9780981988238 (46 page)
“No,” she admitted. “I thought I'd manage a decent showing, enough to gain points for trying.”
He stared at her. “You don't have any idea, do you?
Nobody
has put Lord Evkit under the table in more years than you've been alive.”
“Well, now the record's broken.” She couldn't understand what had him so upset.
“Is it?” he said. “How much help did you have?”
She blinked at him, startled. “What?”
“The ha'rethe of this place,” he said. “How much did it help you?”
“It
didn't
,” she said, offended. “Do you think I'd cheat?”
“I think
it
would, if it saw a good advantage. What I don't understand is why.” He went back to pacing.
“As far as I know,” she said, frowning at him, “I didn't have any help. I certainly didn't ask for it!”
“Lord Evkit is teyanin. He could have tossed down twice that much desert lightning without folding,” he said, turning to face her again. “You've never had it before. You're not a big drinker, from what I've seen. How is it possible that you won that contest?”
“Desert lightning? Same thing as what Bright Bay calls 'white lightning'?”
He made an impatient gesture.
“I'm a desert lord,” she said, taking that as agreement. “You said yourself I'm changing.”
“So is Evkit. He should have been good for another several rounds.”
She shrugged, exasperated. “I don't know, Deiq. Quit hammering at me already, would you? Go ask the man yourself. Maybe
he
faked the fold. Gods only know why he would,” she added, cutting off his next words. “Go bother him about it, if it worries you so much. I'll stay right here and drink my coffee and finish waking up in
peace
.”
They glared at each other.
“You're going to make this a very long year,” Alyea said levelly over the rim of her cup, “if you don't loosen up a bit.”
Deiq's scowl deepened for a moment, then slowly eased just a little. “Consider it penance for all your sins.”
Alyea sighed, seeing only one possible answer to that.
“I will,” she said, and went back to ignoring him.
“You sent for me—” Idisio discovered he couldn't say 'Cafad' as though they'd become equals. Not just yet. He stuttered a moment, then finished, “—my lord?”
“Call me Cafad,” Scratha said, waving Idisio into the library. “I'm not your lord any longer. You're earned the right.”
Idisio let out a long breath, not sure whether to feel relieved, proud, or nervous. He settled on vague apprehension. From street thief to noble: he'd long dreamed of such a transition but still couldn't consistently grasp the reality of his new life. He often found himself strutting as confidently as as a chachad bird, then falling sharply into a fit of nervous tremors, terrified that this would all turn out to be a lie, or a joke, or a terrible misunderstanding.
“I thought you'd like to see this,” Cafad said, holding out a rolled piece of parchment. “Bird just came in.”
Idisio sat on the edge of a chair and unrolled the message, flattening it carefully on the wide table. He absently pulled a large book from a nearby stack to pin down the top edge of the parchment, and frowned, lips moving, as he struggled to decipher the crabbed writing. The writer seemed to have intended to cram twenty letters to the inch, and very nearly succeeded.
He read aloud: “To Lord Scratha of Scratha Fortress, greetings and—”
“You can skip the first four lines,” Cafad interrupted. “It's all formal nonsense. Scribes always add in a lot of silly wording if any rank is involved.”
“Oh.” Idisio counted down carefully and squinted at the fifth line. “. . . in regards to the inquiries you sent me on, to investigate and determine. . . .” Idisio paused as Cafad gave a dry snort.
“The scribe again,” Cafad said. “I imagine he actually said something like:
Thanks for the tip, I found what I was looking for.
”
“Who?” Idisio said, bewildered, and glanced at the end of the letter. His heart skipped a beat as he made out the scrawled, sloppy signature at the same time Cafad answered.
“Red, of course. He's found his son.”
“That's great!” Idisio said, grinning broadly.
“Yes. Why don't you read the rest of the letter? It ought to give you some good practice.” He returned his attention to the book he'd been reading.
Idisio hesitated. “My lord?”
“Mm?” Cafad didn't look up.
“Why are you in the library reading? I mean . . . there's Conclave tonight, and a lot of desert lords waiting around, and . . . I just thought you'd be. . . .” He shrugged.
