"Maybe you haven't noticed, Healer,” L'istra snarled, “but we don't keep pets here. Everyone is useful, no matter how decorative.” She turned and stalked away before he could catch his breath.
What had he just done? Then her last words cracked something open inside him and he startled himself with a burst of laughter. L'istra stopped short and glared over her shoulder at him. Nona frowned and grasped Adon's arm. He fully expected her to rest her hand on his forehead and ask if he had taken ill. Sputtering, he shook his head and backed away from her.
"She thinks I'm decorative, and she's angry about it.” He sputtered more when L'istra's frown went crooked and her lips twitched.
He thought of Lady Taisha and her plans to make him ‘more decorative.’ Here was a woman who thought he was entirely too pretty and didn't like it.
"Madmen are not in fashion this season,” L'istra grumbled, but she turned to fully face him. “What plagues you?” she cried when Adon burst out laughing again.
He sank down to the paving stones and knelt, nearly putting his head between his knees as he fought for control. Through the churning in his brain and the growing need to breathe, he exulted in knowing L'istra worried about him. She cared, and from her anger, it wasn't just conscientious caring that came with responsibility. She wasn't being kind when she called him friend—she honestly liked him and considered him more than her hostage slave.
Maybe she wouldn't mind if he told her that he listened for her nightmares, so he could creep into her room, hold her, and drive the night fears away?
Finally, Adon got control of himself and regained his breath. He got to his feet and stumbled across the courtyard to the table where the three sometimes ate together.
"There was a woman, back home in Eber. Everyone thought we were a splendid match.” He paused to take a few deep breaths, still feeling a little giddy from his laughter.
"That unnatural blonde who made such a scene at the city gates?” L'istra rolled her eyes and snorted amusement when Adon nodded. “She recovered from the loss of you quickly enough. I asked Commander Chupak about her, and it turns out he married her."
"Poor fellow. Someone should question his sanity,” Adon muttered, which earned giggles from Nona and a grin from the princess.
"He likes a challenge. She's trying to remake him, and he's taming her. If he doesn't tame her, I'll have to rethink assigning him as your father's right hand. But what about her?"
"Father didn't approve of her for me. He didn't disapprove either, but I should have taken a clue from the lack of his approval.” Adon shrugged. “Be that as it may ... she tried to remake me, and the more she encouraged me to leave healing to my underlings and spend more time on politics and courtly affairs and parties—and acting as a decoration that enhanced her beauty—the less I liked being around her. The thought of a lifetime spent with her, worrying about clothes and jewelry and assuring her she was the most beautiful woman ... exhausted me."
"Now that's a common sense lad if ever I saw one,” Nona muttered. She winked at Adon and shook a finger in his face when he just grinned at her.
"You tossed the useless bit of fluff out on her bony hind,” L'istra said, more disgust than amusement in her voice. “You did, didn't you?"
"The short of it is, she told me I had to give up my messy, smelly, undignified occupation if we were to have a decent life together, and I told her, in front of witnesses, that we were to have no life together at all. She twisted it around to claim that she drove me from her life because I was no longer decorative, and it would be too much work to make me fashionable."
"Fashionable. Let those who care about clothes and perfume more than safety and peace be smothered under all their clothes and drowned in vats of perfume,” L'istra snarled. She met Adon's gaze for five heartbeats, fire in her eyes. Then she tipped her head back and laughed, until she nearly slid off her pillow seat.
That night was a turning point for them all. Their friendship changed to a warmth and depth Adon had never experienced with anyone else before. He supposed much of it came from the secret joke between them. He only had to mutter “decorative,” to get L'istra to laugh. If she said something or someone was decorative, even in the most innocent or bland tones, he immediately avoided the person or item. It amazed and amused him to discover that many people in court whom he disliked and distrusted, L'istra and Nona also considered decorative. Their private joke was ridiculous and childish, he knew, but Adon marked that evening as the start of a new contentment and peace in his life.
