Wolf's-own: Weregild Read online

  "Ready when you are,” Shig said.

  Samin almost sighed, but kept it in, giving Shig a nod as he stepped in to pour himself a cup of tea to take with him. “Anyone take them breakfast yet?” He kept his eyes on his hands as he added the honey and stirred, but he would have to have been blind to have missed the abrupt tension in the set of Joori's shoulders.

  "I was hoping—"

  "You will,” Samin interrupted. “Shig and I have some business to discuss first, but you have my word that you will not be kept from your brother today.” Samin didn't give a shit what Malick's reasons were for keeping Joori at bay. It wasn't right, and Samin had had enough.

  Joori subsided—perhaps a little confused but willing to accept the promise—but now Yori had turned suspicious. “What business?” she wanted to know.

  "Business we can't discuss here.” Samin shunted a pointed look around the table, again a little thrown by Caidi's sudden but very sincere smile when he caught her eye. Save him, she was so bloody cute, and always happy to see him. If Malick was half as smitten with Fen as Samin was with Caidi, they were probably all in some very deep shit.

  Yori half stood. “Should I—?"

  "No.” Samin turned the remnants of the smile Caidi had raised on his face to Yori, and then darted a quick look at Joori. Winked. “You keep everyone else company, yeah? We'll fill you in later."

  Yori subsided with a slight blush, which Samin had known she would. All the better. With things out of kilter between Malick and Umeia... well, he didn't know. Yori had been circumspect enough not to tell Joori yet that they'd found his mother—there would have been a hell of a scene already if she had, Samin had no doubt—but if she took up for Umeia in whatever this falling-out had been... Samin didn't like the thought that loyalties might now be in question, but Yori had always been Umeia's devotee, and her new involvement with Fen's brother might end up being more compromising than Samin would have even thought to consider a few days ago. Best he leave this one up to Malick.

  Anyway, Yori didn't seem to mind the slight. She didn't even seem to realize there'd been one. If Samin was not very much mistaken, she and Joori were actually holding hands under the table. Samin rolled his eyes. Apparently, regular sex made one's brain go all slushy. Then again, that was hardly a revelation—look at Malick.

  "Ready?” Samin grumbled at Shig.

  Shig merely gave him that faraway smile that made his teeth want to clench, tossed an oblate absently from hand to hand, and gestured to the tray at the end of the table. Two covered dishes, two teabowls and a teapot, with all the necessary trappings. Samin tried not to see it as further evidence that Shig was at least one step ahead of him in everything. He merely bit his lip and took up the tray, sparing a nod all around as Shig sauntered past him and down the hall.

  "Bye, Samin-seyh!” Caidi chirped.

  Samin merely grunted and followed Shig down the hall to Fen's door. She didn't pause for the courtesy of a knock, but flung the door open and turned to Samin, tossed the oblate lightly in the air and caught it with a small shrug. The eerie little smile she'd been sporting tweaked just slightly ‘til it took on a hint of malice.

  "Hey!” Malick's voice, still a little sleep-scratchy. “Don't you people bloody knock?” He cursed low and grumbled, “How'd you get over there?” somewhat thick and befuddled.

  Samin didn't think that last was directed at him or Shig, but he couldn't tell yet—Shig was still semi-blocking his way. Samin lifted an eyebrow at her. He really wasn't in the mood for her games this morning, and they were games, he knew now. The other night on the road had been too carefully calculated for her to not have known what she was doing. She'd only been heeding the spirits, she'd told Samin later, like she didn't give the slightest fuck if he believed her or not, which he didn't, not anymore. “Heeding the spirits” Samin's great ass, and even if she was, a person just didn't do the sort of thing she'd done to Fen, and especially not to one of their own. It was things like that—the abuse of what some called a “gift"—that made Samin hate the idea of magic.

  "Don't look at me,” Shig told Samin, tossed and caught the oblate again like she was a child playing with a ball. “This one's all on you.” She leaned up, lowered her voice so she was almost whispering in his ear. “Who d'you think will be left to deal with the afters? Shall we take bets?"

