FOUR
When a man’s ability to move was severely limited,
being in a room with Surreal all day was unnerving, especially when
her mood kept swinging from being oversolicitous to looking like
she’d explode if she didn’t rip apart everything in the room. Since
he was one of the things in the room, Rainier felt giddy relief
when Jaenelle ordered Surreal to take her own walk and rest
period.
Then Jaenelle worked
on his leg, weaving her healing spells around and through the
broken bone and severed muscle. Satisfied that, this time, he had
done exactly what he’d been told to do, she had given him
permission to sit downstairs this evening and have the passive
company of Merry and Briggs’s customers.
Wasn’t much of a
trade in some ways, since Merry was keeping as sharp an eye on him
as Surreal had done, but the difference in personalities made him
feel easier. Besides, Merry had plenty of other people to look
after—and didn’t look like she wanted
to rip out everyone’s throat.
Rainier sat at a
table with his left leg resting on cushions that floated on air and
enough shields around that part of the table to barricade a whole
house—and none of those shields were
his. Still, he was happy to be around other people for a while and
concerned that Surreal was taking another walk to work off more temper—and he
wondered if there was some way for him to find out if there was a
problem in Ebon Rih or if Lucivar had a problem with just one
man.
Lucivar prowled the
sitting room at the Keep. He’d spent the day trying to figure out
whom he could talk to who would just let him talk. Marian would
have listened, but he didn’t want to share this with her. Not yet.
Not when it might change how she felt or acted around some of the
other Eyriens.
So he’d come to the
Keep, wishing he could have talked to his uncle Andulvar, or even
Prothvar, but finally choosing the man he hoped could
understand.
“I’m not leaving Ebon
Rih for any prick-ass’s benefit,” he said, “but Falonar
was right about some things.” He braced
when his father rose from the chair where Saetan had sat silently
and passively while Lucivar recounted his discussion with the other
Eyrien Warlord Prince. But the High Lord just settled on the wide
arm of the big stuffed chair and crossed his arms over his
chest.
“Was he?” Saetan
asked blandly.
Hell’s fire. He’d
asked—no, demanded—to be allowed to talk without having to deal
with someone else’s anger, but this blandness in face and voice hid
too much, giving him no clue to Saetan’s thoughts or
temper.
“What, exactly, was
he right about?” Saetan asked.
Lucivar bristled.
Couldn’t stop himself. “Look, I didn’t want to deal with anger, but
I didn’t say you couldn’t express an opinion.”
“As long as it’s
expressed politely?”
He swore savagely. “I
was hoping you would understand.”
“I do,” Saetan said,
his voice still viciously bland. “Better, I think, than you do at
this moment.”
Lucivar snapped to a
stop and looked into Saetan’s eyes. Something there, something that
warned him that he could hear nothing or he could hear it
all.
“Stop that.” If he
had to submit to a scolding, he was not
going to listen to it delivered in that bland, no-balls voice—not
from this man.
Saetan’s gold eyes
filled with sharp amusement. “Would you prefer a whack upside the
head? It’s what you would have gotten from your
uncle.”
“Why?”
The bland expression
vanished, which wasn’t a relief because now Saetan’s face held the
look of a family patriarch annoyed with one of his offspring. Not
angry, not threatening, just annoyed enough that if Lucivar had
been younger, Saetan would have grabbed him by the scruff of the
neck as a warning to pay attention and think.
“Point by point,
then,” Saetan said. “There are about two hundred Eyriens in Ebon
Rih. How many of them are you supporting?”
“I can afford it,” he
mumbled, not sure how much trouble he was in, but certain he was in
trouble. “Besides, they work for me.”
“Do they? It’s been
two years since the last service fair, two years since the last
contracts were signed that were part of the emigration requirements
to live in Kaeleer.”
“No,” Lucivar said
quickly, “there were a handful this past summer.”
“Eyrien women who
have young children and were desperate enough and determined enough
to leave what they had known. They didn’t come through the service
fairs, since those fairs no longer exist. They came to the Keep in
Terreille, asking for help. And Draca asked you to consider adding
them to the women living in the mountains near Doun. Which you did.
