Taking a moment to gather her courage, she squared her shoulders and stared at the door opposite hers. She’d heard Gaavan return around a half an hour ago, so she knew he was in. All she had to do was raise her hand and knock…
Much to her dismay, she found herself trembling. She clenched her hand into a fist until the trembling stopped. Gathering her courage again, she knocked before she could talk herself out of it again.
When she heard the heavy footfalls on the other side, she had to will herself not to turn and rush back into her room. As it was, she didn’t have the time to move because the door was pulled open to reveal the tall red-haired man clothed only in his black trousers. His hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck and around his face it hung in damp spikes. He wiped at his face with a towel as he faced her.
And all she could do was stare.
He peered at her curiously, bushy eyebrows lifting. “Zaira?” he asked. “Did you want something?”
“Uh…” she stammered as her brain refused to function. Her gaze fell from his face to his bare chest and threatened to travel lower but his repeated question jerked her back to herself. “Yes. Yes,” she repeated, pulling her eyes away and looking down at the basket she held. “I…The tavern is closed tonight and I thought it would be nice if we…” She trailed off, realizing she must sound ridiculous.
He grinned a lopsided grin at her. “You brought me supper?”
Hesitantly, she nodded. “It’s not much, but at least you won’t go hungry tonight.” At his curious look, she explained. “It’s a holiday. All the businesses in town will be closed until midday tomorrow.”
“Ah. I see. I didn’t realize that.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Somehow, I didn’t think you would. That’s why I…” She trailed off, holding up the basket.
He smiled again, this time sincerely. “So you brought me supper.” He stepped away from the door, holding it open for her. “Come on in,” he said.
Something deep inside gripped her and twisted her stomach into knots at the thought of going into his room. Still, not wanting to seem a coward, she gripped the handle of the basket and took a step into the room. This meant she had to pass quite close to him, though, and panic reached up to grasp her throat. Quickly, she shook her head and stepped back into the hall, backing almost up to her door. “N-no…” she whispered. “I…I’ll wait for you out here.”
Gaavan looked at her curiously. “But, I thought we were going to eat…?”
She nodded. “I was thinking—there’s a park a short distance from here. It’s a nice day and…”
He smiled at her again. “Ah. A picnic. Sure. Let me finish getting dressed and I’ll be right out.” He was about to turn away when something stopped him and he peered into her face, a frown drawing his eyebrows together. “Are you okay?”
Zaira nodded—a little too vigorously. “Yes. Yes,” she repeated more to assure herself of that than him.
“Okay.” He turned and disappeared behind the door, not bothering to shut it. She watched, more fascinated than she cared to admit, as he shrugged on his shirt, fastened it, then shrugged on his coat. The girl smiled as he did up the large black buttons and tied the belt; this was the first time she could recall seeing him without that coat on. She and Stacia had found themselves joking between themselves that he must sleep in it.
Then he was there, filling the doorway as he exited, sword slung over one shoulder and she barely managed to wipe the grin from her face before he turned around from locking the door. But she managed and had her face composed when he turned to look down at her. And standing there in the hallway, looking up at him, she was suddenly very aware of how very tall he was. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t noticed before, but there was something different about it right then. There was something very different about…him.
Shaking her head to clear it, she realized that he was looking at her curiously while he adjusted the hang of his sword across his back. “Zaira?” he asked in that gravelly voice of his; hearing him say her name sent a strange electric frission up her spine.
“Ready?” she asked, shaking herself. He nodded and she led the way down the back stairs and out into the street. It was still early evening and the sun would not set for several hours yet, and there was a cool breeze blowing in off the river. All in all, it was a fine evening for dining outdoors. She turned and said as much to Gaavan as he walked along beside her.
He nodded, rubbing his chin. “It is nice,” he agreed. “This is nice. Thanks for…thinking of me.”
She stepped out ahead of him and turned to walk backwards so she could face him. “Like I said, I thought it would be nice. Since we both don’t have anyone to spend the holiday with, we might as well spend it together.” Zaira turned lightly and walked beside him again.
“Exactly what sort of holiday is it?” he asked.
She laughed and looked up at him. “You really don’t know?” She shook her head in amazement as he indicated he didn’t. Looking up at the sky, she pointed at the moon. It was a beautiful crescent with both horns pointing upwards. Just above the crescent there was another star, shining brightly even in the early evening light. “See that? That’s Ragradia’s Eye. Every year it comes close enough so that you can see it during the day. On that night, it’s said that he defeated the Destroyer during the great war.” She stumbled to a halt as he froze in his tracks and stared at her. “What? What’s the matter?”
