her instruments 02 - rose point (18 page)

“He was the last of my family, Lia.”

“Not yet he isn’t,” she said. “But he is dying for the chance to make sure that he is. Mark me: he wants your blood. See to it that he has no reason to call for it.”

“Other than my being the reincarnation of Corel,” Hirianthial said dryly.

She sniffed. “Let me take care of that. I will send you to my chosen priests first. That should tie them up in factional battles.”

“Things really haven’t changed a whit, have they,” he murmured.

“Oh, Hiran,” she said with a sigh. “Most certainly they have. They’ve gotten much, much worse.” She held up her cordial glass. “To the task ahead of us.”

He had never wanted to come home to stay, not after Laiselin’s death and Baniel’s betrayal. But he raised his glass and touched it to hers anyway.

Hirianthial rode home against a bitterly cold wind, smelling strongly of the ceaseless air long over sea. By the time he dismounted his limbs were graceless with it and his cloak clung damply to his sides. His discomfort was acute, and yet none of it proved distraction from the meeting with his cousin—whom he had called Lia, falling back on habits as old as their childhood friendship, and who had called him Hiran, as she had not since they had set Maraesa’s crown on her head. How long had it been since he’d heard his milk name from anyone’s lips? The familiarity of it should have been comforting, and instead had revealed how very dire their respective situations had become. He, a killer and heir to powers unmentionable, the abused become the abuser, without family save for a murderer he’d left alive in a fit of mercy and weakness... and she, a trapped lioness beset from all sides, with her cub to protect and no time for scruples.

It was surprising to discover that he still cared about the world. Because of her, he thought: through her passion, he saw what was worth preserving in their people. But he did not welcome that knowledge.

One of the servants let him in, took his cloak and brushed his boots. From there he went upstairs in search of the crew. The solar door was cracked enough to cast a ray of light across the carpeted balcony. He paused; through it, he could see Reese sitting on the hearth with the twins by her side and Allacazam on her lap. She looked—it struck him suddenly—much as his cousin had: tired but determined. There was something of the same steel in them both. And the warmth in the room was palpable to him, not just from the fire and light, but from the weave of their auras, separate and yet harmonious. They had become familiar to him. And they would claim him as theirs, if they could.

How could he explain that there were prior claims he could not cast from him? He touched his coat; against his breast, the parchment envelope in the pocket crinkled. With a sigh, he pushed open the door.

“You’re home!” Irine exclaimed, jumping to her feet. The others were turning too, and Reese looked up. Her heart tightened. He was like something out of a painted storybook in bronze and burgundy, the coat all elegant sweeps glittering with embroidery. All he needed was some sort of crown, and she could be the grubby commoner, come to beg for a piece of bread.

Which in a way was what had happened, with the Queen paying off the
Earthrise’s
debt.

The whole thing would have been disheartening if Reese hadn’t had the very strong impression that... Hirianthial didn’t want to be here either. She petted Allacazam and let the twins make much of his arrival, while Kis’eh’t asked him impatiently about the apples and received the expected enigmatic reply. At last, Reese called, “Hey, hey, can we calm down a little? He’s barely stepped in the door. Let him sit.”

“Thank you,” Hirianthial said. “And I shall, in a moment.” He walked to her and withdrew from inside his coat an envelope. “For you, Lady.”

“Me?” Reese took it, startled. The texture of it beneath her thumb... she shivered. “It’s real, isn’t it?”

“Paper?” Hirianthial said. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He sat on one of the chairs near the fire, turning his attention to it. Either he wasn’t interested in what it said, or he was granting her the courtesy of not hovering, something the twins wouldn’t if she didn’t open it quickly. She turned it over and found it sealed in blue wax, like something out of one of her books: a unicorn on its hind legs. And she would have to break it? She tried wedging her thumb under the flap and working it gently open, but it split in half.

That bothered her. She stared at the seal a moment, then took the card on the inside out. Fortunately, it was written in Universal, in ink that glimmered silver when she tilted the paper.

Captain Eddings,

Do you come for breakfast, for I have been greatly anticipating our meeting. Hirianthial can show you the way.

—L. G.

