“Yes, but I swear I did not go there to sleep with him. Ridge!” Kalena stepped back hurriedly as he reached for her, but she was not quick enough. He caught hold of her shoulders.
“Tell me the truth. Admit it or so help me, I will…”
Kalena’s chin lifted, a gesture that contained all those internalized generations of arrogant breeding and House pride. “I give you my oath, on the honor of my House, that I did not intend to share Quintel’s pallet tonight.”
“Then why did you seek him out?” Ridge’s eyes were golden pools of fury in the softly lit room.
Kalena refused to cower. Nothing he could do to her was as bad as what she had done to herself. She had dishonored both herself and her House tonight. There was nothing left to fear. “I cannot tell you.”
“By the Stones, you will tell me,” he bit out. His hands went to the fastening of the scarlet cloak.
Kalena closed her eyes as the garment was flung aside. She heard the faint clicking sound as the fabric-muffled sintar struck the floor. It was too much to hope that Ridge would not hear it, too. He stared at her for an instant and then silently released her to pick up the cloak. His hand moved through the garment and a moment later he withdrew the jeweled sintar.
“Where did you steal this?” he asked bluntly.
Enraged by the accusation, Kalena whirled to face him. “I did not steal it. It was my father’s sintar and he is dead. I am the last daughter of the House, and by right that blade is mine!” She reached down to the open travel bag and scrabbled around inside, tearing more of the lining, until she came up with the House band she had hidden inside. Hurling the bracelet at his feet, Kalena waited for him to pick it up. “Take a good look, Ridge. That band carries the mark of my House. The House of the Ice Harvest.”
Without taking his eyes off her, Ridge bent down to scoop up the band. He glanced at it once and then tossed it aside. “Did you steal it when you stole the sintar?”
“Damn you, bastard, you are as thickheaded and stubborn as any bull zorcan, aren’t you?”
His hand moved so swiftly that Kalena wasn’t sure of the action until she realized Ridge was holding his own sintar in his fist. It occurred to her then that he might go so far as to kill her for what he deemed his betrayal at her hands. A healthy dose of fear at last began to seep back into her bloodstream. If he was going to kill her, he might as well do it for the right reason.
She stepped backward automatically as Ridge came toward her. He did not hold the blade as if he would strike her, but kept it at his side. Kalena couldn’t take her gaze off the stark, unadorned sintar. It was a blade meant for drinking blood.
And the steel blade was glowing fire red in Ridge’s hands.
“Now,” he said in a voice that was totally devoid of emotion. “You will answer my questions. I will have the truth from you.”
Six
Any way she looked at it, she was facing death, Kalena decided. It was fitting punishment for failure. She sank down on the edge of the pallet, trying not to look at the glowing blade in Ridge’s hand. What did the truth matter now? She had failed in her duty. But somehow, if she was meant to die at this moment, she would prefer to meet that death for the proper reason. That reason was her failure.
“I went to Quintel’s apartment tonight to kill him. Since the summer of my twelfth year, it has been my duty, my destiny. It is the single task for which I have been raised.”
Ridge’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You what?”
Kalena held out the packet of poison she had been clutching. “I intended to put some of that into his evening wine. He would have died shortly after drinking it, of what would have looked like a heart attack. The House of the Ice Harvest would have been avenged. But I failed. The truth is, I would have failed even had you not stopped me, Ridge. You see, I lost my nerve. I was too weak to do that which was required of me. Olara wasted all her efforts. My whole life has been a pointless exercise in failure.”
Ridge came forward slowly and took the packet from her hand. Kalena thought she could feel some of the heat emanating from the strange sintar he held. He kept the blade at his side while he cautiously sniffed the contents of the packet.
“Be careful,” Kalena warned in a dull voice. “Even a pinch or two would be enough to kill you. My aunt concocted it.”
“Your aunt sent you to kill Quintel?” Ridge’s voice was still almost completely empty of inflection.
