The Outworlder Page 8

  “That’s it?”

  He nodded. “That’s it.”

  “What about all that stuff about which fork to use?”

  Jared grinned. “That has its time and place, but not tonight. Tonight I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

  “That makes me nervous,” she said, sighing.

  “You’ll be absolutely fine. Let’s go.”

  He rose and offered her his hand, and Sahara hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his.

  The courtyard of the Great House was ablaze with torches and candles. Under the eastern colonnade stood several long tables, heaped with all manner of meats, breads, fruits, and sweets. Great casks of ale had been rolled up from the tavern, and men were busy filling their tankards. There were also bottles of some sparkling fruity drink clustered on a special table, and Jared poured a glass of it for Sahara to try. She tipped her head back and downed it in a single draught.

  “It’s like…like drinking sunshine!” Sahara said, setting her empty glass on the table.

  “Yes, but be careful with that stuff,” Jared warned. “It’s called estevalia, and though it doesn’t taste like it, it’ll knock you out faster than that ale over there.”

  Sahara smiled and held out her glass. “Then I think I’ll have another.”

  Jared left her sitting on the edge of the fountain, happily sipping her drink. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “Don’t fall in the fountain while I’m gone, okay? And don’t drink any more of the fizzy stuff, either!”

  *****

  Sahara watched Jared shoulder his way into the throng of people, feeling at once a strange thrill in the pit of her stomach and a wave of emptiness, as if she were suddenly alone in the world. She shook her head with a frown, and then drained the second glass of estevalia.

  As she set her glass beside her, the music began. The melody was beautiful—haunting and a little sad—but its insistent throbbing bass summoned her to dance. It was music that admitted sorrow, but insisted on life. Sahara had never danced before, nor even felt the urge to do so, but already her feet were tapping the gray stones.

  “Sahara!”

  She glanced up, startled, and found Kirin standing in front of her. Her buoyant mood evaporated suddenly, and she scowled at him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I was hoping you’d forgiven me,” he said. “May I sit?”

  Sahara moved her glass and regarded him warily. “You aren’t going to force-feed me anything again, are you?”

  Kirin laughed. “No fear of that! But I will get you another glass of estevalia, if you like.”

  Sahara hesitated, remembering Jared’s warning. “Maybe in a little while.”

  Kirin was surveying her boldly and she felt her skin prickle. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Sahara shrugged and smiled, rubbing her bare arms. After a moment he asked, obviously trying to sound casual, “Where’s Jared?”

  “Why?” She was on her guard again immediately.

  “He just always seems to be hanging around wherever you are, that’s all.”

  Sahara bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Should it mean something?”

  Sahara’s eyes narrowed. “Look, I’ve just forgiven you. I’d hate to have to throw you in the fountain and cause a scene.”

  Kirin laughed softly. “I’d love to throw you in the fountain and cause a scene.”

  Sahara stood up, annoyed to find her legs so unsteady beneath her. I shouldn’t have drunk so much, she thought. She moved to slap Kirin across the face, but he caught her, firmly but not cruelly, by the wrist.

  “Let go of my wrist, Kirin.”

  “Would you like to dance?”

  The question was so unexpected that she wasn’t sure how to answer. She glanced toward the southern end of the courtyard where the band was playing. A crowd had already gathered there, swaying to the rhythm. She felt the music flooding through her, calling to her.

  “Come on, Sahara,” Kirin pleaded, getting to his feet, “let’s dance.”

  She studied him for a moment, commanding her mind to focus, and collected herself. “No thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know how, for one thing.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that! I can teach you.”

  He was grinning eagerly at her, and she began to feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Pushy. He was always too pushy. Like the spoonful of honey. Too insistent. She pulled her wrist out of his grasp.

  “No, that’s fine. I think I’ll just stay here and watch.”

  She turned away, hoping that he would take the hint and leave. He didn’t.

  “I bet you’d dance with Jared if he asked you.”

  Sahara turned on him fiercely, but checked herself just in time, remembering that she was at a party and was supposed to behave herself. “So what if I would?”

  “So it’s not dancing that scares you,” he continued, his smile widening. “It’s me.”

  “Nothing about you scares me, Kirin.”

  Kirin laughed. “So you say. But this is a different game now, Sahara. You’re acting the lady tonight—no daggers at a party, I’m sure Jared told you. And I know you think being a lady makes you vulnerable, makes you weak.”

  It took Sahara a moment to process what he was saying. “What has that got to do with anything?” she snapped.

  “Are you afraid of being weak?” He was uncomfortably close now, leaning toward her and speaking in a near whisper. “Are you afraid of what I might be capable of?”

  Sahara wrinkled her nose at him and arched her eyebrows. “Kirin, I wish you’d get over yourself. I can change the rules of this game any time I choose. I’m acting like a lady right now because I want to, but don’t for a second make the mistake of thinking that I’ve actually changed. Continue invading my personal space and you’ll regret it.”

