“I would die before I let any harm come to you, Lady Shavas.”
The councillor smiled again at the sincerity in the big man’s voice. Her hand grasped his, tightening around his strong fingers. “Thank you,” she said, “but I much prefer you alive!”
Desire flashed through Caramon. His blood burned. All thoughts of royal ladies vanished from his mind. She was a woman, and now he knew just what to do. He tried to pull Shavas near, but she suddenly snatched her hand away. Leaning back in the carriage, she glanced languidly out the window. Caramon, wrestling with his passion, thought it best to do the same.
The lights of the city shone as they always did-bright stars above the streets. The few people shuffling along the sidewalks of Mereklar tipped their hats and bowed as they passed. Caramon watched Shavas smile and nod to the citizens in turn. But he thought her smile seemed strained.
The coach turned left on another street and entered a large, open park surrounded by a fence of thick trees and hedges. At one end of the park stood a small building.
“Is this where we’re going?” Caramon asked, his heart pounding. The place seemed deserted.
“If you don’t like it, we can go elsewhere,” the councillor said coolly.
“Oh, no. This is … fine,” the warrior replied.
The carriage pulled alongside the building, and Caramon jumped down, holding out his hands. He lifted Shavas by her slim waist, pressing her warm body next to his as he lowered her to the ground. The black shawl fluttered like wings.
“Thank you, Caramon,” she said, lingering near him for an instant.
“Good evening, Councillor Shavas. I’m so very glad you have arrived on time,” someone said in a high voice.
Startled, Caramon whipped around. Behind him stood a thin man wearing a black coat. He was visibly nervous, casting his gaze up and down the street. “Are you sure you wish to have dinner here tonight, my lady? The servants refused to come after dark, and-”
“Thank you, Robere, this will be fine,” Shavas interrupted smoothly.
“Shall I show you the way, madame?” Robere asked, hands clasped together.
The councillor shook her head slightly and smiled. “No. I think we can find our own way.”
“Very good, madame,” Robere replied. Bowing again, he turned on his heel and left the travelers.
“Don’t wait,” Shavas told the carriage driver.
“When shall I return for you, my lady?”
Shavas glanced at Caramon from the corner of her eye. “Tomorrow morning,” she said softly.
Caramon thought the beating of his heart might suffocate him.
The two walked around the little building that he assumed, from the smell, was a kitchen. They came to what appeared to be an entrance into a park. The fighter’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw a cloth spread on the ground, and he realized that they were going to dine outdoors. He glanced around uneasily. What a great place for an ambush. The memory of the corpse he had seen last night almost made him turn and run. Shavas slipped her hand through his arm, walking close beside him.
“This is one of my favorite places. It allows me to be a little more … relaxed … than I can be at home,” she whispered into Caramon’s ear, bringing her soft cheek next to his.
The area was prepared when they arrived. Robere added several black pillows, placing them into comfortable positions around the white spread. Two silver candlesticks stood in the middle, scented tapers burning with a warm light. Plates and trays held fresh fruits and warm meats. TWO crystal glasses, filled with sparkling red wine, waited to be sipped.
Shavas led Caramon to the cloth. Letting go of his hand, she sank to the pillows opposite him, stretching her lithe body comfortably.
“Please, sit down,” she said, gracefully indicating a mound of cushions.
Clumsily, the fighter sat, crossing his legs under him, his tall boots creaking.
“You look splendid, Caramon.” Shavas’s compliment made the fighter flush.
“Uh, thank you,” he said, unsure if he should return the compliment or merely accept gracefully. “This is a very nice spot you’ve picked out. It’s very … uh-”
“Private.” The woman finished for him. “As Councillor of Mereklar, I am constantly called upon to stand in the public eye. But even I have needs, and one of them is occasional privacy.”
“It sounds like you lead a very busy life.” Caramon gulped at his wine.
“Yes, very busy and very … lonely.”
Shavas lowered her eyes. Her lashes cast long shadows, and a tear slid down her cheek. Caramon longed to take her in his arms, but he couldn’t figure out how to get around the food on the plates.
Staring at her glass, Shavas held it up to candle’s flame. The councillor suddenly blinked her eyes and frowned, shaking her head, as if awakening from a dream.
“A toast,” she said clearly. “To you and your brother-”
“And the success of our mission,” Caramon added loudly.
This seemed to take the woman by surprise. “Of course,” she said. “To … success.”
They sipped at the same time. Caramon would have downed his glass in one motion had he not seen his companion put her glass down, still mostly full.
“Are you hungry?” the councillor asked, reaching across the cloth to take the warrior’s plate.
Without waiting for an answer, she began dishing up food, selecting meat and fruit and fish. She took some herself, though nowhere near the same amount.
Caramon searched for forks and spoons, but found nothing and grew nervous, wondering if he had missed something again. Shavas saw his worry.
“Eat with your hands, Caramon. Nobody’s watching! We’re completely, absolutely alone.”
The woman took a berry between her fingers and brought it slowly up to her mouth, licking a drop of juice. The fighter looked on, felt heat rise to his face. He’d been hungry before they sat down, but now he wondered if he could eat a mouthful. He’d never in his life wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one.
Neither said anything during the meal. Both seemed only to be waiting with anticipation for it to end.
When they finished, Shavas wiped her fingers on a silk napkin. Robere appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere, and began clearing away plates.
“When you are finished, you may leave,” said Shavas, her gaze fixed on Caramon.
“Thank you, my lady,” said Robere in obvious relief.
“Now, Caramon,” said Shavas, “What shall we talk about?”
“Talk?” the fighter returned, startled and disappointed. He’d had other ideas in mind. “I don’t know. What do you want to talk about?”
Shavas poured herself another glass of wine. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about one of your adventures.”
The fighter thought of the stories he usually told in taverns, of blood and guts and cold steel. “I doubt any tales I know would interest you, my lady,” he mumbled, almost tipping over his wine. Grabbing it, he downed the glass at a swallow.
“You might be surprised,” said Shavas. “But if you don’t want to talk of battle, tell me about your brother. Tell me about Raistlin.”
Ah ha! Caramon shifted restlessly, jealously. Now he’d found her true interest! “Raist? What do you want to know about him?”
“Tell me what he’s like. He’s very young to have such power, isn’t he?”
“He is the first of his age to pass the Test at the Towers of High Sorcery,” said Caramon reluctantly, not wanting to think or talk about that terrible time.
“Truly?” Shavas prompted. “It must have been a frightening experience.”
“It was. Those who don’t pass the test die.”
Shavas, seeing him growing uncomfortable, smiled to herself and changed the subject.
“Have you and your brother journeyed together long?”
“All of our lives,” Caramon said softly, staring at the empty glass in his hands. “We’re never apart.”
“Except when each of you goes in search of what he truly desires.”
Shavas rose gracefully to her feet. Bringing her arms up over her head, she undid the braids coiled around her head, releasing cascading waves of soft, brown hair.