The Temple Road Page 19

  “Hilurin,” Liall muttered. “Always so damned practical.”

  “Well, we are.”

  “And Ressilka knows that.” Liall deposited a cherry pit on the plate. “Just because she’s behaving like one of you doesn’t mean she respects you. Remember who her father is. She wants something and she thinks the best way to get it is to pretend to have something in common, to share your beliefs, even.”

  Scarlet hadn’t considered that. He frowned and thought. “That wouldn’t work forever, though,” he ventured finally. “She has to know that, too.”

  “After she was made queen, it wouldn’t matter if you were happy or not, at least not to her. She would only have to pretend long enough to bind me to her with a child.”

  Scarlet swung his feet, thinking. His toes were growing cold. “What if there were no child?”

  Liall glanced at him. “How do you mean?”

  “What if there were no child ever?” He saw that Liall did not understand. “Marrying her will bring her father into line, along with the rest of your stubborn barons. The only reason they want you to marry is to see her with a big belly and think their own power safe. Now, Ressanda is powerful, but not as much as some others. Why his daughter and not some other baron’s girl? I know, I know,” he waved his hand impatiently. “Camira-Druz. But hells, just about every woman I’ve seen here looks more Rshani than Ressilka does.”

  Liall tapped Scarlet’s nose. “Where are you going with this, my clever pedlar?”

  “Not every Hilurin woman is fertile,” Scarlet said reluctantly. “There’s no guarantee that Ressilka would give you a child, but if you don’t sleep with her—”

  “I imagine there would be little sleeping,” Liall said, grabbing Scarlet’s elbow before it jabbed into his ribs. “You’re a violent little thing.” He pulled Scarlet into his arms. “Finish your thought.”

  Scarlet scowled. “If you don’t sleep with her, there won’t be a child.”

  “I would imagine not.”

  “And who would they blame for that?”

  “Me, once it was known that I never took to her bed. Ah!” Liall’s blue eyes turned merry. “But who would she tell? What young queen would admit that her king rejected her bed?”

  Scarlet had the shame to blush. “Well, and I don’t wish her any harm, but maybe being queen would be enough for her, do you see?”

  Liall nodded. “I do. It’s a sweet thought, love, but a crown changes people. It might work at first, but eventually, Ressilka would begin to feel her authority and to dream of ways she might force me to give her an heir. That would be disastrous, for once she is queen, her will cannot be easily dismissed. Look at what all the years of lusting for power have done to Shikhoza.”

  Scarlet could not imagine Shikhoza as a young woman, just as he could not imagine her truly smiling or carefree. She had always been bitter and waspish to him. And frightening, he admitted. “What’s to be done, then?”

  Liall’s hand slipped beneath Scarlet’s shirt. He kissed Scarlet’s neck, his breath very warm. “Why, we keep on as we have been. Let the wind batter us as it may, t’aishka. We stay our course; no wife for me and no queen.” His mouth brushed Scarlet’s gently. “No one will come between us, and I will never allow us to be parted again.”

  “You taste like cherries,” Scarlet whispered.

  Liall tugged him to his feet, then pulled him down to the pallet, still slightly warm from where he had slept. He shuddered as Liall nuzzled his neck and gently bit his skin.

  “My wolf,” he murmured.

  “Entirely,” Liall whispered back, his hands sliding beneath Scarlet’s shirt, rolling them together so that he was on top. Liall looked down at him, and Scarlet reached up to touch his hair, marveling again at the wildness of it, the blazing silver color. His eyes were deep blue in the light of the ger, such a contrast to his dark skin and pale hair.

  He is a dance of color, Scarlet thought, smiling.

  “Why do you smile?” Liall asked gently, tracing his thumb over Scarlet’s lips.

  “Because the sight of you turns my mind to happy things.” Scarlet wrapped his arms around Liall’s neck.

  “Are you saying I’m handsome?”

  “You know you’re handsome, you lout.”

  Liall grinned. “A charming lie, on both counts. Well, perhaps the latter is somewhat true.”

  “Ladder?”

  Liall laughed and kissed him, and Scarlet demanded to know what was so funny.