“I guess I get to dine with royalty,” Reese said, proud that her voice didn’t shake. She handed the card to Kis’eh’t, who shared it with the twins. Glancing at Hirianthial, she added, “You’re supposed to bring me?”

“I have my own appointment there in the morning,” Hirianthial said. “We’ll be leaving while it’s still dark; the Queen wakes early.”

“And goes to sleep late, I’m guessing,” Reese said. Allacazam turned an amused sunny yellow beneath her palm. “Any protocol I should know? Other than what you taught us on the way here.”

He twitched his chin in faint negation. “You’ll find her the most cosmopolitan of our people. You are not likely to offend her. Be polite as you would to anyone else, that is all.”

“And don’t touch her,” Reese said.

“And don’t touch her,” he agreed.

“Do you think she’ll want to meet us?” Irine asked, looking up from the card.

Hirianthial smiled. “You are here, Irine. You would not be, if there were not plans for you.”

Reese didn’t like the sound of that, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t tell what it was about the Eldritch’s body language that was bothering her, but she wasn’t going to ignore her instincts. “It’s been an exciting day. Why don’t you all check the bedrooms? Get some rest, maybe.”

She expected protestations, but the twins glanced at one another and at Bryer and Kis’eh’t, and then Sascha held out a hand to his sister. “I bet the beds are big enough to sleep six.”

“I’ll be fine with a bed that sleeps two, but let’s go look anyhow,” Irine said cheerily.

As they chorused their good-nights, Reese called, “Wait, do you even know where you’re going?”

Hirianthial said, “Head back toward the stairs. First door after the solar should lead to a hall, and the rooms will be off that corridor.”

“Problem solved,” Sascha said. “See you in the morning, Boss.”

Bryer closed the door on all of them, meeting Reese’s eye with one of his inscrutable expressions. And then she was alone with her Eldritch who was, she thought suddenly, not quite as much hers as she’d assumed. He’d claimed not to belong anywhere until he’d started belonging to the
Earthrise
. Now... she wasn’t so sure.

“Did she have an answer for you?” Reese asked, knowing the question dared much. But he answered.

“Perhaps. There are historical precedents, but no modern role models.”

Which was a strange reply. He was staring into the fire, close enough for her to touch, but he might as well have been a sector away. “You have a nice house here,” she said, to distract him.

“This?” he roused himself, shook off his reverie. “It is not mine. It belongs to the family.”

“Is that... Sarel? Or Jisiensire?” she asked, careful of the names.

Startled, he looked at her.

“I wasn’t sure what the extra names meant,” Reese said. “But the man who showed us in, he said he served Sarel.”

“Ah, yes, Neren.” Hirianthial threaded his fingers together. Was that a touch of a smile? She thought so. “Our oldest retainer, and very exact with words.” He stopped for so long Reese almost thought he wouldn’t continue. “It is Jisiensire’s townhouse. Maintained for visits to the palace for the seasonal courts. Jisiensire has lands elsewhere. The family seat is there.”

She’d been barely able to wrap her mind around how wealthy he must be to have a house like this with servants. To learn that it was just a nicety, and his real home was somewhere else? On land with a capital “L”? Reese tried to imagine being a land-owner, a real land-owner, with acres of it, not just the soil directly under the house you were paying a mortgage on. The skin on the back of her neck prickled.

She hadn’t expected him to notice, but he did, glancing at her sharply enough to make the hair framing his chin sway. “I have affrighted you?” he asked. “How? What did I say?”

Reese stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me.”

“Are you really asking me a direct question?” she managed, and his expression made her chuckle, dispelled the unease.

He didn’t quite scowl, but she could tell he wanted to. “Captain—”

“Reese,” she said. “What is it with all you excessively formal people? It’s just Reese, Hirianthial. For the billionth time. And you didn’t scare me. It’s just that... you’re... in a completely different league from someone like me, and I never knew it. You could have bought and sold my ship with spare change. I can’t imagine you getting dirty with common people.” She thought back to old epithets. “Slumming it. That’s what it is.”

“Is that all?” he asked, surprised.

