“Have no fear, Highness,” he told the Prince. “Together with the drug it will make her sleep again, which is all to the good. Perhaps then we can all return to our rest.” His voice held an acid undertone.
Aurian’s hand tightened round the stem of the goblet in panic. She couldn’t sleep! What if it returned in her dreams? But it was too late. Already she had drunk most of the wine, and she could feel a drowsy euphoria stealing over her. It felt good, after what she had just undergone. She heard herself giggling, as she held out the cup for a refill.
The surgeon tsked disapprovingly, then shrugged. “It may be for the best,” he sighed, as he poured more wine. “Whatever she dreamed about, it gave her a severe shock. You ought to have some too, Highness. You look—” That was all Aurian could remember.
“You look exhausted. Why not have a servant watch this ungrateful woman? You have more important things to concern you, and you must sleep.”
Harihn dismissed the surgeon with brusque thanks. The wretch was so officious! But since he was so skilled in his art, he invariably managed to get away with it. The Khisal rubbed wearily at his gritty eyes, and turned back to the mysterious lady whom he had rescued so impulsively from the Arena. She slept peacefully; the terror that had haunted her face was smoothed away in repose. What had she dreamed, to cause such anguish? Had it been her husband’s name she had cried out? His inquiries to the Arbiters had revealed that she had probably been widowed, and the sunjeon had told him that she was with child. That had come as a shock. Given her condition, her performance in the Arena had been near miraculous! Silently saluting her courage, he bent over and tucked the thin sheet more closely around her shoulders.
The Demon lifted her head and snarled, baring long white fangs. “Hush, you,” Harihn soothed, keeping a wary eye on her. “You should know by now that I will not harm your friend.” The cat dropped her head back to her outstretched paws, contenting herself with a black look for the Prince. She had remained on guard all through Aurian’s illness, treating all who tended her friend with similar suspicion. Most of the servants were afraid even to enter the room.
Deciding to take the sturgeon’s advice after all, Harihn poured himself some wine. Opening the carved shutters that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, he took his cup out into the balmy, moonlit peace of the garden. Ah, how he loved this place! The small, walled area with its grassy lawn and flowering plants and trees was a haven of green in this arid city. His mother had created it when she came here, a captive bride, to this small but exquisite palace on the south side of the river— the opposite side from the Arena and the Khisu’s sumptuous dwelling. Her refusal to live in the same house with her Lord and his harem had been but one of the reasons for her murder. Xiang, used to the subservient women of his land, had not been able to deal with her pride, and her contemptuous hatred, never concealed, of the man who had taken her by force from the Xandim, her own people”.
Harihn crossed the lawn to sit on the low marble coping that circled the pool where carp swam in gilded splendor. The scent of huge white blossoms from the tree that overhung the moon-silvered water was intoxicating, but his thoughts were elsewhere. After all these years, he still missed his mother. He remembered her vividly—her long brown hair, her flashing eyes, the indomitable spirit that his father’s brutality had never quenched. Harihn dwelt here for the same reasons that she had —to maintain his independence and to keep as far from Xiang as possible. But it hurt. This place was haunted by his mother’s memory, and perhaps that was his own fault, for he had never allowed it to be changed. There had been some raised eyebrows, to say the least, among his servants when he had placed the flame-haired foreigner in his mother’s old suite of rooms. Somehow, though, it had seemed the right thing to do. Her spirit, her courage and pride and refusal to surrender in the Arena had called back such powerful memories of his mother that he had been compelled to intervene, to help this woman, though he had been too young to save the other.
Since then, of course, he’d had time to consider his rash act, and had wondered, more than once, what had possessed him. All he’d had from the lady so far was her name—Aurian. Where had she come from? What was her history? How had she —a mere woman—learned to fight so well? That she was one of the witch-breed of Northern sorcerers made him nervous, despite the bracelets she wore that, he had been assured, would negate her magic. Not for the first time, Harihn wondered if he had bitten off more than he could swallow. He had never thought, for instance, that it would mean giving shelter to the fearsome Demon! And the Khisu, of course, was furious with him, but that was nothing new.
Thinking of Xiang, Harihn had to admit that there were advantages to his deed. It had been most enjoyable to see that look of thwarted rage on his father’s face, and that of his bride. Now why did she want the warrior dead? Harihn was convinced that the women must have been traveling on the same ship. Two foreigners appearing in the city at the same time? It was more than coincidence. He smiled to himself. If his mystery lady could provide him with information to the new Khisihn’s disadvantage, that might give him a new^and necessary lever to use against the Khisu. Harihn’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. The hatred his father bore for him was no secret. In that respect, this Aurian could prove useful, indeed. She could fight like a demon—that much he had seen for himself—and she had her own Demon to help her. Between them they made a formidable team. The Khisal smiled to himself. Perhaps, in saving her, he had made the right decision after all.
When Aurian awakened, it was broad daylight. The Prince had gone, and a stranger was drowsing in a chair by her bed. Aurian gasped. The man was huge\ But Shia was asleep on the bottom of the bed, curled up with her tail wrapped over her eyes, and the Mage took jjLais a sign that her new warder could be trusted. She wondered if he would bring her some food. Her mind felt clear now, but her insides were cramped with hunger. She reached out to touch his arm, and the big man snapped to attention at once, his face a picture of guilt. Aurian saw the fear in his eyes, and instinctively sought to soothe him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “There’s no harm in your being asleep. Everyone else was.” She smiled at the oblivious Shia. “Only—I’m terribly hungry. Do you think you could arrange for some food? And some liafa?” While at the Arena, she had become addicted to the stuff.
The giant leapt to his feet, nodding fit to loosen his bald head, his broad brown face breaking into a shy smile. Aurian’s eyes widened. He must have been almost seven feet tall, his shoulders so broad that she wondered how he could fit them through the door. He bowed, and left the room with a speed that belied his enormous bulk.
He returned very shortly, bearing a tray almost as wide as his shoulders. From the contents, Aurian decided that whatever time of day it was, it was not breakfast time. But she didn’t care —her mouth was watering. There was a thick soup, a roast fowl, and the meal was rounded off with fruit, cheese, honey, and the usual flat bread. A flask of wine and a brimming jug of liafa competed for the small amount of remaining space. “Why, this is a feast!” Aurian exclaimed. “Thank you, thank you very much!”
Shia stirred, smelling the food, her golden eyes lighting up as they fixed on the -tsay. Aurian sighed. It wasn’t that she begrudged sharing with her friend, however . . . But her friendly giant had even thought of that. Tucked beneath his arm, where he had been carrying it to leave his hands free for the tray, was a bulky, cloth-wrapped object. He unwrapped it with a flourish, presenting it to the cat without a sign of fear. It was a haunch of raw meat. Shia, to Aurian’s utter astonishment, purred loudly and rubbed the side of her face against the man’s hand.