Until the day the very decorated Prince Amaran of Gohl came to Parses.
Adon expected L'istra to have another nightmare after the arrival of the prince, youngest brother of the man who murdered her sister and tried to rape her. He stood outside her bedroom door that night, listening, but she slept quietly.
Or perhaps he was wrong. When L'istra came out for breakfast, she looked paler than usual and had shadows under her eyes. She smiled and mockingly complained about having to spend the entire day in the council, going through ridiculous, time-wasting, entirely decorative ceremonies with the envoys from Gohl. The meat of the prince's visit to Parses wouldn't even be revealed until two or three days later. Between now and then, she would have to sit through feasts in honor of the visiting royalty.
Adon noticed she said nothing about Amaran's company. That was a bad sign. It was a given that every prince or envoy of a marriageable prince who came to Parses would make some effort to ask for Princess L'istra as a bride. Some were honest enough to admit they wanted a royal marriage to raise their kingdom from vassal status to ally. L'istra gave the most respect to those requests. Anyone who came praising her beauty and grace and skill in battle, she scorned and sent packing.
Her silence on Amaran's physical appearance and his behavior at the welcoming feast worried Adon. To make matters worse, Amaran's oldest sister had been betrothed to Anrak, the brother just two years older than L'istra. The girl had died three moons ago, destroying the hopes for a strengthened alliance. Everyone expected Amaran to ask for L'istra as his wife. It was only a matter of time.
"She's hurting,” Nona said, when L'istra left to attend to her duties for the day.
"She didn't have that dream last night,” Adon said without thinking.
She patted Adon's hand. “Don't think I haven't noticed you standing guard on those nights when she's likely to have that dream. She trusts you enough that she doesn't gut you with that sword hanging over her bed before she opens her eyes."
"She could do that, couldn't she?” He sighed. “She didn't have that dream last night. I'm thinking she didn't sleep."
"She didn't take the poppy draught I gave her. If she doesn't tonight, I'll sit on her and you can pour it down her throat."
'Do you really think the two of us could force General Istrak to do anything she didn't want to?” He smiled, but he couldn't laugh.
"We'll have to, if we want to protect her. You love her as much as I do.” Nona snorted when he flinched and just stared at her, and she patted his hand. “It takes a while for common sense to work its way into young minds, but I can see it. And I think she could love you, if she'd open her heart to anyone."
"Nona ... as a healer—"
"I know, you're going to tell me that often, a girl who's been raped can never find pleasure in a man's arms ever again. You'll tell me that it's nothing in the body that a healer can fix, but in her heart and mind. I know that. But my child wasn't raped. She was bruised and bloodied and turned something inside her to stone in her fight to survive. But she wasn't raped and I know she will find the sweetest joy with a lover, if she would only let herself.” She fixed Adon with a piercing look. “If a man worthy of her has the courage to love her until she loves him in return."
I thought I loved Taisha. The love my parents had ... I don't know if I'm capable. He gave her a fancy bow used by fluttering, useless, decorative courtiers. “Why are you looking at me? I'm a peace hostage, and nothing will ever make me
good enough to warrant the Emperor's consideration.” He nearly laughed aloud when the knock came on the door, meaning his escort had come to take him to the army barracks for this morning's duties. Rescued again by the soldiers of the Parsadi Empire.
"There are many ways to win the Emperor's approval,” Nona muttered, and her smile turned fierce and mischievous.
* * * *
Prince Amaran was handsome without being decorative. He was polite without being obsequious. He had a hearty laugh and didn't wince or pretend to be offended by the coarse jokes L'istra's favorite officers told during an inspection of the elite officers barracks. She liked him that he didn't rely on his royal status for his authority. The scars on his arms came from actual combat with real weapons. He had proven himself as a soldier, and from all reports had the respect rather than the fear of his men.
