Wolf's-own: Weregild (13 page)

Joori looked startled. “But, surely you mean to—"

"Yes, surely I do—
if
Fen is not well enough by the time we find her to do it himself. I won't take that away from him."

"And what about me?"

Malick frowned. “What about you?"

Joori's expression turned exasperated. “Asai's obviously expecting me to be a helpless hostage. Why can't I—?"

"
No
,” Malick barked, for the first time jolted enough that he almost lurched from the chair and took away the contact with Fen. He controlled it. “Listen to me, Joori—he's done all of this for you and your brother and sister. You won't—"

"But my mother—"

"He already knows she's gone, he has no illusions, and he'd sacrifice what's left of her to save you. Don't piss all over that—don't fuck up everything he's put himself through, everything Asai put him through—by thinking you can step in and play the hero."

"But if you show me how—"

"For fuck's sake, what part of
'no'
do you not understand?” Malick leaned in, unleashed a touch of power and let it curl about him, watched Joori feel it and not quite understand, but his eyes widened and his expression tilted into worry. Perhaps a little dramatic, but it always seemed to do the job more effectively than forceful words did, or actual physical force. Malick had wished more than once that it worked on Fen. “You cannot ‘learn’ everything you would need,” he told Joori, “you cannot close your eyes and wish yourself a warrior. Not against maijin, and certainly not against
this
maijin. What you
can
do is get yourself caught or killed.” He pointed at Fen. “Either of which will break him. Now, if you love him as much as you say you do, the
only
thing you can do here, Joori, is to make sure neither of those things happen. Are we clear?"

Joori stared at him, that touch of wariness still lingering, mixed with a healthy dose of resentment now. His hand was clamped to Fen's like some kind of security blanket. Silence, drawn out and heavy, expectant.

With a subtle grimace, Joori looked away. “Why are you doing this?"

Malick rolled his eyes. “It's my job. It's what I do. He belongs to Wolf, and Wolf—"

"No.” Joori shook his head, eyes narrowed. “You actually give a shit. You care about him.” His head tilted to the side. “I didn't think you could."

Malick looked away, unaccountably uncomfortable. It was too close to Samin's accusations the other day.
Would you be doing this if...?
He shoved it away before he could complete the thought. Fucking Samin.

"Yeah, well... you don't know everything,” he said, because he couldn't think of anything more cutting.

Absurdly irritated, and irritated
because
he was irritated. It had always irritated him, that belief that
Temshiel
had no real emotions and didn't give a shit about the mortals who got caught up in divine machinations. Now it irritated him even more because he'd tried damned hard to be exactly what they thought of him, and....

He looked down at Fen and stifled a growl.

"All right,” Joori said again, and again, it had that note of consent in it, like Malick needed his consent to any of this. “I heard you and Umeia-onna shouting about hiding this morning."

Everyone probably heard it—Malick had rather lost his temper when Umeia refused to leave, and Umeia had lost her temper right back. It hadn't been until Fen had started to twitch, groaning weakly as they'd stared each other down over the bed, that Malick had realized he'd let go of him to stand and face off with Umeia. It hadn't ended the argument, at least as far as Malick was concerned, merely postponed it.

"It sounded like she won,” Joori went on, “so I'm assuming we're staying here and Asai will know we're here shortly."

There was no point in negating it, since it was all true—for the moment, anyway—and they hadn't exactly kept their voices down, so what had Malick expected? Malick merely scowled and nodded.

Joori nodded back. “Right. So, I'm also assuming you want Asai to know I'm here and you want him to try and come after me."

This time, Malick slouched back in the chair, suddenly weary beyond sense, and quite sick and damned tired of Fen Joori. “What I
want
,” he growled, “is for him to curl up and die, but he's damned uncooperative."

Eyebrow lifting, Joori snorted in rueful agreement. He sighed, levered up from his crouch beside the bed, and angled his hip to the mattress instead. Oh, good—it looked like he was staying. Another growl rumbled in Malick's chest, but he smothered that one too.

"Yeah, well.” Joori shrugged. “So, I'm to be bait, then."

It was so straightforward, so pragmatic. From willing hostage to willing bait. Idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?

