The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(40)

“Has waited since Kinja died, two seasons ago. Whatever recent discoveries you’ve made will survive another fourday’s delay. Leaving now means the Protectors never get this information, because those men will catch you and kill you. Better late than never, hmm?”

He was right. Sunandi began to pace, in an effort to vent her restlessness. “Very well. But not a fourday.”

“If—”

“If what I’ve learned is true, the Prince’s plans could spell destruction for us all—northerner and southerner, Gujaareen and Kisuati and everyone who trades with either land. Better in time than too late, hmm?”

Etissero sighed. “I thank the gods of wind and fortune our women care more about money than politics in the north. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go home to one like you.”

Sunandi permitted herself a small smile.

“Fine, then.” Etissero flicked the hangings around the window closed. “How do you want to do it?”

“See if Gehanu’s group is in town. I’ve traveled with them before, and they make the run from Gujaareh to Kisua often at this time of year.” She took a deep breath. “That leaves me with only one worry.”

Lin. Etissero saw her face and understood.

He went over to his son and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Fetch refreshments for our guest—figs and almonds if we have them, kanpo-nut and cheese if we don’t.” The boy jumped up and went downstairs, and Etissero eyed Sunandi. “You should build your strength for the journey. The desert is hard on the weak.”

His words chafed no less, she decided, for all that they were true. So she seated herself on the hard bench, and ate when Saladronim brought her food, and tried her best to invent new and scathing scolds to heap upon Lin when she finally arrived.





13





A Gatherer shall neither marry nor acquire property. He shall sully not his body with drug, sex, or other impairment; nor his soul with personal attachments beyond those of faith and brotherhood. He is the right hand of Hananja, and to Her he belongs wholly.

(Law)





The din of the late-morning market floated in through the narrow cell window in a babble of voices, clanging objects, and the clucks and bleats of animals. There was comfort in it despite the cacophony, for it was the sound of the city’s daily routine. How could Hananja not be pleased by the order and prosperity of Her people? Ehiru smiled to himself as he knelt in the light and listened.

Then, from behind, the sound of his cell door’s lock jarred the steady drone of the market. Ehiru glanced around, curious. The men in the guard-station had been solicitous toward him thus far, their ingrained respect for Gatherers still strong despite the ignominy of his circumstances. They had not disturbed him since he’d been brought to the station. But now three men stepped within, pausing until the door shut again behind them. Two were the Sunset Guardsmen who had brought him to the station. They took up positions on either side of the door, hands resting on knife-hilts. The third man was a bearded stranger in the garb of a midcasteman—an artisan, Ehiru guessed by the loose smock and headcloth the man wore. And yet… Ehiru narrowed his eyes, frowning at an odd sense of familiarity about the man’s build and carriage.

“Don’t you recognize me, Ehiru? I do this to fool the commoners when I walk among them, but I never imagined it would fool you as well.” The artisan stepped into the patch of light, smiling with lazy—and familiar—amusement.

Ehiru caught his breath. “Eninket?”

The Prince raised both eyebrows, smile widening. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Mind you—I’m supposed to have you killed for uttering it.” He moved past Ehiru to the narrow shelf that served as the cell’s bed, and seated himself with regal grace. “But I think we can ignore protocol under the circumstances.”

As the shock faded, Ehiru composed himself and shifted to face the Prince. As best he could, for the rogue’s yoke interfered with movement, he lifted his arms in manuflection and spoke in Sua. “Please forgive me, my Prince. I meant no disrespect.”

“You need not retreat behind formality, either,” the Prince replied in kind, then switched back to Gujaareen so they could speak casually. “I’ve yearned to speak with you in private for years, Ehiru. I’ll admit this is unfair, doing this when you’re effectively captive, but you refused all of my invitations.”

“I am a mere Servant of Hananja. You are the Bringer of Night, Herald of Dreams, Her consort-to-be in Ina-Karekh. It is not the place of a servant to dine at the master’s table.”

“It isn’t the place of a servant to avoid the master, either,” the Prince retorted, then sighed. “No, this isn’t how I wanted it. We’re here now, Ehiru. Can’t we be brothers again, at least for a few moments?”

Ehiru kept his eyes on the floor, though he finally lowered his arms and dispensed with Sua as well. “Can a bird return to its egg? You call me brother, but we have not been that for decades. And perhaps—”

He bit the words back, closing his eyes as memories assailed him with sudden, painful force. The scent of blood like metal on the tongue. His mother’s mortal gasp. He could almost see the rose-marble walls of Kite-iyan around him…

Vision, he told himself, and grimly refocused his mind on the present.