Ilgard…
Strange, but the first time I’d met the man, after a fashion, was in the wake of that terrifying attack. Since then, he’d been a constant in my life. I couldn’t figure him out and wasn’t particularly sure I wanted to. Cold, stern, and forbidding, he was clearly a man used to authority and comfortable in that position. He made me nervous; could really freak me out. For all that, and even though he was never technically nice, he did have his moments. We’d been through some rough stretches together, and he’d never failed to help me when I needed it.
Duty—it had to be his sense of duty. Obviously, the man didn’t care a lick for me as a person, especially as a woman. Still, he was sworn to protect me, right? And I supposed that meant being halfway decent when I wasn’t annoying him too badly. Which, I got the feeling I often did.
I scrunched up my nose. Men, who needs ’em anyway? And him, especially? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
Closing my mind, I determined not to think of the hardened High-Chief and his stoic warriors, but to unwind and enjoy my bath. However, I was aching for home, and memories came pressing past the void I was trying to create. Loneliness bore down on my soul.
I wanted to go home. I wanted my parents. My brother and sisters—Sammie, George, Harli Jean. My tabby cat, Hobbes. My own bed and my favorite pillow. A soak in a real bathtub, followed by a hot shower, using my favorite shampoo and conditioner. Warm pajamas, decorated with cartoon animals. Fuzzy slippers. A real hairbrush. Thick socks. A mug of steaming, black coffee. Curling up on the couch in the den, watching a classic movie, Ben Hur. Or a musical, like Phantom of the Opera. Or maybe something to make me laugh—Napoleon Dynamite.
I could use a good laugh right about now, I thought sadly.
Truthfully, the list of things I could’ve asked for went on and on.
Awhile later, the bathwater was getting cold, and I realized I was going to fall asleep in the tub if I didn’t get out soon. Using the supplied soap and washcloth, I gave my body a good scrubbing. Afterward, I washed and rinsed my hair with the bucket of water I discovered on the other side of the tub, presumably for that purpose.
These guys may not have much experience around women, but at least they have a basic idea of a guest’s needs.
When both dirt and soap were rinsed away and the bucket was empty, I reluctantly climbed out. Gingerly, I placed first one foot, then the other, on the cold stone floor, scowling at the chill.
Then again, maybe not. They obviously forgot a rug to stand on.
I dried off as quickly as I could, wrapped a towel around my hair, and went over to the bed to examine the borrowed clothing. It was an outfit like the Simathe serving men had worn. Although older and somewhat worn, the clothing looked clean and comfortable.
A pair of white trousers, loose and flowing on me, sat low on my hips, pooling about my ankles. Over my head went an indigo tunic, which laced halfway up the front. Pulling the ties loosely together, I fastened the ends in a bow. Even though I was only going to sleep in these things—I hoped—I found myself wishing the pants came with a drawstring so I could tighten them around my waist. Their cuffs were so long I had to roll them up to keep them from dragging on the floor.
A comb which I’d previously overlooked lay on the bed. It must’ve been hidden beneath the pile of clothing. I picked it up, pondering whether or not I had the energy to work the tangles out of my wet hair. A huge yawn cracked my jaw as I stood there thinking it over. That decided the matter. I dropped the comb onto the low stool squatting next to my bed.
Before climbing under the blankets, my practical side reasserted itself, making me scoop up my wet clothing and boots and carry them over to the hearth. Pulling up a chair, I draped the items over its back, underwear and bra on top. In the event my other belongings didn’t arrive in time, I knew I’d want some personal clothing when I had to leave my room. Hopefully, they’d dry while I slept. My boots, I lined up beside the chair.
Tasks completed, I spread my hands over the cheery blaze, enjoying its warmth until serious lack of sleep forced me to slip into bed. After burrowing my tired body into the sheets and blankets, it didn’t take long to lose myself in my dreams.
