Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) (32 page)

Eredion followed and latched the door behind the king, then returned to direct a hard glare at Deiq. “That was
rude
,” he said sternly. “And unnecessary.”

“It’s
true
,” Deiq shot back. “Just because that reaction hasn’t actually been set off yet doesn’t make it less a reality he’s got to deal with at some point.”

Eredion shook his head, disapproving. “You haven’t won any friends today.”

“Don’t care.” He tried to stand; thumped back down, his head swimming. The strength he’d drawn from Eredion seemed to have drained away already: a bad sign. He had to bring Alyea around to being ready soon, or face breaking his oaths again—if Eredion would even stand for it twice in such a short time. “Help me up.”

“The hells you say! You can’t even stand? Damn it, take more!”

Eredion’s offer, and his step forward, came with a gratifying lack of hesitation; but faced with it, Deiq’s stomach turned at the notion.

“
No
. And I’m
not
leaving her alone any longer. Not after that display. Damned if I’ll let him twist her against me with his idiotic misunderstandings.”

“But you need—”

“
No!
Shut up or I’ll break your jaw to stop you talking.”

Now Eredion’s teeth creaked; after a moment, he shrugged and moved forward to help Deiq to his feet.

Warm afternoon sunlight turned the walls in Alyea’s suite of rooms golden. While her apartment didn’t have an external patio, it did offer wide, latticed windows to one side, with shutters that could be thrown open. Couches and chairs were positioned to best take advantage of afternoon light.

It was a lovely, sleepy time of day, her favorite time to stretch out in a warm puddle of sunlight and doze contentedly. In the wake of recent tensions and rainy gloom, the respite felt even more precious and healing.

But her dreams held little peace. She dreamed of Acana, and the shadowed tunnels of the Qisani; felt the slick water swirling around her, and a searing heat: she woke in a cold sweat, trembling with remembered terror. Acana’s words echoed in her mind:
I hoped you would fail . . . That would have been safer for all of us.

But she hadn’t. Hard practicality asked a hard question: What could she do about the Qisani right now?
Nothing
was the answer; Acana had made her choices fully aware of the consequences, and even if Alyea had some magical way to rescue the ishrait and her people, it was likely days too late at this point. Drowning herself in guilt wouldn’t change that.

Her stomach cramped briefly, as though reminding her of the agony from her trials.

Alyea lay back down and stared at the ceiling for a time, watching the sun patterns shifting through the room; eventually, guilt and pain eased, and she slid back into an uneasy doze.

Not long afterward, she startled awake to find Deiq, leaning heavily on Eredion, coming through the doorway.

“He insisted,” Eredion said as Alyea sprang to her feet, mouth open in reflexive protest.

“Staying nearby,” Deiq husked, then folded onto the couch on which she’d been sleeping. Without really thinking about it, she stuffed pillows under his head as he went down. A bare moment later his eyes slid closed and his limbs loosened into sleep.

Alyea and Eredion stood looking down at the exhausted ha’ra’ha in shared bemusement.

“I thought the door was locked,” Alyea said at last.

Eredion cast an amused glance at her and lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.

“What is he
doing
here?”

“Staying near you,” Eredion said, tone as bland as the shrug had been.

She shook her head in frustration and let it go as an unchangeable situation, deciding instead to press another question. “What are we doing about finding Idisio?”

“Not much we can do,” Eredion said. “I can’t leave. Deiq can’t walk half a mile yet, let alone chase down the Coast Road after him. And you can’t leave Deiq’s side, if I understand matters correctly.” He paused, glancing at the sleeping ha’ra’ha. “I have sent messengers—birds—to contacts along the road, warning them to watch out; but there’s not much they can safely do to stop two ha’ra’hain. All I can do is hope to keep people out of the way, and that Deiq recovers quickly enough to catch up before they reach the Hackerwood.”

“There has to be
something
.”

“No. There isn’t. At the moment, doing what the tath-shinn wants and leaving them alone is the safest option.”

She turned her back on him, her chest thick with sudden frustration.

“Alyea.”

She reluctantly looked back at the Sessin lord; he regarded her for a moment, then said, “I’ll remind you, although he’s less dangerous than he was before—still, don’t try to wake him by touching him. He might react badly, and you’re not fast enough to stop him. Stay clear and call his name, or toss something light at him if you can’t wake him any other way.”

She nodded, understanding that, at least. Eredion bowed slightly and turned to let himself out. He paused near the doorway, looked back with an anxious expression for a moment, then shook his head and left without comment.

Alyea sighed, settled onto another couch and watched Deiq for a while. Even asleep, he looked dangerous; like a wildcat ready to leap awake at a moment’s provocation.

