Three
The rough hemp rope abraded skin as the corporal secured wrist to iron bolt. Her mouth set in a grim line, she muttered, “You both should’ve known better,” as she tied off the last knot.
Head up. Don’t let them see you’re afraid. At the last flogging, the recruit had blubbered like a baby even before the first welt rose on his back.
A tug against the binding nearly brought panic. It was one thing to know that movement would be impossible and another thing entirely to be held immobile. No. Don’t struggle. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
So maybe it had been a stupid bet. But they’d been cooped up inside the garrison for far too long; it was time to fly. After all, wasn’t this what they were being trained to do? What difference was there between sneaking out of the garrison after lockup and sneaking into an enemy camp?
What difference? Lips twisted into a trembling parody of a smile. Nine lashes.
Wood pressed against shoulders, belly, and thighs, the breezes felt cooler than they should against bare, exposed skin.
Getting out had been easy. They’d danced through the shadows of the town, picked up the proof the bet required, and danced back. The feeling of freedom had been exhilarating; even the night air had seemed sweeter. They’d almost made it.
We should have made it.
From behind, the lash snapped out, striking a practice blow at nothing.
Swallow with a throat gone suddenly dry.
Shake off the comforting clasp of fingers. The corporal had bound them together before lashing their inner wrists to the punishment beam.
We would’ve made it if I’d seen that rotten board. Impossible not to tense, anticipating the pain. I should’ve …
* * * *
… seen that rotten board. Vree struggled to pull herself out of the memory before the lash could fall. She’d gone through it once when she was fourteen and had no intention of going through it again. And then she realized. That hadn’t been her memory. *Bannon?*
*No …*
*Bannon!*
*Vree?* She could almost feel him pulling himself together, drawing all the scattered bits into a confused and fearful whole. *What …?*
They realized they were bound at the same instant and for a moment their combined memories of pain and humiliation threatened to overwhelm them. Only exhaustion kept their struggle against the binding from tipping over into panic.
A frenzied throbbing that threatened to smash the bones of her skull dragged Vree out of the gestalt. Fighting the instinctive urge to push Bannon away, she clung to herself and finally forced her body to still.
“That’s better. You haven’t a chance of breaking free.”
The tone was urbane, amused. The voice was almost familiar.
Gritting her teeth, Vree heaved her eyelids up.
Bannon—not Bannon—stood watching her from a double-body length away. He’d put on a pale green robe that didn’t quite fit and his expression contained more curiosity than threat. Beside him, piled on the end of the bed, were not only the weapons she’d been forced to carry in her makeshift pack, but also every weapon that had remained on her body.
Shit.
Not that it really mattered because she was obviously going to be given no chance to use them. She’d been tied, with what appeared to be silk scarves, to the heavy, northern-style chair she’d seen from the doorway. Although bruised from the fight, the greatest amount of damage seemed to have been caused by the sudden desperate grab for her brother’s life. Her head still rang as though all seven armies were marching through it.
“You must be the sister.”
It was so weird hearing the timbre of Bannon’s voice changed by a stranger’s inflections. Vree flinched as long, cool fingers took firm hold of her jaw and raised her head.
“You look very much alike. Do you know that?” Bannon’s lips smiled. “Of course you do. I have to admit, I never thought to meet you—although you were close to the surface of your brother’s thoughts, he believed himself to be alone and I certainly didn’t expect you to be following so close behind. Had I known, I’d have lingered long enough to take care of things.” He released her and wiped his fingers fastidiously on the billowing folds of his robe as he straightened. “Mind you, I couldn’t possibly have expected you to gather the poor boy to your bosom, metaphorically speaking, and come trotting after me determined to shove him back into his fleshy shell. If asked, I’d have declared it an impossible situation. Obviously, I would have been wrong.” His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t often happen. I don’t like to be wrong.”
