Kigh - Fifth Quarter Part 18

Confusion. Fear. Pain.

The Song she'd intended to Sing, a Song that demanded answers, would have rubbed salt into emotions abraded and raw. Ashamed, she reached beyond her anger for her own grief and formed it into a lament, a sorrowing for all the deaths of all the children. Her voice, wrapped around her listeners and held them while they found comfort in knowing that they no longer grieved alone. She Sang while the crowd drew strength from each other; sang while they shared the loss and began to find peace. The ache in her own heart began to ease.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

No wonder Gabris hadn't stopped her. You're very wise, old man, she acknowledged as she let the Song trail off.

When grief finally gave way to conversation, she moved through the crowd, gratefully accepted a tankard of ale, and sifted information from the babble of voices. Death had followed a path from the east gate to the palace, but it soon became apparent that no one had seen, or heard, or felt anything. Stranger still, although every one spoke of what had happened, no theories or accusations were made. Direct questions were given indirect answers or not answered at all.

Frustrated, and more worried than she wanted to admit, Karlene packed up and headed for the door. With one hand on the scarred wood, she paused, turned, and took a second look at a cloaked figure sitting alone at a table tucked into a shadowy corner. Then she took a third look. Thin gold rings glinted in the flickering lamplight as the figure raised a hand to adjust its hood.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she crossed the room and leaned into the corner. "I a.s.sume you're leaving with me?" Her tone made it obvious there could be only one answer.

Outside on the street, Prince Otavas pushed back his hood and lengthened his stride to keep up. "I don't want you to be angry with me, Karlene..."

Her sandals slapped against the cobblestones. "Where are your guards. Highness?"

"I didn't bring any. I never bring any when I follow you..." She stopped so suddenly he was three paces past her before he realized. When he turned, he flinched back another step at the expression on her face.

"You've done this before? Followed me into the city without your guards?"

"Nothing's ever happened." His smile faltered. "I'm perfectly safe. It's the middle of the Imperial Capital..."

"Death is walking through the middle of the Imperial Capital, Highness. Or have you forgotten?"

The night wasn't nearly dark enough to hide the color rising in his cheeks. "I'm not a child..."

"Then why are you acting like one?" Rage lent an emphasis that bardic training could never match. "Unless you give me your word that you will never follow me again, I'm requesting an audience with His Majesty, your father, the moment we get back to the palace where I will tell him about the stupid way his youngest son has been risking his life."

His brows drew in and he stared at her in astonishment. She could almost see the infatuation beginning to fade. "You'd really do that? To me?"

"Your word. Highness."

He scuffed one foot against the ground, fiddled with a ring, chewed his lip, and finally sighed. "All right. You have my word."

"Thank you." She swung her instrument case up on her back with bruising force. How dare he make her responsible for his safety. "Come on, Highness, let's get you home."

He hesitated for a moment then fell into step beside her. "Your songs made me feel better," he offered tentatively.

Karlene glanced over at him and found that she wasn't immune to the hopeful look in his dark eyes. Annoyed at her weakness-she'd intended to remain furious with the young fool for a good long time-she muttered, "Thank you, Highness."

As they hurried toward the palace, a dog began to howl. And then another.

The hair rose on the back of Karlene's neck. Except for the dogs, the streets were very quiet. Unwilling to even think that they were too quiet, she quickened her pace.

The fastest way back to the palace lay through a tangle of alleys and then into the wider, safer streets of the merchants' quarter. The moon was up and nearly full and the crumbling plaster that coated most of the tenement walls reflected a pale gray light. Alone, she wouldn't have hesitated, but with the prince in tow...

Don't be an idiot. There's nothing in there you can't deal with and you've got to get him home as quickly as possible.

She didn't realize they were being driven until they found themselves up against a dead end. Heart racing, differences forgotten, her fingers closed about the prince's wrist. "Do you feel it?"

"I don't feel anything but lost."

The undertone of terror in his voice snapped her gaze up to his face. The dark eyes showed white all around.

He nearly dragged her off her feet as he charged back the way they'd come. "Let's get out of here."

Three figures stood at the mouth of the alley; two young men in hoods much like the prince's and a very old man in a tattered robe.

The night grew darker.

"No."

It wasn't her denial, so it had to be the prince's.

The two young men shuffled forward.

She had to stop this. The safety of the prince was her responsibility. Fighting the black despair that threatened to overwhelm her, Karlene locked her gaze on the nearer of the two. She staggered and would have fallen had she not still been holding the prince's wrist. There wasn't anything to lock onto.

"You're dead." She could barely hear herself form the words over the screaming in her head.

"Yesss."

The worst of it was, it wasn't her screaming, it was him. Or what was left of him.

It was almost a relief when his companion slammed a crude club into the side of her skull. As she tumbled into darkness, she heard the prince cry out and then an ancient voice lovingly Command him to sleep.

Vree stood, shadow silent, and watched as Gyhard lowered himself into the bath.

They'd reach the Capital tomorrow. This was their last night on the road. Tomorrow, she'd be expected to start finding a path past walls and guards so that an Imperial prince could die. If it came to it, would she let him die to save her brother? Would she kill her brother to save him?

"You can't put it off any longer, sister-mine."

