The Search for Kä (7 page)

“I understand, Captain,” he said, the tone of his voice convincing me that he did understand, but still wasn't very happy about the situation. “It would seem there could be more important duties for the Captain of the Sharith than to settle domestic quarrels.”

“There will be,” I said, realizing as the words came out that they were a promise I didn't understand, but one I believed.

“Destiny” again
, I thought.

“The Ra'ira?” Dharak asked.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and wondered if they meant Tarani was through with her bath. Swiftly then came an overwhelming need to wash off the grime on my own body. I turned, took Dharak by the shoulder, and walked him firmly to the door.

“I told Thymas that story would have to wait until we were all together, so Tarani and I would need to tell it only once,” I said. “I'm telling you the same thing.”

Tarani appeared in the bedroom doorway just as Dharak and I reached it. Tiny droplets of water clung to her dark headfur, creating silver highlights in her widow's peak.

Tarani flinched back, crinkling her nose. “Forgive me, Rikardon, but now that I am clean …”

“I know,” I assured her, laughing. “I'm going.”

“Until dinner, then,” Dharak said. He nodded to Tarani, pressed my arm lightly, and disappeared around a bend in the hallway.

The Lieutenant's private bathhouse was functional and elegant, very similar to the one I had used in Thanasset's back yard in Raithskar. The roof of the small structure was bordered with brownish tile and covered with wood to form a sun-warmed reservoir for water from the nearby river. Opening the fill valve on the tile conduit and cleaning grime from the drain filter were daily tasks for the “working” group of older children, though occasionally they were pre-empted as punishment duty for Riders.

Someone must scrub this tile every day
, I thought, as I lowered my body into the tile-lined depression that formed a deep, narrow tub.
As I remember, Thanasset's tub was this well-kept, too
—
and he doesn't have a rotating duty roster to take care of such details. All he has is Milda.

The thought of Markasset's father and aunt stirred memories and longing. They were good people, sincere and caring. They had accepted me as a stranger, and even when they had learned—I had told them the truth as soon as I had known for sure—that Markasset's identity was dead, they had accepted me as family.

I stirred the pleasantly warm water and slid further down to let it lap over my shoulders. The water's touch had awakened all the abrasions and muscle soreness I had been ignoring for the past several days, then it had begun to soothe them. I sighed and closed my eyes, homilies like “It's the simple comforts that mean the most” and “You never appreciate something until you have to do without it” wandering through my mind. I braced my body, slipped into a languid reverie, and relaxed—truly relaxed—for the first time since I had left Raithskar nearly eight weeks before.

The slight chill of the cooling water roused me. I applied soap and coarse washcloth to my skin, opened the drain, and stepped out. It was only then that I realized that I had failed to bring a robe or fresh tunic. I rubbed away most of the water, then wrapped the roughly woven towel around my middle. I left the bathhouse with my skin tingling and my feet bare; I carried my boots and the rags I had been wearing at arm's length.

The aroma of roasting meat greeted me, and I left the stone-laid path to go around the back of the house to the kitchen side. The ground was covered with grassy plants; the wide, soft blades cushioned the sound of my bare feet as I rounded the corner of the house.

A girl was tending the fire in the bottom section of the domed brick oven. She shoved the ceramic door back into place and turned toward the house at about the same moment that I became part of the view. She shrieked, whirled to run, stopped to look, blushed furiously, and started to giggle.

I tried not to laugh with her—even a bare-assed Captain needs dignity. Lucky for me, Shola had heard the commotion and now she hurried out the door, drying her hands on her apron. She did a fair job of hiding her own amusement as she scolded the girl.

“Yena, where are your manners?” Shola said. She took the boots from my hand and held them out to the girl. “Take these down to the river and freshen them—mind you shake off all the dust before you touch them with water. Go on, now.”

The girl took the boots, looked me over one more time, then fled, still giggling. Shola reached out for my clothes, then seemed to think better of it. “If you will put those on the ground beside the house, Captain,” she said, rubbing her hands on her apron as if she had actually touched them, “I'll see to it Yena burns them—
after
dinner.”

