Anne Bishop - Bridge of Dreams

“Then we will take him home again,” Styks said. “Care for him there.”

“No,” Danyal said gently. “Placing him in the Asylum was your choice, and given what I have seen of him, it was the right choice. But when—or if—he ever leaves the Asylum is now my choice. You relinquished all rights to make decisions for your nephew the moment I accepted him as an inmate here.”

“We weren’t aware of that,” Pugnos protested. “We weren’t told we couldn’t take him away again.”

They hadn’t been told because it wasn’t quite true, but until he discovered who Lee was and heard his side of the story, Danyal wasn’t giving him back to these men. “That is regrettable, but it makes no difference. As the Asylum’s Keeper, I now have control over Lee’s life. However, if this is difficult for you to understand, the Directors of the Asylums hold an audience at The Temples on the day of the new moon. Perhaps you should discuss your nephew’s case with them.”

Styks tried to mask his fury. Pugnos didn’t even try.

“What about the Handlers we hired?” Styks asked.

Danyal shook his head. “As I said, the men you hired deceived you. When their ill treatment of your nephew was discovered, I demanded that they produce the letters that verified their credentials and proved they were qualified for such work.” He sighed. “Forgeries. Nothing you gentlemen could have detected, but clear enough to those of us who must be vigilant about such things. I should have demanded to see their credentials when they arrived, but since they were already in your private employ, I was lax in that particular duty. But I have made up for that lapse by filing an official complaint with the city guards, since forging credentials is against the law. I also gave the guards careful descriptions of the two men, who were gone by the time the guards answered my summons. When they’re found, they will be questioned. Eventually we will know everything they have done to your nephew.”

“We had not expected such diligence,” Styks said after a pause.

“Vision is a very large city, but it is also a patchwork of small communities,” Danyal said with a smile. “When it comes to keeping the people safe, the city guards, like the Shamans, are always diligent. Isn’t that why you brought Lee to this particular Asylum?”

Lightning, quicksand, and foul bogs swirled in their heart-cores. They understood now that he wasn’t a tool they could use—and that made him an enemy.

“I have your location,” Danyal said, noting how they both twitched at the words. “When the men who deceived you are found, I’ll send word.”

“Thank you,” Styks said. He hesitated. “Will you also keep us apprised of our nephew’s condition?”

“Of course. And may those reports give you hope that Lee will recover enough for you to see some measure of the man he had been.”

“Easy now,” Zhahar said as she and Kobrah led Lee down the corridor. “One step at a time.”

“What…?”

“You’ve been calm for a whole day. We’re taking you to the bathing room so you can have a proper bath. It’s going to be a hot day and you still have a touch of fever, so we’ll keep the bathwater cool.”

She wasn’t sure he understood her. He still tended to fight when one of the male Handlers tried to touch him, because he didn’t seem to hear her when she told him the men who had mistreated him were gone. But he’d become docile enough when she or Kobrah fed him or gave him water or helped him use the portable commode.

She suspected embarrassment had been a strong incentive for getting well enough to be kept without restraints and, therefore, being able to use the commode by himself.

They had put him in a short robe for the walk to the bathing room, but as soon as Kobrah filled the bath, Zhahar tipped her head toward the door.

“You’re not supposed to be alone with him,” Kobrah said. “Shaman Danyal said so.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zhahar replied. Kobrah, on the other hand, wouldn’t be—although the moonlight walks with her dream friend had raised her tolerance for dealing with men. “You supervise getting his room cleaned. And check with housekeeping about replacing that mattress.”

Giving Lee a long, somewhat hostile look, Kobrah slipped out of the bathing room and closed the door behind her.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Zhahar matter-of-factly stripped the robe off Lee. “Let me help you into the bath.”

“I can do it.”

“Next time you can do it,” she said tartly. “This time you’re going to accept help so you don’t slip and crack your head.”

“Daylight,” he muttered.

He made the word sound like a curse.

“There are handholds on the wall. Here. Got it?” She guided his hand to the handhold. Her muscles bunched as she offered support on his other side while he eased his weakened body into the water.

His sigh of relief when he settled in the water made them relax. They stripped off the Handler’s jacket and set it aside, glad to have their arms bare for a little while. As they turned to reach the basket that held the soaps and sponges…

=Zhahar!= Zeela shouted.

…Lee lunged, grabbing the left arm. His other hand just missed locking around a throat and, instead, grabbed a fistful of the sleeveless tunic.

“Who are you?” he snarled. “What did you do with Zhahar?”

Shock. They had never been this careless at the Asylum. Never. But they’d been so focused on getting him safely into the bath, Zhahar had submerged without conscious thought so that Zeela could come into view and provide the needed muscle.

That kind of casual submergence/emergence was something they only did in the privacy of their own rooms.

::He knew the difference before he touched us,:: Sholeh said, taking on a tone of scholarly curiosity. ::He can’t see us, so how did he know?::

=Not now, Sholeh,= Zeela snapped. “I’m Zeela. Zhahar’s sister. I help her sometimes.”

His hold on her tunic and arm didn’t ease. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I came in when Kobrah left.” More or less true.

His grip didn’t lessen, but his expression was thoughtful. “I’ve felt your resonance before, heard your voice before. With Zhahar.”

By the triple stars, what does that mean?

Now his grip on her arm eased, and his thumb brushed over the scar. “Accident?”

“Knife fight in a tavern. I won,” Zeela replied.

His cloudy eyes seemed to stare at her face. “Prove you’re Zhahar’s sister.”

“How?”

“Describe her.”

“It’s against the rules to participate in inmates’ sexual fantasies.”

His thumb brushed over the scar again. “‘Physical description’ to ‘sexual fantasies’ is quite a jump. Describe yourself, then. You have any other distinguishing features besides this scar?”

“A tattoo on my left bicep. It’s a heart inside a triangle.”

Why did she tell him that?

“What does it mean?”

She could feel Zhahar pushing to come into view and tell him. Their core sister had been intrigued by this man from the first time she’d seen him, spoken to him. Intrigued enough to be too trusting? Was Zhahar’s willingness to trust lowering her guard as well?

“If you have to ask, you’re not meant to know,” Zeela said.

He cocked his head, as if he’d heard more than he should have. “One more question. Are you the older sister?”

“I’m the middle sister. Zhahar is the oldest.”

He released her and settled back in the water. “Ah. I thought I recognized that particular tone of bossy when she was ordering me around.”

*I am not bossy!* Zhahar said.

=Ha.= “You have an older sister?”