Read Online Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker - Free Book Online
Authors: Leona Wisoker
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in the room.
“Much less hear at a Conclave dinner table,” someone said acerbically.
“At least Lord Ondio’s left the room,” someone else muttered.
Alyea was too fascinated by the darkly amused glint in Deiq’s eyes to look for the identity of the speakers; she felt captured, enthralled, like a rabbit facing a snake. He was making a point, one that he damn well knew would infuriate most if not all of the gathering, and he didn’t care.
Her mother would be screeching with fury at the breach of etiquette. Insulting guests at her table was absolutely forbidden, whatever their crimes. But Scratha made no effort to stop Deiq’s story.
“F’Heing Family lands had no ocean access,” Deiq continued. “The Family that once occupied that space was called Tehay. They were relatively peaceful: fishermen, tea-growers, coffee-growers, farmers. But they were stubborn; wouldn’t allow outsiders into their lands, wouldn’t teach anyone their ways, wouldn’t allow trade posts or even roads through their lands. No outsider ships landing at their docks, and so on. They kept access to their lands very controlled. Rather like the teyanain.”
He glanced at Evkit, who was studiously examining the coffee grounds at the bottom of his empty cup, a ferocious scowl on his dark face.
“F’Heing—and other Families—tried many ways to breach that isolationist attitude. Some tried for marriage—”
Someone closer to the head of the table made a thick, protesting noise.
“Others tried bribes—”
“Damn it, Deiq!”
“Not that I’m naming anyone, mind you,” Deiq retorted without lifting his gaze from Alyea’s face. “But if you’d like to step up to the admission yourself, feel free.”
Heavy silence.
“As it turned out, nothing worked,” Deiq said after a few moments, the amused tilt returning to his eyebrows. “Until F’Heing Family decided they’d had enough of subtle and went in for direct assault . It just so happened that the tea farmers were in the middle of harvest at the time. Hoping they wouldn’t have to lose the whole harvest, they force-dried the newly plucked tea leaves over pine fires, packed them into tight blocks, and buried the blocks before they retreated farther up into the mountains.”
He paused, and his gaze finally left Alyea and swept the table. Nobody spoke. Few met his stare.
“The invaders found the buried blocks of tea before they found the farmers. They tried the tea, and decided they liked it more than the lighter tea the farmers usually produced, and dubbed it thopuh —blood of victory—tea. They hunted down the fugitive tea-farmers, forced them to explain the method of making this new tea, and then killed them all.”
Alyea swallowed hard, the silence in the room beginning to hurt her ears. She cast an uneasy glance around the table and saw, without surprise, that almost every face had an ugly expression now. Gria looked appalled; Azni studied her coffee cup, frowning. Only Scratha seemed to share Deiq’s mild amusement over the story.
Alyea resisted the urge to shake her head or kick Deiq under the table, knowing the former would make her look like a fool and the latter would have no effect at all. She suspected that her efforts to win allies at the pre-dinner gathering were being destroyed, and wondered if that were part of Deiq’s intent in telling this grossly offensive story.
“Thopuh tea quickly became the most expensive, and desirable, tea in the southlands; and F’Heing never suffered any reprisals from the other Families for the attack,” Deiq finished. His gaze flicked to the head of the table. “Not even from—”
“That’s enough,” Scratha said, his tone mild but his gaze darkening.
Deiq inclined his head and tossed back his entire cup of coffee in one swallow, then turned it over before any of the nearby servers could refill it.
“I’m grateful for your indulgence, Lord Scratha,” he said easily, splaying his large hands palm-up on the
“Much less hear at a Conclave dinner table,” someone said acerbically.
“At least Lord Ondio’s left the room,” someone else muttered.
Alyea was too fascinated by the darkly amused glint in Deiq’s eyes to look for the identity of the speakers; she felt captured, enthralled, like a rabbit facing a snake. He was making a point, one that he damn well knew would infuriate most if not all of the gathering, and he didn’t care.
Her mother would be screeching with fury at the breach of etiquette. Insulting guests at her table was absolutely forbidden, whatever their crimes. But Scratha made no effort to stop Deiq’s story.
“F’Heing Family lands had no ocean access,” Deiq continued. “The Family that once occupied that space was called Tehay. They were relatively peaceful: fishermen, tea-growers, coffee-growers, farmers. But they were stubborn; wouldn’t allow outsiders into their lands, wouldn’t teach anyone their ways, wouldn’t allow trade posts or even roads through their lands. No outsider ships landing at their docks, and so on. They kept access to their lands very controlled. Rather like the teyanain.”
He glanced at Evkit, who was studiously examining the coffee grounds at the bottom of his empty cup, a ferocious scowl on his dark face.
“F’Heing—and other Families—tried many ways to breach that isolationist attitude. Some tried for marriage—”
Someone closer to the head of the table made a thick, protesting noise.
“Others tried bribes—”
“Damn it, Deiq!”
“Not that I’m naming anyone, mind you,” Deiq retorted without lifting his gaze from Alyea’s face. “But if you’d like to step up to the admission yourself, feel free.”
Heavy silence.
“As it turned out, nothing worked,” Deiq said after a few moments, the amused tilt returning to his eyebrows. “Until F’Heing Family decided they’d had enough of subtle and went in for direct assault . It just so happened that the tea farmers were in the middle of harvest at the time. Hoping they wouldn’t have to lose the whole harvest, they force-dried the newly plucked tea leaves over pine fires, packed them into tight blocks, and buried the blocks before they retreated farther up into the mountains.”
He paused, and his gaze finally left Alyea and swept the table. Nobody spoke. Few met his stare.
“The invaders found the buried blocks of tea before they found the farmers. They tried the tea, and decided they liked it more than the lighter tea the farmers usually produced, and dubbed it thopuh —blood of victory—tea. They hunted down the fugitive tea-farmers, forced them to explain the method of making this new tea, and then killed them all.”
Alyea swallowed hard, the silence in the room beginning to hurt her ears. She cast an uneasy glance around the table and saw, without surprise, that almost every face had an ugly expression now. Gria looked appalled; Azni studied her coffee cup, frowning. Only Scratha seemed to share Deiq’s mild amusement over the story.
Alyea resisted the urge to shake her head or kick Deiq under the table, knowing the former would make her look like a fool and the latter would have no effect at all. She suspected that her efforts to win allies at the pre-dinner gathering were being destroyed, and wondered if that were part of Deiq’s intent in telling this grossly offensive story.
“Thopuh tea quickly became the most expensive, and desirable, tea in the southlands; and F’Heing never suffered any reprisals from the other Families for the attack,” Deiq finished. His gaze flicked to the head of the table. “Not even from—”
“That’s enough,” Scratha said, his tone mild but his gaze darkening.
Deiq inclined his head and tossed back his entire cup of coffee in one swallow, then turned it over before any of the nearby servers could refill it.
“I’m grateful for your indulgence, Lord Scratha,” he said easily, splaying his large hands palm-up on the
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