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

and with a high price attached to failure this time.
    Or return to us, and remain with us, for a span of at least a hundred human years.
    And then there was the question of whether the Qisani ha’reye had tried to stack the deck on that deal, as the human saying went, with their thorough approach. Deiq shut his eyes for a moment, blocking that memory before Scratha ha’rethe could notice his distress and rouse again; if Meer was a topic fraught with danger, the bloody disaster that Alyea’s second trial had turned into was ten times more so.
    “Why didn’t it work out? What happened?” Idisio demanded.
    “That’s a fairly personal, and rude, question,” Deiq remarked cooly.
    Idisio shrugged and faced him, rebellious as any young human male could be: squinting, lips pursed, hands on hips. “How am I supposed to understand, if you don’t explain?”
    Deiq snorted, amused by the ridiculous stance and expression, and said, “All right. I’ll indulge you the once, and tell you about Onsia. She was in her thirties at the time, and thought me a rich merchant. She’d been through two other husbands, both sailors, both dead; they’d worked on my ships, as it happened. We met at the land-remembrance ceremonies, and liked each other; she liked the notion that I wouldn’t be going out on the ships, and I liked that she wasn’t entirely innocent about men, as was the fashion for women at the time.”
    “So you liked her because she was a good fuck. Great.” Idisio scowled as though disgusted over such a shallow attitude.
    Deiq regarded Idisio with strained patience. “No,” he said. “You’re obviously too young to understand that part of it. Never mind. We got along well for a while; she wasn’t worried over reputation and wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship. Then her children started pressuring her to formalize the arrangement. She dropped a few hints, and I decided it was worth a try; I’d never bothered with marriage before, and I was curious to see what it was like.”
    “You married her because you were curious ? Not because you loved her?”
    Deiq shook his head slowly; Idisio’s expression hardened into deep distaste.
    “You were raised in a very different place and time, Idisio,” Deiq said before the young ha’ra’ha could say something monumentally stupid. “It wasn’t important to Onsia whether I loved her. Not after two husbands. She wanted someone to put food on the table. Which I did.”
    “So what went wrong, then, if it was so perfect?”
    Deiq bit his tongue against an urge to slap Idisio back to sense. Granted, Idisio was upset over Riss, and bewildered by the sudden changes in his life; but there was no need for him to be this stupid. How had he survived a day with Cafad Scratha, let alone earned the man’s respect?
    Idisio glanced up and caught Deiq’s expression. The color washed out of his face, and he seemed to shrink into himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, barely audible. “Everything’s just upside-down right now. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
    Pale and miserable, the younger ha’ra’ha resembled the starving street-child he had once been: it was impossible to be angry with such a woeful countenance. Deiq was impressed by how quickly Idisio had been able to call that expression up; no wonder Scratha had never been able to throw a real temper tantrum around him.
    “I’m sorry,” Idisio said, ducking his head to stare at the floor. “Please, tell me the rest of it.”
    “Stop that,” Deiq said. “I’m not Scratha.”
    Idisio stayed still for a moment, as though thinking about that; then slowly straightened, not quite looking Deiq in the face.
    Deiq smiled, genuinely amused, and said, “As it turned out, Onsia did take all the marriage vows seriously: especially the one about monogamy. I didn’t expect that. I thought all she wanted was security, and I didn’t mind that; but at the time I wasn’t inclined to restrict myself to one