Tassin glowered at Torrian with deep loathing. After she had stabbed him with her hairpin, insults had thickened the air, and she had longed for the strength to overpower him and escape. Forced to quell her rage-induced wish to kick him, she had contented herself by winning the verbal sparring. By the time he had resorted to sullen silence, the atmosphere was almost too thick to breathe. Its stifling animosity remained, making the servant scuttle nervously, for fear of bearing the brunt of their ire, she assumed.
Tassin forced herself to eat the roasted fowl and steamed vegetables she was served, despite her knotted stomach. Torrian consumed his repast with much lip-smacking and grease-dribbling, which nauseated her further. He rounded off his revolting performance with several loud belches, and refilled his wine cup. The servant offered her wine, fruit, nuts and pastries, but she waved him away and retired to her tent to escape Torrian’s company.
Tassin removed her girdle and hairpins, wishing she had other clothes. In their absence, she took off the outer dress and lay on the pallet in her thin under gown. Staring at the tent’s roof, she contemplated her bleak future, dreading that Torrian would choose to molest her now that she was at his mercy. The thought made her stomach clench further, and she forced herself to relax, listening to him talking to one of his officers beside the fire. Her vigilance did not wane until she knew, from the silence, that he had retired to his tent, then she closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy doze.
Tassin jerked awake as a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. A man with sparkling lights on his brow crouched over her.
“Hush. It’s me.”
Sabre’s husky voice made her slump, and he removed his hand. Becoming aware that it smelt of leather oil and horse, she scrubbed her lips. Indignation rushed in to fill the void that the sudden ebb of dread left, and her anger flared.
“I wish you would not keep doing that!”
“What, rescuing you?”
“Putting your dirty hands on me,” she growled.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t expecting gratitude from you. Would you like to stay here? I’m sure Torrian stinks worse than me.”
“No!” Tassin squeaked, then realised that he was joking. “You are well now?”
Sabre smiled, and she stared at the brow band. Many of the lights that had been flashing red after his fall from the cliff were now steady green again, while a few flashed amber. The diagonal line of lights remained red, and the topmost two flashed. Obviously he was not under the cyber’s control, but something had changed.
“No thanks to you,” he said.
“You made me angry.”
“I take it that means you’re sorry?”
“Go to hell.”
“Likewise. Shall we go, Your High and Mightiness?”
Sabre stood up, ducking to avoid the tent’s low roof. Tassin pulled on the overdress while he rolled her bedding into a bundle.
The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin Page 50