The Dragon Keeper, Page 44

  “You don’t understand, Sedric. ” She cut off the spiral of words that she had heard so many times from Hest in the early years of her marriage. The tightening noose of words that inevitably proved how selfish she was to resent being left home alone, night after night, week after week. “It isn’t that he’s away so much. I don’t mind that anymore. I don’t pine after him. Do you know what I hate now, Sedric? I hate that I’m glad when he’s gone. Not because I like to be alone; I’ve learned a great tolerance for it. I’m very good at it, actually. I don’t think of him when he’s gone. I don’t wonder who he might be with or how he treats her. ” She halted abruptly. She’d made a promise to Hest, never to accuse him of lying again, never to pelt him with such suspicions. Sedric had been there and knew of the promise. She pressed her lips tightly closed.

  Her words had made him uncomfortable. She felt him shift slightly, as if he wished to move away from her but didn’t know how to untangle himself gracefully. With a leap of certainty, she knew her suspicions were well founded. Hest did have someone else now, and Sedric knew about her. Knew about her and felt guilty for shielding Hest. She suddenly decided to free him from that guilt. “Don’t worry about it, Sedric. I promised I’d never ask again, and I won’t. I don’t wonder anymore if other women in Bingtown know how little he cares for our bed. If they like him, they are welcome to him. I’m tired of his hard words, his hard heart, and his hard hands. ”

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  She felt his muscles stiffen. “Hard hands?” he said in a strangled voice. “Does he— Alise, he hasn’t . . . Has Hest ever struck you?” He sounded horrified.

  “No,” she admitted in a low voice. “No, he has never struck me. But there are many ways for a man to be hardhanded with a woman that do not involve striking her. ” She thought of how he would take her arm and grip it when he wished to leave an evening’s entertainment and she had not responded immediately to his polite suggestions that it was time for them to go home. She thought of how he sometimes took things from her, not snatching them but removing them from her grip as if she were an errant child. She refused to think of his hands on her shoulders or upper arms, gripping so tight that sometimes she had bruises, as if she might flee him even though she had never shown any resistance to his attempts to impregnate her.

  Sedric cleared his throat and moved away from her. “I’ve known Hest a long time,” he said stiffly. “He’s not a bad person, Alise. He’s just—” He halted and she saw him searching for a word.

  “He’s just Hest,” she finished for him. “He’s a hard man. Hardhanded. Hard-hearted. He doesn’t strike me. He doesn’t have to. He has a hard, cruel mouth when he’s crossed. He can humiliate me with a glance. He can pound me with words and smile while he’s doing it, as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. But he does. I’m ready to admit that to myself now. He does know just exactly how much he hurts me and how often. ”

  She turned away from his shocked gaze but kept her eyes on the moving riverbank. “I’m not sorry,” she finally said. “I’m not sorry I defied you and I’m not sorry that we’re headed up the river. I know it’s foolish and dangerous. I’m scared. I’m scared of going and I’m scared of what I’ll have to face when I return home. But I’m not sorry to be doing it. I’m not walking away from my life, Sedric. I’m running toward the chance to have a little bit of a life of my own, for a little time.

  “I am sorry to drag you along, Sedric. I know it’s not the sort of thing you’d choose to do. I wish Hest hadn’t inflicted me on you. But I’ll admit that I’m glad you came back to the barge and you’re here. If I’m going to do a foolish thing like this, I can’t think of a better companion to have along with me. ”

  She sensed him fumbling for some sort of a reply. She had told him things that had made him uncomfortable, things he probably should never have heard about his employer. She tried to regret it and couldn’t. She only hoped it would not sever whatever it was between them. Almost she hoped that he would gather her into his arms and hold her, even if it was only for a moment, as a friend. She tried to recall the last time anyone had embraced her with affection. She recalled her mother’s quick hug of farewell. When had a man held her?

  Never.

