Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (10 page)

Eredion rubbed his nose for a moment, watching Alyea’s gaze return, inexorably, to Tanavin; and decided he very probably
had
made a mistake bringing the boy into this. No help for it now; letting him go would be an even worse error. He didn’t have a strong enough hold on the boy to pull him in twice like this, so for better or worse Tanavin was along for as much of the ride as Eredion could force or trick him into.

It crossed his mind that it was a damn shame he couldn’t use the boy to help with the meetings; but Tanavin was far too unstable yet, and Eredion didn’t particularly want to encourage him to learn more about what he could do.

“Yes,” he said at last. “This can’t be handled privately any longer. The entire city is at risk now.”

“The entire—what are you talking about?” Alyea demanded.

Tanavin, in contrast, stayed silent, his growing pallor proof enough that he understood the situation very well indeed.

“They’ve taken an elder ha’ra’ha captive,” Eredion said, regretting more than ever that Deiq had chosen to protect Alyea from so much necessary information. “Think about it, Alyea. If Kippin’s the one who has him...even ha’ra’hain can be broken. Especially First Born. And he’ll make one
hell
of a nasty threat to hold over the king.”

Tanavin was the one to shut his eyes and sway on his feet now. Eredion latched onto the boy’s elbow and propelled him to a chair.

“Head between your knees,” he said roughly. “Now breathe, damn you—there.” He kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder for a few more moments, until he was sure Tanavin wouldn’t collapse entirely, then raised a hard stare to Alyea’s grey face.

“He wouldn’t,” she said, almost a whisper.

“Oh, he
would,”
Eredion said brutally. “First Born are more susceptible to going insane than any other generation of ha’ra’hain. I told you that already, and you can be sure that whoever went to this much effort and expense knows it too. All they have to do is flood him with stibik, dasta, and esthit in the right proportions and sequences, and he’ll be foaming like a rabid asp-jacau and ready to attack anything they point him towards.”

Tanavin said something indistinct, then sat up slowly, rubbing his mouth, and gave Eredion a piercing glare. Apparently the pieces had finally clicked together in his mind. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. The outraged sense of betrayal in his glare said enough.

Eredion lifted a shoulder and set his hip against the desk, suddenly feeling exhausted down to his bones.

“I don’t have anyone better to hand, Tank,” he said without apology. “I’ll hold to my promise about leaving you alone after this, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Tanavin said thinly, and put his head into his hands.

Eredion sighed and looked to Alyea. Her gaze had gone unfocused and abstract, and he could almost see the pieces finally starting to connect in
her
head.

“You’re ready to kill him,” she said, a flat statement, and looked him straight in the eye.

Tank, not lifting his head, snorted bleak amusement and muttered, “Surprise.”

Eredion met Alyea’s stare without flinching and said, just as flatly: “Yes.”

For a moment he thought she might protest
But he’s your friend!
or even worse,
I won’t let you do that!
To his relief, she just looked down at her hands, her lips tight as though to stop herself from saying anything that stupid.

Eredion let out a tiny, quiet breath of relief.

“You can’t do anything,” Tanavin said, sitting up straight again, “if you can’t find him.” He locked stares with Eredion for a moment, then stood up, his jaw set.

The door opened and Wian hurried in, breathing hard, as though she’d run to the other end of the palace and back without pausing.

“He’ll see you now, Lord Eredion,” she panted, her red face flushing further as she saw that Tanavin was still in the room. She tried to catch her breath and went into a coughing fit; Eredion grabbed her elbow and steered her to a chair, reflecting sourly that he seemed to be taking care of everyone but himself lately.

“Stay here, Wian,” he said once she recovered.
“Stay here.”
He waved Tanavin and Alyea to follow him.

Out in the hallway, with the door to the suite safely shut behind them, Tanavin said, “I don’t need to go see the king, Lord Eredion. I have some arrangements to make. This looks like it’s going to take longer than
an hour’s worth of my time.”
His blue eyes narrowed, bitterness sharp in the last few words.

Eredion shrugged aside the glare. After a brief consideration, he unhooked one of his bracelets and handed it to the young mercenary. “Put this on.”

Tanavin studied the thin strand of beads for a moment, then snorted and said, “I’m not
yours,
Lord Eredion.”

