In the pastures below Atukos, Saskia and the other new Ja’Akari played a game of aklashi.
Sulema watched them from her seat on the balcony. They played with a ball, not a sheep’s head, and Murya on her little silver bay darted in and around the others as if they stood still, whooping and flapping her elbows as she hit the ball for another point. For all her speed and agility, Murya was a ridiculously sloppy rider. She stuck to her horse like a burr and handled the club well, but Sulema thought she looked like a sack full of cats stuck atop a horse. Saskia intercepted the ball and they were off again, tearing across the pasture and shrieking like a bintshi.
It stung. She wanted to be down there with her pridemates, laughing and playing aklashi under the sun. She could see Atemi in a far pasture, head high and tail flagged, running back and forth and whinnying. She wanted to play, too. Sulema slapped an open palm upon her thigh. She hated the weakness that bound her here, the fever that would not abate, the soft pillows that propped her up, and the short dress they had given her to wear. She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes with a sigh, knowing that she was acting like a child, too frustrated to care.
“I am Ja’Akari,” she muttered. “I am Ja’Akari.”
Somewhere in her dreams, Jinchua laughed.
“You are Ja’Akari,” a voice agreed. “So stop sulking like a child.”
Sulema’s eyes snapped open. “Istaza Ani!”
The older woman stepped forward and into the sunlight. “Sulema Ja’Akari.”
“I rode my horse—how do you think I got here?” She frowned. “You look pale. They eat too much bread and honey here, not enough meat. I brought this for you.” She tossed a small bag, underhand. Sulema snatched it from the air without thinking, and opened it to peer inside.
Lionsnake jerky. She scowled, and then surprised herself by laughing. “I hate lionsnake!”
“I know that well. But you killed the damn thing, so you eat it. Feigning your own death will not excuse you.”
Sulema brought a strip of the dried meat to her mouth and gnawed a piece off, grimacing at the taste.
“What were you thinking?” Ani asked. “Hunting a lionsnake that big by yourself was a foolish thing to do, even for you.”
“I…” Sulema’s voice trailed off. “I thought… it was supposed to be a small lionsnake.”
“Oh?” Ani asked, her voice soft and dangerous. “Why did you think that?”
“I…” Sulema rubbed her aching temples. “I do not remember.”
There was a long pause, and then Ani clucked her tongue. “It does not matter, I suppose. In any case, the skin and feathers have been saved, and we will give them to Hannei Ja’Akari. A warrior’s first snake should be gifted to her sword-sister.”
Sulema dropped the bag of pemmican and sat upright. “Hannei healed well?”
“Indeed she did, and better than you have.”
“Oh. And, ah…” Sulema played with the strings that had held the bag of jerky closed. “And Tammas Ja’Sajani?”
Ani snorted. “I take it no outlander man has caught your eye?”
“Outlander men are all soft and pale as a fish’s belly. Besides, they are afraid to so much as look at me. My father is the Dragon King, and my mother is a barbarian dreamshifter. I will never lose my blasted virginity.”
Ani spluttered with laughter.
“As far as I know, no girl has yet sunk her claws into our handsome young warden.” Her face softened, and Ani stepped forward and sat at the end of the stone bench. “He mourns his mother. They were very close.”
“I wish I could go to him.”
“You are not well enough to ride.” Ani looked closely at her face. “Do you not like it here?”
“Oh, it is nice enough. Everything is very…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Very nice. And big. Everyone is so kind.”
“And your father?” Ani asked. Sulema did not miss how her eyes sharpened. “How is it to know that you are the daughter of such a powerful man? He is, you know, one of the most powerful men in the world. Do you not enjoy these things?”
Sulema hesitated. I am Ja’Akari, she reminded herself, and under the sun, we do not lie.
“I like it,” she whispered. “The servants, and the soft beds, and the wine—their beer is terrible, but their wine is better than ours— new clothes every day, and um…” She grinned. “Men everywhere. Have you seen how they dress? They have no shame.”
Ani snorted.
