Servants of the Sands, page 31
“Not unless I am forced to, lord,” he said. “I hold to my oaths.”
She squinted at him, not in the least reassured by that answer. “Your oaths to me, to Toscin, or to Retiae?” she asked.
“Yes, lord,” he said, a smile creasing his broad face.
She shook her head, impressed at how well he was controlling his emotions even in the face of her wrath. Katheele, indeed. An ordinary kathain would have broken down by now.
“Give me an oath, then,” she said. “You will tell her the truth on this before she is sworn into my service. I want her to know what she’s walking into.”
Ishru’s smile faded. He regarded her with a troubled expression. “Lord—”
“This is not optional, Ishru,” Azni said flatly. “I’m giving you a chance to do it of your own free will, but I’ll compel you if I have to.”
His troubled expression darkened into a frown. “That would be a breach of contract, lord,” he said. “A severe breach. You’d risk—”
“I know what I’d risk,” she said. “I don’t much care.”
He let out a long breath, still frowning. “This won’t turn out well,” he said. “Please, lord, release me from that order. It’s a bad idea.”
“No. It may not suit your sense of duty, but it’s the right thing to do. Tell her what you’ve told me.”
Ishru bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck for a few moments. “Yes, lord,” he said at last, unusually subdued. “I wish you’d reconsider, but I will do as you say. I so swear.”
“Good. And—” Azni paused, considering, a new idea forming in her mind. She sat still, turning it over with great care, keeping it shielded, and even slid into a half-trance to make that easier. Ishru sat quietly, waiting. He was definitely unhappy, but probably not as much as he was trying to make her think.
The idea solved several issues, and raised others. She balanced the good and the bad, considered variables within and without her control, and finally sighed, emerging from trance.
“After I see a few matters settled here,” she said, “you and I and Retiae will leave—together.”
“Traveling north would—” Ishru began, his expression alarmed.
“We aren’t going north,” she said. “We’re going east.”
He stared at her, his mouth moving, shaping silent words; blinked, blinked again, then nodded slowly. “Yes, lord,” he said. “East.”
“You will travel with me, Ishru,” she said. “Retiae can make up her own mind, after your discussion, on what she wishes to do. I’ll send her on with a recommendation if she so desires, but you, I will need.”
“Yes, lord,” he said, the subdued tone back in his voice. He rubbed a knuckle against his nose, his face still creased with worry, as he added, “I understand, lord. I will honor my oaths to you.”
She weighed his tone, the lines on his face, the ambient tension, the too-casual face obscuring motion, and decided there was enough truth there to be going on with. “Good. Now help me get some sleep, if you would be so kind.”
A smile lightened the dour worry on his face. “Yes, lord,” he said with considerably more enthusiasm. “That would be a joy, lord.”
Chapter 39
“You want to arrange what?” Azni stared at Seg, wondering, not for the first time, if the man were entirely sane.
“A dance, Lord Darden,” he said patiently. He’d declined her invitation to be seated, but had tactfully chosen to stand at a decent distance from her chair rather than looming over her. “To formally welcome s’a Nissa to the household. We are suitably equipped now, I believe.”
“Why the hells are you asking me?” Azni said waspishly. “Lord Scratha’s made my status quite clear. I’m a guest. Not the daimaina!”
“You are not officially the daimaina,” Seg agreed. “You are officially a guest. And yet, as you may have noticed, the majority of the servants here are from the west coast. They always choose their own masters, regardless of official status. And the west coast folk prefer to follow your direction. If you set your face against a suggestion, the servants will not support it.”
She blinked at him, speechless for a few breaths, then gathered her wits. “I see,” she said. “Is Lord Scratha aware of this?”
“Yes, Lord Darden. He is not pleased, but there is nothing he can do until he appoints a formal daimaina. You have been filling that role, whatever he may do to dissuade you, and you have been doing it well.”
Azni shut her eyes and sat back, leaning into the support of the chair-back as she considered the notion. Her muscles ached. It had been a long day.
Her thoughts wandered away from the question at hand, and focused on a recall of the day just past. She allowed it, trusting that her mind would come back around with an answer to the moment in due course.
Two Callen—one of Comos, one of Ishrai—had been given residency rights. Three more servants had been accepted for various household tasks. Two custody disputes involving children of probable Scratha lineage had been settled. Four villages had been approved—all situated within a half mile of the neutral zone between Scratha and Sessin lands, where there was at least some water to be found.
Twenty chickens, two cows, three white pigs, and ten sheep had been gifted to the Fortress by various merchants and petitioners. Two kibardi—northerners would have called them bards—had been accepted into provisional service. They would take turns traveling through the villages and carrying news, messages, and requests from one spot to another.
The extra residents added a heavy burden of sorting out rooms and linens and meals, schedules and personal needs and conflicting personalities. Azni had a constant, nagging headache from trying to balance it all.
While somewhat simpler to handle, the animals were also a strain on limited resources, and the well-water gauges were creeping ever lower, no matter the conservation measures applied. The well wasn’t renewing itself the way it should have done, and the rains hadn’t come yet.
The rains should have come already. The air hung thick and humid, and dark clouds still lined the southern horizon, apparently unmoving. She checked every day.