“I know that,” Eredion said patiently, “but that bracelet will get you back in here without challenge.”

Tanavin snorted and slid the bracelet onto his wrist; while it had hung loose on Eredion’s forearm, it barely shifted on Tanavin’s.

“I hate wearing bracelets,” the redhead muttered under his breath. “Too much like—” He shut his mouth tight on further words, but an old anguish shifted across his face for a moment.

Eredion ignored both comment and flinch.

“Meet us back here,” he said with only a moment’s concern that the boy would never return. Tanavin had a deeply rooted sense of honor and understood the gravity of the situation. Besides, Eredion could hardly chain the boy to his side throughout this debacle.

Let the bird go,
he thought bleakly,
and see if it comes back as it’s been trained to do.

He snorted at his own cynicism and urged Alyea down another hallway as Tanavin trotted away.

Oruen’s impassive expression hardened as Eredion explained. By the time the tale ended, the king had ordered even his guards from the room and cleared the Hidden from the posts within the walls.

In the silence that followed, his stare seemed sharp enough to skewer Eredion to the wall; then it moved inexorably to Alyea’s face, and she felt the breath catch and stop in her throat. In that moment, her back straightened as if of itself and she felt her own face go taut, her stare darken into a glare.

A moment later, Eredion waved a large hand rapidly in front of her face. She blinked, feeling as though she’d just been slapped. Oruen sat back in his chair, expression astonished.

Eredion snorted in dry amusement, dropped his hand back to his side, and said, “Bad idea to get into a pissing contest with her, Lord Oruen. She’s too new a desert lord to hold her punches when challenged.”

Alyea swallowed back an apology before it emerged and tried to tone down what had suddenly become a far too aggressive stance and expression.

“Right,” Oruen said thinly, still not looking at her. “So I have an insane ha’ra’ha about to rampage through my city
—again.
What exactly do you suggest I do, Lord Eredion?”

“We don’t even know for sure yet that there’s a danger,” Eredion said. “He might be escaping even now, or there might be aspects of the situation we don’t understand.”

Alyea wondered why Eredion seemed to be hedging, as though afraid of making a decision.

“I doubt you’re misunderstanding the problem,” Oruen said tartly. “Unless you’ve misled me about the situation, I think we have valid reason to consider Deiq is now a danger to the entire city.”

“No,” Eredion said, avoiding the king’s stare, “you’ve been told everything relevant.”

Oruen’s eyebrows came down sharply at the qualification.

Alyea said, “But... “

They both looked at her.

“Something doesn’t make sense,” she said.

Eredion’s eyes narrowed just a bit, as though in warning; she ignored him this time.

“I know Deiq is dangerous. I see that. But if....” She paused, then made herself say the name. “If Kippin’s involved, I don’t see how threatening the city could benefit him. He’s the type to work underground and keep to the background.”

“Like Rosin,” Oruen noted.

Eredion’s eyes shifted slightly to one side, new creases appearing around them. Alyea abruptly wondered what the desert lord knew about Rosin that he didn’t want the king to find out.

A heartbeat later, Eredion’s expression smoothed out. He said, mildly, “Who knows what Kippin might have in mind these days? Maybe he’s given up on subtle and decided to go for a power grab. It’s not impossible.”

“Not likely, though,” Alyea said. “Kippin makes his money through drugs, prostitution, and kathain. I don’t see how his setting Deiq up as a threat to you or to the city would help those goals. Lord Oruen would hardly agree to grant him immunity, no matter the threat; and setting Deiq loose in the city would kill many of his customers. It’s not in his nature to risk destroying his own customer base. I don’t—I don’t think it’s Kippin. Maybe—the Church?”

She glanced at Eredion. He shook his head slowly, frowning at nothing in particular.

“No,” Eredion said. “Any faction of the Northern Church is more likely to simply kill him as an obscenity. If that’s the case, there’s no threat.”

Her chest went tight for a moment. She glanced up to find Oruen watching her with narrow-eyed intensity; looked away, feeling a hard flush rise to her face, as though she’d been caught doing something wrong.

