Return to Shanhasson (37 page)

Shaking, he knelt on the edge and
trailed his fingertips in the water, then lightly pressed them to his forehead,
heart, and mouth. “Somma cleanse us of our
devalki
.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes tightened, tiny lines deepening
about his mouth. “You don’t know?”

“Why should I? I’m not Keldari.”

“But you’re the White Dragon. How can
you not know?”

“That’s only a Dream, Mykal.” She made
her way over to sit beside Sal, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning
her back against him so she could see the Keldari. “I’m not truly a dragon and
I’ve never physically been to your sands.”

“But you recognized me.” He looked so
crestfallen and devastated that her heart ached for him. “Perhaps it’s for the
best,” he said slowly, his voice dulling with finality. “You would’ve struck me
down on sight if you truly remembered
me
.”

She shook her head. “You don’t truly
know me, either.”

He frowned, his shoulders shifting
uneasily. “So much of what I remember isn’t mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…am not the man…you believe me to be.”

Staring at the water, he braced himself
on his palms and leaned down to submerge his face. It must be scalding hot to
one unused to such a bath, but he held himself face down in the water for so
long she began to worry he would drown himself in shame. She touched his
shoulder lightly and he jerked his head up, slinging wet hair back over his
back on a long gasp of air.

“Who are you, then, my Black Dragon?”

He drew the shirt over his head and
tossed it aside, but kept his gaze down. “I’m Mykal
tal
’Mamba, but I am more, or less, depending on whether I succeed
or fail.”

Dharman tensed, his bond singing with
growing intensity, but he kept his body still and quiet.

Mykal didn’t miss his alertness and
smiled at her Blood without condescension. “
Iyeh
,
protect her well, Red. Protect her from the Shadow I carry.”

“You admit you’re Shadowed?”

He finally looked at her, his brow
arched mockingly. “As if I could ever hide such a thing from you. You knew me
as blackheart long before you knew my
Keldari
name.”

The emphasis he put on Keldari sent a
chill shivering down her spine. “What other names might I know you as?”

His head cocked, intensifying her alarm.
A hungry dragon would look at its fleeing dinner in such a way, relishing the
coming chase. “You likely won’t believe me, but I don’t know them all.” He
shrugged and spread his arms open, palms up. “Names, places, people, so many
are merely mists that disappear with the dawn.”

Frowning, she watched him carefully,
seeking any sign of duplicity. His bond radiated waves of heat and longing, but
the dragon snarled at her touch, red eyes baleful in the darkness of his bond,
still bound by the
drakkar
. “Are you
saying you personally remember living in other lands, as other people?”

He loosened the ties holding the
trousers on his lean hips. “Sands blow in me, storms that blend one memory into
another, one life into another. I know myself as Mykal
tal
’Mamba, but I also know as clearly that I wasn’t this man until
recently. His life is now mine. His memories are mine and mine are his, but I
have memories of many such lives.”

Confusion and doubt must surely be
written on her face. She’d never heard such a thing. People died and went to
Our Blessed Lady’s embrace, or to Vulkar’s Clouds as the Sha’Kae al’Dan called
it, or they fell into endless damnation. They weren’t spit back out with
memories of other lives to try again. Once swallowed by Shadow, that soul was
lost forever, or so she’d been taught.

He scooped a handful of water and let it
trickle through his fingers. “If my life were sand, then it would be composed
of a multitude of pebbles, some larger, some small, bright crystal and red
mixed with others as dark as night, but together, it is sand and nothing but
dust before the winds of time and the merciless heat of an unforgiving sun. So
am I together Mykal.”

Dread clutched her heart in dragon
talons despite the man disrobing for her. She couldn’t even concentrate on his
bronzed upper body, the numerous wounds that had left dried rivers and streams
of blood. “What happened to him before you…”

Killed
him? Stole his life?

What
are you?

He stood and the trousers slipped low on
his hips. “He must have been Shadowed else I would not be him. Your pardon,
brightheart; allow me to fetch my knapsack so I may show you a proper Keldari
bath.”