  “You turn my mind as well, pretty redbird.” His fingers untired the laces at Scarlet’s neck

  “Here now, I just got this fussy thing on again.”

  “Oh dear,” Liall murmured sympathetically, not at all put off as he eased the virca off Scarlet’s shoulders. “We shall have to find you something easier than laces and buttons. Maybe I’ll just pack you up naked in a blanket for handy travel, and at night I’ll unroll you right into my bed.”

  “Rotted bas—”

  Liall’s hungry mouth cut off the curse from his lips, which he hadn’t really meant anyway.

  In the warmth after loving, Scarlet dozed as the fire in the brazier sputtered low. He could hear and sense a great deal of activity outside the ger, but none of it was nearby. The king’s guard kept Liall’s privacy for him quite well. The guard and Theor’s axe, Scarlet thought sleepily.

  “You were almost asleep,” Liall said quietly. “But not quite. When you’re really asleep, you kick and steal the covers.”

  “Those are the dreams.”

  “Dreams?”

  Scarlet was instantly sorry he had mentioned it. He sat up, rubbing his face, and looked about for his virca in the mess of covers and clothing. “Just dreams. Nothing in them, I think. I keep seeing an odd kind of tower. Stone, but...” He squinted as if he could see into the fog of his past dreams. “It was all wrong. It was shaped like a wheel. A wheel of iron and stone.”

  Liall was very still. “You see this place in your dreams? Can you see what happens there?”

  Scarlet shook his head. “No. All I do is stand and look at it. I can't figure out whether I'm trying to get in or wishing I could get out.” He watched Liall. “Why? Is it a real place?” He feared it was and had been afraid to ask.

  Liall gazed at him steadily. “It is real.”

  “Is it a bad place?”

  Liall gently curled his hand around the back of Scarlet's neck and pulled him back in for a last hug before he, too, sat up and began to hunt for his clothes. “No. It's an ancient place. It's the Blackmoat.”

  The Blackmoat. Jochi's home, where the Setna live. What do I fear to go there? Why does Deva want me to see that place? Is she warning me?

  “Ancient as in old, or—”

  “Just old,” Liall reassured. “Only the Setna dwell at the Blackmoat.”

  “But the Ancients are there.”

  “Sometimes. Relations between the Setna and the Ancients have always been complicated.”

  “I don't understand.”

  Liall tugged a lock of Scarlet's hair. “Complicated as in fraught but close and sometimes hostile, just like all families. It's a long subject. Later, if you still want to know, I'll have Margun explain it all to you. For now, I think I’ll have him bring you some richer food. You should eat more, because of the cold.”

  Margun? I’d rather have Jochi. But he murmured his assent and allowed Liall to change the subject. “If I could have some bitterbeer, too?” he ventured, realizing he really didn't want to be discussing Ancients and Rshani history right now.

  “I did ask Chos to pack those casks, but they're probably down below, where we won't see them again for days.”

  “Something to look forward to, then.” He watched Liall lace his virca sleeves with a speed he could never have matched.

  “I must select another horse for you soon,” Liall said abruptly.

  “What's wrong with the one I have? I like him.”

  “He's not trained properly. If we’re going anywhere
near a battle, you’ll need a more reliable animal. Margun told me how he shied and bolted in the forest.”

  “So did I.”

  “That's not what I meant. We're going into dangerous country. A skittish horse is a liability.”

  So am I. “I wouldn't call him skittish, but have it your way.” Scarlet shrugged. “Just give him to someone nice, will you?”

  “There are plenty of soldiers on foot who would cherish him. I'll ask Margun to choose, if that would please you.”

  “It would.” He yawned and stretched. “Are you going down those stairs again?”

  Liall snorted. “Gods, no. No one is. Soldiers are bringing supplies and wagons up the ramp in staggered columns. Less crowing and chaos that way. It’s a monumental undertaking to move an army up here. I don't fancy making the trip twice, do you?”

  “I think going down might be a good deal easier than coming up, but I don't believe my legs could take it.”

  Liall's grin became wicked. “Play your cards right and I may massage them later, along with various other parts of you.”

