The Firemage's Vengeance (11 page)

His hand covered hers, stopping her from scratching the table further. “Adara, you need not get me drunk to hear that I love you. Have I not said it enough? A thousand times will I repeat it, and learn to say it in all the tongues of Underrealm if you wish. I will find the imps and the wurts and the satyrs in their homes, and even the centaurs where they have vanished in Spineridge, and learn to speak their words as well, if that is what you want.”

“It is not,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And you are a fool. Charming, but a fool. It is not the words I hoped to draw from you, for I told you that lovers’ words do not only come from lovers’ lips. I thought, once, that you said pleasant things we both wanted to hear, and that I might hear the truth if you were … disarmed, shall we say. And I feared to tell you how I myself had begun to feel, and thought mead might make the confession come more easily.”

Ebon leaned back. “I see. But you know now that I speak true.”

“You know the same of me,” she said. “And yet.”

He looked down at his hands, for he had guessed at her mind. Not long ago, he had been shocked to learn she once lived in Dulmun. Yet how could that have surprised him? He had learned nothing else of her life, and she knew little enough of his, beyond his deeds since he had come to the High King’s Seat.

“To your life and mine,” said Ebon. He raised his glass and looked into her eyes, suddenly aware that those sounded far too similar to wedding words. But he did not flinch.

She met his look and raised her goblet in turn. “To your life and mine,” she said. “Let them be laid bare, and we the better for it.”

They both drained their cups. Adara reached at once for the mead to fill hers again—but Ebon stopped her, and took the bottle to pour it for her. She smiled, and poured his cup in turn.

“Can you tell me now what brought you to my door?” she said. “Or must I force another goblet down your throat?”

Ebon tried to smile, but her words turned his thoughts dark again. “It was a little matter.”

Her eyes told him she did not believe his words. She put her hand over his. “Tell me something else, then. A thing of yourself you have withheld until now.”

“Withheld from you?”

“Yes. Whatever you wish. Something new.”

He looked down at her hand, for he had thought of something at once. But even now he hated the thought of telling her, for it stung his eyes and put a lump in his throat. She lowered her head a bit, trying to catch his eye.

“That, Ebon. Remember. Your life and mine.”

“I thought of my brother, Momen,” Ebon murmured. He was afraid if he raised his voice at all, it would break. “I thought of when he died.”

She waited a moment. When he did not go on, she spoke softly. “What about when he died?”

“When I heard the news, I locked myself in my room and did not come out for days. I let no one in. I know they all thought I wept. The truth is, I could not. Tears would not come, no matter how badly I wanted them to, and I was ashamed. I thought I was a monster for not weeping at my brother’s death, for I loved him dearly. And I never told anyone about those days locked in my room. I know they all think I shed tears in private, but I never did.”

By the time he finished speaking, his head had already begun to fog. The wine must have been strong, or else it was the effect of drinking it so quickly. Adara took her hand from his and leaned back, nodding slowly. When she answered him, her words ran together.

“I left Idris when I was only a little girl,” she said. “My parents brought me to Feldemar with them, for my father had a cousin who promised him a position upon a merchant’s caravan. He joined it, and was often gone on long journeys. Years he worked for the same merchant, and spent more time away than at home. One day I found out my mother had taken a lover in secret, betraying him. The next time he came home, she told him what she had done, and that she no longer loved him. He told her that he, too, had found another. He had met her while journeying in Selvan years before. They screamed at each other for hours, until finally I rose from my bed, and slipped out my window, and ran from the house. I have not seen them since.”

Ebon was frozen in his seat. He could scarcely imagine anything worse. Certainly if that had happened to his parents, he would have cared little—his father had never had love for him, and he had always thought his mother would be happier with another. But in Adara’s voice he heard an aching, bone-deep sadness, and he knew at once that she had loved her father and mother both.

“Is that when you left for Dulmun?” he said quietly.

Adara shook her head. “That is another tale. And another cup. For now, we have both told one. Drink.”