Waking the Artan
Striding briskly down the hall, the Simathe High-Chief made his way toward the bedchamber housing Treygon’s newest arrival. Torches in carved sconces placed every few feet along the coarse stone walls flickered as he walked past, casting his shadow on the opposite side. His young charge had slept the day away, and the torches had been lit for the duration of the evening and night hours. Although not technically a necessity for the Simathe, it was a tradition begun soon after Treygon was first built—a bit of normalcy to remind them they were Aerisian, not merely Simathe.
Outside her door, he raised a fist to rap sharply on the dark wood. No response. Frowning, he hesitated before trying again, louder this time. Only silence whispered from within. Surely she’d not attempted another foolish escape—it was impossible. He’d taken no chances with her. One of the warriors stationed at either end of the corridor would have quelled such an effort.
Still, knowing that endeavoring to escape was not beyond this young woman, he didn’t bother knocking a third time. Turning the handle and pushing the door open, he entered the room, his sharp eyes darting about the chamber.
The tub in which she’d bathed was full of water. Clothing hung from the chair she must have dragged in front of the fireplace, and her boots were placed neatly next to it. The fire had burned down to embers, leaving the air chilled. The only sound in the room was the soft breathing coming from the bed. She remained asleep. His knocking and entering had neither fazed nor awakened her. Curious in spite of himself, the warrior-lord moved closer on silent feet and peered down.
She lay on her side, the heavy coverlet pulled to her chin hiding any hint of her shape. Brown hair fanned out like waves on the white pillow behind her, and long eyelashes, delicately tipped, rested on lightly flushed cheeks. Lost in slumber, she looked as innocent as a child. The warrior caught a smile when he contrasted this image with the one she’d presented earlier this morning: standing there wet and muddy, her back stiff, refusing to obey his command to look at him. For a moment, with her chin held stubbornly high, she’d appeared every bit as queenly as Laytrii herself.
Leaning over, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “My lady?” He shook her gently. “My lady, time to awaken.”
Her breathing stilled, those curled eyelashes fluttering. She stared blankly in the same direction for a moment, then rolled over onto her back, lifting her face to his. Sleepy eyes of brown and green captured his. She smiled a soft, little smile.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Obtaining some rest seemed to have taken the sharp edge off her previous ill humor.
“Good evening.”
She sat up in bed. He retreated a few steps, watching the blankets slide from her shoulders and pool in her lap. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. Finished, she shook her head slightly to clear it, pushing the hair from her face.
“So what’s up?”
What’s up?
He wasn’t entirely certain of her meaning, but didn’t bother questioning her. “It is time. We will dine, and then—”
“Oh yeah.” She cut him off mid-sentence. “I forgot…the Joining. Do we really have to?”
Soft, mismatched eyes pleaded their own subtle message. Choosing to ignore their appeal, the warrior nodded curtly, offering no spoken response.
A sigh. “Okay, whatever. If we must, we must. I mean, it’s not like I’ve exactly got any choice in the matter, even though I am supposed to be this Artan person with all this supposed great power…” She wagged two fingers in the air. “…which I’ve seen little of, by the way.”
Her grumbling continued as she climbed out of bed and stood beside it, rubbing her bare upper arms. “Man, it’s cold in here. The fire’s died down,” she added, glancing first at the hearth then back
to him. “Don’t suppose my stuff is here, is it?”
“My apologies, Lady Hannah. No.”
“Darn it!” she exclaimed. To him, “Do you suppose it’ll be that long before it does arrive? Can we maybe wait until then? I mean, I’m not exactly keen on the idea of leaving my room in what I’ve got on now or what I was wearing yesterday. Those clothes haven’t been washed, and probably aren’t dry yet, either.”
He shook his head. “I cannot say when my men will return.” Gesturing toward her clothing, he remarked, “Wear what you please, but make haste.”
Not giving her a chance to protest, he quit her bedchamber, assuming a waiting position outside her door.
