Living With Ghosts (34 page)

“Good.” Leladrien stood. “Pray it stays that way. You won’t like burning bodies in the Old Market.”

“No. Where are you going?”

“Back down. I was given three hours’ furlough four hours ago. See you, Jean.”

“Yes.” Joyain rose and held out a hand. It was ignored. “Go safely.”

“If possible.” Leladrien waved and turned. In the doorway he stopped and looked back. “Jean?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ask for that transfer.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t, that’s all.” And he was gone, leaving Joyain to brood.

He stood at the foot of the bed . . . Iareth smiled in the midnight dark and sat up, her hair falling unbound around her. The embassy lay in silence. She inhaled and said, “Give you good even, Valdin
kai-reth
.”

His eyes were keen upon her. She had forgotten nothing, no line of him, no shade of look or gesture or tone. He moved fractionally, and she saw the tension beneath his scrutiny. She patted the bed. “Will you sit?”

His weightless form made no dent. He was all longing and desperation. Though he did not need to breathe, he wore the air of a man who holds his breath at a wonder.

We are
kai-rethin
and one and always; that changes not
. Thus she had sworn to him six years before, and, on that vow, left him. Within the space of six more months he had died. She had grown accustomed to the loss. But not, and never, to the longing.

Her Yscoithi kin had approved of her action, her sire had not. Urien Armenwy had himself transgressed that law in begetting her. His nature was Armenwy, pure and simple. Like all his clan he chose one mate only, and that for life. Iareth might perhaps have made his choice. But she had been raised Yscoithi, trained Yscoithi; and that clan was dwindling. Caught between Valdarrien’s love and her duty, she had chosen duty.

She looked at him, and said again, “Valdin
kai-reth
.”
Kai-reth
by vow only, and not by the necessary blood. It had been all they had. It was not enough.

He said quietly, “Iareth. Iareth Yscoithi
kai-reth
.”

“Peace. I am here.” Her words were calm, but she was not calm. Another woman might have wept. Iareth only counted her heartbeats and said, “I am forgotten, then. You have been here several weeks and have not sought me.”

“I couldn’t find you.”

“You have found me now.”

“Yes.” There was triumph in the word. Gazing at her, he said, “You were wrong.”

“How so?”

“When you left me, you said we wouldn’t meet again. But here we are.”

“I wasn’t wrong. This is no true meeting.” Her voice was cold as she spoke. He shivered at it a little and drew back. She stifled the impulse to comfort him. “There was a choice made. And I am still bound by it.”

“Binding isn’t wanting,” Valdarrien said, and there was need in his voice.

“One doesn’t have to gratify every want.” Unexpectedly he smiled, dark, sardonic. “We always did differ on that point.” His gaze turned speculative. “But you don’t deny the wanting.”

“We are
kai-rethin
, you and I. There should be no deception between us.”

“And no treachery.” He began to reach out to her. Then he stopped.

“Forgive me,” Iareth said, softly.

“You did what you had to. I never blamed you for it.” He looked bleak. “I couldn’t, somehow. Not even . . .” He halted and shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

He had died in Thiercelin’s arms, speaking her name, and of that she would never be shriven. She said, “It was necessary.”

“I know. You were always fair with me.” He looked down. “Has that changed?”

One could not bargain with the dead. One could not change the immutable. Honor allowed no alteration in the vows that held her to him, sanctified by his death. She did not think of Joyain. Her mouth dry, she said, “No.”

“ ‘
Kai-rethin
and one and always,’ ” he quoted, almost absently. “You remember?”

“Yes.”

“But it was abstract.” He looked up. His face was stricken. “Always one, and always apart . . . I love you, Iareth
kai-reth
.”

“Peace,” Iareth whispered. “I haven’t changed.”

“I know. That’s part of the horror of it.”

“You cannot do this. You must let go. You haven’t the right . . .” She gestured at him. “You cannot come back like this.” He looked at her, and she saw that he did not understand. “The dead have no rights, Valdin
kai-reth
.”

“So Thierry tells me. Do you think I asked for this?”

“I don’t know.”

“
You
promised me always. Urien made me promise to live.” He sounded petulant. He broke off and shook his head. “Any way I say it, it sounds childish.”

“I’ve never rescinded my promise.”

“No. But I wanted . . .” Again, he shook his head. “I’m finding a way out of this . . . Do you know what’s the worst of it?” She was silent. He looked at her, and his eyes were despairing. “I can’t even touch you. I have to change that or change you. Don’t you see?”

There were no routes back from death. She said, “I don’t understand,” and he closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. She said, “I have not ceased to love you.”

He opened his eyes again and glared. “Do you think that helps?” he said, and disappeared.

12

“I
HOPE YOU REALIZE that this is unorthodox?” The cavalry commander tapped Joyain’s written request for transfer with a finger.

“Yes, sir.” Standing as upright as he might, Joyain stared straight in front of him. He had expected this matter to be processed by his captain. It had never crossed his mind that it would come to the attention of the colonel. He was uncomfortably aware that his boots were not as clean as they might have been, and that there was a darn on the right hem of his cassock. This was going to look just beautiful on his record.

“Leading the guard of a respected foreign visitor is hardly an unimportant post, Lieutenant.”

“I know, sir.” The back of Joyain’s neck was starting to itch. It probably meant that his hair needed trimming. “But with all due respect, I wasn’t the officer originally intended for that position.”

“So?” The colonel had disconcertingly sleepy eyes. One expected him not to notice most of what went on around him. One certainly did not expect him to care a bent copper for the opinions of a junior lieutenant of minor family and without significant connections at court. The colonel said, “You’ve been able to handle the job, haven’t you? I’ve had reasonable reports of you.” Joyain knew better than to acknowledge the compliment. “Perhaps you’d care to tell me the cause of your discontent?”

