King's Shield

  Evred was only aware that the itch was almost . . . not scratched, what would you call it? Pressed? He had no words, no one had ever done that to him before. He hadn’t wanted anyone to do that. But the opportunity to kill that persistent drum behind his eyes was so persuasive. The prospect of clear thought again . . . Except that his mind, gradually freed of pain, refused to ride to harness. Tomorrow’s tasks, the next day’s, next week’s, what he must accomplish before he faced the Jarls at Convocation, he could not focus on any of it. His mind stayed stubbornly on his limbs warming to that itch-that-was-not-an-itch, even though Tau’s hands had not strayed from his shoulders.

  He cast down the golden wine cup onto one of the sleeping mats, grabbed up the bottle, and took a swig out of it. The wine chased away the tickle or tingle or whatever it was. That he did not want.

  Tau’s hands had lifted when he moved, but when he stilled, the wine bottle gripped in his fingers, back they came. Knuckles again, pressing down into the ache. Evred shut his eyes, leaning into them so the pressure would increase. He wished those hands could press the rocks away, right down to his bones; Tau was using his full strength now, and had loosened the top layer, but felt stubborn muscle beneath.

  After a time, Tau said, “That’s enough there. You don’t need bruises. Instead, I’ll shift to the sides. This is one of the places that kills Inda’s headaches the fastest.”

  That was the first mention of the name between them. Evred had never wanted to talk about Inda with anyone, Tau least of all.

  But now it seemed safe, for the matter was headaches. Nothing personal. Yet the questions in Evred’s mind were nothing but personal.

  He took another swig, like many who lock themselves from communication, permitting the liquor to turn the key.

  “I’m surprised,” he said, “that such methods work on Inda. I’d gathered he does not like to be touched.”

  Inda? What happened? Tau thought.

  Tau dug into the sides of Evred’s neck. The muscles were like knobs of bone. He said carefully, “Inda likes me to use my skills on that right shoulder of his. You know he’s taken damage there. I think that actually happened when he first took ship, or not long after.”

  And Evred said, “Tell me.” He bowed his head, resting it against his thumbs, fingers laced loosely around the wine bottle.

  Tau kept his voice light and detached as he related the story of Inda’s first days at sea, the fight with Norsh and its results. Events so very long ago, another lifetime entirely. Yet, judging from the subtle reactions Tau felt under his hands, still immediate for Evred.

  He finished, “And we are fairly certain he was tortured while in Ymar. He never minded people’s proximity before then, but afterward, we all saw him recoil if he did not expect to be touched. Especially around his head. His hair was drying on a mild day last winter, and we were on deck eating and planning a raid. Against the Venn raider at Ghael, as it happens. The wind blew a lock of Inda’s hair into Dasta’s slurry. He lifted it out. Inda whipped around and for a heartbeat or two we thought he would deck Dasta.” Tau chuckled at the memory.

  Evred had gone tense again at the word tortured, and did not relax during the quick shift to the funny story. Tau cursed himself for undoing all the good work he’d done, and added, “In any case, Inda never talks about it, so we know nothing of the details. But we never touch his head and keep our food out of reach of his hair.”

  A pause, another drink of the wine, then Evred took him by surprise, holding the bottle up over his shoulder. He did so without speech, without looking at Tau, but the offer was clear.

  Sharing wine. A human gesture—a personal gesture. After having traveled in Evred’s proximity for a season, Tau knew how very rare those were.

  And though Tau never drank when he was working, he broke that rule now, and helped himself to a long, sweet pull. Fire burned along veins and nerves as he handed the bottle back, and Evred set it down. “I did not know,” Evred said finally.

  “Like I mentioned, he doesn’t talk about it. He didn’t talk about any of you, either, for nine years.”

  Tau shifted to thumbs, pressing outward in slow strokes, working up the side of Evred’s neck to the muscles at the base of his skull, then at last the sides of his jaw.

  A sharp indrawn breath. “That hurts.”

