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Authors: Joanne Bertin

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BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
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She felt him sit down on the bed.
“I’ve mindcalled Fiaran,” he said softly. “You remember him, don’t you? He’s the Keep’s Simpler. I described your symptoms and he’s making up an infusion for the pain. He’ll be here soon, love. Try to rest until then.”
“I will.” She let her mind drift, refusing to acknowledge the pain, hoping it would go away. The encounter on the stairs came back to her.
I have the right to know
, Raven had said as if he were her soultwin, not Linden.
She considered that.
No, Raven, you don’t have the right. You’re a friend—my best friend—but Linden is the other half of me. I wish you would understand that.
 
Raven—go away.
She’d ordered him away.
Raven still couldn’t believe it. Ordered him away as if he meant nothing, as if all the years of their friendship had never been. As if she didn’t care that he loved her.
It was all that bastard Linden Rathan’s fault. It had to be. She’d only known the Dragonlord for a few months; how could that so completely take the place of a nearly lifelong friendship?
His great-uncle’s words tried to come back to him:
they were given to each other by the gods more than six hundred years ago
. He pushed them away. Pushed away all his great-uncle had ever told him about soultwins, what it meant, even while deep inside he knew its truth.
He strode down the hall in a white-hot rage. As he surged around a corner, he nearly ran into Otter deep in conversation with a slender, brown-haired young man. The stranger turned a mildly surprised face to him.
Raven took the man for one of the few truehuman servants in the Keep until his great-uncle said, “Kief Shaeldar, may I present my grandnephew, Raven Redhawkson?”
Raven nearly choked in surprise even as he bowed low.
This
was one of the Dragonlord judges who had settled the regency debate in Cassori? The man looked as meek as a merchant’s clerk. Then Raven noticed the six-fingered hands.
And there was something else that surprised Raven, though he could not ask his great-uncle in the presence of a Dragonlord.
“Ah,” said Kief Shaeldar. “You’re the one who brought Taren to us, aren’t you?” When Raven nodded, the Dragonlord continued dryly, “I’m not certain
whether to thank you or not for that; I, for one, have had rather enough excitement lately.”
Raven thought back to the night before. As soon as he’d been taken to his great-uncle, he’d insisted on hearing from Otter the entire story of Maurynna’s adventures in Cassori. It had taken until near dawn.
And knowing now what he did, he could well understand this Dragonlord’s understated preference for a bit of quiet. He almost forgot his anger in appreciation of Kief Shaeldar’s wry comment.
Raven grinned. “My apologies, Your Grace, but I couldn’t think what else to do with him.”
Kief Shaeldar laughed. “A fair hit. I suppose he is our problem, isn’t he, seeing that we’re intermediaries between truehuman and truedragon. Now I must be off. Good day, gentlemen.”
Otter bowed as the Dragonlord took his leave; Raven followed suit. When they were alone, Raven said, “I noticed you called him by both of his names. I thought you were friends with him.”
“On friendly terms, yes, but not close, though I’ve called him just “Kief” in extreme situations. We’re not friends as I am with Linden, Lleld, Jekkanadar, and a few of the others. Remember, the doubled name—human and dragon—is as much of a title as ‘Dragonlord’ or ‘Your Grace.’ I would never presume to address another Dragonlord by a human name alone unless he or she gave me permission. Rynna, of course, is an exception; we were friends before her Change.”
Raven screwed up his face in thought. “After breakfast today, both Lleld Kemberaene and Jekkanadar Surael gave me permission to use their human names.”
“I’m not surprised; they’re both like Linden, very easygoing with truehumans,” Otter said. There was a look of speculation in his eyes.
Raven met that look. “Linden Rathan didn’t.”
Otter’s eyebrows went up. “Why should he? You were certainly less than gracious to him, my fine lad. No, my boy, that right you’re going to have to earn. Are you going back to the rooms?”
Raven, who had planned to do just that, said, “No.”
“Good luck that I ran into you, then. I was going to wait there for you.”
“Why?”
“To tell you that all was well with Maurynna. Aside from a violent headache, she seems well enough.”
Raven gaped at him. “How did you know?” he demanded.
“Linden just mindcalled me, of course,” Otter said in surprise. “Didn’t you think he would? He knew we were concerned for her as well.”
Raven’s fury returned. So Linden Rathan had mindcalled his great-uncle to
reassure Otter, but had never thought of him? And didn’t he consider one Raven Redhawkson good enough to use his human name alone?
Damn Linden Rathan anyway.
“How thoughtful of him.” Raven pushed past his great-uncle. He called back, “I’m off to see how Taren is faring. I don’t know when I’ll be back to the rooms.”
 
Linden drew the square of fabric from the bowl of cool water and wrung it dry, then handed it to Fiaran. The Simpler took it, expertly folded it into thirds, then laid it across Maurynna’s forehead.
“There,” said Fiaran. “How does that feel?”
“Good,” Maurynna whispered. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Now try to sleep.” The portly Simpler rose from his seat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Linden to one side. “I’ve done all I can for now,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll leave the infusions with you. You know which are which?”
“Yes,” Linden said; then, just to be certain, “The flask with the blue glaze is for pain; no more than five drops in wine every three or four candlemarks. The green is if she begins vomiting again.”
“Just so. She’ll not want to eat much for a day or two, I’ll wager, and be warned that it would be best if you ate elsewhere. I’ve known the smell of food to turn someone’s stomach when they’ve a sick headache like this. But if she’ll drink it, hot broth would be good for her. Oh, and keep the room dim; that seems to help. And now I’m off. I’ll stop in again in a few candlemarks, if you like.”
As he walked the Simpler to the door, Linden said, “I would appreciate it, Fiaran. Have you any idea how long … ?”
“This will last? Not really. This is one of the worst attacks of this kind that I’ve ever seen. Give her a few days, though, and she should be right as rain.” The Simpler paused in the doorway, frowning thoughtfully. “Though why rain should be right or wrong, I’ve no idea. I shall return later, Linden.”
Linden shut the door behind Fiaran and smiled.
 
