01 - The Compass Rose Page 11

  “All right, fine.”

  “Maybe you should write it down.”

  “Enough, Torchay,” she snapped. “I’ve had enough of your hovering.”

  He went still, spoon halfway to his mouth. Then with great dignity he stood, picked up his bowl and retreated to the corner where Aisse sat eating. He lowered himself to the floor beside her, never once saying a word.

  “Oh for—I didn’t mean it like that.” Now she felt guilty. He hadn’t used to be so touchy. Had he? This friendship business was damn complicated.

  He just sat in the corner and ate his stew.

  Appetite ruined, Kallista threw her spoon on the table and stood. “I need some air.”

  Torchay rose to follow, ostentatiously shoveling the last bites of stew into his mouth to make her feel more guilty for not allowing him even to eat his meal in peace.

  “No, stay.” She waved him back. He ignored her, of course. “Where am I going to go on this boat that you can’t hear me? That you can’t see me for the One’s sake. Give me a little space. For once.”

  He just stood there, waiting for her to go out the door so he could follow. Damn him and his duty. Sometimes—times like this one—she wished she could…She wanted to call up a tiny spark and shock him with it, just a little one.

  With the thought, she felt the spark gather. It grew, started skipping from finger to bare finger. She hadn’t put her gloves on yet, they still were tucked in Torchay’s belt. Now it was too late. The spark refused to be called back, refused any control. It danced around her hand, sending little pieces of itself in all directions as it tried to escape.

  Kallista brought her other hand up, let the spark leap the gap. She couldn’t let it free inside the cabin or anywhere on this wooden boat, but she couldn’t let it jump back and forth between her hands indefinitely. As out of control as it was, each time it leaped from one hand to the other, it would gain in power. “Open the door, quick.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Torchay scrambled to obey, thrusting the door wide and shouting for everyone to stand clear.

  “Which side is nearest the riverbank?” She strode calmly out, fighting to keep the spark contained. She couldn’t let it strike the water either. She’d learned that lesson early and had the scars to prove it.

  “The closest bank?” Torchay called to one of the crew. She pointed. It was on their side of the boat, thank the One.

  Kallista strode to the railing, holding the spark between her two hands now. It crackled blue between them, building strength, and this time, she let it. She would need the power to fling it all the way to the shore without touching water.

  She scanned the darkened riverbank, hunting a rock or a bare spot where the foliage wouldn’t catch fire. It was early spring yet, not dry as it would get later in summer, but fire was still a risk.

  “There.” Torchay pointed upstream. “The farmer has plowed but not yet planted.”

  The field stretched dark and fallow into the night for a good distance along the bank. The boat had turned and was making for it, closing the gap quickly.

  “Not too close,” Torchay shouted to the captain. “You want to keep some distance.”

  The angle of approach softened. Kallista held the spark, concentrating her magic and her will, begging the One for aid to control it. She hadn’t lost control and called lightning like this in years. Almost twenty of them.

  They neared the field. Kallista calculated her distance and trajectory. She had to clear the reeds springing up at the water’s edge. She focused her intention, pressed her hands together, squeezing the spark, then flung it forth.

  It leaped in a high, blue-lit arc from her hands to almost the center of the field. The boom of thunder that accompanied it rattled the boat’s rigging and the shutters over the windows.

  Torchay had her gloves ready, holding the right—her lead hand—open for her. She thrust her hand in with a single motion and held the left ready for the few seconds it took him to open the other glove. Without her control, she shouldn’t be able to call sparks that would escape the leather. When she was safely gloved, her knees sagged. Torchay caught her elbow for support, holding himself back.

  Kallista wanted to rest her head on his shoulder but she refused herself that small comfort. His stiff manner said he wouldn’t welcome it. He was still sulking.

  “What happened?” Torchay asked as the boat captain came charging down the companionway to ask the same thing.