I tossed down the clothes and unconsciously mimicked Shola's gesture, rubbing my hands on the towel—which came loose. I grabbed at it in panic and replaced it before it slipped too far. I discovered I needn't have worried; Shola was looking at the heap of shredded cloth.

“Your clothes speak of suffering, Captain.” She looked up into my face, her own expression soft and caring. “They make me grateful to have you with us again.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You make me feel welcome, in every way but one.”

Her face closed down and turned away. “If there is anything you need, Captain—” she said, her voice formal. I touched her arm.

“I think you know what I need, Shola.”

Come on, Shola
, I urged her silently.
Talk to me. Don't shut me out.

For a moment I was afraid she was going to do exactly that, and I was poised on the edge of disappointment. Then she took a deep breath and announced to the wall of the house: “I am not the sort, Captain, who can pretend what she does not feel.”

“Then why not say what you
do
feel?” I asked her.

She looked at me then, her eyes flashing. “There is no place in the Lieutenant's home for rudeness.”

“You have made a place for it,” I said, more sharply than I had intended.

“Have I not been polite to her?” Shola demanded.

“A cold and insincere gift that speaks your disapproval more clearly than words,” I said. “You're deliberately trying to hurt Tarani. I want to know why.”

“This is a personal matter between us, Captain—hardly worth your attention.”

“I see,” I said, meaning that I could see how this attitude was frustrating Dharak. “Tarani and I will be moving across the river after dinner, Shola.”

“What? But … you cannot do that, Captain!” she said, stepping between me and the kitchen door as I moved toward it.

“Of course I can,” I said. “As I recall, there are a number of vacant homes; we will not inconvenience anyone.”

“I do not mean that,” Shola said.

“What else could you mean?” I asked. Her lips tightened as my point got through to her. “Could you mean,” I asked more gently, “that some actions say more than one thing to the people who see them? That our moving out of the Lieutenant's house could be seen by the rest of the Sharith as what it is—a reaction against your negative feelings toward Tarani—or as what it isn't—a withdrawal of support for the Lieutenant?”

“Please, Captain, it is bad enough between Dharak and his son; would you make it worse?”

“I would make Tarani comfortable,” I replied.

“Is
she
more important to you than the good will of the Lieutenant of the Sharith?” Shola demanded.

“I have no fear of losing Dharak's good will—or Thymas's, for that matter,” I said. “But the answer to your question is—yes.”

Shola gasped. “That woman—will her evil never be done?” she raged.

“Evil?” I repeated, shocked.

“What would you call it, Captain, to seduce a boy for the sole purpose of murdering his father? To reach for power in every possible way—leaving the boy for his commander, coming between father and son so that neither might challenge the one she has chosen, going so far as to bring a sha'um mother to a strange place for the sake of winning respect she does not deserve!”

I flinched back from the tirade. I was glad that I had finally provoked a response from Shola, but slightly overwhelmed at its vehemence.

“What has Thymas told you,” I asked, “of what happened when we left Thagorn?”

“Nothing,” Shola said, obviously surprised by the apparent non sequitur. “He has said nothing, except that you obtained what you sought, and that Gharlas is dead.”

I nodded. It fit.

I straightened my shoulders and looked down at the Lieutenant's wife. “I won't tell you you're wrong about Tarani, Shola. My saying it won't change your mind. But ask yourself how much of your anger toward Tarani is based in fact— incidentally, you don't
have
all the facts—and how much in fear.”

“Fear?” Shola said. “Surely you cannot believe I would fear a woman like that!”

“Fear of your family breaking up,” I said. “Isn't it easier to blame Tarani for driving Dharak and Thymas apart than to admit that neither of them is perfect, and that they're creating their own problems?”

I moved around her and stepped up to the kitchen door.

“Do you still intend to leave?” she asked.

