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ARIANA AWOKE IN A RYUVEN sleeping room. Though the archway was open, she heard no household bustle nearby. She blinked and tentatively moved. She felt rested and whole, physically at least. She would think on the rest later. She rose and found scented water waiting on a stand.
“Ariana’rika? Are you awake?” Tamaryl tapped at the outside wall. “Good morning, my lady mage.”
“Good morning. Do I have this wing to myself?”
“Mostly. I instructed that you were not to be disturbed, and as we had other guests, I kept watch myself for much of the night—but safely at the end of the corridor.”
“Didn’t you sleep?”
“It was not lost time. I thought on many things.” Tamaryl smiled. “And you have no doubt heard, my lady, a slave needs no sleep.”
“To the contrary, I have observed myself that one in particular certainly slept well, at any rate. Usually late into the mornings.” It was so much easier to speak of the past, the safe past, when Tam was a mere boy and her father was well. She rubbed at her face. “Thank you.”
Tamaryl looked at his fingers, then put them back on the wall. “Ariana, I am sorry. For what happened to Shianan Becknam. Whatever else he was, he was your friend, and I am truly sorry.”
Ariana fought sudden hot tears, swallowing hard against the stone which swelled in her throat. She struggled to find an answer, but Tamaryl shook his head and retreated from the room, leaving her in abrupt solitude.
Shianan had been a good friend, in his way, and it seemed he wished to be more—but now that would not be, if ever it could have been. But that was why she had to convince Oniwe’aru, to prevent more such sad, senseless death. It hurt to think of Shianan, it hurt terribly, and she could not afford that distraction now. She had to close her mind again.
She stood still, breathing in slow rhythm, and made herself think of nothing for long minutes, until she had regained a tentative control.
She stretched long and deep, surprised at her physical recovery. She had not thought of using limited incapacitation as a means of relaxing muscles. That had been a clever idea. It required exquisite control, something Tamaryl plainly had alongside his great power... His great power, which had killed Shianan Becknam.
And she had so easily forgiven Shianan’s murderer.
Her gut convulsed as horrific memory rushed at her again. Sweet Holy One, what had she done? Had she forgotten Shianan so quickly, to excuse Tamaryl so easily?
But Tamaryl’s unanswered question remained: If Shianan Becknam had killed me, what would you say to him?
SHIANAN RAISED HIS hands overhead gingerly, his abdomen pulling tight. But there was no real pain, only the stretch of healing tissue—as if it had been a real wound, instead of the disturbingly odd magical injury—and his private practice with Torg had gone well enough. He was fit to go with his men, and he would be in condition again by the time the fighting began.
The outer door opened and closed, Luca returning from his visit to care for Hazelrig. “How is he?” Shianan called.
“Improving steadily,” Luca answered, entering the living quarters. “He’s talking of taking an apprentice after the battle.”
“How improved?”
“He can manage the stairs now, with someone to steady him should he need it. He’ll ride in a wagon to Arakidamia, but he says he’ll be capable when he gets there.”
Shianan shook his head. “It’s a disturbing thing, magic. When honest steel cleaves a man, he stays cloven.”
“You’re in no position to protest, my lord,” Luca answered pointedly. “And speaking of...?”
“I’m fine. I just returned from a private bout with Torg, who told me in respectfully certain terms he would not allow a crippled man to go to battle. I’m glad to say he was unable to prove me incapacitated.” Shianan stretched again. “And whatever word has gone around regarding my involvement in the Wheel incident, it’s done something to the men. They jumped the moment I spoke. More than usual.”
Luca smiled. “The prince said as much.”
“King’s oats, though. I lost the Shard and the Black Mage at once, and they esteem me for it.”
Luca crossed the room before Shianan could reflect on what he had said. “The flux is spreading, despite efforts to contain it. They say it’s not where you’re going, however.”
“A blessing. Nothing like an army spraying its strength out its rearguard before it even sees the enemy.”
“Is your cloak still repelling water satisfactorily?”
“It’s fine. And that reminds me.” Shianan jabbed a thumb toward a small coffer. “Go and buy yourself some more suitable clothing. That looks like you rolled down the road all the way from the Wakari Coast and,” he added critically, “something like you stole it from a boy half your age. Don’t they have enough material to make proper sleeves there?”
Luca glanced at the shortened sleeves sitting well above his wrist cuffs. “It’s the latest fashion in Ivat.”
“That’s because Ivat is full of muddle-headed merchants with more style than sense,” Shianan answered, skimming a report. “I know Alham winters are temperate compared to some, but you should still be decently clad.”
Luca grinned. “Yes, Master Shianan.” He nodded toward the table opposite. “I packed your things while you were with the troops.”
Shianan crossed to the table and opened the pack there. Luca moved forward as he went through it methodically, touching each item and occasionally rearranging things. “Did I forget something?”
Shianan shook his head. “It’s nothing you did. When my life depends upon laying my hand on exactly what I want within the span of a breath, I keep my own gear.”
Luca nodded. “I’ve got my own—”
“You’re not going.”