The scowl he directed at her was so black that she took a step away from him. “That’s what this is? A holiday honoring that ba—the Water Dragon King?” he demanded, voice low and sharp.
She nodded, confused by his reaction. “Yes.”
“Bah,” he said, suddenly starting forward again and brushing past her. “How do these ridiculous things get started?” he muttered as he strode quickly down the street.
Zaira clutched the basket and hurried to catch up with him. “Legend has it that Ragradia called the waters up to defeat the Destroyer, engulfing him in them.”
“It’s a bunch of nonsense. That wasn’t how it happened at all.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but on this night, the river rises enough so that hill out there—“ she pointed as they walked along the street high above the river’s course “—becomes an island. It’s said that the waters all over the world rise in remembrance of that night.”
He stopped just as abruptly as he had before, causing her to pass him by before she could stop. “I said it’s a bunch of nonsense. I don’t want to hear anything else about it, understand?”
She nodded, but looked at him curiously. “Why? What’s the matter?”
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he seemed to retreat into the turned up collar of his shirt. “I…I’m just not one for honoring these so-called ‘gods,’” he said gruffly. “Especially not the Water Dragon King.” He paused and looked at her. “Look…I don’t want to offend you, but if we’re going to have to do something to ‘honor’ him, I’d rather go back and eat alone.”
“No, no,” she said, still curious as to the strength of his reaction. “It’s just a holiday and an excuse to have a feast, that’s all. There’s no ceremony associated with it like Ceiphiedmas. We don’t even have to talk about it again if you don’t want to. Please…” She wasn’t sure why she was pleading with him, but the thought of not being able to spend the evening with him distressed her.
For a moment, she thought he was going to turn around and leave anyway, but suddenly, he shrugged and grinned. “I guess I’m getting worked up over nothing.” He cleared his throat and looked around. “Where are we going, anyway?”
Taking a deep breath of relief, she smiled warmly at him, and pointed towards the pier just down the street. “There.”
He stared. “Why there?”
“Because we need to get a boat to go over to the island.” She pointed at the one she’d just mentioned. “Over there.”
“Why there?” he asked again.
“Because that’s where we’re going. It’s a lovely spot for a picnic, and nobody will be over there now. It’s a lovely little park.” She turned and strode purposefully toward the pier, leaving him no choice but to follow along. She grinned to herself as she heard him huff and his boots ringing on the cobbles as he came after her.
“You could wait for me,” he huffed as he drew even with her.
She flashed him a grin and hurried down the steps onto the dock. There was a little house there and she dropped a couple coins into a box on the side before hurrying down and into one of the many small boats tied up along the dock then turned and waited for Gaavan to catch up. “I suppose I get to row?” he asked as he looked down into the long craft.
“Of course.” She smiled at him and waited.
Shaking his head in resignation, he stepped down into long, punt-like boat. Turning, he took the basket from her, set it in the boat then held out his hand to her just as she was gathering up her skirts to step into the boat. She stared at his hand with a dread she’d never known. And yet, a tingle of excitement tempered it. After a brief, almost unnoticeable struggle, the excitement won out and she placed her delicate hand into his. He helped her down, saw that she was settled. She sat back and watched him with amusement as he sat and looked around. “Where’s the oars?” he asked, unwrapping the rope that held the boat to the dock.
“It’s a punt; you use that long pole,” she said, pointing towards the pole tied to the side of the boat.
He took it and looked at it dubiously. “How?”
“You’ve never punted a boat before?” she teased.
“Never,” he replied, ignoring her mocking tone. “How does one do it, O Knowledgeable One?”
Sitting up importantly, she motioned for him to stand up. “You stand up in the rear, and use the pole to push. The pole goes backward; the boat goes forward.” She paused and then added sagely, “Just make sure you don’t let go of the pole.”
Giving her an amused smirk, he stood up, braced himself, placed the pole in the water, then pushed off. The boat slid away from the structure and out onto the smooth surface of the wide river. “Like this?” he asked.
She nodded. “Perfect. I knew you were a fast learner.” He made a face at her to which she retaliated by shifting her weight in the boat a bit, upsetting his balance.
“Hey!” he yelled at her, sitting down abruptly until the boat stopped rocking. “Just remember that if I go in, you go in, too.”
That thought sobered her. “Sorry,” she said with true contrition—which she then spoiled by giving him a cheeky wink. She laughed at his glare and turned to face forward, sitting high and straight, letting the cool breeze blow her hair off her face and tangle it behind her.
