Night Season

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The staterooms straddled the middle of the barge, with four on one side of the hall, three and a bathroom on the other side. Cynna followed the two guards who were carrying Cullen to her stateroom. She was chilly. Her coat and boots, contaminated by poison, were still on the deck. Her father had offered to scrub them with the salt and ash that neutralized the poison. He'd been upset, asking her over and over if she was okay, and seemed glad to have something to do to help.

One of the guard would show him how after their ceremony. They weren't as callous as it had seemed when they tipped their dead into the river. Not sentimental about bodies, obviously, but they mourned their dead.

Gan was right behind her. "I don't know why Tash is so mad. I checked out the tritons, didn't I? Even though it's very dangerous in the river, I did it."

After Tash threw her in. "You were brave. Did you catch any fishies while you were there?"

"Only one. And the tritons were dead, like I figured, so what was the point?"

The slug-men—obab, they were called—had taken out the tritons first. No one was sure how they'd pulled that off. Tritons meshed minds with their mounts, but were also able to sense life directly, making them hard to sneak up on. Somehow the obab had managed it, leaving the barge tethered to riderless sea oxen.

Cynna supposed they were lucky the obab hadn't killed the sea oxen, too. Huey—turned out he was the barge's captain—had sent one of the two remaining tritons to ride the sea ox in turn, keeping them calm while the barge was at anchor.

"The point," Cynna said, "was that the tritons' bodies had to be released from their harnesses. You're immune to the poison since you're not fully converted, so—"

"That's what they say." Gan glowered. "But they can lie."

"You think the gnomes lied about your immunity? You're not dead, so—hey, careful!" she snapped at the two guard neither human, who were maneuvering Cullen's stretcher through the narrow doorway. They'd nearly spilled him.

"Okay, they were right about the poison, but they could lie if they wanted to. Bilbo doesn't like me. He wouldn't care if I got killed."

Cynna didn't know what had Gan's tail in a twist. At the moment she'd didn't much care. She followed the guard with their sleeping burden into the tiny stateroom. Instead of a bed it had a padded, wraparound sofa-bench like the ones back at the Chancellery. Two sides were long enough for a human; the two guard deposited Cullen on one of them. She had to sit on the other side to give them room to clear out with the stretcher.

Sitting was okay. Her knees kept trying to knock together anyway.

Gan had followed her inside and was watching, her mismatched little face all broody. Cynna sighed. "Look, it's late. I nearly got killed and Cullen did die for a while. Can we talk about whatever is bothering you in the morning?"

"No morning here."

She grabbed for patience. "When we wake up."

"I guess." But she didn't leave. She looked at Cullen, then at Cynna. "You're all upset about Cullen Seabourne. I don't know why. He didn't stay dead."

"It's a human thing."

"Do humans always get weird about the people they fuck?"

Cynna swallowed a hysterical giggle. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. We worry about our friends when they're hurt."

"I don't have any friends. Well, except for Lily Yu. She cares if I get killed or not, but she isn't here."

That punched Cynna right in the gut. Don't anthropomorphize, she warned herself. Maybe Gan wasn't quite a demon anymore, but she had been very recently. She probably wasn't capable of feeling lonely. She probably confused "ally" with "friend"—she wanted people on her side to increase her odds of surviving. Not because she felt adrift, cut off, alone in a strange place.

Logic did no good. She couldn't help it. Cynna got down on one knee and looked square into the absurdly large, pretty eyes set in that ugly orange face. At the moment those eyes were narrowed in a suspicious frown. " 'Friend' is a big word for me. It holds a lot of meaning. A lot of trust. You and I are maybe on the way to being friends. I don't know that we're there yet, but I would not like it if you were killed."

"Sure, because I can cross and you might need me."

Cynna shook her head. "Even if you couldn't cross, I would be sad if you died."

"Maybe you're lying."

"I'm not, but that's where the trust thing comes in. That's why people don't become friends all in one gulp. It takes a while to know if we can trust each other."

The scowl tightened a notch. "Would you be as sad about me as you would be if Cullen Seabourne had stayed dead?"

"No. But sad."

Gan stared at her a moment longer, then heaved a great sigh and ambled out the door, muttering, "This is confusing. This is really confusing."

Cynna followed to close the door behind her. Gan did not close doors.

"You got a license to practice demon therapy?" Cullen said.

"You're awake." She turned, a smile breaking out. "How do you feel?"

"Like a used lemon. Did you retrieve my diamonds?"

She nodded, suddenly swamped by an odd feeling that kept her silent. She couldn't think of anything to say… or maybe there was too much that she didn't want to say. Or even think. She felt… shy?

Cynna hadn't felt shy since the fourth grade, and she didn't want to handle it now the way she had then, Maria never had forgiven her for the bloody nose.

"C'mere." Cullen patted the crescent of space on the bench beside him as if her butt could fit there.

Her feet decided it was a good idea and carried her to him. Since she couldn't fit beside him, she sank to the floor. He raised his ami to make room, and she settled down with relief, her head on his chest, his arm looped loosely over her shoulders. He toyed with her hair.