  He took her hands in both of his, giving them a gentle squeeze before he released them. Then he made an awkward attempt at levity as he stepped clear of her touch. “Well, I suppose that should be a comfort to me. But it’s not. ”

  His words were harsh, but the rueful smile she looked up to see was not. It faded quickly from his face however, as if he did not have the strength to sustain it there. He shook his head at her and then said, “I’d best go get things settled in my room. It looks as if I may be living there longer than I thought. ”

  HE LEFT HER as quickly as he decently could and walked briskly back to his compartment, trying not to appear to be fleeing from her. Even though he was.

  He shut the door of the tiny room behind him. Earlier, he had opened the ventilation slots in the upper wall. He refused to think of them as windows. They were too high and too narrow to provide any sort of a view. But they did let in a flow of air, even if it was tinged with the river smell, and admitted a murky light in his room. A reflection of the river rippled on the ceiling of the small cabin. He sat down on his trunk and stared at the closed door. His case with its precious cargo was on the floor. A fortune in dragon parts, and he was headed upriver with them. Away from all profit, and away from every reason he had for dreaming of making a profit. He hoped the salt and the vinegar would preserve the tattered flesh. They represented his last, best chance for an honest life. He lowered his face into his hands and retreated into stillness.

  Hest. Oh, Hest. What have we done to her? What cruelty have I been a party to?

  Hest’s hard hands.

  He didn’t want to think about it yet he could not stop himself from thinking about it. He didn’t want to envision Hest’s hands on Alise. He knew that Hest must be with her, that he must do his best to father a child with her. He’d chosen never to think of the mechanics of that, never to wonder if Hest was tender and passionate with her. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want his feelings stirred about such things. What would it matter? It had nothing to do with Hest and him.

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  But he’d never imagined Hest would be harsh with her, or rough. But of course he would be. That was Hest. The man had strong hands, with long fingers and short, well-groomed nails. Sedric didn’t want to think of those hands gripping her shoulders and the nails sinking into her flesh. They’d leave little half-moon dents there that would be small bruises by morning. Sedric knew. Unbidden, his hands left his face to touch and then grip his own shoulders. It had been weeks since Hest had left small bruises on him. He missed them.

  He wondered in desolation if Hest missed him at all. Probably not. He’d spurned Sedric relentlessly in their last days together. At the same time, he had been sure that his secretary handled all the details of whom Hest would invite to accompany him on his latest trading venture. Hest wasn’t alone right now, and almost definitely, he wasn’t thinking of Sedric. Redding. That damn Redding, always so obvious in his interest in Hest. Redding with his plump little mouth always quirking, and his little hands always patting his curly hair back into place. Redding was with him.

  A thick choking lump rose in his throat. It would have been a comfort to weep, but he couldn’t. What he felt right now went beyond weeping. Hest. Hest. “Hest. ” He said the man’s name aloud, and it was a comfort that cut like a knife. He was the only one who truly knew Sedric, the only one who understood him. And he’d set him aside, sent him off on this ridiculous errand with the wife he didn’t love. The wife he gripped with his hard hands, the same powerful hands that had held him by the shoulders and pulled him close in that first squirming and desperate embrace.

  Sedric hadn’t been much more than a boy, barely shaving, desperately unhap
py, at odds with his father, unable to confide in his mother or his sisters anymore. Unable to confide in anyone. Bitterly, he now reflected on how successful Hest had been in returning him to that isolation, the isolation that Hest had once shattered for him. Was that what he’d wanted to prove to Sedric? That he could put him right back where he’d been, all those years ago?

  Their first encounter had happened at a Trader gathering, at a winter wedding. The bride had been seventeen, and the young husband-to-be had been his friend Prittus, an older neighbor who had tutored him in the Chalcedean language that his father had insisted he must learn. He had always been kind and patient with Sedric, their lessons much more social and enjoyable than the ciphering and history and basic navigation lessons that he received from his other tutor. The other tutor was a shared master, hired by a group of Trader families to instruct their sons. That man was an ogre, and his fellow students alternated between coarse mockery of one another and sarcastic comments on Sedric’s precise recitations and reports. He hated attending those classes, dreaded the snubbing and mockery of the other pupils. It was a wonder he had learned anything there. But Prittus had been different. He’d been a teacher who cared, one who found readings for his pupil that interested him. He’d treasured his hours with Prittus.