It wasn't his fault that his older brother killed her beloved older sister. It wasn't his fault that Mitterand then tried to rape her, his hands wet with L'innea's blood. It wasn't his fault that Mitterand denied L'istra's tale of the events, calling her sanity into question. It wasn't his fault that he was Mitterand's image, but not quite so glossily polished. Amaran had some rough spots that made him real and, L'istra had to admit, highly attractive, even if he did look so much like his brother that she wanted to vomit the first time she saw his face in the throne room.
None of his brother's crimes were his fault, because at the time Mitterand abused and then murdered L'innea, Amaran and his mother and sister were living in hiding, condemned to an outlaw existence for the simple crime that Amaran's mother was the second wife. Still, she couldn't forgive him for giving her nothing to hate.
Amaran was only four years older than L'istra, but he had come out of the mountains and offered his sword to the general of the Parsadi Empire's army the day the soldiers crossed the border into Gohl. He hadn't done as other cast-off and disaffected royal sons usually did, waiting until the war was over and Parsadi had taken all the losses and risks before claiming his throne. He had worked for it.
Every time he looked at her and that soft, wondering smile lit his eyes, she felt sick to her stomach. Amaran wanted her, man to woman, in a way that had nothing to do with the alliance between Gohl and Parses. She was just a woman to him—a desirable woman, at that—and he forgot that he was a prince of a vassal kingdom, paying for the crimes of his vile brother. He was just the man that wanted the woman.
Few knew the full story of what had happened in Gohl. Her uncle knew, the priests who helped examine her memories as well as her body, and her father. They would understand when she refused Amaran's request for marriage.
Unfortunately, L'istra knew the rest of the world wouldn't understand. Even more important than her sword to protecting life and the health and vitality of the Empire, her fertility was a precious commodity, almost a sacred trust. What would the people of the Empire, the citizens of Parses, her own soldiers say, if they learned that General Istrak refused to marry because she had been attacked by a disgusting madman when she was a child?
They would be dismayed, many would mock, others would lose all respect for her. The thought of the pity Adon would show her gave her a pain worse than anything else she considered.
Her father had promised he would never force her to marry because of what happened to her. But that didn't mean the Emperor of the Parsadi Empire wouldn't ask her to consider marriage for the sake of the Empire.
Her silent complaints and fears spun through her mind all day, distracting her during a swordplay demonstration with her elite soldiers. L'istra realized what was about to happen a moment too late to twist her blow aside. She watched in horror, time slowed like honey in winter, as her sword slashed down at Commander Shayan's temporarily exposed neck. She screamed warning as she tried to pull back the force of the blow, and kicked upward in a vain attempt to get the innocent man out of the way.
Shayan gave her a wide-eyed, stunned look as he went down, trying to avoid the edge of her sword. He failed, but she consoled herself that the gush of blood wasn't as wide and fast as it could have been.
To compound her shame, Adon was the first healer to reach the fields where the demonstration had been taking place. He shook his head once, made a tsking sound, and his eyes took on a soft, opalescent glow as he called up magic. L'istra thought a prayer of thanks to the Unseen that Adon did have magic at his command. She stayed close by, locking her knees to keep from going down in a helpless heap of nauseated guilt, and she watched. If she could have given some of her own strength to aid in the healing, she would have.
What had happened to her? She never would have fallen apart like this before. She couldn't blame her shifting, uncontrollable thoughts on her sleepless night, could she? Her gaze and thoughts fastened on Adon. She remembered the last time she dreamed of Mitterand and L'innea and that hot, bloody night in the mountains of Gohl. Adon had stepped into the dream, lifted her out and held her. He had held her the last three times she fell into her childhood dream of helplessness and terror and rage. L'istra wished she could ask Adon to lie down with her tonight, use his healer powers to put her into a dreamless sleep, and hold her to keep the nightmares away.
"Princess?” Adon stood before her now, reaching with one bloody hand. “Are you all right?"
"Shayan? Is he all right?” she managed to say without stammering too badly.
