“Before I ran away to the war maids, Bahzell, you told me any man with his wits about him should realize it was best to have someone who could help when life threw problems at him. And that he ought to be smart enough to want a wife with brains at least as good as his own. I don’t know about the brains, and because of the charter, I can’t offer you a wife the law would ever recognize, but this I can offer you: a heart that loves you. A heart that loves you, Bahzell Bahnakson, not some romantic, imagined champion out of song and story. You are the kind of champion the songs and stories search for, but that’s not the man I love. That’s what the man I love is, not who he is. Who he is is a man as gentle as he is strong. A man who tries to hide the size of his heart from the world…and fails miserably, because he can never-ever-turn away from someone else’s distress. A man who treated a frightened girl as his equal. Who gave her the respect of listening-really listening-to what she had to say and who took the time to understand why she was frightened. A man, Bahzell. Not a hero, not a champion, not a warrior anointed by the gods…just a man. A good man. A loving man. A man who stands by his friends, his word, and his duty and who I know no power on earth or in hell could ever cause to betray my trust and my love. That’s who I love, Bahzell Bahnakson. Can you honestly tell me that he doesn’t love me? ”
Silence hovered between them, and then he closed his eyes, his foxlike ears flat against his skull.
“No.” The whispered word was drawn out of him, so low even a hradani’s hearing might have missed its fluttering ghost. “No, I can’t be telling you that, and may all the gods there be forgive me for it.”
“Why?” She moved closer, standing directly in front of him, and cupped his face between her hands. His eyes opened again, and she smiled into them, her voice gentle. “There’s nothing to forgive, my love.”
“Lass, lass-” He felt himself falling into those green eyes of hers, and he raised his right hand again, this time to touch her cheek with birdwing delicacy. “I’m hradani, Leeana, and you’re human. It’s not so many children we hradani have, but it’s more than ever human and hradani could. And if it should happen as we did, there’s never a grandchild you’d ever see, for the mix of human and hradani is barren.”
“You’re not the only one who ever discussed that with Wencit, Bahzell,” she told him, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “I’ve always known that. And I don’t care.”
He made a sound of mingled protest and disbelief, and she shook her head, her forehead still against his.
“I didn’t say it didn’t matter,” she said softly. “I said I didn’t care, because I would wed you- will wed you, before every god there is, whatever the charter may say about war maid marriages before the law — knowing we would never have a child. If we did, I would raise that child with you with love and happiness, and I would treasure every moment with him. But I’m a war maid, Bahzell, and war maids know there’s more to life than bearing children, however wonderful it may be to know that particular joy. Well, there’s more to life, more to being a man, a lover, and a husband-than simply siring children, too. If the gods see fit to give us that gift, it will fill me with more joy than I could ever describe, but whatever you may think of my age, I’m no longer a child myself. Young, yes; I’ll give you that. But I know what truly matters to me. I’ve spent more hours than you could imagine thinking about this, and I’ve made my choice. I want you, just Bahzell Bahnakson, and that will be enough. If we’re granted children, then my heart will overflow…but only because you’ve already filled it to the brim.”
She straightened enough to kiss his forehead gently, then stepped back again, standing between him and the bed while she unlatched her doublet and slid it from her shoulders. She smiled at the almost frightened look in his eyes and tossed it into another of the chairs. She raised her arms and stretched, arching her spine with luxurious, feline grace, green eyes gleaming with wicked, challenging tenderness at his expression before she put her hands on her flaring hips, cocked her head, and looked directly into his eyes.
“So, tell me, Milord Champion,” she said, her voice husky and soft and warm and teasing all at the same time, “are you really going to be so churlish as to throw me out of your room at such a late and lonely hour? Or are you going to prove a champion of Tomanak can be wise enough to recognize the inevitable and surrender gracefully?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Good morning, Tala!” Brandark sang out, clattering down the stone steps to the second floor chamber which had been established as the tower’s inhabitants’ dining chamber. “I could smell that omlet all the way up-”
The Bloody Sword halted abruptly as he came through the arched stone doorway. Bahzell sat in his usual place at the head of the table, but seated at his right hand, red hair loose over her shoulders and shining like flame in the sunlight pouring in through the archer’s slit, sat Leeana Hanathafressa, nursing a steaming cup of tea in both hands.
She wore a loose linen shirt and soft trousers of a deep, grassy green, bloused and tucked into the tops of her riding boots. The hilt of a throwing knife showed above the sewn-in sheath in her right boot, and a pair of scabbarded short swords stood propped upright against the stone wall under the slit. Now she looked up at Brandark through the wisp of steam rising from her tea and arched one eyebrow. He stood frozen, even his facile brain obviously slithering in confusion, and she glanced at Bahzell.
“That’s odd,” she said with a lurking smile. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him when he didn’t have something smart to say. In fact, now I come to think about it, up until this moment, I didn’t think it was possible for that to happen!”
“No?” Bahzell rumbled a deep-chested laugh, his brown eyes sparkling as they met hers. “I can’t say as how I’d ever hoped it might be possible. Mind you, I’m thinking it makes for a morning a sight more restful than most mornings are around here.”
Brandark gave himself a shake and stepped fully into the room. He looked back and forth between them for a moment, then smiled and swept them a deep, graceful bow not even one of Saramantha’s elven overlords could have bettered. When he straightened, the normal sardonic humor had vanished from his expression.
“I find myself…deeply happy for you both,” he said simply. “I see now what Gayrfressa’s secret was, I think…and why she was so pleased by it. May your lives be long, may your love be deep, and may every day bring you as much joy as I see in your eyes this day.”
Leeana’s eyes softened, and she blinked quickly. Then she set down her teacup, stood, walked around the table, and hugged him tight.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m sure there will be others who don’t see it quite that way, but I don’t care about them. I do care about about how you feel. A brother’s blessing is always a joy.”
“Aye, little man,” Bahzell agreed, smiling from his chair. “But don’t you be expecting me to come and hug such as you and get your fancy waistcoat all damp and teary!”
“It’s fortunate Leeana has enough poetry in her soul for both of you,” Brandark replied, standing back and resting his hands on Leeana’s shoulders while he looked into her eyes. He studied them for several seconds, then nodded and squeezed her shoulders once, firmly. “You’ve chosen an…interesting road, Leeana. I’m happy for Bahzell’s sake, but the bard in me is already itching to write the ballads this is going to inspire!”
“Bahzell tried to warn me about that, too.” Leeana smiled. “But we war maids are just natural troublemakers at heart. Surely you’ve heard that about us?”