It would be better if her belongings had arrived, or if she did wear her clothing of the night before, whatever its condition. The apparel he’d sent for her use was far too large. It did nothing but make her appear even more delicate and fragile than she usually did. Never mind being clad in men’s attire: she’d looked decidedly feminine as she stood there with uncombed hair spilling about her bare shoulders and the rolled-up cuffs of her pants dragging the floor behind her ankles. The loosely gathered laces of the shirt had gapped slightly, allowing eye-catching glimpses of ivory skin beneath.
A woman, even the Artan, was not something they needed at Treygon, the High-Chief concluded. Having her here was clearly not going to simplify his life.
Dinner
I sighed, long and loud. Getting some sleep in a real bed had been just what the doctor ordered. I’d felt great when I first woke up. However, only a couple of minutes in the Simathe lord’s company had already altered my mood for the worse. Feeling despondent, I moved toward the fireplace and my clothing hanging over the chair. Most items were still damp and definitely still muddy. Thank goodness my underclothes were at least dry. I could wear them.
After putting the Simathe clothing on over my own personal items, I plunked down on the edge of the bed to comb out the tangles in my hair. It wasn’t easy, and my eyes smarted with the pain. The homemade soap I’d used last night lacked the detangling effects of a high-quality conditioner, and this comb wasn’t as effective for the job as a brush might’ve been. Nevertheless, I carefully kept at it until I could pull the comb’s teeth through the length of my hair. Although I wished for a mirror, I had to content myself with blindly pulling my hair into a simple ponytail, around which I tied the leather thong I’d worn yesterday.
Since I had nothing except this morning’s murky bathwater still standing in the tub with which to wash my face, I skipped that altogether. My stockings and boots were far too wet and muddy to even consider putting on, and I swear a pain shot through the blister on my pinkie toe at the very idea.
Fine. Guess I’ll have to go barefoot, then. Sure hope the floors out there aren’t as cold as in here, though.
I straightened my necklace between the tightly laced folds of the borrowed tunic, drawing strength from the gem, and feeling ready as I’d ever be to face what would be thrown at me tonight.
The Simathe High-Chief waited patiently outside my door, that obscure expression on his face. Did the man even have emotions? I was half-tempted to provoke him, just to find out.
Should’ve fooled around, taken my sweet time, and made him wait forever. All men hate that. Next time, I think I will. We’ll see if he keeps his cool then.
Unaware of my scheming, he started off without comment and I fell into step beside him. Apprehension curdled in my stomach, driving away hunger pangs. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat anything when we reached the dining hall, which is where I supposed we were heading, since he’d mentioned something about dining.
Lost in my own contemplations, I was surprised when my companion disturbed the peace by observing, “No shoes, my lady?”
I shot him a sour look. “My boots were wet, and my other shoes haven’t arrived yet. And you were the one who couldn’t wait until my stuff got here. So, yeah, I’m barefoot.”
No apology. Ignoring my ire, he kept his eyes frontward.
“Somehow I get the feeling you’re not too ashamed or worried about it, either,” I observed sulkily.
Silence.
Exasperated, I halted, planting my hands on my hips. He continued a pace or two before realizing I wasn’t there. When he swiveled about to check on me, I snapped, “Are you always this annoying, or am I just lucky today?”
Nothing. He still wasn’t rattled.
“This way, my lady,” he said, motioning me to come along.
“Oh!” I huffed, stomping past him.
How insufferable can you be?
There was no more speech between us the rest of the way. What was the point of trying? Leaving the hall, we proceeded toward a large, open room. From its four corners branched off four more hallways. We crossed it, heading toward the far end, where tremendous double doors were thrown wide to admit entry to another space. From within came subdued murmurings and the clinking of silverware.
I paused at the huge doorway, peeking inside before entering. Thick, black wooden beams crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling that soared high overhead. Long wooden tables were placed in rows of two down both sides of the hall. Another table at the head of the room was situated crossways to these, making five in all. Men were seated on both sides of the tables, around thirty at each, I would say.
