“They might claim you seduced her.”
“Templefolk are many things, but not liars. If they question her, she’ll tell them she asked me for my favors.” He sighed and drained the cup. “I don’t know what they’ll do to her at that point.”
“Well.” Unte sat up, grimacing and touching his temple as if the movement pained him. “Either way, it will happen after the battle.”
Reaching for the tea decanter again, Wanahomen froze and stared at him. “The vote? But I thought—”
“Asnif of Madobah was the only other possible dissenter, and he was most impressed with you after the healer’s death the other day. He said last night that he means to support you, and the others admitted that they planned the same. Even Tajedd—though he has no choice.” Unte smiled thinly. “So rather than stand on ceremony, we called that the vote. The others will inform their hunt—no, war leaders this morning. They have granted you the title of war chieftain.” Unte smiled. “Our first in generations.”
Wanahomen closed his eyes and murmured a brief prayer of thanks to Hananja, then drew in a deep breath, feeling the first stirrings of battle-readiness in his blood.
“Then we leave tomorrow,” he said. “Please have the tribe prepare rations for all the warriors, and packhorses to carry fodder. I’ll organize a meeting of the war leaders for this afternoon, to prepare. And send a message-rider; it will take us three days’ hard ride to reach the rendezvous point with the Gujaareen soldiers.”
Unte raised his eyebrows, amused, though he nodded to each item on Wanahomen’s list of requests. “The rations are prepared already, of course, since we half-expected this. And the fodder, and the horses; the rest can be done at speed. But you will be careful, Wana, won’t you? I don’t want to see ten years wasted.”
Wanahomen grinned and shifted to kneel at Unte’s feet. “I told you I would make you a king among kings, didn’t I? Gujaareh will be mine again, and all shall know the strength of the Banbarra before we’re done. I’ll make you proud.”
Unte chuckled, reached out and gripped Wanahomen’s shoulder, then sat up and—much to Wanahomen’s surprise—kissed his forehead. “You already have,” he said.
The sun was well set by the time Wanahomen returned, tired but satisfied, to the Yusir camp’s ledge. He had spent the afternoon discussing strategies with the other war leaders—now his lieutenants—while the men of the troops made the final preparations for war. He had little thought of anything more than a meal and his bed, but of course that changed when Yanassa appeared and attached herself to his arm.
“Yanassa,” he said in wary greeting. “The wind blows fresher for your presence.”
She smiled sweetly, though he was not at all fooled. She wanted something. “What gift have you brought for Hanani?”
Hanani. He had thought of the templewoman, of course, but with so many other concerns to occupy his mind, that one had slipped away. It was Banbarra custom for a man to compensate a woman for her virginity. And while Hanani was not Banbarra and likely did not care, it was clear Yanassa meant to see that he did right by her.
“Shadows,” he muttered.
She patted his arm. “I think that amber anklet of yours will do nicely.”
He started, frowning at her. He had given Yanassa the anklet years ago, when they’d first become lovers. She had given it back when they’d fallen out, but he had always hoped—“I don’t know,” he said.
“So you care nothing for her? She was just a night’s release to you?”
“No, I just …” He faltered, troubled. He had grown to like Hanani in spite of himself, but what good did that do? She did not love him. She had used him, really, though he’d allowed it. Only fair after what he’d done to her—But when all was said and done, she would return to her Hetawa and eventually forget him, and he her. “I had intended that anklet for one of my wives,” he finished.
Yanassa stopped walking, scowling at him. “Always the same with you. One night in a woman’s arms and you want to lock her away in a palace somewhere. And if for some reason you can’t have that, she’s nothing to you. Why can you never simply accept what’s offered, Wana, without demanding so much more?”
He stopped as well, putting his hands on his hips, not caring that they stood in the middle of a walkway and half the tribe was probably watching. “Because I’m not Banbarra, flinging my seed at any willing woman and bragging of my aim!”
