Servants of the Sands, page 61
I won’t be like that. I don’t care what I was born to be. I won’t enjoy their pain.
No.
Fekilla... die, Idisio said.
He could feel the blood slow throughout her body, her heart skipping, stopping, skipping, stopping. Muscles seized into tiny rebellions as moisture evaporated. Small bones, nails, and what scant body hair she’d been allowed to keep simply dissolved. Her pain was hypnotically beautiful, even in that condensed moment, and he felt a momentary, biting regret that he’d refused to draw it out.
She’d truly wanted to bear him a child. He could feel her aggrieved bewilderment at his refusal and her genuine terror that he’d removed the necklace, both scratching through the air with her dying exhale.
I thought you would be as a kindly god to me, her voice said without sound.
Fekilla folded to the ground without a sound, skin stretched tight around her bones. The knowledge faded as she fell, leaving only wispy scraps of sorrow and regret.
His mother groaned, furious. You should have made her suffer... You would have kept her memories longer if she’d suffered. She might have known something important.
He scooped up the necklace and draped it over his head once more, then pushed his mother’s presence aside sharply, annoyed. She wasn’t real. She was as dead as Fekilla. It was a stupid echo haunting his mind, nothing more. Thinking about Tank’s solid refusal to suit what others wanted him to be was more useful.
“I will not walk into a cage,” he said aloud, speaking to any hidden watchers as much as to the girl’s silent bones. “I will not be a game piece for humans. I am ha’ra’hain, and nobody gets to order me around. I won’t forget that again.”
He turned in place once, twice, feeling out the way back to Alyea and Fimre, then moved—
—stepping into a twisting, inside-out nightmare of colors gone wrong and unbreathable air. Invisible razor wires sliced him into a hundred hundred diamond shaped pieces, scattering him across an unfathomable void.
Oh, shit—
Everything went black.
Chapter 72
A thick, smoky smell lingered in the air, unbothered by the erratic breeze. Alyea could feel the ambient temperature dropping nearly as rapidly as it had risen, and Fimre rubbed his good hand across his opposite shoulder, wincing as though chilled.
Far away, a series of thundering cracks sounded. Squinting, Alyea could just make out a fine spray of particles rising high into the air.
“Good gods,” Fimre said, shivering, his attention only on the teyanain lord standing before them. “War with the Aerthraim? That’s—closing the Horn is bad enough, but war? You’ll destroy the entire southlands!”
Lord Evkit tilted his head, his expression a peculiar mix of amusement and annoyance. “The Families have gone soft, if that is the case,” he said. “I have a higher opinion of them than you, apparently. Interesting.”
“The Agreement,” Fimre said, throwing one hand out in emphasis, as though that encapsulated everything he wanted to say.
Lord Evkit chuffed amusement, flicking his own fingers in dismissal. “Irrelevant,” he said.
“Irrelevant, hells! It’s the only thing that’s kept the Horn from being demolished—” Fimre stopped short, his expression one of intense self-reproach.
Lord Evkit studied Fimre with dour appraisal. “I begin to think that you know more about certain internal teyanain matters than you properly should. Not surprising, given your past associates, but unfortunate.”
Alyea stiffened as a sense of violence began to thread through the air. Godsdamnit, Fimre! Aloud, she said, in a tone of practiced calm, “Lord Evkit—”
“Do not speak right now, desert lord,” Lord Evkit said, not taking his gaze from Fimre. “This moment is unfortunate enough as it stands.”
Another voice cut in. “Calcen. It is unfortunate. It’s also irrelevant at this point.” Dinas Teyantin stood on the lowest step of the pergola entrance, looking up at them with a sober expression. “There’s no returning ash to wood. You have already granted them safe passage. His statement was not a great enough offense to you or to the teyanain people to justify breaking that truce. Matters have moved beyond keeping that particular issue in the shadows.”
Lord Evkit frowned at his subordinate. Alyea kept her breath shallow, watching his expression closely as it shifted from irritation to resignation.
He said, curtly, “Have you found my daughter, Teyantin?”
Dinas bowed with precise grace, hands palm-flat against his chest, and said, “No, lord. The net did not catch her.”
