Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (23 page)

"When you say 'deal with this man'..."

"I want him dead," Arisanat said baldly. "Him and anyone with him."

To his relief, Lail didn't recoil. She held his gaze for several heartbeats before giving him a slight smile. "And who is this man?"

Arisanat took a slow breath. This was the most delicate part of the operation. He couldn't lie to the woman, not if he wanted her to kill the right man. But telling her the truth risked her discovering his identity, were she overcurious.

"He goes by the name of Jacin Hawk. He'll be traveling from here to Meekin by horse. He should be alone, but I can't guarantee it."

Lail showed no sign of recognizing the name. "Why this fella? Why does he need to die?"

"Never you mind," Arisanat said. He selected several gold pieces from his purse and stacked them on the table, careful to block them with his body so no one away from this group would be able to see them. Then he withdrew a piece of paper that crackled as he unfolded it. "I am willing to pay enough that you forget your questions."

"Jae." Lail jerked her chin and a boy who looked to be fourteen or fifteen reached across the table and took the paper. Arisanat studied the boy while he turned the paper and squinted at it. His skin was a lighter tan than Lail's, his narrowed eyes the same green as hers; but his hair was the thick, straight black of the one-eyed man's hair. Their son, Arisanat guessed.

"It says he's got a sum on draft for us, if we complete the work. Present a sword and dagger to the holder and we'll get a thousand gold." Jae lifted his head to stare at Arisanat. "No one's got that kind of money sitting around."

"I have," Arisanat said. "And I will warn you, if you do not bring Jacin Hawk's sword and dagger, you will not receive a copper. The holder of this draft knows what names are engraved on those blades."

"This sounds like it's more than something personal," the one-eyed man said. He put a hand on Jae's shoulder. "A thousand gold is all well and good, if we're alive and well to spend it. But anyone willing to spend that kind of money on one man's death has a big reason for doing it." He exchanged a glance with Lail. "What if the Crown wants to know why we killed him?"

Arisanat let a slow smile cross his face. He'd anticipated this question. He drew out another token from his purse. It was the genuine article, though he didn't expect they would realize it. "Then you tell the Crown that you are about the Crown's business," he said, flipping the token to the one-eyed man.

"Looks good enough," the man said. "Jae, who holds the draft?"

"Vinga," the boy said.

Lail stood. "We'll take the job—provided Vinga authenticates the draft. If there are really a thousand gold waiting at Vinga's, your Jacin Hawk will be dead before the week's out."

Arisanat stood as well and extended a hand. "I'm glad to hear it."

She ignored the outstretched hand. "It'll be this crew, minus Jae. He stays in Rivarden. You change your mind in the next day, you send word to him, but you'd better send word to Vinga that we keep a day's wage out of that thousand." She gave him a smile full of teeth. "You change your mind two days from now, and it's too late."

Arisanat nodded and strode away.

When he arrived back at the Governor's Mansion, the prince's party was assembled and ready to ride out. Emran Kho was striding around snapping out terse orders. He glared at Arisanat but a moment later collected himself enough to bow.

"My Lord Burojan. The prince has been asking for you. Your servants brought out your luggage, but they didn't know where you had gone."

Arisanat held up a package that he'd purchased in the Hive on his way back. "I promised my sister I would bring her back some Kreydeni spices. I thought it would be faster if I went to purchase them and left my servants packing." He gave Kho a pleasant smile. "Which seems to have been correct. I am ready to leave at his highness' pleasure."

Chapter 17

Azmei woke with the early sun in her eyes. She stretched and sighed, and a heartbeat later she jumped to her feet and swore. She'd slept later than she had intended. Master Tanvel had the uncanny ability to decide when he wanted to wake. Azmei had always contented herself with small tricks like drinking too much water before sleeping, or lying down with her face turned to the east, but over the past year she had at last begun waking every hour or two all night.

Not last night. Perhaps it had been her midnight waking from Yarro's screams, but she had slept at least half the night without waking. She turned to the north, where Firefoot was browsing at the brushes near the spot where Yarro had camped. The boy must have been exhausted. He wasn't used to traveling all day, certainly not used to being in the saddle for such long stretches, if everything she'd observed was correct. He wouldn't have woken so early.

Azmei took a few minutes to stretch and work the life back into her muscles. She found her way to the stream she had heard last night and refilled her water flasks. She ate some dried meat and a hard biscuit while she waited for her water to heat for tea. It was enough to make her laugh, thinking of the breakfasts she had demanded when she was still a princess. How different this breakfast was to the ones she had eaten in the palace. But at some point in the past three years, she had grown to prefer this sort of breakfast.

Except for the lack of coffee. She had never realized how difficult it could be to get good coffee. She drank it in inns, but it was too much trouble to travel with it.

When the tea was brewing, she stepped lightly over to the bay horse. He put back his ears and bared his teeth at her, but she merely set out a few sweets and poured a pan of oats for him. As soon as the horse was satisfied Azmei wasn't going to try to catch him, he eased his way over to the oats and began munching on them.

