Servants of the Sands, page 38
“Because at the time, she needed to divert you from doing something very foolish, lord,” Seg answered, folding his arms across his chest. “It was not a lie, and it served the moment’s need.”
Cafad shut his eyes. “I can’t trust anyone, can I?” he muttered.
“Not true, lord,” Seg responded instantly. “There is no reason to distrust myself or any of your kathain. We are sworn to hold your best interests, lord. You have not, in any way, been betrayed by your kathain.” He paused, adding in a regretful tone, “The matter of Retiae aside. But even that was more of a foolish impropriety than an actual betrayal.”
Cafad swallowed once, twice, shaking his head slowly. “Go away,” he said in a whisper. “Go away, Seg. I don’t—want to look at you—at anyone—”
“I cannot allow you to be alone with this distress,” Seg said flatly. “In the absence of other viable kathain, I must offer myself as companion, lord.”
Cafad turned and walked away without answering. Seg followed, a silent, implacable shadow. Absence of other viable... Retiae now served Azni. Mei was with Riss. Lichni was... busy... leaving Gano and Norau.
Absence of other viable—
“Fucking hells,” Cafad said, not pausing his stride. “Both of them? I’m not enough—?”
“Lord—”
Cafad turned, rage flushing through his entire body. He swung a blow that should have knocked his s’e-kath twenty strides back. Seg stepped aside. A flurry of movement later, Cafad found himself crowded against the wall, nose pressing into the stone, one arm twisted up behind his back.
“Cafad,” Seg said into his ear, an unexpectedly rough accent emerging in the words, “I’ll say this out plain: Knock it off before I get myself hurt stopping you.”
He released his hold and stepped back. Cafad drew himself round to face the s’e-kath, moving slowly, rubbing his wrenched shoulder.
“If you attack me, I will defend myself,” Seg noted, his arms once more crossed over his chest and a severe expression on his face. “That is within my rights as s’e-kath. I do not know if Scratha ha’rethe understands that, however. I would rather not test it beyond this moment, lord.”
Cafad rubbed a hand over his face, blinking hard. Rage still shook through his hands, an urge to hurt something... And gods, he was more aroused than ever—
Seg gripped his arm and drew him forward. “This way, lord,” he said, tone oddly gentle. “This way. I have something that will help you.”
Cafad followed, half-blind with conflicting struggles—Go thrash those impudent kathain, take that whore-tharr, control her, hurt her—no! That’s not me, that’s not how I react—this isn’t right, none of this is right—what the hells is happening to me?
A turn, another, a short flight of stairs up, and Seg opened the door into a small room with simple furnishings: A wide bed with rumpled linens and numerous pillows, a kneeling-chair, a stool, a low side-table that held a scattering of small vials.
Raggedy sections of upholstery cord held the drapes back from a wide, unglassed wall-opening. Morning sunlight caught glimmers from silver water-jugs and Sessin-crystal goblets, the latter stacked untidily along the edges of the walls and clearly in need of washing. The room smelled of old wine and dreamweed smoke.
“I don’t use aesa,” Cafad said, pausing inside the doorway. “If that’s what you had in mind—wait. Is this your room?”
Seg shut the door behind them. “Yes.”
He crossed to the low table, scooping up one of the less dirty crystal goblets as he went. He gave it a careless buff with one sleeve, and set it down on the table. Cafad watched, bewilderment tempering his anger somewhat, as Seg filled the cup with water and added precisely measured drops from three of the vials on the table. The water remained perfectly clear. Not even a trace of oily slick showed on the surface.
Seg held the cup out to Cafad. “Drink this,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion—wasn’t a servant speaking to a lord. Cafad accepted the goblet, bewilderment shifting slowly back into a renewed anger.
“What are you doing, Seg?” he demanded, scowling. “Is this a sleeping draught?”
“No,” his s’e-kath said. “You would only have nightmares and rouse the entire Fortress if you slept right now.”
“Then what is it?”
Seg’s gaze remained steady. “Drink it,” he said. “Trust me, and drink it.”
“When you won’t even tell me—”
“Drink.”
