Songs of the Earth (45 page)

‘Not at all, but the desert way gives the closest finish. It’s the berassa oil. If I could find a shop here that sold it, I could give you the best shave you’ve ever had.’

He smiled. ‘Modest as well as beautiful.’

Aysha rolled her eyes. ‘I should warn you, Leahn, I outgrew
The Summer Knight and the Snow Queen
when I was nine. If you start composing sonnets it will go badly for you.’

‘That book’s not a very accurate depiction of the life of a Knight, you know.’

‘Just as well. I’m not a very accurate depiction of a lady,’ she said, and drew him down.

Gair lost himself in her mouth. He should have been exhausted from their coupling, but her hands gliding over him erased any fatigue. In no time he was hard again, more than ready for her. She arched her back, pushing her breasts towards his mouth. He closed his lips around first one berry-dark nipple, then the other.

‘Stay with me,’ she whispered when he lifted his head. ‘Stay the night.’

Above them, the mantel clock chimed a soft Second.

‘It’s getting late.’ Goddess knew he didn’t want to leave.

‘Late is only early seen from the other side.’ She hooked a heel behind his knee and pulled his thigh between hers. Kisses nuzzled his neck, his throat. ‘I’ll make sure you’re on time for your tutorials.’

‘Won’t people ask questions? I mean, a student in the Masters’ wing first thing in the morning?’

She tilted her hips up and took him inside.

He groaned.

‘Let them ask,’ she said. ‘It’s none of their damned business.’

We begin our march tomorrow, at first light. It will be hard, near on five hundred miles and three weeks in which to do it, but if the siege is to be lifted before the city starves, we have no other choice. Gwlach’s sorceresses cannot be allowed to continue like this
.

I am astonished by their ferocity. I had no conception that women could be induced to perform such acts of brutality. I know that the female of any species can be provoked to defend her offspring, her mate, but these women are under no provocation at all. They simply raise their hands at their chief’s command and blood rains down
.

Ansel laid his head back and closed his eyes. In the light of a single candle, Malthus’ small, precise script was difficult to read. Daylight was better, but the days were so short now in the heel of the year and he had so little time in between the duties of his office to read through the three volumes that Alquist had found. So candlelight it had to be, and late in the evening when his secretary had gone to bed and it was unlikely anyone would come to disturb him and learn that he had smuggled them out of the archive. No doubt Vorgis would discover their absence eventually, but the keeper seemed to be more concerned that nothing in the archive was disturbed than in maintaining an accurate register of what was there and what was not. He hoped it would be enough time.

This evening, I asked the First Knight to join me for supper. It occurred to me that I knew very little of the man beneath the white surcoat. I know the Knight, whom the men call Fellbane, who rides at my right hand and whose sword I have relied on these past ten years, but I know nothing of the man. I do not know if he was wed or had a family, another life before he received his calling. I do not know if he plays chess, or can fashion things from wood or metal with his hands. In a few short days I must ask him to die and all I know of him is that his shield is first in the air above my head when arrows darken the sky. If I do not know him, the words of the eulogy will be ashes in my throat
.

The
Morning Star
’s motion was easier now that she had rounded the Horn of Bregorin and gained the wide waters of the Western Sea. The long, slow swells of the ocean had rocked Masen as gently as a babe in his cradle and he had slept the night through for the first time in weeks.

He looked up at the beams overhead, spangled with reflections from the dancing seas outside, and wished he didn’t have to move. He wanted to stay in those few seconds after waking, where all was warmth and contentment and the horrors he had seen were only a memory from another lifetime. But he couldn’t ignore the urgency of his mission, no matter how much he wanted to. All things had to end eventually.

Masen turned onto his side. K’shelia sat on the edge of the bunk, naked as a peeled switch, stroking a comb through her silvery hair. He watched the ripple of muscle in her back and arm, remembering. Reaching out, he ran his fingertip down the furrow of her spine.

She shot a smile over her shoulder.
We are almost within hailing distance
.

Thank you
. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

K’shelia flicked her hair over her other shoulder to comb that side. Jade eyes lingered on him, tracing the shape of the muscles
layering his torso and the many scars that seamed them. Her own skin was as flawless as a pearl.
You sleep soundly
.

The bosom of the waves makes a fine pillow, my lady
.

