Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell Book One

"His friend Yassin was the last Haldiim anywhere near this area for centuries, I'm sure." Kiram scrubbed at his eyes trying to get the sleep out of them.

"You're correct in your first deduction but wrong in your second." Javier tossed Kiram his riding clothes. They hadn't been washed yet and the pungent odors of sweat, horses, and saddle leather wafted up.

"Wait a moment," Kiram said as Javier's comment slowly sank in. "There are other Haldiim here?" Kiram wondered if they would sell him some adhil bread or spiced lamb. It would almost be worth putting on these rank clothes and enduring a morning ride, if he could eat lamb ground with cinnamon served with thick yogurt.

"A troupe of Haldiim performers travel this far north for the autumn tournament. They tell fortunes, sell charms, and pretty much steal anything they can get their hands on. They're none too friendly, nor too clean, either. I doubt they'd know what to do with a nice boy like you."

"Do they keep crows?" Kiram asked.

Javier nodded.

"They sound like Irabiim, not Haldiim." Kiram wasn't surprised that Javier didn't seem to recognize the name. Few Cadeleonians understood that the descendants of Jhahiim were not one group but more than a dozen separate tribes. Generally, Cadeleonians referred to them all as Haldiim, a practice that infuriated Kiram's mother.

"The Irabiim tribe broke off from the Haldiim a long time ago," Kiram told Javier. "They're much more nomadic than we are. A lot of them are thieves and worse. My grandmother used to say that the Irabiim bring trouble to a town and leave the Haldiim to settle it."

"She might have had something there. Last year there was a huge fight between several of them and some of our grooms over a missing horse."

Suddenly Kiram thought of the dead groom and Fedeles' comment about Haldiim murderers. He doubted that Fedeles knew the difference between Haldiim and Irabiim either.

Kiram asked, "Was Victaro Irdad involved in this fight?"

"Who told you about Victaro?"

"I saw his grave. Fedeles told me Haldiim murdered him. Do you think he could have meant the Irabiim?"

"I doubt it. Victaro was killed during the spring break. The Irabiim-am I saying that correctly?" Kiram nodded and Javier continued, "The Irabiim had been gone since autumn. They would have been several counties away."

Kiram frowned in disappointment at the loss of a neat solution.

"You probably shouldn't tell anyone else about what Fedeles said," Javier told him.

"Why not?" Kiram stripped off his nightshirt and tossed it back onto the bed. He didn't miss the way Javier gazed at his naked body.

"You said it yourself earlier. Most people are just looking for an excuse to act on their prejudices. An accusation of murder against the Irabiim might be all it takes to get them killed. They may be dirty but I don't think they should be blamed for Victaro's murder, do you?"

"No, of course not." Kiram staggered to the bathroom and washed his face. He scrubbed at his teeth with a paste of pumice and clove oil then spat it out. "I just can't figure out why Fedeles would tell me that."

Javier walked to the doorway of the bathroom. "I don't know. He says a lot of things but they can't all be taken seriously."

"I know." Kiram accepted the shirt Javier handed him. It was cleaner than the pants. "But I don't think everything he says should be dismissed either. Someone really did kill that groom."

"Nestor can't have failed to inform you about the culprit," Javier said.

"He told me. Everyone thinks you did it." Kiram looked directly into Javier's face. He saw the momentary hurt in Javier's expression and then that almost challenging look of amusement returned.

"If I did, he wouldn't be the first man I've killed."

"You didn't kill him," Kiram replied flatly. He walked past Javier to the dresser and retrieved his stockings.

"You'll want to wear your riding boots," Javier told him. Kiram grabbed them. He sat down on his bed to pull the tight leather boots on. Javier studied him for a moment.

"How do you know I didn't kill Victaro?" Javier asked at last.

"Just consider yourself as a criminal. What kind of crimes do you commit and how do you commit them?"

Javier frowned in puzzlement, which pleased Kiram, so he continued with his analysis.

"You don't seem like the kind of man who would leave a lot of evidence. When you were just stealing a pie you still took care not to get caught. It just doesn't seem in your nature that you'd be so messy or so willing to let everyone think you had killed Victaro if you really had."

"So, you're saying that the fact that I won't deny killing Victaro means I didn't do it? That doesn't strike me as the most indisputable of arguments I've ever encountered," Javier replied.

"No, but it doesn't make me wrong either. You didn't kill him. You're taking the blame because you know that your title will shield you from prosecution. That means that not only do you know the killer's identity but that it's someone whom you wish to protect."

Javier gazed down to his hands, frowning, and Kiram knew he had to be right. He could only think of one person whom Javier would protect so staunchly. Javier defended him so fiercely that he had free run of the entire academy. But allowing him to murder a groom? Kiram didn't know if he could believe that either.

The purely intellectual aspect of Kiram wanted to force the subject, to corner Javier and make him to admit what he knew. But a deeper, wiser instinct kept him quiet. He didn't think he was ready just yet to know what Javier was truly capable of doing to protect his cousin.

And for all he knew Fedeles had acted in his own self- defense, if the groom really had assaulted him…Kiram just didn't know and for the first time in his life he thought he might not have the right to ask. This wasn't a philosophical curiosity, or a mathematical problem; it was Javier's and Fedeles' private lives.

Javier made the choice for him. He strode to the wardrobe and tossed Kiram a heavy jacket. "The sun's hardly up. It's going to be cold outside."

Kiram followed Javier down through the dormitory and across the grounds to the stables.

Outside, the air was cool and only faint rays of sunlight passed through the surrounding orchards. Deep blue shadows stretched across the cobblestone walkways and pooled in the recesses of the buildings. Kiram expected the grounds to be deserted but dozens of servants clogged the paths and scurried between the buildings. Scullery boys dashed from the gardens with baskets of vegetables, while housemen hauled buckets of water from the well to the dormitory. Smoke already pumped up from the smithy. And in the distant shadows of the woods Kiram thought he spied the figure of a groundskeeper returning from his hunt with sacks of dead rabbits, or perhaps quail.

In the stable, the grooms hauled fresh hay to the stalls, changing out feed and water, and leading horses to the farrier. They kept clear of Javier as he strode through the stable. Kiram noticed that many of the grooms watched Javier's approach with intense fear. After he passed by they shot hateful glances at his back.

If Javier noticed any of this, he gave no indication. He walked through the stable as if he had the building all to himself. Kiram followed him, suppressing his apprehension at the thought of so many grooms glaring at his back.

At last, Javier stopped in front of a stall. Almost immediately Firaj poked his big black head over the door. His ears pricked up slightly and Kiram hoped it was a sign of the horse's interest, not annoyance.

Javier held out the back of his hand and Firaj drew in a deep snort and then sighed out a soft, pleased noise.

"Today I thought we'd take a slow walk around the academy grounds." Javier's voice was so soothingly gentle that Kiram suspected he was addressing the horse as much as him. "Does that sound all right to you?"