“Rubbish! He’s jealous! He sees my young limbs, my hips, my ripe breasts, and he wishes he could have a slice of my rich fruit pie. Well, he can’t.”
Nienna stared at Kat, then. She shook her head. “That’s horse-shit, Katrina.”
“Maybe so. But Saark says I’m beautiful, and I could take my pick of Jevaiden, Salakarr, Yuill or Anvaresh; and I could make money, lots of money, with my beauty.”
“By doing what?”
“I could be a dancer, or escort rich men to the theatre. Saark said they pay a lot of good money to have a beautiful young woman on their arm.”
“And in their bed,” snapped Nienna. “Are you really that foolish? You’d be little more than a whore!”
“Maybe that’s what I want!” stormed Kat, her temper escalating, her fists clenching. “At least it’d be my choice!”
At that moment Saark entered, and stood, smiling at the two women. He was transformed. He wore a fine silk shirt of yellow, with ruffled collar and cuffs of white cotton; he wore rich green trousers made from panels of velvet, high black leather boots, and his long curled hair had been oiled and was scraped back into a loose ponytail. He looked every inch the ravishing dandy, the court noble fop, the friend of royalty. He smiled, and a rich perfume invaded the room, a musky scent of flowers and herbs.
Kat whirled, and her temper died. She smiled at Saark. “You look…ravishing!” she said.
“Where did you get the clothes?” asked Nienna.
“I bought them. From a clothes merchant. I make contacts fast, especially when I enter a new town looking like a diseased cesspit cleaner.”
“Kell said for us to keep a low profile.”
Saark grinned. “This is me keeping a low profile.”
“But,” said Nienna, choosing her words tactfully, “you look extremely, um, wealthy. And the smell! What is that smell?”
“The perfume of gentry,” said Saark. “Popinjay’s Musk. It’s expensive. Well, ladies, I’m waiting to eat.”
“We need to change,” said Nienna. “Or at least, to beat the dust from our clothes.”
“Wait there,” said Saark.
He disappeared, with Nienna and Kat frowning at one another. When he returned, he carried two dresses, one of yellow, one of blue. Both were silk, richly embroidered, and Nienna and Kat clasped their hands together in wonder.
“Saark!” said Nienna. “I don’t believe it!”
“They’re beautiful,” beamed Kat, walking around Saark, her hand reaching out, almost timidly, to touch the silk.
“Only the finest clothes, for such beauty,” he said, grinning, his eyes shining, lips moist.
“But we can’t wear them,” said Nienna, suddenly, smile dropping, lip coming out a little. “Kell wouldn’t approve.”
“To hell with the old goat. You’ve been to the Pits of Daragan and back; you deserve a little pampering. I surely couldn’t let you go downstairs to eat wearing those tattered rags. It would be…indecent!”
“Thank you, thank you,” said Kat, eyes shining.
“Get dressed. I’ll meet you down there.”
“Did you get anything for Kell?”
“No. If he wishes to look like a beggar in a sack, so be it. He wishes to blend in? Let the old sourpuss blend in. I’m going to have a fine time. We nearly died back there, in Jalder, and on the journey. And I may be dead tomorrow. But tonight! Tonight, ladies, we dance!”
Kat giggled, and Nienna swirled, holding the dress to herself. Saark turned to leave, then whirled about suddenly. He peered out, down the corridor, checking Kell wasn’t about to inflict damage on his body again. Then he pulled a vial from his cuff, and handed it to Kat.
“What is it?”
“Perfume. To make you smell as good as you look.”
Kat uncorked the vial, and sniffed, and her eyes widened. “But,” she said, shrugging, “where do I put it? I’ve never had perfume before. Old Gran used to say it was the trademark of the whore.”
“Pah! Sour words uttered by every damn woman who couldn’t afford it. It’s called Flowers of Winter Sunset. I once knew a queen who wore it…so trust me, it’s special.”
“It must have cost a fortune,” said Nienna, eyes narrowing. “Or you’re full of horse-dung.”
“No, it cost a pretty penny,” said Saark. “Let’s just say the horse I took from the soldier had enough gold coin to sink one of Leanoric’s Titan Battleships. So, I cannot take full credit. But enjoy, ladies! Enjoy! I will go and see what paltry food is served on these premises.” He stepped forward, took the vial from Kat, tipped the vial to the cork, then dabbed some behind her ears. “Here, princess,” he said, smiling into her face. He repeated the action, reached forward, and drew a vertical line down her breastbone, to the dip in her cleavage. “And here,” he said, eyes locked to hers. She took the vial from him, then he was gone with a swirl of oiled hair, his rapier flat by his side.
Kat turned to Nienna. Her face was flushed.
“Kell is going to be pissed,” said Nienna.
“Saark was right. We’ve been through hell the past couple of days. We deserve a good time.”
Nienna shrugged, and sighed. Then she nodded. “Yes,” she agreed, and took the perfume bottle from Kat. Mimicking Saark, she dabbed it between her breasts, “And let’s put lots here, you sexy little vixen.”
Both girls erupted into laughter at her mimicry, and felt tension lift from their shoulders. It was good to laugh. It was good to joke. And for a few hours, at least, ever since the invasion of Jalder, it was good to relax in a safe and secure environment.
Saark caused a stir as he entered the main room, mainly because of his dress, but then because in a loud bellow he announced a round of free drinks for everyone in the room. A cheer went up, and Saark found himself a corner table, the oak planks warped with age. Around the walls were a variety of stuffed creatures, from weasels and foxes to a particularly annoyed looking polecat. Saark sat, sinking a long draught of snow-chilled ale, and allowing his mind to ease.
The second stir occurred when Nienna and Kat entered, in their fine silk dresses, and drew the attention of every man and woman in the room. They moved to Saark, seated themselves, and Saark ordered them each a small glass of port from a bustling server.
“Kell doesn’t let me drink,” said Nienna, as the server returned holding two glasses. Saark shrugged.
“Well, you’re old enough to do what you like.”
“What do you think of the dresses?” asked Kat.
Saark gave her a broad smile. “I was stunned upon your entry to the premises; for it was as if two angels, holidaying from the gods, had stowed their wings and glided through gilded windows of pure crystal. The room was diffused with light and effervescence, my nostrils incarcerated by perfume-not just the ravishing scent of wild flowers under moonlight, but the sweet and heady aroma of gorgeous ladies acquiring a friend. You stunned me, ladies. Truly, you stunned me.”
Kat was left speechless, whilst Nienna tilted her head, searching Saark’s face for traces of mockery. He met her stare with an honest smile, and she realised then he had switched, reverted to a former self, like an actor on the stage. Here, he was at home; revelling in his natural environment. He was a chameleon, he shifted depending on his surroundings. Now he was playing Lord of the Clan, and preening with a perceivable, educated superiority.
Kat laughed out loud, and placed her hand on Saark’s knee, leaning forward to say, “You have a beautiful way with words, sir.”
“And you have the face of an angel,” he replied, voice a little husky.
Kell entered, stalking down the stairs at the far end of the room, and Kat hurriedly removed her hand. Kell eased through the crowded common room, searching, and only spied the group when Saark waved his arm high in the air. Kell strode to them and stood, hands on hips, face full of raw thunder.
“What’s this?” he growled.
“A table,” said Saark, feigning surprise. “I’m agog with amazement that you failed to recognise such a basic appliance of carpentry.”
“The clothes,” he raged, “you brightly coloured horse-cock! What do you think you’re doing?”