*Say something, Vree.*
*Say what? He doesn’t seem to need any encouragement from me.*
The man who had been Governor Aralt walked over to the pile of weapons and prodded it gently, then he turned to face her again. “Vree. A diminutive of Vireyda. But no one calls you that, do they? Tell me, Vree, after this morning’s little adventure, are you still sane?”
“Yes.” The question surprised an answer out of her.
“Is he?”
*I’ll soon show you how sane I am, you thieving son of a diseased pig!*
“I know you’re still holding him. I felt you drag him back from the brink of oblivion.”
“He’s sane.” Vree spit the words from between tight lips.
“This is fascinating.” Bannon’s body folded itself gracefully into a cross-legged position on the end of the bed. “Absolutely fascinating.”
*He’ll find it fascinating all right, with a dagger shoved up between his ribs!*
*Try to remember that they’re your ribs.* She clamped her will down on her left arm, stopping its futile struggle against the russet scarf that bound her to the wooden arm of the chair. *And stop doing that.*
“You’re talking to him, aren’t you?” Bannon/Aralt leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. “Your eyes develop an inward cast and …”
“Can I ask you something?” Vree broke in before he could begin another monologue.
He spread his hands. “Ask.”
“Why haven’t you killed me? Us.”
“A good question. You intrigue me. And there isn’t a lot capable of that anymore.” He grinned, and the familiar expression plunged her into confusion. “My turn. Did you have any idea of the risks you took, or did you act in total ignorance of the danger?”
“What danger?”
“Insanity. Loss of self. Death. When you allowed him to jump into your mind—and I assume you allowed it, he didn’t just force himself in?” He read the answer off her face. “Yes, well, when you allowed him in, you should have been pushed out. Destroyed. Your life sacrificed for his.”
“I trusted him.”
“Very commendable.” His voice picked up a sardonic edge. “I trusted someone once. But what made you think that you could hold two lives in one frail shell? No, wait.” He raised his hand as a thought occurred to him. “You didn’t think, did you? It was the only thing to do, so you did it. Blind faith succeeds where reason would have failed. That’s so touching it makes me ill.”
Vree leaned back in the chair, subtly testing the knots that held her. “So now what?”
“Another good question.” Aralt/Bannon stared down at his foot as though fascinated by the strength and flexibility of his toes. “You could still go insane.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How would you know?”
“I’d know.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth, and he smiled.
“Yes, I believe you would.” He leaned forward suddenly, and for the first time, his eyes met hers. “If I let you live, you’ll continue trying to push me out of your brother’s body, won’t you?”
*Yes!*
*Bannon, no!*
But he wasn’t listening. She felt him throw himself forward over the fragile bridge of her gaze, felt him slam into an impenetrable barrier, once again had to grab him and drag him back.
This time, at least, she remained conscious. When her vision cleared, Bannon/Aralt was standing over her. “You can’t,” he said simply. “I’ve done this too often. I’m far too strong.”
Her head felt like it was being ground between two large rocks. “Then you’ll have to kill me. Us.” At the moment, death didn’t look so bad.
“No. I have a better idea. I have something you want. Something you need.” He spread his hands. “This body. Which, I might add, is a fine physical specimen—young, strong, handsome. I’m sure we can come to some sort of an agreement.”
Vree glared at him. “And what do I have that you want?”
“Skill. Training. Experience. How old are you? Your brother is twenty, so you’d be twenty-two? Twenty-three?” He sighed and shook his head. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? No matter. You’re a military assassin and a very good one if you’ve been doing it since you were fifteen.”
“Twenty-one.”
*Why are you telling him?*
She winced as Bannon’s protest drove yet another spike of pain into her head. *What difference does it make? We need him to deal.*
*We don’t need anything from him.*
*Except your body.*
*Which I’ll take back!*
*How?*
“Children …”
Nobody spoke to her like that. Not if they wanted to live to see morning. After everything else that had happened; after discovering Bannon in a dying body not his own; after finding the precarious balancing point that let them both exist in her head; after tracking Aralt; after confrontation and capture—that smug patronizing tone was just too much. Vree’s eyes narrowed and she began working her strength against the scarves securing her; if the silk wouldn’t give, perhaps the chair would. All at once, it became very easy not to see her brother in the man sitting on the bed.
