Free Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) by Leona Wisoker

Seventeen Gates, Tanavin caught at his sleeve and said, “Wait. I want answers. Where, exactly, are we going?”
    “Peysimun Mansion,” Eredion said, allowing the boy to pull him to a stop.
    Tanavin’s face whitened. “Oh, hells no,” he said, and began backing away. “You can shove that to the—”
    “Alyea’s not there,” Eredion said hastily. “And won’t be there. And doesn’t even remember you.”
    Tanavin wavered and halted his retreat, the sullen expression returning. “What do you need my help with there?” he demanded.
    Aware that the gate guards were watching them with narrowed eyes, Eredion grabbed Tanavin’s arm and propelled him into motion again.
    “I’ll tell you as we go,” he said. “There isn’t time—”
    Tanavin dug in his heels and dragged them both to a jarring halt. “Nuh- uh. I’m not going for that. You tell me now or I don’t move another step.”
    The guards shifted uneasily, less than a stone’s throw away, their expressions filling with alert suspicion. Eredion released Tanavin’s arm abruptly and said, “Deiq’s in trouble.”
    “And you need me?” Tanavin pinched the bridge of his nose hard, his eyes squeezed shut. “Same as Lord Alyea?”
    “Possibly worse,” Eredion said without offering details, and waited to see if the boy would sense the deception in that answer. There was no possibly about the matter, and no real guarantee Tanavin would survive the encounter, his previous history aside.
    Luck only went so far.
    Tanavin stood very still for a moment, then dropped his hand and gave Eredion a bleak stare.
    “Once,” he said. “This once. And you leave me the hells alone after this. No matter what. All of you bastards. No dangling hot contracts in front of Dasin, no playing games to hook either of us into your schemes. I’m a mercenary. He’s a merchant. And that’s all we are. Deal?”
    “Would you trust my word if I agreed?” Eredion asked, keeping his tone cool and his face expressionless.
    “Yes, Lord Eredion,” Tanavin said after a moment, “because if you break it, I’ll find a way to break you.”
    They locked stares for a long, taut moment, then the desert lord said, “I can only speak for myself. But I agree to your terms.”
    “Do you believe me?” Tanavin demanded.
    “Yes.”
    The redhead squinted, as though trying to examine the inside of Eredion’s skull, for a few more moments; then, apparently satisfied, bobbed his head in a sharp nod and headed for the gate.
    Oh, hells yes, Eredion thought as he followed, waving the guards to let the boy through ahead of him, I’m far more aware of what you can do than you are, Tanavin Aerthraim. And let’s both hope it stays that way.
     

     
    The guards were gone, the gates to Peysimun Mansion open. Four steps across the courtyard, Eredion knew what lay beyond would be ugly. From the amount of white showing around Tanavin’s eyes, he felt the thick stain in the air, although he likely didn’t understand it for what it was: the residual rage of a completely berserk ha’ra’ha.
    Eredion looked to the left, towards the servant’s entrance. Blood smeared the damp stones, but no bodies or even any arrows from the initial attack had been left behind: another bad sign. Only professionals cleaned up behind themselves so thoroughly. Deiq certainly wouldn’t have done so, whatever his state of sanity at the time.
    His failure to return took on an increasingly ominous cast in Eredion’s mind.
    As they approached the stairs to the front entrance, Tanavin made a faint, protesting noise in the back of his throat. Eredion glanced at him and saw the boy’s freckles standing out in sharp relief.
    “I don’t think—I can help with this,” Tanavin almost whispered. “Whatever—this—is.” He blinked rapidly.
    Eredion just shook his head and motioned the boy to follow. Words stuck in his throat, and he found himself wondering if Tanavin would, after all, turn and bolt out the gates. The scrape