01 - The Compass Rose (15 page)

Kallista sighed and let him direct her back down the walkway. “You don’t still believe she’s a spy, do you? Or an assassin?”

“I don’t know what she is, other than Tibran.” He opened the cabin door, scanning it quickly before allowing her inside. Aisse was in her corner, already wrapped in her blanket.

Torchay turned down the coverlet on the wide bunk and began divesting himself of the majority of his blades, readying himself for sleep.

Her palms itched, wanting to touch. She should have looked for another, once she realized it was Torchay she saw washing. But she couldn’t drag him out after her again, and after the incident with the spark earlier, she doubted any of the crew would be willing to let her get close.

“Are you sleeping in your boots?” He was sitting on the bed, pulling his off already. Torchay went down on one knee, ready to help her with her tighter boots.

Kallista sat and let him do it. “Perhaps I should take the bed alone tonight.”

He gave her a sharp look but said nothing as he rose and set their boots between the chests holding their belongings.

“It’s been almost a week with no dreams, no problems,” she said. “I should—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Aisse can share with me, keep watch, if you still think it’s needful.” Kallista didn’t think she could bear lying next to him, touching him, without doing something she shouldn’t.

“No!” Torchay turned a ferocious scowl on her. “I will not have that Tibran near you while you sleep. I will not have you sleeping alone. Is it suddenly so distasteful, sharing with me? Are we not friends?”

“We are. It’s not that. It’s not—” She couldn’t explain it to him, couldn’t expose her sudden weakness. “Not right. It’s—you’re my bodyguard.”

“And that means I’m the one who decides about this. It’s your safety here. No battles. No armies. Not even any bandits. It’s my say, and this is how it will be.” He held his hand out for her gloves.

“I’ll keep them on.” She tugged the cuffs higher on her wrists.

“You know how your hands peel when you sleep in the gloves.” He beckoned with his fingers, demanding the gloves. “Give them over. You don’t call magic in your sleep.”

But she could be tempted to touch, knowing she could feel it. Feel him.

“Give.” He crooked his fingers again.

With a sigh, Kallista stripped off her gloves and handed them over. She pulled off her tunic and crawled into bed in her chemise and trousers.

“It’s hot,” Torchay said as he removed his tunic, then the sheath holding the big blade he wore beneath it. Kallista squeezed her eyes tight shut and turned her back so she couldn’t see him. “Are you sure you want to wear your trews to bed?”

“If I get too hot, I’ll take them off,” she lied. The more clothing she wore, the better. If the crewmen were too afraid of her lightning now, she would hook a man when they reached Turysh. It had been too long. That was all.

Torchay lay down beside her, the bare skin of his back singeing her through her chemise as he set it against hers. He faced the door, ready to defend against anything that might come through. But he couldn’t protect her from herself. She would never fall asleep like this.

“Kallista?”

“What?” She hoped she kept from snapping at him, but it was a faint hope.

“Are you—holding your breath?”

Oh. She was. Stupid thing to do with him so focused on her breathing. “No.”

“It was an accident. It won’t happen again, now you’re on guard against it.”

He thought she was worried about the stray spark. And she was. Yes, certainly she was. She was worried to death about it. “I know it won’t.”

“Good. Then go to sleep.”

“Yes, General.” Kallista tucked her hands beneath her arms and did her best to obey his order.

“That’s supreme high generalissimo to you,” he said.

Torchay shifted position, rubbing his naked back against her. She bit her lip, trying very hard to keep breathing slowly and evenly. She was never going to sleep again.

The next morning, on Hopeday, the riverboat captain read a brief service on the boat’s foredeck for any who wished to attend. Kallista was there, with Torchay and Aisse trailing behind. She felt the need to draw closer to the One who had given her so much she didn’t want. It didn’t seem to help. It felt as if there were a stone wall just above her head. Lack of sleep, undoubtedly.

She must have her skin on inside out, the way the slightest breeze, the least brush of Torchay’s arm or leg or hand against her made her shiver all the way through. She’d slept in fits and starts, waking up twined around Torchay and backing off to try again to sleep. If he weren’t so determined to maintain some sort of contact between them, it might have been easier.

