Wolf's-own: Weregild Page 16

  Malick glared, jerked up his knee, and knocked Shig off him. “You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?"

  Shig blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “And you can be a lazy, stubborn bastard when there's something in it for you.” She turned her glance to Fen. “You can't ever trust him all the way,” she confided, earnest now. “He could've given it to you when you made your promise, but he had his reasons for waiting."

  "Yeah,” Malick grated, “I did, so why don't you just shut the fuck up, if you're not going to say anything helpful?"

  Fen was staring, like he wasn't quite tracking everything they were saying, or what it might mean, but he didn't open his mouth to ask. Samin wasn't quite getting it either, but there was a time for restraint and now was not it. “Give him what?” he asked.

  Shig smirked at Malick, and when Malick glared at her, she opened her eyes wide, mimed shutting her mouth with lock and key, and sat back on her heels on the floor. Malick's fists were both clenched as tight as his jaw, but when he turned back to Fen, he made a visible effort at relaxing.

  He held the ring up so the diamond gleamed in the lamplight, its bed of onyx giving it the relief it needed to practically dazzle the eye. Faceted prisms and glittering depths—beautiful.

  "See that?” Malick asked, and just like Shig a minute ago, it was like he saw only Fen, and everyone else had faded from view. “The flaw in the center—look deep.” He reached out, snatched up Fen's hand, turned it over, and dropped the ring into his palm.

  Fen was frowning, his gaze wary as he took the ring, but he did as Malick told him to: he held it up in front of the lamp. “It isn't a flaw,” he said slowly.

  "No, it isn't,” Malick confirmed. “It's my Blood. I don't give it lightly. This is how Skel damned himself. One talisman, one person who we must choose very carefully.” He waved his hand at Fen. “Wear it, if you like, or keep it in a pocket. It's not as strong as touch, but it'll keep things quieter than what you can do yourself with the pain. It's yours for as long as our bargain stands, and if you keep your end, it's yours for as long as you want it.” He slanted a harsh glower at Shig. “Happy now?"

  Shig shrugged, lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I'm not done yet, am I?"

  "Gods on their moons.” Samin sighed and threw up his hands. “Can someone speak plainly for once? What the fuck is she not done with? What the fuck is going on with you and Umeia? What the fuck are we going to do about Yakuli and Fen's mother, and what the fuck are we going to do about Asai?"

  Malick sat back against the headboard, flicked another sour glance at Shig, then turned to Samin. “She's not done because I want her here when Fen lets me hear the Ancestors.” Fen stiffened a little at that, but Malick didn't pause. “Umeia decided that Asai may have a point in what he's been plotting. I disagreed. Therefore, she is no longer welcome here.” He opened a hand when Samin let a gasp slip loose. “She's taking Morin and Caidi and Joori to Heldesan in the morning, and she's not coming back.” A slight hesitation, his gaze going again to Fen, softer this time. “It's Fen's to decide about his mother, and I have to think a bit more about Yakuli. As far as Asai....” Malick shrugged and waved a hand at Fen. “Fen has agreed to take care of him for me."

  Samin eyed Fen dubiously. Not that he had any doubt Fen was skilled enough, but... he didn't look like he was entirely capable, at the moment. There were more bandages showing than there was skin, after all, and the other night.... Well, it was still fresh and somehow terribly raw.

  Fen wasn't even listening, really—his eyes had been riveted to the ring since Malick had dropped it in his palm, and now he was slowly inching his foot away from Malick, the ring held in white-tipped fingers and face screwed up in skeptical hope. A long, bracing breath preceded the complete removal of contact, and Fen's eyes shut tight as he went still, breath held. Samin wasn't the only one staring; Malick and Shig had both turned to watch, their expressions remarkably similar—hopeful but nearly as cautious as Fen's own.

  It was almost as though a great, silent sigh went through the room when Fen let his pent-up breath out in a gust, closed his fist tight over the ring and sank back into the chair. Relief. Profound relief. It lumped something thick and mushy in Samin's throat, so he cleared it.

