Land of Night (11 page)

Scarlet, you are too honest.

Shikhoza's face went deliberately bland, pretending she had made an unforgivable blunder.

"Oh. I
see
. My deepest apologies.” She turned, holding the parchment out to Jochi. “Jochi, please recite this poem to ser Keriss. Apparently, he cannot
read
it."

Jochi came forward, tense and discomfited. “Lady Shikhoza, please."

Scarlet saved him. “Please do, Jochi. I'd like to hear it."

The look Jochi gave Scarlet warmed Liall's heart: sad and admiring at the same time, and plain anger at Shikhoza's perfidy. Jochi recited the thing, a convoluted poem, elegant and complex with plays upon words that only a master would be able to decipher fully. Comparing it to Byzan poetry would be like comparing a paper boat to a galleon. Perhaps insulting Byzan arts was also part of her plan, but Scarlet made no comment other than to thank Jochi politely.

"My apologies, ser Keriss,” Jochi said.

Scarlet laughed, perhaps a little too brightly, but Liall could not tell. “Whatever for? It's not your fault I can't read. Nor mine."

Jochi bowed rather lower than he needed to, and moved away from the knot of courtiers who had begun to close in on Scarlet.

A dandy courtier in a virca of yellow silk—was it Tesk the painter?—cleared his throat and leaned close. “Your parents ... did not insist?"

Scarlet turned to look up at him and smiled again, rather too charmingly, and Liall felt a little twinge of jealousy when he saw the way it affected Tesk, how the man straightened his clothing and tried to appear taller than he was.

Ah, careful, Scarlet, Liall thought. Too many desire you already and Tesk is on the list of spies that I need to cultivate. Having him fall in love with my t'aishka will not do.

Scarlet gave a short, honest laugh. “What, that I learn to read? Who was I going to read to, a horse? Any lass who had a lick of sense would have thought me daft for spending my time with a book when there was work to be done, and she would have been right. You can't eat a book, after all. It doesn't help you survive or keep you warm or get crops in on time. I'm afraid none of my people read, or very few. My mother could, but she believed it brought her bad luck and she would not teach it to us."

Scarlet looked down as if embarrassed at so many words coming out of him at once, lowering his eyes. “Still,” he said hesitantly, his voice very wistful, and (little minx!) looking up at Tesk through his dark lashes. “Still ... it seems to me a wondrous thing, to have all those words just waiting for you, all that beauty, and you can reach for it anytime you want. It's like magic, isn't it?” Then he looked embarrassed again and waved his hand as if chasing away the words. “Don't mind me, I'm being a fool."

Tesk was highly affected. “No,” he said after a moment. “That you are not."

Now their curiosity was engaged and they were on the scent. Another hesitant courtier, one whose name Liall did not know, sketched a little bow to get Scarlet's attention.

"Ser Keriss, it is said ... it is said you were a traveling pedlar, before you left Byzantur."

"I'm still a redbird—that is what we call a pedlar back home—for I'm going back to Byzantur.” There was some stir at that. “One day,” he amended. “It's for Prince Nazheradei to say."

Liall nearly snorted out loud. Dub me the master to my back and fight me tooth and nail on everything else to my face? Oh, little one, you are learning far too fast.

"But how can you find your way on the road if you cannot read?"

Scarlet dug in his pocket and produced the little glass and metal compass. “In need, I use this, but I don't need it often. The routes were well known by the pedlar before me, and he taught me them."

"Routes?"

"The roads between Omara and Ankar."

Tesk could not hide his astonishment. “What, all of them? But how, since you do not read?"

"He spoke them to me, and I memorized them."

"Impossible,” Shikhoza said. Her voice was too tense, for several heads turned to her, and one lady tittered behind her jeweled hand. There would be fresh gossip tonight, of poems and pedlars, and bitter court ladies with spoiled plans.

Scarlet called her on it. “Excuse me, lady?” Scarlet asked, meeting her gaze. “I'm ‘fraid I didn't hear you."

"I said impossible. There must be hundreds of roads in the region you speak of. No one could memorize them all."

"You could if you had to,” Scarlet said. “That's the thing, isn't it? What a body has to do instead of just wanting?"