“Socializing?” Cafad put a long finger on the page, marking his place, and looked up. “Lady Azni is handling the hosting duties for me at the moment. I have research I need to do before Conclave starts.”
Idisio eyed the stack of books at Cafad's left hand. “That's a lot of reading.”
“Good thing I'm a fast reader, then,” the desert lord said, and resumed reading.
Idisio watched the man scanning lines for a moment, then let out a very quiet sigh and returned his own attention to the letter.
After a while he said, “Um . . . my lord?”
“Yes?”
“Do I understand this right? Red's son was taken in by. . . .” He squinted at the writing, which now looked as if the scribe, in a sudden spasm of excitement, had tried to cram thirty letters into an inch.
“The Aerthraim,” Cafad said without looking up. “Yes.”
“Lady Azaniari's Family?”
“Yes.”
Idisio read on, frowning now. “They've
adopted
him?”
“Yes.”
He worked his way through a few more sentences, sorting out the sailor's “voice” underneath the scribe's posturing.
“And Red's all right with that,” he said under his breath.
“It's a far better life than he could ever give the boy,” Scratha said.
“But. . . .” Idisio reread two lines to make sure he understood them. “He doesn't even know his father went hunting for him! Shouldn't he at least know that, and have the choice?”
“No.”
“But—”
Cafad looked up, not bothering to mark his place this time. He met Idisio's gaze directly and said, “Idisio, understand this: Red is a randy northern sailor with a lady in every port, and if those women are as dense as his Yhaine, more children as well. He has no home, no family, no life outside the ship's ways. He's old enough to be set in his habits and smart enough to know that. Having the Aerthraim find his son first and adopt the boy as one of their own was a pure blessing from all the gods you care to name. Red probably went out after sending that letter and got himself smashingly drunk out of relief.”
Idisio said nothing. He stared down at the letter, not really seeing it. “He should at least know his father
tried
,” he muttered.
Cafad sighed. “What difference would it really make? Would it erase the years he spent in dark places? Would it make them hurt less—or more? Think about it. His father probably passed through the port where his son was born many times over the last years, and never . . . once . . . thought . . . about . . . Yhaine. Never once tried to see her. Forgot all about her, in fact, until his chance encounter with an old friend. You tell me what would hurt the boy more; not knowing that his father tried—or knowing that his father never tried?”
Idisio wiped at his damp eyes. “All right. I see what you're saying. All right.”
“Red's not a bad man,” Cafad went on. “He was genuinely upset about his son when I spoke to him. But he's no father.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“Idisio,” Cafad said, “when you get to Arason—”
“I know. My father.” He swallowed and looked away. “I've thought about it already.”
“I'm not surprised.”
“You were talking about me just now, too, weren't you?” Idisio said, still staring at a bookshelf to his left.
“Arason was a very troubled place back then, and still is, I think.”
Idisio scrunched his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to see Cafad's expression, even out of the corner of his eye. “Can you imagine Deiq ever letting Lady Alyea run away with their child?”
Cafad's chair creaked as he leaned back.
“Idisio,” he said, “learn from Deiq. Don't idolize him. And don't judge your . . . father until you hear his story. The world isn't a simple place, and people are complicated. If anything, ha'reye are even more so.” He paused, then added, “And for all the gods' sakes,
don't
repeat that thought about Deiq and Alyea to
anyone
, do you hear me? You
have
to learn to guard your thoughts. You're among people now who will hear those as clearly as spoken words if you're careless.”
“Yes, my lord,” Idisio said reflexively.
“Stop that. I'm not your lord any more. Feelings like love are a vulnerability that first-generation ha'ra'hain do
not
have,” Cafad said. “Ever. For anyone. Understood?”
Idisio looked into the desert lord's fierce, worried stare and nodded without speaking.
“Good,” Cafad said, seeming to relax. He looked down at his book and turned the page. “Now leave me, please. I have a lot of reading to do.”
Idisio rose, then hesitated.
