The Scholomance (30 page)

“Sadly, my
talents lie elsewhere. But any of the tribe of Ochalis could engender her
healing, if properly motivated.”

“Then fix her.”

“I beg your
pardon?”

“Fix her!” Mara
pointed and the faceless girl’s whole body bucked once, as if in response. “Find
one of these tribesmen and fix her!”

Horuseps,
looking pained, raised his hands in a kind of entreaty. “Dear child—”

“He shouldn’t
have done it, you said so yourself!”

“I said he
shouldn’t have taken a student—”

“What, you think
he sent for her through the mail? Of course she’s a student!”

“Every Master
has the right to take what he desires.”

“He didn’t just
take her, God damn it, he
changed
her! Don’t tell me that’s not wrong!”

“Morality,”
Horuseps began, then abruptly came a step closer and dropped to one knee before
her, reaching up for her hand as a man proposing. Mara jerked back, but he held
his pose, his empty hand outstretched, entreating. “Morality, dearest Mara, is
born of human frailty. The perceptions of right and wrong are merely Man’s
feeble attempt to protect himself, his property, his life and his way of life. Morality,
my darling one, is mortality. It does not apply here.”

Mara looked from
him in disbelief to the spastic, silent doll of Malavan’s sex-toy. “Some things
are wrong,” she insisted. “Some things are always wrong!”

“No!” He closed
the gap between them in a lunge, his bare hand closing like iron around her
wrist, and in that touch was only a baffling, overpowering sincerity, and his
determination to make her understand a thing so element that it was to him like
explaining life’s reliance upon sunlight. “We are not human. We do not require
a code of conduct to keep us above the petty hurts of the Earth. We are its
Masters and for us, there is no morality but only privilege.”

Mara yanked, but
could not break his grip. She slapped at him with her mind instead, and
Horuseps released her at once, showing her his empty palms. “You can preach to
me all you want,” Mara spat. “But that is not what we agreed to when we got
here and you know it goddamn well.”

“Is it wrong for
the wolf to feed upon the rabbit?” Horuseps countered in the same patient tone.
“Is it sickening to one’s ethical senses when the spider traps and binds the moth?
It is the nature of the strong to subdue the weak.”

“Wolves don’t
rip off the faces of their rabbits before fucking them into Jello!” Mara
shouted. “Don’t feed me this bullshit! It is not the same!”

Horuseps started
to speak, then seemed to give up. He sighed, dropped his arms, and rose to his
former stately height. “Malavan is, of course, a wretched little deviant who
knows better than to prey on those who do not yet deserve punishment. But that
does not make what he does with his playthings ‘wrong’. Nevertheless, I will
see what can be done to mend this creature’s mind.” He spread his hands, mutely
asking if she were satisfied.

She was shaking,
she realized. Actually shaking with anger. She’d never been so mad in her life,
never. And she hated it, hating losing even this much control. Mara got a lock
on her emotions, battled them down, and spoke only when she was confidant her
voice would not betray her. “While you’re asking around for a healer,” she
said, “you’d better mention that I will be searching every room in this
mountain myself, and that includes the private harems of every Master.”

His eyebrows
twitched. He frowned, opened his mouth.

“And if I find ‘this
creature’ or anyone else like her, hidden under any Master’s bed, may God help
him because I will make it my mission to make him as sorry as any of you
soulless sons of bitches can be!”

“So be it,”
Horuseps said quietly. “But I would advise you to think well, dear Mara, before
issuing edicts of this sort. I rather suspect my brothers shall be disinclined
to give you all the mountain to take away. Will you sacrifice your Connie to
save this one?”

‘Calm down,’
Mara told herself. It wasn’t the time to make demands, and no…this was not the
person to make them over.

The faceless
woman twitched.

“Do you have
one?” Mara demanded, not looking at him. “Is that the reason for all your
concern? Have you got a little toy of your own chained to your bed?”

“I? Alas, the
centuries have left me thoroughly jaded. I can abide no lover’s company for
longer than one night. My bed is as cold and empty as your own. And you should
return to it, child. Before the bells ring to expose your unlawful sojourn,
return to your cell. Mara.”

