The Storm Witch (35 page)

“The Tar’s plan worked like a throw of loaded dice, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Remm said. Though it didn’t seem possible, his grin grew even wider.

“No one above, then?” She looked at Xerwin.

“Exactly as I thought,” he said, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “Much too hot up there at this time of day for anyone, even the servants.” By which he meant, Dhulyn knew, the garden slaves who kept the pavilions of the High Noble Houses clean and their flowers blooming. They would have gone up early in the morning to cover over valuable plants against the glare of the sun, but by this time Xerwin had expected the place to be deserted—and it seemed he had been right.

“Your pardon, Tar Xerwin,” Remm said, though he had, in fact, waited until the Tar had finished speaking. “But if there is water available, the Marked ones are in need of it.”

Dhulyn gestured her permission at a tray on the table to her left, which held cups and a water jug beautifully glazed in black and red, and turned back to Xerwin.

“Is this heat natural?” She could tell by the way he raised his eyebrows that he hadn’t even considered it. A Storm Witch could cause a great deal of mischief if she went about it carefully.

But the Tar was shaking his head. “I’ll be looking askance at the morning sea breezes next,” he said. “And they’ve been constant my whole life. For the season and time of day, this heat is normal. Though,” he added, “only last evening I overheard my attendants gossiping. Apparently one of the High Noble Houses—I didn’t quite catch which—has been wondering whether perhaps the Tara Xendra could be persuaded to create cooler air for some party they’re planning.” It was Dhulyn’s turn to raise her eyebrows, and Xerwin grinned. “I hope I’m there to see the look on the Tarxin’s face if the House actually asks him.”

“Don’t be too sure of his answer,” Dhulyn said. “If the House is important enough, the Tarxin might very well allow it.”

As Xerwin pursed his lips in a silent whistle, shaking his head, Dhulyn once more checked the angle of light on the floor.

“Tar Xerwin,” she said. “I believe you are eating with the Tarxin today?”

“Surely you’re not trying to be rid of me?”

Dhulyn rolled her eyes and waved him toward the door. “Of course I am. I don’t want anyone to come looking for you.”

“With your leave, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Remm said as soon as Xerwin was gone. “Speaking of food, I should go order us some.”

“Fetch it yourself,” Dhulyn said. “That way no one will see how much you bring.” She glanced at the Marked ones and looked back at Remm, who was nodding.

“Back shortly.” He touched his forehead to her and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Dhulyn followed him to the door and listened as his footsteps and his light whistle died away. She threw the bolt, and turned back to face the Marked.

All three had put aside their veils, and except that she was seeing them in daylight, they looked much the same. Ellis Healer, a linen bag hanging over his shoulder, was still leaning on a staff, but the two women were recuperating from their journey more quickly.

“You have spoken with the White Twins,” Ellis said. Rascon Mender still had her cup of water to her lips, and Javen Finder was mopping the sweat off her face with a clean corner of her veil.

Dhulyn sheathed her sword and strode back to the table, propping one hip up on the edge. Closer together, they would be less likely to be overheard. “Who else knows?”

“No one
we’ve
told, that’s certain,” Rascon Mender said.

Ellis Healer frowned at her and she blushed, turning away to refill her cup. “Not many within the Sanctuary besides the three of us even know you were sent for. Kalinda, of course, the one who showed you in, the White Twins themselves, but . . .” he fixed Dhulyn with a watchful eye. “You will have noticed that they are fully aware only when they are Seeing.”

Dhulyn nodded.

“So you will realize that they could tell no one, and as for the rest of us.” He shrugged. “We make it a practice not to talk about our own affairs to the unMarked.”

“And as for them—and there’re some—who don’t think as we do on these subjects, why, we don’t tell them anything.” Rascon seemed to have recovered her cheery equilibrium. “What about your man, that Remm Shalyn,” she continued. “Is
he
to be trusted?”

“So far as I trust anyone, yes.” Dhulyn ran her fingertips along her sword hilt. She didn’t know whether it was the company of the Marked—or the number of weapons she now had hidden in her clothing—but she was beginning to feel relaxed for the first time since the storm at sea. “And do you know what the White Twins told me?”

The was a general shaking of heads, but this time the two younger Marked waited for Ellis Healer to speak. “Likewise, who would tell us? The Twins?”

Dhulyn relaxed even more. It seemed that the secret of her own Mark was safe. Now the trick would be how to tell these three what they needed to know to Find the Tara Xendra without giving away that she’d had the Vision herself.

“The White Twins have Seen the Tara Xendra, that much is clear from what they told me,” she said. The others looked at one another and nodded. “The child’s spirit is safe, but it is in hiding.”

The Finder was shaking her head, frowning. “But that shouldn’t make any difference. It’s things that are lost or hidden that I Find.”

“But if she were nowhere near, Javen,” Rascon said. “And if the Storm Witch’s soul was in the way . . .”

“Did the White Twins say anything else? Was any clue given?” Javen Finder asked.

This was the dangerous part of the path. “They spoke of a grove of trees,” Dhulyn said. “A thicket in which the child lay concealed.”

“A spirit child hiding in a spirit wood?” Javen Finder’s face, so eager a moment ago, had fallen, and she was chewing at her lower lip. “It’s not like I can Find a Vision, you know. Otherwise we’d
all
be Seers.”

“I have something here that may help you.” Dhulyn went to the end of the table nearest the window and folded back a piece of silk cloth to expose a small bowl, sturdy and perfectly round, glazed a deep blue on the outside and a pure white on the inside. All three Marked gathered close, looking down at it.