  Too cryptic as usual, and she got far too much enjoyment out of it, like she always did. Things that, perhaps a week ago, Samin had thought a little unnerving but mostly cute and “just Shig” were suddenly grating on his nerves like sandpaper on sunburn. His jaw set tight. If his hands weren't so full, he might've hit her. All right, no, he wouldn't have. But he might have clenched his fists threateningly. Or growled. Or something. “Out of the way,” was all he rumbled, and when Shig pushed the door wider and stepped aside, Samin gave her a glare as he passed her that was thoroughly unsatisfying. His expression was probably fairly thunderous as he stalked in—not the best sight to greet one in the morning, Samin knew, and especially on a face like his—but he didn't care.

  Samin peered over at the bed, surprised that Malick was the one in it, and that he was in it alone. Fen sat slumped in the chair beside it, thick-bandaged leg set stiffly in front of him, but Samin noted that he was extended far enough that his toes remained in contact with Malick's hip as Malick dragged himself up against the pillows and blinked at them blearily. Malick was fully dressed but for his boots, but Fen was clad only in linen drawers and an open tunic that exposed the swathes of bandages about his torso, but hid the one Samin knew had to be around his right arm. Samin had watched one of those things latch onto Fen's arm and shake its head like a rat terrier, and he'd watched Fen snatch his arm out of the clamped jaws without much apparent concern that he was leaving chunks of meat behind.

  "You're looking better,” Samin said, a little embarrassed for the obvious lie, but it was what you were supposed to say to people in situations like this one, wasn't it? You look better, and, You've got some color to you, and all sorts of other polite propaganda. Certainly not, Fuck's sake, I can almost see through your skin, or, You shouldn't be sitting up like that; your head looks like it's too heavy and might fall through your neck and crush the rest of you. Still, Fen did actually look better than Samin had been expecting him to. Samin cleared his throat and kept himself from shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “More color to you,” he finished lamely.

  Mostly true. Fen still looked halfway ghastly, but his hair was neater than two days of bed would have indicated, at least. Not washed, but combed and braided as efficiently and tidily as always.

  Fen didn't answer, didn't even spare Samin a glance. His eyes were nailed to Shig, all narrow and murderously hostile, but with a glint of fear beneath the glare. Samin understood and was immediately sorry for it, but he'd had no choice—Malick wouldn't leave the room, and this couldn't wait anymore.

  Samin set the tray on the edge of the bed, lifted the cover on one of the plates, and shoved it at Malick. The other made him pause—a neat mound of rice in the center, a bowl of broth to one side and a slice of bread with honey on the other. A soft chirp of a whistle from Shig, and when Samin looked over, she tossed him the oblate she'd been playing with. Samin didn't know who'd filled the tray for Fen, but for some reason, he suspected it was Shig, and the incongruity of the thoughtfulness of the gesture threw him a little. Samin pursed his lips, then poured Fen some tea and carried it and Fen's breakfast over to him. The tea Samin set on the little bedside cupboard, within easy reach, but the rest he set right in Fen's lap, purposely blocking Fen's line of sight to Shig. Samin waited until Fen slid a slow glance upward at him.

  "Eat,” Samin commanded. He was still trying to out-glare Fen into compliance when Malick spoke up behind him:

  "Shig, I need you to go down to Umeia's room and get me something."

  Samin turned around, frowning. “We're here for a reason, Mal, I think—"

  "Yeah, I gathered,” Malick cut in, sardonic. “And you'll h
ave your say, but I need this first.” He turned back to Shig. “Umeia's got a ring in the little black-lacquered chest she's got on her vanity. It's got a diamond, set in a—"

  "Umeia's got a diamond?” Samin couldn't help but blurt. He knew the Girou made a lot of money, but a diamond.

  "Yeah,” Malick answered, shrugging absently, then he turned back to Shig. “Two, actually, but the one I want is a man's ring. It's got a thick gold band and the diamond is set in a bed of onyx. You'll know it when you see it.” He made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Quickly, please, I've got to piss."

  Samin had no idea what one had to do with the other, but Shig didn't question it. With a shrug, she turned for the door. “And what shall I say if Umeia—?"

  "She won't,” Malick cut in, voice abruptly flat. “Anyway, it's mine. Do it now."

  Oddly, Shig snorted as she continued on her way to the door and quietly let herself out.

  Samin turned to Fen. “I promised Joori he could come see you after we're done."

