Tarsha’s eyes went wide and she stiffened beneath me, her sudden fear a palpable thing.
“Are you afraid?” I asked, taunting her.
“No!” she lied, and pitched into a bucking, struggling fit to get away.
My hand in her hair still, I smacked her head against the floor. The carpet served as a cushion, but the blow was sufficient to jar her. “Enough!”
“Or what?” she spat back, trails of loose hair half obscuring her face. Her breath heaved and the billowing air was electric. Threatening. I flipped her onto her back, only to have her spit and claw at me. I shoved my knee into her soft belly and pressed the point of my knife against her throat, which subdued her in a hurry. As she laid there gasping for air and trying to hold herself still, I searched her face for the woman I had believed loved me. She had all the familiar planes and curves, the same beautiful wildness in her, but those fantastic eyes held not a trace of concern for anyone but herself. She was afraid, and that was an emotion I could use. I found myself feeling strangely sorry for her husband, even though I suspected he’d had little say in the marital arrangement.
“Will you kill me?” Tarsha challenged, lifting her chin.
I snorted derisively. “Because that is what you would do—what you tried to do? No. Not just yet, anyway.” I enjoyed the doubt flickering in her countenance, but I let my eyes wander a little further south to where her creamy skin lay exposed to my view, the pretty crimson robe all askew. “Undress.”
“What? No!” With her free hand she tried to pull her robe up to cover herself. “You can’t mean it.”
I gave her a faint, patronizing smile. “There is nothing about your person I do not know intimately, my little wildfire, and nothing that could interest me less.”
Fury shone in her marvelous eyes, but it was tempered. Nervously, she darted a look to the assortment of belongings circling about us in the wind. None of it touched the two of us.
“Can you hear them?” I asked in a whisper just loud enough for her ears.
Her gaze jerked back.
“I shouldn’t make them any more angry if I were you.” Keeping my hold on her raven locks, I used the tip of my knife to flip the lethal hair stick under the bed. Then I got to my feet, dragging her with me, which made her clutch at her abused hair and cry out. “Now lose the robe.”
Hands shaking, she pushed the fabric away. The wind whipped at it and blew it to one side, which was very helpful. “Thank you,” I told the Voices and let her believe I was talking to her, but other than a quick look at me, she kept her eyes down. It was a little late in our acquaintance for modesty.
“Easy, my friends,” I murmured, and the wind died down a bit. “Now take off the earrings,” I instructed, “and that gaudy thing Lord Jackal gave you.”
“My ring? But why?” she asked in a voice nearly plaintive.
“Take everything off. The ring, the bracelets, the necklace, the anklets, the toe rings, and—” I pulled her around until I could view her front side in the mirror, “that pretty stone in your navel.”
“You’re jealous,” she smiled almost slyly.
“Yes, I always wished I could wear such feminine, garish jewelry,” I mocked, and the smile disappeared. I didn’t care a whit about the jewelry, but I did care that it might have some sort of spell attached to it and I wasn’t going to take any chances. The last thing I needed was another demon attaching itself to me and screaming fit to wake the dead as well as the City Watch. When she’d finished, I pointed to the bed and gave her a little shove. It was gratifying to see her eyes widen and her face pale again. “Put the jewels under the mattress, down near the foot of the bed, and then do the same with the hair.”
Involuntarily, she lifted a hand to her ragged locks. She had a lot of hair, so the few missing bits weren’t immediately obvious. Tears glittered in her eyes, but at another wave of my knife, she did as I’d requested. That task accomplished, I steered her to the dressing screen and gestured to the drab colored clothes I’d earlier procured from the maid’s room. “Put those on.”
“They’re not mine. And they’re ugly.”
“I don’t really care,” I said pleasantly.
With a derisive look, she took them and moved behind the screen. Sturdy as it was, constructed of wood panels inlaid with mother of pearl, it still toppled easily when I kicked it.
Tarsha gasped and whirled upon me, clutching the clothes to her breast. “Am I to have no privacy?”