“I like it very much,” Sulema went on, more slowly now, “but it does not feel good, ehuani. Do you remember the time Hannei and I snuck into the kitchens when we were little, and ate an entire pan of honey cakes and drank a bottle of mead? It feels like that. Too sweet, and too much of it.”
Ani smiled. “You are wiser than I thought, child.”
“I am wiser than anyone thinks.” Sulema grinned. “Please do not tell my mother.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I am much improved since the healing, but I still tire so easily. Like an old woman.”
Ani patted her knee. “It will pass. Oh, did anyone tell you? That lionsnake you killed had a clutch of eggs…”
She related to Sulema the story of how she and Hannei had gone off to hunt lionsnake whelps, and Sulema laughed at the image of Ani knocking the little beasties into the air for the vash’ai to chase.
“I have never heard of a wild vash’ai speaking with a human,” she marveled. “Are you sure you are not Zeeravashani?”
“Very sure. Inna’hael assures me that we are not.” Ani grimaced and rubbed at her arm, where only that morning he had bitten her. “Daily.” She changed the subject. “I have never heard of anyone as young as you walking Shehannam.” She nodded at Sulema’s fox-head staff, leaning in its accustomed place in the corner. “So, your kima’a is a fennec?”
Sulema smiled. “Her name is Jinchua. I have not found my way back to Shehannam since my father healed me, though I feel sometimes that I am close to it.”
“Your mother will not teach you?”
“She says that it is too dangerous. When I return to Aish Kalumm, I will seek another. I know there is a dreamshifter from Uthrak…”
“Sulema.” Ani lifted her hand. “Stop. You know you will not be going back to the Zeera.”
Sulema’s mouth dropped open. “Not return? But my father promised I could, if that was my choice. He promised! I am Ja’Akari…”
“You are Ja’Akari,” Ani agreed, “and your heart will remain with the people, I know this. I know you. But I also know people, and I know a bit about politics, and power. You are the daughter of Ka Atu, Sulema, and you have proven that you are not surdus, you are not deaf to magic. This means you can learn to channel atulfah, and take your father’s place. Do you know what they are calling you, in the streets below?”
“Sa Atu.”
“Sa Atu,” Ani agreed. “The Dragon’s Legacy. Do you really believe they will let you go? Think, girl. You are a child no more… open your eyes.”
“No,” Sulema whispered. Her heart beat loud as a dancer’s drums. “No, they will not.” She looked away from Ani, away from the palace, down to where Murya rode her mare in a canter around the field, holding the ball over her head and whooping with victory. The game had come to an end. “It is not fair.”
“Golden child,” Ani said quietly, “what do you know of fair and unfair? Born into wealth and plenty, raised in a time without war, watched over day and night by the most powerful woman in the Zeera. Unfair is the annihilation of an entire people, to the point where they have to sell their last remaining girl-child into the Zeera in an attempt to save her life. Unfair is your mother having to flee from everything she knew, everything she loved, and become something she hates with all her heart. Unfair…” She shook her head. “Forgive me, child, this is none of your doing. But fair has nothing to do with life or death.”
Sulema stared at her. She had never heard the youthmistress speak such words.
“My mother says ‘life is pain.’”
“‘Only death comes easy.’ So you were listening.”
“I was. I am. Tell me, please, what will happen now?”
“I am not a dreamshifter like your mother. I am not a leader of the people, nor even Ja’Akari. But I listen to the song of the world, Sulema. You should, too. You can hear it in the looks the vash’ai give their partners, when it seems no one is watching. You can hear it in the hunting cries of the greater predators stalking closer to the prides every year, not nearly as shy of us as they were in years past. You can hear it in the black sails of the slavers’ ships, grown bold enough to snatch children from our very shores. Most assuredly you can hear it here, in the city of the Sleeping Dragon.”
“Hear what?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
“The pounding of the drums of war, child. This city has been asleep for long years as Ka Atu grew old and resigned to the fact that he might die without an heir. Now a child of Ka Atu has returned, a child who may be able to control the pulse of sa and ka and inherit her father’s throne. The Seared Lands to the west, that have been bound to Atualon for so long and had thought themselves nearly free, now face another lifetime of submission.
