Wolf's-own: Weregild (39 page)

Samin shook his head, watched Joori methodically and gently try to peel the sticky, clotted clothes off his little sister's body, watched the tears flow steadily down his pale cheeks as he did it, watched him try not to wince every time his fingers glanced over a knot of bone or a gaping wound. Watched him try not to look at Shig doing the same for Yori, though Shig had stopped her weeping, gone silent. Watched him peer over periodically at the still-untended body of Umeia, who lay sheet-draped on one of the steam tables, where only an hour ago the kitchen boys had been preparing rice and setting up for supper.

Samin hadn't known where else to bring the bodies. Upstairs hadn't seemed right, and the floor of the Girou had seemed too open. And he had no idea if they were going to have the time for a proper pyre. The practical part of him had remembered the cold-storage room, and so had brought them all to the kitchens, evicted any who were still lingering, afraid to venture into the alley, and any who'd wandered back afterward to try to make sense of it all and begin the mourning of their surrogate “mother” and patroness. Some had tried to flee after the blatant display of magic, but the man Malick had called Husao had corralled them back and that Xari from the Stallion was now keeping them relatively quiet, either up in their own rooms or congregated out on the floor.

Most had stayed, gathered out on the floor where they made their living, getting slowly drunk and discussing the open secret of the Girou, which was a lot more open than Samin had known. Protected all this time beneath Malick's veil, hidden all this time by Malick's magic, but Umeia had been the face of it all. Umeia had been the one everyone had thought really in charge—even Samin. Even now, he couldn't tell how many of them were hiding magic of some kind, how many were just as shocked as he was at the number of those who'd somehow known to seek open refuge here, and how many had no magic themselves but had willingly accompliced those who did. Accompliced the woman who'd taken them in and sheltered them, and only now were they beginning to get the faintest clue that it had really been Malick all along. It had been his magic and his money that had given them new names, bought them new papers, helped some get out of Ada altogether, if that was what they'd wanted, and if they'd earned the help.

And now the woman they'd all thought of as some kind of House Mother lay lifeless on a steam table in her own kitchen. Samin didn't think it was entirely inappropriate of him that he was glad it was Umeia and not Malick.

It seemed wrong, though, that no one was tending to Umeia like they were for Caidi and Yori, but Lex was still trying to pull himself together, and anyway, it wasn't really his place. Lex wasn't Umeia's mate, merely her favored companion, but certainly not the only one. It was Malick's place, but Malick was... busy.

Samin's mouth turned down, and he shut his eyes, trying not to see Fen, bared in every way, collapsed in grief against Malick down in the baths. Tried not to hear the soul-wrenching screams and cries. Tried not to understand the desolation.

The incense was heavy in the air and it burned his nose, stung his eyes. Shig had lit too much of it, but Samin hadn't wanted to tell her to quit at the traditional three.

Morin was staring at him when Samin looked up again, red, puffy eyes too keen in understanding, a little bit grateful, maybe. Unaccountably, Samin wanted to hug him.

He liked the whole family more than he ever would have thought he might. Maybe even loved them a little bit. He hadn't really thought he liked children, but Caidi had gotten to him in ways....

He pushed the thought aside when more tears threatened. He hadn't wept enough, no one had—there weren't sufficient tears in the world to do justice to three such worthy lives gone—but he'd wept plenty for now. There were other matters.

The day had been full of failures and mistakes. That little girl had been taken right out of Samin's hands. Out of his
hands
.

The feel of her quivering as he'd tried to brush away the shadows. The look in her eyes through the murk, the fear, the confusion. The sick sinking of his gut when he'd grabbed for her foot as she lifted up past him and...
missed
. Just missed.

Samin clenched his teeth and shunted it aside. A thousand horrible, painful deaths for Asai, with Samin himself twisting the blade, would not be enough.

"I need more water, Morin,” Joori said quietly, his head bowed over Caidi, his shoulders still steadily shaking as the cloth he used to bathe his little sister's body grew redder, along with the basin of water he'd been using to rinse it out.

