She stared at him, open-mouthed, caught between indignation and horror. It did sound like Ethu’s typical reasoning: You take responsibility not just for what you did, but what you caused others to do, he’d said more than once. If you steal from a man, you owe not just the man you stole from, but the people who rely on him for their living.
“Yes,” Deiq said, nodding. “That’s exactly it. Pieas could not have become the street tough he was without Ethu’s training, so everyone Pieas wrongfully hurt was Ethu’s responsibility.”
“You can’t possibly know all that,” she said, her voice thin and brittle.
“But I do know all that,” he said simply, and held out the bird carving.
Alyea took it with trembling hands and stared at it for a long time, unable to speak.
“Do you swear you’re not making this up?” she demanded.
“I swear by the same oaths that bind you,” he said. “By Fire, by Air, and by Water; by Datda, Comos, and Ishrai. I am telling you the truth.”
“And I killed him,” Alyea whispered, stroking one outstretched wing lightly. Her chest felt as though it might implode at any moment, and breathing seemed nearly impossible.
“You did right,” Deiq said. “He died clean, and forgiven. It’s what he wanted. He could have fought you, and won, even though you’d passed all the trials and he hadn’t. You weren’t ready to fight him, and he knew that. He chose to let you kill him for the sake of restoring his honor and removing the damage he’d caused to his family name.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “It’s not right,” she whispered. “He should have chosen life.”
Deiq said nothing, but something murky stirred in his gaze for a moment, then faded. They sat in silence as the sky outside slowly darkened into true night; and as the lanterns burned down, Alyea made no move to turn up the wicks.
Alyea awoke to dawn brightening the curtains and an unusual internal warmth. Pushing to get free of the heavy blanket, her hand slid through air. That puzzled her; she pushed again, blearily, and felt only her own hand scraping across her stomach and hip.
Annoyed enough to wake up the rest of the way, she sat up and discovered that she’d failed at pushing the blanket off because there was no blanket covering her; in fact, she wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. They lay in a heap on the floor beside the couch.
Deiq sprawled, thoroughly asleep and equally naked, on another couch. Looking around, she realized that she lay on the couch he’d chosen upon his arrival, while he was on the one she’d dozed on afterward. She rubbed her eyes, trying not to stare at the sleek line of muscle rolling under dark almond-colored skin as he shifted in his sleep. It wasn’t easy; he had a thoroughly eye-catching body.
Gods, I’m glad I stopped allowing servants and maids into my quarters, she thought as she reached for her clothes. My reputation would be even more shredded than it already is if they walked in on this.
She shook her head, annoyed with herself; she’d slept shoulder to shoulder with Deiq more than once in the past, so why should this matter? He’d never made a move to harm or seduce her, just as he’d promised; why was she thinking about reputation now, when she’d always disdained it before?
Because now, it matters, she thought ruefully. For the first time, she wished they were still in the desert, where having a man by her side without a chaperone attending had seemed unremarkable. Although even there, nakedness might have raised some eyebrows.
The silk and fine linen of her clothes normally felt like infinite feathers against her skin, but seemed harsh and heavy today. She shrugged uncomfortably and tried to ignore the feeling as she went in search of a light blanket.
Finding one, she returned with intentions of draping it over Deiq to restore some modicum of decency; but as she drew within reach, he stirred and opened his eyes, focusing on her with a startling, wild-animal rapidity that caught the breath in her chest for a moment.
Belatedly, she remembered Eredion’s warning: Don’t touch him when he’s asleep. She backed up a step, almost dropping the blanket.
Deiq shut his eyes, face screwing up in a taut grimace, then relaxed and sighed. Sitting up, he held out his hand for the blanket and said, neutrally, “Good morning.” He draped the blanket across his lap without comment.
“Good morning,” Alyea said, a bit uncertainly. “Did you sleep well?”