*Vree, stop it. You’ll hurt yourself.*
She could see his mouth moving, white teeth flashing between curved lips, but she couldn’t hear what he said over the roaring in her ears.
*Vree, let it go. It isn’t worth it. Listen to him.*
*You said we didn’t need anything from him.* Rage clipped each word to its bare essentials.
*I was wrong.* She felt him sigh. *He has my body. We have to deal.*
*How come you’re so slaughtering composed all of a sudden?*
*Because you aren’t?* Bannon’s laugh still held a hint of hysteria, but his thoughts felt clearer than they had. *We’re a team, remember. I see the dangers you don’t. You spot the dangers I miss. I want my body back, Vree, as much or more than you want me out of your head. I, I can’t force my way in …* He hated to make the admission—Vree could feel him struggle with it. *… so we have to listen to him. We don’t have a choice.*
She drew in a long breath and managed to unclench her teeth before she slowly let it out. *Maybe I should’ve fallen apart hours ago.*
*Maybe.*
“You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”
“No.” With the fury gone, Vree sagged against the scarves.
Bannon/Aralt shook his head and sighed. “Family matters? No, never mind.” He raised a cautioning hand, a gold signet gleaming on his second finger. “I don’t really want to know. I shall present the case once more. This time, I suggest you pay attention.” Steepling his fingers, he leaned forward slightly, the action at odds with the flesh he wore. “As admirable as this body is, it comes with none of the little extras that make life worthwhile, and I have no wish to remain in it for very long. So, did you stop to tell any of your comrades about what happened in Ghoti or did you rush blindly after me?” He read the answer on her face and smiled. “Good. You will use your skills to help me get another body.”
“One with extras?”
“Precisely.”
“What kind of extras?”
“Wealth. Power. Position.”
“Why do you need me? Us? You seem to have managed fine so far.”
“Yes, well, the body I have in mind—if you’ll pardon the expression—will be heavily guarded and I’ll need you to help me get close enough to make the transfer. When that happens, your brother will have his body back.”
“What happens to the life from this new body?”
“Why should you care?”
Why should she? As long as Bannon got his body back, what difference did the death of one stranger make? “Who is it?”
“Prince Otavas.”
The youngest of the Emperor’s four children, Prince Otavas, at seventeen, had just begun to take his place in public life. His coming of age had been celebrated across the Empire and the Sixth Army had happily drunk a river of beer in his honor. Pounding heads made for a silent parade the next morning, but the swearing of allegiance had rung out with enough volume to echo off the garrison walls lest word get back to the Emperor that the Sixth Army was less than sincere in their support of his son. Vree, her own head eggshell fragile, had shouted as loudly as the rest although she’d aimed her voice directly at Bannon, who’d turned a pale green at the noise.
“No.”
Bannon/Aralt smiled. “Aren’t you being just a bit hasty? Don’t you think you should talk it over with your brother first? I mean, you do realize what your alternative is …” Picking up one of her daggers, he tested the point against the ball of his thumb and frowned at the crimson bead of blood. “Very sharp.”
*Vree …*
*No. We swore an oath to serve the Imperial House. We’ve been serving the Imperial House all our lives. Don’t ask me to break those oaths, Bannon.* She tried to swallow around the sudden obstruction in her throat that seemed to have edges sharper than her dagger. It he asked her, she’d have to do it and then there wouldn’t be anything left of her at all. She’d already given him the army, surely he couldn’t want her honor, too.
*Do you think I could break those oaths so easily?*
*I …*
His mental voice held equal amounts of hurt and anger. *I’ve served the Imperial House just as you have. I’ve killed for them. I’ve bled for them. What makes you think your oaths mean more to you than mine do to me?*
Vree closed her eyes, shutting out the distraction of Bannon/Aralt. *He has your body.* It was the only answer she could give him.