No. It wouldn’t.

Kallista managed to doze a few hours on the passenger deck, which left her feeling groggy and cranky the rest of the day. She tried playing queens-and-castles with the courier, but couldn’t concentrate. Then the day was over and it was time to attempt sleep again with Torchay snuggled in beside her. Sheer tempting torture.

Peaceday dawned with Kallista lying balanced on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling. The list of questions for Belandra sat on the table, but Kallista didn’t need it. She had them memorized. They’d decided she would stay in the cabin until Belandra appeared, to keep from spooking the crew. Kallista wasn’t looking forward to the confinement.

How did one summon a ghost? Or whatever it was that Belandra was supposed to be? Like one summoned magic? She started the pull, then remembered her control problems and closed her hands into fists. She elbowed Torchay. “Wake up. I need my gloves.”

He fumbled on the table, taking so long to find them she knew he hadn’t opened his eyes. Torchay wasn’t fond of morning.

“Oh, just get out of my way.” She reached across him.

He blocked her. “I’ve got them. Here.” He thrust the brown leather gloves at her and collapsed back onto the bed, his eyes still closed. “What’s your hurry?”

“I don’t want to try calling Belandra without them.” Kallista tugged the gloves into place. It felt strange to be still lying in bed wearing them. Like going to sleep in boots. “In case I call something else without meaning to.”

Torchay’s eyes opened and he stared at her in alarm. “Like what?”

“Lightning, you idiot. Not demons.” She smacked him lightly on the head, then paused. What if she did call something else? Could she? The One only knew. Literally, given the freakish way her magic was behaving. She would have to try very hard not to call anything but Belandra and hope it worked.

“Wait.” Torchay scrambled out of bed. He pulled on his tunic and back sheath at the same time. Quickly he returned his many knives to where they belonged, the longblade sliding into the back sheath first, as always.

Kallista watched him, amused. “Do you think your blades will have any effect on a ghost, even if you could see her?”

Knives hidden, Torchay grabbed a comb and started putting his hair in order. “No. But if she truly is Belandra of Arikon, I want her to see a proper bodyguard at your side.”

While Kallista resembled a dockside slattern, lounging half dressed in the crumpled bedclothes. She wasn’t sure she cared, but Torchay obviously did. “Come here. I’ll braid your hair for you.”

He sat and presented his back to her. “Take off your gloves. You’ll never get it tight enough if you leave them on.”

“All right, but if you get shocked, it’s your own fault.” She pulled them off as she stood, taking the comb he handed her.

She’d done this hundreds of times, not as often as Torchay had done her hair, but often. Had his hair always felt so silky? Had the natural waves he hated always curled around her fingers like that? Refusing to allow herself to linger over the task, Kallista divided his hair and set to work, pulling it tight as she twisted the red, red locks over each other. Briskly she tied it off and stepped back, taking up her gloves again.

She climbed back into bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle, and closed her eyes. Concentration would be difficult enough without having to look at Torchay. She focused on Belandra as she had last seen her, filling her mind with the image of the red-haired woman. When the details were complete, Kallista called. Magic grew, filling the air with crackling power. Then it fell into an endless depth, and vanished.

CHAPTER NINE

K
allista reached, shouting for Belandra. Nothing. No answer. Not even an echo of her call from the void.

“Is she here?” Torchay’s question brought her eyes open.

Maybe she just missed the answer. But the room lay empty of anyone but Torchay, Aisse and herself. “No.”

“But I felt the magic—”

“Did you?” She gave him a sharp look. He’d said before that he could tell when she called magic. “Most people can’t, people without their own magic. Have you always been able to tell?”

“Not always. Try again.” He held his hand out. “Without the gloves. Maybe they interfered.”

“When did you start, when did you first feel it?” Kallista pulled the gloves off again and handed them over. Good thing the leather was so soft or her hands would be abraded raw by now with all the putting-on and taking-off.

“After I got out of healer’s hall, that time I was gutted. Try it now.”

“So, if there’s any magic floating around, you can sense it?” She dried her sweaty hands on the sheet and settled again.