  So he’d watched Prittus make his wedding promises in a sullen gloom of disappointment. He’d have no time to tutor Sedric now; he’d be following his father into the spice trade and he’d have all the concerns of a young man with his own household. Sedric’s sole island of company was sinking back into his sea of isolation.

  Prittus had stood tall in his simple green Trader robe, the candlelight waking glints in his gleaming black hair. The vows spoken, he turned to the girl at his side and looked down into her face with that smile that Sedric had come to know so well. The girl’s face lit with a rosy blush of joy. He put his hands out and the girl set her small fingers in his; Sedric had to turn aside, choking with jealousy over all he could never hope to possess. The couple turned to face their guests and the applause washed around them like the breaking waves of a gentle sea.

  Sedric had not clapped. When the applause ended, he’d finished the glass of sparkling wine he held and set the glass down on the edge of one of the laden feast tables. The room swirled with smiling, talking people, all eager to wish the young couple well. Close to the door, a handful of young men were speaking in deep goodhumored voices to one another. He caught a leering reference to the night that awaited Prittus, and the round of bawdy chuckles that followed it. He’d made an excuse as he pushed past them to the door and left the crowded Traders’ Concourse to go outside for some air. He didn’t even bother with his coat; he wanted to feel the wind on his face. He wanted to be cold. It would match his mood.

  A storm was threatening, one that couldn’t make up its mind between icy rain and wet, driven flakes of snow. The wind gusted and died, and then spat sleet again. The thick clouds were making late afternoon into early evening. He didn’t care. He’d left the shelter of the large porch of the Concourse, strolled past the line of waiting carriages and well-bundled drivers. He’d gone walking in the deepening twilight on the meticulously groomed grounds that surrounded the Concourse.

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  The gardens were desolate and deserted this time of year. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and the unimpeded wind blew sharply. Fallen leaves littered the gravel paths. There was a stand of evergreens at the edge of an herb garden that had gone to seed. He headed instinctively toward the protection of the grove. In the circle of their shelter, the wind could barely find him. He turned his eyes up to the cold winter sky and tried to find a single star through the overcast. He couldn’t. He lowered his face and wiped rain from his cheeks.

  “Weeping at a wedding? What a sentimental fool you are. ”

  He’d turned in shock. He hadn’t imagined anyone else would be out in this weather. It was even more of a shock to realize that the man was Hest, and that he must have followed him. He’d been a part of the group of men by the door. Sedric knew his name and his reputation, but little more than that. The wealthy and popular young Trader moved in a social circle several notches higher than Sedric’s orbit. He wondered why he had followed him out into the night. His long deep-blue cloak was nearly black in the dimming light. The collar was turned up high, framing his face.

  “It’s just rain. I came outside to clear my head of a little too much wine. ”

  Hest listened to him silently, head cocked mockingly. He raised his sculpted brows in a rebuke for his lie.

  “I’m not weeping,” Sedric added defensively.

  “Aren’t you?” Hest came toward Sedric through the wet snow. It was definitely snow now. Big flakes of it spangled the tall man’s dark hair. “I saw you watching the happy couple and thought to myself, now there’s a spurned lover, watching his dreams stroll off without him. ”

  Sedric watched his approach warily. “I hardly know her,” he said. “Prittus was my tutor. I’m just here to wish him well. ”

  “As we all are,” Hest agreed smoothly. “Our dear friend Prittus enters a new stage of his life now. He takes on the duties of a husbandman. And his loving friends, though we wish him well, will see far less of him now. ” The light was waning from the sky, and the shadows of the evergreens made the winter afternoon even darker. The fading light took the colors with it; Hest’s face was a study of planes and shadows. He was smiling. His narrow lips were chiseled into a fine smile as he asked him, “And what did Prittus tutor you in?”