How many other Eyriens who signed contracts with you are still
under contract?”
Not sure he liked
where this was going, he shrugged. “They’re still
serving.”
“Are they? Being a
dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince, Falonar has to serve for five years in
order to remain in Kaeleer after the contract is completed. The
others, not being of that caste and not wearing dark Jewels, have
fulfilled that obligation and are free to live elsewhere
now.”
“If a Queen will
permit them to live in her territory.”
Saetan tipped his
head in agreement. “I think some of those men have already talked
to Eyriens who accepted service contracts with Rihlander Queens and
have discovered that those Queens are not intimidated by Eyriens or
impressed by aggression and arrogance, that those Queens are not
going to pay them to sit on a mountain scratching each other’s
asses while complaining about the ruler they are supposed to
serve.”
Lucivar took a step
back. It still shocked him when his father expressed an opinion so
crudely. It would have sounded natural if Andulvar had said it, but
Saetan? No. And that crudeness focused his attention as nothing
else could have.
“How many are still
under contract to you, Lucivar?”
“I’m not
sure.”
A flash of anger,
like a flash of lightning, filled the room.
He waited to hear the
thunder, waited for the gauge that would tell him how close the
storm was—and how violent.
The silence that
followed scared him because it indicated an anger too deep to
gauge.
“Andulvar didn’t like
paperwork any more than you do, but he knew every man who served
him directly. Contracts were a formality. He didn’t need those
pieces of paper to know who served and who didn’t, who was loyal
and who wasn’t, who lived by the Blood’s code of honor and who
didn’t. He knew—and so do
you.”
Lucivar swallowed
hard. “Except for the women I took in last summer, Falonar is the
only one who hasn’t fulfilled the full contract.”
“Then he and those
women are the only ones who should be receiving anything from your
share of Ebon Rih’s tithes—if they’re
fulfilling the tasks you’ve assigned them as their part of the
bargain. The others should be informed that they have fulfilled
their agreement and are free to live elsewhere. If they want to
remain in Ebon Rih, and you’re still willing to let them live here,
they will have to find work to support themselves. If they want to
work for you, and receive wages from you, and have a skill that you
want for the Eyrien community in your keeping, they will stand
before you and witnesses and make a formal, binding pledge of loyalty for whatever amount of
time you specify. They will do this according to Eyrien tradition,
understanding that the penalties of breaking that loyalty also will
follow Eyrien tradition. And yes, Prince, that does mean execution.
And yes, there were times when Andulvar had to hold up that part of
Eyrien honor.”
Lucivar wanted to
pace, but that storm of temper could still come down on him, so he
didn’t move. “I can’t cut them loose like that. They’re just
starting to build a life.” He wasn’t thinking of the men. Not most
of them, anyway. But the women? And what about men like Hallevar
and Tamnar? What would they do to support themselves
sufficiently?
“Eyriens prefer plain
speaking, so I’ll speak plainly,” Saetan said quietly. “The reason
most of the Eyriens who are now settled in Askavi Kaeleer came here
was to escape the control of Prythian and all the corrupted Queens
who followed her lead. Well, Prythian and those Queens and everyone
who was tainted by them are gone. Dead. Destroyed. Purged from all
the Realms. If the Eyriens living in Ebon Rih don’t like the
boundaries that are set by the Queens in Kaeleer, they can return
to Askavi Terreille and take up their old lives.”
“Would there be
anything left of their old lives?”
“I don’t know. The
point is, they could go back to Askavi Terreille and build the life
they seem to think would be so much better than what they have
here. I’ll open the Gate myself to accommodate them. But if they’re
going to stay here, it’s time for them to start living in Kaeleer instead of expecting the Shadow
Realm to change into the same, but more advantageous, place they
left.”
Lucivar started
pacing. He needed to argue and push because it was helping him see
some things he hadn’t considered, but he was nervous about what
might swing back at him if he argued and pushed.
When has knowing there was a price ever stopped
you? “Two hundred Eyriens living in the mountains around a
valley this size isn’t a lot.”
“How many Eyriens do
you think usually lived in the land owned by the Keep?” Saetan
asked, his voice laced with amused curiosity.