"I think,” Malick said slowly, carefully, “Umeia and your brother both would kill me if I proposed such a thing."

Joori's eyebrow rose. “You think Umeia-onna doesn't know?” He smirked. “Seems
you
don't know everything, either.” Quite satisfied with himself, the little prick, and Malick refused to ask him to clarify. He just sat there, trying not to glower, until Joori got over his private little joke and said, “That Leu woman knew you. Even I can see where that leads. And even if Asai wasn't a seer, he's still a powerful lord. He'll find us. Umeia-onna has to know that."

Malick's lip curled. The little prick was right. And perhaps not as much of a prick as Malick wanted to believe.

"So,” Joori went on, “we're under Umeia-onna's protection, which means he can't kill us, so it seems—"

"No,” Malick interjected, because it could be deadly not to make this very clear. “It means it would be extraordinarily difficult for him to kill you, but it could be done. And it would be nothing at all for him to do to you what's been done to your mother. The only guarantee that comes with the protection is that no one can sniff you out using magic, and anyone who wants you would have to go through Umeia's magic to get to you, which very few could. It's not done for
Temshiel
or maijin to go after those marked as another's, but there are no laws against it. And if Umeia's killed....” He made the shrug and the wave of his hand look unconcerned, he hoped, but he still didn't like the way the words felt on his tongue.

Joori was right: Umeia knew. Which meant that she had plans of her own that she wasn't telling him. And just exactly where
was
Umeia, anyway? Maybe Malick should've just sworn the damned oath himself.

He almost snorted. Right. He'd never sworn oath to anyone. Ever. Not even Umeia. And he never intended to. There was no one worth that kind of risk. Skel had shown him that.

"All right,” Joori said, “that makes things a little less... safe, but....” He shrugged, peering over at Malick, calm and straight. “It doesn't really change anything. I want Asai dead. It's the only way Jacin will be safe from you both. If you won't let me do it, let me stop hiding. Let him find me."

Malick's eyebrow went up. “And then what?"

Joori looked at him like he'd lost his mind. “And then Jacin will kill him, of course."

"Of course.” Malick opened a hand. “But I thought you said he wouldn't be able to."

"And you said he would.” Joori tilted his head, challenging. “Or was all that ‘diamond’ twaddle just bullshit?"

This time, Malick's eyes narrowed. There was a trick in there somewhere, some kind of ambush waiting inside it all. This one was a bit slippery, sometimes deliberately unreadable, where Fen was just mostly hard to read by nature.

"No, it wasn't bullshit,” Malick said evenly.

"Good.” Joori looked a little too pleased for someone who seemed to believe he'd just talked himself into being bait for a maijin. Malick had to wonder if Fen was the only brother with a penchant for suicide. “I think we're agreed that Jacin doesn't need to know about this?” Joori asked.

"You know....” A small smile curled at the corner of Malick's mouth. Perhaps he'd just found the ambush. “If I agreed to this and your brother found out, he'd kill me."

And it wasn't just a euphemism—Fen really would kill him, or at least try.

"You say that like I give a shit,” Joori replied, still calm and cool, meeting Malick's gaze directly.

"Ah.” Malick nodded. Yes, there was the plan, even if it was half-formed and rather half-assed. Perhaps Joori honestly didn't think he was jealous. Perhaps he really did think that every single one of his motivations was out of a pure, perfect love for his brother. But what all this “bravery” in volunteering as bait came down to was that he would—at least he thought he would—hold the key to getting his brother away from the big, bad
Temshiel
, once all was said and done. Possibly even before—who knew? He might just spill it all to Fen as soon as Fen opened his eyes, and coerce him to gather the family and skulk away before they drew Asai's eye. They could do it now—Fen had money, and Umeia had handed Joori all the papers just this morning.

Fen might kill Malick, or he might not, but he certainly wouldn't have another thing to do with him, not even if Malick was the only one in the world who could save his mother's soul. And though Malick wouldn't let that stop him if it turned out to be the best or only solution, he didn't like Joori thinking he'd manipulated him into it. The little prick was already too smug by halves. Malick was torn between punching him in his smirking mouth and patting him on the head and giving him a biscuit.
Good dog. Clever boy.

Trying to outmanipulate a manipulator. This should be fun.

