Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker Page B

what region and year the batch is from?”
    One of the strange green-oil lamps nearby flickered and began to gutter; a servant quickly moved to turn up the wick. Renewed light washed across the area, and Alyea repressed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that the increasing dimness had been bothering her for some time. Her shoulders relaxed.
    Deiq regarded Lord Ondio for a long moment, then said, “I haven’t studied F’Heing teas extensively, I’m afraid.”
    Ondio’s smirk widened. “So there is something you don’t know.”
    “But,” Deiq interrupted, “given that red bush thopuh -style teas were only made for a hundred years before a combination of a volcano exploding, a plague, and political shift destroyed the plantations and the skilled workers; given that thopuh tea grows more valuable with age; and given that I’m doubting F’Heing would give out its most valuable stores to Lord Scratha at the moment; given all that, I’m guessing this comes from the Sta region of the F’Heing Mountains, and that it was packed within the five years previous to the Sta plantation’s destruction.”
    The room went completely silent. Ondio looked as though he’d bitten into a sour fruit when he’d been expecting a delicacy. Alyea’s shoulders went tight again; she drew a deep breath and forced herself to relax.
    “Indeed,” Ondio said through his teeth, then forced a laugh in an obvious attempt to sound unaffected. He cast a quick look to the head of the table, where Lord Scratha sat watching, expression hawk-intent. “You’re wrong, of course. We only give out properly precious gifts. We would never insult—”
    “Of course,” Deiq said, voice and manner bored, as though the entire conversation no longer interested him. “I did say I haven’t studied the matter extensively.”
    Ondio’s jaw clenched. He shot a poisonous glare at Deiq, then rose. “If I may be excused,” he muttered, offering a short bow to Scratha. At his host’s nod, he left the room hurriedly.
    Scratha’s mouth creased in a faint smile. He nodded briefly to Deiq, then went back to his interrupted conversation.
    “I can’t tell if that was outrageously rude or well-played,” Alyea said in an undertone.
    “I know,” Deiq said, as quietly. “That’s why you ought to be keeping your mouth shut right now.” He met her glare with a mild, indifferent expression.
    “I haven’t done that badly so far,” she snapped.
    He raised an eyebrow and said nothing in return. She jerked her gaze away, seething with the impulse to slap him, then remembered a conversation with Chac: I’ve been crashing about like a horse in a glass shop , she’d said, and he’d given her the same dry eyebrow-lift Deiq had just offered.
    She drew in a deep, quiet breath and shut her eyes for a moment; looked up to find Deiq’s dark stare turned elsewhere.
    “Yes, you have been,” he said, the words directed at her, but his attention apparently on Evkit’s low-voiced discussion with Irrio. “We’ll talk about it after dinner, if you like.”
    She swallowed back another surge of indignation and just nodded, somehow knowing he’d pick up on the silent agreement.
    Picking up her cup of tea, she took a tentative sip. The aroma reminded her of smoky pine, and the taste was heavy and thick with burnt overtones. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and she took a second sip, astonished at how it seemed to coat the inside of her mouth and yet melted away instantly into a lingering memory of taste.
    “Thopuh tea,” Deiq said, returning his attention to her at last, “is a remarkable accident. The F’Heing enclave area, from which all their trading ships sail, originally belonged to another Family entirely.”
    A few heads turned sharply, and spines stiffened. Scratha looked down the table at Deiq again, an amused expression crossing his face.
    “It’s a story most of the desert Families don’t like to think about,” Deiq went on as though nobody else existed