“She isn’t Banbarra either!” Yanassa snapped. “Gods, no Banbarra woman is stupid enough to put up with you after watching what I’ve gone through! But Hanani is like you, angry and hurt and lonely under all her airs, and she needs someone to care for her even if it must be you of all people. So if you break her heart I will scorn you forever!” With that she stormed off in a swirl of sashes and dangling jewels, leaving him gaping after her.
Charris stepped out from between the tents, coming to stand at his side.
“My father never had this much trouble with women, did he?” Wanahomen asked through clenched teeth.
“No, my lord. Though that may be because he kept all of his locked away in a palace somewhere.”
Wanahomen threw a sharp look at him, but Charris kept his face politely neutral.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes over the face-veil. “Fetch the amber anklet for me, would you?” When Charris did not move, Wanahomen glanced down and saw that a small wrapped parcel lay in the palm of Charris’s hand.
With a final sour look, Wanahomen snatched the parcel and headed for Hanani’s tent.
She wasn’t there. A few questions about the camp revealed that she’d appeared around the midday rest, gone to bathe, then come back and asked several of the Banbarra to share dream-humors with her. “How did she seem?” he asked one elder from whom she had collected dreamblood.
“Well enough,” the old man said, then grinned. “Not displeased, if you have hopes of another busy night.” Biting back an impolite retort, Wanahomen bid the man a good afternoon.
Finally he spoke with someone who had seen her heading for the heights. He found her halfway up the ledges, where she’d given him that first lesson in narcomancy only a fourday before. She sat on the same stone slab, in fact, with her knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, gazing out over the canyon as the last colors of sunset faded from the darkening horizon.
Wanahomen went over and sat down beside her; she jumped when he did so, coming back from a million miles away. “Oh,” she said. “Good evening, Prince.”
He stifled the urge to brush a lock of her thick, sand-colored hair away from her face. Despite the previous night, it felt somehow odd to take liberties touching her. He kept his hands awkwardly in his lap. “How are you?”
“Well, thank you,” she said. Her tone was nothing but politeness. He wondered suddenly whether she was displeased with him. Then he recalled Yanassa’s words, and realized that she might not be thinking of the previous night at all.
“The vote went your way,” she said softly, confirming his guess. “Everyone is talking about it.”
He nodded. “It’ll be over soon, one way or another.” Glancing at her, he added, “You’ll be able to go back to the Hetawa then.”
Watching her face, Wanahomen just caught the fleeting dip of her eyes. “Yes.”
He braced himself and then asked, “Regrets after all?”
Her lips tightened. “Concerns.”
“Concerns that …?”
She shook her head slowly, as if unsure of her own words. “The peace I once felt as a Servant of Hananja is gone. It was fading before, but Mni-inh’s death has shattered it for good. Death follows me like a shadow. I’m a healer: I should bring life. Shouldn’t I? What does it mean that I don’t?”
Wanahomen was taken aback for a moment. Had she been sitting up here brooding on such questions all day? And how was he—not a priest by any measure—supposed to answer?
He sighed and removed his veil, gazing out over the canyon himself. “You didn’t cause Mni-inh�
�s death,” he said. “And Azima brought about his own by attacking you.”
“If I had healed the Shadoun myself, Mni-inh would not have died.”
He stared at her. “Because you would have died instead! Hanani—” He shook his head, sighed, and reached for her. She stiffened, and he stopped, leaving his hand hovering in midair until she relaxed. Then he pulled her to sit across his lap. He had the sense she permitted this only because he’d surprised her into it.
“Prince, what—”
“Wanahomen.”
“What?”
“I’ve been in your tent and in your body. You can at least call me by my shadows-damned name.”
That certainly startled her out of the melancholy. A flush deep enough to see even in the dimness spread across her face. Her shy smile followed; he counted this a minor victory. “Very well, Wanahomen.”
“Good.” He settled his arms around her, loosely. “Now, you’re being foolish. And the last time you were foolish, holding you seemed to bring your wits back. It’s all I know to try.”
He was relieved to see her smile widen. “Yes, P—Wanahomen. It is oddly helpful.”
