitan’s impatient words made Joh’s heart pound. “But with fewer people. Preferably none.” She made a face. “And it should be as nonflammable as possible. This…mark has mucked with my magic and I’m not so sure of my control as I once was.”

  “I will see what I can do.” Joh bowed and departed as quickly as he could. He would carry out the captain’s orders, but first he would deliver his report for the Master Barb to the briar-painted chapel.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When palace servants came bringing breakfast, Torchay made a point of sitting between Aisse and Stone at the table. It was petty perhaps, but he felt petty just now. He should never have allowed himself to hope that being ilias rather than mere bodyguard might have changed things between them. If he hadn’t had hope, it might not have hurt so much to hear Kallista call the incredible, intimate passion they’d shared a mistake, to understand that if the magic had not forced her, she might never have made love with him.

  He focused his attention on his other iliasti, making sure Aisse had the crisp bacon she preferred and Stone’s cup was kept filled with the palace’s excellent cider. Aisse caught on quickly to how the game was played and did the same courtesies for the iliasti seated to either side of her. Torchay didn’t think the other two noticed anything.

  When the meal was ended, Torchay stood and offered his hand to assist Aisse. It appeared to startle her, but she was nothing if not adaptable, and she slid her small hand into his. She stretched toward him onto her toes and Torchay bent to see what she wanted.

  Lips near his ear, she murmured, “I still not do sex with you.”

  His chuckle felt bleak. “Just now, that sounds perfect,” he murmured back. He kissed her cheek as he straightened, playing the part, and Aisse bustled away to tend to something.

  “Torchay.” Kallista touched his arm.

  He pulled it back, blanking his face save for a faint questioning expression.

  “We should talk.” She shook back the darkness of her unbound hair, the hair that had brushed like silk across his naked skin in the night.

  “I don’t know what we have to be talking about.” Torchay knew she was right, but he couldn’t face discussing it now, especially with Stone as an audience. On the other hand, maybe it was better he was here.

  “Dammit, Torchay!” she exploded quietly, her words hissing as she spoke. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. Perfectly good relationships ruined because feelings got hurt over sex.”

  “It wasn’t the sex that ruined it,” he retorted, temper flaring. Anger helped burn away the hurt. “It was knowing you think of me—of both of us—as mistakes.” He waved a hand toward Stone who appeared to be trying very hard to avoid notice.

  “You aren’t a mistake. Neither of you is. I would never think that. Goddess.” Kallista looked up at the ornately painted ceiling with its scenes of picnics and hunting. Her eyes blinked rapidly. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m a soldier. I’m barely capable of managing friendship. I don’t know why I thought I could cope with an ilian.”

  Was she blinking back tears? Kallista Varyl, captain naitan of the Third Detachment, Reinine’s Own? Surely not.

  Except…Torchay had always known there were more depths to her than the devotion to duty she let everyone see. Now he resented her for the faint niggling of guilt she instilled in him.
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you married us,” he said, and immediately wished he hadn’t when she winced at the spoken blow.

  “I did,” she whispered. “But you know I had no choice.”

  Torchay took a deep breath and let it out, seeking calm. He hated this sort of emotional turmoil. “Goddess.”

  Kallista looked absolutely miserable. The way he felt. Stone looked as if he wished he were anyplace but where he was. It was bad all round. Torchay couldn’t force Kallista to feel something she didn’t. He couldn’t make her want him. He was fighting against the river’s flood if he thought otherwise.

  He took another deep breath. “Sniping at each other isn’t getting us anywhere. We have to deal with what is. And that is this poor, misbegotten, magic-riddled ilian of ours.”

  “I suppose you have suggestions?” Kallista’s tone sniped at them once more.

  Torchay scolded her with his expression. “I suggest that we at least treat each other as iliasti should. As if we are in this by choice, not duty.” He had chosen. He should act like it. Just because his choice had not lived up to his dreams was no reason to whine about it now. His hurt was unimportant compared to the vows he’d made.

  “I had no choice.” Stone took this moment to speak up after maintaining silence for so long.

  “Pretend,” Torchay said, giving him a level look.

  The other man shrugged and nodded, and Torchay looked at Kallista.

  She bit her lip, obviously worried. “I don’t think sex should be part of this.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I think you’re foolish to rule it out entirely, but if you can’t bring yourself to want either of us—”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you—” she interrupted him, then broke off when Torchay held up his hand.

  “Don’t. I believed you when you told me that before, but—” This time he stopped himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just—perhaps if we act as if we are a normal ilian—except for sex,” he said with a tip of his head toward Kallista, “we can become a normal ilian.”

  “I don’t think—” she began again.

  “Then don’t. Don’t think.” Torchay had had enough. “Thinking’s never been your greatest strength. Act. You’re good at that. We’re an ilian. Act like it.” He wanted to walk away, but that wouldn’t be the behavior of a good ilias. Once more he had to take a calming breath. They didn’t seem to be very calming this morning.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I’m not doing very well at following my own advice.”

  Kallista waved his words aside. “No need to apologize when you’re right. I’m better at acting than thinking. It’s why I’m always saying such appalling things. I never meant to hurt you, Torchay. I’m sorry.”

  But she still thought their incredible lovemaking was a mistake. She didn’t want him as ilias, not truly. She didn’t seem to want any of them.

  “I’ll get over it,” he said finally. “Will you answer me a question, though?”

  She nodded, though she didn’t look any too certain.

  “Why did you marry us—Aisse and me? Do you even know?”

  “I—It—” Kallista stammered to a halt then tried again. “It seemed the best thing to do.”

  A poor answer, but it would have to do. It was all he had. “Perhaps I should see if I can assist Lieutenant Suteny in finding a practice room.”

  “Torchay, I truly am sorry.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Are we—all right?”