"I know." The night before she'd found a reprieve at the bottom of a green gla.s.s bottle of wine-which in itself was frightening for the amount of trust it implied. Had Gyhard suddenly come to his senses and wished to remove what he had to know was a certain threat, she wouldn't have been able to stop him.

"It's just a distraction, Vree, like all the others we've used to get close to a target. It's a means to an end. Nothing more."

Her foot slid forward. She hastily snapped it back. "You're a little too slaughtering eager for this..."

"Eager!" His response ricocheted about in the confines of her skull. "And don't you think I have every right to be eager? I want out, Vree! I want my body back and I want the carrion eater who took it dead! I want him dead now!"

"Stop shouting!"

"Then stop acting like a nervous virgin! He's not going to stay in that bath forever, you know."

Teeth clenched, Vree strode into the bathing room, dropped her robe, and stomped down the shallow marble stairs into the steaming water.

"Oh, very seductive.""Sod off, Bannon.""Head still bothering you?"She peered at Gyhard through slitted eyes. "You might say that, yes."Over the last twelve days, his smile had become more his own and less a twisted reflection of Bannon's. It had become harder to see her brother in most of

Gyhard's expressions; they were less extreme, less self-absorbed, more self-

involved.

"What the slaughter does that mean?"

Vree sank lower in the water. "If you don't back off, I'm not going to do this."

"If you don't do this, Prince Otavas dies."

"Trying to drown yourself?" Gyhard asked, pushing a wave toward her.

"Don't you start," she snarled, lifting her chin.

He shook his head. "Getting a little crowded in there, is it? Frankly, I'm amazed

you're still sane."

"Frankly," she mimicked, "so am I."

When he laughed, he didn't sound like Bannon at all.

"He's not Bannon, I am. He's Gyhard or he's Aralt, but he's not me."

Aralt. Whom they'd been ordered to kill. And hadn't. No need to question desire. Not need to even admit desire. Just follow orders. Once again become a weapon in the Imperial Army's a.r.s.enal. A familiar detachment, missing since the moment the campfires of the Sixth Army had been swallowed by the darkness, snapped back into place.

In order to finish the job, she had to get past his guard and his guard was Bannon's body. Which is not difficult to distract...

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Reading nuance in the tiny movements of muscles at temple and jaw, Gyhard could tell that they'd come to some kind of an agreement. He wondered if he should be worried. This was, after all, their last night on the road, their last night before they reached the Capital and began moving against the prince. Logic suggested that they would attempt to dislodge him once again.

He lifted himself up onto a shallow ledge where he could see his reflection in a highly polished bra.s.s disk and reached for the bowl of soft soap provided by the inn. Working up a lather on cheeks and chin, he considered the options of his unique companion. There were a number of drugs that might be used to loosen his hold on young Bannon's body, but he was certain Vree'd had no chance to acquire them even if she knew what they were.

"Here, let me." Vree crossed the heated pool and reached for the razor.

His fingers closed around hers. "I don't think so."

"If I'd decided to slit your throat, I wouldn't give you so much of a chance to defend yourself." With a twist of her wrist, the movement both faster and stronger than he'd been able to antic.i.p.ate, she slid both hand and blade out of his grip. "I'd do it in the night, when you were helpless, and I'd use something just a little more efficient than this." She swept a disdainful glance along the razor's edge then flicked her gaze upward to meet his. "And besides, you're still in my brother's body. While I'd cheerfully slit your throat, I won't cut his." When he hesitated, she added. "I've shaved that face before, you know."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised. But I am curious as to why you're offering to shave it now."

"Bannon says he's tired of looking at the nicks you leave on his chin."

"That's good, Vree. Really good."

"You just be ready to move the moment I've got him thinking of something else."

"And what is Bannon saying now?" Gyhard asked her, not taking his eyes off the blade.

"He's wondering if you ever thought of growing a mustache."

Smiling a little at her exasperation and her brother's vanity, Gyhard shook his head.

"Good. I keep telling him he'd look like s.h.i.t in one." As she watched her target settle back into the water, suspicions evidently lulled, she felt her responses begin to quicken, her senses become hyperattuned. The water lapped like warm silk against her belly. She gently pushed Gyhard up against the wall. "Tilt your head back, rest it on the tiles."

"You won't be able to reach me from there," he pointed out as he obeyed.

"I know." In one smooth move, she straddled him, the outer curve of his thighs pressing against the inner curve of hers.

His eyes snapped open and he lifted his head. "Is this how you shaved your

brother?" His voice snagged slightly on the way out.

"We never had access to a bath this large." She bent forward and gently stroked her brother's cheek, Gyhard's cheek, Aralt's cheek, with the razor. "I just thought it would be easiest, but if you're uncomfortable..."

"No." He swallowed. "Stay." Eyes closed, he tilted his head back again.

"Brilliant, Vree. Brilliant. You've got him."

"Just be ready to move," she repeated. The sound of the steel sc.r.a.ping soap and

whiskers off wet skin seemed to echo in the bathing room. If she listened hard enough, she thought she could hear even the heartbeat that throbbed beneath the steadying hand she'd rested on her brother's, on Gyhard's, on Aralt's chest.