“But you said someone went to a lot of trouble to set this up, if Deiq was the target all along,” Alyea pointed out. “There are easier ways to cause trouble, if the intent is to disrupt Bright Bay.”

Oruen’s intent expression shifted into a frown.

“I see your point,” he said after a moment. “But where does that leave us?”

Eredion glanced at Alyea, then studied the floor. Thin lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth spoke volumes about his irritation.

“Alyea?” Oruen prompted. “You’ve been doing the talking. What do you think?”

She bit her lip, thinking, then said, “What if this isn’t about the city? What if it’s...personal?”

Oruen remained motionless, his eyes tight, for a few breaths. Then he sat back with a sharply relaxed demeanor and said, “That does sound like the most plausible explanation. Gods know he’s made enemies over the years.”

Alyea frowned at the king, puzzled by the sudden change, then felt her temper began to climb. “You’re not going to help find him?” she demanded.

Oruen regarded her blandly, one knuckle resting against his chin. “If there’s no threat to the city or to me, why should I?”

“She could be wrong,” Eredion began to protest, thin dark eyebrows scrunching into a scowl.

“No, no, I think she has it right,” Oruen interrupted. “It does seem very likely that he’s getting his due for some damage he’s caused in the past.” His smile was dry and humorless.

Alyea said, “But—”

“You didn’t come to ask my help,
Lord
Alyea. You came to warn me, and now it seems that warning is unlikely to turn out necessary. I thank you for your consideration in keeping me informed, and of course I will be wary for signs of trouble in case your first fears were correct; but if this is a personal matter, then I certainly see no reason to interfere.”

He kept his gaze just to one side of her face and his tone crisp. As Alyea opened her mouth again, Eredion reached out and gripped her arm hard. She wavered, then obeyed the silent warning and dropped her furious glare to the floor.

“We thank you for your time, Lord Oruen,” Eredion said cooly.

“Do keep me informed, Lord Sessin.”

“Of course.” Eredion bowed, his hand still on Alyea’s arm, yanking her down as well; then, without pause, pulled her round and propelled her from the room.

His fingers didn’t loosen until they had returned to his suite of rooms. Then, thin-lipped, he pointed her to a chair and signaled her to remain silent. He disappeared into another room without explanation. After what seemed eternity, he came back, carrying two small glasses and a bottle of a deep red-orange liqueur.

She opened her mouth. He caught her eye and shook his head sternly, then set glasses and bottle on a table and poured them each a shot.

“Drink,” he said then, pushing a glass into her hand. When she began to shake her head he pointed at her with a ferocious scowl and repeated the command more emphatically.

Alyea thought about saying:
Unlike you, Lord Eredion Sessin, I don’t see getting drunk as a way to solve my problems,
but something in the man’s set expression stopped her. She grimaced and tossed back the liqueur.

It tasted like desert sunshine and noon-hot sand and great windblown slabs of rock and boiling water, mixed with the searing chill of a raw cactus pepper. She gasped, tears streaming from her eyes as though she’d just rubbed a cut onion across them, and shuddered all over.

There,
Eredion said, setting his own empty glass down on the table.
Now we can talk.

Alyea clenched her hands around the contoured wooden arms of her chair; the tiny scratches and wear marks felt like the chasms and plateaus of a mountain range. She pulled her hands away and rubbed them together. Her palm and finger lines scraped with a raspy feeling and painful
shiss
ing noise.

Disorientation swept over her, a hot flush followed by shivery chill; she blinked watering eyes and stared dumbly at Eredion.

Give it a moment,
Eredion said.
You’ll feel better soon.
He collected the two glasses and the bottle of liqueur and left the room, moving cat-quiet; but even the soft padding of his bare, broad feet on the carpets thudded into Alyea’s ears, and the tiny clinking of the glasses and bottle felt like shards of glass spiking into her skull.

She shut her eyes and fought back a moan. It occurred to her, remembering a time, long ago, when she’d looked through into this same room and seen Eredion arguing with Pieas, that Eredion had to know about the many spy holes and when he was being watched. And yet he’d made no attempt to block any. She wondered why.

Because Ninnic, and Rosin, would have had me eviscerated for it,
Eredion said, returning to the room with two glasses of plain water. He handed her one, then settled back into his chair.