Nisa pushed the litter across the cell, until it rested beside her bed. She instructed the room to grow an extension of the curtains around the litter, so that he would be with her even when she slept.
When she finished, she felt the helot’s eyes on her, appraising. “Ayam,” she said, “you will treat this man as my honored guest, do you understand?”
The helot bowed deeply. “Yes, noble lady. All is clear.”
Nisa frowned. Was the helot mocking her? No, she must be imagining it. She turned all her attention to Wuhiya.
Ruiz woke in fairyland, or so it seemed to him. Pastel silks diffused a soft warm light, sweet fragrances filled the air, and hovering over him was the transformed face of Nisa. The black cinnamon hair of the phoenix was cunningly swirled and plaited with strands of glittering gems; her heart-shaped face was painted with great skill; she wore a simple tunic of some sheer fabric that touched her body lightly. When she saw that he was awake, her face lit with a glow that warmed him in places that had been cold for longer than he could remember.
“Wuhiya,” she said, breathless.
Ruiz’s body trembled in the grip of the antisedative, and he felt the small sucking pains of the limpet’s withdrawal. His throat was full of disuse, and at first he couldn’t make any intelligible sounds.
“Where is this?” He heard a frightening weakness in his voice.
“You’re safe, Wuhiya. This is my apartment. Isn’t it pretty?”
Ruiz was confused. His last memories were of the Moc and its ice gun, the tearing sensation in his mind as the death net threatened to trigger, the precarious sense of reprieve as it stabilized. The translation to this perfumed luxury disoriented him in a way that was only half-pleasurable. The limpet finished its withdrawal and fell away from his neck. He wanted to reach up and rub the spot, but his arm would not respond. Then, slowly, life began to burn back into his muscles. The pain twisted his face, and he saw his distress mirrored in Nisa’s pretty features. “It’s all right,” he croaked. “I’ll be better soon.”
She smiled and wiped away the sheen of pain-induced sweat with a cool cloth. The gesture was a curiously practiced one, and Ruiz understood that Nisa had been caring for him.
Sentimental tears trembled on his eyelashes; he cursed his weakness, but it was all he could do not to sob with relief. He wondered again at Nacker’s manipulations, but now he felt no indignation. Whatever Nacker had done, however the minddiver had meddled, the result was not without merit. Ruiz’s heart was raw, true, but what did he expect? Nacker had somehow cut away the calluses of a hard lonely lifetime.
Then another face floated into his misted vision, a striking androgynous face, alight with malicious curiosity. Ruiz’s vision cleared abruptly and he frowned. Here was an unpleasant manifestation indeed. “What’s this?” he asked.
Nisa patted the creature’s broad shoulder. “This is Ayam, the helot that the Lady Corean gave me when I became her special guest.”
Ruiz closed his eyes. Not only was he locked in a cell with one of Dilvermoon’s treacherous race, but the cell was in Corean’s private apartments. He wondered how matters would next worsen. Then he remembered that Corean now knew for certain that Ruiz was no Pharaohan, and not even a pangalac tourist, innocently scooped up with the phoenix troupe.
Ruiz could look forward to a brainpeel. He hoped his shield persona would hold up.
The following days saw Ruiz’s recovery completed. Nisa was touchingly solicitous, though occasionally her patrician background would surface obnoxiously. Ruiz dealt with these imperious outbursts by ignoring them, and soon Nisa would regain her good humor.
The herman Ayam was a constant source of anxiety for Ruiz. He observed with a surprisingly vivid sense of relief that Nisa had assigned Ayam a bed separate from her own. The herman’s hostility toward Ruiz was apparently not obvious to Nisa. She didn’t seem to be able to grasp the idea that the helot was dangerous.
“But,” she would say, bewildered, “Ayam’s only a slave. What harm could come of that? Ayam is here for our convenience.”
Ruiz could think of no discreet way to point out to Nisa that although they also were only slaves, he had high hopes of being harmful. The cell was certainly monitored. So he would say, patiently, “Nisa, Ayam may be a perfectly gentle being, but it springs from a race that bred itself for treachery. Dilvermooners are in demand for all sorts of nasty jobs — extfam tapeworming, dynastic subversion, pseudopols — you name it, a herman can be found to do it.”
Nisa, puzzled by these unfamiliar crimes, would glance at Ayam, who would shrug and look hurt. And Nisa would shake her glossy head and give Ruiz a reassuring pat, the sort that frightened children receive from indulgent parents.
Eventually he persuaded her to completely enclose Ayam’s cot with a sturdy shell, locked externally. Now at least it was possible to banish the helot from sight. Ayam went cheerfully enough, to Nisa’s relaxed perceptions, but Ruiz caught poisonous glances, whenever the herman was ordered away.
The privacy yielded benefits, as soon as Ruiz was sufficiently recovered to take an interest in lovemaking. Thereafter Nisa was no longer bored. The hours passed pleasantly under the colored silks of Nisa’s bed. Ruiz was as happy as he could be under the circumstances, though he wondered continually what Corean planned.
There was time for Ruiz to learn a little more about Nisa. She seemed to enjoy telling Ruiz about her life as the daughter of the King, though she avoided the subject of her Expiation, and whatever crimes had led to it. Her stories involved parties and Rain Carnivals and midnight swimming in the cisterns, and Ruiz’s eyes occasionally glazed over as she spoke. It saddened him to think that the soft pleasant life she had led as a princess might have cheated her of the toughness she would need to survive as a slave.
But then he would remember the stage, and the path she would walk on it, and he would fall into a silent mood.
She asked him about his own past life, but he laughed and teased and evaded her questions. He did admit to being a tradesman, in a business beyond the stars. When she pressed him, he said that he was a sort of talent scout. He fended off her few questions about life in the far worlds, and, in fact, she showed remarkably little curiosity. He surmised that she found the subject distressing, that she preferred not to think about the universe beyond Pharaoh. He felt no inclination to upset her; let her take comfort where she could.
He told her his real name, since Corean would peel that out of him whenever she got around to it.
“Ruiz Aw. A curious name,” she said, rolling the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue.
Ayam was locked away, and Ruiz and Nisa naked in her bed, when Flomel arrived. The door gasped open at the most indelicate moment possible, and Flomel bustled in, accompanied by the giantess.
“Nisa,” Flomel called. “Where are you?”
He stood puzzled for a moment, his greyhound head questing about the cell. Then he noticed the quiver of the canopied bed. He stepped briskly across the floor and parted the silks with his wand. By that time Ruiz and Nisa had separated somewhat and had pulled a coverlet over themselves. Flomel’s eyes widened, and he gasped, much louder than the door.
“What is this?” Flomel’s lean features were purpling, and he shook with rage.
“Get away from my bed,” Nisa snapped, as outraged as the magician. Ruiz remained silent, gathering himself.
No one moved for a moment, until the giantess said, “Where’s the herman?”
She stepped into the cell with a heavy confident tread, her tiny features drawn together with suspicion. “Where is it?” she asked again. She looked in the bathroom, then she looked in the bed. She took hold of Ruiz’s arm with a massive band and drew him from the bed effortlessly. She pulled him close and spoke again. “Where is it? The Lady will be very unhappy if you’ve damaged her property.”