[Back to Table of Contents]

It annoyed Umeia a little that she had to jump through such hoops, but she dressed carefully nonetheless. No plunging neckline today, no swinging skirts or clacking heels. Traditional layered robes, held closed by a thick sash, and flat-soled leather shoes that squeaked when she walked and made her feel too short. She winced a little as she slipped the wig on—she looked idiotic and washed-out as a brunette, and she hated the feel of it swinging down her back—but steadfastly tucked brassy curls beneath it and carefully pinned it in place.

No glamour today, not where she was going. She couldn't take the chance that a hunter would smell her magic coming. And she'd had no choice but to shut herself off from Malick, which meant shutting herself off from his veil; with all the magic she spent keeping those to whom she'd sworn oath protected, her own veil just wasn't as strong.

"
Him
again?” Lex was propped on an elbow on the pillows, sheets in a tangle about his hips, pouting at her with a soulful sulk. Hurt.

Umeia rolled her eyes. Honestly, men were so... competitive. Or something. Sleep with them a time or several hundred, and they thought you should never, ever want another. As if anyone was
that
good.

"Who is he?” Lex demanded, gaze a bit fiery and all too becoming, for all that his attitude annoyed her. He did look rather decadent and tempting, lying there in the rumpled sheets, broad chest bare and black hair distinctly disheveled. Too bad Umeia couldn't be late today.

She turned to the glass above her vanity table, checking the set of the wig and the kohl around her eyes. “Someone who owes me some favors."

Lex's expression turned sour. “Oh, I'll just
bet
he—"

"Lex.” Umeia turned, snatched up her bag—small and plain, ridiculously sedate; she was supposed to be a lady, after all—and stepped over to the bed. She slipped her fingers into Lex's tangled hair and gently combed through a few snarls. “You're the Girou's right hand. You're not my mate.” She wasn't necessarily trying to hurt him, only remind him of his place, but she had to admit to a bit of satisfaction when his mouth tightened and his gaze cut away. She patted his cheek and walked over to the door, then paused with her hand on the knob and turned back to tender a smile—softer than usual, affectionate. “See that Haru and Fee are up in an hour—they're working lunch today, and I want Haru bright-eyed and smiling or he's going to the kitchens. I've wasted enough time on him."

With that, she opened the door and stepped through, turning just in time to avoid walking directly into Malick's chest. Bloody hell. She'd assumed he was still plastered to Fen's side where she'd left him.

"What are you doing down here?” she snapped, pulling the door shut behind her. “Why aren't you with Fen?” Perhaps going on the immediate offensive would spare her from an argument and a demand for an explanation.

Or not.

Malick's tired eyes raked over her. He only lifted an eyebrow at the wig, but rolled his eyes when his gaze landed on the shoes. “Off on business, I see.” He smirked—that cold one that made Umeia's teeth set too tight and her stomach drop just a little. “What more've you got to discuss with the good judge?"

Damn it. “Who says we're going to ‘discuss’ anything?” Umeia retorted. “I run a brothel, brother dear. Men have needs.” She made a business of smoothing the long hair of the wig over her shoulder. “Have to keep up appearances, then, don't we?"

Malick's expression didn't outwardly change, but somehow it seemed his gaze got a little cooler and his smirk turned to a jackal's leer. Umeia rarely had cause to be afraid of Malick—he could make her nervous when he wanted to, but hardly ever afraid—but the cold calculation in his face had a little too much potential right now. It almost never did her nerves any good to remember exactly what her little brother was and what he could do.

"I want to know what you're up to, Umeia.” Malick's voice was low, his tone even; Umeia wondered if he even knew how much threat was laced inside it. “You've got your own little game going on. What's it to do with Judge Canti?"

Despite her discomfort, Umeia's eyes narrowed. He had the
nerve
to accuse
her
of playing games. “It's no game,” she told him, trying to make her tone just as cold as his. “I won't let you play with the lives of those children. I'm doing what I need to do to protect them."

His eyebrows rose, sardonic. “From me?"

"Yes.” Frank and clear. There was no sense in trying to dissemble. Malick wouldn't have asked if he hadn't already known. “From any who might be a threat to them, which includes you. I swore oath, in case you forgot. At
your
request."