Waterdance (32 page)

Seba lay unmoving, the fallen column covering most of her left side, and even the driving rain did not entirely wash away the blood that trickled from her mouth and nose, but her eyes were open and she gazed at Atheris and Peri calmly, unsurprised.

“Well, Lady Perian, so you came back, just as I did,” Seba murmured, blood and rain bubbling on her lips. “At least you had the sense to stay away while the stones were still falling. I congratulate you.”

Silently Peri knelt in the mud, holding out the edge of her robe to keep the rain from Seba’s face.

“Ah, thank you.” Seba sighed. “You’re a charitable child.”

Peri laughed bitterly.

“You think I’m charitable after I ruined all your plans?”

“Ruined?” Seba chuckled weakly. “Oh, no, my Harbinger, you’re all that I hoped, and more. But you didn’t come back for me, I know.” Her free arm fumbled under her robe, and her eyes sparkled. “Was it for your grandfather? Or for this?”

She pulled back the edge of her robe, and a shock ran through Peri as she saw the hilt of her sword.

“Why?” Peri asked, gazing into Seba’s eyes. “Why did you find it for me?”

Seba smiled, coughing briefly as new blood stained her lips.

“You give me too much credit,” she rasped. “I saw it on the ground and picked it up, and then the column fell.” She touched the column and her smile widened. “You see how Eregis repaid me for my service? Much the same as my own people. And now I’ll oblige them all by dying at last.” She coughed again, grimacing with pain. “Although not quite fast enough to suit me.”

She glanced back at Peri.

“I don’t suppose you would do me the honor?”

Peri carefully eased the sword out from under Seba’s robe and her free leg; then her eyes widened as she glimpsed a familiar bulge on the outside of Seba’s calf. She raised the edge of the robe slightly, shivering at the amount of blood muddying the ground, and slowly drew Seba’s grace-blade from its sheath. She turned and silently placed the hilt of the grace-blade in Seba’s free hand.

Seba glanced at the knife, then at Peri, and laughed, and went on laughing, even when wet, choking coughs punctuated the laughter.

Peri rose slowly and took the reins of her horse, turning away, and Atheris followed her just as silently. Seba’s laughter, too, followed her through the rain until at last it stopped, and Peri did not turn to see what had stopped it.

Chapter Ten

“Perian!”

 Startled, Peri dropped the pen, her hand reflexively, reaching for her sword hilt. Then she recognized the voice and turned to meet Danber’s wide eyes, laying her hand on Atheris’s arm when he would have drawn his own blade.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “He’s a friend.”

Danber stepped forward slightly, his eyes still on Peri’s.

“Am I, Perian?” he asked softly. “You stand alive in my tent with a Sarkond at your side. Is it a friend I see before me, or a traitor whom honor will not permit me to see or hear?”

“Atheris isn’t an enemy,” Peri said slowly. “He saved my life, got me out of Sarkond. And his magic got me into this tent to deliver a message.” She drew a deep breath. “Judge me however you like. I didn’t die when custom demanded it. Bregond needed my life more than my death.”

Danber’s eyes hardened, and Peri felt her heart breaking, but she stood firm, drawing the signet ring from her pocket and laying it on the table.

“If you won’t hear me, read what I wrote,” she said deliberately. “But give this to my aunt Kairi and make sure my mother knows, too, that High Lord Elaasar died honorably by his own hand and flies with Mahdha.”

She glanced at Atheris, then back at Danber.

“And tell Uncle Terralt that he can withdraw the troops and mages I saw camped at the border. There’s no danger of an attack from Sarkond. The people of Sarkond—what’s left of them—will have enough to keep them busy with their own country for a long, long time to come.”

Danber’s eyes searched hers.

“Is that true, Perian?” he asked softly.

Peri met his gaze squarely.

“Five days ago it wasn’t true,” she said. “Now it is. I swear on my sword, and on the blood of my family, and what’s left of my honor.”

Danber closed his eyes briefly as if pained, and when he opened them, he did not look directly at Peri, but slightly off to one side.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Perian,” he said. “I don’t know if Mahdha remembers your name. Bregond doesn’t forgive easily.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Peri wanted to tell him she had died, that she’d heard Mahdha whispering her name in welcome, but... no. “I’m leaving anyway.”

“Perhaps—that would be best,” Danber said slowly. “It might be wisest to return to your parents and—”

“No.” Peri glanced at Atheris. “I’m not going back to Agrond either.”

This time Danber met her eyes involuntarily.

“But, Perian—” Then he stopped, looking at Atheris, too.

“Back to Sarkond?” he asked softly.

Peri laughed a little bitterly.

“Bright Ones, no!” she said. “South. After that, who knows.”

“Perian—” Danber hesitated, but did not avert his eyes again. “No matter what might be said of you here, there’s still Agrond, your kin, waiting to welcome you.”

Peri touched Atheris’s hand, felt him clasp her fingers.

“They won’t welcome him,” she said. Then she shook her head. “Anyway, I can’t go back to my family. Mother—it’d tear her up just like it’s tearing you up now. I won’t do that to her. And Mother and Father still have to deal with Bregond, and harboring me would only shake a peace that took generations to build. Besides—” She took a deep breath. “There are things about my grandfather’s death that everybody will sleep easier not knowing, and Mother would never let it rest until she’d heard it all. Just tell her what I told you. It’s true, and it’s all she—or anyone else—ever needs to know.”

Danber searched her eyes again, then nodded slowly.

“I will deliver your message,” he said.

“Anyway,” Peri said, more lightly, “it gets me out of living with Aunt Kairi. Now she’ll have to find another Heir.”