*And that’s all he’s getting.”
*I’m sorry. I should’ve known.*
*Yeah. You should have.* He sounded as though he’d been betrayed.
She was too tired to react, too tired for that underlying accusation to cut as deeply as it would have under other circumstances. Given the way she felt—physically drained and emotionally flayed—a quick death looked almost inviting. She only wished they could have died in battle. *I wonder if we’ll get stuffed into the same crow.*
*What?*
*Because we’ll die in one body,* she explained, wondering why he hadn’t understood. It’d seemed obvious to her.
*We’re not going to die.*
*Bannon, I’m tied like a festival goose. What am I supposed to defend myself with? Spit and a prayer?*
*Lies.*
*What?*
His grin lit up the inside of her head. *We’re going to lie to him. It’s a long way to the Capital and the prince, and we’ll be chewing at his defenses the whole time.*
*And if we can’t get through?*
*Vree, there’re two of us to one of him. And we’re the best. There’s never been a defense we couldn’t get through. Has there?*
*No …*
*So we agree to give him the prince, but we get my body back before we have to.*
*He’ll think he’s safe because I won’t hurt the body he’s in, and he doesn’t think you’re strong enough to push him out.*
*That’s the only reason he would have made the slaughtering offer.* His tone held an approving nod. *The arrogant carrion eater.*
“I’m waiting for a decision.”
Vree opened her eyes. “We’ll help, on one condition.”
*Vree!*
*Shut up, I’m trying to make this believable.*
“I hardly think that you—either of you—are in a state to be imposing conditions, but what is it?”
“After you’re in the prince and Bannon has his body back, we’re to be given time to get away. No yelling for the guards.”
“And what makes you think you can trust me?”
She lifted both brows and layered silent sarcasm onto her response. “The same thing that makes you think you can trust us. We have something you need.”
“You won’t after I’m in the prince.”
“I won’t be tied then.” Vree dropped her gaze pointedly to her weapons. “After all the trouble you’re going through to become the prince, I’d think you’d like to live a while longer.”
“If you kill the prince …”
“You’ll have already killed the prince!” she snarled. “Very well. If you kill the prince’s body, the palace guards will kill you. Both of you.”
She shrugged. “We’re not afraid to die.”
He stared at her strangely and murmured, “But I notice you’re choosing life, regardless.”
“I said we weren’t afraid, not that we wanted to. Besides, if we die after you’ve taken the prince, at least we’ll have the satisfaction …”
*The pleasure!*
“… of taking you with us.”
He studied her as if weighing her sincerity, then he smiled. “I think I can meet that condition.”
“Then you have a deal.” Except that he’d be dead and out of Bannon’s body long before they reached the prince. Bannon was right. There’d never been a defense they couldn’t breach together. “Now, if I’m, we’re, going to help you, you can start your part of the bargain by cutting me free.”
“Of course. Pardon me.” The dagger he chose was the long, slender blade she’d carried into the room. He slid it between silk and skin, and she shivered at the caress of the chilled steel. The silk parted like water around stone, flowing away from the edge.
“Very sharp,” he repeated approvingly, turning the knife and offering it to her, hilt first.
His fingers laid warm pressure against hers during the exchange.
“Is something the matter?”
Vree shook her head. “No.” Safest to stick to single syllables. Or maybe not. “Just so you know …” The dagger whispered promises as she slid it back into the thigh sheath. “… I know twenty-seven ways to kill you with no weapons at all.”
The theatrical recoil was so Bannon it was difficult to remember that it involved Bannon’s body alone. He clutched a handful of the robe over his heart. “You’re scaring me to death.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Twenty-eight.” Two could play at that game.
Impossible not to laugh with him. With Bannon’s body. I’m so tired.
