Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

“He really does like you,” Seregil noted with a resigned sigh.

“How do you know it’s a boy?” asked Ilar, coming closer. “It’s not like it has anything between its legs.”

“Neither do you!” Alec spat back.

“It doesn’t?” asked Seregil.

Alec paused in his barbering. “Well, no, but he looks like me, so we might as well call him that as anything.”

“Then how does he piss?”

“I don’t think he needs to.”

Seregil rested his face in his hands, trying again to imagine how they were going to manage.

Alec kept his gaze on his work, frowning. “No one’s going to hurt him again. Besides, if Yhakobin wants him so badly, then he must be important, right?”

“To make some medicine.”

“That didn’t work,” Ilar reminded them.

“I think we should take him to Thero and Magyana,” said Alec. “Maybe they’ll know what he is.”

“I know a little,” Ilar said, giving Alec an arch look. “More than you.”

“Would you care to tell us?” Seregil replied evenly.

Ilar shrugged. “Ilban says there are many different kinds of rhekaro. The ones made from Hâzadriëlfaie blood are the rarest of all. According to the alchemists’ histories, a perfect poison can be made of their blood, as well as an elixir of perfect healing, and that it possesses a power that can strike a thousand men dead on the spot when its master speaks the key.”

Alec glared at him. “Liar! He couldn’t even protect himself.”

“As I said, this one turned out wrong, too,” Ilar replied. “Neither of them even had wings like they were supposed to. He blamed your mongrel blood.”

Seregil struck Ilar across the mouth so fast the other man had no time to duck. “Shut your filthy mouth,” he snarled as Ilar went sprawling.

“His words, not mine,” Ilar whined, cupping his split lip. “Nothing he tried with it worked as it was supposed to. He tried making something from your blood, too, Seregil, but that didn’t work properly, either. That’s why he didn’t free me, as he’d promised.” He sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I was so close!”

“At our expense.” Seregil gathered the rhekaro’s shorn hair and twisted it into a rope to go into the bundle. “What else did he tell you about it?”

“Not very much. But I did see something. I’ll show you, if-”

Seregil arched an eyebrow. “If I promise not to kill you?”

“Both of you.”

“Well, Alec? What do you say? He has been of some use.”

“We could have gotten away without him,” Alec muttered, trying to comb Sebrahn’s ragged hair into some sort of order with his fingers. It stuck out in long, ragged tufts, but he looked slightly more like a normal child now. But only slightly.

“Maybe, but I think he’s bought himself some time. So, Ilar, that’s the best you’ll get. What is it you have to show us?”

“I need some water, and that hog sticker of yours.”

“You can have the water.” Seregil pulled a cup they’d stolen from the bundle and half filled it from their precious store.

“Now draw a drop of its blood and let it fall into the cup.”

Seregil handed Alec his poniard. Alec pulled the rhekaro into his lap and took one of its hands between his. “Don’t worry. It’s just a little poke. Just one. Hold out your hand.”

And it did, gaze fixed on Alec’s hand. Alec carefully pricked the tip of one small finger. What oozed out was not blood, but something pale and viscous, like the jelly around frog’s eggs in the spring. When it fell into the water, a flash of soft light spread, reminding Seregil of a firefly’s glow. It quickly faded, and something dark formed and floated to the surface.

It was a flower, and looked for all the world like a tiny river lotus, except for the color. It was dark blue, almost black, and gave off a sweet, heavy fragrance.

“This is it?” Seregil asked, eyeing it closely.

“It’s supposed to be white, according to the texts, but this rhekaro makes nothing but these blue ones. They’re worthless,” Ilar told him.

“I saw some of these in the workshop!” Alec exclaimed, reaching for it.

Seregil grabbed his wrist. “Be careful.”

“He said it didn’t work.” But Alec used the tip of his knife to lift the blossom from the cup. Holding it out to the rhekaro, he said, “Sebrahn, can you show me?”

The rhekaro took it carefully in its cupped hands and looked around at the three of them for a moment. Then it moved toward Ilar, holding the flower up as if it wanted him to smell it. The man scrambled backward, face drawn with fear.

“So you’re certain it doesn’t work?” Seregil snatched the flower from the rhekaro’s hand and leaped on Ilar, holding him down and mashing it against his lips.

Ilar clawed at his wrists and they grappled, rolling across the dirty floor. Alec jumped on Ilar’s legs and helped wrestle him down. When Seregil looked for the flower, it was nowhere to be found.

“Where the hell-? Did you eat it?”

“Let me go! I had your word!” Ilar cried, still struggling weakly.

“We never gave you that, actually.” Seregil grabbed Ilar’s face and inspected his mouth closely. “Well, now, that’s interesting. Let him up, Alec.”

Ilar staggered up to his feet, outraged and panting. “You lied to me!”

“How does it feel?” Alec sneered.

“Better yet, how does your lip feel?” asked Seregil.

“My lip?” Ilar raised a trembling hand to his mouth. “What do you mean? Oh!”

The split was gone, the lip whole and pink under a smear of blood as if nothing had happened.

“No wonder Yhakobin didn’t figure it out,” Seregil murmured, grabbing Ilar again and holding him still while he ran a thumb over the healed place. “It does do something, just not what he wanted, apparently. Let’s hear it for your ‘mongrel’ blood, talí.”

He grinned at Alec, and for an instant something came to him along the talimenios bond: Alec was as surprised as he was, but there was something more, something Alec wasn’t telling him.

Alec caught the look and made a discreet canting gesture in Ilar’s direction: Not in front of him.

At the end of his patience, Seregil pulled Alec to his feet. “Come on. We need to talk. Ilar, you stay here.”

As expected, Alec took the rhekaro by the hand and brought it along with them. Seregil led them outside.

“Well?”

Alec rested his hands on the rhekaro’s shoulders. “The oracle at Sarikali said I’d father a child of no woman, right? And Illior knows, Sebrahn doesn’t have a mother.”

Seregil clenched his fists in frustration. “It’s not a child!”

“He is to me, and he’s mine.”

For a moment Seregil was speechless. Then everything fell into place. “You think-? This-Alec, you’re not serious?”

“I am, too! What else could it mean? Look at him!”

There was no mistaking the resemblance between them. Abhorrent as the thought was, Alec might actually be right.

“Tell me again how he was made. All of it.”

Alec told him about the purifications in detail, and then, more haltingly, of the various bodily fluids that had been collected and how. When he got to the semen, he was blushing miserably.

“They drugged you for that, eh? Well, at least you dreamt of me,” Seregil told him, ruffling his hair. “I’m surprised Yhakobin didn’t order Ilar to get that from you…” The look on Alec’s face told him he’d hit a mark. “That bastard!”

“Like I said, he tried, but I wouldn’t.”

Seregil gently clasped him by the back of the neck and rested his forehead against Alec’s. “He can be very persuasive, can’t he? Don’t worry, I understand.”