Jorah and Jahne stood at the door, their
broad shoulders blocking the way. Lew stood behind them with the Keldari’s bag
and black cloak. Dharman and Sal sat on either side of her, their gazes locked
on Mykal, their bonds steel in her mind.

Lady above, she’d known he had ancient
eyes. In their shared Dreams, he’d seemed older, larger, encompassing
everything Shadow. As though he might be a representation of Lygon, Lord of
Darkness, in the flesh.

Blackheart.

She shivered, ice creeping through her
veins. So why was he here? Why had he given himself to her? Reflexively, she
touched the old knife wound on her left breast with trembling fingers. Someone
else she’d loved had tried to kill her. Gregar had admitted he’d killed her a
thousand times in dreams before he ever knew her name.

Dharman dipped his head and kissed that
old scar, then his mark.
:I stand between
you and any blade,
na’lanna
. If
killing you is his goal, then he shall not succeed.:

Mykal glanced at the guarding Blood but
didn’t show any concern. “There’s nothing but oil and a few sparse supplies
inside. Nothing you would find alarming, certainly no weapons.”

“That oil is a weapon,” she accused,
more shaken than she wanted to admit.

“Indeed?” He arched his brow. “I
intended it to be a gift, nothing more.”

“A gift that burned my skin, that made
me tear at my mate and wrestle, roll, fight…” Her face burned and she averted
her gaze. Lady above, she’d been inflamed with lust, completely out of control,
and Rhaekhar had not fared much better.

“
Iyeh
,”
Mykal drawled as she had done. “My oil makes you burn like a dragon in rut.”

“Then I want nothing of it.”

“You don’t wish to taste my blood and
wallow upon my dragon as you promised when I agreed to come with you? I assure
you, he’s more than eager to Dance the Blades with your claws and teeth. You
won’t need your Reds to pin me with their knives in order to do as you wish.”

Lady help her, she could envision all
too clearly: dragons hissing and clawing at one another, necks twining, teeth
raking, wings and tails thrashing each other into submission. Swallowing hard,
she forced that image away. “That is your idea of a bath? How do any of your
people survive, then?”

He laughed softly. “Not all are affected
by the oil so strongly, brightheart. You are White. I am Black. We’re naturally
drawn to each other. We fight, and if we don’t kill each other, we mate each
other into a stupor. Even then, if one isn’t wrestled into submission, they
might both end up dead. In the wilds of Keldar, it’s not unusual to follow
signs of dragons in rut only to find their carcasses roasting in the sun.
Dragons mate with violence and blood and Fire, and we Black and White pairs feel
it all the more.”

“You said you have no Fire.”

“Oh, I burn, brightheart, but not with
flame to destroy my enemies. I burn for you.” His eyelids hung heavy and
sultry. He flickered his gaze at her Blood, dropped his hands to his trousers,
and loosened them so the black material slid down his thighs to puddle on the
tile. “Red is much safer for you than Black.”

A vicious rumble rolled out of Dharman’s
chest and he stood, eyes blazing, muscles bunched. She touched his arm lightly
and he quivered but didn’t break eye contact with the other man.

Mykal stood silent, his gaze daring her
to examine him and find him lacking. Lean and deceptively slender, he wasn’t as
tall as Dharman. The least of her Blood likely outweighed him by five stone or
more. Yet there was an aura of coiled power in his stance and the still,
controlled way he stood. In a flash, he would strike, as deadly as his tribe’s
namesake. His skin was darker than even Gregar’s creamy caffe skin, a rich,
oiled mahogany. Sweeping down his back to his calves, his ink black hair was
even longer than Sal’s.

Her red-haired Blood huffed beneath his
breath and thought very hard about shaving the Keldari’s head with an extremely
dull
rahke
.

“May I have my oil?” Mykal lowered his
head. Not to be submissive, oh, no, but to ensure his hair slipped forward over
his shoulder, drawing her eye down his body again. Not an ounce of fat softened
him. He might as well have been carved from dusky marble. “It will cauterize my
wounds and cleanse me. I would not lie with you as a sweaty, dirty savage, Your
Majesty.”