“You’re already naked,” I pointed out reasonably. “And call me silly, but I have no wish for you to discover another hair stick or something equally useful and attack me again.”
Features tight, she leveled such a glare of fury at me that it was a wonder I didn’t burst into flames. Apparently deciding I wasn’t going to change my mind, she donned the servant’s clothing. Sayanna was apparently somewhat more slender than Tarsha and a little shorter. It was not really noticeable in the body of the lural—a long sleeved, high-collared garment whose hem reached the knees—but the sleeves were too short and too snug.
“Been putting on a little weight, have you?” I observed aloud.
“I thought you weren’t interested?”
“Academically, only.” I watched her button the high-collared shirt. The bosom was also too tight. Such a shame. “If five short, pampered months could affect such a change, imagine what a dumpling you’ll be in a year.”
“I had no idea you were such a student of human form.”
Student? I was a master. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about me.” She wriggled into the loose, pleated trousers and I canted my head to ascertain if the tapering legs would also be too tight. She took the opportunity to hit me again. I merely lifted my knife, catching her along the outside edge of her hand.
“Crow!” she gasped and cried out, shocked. The casual hurt came as such a surprise to her that all she could do was stare as blood seeped from the cut and dripped onto the carpet.
For a truth, I wanted to stare, too. I had never hurt Tarsha before, and for all the hours I had fantasized about various ways to extract my vengeance—ways that included nearly everything from throttling her to tossing her over a cliff—it struck me that I’d never imagined having her blood on my hands. Tersely, I tossed her one of the plentiful scarves. “Wrap it up, braid your hair in a tail lie the maid’s, and put on a pair of slippers.”
It is curious how often completely separate paths and reasons weave together. At this moment I did not particularly care what Duzayan might do to Tarsha, or if he would. I needed only for her to be someplace where he wouldn’t find her, and for him to have no idea I was responsible. Independent of that, I wanted to test what I might do to her. Neither need had anything to do with the other, but they were both met in one place and time.
“You can’t get away with this. My husband is a powerful man.”
“Actually, it’s his father who is powerful, and I have a plan.” I smiled at her. She gave me a murderous glare. It was not one of her better looks. “You’re going to visit your brother.”
She looked at me all uncomprehending. “I don’t have a brother.”
“You do now. Want to see?” From beneath my tunic I withdrew a parchment and unfolded it. Well-used, it had been written on, then scraped—a practice of the lower middle classes who, while they can read and write, can’t always afford new parchment.
“It won’t work,” she protested, but doubt colored her words.
I held it up so she could see her name scrawled in a heavy hand across the front and proceeded to read. “Sister, I noe you told me not to kontact you like this, but I must—” I turned it so she could read along. “I underlined “must,” and spelled some of the words wrong so it would be more convincing, since you and your dear sibling didn’t have the blessing of a proper education,” I explained, then went on. “I must see you rite away. Am in trubble and fear for my life. Bring munny. 3,000 gold or ekwal. Sorry. I will make this rite. Come to our place witho
wt delay. Yr loving bruther.”
“That is—” Her mouth opened, but she seemed unable to finish the sentence.
“Brilliant?” I supplied. “Clever? Ingenious?”
“Augh!” she cried out, beating her fists against her thighs.
“I’ve helped you out and collected the gold you had in the blue vase. I’m surprised you didn’t have more, but no trouble. I also added the Kalebri necklace, a few of your unmounted jewels—I suppose you use those for your navel?—and the jeweled dagger you keep under the mattress. I’m guessing Jashel doesn’t realize it’s there?”
“Augh!” she cried out again and picked up a bottle of perfume to hurl at me. It sailed harmlessly by my head and rolled across the floor.
“You’ve yet to see my masterpiece,” I said, pretending to ignore it. I had another missive tucked away where the other had come from, and this one was written on Lord Jackal’s own fine vellum and perfumed with one of Tarsha’s scents. “I found some of the letters you’ve written to your husband. Very sweet and romantic. Did you know he keeps them in a box under a floorboard in his study? Also very sweet and romantic.”