  “Chalcedean. My father says that every Trader needs to speak Chalcedean well, without an accent. Prittus speaks it like a native; he had a Chalcedean tutor. ”

  Hest stopped, not even an arm’s length away. “Chalcedean?” His smile grew wider, baring even teeth. “Yes. I agree with your father. Every Trader should know Chalcedean. Some say they will always be our enemies. I say, that is a good reason to learn as much as we can about them. Not just their language, but their customs. Ancient enemies or not, they will be our partners as we buy and sell goods. They’ll cheat the man who is vulnerable to them. But you’ll need more than just the language. A man can speak the language of a place, but if he lacks knowledge of the customs, he will always betray himself as a foreigner. And thus not be accepted. Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose. Yes. ” The tall Trader was drunk, Sedric decided. He had come close enough that Sedric could smell the spirits on his breath.

  His dark eyes roved over Sedric’s face in a disconcerting way. He licked his lips and said, “So. Let me hear your accent. Say something in Chalcedean. ”

  “What?”

  “That’s not Chalcedean. ” Hest grinned. “Try again. ”

  “What would you like me to say?” Sedric felt trapped. Was the man mocking him or trying to make his acquaintance? His conversation walked a knife’s edge between taunting and friendliness.

  “That would be good. Yes. Say, ‘Please, sir, what would you like?’”

  It took him a moment to parse it in his mind. When he spoke, the words came smoothly, but Hest shook his head and made a sad mouth. “Oh, dear. Not like that. You need to open your mouth more. They’re a very voluble people. ”

  “What?”

  “Say it again, but open your mouth more. Purse your lips out. ”

  It was mockery. Sedric was certain of it now. He made his words brisk. “I’m cold. I’m going back to the Traders’ Concourse now. ”

  But as he strode past him, Hest’s hand had shot out suddenly and gripped Sedric’s left shoulder. He’d tugged him sharply, spinning the smaller man so that Sedric almost collided with him. “Say it again,” he urged him pleasantly. “In any language you like. Say, ‘Please, sir, what would you like?’ ”

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  His fingers were biting into Sedric’s shoulder right though the formal Trader’s robe he’d donned for the occasion. He tried to
squirm away. “Let go! What do you want?” Sedric demanded, but Hest had responded by seizing his other shoulder. He gave a sudden jerk that nearly pulled Sedric off his feet. They were suddenly chest to chest, with Hest staring down into his face.

  “What do I want? Hmm. Not quite the same as asking me what I would like, but it will do. You should be asking what you want for yourself, Sedric. I wonder if you’ve ever dared to ask that question, let alone answer it. Because the answer is very plain to me. You want this. ” One of his hands suddenly grabbed a fistful of Sedric’s robe right below his throat. The other shifted to a grip on the hair on the top of his head. Hest bent his head, and his mouth was hard on Sedric’s, his lips moving as if he would devour him, his hard hands pulling him closer. Sedric had been too astonished to struggle, even as Hest shifted his grip and pulled Sedric’s body tight against his own. A sudden heat rushed through him, a lust he could not conceal or deny. Hest’s mouth tasted of liquor, and his cheek, though shaven, rasped against Sedric’s when Sedric tried to pull away from him. Sedric gasped for breath, smothered between the kiss and the truth of how badly he wanted this. He put his hands against Hest’s chest and pushed but could put no strength into the rejection. Hest held him easily, and his deep, quiet chuckle at Sedric’s feeble struggle vibrated through them, chest to chest. Hest finally broke the kiss but continued to press himself tightly against Sedric. He spoke by his ear. “Don’t worry. Struggle as much as you think you should, or need to. I won’t let you win. It’s going to happen to you. Just as you always dreamed it would. Someone just needs to take a firm hand with you. ”

  “Let me go, man! Are you mad or drunk?” Sedric’s voice wavered uncertainly. The wind blew harder, but he scarcely felt it.

  Hest effortlessly pinned his arms to his side. He was taller and stronger, and he lifted Sedric, not quite off his feet but in a way that let him know he could. He pressed his body against him and spoke through clenched teeth. “Neither mad nor drunk, Sedric. Just more honest than you are. I don’t have to ask ‘what do you want, please, sir?’ It was written all over your face as you stared at the happy couple. It wasn’t the bride you were lusting after. It was Prittus. Well, who wouldn’t? Such a handsome fellow. But you’ll never have him now and neither will I. So perhaps we should settle for what we can have. ”