“Well, sir,” Joyain hesitated, and cursed his lack of resolve. “I believe I can be of more use elsewhere.”

“Aren’t I the best judge of that?” The tone was soft, but without the necessity of standing to attention Joyain would have been staring at the floor in embarrassment. “Well, Lievrier?”

“Yes, sir. But . . .” Joyain gathered his courage in both hands and looked the colonel in the eyes. “I’ve seen the reports on the shantytown, sir. I want to be of more immediate assistance.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Sir, there are other equally capable officers. And I have personal reasons for wishing to be elsewhere.” If he was going to earn a black mark for questioning his orders, he might as well make it a nice big one. “The fact is that I believe I’m becoming too attached to one of the Lunedithin party.”

The colonel studied him. “That’s honest, at least.” Joyain stayed silent. “When were you transferred to this regiment, Lieutenant? Three years ago?”

“Four, sir.”

“Family in Merafi?”

“An aunt by marriage only, sir.”

“Hmm.” The colonel steepled his fingers. “What makes you think we need your talents in the old docks?”

The fact that I’ve fought a part of what we’re facing, and I know that it isn’t human
. He could not say that, either, not without being dismissed as a lunatic. Joyain said, “I just think I’d be better away from the Lunedithin, sir.”

“The cavalry aren’t here to rescue you from your mistakes.”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

Again, the colonel studied him. Finally, he said, “How do you think you’d be at quelling panic or supervising mass burials?”

“I can do it, sir.”

The colonel sighed. “Lieutenant, I’ll be honest with you. We aren’t short of men, and you’re doing a good job where you are. However,” and he looked at the letter again, “there are indications that we may need reinforcements at some point, particularly to handle night patrols. In which case,” and he looked up, “I’m prepared to grant your request, effective from the day after tomorrow.”

Joyain could breathe again. Saluting, he said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t be too hasty about that.” The colonel watched him. “Some of your duties might be unpleasant.”

“So I’ve heard, sir.”

“Have you? Well that’s as may be.” The colonel rose, and nodded. “All right, Lievrier. Dismissed.”

Joyain saluted again and turned to go. At the door, the colonel called him back. “One thing. Where did you meet Yvelliane d’Illandre?”

“At the palace, sir.” Among other places. But not even Leladrien was gossip enough to have spread that little item around.

“I see.” The colonel frowned. “Forgot to hold the door open for her, did you?”

“Not that I recall, sir.”

“You’d do well to remember that she has a long memory, Lievrier, and a good deal of influence. Try not to get across her again. It looks bad on your record.”

“Yes, sir.” Joyain suppressed a sigh and tried his level best to look baffled. “I’ll bear that in mind, sir.”

“You do that. As it happens, I’ve chosen not to pay attention to her comments. But if she complains again, I’ll have to act.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.” The colonel smiled. “Run along then and tell your friend duResne that he’s to have a companion in his misery.” Joyain tried very hard not to look surprised. The colonel laughed. “And tell him that next time he’s to bring his gripes to me in person. It saves time.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joyain.

Standing on a doorstep, Gracielis tried not to fidget with the bandages on his wrists. The day was damp and chill. The air tasted sour and corroded. He did not want to be here. He had had no choice. Thiercelin had descended like a tidal bore upon Amalie’s house almost before breakfast was over and swept him off to visit the Lunedithin embassy. “You’re upright and reasonably coherent,” declared his lordship. “So let’s get this over with.”

They were admitted by a servant and shown into a small salon. Thiercelin sat down on a high-backed chair, and removed hat and gloves. Gracielis remained standing, back to the window. He was armored in the trappings of his younger profession, feeble weapon against the danger that was Iareth Yscoithi. Iareth, who should be wholly strange to him, yet who haunted his nights, mirrored through a memory that was not his. He tugged at his lovelock and tried not to dwell upon the possibilities attendant upon this meeting. That way lay madness. He was face-to-face with his own inadequacies.

The servant returned and ushered them upstairs. Gracielis was silent, listening to the twin pulses of fear and alien need. In the landing mirror his reflection was foreign to him, beneath an expectation, an ancient desire. Deep within the shredding fabric of himself, he summoned the memory of Quenfrida’s power over him as a protection against Valdarrien. Through his gloves he dug his nails into one bandaged wrist, letting pain tie him to himself.

Iareth Yscoithi stood in the room’s center. Gracielis bowed without looking at her, holding tight to courtesy. Beside him, Thiercelin said, “Good day,” and his voice was diffident.

“And to you also. You received my message?” Her voice held all the strangeness of the north. The sound caught at Gracielis. How long had Valdarrien mourned the loss of this woman before his violent end? Thiercelin was kissing her hand. Irrational jealousy shivered through Gracielis.

“A message?” Thiercelin said. “No. I’ve been away from home; it hasn’t reached me. But if there’s something I can do for you?”

“It is possible,” Iareth said.

“This is Gracielis de Varnaq. I told you about him.”

“So.”

Unable to deny the moment any longer, Gracielis looked up. Level green eyes met his. Double vision, as memories met and mingled, of a younger Iareth, in
kai-rethin
gray. She looked tired and mysteriously older. He had forgotten how tall she was.

He had forgotten nothing, no part of her, the touch of her, the scent, her speaking silence and her dispassionate watchful gaze. Gracielis reached out to her without volition and the words were already forming, to follow:
Iareth
kai-reth
, oh, my love, oh, my heart
. . .

In her native tongue, Iareth said, “Valdin Allandur spoke but little Lunedithin.”

He said in the same language, “I don’t speak so very much of it myself.”

“So. But it serves our present need.”