  All right, then. It seemed a crisis of sanity had been avoided for a change, rather than plowed into or exacerbated apurpose. Samin couldn't help but approve. But it seemed he now had more questions than when he'd walked in. The thing with Umeia was disturbing, but at the moment, not tactically significant. The thing with Yakuli, though....

  "Shig?” Samin said, rather hoping she just knew, like it seemed she'd known all morning, what he was going to say or do before he did. But when she merely blinked at him—almost sly and challenging—Samin sucked in a long, calming breath and turned his gaze to Malick instead. “She knows more about Yakuli than what she's telling.” He shot a glance at Shig again, expecting perhaps pique or a roll of the eyes, but she was still just gazing at him calmly.

  "Yeah,” she admitted with a casual shrug. “But you saw more than you want to say out loud. You don't want to be the one who makes it true. I don't know any more than what you've already figured. You just don't want to have to be the one to say it."

  Samin was caught between a flush of embarrassment and anger. Because it wasn't anything that was at the top of his mind, even though he'd been pawing at it since last night, but as soon as it came out Shig's mouth, he knew it was true. He knew what had been bothering him about those barracks. And damn it, he really didn't like it that someone else could know better what was in his head than he did.

  "Fine,” he snapped, turning a narrow gaze on Malick. “There was a set of barracks on the southern end of the estate. Enough to house two hundred men, at least. They were normal enough—the little I saw through the windows was standard military. Bunks and trunks and the usual. But there was another row of barracks to the west.” Samin paused, swallowed. Shig was right: he didn't want to have to say this, and especially not with Fen in the room.

  "You already told me this,” Malick prompted into the silence.

  Samin had. And had wondered at the time why Malick had questioned him so intensely about what Samin had thought very small, unimportant matters in the scheme of all the bigger observations, but Samin hadn't made the connection to the barracks before. Possibly deliberately hadn't made the connection because he hadn't wanted to know. And he'd just assumed Malick would question Shig, or Shig would volunteer what she knew, and what needed to happen would happen. Except Malick hadn't questioned Shig. And Shig hadn't volunteered. Like they were each waiting for the other to say something both of them already knew.

  Samin nodded. “I didn't mention that they had no windows,” he said slowly. “It didn't seem important last night, I didn't really think much of it, except to estimate a count, but... well, and I couldn't get a look in. Yori was going to give sneaking past the guard a go, but Shig wouldn't let her."

  "Too many charms,” Shig put in quietly. “They would have caught her.” She turned her gaze to Malick, sharp and fully “here” now. “There was too much magic flying about for me to be able to protect her."

  Malick's eyes had gone narrow and distant: that detached look he got when he wasn't pretending he wasn't too smart for anyone's good. “How much magic? And what kind?"

  "It's funny you never felt it, huh?” Shig said softly, no taunting this time, and none of her games, and the real meaning of it—just outside the reach of Samin's too-practical grasp—made ghost fingers crawl up Samin's backbone. “How d'you suppose anyone could hide all that magic from Temshiel?"

  Fen had been removed enough from what was going on around him as to almost not be there at all. Now his eyes opened, narrowed on Malick, and his slouched posture had gone stiff and alert.

  Malick didn't answer Shig's question. He met Fen's gaze somberly, all too knowing, and turned his glance slowly back to Samin, pinned him. “Samin?"

  Samin's throat had gone a little tight. It
was the look on Malick's face; it was what Samin was going to have to say next; it was the fact that Malick's expression seemed to imply that perhaps he already knew what it was.

  "I think they were prisoner barracks,” Samin said, palms gone sweaty and heart skipping beats all over the place. “I think perhaps we know now what's happened to all the Jin who've been Disappeared."

  How could anyone keep something this big from Temshiel? Shig had speculated. Samin was fairly certain they couldn't. Not Wolf's Temshiel, and not in his own Cycle. Which left the disconcerting, quite frightening conclusion: Wolf's Temshiel had known. And apparently done nothing.

  * * * *

  Joori skulked down the hallway, already aware that this had been a bad idea, but he didn't really have much choice in the matter. He'd already exposed himself, though the boy from whom he'd asked directions had seemed pleasant enough and unlikely to go running off for the Doujou or anything. By the way he'd talked, he'd assumed Joori to be a “new boy” and amiably pointed to the door Joori wanted then went on his way, clad only in a long, silky robe, completely unselfconscious.