“You won’t lie with her at all,” Dharman
retorted.

Mykal inclined his head even farther,
bending slightly at the waist. “I believe she has already made her choice, my
young friend.”

Lady help her, she had. From the first
moment the Black Dragon had invited her to join him on the ridge above the
salty lake beneath a full moon, she’d been intrigued.

:Entrapped,
more likely.:
Dharman glared at the man but
grudgingly sat back on the bench beside her.
:Have a care,
na’lanna
. This
dragon’s bite is as poisonous as his fire.:

She sighed. “Give him his bag.”

* * *

GRIM-FACED, THE YOUNG RED handed Mykal
his things and stepped back, but didn’t leave. Indeed, all nine of her personal
guard had come into the room. Her two closest remained in the Well with her,
but the other seven surrounded him. He suddenly had a vision of her rutting on
him with nine sets of boots standing toe-to-toe about them.

As long as she took him, he didn’t care.

Ignoring their glares, he spread out his
taamid
on the cold stone, sat cross
legged, and opened the bag. He made a great show of rummaging through his items
and setting them out one by one for her perusal. As he hoped, her curiosity
drew her back to the edge of the pool.

She touched a lumpy packet. “What is
that? It feels like a bag of sticks.”

“Fire Tea. Would you like some? It’s a
traditional Keldari drink.”

“Maybe later.” Eyes narrowed
suspiciously, she indicated a small black vial. “And this?”

“Not poison,” he said, amused, although
in all honesty, it was a foul concoction. “We call it Dragon Piss. It’s a
stimulant that is used only when all resources have failed and death is
imminent. As a much younger man, I was once deep in the desert tracking a
pista
when my horse broke its leg. On
foot in merciless heat with barely a drop of water for the day, I had to make
my way to the nearest Well or die. Without this foul brew, I wouldn’t have made
it.”

He didn’t mention that he’d killed six
Keldari left to protect the other tribe’s Well.

“Is that your memory or his?”

Mykal shrugged. “It’s ours.”

Her eyes locked on him and he felt her
mind stroking his bond. He held himself still and didn’t resist her search
through his memories. Indeed, he led her through them as though on parade. He
let her see him Dancing the Blades at the tiny precious hole in the lee of
dunes beneath two drooping, brown palm trees, swinging scimitar and short sword
in tandem,
taamids
flying as he
killed so he might drink and live. He thought of sweeping branches and trunks
so large a palace had been built inside—a marvel no Keldari would ever believe
as more than a dream. He knew lands of humid, lush jungles with birds of
brilliant plumage and tigers prowling in shadows that were not animals. He’d
surviveddark prisons of torture and death. He let her see him killing Keldari,
Mambian priests, and Xyan pirates, without reservation, for they were just as
Shadowed and corrupt as him.

He let her see his despair, the ever
thickening darkness sucking him under. He killed and plotted and raged as his
plans unraveled one by one, until only the faintest, barest slip of moon shone
in his soul. Her moon, her sweet light that penetrated even the darkest murk
and gloom of Shadow.

Carefully indeed, he buried his most
recent lives before Mykal as far and deep within him as possible. She would
have the truth if she sought deeply enough, and he’d likely release at the
exquisiteness of her mind sliding through his. It’d almost be worth giving her
the small truth that would earn her hatred simply to feel such pleasure.

His eyes rolled back, his head lolled,
his hands trembled, and
iyeh
, he was
close enough to explode if she even thought about touching him.

Water sloshed, a sound like heaven to a
Keldari whose entire tribe must be sustained by a Well small enough to step
across. She settled her palm, hot and wet from the bath, on his chest and he
couldn’t stop the release that poured through him. Gasping and trembling, he
buried his face against her neck. At least he had emptied his body of the
fertile seed, and he would fervently pray the horse poison killed the rest. “A
thousand
tellans
, brightheart.”