Lucivar stopped
pacing. Wherever this discussion was going, it was going to bite
him in the ass. He just knew it. “Falonar indicated two hundred are
a lot less Eyriens than there should be. If I wasn’t the one ruling
here, more would settle in the valley. In Terreille there were
courts and hunting camps and communities of Eyriens in the
mountains. Hell’s fire. Marian used to live in the Black Valley
before she came to Kaeleer. So I know Falonar is right about
that—there were hundreds, even thousands, of Eyriens living in the
mountains around this valley.”
“Yes, there were.
In Terreille,” Saetan said, his voice
now filled with an amusement that could, in a heartbeat, turn
cuttingly sharp. “My darling, you and Falonar have both missed a
step in your education.”
Shit.
“Eyriens are not
native to Kaeleer. The Rihlanders are Askavi’s native race in the
Shadow Realm. The only reason there have ever been Eyriens living
in these mountains, the only reason you are now living in an eyrie
Andulvar had built for himself, was that during the time when
Andulvar served Cassandra, a winged race was attacking Rihlander
villages in the northern parts of Askavi. He was assigned to take
care of the problem, and he and the Eyrien warriors who served
under him went out and fought the Jhinka and established the line
between what was considered Jhinka territory and what belonged to
the Rihlanders. In thanks, the Rihlander Queens in Ebon Rih invited
him and his men to establish homes in the mountains around the
Keep. Which Andulvar did because, even though he ended up being the
Warlord Prince of Askavi in both Realms, he liked what he found in
Askavi Kaeleer a lot more than what he’d left behind as a youth in
Askavi Terreille. So no matter what Falonar may think, there has
never been more than two or three communities of Eyriens living in
Ebon Rih. Ever.”
Lucivar shifted his
weight from one foot to the other. It made sense. A hunting camp
was usually paired with a court or a community. When he’d first
made the decision to accept Eyriens into service, he’d scouted the
mountains for other suitable eyries and found them in the mountains
near the Rihlander villages. But now that he thought about those
places being occupied, he realized there weren’t many of those old
eyries that were still empty, and the ones that were tended to be
isolated, more like overnight camps instead of homes.
“The valley below us
belongs to the Keep in all three Realms,” Saetan said. “It always
has; it always will. You were given Ebon Rih to rule on behalf of
the Queen of Ebon Askavi. You were given the responsibility to
watch over the land and the people who live here, whether they were
landens or Rihlanders or Eyriens. When you made the pledge to
defend and protect, you not only made it to the living Queen you
served; you made it to the Keep and those who serve the Keep. Which
is why you still rule here even though Jaenelle is no longer a
ruling Queen.” He pushed up from the chair and ran his fingers
through his hair, the first sign of exasperation he’d shown. “What
is actually going on here, Lucivar? Do you trust Falonar so much
that you’ve missed something obvious?”
Right now he didn’t
trust Falonar at all, but that wouldn’t be a wise thing to say to
his father—or his brother, for that matter. “Like
what?”
“A
challenge?”
Lucivar huffed out a
laugh. “He’s arrogant, not stupid. He couldn’t survive me on a
killing field.”
“But he is an aristo
Warlord Prince who served in a less-than-honorable court. Was he
free to leave, or would he have been considered a rogue when he
left Prythian’s court and slipped in with the other Eyriens to try
his luck at the service fair?”
“He said he couldn’t
stomach what he was ordered to do,” Lucivar said. “I assumed he was
rogue, but I didn’t care.”
“A man who lived by
traditional Eyrien honor would have cared,” Saetan said. “Or at
least cared about why a man broke an oath of loyalty.”
Snarling at the truth
of that, Lucivar resumed pacing.
“So Falonar appeals
to your sense of honor and tries to get you to give up your claim
to Ebon Rih for ‘the good of the other Eyriens.’ What do you think
would happen if you did step down?”
“Falonar would step
in and become the next Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih and rule the
valley in traditional Eyrien fashion.” And blood would be shed up
and down the valley. The Rihlanders here, Blood and landen,
wouldn’t tolerate the presence of another race who expected them to
be accommodating, especially when accommodating meant becoming
little better than slaves.
