The Dreaming Void (75 page)

“No!”

“Why not? She's very pretty. And slim. I've seen what your eye lingers on when we're out on patrol.”

“She's far too young, for a start. And she's getting pretty. Doctors in Makkathran have better ointments than we had on the caravan.”

“Edeard!” Kanseen gave a small shocked laugh. “I think that's the most evil thing I've ever heard you say about anyone, let alone your little sister.”

“Lady, you're cruel. I don't answer a question to your satisfaction and you say I'm in denial; then I give an honest answer and you brand me evil.”

She sucked contritely on her lower lip. “Sorry, but you can understand why.”

“Not really.” Edeard was looking at her profile in the coppery shimmer thrown off by the surface of the pool. In such a light she looked almost aristocratic, with her strong chin and slight nose, skin painted enticingly dark. She turned to face him, cocking her head slightly to one side in that questioning way he enjoyed.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She pressed in against him, hands sliding over his back. For once he dropped his mental guard, showing her how much he delighted in the touch of her, the closeness. After a long time they ended the kiss. Her nose rubbed against his cheek, and she let him sense how much that meant to her.

“Come to bed with me,” he murmured. His tongue darted out to lick the lobe of her ear. She shivered from the contact. Hot lines of pleasure flickered across her mind. He was delightfully aware of her breasts against his chest and hugged her closer.
This is going to be the best ever.

“No,” she said. Her shoulders dropped, and she rested her hands against his shoulders, moving them apart to end the embrace. “I'm sorry, Edeard. I feel a lot for you, I really do; you know that. That's the trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could work, you and me. I really think we could. Lovers, then marriage, children. Everything. I'm not afraid of that. It's just the timing. It's wrong.”

“Timing?”

“I don't think you're ready for a long-term commitment yet. And I certainly don't need another fling, not with someone I care about.”

“It wouldn't have to be a fling. I'm ready to settle down with someone as important to me as you are.”

“Oh, Lady, you're so sweet.” She sighed. “No, Edeard. I can't compete against the ideal of Salrana. You're closer to her than you know or will admit. How could you not be after all the two of you shared? I'm not jealous, well, not exactly. But she's always going to be there between us until you sort your feelings out.”

“She's just a kid from the same village, that's all.”

“Open your feelings to me. Show me your naked mind and say you don't want to bed her, you don't want to know the feel of her against you.”

“I … No, this is stupid. You're accusing me of—I don't know: having dreams. This world is full of opportunities. Some we grasp; others we pass by. It's not me who's scared of what might be. You need to look at your own feelings.”

They were standing apart now, voices not raised but firm.

“I know my own feelings,” she said. “And I want yours to match mine. That means I can wait. You're worth waiting for, Edeard, however long it takes. You mean that much to me.”

“Well, that's got to be the craziest way of showing it. Ever,” he said, trying not to let the hurt affect his voice. His mind hardened against releasing any emotion, which was difficult given the turmoil she had kindled.

“Tell her,” Kanseen said simply. She reached out to stroke his cheek, but he dodged back. “Be true to yourself, Edeard. That's the you I want.”

“Good night,” he said stiffly.

Kanseen nodded, then turned away. Edeard was sure he saw a tear on her cheek. He refused to use his farsight to check. Instead he went into his maisonette and threw himself on the too-high bed. Anger warred with frustration in his mind. He imagined Salrana and Kanseen fighting, an image that quickly took on a life outside his control. His fist thumped the pillow. He turned over and sent his farsight swirling out across the city, observing the vast clutter of minds as they wrestled with their own demons. It felt good not to be suffering alone.

He took a long time to fall asleep.

“Rumor has it the Pythia uses her concealment ability to twist her features. She is over a hundred and fifty, after all; she could give Mistress Florell a run for her money in the withered crone stakes. There has to be some kind of devilment involved to make her look the way she does.” Boyd put a lot of emphasis on that last sentence, dipping his head knowingly.

“Can you do that?” a startled Edeard asked.

“I don't know.” Boyd lowered his voice. “They say the Grand Masters can completely conceal themselves from view. I've never seen it myself.”

Edeard paused on the threshold of pointing out the slight logical flaw in that admission. “Right.” They were on patrol in Jeavons, walking alongside the Brotherhood Canal, which bordered the southern side of the district. Beyond the water was Tycho, not strictly a district but a wide strip of meadow between the canal and the crystal wall. Wooden stables used by the militia squatted on the grass, the only buildings permitted on the common land. He could see stable boys cantering horses and ge-horses along sandy tracks, the morning exercise they and their predecessors had performed for centuries. Several horses had ge-wolves running alongside.

It was their sixth patrol since graduation, six days during which he and Kanseen barely had exchanged a word. They'd been perfectly civil to each other, but that was all. He did not want that; he wanted them at least to go back to how it was before that messed-up evening. How they might arrive back at that comfortable old association was a complete mystery, one he definitely was not going to consult the others on. He got the impression they already guessed that something had happened. Knowing them, they'd royally screw up that speculation.

For some reason he'd also held off saying anything to Salrana. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that Kanseen did have a small point there. He really was going to have to face up to the whole friends become lovers issue simmering between him and Salrana. It wasn't fair to her. She was growing up into a beautiful adolescent, so much more vivacious than any of the city girls he encountered. All he had to do was get over his notion of protectiveness. That was stupid, too. She was old enough to look out for herself and make her own choices. The only person who had appointed him her guardian was himself, something he had done out of obligation and friendship. To do anything different, especially now, could be considered taking advantage.

