She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The Tibrans hadn’t had him long after he’d lost his caste, but they’d taught him all too well. “I don’t need just your magic, Fox. I need your mind and your will. You’re ilias now, part of the Varyl ilian. We are your caste now. Do you understand that?”
“I…am beginning to.” Half a moment later, he grinned, his face lighting up the forest. “And I have no objections to
anything
you want from me. Especially if it has to do with sex.”
They were still laughing when they joined the others.
It took them another full week to work their way through the swamps, past the Tibran lines and into Kishkim’s walled streets. While waiting tucked in a sweltering third-floor room near the docks for Obed and Torchay to finish their negotiations for a ship to take them across the Jeroan Sea, Kallista finally gave in to Stone’s seductive teasing. She caught Fox in the magic too and brought them all three to a mutual roaring climax.
“Khralsh’s bloody hells,” Fox gasped, slumping against the wall where he sat on the larger of the two beds. “If I weren’t already blind, I think that might have done the job.”
“I think it did.” Stone slid down to lie on the rug between the beds. “I know I can’t see.”
“Try opening your eyes.” Kallista tried it as she pushed herself up off the tabletop and sank into the high upholstered back of the chair where she sat. “Worked for me.”
“You sure?” Stone paused, evidently following Kallista’s directive, for he said, “Oh yeah, that works.”
Aisse startled Kallista when she sidled up next to her. She’d forgotten the younger woman was still in the room. “That was truly like sex?” Aisse whispered. “You truly enjoy it?”
Kallista worked harder to control her breathing. “Yes, Aisse. Truly.”
The little blonde chewed on the inside of her lip. “I wish you could show me.”
“Oh, Aisse, I’m not—I don’t—”
“With your magic. Not—I know you like men.” She chewed on her lip again.
“That’s obvious enough, I suppose.” Kallista studied her young ilias, trying to find the best response. “What about you?”
Aisse shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t like to be hurt. Men hurt.”
“Not always. Not all of them. Torchay doesn’t hurt you, I know. None of our men have hurt you.” Speaking quietly, Kallista emphasized the “our.” Aisse had called them that first.
Again she shrugged. “Because I don’t do sex with them.”
“Why do you sleep beside Torchay now? You trust him not to do anything you don’t want, right? He would show you what you want to know, and he wouldn’t hurt you. Ask him.” Kallista didn’t begrudge Aisse Torchay’s tutoring, even in this. And maybe it would make up for some of the hurt she’d stupidly dealt him.
Four days later, on the first of Vendra, the last summer month, Obed found a captain willing to transport their ilian to Haav in Tibre. He had no room for their animals, but one of Torchay’s kinsmen had arrived the night before to take them in hand. The ship, local but not crewed by Adarans, would leave on the evening tide. They had just time enough to repack their belongings and divide the remaining coin from Obed’s supply among themselves.
They were all six crammed into a single, none-too-large cabin. Everyone but Obed became violently ill the instant the ship reached open sea. Torchay recovered first, three days after they sailed, and by the week’s end only Fox still moaned in the cabin’s single ilian-size bunk.
Kallista feared his blindness was making his condition worse and hoped he wouldn’t stay sick for the entire voyage. She could feel his nausea through the link. Eventually, with the help of magic she borrowed from the other two, Fox recovered sufficiently to emerge from the cabin.
The crew had no naitan to control the winds, and though Kallista was tempted to try, she resisted temptation and allowed the captain to use his skill and seamanship. But because of the vagaries of natural wind, the trip seemed endless.
The ilian’s close quarters turned small irritations into major faults, creating daily explosions of temper, nursing of grudges and tendering of apologies. Kallista’s temper was the loudest, but the others knew how to make their annoyance felt, even Fox who seemed to think he had no right to any emotions. Somehow, the daily struggle to keep from throttling each other bound them closer to what anyone might call a true ilian.
They took the weeks of the journey to teach Stone and Fox a bit of the Tibran they’d lost so they could at least understand orders and identify where they belonged if the ilian was separated. Once Fox was over his illness, he joined the others in the combat training Torchay conducted on deck.