“If you step down,
there will be no Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih,” Saetan said. “If you
leave Ebon Rih, no one at the Keep will deny Falonar’s claim to
being the leader of the Eyriens living in the valley, but the
Rihlander villages here will have no duty to him. There will be no
tithes to support him or his followers, because he will have no
right to that income. He may be considered an equal to the Queens
who rule the Blood villages, but not their superior. He would not
be permitted to glut this land with Eyriens who can’t support
themselves, and he certainly wouldn’t be permitted to bring in more
warriors, because the number of warriors already here is sufficient
to help the Rihlanders defend this land and its
people.”
“And if he did try to
bring in more?”
Saetan gave him a
long stare before saying softly, “Don’t underestimate what guards
the Keep, Lucivar.”
He heard the warning.
Oh, yes, he heard the warning.
“I will give Falonar
two points,” Saetan said. “First, you aren’t thinking like an Eyrien when it comes to the
Eyriens in Ebon Rih. Who would you want with you on a battleground,
Prince Yaslana? Who would you want supporting those men? Whose
skills are useful? Who should be dismissed because they’re only
extra weight? No one has reminded you of those completed contracts
because they would have had to earn their living instead of
expecting you to provide them with everything they want simply
because you agreed to give them a chance to live in the territory
you rule. They aren’t your children. Since you have sense enough
not to spoil your own son, don’t spoil them. Give them a choice to
stay or go, because the ones who can’t give you loyalty are no use
to you in a fight—or in a healthy community.”
“Could I release
Falonar from his contract?” Lucivar asked.
“If he wants to
return to Terreille, you could forgive the rest of his contract. If
he wants to stay in Kaeleer but no longer can serve you honorably,
his contract could be transferred to a Queen of sufficient
rank—meaning one who wears a Red Jewel or darker—who is willing to
have an Eyrien Warlord Prince in her court.”
“I won’t let him
serve Karla,” Lucivar said. She wasn’t the only Queen who wore
Jewels darker than Sapphire, but after what Falonar did to Rainier,
he wasn’t going to let the man near the Queen of Glacia and her
weakened legs. “What’s the second thing?”
“People didn’t stop
dying two years ago. Those who made the transition to demon-dead
didn’t stop coming to Hell, didn’t stop wanting a last chance to
take care of unfinished business.”
“So?”
“Come with
me.”
He followed Saetan to
the private part of the Keep’s huge library. On the blackwood table
was a wooden box with a dozen audio crystals nestled in heavy
silk.
Saetan put one of the
crystals in the brass stand and used Craft to engage the sounds
held in the crystal.
Andulvar’s voice.
Lucivar’s chest ached. Hell’s fire, he missed his uncle. Saetan’s
love and discipline and code of honor had shaped the core of who he
was, but Andulvar, by being Andulvar, had shaped his sense of what
it meant to be Eyrien.
How could he have
forgotten that?
Then he focused on
the words and gasped. “Stories?”
“Some stories,”
Saetan replied. “Some legends as he was taught them. Some accounts
of battles he was in. Prothvar has some stories and accounts of
battles on a couple of those crystals too. And then there are
these.” Returning that audio crystal to its place in the box, he
called in another crystal and put it in the stand.
Lucivar didn’t
recognize the voice, but he knew what he was hearing. “How?
Where?”
“A historian
storyteller from Askavi Terreille. He made the transition to
demon-dead a couple of weeks ago. When he came to the Dark Realm,
his main regret was that he had no apprentice while he walked among
the living, had no one to learn the stories, and he worried that no
one would remember what Askavi had been like before the purging,
that the most recent history would be lost. So I showed him what
Andulvar and I had done over the course of several
winters.”
“He’s doing the same
thing now?” Lucivar asked. “Recording the stories of Eyrien history
so they won’t be forgotten?”
“Yes. If someone was
interested in becoming the historian storyteller in your community,
meetings could be arranged and held at the Keep.”
Maybe the storyteller
could have an apprentice after all before he returned to the
Darkness.
Saetan called in a
thick sheaf of papers, carefully bound. He handed it to Lucivar.
