He’d been given a loincloth, the sort worn by the poorest of the poor beneath their ragged tunics when summer grew too hot for trousers. It didn’t cover much.
He stood motionless there at the far end of the room and let her stare. Kallista had always thought Joh a fine-looking specimen of Adaran manhood, but she’d never suspected him of hiding this sculptured perfection beneath his uniform. She took a deep breath. If the One had indeed marked him, as Obed had verified, Her appreciation of male beauty had not diminished any over the past year.
“Come.” Kallista beckoned him closer.
Hobbled by his shackles, Joh did as he was bid. Kallista sensed more than saw Torchay’s tension and quieted him with a touch. Joh’s hair, beginning to dry from its washing, streamed from the dropped peak at his forehead back over his shoulders nearly to his waist. He’d worn it in a queue before, but one three times longer than an enlisted man’s short regulation braid. The prison had obviously not required him to cut it.
His hair was brown, a rich color lighter than Kallista’s own near-black, and much darker than the pale brown left behind after Stone had cut away all his gold fluff. The warm shade somehow made his eyes seem a brighter blue.
The barber had removed his beard, revealing the clean angles of Joh’s face, exposing the crisp edge of the mouth that had so often before been pressed into tight disapproval. Now, his lips pressed themselves together, but with some other emotion Kallista could not read. His face was the same, but different—more lines, or perhaps the same lines carved deeper. He seemed somehow thinner, though his defined musculature mocked that thought. Still, he seemed…as if all the unessential bits had been burned away leaving behind pure Joh.
“Far enough,” Torchay’s voice growled out.
Joh halted, his chains rattling to rest. Kallista heaved a little sigh, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Torchay’s overprotective attitude. Joh stood a dozen paces away, too far for her to see any mark. Too far even for comfortable conversation. But she could change that when the time came.
“Sit down.” She gestured at the gilded seating surrounding them.
“There.” Torchay pointed to a high-backed chair upholstered all over in a pale yellow velvet. Kallista remembered it as deep and soft and well nigh impossible to get out of in a hurry. A good choice.
Joh looked at the chair and back at Torchay as if asking whether he was truly meant to sit in such luxury. Kallista nodded, smiled, turning her hand toward the chair in invitation. Slowly, hampered by his chains, hesitantly, Joh shuffled toward the chair and lowered himself into it. When he was seated, Kallista strode forward, ignoring Torchay’s protest, slipping past his outstretched hand, and sat in the chair opposite. She left the two chairs on either side for her ever-vigilant bodyguards.
Neither of them sat. Almost as one, they moved the chairs back out of the way and stood, bright flame and dark, between Kallista and the bound, near-naked, oh-so-dangerous prisoner.
She waited until Joh met her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
He shuttered the bright blue of his gaze as if against pain and drew in a breath through his fine, straight nose. With that fortification, he looked at her again.
“I did not know the powder would explode.” His voice was deep, intense, laden with emotion. Kallista could almost taste it, reaching with absent magic in a vain attempt to drink it down. His mark pulled at her. This was not what she meant him to tell, but apparently he needed to.
“What did you think, then?” Torchay’s voice held scorn, rage. “That it would carry them off to sweet dreams of paradise?”
Joh didn’t look away, focusing only on Kallista. “I was told it would heal you.”
“Of what?” Torchay spoke again, but Joh ignored him, spoke over the interruption.
“The vapors from the powder’s burning would enable an East healer to free you of the hold West magic had on you.”
Now both her men reacted with derision. Kallista ignored them, just as Joh did.
“I was a fool,” he said, voice gone bitter. “I couldn’t understand then what it meant to be marked by the One. I was a child frightened of the dark with a head full of half-truths and whispered lies, and I let myself believe them. Because I was afraid.”
Kallista watched him, trying to read the flickers behind his steady gaze, and she waited. Often, silence would bring her more than words.
“And I was angry,” Joh said so quietly she had to strain to hear. “I—I liked you. But when you married the Tibran di pentivas—”
“At the Reinine’s order.” Kallista spoke as softly as he.
“But back then, I felt betrayed.” His mouth twisted in a tiny smile. “Emotions seldom bow to reason. I admired you for treating me as you would any other officer. I had thought you free of the prejudice that sees a man as nothing but passions and brute strength. And then—”
“I proved you wrong.”
“It seemed so then. But I never wished you harm. We were officers in the same army. Sedili-in-arms. It was easier to believe that West magic had twisted you somehow. I wanted to think the powder’s smoke would—would return you to the captain I admired. I burned some, earlier, to test it, and that was all it did—make sparks and smoke. I never dreamed…”
“Where did you get it? The powder?” Torchay had not softened any. Kallista would not have expected him to.
“From a Barinirab master,” Joh replied without hesitation. “I never saw his face. He disguised his voice. He told me these things, that the smoke would heal and not harm.”
“You are one of these Barbs?” Obed shifted, hand coming to rest on the hilt of his saber.
“I was.”
Steel appeared in a tattooed hand so quickly Kallista did not see where he’d drawn it from. “Obed, you swore to me. He has not offered harm.”
She knew Torchay could move and attack with that lightning speed, but she had not known it of Obed. Where had a merchant-trader needed such skills?
Kallista touched his arm and reluctantly Obed tucked the knife in the sash around his waist. It had not been there before, she knew.
“You no longer belong to the Order of the Barbed Rose?” she asked.
“I will not be part of a group that manipulates its own people into doing murder.” Joh’s eyes held the anger his voice did not.
“But you won’t tell who gave you the powder,” Torchay said.
“I do not know.” Joh pushed the words through gritted teeth. “I was a Renunciate. Only Initiates and above meet the masters without masks.”
“Renunciate? What is that? Tell me about the Order.” Kallista needed whatever information he could give her. She’d never known anyone who admitted membership. The Order kept many secrets, not least, who they were.
“There are nine levels—BARINIRAB—beginning with a ceremony they call ‘Birth.’ Then Apprenticeship, Renunciation, Initiation, Naishar or service, Institution, Rejuvenation, Ascension and Birth again, to a state of unity with the One. The man I met wore the badge of a Rejuvenate on his cloak. I was only at the third level—second, really, for the first is just the ceremony.”
“When did you join? How?”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “It was not long after I was promoted to lieutenant. Some of the other officers sounded me out in discussions about West magic. I was curious. I wanted to learn more, and when they offered the chance to join, I took it. What I learned did not seem…evil. And I did not learn much. That was reserved for Initiates. As a Renunciate, I did not—do not know enough to be a danger to them.”
Joh paused before speaking again, holding Kallista’s gaze. “I wish I did. I