Tsiaa fluttered around her like a distracted hen, fussing over the poultice she had ready and didn’t dare apply. Resting comfortably among the pillows of her bed, Shei-Luin watched, amused, as her maid wavered back and forth, torn between the need to tend to the swollen hand and fear of the man who held it cradled in his own.
At last Tsiaa took a deep breath and quavered, “Phoenix Lord …”
Xiane looked up. Tsiaa showed him the poultice.
The Phoenix Lord of the Skies stared blankly at her for a moment, his mouth
hanging open like an idiot schoolboy’s, before saying, “Oh!” and jumping to his feet. He laid down Shei-Luin’s hand with a gentleness she hadn’t thought him capable of and moved aside. Tsiaa bent to her work.
Xiane turned to the door. Murohshei sprang to open it lest the emperor sully himself with such petty labor. And, Shei-Luin suspected, to get Xiane out of here that much sooner so that they all might relax.
The emperor paused in the open doorway, regarding her. His long face held a seriousness that Shei-Luin had never seen before.
Phoenix!
she thought in astonishment.
For once, Xiane
looks
like an emperor!
“I know what you did,” he said quietly. “And I will not forget it, Precious Flower.”
The door closed.
Nor will I, my lord
, Shei-Luin thought.
Nor will I.
 
When he returned to his mansion, Lord Jhanun gave orders to call back two particular servants from their quarters outside the city. Then he bathed and took his dinner in his study. It would take time, he knew, for the message to reach them, and they would wait until dark before coming. The fewer who saw them, the better; there were always officers of the army in the imperial capital. One might recognize these two men, and that would be fatal to his new plans. Whether Baisha succeeded or not, Jhanun meant to have the Phoenix Throne. Jehanglan must be saved from the impious ones who would destroy her.
After the evening meal was over, Jhanun’s house steward entered the study. “Is there anything else you require, my lord?”
“The gatekeeper has been warned?”
“Yes, lord. The instant Nalorih and Kwahsiu are here, he will let them in.”
“Is everything ready for my journey tomorrow? I wish to leave as early as possible; after this foolishness of worshiping a woman and the moon, I wish to make offerings at the Iron Temple. That damn feast day should be abolished. Only the Phoenix is worthy of worship.”
“My lord’s piety is well known, and much admired. All is in readiness, lord.”
“Good. Then bring me a pot of fresh tea and that will—Wait! I almost forgot. Have the Jasmine Hermitage made ready for my niece, Nama; I’ve sent for her. When she arrives, engage the finest tutors for her. She is to be made ready for the imperial harem.”
Only the merest elevation of the steward’s eyebrows betrayed his surprise. He bowed. “It shall be done as you command, lord. I will bring the tea.” He bowed once again and left.
When the tea arrived, and the evening incense had been lit beneath the image of the Phoenix, Jhanun opened the new package of
sh’jin
paper resting on his
desk and pulled out a sheet at random. Setting it before him, he inspected it closely, finishing by running his fingertips over it. He could not find a single flaw.
Guildmaster Joon had been right; this was some of the finest stuff ever produced by the papermakers’ guild for the gentle art. This would be a joy and a privilege to work with. And to give such fine material the honor it was due, he must meditate between each fold to insure the proper serenity of mind. He closed his eyes for a time to find the still center of his thoughts.
When he was ready, Jhanun made the first fold in the pattern known as the Dancing Phoenix.
 
The painful tale was told.
Blast Linden Rathan. There must be some way he could get back at the bastard, Raven thought as he tugged at the neck of his tunic.
The room was hot and stuffy. The windows were shut, their hangings pulled tight, and a roaring fire burned in the hearth. Hanging in the air were the acrid scents of illness and medicines and the bitterness of Raven’s heart.
Taren was seated as close to the fire as safety allowed, eyes shut, and a thick shawl wrapped around his shoulders.
Raven mopped his face with a sleeve and considered pulling his tunic off. The place was near as hot as an Assantikkan steam bath, he thought.
“So she sent you away,” Taren said into the silence.
“Like a dog being kicked,” Raven said. His anger rose again.
The wrinkled eyelids opened. Taren’s blue eyes held only sympathy. “I grieve for you that one has come between you and the girl you love. I remember how much you spoke of her. Your devotion moved me.”
Raven looked down, embarrassed. In truth, the stories he had told were mostly of the scrapes he and Maurynna had gotten into as children. He hadn’t really been baring his heart—had he? Or had Taren listened to the silences between the words, as the saying went?
The older man shook his head now. “How sad it comes to naught—and for what?”
For what indeed?
Raven thought, angry again.
“And nothing you can do, either. Or is there?” Taren said.
“Of course not. They’re soultwins,” Raven said.
“Ah.” Taren smiled oddly. “Of course not,” he echoed. He settled himself deeper into his chair and closed his eyes once more. “Forgive me; I am but poor company this day. I must rest again.” His head drooped.
Raven shut his teeth on the question that had leaped to his tongue. Instead he watched the fire and thought about
how
Taren had spoken when he’d repeated Raven’s objection; the same words and so different a meaning.
Was there a way around a soultwinning? Or a way of
ending
one?
 
 
It was late when two men robed and cowled like Walker priests slipped into Jhanun’s study. They waited, motionless as stone, for him to acknowledge them.
BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
10.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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