It wasn’t like Raulin didn’t try. While they took the ferry from Riyala to Laneleis, he tried to make conversation with Al and Tel. Al had been terse and pointed. Tel had been uncomfortable, which he recognized after a few attempts was due to Tel being in the middle of two sides. And he didn’t even try with Anladet. Every time he made eye contact with her, she looked away and moved to somewhere else on the small ship. At least she wasn’t glaring at him anymore.
After a half day of that, he kept away from them. There were a few people on board, the captain included, who didn’t seem to mind the mask and struck easy conversations with him. It helped, but he was essentially alone with his thoughts for two days, staring out at the sea and pondering over a number of things.
Mostly, he thought about his work. While he had managed to solve his last contract alone (a fact that he took some pride in), he preferred working with others, especially them. There was something reassuring about having someone to watch your back, to offer suggestions and solutions when he couldn’t wrap his brain around something. It was what Isken had spoken about the last time Raulin had seen him. Trirecs were skilled enough to make great leaders for projects and having subordinates made solving things a breeze. He looked back and realized he might not have solved some of his contracts without the others. Not even that they would have taken longer, he just wouldn’t have solved them at all. He couldn’t even argue that twenty-four was too many; he’d taken a full docket a few times before. But, the work he wanted to do now was more complicated. He realized he was either going to have to be very careful when choosing his contracts, go back to more assassinations, or find a situation similar to the one he stumbled into.
Or, he could try to leave on his own. The thought had kicked up once in a while in the back of his mind well before this journey through Gheny. He felt it wasn’t possible, not without the support of trusted friends who wanted to fight for his freedom as much as he wanted to. He missed his friendship with Al. He also missed the future he had promised him, something that Raulin had thought of daily since that walk from Kinuestra to Cataya. He’d begun filling in the details, putting his own mind to the problem. He realized he’d turned away from Arvarikor and he didn’t want to go back.
The ship anchored offshore and sent several boats to ferry the visitors. Raulin sat with several other passengers and waited until he felt the sliding crunch of sand on the boat’s keel before standing. He waited until the ladies had disembarked first, then hopped onto the beach, sizing up the island. The sand was a toasty white with dark brown rocks lining the edge where glossy green bushes encroached. Palm trees swayed with the light breeze. Puffy white clouds, the bottoms flat and lined in silver, seemed to march towards them. This was going to be nice, he thought, though it could have been nicer.
He waited until the other three landed and gathered to him. “This is Laneleis Island. I plan on spending ’til the end of the month here, then we’ll make for Uilaida. Today is April the third; we’ll meet back here on the morning of May the first.”
He began to walk away when Al said, “I thought you said you were going to pay for our vacations.”
Without turning, he said, “And I thought we were friends.”
And since no one objected, he took the silence as confirmation.
Raulin walked farther down the road until he felt it was safe, then ducked into the forest for a few minutes, waited for the foot traffic to pass, then took off his mask. He sighed in relief. Just one more spy contract in Hanala, then he would be free until he landed in Noh Amair at the end of the summer. He’d likely be taking the southern route this time through the Empire, Br’vani, and maybe Beroth. The thought couldn’t disinterest him more and he promised himself that he wouldn’t think about being a trirec for a solid four weeks.
He took a moment to take off his boots and socks, too, and carried those as he continued onto the first village. The path had bricks laid out in the middle wide enough for a cart or carriage, but on either side were strips several feet wide of warm, white sand. Like him, the people avoided the middle and walked barefoot, taking their time lugging bags of food or cloths over their heads. He inhaled sharply: the tang of the sea, some tropical flower, dry vegetation in the form of reeds and grass on either side of the road. The ocean waves lapped at the shore not fifty feet from where he walked. The tension drained from him almost instantaneously.
Lona Rui was the name of the first village, as a heavy-set woman with dark skin and long, long black hair told him. He inquired about whether this would be a good place to stay. She offered a few hotels and inns, but finally uttered a syllable of understanding when he described what he wanted in depth.
“Kila’mauli,” she said, pointing down the road. “This is where the very rich stay. There’s a hotel with hot springs and sunken beds with sea sponges for straw. Quite luxurious.”
He brightened. “Thank you,” he said, and bought one of her seashell necklaces. It would look good on Anla, he thought, then sighed, putting it in his knapsack.
It was a few miles more, but he had no rush whatsoever. When he got hungry, he stopped at a stand and ate boiled and seasoned palm hearts and fried plantains. He took a nap on the beach. He’d noticed the men of the island wore open or no shirts, so he took his off and journeyed north.