  He'd expected an objection from Malick, but there wasn't one, just a sideways glance at Fen then a lift of the eyebrows at Samin. Nothing at all from Fen but absent picking at the rind of the oblate. His head was bowed, stringy fringe hanging over his eyes.

  "They should all come see him when we're done,” Malick put in after a moment, that same sideways glance turned on Fen, watching, but there was still nothing from Fen. Malick sighed, hand absently moving down to settle over Fen's foot next to his hip as he gave Samin a bit of a grimace and a shrug. “They're leaving tomorrow."

  Samin's mouth tightened. “And they don't know it yet.” It wasn't a question; more like an accusation.

  "No,” Malick said tersely, gaze unflinching as he met Samin's.

  "Damn it, Mal.” Samin turned a look on Fen again, but Fen seemed perfectly content to just slouch in the ugly chair and make cross-hatch scores in the rind of the oblate with his thumbnail. “Umeia's taking them.” That explained her apparent upcoming trip, at least.

  "Yes,” Malick confirmed, voice flat, borderline hostile.

  It made Samin's gut curl a little. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” More to the point: did Samin really want to know?

  Malick scraped a hand roughly through his hair. With a weary sigh, he set his untouched breakfast to the side and leaned forward to pour himself a bowl of tea from the tray at the foot of the bed. “A long time ago....” His mouth pursed and he sat back, took a quick sip of tea, hand going once again to settle over Fen's foot. “A very long time ago,” he amended, “Asai managed to get hold of Temshiel Blood. The circumstances matter, but I'm not in the mood to go into them now. The long and short of it is that he's been using that Blood to make amulets for the Adan hunters. The Temshiel who....” Malick paused, teeth clenched. “...who donated the Blood was a Null. Like me.” He shot a glance at Fen, and when Fen just sat there, head down, fingernail still working steadily on the oblate, Malick shook his head a little and turned back to Samin. “With the right spells, the amulets can take away the magic of another. It's how the hunters can snatch their victims without getting set on fire or buried in a sudden earthquake."

  Samin frowned. He'd always wondered how the Jin who fell to the hunters had done so without much resistance that he'd ever seen. Like most things, he hadn't wondered too deeply, and a flush now burned at his face as he realized he'd more or less written it off to innate weakness in the Jin. He flashed a discomfited glance at Fen, but Fen was still enraptured by the fruit.

  "Asai,” Malick went on, tone cooling a little, “is apparently not satisfied with the power in his hands. He wants more. He intends to get himself Heart's Blood from a Temshiel.” He shot another glance at Fen then back to Samin, his gaze steady. “Fen was supposed to get it for him."

  Samin's eyes narrowed. Heart's Blood. Not something one could bleed from another's veins, not if it was what it sounded like. “How—?"

  "From a Temshiel's still-beating heart."

  It rather confirmed the grisly picture that had been forming unwilling in Samin's mind. That Xari had almost said as much just the other day, but Samin had hoped maybe it was some kind of maudlin euphemism. Samin couldn't help the grimace.

  "He wasn't told who he was supposed to kill,” Malick put in, his tone patient, almost gentle. “He was told only that playing the part Asai instructed him to play would save the Jin."

  All right. Now the strange conversation between Malick and that crone made a whole lot more sense. Take the power of the Temshiel and Asai would set himself up as a demigod—that was the conclusion drawn then, and it seemed the most reasonable, Samin supposed. But now the situation at Yakuli's made even less sense.

  "Asai must've seen that it wouldn't work,” Samin mused, trying to wend through the maze of the circumstances presented. “If Yakuli is his man, Asai must have foreseen something that would make him start building that army he's got. It's not a new thing. What Yakuli's got going on out there has been going on for a long time."

  There it was again, fizzing at the base of Samin's spine. There was something too wrong about it all, but he just couldn't lay hands on it.

  "You're assuming that Yakuli is his man,” Fen put in quietly, lifting his head for the first time since Samin had come in. “What if Asai is Yakuli's man? What if Asai's sight has been blocked, and he doesn't know anything about it?"

  Samin frowned at Malick. “Is that possible?"

  "If Yakuli's got enough spirit-bounds covering his footprints in Fate,” Malick said slowly, eyes pinned to Fen.