  “Let your mouth hang open. No one can see. It’s the way you’ll get rid of the headache. I press some of the knotwork out of the hinges of your jaw.”

  A soft laugh, a slight tightening, then an act of will to relax again. “If we used torture, this would be a sure one.”

  Tau said, “It works. But no one likes it.”

  Evred contemplated a sharp retort, except he didn’t feel angry. The rushing in his ears was gone, leaving a pleasant lassitude. He said, “Do something that works but doesn’t feel like a hot knife through the skull.”

  Tau hesitated, then shifted his grip, working the tightness out of the muscles below Evred’s collarbones, back over to the shoulder blades, and then front again, slow and easy.

  Evred’s surface tension was nearly gone. Lingering in the deeper muscle layers was the iron-cable tension of years. Tau waited until Evred’s breathing had lost the last of the self-conscious control then said mildly, “This goes better if you are lying flat.”

  The muscles under his hands jumped: back to surface tension, wariness, distrust.

  But then Evred bent forward, almost pulling Tau off balance, grabbed up his wine. Passed it back, again without looking. And again Tau took a drink, a long one meant to mute his own responses.

  Evred cast himself face down onto the nearest mat.

  Tau set the bottle carefully under the chair, knelt down, and spread his fingers over Evred’s back, testing the stresses there, and the pulse under the muscles.

  Someone banged on the door to the woodworking alcove. Inda and Barend ignored the noise.

  “I’m trying to think of a short way to explain,” Barend said, after a scowling pause. “Heh. Remember when you paid off the Pims’ debt? The guild didn’t send money, did they?”

  “No, they wrote up what they called a letter of credit. I signed it, and they put on a sved with magic.”

  “Well, when the Pims got that letter, like as not they didn’t demand gold. Nobody in all Lindeth has that much gold anymore. So they used the letter in place of gold. She gives the letter to her own guild, and then writes letters of credit against that letter, until it’s all used up.”

  “What’s to stop her from writing letters for twice the amount, if everyone is just sending letters around?”

  “That’s what the sveds are for. Guild scribes are very specific. You’re used to the cheap sved new hands carry on board new hires. All that promises is that someone accepted as a witness spoke for you, said you are who you said you are. Scribes write what they hear. Money scribes write what they count. Their standing depends on never being so much as a copper-flim off. In some places, their lives depend on it.”

  Inda remembered watching Kodl deal with dock officials—something he’d never had to do. “Letters of credit, right. I think I have it. So there’s money somewhere, then, right?”

  “Right. That’s half of it. The other half is made up of time and the what they call ‘kind.’ Kind is trade of things for other things, and time is what the Jarls pay taxes in, along with kind: you owe the king a certain number of men per year. That means trained men with their horses and gear. In times of war, the king can ask for more, but there’s another kind of cost to that, and he has to pay most of it. And then there are things like deathgild if a man dies while under orders, costs of animals, costs for training, costs for patrols and defense and so forth. It’s mostly measured in time, and translated out into established charges for food and garrison and stable and who pays for boots and steel and the rest. The guilds all do that accounting.”

  “Got it. So Evred’s used most of the crown’s share up?”

  “It was already being used up bef
ore Hawkeye’s dad went after my uncle with a sword. If Yvana-Vayir had won, he would have discovered an empty treasury and no oath-sworn dues coming in, either. Not to him. Unless he had more allies than we knew.” Barend snorted. “Always possible.”

  Inda waved a hand, as if waving away Barend’s words. “So tell me why jewels and gold are bad. I didn’t have any problems with them. Nor did any of the rest of us.”

  Barend shook his head. “Have you seen any Stringers in this country?”

  Inda was going to point out that he hadn’t been in it but a few months, and never in any harbor—then he realized what Barend meant. Even if he rode straight over to Lindeth, he was not likely to find any of the people in the brown clothes of their guild, silken counting strings at their belts. “No money changers because there’s no trade. Right.”

  “People here deal with their guilds. There might be some willing to turn jewels into time or kind, but none of ’em could do a kingdom-sized job. So your jewels will just be a lot of bright stones. Good for plugging holes.”