She followed her own advice, raising her goblet and beginning to drink. Ebon drank from his as well, though not half so eagerly as last time. He could feel it seeping in at the back of his mind now, like a soundless ringing in his ears, an ecstasy longing to be acted upon. He refilled Adara’s cup, and she filled his.

“Xain attacked me tonight,” said Ebon. “Well, I say attacked … he did not harm me. Though I suppose he did, after all, did he not? But not greatly. Not if there is no small red mark here.”

He pointed to his neck, where he vividly remembered Xain’s thumb pressing into his jugular. Adara leaned forwards, blinking twice.

“There is not.”

“Then he did not harm me greatly,” said Ebon. “But he … he threatened me. He told me my family sent him a note.”

“What kind of note?”

“Am I telling the story?” he said, but he grinned to soften the words. “He said … a note about his son. Erin, his name is. His son, not Xain—Xain’s name is Xain. He said he would not tell us where she was.”

Adara frowned, looking out the window. “Where who was?”

Ebon spread his hands helplessly, almost spilling his goblet. He put it back on the table, reflecting that he probably should not have held it when he gestured so. “But he would not tell me where she was, that much was certain. And he said that if we harmed Erin, he would destroy us. All of us.”

“But you do not have Erin.”

Ebon shrugged. “I have told him that—or rather, I told him that tonight. I have just realized that I never told him that before. I likely should have. Not that it would have been a comfort, for he would not have believed me. And it might have sounded suspicious, defending against an accusation that had not yet been leveled.”

“But if you do not have Erin, why would your family have sent him a note?”

“That troubles me. Of course, anyone could have put our name on a scrap of paper. Or left it blank, and Xain would have guessed it came from us, for his hatred knows no limits.”

She looked at him in silence for a moment, and through the fog of wine he saw her eyes glint with appraisal. “You do not think Mako would have done it? Even without Erin in hand, if he thought he could gain something from provoking Xain …”

“The thought had not crossed my mind … yet you are not wrong.” He scowled into his goblet. “I mean to speak to him tomorrow, for in any case I should tell him what happened with Xain. I will ask him then.”

Adara nodded sagely at that, as though it were a great wisdom. Then she held up a finger. “Your last truth was a truth of the past, and I answered in kind. But the truth you have just told me is a truth of the present. So I will answer with my own. Tonight, a boy behind the blue door told me I was a fool for falling in love with you. He said you were a merchant’s son, a goldbag, and that you had tricked me into giving you my services without asking for coin in return.”

Ebon frowned. “But that … that is a lie. I—”

She stopped him with a sharply-raised hand. “I did not ask for your answer. That is the purpose of … this.” Adara waved a hand in the general direction of the goblets and the bottles. “And besides, I gave him my answer already. I told him he was a wool-headed steer, that I had heard complaints from many of his clients about his woeful lack of expertise in our trade, and that he likely received only half of the usual rate for his work. He broke down weeping and fled through the blue door. I hope he never returns. And now we have each told another truth.”

They both took their time now, sipping gingerly at their cups. But they spoke no words, only met each other’s eyes. Ebon became aware of her foot atop his under the table. He twitched his leg. She moved her own in response.

“Mayhap we should finish these goblets upon the bed,” he suggested.

“Are you certain?” She gave him a coy smile. “We both know wine can trouble your performance.”

“That is why I suggest we move quickly,” he said, standing from his chair. “Because you have never seen me well and truly drunk, Adara, and so I suggest you make use of me while you may.”

She laughed easily, and took his proffered hand to rise. Cups forgotten, they undressed each other piece by piece. Again she cared for him, and he for her. Then they took their cups and brought them to the bedside tables, and huddled together under the warm fur blanket. But they did nothing else.

“You did not come here to speak to me of Xain,” she whispered in his ear. Her hand traced the almost-absent lines of his chest. “He found you on your way. Why did you come to see me again so soon?”

He sighed. “I came to ask a favor, though I have no great wish to do so.”

Her hand slid lower. “I am amenable to favors. What do you need?”

“We … I mean Kalem and Theren and I … and Lilith. Oh, yes. We have befriended Lilith. Not befriended, that is wrong. We are … in league with her. I suppose that is a poor way to put it as well. In any case, we need to know where Isra has gone. She is here on the Seat. There must be a trace of her. And you are a lover.”

