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Grus relaxed in a roadside tavern. The barmaid, who was a young cousin of the fellow who ran the place, set a fresh mug of wine in front of him. He’d had several already. His men had driven the Menteshe off just as they were riding up with torches in their hands, ready to burn the tavern and everyone inside it.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Grus told the barmaid.

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty,” she answered. “Plenty more where that came from. Don’t be shy.” She wasn’t shy herself. Her name, he’d learned, was Alauda. She was a widow; her husband had laid his leg open threshing grain, and died when the wound went bad. She wouldn’t take any silver for the wine, though Grus had offered. “No,” she’d said, shaking her head. “You saved us. This is the least we can do.”

Hirundo sat on another three-legged stool at the rickety table with Grus. “She’s not bad, is she?” the general said, eyeing her as she went to get more wine.

“No, not bad at all,” Grus agreed. Alauda had a barmaid’s brassy prettiness, wider through the hips and fuller in the bosom than would have been fashionable back in the city of Avornis. Her hair was light brown and very straight. Her saucy blue eyes were probably her best feature; they sparkled with life.

Hirundo was also drinking wine he didn’t have to pay for. “Just how grateful do you suppose she’d be?” he murmured.

“What an interesting question.” Grus glanced toward Hirundo.

“You seem to have noticed her first. Do you want to be the one who finds out?”

“And deprive you, Your Majesty? Gods forbid!” By the dramatic pose the general struck, he might have been a soldier in a besieged city offering his sovereign his last bit of bread. But the generous gesture turned out to be not quite as noble as all that, for he went on, “I’ve already found a lady friend or two down here. I don’t think you’ve had the chance yet.”

“Well, no,” Grus admitted. The trouble he’d gotten into over Alca the witch left him leery of angering Estrilda again. On the other hand, Estrilda was far to the north, unlikely to learn he’d tumbled a barmaid.

“Then go on, if you feel like it—and if she feels like it.” Hirundo sounded as predatory here as he did on the battlefield. He might have sounded different if he’d had a wife back in the capital. But he didn’t; he was single. And, knowing him, he might not have, too.

He drank up and strolled out of the tavern, clapping Grus on the back as he went. The king ostentatiously finished his mug of wine, too. When Alauda brought him the fresh one she’d poured, he said, “Drink with me, if you care to.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling. Her mouth was wide and generous. “When will I ever get another chance like this? I can bore people with the story until I’m an old granny.” She bent her back and hobbled as she went to get wine for herself. Grus laughed. So did she. He knew then taking her to bed wouldn’t be hard.

When she came back with her mug, he sat her on his lap. She slipped an arm around his shoulder as though she’d expected nothing else. One thing did worry him. Pointing to the tavern keeper, he asked, “Will your cousin there be angry?” He didn’t want an outraged male relative lurking and brooding and maybe trying to stick a knife in him. Sometimes such people tried to kill without caring whether they lived or died, which made them hard to stop.

But Alauda only stared in surprise. “No, Morus won’t mind. It’s not like I’m a maiden. And it’s not like you’re a goatherd, either. You’re the king”

To make sure Morus didn’t mind, she spoke with him after she’d emptied her cup. He looked from her to Grus and back again. Then he walked out of the tavern and closed the door behind him.

“You see?” Alauda said.

“I see.” Grus got to his feet. The room swayed when he did. He suddenly wished he hadn’t had quite so much to drink. Wine could inflame desire and ruin performance at the same time—and he wasn’t as young as he had been.

He took Alauda in his arms. She tilted her face up to him—not very far up, for she was a tall woman. Her mouth was sweet with wine. His arms tightened around her. She molded herself against him. The kiss went on and on.

When it finally ended, Grus had a new reason for feeling dizzy. “Where?” he asked.

“Here, this way. Morus has given me a little room in back.”

The room couldn’t have been much smaller. It barely held a bed. Grus was sure it had been a closet or storeroom before Alauda came to the tavern. Alauda threw off her tunic and long skirt. Naked, she was as round and ripe as Grus had thought she would be. He bent his mouth to the tips of her breasts. She murmured something wordless. He got out of his own clothes as quickly as he could. They lay down together.

Her legs opened. When he stroked her there, he found her wet and ready. He poised himself above her. “Oh,” she said softly when he thrust home. Her thighs gripped his flanks. Her arms squeezed tight. Their mouths clung.

It seemed more like a frenzy than any sort of lovemaking Grus had done lately. Alauda yowled like a cat. Her nails scored the flesh of his back. She threshed and flailed beneath him. He pounded away until pleasure almost blinded him.

When he returned to himself, he noticed the taste of blood in his mouth along with the wine they’d both drunk. Alauda stared up at him past half-lowered eyelids. “So nice to meet you, Your Majesty,” she purred.

He laughed. When he did, he flopped out of her. Regret flitted across her face, just for a moment. Grus certainly felt regret, too—regret that he wasn’t twenty years younger, so they could have started over again right away. He kissed the smooth, white skin in the hollow of her shoulder. She giggled. He said, “You can bring me my wine—or anything else—any time you please.”

Alauda smiled. But then her expression darkened. She said, “Tomorrow or sometime soon, you’ll be gone, won’t you?”

“I can’t stay here,” Grus answered, as gently as he could. “You know that, dear. I’ve got to drive back the Menteshe.” If I can.

Everything else moved sweetly when Alauda nodded. “Oh, yes. Gods only know what they would have done if your soldiers hadn’t chased them away from this place. That wasn’t what I meant. I hope I’m not that silly. But… couldn’t you take me with you? I wouldn’t be any trouble, and if I did make trouble you could just leave me somewhere. I’d land on my feet. I always have. And in the meantime—” She wriggled to show what they might do in the meantime.

Grus started to say no. Then he hesitated. Like anyone who hesitated, he was lost. Trying not to admit it even to himself, he warned Alauda, “You know I have a queen. You won’t come back to the city of Avornis with me, no matter what.”

“Yes, of course I know that,” Alauda said impatiently. “I told you, I hope I’m not silly. And by the gods, Your Majesty, I’m not out for what I can get, except maybe this.” She took hold of him, then sighed. “It’s been a bit since my husband died. I’d almost forgotten how much I missed it.”

“You say that now,” Grus told her. “Some people say things like that, and then later on they forget what they’ve said. I wouldn’t be very happy—and neither would you—if that happened.”

“You’ve got a bargain,” Alauda said at once. “Does that mean the rest of it’s a bargain, too?” Before he could answer, she went on, “I’ll keep up my end.” She laughed again. “And I’ll keep up your end. That’s part of the bargain, isn’t it?”

“I hope so,” Grus answered. “I was just thinking I’m not so young anymore—but yes, I do hope so.”