"Pummeled you pretty good," Aunt Pete said.
"I could've cut his head off."
"But you didn't," Ignata said.
"No."
Ignata gave a little innocent smile. "I wonder why that is."
William pulled his shirt off. Shallow cuts crisscrossed the muscle on his back and sides. She'd nicked him more than she'd thought.
"Oh my," Aunt Pete murmured. "What are they feeding them in the Weird?"
A hand touched Cerise's hair. Grandma Az. Cerise leaned her head over, brushing against familiar fingers.
"So how is your romance going?" Grandma Az asked.
"It's not going."
"What are you talking about?" Ignata squinted at her. "He was giving you a look."
"That was not a look," Auth Pete said. "That was the look."
"Looking is as far as it gets," Cerise murmured. William was rinsing blood off his side, presenting her with a view of carved chest and lean stomach, and she had trouble concentrating on the conversation. You'd think a man washing off his blood would be the least attractive thing ever. Yeah.
It wasn't his body, she reflected. It was in his eyes. In the way he looked at her.
"Have you tried dropping hints?" Ignata asked.
"I dropped boulders of hints," Cerise said. "He pulls himself back every time. It's not working."
"I don't see how it couldn't." Ignata bit her lips. "He's obviously all about getting with you."
"Maybe he doesn't get it," Aunt Pete said. "Some men - "
"Have to be hit over the head with it. Yes, Mother, we know." Ignata rolled her eyes.
"I don't want to just throw myself at him." Cerise grimaced.
"No, that would be bad." Aunt Pete frowned. "You said he was a soldier. You don't suppose . . . ?"
"Oh, Gods." Ignata blinked. "You think something could be wrong down there?"
All of them looked at William, who chose this precise moment to slide the wet shirt back on his back, which required him to flex, raising his arms.
"That would be a shame," Cerise murmured. Maybe he was impotent. That would explain the frustration she saw on his face.
"Such a waste," Aunt Pete said mournfully.
"There is nothing wrong with his body," Grandma Az said. "It's in his head."
William turned. He walked past them to where Kaldar and Gaston haggled over a rock, pausing for a moment to look at her. Something hungry and sick with longing glared at her through his eyes, and then he turned away.
Like being burned.
"Oh, boy," Ignata murmured.
"Now isn't a good time for this sort of thing anyway." Cerise sat up straighter.
"Are you crazy?" Aunt Pete stared at her. "Both of you could die tomorrow. Now is the perfect time for this. Live while you can, child."
A hand rested on Cerise's shoulder. She looked back. Aunt Murid nodded to her and walked away on her long legs, heading straight for William.
She said something, William nodded, and the two of them took off, Gaston at their heels. Kaldar stood there for a second, looking at a rock in his hands, shrugged, and followed them.
"What do you suppose all that was about?" Ignata asked.
"Who knows?" Aunt Pete shrugged.
Chapter Twenty
SPIDER opened his eyes. He lay submerged on the bottom of the pool, in the cool shadowy depths. Above him, a wet sky glistened where the water kissed the air. He felt neither hot nor cold. Nothing troubled the water. He was utterly alone, floating weightless, watching from the shadows as the sunrays filtered through the water, setting it aglow.
If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was diving in the translucent waters far to the south, where a chain of the New Egypt islands stretched from the eastern tip of the continent far into the ocean. Swimming there, gliding above the coral reefs, surrounded by life but blissfully free of humanity, brought him a sense of peace and the simple thrilling exhilaration of being alive.
Alas, he wasn't diving in the ocean now. Spider allowed himself one last moment of regret and surfaced with a single kick, emerging without a sound.
The air was unpleasantly cool. The skin flaps on his sides closed, hiding the pink feathery fans of his gills. Among his many alterations, this was the least useful but the most enjoyable.
Spider grasped the edge of the well and pulled himself up. Above him the sun shone bright. The sky was a clear crystalline blue, but despite the rare sunshine, the swamp still looked the same, a primeval mess of rot and mud. To the left, the manor where he'd made their base rose among the trees, struggling for stately elegance and failing.
Veisan's peacock blue eyes greeted him. The contrast between those turquoise irises and her red skin never failed to surprise him. She looked at him with earnest expectation. Like a puppy, Spider thought. A murderous, lethal, psychotic puppy.
"Hello, m'lord," Veisan whispered.
"Hello, Veisan."
"Your skin has healed remarkably well, m'lord."
Considering the amount of catalyst he'd dumped into the well water, the rapid progress was expected. "Veisan, why are you whispering?"
Her eyebrows crept up, making her look pitiful. "I'm not sure, m'lord," she said in a slightly louder voice. "It seemed appropriate."
She offered him a fuzzy towel. He gripped the stone rim of the pool, pulled himself out, and dried off. The liquid left light pink smudges on the yellow towel. It had been a few months since he'd sustained an injury severe enough to require underwater restoration. Spider touched his face, pleased with the smoothness of the skin on his cheek, where the burn blisters had been.
Veisan traded a meticulously folded stack of clothing for his towel. He began to dress. "Anything vital happen while I was under?"
"Judge Dobe ruled in the Mars' favor. The Sheeriles have been given one day to clear the Sene Manor. Their reprieve expires tomorrow morning. Advocate Malina Williams sent the Sheeriles a letter detailing her apologies. She intends to appeal."
Spider shrugged. "She'll get nowhere with it. They should've gone with one of the local hacks. The Edgers prize familiarity more than skill."
"We've received a message from Lagar Sheerile."
Spider grimaced. "He wants reinforcements before the Mars attack him tomorrow."
"Yes, m'lord."
"He's on his own. I don't need him anymore." Let the mud rats fight it out between themselves. It saved him the trouble of wiping them out to cover his trail, and this way none of his people risked injury. There was always a chance that Lagar would kill Cerise, but considering how well her mother was progressing, it was unlikely they would need her. Spider flung the water off his hair in a vigorous shake. He'd spare a few moments of regret for her death, the way one would mourn the destruction of a prized painting - the girl represented a forgotten martial art, and it was a shame to lose her. But in the grand scheme of things, she was of little use to him.