'And?'
'And,' she continued, 'I have sent to have your description carried to the owners of every ship, every boat, every raft on the island. You are an easy man to describe; one need only tell about the scars on your face.'
There were things a man might do to disguise himself, but peeling the skin of my face off was not one of them. 'And?'
The metri smiled. 'I have power.'
It took effort to remain calm, with the ice of apprehension spilling down my spine again. 'The Stessoi are one of eleven of the so-called gods-descended families,' I said. 'Of those ten others, I have no doubt one among them will be pleased to put me on a ship. Because when you have power, you also have enemies.'
Her smile was gone. 'They will not aid you.'
'No?'
'I own every grapevine on the island,' she said simply.
'So?'
'Would you have them denied wine-or the income from its trade-because of so little a thing?'
We locked glances for a long moment, weighing the quality of mutual determination. Neither of us so much as blinked.
'So,' she said eventually, 'you have found me out.'
'And you me.'
'And I you.' She relaxed in her chair, loosening only slightly the rigidity of her spine. 'I should be grateful that you are as willing as I to stand your ground simply for the sheer ability to do so, no matter the consequences, because such men are occasionally valuable, but…'
It wasn't like her to not finish a sentence. 'But?'
'But it makes our situation more difficult.'
'In what way?'
The metri's cool glance appraised me. 'In the matter of honor, a man may choose to be manipulated. Through custom, if nothing else; or perhaps he has no temperament for finding the way to win if it entails hardship in his house.'
'A woman is indeed capable of causing hardship in a house,' I said dryly.
'But a man who makes a rock of himself, a mountain of himself to stand against the wishes of the wind for the sake of honor or intransigence can only be moved when the gods decree it. As they decreed Skandi should break itself apart so many years ago.'
'I rather like the idea of being a mountain.'
'You promise to make a substantial one,' she agreed with irony. 'But you forget one important thing.'
'And what's that?'
'I am gods-descended,' she said with startling mat-ter-of-factness, 'and I can break apart even the largest of mountains into so much powder and ash.'
'You,' I said finally, 'are one tough old woman.'
'So old?'
I displayed teeth. 'Older than the rocks.'
It did not displease her. She was beyond the flatteries of youth and the needs of middle age. 'So old,' she agreed serenely. 'It is well you recognize it.'
'Herakleio doesn't stand much of a chance.'
'Herakleio stands no chance,' she corrected. 'No more than you.'
'Ah, but I'm the mountain.'
'Mountains fall.'
I smiled back. 'And become rocks.'
'But I am the island,' she said, 'and the island shall always prevail, even in catastrophe.'
'Is Herakleio a catastrophe?'
'He has it in him to become one,' she said, amused, 'but I think he will not. He claims the stubborn fickleness of a child trying to make a path where no one has gone before, but lacks the werewithal to insist. He will turn back.'
'Then you don't need me at all.'
'I need you,' she told me, 'for things you cannot imagine.'
I went very still. 'And is that supposed to make me feel better?'
'What it isn't,' she said, 'is to make you afraid.' She smiled faintly. 'Do you think I intend to draw you into deadly and dangerous plots?'
'I think,' I said, 'you would. If you felt it would benefit you. Now, as for me-'
'I need you,' she repeated, 'for things that will strengthen this household.'
'What I need,' I said, 'is to get off this island.'
'What?' It was false amazement, dry as dust. 'And not take your place as heir to Akritara?'
I scoffed. 'I am no more your grandson than you are gods-descended.'
Her eyes gleamed. 'Truth means nothing,' she said. 'Perception is all.'
'And since you are accepted as gods-descended …'
'If you would be accepted as my heir,' she said quietly, 'you might consider behaving as one worthy of the place. I have requested you teach Herakleio the responsibilities of a man, not to encourage him to behave as a boy by behaving as one yourself.'
'For what it's worth,' I declared, 'I didn't start the fight.'
'Perhaps not. But neither did you end it.'
No. That had been Del.
'Maybe you should hire her, ' I muttered between my teeth.
For the first time since I'd met her, the metri laughed. 'But I have. Should you not go meet her now? She is waiting in the circle.'
I found Del on the terrace where I'd begun teaching Herakleio. As requested of Simonides, the stones were swept and scrubbed clean. My bare feet, trained to such things, appreciated the surface. I was callused from years of dancing on all sorts of footing, but nonetheless my body responded. It felt right.
She sat upon the low wall encircling the terrace. Wind rippled linen, set hair to streaming. Her face was bared, unobscured by stray locks or scowls, or even the mask she wears when uncertain of surroundings; she was at ease, and her expression reflected it. She was lovely in the sunlight, laughing at something her companion was saying.
He, unlike me, had taken time to set himself to rights. Freshly bathed, clothed, shaved, and showing few signs of the fight the night before, save for one modest bruise beginning to darken a cheekbone and a slightly swollen lip.
Hoolies, maybe I should have taken the time to clean myself up. 'Excuse-'
But Herakleio was up and taking his leave of Del before I could finish the sentence, thereby depriving me of the opportunity to send him on his way. I stared after him sourly as he strode smoothly away. Then recalled why I was here, and why Del was here.
I rounded on her. 'What in hoolies do you mean by hiring on with the metri?'
'Work,' she replied matter-of-factly, unperturbed by my thunderous expression. But then, she's seen it before.
'But a sword-dance? With me?' I paused. 'Against me? Why? Why would you? What do you hope to gain, Del-some bizarre form of reparation for something I've done that I've forgotten I've done? Or something you expect me to do, today or ten years from now?' I glared down at her, locking fists onto my hips. 'If you think for one moment I intend to step into a circle with you, you've gone loki. You know I won't. You know why. You know why I can't. I refuse. I told the metri I refuse. You knew I'd refuse; so, what?-is this a plot hatched by you and the metri, women both, to manipulate me into staying here longer? Some kind of wager? An idle whim? A trick to make me step into a circle with you?' I sucked in a noisy breath. 'Just what is it you hope to gain?'
'Swords,' she replied.
'Of course, swords,' I said testily. 'That's why it's called a sword-dance. Swords are required. It's not a knife-dance, or a just-dance, now, is it? It's a sword-dance. Which I've vowed never to undertake against you.