  “An accident.” Kallista used her best civilian-soothing voice. She had plenty of practice with it, but generally on behalf of the young naitani under her command, not herself. “I had ungloved in private. I will not do so again.” She tugged at the cuffs of her gloves, seating them more securely. “It won’t happen again.” She hoped.

  The captain scowled at her. “You’re old enough you should have better control of your magic. I remember when you were a girl, shocking and blasting things all over Turysh. But you’re no longer a girl.”

  “No, Captain.” Kallista’s face burned at the reprimand. “Something…happened in Ukiny. It interfered with my magic. That’s why I’m going to Arikon.”

  “See that it doesn’t happen again on my boat.”

  Kallista bowed deep in apology. The captain retreated to her quarters and the rest of the crew backed away. Even General Uskenda’s courier looked uneasy. She sighed. Nothing new there.

  “What happened?” Torchay asked again, through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know, all right?” She jerked away from him and stalked toward the stern, ignoring the wide, rolling eyes of the watchman posted there. She was sick of this. Sick of frightening civilians, of not knowing what might leap next from her hands, of all of it, everything that had been dumped on her since—since birth.

  “I’ve never seen you lose control like that.” Torchay had followed her. Of course. She couldn’t get rid of him.

  She wanted him there. And she wanted him gone. Somewhere else. Not bothering her. Not reminding her of things she’d rather forget. “It’s been years,” she said, wrapping her leather-clad fingers tight around the stern railing. “Since before you and I ever met.” She leaned on the railing, letting it hold her up. “But then, you never saw me kill tens of thousands of men in one sweep before either, did you?”

  “You think it’s connected?”

  Kallista gave him a disbelieving look. “You think it’s not?” She kept her voice quiet but couldn’t stop the emotion that hummed in it. “How could it not be connected? For fifteen years—more—I am in perfect control of my magic. One moment on a city wall and everything’s changed. I cast magic that cuts warriors down like they were so much harvested wheat. I talk to people who aren’t there. I dream dreams that come true. What else am I to think when suddenly I generate a spark I had no intention of making and I can’t call it back?”

  “You must ask Belandra when she comes.”

  “Ask her what? How to control magic I’ve controlled for years? What could she tell me that I don’t already know? Stop nagging me, Torchay. Give me a little peace. A little space without you picking at me.” She felt him recoil as the ugly words left her mouth, and she wished them back. Except…she did need space and peace. She wanted to lean against him and soak up that prickly comfort of his, but she couldn’t. He was her friend. Her bodyguard. He could be nothing more.

  “As my captain wishes.” Torchay retreated as far as the open doorway to the cabin.

  She heard him order Aisse to return the dishes to the galley in the pidgin Adaran he’d been teaching her, then nothing. She resisted the urge to turn around, see where he was. He would be close, watching over her at a distance, tending to his own affairs at the same time. They had quarreled like this before. Not often, but enough it had a pattern they both recognized.

  Kallista leaned against the railing, letting the night seep in through her skin. She ought to work on questions for Belandra, but not now. Now she needed calm, needed to soothe her jangled nerves and
lose some of her worry. She watched the water swirl up from beneath the boat, disturbed by its wind-fed passage.

  The lanterns on either corner of the stern reflected off the muddy green surface, illuminating only the first layer of the Taolind’s depths. Three more days from here, at Turysh, the water would be cleaner, clearer. The river picked up dirt and debris on its path, carrying it to rest in the delta near the coast. Kallista pitched her worries into the water, let the river carry them away. They would be back tomorrow, but for tonight, the Taolind had them.

  Gradually her mind quieted. Her body refused to do the same, holding on to its restlessness. The naitan-directed wind blew across her skin like a caress. She rubbed her arms, craving touch. I dream dreams that come true. But how did she know which ones were true visions and which ordinary dreams?

  The collapsed wall had been a true vision. She had dreamed exactly the same thing for nights. Belandra, she still had her doubts about. But she had also dreamed of men, of lovers. Just thinking of those dreams sent heat spreading through her body, pooling in her breasts and lower, making demands. How long had it been since she’d taken a lover?