“The emperor in the east, who perhaps thought to take these lands as his own once Ka Atu died, may even now think he should strike before a new ruler rises to challenge him. Do you know what happened in these lands, Sulema, the last time such a thing came to pass?”
She could scarce force the words past her teeth. “The Sundering.”
“The Sundering,” Ani agreed. “Just the other side of living memory, Sulema, nearly a thousand years ago, the leadership of Atualon was failing, much as it is now. Ka Atu had been wounded, or perhaps poisoned, and he had no heir. That particular ruler was not loved by anyone, but with his iron fist and his Baidun Daiel he had forced and held a generation’s peace between the Three Powers: Quarabala in the west, Sindan in the east, and Atualon in between. There were grumblings and rumors about Ka Atu’s abuse of atulfah, but none dared challenge him.
“So there was a lot of tension as everyone in the world waited to see whether Ka Atu would die, or name an heir, and if he did what manner of heir he might choose. On the very eve of his death, Ka Atu named as his heir a boy who was also heir to Salar Merraj, the tiny independent kingdom of salt merchants. For Ka Atu had loved their queen, and she had loved him in return, and of their love was born a single son. His name was Kal ne Mur. Ah, I see you remember.”
“Kal ne Mur. The Daemon.”
“Kal ne Mur was echovete, and very powerful, but dark rumors had begun at his birth and spread across the land. It is said that the ruling family of Salar Merraj is descended from an imperial princess who had been stolen from Khanbul. More, that this princess was herself daeborn. Whether these rumors were based in truth or spawned in a lie, it is known that children birthed so close to the Salt Lake are often born still, or malformed. Kal Ne Mur was a handsome young man, tall and well formed, but he was cursed with a deformity that would be unacceptable among any but the Salarians—a fine set of stag’s antlers sprang from his brow.
“The Atualonians turned their backs on this new leader and would have cast him out but for the intervention of the Baidun Daiel. Kal ne Mur used them to force obedience upon the people of Atualon, though they loved him not.
“No one can say for sure how the Sundering began. Some say a fight in a tavern between the il Mer and the Atualonians. Some say there was an attempt made on the life of the new Ka Atu. Blame has been laid at the feet of the Quarabalese, the Sindanese, the Zeeranim. It has even been suggested that the vash’ai and some of the other greater predators conspired to foment a war that would eradicate humans from the face of the world. It does not really matter, in the end, who said the first words, threw the first punch, or fired the first arrow. What matters is what happened next.
“It was war, Sulema, war like we have never seen in our time. Quarabalese warriors with their black spears and deep sorceries massed in Min Yaarif with the intent of marching on Atualon, and they killed as they went, massacring whole villages of Zeeranim up and down the river. When the people tried to flee into the Zeera, we overstepped our borders with the vash’ai, and they declared all treaties null and void. Our dearest allies turned tooth and claw against us in our hour of need, and only a remnant of the people survived.
“The gentle Dzirani, my own people, fared even worse. Only two families that I know of survived. My father sold me into the Zeera, and though I have searched all my life, I have never found him or heard so much as a rumor of any other surviving Dzirani. I believe that I am the last, and I cannot bear children. My people’s line ends with me.
“The Sindanese emperor called to his own allies in the east, and massed his Daechen princes with their foul magics, and they took to the Great Salt Road intending, I believe, to kill us all as we quarreled among ourselves: tens upon tens of thousands of his troops and sorcerers, every one of them trained to kill from their earliest days and knowing no love but for their emperor. They were the greatest power our world had ever seen, far greater than any power we know of today.
“Kal ne Mur, now king of Atualon and Salar Merraj, recalled all of his sorcerers, his ambassadors, even his merchants. Every citizen of Atualon was called home by sorcerous means, and set to guard the walls of their city. He raised an army to defend Atualon and destroy his enemies… an army of Baidun Daiel. Before this, the Baidun were ministers, lawmakers, keepers of the peace, and ambassadors. They were few in number and limited in what powers they could wield. But Kal ne Mur raised them by the hundreds, perhaps by the thousands. Where they came from no one seems to know, any more than we can agree on where they went when the red dust settled.