Evkit grunted, clearly displeased, then looked back at Fimre. “You should thank my Teyantin, desert lord. He just saved your life.”
“I intended to, Lord Evkit,” Fimre said, then bowed to Dinas. “I owe you a life debt, Teyantin.”
“Acknowledged.” Dinas returned the bow, his mouth twitching as though he found the formality tedious. “With your forgiveness, I will return to my duties, lords. There are many in hiding who must be found before we depart this place.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Fimre said before Lord Evkit could speak. That drew a hostile stare from the teyanain lord but no open comment. “Go with grace, Teyantin.”
“My thanks to your grace, desert lord,” Dinas said. He bowed to Lord Evkit, waited for his lord’s nod, then turned and walked away.
Alyea let out a long, slow breath, blinking hard. Dinas had barely even glanced at her during that brief conversation. Did that mean she was now considered irrelevant? Or was it another facet of teyanain courtesy?
I’m never going to understand these people.
Lord Evkit let out a peculiar barking sound of surprise. A heartbeat later, an intense wave of heat and light swept over them, as though the pergola had burst into flame once more. Alyea covered her eyes reflexively, turning away; Fimre pulled her in against his shoulder, his own head bent.
Something large landed heavily on the floor of the pergola, and the heat dissipated.
“Ah,” Lord Evkit said, surprise replaced by smugness. “And so the net was not entirely useless after all.”
Alyea jerked free of Fimre’s sheltering half-embrace and stared, incredulous. Idisio lay sprawled before them, blood streaking his face and hands. He rolled to one side, groaning, his gaze wandering witlessly.
“Grace to you, ha’ra’ha. You have more spirit and strength than I had expected,” Lord Evkit said. In that moment, he looked—and sounded—a great deal like his daughter.
“He’s under my protection,” Alyea said before caution could stop her. Fimre made a strangled sound, then put his entire hand over his face, shaking his head slowly.
Evkit regarded her with raised eyebrows. “What makes you think a ha’ra’ha needs your protection, Lord Peysimun?”
“As the First Born isn’t here to speak on Idisio’s behalf, I believe it falls to me to uphold the First Born’s interests.” She felt her heart thudding in her ears. Fimre had dropped his hand and wore a dangerously flat expression. Apparently, by southern standards, she’d made another dreadful error; too late now.
Evkit stared at her for several heartbeats, unblinking. Idisio groaned again, struggling to sit up.
Deciding to run with what she’d started, Alyea put ice in her tone and said, “He is under my protection, Lord Evkit, and by extension under the protection of the First Born. Whether he needs it or not, he has it.”
Evkit bowed gravely, his severe expression fading to amusement. “Your protection is noted and accepted,” he said. “It is entirely possible that the First Born, when he hears of this matter, will be less pleased than you expect. But that is yours to deal with, not mine.”
“We’re leaving now,” Alyea said. “With Idisio. And we’re going south.” She looked around, abruptly realizing she didn’t actually know which way was south at the moment. The air felt—refractive, in a peculiar way that threatened to bring on a dizzy fit as she tried to sort out compass directions.
“I will have my Teyantin set you on the safest road,” Evkit said.
“That’s not necessary—” Alyea began, blinking hard and trying not to show her internal struggle for balance.
“Do you know where you are, desert lord?” Evkit inquired, his tone chilling to a distinct exasperation. “Do you know where the road is from here? Do you know how to avoid the traps that my daughter has placed throughout this place?”
Alyea looked at Fimre. He shook his head, squinting as though fighting a headache himself. “No,” she admitted.
“Then it is necessary. Teyantin?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the peremptory command echoed beyond the audible range.
“Yes, Calcen,” Dinas said, once more on the lowest step. He regarded Idisio with visible surprise, then glanced at Evkit questioningly.
“The ha’ra’ha has been placed under the protection of Lord Peysimun as representative of the First Born,” Evkit said in a tone at once mild and peculiarly flat, as though he were striving to be polite while speaking of something deeply annoying. “These three have decided to travel south.”
Dinas drew in a slow breath, looking at each person in turn as though considering how to respond. “Yes, Calcen,” he said at last.
