He seemed to take in what she left unspoken.
“It’s the appearance,” he said. “I-we. We mustn’t look as though we were relying on paid troops, no matter how respected the Brotherhood is. And even if Dal has not yet been confirmed as Tenebroso, his attendance might send the wrong message.”
Zella nodded, relief making her smile come naturally. Tek was talking and thinking like his old self. “I see, that’s well thought out,” she said.
“Get Gan to arrange it.”
Zella felt her face go stiff. “Gan-eGan is dead, my heart. Don’t you remember?”
The man’s mind told him how to speak to her, what to say. He wanted to send her away, but that would cause remark. Remark he could not afford now, not while this pain throbbed its way through the head, pulling at his attention. He had considered taking another shape, an uninjured one, but Tek-aKet was Tarkin, his was the most useful shape. No other so powerful, so safe. Once the pain was gone, once the body was well, then the Seer. Not now, not yet.
Dhulyn sucked in her stomach as the point of Parno’s blade passed within a hair’s breadth of the skin on her belly.
“Trying to tickle me?” she said, aiming a blow at his left shoulder which he parried, making her duck under a cut to her head.
Parno grinned. “And why, exactly, shouldn’t I tickle you?”
“Because you know what tickling leads to.” She saw her opening, slapped his sword aside with the palm of her hand against the flat of the blade, and stepped into him, taking his wrist in her left hand and throwing her sword arm around his neck. She kissed him, light touches on cheeks, chin, and lips, as he laughed. “And we have company.” She made to step back, but his arms had gone around her, so she turned in their circle and smiled her wolf’s smile at the two men approaching from under the arches of the arcade along the north side of the courtyard.
Parno whistled softly next to her ear as he let his arms fall away, releasing her. She gave Dal-eDal and Karlyn-Tan a short nod before turning to the stone bench where they’d left their other weapons. She tossed Parno his shirt and slipped her vest on over her breastband.
“I see we’re not the only ones left uninvited to Tek-aKet’s audience,” Parno said, as he wiped the sweat off his face and arms with his shirt.
Dal-eDal shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “I could see how my presence might be awkward, but I was surprised when I heard that you were also excluded.”
Parno grinned. “Politically, it’s an astute move. Now isn’t the time to remind the Houses that the Tarkinate was restored by a handful of Mercenary Brothers.”
“You were always more politically aware than I,” Dal-eDal said, with a short bow. “And that is why I have come to you. I felt you should be told. The Tarkin has sent word that he will confirm me as Tenebroso four days from now.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
Dal shook his head, lips pressed tight. “Nor do I ask for it. But I find that I would like your… your approval.”
“You have it.” Parno’s voice was low and cool.
“The reason for your Casting Out has been removed, and I would like to offer you the shelter of the House once more. So that you are Tenebro again.”
Dhulyn’s heart thundered in her ears as Parno remained silent a long moment. Would he give the same answer here, in front of others, that he had given her?
“Don’t take offense at what I’m about to say, Dal,” Parno finally said. “But I want you to remember that I didn’t leave the House. Do you understand? It was taken from me. I was Cast out.” Karlyn-Tan’s head came up, and he looked sharply at Parno. “I have another House now, one that I can never lose. And I have a Partner. Not even death will release me from that bond.” He looked down at Dhulyn and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “In Battle,” he said.
“And in Death,” she answered, forcing her voice through the barrier in her throat.
“I understand.” Dal-eDal swallowed. “But I will consider you my cousin. A Tenebro.” He looked at Dhulyn. “Both of you. The task of being Tenebroso will be difficult enough without you.”
“Want my advice?”
“Always.”
“Just ask yourself, what would Lok do? And do the opposite.”
Dal-eDal joined the laugh, but Dhulyn thought his eyes were not smiling.
Dhulyn was quiet as Parno followed her to the baths in the Tarkina’s wing. She had neither spoken nor answered any greeting since they’d left the courtyard. The corridor to the baths was deserted, and as she reached for the door latch, Parno put his hand on top of hers.
“All’s well, my soul?” Was it possible that the woman was still worrying about Dal-eDal and the lure of House Tenebro? Would this uncertainty haunt her forever?
His heart froze as she looked up the short distance between them, frowning, her blood-red brows drawn down in a sharp vee.
“I don’t like Tek-aKet’s behavior,” she said. “I don’t like our being excluded.”
Parno let out his breath slowly. After all this time, he still expected her to react like a civilized woman-as his mother or sisters might have done, wanting to talk it over, reassuring themselves again and again. Was he ever going to know her well enough to know what she was thinking? Did he want to?
“Tek’s position is logical, politically speaking.”
“There is no such thing as logic, politically speaking.”
“Ah, so young to be so cynical.”
She shook her head, lips pursed. “There’s something off. Something wrong.”
Parno pushed the door open and let Dhulyn precede him into the baths before he answered. “Let me see if I understand. We’ve killed Lok-iKol, restored the rightful Tarkin to the Carnelian Throne, we’re valued guests of the Tarkinate…” He imitated Dhulyn, shaking his head, pursing his lips. “No, I can’t say that I see a problem.”
Parno doubled over, gasping, as Dhulyn poked him in the solar plexis with stiffened fingers, and stepped around him to shut the door against the cooler air of the corridor. “You’ve forgotten the Green Shadow.”
“Well, I was trying to, yes.” Parno dragged in a ragged breath, fully aware that he didn’t sound as lighthearted as he was pretending to be. “Unlike some overeducated Outlanders of my acquaintance, I don’t like to dwell excessively on the negative. As I said before, evil defeated, Tarkin restored, Mercenaries luxuriating in well-appointed baths of Carnelian Dome-no, I see no difficulties here.”
Dhulyn sat down on the cedar wood bench just inside the door and pulled up her right foot, but made no other attempt to remove her boot. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “But, somehow, I’m not so sure about evil’s being defeated.” After a moment she looked up, her eyes still focused inward. “Zelianora tells me that other than the bump on his head, Tek-aKet has no injuries.”
“And so?”
Dhulyn sighed, shutting her eyes. “Why are you being so stubborn? If his arm was not broken, why did the man scream when I touched him?”
“What are you saying?”
“Has anyone noted the color of his eyes?”
From his vantage point three steps down from the Carnelian Throne, Telian-Han watched the select group of Houses, which included all the High Nobles and quite a few of the Lower, mill about the throne room, noting who spoke to whom, and which House courteously ignored which. His post today, as on many an audience day, was Tarkin’s Runner. He was here to fetch anything that the Tarkin might want from elsewhere in the Dome, or to run with any message. It was always his favorite post, to stand almost on a level with the Tarkin himself, with strict orders to listen to any discussion Tek-aKet might have with any of his guests-the Tarkin would sometimes quiz him on the talks he’d overheard, using it as part of Tel’s training. Tel once again thanked the Caids that he hadn’t, after all, sent to his father asking to come home.