The goblet trembled in Cafad’s hand. Water splashed over the side and trickled onto his hand. I should throw this in his face—Tharr—disrespectful, foolish little tharr—
Blood streaking the walls of the Fortress, blood and bone fragments underfoot, the stench of rot and ruin all around—
He shut his eyes and tossed back the contents of the goblet without pause.
A heartbeat, two, three—then a hot flush ran through his entire body. The goblet slid from his hand and shattered on the floor. Seg watched Cafad with narrowed eyes, alert and— predatory—no, that wasn’t the right word. Anticipating—something—
“Now will you tell me what I just drank?” Cafad said, voice hoarse, clumsy—disconnected from his body somehow. He took a few staggering steps in a random direction, and wound up sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Dashaic.”
Cafad tilted his head, blinking witlessly, forcing himself to focus on his s’e-kath. “Dash—what? You can’t give me that—have you lost your—”
“I can’t let you kill the entire Fortress over a foolish snit,” Seg retorted. He knelt in the center of the floor, his hands on his knees. “Your mind is now safely closed to the ha’reye. And your inhibitions will, shortly, be gone, meaning you’ll release your frustration—again, safely.”
“If it can’t reach me—” Cafad started to his feet, alarmed.
“It will sense nothing wrong. It will not feel your emotions or physical experience, only your basic presence—which is enough, for the time this will take.”
Cafad growled, incendiary fury destroying the haze and all uncertainty, and took a long step forward. Seg rose, meeting him halfway, fending off blows as Cafad threw them, never returning an attack, only defending, only defending, only—
Cafad slammed the man up against a wall, closing a hand around Seg’s throat with every intention of choking all breath from the insolent tharr’s body. Seg, dropping a shoulder, wrapped his hand rather farther down, matching Cafad’s pressure exactly.
“Fucking tharr,” Cafad said on an outbreath, and released his hold.
Seg didn’t. “Yes,” he said, voice raspy from exertion, “I’m tharr, I’m invisible, that’s the whole point.” His fingers curled, pressure redistributing. Cafad sucked in a sharp breath, anger shifting into arousal.
“Godsdamn you,” he said. “Damn you—”
Seg just laughed, a wildness in his pale eyes, and steered them toward the bed.
Chapter 46
Dawn brought enough light into her rooms to turn silhouettes into real objects when Azni found herself sitting up. She hadn’t been asleep, precisely; simply drifting contentedly through relatively pleasant thoughts and memories, relaxing in Ishru’s arms, enjoying his uncomplicated warmth. She could hear Retiae snoring in the other room, apparently exhausted from her long night of dancing. So it wasn’t the girl that roused her, and Ishru had been entirely placid until her abrupt movement.
Ishru propped himself onto an elbow, his expression at first inquiring, then alarmed. He rose from the bed in a swift movement, snatching up his wrap. “You may wish to dress, lord,” he said as he tied the cloth around his waist. “And start water heating.”
She obeyed without question, prodded by the urgency in his tone. Ishru went to the door, glancing back to be sure she was dressed, then opened it and stepped out into the hallway beyond, out of sight. He returned, a few moments later, half-supporting Cafad’s noticeably limping s’e-kath. Azni drew in a sharp breath. Catching Ishru’s head-shake, she bit her lip to stop herself from asking questions.
Ishru eased the door shut behind them and guided Seg into the nearest northern-style chair. The tall man sagged into the support and let out a heavy sigh, his eyes closing as though completely exhausted by the effort of reaching this spot. His face was patterned with developing bruises, his lip badly split. More bruises and cuts showed through multiple rents in his clothing.
“I’ll get my kit,” Ishru said. “Lord Darden, could you prepare a strong ravann wash, please?”
She nodded and occupied herself with finding the bottle of ravann oil as he disappeared into the kathain room. Retiae stopped snoring. Azni heard a brief, low-voiced exchange, then Ishru came back into the room, carrying the largest of his various boxes. He set it down beside Seg, opened it, and began rummaging through, setting out bandages and tincture bottles.
“I need to remove your clothing, s’e-kath Segnilious,” Ishru said, sitting back on his heels and looking up at the tall man. “Would you prefer Lord Darden to occupy herself elsewhere?”
