Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

Tavi slipped into the alcove and drew the curtain shut. He removed his filthy clothing and passed it out through the curtain to the waiting girl. She took it from him with brisk motions, tucked it into the gunnysack, and carried it out at arm’s length, to have it laundered, swiftly dried, and brought back to him.

A large bucket of lukewarm water sat beside the tub, a washcloth upon it. Tavi used it to wipe the worst of the grime from his body before testing the steaming water. He added a bit more hot water from a large container on a swinging arm next to the tub, then sank into it with a sigh. Warmth enfolded him, and he luxuriated in it for a time. The work Gracchus had assigned him was as strenuous and tiring as it was distasteful, and he looked forward to soaking tired muscles in hot water at the end of each day.

He thought about his family for a moment and felt bad to have missed their reunion in Ceres. He had to admit, though, that it would have been awkward speaking to his aunt now that she had thrown her support to Lord and Lady Aquitaine. So long as the conversation didn’t come anywhere near politics, things might have been all right-but Tavi’s training as a Cursor meant that he was involved with politics nearly every waking moment, in one fashion or another.

He’d missed his uncle, too. Bernard had always shown Tavi the consideration and respect that he’d never realized were all too uncommon. Tavi felt proud that his uncle had proven himself a hero of the Realm, and on more than one occasion, and he had been looking forward to Bernard’s reaction upon seeing Tavi after his years of education and training. Bernard had worked hard to make sure Tavi had the raw materials to build an honorable life for himself. Tavi wanted Bernard to see with his own eyes what his nephew had made with them.

And Kitai…

Tavi frowned. And Kitai. She would have been there. If Tavi had not felt the little lonely pangs that had plagued him since leaving her in Alera Imperia, it was not because he no longer desired her company. She was often in his thoughts, especially her laughter and her pointed wit, and if he closed his eyes he could picture her face-exotic and arrogantly lovely with her canted Marat eyes, white silken hair, her long, strong limbs, tight with shapely muscle, skin softer than…

In the other alcove, the woman’s giggles segued into quite different high-pitched sounds, and Tavi’s body reacted to the thoughts of Kitai and the sounds of the nearby doxy with an almost-violent enthusiasm. He ground his teeth, suddenly sorely tempted to follow Max’s advice. But no. He needed all of his focus and attention to be on his duty, to be alert for even the smallest scrap of intelligence he could report back to the First Lord. The last thing he wanted to do with his time was to undermine his own effectiveness with foolish-if undeniably alluring-distractions.

Besides. He didn’t want one of Cymnea’s girls there with him. He wanted it to be Kitai.

His body made its agreement with the sentiment uncomfortably clear.

Tavi groaned and sank under the water for as long as he could hold his breath. When he surfaced, he seized the nearby bowl of soap and a clean washcloth and scrubbed his skin until he thought it might slough off, struggling to turn his thoughts to something less involving. Clearly, he missed Kitai. Clearly, he wanted to be near her as much as he ever had. But if so, then why had the odd, uncomfortable sensations of loneliness that had spurred him to speak about her ceased?

He had always felt the pangs when he thought about… her presence, he supposed. Her voice, her touch, her features all felt like something perfectly natural to his world, as much a part of it as sunshine and air. When he had been touching her, even only so much as holding hands, there had been a kind of peaceful resonance in the touch, something warm, reassuring, and deeply satisfying. It was the memories of their loss that had brought on the unpleasant sensation of loneliness. Even now, the memories should, by all rights, have brought on more of the same.

But they didn’t. Why?

He had just finished rinsing himself of the soap when it hit him, all at once.

Tavi snarled a muted curse, heaved himself out of the tub. He seized a towel, quickly swiped it over his body, and snatched up a plain robe folded on a nearby chair, shoving his still-damp arms into it. He stalked out of the bathing tent into the central yard.

The wine tent was in an uproar of one kind or another, and Tavi emerged in time to see Bors lumber up to its entrance and go inside. He spotted the blind woman beside one of the tents, still playing her reed pipe, and stalked toward her.

“What are you doing? ” he hissed at the woman.

The blind woman set her pipe down and her mouth quirked into a smile. “Counting the days until you realized who I was,” she replied. “Though I was about to start counting the weeks. “

“Are you insane?” Tavi demanded in a harsh whisper. “If someone realizes that you are Marat-”

“-they will be considerably more observant than you, Aleran.” Kitai sniffed.

“You were supposed to be in Ceres at the family reunion.”

“As were you,” she said.

Tavi grimaced. Now that he knew who “Gerta” truly was, the disguised elements of Kitai’s appearance seemed painfully obvious. She had dyed her fine, silvery white hair to crude black and let it grow matted and tangled deliberately. The pockmarks on her face were doubtless some kind of cosmetics, and the blind woman’s bandage covered her exotic, canted eyes.

“I can’t believe the First Lord just let you ride away.”

She smiled, and it showed very white teeth. “No one has ever told me where I may or may not go. Not my father. Not him. Not you.”

“All the same. We need to get you out of here.”

“No,” Kitai said. “You need to learn to whom the Parcian merchant’s factor reports his information.”

Tavi blinked at her. “How did you…”

“If you recall,” she said, smiling, “I have very good ears, Aleran. And as I sit here, I learn much. Few guard their words near a madwoman.”

“You’ve just been sitting here?"

“At night, I can move more freely and learn more.”

“Why?” Tavi asked.

She arched her brows. “I do what I have done for years now, Aleran. I Watch you and your kind. I learn of them.”

Tavi let out a short, exasperated breath, but touched her shoulder. “It is good to see you.”

She reached up and squeezed his hand with hers, her fingers fever-warm, and she made a small, pleased sound. “I did not enjoy your absence, chala ”

There was a shriek from the far side of the Pavilion, then a mussed, besotted legionare flew out of the wine tent. Bors came out after him a second later and applied sweeping kicks from his great booted feet to wherever he could reach upon the drunk, until the man had been driven from the Pavilion.

Kitai withdrew her hand from Tavi’s, and the spot felt peculiarly cool in the absence of her heated skin. “Now, Scipio Rufus. It will be strange for you to be seen conversing with a simpleton. Go away. You’ll scare off the game.”

“We must speak again,” Tavi said. “Soon.”

Kitai’s lips curled up into a sensual little smirk. “There are many things we must do, soon, Aleran. Why ruin them with talk?”

Tavi flushed, though the sunset was particularly red tonight, which might have hidden it. Kitai lifted her reed flute to her lips again, hunching down once more into her role. Bors returned from evicting the rowdy drunk and settled down into his spot by the fire. Tavi shook his head and returned to the bath tent to await the return of his laundered clothing.

He closed his eyes and sat listening to Kitai’s flute as he did, and found himself smiling.