  Months. Since before the posting to Ukiny. She often went months between lovers. That was nothing new. Except she’d been looking lately. It had never taken her so long to find a partner, not once she went looking for one. But none of them had appealed. They were too young. Too needy. They would all require too much effort. So she’d done without and she’d missed it. Missed the kisses, the feel of hard male flesh against her own, missed the passion and fierce delight.

  And then the Tibrans had invaded and her mind was on that rather than potential lovers.

  The conversation with Aisse this afternoon hadn’t helped. It made her wonder about Torchay and his lovers. The lovers he didn’t have. He wasn’t abstemious by any stretch. But he never stayed with one lover, not for months like Kallista did. He had a well-deserved reputation as a flirt, sharing a night or two with a woman before moving on.

  Perhaps his way was better. He never seemed faced with any tearful scenes of farewell when it was time to move on. Maybe she would try it sometime. Now seemed like an excellent time. Only a few of the boat’s male crew members wore ilian anklets. Maybe one of them…

  She turned to stroll forward, toward the place designated for crew washing. She’d already spent several pleasant moments watching men stripped to the waist, water sluicing past muscle as they washed away the day’s sweat and grime.

  A man was there now, washing hurriedly though no one waited for the bucket or sponge. His shoulder-length wet hair trickled water along a deep-set spine, muscle rising to either side in a tantalizing sweep. His broad shoulders narrowed to a slender waist above taut round buttocks displayed by his tight trousers. He raised his arms to squeeze excess water from his hair, and Kallista’s breath caught at the flexing and bunching of muscle beneath his skin, pale in the moonlight, like the milk-white marble of Arikon. He gave another brisk pass of the sponge beneath his arms and reached for the piece of rough toweling on the nearby hook to dry himself.

  Kallista took a step forward, her bait phrase ready, her seduction planned. He turned, toweling his face, and the lantern light struck his hair, calling red from its depths. She froze. There was a crewman with red hair, but his was cropped short, and not such a dark intense red as this.

  He tossed the towel back at the hook and picked up his tunic. Now she saw the chevrons tattooed on his arm, saw his familiar hook-nosed face. Torchay? When had he become so beautiful? Or had he always been and she never saw it?

  Before she could back away he turned, pulling the tunic down over his head to cover that sculpted chest and abdomen, and saw her. “Captain?” He approached, squeezing water from his hair one more time. “You have need of me?”

  Kallista had to close her eyes and put her hands behind her back before she could respond. Sex between a naitan and her bodyguard ruined their working relationship. She’d seen it happen again and again. She would not let it happen to them.

  “I wanted to apologize, Sergeant Torchay.” She opened her eyes. It hadn’t helped much. She could still smell him. She locked her hands together to keep them where they were.

  He shook his head. “No need.”

  “There is need. My foul mood is not your fault. I can beat you with my temper and you are still there filling the need, doing what must be done. But I cannot shout at you simply because I know you will let me. I was wrong, and I apologize.”

  He watched her for an endless moment, as if searching for something—whether his own response or something in her, Kallista didn’t know. He spoke finally. “You’ve never apologized before.”

  “I should have.” Despite the grip she had on them, one of her hands got free, reached out. “Friends?”

  Torchay clasped it in his. “Always. You know that.”

  “I do. And I shouldn’t take advantage of it.” She pulled her hand back, long before she wanted to. She wanted to set it free, without the prison of gloves, let it wander across the marble-white landscape of his body, and it could never happen.

  “It’s late,” he said. “Tomorrow is Hopeday, and we’ve left that Tibran pet of yours alone in quarters long enough.”

  Kallista sighed and let him direct her back down the walkway. “You don’t still believe she’s a spy, do you? Or an assassin?”

  “I don’t know what she is, other than Tibran.” He opened the cabin door, scanning it quickly before allowing her inside. Aisse was in her corner, already wrapped in her blanket.