“Eyriens don’t have a lot of use for books, but I had all of
Andulvar’s stories transcribed. I made two copies. One copy and the
audio crystals will remain here in the Keep’s library, available to
scholars and our family. The copy you’re holding is a gift from
your uncle, and you may do with it as you please.”
“Thank you.” His
throat was so tight it was hard to swallow. “I’ve let some things
slide for the past couple of years. There were reasons for it, but
now that needs to change.”
“Yes, it does. And
there will be some who won’t like that change.”
Lucivar put a shield
around the bound pages to keep them protected, then vanished them.
“I’d better go. I promised Jaenelle I would tuck in Surreal and
Rainier tonight, since they’ll both be resuming their training
tomorrow.”
“You’re going to put
a weapon in Surreal’s hands?” Saetan looked mildly alarmed. “Are
you going to shield your balls?”
He laughed. “Damn
right, I am.”
He headed for the
library’s door. Saetan stayed at the table.
“Lucivar?”
He looked
back.
“The next time
someone tries to manipulate your heart by saying you don’t know
Eyrien tradition, you remind that person that you follow Eyrien
traditions that are far older than anything he could possibly know.
Because, my darling, that is true. Andulvar was proud of you, as a
man and as an Eyrien warrior. Does anyone else’s opinion really
matter?”
Glancing up from the
solitary card game he’d been playing, Rainier saw one of the
younger Eyrien Warlords standing in The Tavern’s doorway, scanning
the room.
Endar. Had a wife and
two children—and lived with them, which, he’d gathered, was
atypical in Eyrien society.
Despite what Lucivar
sometimes said about his little beast, Rainier couldn’t imagine
Yaslana living apart from his family, coming to the family eyrie
for only an hour to see his children or have sex with his wife.
Couldn’t imagine Yaslana tolerating that separation.
As Endar approached
his table, he saw Merry start to veer from the table she’d been
heading toward.
*It’s all right,*
Rainier told her. *I’d like to know why he’s come.*
She turned again so
smoothly, he doubted anyone else would have realized anything had
happened.
“Prince Rainier,”
Endar said when he reached the table.
“Lord
Endar.”
Endar pointed at
another chair. “May I?”
“Please
do.”
An awkward silence.
Then Merry appeared and said, “I know what Prince Rainier is
allowed to drink. What would you like?”
Hasn’t been in The Tavern before, Rainier thought
as he watched Endar stumble over a simple request for
ale.
“I guess your
training is done now,” Endar said.
Rainier shook his
head. “We report to Prince Yaslana tomorrow morning to resume
training.”
“I mean no
disrespect, but what can you do right now?”
“I think my part of
the training tomorrow consists of standing, walking a few steps,
and bending my knee a few times to help stretch the muscles Lady
Angelline is rebuilding. Yaslana’s part of the training is pounding
on me if I do anything stupid.”
“He wouldn’t hurt an
injured man,” Endar protested.
Yes, he would. “I’d rather feel Lucivar’s fist than
my Healer’s fury.”
“Ah.” Endar took a
couple of swallows of ale, then set the mug aside and called in
four books. He looked embarrassed. Almost ashamed. “Since you need
to rest that leg so much while it’s healing, I thought you might
find these useful.”
Setting the cards
down, Rainier checked the title of each book. He’d read all of
them, but he wasn’t going to say that, since it was clear it hadn’t
been easy for Endar to bring them or admit to owning them. “Thank
you. These will help pass the time.”
Surreal walked
through the door and the chatter in the room stumbled before
picking up the rhythm again. As she approached their table, he
noticed how much Endar tensed, how ready the man was to take up a
defensive position. Couldn’t blame him. Not after her attack on
Falonar.
“Surreal, darling,
Endar kindly loaned me some books. Could you take them up to my
room so they’ll be safe?”
By the time she’d
unbuttoned her heavy coat, he knew she’d assessed his visitor, and
his ease with the Eyrien, and understood what the loan of those
books meant.
“Sure,” she said,
taking the books. “You want anything from your room while I’m up
there?”
“No,
thanks.”
When she walked away,
Endar gulped in a breath, then gulped some ale. Rainier picked up
his cards and resumed his game.