“What is known is that Ka Atu created them, armed them for war, and upon each face he set a golden mask with his own hands. He said it was so they might reflect the glory of Atualon upon the world. And they did that, though not perhaps in the manner he intended.
“The Baidun Daiel formed a shield all round the city, a sea of red and gold as far as the eye could see, so that it looked as if the city was set in a ring of fire. Kal ne Mur took the four most powerful of them with him, up into the Dragon’s Tower—yes, in this very palace—and there, all accounts end. He and his sorcerers worked a magic so foul and so vast it cannot be contained in the human mind. Every magic-bearing creature, every sorcerer and dreamshifter and shadowmancer cried out in agony, and the lesser ones were swept away entirely as wave upon wave of power flowed into the city as if a great mouth were sucking the world dry.
“A great light grew in Atualon, it grew and swelled and pulsed so that any who turned their eyes toward it were struck blind, and many were killed. The city walls bubbled and ran, and every man, woman, and child in the city was struck senseless with pain and terror. Kal ne Mur, Ka Atu, held all the power in the world in his fist.
“And then he let it go.
“The very earth shuddered and split apart as he loosed his power upon her, and this is why people say that Ka Atu tried to wake the Dragon, to crack the world like a great egg and let all life spill free. Out of every ten people in Atualon, only three survived, and theirs was the most fortunate city by far. Whole prides disappeared, their stories, their songs gone forever. Many of the few survivors, human and beast alike, went mad and tore each other to bloody bits.
“Even now, so many years later that it seems we have peace, we dance upon the edge of a sword. Our women bear few young, and fewer still survive. The bond of the Zeeravashani, once strong as the desert’s bones, is a brittle and unhappy song. The Quarabala, once a wonder of music and painting and dance, burned until no creature could live there. Even now the Seared Lands are so hot and unforgiving that only a handful of people survive deep in the earth near its very center. Even they may have perished. That man Aasah and his apprentice are the only Quarabalese I have ever seen. The emperor survived, but he withdrew to Khanbul, his daespawn army annihilated in that very first blast of magic. Such is the power of Ka Atu.”
“Ka Atu,” Sulema whispered. She tucked her hands together and shivered. Her heart was ice. “My father.”
“Your father—and you will be Sa Atu, if these Atualonians have their way. I would spare you this knowledge if I could. I would spare you this path if I could, and see you ride with your pridemates, chasing men and breeding fine horses… or the other way around. Such power, alas, is not given to me.”
“Why do you tell me these things?” Sulema fought the tightness in her throat. She would not look at the youthmistress, but neither did she wish to watch the Ja’Akari at their games, so she stared up at Akari Sun Dragon, and blamed her tears on him. “Do you hate me? They would have me become just like him, just as you say.” A single tear rolled down her face, scalding her chill skin.
“Hate you?” Ani took Sulema’s hands in both of hers, and kissed her fingertips. “Hate you? I could never hate you, ehuani. And as for turning you into your father…” She dropped Sulema’s hands, and smiled through her unshed tears. “It would take a force more powerful than Ka Atu might wield, more powerful than all of the rulers and all of the sorcerers from the Three Powers combined, to turn you into something you do not wish to become. They do not know you as I do.” She leaned forward and kissed Sulema’s forehead. “You are a churra-headed brat.”
Sulema leaned back into the pillows and rubbed at her head again, wishing she had not come outside into the bright sunlight. Ani patted her knee and rose.
“I am sorry I have tired you, though I am not sorry that I told you what others will not. I would not have you step into a pit of vipers with your eyes closed. I may not see you again before I go. Askander and I will be heading out with a shipment of salt-clay pots, a very generous gift from your brother. I quite like him, by the way.”
“Askander? First Warden?” Sulema closed her eyes against the sun and laughed softly. “So, you are still chasing that one, are you?”
“Irreverent brat. Chasing and catching, if it is all the same to you.”
“Tell him I said hello.” Sulema yawned wide enough to crack her jaw. “And your Inna’hael. I would have liked to meet him…”
“Jai tu wai.” Ani’s voice sounded very soft, and very far away. It sounded as if the youthmistress was weeping—but Istaza Ani never wept.
