Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) (27 page)

It’s not true interest
, she told herself.
Just another attempt to use me. One more chabi move.

“No,” she said, and backed up a step, pushing his hands away. “Excuse me, Lord Oruen.”

“Alyea—”

“Excuse me.” She turned and walked away, not hurrying; and couldn’t decide if she felt relieved or annoyed that he made no move to stop her.

Once Alyea had left the room, Deiq dropped the pretense and sat back, shooting a hard stare at Eredion. “’Focused really tightly’?” he said scathingly. “Was that the
best
phrasing you could come up with?”

“On that short a notice, yes,” Eredion said, reaching for a piece of bread. “What do you think I am, a bard? And do ha’ra’hain follow the human recovery model that the crankier you get, the better you’re feeling?”

Deiq snorted, unamused, and worked a bit of orange peel out of his back teeth. He took a sip of water, swirling it to rinse the bitter taste from his mouth; but swallowing just spread the bitterness down his throat. He coughed and drank more until the taste was gone.

“You could have at least gotten her out of here before I had to eat two oranges whole,” he noted, then caught Eredion’s brief grin. “Ta-karne.”

“You’re the one came up with that,” Eredion returned. “I was just enjoying the sight too much to stop you. What was so important about getting her out of here, anyway?”

“I want to talk to you.” It had taken him three days to work up the courage to say that much; he felt resolve slipping away as he spoke.

Eredion finished the bread in his hand and grabbed another piece. “Go ahead,” he said around a mouthful.

Deiq found he couldn’t say it; not just yet. Instead he said, “I don’t want Filin near her again.” He’d seen that encounter, fresh in her mind: had reached, without apology, into Eredion’s to confirm he’d been the one to warn Filin off. It raised his trust in the Sessin lord another notch, and left him desperately aware of how little Alyea still understood.

“I know. He’s been kept busy elsewhere,” Eredion said without surprise. “That’s trivial. What’s the real problem?”

Deiq sat quiet, at a loss for how to begin now that the opening he’d wanted was here. Birdsong warbled outside, and he could feel the air heating with the risen sun. The streets would soon be damp and steaming. Walking outside would leave everyone drenched in sweat—except for him, which would make him stand out to any close examination.

It would be the sort of day when he hated to go outside; not because of the weather, but because everyone else would be miserable, cranky, and unpleasant, which always set off his own temper.

But he had to go outside, because of Idisio, and because of his own stupidity. Which brought him back around to the question at hand: whether Eredion now saw him as an idiot or a monster.

He was afraid to find out; he had to know. At last he said, “Meer,” and left it at that.

Eredion chewed his way through two more large bites of the bread before answering. “Done is done,” he said then. “Look forward.”

“That’s cant.”

Eredion shrugged, swallowed his mouthful, and looked directly at Deiq. “What do you want me to say, Deiq? That you’re a monster, that you ought to die for your crimes? You’re not human. I can’t judge you by human standards. I’m not a teyanain, ha’rethe, or ha’ra’ha. I don’t have the right under any law or agreement to hold you to account for anything you do. And I’m hardly pure myself. I’ve been responsible for my share of unfair deaths, these past few years.”

“Which is my fault,” Deiq said, barely audible.

Eredion stared. “How the hells do you figure that?”

“If I hadn’t . . . fought with Lord Sessin, you’d still be sitting safe in Sessin Fortress.”

“Safe and bored,” Eredion said, licking his fingers and reaching for a napkin. “You’re not a god, Deiq. You don’t control
everything
that happens around you. I was banging heads with the old bastard before you ever grabbed me in the garden that day. I would have gotten on his last nerve sooner or later. And I’ve done some good here, at least, while my cousins and uncles cowered in safety. No. I’m just as content things worked out this way; at least I can be proud of
trying
. As can you.”

He stood, dropping the napkin on the table.

“I do expect you’ll need more sleep now,” he said, looking down at Deiq. “And I know what else you need.” His jaw set, his eyes narrowing just a fraction; enough to show his true feelings in the matter.

Which meant the true answer was
monster
.

Deiq shut his eyes. He felt lightheaded with self-loathing. “No,” he said, a bare breath of protest, then, louder: “No. Thank you. But it’s not that bad.”

“It’s my duty, ha’inn—”

“
Fuck
duty.” Deiq pushed himself up from the table, steadied himself with his hands on the top. “Get out. I’m going back to sleep.”

Eredion rolled his eyes and bowed in exaggerated deference. “As you say, ha’inn.”

“Out!”

