And none of them had made any move to be rid of her- or to suggest that she was not acting as she should. That had always been a fear of hers; she was the one female with authority among the many males, and conjuration alone was not enough against such overwhelming odds. Not when she slept, or when her guard was down. Faro was hers, of course, and Ware, but there could have been dissidents. There might even have been some agents for the Queen among them; it no longer mattered. They were a unit, and they believed in her.
She nodded at Horn, feeling her spirits rise for the first time since the storm, and turned to the others. "What do you think?" she asked. "Should we stop now and hunt bugs, or go on, and hope we get something larger?"
"Well," Tron said slowly, with a hint of a smile beginning on his otherwise stern face, "reckon if a man be hungry enough, he can eat 'bout anything." The smile broadened. "Recall eatin' m’shoes once. Reckon toasted hoppers be better nor that. But I'd rather we waited till a bit Tore sunset afore we tried hoppers or shoes."
The rest burst out into relieved laughter, and Xylina joined them. She was right: they were going to stand by her. The quest was still possible to complete. It was going to work. By all the ancestors, it was going to work!
The fates were with them, and the hunters eventually brought down enough for all. At about sunset, they found another small stream, and there they made a camp. Since before the storm, she had still been the one who conjured materials for tents and fires, things did not look appreciably different, and that in itself made the men feel better.
They still had Pattée, and that certainly made them feel better. This time, though, she made the tents low, and grass-colored; when the camp was set up, the tents blended somewhat into the landscape. She also made the material thick, so that lights from glowstones would not shine through them. And to compensate for the hardships they were enduring, she took particular pains with their bedding.
The end result was that the men who were not on watch-duty went to their beds in a reasonably cheerful frame of mind, and that in turn cheered Xylina. When Ware rejoined them, she wished that she could give him some of her own lighter spirits, for although he had found nothing to cause alarm, he was still obviously depressed over his imagined "failure" of last night. He sat with her and Faro in her tent after a dinner of some kind of game-bird-she was secretly relieved they had not needed to resort to hoppers, at least not yet-supposedly to report on what he had found, but in actuality, to sit in unhappy silence.
Despite what the men thought, he did not actually have to eat human-style food, although he did usually make a polite gesture with conjured food. But tonight he was not even making that much effort.
Finally Faro, tired of the continued silence, left them to take his own turn on guard-duty. Ware remained sunk in depression, and her heart ached for him; never had he seemed so human as now. As she watched him, waiting for him to speak, he suddenly turned his head so that she was looking straight into his eyes, and she recalled with a shock how warm and firm his body had felt last night, huddled next to her, how gentle and graceful his hands were as they had touched her brow. And at that moment, she became aware that not only was he now a friend, not only was he no longer an alien monster to her, but the stirrings in her body told her that he was the most desirable male she had ever known.
And that thought did not bring with it the feeling of appalled repulsion that she had expected. In fact, it only made her body ache more in a way that had nothing to do with pity. It occurred to her that he might have entranced her into this very thought-and she dismissed the notion immediately. It was not his way. He was as honorable and honor-bound as she, and his desire for her had been hedged around with some very specific promises. He wanted her of her own free will-and being entranced would mean that her will was not free.
So what had suddenly made her realize how attractive he was? She knew the answer to that as well. It was simple enough. For the first time since she had met him, he was vulnerable. And he was strong enough and confident enough to show her that vulnerability, and to hope that as a friend she would try to give him the comfort of her friendship. It was his momentary weakness that made her aware of his constant strength.
It took a brave person to admit to being afraid; it took a strong person to admit weakness. It took both to show these things to someone else.
Yet, though he might for the moment be vulnerable, he was still in every way her equaclass="underline" intelligent, clever, erudite. A gentle being, and as bound by honor as she. Every bit a warrior in his way as she was in hers. That, she sensed now, was the reason why she had felt no attraction to any Mazonite man, not even her friend and confidant Faro, nor the handsome and youthful Hazard. She could not respect a man who could only be her inferior and not her equal partner-and every male raised in Mazonia would be, somewhere in the back of his mind, conditioned as a slave. There was no help for it; they were as controlled by their upbringing as she was. Even Faro, for all that he hated other Mazonites, was conditioned to obey them. His protectiveness of her was an outgrowth of that very obedience-"Mistress is unhappy, and I must make her happy." He was probably not even aware of the fact, but now that Xylina had a chance to get to know a male who was not so conditioned, it was obvious to her.
Her friendship was not cheaply bought-her love was not to be bought at all. Her friendship came only when it was reciprocated, but friendship did not make the demands that love did. Now she knew that she could only love a male whom she could also respect. She could only love a male who would respect her-because of herself, and not from training. And she had come, all unknowing, to love Ware. The knowledge came as a shock, as sudden and as earthshaking as seeing the ground open up beneath her.
He looked away again, and the expression on his face did not change. So she had not betrayed her sudden insight by a shift in her own expression. Things could go on just as they were-if she chose. He would never know how she felt. She could fulfill the quest, claim the Queen's reward, and be free of him and his desires. She would have her honor, keep her vow intact.
For what? a little voice deep within asked her, sarcastically. This mission might never succeed. Even if it did, what would she have earned? A bare existence, for the best that would have happened was that she would have repaid her debt. She would have all the struggle to do over again. Even if she did well, what would she have? A lifetime of continuing to placate the Queen, of trying to soothe her suspicions-and every time she succeeded in something, the Queen would be certain that she was trying to challenge her. But worst of all, it would be a lifetime spent alone. Any children she had would be conceived in lovelessness, and only for the sake of having a child. She could never bear to marry...
But if she followed her heart and gave herself to Ware? This would make her unclean, ineligible for leadership. Surely the Queen had spies among the men, perhaps even all of them were spies; such a liaison could not be kept secret forever. She could never challenge the Queen for the position of Mazonite leader. Yet it was a leadership she had never coveted, and still did not want. She had not even enjoyed "leading" these few slaves-and losing so many! Making decisions for every Mazonite would be sheer misery. Better a lifetime with the male she cared for-and who cared as much for her. The male who valued honor-
Honor. How could she keep her honor and yet pay Ware in the coin he desired most-a payment she now desired ardently to give him?
The voice returned, but this time without the sarcasm.Wait a moment. What was it he said about the way that demons think? How a vow can be read in many ways, and still be valid? Surely I can use that-