“Let him touch, bodyguard,” Serysta said. “You may stop him if he tries anything else.”
Kallista tightened her muscles, awaiting it, but his touch was feather light. Nothing more than a fingertip brushing over her skin. It made her want more. More touching. More—She reached a hand toward Torchay. He caught and held it tight.
“You have both been marked.” The Reinine’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence. Kallista looked up, moved away from Stone nearer Torchay, still gripping his hand.
“That much is obvious,” Serysta went on. “But what it means—No one believed those old stories could be literally true. We must delve into palace archives, learn what we can.”
She turned to the lieutenant. “Suteny, I am placing you and your quarto under Captain Varyl’s command. You and your prisoner will be quartered with her party.”
“Erm—” Kallista began, then began again. “We haven’t room for so many in our chamber, Majesty. We can barely fit ourselves—”
“Huryl, provide the naitan and her party—her expanded party—with suitable quarters.”
The sour look disappeared so quickly from the high steward’s face, Kallista could not be sure she had seen it. “Yes, Majesty,” he said.
“Noonday Suite should do, in Daybright Tower. I want them close at hand.”
Huryl bowed lower. “Yes, Majesty.”
Serysta Reinine nodded, so regal that Kallista found herself bowing again. When she rose, the Reinine and her escorts had vanished, the throne-room door just closing behind her. Kallista looked around at her new command.
“Lieutenant.” She received his salute, returned it, then extended her hand. After a moment’s startled hesitation, he exchanged the clasped-wrist greeting of officer to officer.
“I am Kallista Varyl. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” She folded her hands behind her back, assuming an attitude of friendly authority. He might be male, but she would treat him no differently from any other lieutenant in her command. Though she rarely dealt with other officers. Her commands were usually too small. Often only herself and Torchay.
“No, Captain.” He gave a slight bow. “May I present my men?”
The quarto of soldiers came to clattering attention. They were well drilled at least, their uniforms neat and in order, though the tunic stretched alarmingly across the fat sergeant’s paunch. When the brief inspection ended, Kallista accepted and returned their salute.
“My bodyguard.” She waved a hand in Torchay’s direction as he snapped off a crisp salute. “Torchay Omvir. And my servant, Aisse vo’Haav.”
The Tibran male’s head jerked up at Aisse’s name. “Vo’Haav,” he croaked in his rusty voice. “Tibran? She was speaking Tibran at me?”
“Yes.” Kallista’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not understand?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even know what language it was.
Gods
, what did you do to me?”
“Nothing.” Kallista waited till he met her gaze, held it. “Whatever was done, was done to me as well. You know that.”
Stone looked away, flushing red beneath his golden skin.
“If you’re ready, Captain?” Huryl insinuated himself into the group, again making a faint insult of her rank.
“Thank you, High Steward.” Kallista inclined her head, refusing to give his rank any more recognition than that. She was who she was, a captain and a naitan in the Reinine’s army, defending Adara’s safety. If he did not like it, too bad.
Huryl led her from the antechamber, the others following, and through the corridor beyond, now crowded with all the people who’d been banished when the magic had erupted. At the end of it, he lifted a hand, summoning the green-gowned undersecretary Erunde, and turned them over to her.
The Noonday Suite was indeed close at hand. It took them only a few moments to reach Daybright Tower, situated in a cluster of towers with similarly poetic names. After they climbed two flights of stairs and walked down a short corridor, Erunde threw open the ornate double doors with a flourish as if awaiting gasps of amazement. The enormous sitting room, done all in shades of white, yellow and gold, deserved amazement, but Kallista was too tired for gasping.
Now that the meeting with the Reinine was over and the magic was gone, she felt utterly drained. She wandered through the long chamber, past sofas and chairs upholstered in silk, velvet and brocade set in charming little groups with carved, marquetry-topped tables holding graceful candelabras, and she wondered where they were expected to sleep. Dimly she was aware of Torchay requesting that Erunde have their belongings gathered and sent up, and of Erunde bowing her way out of the room. Then she heard the other sergeant start in on Torchay, blustering on about something. Kallista headed back to take matters in hand, but before she could reach them, Joh Suteny spoke.