  Kirin suddenly took a step back and ducked his head. Sahara started to smile, congratulating herself silently on her victory, but then she realized that Kirin wasn’t looking at her. He had seen someone standing behind her.

  “I was just reserving your place for you, Jared,” he said.

  Sahara turned to see if Jared was really there. He was, and when she saw that little half-smile on his face, the one she found at once so very unsettling and so reassuring, she knew he had overheard her little speech. She couldn’t help the flush that instantly warmed her cheeks.

  “Thanks, Kirin,” Jared replied. “I’ll be happy to take it back now.”

  Kirin turned on his heel, spearing a particularly malignant glare in Jared’s direction as he left. As she watched him slink away, she suddenly understood what had just happened. As soon as Jared sat down on the fountain, Sahara lashed out at him.

  “You’re like animals!”

  “I—beg your pardon?” he said.

  “You and Kirin. Like animals!” When he simply blinked at her, she explained, “I’m your territory. He respects your turf. That’s why he left. Because of you!”

  Jared grinned. “Oh, that’s what’s chafing you, is it? That it wasn’t your brave words but my strong and silent presence that scared him off?”

  She could tell he was teasing her, but she wasn’t about to let him off with a jest.

  “Yes, it’s chafing me!” She swore so viciously that even Jared winced in surprise, and added, “I hate this game!”

  Jared laughed aloud then. “I heard what you said. About all this being your choice, or not.”

  “I’m sure that must chafe you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He paused for a moment, looking like he had a confession to make, then he said, “I left you here by yourself to find something out.”

  “You didn’t send Kirin over here, did you?”

  Her horrified expression made him laugh again. “I would never do that. Not even to my worst enemy.”

  “So what were you trying to find out, then?” She crossed
her arms and waited.

  “I just wanted to see whether all this had really changed you or not. The stupid etiquette lessons, the pretty dress.”

  Sahara felt like she was at the bar of judgment with an absolute enigma for a judge. “You were testing me?” she asked finally.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  He glanced up at her and smiled again. “And it hasn’t changed you at all. Just like you said.”

  She studied him intensely, trying to figure out whether this was a good result or a bad one, and trying to figure out why she cared so much. “So what does that mean?”

  “It means,” Jared said, “that I’d like to ask you to dance.” He held out his hand, and, when she hesitated, he arched his eyebrows and said, “Let’s dance, Sahara.”

  She slowly put her hand in his and let him lead her into the throng of other dancers. After a moment of feeling the rhythm of the drums in her chest and under her feet, she forgot all her irritation and smiled in genuine joy.

  For the next few minutes, Sahara was completely absorbed in keeping time to the music. The sensation was so new, so strange, that everything else faded into the background. But once she found she had a natural sense of rhythm, she began to notice her surroundings again. The subtle roughness of Jared’s linen shirt under her fingers, the gentle breeze that somehow made its way through the bodies around them.

  “You dance very well,” he remarked.

  “Really?” She smiled at him. “I’ve never danced before in my life, but it’s like it’s in my blood. The rhythm, I mean. It’s…” She took a deep breath. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. I feel so alive…so free.”

  He was quiet, and she was thankful. She wanted nothing more than to drink in the moment, the feeling that was coursing through her. After a moment she closed her eyes, heightening her other four senses.

  *****

  Jared couldn’t trust himself to speak. He had always appreciated the fact that Sahara was a beautiful woman in her own way, and he had always felt, too, a strange connection with her. But he suddenly had the sensation that he had never really seen her before tonight. All her usual guards were down, and he wondered if this was what she had been like before the Dragon-Lords had destroyed her life.

  She doesn’t need to change, he realized. She just needs to be in a place where she feels secure, with people she trusts.

  In that kind of place, she could let her guard down. She could become the Sahara that hid within.

  If I were Kirin, he thought, she wouldn’t look like this. It’s me —it’s because she trusts me.

  He held her gently, but the sudden protectiveness he felt for her made him feel suddenly powerful. And then, before he knew what was happening, she laid her head on his chest.

  Jared was so surprised that he hardly dared to breathe. He had never even let himself imagine a moment like this, and now that it was actually here, he didn’t know what to do.

  “Are you…are you all right?” he murmured in her ear.

  It broke the spell.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she shoved herself away from him, her cheeks flaming. He caught her hand as she turned to run.

  “Sahara! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes flickered up to meet his. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Sorry for what?”

  She shook her head, pulling against his hand. “Let me go,” she whispered.

  She glanced back up into his eyes, and Jared caught her gaze and held it. For a moment, he thought he could read her very soul there in her eyes—confusion, heartbreak, pride, embarrassment, insecurity, and smoldering resentment.

  Then she dropped her eyes and tugged against his hand. “Please,” she begged. “Let me go!”

  He released her, watching as she slipped out of the crowd and vanished.

  Chapter 9

  Jared made his way slowly through the orchard toward the library, still puzzling over the previous night’s events. The afternoon was shimmering with heat, and as the rippling of the river cut through his thoughts, the sultry air seemed suddenly to weigh on him with oppressive force. He paused. A swim would do him good in this weather, and might help clear his thoughts.