He regarded her with a strange, sharp stare, then said, “You’re beginning to feel the changes that come with becoming a desert lord. That’s why you were so hot, and why your clothes still feel strange on your body. It’s a common reaction. Ha’ra’hain and ha’reye have higher body temperatures than humans. We hate cold weather, by and large.” He stood, winding the blanket around his slender hips. His gaze never left her face. “You’ll get used to it. And I’ll teach you how to control it. Excuse me.”
Alyea sat back down on the couch, one hand over her mouth, as Deiq went into the water closet. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his just being able to read me like that,” she muttered against her palm.
“Probably not,” Deiq said from the other room. “Most humans never do get used to that. Or to how good my hearing is.”
Alyea shut her eyes and bit her knuckle to keep from moaning.
Chapter Forty-nine
Resting on Alyea’s sun-flooded couch, Deiq admitted to himself that he was a little awed by the quiet serenity in the room: it nearly matched the feel of an aqeyva master’s quarters. The humming, orderly calm of frequent meditation filled the air, and Alyea’s striped aqeyva mat bore signs of recent use, which accounted for the internal changes she was finally displaying.
Most new lords blocked themselves without realizing it, subconciously terrified by what was happening to them. Meditation was the most self-directed part of the training to remove that block; Deiq hadn’t had time or safety to get into the other aspects just yet.
Given the multiple handicaps of her northern upbringing, her godsdamned fool of a mother, the rape, Oruen’s manipulations, her youthful ignorance, the disaster of her blood trials, and her refusal to face the reality of needing to hire kathain, he knew better than to try working with her on certain areas of her new life. She had to surrender her damned precious independence, just for a little while, and come to him with her questions, worries, and needs.
And this was a good time for it. If the humans would just leave them alone, even for a day or two, he could rebuild the damage recent events had done to her trust in him, and could coax her in the right direction. He’d never had so many distractions when training a new desert lord before; he’d always been given as much uninterrupted time as he needed, without question.
What about Idisio? said a nasty little voice in the back of his mind, and guilt prickled. Just because chasing him down is less pleasant than working with
Alyea. . . .
But the road of obligation had split, and a choice had to be made: he could put his limited energy into chasing after Idisio, or into filling his promise to train Alyea. Instinct said that he needed more time to heal before confronting the tath-shinn again, and that Alyea was the more important obligation at the moment.
More fun, the nagging, sour voice insisted; he shut it away from his consciousness and sat up at a knock on the door.
“More bloody interruptions,” he muttered to himself, staggering unsteadily to his feet and taking the handful of deliberate steps needed to reach the door.
On the other couch, Alyea stirred and rolled over, propping herself up. Seeing him headed for the door, she dragged a light blanket over herself and flopped down again, her back to the door. He could feel her embarrassment glowing through the room; irritated by the triviality of her reaction, he almost ignored northern propriety and opened the door as he was: naked.
But that would just upset her more, and serve no useful purpose; so he grabbed his pants from a chair as he passed by, stepped into them without much delay, and opened the door.
He was immediately glad of
his decision. The boy standing in the hall wasn’t above ten years old, dressed in common-messenger grey and with the plump, innocent face of one born to at least a merchant-level of wealth. Northern customs, and Oruen’s prejudices, being what they were, opening the door unclothed might well have seen Deiq firmly evicted from the palace.
“Message for Alyea Peysimun,” the boy said, looking up at Deiq and blinking a little, as though astonished by Deiq’s height.
“I’ll take it,” Deiq said. “She’s sleeping.”
“From Lady Peysimun,” the boy said readily; Deiq wondered at the foolishness of a noblewoman employing a common messenger, rather than a sworn house servant. But Lady Peysimun hadn’t impressed him with her intelligence. This probably served as her best attempt at being subtle.
“Go ahead.”
“Alyea is asked to attend on her mother at the soonest possible moment,” the boy said, face earnest with recollection. “At soonest. That was stressed. And not to bring . . . er, anyone.” He looked up at Deiq’s height again, and backed up a cautious pace. “It’s to be a private conversation.”