Tomorrow was the last day for public access to the Head of Scratha Family, and only a handful of cases remained to be heard in the morning. With luck, nobody else would be added to the household and Azni could get back to a more routine schedule of managing everyday matters.
But... You are not my daimaina. Cafad must be planning to appoint Nissa. There was no other viable option, and no other reason he would have been so cruel. Which brought Azni around, finally, to thinking about Seg’s proposal, and to the conclusion that he was right. Nissa being who she was, with the history she and Cafad shared, her status needed to be made official.
She opened her eyes and looked at Seg, who stood patient as stone, waiting on her to finish her brooding. “Who, exactly, would be attending this dance?” she inquired.
Seg’s gaze shifted to focus on Ishru, quietly preparing Azni’s evening tray: Ravann tea, a few pieces of fruit, salve for her dry skin, and warm oil to work into her hair. He nodded, as though approving of the kathain’s work, then looked back at Azni.
“Everyone, Lord Darden,” he said. “The entire household, kathain, and staff. A holiday where all may mingle as relative equals. As I understand it, that type of gathering is not without precedent in this Family, especially during times of transition. And it would not, I think, offend Lord Scratha to set the more formal proprieties aside for one night.”
She realized she was drumming her fingers against her leg; made herself flatten her hand on her thigh as she said, “And have s’a Nissa and Lord Scratha even spoken since her arrival interview?”
The aroma of freshly bruised ravann leaves seeped into the air. Seg’s nose wrinkled slightly, as though he were less than fond of the scent. “No, Lord Darden, they have not. S’a Nissa has largely confined herself to one of three places: her rooms, the opoi, and the nearest gardens. She is stretching herself to perform aqeyva exercises, when she thinks nobody is watching.”
“Good,” Azni said on an outbreath of relief. “At least she’s not entirely sitting on her arse.”
Seg inclined his head. “Lord Scratha has diligently avoided any area in which s’a Nissa is present, and won’t allow me to speak of her in his presence. I’ve been directed to ensure her every request is met and comfort provided.” He paused and rubbed his nose, squinting a bit, then added, “He’s speaking remarkably little to me about anything, in fact, since that first day of Open Conclave.”
Azni sighed, smoothing a hand across the fabric of her long skirt. “He’s more upset by that imposter than he wants to admit.”
“That is not the only matter on his mind,” Seg observed.
“True enough.” She glanced at Ishru, frowning. He neatly avoided her gaze. “Has Lord Scratha been availing himself of his kathain?”
Seg’s gaze moved to the floor, his mouth pulling to one side for a moment. In the background, ceramic bowls chinked together softly. Ishru was normally ghost-quiet when preparing her tray. She glanced over at him to see if he’d been trying to draw her attention; he drew a hand across his face apologetically, still avoiding her eyes. Accidental, then, and indication that he’d been affected by Seg’s question.
Good gods, if he was concerned that Cafad had been taking Retiae to bed lately, she needed to have another, considerably sharper conversation with Ishru. It wasn’t a point to bring up now, though—not in front of Seg. She returned her attention to the s’e-kath, keeping her face still against showing her annoyance.
Seg’s mouth twitched, as if acknowledging the moment. “He has been availing himself of one of them, lord,” he said, tone dry and precise. “The one called Lichni. The older woman is disinclined to offer physical services, and Lord Scratha has made it clear that he holds no intimate interest in his male kathain.”
Azni glanced at her kathain in time to see Ishru’s shoulders relax and a tiny smile flit across his face. I’m definitely going to have to have a word with him.
She rubbed at one ear, the nubbly feel of her earrings smooth and oddly reassuring under her fingers. Cafad tended to form ridiculously intense emotional bonds if allowed to spend too much time with any one person, regardless of gender—witness his attachment to Idisio, and to Azni herself. Bringing intimacy into the equation quadrupled the damage done. The end result, in this instance, was an unsubtle snub to Nissa, who was herself little more than a heartbroken, frightened young woman far out of her depth.
She’d have to pull Nissa and Cafad out of their respective retreats and make them face one another. A dance was a fairly safe arena within which to work. She looked up, noting the faint smile stretching Seg’s mouth, and said, “You’re managing me now, are you, s’e-kath Segnilious? Steering Lord Scratha isn’t challenging enough for you?”
He raised his eyebrows and splayed a hand across his chest, his smile widening.
She shook her head at him, amused. “Thank you for bringing me the idea, s’e-kath Segnilious. I’ll start making arrangements.”
“I would suggest, lord, placing the dance before the dark of the Hope Moon.”
“That doesn’t give much time,” she responded, startled.
“A household dance does not take so much effort to arrange as an event for visitors. I can handle the bulk of the work involved, lord. I have done similar before. You already have several daily tasks to manage.”
“Very well. Let me know what you need from me as items arise.”
“Thank you, lord.” He bowed and left her room as quietly as he’d come.
“A dance,” Azni said aloud, testing the sound of it, and shook her head.
“It’s a good idea, lord,” Ishru said, setting the tray on the table by her chair. “And the s’e-kath is very capable.”