“Of course. I have many lovers I can turn to. Not—” She giggled, and Ebon snorted a bark of laughter. “Not lovers. That is not what I meant. Other lovers. Lovers like me, I mean.”

He kissed her deeply. “There are no lovers like you.”

“Be silent, flatterer. I will ask them. But I do not understand. Why were you reluctant to ask me this? It is hardly any trouble at all.”

That sobered him, for the answer had been troubling him greatly. “At first my mind was taken by Xain, and his threats. And then … I still fear for your safety, and more so the further you are drawn into all this. If Isra knew of your existence, I do not doubt that she would come for you just to hurt me. And between the amulet, and our mindwyrd of Dasko, and now our investigation of Yerrin, I feel as though peril haunts my every step. And I walk well outside of the King’s law now, though I hate to do it.”

“But you do hate to do it,” she said. “And that makes the difference. Now, you have told me something of the future. I will do the same. One day—not soon, perhaps, but one day—I want you take me back to Feldemar, where I have not returned since I left.”

He ran a finger through the hair on her temple. “Of course. I know not when, or how. But I vow that I will do it.”

Her eyes shone with tears. “Dear, dear Ebon. Was that a truth? You do not owe me another one.”

Ebon kissed her. “I will give you all of my truth, whenever you wish it.”

To his shock, the tears broke, trickling down her cheeks. “One day I, too, may be able to do the same. I cannot yet. Not even now.” Then she pushed him gently back towards the side table. “Now drink.”

thirteen

MAKO [4]

Ebon scarcely remembered stumbling home later that night. He had one vivid picture of vomiting into a gutter in the streets of the city. And the next day, he did not receive punishment for staying out late, so he guessed that he must have returned before curfew. But his next clear memory was waking in his bed the next morning with a terrible headache, and a stomach that felt ready to spill itself onto the stone floor. He threw on his robe and ran to the privy as quickly as he could, where he spilled his guts again. Then he simply sat there for a while, leaning to the side so that his head was pressed against the frigid stone wall.

A bell rang at last, signaling the end of breakfast and the beginning of the day’s classes, and so he stumbled out and down the hall. But he made one quick diversion on his way to Perrin’s room. He stepped outside and went to the place in the citadel wall where he knew Mako’s secret door stood. There he found a stone of alabaster, and under it placed a scribbled note on a scrap of parchment from his pocket.

Morning’s class went slow and painful. Perrin often gave him a disapproving look, and next to him, little Astrea tended to lean away in her seat, so that he guessed he must smell like wine and perhaps vomit. But he managed to keep some level of composure. After years beneath his father’s roof, he was no stranger to drinking. And so his class passed without comment.

The moment the lunch bell rang he was out of his seat and hurrying through the halls again, making for the grounds and a bench near the secret door. He reached it and sat, and did not have to wait long before he heard a rustle in the hedges beside him. Mako stepped out of the shrubbery and fixed him with a hard look.

“You are drunk.”

“Not anymore,” said Ebon, squinting in the sun. “Now I only regret being drunk.”

Mako sniffed. “It smells the same. I received your note. What is it?”

Ebon stood from the bench—then swayed for a moment before he could recover himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, a perfect mirror of Mako’s stance, and met the man’s eyes.

“Did you send a ransom message to Xain?”

A blink. “What in the nine lands do you speak of, boy?”

Ebon sighed, feeling his shoulders droop. Mako was a good liar, mayhap among the best, and so it could be that he only feigned his shock. But the look of surprise on his face was good enough for Ebon, at least in the state he was in. “Never mind. Xain came for me last night, speaking of a ransom note. He thought it came from us.”

He was about to sit back down on the bench, but Mako snatched his collar and dragged him to his feet. “What note? What did it say?”

“I did not see it, Mako.” Ebon made a halfhearted attempt to remove the bodyguard’s hand, but gave it up almost at once. “Whoever sent it is looking for someone—a woman—and thinks Xain knows where she is. But he said he would never reveal the secret.”