Sometimes you have to do what's wrong to do what's right.

And physically he knew they would be fantastic together.
That body, and as for those legs … 
Altogether too much time of late was spent thinking about how her legs would feel wrapped around him, long athletic muscles flexing relentlessly. It would end with them both screaming in pleasure.
We wouldn't even get out of bed for the first year.

Then, after that, after the passion, they'd still enjoy each other's company. Salrana was the only person he could ever really talk to. They understood each other. Two hick kids against the city: future Mayor, future Pythia.

He smiled warmly.

“Of course, I could just talk to myself instead,” an irritated Macsen said.

“Sorry, what?” Edeard asked, banishing the smile.

Macsen glanced over at Kanseen, who was standing beside Dinlay, the pair of them looking down on a gondola full of crates, calling something to the gondolier. “Boy, she really worked you over, didn't she?”

“Who? Oh, no. There's nothing wrong. Kanseen and I are fine.”

“I'd hate to see you unfine.”

“Really, I'm good. What did you want?”

“The shopkeepers in Boltan Street keep saying strangers are walking along, checking out the buildings with strong farsight. They're obviously a gang taking a scouting trip. So if we go up there in these uniforms, we'll scare them off and they'll just come back in a week or a month, whenever we move on. But if we were to loiter around in ordinary clothes, they wouldn't know we were there, and we could catch them at it red-handed.”

“I don't know. You know what Ronark is like about wearing the uniform on duty.” As they were starting their third patrol, the captain had appeared unexpectedly and performed a snap inspection. Edeard almost had been demoted for the “disgraceful lack of standards.” Since then, he had made sure his squadmates were properly dressed before leaving the station.

“Exactly,” Macsen said. “If you're a constable in Jeavons, you have to be in a uniform; everyone knows that. So they won't be expecting us out of uniform.”

“Hmm, maybe. Let me talk to Chae first, see what he thinks.”

“He'll say no,” Boyd told them. “You know procedure. If a crime is suspected, then you use ge-eagles to observe the area while the squad waits out of farsight range.”

“We don't know how long we'll have to wait,” Macsen said. “And Edeard only has one ge-eagle.”

“You can sculpt more, can't you?” Boyd said. “You told us you used to be an Eggshaper apprentice.”

“He can't sculpt without a guild licence, not in Makkathran,” Macsen said. “It's the law; we'd wind up having to arrest him. You know how keen they are on maintaining their monopoly. In any case, this is going to happen soon. We don't have time to sculpt ge-eagles. That's why we have to go patrolling in disguise.”

“Ordinary clothes aren't a disguise,” Boyd protested.

“It doesn't matter what clothes we wear as long as it's not the uniform,” Macsen said, his temper rising. “Dress how you want. Maybe in a dress; you're certainly acting like an old woman.”

“Good one, smart-ass. If this gang's as clever as you say, they'll know all our faces, anyway.”

“Enough,” Edeard said, holding up his hands. “I will speak to Chae as soon as we get in. Until then I'll keep my ge-eagle close to Boltan Street. I can't do anything more in the middle of a patrol, so drop it for now, please.”

“Just a suggestion,” Macsen grumbled as he started to walk away.

“Are you deliberately bugging him?” Edeard asked Boyd.

The lanky boy gave a sly grin. “I don't have to answer that; I'm not under oath.”

Edeard laughed. The Boyd of six months ago would never have dared any mischief at another's expense, let alone a friend.

The squad set off along the canal again, following the gentle curve northward. Edeard's plan was to stay on the side path until they reached its junction with the Outer Circle Canal, then turn back in to Jeavons. He sent his ge-eagle swooping low over the roof and towers of the district, guiding it toward Boltan Street. It was a damp gray morning with the last of the night's rain clouds still clotting the sky as they slid slowly westward. Every surface was slick with rain. However, the indomitable citizens of Makkathran were out in force as usual, thronging the streets and narrow alleyways.

Edeard's ge-eagle flashed silently above them, ignored by most. Then he caught a movement that was out of kilter. Halfway along Sonral Street, someone in a hooded jacket turned away from the eagle and adjusted his hood, pulling it fully over his head.

It could have been nothing, the ge-eagle was still over fifty yards away. And it was damp, the air chilly. It was perfectly legitimate for someone to pull his hood up in such circumstances. A lot of people in the same zigzagging street were sporting hats that morning. The man wasn't even alone in wearing a hooded jacket.

It's wrong, though. I know it.

“Wait,” he told the squad. He swept the street with his farsight, searching for the one suspicious figure. The man's mind was shielded, though the tinge of uncertainty seeped out. Again, perfectly legitimate; he could be worrying about anything from a bad quarrel with his wife to debts.

Edeard observed the direction he was taking and ordered the ge-eagle around in a long curve. It settled on the eaves of a three-story house at the end of Sonral Street out of sight of its target. As he waited, Edeard realized the man in the hooded jacket was not alone; he was walking with two others. Then the ge-eagle caught sight of him on the street as he came around one of the shallow turns. By then, the hood had slipped back slightly.

“Oh, yes, Lady, thank you,” Edeard said.

“What's happening?” Dinlay demanded.

“He's back,” Edeard growled. “The thief from the Silvarum market, the one who was holding the box.”

“Where!” Kanseen demanded.

“Sonral Street. Top third.”

The squad registered annoyance. “We can't farsight that far,” Boyd complained.

“Okay, here you go.” Edeard gifted them the ge-eagle's sight.

“Are you sure?” Macsen asked.