Azmei found Yarro sprawled out on the ground some distance away. Apparently he hadn't seen the need to tether Firefoot, any more than he'd seen the need for a fire or a proper camp. Azmei shrugged. The horse hadn't wandered off, so perhaps there was something to the bond Yarro had claimed between them. Either way, he ought to be taught to brush the horse. She could see streaks on the horse's flanks where his sweat had dried untouched.

Shaking her head, she went back to her camp for a brush. It took her a few minutes to get close enough to Firefoot that he would let her touch him, but as soon as he felt the brush against his itchy sides, he let out a horsey groan and leaned into her touch. Azmei was still brushing him when Yarro shifted and sat up. She didn't turn to look at him, but she was aware of his movements.

"I suppose you had grooms where you grew up," she said, "but anyone who rides as well as you ought to know a horse should always be brushed dry at the end of a long day."

"Why are you following me?" he snarled. "I should eat you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Clearly you like mornings even less than I do," she remarked, and ran the brush one last time down Firefoot's neck. The horse snorted and stepped away from her, walking delicately over to rest his nose on the top of Yarro's head. It made the boy smile, which made Azmei feel a bit better about him.

"I don't think you should follow me," Yarro said. He wasn't looking at her.

"I told you last night, I'm on my way to Rivarden," Azmei lied. "This is the way to get there."

"Then why are you bothering me now?" He sat cross-legged and poked at one knee.

"Your horse was wandering around untethered and ungroomed. I thought maybe you could use some help." She tilted her head to one side, trying on a smile. "Maybe you
do
need a guide. If you're going this way, we could travel together for a while, at least. I could teach you how to brush your horse and build a campfire."

"I know how to do those things!" he flared. His gaze flickered up at her but dropped again.

She held in a sigh. How had Orya, of all people, had the patience to deal with Yarro? He looked to be about seventeen, but he acted as if he were twelve. "Very well, then I'll share the work with you. Two people traveling alone need two campfires, but two people traveling together only need one. That leaves the other person free to brush the horses while the first builds the fire and cooks. We could help each other."

"You don't even know where I'm going."

Gods above and below, now he was sulking! "No, I don't. But for the moment, at least, you seem to be going the same direction I'm going." She paused, wondering if she should appeal to his manliness. Most teenage boys would like the idea of protecting a woman. But she didn't know enough about Yarro to tell whether he would be that sort of boy or not.

He was scowling at the ground in front of his knees, rocking in place just slightly. He almost looked like he was having a conversation with himself. Azmei waited a few minutes, then shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself," she said, and went back to her camp.

She would give him some time to think about it while she took care of her own needs. She poured a cup of tea and sat near the fire to drink it. The morning was damp, the chill creeping along her skin and raising chill bumps. She held the cup under her nose and closed her eyes, trying to summon the calm required to commune with the peace god. Perhaps meditation would show Yarro that she wasn't dangerous.

God of peace, grant me your serenity
, she thought.
Give me patience and grace for this boy
. She had to remember, he'd been raised in a family that appeared to be largely without love or friendship, and he was a very different sort of person than those people. If Orya had been the most loving person in his life, he must have wanted for affection a great deal.

Before she'd finished her cup of tea, she heard his footsteps crunching on the sandy ground. She opened her eyes as he stopped about ten feet away, the fire between them.

"I think I'll give you a chance," he said. "I'm not telling you where I'm going."

Azmei rested her cup on her thigh. "That's quite all right."

"And I don't think you should touch Firefoot. He doesn't like it. He might bite you."

She grinned at that. "I'm perfectly happy to leave Firefoot to you. Does that mean you want me to build the fire and cook this evening?"

He turned his head to one side, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "Maybe. First you'll have to prove you're okay to trust."

"How am I going to do that?"

He shrugged. "Don't be untrustworthy."

"I suppose that's the best way to go about it," Azmei agreed. He was a strange boy, but perhaps they could get along well enough. "Have you had breakfast?"

He appeared to think about that for a moment. "You know I haven't. You woke me up."

"You might have eaten while I was praying," she said. "Here, I have dried meat. I didn't bother with meal or porridge since it was just me, but tomorrow morning I could make a real breakfast. If you cook the meat in the porridge it tastes pretty good."

He shrugged and crouched where he was. "You don't have to give me food. I have food."

"I don't mind sharing," she said. "And maybe that way you'll also share with me in return."

"Maybe." He was silent for a minute, then moved close enough to take the meat she had offered. "Your name is Aevver."

She nodded. "And yours is Yarro."

"My sister named me that. She was eight when I was born. She was my favorite person in the whole world."

Sleeping gods, how sad that was. Azmei sipped her tea to give herself a moment to steady her composure. She hadn't killed Orya, though she had damn well tried. It had been Orya's cohort, the second assassin, who had killed Orya when she failed to kill Azmei. All the same, Azmei felt somehow ridiculously responsible for Yarro's sister being dead.

