“Why, thank you,” Aurian told him with a smile. “That was very considerate . . . Shia! Not on the bed, please!”
“Why not? I’m hungry, too!” Shia gave her a black look, and dragged her meat out into the garden.
Aurian could wait no longer to attack the food. “What’s your name?” she asked the huge man indistinctly, with her mouth full. He simply looked at her, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of his face.
“His name is Bohan. He cannot answer you, for he cannot speak.” As Harihn entered, Bohan prostrated himself, touching his forehead to the floor. The Prince gestured negligently, and the huge man left the room. “I sent him to serve and to guard you—he is a eunuch, as is proper.”
“Poor man!” Aurian gasped. “How cruel!”
Harihn looked surprised. “Cruel? How so? All ladies of rank are served by eunuchs. How else would the sanctity of their persons be guarded?”
Aurian shuddered, thinking of Anvar. Anvar! Great Chathak, how could she have forgotten him?
The Prince shrugged. “It is of no consequence. I trust he is satisfactory?” He settled himself comfortably on the bottom of her bed and casually helped himself to a leg of her fowl. Aurian took another huge mouthful, reluctant to lose any more of the bird. “How are you feeling?” Harihn asked, and she choked getting it all swallowed. She took a gulp of wine and a deep breath.
“Hungry,” she replied pointedly, then regretted her churlishness. After all, she was very much indebted to him, and dependent, at the moment, on his continuing goodwill.
The Prince smiled tolerantly. He was handsome, Aurian thought, with his black curling hair, thick level brows, and dark, lustrous eyes. His face was gentler, less angular and wolfish, than that of his father, but the same pride was in his bearing, and his body was lithe and strong. She was, however, beginning to find his condescending manner very irritating, and had to force herself to keep a rein on her temper. “My apologies, Your Highness,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m never at my best when I first wake up.”
“You may call me Harihn,” he told her, with the air of one conferring a singular honor, “and I have no objections to you eating while we talk.”
Thanks a lot, the Mage thought sourly. “Thank you very much,” she said aloud. “You may call me Aurian.”
Harihn raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
With an effort, Aurian restrained herself from flinging her breakfast in the complacent idiot’s face. It was good, and she needed it. Instead she gave him a very direct look. “Harihn, why did you rescue me?”
The Prince smiled. “Lady, you have naught to fear from me. You are more valuable to me alive than dead. You see, I need you—and your Demon, if she will help. I saw you fight in the Arena, and I need your skill to protect me. My life is in danger from my royal father—not to mention his new wife. If she should give him another heir—” He made a slicing motion across his throat.
After a moment, Aurian discovered that her mouth was open, and hastily shoveled some food into it, to give herself time to think. She had almost started to tell him why she couldn’t possibly stay—but she realized that the self-absorbed young Prince would hardly take her problems into consideration. Besides, she could not leave until she had found Anvar and, even more important, discovered a way to remove these bracelets that crippled her powers.
The Prince was frowning, obviously wondering why she was not overcome with delight at the prospect of being his bodyguard. “Excuse me, Your Highness,” Aurian said hastily, managing to dredge up a smile from somewhere. “I’m overcome by the honor you do me. But ... the surgeon must have told you of my condition. How can I defend you adequately when I’ve grown great with child?”
Harihn shrugged. “I appreciate your frankness in discussing this delicate matter with me, of course . . .” The distasteful curl of his lip gave the lie to his words. “However, it may not be a problem. You have your Demon to assist you, and besides, your condition may lull any would-be assassin into a false sense of security. After all, who would expect a pregnant concubine of possessing warrior’s skills?”
Aurian choked again. When she had regained her breath, she pushed the tray away, her appetite abruptly gone. “Did you say concubine?” she demanded.
Harihn’s eyes widened. “Surely you did not expect me to marry you? My people would never countenence a foreign sorceress as their Khisihn!”
“Of course I didn’t! I thought you wanted me for a bodyguard, not—” Aurian spluttered angrily, all restraint scattered to the winds. “You must be out of your mind!”
Harihn assumed such an air of benign patience that Aurian wanted to throttle him. “The surgeon warned me you might react in this way,” he said. “Being pregnant, you are not in your right mind at present—and I have your history from the Arbiters. I appreciate that as one newly widowed, your sensibilities may be raw, but it is not permitted for a woman to be without a man to govern and guard her. How could it be otherwise? You need a man’s protection—a home and a future for your child. If you leave here, you will be at the mercy of the law, and the best you can hope for is slavery—or a return to the Arena. Could your child survive another such bout? Could you? I think not. I have no idea how things are managed in your own land, but here, as a widow, your husband’s brother, or some relative, or even his closest friend, would take you into his family as his concubine, or even as a wife, if he wished. You are a stranger here, and have no one to do you this service. Surely you cannot be insensible of the honor I do you?”
Great Gods! He was actually preening\ Aurian cursed her imagination for coming up with the idiotic story of a missing husband. She cursed the ridiculous laws of this land that passed women around like possessions, and cursed this arrogant young booby who thought he was doing her such a favor! What gall! Then she pulled herself together, and started thinking with frantic haste. Maybe that tale about Anvar being her husband would stand her in good stead, if he coujd be found . . . She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers beneath the sheet. “But Your Highness,” she blurted out, “what about my husband?”
Harihn frowned. “Aurian, your husband is dead.”
“But what if he isn’t?” Aurian protested. “We don’t know for certain.” At her words, the image of Forral’s face rose before her with such painful clarity that she gulped back a sob. Oh, Forral, forgive me, she thought. “What happens if he comes here only to discover that I’ve become another man’s concubine?” she went on, unable to suppress the quiver in her voice. “Please, Your Highness, surely you could put a search in motion? I beg you ... As a woman alone in a strange land, I throw myself upon your mercy.” Well, groveling had worked with the Arbiters. If only the Prince would take the same bait . . . But as Aurian forced tears into her eyes, she saw Harihn’s expression harden.
“Lady,” he said flatly, “to find the one you seek would be impossible.”
Drat it! I’ve outfoxed myself! He has no intention of finding Anvar, Aurian thought, because he wants me himself. She had no other recourse but to persist. “What, with light skin and light hair, and blue eyes? I’d have thought he would stand out in this city. If he was brought here with Sara, surely someone must remember having seen him?”
“Exactly! And in all this time, there has been no word of such a man—What did you say? He was with Sara? The Khisihn? Why?” Harihn leaned forward, his eyes suddenly intent.
What had got into the man? Aurian wondered. Could she use this sudden interest to her advantage? “Did Sara not mention him?” she fished.