Kallista practiced calling magic, though she didn’t work the dark veil, not in the ship’s close quarters. West magic disturbed too many people. She played with the winds, hunted stray magics—not many on the open sea—and worked at spreading the defensive shield beyond the members of her ilian. She did
not
practice sex by magic, much to Stone’s noisy disappointment and Obed’s silent relief.
Nor did Aisse seem to have asked Torchay for any instruction. They slept crowded together on the single bunk, Aisse always on the outside, always next to Torchay, but at least she joined them now. The ilian was coming together, becoming the whole it needed to be if they were to succeed in their task.
On the thirty-third day of Vendra, two days before the advent of the first fall month, the ship made dock at Haav, the major port of the Tibran empire. Haav’s docks bristled with masts, golden-skinned laborers with shaved heads swarming everywhere as they loaded and unloaded the ships. A fortress built of rust-red stone loomed over the harbor with three ranks of cannon protruding from its walls.
As they had planned during the long evenings of their trip, Obed and Torchay waited on deck for the assigned Bureaucrat. The Tibran king had apparently learned that treating foreign merchants as if they were members of his own Merchant caste was not conducive to trade. Merchants in Tibre ranked only above Bureaucrats, Laborers and, of course, Women, and suffered occasional abuse from the higher castes. Foreign merchants didn’t care to suffer at all. Therefore, a member of the Port Bureaucracy came to each ship and issued various certifications that would—with luck—protect the visiting traders.
“How much longer do you reckon the fellow will have us wait?” Torchay asked, standing at a comfortable parade rest on the ship’s deck. He was used to waiting, usually in worse weather than the day’s pleasant breeze.
Obed shrugged. “Before nightfall, I am sure. The man is trying to impress us with his importance, which is very small.”
“If a person can’t push around many folk, he’s more likely to push those he can.” Torchay had seen it often, especially in the army.
“Your patience is impressive.” Obed drummed his fingers on the ship’s rail. “Mine is stretched to breaking. I’ve never liked wasting time. There’s too much to be done.”
“Peace, ilias.” Torchay touched Obed’s shoulder and pointed. “Could that be our little Bureaucrat?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
T
he man was far from little. Tall and stout, with a belly that strained the shell buttons closing his black padded vest, he bowled aside the scurrying laborers as he made his ponderous way to the ship. The gangplank bowed slightly as he trudged up it. He took a sailor’s hand for support and thudded to the deck.
The captain approached the bureaucrat first, bowing and scraping his way through a sheaf of papers and seals. Then he escorted the local to where Torchay and Obed waited. Stone’s suggestion that Torchay wear warrior’s red and all of his blades seemed to be a wise one, for the bureaucrat’s bluster faded at the sight of him. Torchay folded his arms, flexed his muscles, scowled, and the bureaucrat went pale.
Obed spoke, telling the story they’d agreed upon. Torchay could understand a word here and there, since Obed’s Tibran was only fair. The bureaucrat spoke and Obed translated.
“This is Oughrath, Bureaucrat vo’Haav.” Obed stumbled over the difficult consonants. “He requires a deposit be made against our potential purchases. Common Tibran practice, though I’m sure he takes a cut of it. When we make the payment, we’ll receive our certification and robes.”
“Robes?”
“White, to mark us as foreign traders, since we plan to travel inland. Apparently robes work better than mere badges.”
“For six of us?”
Obed turned back to fat Oughrath and asked. “Yes,” he said when he got the answer. “Robes for our entire party. Even our slaves. We want to protect our investment after all.”
Torchay nodded. The Tibrans, including Aisse, would pass as casteless slaves, bought after one of this continent’s incessant wars. Kallista would pose as a young—male—clerk. No legitimate trader brought women to Tibre. “Pay him.” Torchay pulled a purse off his belt.
“Half now, half when he brings the robes.” Obed took the purse and counted out seven gold coins, placing them one by one in Oughrath’s sweaty palm. With a last surly glare, the bureaucrat departed.
An hour later, he returned, leading a laborer bearing a bundle of white cloth in his arms. As Fox took each robe from the laborer, Obed gave another coin to Oughrath, and a seventh when the exchange was complete, while Torchay watched, bristling with blades. The bureaucrat handed over a stack of papers, seeming to recite a speech long memorized. Then he was gone.
