Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) by Leona Wisoker Read Free Book Online Page B

have healed to near-invisibility: one of the benefits of being a desert lord. The only scars Alyea would ever have were the ones placed on her body prior to her blood trials.
    Eredion rested a gentle hand on Wian’s back, thinking about the tangle of old scars there; wishing he could erase them, along with the deeper, less visible hurts inside her soul. It was easier to think about Wian than about...all the others, today.
    The grave-keeper was dead, and while replacing her would be Oruen’s job, the meetings they had held to help some of the survivors of the Purge had to go on. Had to. And that was Eredion’s business, as soon as he could think of a place half so secure to resume the meetings.
    Not even a thief with nerves of steel would eavesdrop in a graveyard.
    “He’ll come after me,” Wian said, the words barely audible. “I can feel it.”
    Eredion didn’t say anything. Wian didn’t need false reassurances.
    She turned into him, curling up in his lap like a child. He wrapped his arms around her, and they sat in silence for some time. At last she gave a great sigh and uncoiled to stand up, her hand pressing on his shoulder lightly for a moment.
    “There’s another of those letters,” she said unemotionally. “I left it on the entry table.”
    “Thank you.”
    She padded away. He sighed, got up to retrieve the letter, then settled back down in the chair, his mood even darker than it had been.
    “Bloody Scratha,” he muttered as he flicked the packet open and unfolded the pages. He read them over, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bloody lunatic. If they ever get wind of this, the loremasters are going to have him castrated— if he’s lucky.”
    He refolded the letter and went to put it with all the others.
     

     
    Under Ninnic’s rule, being Sessin’s ambassador to the northern court had involved a number of hideous tasks, but at least Eredion had been able to stay in the background, mostly invisible to the common eye. Rosin Weatherweaver had liked keeping him isolated. Everything Eredion wrote, every letter he received, had been screened by fanatically loyal Northern Church priests.
    Oruen made no such restrictions; and although Eredion still preferred to stay out of the public eye, the public, apparently, was looking for him. Staring at the enormous stack of letters and reports on his desk, Eredion decided that some things had been better under Ninnic, after all.
    The reports mostly involved people throughout the kingdom and southlands on whom Eredion had set watchers. The letters, for the most part, were more business-oriented. Some of the writers wanted Sessin sponsorship for their ventures; some wanted to become suppliers for Sessin interests. A handful wanted to learn the art of glass-craft at Sessin Fortress; Eredion snorted and threw those away unanswered. A few offered marriage, or less formal arrangements.
    The most painful read was a woman offering him her eight-year-old daughter:
    “I am sur, You will bee abel to giv my childe a Better Lyfe, than I could possibely Afford. My childe is Smart, Strong! and will add Great Glorie, to Your Family. And when she growes to bee a Woman, she will make, a Perfect Wyfe for You. Healthee children run inn my family and so I know she will bare many fyne children to Your Glorie.”
    Eredion shuddered and shredded that letter before dropping it into the trash.
    “Bloody ignorant, illiterate northerns,” he muttered, sitting back in his chair. The stack of letters over which he’d been laboring all morning seemed to be even taller than when he’d started. As though summoned by the thought, Wian appeared in the doorway and held up another thick sheaf of folded papers. Eredion covered his eyes and groaned.
    She laughed and dropped the letters on top of the stack. “You shouldn’t have left these so long,” she said lightly. “You only get a few a day, you know.”
    “I’ve been a little too busy to sort through mail,” he retorted. “Put those on