The Outworlder Read online

  Jared measured him for a moment and then went to a small, polished stone table holding a crystal decanter and several stubby glasses. Jared lifted the decanter and proffered it to Kirin.

  “Care for a drink?”

  Kirin shook his head.

  Jared shrugged and poured himself a glass. “Sit, please,” he said, jerking his head toward the long table. “Just push that stuff out of your way.”

  Kirin obeyed. “Maps, maps, and more maps. How many maps of this desolate and God-forsaken place does a man need, Jared? I mean, really.” He picked one up, glanced at it, and then tossed it aside.

  “As many as it takes to find what I’m looking for,” Jared answered, taking the other seat and setting his glass on the table.

  “And what are you looking for, exactly?”

  Jared measured him again. “That’s not why you came here, is it?”

  “Well, no, not—”

  “Then why don’t you just get to the point?” Jared swirled his drink and took a slow sip.

  Kirin thumbed the edge of one of Jared’s books, then cleared his throat. “I was wondering about the girl.”

  Jared’s eyes flickered up to rest on Kirin’s face. “What girl?”

  “The girl you carried here out of the desert. The one you visited before dinner. You know.” Kirin leaned forward, as if this were some great secret between the two of them. “The outworlder.”

  “She’s not a girl, Kirin.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Jared. We’re going to play semantics now?” Kirin slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  “It’s not semantics, Kirin. There’s truth, and then there’s not truth. Speak truth, or you can take yourself and your questions out of here.”

  “Whatever,” Kirin muttered. Jared arched his eyebrow, and Kirin hurriedly added, “So will we see her tomorrow? Is she well enough to join us in the hall?”

  “She’s well enough, but whether she’ll join us is still an open question.” Jared took another drink, feeling the heat of the alcohol begin to settle in his stomach. “It would please you, would it? If she came?”

  Kirin looked up quickly, his tawny curls falling across his eyes. “Why do you ask like that? We all want to see her.”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “What the hell is your problem, Jared?” Kirin snapped. “You act like you’re so much better than the rest of us all the time! So superior. Is it because you’re the only one who goes trekking in the western desert? The only one who dares hunt the hunters? Is that what makes you think you’ve got the right to treat the rest of us like infants?”

  Jared shrugged and polished off his drink. “What’s your point?”

  “What’s yours? You’re the one who’s skewering me for having a little natural curiosity.”

  “My point is that she’s out of your reach, Kirin. So just be careful.”

  “And why’s that, Jared? You have a claim on her already?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  Jared surveyed his empty glass, then met Kirin’s gaze. “She isn’t like the women of this place. She’s not…she’s not tame, Kirin.”

  Kirin grinned suddenly. “I know. That’s the point.”

  Jared rocked his chair back on two legs. “You know something? You’re an idiot. And here’s a bit of friendly advice. If you think you want to play that game with her, I suggest you start by trekking out to the western desert to hunt some Dragon-Lord scouts yourself. Get some guts, Kirin. Or she’ll tear you to pieces before you even know you’ve been hit.”

  “I think you’re just afraid she’ll like me,” Kirin said, still grinning.

  Jared let his chair down with a bang. “Believe me,” he said, “that was the last thing that would’ve occurred to me.”

  Kirin laughed and stood up to leave. “Whatever you say, Jared Desert-Stalker. Whatever you say.”

  The door closed behind him, and Jared heard his laughter echoing all the way down the hall.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Jared muttered after him, and then a wicked smile swept across his bronzed face.

  He woke the next morning just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. He lay still for a moment, watching the light spread through the curtains and across the floor. It was like watching a flower blossom in accelerated time, and Jared felt a deep and quiet joy flood through him. A breeze ruffled the curtains gently, as if to rouse him from rest, and he got up and stretched.

  He poured water in the washbasin against the far wall and splashed it over his face and neck, shaking the droplets out his dark hair and wetting his bare chest. When he had finished he wiped his hands dry on his wide-legged black pants and stepped out onto his balcony, drawing a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

  The rising sun splashed the eastern sky with a wash of red and orange, and the eastern wing of the Great House cast a sharp shadow over the courtyard. Jared’s room, in the center of the third floor of the west wing, was just high enough to escape the deepest shadow, and the ambient light around him grew steadily brighter.

  He stretched again, closing his eyes and putting his hands behind the back of his head. Then he leaned his forearms against the stone balustrade of the balcony and gazed down into the courtyard. It was utterly empty, but the fountain’s gurgling voice seemed to be welcoming the dawn with the same joy that pulsed through Jared’s veins. His eyes flickered over the windows of the east wing, lingering on the third-floor balcony second from the southern end of the building, where garnet colored curtains fluttered in the early morning breeze.

  He smiled to himself and was about to go back inside when some movement on that balcony arrested his attention. The garnet curtains were suddenly jerked aside, and then Sahara stepped out onto the balcony. She was rubbing her arms, not brusquely, but slowly, as if comforting herself. As she paced up and down the length of the balcony, her hands on her arms kept time with her feet—a slow, meditative pace. Then she stopped, put her hands on the balustrade, and inhaled deeply, her eyes closed, her face tilted up toward the morning sky.

