Part 27 (1/2)
”I don't know. I don't think it would be permitted.”
His throat worked. ”May I go to my room, please?”
Malaq nodded.
At the threshold, he paused. ”I'll never know if you're lying to me, will I? I'll never know who I can trust.”
Malaq fought the urge to cry, ”Trust me!” The boy yearned for a friend, might even turn to him for comfort. But later, alone in his room, he would have time to think, to remember, to sift through the events of the last days and realize that in Pilozhat, trust was a commodity more precious than water.
”Trust yourself,” he said. ”Your instincts. Your observations. Reveal your powers, but not your heart. You are enmeshed in a dangerous game, and your life depends on your ability to play it well.”
The blue eyes searched his face. Whatever he found there made his shoulders droop. Exhaustion and tension had etched new lines around his mouth and the skin was stretched tight over his cheekbones. Even if he survived, Malaq wondered if the damage could ever be healed, if he would lose the last shreds of innocence and wonder that still filled his dreams.
Kheridh bowed politely. ”Good night, Pajhit,” he said in Zherosi.
Malaq returned the bow. ”Good night, Kheridh.”
Two days later, Malaq invited Vazh to supper. He wondered at his perversity, but decided that the danger to Kheridh was great enough to warrant his friend's inevitable recriminations.
Vazh spent most of the meal complaining about Besul, the weather, the incompetence of the generals conducting the Carilian campaign, and the growing resistance among the Tree People.
”They turned on the garrison at Two Forks. You heard? d.a.m.ned fools don't even know when they're beaten.”
”Perhaps they're not beaten.”
Vazh eyed him over his goblet of wine. ”You don't approve, of course.”
”Of subjugating the Tree People? No. That should hardly come as a surprise.”
”A hundred pelts a year. Plus a levy of barley or oats.”
”Plus the slaves,” Malaq reminded him in a mild voice.
”Four a year. Is that so much to ask?”
”It is if it's your child.”
”They breed like rabbits. And don't give me that slit-eyed look. You know it's true. Besides, I was willing to waive the requirement in exchange for timber.”
”Hardly a viable offer for people who wors.h.i.+p trees.”
”Would they rather be overrun? Their villages destroyed? All their children carried off?”
”I imagine they'd rather be left alone.”
”Well, that's not going to happen. We need the land and the timber.”
”There is such a thing as trade.”
Vazh slammed his goblet down on the table. ”G.o.ds, I hate it when you talk all mincing and proper.”
”Forgive me. I will try not to mince.”
”Your mouth purses like a virgin's crack.”
Malaq gestured to the slave bending down to proffer a platter. ”Try the skewered goat. It's really quite delicious.”
”Shove the skewer up your a.r.s.e. It's really quite invigorating.”
As the shocked slave hurriedly backed away, Malaq found himself returning Vazh's grin. After so many years, he was used to the crudeness. Vazh was the one person in Pilozhat he could trust and the only one to whom he could speak his mind.
Niqia leaped onto the low table and picked her way carefully toward the goat meat. With an oath, Vazh scooped her up and deposited her on the floor again. ”d.a.m.n cat.” He waved his napkin at Niqia who ignored him. Only when he half-rose did she abandon her grooming. After favoring him with a malevolent stare, she padded away with slow dignity.
”Haughty as that b.i.t.c.h I named her after.” Vazh smiled fondly. ”Still living in Oexiak with that rich merchant she left me for. She's a grandmother now. Can you believe it?”
”Of course. None of us are young anymore.”
”Speak for yourself. I keep my voracious widow satisfied-she's buried two husbands, drained the life out of 'em, sure as I sit here-and my sword's still lively enough to tickle that pretty slave I acquired last winter.”
”May its blade never tarnish.”
Malaq sketched a pious sign of blessing and Vazh laughed. He took a deep swig of wine and slapped his belly. ”So. Do I get to meet the amazing adder boy, or have you tucked him in for the night?”
If Vazh hoped to discomfit him with the sudden change of subject, he was disappointed. ”I'll summon him if you wish,” Malaq replied, as if the idea had just occurred to him. He nodded to a slave who hurried out of the chamber.
”You're as transparent as water,” Vazh commented.
”You must not have seen the river lately.”
”Now you're trying to muddy things.” Vazh laughed at his awful joke and took another gulp of wine. ”Has he had any more conversations with the adders?”
”No.” Malaq leaned forward and lowered his voice. ”But he has had one with Xevhan.”
Forearms splayed across the table, Vazh listened without interruption to the tale of the girl's attempted seduction and Xevhan's subsequent visit. ”Could be he just wants to get to the bottom of things.”
”Yes.”
”As the queen commanded.”
”Yes.”
”Still . . .”
”Yes.”
Vazh swore, then abruptly sat back. Without glancing over his shoulder, Malaq knew Kheridh had arrived. He waved him forward, all the while watching Vazh. At first, his gaze held only reluctant curiosity, but as Kheridh came closer, Vazh stiffened. The narrowed gaze flicked toward him, a.s.sessing, challenging. Malaq met it, careful to keep his face expressionless.
Kheridh bowed deeply, first to him and then to Vazh.
”Kheridh, this is Khonsel Vazh do Havi, a member of the royal council. Khonsel, this is Kheridh.”