“Is that all?” Reese repeated. “Bleeding soil, Hirianthial. Yes? It’s a little like discovering you’re some long-lost prince.” Her skin ran cold at the thought. “Wait, you’re not a long-lost prince, are you?”

“I... am not in the succession, no.”

She didn’t like that pause, but she also didn’t want to know what was behind it. She rubbed her forehead.

“Lady—“ Better than ‘captain’, but still not what she’d asked him to use. “—I fear there are many such shocks in your future.”

“Maybe you should tell me about them so I hear them from someone I trust, and not from your enemies,” Reese said dryly. At his pause, she said, “Did you really expect me to think this would be some kind of fairy tale world, with princes and princesses and unicorns and magic and everything was beautiful and clean and perfect?”

“I… perhaps expected you to have no experience with which to make such judgments either way,” he admitted.

“I don’t,” Reese said. “Not with fairy tales, except in books. But you know, that’s the only place you find fairy tales, Hirianthial. In books. In the real world, there’s always someone who has to clean the kitchen and take out the trash. There’s always politics. There’s always someone who wants to get ahead and doesn’t care who they squash on their way up.” She studied him. “You’re rich, you seem to know the Queen—personally, maybe—and you’re smart, talented, and not bad to look at. People probably love you when they don’t hate you. So, no. I’m not going into this completely naïve.”

She waited, wondering what he would say. Hoped he wouldn’t call her impertinent, lecture her on how little she knew that she thought she did, or assay some cryptic response she’d spend all night fretting at when she should be sleeping.

Instead, he said, with a hint of amusement, “’Not bad to look at?’”

“Well, you know how it is,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get a puffed head about it.” She eyed him, hand resting on Allacazam. “Though knowing you, it would probably be more you blaming yourself for inflicting your looks on other people.”

“Ah!” He rested his fingers over his mouth, but she could just see between them to the twitch of his lips he was trying to hide. Nice lips. Not as full as hers, but still nice. “I am not entirely so self-effacing, lady.”

“See? You’re even modest about how modest you are.” Reese snorted and stood up. “So, next door over, yes?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll have someone knock in the morning.”

“All right,” Reese said. She stopped at the door and said, “Whatever you’re worried about… you know we’re here to help.”

“You hardly know what you are committing to,” he murmured.

“Since you won’t tell us, you’re right. We don’t. But that doesn’t change that we’re with you, no matter what.”

Slowly he looked over his shoulder at her, and that expression she couldn’t read at all.

“I mean it,” she said. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Lady.”

The bed in the room was not just large enough for six. It was also tall enough to merit a tiny set of wooden steps, elaborately painted with columns of purple hyacinths and intertwined jasmine flowers. Reese stopped at the threshold of the room and remarked to Allacazam, “You’d think they were tall enough without having to make their furniture high too.”

Allacazam had no opinion on this, save a faint drowsiness. She set him on the mattress and let herself stroke the fabric of the coverlet: flowers and arabesques embroidered with gleaming floss on a purple fabric that was too soft to the touch to also be so glossy. The rest of the room gave the same impression of opulence, from the densely woven rug to the gilded and elaborately carved furniture.

Someone had laid in a fire for her, and she changed near it because it was too cold in any other part of the room. Why didn’t they heat this place? What good was such a beautiful residence if it was uncomfortable? It made no sense. After rushing across the chilled floor, Reese climbed into her bed and found it warm. Puzzled, she crawled all over it, hanging over its edge, until she spied the hint of a handle protruding from beneath the mattress. And then she sat back, holding the covers up to her chest. She looked from the fireplace to the pitcher and bowl she’d dismissed as ornamental on the side table. When Allacazam rolled into her lap and muzzily sent a curl of a query into her mind, she said, “They don’t have lights. They don’t have heat. They don’t have sinks. Freedom, they probably don’t have indoor plumbing.” Her skin prickled. “And apparently those Tam-illee are their only way off-world.”

The Flitzbe wondered why this was important, an impression she derived from birds he populated a tree with, all of them cocking their heads at her.

“It would be one thing if they chose to live like this,” she told him, reluctantly lying down. It was a very soft bed, but even the softest bed was unlike her swinging hammock. “But what if it’s not a choice?”