  “Nice parts?”

  “Very nice.”

  THE WARMTH OF THE GER made Scarlet drowsy. He slept again and dreamt of the wheel tower. He was standing before it, in a low valley of ice, jagged mountains all around him with their peaks hazy in the white mist. There were eyes in the mist. He turned all around in panic, realizing he was surrounded, and the eyes kept getting closer: great, colorless eyes, pale as opals. Long, snapping fingers reached out to seize him and he threw himself back, raising his hand to draw a rune in the air that glowed like a ring of fire. He shouted a word in Sinha...

  He woke with his heart thumping hard against his chest wall. There were voices outside his ger, snarling in anger. He pushed the furs off him and stood, his body still shaking with tension, eyes heavy with sleep. He stumbled to the flap of the ger.

  “Stand aside, traitor!”

  Jochi stood shouting at Margun, his arms loose at his side, unarmed, only his wrath as a weapon. Scarlet had never seen Jochi so angry. The keriss solda were roused and gathering around them, surrounding Jochi.

  Margun planted himself solidly in Jochi’s way and dropped a hand to his sword-hilt.

  “Margun, stop!” Scarlet shouted.

  Margun turned his chin without taking his eyes off Jochi. “Go inside, ser. I will dispense with this intruder.”

  Scarlet felt his temper rising. He’d worried after Jochi, and now after the tower and the kidnapping and thrice-damned Ressilka showing up, he had simply had enough. “No, you fucking will not!”

  Jochi looked at Scarlet imploringly. “Ser Keriss, I must speak with you. There isn’t much time.”

  “Margun, stand aside. Jochi is my friend. Let him pass.”

  “I can't do that, ser.” Margun's face was closed and set.

  Scarlet stepped forward, only to have Margun turn his back on Jochi to block his way. “Please, ser. Go back. This does not concern you.”

  They were drawing stares from other gers and nearby encampments in the ward. Scarlet had never invoked Liall's name in a dispute, but he was tempted to now. His sleep had been plagued and it was cold and he was still muzzy and frightened from his dream.

  “Let him pass,” Scarlet ground out, “or you can explain yourself to the king.”

  “I am obeying the king's orders, ser.”

  “Liall would never forbid Jochi to see me.”

  “But he has,” Jochi interrupted, his voice brittle. “Ask Margun Rook the reason.”

  Margun turned, put his hand in the center of Jochi's chest and shoved him back. His sword rang from its sheath. “I have asked you to leave. Don't make me force you. The king has spoken and you will obey. Setna or not, you will—”

  Scarlet darted from the ger and stepped between Jochi and Margun. “Put up. Do it.”

  Margun froze. He looked over Scarlet's head to Jochi, then reluctantly took a step back. The point of his sword dipped but he did not sheath his weapon. “The king has commanded this, ser. Please, I beg you. Return to your ger.”

  “Not until I find out what's going on. Why would Liall forbid Jochi to see me?”

  “He's afraid of what I'll tell you,” Jochi said at once. “He's afraid of what you'll do when you know the truth.”

  Margun lurched forward. His fist shot over Scarlet's head and connected with Jochi's jaw.

  Margun shouted. “Keriss solda!”

  In moments, the guards with the red badges of the flame flower had closed in. They seized Jochi and pulled him aside. Scarlet shouted at the men to stop, but they looked to Margun and would not obey. Halacre was the only one who hesitated, hand going to his sword as he bared his teeth at Margun, but even he decided to obey, though not without an anguished look at Scarlet.

  Scarlet rounded on Margun, furious, and only barely managed to stop himself from throwing a punch to Margun’s nose. “Those are my guards,” he spat, feeling helpless and humiliated. To think he had been proud of having that fancy red badge, of hearing men say that ser Keriss was their lord. He was no lord! He knew he wasn’t and they didn’t believe it, either. “Those men swore to protect me. You swore to obey me!”

  “To protect you, ser, sometimes I must disobey you.” Margun gestured and the guards turned Jochi by his arms and began to march him away. Scarlet watched helplessly. When Jochi struggled and would have called back to him, a red guard slammed his armored forearm across the back of Jochi's neck. Jochi slumped.