She cracked one eye open. “Jai tu wha’?”
“Jai tu wai. The cubs are saying that now, instead of ‘goodbye.’ It means ‘until we see each other again.’”
“Ah. I like that.” Sulema smiled again and let her eyes slip shut, just for a moment. “Jai tu wai, Istaza Ani.”
If Ani replied, Sulema never heard it.
* * *
She floated down, light as a wish upon the wind.
Sulema slipped lightly into the Twilight Lands and ran along a river’s edge. It was a wide, wise river, deep and swift, and her banks were littered with dead flowers. Sulema’s feet sank into the cool, silty mud and she gazed to the east and wondered why it seemed there should be a city just beyond the slumbering hills. She turned upriver and followed the fennec’s tracks once more.
They turned sharply toward the never-rising sun and disappeared into the tall green grass. She let her hands trail through the cool leaves, collecting dew, and stopped when she stumbled across an area where the ground had been trampled by some great and heedless beast. Here the fox’s trail ended, and within its last print lay a gift for her—a round and shining stone the color of water at midnight.
It was as big as a plover’s egg, smooth and heavy and cool as if she held a darkling moon in the palm of her hand. She rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, and when she saw that a hole had been drilled through she held it up to her face and looked…
…directly into the kohl-blacked eye of Mattu Halfmask. She screamed, dropped the stone, and…
* * *
…sat up so quickly she almost fell off the bench. It was dark. Her neck hurt, and one side of her face was wet, and the smell of the river clung to her clothes.
“I am sorry, ne Atu, I did not mean to wake you.”
Sulema shook her head and ran her hand over her face. She was damp with cold sweat. Perhaps the fever that had plagued her since the lionsnake incident had broken at last. She cast about her blankets, feeling as if she had forgotten something, lost something precious…
“Are you all right? Would you like some water?” The man’s voice was solicitous, but his eyes behind the lynx mask mocked her. “Mead, perhaps? I hear you have a particular fondness for barbarian drink.”
“Barbarian?” She dropped her hands and scowled. “Perhaps you would like to taste a barbarian ass-kicking?”
“Spare me, youngling. If you tried to kick my ass right now, you would fall on your face and I would be forced to have the healer tuck you back in bed.” He folded his arms across his chest, and Sulema scowled again when she realized she had been eyeing him. Men who strutted about in public with their legs bared were a distraction to which she had not yet become accustomed. “Or perhaps you would prefer I do it myself?”
Her head was spinning again. “Keep your hands off me.”
“As you wish.” He leaned back against the door frame. “I prefer my women somewhat wiser, in any case. Not to mention healthy. And…” he sniffed the air delicately. “Freshly bathed. Another time, perhaps.”
Sulema was awash in anger. Handsome or not, she was going to kick his skirt-wearing saucy ass so hard his…
Then he winked at her. Her mouth opened in shock, and a laugh spilled out. Once she started laughing she could not seem to stop. She laughed till her ribs hurt and her stomach ached and her bones had gone soft. Mattu Halfmask quirked his mouth at her, and that was all it took to send her off into hysterics again.
Eventually she was able to catch her runaway breath, and wiped tears from her face with the back of one hand.
“Oh you… you!” she half-laughed, half-hiccupped. “You are so rude!”
“I am absolutely rude. Rude, inappropriate, and inconveniently handsome, I know.” Perfect teeth flashed in his dark face, and then he sobered. “I am also the only person here who has been honest with you, and it will only get worse. The game is far along, and you do not even realize yet that you are playing.”
“Game?”
“Do not play stupid with me, Sulema. We both know better.” Sulema found herself appraising him from a new perspective.
“What is your game?”
“Oh now, it would not be any fun if I told you that, would it?” He winked again. “It would certainly not be in character. Let us just say that I may be of use to you, for now.”
“I have been told not to trust you.”
“A very good piece of advice, ne Atu. Let me be clear—you cannot trust anyone in Atualon. Least of all yourself. Guard your words, guard your face—that delightful lush mouth of yours is a dead giveaway, you know. See, that is what I am talking about— that blush! Now, stop trying to peek at my legs and attend. Guard your dreams especially, dear girl. Atukos is the City of Dreams, after all, and we have been predators here longer than you have been prey.”