Seg shook his head slowly, not opening his eyes. “Not much point,” he said. His voice was hoarse. Looking more closely, Azni realized fresh bruises spread in an ugly swath across his throat. “Unless Lord Darden wishes to be spared the sight.”
Azni shook her head at Ishru’s inquiring look and tested the temperature of the water, which was just shy of steaming. She added a generous amount of ravann oil, inhaling the calming scent gratefully. Seg made a face, apparently less pleased. “Soapy mold,” he muttered. “Always smells like soapy mold to me.”
“I have nothing better to hand, I’m afraid,” Ishru said apologetically, rising to his feet. Seg motioned vaguely with one hand, then winced and put the hand to his ribs.
“I’m getting old,” he said, apparently to himself. “I should have been able to dodge that one.”
Retiae emerged, glanced around the room, bowed stiffly to Azni, nodded to Ishru, then turned to Seg. “Would you allow me to help, s’e-kath Segnilious?” she asked. The man’s head moved in a weary nod.
“Help him get out of those clothes, please,” Ishru said. He moved to stand beside Azni, tested the water, and nodded. “Good. Thank you, lord.”
She dropped her voice to a scant whisper. “Am I permitted to ask what the hells happened yet?”
“He can hear you perfectly well,” Ishru said at conversational volume, his mouth twitching into a brief smile. “So you just did, lord.”
He lifted the bowl from the fire and carried it across the room, set it down beside the assortment of bandages, then began helping Retiae remove what was left of Seg’s garments. Azni drew in another sharp breath as the extent of the battering was revealed.
Seg sat quietly, doing his best to cooperate with the two kathain. At her gasp, he opened his eyes and regarded her with a wry smile. “I did say you might not want to see this, Lord Darden.”
“Who did this to you?” she demanded.
Ishru paused, flicking her an astounded glance. Seg put his hand to his ribs again with a grunt, as though catching himself against a painful laugh. “Lord Scratha,” he rasped. “Who else?”
“Who else would dare?” Ishru added, stooping to soak a cloth in the ravann wash, then wrung it out and began patting down the worst of the cuts. Retiae took up another cloth and began cleaning around the bruises.
“Why would he—” Azni stopped. There was no way to finish that question without putting the implicit blame on Seg—rude at best and dangerous at worst. “My apologies, s’e-kath Segnilious.”
Seg lifted one shoulder in a rough shrug. “Every bound lord breaks at least once,” he said, closing his eyes again. “Some take days, some take years to hit the crisis point, and each one handles it differently. Lord Scratha... became violent.” He winced as Ishru dabbed the cloth across his ribs. “I can’t tell if it’s cracked or just bruised.”
Ishru examined the area with more care, prodding lightly with his fingertips. “Bruised,” he said finally. “But very close to cracked. You were lucky.”
“You’ve been through this before?” Azni said, incredulous.
He squinted at her as though finding it difficult to focus. “It is part of my job, Lord Darden. I’ll admit this is more— painful—than I’ve experienced in the past.” Seg’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, half grimace. He shut his eyes again and appeared to rest, enduring the ministrations of the two kathain without a sound.
Ishru began smearing salve over the clean wounds, Retiae following with bandages. Azni watched, caught between bewilderment and anger. “He shouldn’t have done that to you, Seg,” she said. “You deserve better use than that.”
Seg chuckled. “I tried to steer him into something more pleasant,” he admitted. “It didn’t quite work as I’d hoped. Perhaps I’m getting too old to be effective at certain things.” He opened his pale eyes and regarded Azni with dry amusement. “But ‘better use,’ Lord Darden? From a man thrown under the pressure that becoming a bound lord imposes? Ask for asp-jacaus to fly, first.”
“Why aren’t his kathain handling the pressure?” Azni said. “I thought that was their job.”
Seg’s amusement faded. “There aren’t enough kathain on hand to support a bound lord. He ought to have three times the number, but he won’t hear of it. He’s been refusing to use the kathain he does have properly—and keeps assigning them elsewhere or transferring them, whenever he can find an excuse to do so.” He rolled a glance at Retiae, then closed his eyes again, grimacing.