Did he intend it the way she took it? It did not matter, for the court gossips would take it and run with it and by tomorrow the story would be that Shikhoza had cursed and spat and Scarlet danced a jig naked on the table. Shikhoza's lips thinned unpleasantly and the look she gave Scarlet chilled Liall's heart. But she did not get the chance to cut Scarlet to ribbons, for Tesk was motioning to Scarlet from the tall bookcase by the window, the one with the carved wolves that had so fascinated Liall as a boy.

Scarlet bowed slightly to Shikhoza and joined Tesk. A servant brought down a large, rolled map, the leather kind taken on campaigns, and unrolled it across the wide table with a flourish.

"Show me,” Tesk said.

Scarlet looked at it, but frowned. “Do you have one without writing on it? One with just the land?"

Tesk snapped his fingers and another map was produced. “We call this a topographic map, ser Keriss,” he informed gently.

Scarlet grinned. “We just call it a common map."

Tesk shrugged, smiling. “Your way is less of a mouthful."

Someone quite near Liall's place of concealment whispered—
... wager he'd like to make a mouthful of
him
—and Liall gritted his teeth.

Scarlet placed his finger on the map directly where Khurelen would have been written in. “This is Khurelen.” His index finger sketched lines east and west. “From here there are nine routes to the sea, fourteen to Omara, six back to Lysia and beyond, and four across the mountains to Morturii and Minh, but of those four only two are open in the winter months. This road here,” he pointed above Khurelen “is one I travel often. It's called the Snakepath, or the North Road, from Khurelen to Lysia. There are eight small settlements on the road. Just steadings really, groups of families living off one farm. They often need small things like needles and cloth and soap and such, and can't spare the time to get to Khurelen to fetch it on their own. That's where I come in."

"Needles?” a pretty girl laughed, her Bizye heavily accented.

Scarlet laughed with her. “You'd be surprised what you can charge for a needle to a farm wife who hasn't got one."

There was a round of good-natured laughter.

"How long is the road?” asked Tesk, clearly interested.

"The north road, from here to here, is eighteen leagues. Four days on foot. (
On foot!
some whispered) From here, fifteen leagues to the junction of the east fork and the south road to the sea, but I wouldn't take the Sea Road in spring. Mosquitoes the size of rabbits!"

More amusement. Oh, they were entertained, they were. And not in the mean, spiteful way that Shikhoza had intended. Liall stepped from behind the concealing tapestry and entered the library casually. There were turns and bows and the inevitable greetings, but Liall's eyes were all for Scarlet.

"Keriss,” he called softly, the court name they knew him by.

Scarlet saw him and grinned, almost forgetting to bow, not that Liall cared. Liall strolled over to Scarlet and deliberately took his hand.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much. Your people are wonderful."

"We think the same of you, ser Keriss,” Tesk said. Liall briefly courted the mental image of flattening Tesk's nose, and then decided that would be impolite.

"Well, I think you are wonderful, too,” Liall said, pitching his voice low. “And I am lonely, so come have dinner with me."

There were several murmurs of protest around us. “But, we were just..."

"No, no,” Liall said, looking around him. “You have had him long enough. It is my turn. There are sacrifices I will gladly make for Rshan, but not tonight!"

Clean laughter washed over them, and over it Liall met Shikhoza's livid eyes. Liall put his arm around Scarlet. “Say goodnight, ser."

Scarlet bade them good evening with perfect manners, and they left the library that held so many bad memories for Liall.

The corridor leading to Liall's apartments was nearly empty. They took their time getting back, strolling arm in arm and gazing at the paintings that lined the walls. Liall answered Scarlet's many inquiries as best he could, amused at how interested Scarlet was in everything. The paintings, ancestors all, had been there before Liall was born, and it had been part of his schooling to remember dates and facts about all of them. He related these facts to Scarlet and recited from rote, not really listening to himself or to Scarlet's responses.

"Hello?” Scarlet reached up and waved his hand in front of Liall's face. “You in there?"

Liall smiled wanly. “I was thinking of your performance."

Scarlet's smile fell. “I was only—"

"You were only defending yourself. I saw."

Scarlet shrugged. “Doesn't matter much. It was just bile and spite from a woman who used to love you. Old Hipola the midwife was full of such, back home."

Liall could smell the scent of Scarlet's hair. Nenos had combed it with some spice or cologne. It took Liall a moment to recognize the scent of the flame-flower that grew by the sea. Keriss: Scarlet's court name. It made him sad for some nameless reason.

