Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (12 page)

He couldn’t leave.

Eredion lifted the mug of water to his lips slowly, wishing it were good, hard liquor; but he’d decided to stop that habit, since Wian was available now to take the edge off his perpetual tension. And where, exactly, had she gone? He’d told her to wait here, and she’d disobeyed. Not that she was his slave, but it was irritating that one of the rare times he gave her a direct order she’d chosen to ignore it. Gods knew he tried not to treat her like a whore, or a slave, but she made it damn
difficult
sometimes....

The outer door of the suite opened. He relaxed muscles he hadn’t realized were tense.

“Where did you go?” he said without opening his eyes. “I told you to stay here.”

“No,” a familiar-strange voice said, “you didn’t.”

He sat up fast, the mug slipping from his hand and crashing to the floor. The edge hit the carpet first, and water splashed in a wide arc across the floor, turning rich reds and golds into a muddy dark mingling. He glanced at that for only a moment, then returned his attention to the tiny old woman standing in front of him.

Multiple thin braids of icy-white hair draped across her shoulders, reaching nearly to her stomach. Her skin was wrinkled like a sun-dried fruit, and age spots—Eredion had grown up hearing them referred to as “god-freckles”—scattered in random constellations across her bare arms. She wore a dark grey and blue dress; the thin material draped against her skinny body and made her look even more ethereal. Her feet were minimally protected by thick sandals that showed the wear of years; her toes were straight, the nails neatly trimmed.

At last he made himself look at her face, confronting the familiar hazy eyes that saw more than he’d ever understand about the world. Her amused expression told him that she’d noticed and understood his quick survey of everything about her except her face. A moment later it faded into a more chillingly sober stare.

“It’s worse than you think,” she said. “He’s not in the city any longer.”

“Good to see you again too,
ha’inn,”
he said, standing; using sarcasm as a shield while he gathered his scattered thoughts. There was only one person—being—Teilo could possibly be concerned about, given the current situation. She must have encountered Tanavin on the street—and of course he would have told her everything, willingly or not. Teilo wasn’t stupid; she would have made sure, during her time training him, that the boy had no shields or defenses against her.

If Eredion had known
she
was wandering around, he never would have let the boy go off on his own.

He hoped Tanavin was still alive.

He kept his thoughts to himself and said, “I assume you mean Deiq?”

She stared at him, her sparse white eyebrows drawing down in an faintly impatient grimace, as though she’d followed his thoughts in spite of his effort to shield—not at all unlikely—and found them juvenile.

“You’re wasting time with your human-style searching,” she said. “Someone’s taken him through the hidden way.”

Eredion’s legs went out from under him. He folded back into the chair with a thump that almost tipped it over, and stared at her dumbly. “There’s a—?”
Here? In Bright Bay? I’ve never heard a whisper of that! Where the hells is it?

Her expression stopped him from saying it all aloud. She wouldn’t tell him.

“To where?”

Her tone bit now: “If I knew that, I would have said.”

“Yes....” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to think the changed situation through. “Gods. Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.”

For some reason, that made the ha’rai’nin smile. “Well, on the good hand, you can tell the king he probably needn’t worry about a mad ha’ra’ha rampaging through his city.”

“Yes,” Eredion said sourly, hauling himself to his feet, “but now I need to tell the entire
southlands
that they have a problem headed their way. I preferred it when I only had Bright Bay to worry about.”

“I should think the southlands would be better prepared to handle something like this.”

“You would think right—five hundred years ago. Now....” Eredion shook his head, remembering a blur of motion and a screaming agony that had come out of nowhere.

Eredion
seethed
as he strode through the fortress corridors towards the gardens. He was a
desert lord
now! Surely that new status should put him beyond petty dictates from that most-gracious slut. Go dismiss her latest lover, indeed! She could have sent a servant for that.

How Lord Arit Sessin could possibly put up with that woman’s nonsense mystified Eredion. Then again, Arit was getting old. Perhaps he couldn’t satisfy her any longer, and she had to turn to younger men.

Eredion checked his step. Perhaps sending him on this errand showed that she was beginning to favor him. Maybe she was interested in a young desert lord keeping her up all night. She must know the truth behind the tales, by now: that desert lords made the best lovers, and a new one the best of all.

Perhaps he’d been too hasty in calling her a slut. Or in thinking that was an entirely bad thing. Lady Sessin was very attractive, after all....

Resuming his stride with much more enthusiasm, he marched into the moonlit gardens, thinking on how best to hint back to the woman that he was entirely willing—

As he passed Lady Sessin’s favorite white feather-leaf bush, a chill like a line of cold water dribbling down his spine struck him. A moment later, an entire bucketful of icy premonition doused him head to foot.

Danger!

As he opened his mouth to scream for help, knowing with intuitive certainty he wouldn’t make a step if he tried to bolt,
something
came at him. Moving too fast to see features or even shape, the collision brought him to the ground hard, gravel digging into neck and shoulder and sliding raspily under hip and foot.

Even in the night-shadows, the eyes that stared into his only vaguely resembled anything human.
Oh gods I’m going to —
was all Eredion had time to think before the air around him twisted in a way he’d never experienced.