She had turned
away, but looked back now, as calm as she should be, even when she saw the
demon’s hand resting on the girl’s white belly as he would any inanimate
object. Horuseps gazed at her, not smiling, and kept his thoughts well-hidden.

“Do not think
too harshly of us,” he said at last.

“That’s twice
you’ve said that. Why do you care what I think?”

“We are long
accustomed to taking what we desire,” he said, and turned up one corner of his
mouth. “Perhaps I desire your goodwill.”

“You don’t have
it,” she said bluntly, killing his little smile. “Not while that—” The girl
twitched, as if she heard and knew she was being singled out. “—or anyone like
her is shut up with your brothers, and students are ripped apart for cutting
class. Not while Connie is missing. You’re no better than they are, Horuseps. You’re
no different from Malavan!”

He flinched, not
in his face, which remained cool and slightly smiling, but in his mind, where a
flinch was far more difficult to cover. He did not blink, simply looked at her,
and the longer he looked, the harder it was to hold on to her anger. He did not
remind her that he had been at her side searching for Connie under the Nave,
but she thought about that anyway. And he had been looking on his own time,
hadn’t he? Possibly at some personal risk. At least, he’d been willing to
tangle with Malavan when he’d thought this might be Connie, and he’d come to
get her right away. Eventually, seething, she had to look away, and the only
thing in the room to look at besides him was the faceless, twitching, mindless
doll he’d brought her.

“Perhaps you’re
right,” he said finally. There was no forgiveness in his voice. “I did know of
Malavan’s propensity to amuse himself with stolen bodies. And I know there may
be others. Certainly, when students go missing in this mountain, they are most
often found in a Master’s bed. But you, my bittersweetness, you cannot possibly
think to boldly dare those dragons’ dens and have them all out.”

The faceless
woman’s breath moved in and out of her, smooth, unconcerned. Her arms jumped,
flopped.

“But I will,”
Horuseps said.

Mara’s chest squeezed
out a single harsh laugh. “Sure you will.”

“I give you my
word.”

She wanted to
spit on him. She’d never in her life wanted to spit on another living thing,
but she could think of nothing that would feel better. She turned around, away
from him.

“The vow of an
immortal is not the fickle thing of Man,” Horuseps said with real heat,
although he did not move. “We lie as pleases us, but when we swear upon our
lives to do a thing, it is the end of our lives to renege. This is not a
question of morality, child, or virtues, or indecencies. I am giving you my
word. I have no desire to die, Mara. Nevertheless, I do swear upon mine own
unnatural death that I shall inspect the harems of my brothers. I will turn out
any I find that may conceivably be your Connie.”

“I don’t believe
you.”

“Even so.”

She swung back
to him, her useless hands in fists. “How am I supposed to trust you when you’re
so damned proud of living without a conscience? I can’t believe a word you say
now! Swear me anything!”

“I acknowledge
the paradox,” he said evenly. “Yet morality is, as I have said, mortality. As
it means my own mortality to break my given oath, you may believe me now.”

“Even if you
were telling me the truth, why would you do it? What do you think I’m going to
give you in return?”

He looked at
her, his eyes very dark and full of movement. “If I do not take it upon myself
to investigate my brothers,” he said at last, “I honestly believe that you
will, because you are very young and, at times, mind-swimmingly stupid.”

Mara clamped her
jaws shut on her first instinctive reply. She would not lose her temper twice. She
was calm.

“So I will go. I
will not enjoy it. In fact, I suspect I will be quite cross with you until my
vow is satisfied. But I will go, because your life is worth a great deal to
someone we both know, and if you insult me by asking whom, I will slap your
face.”

“Do you hear me
asking?” She knew damned well who.

“Good. Then
return to your cell, child. Now. While I still have some affection for you.” He
turned and started to gather up the twitching doll.

Mara headed for
the door, paused and stood with her head bent and her fingernails digging at
her palms. Then she went back to him—
I will be calm
—stood up on her
tiptoes, and kissed his glass-smooth cheek.

He flinched. Hard.
And stared at her.

