The Grand Design (58 page)

She was almost nude now. Beneath his palms he felt her fear. She was a child again, a fearful virgin. He tried to catch himself but couldn’t, and when his hand
slipped over her breast he heard the most appalling cry. J’lari froze. Prakna stopped his skating hands, holding his breath. In his ear rang a whispered prayer, barely audible.

“Oh, God, help me. Please …”

Prakna held his wife against him.

On and on she cried, as if he weren’t there at all, as if she were in a church on her knees before God. He didn’t dare look at her. He didn’t need to see her face. The wetness of her tears already stained his shirt. J’lari’s shaking voice was all he heard, drowning all his pleasure. The lust that had seized him vanished in a flash, and all he felt was pity for the woman on her knees. Across the bedroom stood a mirror. He could see her nakedness reflected there, and the wretched astonishment of his own expression. He looked old. J’lari shivered. Prakna stooped and scooped his wife up in his arms, easily lifting her feather-weight, and placed her gently on the bed. She wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly. She wrapped her arms around her breasts to hide them. “Prakna, forgive me.…”

“Hush,” cooed Prakna. Carefully he pulled up the sheets and covered her. Afraid to touch her, he hovered over the bed. “Rest now, J’lari. Just rest. I’m home.”

J’lari quickly nodded. “Yes, home. You’re with me. You’ll stay with me.” Still she wouldn’t open her eyes. She brought the sheets up around her face, ashamed of herself, burying her painted mouth beneath the lace. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” said Prakna easily. “I’ll sit with you. We’ll just sit, all right?”

“Don’t leave me. Not now or ever.”

“Never is a long time, my love.”

“The Jackal is here now. He’ll deal with Nar for you. We can be together. Finally.”

Prakna looked away, not wanting J’lari to see him.
It had all been over too quickly—her buoyant mood, the perfect meal, the perfume. All too soon the wife he’d left behind had re-emerged. He loved her for her valiant effort, but inwardly he cursed her and her wounded heart. It wasn’t grief anymore. It was more like dementia, and Prakna knew his wife could never be the woman he’d married.

“Don’t talk, love,” he said. “It’s been a long day for us both. You just sleep. I’ll watch over you. We’ll talk more in the morning, if you like. I’ll take you for a walk.”

J’lari opened her eyes, and in a moment of clarity smiled at him. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Truly. I’m not a woman fit for you.”

“You have always been more than enough woman for me,” said Prakna. “It’s what makes me return to you always. You draw me from across the world, J’lari.”

His wife laughed lightly. “You always do come back. Sometimes I wonder why.”

“Don’t wonder,” he said gently. He took the risk of touching her hand. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“You needn’t go anymore. The Jackal can do the work for you.” Her tone was earnest and imploring. “Let the young men do the fighting now, husband. Let’s just stay together. Would that be so impossible?”

Prakna couldn’t find his voice. “J’lari …”

“The Jackal has enough hate for all of us,” she reminded him. “You told me so yourself. He doesn’t need you, Prakna. Not like I do.”

“The memory of our sons needs me,” said Prakna. “I can’t let a stranger avenge them. That’s
my
duty. And my honor.”

J’lari nodded. It was an impossible argument and she knew it. “I love you,” she said simply. “You’re all that I have.”

Prakna grimaced. It was true for both of them. J’lari truly was his better half. The other half was rigid and
dead, animated only by revenge. He didn’t want to leave her, not precisely. He wanted to return to Liss with Naren heads on his belt, and spend the rest of his life with her, satisfied that he had done his best. Liss called him a hero, but in his mind there was still much to prove. His sons demanded action.

“Close your eyes,” he bade his wife. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Will you stay with me?” asked J’lari.

“If you like.”