“Remm Shalyn had it made to my order—by a master, as you can see. The glaze both inside and out is perfect, without mar, flaw, or shadow. No hand but the maker’s has touched it, neither Remm’s nor mine. The water it holds is brought from a spring, and passed three times through a piece of pure undyed silk.”

“How did you know what’s needed?” Javen said, her voice trembling.

Dhulyn shrugged. “The two I’ve seen were old, passed from generation to generation. But once, many years ago, I read a fragment of an ancient book which described the making of a Finder’s bowl. Much of it would make no sense unless you’d actually seen one.” Dhulyn indicated the chair she’d had placed near the bowl. “Will you try?”

Javen sat down, wiping the palms of her hands dry against her skirt. She pressed her palms together, fingers against her lips, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked into the bowl.

“Oh, what beautiful colors,” she exclaimed.

Dhulyn exchanged glances with the other Marked. Rascon was just giving a small nod, confirming that the rest of them saw only the white interior, when a knock came at the door.

“The food?”

Dhulyn drew down her brows in a frown. Would Remm knock? Or was he too burdened by food to manage the door. She jerked her head toward the doorway to the inner room and waited until the Marked had gone through it. She shut the door on them, tossed the loose piece of silk back over the bowl and threw open the door as if she was in a great temper.

But she swallowed the tart words she would have used to greet Remm Shalyn. A young girl, correctly veiled, stood in the open door, her eyes as round as the bangles on her wrists.

“Your pardon, T-tara P-paledyn,” the girl stammered. “But the Tarxin, Light of the Sun, has asked for your presence.”

For a moment Dhulyn stayed where she was, right hand gripping the edge of the door. Was the girl frightened at meeting the Paledyn? Or was it the errand itself that frightened her?

“Wait for me, young one,” she said in as soft a voice as she could manage. “I will accompany you in a moment.” Dhulyn shut the door in the girl’s face and stood leaning against it. If this summons was Xerwin’s doing, he’d have something to answer for when she caught up with him. She pushed away from the door, turning toward the inner room, and the Marked. They should be safe enough here when Remm Shalyn returned.

She wished she could say the same for herself.

Everyone who could find a clear space on deck was out taking advantage of the warm rain to refill every water cask, bag, and bottle, and to rinse off whatever clothing, skin, and hair had last been washed in salt water.

Parno Lionsmane was in the forward section of the deck that under more regular circumstances would be the designated bathing area. He’d found that while he had become used to the smell and taste of salt on his skin—and on the skin of others—he was just as pleased to be able to rinse it off. The Nomads, living together so closely, had no great feelings of body modesty, and almost his entire squad, both male and female, were in the bathing area with him. In a way, it was like being back in his Mercenary School.

More and more, except for the presence of so many children, Parno found himself reminded of his own Schooling, especially since the intensive training of his strike force so closely resembled the constant drilling and practice that Schooling required. He’d found that he was even teaching his squad versions of some basic
Shoras,
modified only to take into account the shortness of the time they had for training.

Once or twice, watching the squad practice, he’d looked around, unconsciously expecting to see Dhulyn off to one side, getting a different angle on the recruits. Grief still came when he thought of her, but it no longer stabbed him to the heart, or took his breath away. She had always wanted to start her own School, to do for others what Dorian the Black had done for her. It wasn’t impossible, Parno thought now as Conford passed him a towel, for a School to be started on a Nomad ship. After all, the Nomads had taken him in, just as the Brotherhood had done, all those years ago, when he had been cast out by his House.

#You have a place here, should you want it# #As you did in your Brotherhood#

*As I still have in my Brotherhood* For the first time Parno spoke directly mind to mind with the Crayx, without speaking his thoughts aloud. But this was something he wasn’t ready to share with the Nomads around him. Not even with Darlara.

#Does no one ever leave the Brotherhood then#

Parno stopped his fast answer. Of course, there were other ways to leave the Brotherhood than death. There was that Cloudwoman who’d gone back to her tribe when a Racha bird had needed her. He had himself been asked to return to his own place, for that matter, by the new head of his House. But he’d refused. Even if he’d wished to—and he hadn’t—he was Partnered, and the decision was as much Dhulyn’s as his own.

*Partners never leave* was the thought he sent the Crayx.

#Of course#

Were they aware of his unexpressed thought, he wondered.
I’m not Partnered any longer.

He shrugged the thought away as he pulled his shirt on over his head. “Off to your meals now,” he told his squad. “Left-hand drill afterward, and don’t be late.”

He turned back toward the rear cabin, combing his wet hair with his fingers. For the last few days he’d been taking the midday meal with his squad, but today Dar had asked that he share the meal with her. He entered the cabin to find her seated with her back to the window, plates of grilled fish, stewed beans, and flatbreads already on the table. Dar glanced up and smiled as he came in, and Parno found it easy to smile back.

“Have been giving thought to the naming of the children,” Darlara said, passing him the platter holding the flatbread.

Parno froze with the platter in midair. “Early, isn’t it?”

“Not really. It’s a hard life on ship, and must give them every advantage. Are there family names you would prefer to use?”

Parno thought at once of his own father. But the form of names in Imrion—he shook his head. Too complicated, and too loaded with meaning for someone who didn’t actually live in that society. He could easily imagine the explanations that would be required if the children became chief traders or captains of a ship—as they well might—and were asked why their names came from a Noble House. Besides, he knew what he really wanted.

“Could one of them be called Dhulyn?”

Darlara took so long to answer that Parno was ready to be disappointed. But she was only waiting until she had chewed and swallowed the piece of honeyed bread she had in her mouth before answering. “A beautiful name,” she said. Suddenly she smiled, and rested her hand on his forearm. “Have a wonderful idea. Should name them Dhulyn and Parno.”