The Quartered Sea (26 page)

Tul Altun needed him in a way his parents and his village hadn't with three older brothers who so excelled at what they did. Needed him in a way the Bardic Hall hadn't with so many others who could do so much more.

Benedikt sagged back into the kigh's liquid embrace, his head against the side of the bath, one hand closed around the queen's coin.

Needed him in a way Her Majesty hadn't. She'd only needed a bard who Sang water, she hadn't needed him.

"You are my eyes and my ears, Benedikt." Stretching up, she kissed him on both cheeks. "I can't wait to hear the Songs you'll bring me."

Benedikt banished the memory. "There are dozens of bardic names she could have substituted for mine," he told the kigh, his voice rough.

"
You are my eyes and my ears, Karlene." Stretching up, she kissed her on both cheeks. "I can't wait to hear the Songs you'll bring me
."

" You are my eyes and my ears, Ziven." Stretching up, she kissed him on both cheeks. "I can't wait to hear the Songs you'll bring me."

" You are my eyes and my ears, Aurel." Stretching up, she kissed her on both cheeks. "I can't wait to hear the Songs you'll bring me."

"STOP IT!" Shrinking back from the echos, he stared down at his right hand, blood welling up in two half moons where the edges of the coin had cut into his palm. Breathing heavily, he dropped it against his chest and offered his hand to the kigh. For a heartbeat, the translucent features were tinted pink.

"You see," he told it hoarsely, "I've let go of the past."

By some blind turning of the Circle, he was the only one who could help the Kohunlich-tul strengthen his position before the change.

No responsibilities. He makes all the decisions.

So?

He's using you.

But he was used to that. He'd been a bard of Shkoder, and Shkoder used the bards.

What of the tailor?

Benedikt couldn't ignore his own abilities enough to deny that the tul had been entirely serious. But if that sort of casual cruelty went on as often as the matter-of-fact suggestion seemed to indicate, the house should be overrun with missing limbs. And it wasn't.

Benedikt closed his eyes, trying not think of a predator's smile as the kigh wrapped around him and began to move. A small, dry noise in the back of his throat was almost a laugh.

"If she discredits me at court, power shifts in her favor. And, if this golden stranger turns out to actually be what I say he is, she's there to try and take advantage of any benefits that may fall to House Kohunlich."

"And the heads of two are being used in the ball court—although I may remove the larger, he rolls distinctly to the left." Ebony brows drew in as though a thought had just occurred. "Are you suggesting that I
can't
protect him?"

"No, gracious one."

"Good. Stop wasting time worrying about my sister. She may be a very successful gambler, but she's not fool enough to try anything until we're on the road."

"We'll have some distance to travel before we reach Atixlan, gracious one."

"Which is why we'll be traveling with Becan and Campeche. If that isn't security enough for you…" He shot an irritated look out the window at the pounding rain. "… perhaps you'd better pray Tulpayotee reappears before we leave so that he can keep an eye on the warrior he sent us."

After the two giggling karjen—and always the same two giggling karjen, Benedikt noted—had cleared away the remains of breakfast, the string of bells chimed softly.

"Your rooms," Xhojee mouthed.

Benedikt grinned and, in his best multibraid voice, commanded the visitor to enter.

A thin man, short even for a Petayn, poked his head timidly around the corner. "Pardon," he murmured. "But I think I have finished."

"Would the loss of a foot encourage him to sew a little faster?"

Benedikt jerked at the memory, waved off Xhojee's question, and told the tailor to come in.

Frowning slightly, Xhojee got to his feet and glanced between the two men. "If you'll be busy for a while," he said, "I've got some things to do."

Distracted by thought of mutilations, Benedikt waved a hand in Xhojee's general direction. "Yeah. Sure." When Xhojee snorted, he actually focused on the other man. "What? You'll be back, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Xhojee bowed. "Of course I'll be back, oh, warrior of Tulpayotee."

The tailor made a small sound in the back of his throat.

"Stop it, you idiot." Benedikt stepped forward and froze when it looked as if the frightened man might drop to his knees. "You're not the idiot," he clarified, gesturing at Xhojee. "He is." In a strange language it was harder to pitch his voice so that there'd be no question of belief, but he did the best he could. "You have nothing to be afraid of."

"The warrior of Tulpayotee is in a gracious mood today," Xhojee added solemnly.

Benedikt whirled to face him, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. "Would you get out of here!"

"As you command, great one." Bowing with every step, Xhojee backed from the room, disentangled himself from the string of bells, and disappeared.

The tailor looked as though he might follow at any moment.

"The
breeches
," Benedikt prodded gently.

"Ah. Yes. The
breeches
, great one."