“You need to sleep. Come, there’s a guest room just next door you can use. I’m afraid you’ll have to share …”
*Vree, that’s not funny.*
*Sorry.* She swallowed a chuckle, recognizing how close she was to losing control—a very bad idea when trapped in enemy territory—and scooped up the rest of her weapons. “What will you tell the servants?”
“That my traveling companion has joined me and we’ll both be leaving in the morning.” He waved the signet ring under her nose as he pushed open one of the louvered doors and led the way out into the courtyard. “Governor Aralt prepared the servants for my arrival.”
“How will you explain me just appearing? I didn’t come in through the front door, you know.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, but you’ll agree there’s no need to tell them that.” The next room was identical to the one they’d just left except there was no desk, no chair, and no pile of knotted scarf fragments. “If you insist on journeying in the heat of midday, you have to expect a lack of a welcoming committee when you arrive. Fortunately, I’m a light sleeper. I heard and I brought you in.”
“And they’ll believe you?”
“As long as I’m wearing this ring. There’s a pot in that small chest if you need it.”
She paused just inside the room, toes curling against the raised pattern in the braided straw mat. “What do I call you? Obviously you’re not Aralt anymore. At least not here.”
He stared at her for a long moment and she had the oddest feeling that he was actually seeing her for the first time. “You may call me Gyhard,” he said at last. “Gyhard i’Stevana.”
“Gyhard i’Stevana? That’s a strange name.”
“Perhaps. But it’s the one I was born with.” He sketched her a courtly bow. “I haven’t used it for some time.”
* * * *
The glass mirror had cost him a great deal, but from the moment he’d seen the clarity of the reflection they cast he’d wanted one. The artisans who knew the secret of joining liquid mercury, tin, and glass lived in one small, but very wealthy city on the shore of the Fienian Sea. He’d gone there himself in the time before he became Governor Aralt, risking the dangerous overland route and paying nearly everything he had for an oval mirror no larger than a man’s hand.
It was very important he be able to see clearly who he was.
“Gyhard i’Stevana.” His reflection looked young and confused. “Why did I give her that name?” He hadn’t used that name in … A quick frown knitted in the high arc of the brows as he counted back. He hadn’t used that name in over ninety years.
He’d just jumped into his third body, had just used his ability deliberately for the first time. He’d been haunted and lonely when high in the Cemandian Mountains he’d met someone in infinitely worse shape.
The hand holding the mirror began to tremble and memory laid the reflection of a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man over Bannon’s brown on brown features. It wasn’t a handsome face, it could even be called plain—except for the dark beauty of the eyes.
“No.” He’d worn that face for only five short years and had no desire to remember any of them. Forcing the memories aside, he stared down once more at the image of the boy he’d become, and then slid the mirror carefully back into its padded case. The dark eyes had rotted with the rest of the discarded body, and the man who had found them beautiful was no doubt long dead.
It had, after all, been over ninety years.
He should’ve pulled a name from the air. One that didn’t drag the past along with it.
Jaw set, he lightly touched his throat where the assassin’s blade had caressed the skin. He couldn’t take the name back. He couldn’t let even the suspicion of weakness disturb the tenuous balance of power necessary to achieve his goal.
Still, it was only a name.
“And none of this,” he muttered, his voice self-mocking, “explains why I gave it to her in the first place.”
* * * *
Vree folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. The edges had all been rounded and the whole gentle arc, extending about two hand spans down the wall to a dark tile border, had been painted a pale blue. She supposed it was intended to mimic the outdoors and give the room a feeling of openness, but it made her feel as though the sky were closing in on her.