Endar watched for a
bit.
“I’ve played every
card game I know more times than I care to consider,” Rainier said.
“Do you know any?”
“Betting games, you
mean?”
He shook his head.
“The healing brews I have to drink are strong enough to give me a
muzzy head.”
“Well, there is hawks
and hares. But it’s a children’s card game.”
Rainier smiled. “I
could handle that. I think.”
Endar called in a
different deck of cards. “I keep them with me,” he mumbled as he
shuffled the cards. “To distract the little ones when Dorian needs
some peace.”
Rainier said nothing,
just absorbed all the messages under and around the
words.
Lucivar walked into
The Tavern, glanced at the table ringed by Eyriens, and reached the
bar just as Surreal lifted the tray of drinks and went off to tend
a couple of tables.
“The way she kept
staring at everyone, folks were afraid to come up and order a
drink,” Briggs said, standing on the other side of the bar. “Merry
suggested that she look after a few tables while she was keeping an
eye on things, and she agreed—and promised not to poison anyone’s
drink. She was joking about that, wasn’t she?”
“If Surreal promised
not to poison anyone tonight, she won’t.”
Briggs stared at him.
“You want ale?”
“I’d rather have a
very large whiskey, but I’ll take coffee if you have it. It’s my
night to give the little beast his bath, so I’ll need my reflexes
sharp beforehand and the whiskey after.”
Laughing, Briggs went
to fetch him a large mug of coffee.
Leaning against the
bar, he idly watched Rainier and Endar playing some kind of game,
encouraged by Hallevar, Kohlvar, Zaranar, and Rothvar.
“Endar showed up
first,” Surreal said, setting a tray of dirty glasses on the bar.
“Loaned Rainier four books. I gathered reading isn’t a shameful
activity if a warrior is so badly injured there isn’t much else he
can do.”
Lucivar winced at the
sharp edge in her voice.
“The others showed up
a little while ago.”
“I’m surprised they
aren’t entertaining Falonar,” he said.
She huffed out a
breath. “Nothing has been said—at least nothing I heard while
moving around the tables—but I have the impression they’re all
feeling uneasy about what Falonar did. They haven’t criticized him
openly. . . .”
“But they’re here
tonight, giving Rainier company,” he finished. Showing support and
indicating they saw Rainier as one of their own instead of being
with the leader who hadn’t taken care of an injured
man.
“I haven’t heard
Rainier laugh this much since before we walked into that damn
spooky house.”
Lucivar narrowed his
eyes. He hated feeling suspicious about men he liked, but the
Eyriens hadn’t made much effort to get to know the people of Riada.
“How much has Rainier lost? And how much has he had to
drink?”
“It’s not a betting
game,” Surreal replied. “Some game called hawks and
hares.”
Children’s card game.
Daemonar was just learning to play it.
“And his so-called
muzzy head, which might be somewhat genuine, is a result of
Jaenelle’s healing brews. They’ve also sneaked him sips of ale. Not
much, and within the limits Jaenelle told Merry he was allowed to
have.”
He let the play
continue while he drank his coffee and ate the sandwich Merry put
in front of him. Then he waited until Hallevar looked his way. He
made a twirling motion with one finger.
“Last hand, boys,”
Hallevar said loudly enough to carry back to the bar. “We all need
to get some rest.”
The only man who
didn’t glance his way was Rainier, who studied the cards in his
hand with heightened intensity. It was so like Daemonar’s response
to the first “bedtime” call, Lucivar almost laughed out
loud.
He wasn’t sure if
Endar deliberately lost that round to finish up quickly, or if
Surreal was right and Rainier was nowhere near as muzzy-headed as
he was allowing people to think, but the game ended fairly soon
after and the Eyriens departed, making a point of thanking Merry
and Briggs for the hospitality.
“Do I have to go
upstairs now?” Rainier asked woefully.
“It’s bath
night.”
“I don’t need help
taking a bath.”
“No, but my boy
does.”
“Ah.”
Rainier shifted his
left leg. Merry and Surreal rushed toward the table. Lucivar gave
them both a look that had them pulling up short.
“Give the man some
room,” he said firmly.
Two pairs of female
eyes narrowed at him.
