Inheritor

God! Finding them. He brought his hands up in the shock of common sense that said danger, harm, pain—and at that moment Jago’s mouth found his and began a kiss both explorative and incredibly sensual.

He had never known atevi did that. She tastedforeign; that was odd; but matters now reached a point of no-thought and no-sense. They were in the dark, neither knowing in the least what hurt and what didn’t, but efforts to consummate what was underway began to be a rapid and frustrating comedy of errors that at first frustrated and embarrassed him and finally started her laughing.

Her good humor made him less desperate. “We have to practice this in daylight,” he muttered. “This is exhausting.”

It won a finger poke in the ribs, which she’d discovered got a protective reaction. He curled up—and at a thunder boom, jumped against her and held on. They were, he thought, both out of their minds, in a tent, halfway to the lightning-laced heavens, under a metal frame, and in earshot of Ilisidi’s men. Then—then, maybe it was the plain admission he was being a fool, or maybe it was Jago’s changing position—a sudden and by no means coordinated reaction sent him toward release. She shivered oddly and didn’t complain; and his eyes shut and the dark went darker and red and black.

For a moment or two then he just drifted in space, half aware of the warm body wrapped around his, tasting the strange taste that was Jago, and feeling, well, that he’d managed enough. She seemed to have found something enjoyable out of it, and he was appalled at the thought she’d tell Banichi and make a fu

Which it was, dammit. She was right to laugh. Thank God she could laugh. It made it all less serious, what he’d gotten into, and he tried to set it in perspective as they lay together with the lightning turning the walls transparent. She was curious; he’d answered her question. She’d surprised the hell out of him about the kiss—he felt warm even thinking about it—and he wondered whether she’d done a little research of her own or whether atevi just did that.

And she hadn’t given up on the night. Bad trouble, he said to himself, as Jago’s fingers wound curls in his hair, as she fitted her body against his just for comfort and seemed satisfied. In that moment his human feelings slid right over the edge of a cliff more dangerous than the one outside. She brought him no recriminations, found no fault—maybe had an agenda—but this was the woman he’d trust for anything, and whose good will he wouldn’t risk for anything.

Evidently, by those fingers making curls out of his hair, he still had her good regard. He’d risked everything and hadn’t lost, and there might be other nights, when he’d thought he’d reached a safe numbness to his personal affairs. Oh, God, it was dangerous.

“Was it pleasant?” she asked him.

He drew a breath. “I enjoyed it.”

“It was not very responsible of us. But Banichi knew we would do it.”

“ Didhe?” he asked, but he was sure of that, too.

“Of course. But we should get dressed, in case. There was no danger early on. But toward morning we should be a little on our guard, in case we must move.”

“Direiso?”

“Possibly.”

“What’s going on? Whereare we going and what are we up to?”

“Cenedi and the dowager know that for certain. But Mogari-nai, most likely. Which Direiso-daja will not like.” She unwound herself upward and tugged on his hand.

Will not like? he asked himself. Getting to his feet, he agreed with. But she ducked out of the tent stark naked into driving rain and pulled him out with her. It was cold rain. They were standing in water. Lightning was still going on, the wind was still fierce and Jago, her black skin glistening in the lightning, sluiced over by the rain, and her braid streaming water, acted as if she were in the safe, warm showers at home.

He followed her example, unwilling to think himself more delicate than she was. He scrubbed and rubbed and was oh so glad she ducked back inside in a hurry. She flung his insulated sleeping bag at him for a towel, and they both cleaned up and dressed and snuggled down with one of the open bags beneath them and one zipped out flat above them, both shivering and holding on to each other.

“Better than a roof in the peninsula,” she said, and hugged him close. “Get some sleep.”

He tried. He didn’t think he could, after the shock of cold water; but the shivering stopped, her warmth was comfortable, her embrace was trustable as anything on earth, and he found himself drifting.

Not love, he said to himself. And then thought, with one of those flashes of insight his professional mind sometimes had, maybe they’d had such rotten luck with the love and man’chi aspect of relations because that word in Mosphei’ blurred so many things together it just wasn’t safe to deal with.

They were lovers. But Ragi said they were sexual partners.

They were lovers. But Ragi said they were associated.

They were lovers. But Ragi said they were within the same lord’s man’chi.

They’d made love. But Ragi said there were one-candle nights and two-candle nights and there were relationships that didn’t count the candles at all.

They’d made love. But a Ragi proverb said one candle didn’t promise breakfast.

He and Jago would be lucky to have a breakfast undisturbed by the trouble that might come tomorrow, but he’d know his back was protected, come what might, by her andBanichi. So if their languages didn’t say quite the same thing and their bodies didn’t quite match and the niches they made that said this person satisfies enough requirements to make me happywere just a little different-shaped in their psyches, the center of that design might match, leaving just the edges hanging off.

But didn’t his relationship with Barb have unmatched edges? Didn’t every close relationship?

He was quite out of his depth in trying to reckon that. But with Jago he certainly wouldn’t count the candles. Whatever they could arrange, as long as it could last from both sides, that was what he’d take.

He was happy, right now, where he was. He didn’t swear it would bear the light of the sun. He didn’t let himself hope—the way things in his personal life that had looked as if they were going to work had tended not to—that it would stand the sun.

But he trusted that Jago would protect herself.

That thought let him relax, finally, listening to her breathing. In dim-brained curiosity he began timing his breaths to hers and seeing if they could be brought to match. He could force it—but it wasn’t quite natural. She seemed asleep, so that might not be a fair test.

He went on trying to make a match, but it eluded him.

21

Good night?” Banichi asked them, in the cold, rainy dawn, when Ilisidi’s men were off to saddle the mechieti.

“Quite good,” Jago declared with a tilt of her head. “For the curious, yes, Banichi-ji, and you’ll go begging for the salacious details.”

Bren tried to keep an expressionless face as Banichi glanced at him for information. And didn’t think he succeeded.

“Shut out,” Banichi said. “Abandoned.”

“Fled,” Jago said. “Having set the scene.”

“ Shewas the one who said we needed to set separate guard last night,” Banichi said. “But I heard no appeals for rescue.”

“Be decent!” Jago said, finally rising to the defense. “My partner has no shame, paidhi-ji.”

Banichi strolled off quite happily, while the servants hastily struck tents. Ilisidi and Cenedi had gone out to get the mechieti; until Babsidi came to his rider, no other would. The boy from Dur had found Jase and was tagging him on a course toward them.

Jase was limping: it needed no guess to say why, in a begi