Mollified, he shifted to get comfortable on the hard stone, so that his legs wouldn’t fall asleep. “The war has begun,” he said, more seriously. “None of us can afford to be foolish now. Only getting through this will bring the return of peace.”
She nodded, sobering as well. “I’ve made arrangements to ride at the rear of your army, with the slaves and smiths and others who won’t fight.”
It had not occurred to Wanahomen that she would come along when he rode out. But then, that was why the Hetawa had given the Sharers to him in the first place, wasn’t it? Troubled, he dared to rest a hand on the small of her back, considering the dangers. “Keep wearing this clothing,” he said. “No one will bother a Banbarra woman, not with hundreds of Banbarra warriors about. But a lone Gujaareen would be seen as vulnerable.”
She frowned. “A Sharer is supposed to be easy to find,” she said. “The red drapes—every Gujaareen knows what those mean. In the midst of battle that could help me reach the wounded—”
“I don’t want you easy to find,” he said, scowling; she drew back in surprise. “I don’t trust my allies from the city, Hanani. They may hope to damage my alliance with the Hetawa by harming you.”
“No one would—” But she stopped, not finishing the sentence. She had seen enough now to know better.
He reached up to massage her neck and shoulders, not liking that she had grown tense. “During the battle, I’ll have the wounded brought to wherever we set up field camp. You may heal them there. Once we’ve breached the city walls, I’ll take you back to the Hetawa. Until then you are my healer, and you serve only my men. Is that understood?”
Hanani looked at him for a long moment, and belatedly he wondered what he could do if she said no.
“I’ll wait until you deem it safe before I assist any beyond the Banbarra,” she said at last. “But only because doing otherwise might cause more harm.”
Wanahomen exhaled and nodded. They sat that way for a long while, until the blood-red uppermost curve of the Dreaming Moon began to fill the sky above the canyon. “Are you hurt?” he asked, when sufficient time had passed that they could discuss something more intimate.
“Some soreness. Not enough to bother healing.” She shrugged. “You were very careful. Thank you.”
It bothered him that she seemed surprised by his care. It bothered him more that she seemed completely unaffected by what had happened between them; it might have been just another dreaming lesson, for all the warming of her manner. Because of this, he blurted, “Do you have regrets, Hanani? Now that the light of day has cleared your thoughts?”
She sighed, but to his relief shook her head. “Do you?”
He felt the slight tension in her body and was surprised by how much it pleased him. She liked him enough to care what he thought of her, at least. “Only that you must return to your Hetawa.”
That seemed to bring back some of her sadness, and it sobered him as well.
“What will happen to you?” he asked. “At the Hetawa?”
She sighed. “I’ll tell the Superior all I’ve done. He will decide my penance, though the elders of my path will have a say as well—and the Gatherers, given that I’ve taken a life. Word will spread, either way, and my reputation will suffer more. There are those who have always said that a woman lacks the discipline to serve Her properly, and now I’ve proven them right in so many ways.”
He did not like that the Gatherers would be involved in deciding her fate. Not one bit.
“More foolishness,” he said, with a dismissiveness that he did not truly feel. “You couldn’t have become a Sharer in the first place without discipline.”
“But I’m not a Sharer, not yet. And now, I may never become one. Mni-inh … He was my champion in the Hetawa. He—” She shuddered and faltered silent; he felt her tremble.
“Your mentor and I, we were not friends,” Wanahomen said, awkwardly. But he felt her listening. “Perhaps he saw my father in me. I certainly saw the Hetawa in him—and in you, at first. But he was strong and fierce in his convictions; even I must admit that I admired him for that. I cannot imagine such a man endorsing you if he did not believe you worthy to serve Hananja.”
“What good does that do if no one else believes it?” There was no strength in Hanani’s voice, only resignation, and finally Wanahomen realized that what she had been suppressing was not regret, but a despair so heavy that it was like stones on her soul. She was still a woman in mourning, however unorthodox a method she had chosen to take her mind off the pain. It took so little to aggravate her wounds.