“You should rest, s’e-kath Segnilious,” Ishru said, tucking the final bandage securely into place. “And not alone. Get one of my wraps, please, Retiae. It’s better than what he came in wearing, at least.”
“Thank you, Ishru. I have one matter to handle, first.” Seg rubbed his eyes, then looked at Azni. “Lord Scratha will more than likely sleep for several days after this incident. You must leave this Fortress, Lord Darden. As immediately as possible.”
“What? You’re going to throw me out—” She could feel color cresting in her face, her temper rising sharply—I should have known, nobody will ever want me around for long, not in the south, he was only waiting on Cafad to be out of the way, my presence will always be too inconvenient politically—
“My lord Darden,” Ishru said. His tone cut at her, jolted her back from that dangerous edge.
“Thank you, Ishru,” she said, not taking her eyes from Seg. She doused her emotions and her voice in ice rather than heat as she added, “Explain yourself, s’e-kath Segnilious.”
“For one,” Seg answered, “you know perfectly well that Scratha ha’rethe isn’t happy with your presence. It hasn’t openly protested, because both ha’inn Deiq and Lord Scratha have spoken up regarding your status, but it’s not pleased. It’s not comfortable. And with ha’inn Deiq absent and Lord Scratha asleep, it will not have that constant reminder of your protected status.”
He took the plain grey cloth from Retiae and half rose to wrap it around himself, jaw tight with discomfort at the motion, then sank back down with just as evident relief as he tied the knot at his waist.
“How long do you expect him to be asleep?” she demanded. “I know desert lords can sleep like champions, but—”
“I’ve seen injured or overstressed desert lords sleep for three weeks straight,” Ishru said quietly. “There’s no telling how long Lord Scratha will be down for. It won’t be less than five days, at a guess. Probably more like a tenday.”
Seg nodded, agreeing. “And there’s nobody else here with that level of influence over Scratha ha’rethe. This is the dark of the moon, and some say the ha’reye are most active during this time. I don’t know the truth of that, but I don’t wish to test it in this situation. It would be much safer for you to leave while Lord Scratha recovers. I can guide daimaina Nissa into her new role. I have handled such training before.”
He paused, glancing at the array of bandages Ishru had wrapped him in, then went on. “I’m not entirely throwing you out, Lord Darden. There is a task to hand that suits you especially well, that Lord Scratha was already thinking of approaching you over. It gives a plausible reason for your departure—”
“Aerthraim Fortress,” she said. “Yes. I’ve been preparing. I didn’t think I’d have to leave quite this soon, but I can do it.”
He regarded her through half-closed eyes for a few moments, then said, “Good. I thought I’d have to argue with you. I’m glad to see you’re already ahead of that discussion.” He shut his eyes, his head bobbing slightly. A grey-green tinge swept across his face.
“You need to rest, s’e-kath Segnilious,” Ishru said, more severely than before. “Talking can wait.” He caught Azni’s eye and shook his head in clear warning.
“Yes. You’re right. Thank you, again. I need....” Seg sat still for a few breaths, his eyes moving in deep, intense thought behind closed lids. Reaching up, he removed a small metal coil from high on the curve of his left ear. Azni hadn’t even noticed that he wore such ornamentation, but now that she was looking for it, she saw several other pieces along the arc of each ear.
Seg opened his eyes and focused on Retiae. He turned his hand palm-up, displaying the small earring: a dark, malleable strand of metal. The girl’s gaze darted from the offered ornament to Azni, to Ishru, to Seg’s face. Her head moved in a scant bob, as though she were afraid to show agreement any more clearly than that.
“I’m forced to admit that I’m not as resilient as I used to be,” Seg noted wearily. “If you’ll release her, Lord Darden, I’ll take Retiae as s’a-kenath.”
Azni nodded, barely able to repress a breath of relief. She couldn’t have taken more than one kathain with her, and especially not Retiae. Handing the girl over to Seg would be a blessing from all three gods at once for all concerned.
Retiae knelt before Seg, her head bowed. Ishru, after a brief search through his box, stood, piercer in hand, then hesitated. “I don’t think you can set a piercing right now,” he said.
