"Horses now," he said firmly, when they had gnawed their way through the rock-like biscuits. She sighed, but agreed.
They had stabled the horses in the rear of the cave, and that meant that the horses had left what horses always produced. Faro had gone to the trouble of dumping dry leaves and pine needles back there, which at least would make it easier to clean up. But still...
"Share horses?" she asked, more than half expecting an argument, and an insistence that she should be the one to do the cleaning. But, with a shrug of resignation, he nodded.
Together they cleaned the stabling area and left more of the bedding material for the horses to stand in. She started to haul the used bedding just out of smelling-range, but he shook his head, and gestured her to follow him. Admittedly curious, she did so-and found that he was dumping it all in another, smaller cave nearby. After a moment of thought, she saw that this made sense; if they threw the used bedding down the cave mouth, it would not be out in the open to attract insects and advertise their presence.
He indicated that he wished to water the horses while she pulled up grass to feed them. And while the former task seemed a great deal easier than the latter-
She didn't know anything-about the stupid beasts, she admitted to herself. He did. If they over-gorged themselves on water or tried to drown themselves, she wouldn't know what to do. So she agreed without an argument, which seemed to surprise him.
After that, they had nothing to do except improve their rather primitive beds and cook their dinner. Since he seemed to know what to do about food, she let him deal with the latter while she made up the former with something a bit softer than branches.
But long before true night fell, the tasks ran out and they found themselves facing each other over the fire, with no idea of what to say.
By now, Xylina's initial resentment had become a certain grudging fascination. One thing was sure: Thesius was a handsome young man, and on looks alone, she could see why Ware-Wara-had chosen him. But his actions this day had proven that there was something more there than mere looks, and now she was curious. She knew that the demon would not have chosen an ordinary man, any more than he had chosen an ordinary woman. Appearance was only part of it.
"What are you?" she asked. And at his puzzled frown, she elaborated. "What do you do in your home? What is your family?"
His expression of confusion faded, and he actually smiled slightly. "My family rulers are," he said-which confirmed her suspicion. He was a prince, or something similar. She nodded, and encouraged him to go on.
By the time they were both tired and ready to sleep, she had learned a hundred times as much about him as she had already known-which, admittedly, was not a great deal. His family was of some land of nobility or landowners; they were certainly very wealthy, and commanded what must have been a small kingdom of traders. This, of course, was how Ware had come to know him, since the demons were great traders themselves. Thesius was, however, a very junior child-she was a little confused as to how junior, but got the impression that there were more than a dozen siblings ahead of him, and a half-dozen younger than he. As a result, his "share" of the family wealth was fairly small, and his aspirations to power minimal. She gathered that he had welcomed Wara's proposition, because he truly loved Ware as a friend, so it was easy to make that love into something physical for Wara. Also because this would give him an opportunity to escape a stultifying and increasingly boring life at home. The fourteen horses he had brought with him were, in fact, his "dowry." He was used to wealth, but it was no this wealth.
She let him know (feeling a little cynical) that if they did make it back to Mazonia, he would not lack for wealth, since Ware was quite rich in his own right. But somewhat to her surprise, he made it quite clear that it did not matter. That he would have been perfectly willing to share a cave with Wara.
She thought that she surprised him a time or two, as he in his turn questioned her. For one thing, he was startled to learn that her origins, at least, were in a family almost as privileged as his own. For another, he was amazed to find out how well educated she was. She got the impression that he had thought she was little better than a peasant, and that Ware had chosen her mainly because she was so physically beautiful and intelligent, though unlettered.
He expressed sympathy, which seemed to be quite genuine, when she revealed that her mother was dead. She expressed envy, which was genuine, when he told her about his parents, and that the family was very much like the ideal of Mazonite families, save only that authority and responsibility were shared between father and mother.
By then, they were both exhausted, and ready for sleep; it seemed a positive note to end on, and Xylina, at least, retired to her much-more-comfortable bed feeling as if she might actually be able to live with this man without wanting to kill him once a day.
By the second day, she began to see some of what Ware saw in the man; by the third, she had acknowledged that their similarities went more than skin-deep. They were not only similar in looks and intelligence, they were similar in status and attitude. By the time she went to sleep on the night of the third day, she and Thesius were friends.
So things remained on the succeeding days; Thesius' command of the Mazonite tongue improved out of all recognition, and she actually began to learn his odd language. That opened the way to further communications, and she picked up something about his land as she taught him about Mazonia. Both of them assumed that Mazonia would be the end of their journey; it was, after all, Ware's home. It made sense to go there, rather than somewhere else.
She could certainly see why Thesius had been so eager to leave his home. The passions that drove his family, for increased trade and increased territory, were things she had seen in successful Mazonites and had never understood. And the customs! The Mazonites had at least one positive thing going for them, even Thesius agreed: they tried to keep pomp and senseless, ancient customs to a minimum. But Thesius' people made a fetish of ceremony.
He had confessed to a feeling of profound relief when he rode out of the tiny kingdom of Copera, and she could not blame him. Every moment of his time had been hedged about with some custom or other-most of which had no real meaning any more.
When he woke, he must immediately rise and go to the window to recite a child's rhyme to the rising sun. Then he would be given a "breakfast" consisting of a single slice of bread, a spoonful of jam, and a sprig of herb. He must fold the bread in half, crosswise, and eat it from one of the two longer points, then take the herb sprig and leave it precisely in the middle of the plate. Then recite yet another verse.
For every action of the day, there was a verse. For putting on clothing, for taking it off. For eating and for drinking. For greeting and departing. For seeing sunny weather or clouds. Food must be eaten in a certain order, clothing donned in a certain order, the body bathed in a certain order. Floors must always be swept from right to left. And so on, until the verses of retirement and sleep.
The customs of the court were even worse.
"I could never live there," she declared. He nodded in complete agreement.
"We are more slaves to our customs than you women have ever made your men," he replied, and she had to agree with him.
Finally, she made him a pledge: one that she had never expected to make to any man. That there would be neither mistress nor slave within the walls of their home. They would have to play the game for the sake of peace outside those walls, but it would be a game. And never, outside those walls, would she use the game to hurt or humiliate any man, much less the men that she knew and cared for.