“Sergeant Borril.” His voice snapped with an authority Kallista would not have believed had she not heard it.
The sergeant snapped to attention. “Lieutenant.”
“What color is the tunic Sergeant Omvir is wearing, Borril?” Joh’s voice quieted but still held that authority.
“Black, Lieutenant.”
“And who wears a black tunic, Sergeant?”
“The bodyguard of a naitan, Lieutenant.”
“And who holds the higher rank
at all times
between a naitan’s bodyguard and a regular soldier of similar rank?”
“The bodyguard, Lieutenant.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I’m sure.”
“Then why, Sergeant, did I hear this…whining about length of service and time in rank from you?”
Sergeant Borril flushed red with anger and embarrassment, shooting a glare at Torchay, who watched with passive face and arms folded across his chest. “No reason, Lieutenant.”
“Good. I trust that it will not happen again. See to your prisoner.” Joh turned from dressing down the sergeant. His eyes widened briefly in surprise when he found Kallista standing so closely behind him. He inclined his head. “Naitan.”
“You handled that well.” She smiled. “I’d likely have made a mess of things. I’m used to dealing with sergeants who are all bodyguards, some with dozens of years of service. It’s like walking through sleeping wildcats to deal with them.”
Joh returned a hesitant smile, as if he wasn’t quite sure smiling was safe.
Torchay called from across the room where he was exploring. “The bedrooms are behind these doors.”
“Choose one for us then,” Kallista called back, then spoke to Joh. “I’ll leave it to you to assign quarters for your men and your prisoner.”
“As far from the naitan as possible, if you please, Lieutenant,” Torchay said, returning. “We’ll take the south room farthest from the door.”
“I don’t want Stone hard by the exit, but the next one over on the north side will do,” Joh said. “My men will take the rooms nearest the door.”
“Where will you be?” Torchay asked.
“With the prisoner.”
Kallista let her surprise show. “Really?”
“I can keep a better watch on him that way. He…wanders.”
“Wanders?” Torchay’s head came up in alarm. “What about chains?”
Joh waved a hand, wiping away his words. “Wanders in his mind. Whatever happened to him…disarranged his thoughts. He wanders physically as well, but the chains are effective. He’s had to be chained since he tried to leap off the boat on the journey here.” He gave the Tibran warrior standing passively a few paces off a pitying look. “He’s more likely to harm himself, I believe, than someone else.”
“Guarantee that, can you?” Torchay asked, eyeing the Tibran.
“No, but I believe it.”
“Has he—” Kallista stopped. She was too tired to stand for long and this promised to be a long conversation. She beckoned Joh and Torchay toward one of the seating arrangements. “Stone too. We should talk.”
The Tibran shuffled forward, the shackles limiting his motion, and perched gingerly on a delicate chair upholstered in pale yellow silk. The fat sergeant took up a post directly behind his prisoner. Torchay held the chair at the opposite end and frowned when Kallista sat on the white-and-gold brocade sofa instead. It looked more comfortable. She waved Torchay down on the end nearest Stone. Joh took the sofa opposite.
“Has he ever—” Again she stopped and addressed her question to Stone. He was the one with the mark. “Have you ever had that happen before? What happened just now?”
He shook his head, then paused, looking to Joh. “Not exactly like that. I don’t remember—”
“You went into convulsions back in Turysh,” the lieutenant said. “But you’re right. It wasn’t the same.”
“Wait.” Kallista put up a hand as more cold chills danced through her. “In Turysh? On…Thirdday last week? On the docks?”
Joh nodded, looking as uneasy as Kallista felt. “Yes. Why?”
She looked at Stone, tried to picture the man she had seen. “I saw you,” she said. “I think. Your hair was loose—wild…”
Stone stared back at her, horror in his eyes. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you think—” Joh began hesitantly.
“What?” Kallista didn’t bother hiding her impatience.
“Could it be possible that—that your presence triggered these fits?”
“How?” She didn’t want to believe it, but it had a feeling of rightness about it.
“I don’t know. I’m no naitan. I know nothing of magic and this…” Joh paused for breath. “This reeks of it.”
“The Hand of the One,” Sergeant Borril said.
“But I’m perfectly all right now.” Stone’s chains rattled as he shifted position.