When we appeared in the doorway, all muffled conversation ceased. As if on cue, every head in that place turned, every pitch-black eye fastening itself on me. A shiver ran down my spine. So many Simathe, and all with the same inhuman bronze skin, alien eyes, and hard, expressionless faces as their High-Chief.
“My lady.” Lord Ilgard beckoned me to precede him.
“Where to?” I whispered from the corner of my mouth.
“The head table.”
There were two vacant places in the middle. Swallowing my fears, I stepped forward, entering the room. When I did, every Simathe in attendance pushed back his seat at the table. Climbing to their feet, they stood in silent respect as I trod down the hall, passing between the eerily hushed tables. A soft, dull red runner stretched the length of the floor, warm and comfortable to my bare feet as I padded along. Heads turned, eyes latching onto our backs as the two of us made our way toward the empty chairs at the middle of the head table.
Once there, my escort pulled out the low-backed wooden chair, surprising me with his old-fashioned good manners, especially since I’d pretty much figured him for a clod with little or no experience around women. Maybe I’d been too quick to judge, even if he did spare no time for casual conversation or social niceties. When I sat, he helped scoot my chair up to the table before taking the seat next to me. Finally, our fellow diners moved en masse to do the same.
Food was brought by Simathe underlings dressed in clothing similar to mine. Most looked fairly young, and some couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old. Briefly, I wondered about their parents, especially their mothers. Did they really not care when their babies were taken? That was so sad to me.
Regardless of their youth, they all shared the long inky hair and pupil-less eyes of their older counterparts. They moved about the hall on silent feet, serving hot food and pouring wine into plain goblets.
Raising my own cup, I took a cautious sip of the ruby liquid. My experience with alcohol was rather limited, but this was pretty good—a lot better than the watered-down mixture Ilgard had offered me on the trail.
The food on my plate wafted an appetizing aroma, reawakening my hunger. Picking up the heavy fork, I dared a small bite. The meat was tender, the vegetables crisp, and the seasonings on both unfamiliar but edible. I discovered I was famished, not having eaten a thing since late yesterday afternoon. I ended up devouring the meal and probably scandalized my hosts with how much I packed away, although of course they didn’t show it.
When I’d eaten enough to blunt the sharp edge of hunger, I slowed down a bit to unobtrusively study my companions. They were eating slowly, methodically, any earlier interest in
watching me gone. In fact, they ignored me altogether and hardly spoke at all, even among themselves.
Okay, I’d heard of the proverbial man of few words, but this was ridiculous.
As soon as I polished off the second helping of food on my plate, a young man took it and placed before me a bowl containing some sort of heavy cream flecked with specks of cinnamon. I had no clue what it was, but I was game and used my spoon to lift a tiny taste to my lips. The dessert was sweet, rich, and melted on the tongue. My eyes slid closed, and I nearly moaned aloud. It was the most delicious thing I’d tasted in nearly a week. I reopened my eyes to find the man seated on my right—Lord Norband, the Simathe Chief Captain—studying me with a humorous gleam in his dark eyes.
“I take it you approve?”
I flashed him a grin. “Wow, it’s so awesome. My compliments to the chef.”
I doubt he knew what chef meant, but a smile broke over his face, nonetheless, and the man actually chuckled. Grinning, I put another bite in my mouth, stealing a glance at Lord Ilgard. He wasn’t smiling, and didn’t appear the least bit amused. If anything, his expression was colder than ever.
My joy fled, and my gaze dropped to the tabletop. Was he mad at me for making one of his men break his stony silence and, heaven forbid, actually laugh? I risked another sideways peek. He was consuming his own dish of cinnamon and cream in brooding silence, dead seriousness stamped on his humorless features.
Well, at least he wasn’t glowering at me. Maybe something else was on his mind.
Discussion
Now that she was well-rested and had eaten, Lady Hannah had visibly relaxed. She must have pushed aside for the time being unwanted thoughts of what lay ahead. Would that he could do likewise, yet Ilgard found he could not. After tonight, his life would never be the same.
The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set Page 18