Idisio sat up, blinking groggily, and groaned again. Within moments, his gaze sharpened, focusing on Lord Evkit, and the air turned chill and dangerous.
“Ha’inn,” Lord Evkit said, apparently unconcerned by the tension. “Do you hear my voice? Do you understand my words?”
Idisio drew in a sharp, long breath, let it out more slowly, then climbed to his feet. Black flooded into his eyes.
“Ha-vash, ha’ne, ha’inn,” Lord Evkit said, not moving. Dinas said something in another language, the words blurring together too quickly for Alyea to make out.
Idisio turned his head to stare at the colorfully dressed teyanain. Black slowly faded to a russet-tinged grey. The skin around his nose and eyes was puffy and streaked with red, as though veins had burst all throughout his upper face.
“No harm, ha’inn,” Lord Evkit said. “You are under protection from Lord Peysimun as representative for the First Born. I cannot harm you. I wish to ask you a question. Will you permit that?”
“He’s in no shape,” Alyea began, unable to tear her gaze from Idisio’s mottled face. The ha’ra’ha made an impatient silencing gesture with one hand.
“Ask,” Idisio said, the word hoarse as though forced from a raw throat. His glare remained fixed on Evkit.
“Have you given a child to—” Evkit paused, glanced at Fimre, then went on, “—Tallisil’s people?”
Not my daughter’s people, Alyea noted with interest. Not Cuna. Apparently Evkit didn’t want to say that name aloud again. She held her peace, trusting that Lord Evkit had good reason for the sidestep.
Idisio’s shoulders drew forward, then went back, his chin rising, and delivered as bleak a glare as Deiq could have done. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” he said. “I did not.”
Lord Evkit nodded, his mouth relaxing into a smile. “Thank you for the answer, ha’inn. I am pleased.”
Alyea looked at the blood on Idisio’s face and hands. She didn’t ask what had happened to the girl.
“I won’t do it for you, either,” Idisio rasped. “No more cages. No more traps. Never again.” He looked down at his bloodstained hands; slowly clenched them into fists, then spread them wide, palms up: all the blood had disappeared. “Never again,” he repeated.
Evkit’s amusement froze. He exchanged a glance with Dinas, then said, “We have no cages or traps in place this day, ha’inn. Please allow my Teyantin to take you and your companions to a safe road away from teyanain lands. I will request, as before, that you do not enter teyanain-held lands without my direct consent.”
“Wait,” Alyea said sharply. “Don’t agree to that, Idisio. Lord Evkit. Kindly rephrase those overly broad terms.”
She met the teyanain lord’s hard gaze without flinching.
“You are quicker than at our last encounter, desert lord,” Evkit said. “Very well. I request an agreement from ha’inn Idisio that he will not set foot on—”
“No,” Idisio interrupted. The black had returned to his eyes. “No agreements. No restrictions. No more cages built of words. No.”
Evkit stiffened. “Ha’inn—”
“You hold no power over me,” Idisio said flatly. “Otherwise you’d be demanding, not requesting. I’m not on your lands, I’m not your prisoner, and I don’t need anything from you.” His voice cleared as he spoke, losing the rasp and acquiring an icy edge. Alyea stared, incredulous. Fimre tugged her back a step, his jaw tight, and motioned for her to stay silent.
Evkit’s face darkened, his eyebrows drawing into a ferocious scowl. He shifted his weight as though to step forward. Fimre’s grip on Alyea’s arm tightened, and he drew her back another step.
“Calcen,” Dinas said. “The ha’inn is correct.” He gestured apology as Evkit’s glare settled on him. “Grace to your grace, my lord, he speaks truth with the weight of law, whether he knows it or not. And this is perhaps not the time to focus on a relatively minor show of disrespect, when we have a far greater one to address.” He motioned to the pergola around them.
Evkit breathed out, a heavy, harsh sound. “There are days I regret making you my Teyantin,” he said grimly.
“I know, lord,” Dinas said, ducking his head, nearly bowing. “Grace to your grace.”
“Remove them, Teyantin,” Evkit said. “Set them on the east road.” He raised a warning finger to Idisio as he added, “Ha’inn—your prior agreement to stay out of the Horn does remain in effect.”
