manage right now. It was all very well for Azni to play casual. Alyea’s mood was just too sour at the moment.
She sipped the dark tea, catching the familiar aroma and smoky taste of thopuh, and grimaced at the memory of Deiq’s outrageous behavior the night before.
“Last night,” she said, lifting her cup slightly. Azni smiled, apparently understanding.
“I’ve always been fond of thopuh tea,” Azni said quietly, turning her cup in her hands. “And the story behind it is interesting, if rather embarrassing.”
“How does he get away with such rudeness?” Alyea burst out, leaning forward. “He’s impossible !”
Azni lifted a thin eyebrow. “He’s an elder ha’ra’ha,” she pointed out. “He could ask Lord Scratha to bend over if he liked.”
Alyea stared, mouth open at that bluntness, feeling shock rush a wave of color to her face.
“Oh, Alyea,” Azni sighed, leaning forward to refill her cup. “You haven’t the slightest idea yet what you’re dealing with here, do you? You’re still thinking in northern terms.”
She shook the sturdy white teapot gently, then whistled, short and sharp. A plump servant came in from a side room and removed the empty pot without speaking.
“Deiq’s been getting away with much worse than that dinner tale for many years,” Azni said. “The rules are different for him. Mainly because he doesn’t care . I admit a reluctant admiration for that. I used to be like that. . . .” She pursed her lips, frowning, and shook her head.
The servant returned and set the teapot down; Azni leaned forward and tilted the small lid sideways. Steam spilled out, braiding up into the still air, and the thick scent of thopuh tea filled the room.
“But Deiq, he’s not as bad as he could be,” Azni said, sitting back and watching the steam. “And he’s not as cold as he was, a few years ago. Something happened, along the way, to shake him badly. He’s changing, and that in itself is astonishing. And a bit dangerous. Ha’ra’hain don’t change their minds easily.” She lifted her gaze to Alyea. “And he is right, you know. Kathain are fairly well essential in the first few months of a desert lord’s new life.”
“Did you —” Alyea stopped short, biting her lip, and looked away.
“Of course,” the elderly woman said serenely. “About ten a day, in the beginning, if I recall; and later, there was Regav. . . .” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “He was a desert lord too, so that . . . was enough. And then . . . it stopped being an issue.”
Alyea looked up in time to see Azni make an impatient motion with one hand, as though to push away the past.
“Never mind,” Azni said, and leaned forward to fuss with the angle of the lid for a few moments. At last she sat back in her chair again and sighed. “You won’t be feeling the effects yet, I suppose. It took me a tenday or two once the final trial ended, I believe; but then, my final trial took months, not days. Unlike you, I stayed in isolation through the birth of my. . . .”
Her voice faded; eyes filling with sudden tears, she pressed the back of one hand against her mouth.
“Lord Azni,” Alyea said, feeling horribly inadequate. “I’m so sorry.”
“Never mind,” Azni said again, wiping her eyes clear. “Done is done. And that was a long time ago.”
Her determined attempt at brushing aside the past was denied by the shadow of an old, deep pain in her eyes. Clearly, she still hurt over giving away her first child; but courtesy forbade pressing the point. Azni was an elder, and of superior rank; Alyea had no right to explore painful areas just to get answers.
Alyea looked down at her cup, frowning, and turned it round slowly. Somehow, the child she’d given hadn’t seemed real until now. She had barely experienced the pregnancy, after all, before the ha’rethe took it from her.
When there’s as little time as you had , she remembered Deiq explaining, they have to take more. To sustain
She sipped the dark tea, catching the familiar aroma and smoky taste of thopuh, and grimaced at the memory of Deiq’s outrageous behavior the night before.
“Last night,” she said, lifting her cup slightly. Azni smiled, apparently understanding.
“I’ve always been fond of thopuh tea,” Azni said quietly, turning her cup in her hands. “And the story behind it is interesting, if rather embarrassing.”
“How does he get away with such rudeness?” Alyea burst out, leaning forward. “He’s impossible !”
Azni lifted a thin eyebrow. “He’s an elder ha’ra’ha,” she pointed out. “He could ask Lord Scratha to bend over if he liked.”
Alyea stared, mouth open at that bluntness, feeling shock rush a wave of color to her face.
“Oh, Alyea,” Azni sighed, leaning forward to refill her cup. “You haven’t the slightest idea yet what you’re dealing with here, do you? You’re still thinking in northern terms.”
She shook the sturdy white teapot gently, then whistled, short and sharp. A plump servant came in from a side room and removed the empty pot without speaking.
“Deiq’s been getting away with much worse than that dinner tale for many years,” Azni said. “The rules are different for him. Mainly because he doesn’t care . I admit a reluctant admiration for that. I used to be like that. . . .” She pursed her lips, frowning, and shook her head.
The servant returned and set the teapot down; Azni leaned forward and tilted the small lid sideways. Steam spilled out, braiding up into the still air, and the thick scent of thopuh tea filled the room.
“But Deiq, he’s not as bad as he could be,” Azni said, sitting back and watching the steam. “And he’s not as cold as he was, a few years ago. Something happened, along the way, to shake him badly. He’s changing, and that in itself is astonishing. And a bit dangerous. Ha’ra’hain don’t change their minds easily.” She lifted her gaze to Alyea. “And he is right, you know. Kathain are fairly well essential in the first few months of a desert lord’s new life.”
“Did you —” Alyea stopped short, biting her lip, and looked away.
“Of course,” the elderly woman said serenely. “About ten a day, in the beginning, if I recall; and later, there was Regav. . . .” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “He was a desert lord too, so that . . . was enough. And then . . . it stopped being an issue.”
Alyea looked up in time to see Azni make an impatient motion with one hand, as though to push away the past.
“Never mind,” Azni said, and leaned forward to fuss with the angle of the lid for a few moments. At last she sat back in her chair again and sighed. “You won’t be feeling the effects yet, I suppose. It took me a tenday or two once the final trial ended, I believe; but then, my final trial took months, not days. Unlike you, I stayed in isolation through the birth of my. . . .”
Her voice faded; eyes filling with sudden tears, she pressed the back of one hand against her mouth.
“Lord Azni,” Alyea said, feeling horribly inadequate. “I’m so sorry.”
“Never mind,” Azni said again, wiping her eyes clear. “Done is done. And that was a long time ago.”
Her determined attempt at brushing aside the past was denied by the shadow of an old, deep pain in her eyes. Clearly, she still hurt over giving away her first child; but courtesy forbade pressing the point. Azni was an elder, and of superior rank; Alyea had no right to explore painful areas just to get answers.
Alyea looked down at her cup, frowning, and turned it round slowly. Somehow, the child she’d given hadn’t seemed real until now. She had barely experienced the pregnancy, after all, before the ha’rethe took it from her.
When there’s as little time as you had , she remembered Deiq explaining, they have to take more. To sustain
Similar Books