“She could not undertake the task herself. She is too old and lately she has been ill. Besides, she is a Healer, a fine one. Everyone knows it is impossible for a Healer to kill. The years since our House was brought to an end by Quintel have been hard on her. The strain of my father’s and brother’s death is too much for my mother. She never was very strong. She died shortly after they did. I was the only one left who could avenge the House.” Kalena held out her hand in a helpless gesture and then let her fingers drop back into her lap. “Now you will kill me and it will all be over.” Ridge stared at her. “You’re saying you believe Quintel was responsible for the deaths of your father and brother?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense,” he declared harshly. “It’s an insane notion.”
“It’s the truth. Olara saw it all in a trance. My House was a small but wealthy one. We controlled the trading traffic on the great Interlock River and its tributaries. My father apparently clashed with Quintel on several occasions, although I was too young to be aware of such matters. Finally, Quintel decided to ensure that a more cooperative House was given control of the river. He saw to it that the men of my House suffered ‘accidents’ in the mountains.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Perhaps not. But my aunt does. It was she who realized the accidents were acts of murder. With my father and his heir dead, the House of the Ice Harvest was officially ended. Control of the river trade was immediately given over to another House. My aunt took my mother and myself to a small farm town where we were unknown. She insisted we no longer use our House name and invented another for us instead. She said she wanted to protect us.”
“From what?” Ridge asked roughly. “If the men of your House were all dead, surely the women posed no threat to whoever might have killed them.”
“My aunt had her reasons. She did not want Quintel to know about me. Olara was right. Quintel would never have negotiated a trade marriage agreement with the daughter of an old enemy.”
Ridge realized with a kind of stunned shock that Kalena believed everything she was saying, including her own feeling of failure. There was too much self-accusation and weary resignation in her voice, too much pride in her bearing, even though she knew she faced defeat. And the packet of poison was damning evidence of the truth. She had gone to Quintel’s rooms with the intention of killing him, not sleeping with him. For some reason that knowledge drained some of the heat from his veins. He felt like an idiot for being relieved, but he couldn’t deny that he was.
She hadn’t been about to betray him with another man.
Slowly, the heat faded from the sintar as the steel reacted to the cooling of his fury.
Only a handful of times in his entire life had the violence of his emotions spilled over into the steel of his blade. The first time it had happened he had been a barefoot kid fighting off a group of toughs at the back of a filthy alley in Countervail. Ridge had bought the sintar only a few days earlier with the profit he had made from helping a creet owner round up a flock of panicked birds that had gotten loose in the street. It had been one of his few legitimate jobs.
The gang of boys had cornered him in the alley, intending to take the sintar, Ridge’s clothes and anything else he might have been lucky enough to have on him. To their astonishment, Ridge had fought back. To his astonishment, the steel of the sintar had begun to grow hot in the first few minutes of battle. The fierce glow of the blade had sent the young attackers running in terror. Ridge had been left alone in the alley, staring at the
weapon in his hand.
Two eightdays later he had met Quintel while attempting to help himself to the contents of the rich trade baron’s money pouch. Quintel had caught Ridge’s arm, smiled curiously and politely introduced himself. He had then asked if the young thief would like a legitimate job. Awed by the man and the offer, Ridge hadn’t hesitated. After saying yes, he had never looked back.
Over the years Ridge had learned to control his emotions, especially his rage, to a large extent. Violent rage was a distinct handicap in his business. Any fierce emotion was. Self-control was the key to staying alive when he was working. When he did Quintel’s work, Ridge was all business. Nevertheless, his temper had become a legend in Crosspurposes. It took a lot now to make the steel glow with internal fire, but it didn’t take a lot to arouse a quick burst of his less dangerous, if scalding, masculine temper. Tonight Kalena had proven she had the power to push him far enough to heat the steel. Slowly he eased the sintar back into his sheath and eyed the woman in front of him.