J’lari nodded, then closed her eyes. Prakna sat down beside her on the bed, watching her in the moonlight. Her breath was short at first, but soon it steadied and grew placid, and the muscles in her face relaxed, making her beautiful again. In a few short minutes she was asleep, gone into some troubled dream-land. Prakna slowly lifted himself from the bed. She stirred at his movements but did not awaken, so he padded to the door and opened it. On the table in their living area was the dahlia he had brought her. He picked it up, admired it for a moment, then returned silently to the bedchamber. J’lari’s head was turned away from him. He stared at her, then put the fragrant gift beside her on the pillow. When he did, the familiar chant of the cenotaph entered his mind. It was a bleak chant, a prayer that was always spoken whenever placing offerings at the monument. Somehow it seemed fitting when he looked at his wife.

“Flowers for the dead,” he whispered, then turned and left the room.

L
ike her mother and father, Shani Vantran was an independent thinker. She didn’t eat when Simon gave her food, she didn’t sleep when it got dark. The constant rocking of the ship didn’t make her sick, but she vomited whenever Simon tried to feed her. Not only did she have Richius’ round eyes, she shared his moody temperament as well. She was, in Simon’s opinion, a demonic one-year-old, and more of a handful than he had ever imagined.

Since leaving Falindar, Shani had shared Simon’s cramped cabin, and the two had become less than genial to each other. Simon had done his best to make the child happy, but she was homesick and in shock over the loss of her parents, and the Naren warship frightened her and made her irritable. She ate sparingly, pushing most of her food onto the floor, and drank only enough to keep her little body from withering. Her color was good but her mood was irascible, and Simon knew she resented him. In that strange way children have of reading minds, she seemed to know Simon’s crimes, and held him accountable.

Simon himself was no less choleric. The guilt that he wanted to leave behind in Lucel-Lor had followed him across the sea, sometimes waking him at night, and always suppressing his appetite. He ate even less than Shani did, and had spent a good deal of the voyage
with his head in a bucket or hanging over the rails above deck. Rough seas had turned his legs to water and made his bowels diarrhetic. After two weeks at sea, he no longer dreamed of women or fresh food. Now his dreams were nightmares, populated with sea monsters and Biagio’s golden face, taunting him. He dreamed of solid land that melted into quicksand and great gales that dragged the
Intimidator
beneath the waves, and he often awoke in his own sweat, stinking of the sea.

Three days ago, they had passed Liss, swinging wide around the Hundred Isles so that none of the schooners would sight them. They were in deep, dangerous waters, far from land and approaching the Cape of Casarhoon. Another week, maybe more, and they would be in Crote. Biagio would have his prize. And Simon would have Eris, a thought that gave him little solace. He thought of Eris often during the long hours of the journey, but they were always fractured memories, tainted by the evil thing he was doing.

Tonight, like every night, Simon sat in his chamber, preparing a bowl of food for Shani. The single porthole in his chamber let in a ribbon of light, faltering as the sun dipped beneath the waves. It was dark and cramped, with only a little candle burning in a dish for illumination. Shani sat on the floor, banging away with a toy he had given her—a curious-looking ship’s ornament he had snapped off the deck when no one was looking. This one was the carved figure of a mermaid. Once the wooden toy had embellished the forecastle, but not anymore. Now it helped to preoccupy the little girl, who chewed on the mermaid’s finned tail and rolled it across the floor in an effort to ease her boredom. Simon watched Shani bang the toy against the floor as he mixed her a porridge of bread and raisins, sweetened with a little sugar. Sugar was the only thing he could get her to eat, but they were nearing the end of their voyage and were running low on everything,
so this time he sprinkled only a pinch into the mush and hoped she wouldn’t notice. He stuck his finger into the bowl to test the porridge, wincing at its awfulness. If Shani were only a little older, he would have tried more solid food on her. But she still had a one-year-old’s teeth, so the ship’s dried meats and bread were out of the question. Everything she ate needed to be soaked in fresh water, all but the milk, and even that made her turn her nose up.

“You’re a spoiled little brat,” he said to her with a smile. She looked up at him and scowled. “Yes,” he laughed. “You know you are, don’t you?”