If you build walls
, Eredion had said,
make sure you have an enemy beyond.
Or something to that effect. She watched Deiq roll and twitch in his sleep, thinking about that statement; thinking about what made for an enemy worth warding against as opposed to
foolish resistance to offered help
.

Finally, she leaned back and let herself slip into another doze.

Evening grey drew a chill through the windows, along with a light patter of rain-spray. Alyea rose to light the lamps and draw heavy shutters and curtains closed. A different, more muted light filled the room, catching warmer shadows and glows from the few decorations she had picked out during the months she’d lived here.

She paused before a shelf display of several wooden carvings, touching each item lightly. Nem’s flower-carved spoon was the latest addition to her collection, but it rested on a different shelf. This shelf was reserved for particular memories.

A startled-looking rabbit had begun this collection. Carved of some strange black hardwood, it came from a merchant seeking to gain Peysimun favor for his wares. He claimed it came from the Stone Islands, but she’d always had doubts. Not likely she’d ever find out the truth; he’d fallen in the last days of the Purge, and his amusing carvings now rested either in the vaults of the Palace or, more likely, had been distributed to Ninnic’s sycophants as favors.

The next carving, a small turtle of ash wood, had been a gift from one of Alyea’s nurses; the same one who taught her the story of Lord Krilla. That nurse disappeared soon afterwards, leaving behind only the carving as proof she’d existed.

Four other carvings rested on the shelf, each with a similar story: the original owner had fallen victim to the Purge. The last, a simple carving of a wren in flight, bore the shiny wear marks of much handling; she stared at it for a long time before picking it up. Cradling it gently in one hand, she stroked the smooth back and outstretched wings, as she’d done countless times. Absently, she turned to sit on her favorite couch and remember the man who’d died for her shortly after carving the small bird from a block of discarded maple wood.

She’d almost reached the couch when she remembered Deiq’s presence; looked up, startled out of her thoughts, to find him awake, propped on one elbow, and watching her through alert if still heavy-lidded eyes.

He studied her for a moment without speaking, then held out his free hand, gesturing towards the carving in hers. Uncertain, she stepped forward and placed the wren in his large hand; he cupped it tenderly and bent his head to examine the bird.

After a moment he made a small, sighing noise and leaned to set it delicately on the ground in front of the couch, then looked up at her. She was astonished to see tears glistening in his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” he said. His voice sounded rough with exhaustion and pain; she began to shake her head.

“It’s not all that—”

“It is,” he said, and with a grunt pushed himself to sit up more fully. “Please. Tell me what happened to the man who made this for you.”

After another moment of hesitation, she shrugged and moved to sit at the end of his couch. He drew his feet out of her way and arranged the pillows behind his torso for support, then rested, watching her with still-damp eyes.

She sat silent for a few breaths, trying to decide how to start, then said, “You know Pieas raped me.” Somehow the memory had lost its painful sting; perhaps because she’d gotten her revenge on him in the end. Deiq nodded, and she went on: “I didn’t tell anyone. I was too afraid. But somehow . . . I don’t know how, but somehow a weapon-master, a man named Ethu, either found out or figured it out. He’d never tell me. He just showed up, two days after it happened.”

Memory rose as she spoke: her mother had been out visiting a neighboring noble estate, the house empty but for servants going quietly about their tasks. She’d been in Peysimun Mansion’s back courtyard garden, curled up in her favorite patio chair, in a patch of sunlight, of course; staring at nothing and crying without sound. Lost in her private pain, she hadn’t heard Ethu approach.

She later discovered he moved silently as a matter of habit; but her first reaction, when she realized a man stood nearby, was the irrational assumption that Pieas had tracked her down for another round of abuse. Determined not to go easily this time, she brandished the small knife she’d carried close to her heart for the past two days and leapt to plunge it into her hated attacker.

A moment later, the light gravel of the path and patio scraped and rasped against her skin, rattling down her bodice and into her skirt as she tumbled to the ground. Bruised and raw, she scrambled to her feet, discovered she’d lost the knife, and spun to face the man, raising her fists.

“You won’t!” she cried, then stopped, realizing it wasn’t Pieas after all.

Feeling utterly idiotic, she dropped her hands and brushed frantically at her dress and hair.

“Oh, gods,
s’e
, I’m sorry,” she babbled. “Did I hurt you?”

The small, darkly colored man laughed and squinted at her, his face crinkling into well-worn lines of dry amusement. “I should be asking you that, I believe.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I—my mother, Lady Peysimun, isn’t here at the moment. I assume you’re here to see her? She’ll be back shortly; she’s visiting—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I’m here to see you.”

From there the conversation had smoothed out somewhat, and by the time he left she’d agreed to secretly begin training in something he called
aqeyva
: “It’s what I used to throw you so easily,” he told her. “You’ll find it valuable to prevent future attacks.”

But Ethu never explained
how
he knew what had happened, and she’d eventually stopped pressing for answers.