Idisio said nothing, made no motion. His silent, bloodshot stare was as intimidating as anything Alyea had ever seen Deiq deliver. Evkit let out a thick, irritated sound and strode from the pergola, his Teyantin scarcely moving out of the way in time.
Alyea watched him walk away, struck once more by how small he was. Up close, his sheer presence always made him seem larger. She looked at Dinas, comparing the two. The Teyantin was taller than his lord, but still considerably shorter of stature than she herself, when seen on equal footing.
A smile curved Dinas’s mouth as he regarded her. “You have poor vision, Lord Peysimun,” he said. “You still look too much at the surface.” He made a dismissive gesture and nodded at Idisio. “Ha’inn, will you allow me to move you to the east road? I swear that no harm, deceit, or ill intent is involved. As you already discovered, you cannot safely move yourself—and your companions would suffer far more if you tried to bring them along. I must be the one to move you, but I need your permission to do so.”
Slowly, a placid grey bled back into the ha’ra’ha’s eyes. Idisio glanced at Alyea, as though checking for disagreement, then nodded.
“Deep breath, please,” Dinas said. “Deep deep, hold tight.”
Chapter 73
Cold to warm, light to grey, a pressure that came as much from within as without... Idisio could feel Dinas guiding him through the inverse not-space with a surprisingly light touch.
Peripheral blurs radiated tension, resistance. Idisio sensed that Alyea and Fimre had the bulk of the Teyantin’s attention at the moment. They weren’t being particularly cooperative.
Humans rarely are, Dinas said without sound. They do not understand, they fear, they fight. The words were as much a sense of a resigned shrug as coherent speech.
Grey reversed to light, warm cut apart into a chill wind, and solid ground appeared underfoot. Alyea and Fimre staggered sideways, both looking thoroughly ill. The Teyantin, standing stone’s throw away from Idisio, rolled his shoulders as though working out the strain.
“Holy gods,” Fimre said, sitting down on a boulder. “I can’t believe we’re still alive.” He leaned over his knees, shuddering. Alyea plopped down on the ground and let out an explosive sigh.
Idisio regarded them with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. Why did they make everything so difficult? Once the decision was made to allow someone control over your person, what was the point of fighting against that hold?
Dinas said something softly in another language, his eyes crinkling in amusement. Then, in kaenic, he added, “You are more unusual than you recognize, ha’inn. You have grown a great deal in a very short time. These two are not so far along the curve.”
Alyea and Fimre appeared not to have heard the words. Idisio shot the Teyantin a sharp, distrustful stare, receiving only an amused head-tilt in response. He turned away, looking at their new surroundings.
A limited amount of flat space permitted only a few steps in any direction. Ragged ground, littered with boulders of varying sizes, dropped sharply to every side of the plateau but one, a craggy cliff-face dotted with rough-rooted plants too stubborn to admit defeat.
“That was tricky in spots,” Dinas said as he perched atop another slab of rock, drawing his legs up into a cross-legged posture. He regarded the horizon pensively. “There are days when being Teyantin is a difficult task, even for me.”
“Do you want sympathy?” Idisio snapped.
“Idisio,” Alyea snapped right back. “That’s enough. —Please accept my apologies, Teyantin.”
Dinas shook his head. “I take no offense,” he said. “It is one of the requirements of being Teyantin, to not take offense easily. An especially important skill with this Calcen.” He leaned forward to trail his fingertips along the rock near his knees. “It is good to be away from the Horn now and again. I thank you for this opportunity.”
Idisio stared at the oddly dressed teyanin. “Opportunity?” he said. “Are you—” He caught himself before the words a slave? could fall out of his mouth.
Alyea cut a sideways glance at Idisio, as though suspecting what he’d been about to say. She cleared her throat and said, “You almost sounded critical of Lord Evkit just now, Teyantin.”
“I am one of very few who is permitted that luxury,” Dinas said, unsmiling. He looked at Idisio for some moments before continuing. Clearly, the teyanin had heard the unspoken words, and found them insulting. “I have pushed my luxury as far as it will go today, I think. I should give the Calcen some time to reflect on my usefulness, rather than on the fact that I contradicted him multiple times in front of outsiders.”