Morin merely nodded, sucked in a shaky breath as he moved to angle himself around the pastry counter where Caidi lay and retrieved the basin to clean and refill it. He stopped in mid-step, frozen like a rabbit, but wary-eyed and tense, one hand curling into an unconscious fist as his swollen, hazel eyes riveted to a spot behind where Samin stood.

Samin didn't really need to turn, but he did anyway. Saw Malick's eyes take in the scene, wincing only slightly when his gaze landed on Umeia's covered body, turning pained and sad when it took in everything else. Fen was leaning into him heavily, a bathsheet wrapped around him like a blanket, his own gaze steady but carefully not looking at anything at all.

Joori had frozen too, staring at Malick with eyes both terrified and defiant—ready to apologize and defend his actions at the same time—and turning confused when Malick did nothing but meet the stare then move on to Morin. He sucked in a long breath, then said evenly and without any sort of dramatics: “By my heart, by my body, by my breath and spirit, I pledge my oath to Kel Saminil, Kojoi Shig, Fen Joori, and Fen Morin. Should my life be required in return for their safety, I pledge it willingly, by forfeit of my soul should I fail."

The silence was complete. Stunned. More loaded than it had been a moment ago when Morin and Joori had caught sight of Malick, fearing an attack. Even Samin was shocked. Malick just wasn't the sort.

"Mal,” Samin said, his voice strangely reverent. “We haven't even—"

"It doesn't matter,” Malick cut in, his own tone still even and quiet, matter-of-fact. “Whether you stay or you go, you've earned it and more."

"What about my brother?"

Surprisingly, it came from Morin, not Joori, like Samin would have thought. The boy's face was a little too pale, like he expected to be struck down for the impertinence, even with the promise of the oath, but his chin was up and his gaze was steady, if a little too obviously terrified.

Malick's gaze went to Morin, and for the first time, Samin noted how tired he looked, how drawn. How sincerely grief-stricken he was at what had happened today. And again, Samin was a little taken aback. Because Malick simply wasn't the sort. Or hadn't been.

"Your brother won't accept it,” Malick said calmly, though his mouth turned down in obvious disapproval as he said it in a way that told Samin it was a fresh argument, and it wasn't quite done as far as Malick was concerned. But Malick only shrugged, sighed. “Anyway, I'm not sure it would work. Magic just kind of... slides off him."

"Terrific,” Morin said with a curl of his lip and a roll of his eyes, both directed more at the universe in general than Malick in particular. He was a snarky little shit who gave his brothers grief at almost every opportunity, but he loved them in his way—oddly, Samin had seen it that first night when the boy had kicked Fen to put him down.

Malick ignored the comment, merely shifted his gaze to Joori, and jerked his chin. “Take your brother upstairs and help him dress."

Joori only stared for a moment, blinking, then he looked down at the red-soaked cloth in his hand, at his little sister. “But.... I was—"

"I know,” Malick cut in, and Samin nearly smiled at the gentle tone, and the surprise on Joori's face when he heard it too. “Morin can take over for a little while.” With a slight flicker of his gaze toward Caidi, Malick shook his head and gave Fen's shoulder a squeeze. “She's not going anywhere."

Joori winced a little, but he didn't snap back. Nodding slightly, he ran a gentle hand over Caidi's brow, whispered something to her that Samin didn't try to hear, then turned to rinse his hands.

"Still think you can live with it, angry Ghost?"

It halted everyone, because Shig hadn't said a word since they'd begun their mournful tasks, and to hear her speak so calmly now—without the spirit-driven singsong it seemed they'd all expected when she finally decided to speak again—was strange and disconcerting.

The question had been directed at Fen, and Samin had no idea what it meant, but Fen seemed to. He didn't answer it, though, merely stared at Shig with flat regard, too wrung out and stricken to muster much else. He looked, in fact, now that Samin was letting himself
really
look, like a man who was gazing directly into the empty perdition of the suns, and just barely hanging onto whatever precarious hold he'd been able to snatch.

Malick was right—the lad needed his brother. Samin was just surprised it had been Malick's idea.

Shig was staring back at Fen, her jade eyes too sharp for someone who was so deeply in mourning, but not hostile, though the question had almost sounded so. She looked... interested. Curious. She merely shrugged when Fen didn't answer, looked away, and went back to her task.