Alyea finished relating that part of the story, then hesitated. “We were caught,” she said at last. “Someone betrayed me; one of my maids. My mother and I were summoned to the Palace, and when we arrived . . . guards grabbed me and dragged me out into the whipping square.”

She blinked hard and often as she told Deiq about the day Ethu died. In her mind she saw her own blood staining the ground, felt the slavering heat of the crowd, heard the whispering, whistling crack of the whip. The scars on her back itched fiercely as she spoke, and it took an effort to keep her hands still rather than trying to scratch the phantom pain away.

“And I . . . I begged for mercy,” she ended. “I stood there alive, and watched him die because he had the courage to stand up to his beliefs and I didn’t. All I have left is this wren. He carved it for me, and gave it to me just before . . . that day.”

Deiq’s gaze never wavered during her story, remaining intent and thoughtful.

“No,” he said when she finished. “Ethu knew the risks, and knew well in advance what he would do when the day came. Just like Acana did. And they both wanted you to live, Alyea.” He reached down, not removing his gaze from her face, and picked up the small wren carving again, handling it with gentle reverence. “Do you know what a wren means, in the southlands?”

She shook her head, her throat too thick for words.

“Resourcefulness,” he told her. “Bold, crafty, smart and adaptable. It finds a way to survive no matter what the conditions. It hides its true nest close to the ground, but builds several more obvious fake nests to distract predators.” He paused. “This wasn’t just intended as a pretty carving,” he added softly. “It was a message to you. A message to live, to survive, no matter what happened. And that’s what Acana wanted, too: for you to live. They both chose their risks with open eyes, Alyea. You have no guilt to bear over that.”

Alyea’s breath choked in her throat, emerged in a low, feral moan as a wound she’d thought healed ripped open again inside her mind, mingled with the fresher pain of having left the Qisani in such mortal danger. She knelt on the cooling stone floor and wept without restraint, crouched in on herself, arms wrapped around her shoulders, rocking rhythmically back and forth.

“Oh, gods,” she moaned. “Oh, Ethu, Acana, gods, gods. . . .”

She cried until it seemed impossible for more tears to emerge, then cried some more, until rough coughing spasms shook her body. Jarred out of her misery by the need to ease her throat, she finally swayed to her feet and located the water jug and a goblet. After filling and draining the goblet twice, she belatedly turned to offer a drink to Deiq. He accepted without comment, signaling for three refills before resting back against the pillows, nodding gratitude.

Alyea put the goblet and now-empty jug back on the small occasional table they’d come from, then moved to sit at the end of Deiq’s couch again.

“Thank you,” she said, unsticking strands of damp hair from her face and wiping her nose with one sleeve.

“You’re welcome,” he said gravely. “Can you handle two more facts?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, then drew in a deep breath. “But tell me anyway.”

“Ethu came from Sessin Family, and he was one of Pieas Sessin’s teachers.”

She stared at him, the breath frozen in her chest, then let it out in a barking cough. “
What?
How do you—how can you
possibly
—”

“I’m ha’ra’ha,” he said, voice a near-whisper. “I see things, Alyea. I see into people. I can even see part of a person in an object, if there’s enough emotion in them. Like that letter from Idisio. And for the second fact, this wren—” He stroked it with one finger, absently glancing at it as he went on. “It wasn’t carved by Ethu. It was carved by Pieas, as an apology for that night. Ethu never told you, because he never felt you were ready to know.”

“You can’t know that!”

His gaze rested steadily on her face. “I do,” he said. “I do know. I was there when Pieas confessed. I saw the truth in his words. Saw what was in his mind. Pieas honestly didn’t know what he’d done that night. He was so wild on whatever new drug his so-called friends had fed him for fun that he didn’t know his own name.”

“Then how did Ethu know?” she demanded. The other question lurking in her mind,
Did you know about the wren this whole time and didn’t tell me the truth of it
, hurt too much to even think on, let alone ask aloud.

“He knew
aqeyva
,” Deiq reminded her patiently. “He wasn’t a master at it, but he was good enough to hear the wind, sometimes, and he could read his students very well. And he’d been tutoring Pieas since childhood. He came to Bright Bay to track Pieas down, in fact, and drag him back to Sessin Fortress to avoid a political disaster. When he saw what had happened, he decided to stay and teach you instead, to compensate you for the pain his pupil had caused. He felt, I think—”

Deiq glanced down at the carving again, and his forehead furrowed as though he were listening for a moment. A sick suspicion settled in her stomach: was this staged? Was he dispensing information he’d held for weeks, and covering it with a show of mysticism?

“No,” he said, glancing up at her. “I won’t deny I’ve done that in the past, but this is as new to me as it is to you. Put aside your mistrust for a moment, and listen.”