Kigh - Fifth Quarter Part 7

The hand holding the mirror began to tremble and memory laid the reflection of a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man over Bannon's brown on brown features. It wasn't a handsome face, it could even be called plain-except for the dark beauty of the eyes.

"No." He'd worn that face for only five short years and had no desire to remember any of them. Forcing the memories aside, he stared down once more at the image of the boy he'd become, and then slid the mirror carefully back into its padded case. The dark eyes had rotted with the rest of the discarded body, and the man who had found them beautiful was no doubt long dead.

It had, after all, been over ninety years.

He should've pulled a name from the air. One that didn't drag the past along with it.

Jaw set, he lightly touched his throat where the a.s.sa.s.sin's blade had caressed the skin. He couldn't take the name back. He couldn't let even the suspicion of weakness disturb the tenuous balance of power necessary to achieve his goal.

Still, it was only a name.

"And none of this," he muttered, his voice self-mocking, "explains why I gave it to her in the first place."

Vree folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. The edges had all been rounded and the whole gentle arc, extending about two hand spans down the wall to a dark tile border, had been painted a pale blue. She supposed it was intended to mimic the outdoors and give the room a feeling of openness, but it made her feel as though the sky were closing in on her.

"You think we can trust him?"

Bannon's presence s.h.i.+fted, as though he were pacing in the confines of a cage. "Who? That carrion eater in my body? Probably as much as he can trust us-and the first chance we get, he's out of there."

"Great." Her jaw creaked with the force of her yawn. "Can you keep watch while I sleep?"

"Depends. Can you sleep with your eyes open?"

Sighing, she pulled a dagger with each hand and arranged herself into a more defensive position. "This doesn't seem to come with any advantages."

"Yeah well, I'm alive... Vree?"Her eyes closed, pretty much of their own volition. "What?""Thanks. I mean, thanks for taking the chance, for not... you know."For not wanting to go on alone. Vree bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling."Are you crying, sister-mine?"Sister-mine. It had always been as much a possessive as an endearment, and this was the first time he'd used it since he'd landed in her head. She ignored the moisture trickling out from under the corners of her lids. "No. Of course not."

"Of course not," he repeated.

She didn't want to guess what he meant.

"Vree?"

"What?"

"Remember if you have to defend yourself, don't strike to kill. I mean, it is .. ." "... your body. Don't worry, Bannon." The dagger hilts lay loose within the circles of her fingers. "I'll remember."

Almost asleep, she barely heard him call her name again. "Vree?"

"What?" In spite of everything, she smiled. This was beginning to remind her of too many nights in the children's barracks when Bannon had kept her awake with question after question.

"I always thought I was taller..."

Hunger woke her. She lay, frozen in place, fingers tight around her dagger hilts, senses straining the silence for threat. She couldn't hear anything. At all. For a moment she was afraid that she might have somehow, inexplicably, gone deaf while she slept.

"Vree?"

"Shhhh."

The whisper of her hair against the cotton blanket as she turned her head sounded unnaturally loud. Very slowly, muscles tensed, she sat. Used to working in darkness, she found the dim, late evening light slanting through the narrow windows and the double louvered door leading to the courtyard more than sufficient.

"What is it?" Bannon demanded.

"Can't you hear it?"

"I can't hear anything."

"That's what I mean." A life spent in barracks and army camps hadn't prepared her for the quiet. She'd learned-everyone learned-to sleep through almost anything but she'd never woken up to such a total lack of noise.

"It's like we dozed off on target," murmured Bannon, wonder touching his mental voice. "Maybe everyone's cleared out."

Vree's nose twitched and her stomach growled loudly in response. A small stone crock, a dipper, a cup, and a covered bowl had been set on the low table beside the bed. Lips pressed tightly together in disgust, she sheathed her daggers and crossed her legs beneath her. "They could've just pushed a pillow over my face and saved themselves the bother. I can't believe I didn't hear them bring this in."

"Good servants walk on shadow feet. Commander Neegan always says that more a.s.sa.s.sins are screwed by personal body servants than by guards. What's in the bowl? I'm starved."

"I'm starved," Vree corrected absently, leaning forward and lifting the lid. "Cold millet and cooked slaughtering veg. Just like home."

"Sniff again, sister-mine. When the army cooks this, it smells like onions. This smells like..."

"... hot peppers and..." With her nose nearly resting on the edge of the bowl, it didn't even look like the grayish-brown, sticky ma.s.s she was used to. "... and orange. And there's more than just a couple of half-cooked chunks of zucchini in there, too." Her right hand jerked to a stop, the scoop of food on the first two fingers nearly at her mouth. "Bannon!"