“Maybe it’s ended.” Kallista didn’t like the idea of throwing people into bellowing fits.
“Maybe it requires touch,” Joh said.
Torchay skewered him with a glare. He did not want them touching. Kallista didn’t have to read his mind to know.
“If a touch is going to throw us into another one of those episodes, we need to know it,” she said.
Grudgingly, Torchay nodded and stood, moving out of the way. Kallista extended her hand. Stone stared at it, seeming to shrink away without actually moving.
“Take my hand, Stone,” she said. “It can’t be any worse than before.”
“Are you sure?” But he lifted his manacled hands and folded one of them around hers.
Nothing happened.
“Is that how you were touching before?” Joh studied their clasped hands. “It doesn’t look right.”
“No. Stone, you had hold of my arm. Here.” She indicated her bare forearm above the glove.
“Skin to skin,” Joh said.
The words made Kallista shudder with want and memory.
“Touch her arm, Stone.” Joh’s intense scrutiny didn’t change.
“You’re enjoying this,” Torchay accused the lieutenant. “You like experimenting with my naitan’s safety.”
“It’s important to know.”
“The lieutenant is right.” Kallista untangled her hand from Stone’s and pulled off her gloves, handing them to Torchay. Joh swallowed hard at the sight of her bare hands and some of the guardsmen backed away.
Kallista sighed a quick breath. “I don’t often wear gloves in private. If any of you has trouble with that, perhaps he ought to request reassignment.”
“I’m fine.” Joh looked back at the soldiers. They straightened to attention and remained at their posts to either side of the door, though one young man’s eyes were white with nerves and another kept swallowing.
“My magic—the magic I was born with,” she corrected, “is lightning. I would normally tell you that my control is excellent, but since—well, nothing is as it was. I will do my best—and Torchay will help—to be sure no one is harmed.”
“There are six tower spires just outside the window,” Torchay said, “if they are needed.”
Good
, he had checked for safe targets for the lightning. And perhaps the spires would make safe targets for any other magic that might come strolling through her. They were as ready for what might happen as they could be without knowing what would actually happen.
Kallista turned back to Stone and held out her bared hand, leaving it up to him to decide. He met her gaze, blue eyes to blue, and his chin came up, answering her unspoken challenge. With a rattle of chains, he raised his hands and clasped hers.
Magic stirred, inside Stone, not Kallista. It lifted, as if asking what she required, waiting for her command. She touched it, felt it answer, felt Stone’s gasp, and backed away. She could call it. But this was not the place to experiment. She had no desire to destroy the Reinine’s delicate furniture with who-knew-what-sort of stray magic crashing around.
Stone shuddered when she released his hand. As did Torchay. “You called magic,” her bodyguard said, going down to one knee beside the sofa. It brought him closer to her.
“Yes.” She nodded, taking her turn to shudder. “No. I touched magic. Inside Stone. I didn’t call it. This isn’t the place or the time. Not when we don’t know what it will do.”
“No.” Stone shook his head, huddling inside his chains. “No. I am no witch. I have no magic. Impossible.”
Kallista looked at him—it was no hardship. He was a beautiful young man. “You have never called magic? Never done something you should not have been able to do? Or done something very much better than everyone else?”
“I am fastest at reloading my musket, fastest with a bayonet, but that’s skill, not magic.”
Aisse fidgeted in her chosen place near Kallista, drawing attention to herself for the first time. Attention she didn’t want, by her demeanor. “Magic not—
is
not liked in Tibre. Those with magic are punished. Lose caste, lose magic or—made dead.”
“Killed,” Torchay corrected automatically. Aisse repeated the word while Kallista thought.
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “the magic is not there for your use, since you are no naitan. I do not call magic from inside myself but from—from the air around me, from the sky, from the One. I ask Her gift and She gives it. Could it be there for me to call?”
The sound of hands clapping brought Kallista’s head up. Belandra stood behind the sofa where Joh sat, clapping her hands in sardonic applause. “Congratulations, you discovered something on your own.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
K
allista’s mouth opened to demand where Belandra had been, and her eyes fell on Joh, his face filled with overdone curiosity. “Out,” she said instead. She did not want outside witnesses to this conversation. “Everyone out.”