Deiq stared at the boy, who retreated another step, clearly disinclined to ask for a messenger-gift. “Understood,” he said. “I’ll relay the message. Thank you.”
The boy bobbed a quick bow and trotted away, casting anxious glances over his shoulder from time to time. Deiq watched him go, bleakly amused, then shut and locked the door.
Returning to the couches, he found Alyea sitting up with a frown, blanket wrapped around herself. “A message from my mother? To come see her?”
“Yes.” As she began to rise, he added, “But you can’t go just yet.”
“Why not?” She paused, feet on the floor, one hand holding the blanket closed around herself, and looked up at him with a mixture of annoyance and puzzlement.
“Because trotting off right now will give the impression that you’re under her orders,” he said, resisting the urge to sit down next to her. “You need to establish that you’re answering her summons in your own time.”
“What if it’s urgent?”
“She sent a common messenger, not a house servant,” he pointed out. “That’s an insult, and stupid on top of it. The boy’s going to gossip over the message before he even clears the palace steps; and seeing you rush out of here to obey will set every ear twitching.”
She began to answer, then stopped, obviously thinking that over. “An hour?”
“Make it two,” he said, and sat down beside her, noticing the slight flinch he’d expected. He’d have to work with what he had; two hours might be enough for a solid start.
“I should dress.” She leaned to stand up; he put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her on the couch.
“Alyea,” he said, “do you trust me?”
She sat still, looking at him sideways, and didn’t answer.
“Did you trust Ethu?”
Her head dipped in a wary nod.
“Think of me,” he said, pitching his voice with care, “as you thought of Ethu. I’m here to train you in ways to protect yourself from harm.”
“I know,” she said, her voice very quiet. “But I never felt as though Ethu might hurt me.”
Under his hand, her shoulder felt warm and bony; the pulse shuddered against his fingers. He made himself relax his grip to a light touch.
“What do you want me to do?” he said, proud of his even tone. “Alyea, if I wanted to hurt you—”
“I know you don’t want to,” she said. In her surface thoughts rose the horror of the grave-keeper’s apartment. He blocked his view of her mind sharply, even turning his head away from her; and realized he’d just proven her point.
He let out a frustrated breath and faced her again. “If I don’t train you, you’ll go mad,” he retorted. “You will hurt someone without meaning to. I’ve been holding my balance a long damn time, Alyea; I’m not about to lose it over something as simple as training you. But we won’t get anywhere if you don’t trust me; if you’re always arguing and questioning and refusing to listen. What would have Ethu done, presented with that attitude?”
“Thrashed me bloody,” Alyea said, her mouth curving in a reluctant smile. “And then walked away, if it happened twice.”
She looked down at her hands, laced together in her lap; and in the slight movement of her shoulder under his fingers, he read that she finally understood.
“All right,” she said, barely audible. “What do you want me to do?”
He took his hand from her shoulder and said, “Stand up. Let go—” As she stood, he tugged the blanket from her hands; at her involuntary tension, he added, “Trust me, Alyea.”
She drew and let out a long breath; he circled her slowly, watching the tiny twitches as she fought to stop herself from reaching for blanket, bolting after clothes, or even just moving her hands to cover herself from his gaze.
He kept his thoughts and expression practical and unemotional, not sensual, and waited until she finally grew bored with being nervous; her hips shifted to a slight angle as she settled more easily in her stance, weight moving to her right leg. She returned his stare with more confidence.
He smiled then, and said, “Hands out. Palms up. Eyes closed.” He let her grow comfortable with not being able to see him for a while; when the tension left her shoulders and her fingers loosened, he went on: “Tell me when you can feel my hands, and where.”
“Ethu did this,” she said. “As part of the aqeyva—”
“It’s basic,” he told her. “Now be quiet, and focus.”
He drew himself quiet; gathering all his energy tight and close, as he did when trying not to be noticed. No point making it easy on her. He began moving his left hand towards her right.