*You think we can trust him?*
Bannon’s presence shifted, as though he were pacing in the confines of a cage. *Who? That carrion eater in my body? Probably as much as he can trust us—and the first chance we get, he’s out of there.*
*Great.* Her jaw creaked with the force of her yawn. *Can you keep watch while I sleep?*
*Depends. Can you sleep with your eyes open?*
Sighing, she pulled a dagger with each hand and arranged herself into a more defensive position. *This doesn’t seem to come with any advantages.*
*Yeah well, I’m alive … Vree?*
Her eyes closed, pretty much of their own volition. *What?*
*Thanks. I mean, thanks for taking the chance, for not … you know.*
For not wanting to go on alone. Vree bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
*Are you crying, sister-mine?*
Sister-mine. It had always been as much a possessive as an endearment, and this was the first time he’d used it since he’d landed in her head. She ignored the moisture trickling out from under the corners of her lids. *No. Of course not.*
*Of course not,* he repeated.
She didn’t want to guess what he meant.
*Vree?*
*What?*
*Remember if you have to defend yourself, don’t strike to kill. I mean, it is … *
*… your body. Don’t worry, Bannon.* The dagger hilts lay loose within the circles of her fingers. *I’ll remember.*
Almost asleep, she barely heard him call her name again.
*Vree?*
*What?* In spite of everything, she smiled. This was beginning to remind her of too many nights in the children’s barracks when Bannon had kept her awake with question after question.
*I always thought I was taller.…*
* * * *
Hunger woke her. She lay, frozen in place, fingers tight around her dagger hilts, senses straining the silence for threat. She couldn’t hear anything. At all. For a moment she was afraid that she might have somehow, inexplicably, gone deaf while she slept.
*Vree?*
*Shhhh.*
The whisper of her hair against the cotton blanket as she turned her head sounded unnaturally loud. Very slowly, muscles tensed, she sat. Used to working in darkness, she found the dim, late evening light slanting through the narrow windows and the double louvered door leading to the courtyard more than sufficient.
*What is it?* Bannon demanded.
*Can’t you hear it?*
*I can’t hear anything.*
*That’s what I mean.* A life spent in barracks and army camps hadn’t prepared her for the quiet. She’d learned—everyone learned—to sleep through almost anything but she’d never woken up to such a total lack of noise.
*It’s like we dozed off on target,* murmured Bannon, wonder touching his mental voice. *Maybe everyone’s cleared out.*
Vree’s nose twitched and her stomach growled loudly in response. A small stone crock, a dipper, a cup, and a covered bowl had been set on the low table beside the bed. Lips pressed tightly together in disgust, she sheathed her daggers and crossed her legs beneath her. *They could’ve just pushed a pillow over my face and saved themselves the bother. I can’t believe I didn’t hear them bring this in.*
*Good servants walk on shadow feet. Commander Neegan always says that more assassins are screwed by personal body servants than by guards. What’s in the bowl? I’m starved.*
*I’m starved,* Vree corrected absently, leaning forward and lifting the lid. *Cold millet and cooked slaughtering veg. Just like home.*
*Sniff again, sister-mine. When the army cooks this, it smells like onions. This smells like …”
*… hot peppers and …* With her nose nearly resting on the edge of the bowl, it didn’t even look like the grayish-brown, sticky mass she was used to. *… and orange. And there’s more than just a couple of half-cooked chunks of zucchini in there, too.* Her right hand jerked to a stop, the scoop of food on the first two fingers nearly at her mouth. *Bannon!*
*What if he’s trying to poison us?*
Vree swallowed a curt, What if he is? along with a mouthful of saliva and considered the question. *No. He’s grown used to having power and he needs us … me to get more. He won’t give up the chance.*
*How can you be so sure?*
*Ever hear of an officer turning down a promotion?*
The food tasted better than it smelled. The crock held cold water with slices of lime floating on the surface—Vree ignored the cup and drank straight from the dipper. It was a beautifully crafted piece of metal-work, shaped into the likeness of a broad-petaled flower on a gently curving stem, and if she’d had her pack … The army officially frowned on looting but pragmatically ignored most of the less blatant occurrences.
The pot was almost too pretty to use.
Thumbs tucked under the drawstring, she shucked her breeches down and squatted. Things got complicated for a few moments.