“Don’t you start,” she said, then relented. Steering her temper and mood was part of Ishru’s job, whether she liked it or not. She picked up the small cup of tea and inhaled the steam reverentially. “What did you add to it this time?”
“A bit of dried lemon peel and honey.” He touched the edges of the bowls of oil and salve, directing a questioning glance at her. She shook her head.
“Let me finish my tea first. It’s very nice.” She sipped, relishing the delicate blend of flavors. “I imagine you’ll be asking Retiae to take a turn dancing with you?”
He glanced at her, visibly assessing her temper; smiled, settling to the floor, and leaned against her knee—his favorite pose when they were alone. He tugged the folds of his green and blue skirt into a more comfortable arrangement as he said, “I hope to do so, yes. Unless you forbid it, lord?”
“Is there a reason why I should forbid it?” she countered. He tilted his head, not quite smiling, still cautious about provoking her.
“Not knowing what you’d consider sufficient reason, lord, I can’t answer that question.”
“Are you in love with Retiae?” She delivered it blunt and without warning.
He went still, his gaze opaque. “No,” he said after a moment.
“Does she know that?”
“Yes, lord,” he said. His eyes darkened, his mouth twitching to one side. “I have spoken with her, as you required. She is not pleased with me.” He paused, then added, “It will not disrupt our service. We are kathain. We serve. Anything else is secondary, and irrelevant.”
Something in his tone told her that was the last thing he would say on the subject. She rested her hand, rather tentatively, on his head. He smiled, eyes sliding half-shut, and hummed softly.
“One day, lord,” he murmured, “I really will add some metara to your evening tea.”
She rattled her fingers against his scalp. Even knowing that he wasn’t serious, she had to respond as though he were. Otherwise, the attempted humor would fall flat. That would be rude. For all his mistakes, Ishru deserved better than that.
“Idealistic young fool,” she said. “When are you going to give up on that notion?”
He tilted his head to look at her. “The day I am no longer in your service, lord.” Without haste, he took himself out from under her hand and reached for the bowl of oil.
She finished her tea and set the cup back onto the tray, then leaned back, relaxing, as he began to work oil through her hair. “Gods, that’s nice,” she said, closing her eyes, and wondered if she could train Rodira to the task, once she returned home. It seemed unlikely. Perhaps she should consider taking a kathain back north with her, when the time came. Perhaps Retiae—but no. Azni would never be truly comfortable with someone essentially forced into her service.
Having a kathain around was easier on her nerves than she’d expected, though....
And so it begins, she thought sourly, aware that her adamant no servants stance had already shifted into just one kathain—for status—and was slipping dangerously close to becoming an expectation of having a servant in the future.
“I’m getting old and lazy.” She hadn’t meant to voice the words aloud. Ishru finished working the oil into her hair and began massaging her scalp.
“No, lord,” he said. “I have watched you spend your days doing more labor than most noble-born ever consider lifting a hand to over the course of a year. I don’t think you can reasonably consider that lazy, lord. And your age, as I keep trying to point out, is irrelevant.”
She rubbed a hand across her face, startled at the prickling in her eyes. “Thank you, Ishru,” she said. “You’re very kind to me. I’m not accustomed to that.”
“You should be, lord,” he told her, and began working more oil into her hair. “You also should drink more water during the day so that your hair and skin don’t dry out so much.”
“Thank you,” she said more sardonically, but accepted the change of subject with relief.
“I’ll begin reminding you throughout the day, if I may, lord.”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you.” The next words slipped out before she could help herself: “Would you consider committing yourself to my service—to going back north with me, once all of my obligations here are met?”
His hands stilled, then withdrew from her hair. He stepped around to face her, his smile disappearing. As he dried his hands with a small towel, he regarded her gravely, the expression unexpectedly adding years to his features.
“You’re asking me to leave Toscin,” he said. “That would not be a good idea.”
She shut her eyes for the space of a long exhale; feeling, absurdly, as though she’d been slapped in the face. It had been a stupid question to ask.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ishru. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s a kind offer,” he answered slowly. “I’m honored, considering how I’ve failed you in recent days, that you’d even consider such a thing. I would like to accept. But—I cannot, lord. It would be a very bad idea.”
He sighed and leaned to set the towel on the tray behind her chair. “I am sorry, in turn, for upsetting you, lord. Would you rather I left you alone for a time?”
“Only if you wish to go, Ishru,” she said.
His smile returned, more shyly than usual. “If you allow it, I would rather stay, lord,” he said. At her nod, he settled to the floor and went back to leaning against her knee in contented silence. After a while, he stirred and looked up at her. “Lord?”
“Yes?”
“I may be out of line, lord, but the thought occurs to me that I ought to return your offer in kind. If you wish to stay in the south—if you wish a safe place that will accept you without reservation....” He stopped, waiting.
She blinked, her breath catching. He watched her with alert caution. “You’re inviting me to join Toscin,” she said, voice nearly a whisper.
He said, with slow care, “I am aware the other Families have been less than gracious toward you in the past, but—”
“I applied to Toscin years ago,” she said, her mouth thinning. “They wouldn’t even answer my request for hospitality.”