* * *
Learning the trick of the punt wasn’t difficult, he found out quickly. It was just as she had said: The pole goes backward; the boat goes forward. Nice little demonstration of one of the many physical laws that he’d formerly rebelled so ragingly against.
There was a quiet efficiency to it, too, that lulled him. Draw the pole in, set it, push. Repeat. For a minimum of effort, the boat slid quickly across the wide, smooth-as-glass river surface. As it didn’t require much concentration after the first few strokes, he found himself watching the woman in the prow closely. It was something he found himself doing more of lately, too, just…watching her.
She certainly was nice to look at. Easy on the eyes, even when she was wearing the concealing caftans that she preferred when not dancing. Her long, unruly curls hung about her shoulders in a great crimson glory and she looked very regal sitting there in the prow. As he watched her, she leaned over and trailed her fingers in the water, teasing the orange and yellow splotched fish that swam along in the punt’s wake.
A long, slow grin crossed his face. He shifted his weight a bit, causing the punt to tilt in the direction she leaned. A little too much, as her hand dipped into the water up to the elbow before she could pull back. She squeaked as she pulled her arm back and sat up, which almost caused the punt to rock too far back the other way. Once they got the punt balanced again, she turned to glare at him. “You did that,” she accused, shaking off her hand and wringing out her wet sleeve.
“Did what?” he asked as innocently as he could, unable to keep the grin off his face completely. “You’re the one that rocked the boat and nearly capsized it.”
“I’m onto you,” she said slyly. Fixing him with a sharp-as-glass glare, she turned back to face the front. This time, he noticed, she kept her arms inside the punt.
As they neared the island, he steered towards the little dock there. “I thought you said this was only an island when the river was high enough,” he commented as they drew near the structure.
She reached out and grabbed the boards, guiding them alongside until Gaav could tie up the punt. “It is.”
“Then why the dock?” He held out his hand to her to help her onto the dock, then handed the basket to her before joining her.
“Because it’s connected to the other river bank. It’s easier to get here from the dock on the city side of the river.” Zaira turned on her toe and headed off towards land.
“Oh,” he said, looking around and falling into step behind her. “Silly me for not figuring that out.”
“Come on,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” he said. “Keep eating like you have been and you’re going to get fat.”
This time she whirled on him angrily. “I am not fat!” Her emerald eyes flashed at him as he kept walking past her.
“Didn’t say you were, did I?” Snickering, he continued on up the trail.
“But you said—“
“All I said was that if you keep eating the way you have been, you’ll get fat.” He paused and looked back at her. “Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. You’re too thin as it is.”
“You…” was all she could say.
He turned and waved her on. “Come on. I thought you said you were hungry?”
She caught up with him and passed him. “This way,” she said with a glare.
The trail led them around the island to an open area under some trees. Zaira picked a spot and set the basket down. “Here will do nicely,” she announced as she pulled the covering from the basket and spread it out. “Sit,” she ordered as she knelt and started rummaging in the basket.
Gaav reached up and undid the buckles that held his sword across his back as he examined the lay of the land. She’d chosen a spot near the bank, but almost all the way around the island so they were looking across the river towards the mountains along the coast. The city and the desert lay at their backs behind the island. “Nice view,” he said as he dropped his sword, then started on his coat.
The red-haired dancer looked out over the river towards the mountains as she handed him the crock of beer. “This is my favorite spot in the city,” she said. Nodding towards the distant mountains, she added, “I’m going to see those one day.”
He took the beer and opened it. “You are?”
She didn’t look at him. “Yes. The mountains and the sea beyond. I’m going there and I’m never coming back.”
Gaav watched her in silence as she unpacked the basket, setting out their simple dinner of meat, cheese and bread. Lifting the crock to his lips, he asked, “What are you waiting for?”
She laughed mirthlessly. “It takes a lot of money to buy a place in a caravan, especially someone like me.” She broke the loaf of bread in half and handed him his share.
“Why?” He took the bread and set it on the cloth in front of him. “What’s so different about you?” When she directed a flat look in his direction, he added, “I don’t understand. Why is it that you get this awful kind of treatment?”
Zaira cocked her head to the side and looked at him curiously. “You really don’t know, do you?” she asked softly.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”
This time her laugh was lighter. “And all this time I thought you were patronizing me.” Her laugh died away at his indignant look. “I’m sorry. I should have realized. I forget that not everyone is as prejudiced as the Pari and the people in the towns where they trade.”