“Lord Scratha, thank you,” he said in a rush. “I owe you—” “Nothing,” the desert lord cut in, not looking up. “Absolutely nothing. You're a ha'ra'ha. Gratitude to a human is beneath you.”
Idisio stood still, shocked.
“Gods, I hope not,” he said without thinking.
Cafad sat back, looking at Idisio steadily, and pursed his lips. At last he said, “Welcome to your new world, Idisio. Now please go, and let me get used to mine.”
The desert lord flicked a hand in clear dismissal, and Idisio left the room. As he walked through the empty hallways, he listened to the sound of his own footsteps; and in the echoes, he thought he heard a sound, soft but distinct:
shass-shass-shass
.
The warning shout of servants clearing a path for their noble masters. “Clear the road,” Idisio muttered, and sighed. “But what do you do once it's clear?”
After thinking about it for some time, he decided to go ask Riss.
Glossary and
Pronunciation Guide
A number of the words in the southern language include the glottal-stop, which is rendered here as ^. A glottal stop involves closing, to some degree, the back of the throat, resulting in a near-coughing sound when released. Sometimes this sounds as though a hard “H” has been inserted.
Aqeyva
(ack
ee
-vah, alt. ahh
keh
-vah): A combination of martial-arts training and meditation disciplines. The combat training is often referred to as a 'dance' as it involves smooth, flowing motions that have no apparent resemblance to any fighting mode.
Asp-jacau
(
asp
-jack
how
): A slender canine with long, thin snout and legs. Its short-haired coat tends toward fawn or brindle coloring. Its excellent sense of smell is primarily used to detect dangerous snakes and (in some cases) drugs. In Bright Bay, only royalty or King's Guard patrols may own an asp-jacau, but below the Horn the asp-jacau is a common companion animal.
(
call
en): One sworn to the service of a southern god.
Comisti
(cohm
mist
-ee): Criminal working out his/her punishment through service to the god Comos.
Comos
(
Cohm
-ohs): One of three gods honored in the southlands. Represents the netrality/balance/questioning energies; also linked to the season of winter, the colors white and brown, and curiosity. Callen of Comos, if male, must be castrated; women must be past menopause to be allowed out in the world at large.
Datda (Dat
-dah): One of three gods honored in the southlands, Datda represents the negative/death/change energies; also linked to the season of high summer, the colors red and black, and the emotion of anger. Commonly called “the Sun Lord”; saying the name aloud is held to be bad luck. Only Datda’s Callen may safely pronounce the holy name, but they tend to be reluctant to advertise their affiliation; everyone knows that most Callen of Datda have trained extensively as assassins and spies.
(
dath
-heh
dane
): Followers of the god Datda.
(
diss
-tah): Southern term for
mistress
; implying a dishonorable arrangement or a woman without honor.
(
ess
-thitt): A drug.
(fheh
rahhd
): Illegitimate child, implications of dishonor on the part of the mother.
(hah
^rah
-^hah); plural
ha'ra'hain
(hah-^rah-^
hayn
): Person of mixed blood (human and ha'rethe).
Ha'ra'hain
(hah-^rah-^
hayn
): Plural of
ha'ra'ha
.
Ha'rai'nain
(hah-^ray-^
nayn
): Plural of
ha'rai'nin
.
(hah
^ray-^
nin); plural
ha'rai'nain
(hah-^ray-^
nayn
): One who has dedicated his or her life to serving the ha'reye.
(hah
^reth
ay
)
; plural
ha'reye
(hah
-^ray
): Lit. translation:
golden eyes
. An ancient race, predating humanity.
Ha'reye
(hah
-^ray
): Plural of
ha'rethe
.
Hayrar
(
hay
rahr): Southern term for
judge
.
Hee-ay, hee-ay
(
hee
ayyy): Lit. translation:
Hey! Water! Hey! Water!
Common water-seller's cry.
Iiii, iii-sass, iii-sass
(
eeee, eeee
-sahhhh,
eeee
-sahhhh): Rough translation:
My woman would castrate me!
A typical exaggerated protest by a merchant about lowering the price of his wares.
(
isshh
): Prefix indicating feminine/female aspects.
(issh
chick