“Prey? You think so?” Sulema swung her legs over the edge of her seat. She was going to kick his ass. She was. Just as soon as the room stopped spinning.
“You see? This is what I mean.” His voice was soft, and warm, and very close. “You wear your heart as if it were a hawk in jesses, for all the world to see.” His hand was gentle as he turned her face to his, and his eyes were deep wells in the moonslight. He ran his fingers over the sensitive bare skin at her temple, and touched her braids. “The first time I saw you, you had a scowl on your face and fire in your eyes. Your hair… like the last sunrise. So beautiful. Your skin.” He moved closer, just a breath closer, and ran a thumb along her collarbone. “Honey and a sprinkling of spice. You are a long drink of cool fire to a man like me, Sulema.” His voice caressed her name, and his thumb caressed the skin at the base of her throat. Sulema felt the breath catch in her lungs, and saw his eyes deepen in response. His mouth parted… and then he stepped back. Not much, and not nearly enough. For the space of several heartbeats, only the sound of their ragged breathing could be heard.
A wyvern cried somewhere off in the mountains, a single, piercing, and terribly lonely sound.
Sulema tugged the edge of her robe up over her shoulder. “You should go,” she said, not wishing any such thing at all.
He smiled, and held out both hands to her. His eyes were hungry, and angry, and kind. Sulema let him pull her to her feet, and stood swaying like a willow at the river’s edge. Mattu Halfmask frowned.
“This is what I mean. If they see you like this, it will be all over. It is a wonder you have survived as long as you have. Has living among predators taught you nothing of hiding weakness?”
Sulema staggered and swooned against him, and as Mattu went to catch her, she took his wrist in her hand and twisted it around, up, and around again, till she had him in a lock and on his toes. When he laughed, she leaned in so close she could have kissed the edge of his painted leather mask.
And bit his ear. Hard.
“You were saying?”
“Peace!” He laughed again, and she twisted harder. “Ow… peace! Peace! I yield!” She let him go, and he rubbed his arms and grinned at her, rolling his shoulder. “Does this mean I will not have to carry you? Thank the moons… I was afraid I might throw my back out. Here I thought all you barbarian women were little desert flowers. Remind me to kill the next poet who tells such a lie.”
Sulema was torn between wanting to throw him out on his ear and wanting to drag him to her bedchamber.
“Did you come here to torment me?”
“No. Well, not just to torment you, anyway. I brought you something.” He waved for her to follow, and ducked through the heavy curtains and into her rooms. Sulema followed him through the little room meant for dining, and across the wider round chamber with the fantastic dragon’s-head fireplace and the dropped floor, and then stopped so quickly as he entered her bedchamber that she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Heat and apprehension coiled around one another in the pit of her belly like wrestling snakes.
Surely not…
His head poked out from behind the curtain. “Oh, come now, sweetling. I am hardly going to take advantage of your weakened state.” His eyes burned like dark coals behind the lynx’s sober face. “Come on.” With that, he ducked out of sight again.
Za fik. So be it. Sulema followed him into the room which was meant for sleeping, but which was larger by half than the quarters she had used to share with a whole fist of girls. Mattu stood at the edge of her curtained bed, looking altogether too well pleased with himself, mask or no. He held a finger to his lips, and winked. Then he brought his other hand out from behind his back and, with a flourish that made her jump, bowed and presented a small glass flask to her.
Sulema hesitated for a moment, and then took the bottle. It was a pretty thing, green and delicate, and filled with a thick reddish fluid that swirled and moved within the bottle as if it had a will of its own. Whatever it was, it looked disgusting. She wrinkled her nose, dreadfully certain that he was going to tell her she had to drink it.
“Drink this,” he urged her. “Tonight, if you can. It is best if you drink it after a heavy meal, but no strong spirits, and—” he grinned wickedly “—when you are near a washroom.”
“I hate medicines.” Especially medicines that looked like something that lived at the bottom of a cistern and maybe had things living inside it.