  She did not look in his direction when she opened her eyes, but down into the courtyard. She leaned on her arms, as Jared had done, but her right hand went to her hair, her fingers lifting the strands and testing their length.

  What’s she doing? Jared wondered, unable to take his gaze from her.

  Her hand worked methodically from the back to the front, and when she had measured the hair that lay across her forehead, she suddenly bowed her head until it rested on her forearms.

  Jared felt like his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his throat. Sahara’s shoulders heaved, and he felt in his gut, though he couldn’t hear them, the sobs that were wrenching themselves out of her. At last, her shoulders stilled, and she lifted her head, wiping her cheeks with the palms of her hands. Then she was gone, and the curtains, disturbed by her swift movement, billowed in and then out again.

  Jared lingered on the balcony a moment longer. Could my invitation to breakfast be so distressing to her? he wondered. And if not that, then what?

  He went inside and dressed rapidly. He would go and ask her, and he would go right now. Snatching his sword off the table, he pulled the door shut behind him and started off down the corridor.

  He reached her door sooner than he had expected, and he hesitated for a moment. A wave of doubt suddenly washed over him, but he dropped his fist against the smooth wood of the door anyway.

  No answer. Another wave of doubt threatened to extinguish his resolve utterly. He put a hand on the doorknob and turned it, surprised to find it unlocked. Gently he pushed the door open a crack.

  “Sahara? It’s me…it’s Jared.”

  “Isn’t it too early for breakfast?” Even through the heavy door, he could hear the strain of tears in her voice.

  Jared peered around the door and then, meeting no objection, came inside and shut the door behind him. “Yes, but I thought I’d come by and see how you were fee
ling this morning.”

  She watched him mutely from where she sat on her bed, her bare arms hugging her legs against her chest.

  “So…how are you?” he asked.

  A shuddering sigh rippled through her body, but she said nothing.

  He sat down on the end of her bed. “I’m glad to see the bandages are off,” he said, nodding at her ankle.

  “I guess so,” she said.

  He raised his eyes to her face. Tears trembled in her green eyes, and her cropped red hair ill-concealed the long, dark scab that ran almost the whole width of her forehead. Jared took a deep breath.

  “Sahara, listen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything about breakfast this morning.” He paused, and then added, “If you’d rather eat here, I’ll be happy to bring something up to you.”

  Sahara’s eyes widened momentarily, but she shook her head. “No. I’ve been thinking about it, and…and I think you’re right. I should come with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll come. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But I don’t…I don’t know what to wear.”

  Her eyes locked with his, and he smiled gently at the raw helplessness in their depths.

  “That’s easily fixed,” he said. “I know that Lady Aliya had this room prepared for you, so I’m sure there are other clothes in here for you to wear.”

  “Where?”

  He knelt down next to the bed and opened a drawer in the base of the platform. Inside were shirts, cropped pants, and skirts, all in black and white. He pulled open the adjacent drawer and she saw dresses like the one Aliya had worn the night before, but these were in hues of delicate green and dark brown.

  “So it seems you have more than enough to choose from,” he observed, grinning up at her. “What would you like?”

  Sahara leaned over and ran her fingers over the dresses. “I’ve never worn anything like these,” she murmured. “So soft….”

  “The ladies of the house usually dress for dinner,” Jared told her. “I suspect that’s what these are for. Breakfast and the noon meal are much less formal. You know, more come-as-you-are affairs.”

  Sahara drew her hand back and sighed. “I’m not sure I want to come as I am,” she murmured, her fingers un-consciously tracing the long scab on her forehead.

  Jared frowned. “I think you look lovely,” he said briskly. He pulled a white shirt and a pair of black pants out of the drawer and tossed them on the bed next to her. “Here,” he said. “These should be fine.”

  He got to his feet and went to the other side of the room, where the wash basin sat on a table. As he filled the basin from the pitcher and set a towel next to it, Sahara slipped off the bed and joined him.

  “There,” he said. “You can wash your face, if you wish.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You don’t want to look like you’ve been crying, do you?”

  Sahara started like a wild horse under his touch. “So what if I have been crying?” she snapped. “Who cares?”

  Jared felt for a moment as though she’d actually slapped him. “I just meant….”

  “I can manage from here, thanks.” She bent hastily over the washbasin, splashing water up into her face.

  “I’ll just wait for you outside, then,” he said, hiding his surprised confusion by turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  *****

  Sahara kept splashing in the basin until she heard the door close behind Jared, and then she lifted her face and pressed it into the towel. It was refreshing, she had to admit, and she did feel better about the world now that her face was clean and dry.

  She shed the clothes she had been wearing and slipped into the clean ones. The shirt was of the same fabric as her other one, but this one had cap sleeves and a tie that crisscrossed around her waist and tied behind her back. The cropped pants had delicate silver embroidery along the side seams.

  There was a rapping on the door, and Sahara opened it herself this time.

  “What do you want?” she asked, leaning her head out the door.