They were all silent as Joori made his way over to Fen, took his brother's weight from Malick and began angling them both out of the kitchens.

"Watch it on the stairs,” Malick said as they retreated. “And take him to my room. There are rolls of bandages and a jar of salve in the cupboard under the washstand."

Joori didn't answer, but he turned back to look over his shoulder, searched Malick's face, and nodded solemnly at whatever he found there.

Malick waited until they were well-gone before he turned back. And then he merely looked at Shig, gestured her over. She came quietly, with a subtle show of relief, but the tears that had dried up a while ago were once again misting her eyes as she stepped willingly beneath Malick's arm and laid her multicolored head on his shoulder.

"Better, love?” Malick murmured, smiled a little sadly when Shig merely nodded and began to sob almost silently into his shirt.

Malick looked back at Samin. “Fen still intends to go after his mother.” His glance cut briefly to Morin then down to Shig before it settled again on Samin. “If either of you has any objections, now's the time to voice them. Any debt either of you has ever thought you might owe me has been....” His eyes went to Yori's body then back again to Shig. He shut them briefly and looked away. “It's been
paid
.” He nearly spat the word.

Giving them yet another opportunity to back out, now that the warning of things getting ugly had been made terrible truth. As if any of them could have witnessed what went on today and merely bowed their heads and stepped back. Malick had to know better, but Samin supposed he respected the fact that he took care to make the offer. Still, Samin didn't justify the opportunity for cowardice; he merely waited until Malick's gaze lifted again and settled on him.

"Plan?"

A ghost of the familiar cocky smile flickered at Malick's mouth, and he lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Always."

Excellent. Mayhem. It did a body good. Just point Samin in the right direction.

Samin shot a quick look at Shig, returned her watery little smile with one of his own, then turned back to Malick. “When?"

How, Joori wondered, still dazed and never far from tears, could it be possible that he was still standing here, that the blood on his hands had washed off—just
washed off
like it didn't belong there—that life,
his
life, just kept going, when the lives of his sister and his too-new lover were over, just... over? Gone and done, and here he was, still breathing, still functioning, when it was supposed to have been him, it should have been
him
, and he knew they all knew it, he knew they all wished it had been.

That was all right—he wished it too.

"Brother."

Jacin's voice was hoarse, because he'd been screaming, they'd all heard it, all the way from down in the baths, but when Joori had moved to go to his brother, Shig's lethal look had stopped him cold. Just a look, not even a movement to back it up, no overt threat, but it was hard and cold and cruel, and he'd allowed it to back him down, even with his brother's shrieks arrowing right into his chest. And when Samin had come back from his dash with no blood on his sword and the screams still ringing, Joori had known. And wanted to die all over again.

"Joori,” Jacin rasped. He took hold of Joori's hand around the comb, and stilled it. Pushed it away and turned.

Joori couldn't meet Jacin's eyes, couldn't do anything but stare down at the comb in his hand, a long rope of Jacin's hair still twisted between his fingers, because he was supposed to be braiding it, just like he'd used to do when he'd known Jacin like he'd known himself. When life still had dubious hope, but
hope
. When Joori could almost always find the right words to say, the right reassurances—
I won't let it happen, Jacin, you're not a Ghost, you'll never be a Ghost
. Except now Morin's words—
you've done him no favors by pretending he isn't what he is
—kept coming back to him, and Joori didn't really understand them any better now than he had when Morin had leveled them at him,
Morin
of all people. He had a vague notion that he
should
understand them, that they meant something he wasn't seeing, something that could have made today not happen if he'd only understood, only seen, because it was all down to him, all his fault, every bit of it, and they all knew it.

Morin's knowledge poured out from hazel eyes so like Caidi's, so like their mother's; shone in those strange, soft looks he kept shooting Joori as he'd untangled blood-sticky gold and added the flow of unending tears to the water that kept turning red too soon. Except Morin kept not saying it, kept not rubbing Joori's nose in it, and it was so unlike Morin that Joori just couldn't wrap his mind around it.