"Do not confuse Shikhoza with a meddling midwife,” Liall warned as gently as he could. “She is capable of things you could not imagine. I should know."

The last must have sounded too bitter, even for Liall. Scarlet turned to him. “Is something wrong?"

"Nenos said you were bored,” Liall answered said, looking away.

"I'm usually bored,” he sighed. “It's not only this place, Liall, I was bored a lot at home, too. That's why I became a pedlar, so that I would always have something to do."

"I am beginning to realize,” Liall said softly, his fingers curling around Scarlet's arm. “Just how difficult our relationship will be, for neither of us will ever be content anywhere.” No, content nowhere. He remembered too much of exile and Scarlet remembered too much of home. Always, they would be at opposites: in temperament, in nature, even in appearance. Scarlet was honesty and innocence and the vital energy of youth. In contrast, Liall felt brittle and overused, cynical and hateful. And yet, he could not help seeking Scarlet out time and time again, could not help running his fingers through that glossy black hair, touching that flawless ivory skin, devouring that red mouth.

Scarlet gave Liall a quick, odd look for his soft words, and for a moment there was fear on his face.

"No,” Liall hastened to say, before doubt could elbow its way in. “I only meant that we must work harder to be pleased in where we find ourselves in life."

"Either that, or we need to stop paying so much attention to where we are, and more mind to who we're with."

The simplicity of the statement was so characteristic of Scarlet that Liall stopped and gave him a quick, impulsive hug, and suddenly the uncertainty of the future—both theirs and Rshan's—weighed heavily on him.

"You are wiser than your years. If only we had met in peaceful times, when I could be a plainer man. One who could make you happy enough to forget your wanderlust."

Scarlet pulled away, his dark brows drawing together. “There
is
something wrong. Tell me."

"It is nothing. I am merely jealous that Tesk has asked the queen for permission to paint your portrait, and she has allowed it."

Scarlet looked so worried that Liall had to kiss that lovely mouth again, seeking to wipe that anxiety away.

Scarlet returned the kiss enthusiastically, slipping his tongue between Liall's lips and tickling the roof of Liall's mouth and the back of his teeth, exploring. Scarlet gave a humming little moan that sent sudden heat through Liall's groin. Liall cradled Scarlet's face in his hands and kissed the delicate chin, the soft cheeks and closed eyelids, and suddenly the journey back to the apartments seemed far too long.

"I've got a wicked idea,” Liall murmured into Scarlet's ear, licking the spot just under the silken lobe, warm and slightly-furred with tiny, delicate, translucent hairs.

Scarlet hissed in pleasure when Liall sucked on that spot, and pulled him closer. “Idea?” he asked, sounding breathless.

"Here,” Liall said, backing up to one of the many doors that lined the hall. He pushed the heavy wooden door open.

Scarlet peered inside the small, dim chamber. “What's this?"

Liall tugged him into the room: a velvet-lined affair with a small che table in the center and several sturdy, cushioned chairs, their wood carved to be deceptively delicate-looking. At the stone casement, a round window overlooked a snow-bound garden that was perched on the roof of the apartment below.

"Nothing,” Liall said, closing the door. “Another salon. The palace is full of them."

That puzzled Scarlet, and Liall guessed that Scarlet must never have seen a room that served only an occasional purpose. Liall remembered Scarlet's cottage in Lysia, the compact neatness of it and how every little space had seemed to be used to maximum efficiency and multiple purpose. Well, they were not in Lysia anymore.

Liall kissed Scarlet until he was breathless again, and only when Liall's hand dropped to unlace the front of Scarlet's breeches did the man pull away. “Liall ... not here."

"Yes, here.” Liall drew Scarlet into another tight embrace and jerked at the front of Scarlet's breeches impatiently. Scarlet seemed a little unsettled, but did not try to prevent Liall from attaining his goal, and gave a shaking sigh when Liall's hand curled around him intimately.

"My t'aishka,” Liall breathed, “I love to touch you. I love to see how you desire me.” Liall gripped a little harder, making Scarlet gasp in delight.

Scarlet dug his fingers into Liall's virca and kissed him, sliding his hand around Liall's neck to pull the prince in for a deeper kiss, and thrust his tongue between Liall's lips.