"My pride is hurt worse than my shoulder,” Shayan said with a ragged chuckle that did nothing to calm the churning in L'istra's belly. “That will teach me to let my mind wander to what Aeila is making for dinner tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And what she has planned for dessert.” Adon snorted, eyes sparkling with amusement. L'istra managed a half-hearted grin.
"I'm sorry.” She called herself twenty names for coward, letting Shayan take the blame for her blunder.
"Just think how you've impressed your suitor,” he said and gestured at the canopied dais, where Amaran and the Emperor and various court functionaries waited.
"Let's pray to the Unseen that accident scared him off,” Adon growled as he gathered up his bag of healing supplies.
L'istra stared, her mouth falling open. Shayan burst out laughing. Could it be Adon cared about her more than friendship could explain? L'istra pushed the thought away immediately. Just because she wanted to feel his arms around her didn't mean Adon felt anything toward her, man to woman. It was impossible. The collar ensured that.
Didn't it?
Chapter Six
"Do you like poppy juice, Princess?” Adon asked, startling L'istra so she nearly dropped the honey cake she nibbled right into the lily pond.
"It makes me want to sneeze,” she admitted. It comforted her to see Adon smile. Why did everyone expect her to be strong, immovable, no flaws or foibles?
"Then I suggest you take to your bed and at least pretend to sleep before Nona pinches your nose and makes you drink it.” Adon didn't smile now. “I don't think she was joking when she said she'd sit on you and I was to make you drink."
"No, likely not.” She shuddered. “But if I lie down and close my eyes, I might fall asleep."
"May the Unseen prevent such a tragic occurrence.” He bowed low to her, like one of the more obsequious courtiers. L'istra's snort earned a crooked grin from him. “You have to sleep some time. I'd hazard a guess this afternoon's accident wasn't all Shayan's fault."
"I don't want to sleep.” She whispered to keep the admission from turning into a wail. Her thoughts from that afternoon leaped back to the fore of her mind. “Adon, could you—"
"Use my healing gifts to make you sleep? Of course. Whether I can guarantee you no dreams ... that I cannot do. Dreams are a gift from the Unseen to help us solve problems and riddles or even teach us something important. Stopping dreams is not wise."
"How did you know I didn't want to dream?"
"I know when you have nightmares, Princess."
"You came into my dreams, didn't you?” L'istra didn't know whether to laugh or
be sick when Adon nodded and refused to meet her gaze. “Then you know my shame."
"You survived a journey through the mountains that has killed grown men, and you were a child. What shame is there?” Anger sparked in his eyes, and that comforted her.
"The great General Istrak, Scourge of the Unseen, the Blade of Vengeance, pride of the Parsadi Empire.... “She sighed and rubbed at her sticky, sandy, sleep-hungry eyes. “Fears to be a woman."
"So does every man with a lick of common sense."
Laughter crackled in her throat. Something burst inside her, like a soap bubble, loosing a heaviness that weighed down her stomach and head and heart. L'istra staggered forward a step, and somehow found herself resting one hand on Adon's shoulder, leaning against that arm.
"Please, guard my sleeping tonight?” she said, her voice ragged.
Adon caught up her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes burned with a look she saw in Prince Amaran's eyes. But that was impossible. Adon wore the collar.
She went to her room, washed and put on her loose shirt and trousers and lay down with just a light sheet pulled up to her chin. Then she called softly for Adon. He slipped into her room, looking back over his shoulder, probably to make sure Nona didn't see him enter.
L'istra flinched when Adon settled on the side of her bed and leaned over her. Her face burned. How was it, she could face down an enemy who came at her, foaming at the mouth, screaming obscenities, wielding poisoned weapons, and never even blink—and yet when a friend touched her face, she felt weak and slow and clumsy?
A very handsome friend, that contrary little voice inside her responded. He's a man and handsome and in your bedroom. How much more obvious can it get?
He wears the collar, L'istra retorted, and felt her face grow even hotter. Now, she not only had that tormenting voice in her head, but she responded to it!
The Sword and the Slave Page 7