As Eredion left, the aches Deiq had been holding at bay came spiraling hungrily back; he moaned and staggered to the bedroom to collapse again.

Deiq had expected the day to be hot and muggy; but in the aftermath of the storm, a cold wind had moved in, dropping the temperature to an unseasonable chill. Alyea shivered and drew her cloak closer round her; the motion reminded Deiq that he
still
hadn’t taken the time to teach her how to regulate her body temperature. Hells of a teacher he was turning out to be.

The sun, oddly pale and small, stood well past noon already, and they hadn’t gone far from the western edge of the Seventeen Gates. Alyea’s impatience worried against the back of his neck: the phrase
hobbling like an old man
drifted across her thoughts, and Eredion covered a laugh with a cough.

“I’m fine,” Deiq said sharply, glaring at Alyea from the low stone wall on which he’d sat down to rest a few moments ago. “Your worrying is
really
aggravating me!”

“Your limping around like an ancient isn’t doing much for my temper,” she retorted.

Eredion laughed. “The way you squabble, you may as well get married.”

They both glared at him, which only made his grin wider.

“He’s not in the city any longer,” Deiq said. “I’d feel—” A light wind swirled by, laden with the scent of rot and death; he lifted his head like an asp-jacau to a scent, inhaled sharply and blinked hard. “How close are we to Datha Road?”

“Two streets over,” Eredion said after glancing around. He sniffed the air himself, his eyes narrowing, then looked at Deiq. “That’s not Idisio.”

Alyea sniffed, then shook her head a little, looking bewildered and sullen, as though suspecting them of playing some obscure joke.

“No.” Deiq hauled himself to his feet. “It’s worse.” He paused, looking at Alyea. “You should go back to the palace,” he said. “This is going to be unpleasant.”

“No,” Alyea said at the same time as Eredion.

Eredion looked at Deiq steadily, and said without words,
You’re more dangerous than she is, ha’inn. If that’s what it smells like, it’s not safe for you to investigate this.

I’ll be fine
, Deiq retorted.
I don’t want her seeing this!

Why are you babying her?
The words were laden with deep frustration.
You’re not doing her any favors, handling her training this way!

“Damn it, stop that!” Alyea snapped, sparing Deiq the necessity of a reply. “Say it out loud or shut up!” So she’d figured out that much on her own; good.

Eredion’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I was telling Deiq that if anything, he should go back to the palace and let us handle this.”

“Handle
what
?”

Deiq shook his head to both the question and Eredion’s sardonic glare, and lumbered into motion.

“Come on, then,” he said over his shoulder. As they stepped onto Greener Street, he paused and concentrated: the smell was stronger and more specific now, laden with vague images that the tath-shinn had left in her wake. “There’s something . . . a cottage. Is there one nearby?”

You already know the answer to that
, Eredion observed.

Shut up. Let me handle this.
Alyea needed to feel as though she were doing something more than trailing at his tail.

Alyea glanced around, frowning. The buildings around them, while short and stubby, didn’t qualify as cottages. After a moment, her face cleared. “The grave-keeper’s. Yes. This way.”

He followed Alyea’s lead, moving more quickly now, apprehension pushing aside the aches. As they walked down the deserted Datha Road towards the grave-keeper’s gate, clouds began to gather in the sky.

The grave-keeper’s gate was more a symbolic than an actual barrier. The stubby stone pillars that made up the outer ring of the graveyard were spaced more widely here, enough for two carts to drive through. A well-oiled black metal chain hung across the gate opening, low enough to step over.

Within the oval expanse of the graveyard grounds stood three massive burning biers, three smaller ones, a small crypt containing the remains of King Ayrq, and, at the south-western end of the oval, the grave-keeper’s cottage.

Deiq halted, regarding the small cottage ahead of them with a dark frown. “The grave-keeper. Does he have a family?”

You’re stalling
, Eredion observed.

Deiq didn’t answer.

“Actually,” Alyea said, oblivious, “I think it’s a woman. She’s been living here for as long as I can remember. Makes sure that the pyres stay lit until everything’s gone, and. . . .”

Deiq turned and gave her a searing glare, abruptly unwilling to tolerate nonensical chatter; she faltered into silence.

“I know what a grave-keeper does,” he said. Stepping over the chain, he strode towards the small cottage, Eredion on his heels and Alyea right behind. “I know what they do in Bright Bay,” he went on over his shoulder as he pushed through the low picket fence into the tidy front garden area. “I know what they do in the Horn.” He paused in front of the cheery green door. “I know what they do in Water’s End, and what funeral rites every desert Family uses.”