Danber barely smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“She already has,” he said.

Peri sighed with relief.

“Oh, good,” she said. “Who’s the unlucky one? Aunt Fidaya’s son?”

“No.” Danber sighed. “Kalendra.”

“Kalendra?” Peri chuckled again. “How in the world did Aunt Kairi settle on her, especially since she’s barely even related by Mother’s marriage?”

“Easily enough.” Danber shrugged. “High Lady Kairi married Terralt.”

That shocked Peri to silence. If someone had told her that every watering hole in Bregond had filled with wine, she couldn’t have been more astonished.

“Your uncle seemed well pleased to take the seat as High Lord,” Danber said, smiling again at Peri’s reaction. “And High Lady Kairi finds it helpful to share those responsibilities. She says it will enable her to take her power to those sections of the land desperate for rain, and High Lord Terralt is well suited to serve as envoy to Agrond.”

Then he grimaced slightly.

“But it’s a political marriage and there’s no knowing whether they will be able to produce an Heir. So they agreed that Kalendra and I would be best suited to take the seats if they bear no children of their own.”

Peri chuckled.

“Better you than me,” she said. “For your sake, I wish my aunt and uncle happiness and fertility. But even though it lets me off from being Heir, it doesn’t change my decision.”

Danber nodded, glancing briefly at Atheris.

“Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

Then he hesitated.

“Perhaps Bregond will never know it owes you a debt,” he said softly. “But I know. If there’s anything you need—money, supplies?”

Peri thought of the Bregondish gold in her saddlebags, then the supplies Seba had given her—much of it ruined in the torrential rain.

“I have some money, but I’ll take what I can get,” she said, grinning ruefully. “Especially if—I don’t suppose you found Tajin?” she added wistfully, holding her breath.

This time Danber gave her the old familiar smile.

“What do you think brought me here to the border—and kept me here, even after I mourned you?” he asked gently. “I’ll have him saddled and loaded. And one for your—your friend.”

He pulled his purse off his belt and handed it to Peri rather apologetically. “Kalendra has more,” he said. “Shall I call her? Perhaps you’d like to speak to her.”

Peri shook her head quickly.

“She won’t understand. She’ll make a fuss, and I don’t want that.” She hesitated. “Give her a chance, Danber. She’s stronger than she looks.”

Then she chuckled.

“Just make her ride outside the carriage.”

Danber nodded, smiling slightly.

“She’s a kind and tolerant lady,” he said. “She deserves a husband who could properly appreciate her. But we will manage.”

“Well, then—” Awkwardly, Peri held out her hand. Danber ignored it and pulled her close, holding her tightly.

“Good-bye, Danber,” Peri whispered, burying her face in his hair. “You’ll always be more than a brother to me.”

“And you,” Danber murmured, “will always be more than a sister. Perian—if Mahdha has forgotten your name, then I will remind her, again and again, until she remembers.”

Abruptly he released her, turning away. As he reached for the tent flap Peri cleared her throat, and he paused.

“Danber,” she said softly. “I found Waterdance.”

Danber glanced over his shoulder, and this time the smile reached his eyes.

“I knew you would,” he said. “Someday, when Mahdha blows you home again, perhaps you’ll teach me.”

Then he was gone. Peri reached again for Atheris’s hand, and the clasp of his fingers was as solid and strong as steel.

On the plains of Bregond, Peri pulled Tajin to a stop. A fierce hot wind combed dry fingers through her braids, sucked the sweat off the back of her neck. The setting sun poured blood and gold over sharp-edged grass that scratched against Peri’s boots. Atheris reined in beside her.

“Shall we stop here for the night?” he asked, smiling. His gray eyes sparkled suggestively, and Peri felt her heart beat faster, joyfully.

“Just a little farther,” she said. “There’s a water hole to the southwest. The border’s not far now.” Reaching down, she carefully pulled loose a handful of grass tops. To the casual observer they looked dead, but peeling off the dry outer husk, she reached the moist green core. It was tough and sour and good between Peri’s teeth.

“Just think,” Atheris said softly. “You may have saved all this.”

“No.” Peri shook her head. “I think—maybe Seba did.”

“Seba?” Atheris turned to her. “How so?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Peri said slowly. “Seba had to know the ruling houses would have an army at the border. She had to know Sarkond had no chance against united Agrondish and Bregondish troops and magic. Even mad she had to know. And she sent me south to tell about Grandfather, yes, but to warn them, too—to make sure the army was ready. I don’t think she was saving Sarkond, Atheris. I think she was delivering it up to Bregond for the slaughter. Our one remaining enemy, finally vanquished at last. I wonder now whether it was revenge at all so much as”—she remembered the grace-blade still sheathed on Seba’s leg after twenty years of exile—“love and honor. The honor of one orphaned girl-child. She was right. In the end it did matter.”

Atheris shivered.

“She said you played your part to perfection,” he said softly. “Yes, a bitter and merciless love.”

“Not merciless,” Peri corrected. “She could have sent anyone to make sure I made it out of Sarkond. But she let you go. I don’t know, maybe it was one last joke on Bregond—me and my Sarkondish lover. But I don’t think so. She knew how it felt to be exiled and alone.”

Atheris gazed at her steadily, and in those gray eyes he said something without words, and Peri let her own eyes answer.

“Southwest, then, a little farther,” he said, smiling. He turned to gaze at the darkening horizon. “And after the border? Straight south? East? West?”

Tajin danced impatiently. Peri threw the dry grass husks into the air and watched Mahdha bear them away.

“I don’t know,” she said, returning Atheris’s smile. “Wherever the wind takes us.”