  Joori didn't think he could ever get used to a place like this.

  He stood in the doorway, contemplating the veracity of what he planned to do. So far as “planned” went, anyway, which was to basically posture and bluff and demand, and pretend he knew more than he actually did. Not the best “plan” ever, but Joori was pretty new at this sort of thing. And if it didn't work....

  He tightened his jaw. If it didn't work, he'd likely end up doing exactly what bloody Malick was so dead-set against him doing, which really would be a betrayal to Jacin in a way, but he'd rather save Jacin by betrayal than allow him to sacrifice himself for reasons that weren't even real. Which was likely why bloody Malick was so eager to be rid of Joori, and Joori would be damned if he'd just bow his head and say, Yes, seyh, like a good little Jin. Because he knew he'd never see Jacin again if he did.

  Jacin wasn't going to go. Jacin had never had any intention of going. Jacin had always meant to put Joori and Caidi and Morin on that caravan and wave them goodbye. And these people were going to be all too happy to help him do it. Even Yori, and strangely, that one hurt.

  Joori wasn't a fool—they'd had sex, not sworn their undying devotion. Yori killed people for a living, and what was more, she liked it. He'd never slept with anyone before who could probably snap his neck in the throes of orgasm with a flick of her wrist, and strangely, he found it bizarrely arousing in a way he probably never wanted to scrutinize. He'd never met a woman who could be so scary and so... womanly. He could love her very easily, and he knew she liked him—she sought him out most of the time, and it wasn't for any kind of distraction so he wouldn't realize what they were all up to. She liked him, she wanted to be with him.

  Which made the duplicity hurt.

  He expected it from Jacin. Jacin would lie, cheat, steal and sell his soul to keep them safe. Joori hadn't needed bloody Malick to tell him that. But in all that lying and cheating and stealing and soul-selling, Jacin never stopped to consider himself—he needed Joori for that, because bloody Malick certainly wasn't going to do something to protect “his dog” unless it directly benefited his own goals... whatever they might be. Right now, it seemed to Joori that Malick's goals were nothing more than vengeance for some past wrong, and bedding Jacin.

  Joori didn't know exactly what Asai had done to his brother in the years he'd had him, but it was clear that Jacin's mind and heart had been twisted around the bastard somehow. Jacin was very good at what he did—Joori had seen that up close the night his brother had taken on two Adan hunters and five of the Doujou, and walked away from it with everyone else's blood on his face and his hands—but he doubted very sincerely that bloody Malick would ever understand just how firmly Jacin's heart ruled him. A man who had very little unencumbered access to his own mind had little other choice. And if Asai ruled Jacin's heart, Asai ruled Jacin.

  It pierced Joori to think it, to know it, but Shig, the flighty bitch, had been right: Jacin would go to Asai, and he'd go armed and willing, but he'd be going to Asai to die. And bloody Malick either wouldn't admit it, or wouldn't see it at all.

  Joori's options were limited, and he knew it. They were all basically helpless to these people, caught as they were in the heart of Ada and with only fake papers that proclaimed them Umeia's “property” to protect them. And Joori had no illusions that he could get through to Jacin. There was no one in the world more single-minded than his brother once he'd narrowed his focus to a specific goal. Jacin's goal right now was to get them all out of Ada then go to Asai and accept his end, and he wouldn't hear Joori's arguments or pleas. Joori had to accept it as simply the way Jacin showed his love, but he didn't have to accept it as the only option.

  He squared his shoulders and raised his arm to knock on Umeia's door. It swung open before he'd had a chance to even curl his hand into a fist.

  "Done hovering, then, are you?” Umeia's expression was wry, eyes weary.

  He shouldn't really be surprised that she'd known. It was only that he'd never been around people who used magic so relatively openly before.

  Joori chewed his lip and tucked his hands at the small of his back. He gave Umeia a quick bow of his head. “I—"

  "Yes, yes, I know,” Umeia said. She crooked a cockeyed smirk and pulled the door open wider, then gestured Joori through. “In. Before someone else sees you."