Now who’s “chattering”?
Eredion commented, just as Alyea’s aggrieved thought chimed in:
Now he’s the one chattering!

Ignoring them both, Deiq stared at the door, reluctant to move forward. The stench was thick, and definite: a bloody death, several days old already. Eredion had already begun to breathe more shallowly; Alyea seemed too overcome by sheer anxiety to be the least bit attentive. She reached around him and banged on the door with a flat palm. He gave her a severe glare.

“There’s no need for that.”

“What, you think we’re too important to knock?”

It was a stupid comment, born of nerves, and he gave her the look it deserved.

“No,” he said, and reached for the handle. “There’s no need because she’s dead.”

Inside seemed as cozy and friendly as outside, but the air was thick with the buzz of flies and the viscous smell of death. Deiq leaned against the doorframe, gripping the handle hard, unable to continue: knowing what he would see, not wanting to face the reality of it. Not wanting his hopes of rescuing the tath-shinn from her madness to be utterly destroyed.

He could feel her presence, even days old, like an oily slick coating the inside of his nose; could feel the hunger she’d been forced into, over and over, until she barely knew who she was any longer. Felt his own nature respond to that desperation, and two desert lords within arm’s-reach—
No. Damn it, no
.

His eyes shut, his breath grew ragged, and his knees began to buckle; Eredion moved to steady him, and Alyea, naturally, took that moment to slip by and head inside.

“Alyea,
no
,” Eredion said sharply, too late; she pushed aside the flower-print curtain that separated the small bedroom area from the main room. A moment later she recoiled, hand to mouth, as the sight and smell of a truly ugly death hit her.

Get her out of there!
Deiq ordered, with a hard push of command.

Eredion leapt forward, abandoning Deiq, and roughly pulled Alyea out of the cottage just before she vomited. Then, recovering from the compulsion, Eredion went grey with strain.

“
Godsdamnit
,” he muttered, glaring at Deiq.
Don’t damn well do that to me!

Deiq shook his head, unapologetic, and forced himself upright against the doorframe. The images in Alyea’s mind confirmed his fears: blood everywhere, feces smeared halfway up the walls, and scattered bone fragments that displayed distinctive gnaw-marks.

She’s lost. I can’t reach her, if she’s gone that far into the madness. I can only kill her.
He couldn’t tell if he’d sent that thought to Eredion or held it to himself.

Eredion said nothing; didn’t even flicker a glance Deiq’s way, which meant centuries of restraint had—probably—managed to keep the thought private after all. Then again, Eredion was good at keeping his own reactions hidden.

Unable to conceal his own revulsion, Deiq made himself stagger to the nearest stone bench, muttering imprecations in a long-dead language.

“What kind of creature—” On her knees, Alyea wiped her mouth with Eredion’s handkerchief, then wadded it up and held it against her mouth for a few moments. “
Does
something like that?”

Deiq’s nerves, keyed high enough to pick up the wingbeats of a passing bird, easily picked up on the pre-echo of Eredion’s words:
The kind sitting right next to you.

Deiq turned a fierce glare on Eredion and laid a binding across his tongue before the words had a chance to emerge. Eredion’s mouth snapped shut and tightened just as Alyea looked up.

Eredion looked away and said, “Go back to the palace. I’ll clean up here. It won’t be the first time I’ve—”

Again, pre-echo alerted Deiq to the coming words:
cleaned up a ha’ra’ha’s mess
. Just as promptly as before, he slammed the man’s vocal cords still.

Eredion almost choked this time, caught between breath and swallow; Deiq released him in time to turn the gag into a hard cough.

“Damn it.” Eredion blinked hard, his eyes damp, and refused to look at either of them. “Get out of here. Both of you. Go!”

Deiq lurched to his feet, drew a deep breath, and steadied. He looked down at Eredion and said,
Do you want me to stay and help?
It was the closest to an apology he would allow himself at the moment.

No. I handled worse, in the tunnels under the city.
Eredion’s tone was curt and unforgiving.
But you need to get away from here, so go already, and give her the godsdamned answers she needs!

Eredion was right this time: Deiq tugged Alyea to her feet. Still grey around the edges, she offered no resistance as he steered her away from the cottage.

Alyea did deserve an answer to her question; deserved to know what had caused the splattered horror inside the grave-keeper’s cottage. But not yet. Not while she was still shaking from the sight.

Not while
he
was still shaking.

He made it as far as the palace steps before his energy began to flag again; caught himself against a wall as his knees went weak, warding off Alyea’s instinctive move of support with his other hand.

“No,” he said roughly. “Don’t. Not right now.”