  “I forgot to give you something.” He waited and she stared at him expectantly. Finally, he asked, “Can’t I come back inside?”

  She pulled the door open and stood aside for him to enter, and then shut the door behind him. Without a glance in his direction, she went out onto the balcony again. Jared followed her.

  “You look nice, by the way,” he said, leaning on the balustrade next to her.

  “Right.”

  “I brought you this.” He pulled a silver chain crusted with amethysts out of his pocket. “All of the noble ladies of our city wear one of these. Aliya wanted you to have this one.”

  Sahara stared at it, glittering in the palm of Jared’s hand. “I don’t wear things like that,” she said stiffly.

  “Why not?” He knelt suddenly and fastened it around her left ankle. “There,” he said, straightening up. “Now you do.”

  She looked at the anklet and shivered suddenly, uncontrollably.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Don’t you like it, daughter?” her father asked, watching her with a smile as she toyed with the jeweled silver chain around her ankle.

  “It’s beautiful, Papa,” she said, bouncing up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll wear it forever.”

  Forever…forever….

  The silver anklet tinkled to the floor, shattered by cruel pliers, replaced by a prisoner’s shackle…then the walk down that corridor stinking of blood and death….

  “Are you all right?” Jared asked, laying a hand on her arm.

  Sahara slapped his hand away and retreated to the end of the balcony. “Take it off,” she gasped, kneeling and clawing at the clasp. “I can’t wear this…I can’t…”

  He was at her side in a moment, kneeling beside her, undoing the chain. When it was off, she sat back against the balustrade, panting.

  “Why don’t you tell me what just happened,” Jared said, very slowly and very quietly. “Because I don’t understand.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t understand.”

  “No. I’m not going to take that for an answer this time, Sahara. I’ll never understand if you don’t start explaining.”

  She turned on him, her eyes snapping fury. “I don’t want to explain to you, Jared. It doesn’t matter, anyway!”

  “If it causes you to react like that to a gift given out of kindness, then it surely does matter,” he said, his voice still low. After a long pause, he added, “Those memories will haunt you for your whole life if you don’t release them, Sahara.”

  She was crying now. “You don’t know anything about my memories! You don’t know anything!”

  “I do know something about memories, Sahara. About my own.” He sat back against the railing and gazed at the silver bangle in his hands. “I was forced to watch my own father’s execution—my father’s and my two older brothers’. And my mother died of grief…I saw that too.” His jaw suddenly tightened. “My only sister was cut down in front of my eyes, fighting for the freedom that my father had always wanted us to have.” He swallowed hard and then stared Sahara straight in the eyes. “So I know a thing or two about dealing with traumatic experiences.”

  Sahara suddenly felt how selfish she had been, as if the point had been driven into her on the tip of a knife. “I…I’m sorry,” she said, wondering at the words as she said them. “I didn’t know.”

  “No, you didn’t. But now that you do know, why don’t you try trusting me a bit? I have a strong sense that our pasts are alike somehow, and an even stronger one that those memories are destroying you inside.”

  Sahara leaned her head back and stared up into the bright blue of the sky. “I’m just not ready to talk,” she said finally. “I need more time.”

  Jared held out the anklet. “This is yours to keep,” he said. “Wear it or not, as you please.”

  She took it, the metal warm from his hands. “I
can’t wear this today,” she said. “But I will keep it.”

  There was a noise in the courtyard, a faint tinkling that grew steadily louder. Jared rose and held out his hand. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

  She hesitated. “Did you mean what you said?”

  “What?”

  “That I look nice?”

  His smile was like warm sunshine after rain. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Sahara.”

  “Then I’d be happy to join you.”

  She put her hand in his and they went inside together.

  Chapter 5

  When she entered the hall with Jared a few minutes later, everyone stood and all conversation died away into a profound silence. Sahara’s grip on Jared’s hand tightened convulsively, and he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

  “A place for the stranger!” called someone at the far end of the table. “Here, Jared! There are places for you here.”

  Sahara’s gaze snapped to the speaker—a young man with tawny curls and a ready smile. He seemed friendly enough, but there was something about him that made her feel uneasy.

  Jared led Sahara around the table to the empty seats. The young man pulled out the chair beside him and motioned for Sahara to sit. The others in the hall resumed their seats as well, and talk once more swirled through the room.

  “I’m Kirin,” the young man said as soon as she was seated.

  Sahara managed to smile at him, and found herself studying his—the irises a bright silver, the pupils wide and dark. They would slowly fade to obsidian at nightfall, following the track of the sun.

  When Kirin’s smile widened, she realized that she was staring at him, so she dropped her gaze to her plate. Then she peeked sidelong at Jared from under her lashes. He was eating calmly, pulling pieces of bread apart with his fingers and popping them one by one into his mouth. His cool, quiet confidence was marked next to Kirin’s eagerness. Sahara frowned slightly, shuddering away from her sudden appreciation of her rescuer.

  “What’s your name?” Kirin was asking her. “Would you like some water? Some of this juice? It’s delicious—made from a native fruit. Do you have enough bread to satisfy you?”