“Not tonight,” I said, looking over my shoulder at her. She seemed smaller, somehow, uncertain.
Maybe I got through to her
, I thought. “If our leaving were to disrupt the leadership of the Sharith, right now you'd blame that on Tarani, too. You've had a long time to build up your anger—the least we can do is give you a day or two to
really
get to know Tarani. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and see her as herself, independent of me or Dharak or Thymas. Will you do that for me, Shola?”

She hesitated. “I will … try, Captain. I can promise no more than that.”

I was still thinking of Shola as I turned down the hallway that led to the two guest rooms. I paused at my doorway, then continued on to stop before the tapestry hanging that provided private entry to Tarani's room. I had my hand up to knock on the flat stone sill when I heard a man's voice from inside the room. The words were softly spoken and indistinguishable from one another, but I recognized the voice.

I lowered my hand and went back to my room.

I was sitting on the edge of the pallet-lined ledge that served as a bed when Tarani knocked at
my
door half an hour later. I was dressed in a fresh “uniform”—tan trousers and tunic, with darker leather belt and boots (baldric and sword omitted)—and my hands were clenched together between my knees. The knock was so soft that I wasn't sure I had heard anything until Tarani pushed aside the door hanging and looked into the room.

“Rikardon? Why did you not answer? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“Dark?” I echoed, then realized I could hardly see Tarani as she walked across the room. As she passed in front of me, I heard a silky, whispering sound.

Tarani threw open the latticed shutters. The light that entered was already touched with evening dimness, but it brought Tarani into clear focus. She was wearing a long gown of a pale golden color. The fabric was soft and sheer, and shimmered when she moved. It was simply cut to drape softly at the neckline and fall in a clean, straight line to brush the floor, and it had full sleeves that tied at her wrists. The shape of the dress accented her unusual height; its color complemented the paleness of her complexion and made the darkness of her headfur more striking; the effect of the outfit was to accentuate her regal bearing. Tarani looked like a queen.

She came toward me, smiling. “The dress is a gift from Thymas,” she said. “He traded for the fabric, and asked Jori to make it for me. He called it a replacement for my dancing gown, but it seems much more elegant to me. Do you like it?”

I stood up to meet her, and took her hands. “You look magnificent in it, Tarani. Who is Jori?”

“Thymas's sister, the one who married Solenin. Have you not met her?”

“No, though I do recall the name, now.”

“She is a good person, dotingly fond of Thymas, and I am grateful to her.” Tarani's voice turned flat, “Shola, too, gave me a gown to wear this evening.”

When she didn't go on, I said: “One of Shola's gowns would be too large and too short for you.”

“Her gown is an ill fit in more ways than one, Rikardon. It was a bitter and grudging gift.”

“When did she give it to you?” I asked.

“She met me on my way to the bathhouse and told me she would leave it in my room,” Tarani said. She squeezed my hands. “Rikardon, even in this gown, I do not anticipate this evening with pleasure.”

“I understand how you feel, Tarani,” I said. “I want to ask a favor of you.”

“A favor?” she said, frowning slightly. “Of what sort?”

“Silence,” I answered. “When it comes time, this evening, to talk of Eddarta and Gharlas and Yayshah, I want to be the one to tell the story, and I'd like your permission to use my own judgment as to how much to tell.”

She lowered her eyes. “Tarn's cellar?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Who you are. What the Ra'ira is. Our plans. I may not tell all of it, but I want to feel free to make that choice without fear of surprising or hurting you.”

“I am grateful for your consideration,” she said, looking up at me again. Even with the light behind her, there was a glow in her dark eyes. She smiled. “I would like to say you need not have asked, but I fear you know me too well. You have my promise; I shall not interrupt you. You do not require my consent to reveal any matter relating to the Ra'ira; that is your choice, as leader of the Sharith. I give you the permission you ask, to share your personal knowledge of me.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling humbled by her trust—and guilty, as usual. “Aren't you going to ask me why?”