But Tchazzar had discovered his fate was linked to Jhesrhi Coldcreek’s, and he wanted to tie her to him with bonds of affection and gratitude as well. Yet despite all the favor he’d shown her, she often seemed morose and aloof.
But perhaps the ice was starting to melt, because, for a change, he hadn’t been the one to suggest they spend time together. She’d diffidently proposed it, and he intended to be as charming a supper companion as any lady could desire.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Yes,” Tchazzar said.
“Lady Jhesrhi is here,” the servant answered.
So she was, waiting in a portion of the royal apartments that afforded a panoramic view of the rooftops of Luthcheq and the crimson sunset beyond. She looked endearingly uncomfortable wearing a trailing formal gown the color of honey, with her blonde hair arranged in elaborate braids.
They exchanged greetings, and then he did her the honor of pouring her a goblet of tart white wine. Careful not to let their fingers touch, he placed in her hand. She sipped, and smiled a wan little smile.
“Come say good night to my little brother Amaunator.” He waved her to one of the two leather chairs positioned before the row of open casements. “And as we see him off for the evening, you can tell me about your day.”
Jhesrhi hesitated. “It was pleasant.”
Tchazzar gave her a look of mock severity. “It’s foolish to lie to a god.”
“It was, truly. It’s just that I keep thinking of Scar.”
“He was a brave and faithful creature. He gave his life to keep Alasklerbanbastos away from you.”
“I know.”
“But fine as he was, I’ll find you a flying steed that’s even better.”
“That’s … generous, Majesty. But you needn’t bother. Much as Scar’s death saddened me, I’ve also been thinking that it was a … passage. A sign that my time with the Brotherhood is over, and I truly am meant to stay and serve you when they move on.”
Tchazzar smiled. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
The wizard stared straight ahead. Tchazzar had the feeling that it wasn’t just to drink in the spectacle of the sunset. She was hesitant to meet his gaze. After a time she said, “I’ve also been thinking that I could find a … particular relief by staying here.”
“My lady, you’re welcome to whatever I can give you.”
“You’ve given me so much already. You probably see how unhappy I am and think me a terrible ingrate. But … by the stars, I hate talking about this! … but you know how I hate to be touched. But do you know I hate myself for hating it? That I’d give anything not to be so freakish? To share in the same simple comforts and pleasures that everyone else enjoys?”
“Yes,” said Tchazzar, “I do.” Since he had the insight of a deity, he must have realized it, mustn’t he?
“Well, it occurred to me … I mean, you’re different. You’re a god, not a man. And I have no trouble touching you when you’re in dragon form. So I thought …”
“That I could help you overcome your aversion?”
She still wouldn’t look at him. “Maybe. Or that even if I never learn to bear the touch of ordinary people, from time to time perhaps you would condescend …”
He had to hold in a grin that might otherwise have spooked her. For that was the way to bind her to him, as he’d captured the hearts of so many women in the past. And now that he understood it was possible, her severe, tawny beauty leaped out at him and made his mouth grow warm.
He just had to proceed gently and patiently. And, for the time being, not acknowledge in any way the consumation toward which they would travel together.
“My lady,” he said, “condescend is the wrong word. It will give me joy to help you.” He extended his hand. “Shall we begin?”
Jhesrhi flinched. “Right now?”
“Why not? The first course won’t arrive for a while. Just rest your hand on mine, as lightly as you like. I won’t even close my fingers around yours.”
She took a deep breath, then slowly did as he’d bidden her. Her fingertips were rough and calloused.
After a moment, her hand started to shake.
“You can stop whenever you like,” he said.
“No,” she said, her voice tight. “But talk to me. Give me something else to occupy my mind.”
“Of course, my lady. What shall we talk about?”
“Anything! Tell me why we had to fight in the north. Tell me about Alasklerbanbastos.”
By the time Jhesrhi reached her apartments, her guts were churning. But she couldn’t let it show quite yet. Life at court was still strange to her, but she had learned that everyone lived for gossip, and servants were prime conveyors of that commodity.
So she snarled for her maids to get out. And, knowing how their fussing, chatter, and mere presence often irritated her, they scurried away without questioning her command.
Just in time. Jhesrhi stumbled on into the lavatory and dropped to her knees in front of the commode. The fine supper Tchazzar had given her came up in a series of racking heaves.
It left a nasty acidic taste burning in her mouth. She spat some of it away, but for the time being would have to tolerate the rest. Because she had another vile sensation to deal with-or maybe just the memory of one. But whatever it was, it was even more repugnant.
She poured water from the pitcher into the basin, then focused her will on it. It steamed as it grew hot. Then she rubbed soap onto a brush meant for cleaning fingernails and scrubbed her hand till it was raw.
When it was finally enough, and her feeling of violation subsided, she took a bottle of wine from the cabinet and rattled off a cantrip. Magic popped the cork out of the neck. She used the first mouthful of something red and sweet to rinse her mouth, spat it in the spattered and stinking commode, then flopped down in a chair and took a long pull.
She wanted to drink until her memories of the evening grew dim and meaningless. It had disgusted her to play the weak, helpless, pleading damsel, especially since the lie was built around a core of truth. She was freakish and broken, even if it was beyond Tchazzar’s power to mend her.
He’d keep trying though, since she’d opened the door. He’d paw her whenever he could, and how was she supposed to bear it?
She couldn’t imagine. But the ploy had been the only one she could think of to lower the red dragon’s defenses and cozen him into telling her what she needed to hear.
As she’d promised she would when Aoth had asked her in his apartments the night before. Even though he’d asked in a diffident manner quite unlike the man she knew.
“I don’t know if it’s right,” he’d said. “I’ve always believed that ‘right’ is honoring your contracts. I don’t know if it’s prudent. I’ve always thought that prudence is not sticking your nose into things that are none of your business. I definitely don’t know if it’s right and prudent for you. You’re on your way to a splendid life in the country of your birth. All I can offer is more of the same mud, blood-”
Perhaps it was his guilt, and the affection that underlay it, that abruptly made all other loyalties seem inconsequential. At any rate, she’d lifted her hand to silence him. “Stop. Please stop. I’ll do it whatever it is, if only to stop you blathering.”
And since she had, and since it had worked, she supposed she mustn’t drink herself into a stupor after all. She needed to work on what Tchazzar had given her. She set the bottle on the floor and snapped her fingers. Her staff leaped from the corner into her hand.
Though Gaedynn had never admitted it, he occasionally found Aoth’s augmented vision annoying. Like now, for example. Gaedynn was supposed to be the master scout, but it was the war-mage-with plump, pretty Cera riding behind him-who sent his griffon swooping toward a particular barren crag. Presumably because he’d spotted the cave mouth they were seeking.