  “Bastards!” Scarlet took a step to go to Jochi’s defense. Margun's sword rang again when he dropped it and the hilt struck the stone. Strong arms wrapped around him.

  “Get your hands off me!” Scarlet kicked and fought, but Margun only held on tighter and wrestled him back inside the ger with no more effort than he would have handled a kitten.

  Once inside, Margun released him. Scarlet shoved him away turned around, spitting mad. “If you ever touch me again—”

  Margun backed away, putting his hands up, palms toward Scarlet. He went to one knee and bent his neck in submission as bells jangled musically around them. “Please. I beg your forgiveness, ser. I didn't want to do that.”

  Scarlet resisted the urge to bang the che pot down on Margun’s bowed head, but how could he strike a man who was humbly on his knees, begging to be forgiven? “Oh no, you're only following orders to beat Jochi and drag me around! You expect me to believe that Liall commanded you to do that?”

  “He did not order Jochi harmed, no. Nor did I. He will recover, ser, I promise. He is not badly hurt.”

  “I don’t want him hurt at all!”

  “I beg your forgiveness,” Margun repeated. “Please. I am loyal, ser, but I have been put in a position where my allegiances conflict. Surely you can see that is unfair, but a man—even a loyal man—must still decide.” He risked a look at Scarlet, then his eyes went wide. He sucked in a harsh breath as he rose and backed away. “Ser, your hands.”

  Scarlet looked down, but he already knew. He had felt the heat moments before and thought it only his rage. He held up his hands, fingers splayed, before his face, still disbelieving what he saw.

  “How...?” he murmured.

  His hands were glowing. His fingers were haloed with a pure white light, the nails translucent, his skin almost glittering from within. He gaped at them in wonder and fear of himself as the light spread and filled the ger.

  An instant was all he had before he felt the fire.

  The scream bubbled up in Scarlet’s throat. He tried not to let it out, but the sound burst howling past his lips, and the world turned to flames before it went completely dark.

  Fire

  LIALL’S SUPPER was cold and untouched on his plate when the guards dragged Jochi in. Nose bloodied and his virca torn, Jochi drew himself up to his full height and shook the guard's hands from his arms. He smoothed the front of his virca and raised his head with dignity.

  “My king, I would have words with you.”

  “Yo
u’ve already had words with someone, it seems.” Liall pushed his plate away, his appetite fled. He had expected trouble from this quarter, but not so soon. He’s a Setna. I should have known better.

  “You attempted to speak with Scarlet, despite my command not to? I thought you might.” He snapped his fingers for the guards to leave them alone together. They obeyed, but Liall noted that Theor held the ger flap open with a sword-point and stood very near and alert.

  “Sit down, Jochi.”

  “I will stand, if it please my king.”

  “It doesn't, but stand if you must.” Liall picked a late plum from the table and turned it round in his hand, admiring the deep color. “Unripe fruit,” he remarked. “So lovely. See how the streaks of red intermingle with the purple here? Like living veins. And yet,” he bit into it and made a face. “Bitter. The harvesters picked too soon. They predict a short Greentide this year.” Liall put the plum down. It rolled across the table, staining the fine cloth with a trail of juice. “What are you bitter about, Jochi?

  “Scarlet of Lysia.”

  “Not ser Keriss?”

  “Ser Keriss is your fiction, sire, as is Lord Wild. He’s a fabled Anlyribeth with all the great powers of the old Channel race, and all their longevity. At least that’s what you've tried to convince yourself of. But Scarlet, son of Scaja, is a common Hilurin of small magic and smaller ambitions, and of a life so brief that the nearness of losing him freezes your heart with fear and numbs your mind to reason.”

  Liall stared at Jochi, his gut churning. “You talk too much,” he grated out. “You've always talked too fucking much, and you’re forever meddling where you shouldn't. For once, Jochi, take your long Setna nose out of my business.”

  “Would that I could.” Jochi looked pained, but he went on. “Sire, we are taught that Hilurin lives are brief for a reason. We are told—”