She tried to kill me
, she reminded herself.
And she all but succeeded.

"She isn't your favorite person anymore?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

"She died." Yarro thought about that. "She might have died. Grandfather said she died. But then Ri—someone thought she might still be alive, but hiding. I don't know. If she left me alone on purpose, then she's not my favorite person."

"That," Azmei said, "is perfectly understandable."

***

Yarro wasn't sure what he thought of the woman Aevver Balearic.

He flicked a glance at her. She was riding to his right, a comfortable distance away when the trail was wide, and falling behind him when it narrowed. She sat on her horse like the day of riding yesterday didn't trouble her at all. Perhaps it didn't. Yar had groaned aloud when he swung into the saddle. He was sore in places he hadn't even known he had.

Aevver saw his glance and smiled at him. Yar cut his gaze away again, feeling his cheeks get hot. On the one hand, she had been kind to him several times now. When they met at the horse trader's in Meekin, she had tried to protect him from what she thought was a mean horse. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know about Yar's vision of Firefoot. And last night she had woken him from a terrible nightmare wherein Orya's face was a mask of blood as she told him she was protecting him by staying dead and that the Voices were leading him to doom. And even this morning, she had fed and brushed Firefoot and then offered Yar breakfast.

On the other hand, the Voices were certain, and Yar believed them, that Aevver was lying about not following him. She was definitely following him. But why? Even the Voices weren't sure about that, and when Yar asked if they were in Rivarden, they only told him to follow. So Aevver must not be searching for them, unless she was lying about where Rivarden was.

Maybe she was. Yar had heard of a city called Rivarden, but he had never paid much attention to maps before. He'd never expected to need to. If he was going somewhere, Orya knew it already. Once Orya left, once Orya was dead, Yar never went anywhere, so it didn't matter where places were.

He'd bought a map in Meekin, but he hadn't bothered to look at it so far. He was following the Voices, and they were leading him with teasing and cajoling. Firefoot seemed almost to know where they were going, as well. He certainly didn't seem to require much guidance from Yar.

COME, LITTLE BROTHER, chuckled one of the Voices. YOU SHOULD BELIEVE MORE IN YOUR OWN SKILL. YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING, AND YOU ARE COMMUNICATING THAT TO HIM.

How?
Yar thought back at the Voice.
Does he understand me like you do?

The Voice laughed outright, the sound booming painfully in Yar's ears and bouncing around inside his skull. He winced. NOTHING UNDERSTANDS YOU LIKE WE DO. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOU LIKE WE DO. BUT FIREFOOT WAS DESTINED TO BE WITH YOU, AND YOU WERE DESTINED TO COME TO US. IF HE IS TO BE YOUR COMPANION, HE MUST BE SPECIAL. Yar got the impression of the Voice licking his lips. EVEN IF HE WOULD BE TASTY TO EAT, WE WILL NOT LET THE HUNGRY ONE EAT HIM, SINCE HE IS YOUR COMPANION.

Thank you very much
, Yar thought, hoping he didn't sound as annoyed as he felt. How generous of the Voices to promise they wouldn't eat his horse!

He realized Aevver's idle stream of conversation had faltered. How long ago, he wondered. She liked to talk more than Orya did, though not as much as Tish. Had he missed something she'd said to him?

He glanced over at her. She wasn't looking at him. She was shielding her eyes against the rays of the sun, which was not quite directly overhead yet. Her golden eyes were intent upon whatever she saw in the distance. Yar turned to look that way, but he couldn't make out whatever had attracted her attention. He didn't want to ask, so he just rode in silence, straining his eyes for anything that might seem interesting or threatening to a woman who carried so many blades.

A flash of light sparkled in his vision. Yar squinted and looked up, and then white light flooded the whole world.

Thunder rumbled in his head and he saw the woman Aevver drawing her swords. A dove swooped down from the sky to seize Aevver in its talons—no, to land on her shoulder—no, to fall bleeding under her blades. Firefoot neighed a defiant or fearful challenge. A great, dark bulk rose into the sky, so tall it blocked out everything else, and so wide Yar couldn't see around it.

Something howled—was it the wind? Was it the dark bulk? Was it Yar?

A white city rose from the middle of the ocean, water splashing around the base of its walls. The sun shone on it, but dark clouds were gathering all around until a single ray of light was all that touched the white stone at the very tip of the topmost tower. Then the darkness swallowed all of it.

A great wind rose, pushing at him, buffeting him from all directions. He saw the flash of lightning and heard someone screaming. Keening. Crying.

A man with eyes like coal embers stared at him from a grief-shadowed face. His dark hair fell into his eyes and evening shadow darkened his jaw. There were deep purple streaks under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow. The man's sharp nose made him look dangerous despite his sad eyes.

That dark bulk slammed into him, carrying off his balance as it flew past him and disappeared in the blackness of the storm.

Someone repeating his name. His name. His name.