  Inda sagged against a rack of woodworking tools. “Damn.”

  It was Barend’s turn to wave a hand. “I didn’t say it was impossible. Just that there needs to be a step between getting your treasure and turning it into anything Evred can use.”

  Someone banged on the door again.

  “Tell me how,” Inda said.

  Tau kneaded his way down Evred’s spine, trying not to think too much about the strength he felt in those slowly uncoiling muscles, the clean, strong lines of his body. Most of all the amazingly . . . human aspect to Evred, lying there in a rumpled shirt and trousers, no weapons or banners or throngs of attentive Runners to assist him in keeping the world at a distance.

  No man is made of stone.

  One can try to be, but like any other effort to wrest change from one nature to another, there is a cost.

  Evred drifted. He could attribute the euphoria to wine haze, but that just muted the intensity of desire and well-being mixed that resulted from the touch of those strong, knowing hands. How could one know just where to press, where to stroke so slowly with the thumb, how scratching lightly down the outsides of the arms left trails of invisible fire?

  Evred had not moved, save to fling his arms out in a loose curve round his head, which lay on one side, face to the wall.

  He could not know that Tau heard his mood in his breathing, and smiled crookedly as he dug with the heels of his palms deep into the muscles supporting the trunk, knowing full well the effect it had. Tau laughed inwardly, aware of the danger he was playing with, but that was exactly the attraction. He could sympathize with the heart-wounded, be kind to the hopelessly devoted, hold off with cool reserve the hungrily possessive, but complexity and danger, yes, and power, were a constant allure.

  He also knew that prolonged isolation did not make one sane.

  And so, not knowing what to expect, he finished working to the extremity of hands and feet. And when Evred slowly, reluctantly propped himself on his elbows, head down, face hidden, Tau leaned down and placed on the back of that pale, exposed neck a loud, mocking kiss.

  Evred’s violent recoil surprised a laugh out of Tau. Who sat back on his heels and watched those angry, wary green eyes take in the locked door, the room, Tau. Who matched him in size, and strength, and mood.

  Tau smiled, a rare smile: mocking, his upper lip curled just enough to show his white canines, unexpectedly sharp. “I think you’re afraid of me,” he drawled. “Prove that you’re not.”

  Evred doubled up his fist and slugged Tau.

  “So you’re saying you won’t do it?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Barend kicked the toe of his moc against a cabinet.

  The banging on the door redoubled into thunder. “Go somewhere else! This is our room!” someone roared.

  Inda turned his head. “Go away! This is important state business!”

  Barend snorted, and as voices mumbled outside the door—the only distinct one saying, “It is? No it’s not, why would he lock himself in our closet?”—he said, “You shouldn’t have done that. You know they’ll be waiting when we open the door.”

  Inda turned his palm up. “Why not? There’s no privacy anywhere else, why not an important conference here?”

  “Because no one will believe it’s a conference,” Barend said with a wheezy laugh.

  Inda’s brows shot up, then he grinned like a scrub. “Good. Far fewer questions that way. Want to make some noises, help them along?”

  “I do not.” Barend straightened up. “All right. It’ll take some time, mind you, because I’m going to be turning that treasure of yours into ships. Trade. I’ll see if I can find wood anywhere, though we’re bound to be paying triple the price.”

  “Whatever it takes. That treasure is just sitting there. Someone has to use it, may as well be us. Rescue a kingdom.”

  “I’m gonna laugh if we arrive and it’s not there. Meantime, what do we tell Evred?”

  “Nothing about the treasure,” Inda said firmly. “If we actually get it, then let it be a surprise. He could use a good surprise. As for why you’re going east, well, let’s tell him you’re going to contact Chim’s fleet to negotiate the possibility of trade. Which has the advantage of being true.”

  “We’ll tell him in the morning, right before I leave with Ndand for the pass. He’s sure to like the idea of trade negotiations, not to mention a possible fleet.”

