She met my eyes. "Is it possible that it's—"
"—wishful thinking? Sure. And it could be. But it might also be something in me now, something that's a part of the magic. I conjured a living sandtiger out of carved bone once. Who's to say I can't conjure two fingers when I need them?"
"Does it—does it feel the same?"
"Not exactly. And when I look at them, I see the stumps, not the fingers. But when I take up the sword, I feel whole again. That my hands are whole again." I hitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I'm not saying I can't be defeated or that no one could use it against me. My grip is different. I'm not the same as I was before. Anyone looking at my hands would see only three fingers. But if I can dance as though I have four on each hand—"
"But you don't." Gently insistent, afraid I'd become complacent in something that didn't truly exist.
I heaved a sigh, ran one hand through my hair, scrubbing against my tattooed scalp. "I've heard men who've lost a limb talk about ghost pain. That they feel as if the missing limb is still attached, still functional. Maybe that's all it is. I sense the ghosts of my fingers somehow, and it helps." I tapped. "Up here, in my head."
Del nodded. "And if the ghosts ever go away?"
I laughed a little. "Bascha, I'm forty years old. I don't have many more good years left to me as a sword-dancer; and I'm not a sword-dancer, according to the oaths of Alimat. But I think I can teach."
The smile broke free from the tension in her face. "I still can't believe it. The Sandtiger, opening a school. . . and teaching!"
"Oh? What about you? You seem willing enough to stick in one place and take on students. Is that what you envisioned for yourself when you left Staal-Ysta?"
"I envisioned killing Ajani. Beyond that—?" She shook her head. "Nothing. My song ended that day in Iskandar. The South is not my home, but I can't go to the North. And it doesn't matter. I chose to be with you. If you want to restore Alimat and reopen a school, then I will be a part of it."
I was only half-joking. "Until Neesha steals you away from me."
Nothing in Del's expression suggested there was anything that supported what I'd suggested, even in the back of her mind. "Well, then we have a few weeks, at least."
Relief. I grinned, handed her the other bread-bowl, stuck the second horn spoon into it so it stood up in the center. "Here. Just don't eat up all our profits."
THIRTY-TWO
DEL AND I were packed and eating our morning meal by the time Neesha came dragging out of one of the smaller rooms to knock at the doorframe, since, as Del had noted, we had no actual door.
My mouth was full, so Del, tying saddlepouches closed, waved him in; he sidled through the curtain split. "Is everyone decent?"
Del and I assessed him silently. His face was stubbled, his eyes faintly bloodshot, his hair an unruly tangle. I swallowed and said, "Aparently more decent than you."
His smile blossomed, lighting honey-brown eyes. "Oh, no. I am far better than decent. Or so Silk tells me."
I nearly choked on my next bite, swallowed hastily. "Silk? You ended up with Silk last night?"
"Silk was the last one I ended up with last night, yes."
I glowered at him. "And I suppose she didn't charge you."
Neesha's grin was a superior smirk. "As a matter of fact, she said she ought to pay me."
Del looked from me to him and back again. "Is this for my benefit, this ridiculous male posturing?"
Neesha started laughing even as I grinned. Hey, in front of a beautiful woman you like it to be known that you have alternatives.
"But you do look, um, used up," I noted.
He attempted to tame his hair. "Ridden hard and put away wet," he agreed in horse parlance; then he glanced at Del solemnly. "And that isn't posturing."
She made a sound of absolute scorn and waved a dismissive hand. "You men."
Indictment in two words. Neesha and I exchanged grins. "Women," we said simultaneously.
Del scowled, buckling on her harness. "Are we ready to go?"
"My things are packed and by the back door," Neesha told her.
My mouth full again, I gestured illustratively at waiting saddlepouches.
"Good," she said. "Why don't you two men go saddle the horses? I'll be along in a few moments."
I washed breakfast down with ale. "What's keeping you?"
"Something men wouldn't understand." She gestured again. "Run along, boys."
I already wore my harness and sword; I hooked my set of saddlepouches over my shoulder, tossed Del's to Neesha. "By all means, let's allow the woman to do woman things."
Del scowled at us both as we departed the room.
The kid and I went to the livery housing the horses and set about getting them ready to go. It was companionable as we worked, exchanging a sentence now and again, but mostly just tending the horses. Neesha did indeed have a way with them that I envied. I wondered if I should have him ride the stud . . . nah, better not. I really didn't want to get the kid hurt.
Nor, for that matter, did I want to witness the stud's defection.
He had finished tacking up his horse and worked on Del's white gelding, smearing black paint around his eyes and stringing the Vashni browband across his face. When done, he looked over at me. "When do you want to try this sparring match?"
I was inspecting the line of stitches in the stud's left haunch. "Oh, let's wait till we get to Alimat. I figure what you did for the stud bought you a lesson or two, no audition necessary." I patted the stud's rump well away from the stitched wound. "It looks good."
"My father taught me well."
I shook my head, leading the stud into daylight. "If you are the only son, you stand to inherit."
Neesha followed with his bay and Del's gelding. "Yes."
"Owning a horse farm is not a bad way to live."
"It's a good way to live."
"Then—"
He replied over the beginnings of my question, knowing what it would be. "Because it's not what I dreamed about. Not what I wanted to do since—" He broke off, glanced away from me. "Since I first understood what sword-dancing was. My father followed his father's footsteps, and his before his, but I want to follow . . . well, I wanted to go elsewhere. To make my own way." Now we stood in the alley not far from the cantina. "It may be a good life—I don't suggest it isn't—but it isn't the one I want. Not yet. Maybe someday when I'm your age and want to retire, I'll use my winnings to buy my own horse farm."
I nodded inwardly; I could admire a kid who wanted to make his own way in the world despite having advantages. If he had any true talent for the sword, I'd find out; if not, I'd send him back to the horses. Most didn't have that choice.
"Sword-dancing is a very hard life, Neesha. The work isn't steady, it's often painful, and now and again there's a very real chance you could be killed, even if it isn't a death-dance. Accidents happen. And outside of the circle, there are any number of jobs that could get you hurt or killed."
He nodded. "Abbu told me so."
I went very still. "Abbu Bensir?"– '
"He was the sword-dancer who came through my village."
"Hunh." That put a different light on things. "How many lessons did he give you?"
"Four." A self-deprecating grin kindled quickly. "Enough to have him humiliate me but not enough to dissuade me."
"You took lessons from Abbu, then decided to find me ?"
"I decided to find you before then." His gaze on me was level. "I heard stories about you."
Ah, yes. The legendary Sandtiger. Abbu would certainly appreciate that. "Did you tell him that was your plan?"