‘Are we very far?’ she asked.
‘Not too far,’ Gilwyn replied. ‘We have hours yet till the sun comes up.’
He didn’t have to tell her not to worry. She never worried when she was with him.
‘I’m glad you came,’ she told him. ‘And I’m glad I came with you here. It is good to be alone with you, Gilwyn.’ She kissed his ear. ‘I miss you every day.’
Gilwyn grinned. Was there anything worth missing about him? He had never been successful with girls, certainly not in Koth. Yet even with his clubbed hand and foot, White-Eye loved him. Truly, Grimhold was a place of miracles.
‘I can hear them,’ he said, looking eastward over the desert. ‘I can feel them.’
‘Who?’
‘The kreels.’ Gilwyn closed his eyes, letting the sensation take hold. Since meeting Ruana, his sensitivity to the kreels had increased a hundredfold. ‘They’re in the valley. Young ones.’ He opened his eyes and pointed. ‘Out there.’
The east held the valley where the kreels bred and raised their young. It was not a secret, but few ever went there. White-Eye nodded, only partially understanding.
‘Let’s get down,’ she said. ‘Let’s stay and rest here.’
The idea pleased Gilwyn, who slid from Emerald’s back then helped White-Eye down. The night was cool but the sand was still warm beneath them. White-Eye knelt in it, running her hands through the sand and letting it fall through her caramel fingers. Gilwyn watched her, fascinated by her dark beauty. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up with her own white orbs.
‘Sit with me,’ she said, ‘and tell me of these kreels you feel.’
As Emerald lay contentedly nearby, Gilwyn slipped down close to White-Eye, stretching out his legs. Suddenly Grimhold seemed far away, and all his worries with it. The warmth of the sand felt good beneath him.
‘The eastern valley,’ he said softly. ‘I can feel them, dozens of them. They’re so alive. It’s like having fire in my head.’
‘The eastern valley is days from here,’ said White-Eye. ‘If you can feel them so far away. .’
‘I know it sounds silly. .’
‘No, I believe you,’ said White-Eye. She touched his face. ‘You are very strong, Gilwyn. The gift in you is magnificent.’
‘It’s Ruana. With her help, it’s like I can do anything.’ Gilwyn took her hand and kissed it. ‘All I have to do is stretch my mind, and I can feel the kreels in the valley. They don’t know I’m watching them.’
White-Eye grinned happily. ‘I chose the right man for regent.’
Gilwyn chuckled. ‘You chose a boy.’
‘Not a boy. A man.’
‘A very young man. Too young, maybe.’ Gilwyn pulled back a bit, unsure how to tell her his news. ‘There’s so much to do,’ he sighed.
‘What is there to be done?’ asked White-Eye sadly. ‘Lukien will go after Baron Glass, no doubt. We can only hope for his safety and pray Amaraz gives him strength.’
‘No, that’s not it. Don’t you see, White-Eye? Jador is in danger. If Lukien leaves, we won’t have his protection. There’s danger all around these days! Something has to be done, and I can’t just sit around.’
He glanced away, but White-Eye took his chin and made him look at her.
‘Gilwyn? What are you planning?’
Gilwyn had trouble meeting her gaze. ‘To go to the eastern valley,’ he said. ‘I’ve already decided. I’m going to the valley to bring back more kreels.’
‘Oh,’ said White-Eye absently. ‘You have decided?’
‘You made me regent, White-Eye. I can decide these things.’
She surprised him with her calmness. ‘That is true. And Minikin? She approves?’
‘She was the one who first told me about the valley. And now I know she was right.’
He sounded so certain; perhaps that was why she didn’t argue as expected. Instead White-Eye held his hand, nodding a little and hiding her fear.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Gilwyn hurried to say. ‘I know how to control them. I can bring them back safely.’
‘I am sure you can,’ said White-Eye. ‘But I worry for you, Gilwyn. The valley is far from Jador, two days ride at least. And there are rass along the way.’
‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. He had already considered the great, hooded snakes. ‘I’ll avoid them the best I can.’ He tried to look brave. ‘I have to do this, White-Eye. If more of Aztar’s raiders come, we have to be ready for them. The kreels are our only real defence.’
White-Eye brought her head close to his chest. ‘I am afraid for you.’ She let him stroke her hair. ‘Are you afraid?’
‘Yes,’ replied Gilwyn. ‘That’s why I wanted to be alone with you tonight.’
She twitched in his embrace. She seemed to understand. He looked down at her hopefully. He felt her body tremble. Or was it his own?
They had never been together as lovers, not in the whole year they had known each other. In such a time of need, in the shadow of war and rebuilding, Gilwyn had never found the courage to ask for it. Now, though, White-Eye understood his urgency. Slowly, she leaned back in his arms and let him lower her gently to the sand. He studied her in the moonlight. Her lips parted, opening for him. Gilwyn bent to kiss her. Deeply, he let his mouth taste her.
In the cradle of sand, he lay with her.
Part Two
25
In the feast room of Ganjor’s modest palace, King Baralosus had gathered his family to greet an important guest. The great, low-lying table had been set with ceramic bowls, overflowing with fruit and flat breads and spicy sauces made from local peppers. Colourful pillows were arranged around the table, satiny cushions for sitting on the floor, the Ganjeese way of eating. The northern influence was weak in the palace. Though Ganjor was a city at the crossroads of continents, King Baralosus honoured the old ways, the ways of the desert people, and so his home was furnished thus, with golden urns hung from draping chains and elaborate mosaics of hearth-fired tiles. The smoke of sweet-smelling tobacco rose in pink plumes from water pipes. King Baralosus’ large family — the product of three wives — made the feast room swell with happy noise. Musicians picked at scalthi, the small guitarlike instruments of Ganjor, playing as bare-bellied women danced and twirled their silk garments to the clapping of men in long beards. It was evening in Ganjor, and this evening the city played host to a guest from the desert.
Princess Salina, dark of hair and dark of eye, greeted her father with a respectful bow. She had taken her time making her way to the feast, and now took her place at the table with the rest of her sisters. She was the fifth daughter of King Baralosus but had a better seat at the table than her birth order would normally allow. Lowering herself down on the carpeted floor, she sat directly across from Prince Aztar. Her father was already seated at the head of the table. At his right side sat Aztar. The desert man’s elevated station was not overlooked by the king’s advisors, whose solemn faces dotted the long table. King Baralosus leaned back on his pillows and glanced disapprovingly at his daughter. Prince Aztar, however, stared with admiration.
Salina remained circumspect. Aztar had desert eyes. Dark eyes, like all the Voruni. His people were a fierce lot, feared by most in Ganjor, including her father. The Desert of Tears was their home. It was, according to Aztar, his own kingdom, and for the past year he had been fighting to keep it pure. That was, in part, why he had come to Ganjor. Princess Salina feared the rest of his motives.
‘At last you come to see me, Salina,’ said Aztar. He watched her, forgetting all the other women in the room, even the sensuous dancers. His voice was a baritone, but he always tamed it when speaking to her. ‘Is there a message in your lateness?’
‘None at all,’ her father was quick to answer. ‘Salina has a love for mirrors, Aztar. Getting her away from them has always been a chore. See how pretty she has made herself for you?’