A number of the other drama-goers also had a notion to visit the Forest Courtyard. She noted that the vast majority of them were young couples and their chaperons. The balance seemed to be married women without their husbands. These latter were clustered together, discussing the relative merits of the drama and cooing a bit over the protagonist. Their enthusiasm was no doubt heightened by nende'ng, the intoxicating black snuff currently in favor with the court. Their overhappy, glazed expressions and the black stains around their mouths and noses testified amply to that.
The Forest Courtyard was one of the largest, so called because of the eighteen trees that were planted in it and the numerous shrubs, all carefully sculpted to appear wild. It was deemed one of the more romantic spots for courting and for extramarital affairs because it was designed with privacy in mind; the shrubs and screens of climbing plants created numerous small alcoves.
Couples ahead of them slipped off into the "private" places, their bodyguards lagging discreetly behind. This and a bit of prescience inspired in her a distinct drowning sensation, sinking and out of breath all at once. When, as she feared, Wezh took her hand and guided her toward one of the grottoes, she shot Tsem a silent appeal. He shrugged slightly as if to ask "What can I do?"
"Alone at last," Wezh said smartly. He hadn't thought of that himself—it was a quote from the drama, probably supposed to evoke in her the same tender feelings it had in the play's heroine. Instead, she wondered how Wezh would react if she were to become ill. Oblivious to her growing dismay, Wezh led her to a little stone bench. She craned her neck; Tsem was no longer visible to her.
Wezh had undergone a disquieting transformation since they had been seeing one another. His shy, tentative nature had slipped aside, and behind it lurked an arrogant self-confidence. Whenever they went anywhere, he made a great show of being with her, the Chakunge's daughter. He liked to be noticed. Worse, he believed that he knew her feelings, sensed what she wanted, because, he bragged, he "understood women." Asking her what she wanted never seemed to enter into this understanding of his, and indeed, he seemed to feel that doing that would be cheating. Ts'ih, the dashing pirate, would of course never have to ask; he would know. The only thing that ever dented Wezh's impervious armor of self-delusion was any visible show of anger on Hezhi's part. While he clearly had no recollection of whatever it was she had done to him that time, there was some distant corner of his mind that recognized danger when it was very near. Unfortunately, she was afraid to show her anger; Qa Lung would see it, see its effect on Wezh, and then he might wonder—wonder and talk.
Therefore, when Wezh leaned over and kissed her—on the mouth—she let him. It was peculiar, she thought, that people made so much of kissing. When Wezh kissed her, it felt as if someone were pressing wet liver against her lips—except that liver tasted better. Qey said that one got used to it, but she felt that it was all she could do not to pull away from him. She reminded herself that it was, after all, only the second time Wezh had kissed her. Perhaps it would get better.
He moved his attentions from her lips to her neck, and now it felt as if the wet liver were being sponged on her there. This was actually more pleasant than the lip kiss—it tickled a bit, and that wasn't bad—but it also meant that Wezh's head with its stink of half-rancid olive oil was right under her nose. She sighed in resignation.
Wezh, of course, took the sigh for one of passion and, thus emboldened, moved his hand up her thigh, toward the juncture of her legs. That was quite enough for her, Qa Lung or no Qa Lung. She reached down and firmly removed Wezh's hand from her body.
"Don't be frightened," Wezh soothed. "You'll like it, you'll see."
Hezhi disengaged herself entirely, slid toward the nether end of the bench. "I am Hezhi Yehd Cha'dune," she hissed fiercely, "and I know what I do and do not like."
"No you don't," Wezh assured her. "You know only books and old paper. You have never been awakened by the caress of a man."
She felt certain that he was quoting most of that, as well, though she didn't know from where. She fixed him with an angry stare. "I wish to return to my rooms now. The afternoon has been a lovely one." Now she was quoting—the lines of the heroine to an unwanted suitor, the villain of the piece.
Wezh nearly purpled. "You little snake," he growled. "You let me bring you here."
That was so outrageous, she had no reply at all. She merely stood up and narrowed her eyes.
"Sit back down," Wezh said in a reasonable tone.
"If you don't take me home now," Hezhi said, firmly and evenly, "you will never see me again save at my wedding to someone else. Further, I will embarrass you right here, right now, in the Forest Courtyard. If you wish to leave this place with any dignity, you will do so now, and no one will know what happened or didn't happen back here. You can say whatever you wish. But you will not touch me in that manner."
Wezh actually grinned at that, and, too late, Hezhi realized that her little speech must resemble yet some other drama, for Wezh suddenly grabbed at her. "You resist," he said dramatically, "yet in your eyes I see submission!"
Wezh was much stronger than he looked. Hezhi could not break the grip on her arm, and then he was holding her, grappling her, forcing her down. She found herself suddenly out of breath, heart pounding with fear. He was strong! As Wezh pushed her down onto the bench, he let one of his hands free to grope at her barely existent breast. Hezhi's hand, given a life of its own by sheer panic, shot out as if to embrace him and snatched a full firm handful of his oiled hair. She wrenched at it, and Wezh's head snapped back up, a look of utter surprise mingled with pain distorting his features.
"That hurts'." He groaned.
She yanked harder; he brought both hands up in an attempt to disengage her fingers, but at that moment she felt a sudden surge of strength from the place inside of her. Still jerking his hair, she wriggled out from beneath him.
"Let go!" Wezh all but shrieked.
"I want to go to my rooms," Hezhi hissed into his ear, keeping his head pulled back as he swung his balled fists ineffectually back at her. He twisted wildly, gathered his own feet under him, and lifted his fist again, preparing a more accurate jab. She let go of his hair and stepped back. Wezh lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, crawled back up with murder in his eyes.
For a moment, she thought he would hit her, but then his hands dropped, fingers uncurling.
"I don't hit women," he sneered.
She felt herself trembling, whether from fear or fury it was difficult to tell. "Why not?" she snapped. "You seem perfectly willing to wrestle them."
Wezh brushed at his clothes. "I'm going to forget this happened," he said, then added sulkily, "You don't appreciate romance at all."
"Just take me home," she demanded, voice dripping with as much venom as she could manage—which was quite a bit.
"With pleasure."