"Not great one. Benedikt." The tailor seemed so shocked Benedikt sighed. "Just not, great one; all right?"

"Yes, gr…" Flustered, he shook out the garment he'd been clutching to his tattoos. "I think I have solved the problem of the fabric between the legs. If you would try them…"

They fit the way Benedikt remembered breeches fitting. He settled himself to the left, buckled the waistband that crossed over much like the top of a sawrap, and stared down at his fabric-enclosed legs. It felt weirdly confining in places and very loose in others.

"The legs must be wide," the tailor explained when Benedikt mentioned it. Twitching a seam straight, he searched for an explanation that wouldn't sound insulting. "When it is hot, you are damp," he said at last. "The fabric is very fine. It will stick."

This made sense—the only time he wasn't covered in a fine patina of sweat, and sometimes not so fine a patina, was while he was in the bath.

Benedikt glanced down at the blue chalk line angling out from his crotch. "Can I guess I don't get to keep these?"

"Keep? No. These are my pattern. With these I can make you many
breeches
."

"Just one pair I can keep would be fine," Benedikt muttered, stripping and reaching reluctantly for his sawrap; modesty in this case merely wasted time. Not only was there nothing the tailor hadn't seen, there was very little he hadn't measured.

When the small man left, still adjusting chalk lines, Benedikt wiped the sweat from his chest with the palm of one hand. The rain that had been pounding down since before dawn had made it no cooler. Only wetter.

Smiling suddenly, he walked out onto the terrace.

He staggered a little as a gust of wind slammed a sheet of rain into him, then he found his balance, threw back his head, and opened his arms to the sky. Another man might have had trouble breathing but around Benedikt's nose and mouth the driving rain became a gentle mist.

He was standing on the deck of the
Starfarer
, the storm crashing all around him. He opened his mouth to Sing, but there was no Song powerful enough to stop this particular storm.

Saltwater joined the fresh on his face as he made his way indoors and leaned, water pouring off him, against the wall.

He had to Sing the
Starfarer
to rest.

Xhojee was probably with Tul Altun. Benedikt suspected he reported to the tul every morning. If he wanted to Sing the
Starfarer
to rest, he had to go now.

Singing softly under his breath, he stepped out into the hall. He passed one karjen who frowned at the water dribbling off his sawrap and sandals, but the Song was enough to keep her from looking directly at him.

Still Singing, Benedikt made his way to the temple exit.

He moved unnoticed out of the house, up the broad stairs, across the deserted temple, and down, toward the sea.

He stayed on the path more by feel than sight—
Although any self-respecting snake is probably inside
…—and he found the beach by falling onto his knees in the sand.

The wind was stronger here. It blew great holes of visibility into the rain. As Benedikt got to his feet, the boatshed appeared suddenly to his left. Behind the hull of the tul's boat, an old man stared at him from under lowered brows. The the wind shifted and boatshed, boat, and boat master, if that's who he was, were gone again.

Standing ankle-deep in the sea, Benedikt turned in the direction Xhojee'd said he'd been found and began a new Song, weaving his voice into the sounds of the storm. It opened a path before him, and he moved quickly along the shore. He wasn't certain how far his voice would carry, but he hoped the weather would keep everyone safely in doors. Whether for their safety or his, he wasn't sure.

Passing the village, he paused a moment and directed the Song just long enough to see a large grouping of huts. Less than what could be survived in back in Shkoder but here, with nothing but the unrelenting heat, lattice-work walls made the only kind of sense. When a curious dog stuck its head out a doorway, he redirected the Song and moved on.

The kigh showed him where to go.

When he'd crossed another beach and reached a rock outcropping, they rose out of the sea and let him know he must go over or around.

They wanted him to go around, to walk out into their embrace.

He went over.

Sheltered from the storm, the small crescent of sand was an island of calm. Head bowed, Benedikt stood silently for a moment catching his breath. When he looked up, it seemed that the sea and the sky had become one, the rain so heavy even the kigh blurred between the boundaries.

He Sang, asking for a forgiveness the kigh couldn't give. All but one of those who could were dead, and that one was far, far away.

He had failed
her
most of all, for she had entrusted those lives to him. He held one low note and then another a little higher. If he could only let her know it hadn't been her fault but his…

She would wait and wonder and finally, when hope was gone, she would blame herself. He would willingly give his life to take that pain from her, to place the blame where it belonged.

And only water lay between them.

It might as well have been an ocean of sand or fire. If he couldn't save the
Starfarer
, how could he hope to convince the kigh to carry a message across the unknown width of an angry sea?

The Song became a wail, then a sob.

The kigh moved up the beach and tugged at his ankles, at his knees, at his thighs.