There was no mistaking when he made it to Kila’mauli. The road immediately turned from rough, cracked brick to higher quality tile in a herringbone pattern, still being swept with palm brooms by local children. The forest was thicker there and the town had cultivated it into something to be envied by the rich and noble houses of Gheny, bright pops of fuchsia and orange amid the deep greens and browns behind them. There was a fountain in the center that doubled as a water station for the travel weary. Both in the native language, in some hybrid of Kintanese and Br’vani, and in Ghenian, signs pointed to various restaurants, hotels, inns, and buildings. The businesses had added a description below pointing out their highlights.
There was a path bracketed by two large stones carved to look like nautilus shells. The sign that pointed up read “Kaisara Mai”, which he guessed meant “shell bed”. This was likely the one the woman spoke of, since it boasted hot springs on property. He took a deep breath and began walking.
He remembered to put his shirt and boots back on before entering the main house. The lady at the front desk, deeply tanned and darkly featured, smiled at him. “Reservation?”
“No,” he said. “Is there anything open for a long stay?”
“Let me see,” she said, peering down at the desk. “How long were you looking at?”
“’Til May 1st, ideally.”
She flipped the pages back and forth a few times. “It looks like we do have a room available, but nothing past that point. I’ll put you and your spouse down?”
“Just me,” he said. “How much?”
“Ten gold per night,” she said, not looking up from her scribbling.
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He inhaled sharply, then reminded himself that he had worked hard all year so he could enjoy a chunk of time without any care, and that often came at a steep price. Long-term stays in Gheny generally asked for fifty percent upfront, so he doled out one hundred and forty gold. She took the money with a smile, then called for another woman to take him to his room. She was far prettier and gave him suggestive looks while walking him across the main house and outside. He considered, but anything with her wasn’t something he wanted at least in that moment.
She took him outside and showed him all the amenities on the grounds, pointing out the hot springs before showing him to his room. It was in a building with three other rooms, the door opening up to a half-level staircase that led to a platform with a sunken bed. “We get heavy rains sometimes, so it’s beneficial to keep as much as possible off the ground.”
“Interesting,” he said, looking into the bed. The four corners had poles that supported mosquito netting that pinned to the floor. Inside was a large square sunken in with a mound of sponges for bedding.
“If this is uncomfortable, we can provide a feather mattress that fits.”
“I’ll try this,” he said. He sniffed the air and noted that the sponges must have been lightly scented with something to mask any brackish smell. “Where is the bar?”
“We have two: one by the hot springs and the other in the dining hall.”
“Thank you,” he said and she left. The center of his room was tall, which allowed for him to stand without crouching. In the back was a sliding window that he opened to let the breeze clear the room. He had a private, walled garden with a small, raised patio and a table to take breakfast at. There were four chairs, a reminder of what his vacation should look like.
After hanging and putting away his clothes, he went to the dining hall for dinner. Most of the folks eating were middle aged or older couples on a holiday and he stuck out like a tree fallen across a derby track. His meal was light, since a heavy meal would impede what he was going to do tonight. It had been almost a year and he was still going to keep with tradition, after all.
He bought a bottle of rum, followed a path to the beach, and got sozzled while he waited for the waning gibbous moon to rise. Normally he’d take this time to have one night where he forgot about everything, all the killing he’d done and the pain he’d brought people. Instead, he blacked out, waking every so often and dying a little inside when she wasn’t in his arms.
And since he both hated and loved the experience, he repeated it twice more. He awoke, swallowed whatever was left in his bottle, went back to the inn to actually try to make himself presentable, drank one of the tastier mixed drinks until sundown, then started again. He knew it wasn’t doing him any good, but there were so few places that he felt almost safe enough to break one of the hard laws of Arvarikor.
After the third night, he awoke and decided it had been enough. He found the hot springs, soaked in the waters until his hangover was mostly gone, then went to his room for his exercises. He wondered if Al was still practicing with his ax.
After breakfast he took a long walk and explored everything on the grounds but found himself drawn again to the beach until it began to pour. He stayed, soaked through by the warm rain, trying not to think about the things alcohol had stopped. He’d liked having friends. He missed them. He missed Anla.
He wiped his face. He was brooding. He hated brooding. Such a waste of time when he could be figuring what he wanted to do and how he was going to do it. What he had done in Riyala was wrong. He knew that. So, he needed to apologize. He’d find them and say he was sorry, especially to Anla. He should have done it on the ferry ride over, just made them listen. He needed to tell her about the deal he’d made with Arvarikor, that hopefully the country’s finest would be looking out for her brother. She didn’t need to be mad at him anymore and maybe things could return to normal. Or at least in a better direction.