This was enough. Right now, this was enough. He'd lived, and he was with her, touching her, wanting to hold her. She had plenty to think about, but for now she just wanted this. Her eyes drifted closed.

Maybe it was enough for him, too, because for long moments he didn't speak. Cynna would have thought he'd gone back to sleep if not for those warm fingers sifting her hair. Finally he murmured, "I heard pretty much everything. I was more or less dead, so I don't know why I could hear, but I could. You wouldn't let them dump me overboard."

Her throat closed up. After a moment she managed to say, "See? Denial isn't always a bad thing."

Cullen tugged at one strand of hair. "God knows I don't want to encourage you, but your denial worked out well for me this time."

"You're going to be okay, right? You can heal whatever the poison did to you?"

"Already healed that, or I wouldn't have woken up. Got some heart damage now, but—"

She squeaked.

He tugged her hair again, "That's what happens when oxygen flows back into heart cells when they've done without for too long… five minutes, according to recent studies. It looks as if the cellular surveillance system can't tell the difference between cancer cells and cells being reperfused with oxygen, so the mitochondria trigger apoptosis—"

"TMI, Cullen."

"I'll heal the damage in a couple days. What I don't understand is why my heart started beating again after it quit."

"I was doing chest compressions."

"You were praying."

"Well, yeah. But I was doing chest compressions, too. Got to give God something to work with."

"It was the Lady you called on at the end."

She remembered. Bring him back. "Your Lady doesn't do the miracle gig—or so you keep telling me."

"No, I keep telling you she isn't in the god business. She does sometimes respond to requests from a Rhej. Not often, but sometimes."

"I'm not a Rhej. I'm not even apprenticed to a Rhej."

"Take it up with the Lady. She seems to think you're hers." His voice was drowsy, fading.

"It was the chest compressions that did it." And maybe the Lady. Maybe Cynna wasn't hers, but Cullen was.

"Sure."

She needed to let him sleep. Needed some sleep herself, and God knew she was tired enough. But she didn't want to move.

Didn't want to think, either, but all the talk had kicked her brain into gear again, and it was presenting her with some facts. When she'd thought he was dying… dying, hell. He'd been clinically dead. There hadn't been room inside her for more than one big denial, and she'd spent it all on disbelieving in his death.

Cynna couldn't tell herself reassuring lies anymore. He mattered. He mattered all the way down, reaching places inside her no one had ever touched. Not even Rule. She was going to have to find a way to get over her notions about fidelity, because she wasn't getting over him.

Outside, a low chanting began. "You who know Mershwin," Cynna's charm whispered, "You who know our fallen comrade, gather him close …"

"What's that?" Cullen said.

She pulled the translator charm out, letting it lie outside her sweater. The whispery voice ceased. Somehow it felt intrusive or rude or something to eavesdrop. "Funerals. In addition to the tritons, two of the guard were killed." She sighed. "We'd better get some sleep."

"Cynna." He curled his fingers around her arm. "When you tried to kick Theera's ass—or whatever you were aiming at…" His grin made a brief, weary appearance. "I didn't block you because of the glamour, or because I didn't want you to punch her out. I didn't want her punching back. Sidhe can punch pretty hard."

His words settled into her gradually the way a dog circles a spot before curling up to sleep. Her smile rose from that settled-in place. "Okay. Good." She hesitated a second, then did what she wanted to do, and kissed him lightly before repeating, "Get some sleep."

"I'd sleep better with you beside me."

So would she, Cynna realized. And was almost too tired to find that scary. "You see a full-size bed here?"

"Move the cushions to the floor."

She thought about that, or tried to. But her brain had turned to mush, and if he wanted to feel her close while he slept, why not? She hated the skinny little benches, anyway.

A few minutes later the cushions were lined up on the floor and Cynna was settling onto them. Cullen was already stretched out. With a flick of her hand and a murmured word she shut off the lights. The darkness was full and cozy, like a blanket in winter.

His breathing was even and soft, but he wasn't asleep. When she lay down, he lifted his arm and snuggled her close. Fantasy number three, she thought, her eyes closing. She used to fantasize about sleeping with someone all the time… not about the sex, but the sleeping-with. She'd picked up guys a few times back in her young and stupid days because she didn't want to sleep alone.

Fantasy played better than reality. Reality was having a stranger's elbow poke you when he rolled over. Reality was cover hogs, feeling crowded, and morning breath. A man she scarcely knew who wanted her to talk first thing in the morning, for God's sake. Reality was that she could feel even more alone when she wasn't technically alone.

Reality tonight was Cullen. Who'd died protecting her. No heartbeat, not breathing… that equaled dead, however temporary the condition turned out to be.

Protecting the baby-to-be, she reminded herself… but the reminder felt hollow. Did she really believe he would have stood back and let the slug-men kill her if she weren't pregnant?

He smelled familiar and welcome. He felt warm and living and necessary, which made her eyes burn.

All right, Lady, she told the one she knew existed, however much her existence complicated Cynna's life. You brought him back. Now what?

Though she listened as long as she was able, all she heard was the quiet sound of his breath, the gentle lap of water against the hull, and the soft chanting in a language she didn't know. It was soothing, somehow, that chanting.

She fell asleep, still listening.