“Stop it, Lestra!” Elliania snarled. She too had come to her feet. Her cheeks blazed with color and she did not look at Dutiful but scowled at her enemy. Her bared breasts rose and fell with her angry breath. “Why? You’ve obviously no intent of doing anything interesting with him. Why shouldn’t I take him? By rights, he should be mine, just as by rights I should be Narcheska. And will be, when he takes you off to be a lesser woman in his own mothershouse.”
Several of the girls gasped, but Elliania’s eyes only blazed hotter.
“That is among the oldest of the lies you tell, Lestra! Your great-grandmother was the younger twin. Both midwives said so.”
“First out of the womb is not always oldest, Elliania. So many say. Your great-grandmother was a mewling, sickly kitten of a babe. Mine was the hearty, healthy child. Your great-grandmother had no right to be Narcheska, nor did her daughter, or her granddaughter, or you!”
“Sickly? Indeed! Then how is it that she lives still, as Great Mother! Take back your lie, Lestra, or I will cram it down your throat.” Elliania spoke in a flat, ugly voice. It carried well. I was not the only one who had turned to watch the quarrel. When Dutiful stepped forward, mouth open to speak, Elliania put her hand flat in the center of his chest and thrust him back. The young girls formed into a ring now around the potential combatants and he found himself outside it. He looked toward me as if for help. Don’t intervene, I think. Elliania has made it plain that she doesn’t want you to.
I hoped my advice was good. Even as I attempted to Skill the situation to Chade, I saw Peottre. He had probably been lurking just out of my line of sight at the building’s corner. He strolled over to the low wall where I sat and leaned one hip on it casually. “He should stay out of that,” he said to me casually. I swung my head and regarded him blearily. “Who?”
He stared at me levelly. “Your prince. He should leave this to Elliania to settle. It’s woman’s business, and she won’t welcome his interference. You should convey that to him, if you can.” Peottre says, Step back from it. Let Elliania settle it.
What? Dutiful demanded in consternation.
Why is Peottre speaking to you? Chade demanded.
I don’t know!
To Peottre, I said, “I’m just his guardsman, sir. I don’t advise the Prince.”
“You’re his bodyguard,” Peottre replied pleasantly. “Or his… what would it be in your language? His chaperon? As I am for Elliania. You’re good, but you’re not invisible. I’ve seen you watching him.”
“I’m his guardsman. I’m supposed to guard him,” I protested, letting the words slur a little. I wished I’d thought to have a glass of wine. The smell of spirits can be very convincing.
He was no longer looking at me. I turned to stare up the hill. There was a shout behind me from the door of the mothershouse, and I heard other people emerging. The two girls had gone into a clinch. With apparent ease, Lestra threw Elliania onto the ground on her back. Even at that distance, I heard her breath whoosh out of her. Peottre made a frustrated sound and he twitched in that small way that experienced fighters do when they are watching a prized student compete. As Lestra flung herself on top of Elliania, the smaller girl suddenly drew her knees up to her chest and firmly kicked her opponent in her midsection. Lestra shot backward, landing badly. Elliania rolled to her knees and, careless of her fine gown and coiffed hair, flung herself on top of Lestra. Every muscle in Peottre’s neck and arms was taut, but he did not move. I came to my feet to gain a better vantage and gawked, just as the other Buckkeep guardsmen were doing. The Outislanders who had emerged to watch the struggle were interested, but not intent. Evidently, for girls or women to wrestle in this manner was not shocking to them.
By sitting high on Lestra’s chest, her knees on her arms, Elliania had effectively pinned the larger girl to the earth. Lestra was kicking and struggling, but the Narcheska had gripped a handful of her loose hair to fix her head to the ground. With her free hand, she rubbed a handful of dirt into Lestra’s mouth. “Let honest earth cleanse the lie from your lips!” she shouted triumphantly. Dutiful stood back from them, his mouth ajar. He was aware of the wild jiggle of Elliania’s bared breasts as her chest heaved with exertion. I sensed he was as horrified at his physical reaction to that as he was by the girls’ struggle. All around them, the other girls leaped and yelled, encouraging the combatants.
With a wild shriek, Lestra tore her head free of Elliania’s grasp, leaving her clutching a goodly handful of hair. Elliania slapped her, hard, and then seized her by the throat. “Call me Narcheska, or you will not draw another breath!” she shouted at her.
“Narcheska! Narcheska!” the older girl shrieked, and then she began to sob wildly, more from frustration and humiliation than pain.
Elliania put her hand flat to Lestra’s face and pushed up off it as she stood. “Leave her alone!” she warned two of the girls who stepped forward to aid the loser. “Let her lie there and be glad that I didn’t have my knife. I am a woman now. From now on, my knife will answer anyone who dares to dispute that I am Narcheska. From now on, my knife will answer anyone who dares to touch the man I have claimed for myself.” I glanced at Peottre. His grin was hard, showing every tooth he had. Elliania reached Dutiful in two strides. He stood gawking down at his disheveled bride. As casually as I would seize a horse’s mane to mount him, she reached up and gripped his warrior’s tail. As she pulled his face down to hers, she commanded him, “You will kiss me now.”
An instant before their mouths met, he snatched his Skill-awareness away from me. Yet neither I nor any man watching needed the Skill to sense the fervor in that kiss. She locked her mouth to his, and as his arms came awkwardly around her to draw her closer, she leaned into his embrace, deliberately brushing her bared breasts against his chest. Then she broke the kiss, and while Dutiful drew an uneven breath, she met his eyes and reminded him, “Icefyre’s head. On my mothers’ hearth. Before you may call me wife.” Then, from within the circle of his embrace, she looked at her old playmates and announced, “You girls may stay here and play if you wish. I’m taking my husband back inside to the feasting.”
She stepped clear of his arms, and took his hand again. He followed her docilely, grinning vapidly. Lestra was sitting up, alone, staring after them with fury and shame. There were approving whoops from several women and some envious groans from the watching men as she triumphantly led her prize past them. I glanced at Peottre. He looked stunned. Then his eyes came to mine. “She had to do that,” he told me sternly. “To make her point with the other girls. That’s why she did it. To establish herself in their eyes as a woman, and to make clear her claim to him.”
“I could see that,” I agreed mildly. But I did not believe him. I suspected that something had just happened that was outside his plan for Elliania and Dutiful. It made it all the more essential for me to discover just what his true intent was.
The rest of the evening seemed bland. Eating, drinking, and listening to Outislander bards could not compare to the claiming of power that I had just witnessed. I found a meat pie and a mug of ale and took it to a quiet corner. I pretended to be absorbed in it as I Skilled to Chade all that I had witnessed.
This is moving more swiftly than I had dared hope, he Skilled in return. And yet I mistrust it. Does she truly want him as husband, or was it only to establish that what she claimed, no one can take from her? Does she hope lust will spur him to kill the dragon for her?