“Thank you,” she
told him. “I’m sorry I insulted you. I’m very young and mind-swimmingly stupid
and frequently something of a bitch, but I know enough to say thank you when
someone sticks his neck out for me.”

She was covering
her bases and she thought he probably knew it, even though she kept her motives
locked up deep and tight. There was no sense in making an enemy out of
Horuseps, particularly over the fate of a total stranger, however
horrifically-used that stranger might be. She could kiss ass with the best of
them when she had to.

But his
star-filled eyes seemed to soften, even if nothing else about him did. “Accepted,”
he said, and let her feel his sincerity. “We immortals live too long to carry
grudges. Good night, precious. You are always first in my heart.”

She went,
forgiven, and tried not to hear the limp smacking of the twitching woman’s
hands as they rose and fell against the stone.

*
         
*
         
*

Mid-day already,
or mid-night, depending on one’s perspective. Mara walked the halls of the
lyceum, trying to think about the Masters who taught there, about what or who
might be hidden away in the rooms below the theaters, about Horuseps and his
word of honor…about Connie. She couldn’t quite manage to bring any of it into
focus. Kazuul wanted her.

This was not an
idle thought. His wanting itched in the back of her mind in what he no doubt
believed to be a subtle suggestion. She wasn’t sure when he’d planted it (it
had surely been subtle enough at its seeding) but she suspected he’d gotten her
during the morning meal. At least, she was confident it had not been there when
she and Devlin went into the roar and press of the dining hall. In the midst of
that noise, a little psychic dart might have easily escaped her notice,
although it was several hours before her irritation at this unshakeable fixation
caused her to hunt down the source.

A psychic seed,
and a much better one than anything she’d ever planted. He’d slid it in into
her as easily as his broken spike beneath her pillow, and it was having much
the same effect, except that she was awake now, awake and still dreaming his
dreams. It had been easy enough to find, despite his obvious skill and power. He’d
been apparently unwilling to risk piercing the Panic Room and drawing her
notice, and so had hidden the suggestion in the Mindstorm instead. It was a
good hiding place, all things considered, but once she’d known to look for it,
it was only too obvious where it had to be. No, finding it was easy. Uprooting
it was another matter.

Mara sat by the
pool in the central cavern of the lyceum for what felt like hours, her body
switched off and staring while she circled the damn thing in her mind, trying
to pry it out. No good. He’d put it into her as deeply as he himself obviously
planned to be once he’d worn her down. She was just going to have to live with
it until it died. None of hers had ever lasted longer than ten or twelve hours.
His, Christ, who knew?

In the meantime,
he wanted her. As with his ‘subtle’ assault of the previous night, he bombarded
her with half-grasped images of lust and violence. His breath on her neck, his
claws tearing at her hips, the phantom flood of his seed filling her—even
awareness of the interloping suggestion could not counteract its effects. Unceasingly
throughout the day, he made his wordless demand and succeeded, not so much in
making her want him, but at least in making her want someone.

She wandered in
and out of classrooms in a daze of distraction, infuriated each time she caught
herself merely going through the motions of the search. She sensed, or thought
she sensed, a kind of sly amusement in the Masters she interrupted at lessons,
which only made her temper flare dangerously close to the edge of her control.

Kazuul. He had
made her the butt of some joke and he would not be satisfied until the whole
mountain laughed. Well, Mara had never been renowned for her good sense of
humor, but everyone who knew her knew better than to cross her. By God, he was
going to learn too.

But not until
this suggestion died away. Mara worked her way to a bare stretch of wall and
leaned against it, one hand rubbing restlessly at her stomach, which was not
what she wanted rubbed. She shut her eyes and scoured the Mindstorm with her
stare, seeing herself behind the idiot flashes of color and sound cast off by
the students of the Scholomance—herself in ecstasy beneath Kazuul.

“Having
troubles?”

A Master’s
voice. Not the dark silk of Horuseps or the rolling thunder of hated Kazuul,
but the cracked granite of Malavan. He came out of the shadows in his hunched,
stalking way, his eyes level as a cat’s, furious. Mara started walking; he cut
across her path. She turned around; he lunged and drove the tip of one long
claw through her robe and into the rock, striking sparks to prick and burn at
her bare feet.