  He began descending the gentle slope of the orchard toward the river, but slowed his pace when he noticed someone sitting on the bank. It wasn’t until he was within twenty paces of the person that he realized who it was, and he immediately groped his way behind one of the trees.

  Sahara.

  She sat staring out over the river, water from her wet hair coursing down her skin. Three long scars marred the rosy smoothness of her back. Two were cut crosswise from her shoulder blades down to her waist, and the third ran straight along her spine. Where they intersected, there was a strange tattoo.

  Jared ducked around the tree again and knocked his head back against its trunk. I’ve been so stupid! he thought.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, he tore back up the hill. He entered the kitchen at the back of the main hall and then ascended a small, winding flight of stairs that ended abruptly at an oaken doorway. Jared paused a moment, his hand raised, but with a shake of his head he dropped his knuckles against the wood.

  He hadn’t been to see Childir in months, not since Sahara had come to the city. He’d seen him in passing at council meetings, but had never stayed around long enough to speak to him. He didn’t think his former master would hold a grudge, but he felt suddenly awkward about facing him anyway.

  “Come!” summoned a voice from within.

  Jared opened the door and entered quietly. Light flooded the room from the open north windows, and the faintest breath of a breeze whispered through bunches of dried herbs hanging along the ceiling, releasing their sweet and savory fragrances. An old man sat at a table facing the door, surrounded by piles of books. A plate with cheese and bread and a cup of clear water sat untouched at his elbow.

  “My lord Childir,” Jared said with a bow. “I hope the day finds you well.”

  “As well as ever, my son,” Childir replied with a twinkle in his eye. “But what brings you here?” He beckoned Jared to a chair against the western wall of the room. And though he didn’t say anything more, Jared felt like squirming in his seat.

  “It’s…hot today, my lord,” Jared said. That’s a stupid thing to say. Why would I say that? Who cares about that?

  Childir studied him. “It is…but that isn’t why you are sweating.”

  Jared sighed. “No, it’s not.”

  Childir stroked his long beard with one hand, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Then why don’t you speak what is on your mind?”

  “It’s Sahara, my lord.”

  Childir’s eyes flickered. “Ah, yes. The outworlder. I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting her, even though I’ve heard so much about her.” He waited for a moment, but when Jared said nothing, he prompted, “Well? What about her?”

  Jared took a breath. “I just don’t understand her very well, even after all these months. And I have been meaning to bring her to see you…it’s just never a good time.”

  The most recent time he’d planned to bring Sahara to see his old teacher, she’d bruised her ribs in a bar fight. He cleared his throat and continued. “But there’s something… I think you need to know something about her.” He hesitated, and then rushed on, “She was a prisoner bound for the Dragon-Lords’ labor camp in the mountains, but her ship crashed and she escaped.”

  “That much everyone in the city knows.” There was just a hint of impatience in Childir’s voice, but Jared was too agitated to notice. “Arnauld has told me something of her, and I have gathered information about her in other ways as well.”

  Jared regarded him with surprise. “Arnauld told you about her?”

  “Of course he did. He came to me the day you carried her through the gate and asked for my advice.” Childir’s eyes twinkled at Jared. “He is not so remiss in his attentions to me as some are. I have more or less kep
t up with her comings and goings, and I have my ways of learning things. But she isn’t very tame, is she?”

  Jared frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by tame, my lord. But she’s certainly nothing like the women of Albadir.”

  “No, so much is certain,” he chuckled. “But there was something you wanted to tell me about her?”

  “She bears the mark, my lord. Three scars and the mark. On her back.”

  Childir fixed his eyes on Jared, his face suddenly serious. “Did she show you these herself?”

  Jared stared at the floor, feeling suddenly very young and very foolish. “No, my lord. At least…not exactly.”

  “Then how do you know of them?”

  There was a long silence. “I…saw them. Just now. I came upon her at the river…”

  The image of her sitting alone on the riverbank, the sunlight dappling her bare skin and wet hair, everything reflecting the heavy sadness that clung to her, flashed into his mind. He couldn’t finish what he wanted to say, so he just sat there, silent, hoping Childir would understand.

  After a moment, he hazarded a glance at the old man’s face and found Childir watching him with an intensity that made him thoroughly uncomfortable.

  “Does she know that you saw her?”

  “No.”

  Childir turned away at last, swiveling about in his chair to look out the northern windows. “My son, do you know what it means? What you saw inscribed there on her back?”

  “I know something of it, but not much. Not everything. I know that the scars are from the flagellation, but that much is customary for any who are taken prisoner by the Dragon-Lords.”

  “It is. But there are three strokes, not two. Two is the customary number.”

  Jared nodded. “I know. And the mark—I have only seen it worked in a drawing, and there was no explanation of its meaning. I was hoping that you might know, and that you might help me to understand what it means.”