“You did not intend to invite yourself into Quintel’s pallet?” he asked at last.
“No!” Her voice was a muffled, choked denial, as if the idea revolted her. “Never. The man murdered my father and brother. In so doing he destroyed my House. How could I even consider letting him touch me the way…the way…”
“What way, Kalena?”
“The way you touched me,” she said at last. Her eyes were focused on the opposite wall. Now that he had put away the sintar she wouldn’t look at him.
“So,” Ridge said slowly, “you are an assassin, not a seductress.”
“A failed assassin.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “A failed assassin. What else did you expect?” he added almost gently. “You’re a woman.”
Kalena shot him a bitter look.
Ridge ignored the glance. “Tell me, Kalena of the House of the Ice Harvest, did your aunt have any proof of her accusations? Do you know for certain that Quintel had anything to do with the death of the men in your family?”
“Stop it,” she cried. “It’s the truth. It has to be the truth. For years I have lived with that truth. It has dominated my life.”
“The truth as told to you by your aunt?” he persisted.
“She would not lie about such a thing. She’s a Healer, devoted to life and the future. She has the Far Seeing gift as well as the healing talent. Such a one does not commit herself to murder unless there is no alternative.”
“She didn’t commit herself to it,” Ridge snapped, “she committed you to it.”
“Only because she knew she could not carry out the deed herself.”
“She set all this up, didn’t she? She negotiated the contract with Quintel in order to get you close to him. This business with trouble on the Sand route was made to order for her. She’s been keeping you stashed away on some farm in the Interlock valley until just the right moment. She thought she saw her chance and without a qualm she sent you to do her dirty work.”
“It is not her dirty work,” Kalena blazed. “It was my duty. If you were a member of a Great House, you would understand my position. You would know the price that such kinship demands. It is a matter of honor!”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. I know the meaning of honor, woman. I also know the meaning of duty and loyalty. Perhaps I have even a better understanding of it than you do because I didn’t inherit any House honor. I’ve fashioned my own. And I know where my responsibility lies.”
She nodded. “You will kill me now because your duty is toward your employer.”
Ridge felt rage begin to build again in him. Firmly he tamped it down. He’d be damned if he would let this slip of a female make him lose control. She was his, by the Spectrum. He could and would control her.
“Unfortunately, things aren’t that simple any longer. You’re my wife, Kalena. As of sunset this evening I have been responsible for your actions. Weren’t you listening to the words of the ceremony? Your honor and my own are tied together now. Do you have any conception of the mess you have created? Do you understand what you have done? You tried to kill the man to whom I have vowed my loyalty. Quintel trusts me as he trusts no one else in this world.”
“Blame him for the situation, then. He was, after all, the one who negotiated the contract of marriage with my aunt. He was the one who introduced me into his own household. He’s the reason I’m here. You’re entirely blameless, as far as I can tell. This does not concern you, Fire Whip. This matter is between the House of the Ice Harvest and the House of the Gliding Fallon. A bastard such as you has no business in such matters.”
Ridge slammed his hand flat against the wall in a gesture of frustrated anger. “By the Stones, woman, you don’t even have the sense to keep your mouth shut when you should.”
“Why shouldn’t I say what I wish? You’re going to kill me, regardless.”
That was too much. He’d had it with listening to her predict her death at his hands. Ridge stalked over to the pallet and stood towering over his new wife. “No, Kalena of the House of the Ice Harvest. I am not going to kill you, although by the time I am through with you, you may wish I had.”
“You’re going to beat me and then turn me over to Quintel or the Town Patrol?” she asked warily.
“There isn’t time for either action, in spite of the fact that one or both might have been intensely satisfying. No, Kalena, I am not going to beat you tonight.”
She looked at him distrustingly. “Why not?”