  He didn't even think twice, just obeyed, stepping past her and into her rooms. He was tempted to goggle a little—quite a lot more plush than anywhere he'd seen before—but didn't like the idea of exposing himself as the green provincial he knew he was. They already thought him dim, apparently. Joori saw no reason to bolster their opinions.

  "Where does Malick think you are?” Umeia asked bluntly.

  "I don't think he cares.” Joori shrugged. “He's been holed up in my brother's room and throwing me out every chance he gets. I've not been let in since Jacin woke.” He couldn't help the way his teeth clenched as he said it.

  "And Yori?"

  That made Joori flush a little. “No one has seen fit to tell me what's been decided for my life. I saw no need to burden any of the others with the little control over it I may still have."

  Umeia gestured to the ornate chair in front of her vanity, waited until Joori had awkwardly seated himself, and then she perched on the edge of her unmade bed. Joori refused to blush.

  "So, you're a clever lad, then, are you?” The tone was very lightly mocking, but Joori detected no real rancor. She was testing him, somehow. He wished he knew for what.

  He lifted his chin. “In some things,” he replied evenly. “You've had a falling-out with Malick."

  "That's not being clever. That's merely stating the obvious."

  "All right, then.” Joori made himself sit back a little, made his muscles unknot. “It's obvious that whatever you rowed about, my brother is at the center of it. And since I know that you don't want to leave, and you're doing it anyway, the disagreement must have something to do with that."

  Umeia stared at him, narrow-eyed and calculating. Joori made himself stay still beneath her scrutiny, made himself look back.

  Finally, Umeia looked away. “You people know so very little of our kind,” she said quietly and turned her glance back to Joori, perhaps a little softer than it had been before. “Not your fault. You can't be expected to know. Not when the agents of the gods themselves keep it from you."

  Joori frowned. “What does—?"

  "You came down here for answers,” Umeia cut in. “So, hush while I give them to you."

  A lift of an eyebrow Joori couldn't quite help, but he merely shut his mouth and nodded.

  "You can't trust him,” Umeia said. She'd folded her hands in her lap before. Now her fingers picked and pried at each other. “Don't misunderstand me. He wants your brother to live. He wants you to live because your brother wants it. He won't lie to get his way. He won't promise you or anyone else
anything he doesn't intend fully to give. But Malick can make a person....” Umeia paused, thoughtful, then pursed her full mouth into an unhappy line. “A man like your brother—someone who needs love like he needs breath; someone who's been denied it his whole life—a man like that will see his deepest, most secret wants in the smallest of promises. A tender touch is all it takes, and Malick... well.” She snorted grimly. “Malick's had lots of practice at loving. Our little Untouchable has had next to none at being loved.” Umeia met Joori's eyes squarely. “Malick has promised your brother that he'll get you out of Ada safely if he'll kill Asai for him in exchange."

  "I know.” Joori kept the anger and hurt of it all to himself.

  Umeia shrugged, like she knew anyway. “And he will. He's ordered me to get you out, and I've little choice. I've already sworn oath to protect you, and forgive me for being so blunt, but you're simply not worth burning for. So I'll do it—I'll get you out of Ada safely. Whether you want it or not, I will load you into a caravan bound for Heldesan, ride with you to the border to make sure you make it across safely, and I will defend you with my life if I must, if you're pursued. And then, once we're in Heldesan, I'll leave you, my oath fulfilled.” Her eyes narrowed again. “I am oathbound only for as long as you are in my care. Understand?"

  Oh, Joori understood all right. They'd be dumped in a foreign land, refugees, unschooled in the hows of defense, making a living, or even speaking the language. And completely unprotected by the shielding veil of a Temshiel. If Asai decided he still wanted to use them against Jacin, all he'd have to do was come and get them. They might as well have targets painted on their backs.

  "Then what's the point?” Joori's voice was a little harsher than he'd meant.

  "The point, Fen Joori, is that Malick's promise will have been kept, a beacon of trust for your brother, who already trusts too much.” Umeia leaned forward. “And now the one Untouchable in decades who's managed to stay sane has no Voices to hear. Malick has given your brother the quiet he needs to keep his mind—stanchions on which to lay more trust—but he's taken away the Voices that were meant to guide him."