“This will clear the rest of that venom from your system. You were bitten, you know. Do you remember nothing of what happened out there, when you hunted the lionsnake?”
Eyes. A snake’s eyes, staring into hers, waiting for her to die. “What is this, exactly?”
His eyes searched hers. “It is, ah, a potion distilled from the venom of a lionsnake whelp. It is said to be effective against many types of—”
“You made this?”
“I bought it from Loremaster Rothfaust, and it cost me dearly. Do you trust me?”
She peered into the vial. “Not one bit. Do I have to take it with food, or can I drink this on an empty stomach?”
His mouth twitched. “You can take it on its own, but it is not advisable. Are you always this stubborn?”
“No, I am usually worse. This will take the weakness away? Do you swear it?”
“It will take several vials of the stuff over several moons’ time, and the loremaster says it would be best if he has a sample of your blood to work with. But, yes, sweet warrior. I do swear it. I will taste it myself, if you wish.”
“Why would you help me? It is not as if we were pridemates.”
“Whoever tried to kill you may be trying to kill me—and my sister. There have been attempts.” His merry eyes went cold and hard. “It is past time we discover who is behind the deaths of the ne Atu, and you may be our best hope of finding this viper in our midst. What are the words of your people? ‘I fight against my sister, but I fight with my sister against my cousin…’”
“‘…and I fight with my sister and my cousin against all outlanders.’ You are an outlander.”
“Perhaps you might fight with an outlander against a common enemy. I would have you as an ally in this battle, Sulema Firehair.”
Never step into a pit without first checking for vipers.
Sulema narrowed her eyes, considering the strange half-masked man who had come to her rooms. Then she unstoppered the bottle and raised it to her lips in a smooth motion, and knocked the stuff back as if it were a horn of usca.
“That is not so… gah. That is… pfaugh!” She shuddered, dropped the flask onto a cushioned chair, and rubbed at her mouth. “Za fik, what is in that? Churra piss and corpse fluids? Gaaaaah!”
“Churra piss and corpse fluids, for a start.” He patted her shoulder. “It will get worse before it gets better, but I promise—it will get better. By this time tomorrow, you will be thanking me.”
“Gaaaah. By this time tomorrow, if I live—za fik, that is nasty.” She shuddered. “Remind me to thank you for your gift, once I have cleaned my teeth. Gaaaah.”
Mattu laughed, mismatched eyes bright in the lynx’s face. Sulema laced her fingers together, lest they give in to the sudden urge to snatch his mask away.
“Why do you wear a mask?” The words were out before she could stop them, and Sulema could feel her cheeks flush hot.
He just smiled.
“Everyone wears a mask.” His voice had gone quiet. Soft. “I am simply more honest about mine.”
“I do not.”
He considered her for a long while. “No,” he said at last, “I suppose you do not, at that. Maybe that is why…” His voice trailed off.
“Why what?”
“Why this.” Then he was standing close, so close she could feel the heat of him. He cupped her face in both hands as a man dying of thirst might cup a handful of water, and leaned in, and he kissed her.
It was not an affectionate press of the lips against cheek or forehead, nor yet the quick slobbery awkward attempts at love between younglings hiding behind the tents. Mattu teased with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, he licked the inside of her mouth as if he might taste the answer to all his questions. Sulema found herself rising to meet his wordless plea, heat on heat, need on need, flesh on flesh. When he would have pulled back she refused, curling her hand against the back of his neck and holding him close. He laughed into her mouth and submitted to her demand for more.
Finally they parted, a hair’s breadth only, and Sulema’s body protested the loss. Her breath was ragged and caught in her throat.
“Why?” she asked again. But the question had changed, and her voice had changed. Her world had changed, and all for the kiss of a man in a mask.
“Because you are beautiful,” he replied, “because the moons are full. Because we are young, and it is spring, and there is a song in the air. Mostly because I am a fool.”
“I do not think you are a fool.”
“Then you are a fool as well. This is likely to land us both in a great deal of trouble.”
“It is only trouble if you get caught,” Sulema told him in her woman’s voice.
Then she kissed him again.