Ah, shit. “Do not give me any sass.”
The eyes narrowed a
little more.
*Can we get out of
this room, please?* Rainier asked, studying the women.
*Yes, if you make
some effort.*
He got Rainier
upright and felt those eyes watch him until they reached the stairs
that led up to the rooms.
Since Rainier
cooperated, it didn’t take long to get him settled for the night.
Sitting beside the bed, Lucivar called in a jar of
ointment.
“What’s that?”
Rainier asked.
“Healing salve.”
After putting a tight shield around his hands, Lucivar scooped out
a generous amount of salve and began smoothing it over Rainier’s
left leg from hip to knee.
“I can do
that.”
“Not tonight, you
can’t. Right now, Jaenelle wants someone else getting a careful
feel of those muscles, and that someone is me.”
Rainier said nothing
for a few minutes, letting him focus on the leg. The ointment was
laced with spells—warming spell, numbing spell, he didn’t know how
many others. His fingers carefully followed the lines of muscles,
feeling a ridge at the spot where they were originally severed and
then repaired so many times.
“Lucivar?”
“Hmm?”
“Is there any
honorable work a young Eyrien male can do except fighting? Or does
he have to be permanently wounded badly enough to be a liability in
a fight before he can do something else without
shame?”
Lifting his hand from
Rainier’s leg, Lucivar gave the other man a long look. “Why do you
ask?”
“Nothing certain.
Just impressions.”
“You were Second
Circle in the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi, and you’re an observant
man.”
Rainier took a deep
breath and let it out slowly. “I had the impression that Endar was
trying to find out how serious this leg injury is. What I could no
longer do. He doesn’t like being a guard. He doesn’t like the
bloodshed that comes in a fight. I gathered that’s a shameful thing
for an Eyrien male to feel. Would he fight to defend his family?
Without hesitation or question. But he doesn’t like it as his work,
and he’s afraid to say anything because he likes living here and
his wife likes living here. If someone can’t offer him a way to
keep his standing with other Eyriens, I think the day might come
when he drops his guard during one of the workouts, quite by
accident, and receives a blow that will make him a cripple who has
to do some other kind of work.”
Lucivar resumed
smoothing the salve over Rainier’s leg. “Did you get any impression
about what kind of work he might want to do?”
“No. The other
Eyriens came in at that point, and he shied away from the
subject.”
“I’m going to be
looking for a teacher. Someone for the Eyrien youngsters. Someone
who can teach them reading and writing and their sums, as well as
Eyrien history and basic Protocol.”
“Basically the same
initial education as any child in Kaeleer, with the history and
traditions specific to a race.”
“Yes.”
“Fighting?”
“Hallevar is arms
master. He’ll take care of that part of the education.”
If he stays. “Haven’t worked out how it
will be done, but it’s going to be done.”
He could almost feel
Rainier putting the information together.
“This isn’t common
knowledge yet?” Rainier asked.
Lucivar shook his
head. “Not for a few more days.”
“But if a particular
person were to ask my opinion about a possible alternative to being
a guard?”
“You could mention
that you’d heard I was looking for a teacher.”
He left Rainier a few
minutes later and went into the bathroom. He washed the salve off
his shielded hands and then, dropping the shield, washed his hands
again. Then he tapped on the other door.
“It’s open,” Surreal
said.
He walked into her
room and stopped, feeling his heart kick once.
Short blades, long
blades, slim blades and double-edged. Even an Eyrien hunting knife
she’d probably had Kohlvar make for her the last time she’d stayed
in Ebon Rih.
Her gold-green eyes
were focused on him as her hands unerringly stroked a blade over
the whetstone. There was something terrifyingly erotic about
watching Surreal hone her blades.
“You won’t need those
tomorrow,” he said.
She just
smiled.
Because of what he
saw in her eyes, he didn’t get near her. That was simply caution.
He could meet her in a fight and win. They both knew it. He also
knew he needed to talk to Daemon very soon.
He could meet her in
a fight and win. But outside of a fight, he wasn’t sure what to do
with a Gray-Jeweled witch who might be drifting too close to the
borders of the Twisted Kingdom.