“What was that last bit?” Torchay touched Fox’s arm, directing him toward the stairs.
“Warning us to be sure to wear the robes at all times, especially our slaves.” Obed brought up the rear. “If they’re caught without the robes, they could be confiscated or damaged.”
Torchay muttered a few choice curses under his breath. This “mission” of Kallista’s was madness. The whole countryside lay ready to attack if they made one slip. But where she led, he was bound to follow. Not bound as their marked iliasti were, but bound nonetheless.
Later
, she’d told him.
When this ends
. He wanted to hope, but would any of them survive the ending?
In the cabin, they shared out the robes. Torchay collected Kallista’s gloves before they left the ship together to find lodging. Without naitani, Tibre had no requirement regarding gloves. They would make her noticeable.
“Stay near the docks,” Kallista murmured. “Let’s avoid trouble as long as we can.”
Obed nodded, leading the way. Torchay brought up the rear, sleeves rolled up to expose the blades at his wrists.
Stone pulled his own sleeves down over his hands and tugged his hood forward to hide as much as possible of the telltale gold of his skin. He checked Fox’s hood, then felt a little tingle as Kallista drew magic.
“A veil,” she said, “to blur their image of us.”
Stone pushed through the crowd after Obed, feeling strangeness stack on top of strangeness as he watched to be sure none of his iliasti were separated from the group or trampled. He couldn’t understand anything the locals said, though at the beginning of spring, he’d been one of them.
He’d been one of the Warriors swaggering through town, taking what he wanted. Now he hurried with his head down, looking out for the safety of a blind man and two women, people who would have been beneath his notice before.
If he had not been marked by Kallista’s god, would he have shunned Fox when he lost his sight? Stone wanted to think not, but he knew better. He might have made sure Fox had food, clothing, maybe a blanket. But he wouldn’t have been able to protect him from the rest of it, even had he wanted to.
As for the women…Stone had never paid much attention to women before, other than as warm comfort on a cold night. He’d never dreamed he could
like
them without sex playing any part.
Obed stopped in front of an open door from which the yeasty smell of beer and garlicky scent of cooking emerged. He looked back at Kallista where she stood just in front of Stone. She nodded, a slight dip of her head, and Obed entered.
Moments later, they’d taken possession of a large parlor and adjoining sleeping rooms on the second floor. Kallista threw off her robe and the sudden appearance of her sweetly curved body in her tight-laced tunic brought a surge of lust skittering through Stone. Though after that long, abstinent voyage, something as simple as the line of her neck beneath her queue or the turn of a graceful hand could inspire lust.
He wanted her. Not just because she was the only female remotely available to him, but because she was Kallista. Even if the women’s quarters of every caste in Haav were thrown open to him, he would still want Kallista. He’d never known what a difference it could make, having sex with a woman he
liked
. And that was without even touching. How much better would it be if he ever got to have real sex with her again?
“Stone.” Kallista got his attention, pointing toward one of the smaller rooms. “In there.”
He was already moving when he asked why.
“Because you’re making me crazy. Fox, you too. Follow Stone.” She caught Fox’s arm and turned him, giving him a little push.
“I should go find us mounts,” Obed said, edging toward the door. “For our trip to the capital.”
Stone didn’t blame Obed for wanting to leave if he didn’t want to play. It was the not-wanting-to-play part he didn’t understand.
“We don’t go anywhere alone.” Torchay tossed a robe at Obed and picked up his own. “Not any of us, not ever, as long as we’re in Tibre.”
“I go—I
will
go with you.” Aisse shrugged back into her robe, shoving the knotted ball buttons through the loops to hold it closed.
“Fine.” Kallista waved the others off.
Stone shuddered, feeling her reach inside him to gather the magic as the parlor door closed on the departing trio. Kallista paused in the bedroom doorway, watching as Fox climbed onto the bed next to Stone.
“Come.” Stone patted the small space between him and his partner-ilias. “You know you’ll end up on the floor if you don’t. This is much more comfortable.”
“We’re only doing magic.”
“Nothing wrong with being comfortable while you do.” He propped himself on an elbow, watching her. “Don’t you agree, Fox?”