“Right hand,” she said.
He blinked. Damn! he thought. Now, that’s interesting.
“Good,” he said aloud.
He took a step back and visualized touching her left hand; a heartbeat later, she said, “Left.”
Deiq stood still and just stared at her, astonished. She was drawing the information from his intentions, not the flow of air and energy around them; she should be fully open, fully changed.
Alyea? he said, and met the same muffled incomprehension as before.
Unwilling to push her into that arena just yet—he might need the estiqi after all—he withdrew and said, “Open your eyes and relax.”
She regarded him with a faint frown. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said. “You don’t need that part of the training. I’m moving on to the next.” He moved closer and held out one of his hands. “Grip my wrist. Tight as you can. I want to see how your strength has developed.” She delivered a respectably strong grip; he looked at her eyes and said, “Is that all you have? You won’t hurt me.”
She increased the pressure; just as he did begin to feel an ache, she let go, shaking her hand. “Losing feeling,” she muttered. “Was that enough?”
“Yes.” Strength and sensitivity; she’d already moved well into the change. Why hadn’t the physical needs kicked in yet, and why wasn’t she setting off his instinctive reactions to the change? Something was very odd here. He blinked lazily to hide a rising worry, and said, “Call for a servant. Any.”
Without hesitation, she crossed to the servant-summoner and pulled. He’d forgotten about the ugly scars on her back. Now that she’d told him the story behind them, he could admit their existence, even use them as part of a lesson. When she returned to his side, moving easily and not at all concerned by being naked now, he motioned her to turn around and flattened a hand against her shoulder blade; slid it down to her lower back, not intending to provoke an erotic reaction but curious to see if that would be a result.
She stood still; the angle of her head and the way her hands closed into fists spoke of old anguish, not passion. He left his hand on her lower back and said, “These are the only scars you’ll ever carry.”
“The way your head wound healed,” s
he said.
“Yes. No more scars. Unless you run into. . . .” He paused, damning himself for even beginning that sentence, knowing he had to finish it now. “There are still wounds that will be hard for you to heal,” he said at last. “Cuts that will leave scars. But that’s . . . not likely to happen.”
He hated himself for offering such a weak explanation, but couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth. Alyea stirred; her head dipped, down and to the left, not quite looking over her shoulder at him.
“If a ha’ra’ha or ha’reye hits me? Is that what you’re saying?”
Deiq shut his eyes, his throat dry; felt her begin to turn, and pulled his hand away.
“Yes,” he said, resisting the impulse to clarify: If a ha’ra’ha hits you, it could scar; if a ha’rethe hits you, you’ll be dead. Her stare bored through him like concentrated sunlight. “But that’s not likely to ever happen.”
A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Relieved, he went to the door and waved in the servant who’d responded; a young woman, not much older than Alyea, with carroty hair and wide green eyes. Seeing her, Deiq was reminded of Idisio’s story about the northern sailor and his missing son, and of his own remark: Ha’ra’hain draw coincidences to themselves.
He studied the girl closely, although he had no way of knowing whether she looked anything like the boy in Idisio’s vision. She flushed, mistaking his interest, and backed up a step towards the door.
“It’s all right, I’m not going to touch you,” he said, putting calm in his voice; she relaxed instantly. “What’s your name?”
“Lini.” She glanced at Alyea, then around the room, clearly searching for clues as to the task for which they’d summoned her. She showed no reaction to Alyea’s nakedness, obviously assuming Alyea to be another servant, but her gaze lingered briefly across Deiq’s bare chest, and a faint flush crossed her pale skin.
“Lini. Thank you for coming here. This is Lord Alyea. I need to teach her something, and I need you to help me.” He kept his voice easy, almost trancing; Alyea gave him a sharp look but made no protest. “I swear I won’t hurt you, Lini. I won’t even ask you to do anything wrong. Will you help me?”
Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) Page 33