“Then they don’t deserve to have you among them,” he snapped, angry on her behalf. “But think now: the Gatherers tapped you to carry out a mission of great importance, isn’t that true? Your mentor deemed you worthy of your red drapes; that much was obvious to me. Unte and the Banbarra respect you; even my mother does—and that’s no easy thing to earn, believe me.”
Hanani said nothing, but he felt some of the tension ease in her back. Pleased, Wanahomen shifted position and laid a hand on her belly. “And—the Banbarra don’t understand this, but I won’t lie with just any woman. You may become mother to Gujaareh’s next king, after all.”
Wanahomen could not see the nuances of her face in the dark, but he thought she looked away. “There won’t be a child,” she said. “It isn’t the right time.”
He blinked in surprise, but of course she was a healer; she would know. For a breath he was disappointed, before sense reasserted itself. “Nevertheless,” he said. He stroked her thigh through her skirts, then reached up to cup her cheek. “Lovely as you are, delicious as you were last night, I would never have consented to your request had I not seen your strength and wit, and desired them for my heirs.”
She gave him an odd smile, but there was genuine amusement in it. “I’m not certain what to say to that.”
“Say, ‘Thank you,’” he said, with mock hauteur. “And I would also appreciate praise for my skill, impeccable taste, and good judgment.”
He was gratified to see her utter a soft laugh, but even more pleased when she put her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for being kind, for me,” she whispered in his ear. And then she pulled back and kissed him.
Surprised, Wanahomen held her and returned the kiss, marveling yet again at the way she put her whole self into the moment. Perhaps that was because it was a betrayal of her oath for her to be with him: if he had been in her shoes, he would’ve wanted to savor every moment too. To make the betrayal worthwhile.
So he sighed and pushed her back gently, and pulled Charris’s parcel from his robes. “The thanks is mine,” he said, opening the folded cloth. She caught her breath as he took out the anklet; even in the faint Dreamer’s light she could see the gleam of its dangling pendants. He fastened it ’round her ankle, and had to admit that i
t looked finer than he’d expected against her pale skin.
“But why?” she asked, finally sounding moved by something he’d done. That satisfied his pride, at last.
“You gave me pleasure,” he said. He caressed her calf; it was the only part of her he dared touch, lest he be tempted further. One night was all he could expect from her, and that was done. He found himself wishing there could be more. “And you gave me the honor of being your first lover. Even aside from your oath to the Hetawa, that’s a powerful and special thing.”
She shook her head. “That was a mutual gift, Prince. Wanahomen. You gave me pleasure as well.”
“True. But among the Banbarra, nothing is free—” She put her fingers to his mouth, much to his surprise.
“You’re not Banbarra,” she said. She got to her feet and stood over him, looking wild and barbarian, though her calm determination was all Gujaareen. “The Sisters say pleasure honors Hananja because it brings peace. Tonight I mean to pray for a quick end to this war. If you wish—” She ducked her head, her shyness returning for just a moment, but then she looked up at him through her lashes in a way that made all his regrets vanish. “P-perhaps we can pray together.”
She whirled and headed down the path at a not-quite-peaceful pace, and was halfway to camp before Wanahomen’s mind registered that he had just been seduced.
Then, as quickly as he could without endangering his life, he scrambled down the steep slope after her.
38
Secrets
Tiaanet and her father had not been back at their greenlands estate for half a day when servants came to inform her that visitors were approaching the house. “An eight of soldiers, lady, and a man with a spear,” said the wide-eyed girl. “All Kisuati.”
Tiaanet’s father had been preparing to travel to the foothills, where the nobles’ armies were assembling for their bid to retake Gujaareh. There was no time to hide the saddlebags or stacked supplies in the house’s courtyard; she would have to think of a suitable excuse to explain them. “Invite them in when they arrive,” she told the girl. “Treat them as guests, but if they ask questions, simply tell them you know nothing.” The girl nodded and ran off; another servant hovered nearby, looking equally anxious. “Inform my father,” she told him, and he hastened away at once.
The Shadowed Sun: Dreamblood: Book 2 Page 35
