Lies of Light

28

30 Nightal, the Yearofthe Sword (1365 DR) The Canal Site

He moved on top of her, inside her, to a rhythm that had started out as his own, but had become a perfect fusion of two heartbeats. Phyrea let herself gasp, let a tear trickle from the corner of one eye, and let her body take his and be taken by his. She gave herself to Ivar Devorast as best she could when he wanted so little of her. He made no sounds, but his body told her that he wanted her, wanted nothing more at that moment than to be there with her. She had from him the best he could give, and more than she could ever truly have hoped for: his undivided attention.

When finally he slipped off her, Phyrea had to gasp for air. Though it was cold in his odd little cabin, a sheen of sweat covered her. She lay there until she began to shiver before she drew the blanket over herself. He looked down at her, and she wanted him to see her. The air could have been drawn from the room, the blood drained from her heart, but as long as his eyes were on her she would be sustained.

He smiled at her in that way he had that made it appear as though he knew everything, and she shivered again.

Outside, the whistle of the winter wind mixed with the sound of men drinking and laughing, shouting and singing. Even in the remote work camp, it the New Year’s Revel, after all.

“If you tell me not to speak,” she whispered, “I won’t. If you tell me to go, I’ll go.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he said. His voice was more relaxed than she’d ever heard it. “You don’t have to await my command. I would like you to stay.”

“Then I’ll stay,” she whispered, and put her hand on his chest. He took it in his, and her thin fingers were swallowed up in his grasp. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. When the tip of his tongue drew a circle there, her body alit once again. “I’ll stay forever.”

He smiled, his teeth white in the dark space of the cabin. “Surely you have something of interest waiting for you in Innarlith. I thought you said you were going to destroy me. That, at least, will”

“Shut up,” she said. Phyrea sat, letting the blanket fall away. She wrapped her arms around him for warmth. “Don’t say…”

But he was right. She had been working hard to poison people against him and his canal. She’d gone so far as to let her father know that she would be willing to marry Willem Korvan. Far all she knew, he was arranging the ceremony at that very moment.

“I’m here now, with you,” she whispered in Devorast’s ear.

He returned her embrace, and another tear rolled down her cheek. The embrace was so tender, she was nearly overwhelmed.

“I suppose you could stay,” he said. “Your work against me is done.”

“Please, don’t-“

“The new ransar could stop everything simply by drawing closed the purse strings,” he said. “I’ve been told that he is less than enthusiastic about the canal.”

“He listens to the mages,” she told him. “But I don’t want to have this conversation. I can’t talk about any possibility of you failing.”

“I thought you wanted me to fail,” he said, “so that I would stop before I was beaten by lesser men.”

The sarcasm was plain in his voice.

“Don’t have fun with me,” she said, and though she’d hoped to sound threatening all she heard in her voice was a little girl’s pleading.

He turned to her and kissed her cheek, then her lips.

“Marek Rymiit,” she whispered.

“The Thayan.”

“He won’t let you build it.”

“Because he makes his living by selling the magic necessary to teleport, or to open portals. I know that.”

Phyrea sighed and said, “Osorkon is dead. Who will protect you from him?”

“The Thayan has Salatis’s ear?”

“People tell me he made Salatis ransar,” she said.

“Then I’ll have to accelerate the work.”

She shook her head and told him, “By all accounts you’ve stretched your men too far as it is. How fast can one man dig? And I doubt you’ll get our new ransar to send you any more strong backs. That uprising on the docks is over, and Innarlith is back to work. Peasant men don’t need to come out here and risk monsters and trench collapses to earn a day’s wage.”

He smiled at her again, and the feeling it elicited in her was so intense, she nestled her face in his neck so he couldn’t see it.

“You have it all sorted,” he joked.

Phyrea stopped herself from crying by sheer force of will.

“Have you heard he word ‘smokepowder’?” he asked.

She cleared her throat and pulled away just far enough that she could look at him again. “Some kind of alchemy that causes things to explode?” He nodded and she continued, “But what would you want with magic? I thought you were determined not to use magic.”

“I use some form of magic every day, here and there,” he said. “I have no aversion to the right tool for the right job, but anyway smokepowder is not magical in nature. It’s a mixture of rare earth elements that together are quite volatile.” “And?”

“With the proper application of enough force, I can move more earth than any man could shovel.”

“So, you want to dig with” Phyrea said. She stopped when something occurred to her all at once. “The Thayan…he…”

“I won’t accept it from Marek Rymiit, if that’s what” “No, no,” she interrupted. “Someone used smokepowder to try to kill Rymiit. You never heard of it? It caused quite a row. Innocent bystanders were injured, but the Thayan survived unscathed. The would-be assassin was just let out of the ransar’s dungeon.” “Who is he?”

“An alchemist,” she said, only then remembering the rest of the story. “He used to be quite in demand in the city, until Rymiit came along. They said he was bitter about the loss of trade to the Thayan, so he used his skills to try to blow him to bits.”

“But failed.”

“The smokepowder exploded, though,” she said. Her heartbeat quickened, and she thought she could feel his race as well. “It worked, but Marek was able to get out of harm’s way. The ground won’t be so difficult a target.”

Devorast nodded.

“Do you think it could work?” she asked, and he nodded again. “If you can dig faster, if you can show indisputable progress, Salatis may not be able tomay not even want to stop you, especially if you can bring in gold and workers from other realms, as you planned.”

“Who is this alchemist?”

“I don’t remember his name,” she said. “I could find out. I could ask, in the city.”

“Be careful,” Devorast said. “If the wrong people know what I intend, it could end everything.”

“Trust me,” she whispered and began to kiss his shoulder.

“Does that mean you no longer want to destroy me?” he said. “This would be the perfect chance. Tell Marek Rymiit that I want smokepowder to use as a digging tool, and tell him I want to hire the man who tried to kill him to make it for me. He’ll finally just come up here and kill me himself.”

Phyrea froze. And why hadn’t Master Rymiit done just that? What was he waiting for? “Trust me,” she told him again.