“I hate you.”
“That’s been obvious for some time, my dove. For a little while the opinion was mutual, but then I decided you weren’t worth it. I’m too mild-tempered to hold onto such exhausting emotions and you really aren’t worth losing sleep over. Do you want to hear what you wrote to Darling Jashel?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself,” I shrugged, “but it has a very apologetic and imploring sort of explanation, and I did a fine job imitating your hand.” It hadn’t been too difficult. It had been I, after all, who taught this lowly dancer how to write. Who could have foreseen the advantage it would be? “Enough small talk. Shall we be off?”
“What are you going to do to me? Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.”
The little purse I’d chosen to hold the aforementioned jewels—along with a few other choice items I’d brought along especially—had a long strap which would, when worn, cross the torso to hold the bag at one’s hip. Of course Tarsha refused to put it on and I was required once again to threaten her with bodily harm. She did not make a very good captive, and I could not help but wonder if this shrewish nature she now displayed was normal, and the adoring looks and actions with which she’d fooled me before were nothing but a farce.
I took Tarsha into Marketh’s streets, leaving by way of the building’s back door in case we should happen to run into her dear, unsuspecting maid. The hold I kept on her arm would leave bruises, and I promised her that if she so much as opened her mouth or looked sideways, I would ruin her pretty little face, leave her with a collection of goods stolen from more people than the dupe she’d married, and make sure she found herself in a very real, very dark prison cell. If I had any influence at all—and I had the wherewithal to obtain it—I would find a way to guarantee that she was completely forgotten. She must have believed me, for she kept quiet. Little trembling breezes from the Ancestors caressed me now and then, and if they did the same to her, I would thank them for it later.
— 32 —
Nothing to Crow About
“Crow, you’re hurting me,” Tarsha ventured at last in a tremulous whisper. By then I was propelling her roughly up the stairs to my apartment, my temper growing all out of proportion. There was a certain irony to be found in her complaint. What was a harsh grip on the arm in comparison to being beaten, jailed, frozen, starved and poisoned?
“You’ll live.”
“Crow!”
She pulled at my grip and struck me with her fist. The noise we made coming in the door brought the others. Girl waited inside, brandishing a broom, and Tanris—pasty and red-eyed—had his sword in his hand as he came down the hall. Not-An-Egg, too, had come to investigate and stood in the parlor door, wings outspread.
“What is going on?” Tanris demanded.
I slammed the door closed and dragged Tarsha past our startled audience. “Get out of my way.” If she saw the dragon, she did not have time to react to it.
“Why did you bring her here? What are you doing?”
I did not answer, but continued with Tarsha down the hall and into Tanris’s room. Tanris yelled, Tarsha fought and shrieked curses at me. “Look at her. Look at her!” I ordered my erstwhile love, and this time I got one hand around her neck and caught that convenient braid with the other, forcing the dark-haired beauty to see what was left of Aehana. Tarsha struggled some more, but could not escape my wrath. The Ancestors careened around the room, wailing and chanting, and it wasn’t until much later that I learned they were countering the curses she spat at me.
“What do you want from me?” she screamed.
“I want you to look at what you’ve done! Have you forgotten her? Have you?” I shook her.
“I don’t know her!” Tears streamed down her anger-ravaged face.
“Her name is Aehana. She is Tanris’s wife. She is dying,” I snarled into her ear, my own anger bitter in my mouth. “Your precious wizard gave her the same poison he gave me. This is what you would have done to me, and for what? A pretty house? I have a pretty house. See?” I jerked her head up so that she could get a look at the room.
“What?! I don’t know any wizards! Crow, stop! Please stop!” Tarsha’s hands clawed at my arm, but I didn’t even feel it.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I swear, I don’t know anything!”
“You want money? I’d have given you money, Tarsha, more than even you could spend in a lifetime. Power? That’s what money’s for.” I was so very angry. “But no, you took the one true and good thing you had and broke it all to pieces!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Crow,” Tanris protested again, uncertain whether to intervene or not.