He never was entirely sure, afterwards, exactly what happened next. It blurred into a screaming agony and a howling lust and a bottomless terror, all woven together; then the first two stopped as though cut off dead.

Fear shivering through his whole body, he lay still, eyes shut, and waited to die.

“Stop that,” someone said nearby, sounding infinitely weary. “I’m not going to kill you.”

It took all of Eredion’s shredded courage to crack one eye open and swivel a fast glance around for the source of that voice. Not seeing anything with that limited vision, he dared to open the other eye and turn his head in search of his assailant.

A dark-haired man sat not far away, one knee drawn up, arm resting on that knee and a just-visible expression of exhausted disgust on his face. He regarded Eredion without speaking; the desert lord, too baffled and shaken to form coherent words, sat up and returned the stare.

At last, the silence dragging on his nerves, Eredion turned his attention to his surroundings. Moonlight streamed in great swaths through wide windows. A vagrant night breeze brought in the scent of jasmine, rosemary, and basil; the air held moisture and a tinge of salt. The floor looked to be wood, heavily scattered with fine thick rugs and pillows. A tremendously wide and heavily padded bed-mat took up most of the room. A light blanket, pushed into crumpled lines, draped across one corner of the mat. Eredion himself, like the stranger, was naked; their clothes lay in a sloppy heap to one side.

Eredion looked away, feeling a hard flush coloring his face, and tried not to think about the faint,
familiar
physical ache and exhaustion racking through him. He’d rarely found other men interesting, except in the immediate aftermath of the blood trials; but there was no arguing his response in this instance.

From what he could remember, there hadn’t been any question as to who was in charge, though...and it
hadn’t
been Eredion,
which was more than slightly embarrassing in retrospect.

He swallowed and looked around the room again to make himself stop thinking about that. He was sitting just off-center on the mat, the stranger off to one corner. On the other side of the room was a doorway, covered only by a light curtain shimmying in the breeze. Eredion considered trying to bolt. He discarded the notion at the memory of how
fast
the stranger had moved.

As if hearing the thought, the stranger chuckled. “You’re too exhausted to make two steps right now,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back home as soon as you’ve rested.”

Eredion looked back at the stranger, wishing for better light so that he could see the man more clearly.

“There’s a lantern on the table over there, and strikers,” the man said, pointing. He sounded amused. “If you can make it that far, go ahead and light it.”

So he could hear thoughts; either that or he was a smart guesser. Eredion felt far too flayed emotionally just at the moment to risk opening himself up to find out for sure.

Eredion pushed to his feet, took a step, and folded rapidly to the floor again, his knees watery. “Uhmph.”

The stranger laughed and stood. “Stay there, then. I’ll do it.” He crossed to the low table. Moments later the lantern flared to life. He lifted it onto a heavy wall-hook and turned.

The new light caught the line of an unmistakable desert-hawk visage. Eredion felt his stomach drop through the floor.
“Deiq of Stass?”

Deiq’s shrug held more than a tinge of embarrassment.

“You’re a
merchant
!” As soon as he said it, Eredion felt infinitely foolish. Obviously the man was far more than just a merchant.

“You have no idea,” Deiq said, “how much I’d like that to be true.”

“What are you? And what just
happened
?”

Deiq stared as though that was the most idiotic thing he’d ever been asked, and blurted, “You mean you don’t
know
?”

Teilo sucked in a sharp breath, obviously catching that memory. “You weren’t
told?”
she demanded, much as Deiq had done.

“I thought he was just a merchant,” Eredion said, avoiding her milky glare. “As I recall, he had a hearty fight with Lord Arit about it.” And almost as soon as Deiq had left, Arit had summoned Eredion and berated him for allowing this to happen; as though Eredion had been given a
choice...
but Arit hadn’t wanted to hear that. And not long afterwards, Eredion had been sent to Bright Bay as Sessin Family Representative...at a time all the other Families were rapidly withdrawing all their business and political interests from the Northern Kingdom.

He’d never been innocent enough, at least, to see
that
as coincidental timing.

The old ha’rai’nin nodded slowly, apparently following his thoughts. “Your Family is very lucky,” she said softly. “And Deiq is more insane than I ever suspected. He should have told the Jungles immediately.”

Eredion’s stomach lurched as he made a connection he should have seen years ago. “He was protecting us?”

“If the Jungles had known that Lord Arit Sessin tried to keep even one desert lord in ignorance of his rightful duties,” Teilo said evenly, “Sessin lands would now be as empty as Scratha’s.”

“Oh, gods,” Eredion whispered, sitting back down. He stared at her. “And now he’s been taken....”

“I suspect Deiq has secrets in his head that would level the entire world if the wrong people got hold of them,” Teilo said. “I’m beginning to think someone should have killed him a long time ago.”

Eredion, to his own astonishment, found himself opening his mouth to protest:
But you can’t do that! He doesn’t deserve to die for trying to help!
He shook his head instead, well aware that he’d been ready to kill Deiq himself—and rebuke Alyea for voicing similar sentiments—just hours ago.