  “That’s what I had in mind.” Inda smacked the bar up and yanked the door open.

  Three identical expressions of amazement greeted him and Barend as they walked out. Inda made it about five steps before he succumbed to snickers.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “INDA

  The whisper was more insistent, woven into the sound of the wind through snapping sails; when it repeated next to Inda’s ear, the dream washed over and past him, leaving him lying in bed. He started up, hands flailing.

  Signi sat up as well, a stray beam of departing moonlight shining in her wide eyes.

  “Sorry to wake you, Dag Signi.” It was Tau. “I need Inda for just a moment.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Inda protested. “I just shut my eyes.”

  “It’s a couple of glass-turns before the dawn watch. Come outside?”

  Inda muttered curses as he fumbled around for his trousers. He stuck his feet in, hopping as he pulled them on and followed Tau out of the room. Inda had been given an actual room, one with a real bed. Too bad he’d only gotten this half watch to sleep in it, he thought irritably as Tau shut the door behind them.

  Then he recognized Tau’s blue coat and his gear slung over one shoulder. Inda sniffed. There was the faint, distinct trace of herbs in the soap that Tau had bought at great expense from Colend, and had hoarded ever since he’d left Bren. Tau was not only bathed, dressed, and ready for the day, he was leaving.

  “Where are you going?” Inda asked in dismay. “Why? What happened?”

  “To answer the first question is why I’m here. As for the second—” Tau checked the silent hall. The doors were all closed, behind which the remaining Sier Danas slept. “Come out on the wall,” he said abruptly.

  They walked through the empty stairwell to the sentry walk. The only posted guards were women as lookouts on the four towers: with an entire army cramming the city, Evred had declared the walls did not require sentries, and had issued general liberty.

  Faint blue smeared the eastern horizon. The air was soft. It would be a very hot day for a ride. But they were no longer in a hurry.

  Inda shook his head to get the fog out of it. The woman at the top of the east tower recognized him, touched fingers to chest, then turned away.

  Tau said, “I need you to send me on an errand. Something a Runner would do.”

  Inda thumped his fist on a stone battlement. “What’s going on, Tau?”

  “I had a tangle with your Evred.”

  “You what?” Inda rubbed h
is thumbs across his eyelids. When he peered more closely at Tau in the torchlight, there was a mark on one cheekbone, and dark roughness across his knuckles. “You didn’t get into a fight with him,” he exclaimed in dismay.

  “It was fun,” Tau retorted, with a quick grin. “It was fun for us both. I don’t think he’s permitted himself to just have fun for far too long,” he added reflectively, his tone odd enough to send warning prickles through Inda’s nerves. Inda shook his head violently, trying to wake up as Tau went on, “He’s had storm sail set too long. I gave him an eye in the storm. I’d better be gone before the winds hit from the other direction.”

  Inda leaned his arms on the battlement. “Tau,” he said, exasperated. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Let me try it this way. One reason Evred’s so taut is that he doesn’t trust people easily. He doesn’t trust emotions at all.”

  Inda said, “He’s been—” He rubbed his eyes again. “Don’t know how to describe it. Shut away, sometimes. All the time since Noddy died.”

  It started when he first laid eyes on you, is my guess. Or maybe it started when he was born. But Tau only said, “I used scrapping to seduce him. And he enjoyed it as much as I did, I made sure of that.”

  Maybe even more, because Evred so very rarely permitted anyone to breach the ringed ice-walls of his reserve. But the powerful effect of that breach had gone both ways. Tau had always known that sex and fighting were dangerously parallel desires in some people; he was drawn that way himself. But that did not explain the compelling, almost overwhelming lucency of Evred lying there wrist-lax and utterly undone.

  Tau knew two things: that no one had ever seen Evred so exposed, and that Evred would waken to equivalent suspicion-impelled anger.

  Tau became aware of Inda’s confusion. “By the time Evred comes to breakfast he’ll most likely have talked himself into thinking I’m as vile as Coco. People like Coco happen too often to those in power. It’ll be better for everyone if I’m not there.”