Fifth Quarter (8 page)

She was too tired to react, too tired for that underlying accusation to cut as deeply as it would have under other circumstances. Given the way she felt— physically drained and emotionally flayed—a quick death looked almost inviting. She only wished they could have died in battle. "I wonder if we'll get stuffed into the same crow."

His grin lit up the inside of her head. "We're going to lie to him. It's a long way to the Capital and the prince, and we'll be chewing at his defenses the whole time."

"And if we can't get through?"

"Vree, there're two of us to one of him. And we're the best. There's never been a defense we couldn't get through. Has there?"

"No…"

"So we agree to give him the prince, but we get my body back before we have to."

"He'll think he's safe because I won't hurt the body he's in, and he doesn't think you're strong enough to push him out."

"That's the only reason he would have made the slaughtering offer." His tone held an approving nod. "The arrogant carrion eater."

"After you're in the prince and Bannon has his body back, we're to be given time to get away. No yelling for the guards."

"And what makes you think you can trust me?"

She lifted both brows and layered silent sarcasm onto her response. "The same thing that makes you think you can trust us. We have something you need."

"You won't after I'm in the prince."

"I won't be tied then." Vree dropped her gaze pointedly to her weapons. "After all the trouble you're going through to become the prince, I'd think you'd like to live a while longer."

"If you kill the prince…"

"
You'll
have already killed the prince!" she snarled.

"I said we weren't afraid, not that we wanted to. Besides, if we die after you've taken the prince, at least we'll have the satisfaction…"

"Then you have a deal." Except that he'd be dead and out of Bannon's body long before they reached the prince. Bannon was right. There'd never been a defense they couldn't breach together. "Now, if I'm, we're, going to help you, you can start your part of the bargain by cutting me free."

"Of course. Pardon me." The dagger he chose was the long, slender blade she'd carried into the room. He slid it between silk and skin, and she shivered at the caress of the chilled steel. The silk parted like water around stone, flowing away from the edge.

Vree shook her head. "No." Safest to stick to single syllables. Or maybe not. "Just so you know…" The dagger whispered promises as she slid it back into the thigh sheath. "… I know twenty-seven ways to kill you with no weapons at all."

The theatrical recoil was so Bannon it was difficult to remember that it involved Bannon's body alone. He clutched a handful of the robe over his heart. "You're scaring me to death."

She cocked her head thoughtfully. "Twenty-eight." Two could play at that game.

Impossible not to laugh with him. With Bannon's body.
I'm so tired
.

"You need to sleep. Come, there's a guest room just next door you can use. I'm afraid you'll have to share…"

"Vree, that's not funny."

"Sorry." She swallowed a chuckle, recognizing how close she was to losing control—a very bad idea when trapped in enemy territory—and scooped up the rest of her weapons. "What will you tell the servants?"

"That my traveling companion has joined me and we'll both be leaving in the morning." He waved the signet ring under her nose as he pushed open one of the louvered doors and led the way out into the courtyard. "Governor Aralt prepared the servants for my arrival."

"How will you explain me just appearing? I didn't come in through the front door, you know."

"I'm sure you didn't, but you'll agree there's no need to tell them that." The next room was identical to the one they'd just left except there was no desk, no chair, and no pile of knotted scarf fragments. "If you insist on journeying in the heat of midday, you have to expect a lack of a welcoming committee when you arrive. Fortunately, I'm a light sleeper. I heard and I brought you in."

"And they'll believe you?"

"As long as I'm wearing this ring. There's a pot in that small chest if you need it."

She paused just inside the room, toes curling against the raised pattern in the braided straw mat. "What do I call you? Obviously you're not Aralt anymore. At least not here."

He stared at her for a long moment and she had the oddest feeling that he was actually seeing her for the first time. "You may call me Gyhard," he said at last. "Gyhard i'Stevana."

"Gyhard i'Stevana? That's a strange name."

"Perhaps. But it's the one I was born with." He sketched her a courtly bow. "I haven't used it for some time."

