He sputtered the beginnings of an incoherent response. I cut him off.
"She's dying," I said. "She needs you to be prepared. She needs to know everything her family has worked for will be secure in your hands."
He managed a response finally, sharp and aggressive. "Not in yours? "
"There is no proof I am the son of her daughter. There never can be. She may want to believe it, but she doesn't know it. And it matters."
"She's the metri. She can simply declare you heir."
"But she didn't," I told him. "She asked me to make a man of the boy who is."
"As if you could!"
I shrugged. "Try me."
His lip curled. "Southroner. I know what you are, you sword-dancers. Kill-for-hires. All these games about honor codes and oaths-I know what you are. Men of no family, no prospects. Honorless men who worship a sword, who worship death, because there is nothing in your lives otherwise, no heritage, no pride, no place with the gods when you die." He,leaned into me, challenging with his body. "And you speak of making me a man."
He definitely had mastered scorn. Fortunately, I had mastered patience.
Well, sometimes.
I crossed my arms and grinned. "Heard of us, have you?"
"You are as bad as ikepra, you and men like you. And you dare to come here into this house, into the metri's house, and profane her dwelling."
"I'm sure she's capable of hiring some priest to come cleanse and rebless it once I'm gone."
"Go now," he hissed, spittle dampening my face. "Go now, sword-dancer."
I did not wipe my face. Softly, I said, "Make me."
He was, no doubt, accustomed to striking slaves, because he drew his right arm across his chest as if to backhand me. I, meanwhile, jammed a fist deep into his belly, and when he bent over it, I hooked an ankle around his. A quick leveraged jerk to upend him, and he was all flailing arms and awkward body.
He landed hard, as I meant him to, sprawled flat on the stone of the terrace. Taken completely unaware, he drove elbows into stone, smacked the back of his skull, scraped his forearms, all before his legs and butt landed. When they did, he bit his tongue, which bled all over his chin and fine linen tunic as he wheezed and coughed.
I stood over him, but not within range even if he'd had the wherewithal to attempt anything. "Insults don't accomplish much," I told him, "unless you're better than the other man." I flicked a spot of dust off my tunic. "And then you don't need 'em."
Spittle mixed with blood came flying out of his mouth. He missed.
"I pay my debts," I told him. "If you don't like it, take your complaints to the metri."
Rage contorted his features. Even if he had been quick enough, skilled enough, he was so angry now any attack would have been ineffective. Breathlessly he loosed a string of teeth-gritted invective that undoubtedly would have scorched my ears had I understood the language.
Then again, maybe not. I've been sworn at by the best. And she was far preferable as company than the metri's brother's wife's brother's grandson.
I waved farewell at him. "Come see me in the morning."
FIFTEEN
IT WAS conveyed to us by the kilted servant that the metri would have us all in to dinner. I got the impression this was a rare occurence; not that guests weren't hosted properly, but that two of those guests were renegadas.
Ah well. After my discussion with Herakleio, I was primed for a more interesting atmosphere.
Which is exactly what I got. Del and I were escorted into a large, airy dining chamber already peopled by Prima Rhannet, her first mate, Herakleio, and the metri herself. Who, standing quietly beside the door, greeted me courteously, then smashed the flat of her hand into the side of my face.
The shock of it drove me back a step. Instinct took over instantly, and I trapped her wrist in one hand before she could strike again, though she did not appear to intend it.
I rubbed the knuckles of my other hand against my stinging cheek. "What in hoolies was that for?"
"Punishment," she said crisply, "for striking Herakleio."
"Now, wait just a moment-"
"It was required. I am the metri. Discipline is dictated by me."
"And what about Herakleio trying to strike a guest in the metri's household?"
"Herakleio has been punished as well."
I glanced beyond her to the table. Herakleio glared back at me. Yes, his left cheek bore a ruddy spot high on the bone.
I released her wrist. "If you intend me to make a man of him, it's going to require more than sweet words and soft caresses."
She inclined her head. "I give you leave to do what is required."
"At the risk of getting smacked around by you?" I shook my head. "That's not in the contract."
"We have no contract," she answered at once. "This is a debt, which you intend to discharge." Her eyes glinted. "However, the point has been made and need not be repeated. Now, seat yourselves at my table and enjoy the bounty of the house."
I turned as she moved through the door away from the table. "What about you?"
She paused. "There are things to be settled among you. It were better done without my presence, so you may speak freely."
And then she was gone, leaving Del and me staring in bemusement at the others.
Prima snorted, poured herself wine from ajar. "Neatly done," she said. "Why soil herself by eating in the same room as renegadas?"
"What about me?" Herakleio shot back. "I am left to eat in the same room as renegadas."
"But you are already hopelessly soiled," Prima retorted. "You slept with a renegada."
"You weren't one then!"
"No," she agreed. "I was the daughter of a slaver. Likely the metri believes that every bit as bad." She gulped wine, smiled through glistening droplets painting her wide mouth. "Herak, you are such a child sometimes. But pretty, I will admit."
He recoiled. "Pretty!"
She waved a hand in my direction as Del and I took our seats at the table. "All you Stessoi are pretty. Even the women."
"You would know," he sneered. "Though no Stessa would ever demean herself and dishonor her family by-" A pause. "-cohabiting with such as you."
"Such as I," Prima said silkily, "come from the best families."
"Not yours."
"Oh, mine is a family of slavers. But what of the original Eleven Families? Can you swear there is no other woman such as I, nor a man who might prefer another man in his bed?" She smiled sweetly. "One such as you, perhaps."
Beneath his tan, Herakleio turned pale as bleached linen, then reddened nearly to purple. He was so shocked and outraged he couldn't summon a voice to speak with.
Prima laughed at him. "No, Herak, I do not suggest your taste runs in that direction. Be at ease. I only meant that certain men may desire you even as women do."
Clearly he had never considered that. But then, neither had I. I knew of such men, such interests, of course, but had never really contemplated how I'd feel were I the object of another man's interest.
Prima Rhannet, having plunged both Herakleio and me into mutual black scowls and deep thoughts, grinned at Del. "Men are such fools, sometimes. They think they are that which dangles between their legs." She lifted her cup as if in salute. "While we women know the only truly important part of the body resides within our skulls."
"Perhaps," Del agreed, dipping a chunk of bread into olive oil, "but that need not mean we are better than they."
"Women are better than men."
"Some women are better than some men," Del countered quietly, and filled her mouth with bread.
I had poured myself some wine. Now I stopped the cup halfway to my mouth. "That isn't what you claimed when we first met!"