“No, you don’t, do you?” Even to my own ears my voice was curiously strained, as though dragged over the edge of a very sharp knife. My grip on her throat tightened. “I would have given you everything. I looked at you, and I didn’t just see the pretty dancer that all the other men lusted after, I saw fire and passion for life. I saw hope. I saw a future I’d never hoped for before. And it was a lie!”
“Crow, that’s enough. Let her go.” At my side, Tanris gave my shoulder a little shake. He was right. I shoved Tarsha away from me and she fell on the floor, choking and gasping, holding her throat. Girl stood in the doorway, so I went to the window and looked out on the street, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. No one said a word. No one knew what to do. The Ancestors hovered, whisking this way and that, shivery and cold.
Finally, I turned back to them. “Get up,” I told Tarsha.
She looked pleadingly at Tanris, but he said nothing, only shifted his grip on his sword. Hand to her neck, she staggered to her feet and followed me out and down the hall to a room set aside for bathing. I dragged the single bench it held out into the hallway and the basket of linens as well, leaving nothing but the tall brass tub. Tarsha’s apprehension followed me like a dog.
“Don’t do this, Crow,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I can think of several less pleasant alternatives.” A tip of my head directed her inside. “Now stay here.” I shut the door behind her and turned the key in the lock, leaving her in the dark. There were no windows. Locks were easy to pick, so I fetched a pair of the wooden wedges I routinely used in my work for discouraging the opening of doors and hammered them into place. Girl and Tanris watched me silently—for which I would have to thank them later, too—and Not-An-Egg followed me about plaintively.
“Now,” I said when I was finished, “I’ll see the baron.”
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
The message was straightforward: we had returned to the city and would meet the baron in the Yasmin Gardens which, being located in one of the larger market districts of the city that never sleeps, received a goodly amount of tra
ffic both day and night. Tanris wanted to add a pointed reminder to bring the antidote, his words something along the line of “bring the cure for the poison or I’ll rip your beating heart out through your throat” which, although charming, I thought not altogether wise, as we didn’t want to provoke the wizard before we had our prize. I left that part out, confident he would remember the terms of our agreement. He had, after all, gone to considerable lengths to catch and coerce me.
After attending to the delivery of our message we went to the indicated market and did a little shopping. Tanris fretted and grumbled until I wanted to box his ears. It was too long until the meeting, he said, we ought to just march right up to Duzayan’s door. The market could be a trap. What were we doing buying an entire cart of melons, and what were the Yudizan peppers for? Why did I waste time and coin on a bundle of burlap sacks? Did I really need to stop at another beastly temple and give away even more coin?
I didn’t even bother to respond to his irreverence and disrespect. He was, after all, under a great deal of strain, which wouldn’t improve if I reminded him of the improbability that Duzayan would be inclined to let any of us live. If I were to have any say in the matter, and I am occasionally persuasive as well as decisive, Duzayan’s plans would be drastically changed. When I transferred our preserved dragon casing (filled with water now and sewn up quite neatly) to one of the sacks and tucked it into my belt, then put Tanris to work stuffing single melons into the remaining sacks, he caught on fairly quickly.
Right on schedule, dark had fallen when Duzayan made his way to the table I’d chosen. A huge, hulking brute in armor accompanied him, bristling with weapons.
“I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t stand.” I smiled ever-so-faintly and dabbed at my face with a much-used-looking cloth. I perspired freely, thanks to the peppers, which were pungent enough to put hair on a man’s chest, or so the rumor suggested. I would soon discover for myself. I had of course dressed for the occasion, and sported a stylish tunic of blue, gray trousers, and sturdy but lightweight boots. I’d oiled my hair to give it a lank, unwashed look, and the hands that gripped both sack and kerchief shook fitfully. I held the top of the sack close against my chest, teeth clenched and stifling groans not altogether counterfeit. All of this in order to preserve the appearance that I was suffering the affects of his monstrous poison and might keel over at any moment.
As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 40
