Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

“I’ve been asking myself that a lot.”

Ilar smoothed a hand down the front of his dirty robe. “You didn’t know, did you, what had really become of me? You thought I was wandering around free, just like you.”

And there it was again, thought Seregil, that little fish hook tug in his heart. Ilar held his gaze as he undid the ties at the neck of his robe and pulled it off over his head, baring his devastated body-the scars, the stripes, and the terrible emptiness between his legs.

When Ilar reached for his shoulder this time, Seregil just stood there, looking into those sad hazel eyes, and seeing the depth of pain there.

“Haba,” Ilar whispered, leaning closer. “Can’t we call the tally even? We ruined each other’s lives, and now we’ve saved them. Without me, how would you have gotten them both away?”

“I’d have managed!” But Seregil couldn’t help wondering how. Ilar’s hand slid to the back of his neck and he could not for the life of him understand why he was allowing it. Ilar suddenly bent closer, bringing his lips close enough for Seregil to taste the man’s breath.

Seregil jerked back. “What the hell-?”

Before they could discuss the matter, Alec burst from the trees and flung himself at Ilar, tumbling them both into the stream with a mighty splash.

Seregil stood dumbstruck, watching them flailing at each other with knees and fists. He almost kissed me. I almost let him!

Alec quickly got the upper hand and was holding Ilar’s head under the water. Seregil waded in and dragged him off, pulling him to his feet. They were both soaked now.

Alec whipped around and punched Seregil squarely in the jaw, knocking him on his ass in the shallows. He was livid.

“Is that how it is?” he shouted, fists balled, body tensed for attack. “Is that why you dragged him along?”

Seregil stared up at him. The whole side of his face throbbed and his mouth was full of blood. “Of course not!”

“I saw you! Him-naked. Kissing you!”

“He did not!” The accusation stung, and pain was giving way to anger. “And what about you? I saw you in the garden with him, more than once! He held you.”

“I told you, he tried to seduce me, but I didn’t let him!”

“Neither did I!”

“Oh, so he was just getting something out of your eye for you?”

“For fuck’s sake, Alec!” He looked over at Ilar, who was still sitting in the water where he’d fallen. Water streamed down his face, and blood, too. Ilar was beaten, miserable, helpless. Pitiable.

Seregil staggered to his feet. “Hit me again. Harder.”

“What?”

“Please, talí. Once more.”

Alec gave him another doubtful look, and then slapped him, hard.

Ilar staggered up, looking at them like they’d both gone mad, then edged around them to grab up his discarded robe. “I didn’t mean any harm, Alec,” he mumbled, trembling.

“The hell you didn’t! You’ve been trying to cozy up to him from the start.” He turned accusing eyes on Seregil. “Did you let him?”

Alec might just as well have hit him again. Seregil yanked on his discarded coat and stalked back up the hill to their camp, not trusting himself to answer. He wasn’t sure whom he was most angry with.

Probably himself.

Alec leveled the point of his sword at Ilar’s throat. “First me at the house, and now this? Leave him alone, damn you!”

“Please don’t! You promised,” Ilar begged, as his legs gave out under him.

“Don’t tempt me.” Disgusted, Alec sheathed his sword. “You put a slave collar on him, but he saved you anyway. Why are you making trouble now?”

Ilar hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth a little. Eyes downcast, he whispered, “I wasn’t always like this. All these years of being one master’s possession after another…I can’t expect you to understand, or him. I was just ‘Khenir’ for so long.”

“Yhakobin didn’t give you that name?”

“Of course not. When the slavers asked me what my name was, I just said the first one that came into my head, so as not to shame my clan any more than I already had.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Alec suspected Ilar was telling him at least a partial truth. “How did you become a slave in the first place?”

“When I failed, all those years ago, Ulan í Sathil had to make certain that the truth of his role in all that never came out. So he had me caught and sold.”

Alec snorted. “Because the Aurënfaie don’t like to kill each other?”

“Scoff all you like. He couldn’t very well declare teth’sag on my clan and me. And he couldn’t risk the Haman claiming their right to it, in case I talked. If he’d had me killed, it would have been murder and set his clan at odds with mine and their allies.” He was shivering harder now. “Besides, this is more of a punishment, isn’t it?”

“And you wanted to punish Seregil, too.”

“When I overheard one of Ilban’s visitors speak of you and Seregil a few years ago, something happened…” He paused, gaze fixed on his muddy feet. “Some part of me came back to life. I wanted revenge. I couldn’t think of anything else. And Ilban trusted me enough to look into the matter, once he heard the claims about your mixed blood.” He looked up, a bit of spirit coming back into his eyes. “Seregil is right when he says that all that’s happened to you was my doing, but he bears some of the responsibility.”

“Don’t start that again. I don’t believe you and I don’t care.”

Ilar stood up slowly and pulled on his discarded cloak. “What’s stopping you from killing me now?”

Because I wouldn’t let Seregil do it, and now he won’t let me, Alec thought, resigned.

Ilar pressed his hand to his heart and gave him a small bow. “Whatever your reason, I thank you. If you only knew what it was like, seeing him again…But I’ll take more care around him, I swear!”

“You’d better.”

Seregil had found Sebrahn squatting in the dappled shade under a gnarled tree. His back was to Seregil but he turned as soon as he heard him approaching, long silvery hair swinging around his shoulders. Seregil had given up cutting it as often. It was too disconcerting to see it grow back.

Distracted by the hair, it took Seregil a moment to notice that Sebrahn held a cup in both hands. The rhekaro rose and offered it to him. A large blue lotus filled the cup. “What’s that for?”

Sebrahn pointed at Seregil’s bruised face. “Oh that? It’s-”

There was a deep gash in Sebrahn’s forearm. The strange pale blood was still flowing, and a trail of dark spots in the dust led back to the open bundle, and the knife beside it.

“How did you know?” Seregil muttered. “And what have you done to yourself? I don’t need that.”

He scooped the wet flower from the cup and pressed it to Sebrahn’s wound. It evaporated like a mist between his fingers, but the gash remained open and bleeding.

“You can’t heal yourself?” Seregil’s hands were covered in that strange blood now. It was cool and slick and unpleasant on his skin, yet he couldn’t help feeling pity for the rhekaro. What sort of life was Sebrahn supposed to have, made as he was?

The rhekaro walked unsteadily back toward the fallen cup, perhaps intending to make another healing flower for Seregil, but he wobbled and fell before he could reach it.

“Alec, come quick!” Seregil shouted, forgetting caution for a dangerous moment. Going to Sebrahn, he tried to staunch the wound with a rag from the bundle. Sebrahn was limp and slumped over on his side, eyes half-closed.

“What is it?” Alec asked, dashing through the trees toward him, sword drawn.

Seregil gathered the little body into his arms. “He’s hurt himself. I think he needs you.”