“Not any magic. Just yours.”

“That’s strange.”

Torchay shrugged. “Maybe so. Try it. Call her.”

Giving in to his persistence, Kallista closed her eyes and went through the whole process again. And again nothing happened. The magic dropped away into emptiness.

“Well?”

Kallista sprang off the bed, snatching her gloves from his belt. She reminded herself that it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t do it right. “Nothing. It’s not working. It’s—the magic just…vanishes.”

“What happened before, when she came before?” Torchay found the tunic she hunted and gave it to her. “What did you do then?”

“Nothing.” She pulled the tunic on over the chemise. “I didn’t do anything. She was just there.”

“Are you sure? Think.”

“Of course I’m sure.” She snatched up the comb and dragged it once through her hair before Torchay took it away from her. She bowed her head to give him access. “We’d been quarreling, remember? I…” She searched her memory. “I got the ring out of my pocket, put it on, and she was there.”

Kallista pulled off her glove, removed the rose signet ring from her finger and shoved it back on, looking expectantly around the cabin. Torchay paused, holding her hair in one hand. “Nothing,” she said yet again.

“Damn.” He tied it off, combing the lower layer of hair down over the mark on her neck. “What could be wrong?”

She held on to her temper with both hands, stepping away from him. “Don’t you think I’d be doing it if I knew?”

“Yes, of course you would. I’m just trying to think.”

She
hated
this. Her new awareness of Torchay, added to all the rest that had gone wrong, would make her crazed. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t sleep well and—”

“Why not? Trouble breathing?”

“No, nothing like that. I—kept waking up. And I’m hungry.”

He grinned. “That always makes you short-tempered.
Aisse
.”

The quickness of the Tibran woman’s response said she’d been feigning sleep. She bowed and lifted her eyes to his—a feat that had taken several days’ instruction.

“Clean up,” he said slowly, indicating the cabin. “I’m going for food. Make ready.”

Kallista raised an eyebrow. “You’re trusting her with me?”

“You’re awake.” He made a show of studying their disparate heights, Kallista almost a head taller than the tiny Tibran woman. “I think you can take her if she attacks. Your blade is as sharp as mine.”

Because he’d sharpened it for her. He’d also drilled her in its use. She would never be as proficient as he, but she could hold her own against any but a bodyguard, and such a battle would never happen. Not outside practice.

Belandra didn’t appear before Torchay returned with the meal. Nor did she turn up all during the morning. Or in the afternoon. Or evening.

“I don’t understand,” Kallista complained late that night as she stripped off her gloves, boots and tunic, handing them one by one to Torchay. “She said I had
summoned
her. She said I could do it again after Hopeday had passed. But the newt-eating daughter of a goat didn’t tell me
how
I could do it.”

“You can try again tomorrow.” Torchay arranged her belongings to suit him and pulled off his own tunic.

“I can’t bear being stuck in this cabin again all day tomorrow. No.” She climbed onto the bed, trying her best not to look at Torchay and failing miserably. Goddess, he was lovely. “No, I’m not calling her again. I’ve called. If she wants to answer, fine. If not–I don’t need her. We’re doing just fine on our own.”

“Are we?” He sounded skeptical, and doubtless looked more so, but she turned her face resolutely to the wall.

“Well enough,” she said. “What else can we do?”

Torchay sighed as he lay down and settled his back against hers. “I wish I knew.”

Two days later, at dawn on Seconday, the
Taolind Runner
pulled into dock at Turysh. Kallista left the boat around noon. She’d done most of her sleeping lately after Torchay rose, not nearly enough of it. He’d doubtless sharpened all his knives to slivers waiting for her to wake. Served him right. But they were in Turysh now and she could work this itch out of her system.

Kallista took a shallow dockside breath. Same familiar reek of new tar and old fish. She turned, surveying the long stretch of docks on both banks, boats bobbing alongside in all sizes, from the big downriver boats like the
Runner
and the smaller upriver boats like the one that would take them on to Boren, to the rowboats for individual use. People, men and women both, thronged the piers, loading and unloading, bargaining for goods, arguing, laughing. Living. Save for the bubble of space around her own small party.