drew in an
unsteady breath. "But now, for me, there will be no song. There is no one to sing it for me." She controlled her voice with effort. "No one for whom I may sing it; Jamail and Kalle are gone."
It called for something. Something of compassion. Something of understanding.
But I found myself lacking the words, the tact, the necessary understanding, because I had known the need for revenge. The need for spilling blood.
And so I blurted the first words I stumbled upon because they were easiest.
Because they required no compassion--only quiet, deadly passion. "Then let's rid
the world of these hounds, bascha... let's rid it of Ajani."
Del blinked heavily. But her tone was very steady. "Will you dance with me, Tiger? Will you step into the circle?"
I looked at my sword, lying quietly in its sheath. I thought of its power. I thought of a man named Ajani, and the woman once called Delilah. "Any time you
like."
Lips parted. I knew what she wanted. To say here, now, this moment. The temptation was incredibly strong, but she denied it. And made herself all the stronger.
"Not now," she said quietly. "Not even tomorrow. Perhaps the day after."
She knew as well as I even the day after was too soon. But by the time that day
arrived, we could put it off again.
Or not.
I rolled forward onto my knees, pulled one of my pouches close, dug down into its depths and pulled from it the ash-dappled pelt. I tossed it gently at her.
Del caught it. Let it unfurl, exhibiting all its glory. And looked to me for an
explanation.
"Your birthday," I told her. Then, feeling awkward, "I've got no use for it."
Del's hands caressed it. Much of her face was hidden behind loose hair. "A fine
pelt," she said softly. "The kind used for a newborn's cradle."
Something pinched my belly. I sat up straighter. "You trying to tell me something?"
Del frowned. "No. No, of course--" And then she understood exactly what I meant.
She tossed back pale hair and looked me straight in the eye. "No, Tiger. Not ever."
"What do you mean, not ever?" And then I thought about how some women couldn't
have children, and regretted asking the question. "I mean--no, never mind. I don't know what I mean."
"Yes, you do." Del smiled, if only faintly. "I mean, not ever. Only Kalle. I made it so."
"What do you mean, you made it--" And, hastily, "No, never mind."
"A pact," she explained simply. "I asked it of the gods. So I could be certain
of fulfilling my oath. Kalle had delayed me enough already."
I blinked. "That sort of thing isn't binding." I paused. "Is it?"
Del shrugged. "I have not bled since Kalle's birth. Whether it was that, or the
gods answering my petition, I cannot say. Only that you need have no fear I will
make you something you have no wish to be."
So. Yet another piece of the puzzle named Delilah clicking into place.
Only Kalle, forever, who was no longer hers. And never could be, now.
Thanks to me.
Thanks to my sword.
Oh, hoolies, bascha... what's to become of you?
What's to become of us?
After a moment I reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry, bascha."
Del stared at me blindly, clutching the moon-silvered pelt. And, eventually, smiled. "Giving up on the wager already?"
It took me a moment because I'd nearly forgotten. "No," I retorted sourly,
"I'm
not giving up on the wager. But I'll make you wish I had."
She slanted me a glance. "I don't sleep with my father."
Hoolies, she knows how to hurt.
Ten
"Here," Del announced. "It is as good as anywhere else, and we may as well see
if either of us is capable."
Having been lulled halfway to sleep by the rhythm of the stud and the warmth of
the midday sun--well, maybe not warmth, exactly; at least, not the sort I was used to, but it was warmer--I had no idea what she was talking about. So I opened my eyes, discovered Del dismounting, and hastily reined in the stud.
"Good as anywhere else for what?--and what is it we're supposed to be capable of?" I paused. "Or
unsteady breath. "But now, for me, there will be no song. There is no one to sing it for me." She controlled her voice with effort. "No one for whom I may sing it; Jamail and Kalle are gone."
It called for something. Something of compassion. Something of understanding.
But I found myself lacking the words, the tact, the necessary understanding, because I had known the need for revenge. The need for spilling blood.
And so I blurted the first words I stumbled upon because they were easiest.
Because they required no compassion--only quiet, deadly passion. "Then let's rid
the world of these hounds, bascha... let's rid it of Ajani."
Del blinked heavily. But her tone was very steady. "Will you dance with me, Tiger? Will you step into the circle?"
I looked at my sword, lying quietly in its sheath. I thought of its power. I thought of a man named Ajani, and the woman once called Delilah. "Any time you
like."
Lips parted. I knew what she wanted. To say here, now, this moment. The temptation was incredibly strong, but she denied it. And made herself all the stronger.
"Not now," she said quietly. "Not even tomorrow. Perhaps the day after."
She knew as well as I even the day after was too soon. But by the time that day
arrived, we could put it off again.
Or not.
I rolled forward onto my knees, pulled one of my pouches close, dug down into its depths and pulled from it the ash-dappled pelt. I tossed it gently at her.
Del caught it. Let it unfurl, exhibiting all its glory. And looked to me for an
explanation.
"Your birthday," I told her. Then, feeling awkward, "I've got no use for it."
Del's hands caressed it. Much of her face was hidden behind loose hair. "A fine
pelt," she said softly. "The kind used for a newborn's cradle."
Something pinched my belly. I sat up straighter. "You trying to tell me something?"
Del frowned. "No. No, of course--" And then she understood exactly what I meant.
She tossed back pale hair and looked me straight in the eye. "No, Tiger. Not ever."
"What do you mean, not ever?" And then I thought about how some women couldn't
have children, and regretted asking the question. "I mean--no, never mind. I don't know what I mean."
"Yes, you do." Del smiled, if only faintly. "I mean, not ever. Only Kalle. I made it so."
"What do you mean, you made it--" And, hastily, "No, never mind."
"A pact," she explained simply. "I asked it of the gods. So I could be certain
of fulfilling my oath. Kalle had delayed me enough already."
I blinked. "That sort of thing isn't binding." I paused. "Is it?"
Del shrugged. "I have not bled since Kalle's birth. Whether it was that, or the
gods answering my petition, I cannot say. Only that you need have no fear I will
make you something you have no wish to be."
So. Yet another piece of the puzzle named Delilah clicking into place.
Only Kalle, forever, who was no longer hers. And never could be, now.
Thanks to me.
Thanks to my sword.
Oh, hoolies, bascha... what's to become of you?
What's to become of us?
After a moment I reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry, bascha."
Del stared at me blindly, clutching the moon-silvered pelt. And, eventually, smiled. "Giving up on the wager already?"
It took me a moment because I'd nearly forgotten. "No," I retorted sourly,
"I'm
not giving up on the wager. But I'll make you wish I had."
She slanted me a glance. "I don't sleep with my father."
Hoolies, she knows how to hurt.
Ten
"Here," Del announced. "It is as good as anywhere else, and we may as well see
if either of us is capable."
Having been lulled halfway to sleep by the rhythm of the stud and the warmth of
the midday sun--well, maybe not warmth, exactly; at least, not the sort I was used to, but it was warmer--I had no idea what she was talking about. So I opened my eyes, discovered Del dismounting, and hastily reined in the stud.
"Good as anywhere else for what?--and what is it we're supposed to be capable of?" I paused. "Or
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