Free Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker Page A

didn’t suit his mood at the moment, and reached out to three of the five oil lamps; the freshly saturated wicks flared into white life immediately.
    Satisfied, he walked back to stand in front of Idisio.
    “Now. What is it?”
    Idisio’s wide grey eyes held a faintly dazed look. “What did you just do? I saw . . . shimmers . . . and you didn’t even touch the lamps!”
    “Wards, to ensure our privacy,” Deiq said. “They’re fairly simple, as is igniting a ready wick. I’ll teach you. But first, what do you need to talk to me about?”
    Idisio glanced around the courtyard, up at the overarching spread of stars against a black sky, then around again, with an increasing attitude of discomfort.
    “Riss heard . . . some gossip,” he said at last. “From the servants. About
. . . ha’ra’hain. And . . . desert lords. And their . . . interests. Ehh . . . needs.” He almost squirmed with embarrassment on the last word.
    Deiq rubbed the bridge of his nose, glad he hadn’t allowed Idisio to reach Alyea’s new suite. “Mmph. I take it she’s upset.”
    “Just a bit.” The dryness was an attempt to hide a deep discomfort. “Is it true? I mean, I don’t . . . I don’t feel that . . . I mean, it’s great, but it’s not, you know, a, a need . . . and she’s worried about. . . .” Apparently unable to continue, his face a deep crimson, he looked away, hunching his shoulders.
    “Worried about being enough for you,” Deiq supplied, and sat down on a stone bench with a sigh. “She won’t be, Idisio.”
    Idisio jerked a protesting stare up at Deiq, then away again, his blush somehow managing to deepen. Deiq regarded him with amusement; he’d never seen another ha’ra’ha blush so easily and violently.
    “You’re leaving soon,” Deiq pointed out. “And you’ll be gone years, at best. Even a young human male would have difficulty staying faithful under those circumstances, Idisio. For a ha’ra’ha growing into his strength . . . it’s impossible.”
    Idisio turned in place, paced a few steps, then turned to face Deiq again. “Are you saying I’m—” His voice broke. “Some kind of animal? That I won’t be able to control—”
    Deiq blinked and reared back, astounded. “ What? Gods, no!”
    “Then I could wait. If I wanted to.”
    Deiq stared, utterly bemused. He hadn’t even considered that concept until he was over two hundred years past Idisio’s current age. He blurted, “Why in the hells would you want to?”
    Idisio opened and shut his mouth a few times, apparently at a loss for an answer.
    Deiq drew a long breath and said, as reasonably as he could, “Idisio. You’ve known her less than a month.”
    “So?” Belligerence lined Idisio’s jaw now; Deiq resisted the impulse to roll his eyes.
    He tried a different tack. “Idisio, you’re not human. You’re not going to have a human life span. By the time you start to slow down, Riss’s grandchildren will probably be long in their graves. And you’ll drive yourself completely crazy if you try to hold to human notions of faithfulness. It’s too damn difficult for us.”
    “Have you tried?” Idisio challenged.
    Deiq set his teeth in his tongue, counted to fifteen, then said, steadily, “Yes. Several times over the years. It never works out well in the end.”
    He tried not to think about the promise he’d made regarding Alyea. The challenge issued by the Qisani ha’reye had seemed deceptively simple: Stay only by her side, as though locked into the human concept of marriage. He’d accepted, like a newborn fool, forgetting all the times he’d failed at self-assigned versions of that task in the past.
    He’d thought it would be different with Alyea, gods help him. Somehow, he’d thought that she might turn to him out of true interest, not compulsion alone. He wanted it to be different, and it was; she showed no compulsion yet, but no interest either.
    Deiq had stuck himself in the hells’ own corner.
    Foolishness . Yes . . .