In violent contrast with the opulence of her chamber, and the intricate, expensive garments of her women, she wore a simple, severely plain white gown closely drawn about her small, breathlessly slim figure. She sat perfectly still, just watching him for a long, long moment, and in that interval he took in every detail of her dress and appearance.
She wore no jewelry—not even a ring to mar the pure beauty of her small, capable brown hands. Nor so much as an armlet to break the gracious symmetry of her bare arms. Her dark, straight hair—it was as black, and glistening, and full of highlights as a raven’s wing—flowed smoothly over her shoulders and down her back. Her only concession to feminine ornament was a small cap, an ashkar, atop her head. It was of small, flawless ice-blue diamonds woven together with stiff threads of gold wire. Still she did not move or change her expression.
Stiffly, feeling his face burn, Linton made a small, jerky bow: inadequate obeisance to a Planetary Prince, he knew, but he did it on impulse, not intention.
He took his eyes off her, and looked about him, selfconsciously, seeing the three-step dais upon which she sat enthroned in her black marble chair, and the rich crimson and purple carpet that was laid on the steps. He was conscious of a delicious, hauntingly familiar perfume … ah, yesl … the scent of candlewood he had noticed in the salon of her space yacht.
It suited her welclass="underline" dry, musky, clean, resinous, yet sweet and heady. The scent of wild, wind-blown high places, open to the sky and tom with great winds.
Then he looked back again and caught her eyes regarding him, thoughtfully, and saw the beginnings of a slow, warm, friendly smile.
“… So you are the Raul Linton of which I have heard so very much,” she said in a clear, warm voice. “I welcome you to Ophmar, where neither of us belongs. I am the Kahani of Valadon.”
“I know,” Raul said stiffly, even rudely. He felt a vast and bewildered resentment stirring within him: resentment at her amazing youth, at her astonishing beauty, and (perhaps above all else) at her ease, poise, and air of self-reliance, which contrasted with his own lack of same—of which he was acutely conscious.
“I’ve heard of you,” he said suddenly—inanely. She laughed.
“I’m glad! Soon the whole Cluster will hear of me—Gods-willing!” Her laughter was like her smile—unforced, not artificial, springing from within.
Raul was surprised that she spoke Imperial Neoanglic so very well—with only the slightest hesitation over polysyllables (a delightful music, her hesitating slight accent gave to his common, workaday name!) and a mere touch of foreignness to certain vowels. He felt alert, as if he were all over a mass of eyes, ears and nerve-endings. Both of them (he felt) were very keen and watchful during these first few minutes of their meeting: trigger-sharp to catch intimations, hints, subtleties. He tried to force himself to relax, to stand easier—there was no other chair visible in the room, save for the one in which she sat—and to speak without awkwardness. It was a lost battle, he knew; cursing himself for a blushing schoolboy, he felt as uncomfortable as a youth at his first liaison! And there was nothing he could do about it!
In the next moment he thought perhaps she was a telepath: for mischief flashed in her huge eyes, and she said softly—
“You seem uncomfortable standing. Shall I have my women fetch you a chair?”
“Uh—no. I prefer to—stand,” he said.
In the next instant—she changed totally, taking him unawares with a sudden, direct question in High Rilké.
“Of gentility, kazar—what shouldst thou do, were thou suddenly bereft of that which was legally thine, by blood-right, law of inheritance, and kahanal screed? If, without notice or warning, or so much politeness as might be contained in a mere ‘if-thou-wilt’—thou wast forced from thy office, from thy rank, from thy home, thy servants, and all of thine possessions?”
Instantly, without a moment’s hesitation or thought, he answered straight and from the heart: “I would fight to have it back.”
“Aha! Thou wouldst fight—even though it was to break the law?”
“Yes—of honor.”
She leaned forward, staring intently into his eyes.
“Then—of honor—thou wouldst kill, to have back that which wast thine, and which others seized from thee? How many wouldst thou kill? A ten? A hundred? More? How many more wouldst thou kill?”
Dazedly: “I don’t know. If there were no other way to force the thief to give up my property, I would kill—yes. How many, I cannot say. But I would fight in every way of which I might think.”
“Even though thou be namedst ‘outlaw’ and ‘criminal’?”
“Why—yes, I guess so. I think a man has the right to fight for his property, as he would defend his woman or his possessions from seizure.” He laughed a little, but neither bitterly nor with any real humor. “Some are very swift to attach such names to others!”
She nodded, and the diamond ashkar tinkled like tiny crystal balls.
“I know that thy government has given such names to thee, Lin-ton. Such names have they also fastened to me—for that I seek to have back that which is mine, as the Dais of Valadon is mine by blood, law and marriage, and which they took from me by force, and with lies, treacherously and without lawfulness.”
“So have I heard, Kahani.”
“Then thou wilt understand my plight, and be on my side?” she asked.
“Not—exactly—” he hedged (be careful of committing yourself now; this woman is swift and keen and has a mind like lightning!). “I understand—I sympathize—but as for being on your side—”
Suddenly, she switched again—this time to relaxed, colloquial Rilké.
“I had heard, kazar, that your government has cast you out—named you traitor—set their spies to watching you and searching through your belongings. I had heard they watched your every step, listened to and copied down your words. I had heard, too, that you revolted against these unwarranted suspicions and untrue accusations. Now, answer me this? Are you, of gentility, a rebel against authority? Are you a revolutionary—a traitor—a criminal?’
Stoutly, he set his jaw.
“No, I am not. My government is full of fools and small- minded, suspicious men, fearful of their position. All I did was to have honest doubts about certain policies, to seek to make up my mind on certain matters, and to speak out my doubts!”
“And for nothing more than this, they chased you outset the police after you—named you traitor and criminal?”
“Yes!”
“But I have done even less!” she cried, fiercely. “I hold a treaty with the Provincial Government of the Hercules Stars, dating from the Empery of Kermian Imperator, father of the present Arban Fourth and of his late brother and predecessor, Uxorian—swearing peace and mutual recognition, each of the other’s custom and law! I did not even speak of any doubts as to policy—nor flout any authority—but, and only this, upon the death of my husband, the Kahan, I sought to ascend the Dais that was mine by his own, legal decree—and mine by law of inheritance! As, among the Rilké, the wife takes possession of those things which belonged to her husband, even unto land-title and hereditary honors! Yet they have seized from me all that was mine by right and law, and forced me into outlawry. Since your condition, kazar, is so very close to mine—why will you not agree that you are on my side?”