The crowd, cheated of a death, erupted into wildness. Boos and jeers resounded, and missiles rained down into the Arena— fruit, sweetmeats, drinking goblets—even shoes. The tunnel doors swung open, admitting two dozen armed and armored guards. They approached reluctantly, fanning out to form a loose circle around Aurian and Shia as the Mage struggled to her knees. Shia trotted obligingly over and retrieved Aurian’s sword from where it lay, dragging it back with the hilt held carefully in her mouth. Propping herself with Coronach, Aurian tried out her injured leg. She could balance herself without support while standing still—but moving? Not a chance. But they didn’t know that. Sword in hand, she stood back to back with Shia as the ring of guards tightened around them. “Right,” she called out grimly. “Which of you sons of pigs wants to be first?” Shia snarled a menacing echo to her words. Their assailants looked at each other dubiously. Apparently no one wanted to be first.
Eliizar emerged from the tunnel at a run and crossed the sands to the royal balcony. The Khisu got to his feet, and all sound ceased. “Your Majesty,” the Swordmaster cried in a quaking voice. “The decision of life or death for this warrior rests with you. Death is the usual penalty for one who fails to slay his foe, but this woman—thifr-warrior—has honored us with the bravest performance in the history of the Arena. None will forget this day. Will you, on the joyous occasion of your wedding, grant her your clemency?”
Bless you, Eliizar, Aurian thought.
On the balcony, the King considered, wavering. It would be a munificent gesture, and worthy of a Khisu, but the Arbiters had told him about this dangerous foreigner, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted her at large in his land.
Aurian watched the Khisu, holding her breath. This was her first good look at him. He looked younger than he must be, but his expression was wolfish and feral. Beneath level brows, his dark eyes glinted with pitiless cruelty. Black hair, falling past his shoulders, showed no sign of gray, and he sported a drooping moustache. He had a lean, lithe, hard-muscled killing machine of a body and looked as though he used it frequently— and well. Gods, Aurian thought. I wouldn’t like to fight him! I might like to bed him, though. The thought, so inappropriate to her desperate situation, shocked her. But it was undeniable. His aura was irresistibly sexual—and equally dangerous. He was like a magnificent wild beast.
Then suddenly the Queen—the new Khisihn—stepped forward from the shadows of the balcony and murmured into the Khisu’s ear. Her face was veiled, but the bright flash of golden hair was unmistakable. Sara! Aurian sagged against Shia’s flank, dizzy with shock. How in the name of all the gods had the wretched woman managed this?
Sara had been equally stunned by the sight of Aurian in the Arena. What evil luck! If that rotten Mage should tell the Khisu that she was already married, all the hard work she had done to win him would have been for nothing! She stepped up to him and whispered in his ear, glad that he was proficient in her language, though she was making progress at learning his. “Kill this woman, Lord,” she said. “Make me a gift of her death.” Xiang stared at her in amazement. Was this the gentle creature that had so charmed him? “Please, my love.” Sara smiled beguilingly, and the Khisu found her impossible to resist. His thumb began to turn down in the traditional death signal and—
“Stop!” Prince Harihn strode forward from the rear of the balcony. “It is the Khisu’s custom to bestow gifts on his wedding day,” he said. “Somehow, I seem to have been overlooked so far.” He smiled at his father without warmth. “Give her to me, Father. Grant me the gift of this woman’s life.” His voice, deliberately loud, rang across the Arena.
The Khisu found himself the focus of hundreds of curious eyes. He glared at his son. “In the Reaper’s name, why?” Harihn shrugged. “You’ve been telling me for long enough that I need a woman of my own—and this foreign warrior presents a challenge that I can’t resist.”
Sara, who had managed to follow most of the exchange, felt the moment slipping away from her. “Lord,” she protested. “I beg you, give me this woman’s death.”
“There, my son.” The Khisu shrugged. “See what a coil you have me in? I must disappoint my son—or my new bride.” He bestowed a dazzling smile on Sara, before turning back to the Prince. “Surely this woman cannot be so important? She is hardly a beauty, and any man would think twice before bedding such a she-devil. Come,” he cajoled, a hard edge in his voice. “Choose another gift, Harihn. If it is a woman you want, I will give you the choice of any woman in my seraglio. Every one is in the fullness of beauty, and skilled in the arts of love.”
Harihn’s jaw clenched. “No,” he said flatly. “I want that one.” Father and son glared at each other, all pretense of friendliness abandoned. The Khisu thought rapidly. What was Harihn up to? Was he simply trying to embarrass his royal father in public, or make trouble between him and his new bride? Or did he have some other motive in taking this sorceress into his household?
Xiang made his decision. Most likely the witch would stick a dagger into her benefactor at the first opportunity, which would solve his problem. If not . . . well, there were other, less public ways of dealing with the matter. “Very well, my son,” he said loudly, for the benefit of the rapt crowd. “I cannot refuse you. I give this brave warrior into your care.” He raised his thumb in the gesture of life, and the crowd applauded. Sara gasped.
“My father, I thank you,” Harihn said, and vaulting dramatically over the balcony, he crossed the sands toward Aurian.
The Mage consulted briefly with Shia. “It seems our lives have been saved—for now. Shall we go with this man?”
“I trust him not.”
“Me, neither. But I think we should risk it. It’s better than being hacked to pieces by these armored idiots!”
As the Khisal approached, Aurian bowed low, wincing with pain and gritting her teeth to keep her temper at the speculative way his eyes lingered on her breasts, which had been exposed by the ruination of her leather vest. “I thank Your Highness,” she said.
He smiled. “Bravely fought, warrior. The honor is mine. Will you come with me?” He extended a hand to help Aurian, and the great cat growled warningly.
“I’m afraid you’ve also inherited my friend,” Aurian said.
The Prince glanced dubiously at Shia. “Willingly,” he lied, “save that my father did not include her in our bargain.”
“Tough!” Aurian was heartily sick of this charade, and she knew that she had reached the end of her strength. “Where I go, Shia goes,” she said flatly. “Would you like to try to stop her? Or perhaps you’re more afraid of your father . . .” Harihn scowled at the mention of his father, and glanced up at the crowd. Aurian knew that he feared the cat, but was afraid of looking a fool, if Shia should ruin his triumphant exit. “She will be very friendly toward a friend of mine—and your people would be impressed by a Prince who could tame such a creature,” she suggested.
Harihn brightened at her words. “Very well. Will it let me help you?”
“She will.”
The Prince scooped Aurian theatrically into his arms and left the Arena with the great cat pacing watchfully at his heels. The crowd cheered delightedly. They seemed to have forgotten that only a few minutes before, they had been howling for Aurian’s blood. The last thing Aurian saw as they entered the tunnel was the Khisu and Sara glaring savagely, naked fury on their faces. Aurian felt an uneasy chill creep up her spine. What did this Prince intend for her, anyway? “Keep hold of my mind,” she warned Shia. “I daren’t pass out yet.”