Read Online Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leona Wisoker
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table. “I seem to be losing my manners from lack of sleep.”
“It’s been a long two days,” Scratha said, and waved to the waiting servants. “I suggest we all retire early. Many of you have a long road to travel in the morning.”
As the servants came forward, ever-so-politely lifting away empty cups and offering subtle prompts to finish full ones, Alyea stared at Deiq, still unable to believe his gall.
He met her stare with a placid expression. Before either of them could say anything, a servant dressed in the brown and grey of guest-quarters staff instead of the black and grey of dining-hall staff approached.
“Lord Peysimun, I’ll take you to your rooms, if you’re ready to retire,” the dumpy woman said in a thick southern accent, hands folded across her broad stomach. Alyea noticed the servant was missing the tips of two fingers on her left hand, and only realized she was staring when the woman shifted her hands to hide left under right.
“Sorry,” Alyea muttered, feeling her entire face heat up, and looked away hurriedly. “I know the way—”
“Your room has changed, Lord Peysimun,” the servant interrupted, no trace of discomfort on her broad features. “You have new status, get new room.”
“What? But I—”
Deiq’s hand closed around her elbow; he used the other in a “wait a moment” motion to the servant, then leaned in close to speak in Alyea’s ear.
“You weren’t officially accepted as Lord Peysimun until you were confirmed by Conclave. And you’re the only desert lord besides Azni being given a room, in case you didn’t realize; everyone else is camping outside the walls. So smile and say thank you, damn it!”
Alyea forced her mouth into a smile. “Thank you,” she said to the servant, and stood, shaking her arm free from Deiq’s grip. “I’m honored.” She turned, caught Lord Scratha’s eye, then bowed deeply; he nodded, looking distantly amused once more.
Alyea followed the plump servant out of the dining hall without looking back, well aware that Deiq trailed a matter of steps behind her. She wished she could just tell him to go somewhere else, but knew he would just give her that abstracted, sardonic stare and ignore the request completely.
Chapter S e ven
Alyea’s new room was considerably more luxurious than the last. Two rooms, in fact, and a side room for the kathain—six of whom stood lined up with their handler, patiently awaiting approval.
Deiq repressed a groan. He’d forgotten about this particular tradition, and hadn’t thought to warn Alyea about it. Her expression, as she stared at the waiting group, told him she had no idea what she was looking at; she probably thought they were just servants.
“Kathain for your approval, Lord Peysimun,” said the handler, a stringy old man with a large black birthmark on the side of his face and several missing teeth. “As many as you feel the need for tonight.”
The missing teeth turned the handler’s smile into a leer, and Deiq saw Alyea’s expression change rapidly as she grasped the implications.
Deiq laid a hand casually on her shoulder and dug his thumbnail into the fleshy part. She shot him a furious glare.
“Three,” he murmured, almost subvocalizing. “Pick three, with thanks, and send the rest away. Do it .”
He heard a tiny grinding sound as she clamped her teeth tightly together. For a moment he thought she might refuse; then she forced a strained smile and turned her attention to studying the offered kathain.
Two women, and four men; the youngest was perhaps fifteen and the oldest almost thirty. None exceptional, either in beauty or ugliness; a statement all its own, but not one Alyea would understand how to interpret. And none were dressed provocatively, not here: at F’Heing they would have been presented nude; at Sessin, bedecked with glittering finery. But Scratha had always preferred to present their kathain soberly dressed in the same earth tones as the curtains
“It’s been a long two days,” Scratha said, and waved to the waiting servants. “I suggest we all retire early. Many of you have a long road to travel in the morning.”
As the servants came forward, ever-so-politely lifting away empty cups and offering subtle prompts to finish full ones, Alyea stared at Deiq, still unable to believe his gall.
He met her stare with a placid expression. Before either of them could say anything, a servant dressed in the brown and grey of guest-quarters staff instead of the black and grey of dining-hall staff approached.
“Lord Peysimun, I’ll take you to your rooms, if you’re ready to retire,” the dumpy woman said in a thick southern accent, hands folded across her broad stomach. Alyea noticed the servant was missing the tips of two fingers on her left hand, and only realized she was staring when the woman shifted her hands to hide left under right.
“Sorry,” Alyea muttered, feeling her entire face heat up, and looked away hurriedly. “I know the way—”
“Your room has changed, Lord Peysimun,” the servant interrupted, no trace of discomfort on her broad features. “You have new status, get new room.”
“What? But I—”
Deiq’s hand closed around her elbow; he used the other in a “wait a moment” motion to the servant, then leaned in close to speak in Alyea’s ear.
“You weren’t officially accepted as Lord Peysimun until you were confirmed by Conclave. And you’re the only desert lord besides Azni being given a room, in case you didn’t realize; everyone else is camping outside the walls. So smile and say thank you, damn it!”
Alyea forced her mouth into a smile. “Thank you,” she said to the servant, and stood, shaking her arm free from Deiq’s grip. “I’m honored.” She turned, caught Lord Scratha’s eye, then bowed deeply; he nodded, looking distantly amused once more.
Alyea followed the plump servant out of the dining hall without looking back, well aware that Deiq trailed a matter of steps behind her. She wished she could just tell him to go somewhere else, but knew he would just give her that abstracted, sardonic stare and ignore the request completely.
Chapter S e ven
Alyea’s new room was considerably more luxurious than the last. Two rooms, in fact, and a side room for the kathain—six of whom stood lined up with their handler, patiently awaiting approval.
Deiq repressed a groan. He’d forgotten about this particular tradition, and hadn’t thought to warn Alyea about it. Her expression, as she stared at the waiting group, told him she had no idea what she was looking at; she probably thought they were just servants.
“Kathain for your approval, Lord Peysimun,” said the handler, a stringy old man with a large black birthmark on the side of his face and several missing teeth. “As many as you feel the need for tonight.”
The missing teeth turned the handler’s smile into a leer, and Deiq saw Alyea’s expression change rapidly as she grasped the implications.
Deiq laid a hand casually on her shoulder and dug his thumbnail into the fleshy part. She shot him a furious glare.
“Three,” he murmured, almost subvocalizing. “Pick three, with thanks, and send the rest away. Do it .”
He heard a tiny grinding sound as she clamped her teeth tightly together. For a moment he thought she might refuse; then she forced a strained smile and turned her attention to studying the offered kathain.
Two women, and four men; the youngest was perhaps fifteen and the oldest almost thirty. None exceptional, either in beauty or ugliness; a statement all its own, but not one Alyea would understand how to interpret. And none were dressed provocatively, not here: at F’Heing they would have been presented nude; at Sessin, bedecked with glittering finery. But Scratha had always preferred to present their kathain soberly dressed in the same earth tones as the curtains
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