  Torchay turned down the coverlet on the wide bunk and began divesting himself of the majority of his blades, readying himself for sleep.

  Her palms itched, wanting to touch. She should have looked for another, once she realized it was Torchay she saw washing. But she couldn’t drag him out after her again, and after the incident with the spark earlier, she doubted any of the crew would be willing to let her get close.

  “Are you sleeping in your boots?” He was sitting on the bed, pulling his off already. Torchay went down on one knee, ready to help her with her tighter boots.

  Kallista sat and let him do it. “Perhaps I should take the bed alone tonight.”

  He gave her a sharp look but said nothing as he rose and set their boots between the chests holding their belongings.

  “It’s been almost a week with no dreams, no problems,” she said. “I should—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “Aisse can share with me, keep watch, if you still think it’s needful.” Kallista didn’t think she could bear lying next to him, touching him, without doing something she shouldn’t.

  “No!” Torchay turned a ferocious scowl on her. “I will not have that Tibran near you while you sleep. I will not have you sleeping alone. Is it suddenly so distasteful, sharing with me? Are we not friends?”

  “We are. It’s not that. It’s not—” She couldn’t explain it to him, couldn’t expose her sudden weakness. “Not right. It’s—you’re my bodyguard.”

  “And that means I’m the one who decides about this. It’s your safety here. No battles. No armies. Not even any bandits. It’s my say, and this is how it will be.” He held his hand out for her gloves.

  “I’ll keep them on.” She tugged the cuffs higher on her wrists.

  “You know how your hands peel when you sleep in the gloves.” He beckoned with his fingers, demanding the gloves. “Give them over. You don’t call magic in your sleep.”

  But she could be tempted to touch, knowing she could feel it. Feel him.

  “Give.” He crooked his fingers again.

  With a sigh, Kallista stripped off her gloves and handed them over. She pulled off her tunic and crawled into bed in her chemise and trousers.

  “It’s hot,” Torchay said as he removed his tunic, then the sheath holding the big blade he wore beneath it. Kallista squeezed her eyes tight shut and turned her back so she couldn’t see him. “Are y
ou sure you want to wear your trews to bed?”

  “If I get too hot, I’ll take them off,” she lied. The more clothing she wore, the better. If the crewmen were too afraid of her lightning now, she would hook a man when they reached Turysh. It had been too long. That was all.

  Torchay lay down beside her, the bare skin of his back singeing her through her chemise as he set it against hers. He faced the door, ready to defend against anything that might come through. But he couldn’t protect her from herself. She would never fall asleep like this.

  “Kallista?”

  “What?” She hoped she kept from snapping at him, but it was a faint hope.

  “Are you—holding your breath?”

  Oh. She was. Stupid thing to do with him so focused on her breathing. “No.”

  “It was an accident. It won’t happen again, now you’re on guard against it.”

  He thought she was worried about the stray spark. And she was. Yes, certainly she was. She was worried to death about it. “I know it won’t.”

  “Good. Then go to sleep.”

  “Yes, General.” Kallista tucked her hands beneath her arms and did her best to obey his order.

  “That’s supreme high generalissimo to you,” he said.

  Torchay shifted position, rubbing his naked back against her. She bit her lip, trying very hard to keep breathing slowly and evenly. She was never going to sleep again.

  The next morning, on Hopeday, the riverboat captain read a brief service on the boat’s foredeck for any who wished to attend. Kallista was there, with Torchay and Aisse trailing behind. She felt the need to draw closer to the One who had given her so much she didn’t want. It didn’t seem to help. It felt as if there were a stone wall just above her head. Lack of sleep, undoubtedly.

  She must have her skin on inside out, the way the slightest breeze, the least brush of Torchay’s arm or leg or hand against her made her shiver all the way through. She’d slept in fits and starts, waking up twined around Torchay and backing off to try again to sleep. If he weren’t so determined to maintain some sort of contact between them, it might have been easier.