Luca’s eyes widened. “Not going?”
“You said yourself that a few weeks of training didn’t serve you when you needed it. And here you won’t face greedy highwaymen whose goal is your purse or to capture you alive to sell. These are Ryuven warriors, and they’ll want to kill you, nothing less.”
“But you began teaching me so I could help you! That’s what you said!”
“What else could I say? What else could I tell anyone? Or you?” Shianan shook his head. “You haven’t progressed nearly far enough to face real battle.”
Luca’s face had paled. “You cannot leave me here waiting for them to carry your body home.”
Shianan gave a tiny laugh. “Luca, don’t be absurd. They’d bury me where I fell.”
“Shianan—!”
Shianan nearly smiled. “Then pray that I carry myself here again.” Then he shrugged. “Or that I don’t. I’ve written out a new death-will, and you’ll be a free man and heir to whatever assets I leave. That won’t include the title, I suspect, though the council has been too distracted to confirm the forfeiture, but it should leave enough to make you comfortable wherever you like. Holy One knows I’ve not spent any of it.”
Luca stared at him, unspeaking.
Shianan sighed. “I have been into battle many times, Luca, and always come out again.”
“And that raises the odds, doesn’t it? How many times can you pass through fire and escape being burned?”
He shook his head. “You’re staying here.” He folded the pack together again and lifted it onto his shoulder. One hand fell automatically to his belt, checking sword and knife and small leather pouch. Then he leaned forward and embraced his friend, startling them both. “Goodbye, Luca.”
He released the slave and went out the door, leaving a silent room behind him.
ARIANA, FRESHLY WASHED and dressed, found her way from the quiet wing to the courtyard, where a striking silver-haired Ryuven was humming as he scrubbed out the fountain. He glanced up, startled, as she came into the morning sunlight. “Ariana’rika! May I help you?”
“Can you direct me to the kitchen?”
“Oh, I will go if you like.” He looked familiar, and he seemed nervous of her. No surprise there, though.
“No, there’s no hurry.” She sat in the backless chair Tamaryl had used. “What are you called?”
“I am Taro.” He bent over the fountain again with a quick glance at her.
She felt guilty for his unease. Did he fear humans? What a foolish question; of course he feared humans, and human mages, and especially the human mage who had not succumbed to their native magic. “What were you humming?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I thought you were singing when I interrupted you.”
He smiled a little. “So I was. It’s ‘Ring Round the Moonflowers.’ Do you know it?”
“No, not at all.” She watched Taro abandon his brush and pick up a small bowl of assorted crumbs. “Oh! Are those for the fish? May I feed them?”
“If you like, of course, Ariana’rika.”
She went to the fountain and began to sprinkle bits over the water’s surface. The colorful fish emerged from the shadows where they’d hidden and began to gulp greedily. “If this is some breach of decorum, don’t tell me anything about it,” Ariana said cheerfully. “I’ve gotten to feed fish only a couple of times in my life.”
Taro looked into the water. “Enjoy them, then. I do not know how much longer they will stay.”
“You’re sending the fish away?” Ariana laughed.
Taro did not laugh. “They are color and beauty, but they are meat when there is none. And I have seen nim fight or beg for the like of the bowl in your hand.”
A cold, sobering weight settled over Ariana. “For this?” She knew nim might indenture themselves to escape hunger, but she had not guessed Tamaryl’s own servants might have fled such a fate. Stores were failing, Oniwe’aru had said, but even then she had not imagined...
Taro glanced away. “I’m sorry, Ariana’rika. That was hardly fit speech for a sunny morning. If you like, I’ll bring you something for breakfast.”
“Yes, please,” she answered, and then she felt renewed guilt for accepting the meal.
Taro departed, and she sat alone on the fountain’s edge, watching fish chase one another and finish the crumbs. She wanted to simply watch them, her mind empty of all thoughts of Oniwe’aru and battle and Tamaryl and hunger and peace and herbs and her father, her dear father, and Shianan...
I knew the commander would not press an attack against you. I trusted your ability to protect yourself without harming him or me.
Tamaryl had acted for the least harm to anyone. He had tried to spare Shianan by using Ariana’s defense. She could forgive him for that, surely.
The sunlight was bright, almost glaring after the winter grey of home. She trailed her fingers in the water, but the disappointed fish left her. She squeezed her eyes against the tears which suddenly formed. She needed to get away, to scream and sob and grieve, but she could not here, not yet...
“Ariana’rika?”
It was not Taro, but Tamaryl, standing at the edge of the patio with a bowl and cup. She blinked and forced a smile. “Hello.”
“I heard you wanted breakfast.” He set the fruit and juice beside her and then crossed to sit on her opposite side. “What’s troubling you?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m only—I’ve a lot to think about. I’ll be all right.”
He sat very still. “Ariana, I meant it, when I said I was sorry. He was your friend. Do you see...”
“I understand,” she whispered. “I know.”
Tamaryl’s arms wrapped about her and held her near his warm torso, buffering the sound of the fountain’s splashing and the bright sunlight. Neither of them spoke or moved for a long while.