“Because if I did you wouldn’t be able to sit a creet saddle for a full day tomorrow, that’s why not!” he stormed. “The way I feel now you probably wouldn’t be able to move for an eightday if I beat you the way you deserve. We still have a journey to make, you and I. I’m not going to let you keep me from my assigned task. I have my own duty to perform and destiny to meet.” He leaned down and hauled her up to stand in front of him. “I am not going to let you keep me from getting my hands on a fortune in Sand. You may have been a fine House lady once, Kalena, but you are married to me now. You are the wife of a Houseless bastard and you will fulfill your duty to your new husband. I may not be a Great House lord, but by law and custom I am your master, Kalena. You signed the papers yourself. Your loyalty is to me now. Your sole duty is to obey your husband. And I have decided that you will be sitting in a creet saddle heading toward Variance before dawn tomorrow morning. Don’t deceive yourself that I can’t control you. You belong to me now. Regardless of how either of us feel about it, our destinies are tied together.”
Kalena looked at him wordlessly, considering her limited set of alternatives. On the whole, a long ride in a creet saddle sounded better than the more honorable death she knew she should be seeking. The raw truth was that she was apparently not cut out to be an instrument of vengeance. Life was far too appealing to her, even life as the wife of a man who had no legitimate House name and every reason to hate her.
In the end, it didn’t matter how she felt about it. She knew she didn’t have the strength or will to resist Ridge. With the knowledge of her own failure had come a numbing death to her own sense of will and direction. She had no choice but to put herself in the Fire Whip’s hands.
Kalena had heard that long ago, in the days of the mythical Dawn Lords, creets could actually fly. She wasn’t sure she believed the story, but by the third day on the trail she would willingly have sold the Secrets of the Stones if it were true. The thought of flying was startling, even terrifying in some respects, but she was so bone weary after three days in the saddle that any change in the manner of travel would have been welcome.
She had ridden very little in her life. The longest trip she had ever undertaken had been the one from Interlock to Crosspurposes, and then she traveled by public coach drawn by creets. Creets were expensive and of little use other than for transportation. Olara and Kalena had had no need of the birds while living in Interlock.
Fortunately, staying atop one of the good-natured birds was not difficult. Kal
ena’s saddle was deep and quite safe, even when the creets were pounding along the ground with their swift, pacing stride. But being safe did not mean the seat was comfortable, especially if one wasn’t accustomed to it.
Kalena paid no attention to the passing countryside. She was vaguely aware that they were crossing the rich grain fields of the Plains of Antinomy, but the gently rolling landscape held little interest for her. Her normal sense of curiosity was completely dulled by her personal misery and the relentless stride of the yellow and white creet she rode.
She stared down at the feathered neck in front of her and wondered if it was true that the bird’s small, useless wings had once been capable of lifting its large body into the sky.
Creets were strong creatures, having apparently long since given up the light, vulnerable bones that would have enabled them to fly. The long toes of each foot still sported curving, birdlike claws. Those claws could be dangerous, Kalena knew, if the birds were enraged. Some flock managers had the claws removed. A lot of people preferred to ride animals that had been so treated. But Trade Master Ridge had ordered clawed birds for the trip to the Heights of Variance. Kalena knew it was because such birds were more sure-footed. They were also better able to defend themselves if they were attacked by something as large as a fangcat or a pack of sinkworms. In any event, unlike her husband, it took a great deal to enrage a creet. They were by nature placid, willing beasts, content to preen their beautiful feathers and squabble playfully with each other when they weren’t called upon to work.
Kalena lifted her head and gazed resentfully at the creet in front of her own. It was the mate of the female she rode. Creets bonded for life and were usually worked in pairs. Ridge sat astride the male, the leather reins looped carelessly through one hand. He looked as strong and grim as he had the morning they left Crosspurposes. Kalena knew he had deliberately set a punishing pace. She thought about telling him that the punishment was quite effective, but she suspected he was well aware of it. Every muscle in her body ached. For the past three days she had bitten back the complaints and willed herself to endure. By the Stones, she would not give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much she ached.