The glass mirror had cost him a great deal, but from the moment he'd seen the clarity of the reflection they cast he'd wanted one. The artisans who knew the secret of joining liquid mercury, tin, and glass lived in one small, but very wealthy city on the shore of the Fienian Sea. He'd gone there himself in the time before he became Governor Aralt, risking the dangerous overland route and paying nearly everything he had for an oval mirror no larger than a man's hand.

It was very important he be able to see clearly who he was.

"Gyhard i'Stevana." His reflection looked young and confused. "Why did I give her that name?" He hadn't used that name in… A quick frown knitted in the high arc of the brows as he counted back. He hadn't used that name in over ninety years.

He'd just jumped into his third body, had just used his
ability
deliberately for the first time. He'd been haunted and lonely when high in the Cemandian Mountains he'd met someone in infinitely worse shape.

The hand holding the mirror began to tremble and memory laid the reflection of a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man over Bannon's brown on brown features. It wasn't a handsome face, it could even be called plain—except for the dark beauty of the eyes.

"No." He'd worn that face for only five short years and had no desire to remember any of them. Forcing the memories aside, he stared down once more at the image of the boy he'd become, and then slid the mirror carefully back into its padded case. The dark eyes had rotted with the rest of the discarded body, and the man who had found them beautiful was no doubt long dead.

It had, after all, been over ninety years.

He should've pulled a name from the air. One that didn't drag the past along with it.

Jaw set, he lightly touched his throat where the assassin's blade had caressed the skin. He couldn't take the name back. He couldn't let even the suspicion of weakness disturb the tenuous balance of power necessary to achieve his goal.

Still, it was only a name.

"And none of this," he muttered, his voice self-mocking, "explains why I gave it to her in the first place."

Vree folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. The edges had all been rounded and the whole gentle arc, extending about two hand spans down the wall to a dark tile border, had been painted a pale blue. She supposed it was intended to mimic the outdoors and give the room a feeling of openness, but it made her feel as though the sky were closing in on her.

"You think we can trust him?"

Bannon's presence shifted, as though he were pacing in the confines of a cage. "Who? That carrion eater in my body? Probably as much as he can trust us—and the first chance we get, he's out of there."

"Great." Her jaw creaked with the force of her yawn. "Can you keep watch while I sleep?"

"Depends. Can you sleep with your eyes open?"

Sighing, she pulled a dagger with each hand and arranged herself into a more defensive position. "This doesn't seem to come with any advantages."

"Are you
crying
, sister-mine?"

Sister-mine. It had always been as much a possessive as an endearment, and this was the first time he'd used it since he'd landed in her head. She ignored the moisture trickling out from under the corners of her lids. "No. Of course not."

"Remember if you have to defend yourself, don't strike to kill. I mean, it
is
.. ."

"… your body. Don't worry, Bannon." The dagger hilts lay loose within the circles of her fingers. "I'll remember."

Almost asleep, she barely heard him call her name again.

"Vree?"

"What?" In spite of everything, she smiled. This was beginning to remind her of too many nights in the children's barracks when Bannon had kept her awake with question after question.

"I always thought I was taller…"

Hunger woke her. She lay, frozen in place, fingers tight around her dagger hilts, senses straining the silence for threat. She couldn't hear anything. At all. For a moment she was afraid that she might have somehow, inexplicably, gone deaf while she slept.

"Vree?"

"Shhhh."

The whisper of her hair against the cotton blanket as she turned her head sounded unnaturally loud. Very slowly, muscles tensed, she sat. Used to working in darkness, she found the dim, late evening light slanting through the narrow windows and the double louvered door leading to the courtyard more than sufficient.

"That's what I mean." A life spent in barracks and army camps hadn't prepared her for the quiet. She'd learned—everyone learned—to sleep through almost anything but she'd never woken up to such a total lack of noise.

"It's like we dozed off on target," murmured Bannon, wonder touching his mental voice. "Maybe everyone's cleared out."

Vree's nose twitched and her stomach growled loudly in response. A small stone crock, a dipper, a cup, and a covered bowl had been set on the low table beside the bed. Lips pressed tightly together in disgust, she sheathed her daggers and crossed her legs beneath her. "They could've just pushed a pillow over my face and saved themselves the bother. I can't
believe
I didn't hear them bring this in."