The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(28)

Movement across his field of vision caught his eye. He looked up to see a shadow fly across the bands of the Dreaming Moon. A skyrer, one of the night-hunting birds of the desert. They rarely hunted in the river valley itself, preferring the borderlands near the desert where there were scrubmice and lizards in plenty. Those of the farming caste considered it an ill omen to see skyrers over inhabited land outside of the rainy season—a sign that something, somewhere, was out of balance.

A predator’s silhouette etched upon a Moonlit rooftop…

Behind him, Nijiri finished his prayer. “Brother? Forgive me for the delay.”

Ehiru closed his eyes and listened. The Dreamer had risen fully, an immense four-hued eye filling the night sky. He could taste the subtle change in the air as people sought their beds and beasts settled in their stalls. Closer by, faint sounds from the other guest suites had ceased. For a moment he thought he heard whispers on the wind: a vision. Understandable, given the length of time since his last Gathering, and unimportant. He exerted his will and the illusion faded. All was still.

“Time,” he said, and Nijiri drew close behind him.

It was a simple matter to stand on the railing and reach up to the ledge above, but he moved carefully anyhow. There were surely guards a few balconies up, protecting the Prince’s quarters. Levering himself up, he settled in a crouch on his hands and toes, and peered at the balcony hanging while Nijiri swung up to join him. The chamber beyond was dark. The faintest hint of fragrance wafted out to him as a breeze stirred the silk: a woman’s perfume.

Nijiri’s bare feet padded against the stone as he landed on the balcony. Ehiru glanced at him and saw that the boy’s face was calm, focused. Excellent.

Another breeze flickered past, causing the hanging to billow gently outward. Ehiru flicked it to widen the opening further and slipped within, pausing against a nearby wall to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Nijiri did the same, both of them rising to a half-crouch. Moving away from the wall, they picked their way among the furnishings. Past the main chamber lay the bedroom. A set of wooden chimes swayed in the window, occasionally emitting random hollow notes. He heard a rustle and murmur from the bed; she slept restlessly. Only one breather: she slept alone.

He signaled Nijiri with a nod, and together they approached the bed.

Too late Ehiru heard the whisper of movement that the woman’s stirrings had covered—shifting cloth, a careful step. In the same moment he heard the forceful release of a held breath and felt its warmth tickle the hairs on his right arm. He reacted without thinking, throwing himself forward just as something cold and sharp grazed his back, leaving a thin thread of fire along his skin.

Nijiri’s blurt—“Brother!”—broke the silence. Ehiru abandoned stealth as he sensed his attacker closing in. Off balance, he caught himself against the edge of the bed and kicked out. His foot struck flesh and shoved something backward; he heard a muffled curse and garlic-tinged breath wafted past his face. In the bed the woman jerked upright, gasping.

Then Nijiri lunged past him, a blurred silhouette batting and shoving at another silhouette half his size. Something gleamed brighter against the shadows: a knife, poised to stab Nijiri’s side. Ehiru struck first, his fist meeting bone; the knife clattered to the floor. In the same instant Nijiri made some sort of sharp movement and the smaller silhouette fell against the bedroom hanging, ripping it in a loud snarl of cloth. Nijiri closed in swiftly—

Lantern-light flared, painful in the dimness, and shocked them all to stillness.

“What in the names of the thousand Sun-spawn is going on here?” demanded the woman.





9





A Gatherer shall enter buildings in concealment, and approach the bearer of the Goddess’s tithe in stealth. Thus is peace maintained into dreaming.

(Law)





For several seconds after being jolted out of sleep, Sunandi could not comprehend the tableau before her. Lin lay on the floor, coughing and clutching at her throat. A slim, pale Gujaareen youth not far past the age of adulthood crouched over her in a striking stance, staring at Sunandi in almost comical surprise. Another man—bigger, older, dark as a Kisuati and somehow familiar—stood in the foreground half-turned to her, his eyes wide with shock and anger.

Then the fog of sleep lifted and details struck. Lin’s knife on the floor. The intruders’ black-dyed clothing. A moontear-embossed ornament on the man’s nearer hip: the emblem of the Hetawa.

Dearest Dreamer. Niyes had been right.

“ ’Nandi—”

Lin’s croak startled her out of shock. She threw aside the sheet, heedless of her own near-nudity—she wore only a light shift—and reached beneath the pillow to pull out the dagger she kept there. She snatched it from its sheath and leaped to her feet. “Get away from her!”

The man tensed as if to fight—and then some unidentifiable shadow crossed his face, replacing the anger with a strange, somehow detached calm. He straightened and then, shocking Sunandi nearly out of her skin, went down on one knee in formal manuflection.

“Forgive me. This should have gone peacefully.” The man’s voice was deep and so soft that she strained to hear him. He flicked some signal at the youth; the youth took Lin by the arm to help her up. Lin jerked her arm free and stumbled back to glare at both of the strangers. Her breath still wheezed alarmingly through her throat, though she seemed to be recovering. Sunandi edged over to her, knife still at the ready; with her free hand she pulled Lin’s hand away from her throat. An angry red mark spread across the girl’s larynx.