"What if he's trying to poison us?"Vree swallowed a curt, What if he is? along with a mouthful of saliva and considered the question. "No. He's grown used to having power and he needs us... me to get more. He won't give up the chance."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Ever hear of an officer turning down a promotion?"

The food tasted better than it smelled. The crock held cold water with slices of

lime floating on the surface-Vree ignored the cup and drank straight from the dipper. It was a beautifully crafted piece of metal-work, shaped into the likeness of a broad-petaled flower on a gently curving stem, and if she'd had her pack... The army officially frowned on looting but pragmatically ignored most of the less blatant occurrences.

The pot was almost too pretty to use.

Thumbs tucked under the drawstring, she shucked her breeches down and squatted. Things got complicated for a few moments."Bannon, what is it with you!""Nothing.""Something's wrong. You'd think you never saw me p.i.s.s before.""I've never been you p.i.s.sing before."

"So what? It's still my body."

"Yeah, but I'm in here, too, and..."

"And what?"

"Nothing!"

Nothing? She looked down. Realized the problem. And couldn't stop the snicker -instantly regretted. Male obsessions that called for a wisecrack under other circ.u.mstances were no longer funny. "I'm sorry, Bannon."

"You're not a man. You don't understand. You can't understand." The next thought was so soft she hardly heard it. "I'm not a man."

Frowning, Vree straightened and shoved the pot back into its cabinet with the side of her foot. He was partially right-she wasn't a man and she didn't understand-but she could feel his distress and wanted to ease it. "Look, being a man is more than just... I mean, you're still you, and... Well, slaughter it, Bannon, you're not a woman."

"I'm in a woman."

"Yeah? Not for the first time."

"It's not the same thing." But this protest carried the feel of a reluctant grin and his next words proved that she'd managed to distract him. "Mind you, I've always wondered. Vree, if I'm stuck in here for a while, do you think you could..."

Her face grew hot. "No."

"Just once?"

"Bannon!"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Embarra.s.sment gave her only one response.

Gyhard stared at the throwing dagger buried to the hilt in the door frame by his

head, then he turned to stare at the young woman scowling at him. Although his heart raced and the highly conditioned body he now wore trembled with the need to react, he kept his tone mild. "I suppose I should have knocked?"

Vree fought to bring her blus.h.i.+ng under control, which only made it worse.

"What do you want?" she snarled.

"I thought, now that you've rested, that you might like to visit the bathhouse." He held out one of the flowing house robes he, as Aralt, had provided for guests. "I didn't want to mention this earlier, but you're filthy."

Soaped, scrubbed, rinsed, and feeling almost relaxed, Vree leaned back in the soaking pool until the warm water lapped at the point of her chin. "I could get used to this."

"They feel strange."

"What do?"

"b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They sort of float. Or they would float if they were bigger."

"Up yours." The water level rose as Gyhard lowered himself into the pool and she s.h.i.+fted position. "Aralt did all right by himself."

"There were certain perks involved in being district governor," he admitted, stretching his arms out along the submerged tile ledge. "Probably why I stayed with it for so long."

Vree circled a finger above the water, indicating not only the soaking pool but more-or-less the entire bathhouse; the lush curtains of hanging plants, the mosaics, the cl.u.s.ters of scented candles. "I'm amazed you wanted to give this up."

He shrugged, the motion sending ripples out from his shoulders. "I was old. While I'd allowed it to happen, I found I didn't care for it much. The older you are, the closer you are to a death that can't be avoided."

"He's about three feet from his death right now."

"As soon as we get a chance, Bannon. I promise."

From under half-lowered lids, Gyhard watched the minute changes in his companion's expression and wondered how she managed to so closely coexist with another life. Still, I suppose all those years in barracks and field camps are as good a training for lack of individuality as you can get. He'd barely touched young Bannon's memories during the transfer as, at the time, he'd had no desire to know the man he was displacing. Now, he wished he'd been just a little more thorough, if only to have gained more information on the sister. Considering her trade, there was a sense of vulnerability about her that he found astounding.

"So..." She jerked as he broke the silence. "How is your brother?"

"How am I? I'll show that carrion eater how I am the moment he drops his guard, the slaughtering son-of-a-sow, the..."

"He's angry." Vree interrupted the internal tirade. "And he wants his body back."

Gyhard flexed his ankle and gloried in the response of young muscle. "Well, tell him from me that it's a superb body and I'm not surprised he wants it back."

"Tell him yourself. He can hear you."

"He's using your senses?" The concept intrigued Gyhard. "Is he able to exert any

physical control?"

Below the surface of the water, Vree unclenched the fist Bannon had made.

"No," she lied, sneering slightly. "He's a pa.s.senger. That's all."

"I am not!"

"For Jiir's sake, Bannon, remember who we're talking to. The less he knows the

better."