  Eventually that calming breath ought to work. But not yet. “Yes,” he said. “Or we will be. I am not a good enough actor to pretend nothing happened, but I am still your bodyguard and your ilias. That won’t change. Just—I’m flaming furious with you right now and it’s going to take some time to burn down. If you don’t want me takin’ your head off, I suggest you keep your distance for a bit of a while. Leave me to myself, a’right?”

  It wasn’t until Firstday afternoon that Joh reported back. He’d found a Winterhold Palace courtyard, deserted this time of year, that would serve their purposes admirably. The courtyard was paved with flagstone, surrounded by stone walls, and adjacent to a large reception room behind a wall of glass windows. The parquet floor in that room would work better for Torchay’s instruction and could be padded to prevent bruising.

  Kallista wanted to move their quarters into Winterhold, closer to the practice area, but the Reinine wouldn’t hear of it. It would take them too far from court and be inconvenient for the servants. The Reinine added in her note that once their Firstweek as a new ilian was over, they would be expected to attend the regular court dinners with everyone else residing in the palace.

  So it was on Seconday morning that Kallista’s ilian trooped through two palaces on their way to their private practice yard. Torchay intended to teach Aisse ways to protect herself, and Kallista needed to learn what she could do with the magic Stone carried. They couldn’t afford to waste any time while waiting for the other marked iliasti Belandra was so sure would appear.

  “Naitan.” Torchay stopped them all in the entrance to the courtyard and turned to Kallista. “I accept your gloves.”

  The formality jarred her. It brought her back to earth, stopped her mind from fretting over what she could have done differently, how she could have prevented this fiasco their ilian had become. Torchay slept outside her door now, not inside it. But it wasn’t important now.

  This was important, what they were about to do here. She needed her mind on her magic, not her men.

  “Thank you, Torchay.” She drew off her short-cuffed brown uniform gloves and handed them to him, smiling as she did so. Of a wonder, she got a smile back. A rather bleak, wintry smile, but a smile nonetheless. It made her grin at him outright.

  His smile twisted, became more true, though she could see his reluctance to give in to it. “Go on with you, then.” He tipped his head toward the courtyard. “You’ve magic to get sorted. And I’ve a small tiger to sort, myself.”

  Aisse grinned at him, fairly dancing in place with her eagerness to begin. Torchay grinned back, pointing toward the door on the far side of the courtyard. “In there, Tiger Aila.”

  Kallista was glad they got along so well. The pang she felt was merely that she wished the same ease between herself and Torchay. But then, she’d had sex with him. Aisse had not.

  “So?” Stone paced a circle around her at the limit of his magical leash. The chains on his anklets rattled with every step. “The gloves are off. What happens next?”

  She held her hand out to him, palm up, as if inviting him to dance. “Shall we find out?”

  Stone stopped motionless near the center of the courtyard, making no move to approach. Kallista circled toward him, almost stalking him. He wore red again. A brighter shade today, in a tunic of everyday wear that looked far better on him than the clumsy prisoner’s clothing. Her ilias was a beautiful man with his golden hair and skin and his finely honed body. She could almost wish he were less so. He would be less of a temptation.

  She came to a halt directly in front of him, holding her hand up at chest height, daring him with her eyes to take it. He swallowed visibly. They had not touched, not skin to skin, since the night they had come together. She truly had no idea what would happen now.

  It frightened him. She could sense it. She would swear before the One that magic was the only thing in existence he did fear.

  His hand rose, coming toward hers. It was one of the bravest things she’d ever seen. “Courage,” she whispered when he hesitated.

  “Kallista.” His gaze locked onto hers. “Ilias.”

  She nodded. “Ilias, Stone.” She knew what he asked and reassured him. She would not let him be lost inside the magic, would not let it have him, no matter the risk to herself. She was the naitan. He was in her care.

  Kallista could sense Torchay and Aisse watching beyond the bank of windows. Torchay had wanted to remain in the courtyard, but she had insisted otherwi
se. She wanted to motion them farther from the glass but could not let her concentration waver. She shook her right hand to keep it loose and held the left up, waiting on Stone.

  He took a deep breath, let it out and clasped her hand in his.

  The magic woke. Instantly alert and eager, it rushed for the point where they joined to cross over into Kallista.

  “No.” She spoke aloud to reinforce her mental command for it to halt, to stay where it was.

  It paid her no attention whatsoever, leaping from Stone into her. It bounced about, stirring things up that needed no stirring, running through both their bodies with exquisite skill. Stone’s head went back and he shouted, not in pain.

  “Stop.”

  But it didn’t. Kallista did the only thing she knew how to do. She fisted her free hand and brought it in to her chest. Then she flung it wide again, letting her fingers fly open as she wrenched the magic out of her and forced it into lightning.

  A huge jagged bolt flashed from her hand, blackening the flagstones all the way across the courtyard to the leaden gutter pipe. It crackled up the length of the pipe to the roof where it broke a gargoyle from its place, which crashed to the ground at their feet.

  “Khralsh!” Stone pulled his arm from where he’d wrapped it over his head and looked at her, his eyes showing white all the way around. “Is that likely to happen again?”

  Kallista shook her tingling fingers. The lightning had shocked her. That had never happened before. It had burned her a time or two, but never shocked. “I’m afraid it’s more than just likely.” She looked down at their still-linked hands. “You didn’t let go.”

  “I was afraid to. I thought if I held on, the lightning might think I was part of you and leave me alone.”

  Kallista grinned at him. “Smart man.”

  “That’s not what Fox says. I’ve the brains of a tent flap, according to—” His speech faltered and his face shut down, all the wry humor gone. He tried to pull his hand away but Kallista held on tight.

  “Fox—your partner who died?” She wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how. Didn’t know why. She’d barely known him a week. But he was ilias. That was why enough.