*Bannon, what is it with you!*
*Nothing.*
*Something’s wrong. You’d think you never saw me piss before.*
*I’ve never been you pissing before.*
*So what? It’s still my body.*
*Yeah, but I’m in here, too, and …*
*And what?*
*Nothing!*
Nothing? She looked down. Realized the problem. And couldn’t stop the snicker—instantly regretted. Male obsessions that called for a wisecrack under other circumstances were no longer funny. *I’m sorry, Bannon.*
*You’re not a man. You don’t understand. You can’t understand.* The next thought was so soft she hardly heard it. *I’m not a man.*
Frowning, Vree straightened and shoved the pot back into its cabinet with the side of her foot. He was partially right—she wasn’t a man and she didn’t understand—but she could feel his distress and wanted to ease it. *Look, being a man is more than just … I mean, you’re still you, and.… Well, slaughter it, Bannon, you’re not a woman.*
*I’m in a woman.*
*Yeah? Not for the first time.*
*It’s not the same thing.* But this protest carried the feel of a reluctant grin and his next words proved that she’d managed to distract him. *Mind you, I’ve always wondered. Vree, if I’m stuck in here for a while, do you think you could …*
Her face grew hot. *No.*
*Just once?*
*Bannon!*
“Am I interrupting something?”
Embarrassment gave her only one response.
Gyhard stared at the throwing dagger buried to the hilt in the door frame by his head, then he turned to stare at the young woman scowling at him. Although his heart raced and the highly conditioned body he now wore trembled with the need to react, he kept his tone mild. “I suppose I should have knocked?”
Vree fought to bring her blushing under control, which only made it worse. “What do you want?” she snarled.
“I thought, now that you’ve rested, that you might like to visit the bathhouse.” He held out one of the flowing house robes he, as Aralt, had provided for guests. “I didn’t want to mention this earlier, but you’re filthy.”
* * * *
Soaped, scrubbed, rinsed, and feeling almost relaxed, Vree leaned back in the soaking pool until the warm water lapped at the point of her chin. *I could get used to this.*
*They feel strange.*
*What do?*
*Breasts. They sort of float. Or they would float if they were bigger.*
*Up yours.* The water level rose as Gyhard lowered himself into the pool and she shifted position. “Aralt did all right by himself.”
“There were certain perks involved in being district governor,” he admitted, stretching his arms out along the submerged tile ledge. “Probably why I stayed with it for so long.”
Vree circled a finger above the water, indicating not only the soaking pool but more-or-less the entire bathhouse; the lush curtains of hanging plants, the mosaics, the clusters of scented candles. “I’m amazed you wanted to give this up.”
He shrugged, the motion sending ripples out from his shoulders. “I was old. While I’d allowed it to happen, I found I didn’t care for it much. The older you are, the closer you are to a death that can’t be avoided.”
*He’s about three feet from his death right now.*
*As soon as we get a chance, Bannon. I promise.*
From under half-lowered lids, Gyhard watched the minute changes in his companion’s expression and wondered how she managed to so closely coexist with another life. Still, I suppose all those years in barracks and field camps are as good a training for lack of individuality as you can get. He’d barely touched young Bannon’s memories during the transfer as, at the time, he’d had no desire to know the man he was displacing. Now, he wished he’d been just a little more thorough, if only to have gained more information on the sister. Considering her trade, there was a sense of vulnerability about her that he found astounding.
“So …” She jerked as he broke the silence. “How is your brother?”
*How am I? I’ll show that carrion eater how I am the moment he drops his guard, the slaughtering son-of-a-sow, the …*
“He’s angry.” Vree interrupted the internal tirade. “And he wants his body back.”
Gyhard flexed his ankle and gloried in the response of young muscle. “Well, tell him from me that it’s a superb body and I’m not surprised he wants it back.”
“Tell him yourself. He can hear you.”
“He’s using your senses?” The concept intrigued Gyhard. “Is he able to exert any physical control?”
Below the surface of the water, Vree unclenched the fist Bannon had made. “No,” she lied, sneering slightly. “He’s a passenger. That’s all.”