She had a beautiful face, like her mother, and fine, fawn hair that fell loosely over her eyes. A brilliant smile that rarely appeared made her look like an angel. No wonder she had been the light of her parents’ life. Simon looked back into the bowl of porridge, stirring it absently. With luck, she would eat some of it and let him get some rest tonight. He himself would skip dinner. It hardly mattered, since everything he ate eventually came sluicing back out. He had lost weight again, dropping all the pounds he had gained in Falindar. He missed the good cooking of the Triin and the citadel’s abundance. He missed fresh fruit and spring water and having a room that didn’t sway.

“Tell you what, Shani,” Simon said as he worked. “You don’t keep me up all night crying, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you another toy. I think N’Dek has another mermaid somewhere on this ship. What do you say?”

Shani gave him a blank expression.

“Mmm, looks good, huh?” he asked. He lifted the spoon and let a ribbon of mush dribble back into the bowl. “Simon loves this. Good stuff.”

More awkward silence from the child. Simon brought her food over to her, sitting down with her on the cold floor. He pretended to taste the bread porridge.

“Oh, that’s good,” he said brightly. “You want some?”

As usual, Shani took a sniff at the spoon and made a disgusted face. Her hand came up and pushed the spoon away, spilling some of the mush onto Simon’s lap. Simon grimaced, shaking his head. The little girl was exasperating. How the hell did Dyana deal with her?

“It’s all we’ve got, girl,” he told her. “If you don’t eat you’ll just go hungry.”

Shani looked at him blankly.

“You don’t care? All right, but don’t come crying to me when you’re stomach is empty. It’s still a good distance to Crote, and days before either of us gets anything decent to eat.”

The statement only depressed Simon more. Days from solid land and edible food. N’Dek and his crew were bottomless pits, able to scoff down any scraps they could get their hands on, but Simon had lived too long in Crote. He was used to Biagio’s kitchens and abundant pantries. Surrendering, he dropped the spoon into the bowl and shoved the porridge aside, staring at Shani. Already she had returned her attention to her mermaid, oblivious to him. At first she had clung to him for protection, but she had quickly learned that no one else on board would hurt her, and so she risked alienating her only friend.

“I’m not happy about this, you know,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I had a choice.”

She wasn’t listening. Suddenly angry, Simon snatched her toy away. The action brought a chorus of cries from the girl, who grasped awkwardly for the mermaid while Simon held it just out of reach.

“No, listen to me,” he scolded. “Listen or I won’t give it back. I’m trying to tell you something, damn it.”

More insistent cries. Simon shook his head, taunting her, dangling her toy in front of her.

“Be good, or I won’t let you have it.”

Shani stopped grabbing for it, frowned at Simon, then turned her back on him. Simon laughed in spite of himself.

“All right,” he chuckled. “Here, I give up.” He slid the wooden mermaid across the floor to her. Greedily she snatched it up, and in return for his gesture gave him her attention.

“Oh, so you’ll listen to me now, huh? That’s fine. Thanks so much.”

He clasped his hands onto his lap and leaned back, trying to get comfortable. Shani watched him curiously, as if waiting for a bedtime story.

“Look, girl, I just want you to believe me. I’m a bad man, I admit that. But I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought I had a choice. I don’t. If I don’t bring you to Biagio, he’ll kill my woman, and I can’t allow that. Can you understand what I’m saying? It’s just the way life is. I don’t know or care about you, but I care about Eris, so you lose. Right?”

Shani stared at him.

“Your father made a tough choice too, you know. Just like me. He could have stayed with you and your mother, but there was something eating him alive, something he
couldn’t
ignore. It’s like that for me, too. I love Eris. And if anything happened to her, I’d …”

Simon stopped himself. He was thinking of Dyana, and the loss he had inflicted on her.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said softly. He reached out for Shani’s soft hair, loving the feel of it between his fingers. As occasionally happened, Shani leaned into him, wanting more. Simon smiled sadly at her.