That evening there were musicians playing a concert. In another mood, Raulin might have enjoyed the performance, but since everyone at the resort would be there, he took the opportunity to soak in the hot springs alone. Someone had carved seats into the rocks and he had found one that fit his height, allowing him to lean back so that his neck was cradled in a hollow. He watched the light of the sconces also carved from the rock play strangely on the mist rising from the hot water before soaking a cloth and placing it over his face and loose hair.
Some fifteen minutes later he heard someone wading in the water. They didn’t come close to him, but did stop nearby. He lifted a corner of the cloth to see who was there.
Before him, nude and looking up at the giant rock that blocked the view of the entrance, was Anladet. It was a knife twist and a breathtaking awe all at once. What was she doing there? Whatever her motives, he realized he had a chance to amend things finally. “Mezzem,” he said cordially, pulling the cloth off his face.
He wasn’t sure if she heard him, since she didn’t say anything in return. And on some level that was fine; he took the opportunity to gaze at her. She stood in profile, wearing the misty waters like a low-slung, silvery skirt that covered just the tops of her legs down. While still quite slender, she looked healthier than when he had first seen her bathing in the river all those months ago. There were fewer ribs visible, her collarbones was smoother, and her hip bones didn’t jut out as much. She pushed her hands slowly through the top layer of the water, “finding the silk” as she had once told him she called it.
After a few minutes, she finally turned towards him and met his gaze. “There’s something I’ve always wondered,” she said.
“And what’s that, mezzem?”
“You said you would seduce women to get information. How would you do that?”
Oh. He sighed and slunk back, putting the cloth over his head again. So, that’s why she was here, to give him a morality lesson. “Very carefully,” he said.
“I suppose so. It just never made sense to me that a woman would want that…”
He raised an eyebrow. Oh. He had been right about her experiences, then. Maybe this wasn’t a morality lesson. “I’d hold a conversation with them,” he said.
“I don’t see how talking with a woman would get her to-”
“I’m using a metaphor,” he interrupted, “though sometimes it was a simple as talking and listening. It’s surprising how sometimes that’s all a woman wants. But, usually, it was an exchange, so to speak. When a man talks to a woman, sometimes he doesn’t know how to be anything but boorish. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He’ll talk about whatever he wants and talk until he’s said what he wants, never letting the woman speak about what interests her. Most women have passions and would love to talk about them, but they only converse with men who don’t know to ask her about them. I’m rather good at conversation. So, when I want to know something, I make sure they get to speak. And often times, within that conversation, they’re willing to spill their secrets.”
She paused to take that in. He doubted she understood, but he wasn’t about to explain it in any more detail. He was stretching his legs when she said, “What if I had a secret?”
He stopped, stunned. No, she definitely didn’t know she was asking him. That whole explanation must have flown right past her. But…but what if it hadn’t? What if she did know? He took the cloth off again and looked at her. She was watching him, waiting for him to move.
It was going to end badly, but in the slight chance it wasn’t, he had to try. He stood and walked slowly towards her. She didn’t say anything, only watched him with those uptilted, wild eyes of her, fringed thickly in dark lashes. When he finally stood in front of her, he leaned down and kissed her. And he waited. She was going to tense, to pull away, to slap him. When she didn’t, he ended the kiss to see what her reaction was. And he was shocked when she stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “You’ll have to do better than that,” into his ear.
She did know. She knew exactly what she was doing. And while that dazed a good portion of his mind, he found that he didn’t need to use that part of him any more. He kissed her with greater passion that she matched, pulling him close while he walked her back to the edge of the springs to an embankment of soft grass. He was patient and slow. He had, after all, been waiting for a very long time for this to happen and he wasn’t going to rush the enjoyment. He made sure she understood exactly what he had been inferring earlier. And when he finished, he picked his head up from next to hers and kissed her just as deeply as he had, loving every moment she kissed him back, her fingers wrapped in his hair.
He moved next to her and continued to catch his breath. This was it, then? She had forgiven him? Or maybe she was apologizing in her own way. He couldn’t help but smile. How quickly the day had changed.
The words he’d wanted to say for months were on his lips when a thought crept into his mind. What if this wasn’t what he thought it was? Why would a woman who had hated him suddenly wish to tumble with him? He closed his mouth. There were a few, but one sprung to mind. He stood, leaving Anla laying on the grass, and left the springs without saying another word.