A flicker of uncertainty darkened her gaze and she lowered her comb.
You jest at my expense, yes? I am unfamiliar with your humour
.

I did not jest
. Kneeling behind her he put his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
I meant it most sincerely, in every sense of the words
.

Slowly he slid his hands up to her breasts. They were small enough that his square palms smothered them.

K’shelia laid her head back, long pale hands covering his as he caressed her. Her touch was cool, and delicate as snowflakes.
It has been … interesting. I will think fondly of you, Masen
.

And I will miss you too, Shipsinger. Whenever I find myself on open water
. The golden buds of her nipples had firmed to points. He plucked at them gently, making her breath catch.

Is there time?

There is always time for love
.

Then just once more, for remembrance?

Masen kissed her slender neck. She smelled of the sea, of salt and wind. Even her skin tasted clean. He let his right hand drift over her belly down to the junction of her thighs. She opened them a little and he dipped his fingers into the silky folds of her sex. The ivory comb clattered to the floor.

Later, when he came up on deck and she stood at the tiller next to him, her eyes were composed and remote again. There was not even a flush in her cheek to betray what they had shared. That saddened him a little; he had always striven to leave his bedmates glowing with lust or laughter, or both, if he could manage it. But he had never taken a sea-elf to his blankets before, and their souls were as deep as the oceans they roamed. She might not show anything now, but he would always have the memory of what he had seen and heard in her arms.

Show me the sigil of your friend and I will attempt to reach him
.

Thank you, my lady
. Masen showed her the pattern of colours he sought.

How far away are we?

Two days, if this wind holds
.

It has taken longer than I’d hoped
.

Even I cannot Sing the
Star
into the teeth of the wind, Masen. She has done her best
.

I know. I am grateful beyond words. For everything you have done for me
. Did he imagine it, or was there a trace of a smile? There and gone, fleeting as the sparkle on the crown of a wave? He could not be sure, but there was no mistaking the brush of her colours against his thoughts, as intimate as a caress. No disguising the glow there.

Let me know when you have established contact and I will give you the message to send. We have no more time to lose
.

‘You have very nice hair for a boy,’ said Aysha, combing it through.

‘Thank you.’ Gair adjusted the towel around his shoulders. ‘You have very short hair for a girl.’

‘I cut it short when I lived in the souq. It made things easier if I looked like a boy. I got to like it.’

‘You cannot expect me to believe that you ever passed for a boy.’ Reaching round behind him, he ran his hand over the seat of her breeches.

She rapped his crown with the comb. ‘Behave. When I was young I was as flat as a freshly pressed shirt. The curves came later.’ The razor hissed over the comb. ‘Anyway, I haven’t the patience to look after long hair. All that primping in front of a mirror – I’d rather have my fingernails pulled.’

Cut hair sifted down to the bathroom floor around Gair’s stool as she combed and trimmed and combed some more. He watched
her in the mirror on the wall. Her hands moved quickly, deftly, the blade flashing in her fingers.

He’d never had his hair cut by a woman before, not even as a child. Even considering the woman was the same one on his pillow when he opened his eyes that morning, and each of the two mornings before – and saints, he was still waiting to wake from that dream – it was a remarkably intimate experience. Her fingers moving through his hair, over his scalp, left his spine tingling. The sensation so absorbed him that several seconds had passed before he realised she had looked up and was watching him watching her.

Her lips barely twitched, but the crinkle at the corner of her eyes betrayed her amusement.

‘So.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Why was it better to be a boy in the souq?’

‘It was safer,’ she said. ‘Young girls with no parents were sought after, even crippled ones.’

‘I’m almost afraid to ask.’

‘Goddess, you’re such an innocent. For the pleasure-houses, of course.’

‘Oh, of course.’ Gair’s ears burned. He should have realised, despite his cloistered education. He had been too young to take much of an interest at the time, but he’d seen them in Leahaven, certain poised, elegant women who kept their complexions pale with parasols and who could collect the attention of every male over the age of twelve and a dark stare from every female just by walking down the street.

‘I was friends with one or two of them,’ Aysha went on, combing out another section of hair. ‘They told me it wasn’t such a bad life in the better houses. They had fine clothes, their rooms were decorated in silks, and there were toughs on the door in case any of the patrons cut up rough. They even got a share of their price. Not all the houses were so civilised.’