Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ the Lady’s dark eyes bored into Kevin with a fury that sought to sear him.

      He misread her temper for contempt. His own raw-nerved anger kindled in response and he surged to his feet. ‘Lady, I have enjoyed our chat. It has allowed me to practise your language and spared me hard labour under a brutal sun. But from the moment I came into your presence yesterday, you seem to have forgotten that our two nations are at war. I might have been taken captive, but I am still your enemy. I will speak no more of my world, lest I unwittingly lend you advantage. May I have your permission to withdraw?’

      Although the barbarian towered over her, Mara showed no change in composure. ‘You may not go.’ How dare he act as a guest and request his hostess’s leave. Checking her anger, she spoke in measured tones. ‘You are not a “captive”. You are my property.’

      Kevin studied Mara’s face. ‘No.’ A grin lit his features, rendered wicked and humourless by the anger that lay behind. ‘Your captive. Nothing more. Never anything more.’

      ‘Sit down!’ Mara commanded.

      ‘What if I don’t? What if I do this instead?’ He moved with battle-honed speed. Mara saw him come at her like a blur in the lamplight. She might have shouted for warriors to defend her, but astonishment that a slave might raise his hand to her made her hesitate. The chance was lost. Hands hard with sword callus closed over her neck, crushing jade ornaments into delicate skin. Kevin’s palms were broad, and icy cold with sweat. Too late Mara recognized that his banter had been a façade to cover desperation.

      Mara gritted her teeth against pain, twisted, and tried for a kick at his groin. His eyes flashed. He shook her like a rag doll, and did the same again as her nails raked his wrist. The breath grated through the back of her throat. He held her just tightly enough to prevent outcry, but not quite cruelly enough to stop her breath. His eyes bent close to hers, blue and hard and glittering with malice.

      ‘I see you are frightened at last,’ he observed. She could not speak, must be growing dizzy; her eyes were very wide and dark, and filling with tears from pain. And yet she did not tremble. Her hair hung warm over his hands, scented with spices; the breast that pressed his forearm through her silk robe made fury difficult to maintain. ‘You call me honourless slave, and barbarian,’ Kevin continued in a hoarse whisper. ‘And yet I am neither. If you were a man, you would now be dead, and I would die knowing I had removed a powerful Lord from my enemies’ ranks. But where I come from, it is shameful for a man to harm a woman. So I will let you go. You can call your guards – maybe have me beaten or killed. But we have a saying in Zun: “You can kill me, but you can’t eat me.” Remember this, when you watch me die as I hang from a tree. No matter what you do to my body, my soul and heart are free. Remember that I allowed you to kill me. I permitted you to live because my honour required it. From this moment forward, your every breath is a slave’s gift.’ He gave her a last shake and released her. ‘My gift.’

      Humiliated to her very core that a slave should have dared lay hands on her and threaten her with the most shameful death, Mara drew breath to call her warriors. With a gesture, she could subject this redheaded barbarian to any of a dozen torments. He was a slave, he had no soul and no honour; and yet he slowly, and with dignity, sat back upon the floor before her cushions, his eyes mocking as he waited for her to name his fate. Revulsion not felt since she lay helpless beneath her brute of a husband made her shake. Every fibre of her being cried out that this barbarian be made to suffer for the insult he had forced her to endure.

      But what he had said gave her pause. His manner challenged her: call your guards, his tenseness seemed to say. Let them see the fingermarks on your flesh. Mara gritted her teeth against a shriek of pure rage. Her soldiers would know that this barbarian had held her at his mercy, and chose to let her go. Whether she ordered him scourged or executed, the victory would be his; he might have snapped her neck as easily as that of a snared songbird, and instead he had maintained honour as he understood it. And he would die with that honour intact, as if he had been killed in battle by an enemy’s blade.

      Mara grappled with a concept so alien it raised her skin to chill bumps. To vanquish this man through the use of superior rank would only diminish her, and to be shamed by a slave’s action was unthinkable. She had trapped herself, and he knew it. His insolent posture as he sat waiting for her to act revealed that he had guessed to a fine point how her thinking would follow, and then staked his life on his hunch. That was admirable playing for a barbarian. Mara took stock of the result. Shaken again into chills, but Tsurani enough to hide them, she fought for composure. More hoarsely than she intended to sound, she said, ‘You have won this round, slave. By bargaining the only thing you have to risk, your own existence and whatever faint hope you have for elevation on the Wheel in the next life, you have put me in the position of either destroying you or enduring this shame.’ Her expression changed from barely controlled rage to calculation. ‘There is a lesson in this. I’ll not forfeit such instruction for the pleasure in seeing your death – no matter how enjoyable that choice appears at the moment.’ She called a servant. ‘Return this slave to quarters. Instruct the guards that he is not to be allowed out with the workers.’ Looking at Kevin, she added, ‘Have him returned here after the evening meal tomorrow.’

      Kevin mocked her with a courtier’s bow, not the obeisance due from a slave. His erect posture and confident stride as he moved down the hallway forced her to admire him. As the door to her study closed, Mara returned to her cushions, battling chaos within. Shaken by unexpected emotions, she willed her eyes closed and ordered herself to breathe deeply, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. She called up an image of her personal contemplation circle, a ritual first practised during her service at the temple. She focused on the mandala’s design and banished all recollection of the powerful barbarian as he held her at his mercy. Fear and anger drained away, along with other strangely exciting feelings. When at last Mara felt her body relax, she opened her eyes once more.

      Refreshed, as always from such exercise, she considered the evening’s events. Something might be gained from this odd man when all had been assimilated. Then another angry flash visited her. Man! This slave! Again she employed the exercise to calm the mind, but a strange and unsettled feeling lingered in the pit of her stomach. Clearly the balance of the night would hold nothing akin to tranquillity. Why did she find it so difficult to find her inner peace? Except for damaged pride she was unharmed. Early in life she had discovered that pride was a means of trapping enemies. Perhaps, she considered, even I have pride I have not named.

      Then, unexpectedly, she giggled. You can kill me, but you can’t eat me, the barbarian had said. Such an odd expression, but one that revealed much. Caught by rising laughter, Mara thought, I’ll eat you, Kevin of Zun. I’ll take your free soul and heart and tie them to me more than your body was ever bound. Then the laughter became a choked sob, and tears trailed down her cheeks. Outrage and humiliation overwhelmed her until she shook in spasms. With that pain came other emotions, equally disturbing, and Mara crossed her arms to hold herself tightly, as if she could force her body to stillness. Control returned with difficulty, as she employed her mental exercises yet again.

      When at last she regained her composure, she let out a long breath. Never had she needed to employ that exercise three times. With a muttered ‘Damn that man!’ she called servants to ready her bath. She rose, and added, ‘And damn his wrongheaded pride!’ As she heard the bustle of servants racing to do her bidding, she amended her comment: ‘Damn all wrongheaded pride.’

      Mara studied the outworlder, again in the red light of sunset. Heat invaded her study, despite the open screens to the garden, admitting the faint evening breezes, yet Kevin was more relaxed than previously. His fingers still toyed with the fringes of the cushion, a habit no Tsurani would permit. Mara counted it an unconscious act, signifying nothing. Obviously the implications of being allowed to live had finally registered on the outworlder. He studied Mara as intently as she studied him.

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