*I am not!*
*For Jiir’s sake, Bannon, remember who we’re talking to. The less he knows the better.*
*Yeah. I guess you’re right.*
But she could tell he didn’t like it, that he hated the thought of being considered a passive observer. She’d have hated it also had their positions been reversed. Levering herself out of the pool, she reached for a drying cloth. “What now?”
“Now we eat a late but excellent supper and then we get some sleep. We’ll be leaving for the Capital in the morning. I assembled most of what we’ll need while you were sleeping. Can you ride?”
“No.” The cloths were both incredibly soft and absorbant. Vree wondered if they’d miss a couple. “And neither can you.”
Standing in the pool, Gyhard stared up at her. “What are you talking about? I’ve ridden all my life.”
Vree smiled unpleasantly. “Your head has, but that body’s never been on a horse. Even if you know what to do, you’ll have to teach the body how to do it.”
“I am not walking all the way to the Capital.”
“Then I guess all three of us will have to learn to ride.”
Teeth clenched, Gyhard muttered profanity under his breath.
*You enjoyed that, didn’t you?*
She tugged the house robe down over her head. *Uh-huh.*
*Saddle sores won’t be so funny.*
*I’m used to the body I’m wearing. I know what it’s capable of. He isn’t and he doesn’t.*
*Great. My butt suffers alone.*
*You won’t be in it.*
*On it.*
*Whatever.*
The robe settled down on her shoulders in time to see Gyhard stepping up out of the pool. He might be in Bannon’s body, but he didn’t move like her brother and the effect was strangely disconcerting. All at once, she found she couldn’t look away. *Bannon?*
*I want to see.*
No need to make an excuse this time. Heart pounding, she let him stare.
Gyhard paused, spine arced as he dried his back. “What’s the matter?”
*Tell him that I’m just making sure he hasn’t lost anything.*
When she repeated it, Gyhard smiled but his gaze remained locked on her face and she could see a question in his eyes.
Bannon’s eyes.
Not Bannon’s eyes.
“Tell your brother,” he said softly, “that he’s unbelievably vain.”
“Tell him yourself,” Vree snapped, but her mouth was dry.
* * * *
It was too quiet. Vree lay stiffly under the weight of the cotton blanket and stared into the darkness. The sights, the sounds, the smells of the army were missing. No comforting barricade of life surrounded her. She could smell the lingering perfume of the bath; could hear the pounding of her own heart; could see nothing. Couldn’t sleep.
*What is it?*
*Nothing.* She forced her eyes closed and stared instead at the patterns flaring across the lids.
*Sure is quiet.*
*Everyone’s asleep.*
*You’re not.*
Moisture spread from her palms to the leather-wrapped hilts lying against them.
*You thinking about him?*
She rubbed her hands dry on the blanket. *No. There’s nothing we can do about him now.*
*Yeah, I guess.*
The room that had seemed so confining before, now seemed infinitely large. She couldn’t get any sense of the other lives in the villa and felt as though she were floating alone in the night with no reference points to ground her.
*Vree? You’re not alone.* His voice laid an arm across her shoulders and pulled her into a loose embrace. *I’m here.*
A night bird screamed. The silence swallowed the cry.
What were they doing, Emo and the others? Had they fought? Had they died? Was her pack still sitting where she’d left it? When would they divide her kit? When would they be sure she wasn’t coming back?
Her palms were damp again.
*Hey, do you remember how Ugy used to snore? How crazy it used to drive you? You’d get up and slip across the barracks to pinch his nose closed, oh, two or three times before you finally got so pissed off you’d throw something heavy and hard at him. It’d crash and he’d swear and half the squad’d wake up ready to pound him.…*
As Bannon built a wall of memories around her, Vree began to relax. The night filled with the familiar, with the known, and his voice became one of many voices. When she finally surrendered to sleep, she took the last words she heard with her.
*It’s all right, sister-mine. We’ll go together.…*