  Fen's gaze snapped over to Malick, narrowed. “The man who... who came to Asai for amulets.” His voice was a near-whisper and somewhat hoarse. His fingers tightened about the oblate until pink juice ran between the fissures in the skin he'd made with his fingernail. “He was on horseback. And he spoke to Asai like he was a servant."

  "Or like he thought Asai was his servant,” Malick put in. “If Yakuli thinks Asai works for him, believe me, Asai's got a reason for it. Asai serves no one, not even the gods, unless he absolutely has to."

  Fen took this in silently, and with no outward reaction. His hollow gaze dipped down to the oblate in his hands for a long moment, unseeing, then shifted slowly to Samin. “What did you see at Yakuli's?"

  Was my mother there? It was what the question really meant, and Samin peered at Malick, waiting for direction. Malick gave him a slight nod that only made Samin's throat go a little dry. Damn it, why did people keep giving Samin meaningful looks, like he had any say in any of this?

  "Shig said she's there,” Samin told Fen gently. He paused while Fen's eyes squeezed shut and his hands tightened, pulverizing the oblate into a sticky mash of pulp and peel, then cleared his throat. “I'm not sure how she knows, but she was damned sure."

  Malick sucked in a long breath, shrugged, and waved at the door. “She's hovering outside in the hall. I suppose we should let her tell us."

  His eyes cut over to Samin's, unreadable, before shifting back to the door just as Shig turned the knob and stepped through. Samin wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen Shig look uncomfortable before, but by the hard look Malick was pointing at her, and the way her gaze looked all too knowing, if a little ashamed, Samin suspected she'd just been caught “listening,” and Malick knew it, and Shig knew Malick knew it.

  Her guilty shrug and soft voice all but confirmed it: “I know what her spirit tastes like,” she said softly.

  It startled Samin. He whipped around and met her green gaze, frowning. Her eyes went to Fen, though Fen missed the genuine sympathy in them, because he wouldn't look up.

  "It's in your own Blood,” she told Fen. “She tastes like you."

  Samin couldn't help the way his mouth twisted. “You've tasted Fen's blood?” The revulsion was no doubt in his voice, and he couldn't suppress the shudder.

  Shig ignored him, still gazing at Fen with that soft sympathy, so at odds with the way she'd been behaving just lately. “Shall I tell you what she—?"

>   "No!” Fen's jaw was clenched, but even that couldn't stop it quivering. Then, low and shaky: “Yes.” He shook his head. “I... I don't know."

  Lips pursed and brow twisted in compassion, Shig stepped slowly over to the bed, though she didn't round it to stand near Fen. Instead, she stepped up to Malick, held out her hand, and when he lifted his own, palm-up, she dropped a thick, glittering ring into his palm. “Umeia didn't say anything."

  Malick's mouth tightened. “I didn't expect her to."

  Samin again wanted to ask what was going on between Malick and Umeia, but it seemed like it wasn't the right time, so he waited for whatever Shig's newest drama was to play out. Shig crouched down, leaned an elbow on the side of the mattress, and leveled her gaze with Fen, though Fen refused to look up. All Samin could see was the lank fringe, the tip of his nose, and the rigid set of his jaw.

  "I won't say unless you ask it,” Shig said softly. “It's yours to choose."

  Fen's gaze finally jerked up, all bitter enmity. “Since when has what I wanted meant a damn to you?"

  "Since always,” Shig answered simply. She leaned in, right over Malick's knees, like Malick wasn't even there anymore. Samin had the uncomfortable notion that he and Malick had just gone completely invisible. “You don't want to know, but you have to, yeah?” She shook her head. “Poor Fen."

  Almost condescending, but... not. Still, it made Samin uneasy, like he should be coming to Fen's defense for something he didn't even really understand yet. Malick caught his eye, intent, and gave one minute shake of his head.

  "Fen?” Malick asked, calm and mild. No prodding for one answer or another. Only genuine concern and the desire to know what Fen chose.

  Fen said nothing, just stared at Shig, stone-faced. Shig seemed to think she understood what it meant, because she gave Fen that sad smile she'd been flashing about recently, said, “Maybe later, yeah? After Mal's done what he should've done days ago."