“First time?”
The Viruk pointed to the west. “In Ixyll, we escaped a chaos storm by entering a cavern. It proved to be a mausoleum.”
“I remember.”
“You were certain that there was a chamber beyond an arch. Borosan and I said we had moved. You did not believe that and drew a map to show us what waited on the other side of the arch.” The Viruk crouched and scraped the rough map on the stone. “When you did that, Moraven and Ciras reacted. I felt it, too. We moved again. The first time the storm moved us. You moved us back.”
Keles felt the blood drain from his face. “By drawing the map, I moved us?”
Rekarafi nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have drawn my way out of Felarati if I had known that.”
The Viruk laughed. “No, you could not have. You did not know then what you did. You do not know now what you did last night. You have touched magic, Keles, very powerful magic, but you do not know how to control it.”
“Can I learn? Can you teach me?”
Rekarafi closed his eyes and raised his head, letting the breeze blow through his black mane. “There was a time, Keles Anturasi, when magic was so plentiful in the world that doing what you have done would have been simple. The Viruk mastered this magic, but in our mastering there was a flaw. It destroyed our Empire. What little I know would not serve you well. You’ve discovered this power on your own. You will have to learn how to control it yourself as well.”
“What if I get it wrong?”
The Viruk shrugged. “It will kill you.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It is an urge to caution.”
“Caution, yes.” Keles nodded. “That’s the other thing about everyone. They look at me and they are wary. Respectful but cautious. Who is more afraid of what happened here last night, them or me?”
Rekarafi growled out a low laugh. “The Eyeless Ones are the most afraid.”
“You have a point there.”
The Viruk rested a hand on his shoulder. “And you won our contest. You shifted more stones than I. It has been many years since a human so humbled a Viruk.”
“It’ll probably be a few more before that happens again, Rekarafi.”
“Pity.” The Viruk smiled. “Being humbled is an interesting experience if one lives through it.”
The Viruk withdrew as Tyressa came up the stone steps toward Keles. She carried a bowl and a pitcher. Bandages had been looped over her shoulder. She knelt beside him and set her burdens on the stone.
“Your hands must be cared for.”
“They’ll be fine.”
“You forget my duty to Prince Cyron. You are my responsibility.”
“Are you sure you want to take responsibility for me?”
Tyressa’s expression sharpened. “I don’t have that choice. Your hands.”
Keles frowned, then let the blanket slip. He presented his hands to her, all bloody, torn, swollen, and purple. He stiffened as she took them in her hands, but refused to cry out. She brought them down into the bowl, then poured water into it, which sent another throb of pain through his hands.
Tyressa wetted a cloth, then took his right hand out of the water. She began to gently scrub at it, holding his right wrist. He pulled back at the first touch of the cloth, but she tightened her grip. “Don’t struggle; it will only make it worse.”
“Sorry. It hurts.”
“It should. You’ve hurt your hands badly.”
Keles tried to laugh, but a wave of exhaustion killed it prematurely. “Funny that I can change people the way I did and not heal my own hands.”
“Why is it funny that you cannot do things for which you have no gift or training?” She washed his hand, removing dirt and crusted blood, which gave Keles a better look at how much damage he’d done than he’d wanted. “We all are what we are, Keles. Change is not easy.”
“But I’ve changed, and I don’t even know how or why.”
The Keru glanced back down into the courtyard. “You’re looking at why, Keles. You changed so they could live.”
“So everyone could live. Them. You. Jasai. Rekarafi.”
“I am corrected.” She lowered his right hand into the water and began to work on his left. “There are things for which I have no training, no gift.”
“You seem pretty gifted to me, Tyressa.”
She stopped and looked in his eyes. “What you said to me the other day…”
Keles shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m all grown-up, but sometimes the dreams of youth remain.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“Ouch.” Keles winced. “Maybe that’s what I should have said. That’s what you heard.”
“That’s not what I heard. What I heard was something for which I have no gift or training. I’ve been Keru for years, and dreamed of being one for longer. And you know I’ve dreamed of my people finding a way to escape the trap of being a captive nation. These are all things that are outside myself. They are things for which I am willing to fight and willing to die.”
“I understand that.”
“Then understand this: these things have precluded me considering other things. I set other things aside. Desires. Feelings.” She glanced down at his hand. “When you spoke to me, I couldn’t…”
She sighed heavily and her shoulders slumped a bit. “When you have so long been a warrior, anything you are not prepared to deal with is seen as an attack. I parry. I riposte. I elude and disengage.”
“You thought I was attacking you?”
“Not attack, no, but I felt ambushed.”
Keles nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense. So what you said about Jasai having feelings for me, that’s not true?”
Tyressa lowered his left hand into the water again. “It is true, Keles. She loves you and will do everything she can to hide it, because she believes I love you.”
“Do you?”
“It’s not something I have a gift or training for.”
Keles pulled his hands from the water and gingerly crossed his arms against his chest. “You still see it as an attack, don’t you?”
“There are nine hundred ninety-nine reasons you should love her, Keles. She would make you a good wife.”
“She’s got a husband.” Keles laughed. “Right now, he has better hands than I do.”
“Loving you is not part of my mission.”
His eyes narrowed. “But will it stop you from doing that mission?”
“It already has.”
“What?”
Tyressa’s chin came up. “If I had done what Prince Cyron ordered me to do, you’d already be dead.”
Chapter Sixty
4th day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Kunjiqui, Anturasixan
Anger gathered on Nelesquin’s forehead the way thunderclouds hovered on the northwestern horizon. Nirati knew he didn’t see her, for his face would brighten when he did. It always did, and that made her happy. She didn’t like seeing him angry; it frightened her.
Nelesquin studied his scrying stones. The black and white stones had fallen into a pattern she did not recognize. The black ones had clumped together. A smaller bunch of white stones had also come together, but the significance of these things eluded her.
“What troubles you, beloved?”
The dark man’s head came up, and his smile blossomed almost too quickly. “Not so much troubled as confused, my dear. I fear there have been some setbacks, and I am frustrated that I had no real chance to prevent them.”
“But you would have if you could?”
“Of course.” He pointed to the gathered black stones. “We suffered a reversal in Erumvirine. I believe Gachin Dost exceeded his orders and suffered as a result. He may even be dead.”
Nirati remembered the blue-skinned Durrani leader. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“It is a pity, though it will give Nimchin an opportunity. Gachin was a good leader, but Nimchin is more adaptable. Supplied with the tokens of appreciation I have aboard ship to thank them, he will find a way to excel in my service.”