came here to meet with you about something completely different,” I said. “Do you think it’s a coincidence she mentioned me in the process? It seems to me that a woman does not discuss one rival with another—unless she hopes to play them against each other. Perhaps she perceives us both as threats.”
“Threats?” He laughed, then tossed back the glass of whatever-it-was. He couldn’t have tasted it that fast. “Gods, you’re as stupid as you are ugly. And the old man honestly thinks you’re a match for her? Unbelievable.”
Heat flashed through me, but I had heard far worse in my life; I kept my temper. “I’m not interested in matching her.” I said it with more edge than I would have preferred, but I doubted he cared. “All I want is to get out of this godsforsaken place alive.”
The look he threw me made me feel ill. It wasn’t cynical, or even derisive, just horrifyingly matter-of-fact. You’ll never get out, that look said, in his flat eyes and weary smile. You have no chance.
But instead of voicing this aloud, Relad spoke with a gentleness that unnerved me more than his scorn. “I can’t help you, Cousin. But I will offer one piece of advice, if you’re willing to listen.”
“I would welcome it, Cousin.”
“My sister’s favorite weapon is love. If you love anyone, anything, beware. That’s where she’ll attack.”
I frowned in confusion. I’d had no important lovers in Darr, produced no children. My parents were already dead. I loved my grandmother, of course, and my uncles and cousins and few friends, but I could not see how—
Ah. It was plain as day, once I thought about it. Darr itself. It was not one of Scimina’s territories, but she was Arameri; nothing was beyond her reach. I would have to find some means of protecting my people.
Relad shook his head as if reading my mind. “You can’t protect the things you love, Cousin—not forever. Not completely. Your only real defense is not to love in the first place.”
I frowned. “That’s impossible.” How could any human being live like that?
He smiled, and it made me shiver. “Well. Good luck, then.”
He beckoned to the women. Both of them rose from their places and came over to his couch, awaiting his next command. That was when I noticed: both were tall, patrician, beautiful in that flat, angular Amn way, and sable-haired. They did not look much like Scimina, but the similarity was undeniable.
Relad gazed at them with such bitterness that for a moment, I felt pity. I wondered whom he had loved and lost. And I wondered when I had decided that Relad was as useless to me as I was to him. Better to struggle alone than rely on this empty shell of a man.
“Thank you, Cousin,” I replied, and inclined my head. Then I left him to his fantasies.
On my way back to my room, I stopped at T’vril’s office and returned the ceramic flask. T’vril put it away without a word.
9
Memories
THERE IS A SICKNESS CALLED the Walking Death. The disease causes tremors, terrible fever, unconsciousness, and in its final stages a peculiar kind of manic behavior. The victim is compelled to rise from the sickbed and walk—walk anywhere, even back and forth in the confines of a room. Walk, while the fever grows so great that the victim’s skin cracks and bleeds; walk while the brain dies. And then walk a little more.
There have been many outbreaks of the Walking Death over the centuries. When the disease first appeared, thousands died because no one understood how it spread. The walking, you see. Unimpeded, the infected always walk to wherever healthy people can be found. They shed their blood and die there, and thus the sickness is passed on. Now we are wise. Now we build a wall around any place the Death has touched, and we close our hearts to the cries of the healthy trapped within. If they are still alive a few weeks later, we let them out. Survival is not unheard of. We are not cruel.
It escapes no one’s notice that the
“Threats?” He laughed, then tossed back the glass of whatever-it-was. He couldn’t have tasted it that fast. “Gods, you’re as stupid as you are ugly. And the old man honestly thinks you’re a match for her? Unbelievable.”
Heat flashed through me, but I had heard far worse in my life; I kept my temper. “I’m not interested in matching her.” I said it with more edge than I would have preferred, but I doubted he cared. “All I want is to get out of this godsforsaken place alive.”
The look he threw me made me feel ill. It wasn’t cynical, or even derisive, just horrifyingly matter-of-fact. You’ll never get out, that look said, in his flat eyes and weary smile. You have no chance.
But instead of voicing this aloud, Relad spoke with a gentleness that unnerved me more than his scorn. “I can’t help you, Cousin. But I will offer one piece of advice, if you’re willing to listen.”
“I would welcome it, Cousin.”
“My sister’s favorite weapon is love. If you love anyone, anything, beware. That’s where she’ll attack.”
I frowned in confusion. I’d had no important lovers in Darr, produced no children. My parents were already dead. I loved my grandmother, of course, and my uncles and cousins and few friends, but I could not see how—
Ah. It was plain as day, once I thought about it. Darr itself. It was not one of Scimina’s territories, but she was Arameri; nothing was beyond her reach. I would have to find some means of protecting my people.
Relad shook his head as if reading my mind. “You can’t protect the things you love, Cousin—not forever. Not completely. Your only real defense is not to love in the first place.”
I frowned. “That’s impossible.” How could any human being live like that?
He smiled, and it made me shiver. “Well. Good luck, then.”
He beckoned to the women. Both of them rose from their places and came over to his couch, awaiting his next command. That was when I noticed: both were tall, patrician, beautiful in that flat, angular Amn way, and sable-haired. They did not look much like Scimina, but the similarity was undeniable.
Relad gazed at them with such bitterness that for a moment, I felt pity. I wondered whom he had loved and lost. And I wondered when I had decided that Relad was as useless to me as I was to him. Better to struggle alone than rely on this empty shell of a man.
“Thank you, Cousin,” I replied, and inclined my head. Then I left him to his fantasies.
On my way back to my room, I stopped at T’vril’s office and returned the ceramic flask. T’vril put it away without a word.
9
Memories
THERE IS A SICKNESS CALLED the Walking Death. The disease causes tremors, terrible fever, unconsciousness, and in its final stages a peculiar kind of manic behavior. The victim is compelled to rise from the sickbed and walk—walk anywhere, even back and forth in the confines of a room. Walk, while the fever grows so great that the victim’s skin cracks and bleeds; walk while the brain dies. And then walk a little more.
There have been many outbreaks of the Walking Death over the centuries. When the disease first appeared, thousands died because no one understood how it spread. The walking, you see. Unimpeded, the infected always walk to wherever healthy people can be found. They shed their blood and die there, and thus the sickness is passed on. Now we are wise. Now we build a wall around any place the Death has touched, and we close our hearts to the cries of the healthy trapped within. If they are still alive a few weeks later, we let them out. Survival is not unheard of. We are not cruel.
It escapes no one’s notice that the
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