“Just who are these ‘Pari’ I keep hearing about?”
Sighing, she settled back on the grass. “They’re a nomadic people,” she started, picking at her bread. “They roam the Great Desert, following the flocks of rider birds. The Pari breed the strongest, fastest, fiercest birds there are. They have the most endurance and can run for miles on end without stopping. Pari birds are highly valued and sought after.
“It’s said that the Pari were not always desert nomads,” she continued in a singsong voice, as if repeating something she’d learned by rote. “Nor did they always wander the Great Desert. They tell of days long ago, before the great war between the gods, when they lived far to the east, across the sea, in a place called Elemekia. But after Ragradia’s defeat by the Destroyer, they were cut off from the rest of their clans by the Barrier. That land became infested with demons and other monsters, so they came west seeking a place free from their ilk. They found this place, and so they’ve been here ever since.”
“Interesting tale,” he growled, fighting down the dark memories that welled up when she mentioned his old enemy. “It doesn’t explain—“
“I’m getting to that,” she interrupted quietly. “The Pari are a fierce people, proud and strong. They cling to their ways of life, shunning outsiders. In a sense, I suppose it was a measure of protection against the fear and suspicion they encountered when they came here. They were used to being treated with a measure of respect as part of the Elven Kingdom in Elemekia, but here, cut off and nearly powerless with the death of their deity—“
“Wait a minute,” he interrupted as something sank in. “Are you saying that the Pari are elves?”
She nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”
“So you’re part elf?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that explains a lot. Always thought elves were a sanctimonious lot,” he grumbled into his beer.
“Do you understand now? The Pari may have the best rider birds, birds prized and valued, but they’ve never been accepted by the people here. They’re viewed with suspicion and distrust. And yet they find themselves dependent upon the humans here as buyers for their magnificent birds.”
“And you?”
“Me? I’m neither Pari nor human. According to the Pari, I’m human, but the humans regard me as Pari. Therefore, I am neither.”
He studied her then, trying to determine exactly what it was that labeled her as Pari. He could see nothing about her that marked her as elven. While the grace she displayed while dancing may be partly due to her elven side, she was on the short side. All the elves he’d encountered had been quite tall. “You look human,” he said at last.
She nodded. “I got my mother’s coloring and my father’s human physiology.”
Getting frustrated with her either deliberate or innocent avoidance of the subject, he leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “You look human,” he insisted. “How can anyone tell you’re not unless you tell them?”
The light went out of her eyes as she held out her wrists and pulled back her sleeves. “These.”
He dropped his gaze to her outstretched wrists and for a moment wanted to roar in anger at her. All he saw were the brass bangles she wore while dancing—and then he saw the smooth ridges of calloused skin that indicated that she’d been wearing them for a very long time. He reached out and took her wrists in his large hands, turning them around so he could see the bangles: A thin piece of metal about two inches wide had been magically sealed around each wrist. He could feel the telltale tingle of some magical metal (probably mithril or Orihalcon) and the sharp stab of sigils spelled into the surface. The combination added up to some sort of sealing spell, most likely.
“Who did this?” he growled, low and dangerously in his throat. “For what purpose?”
“The Pari,” she said in an emotionless voice. “To seal away any powers I might have.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Why?”
“Because I am neither Pari nor human.” Gently she pulled her wrists out of his grasp, pulled her sleeves down and looked away—towards the mountains. “Pari law requires that I wear them until the day I die, but this is as far east as the Pari come on their travels. They never go as far as the mountains. Or past the sea beyond.” She looked back at him then, the fire in her eyes making them sparkle. “There I’ll find someone who has the power to take these off. Someone who will have never heard of the Pari and their laws. And I’ll be free.”
“What sort of law is that?” he demanded.
Zaira sighed and reached for a fig. “I don’t know. I didn’t make the law; I just have to abide by it.”
He leaned back on his elbow. “Why don’t you get someone to remove them now?”
“Because if the Pari were to catch me with them off, they’d just put them back on again, so what’s the use? They don’t bother me; I’ve had them since before I developed any powers so I don’t miss them. I’ll just wait until I can go somewhere where the Pari don’t go and have it done there.”
Sighing, he shook his head. “It’s the damn principle—“
She interrupted him by lobbing a fig at him. “I have my own principles and I live by them. People may think they know what I am, but I know and I’m the only one that matters. So shut up about it, okay?”
Gaav looked at her funny-like and picked up the fruit that had landed on his chest. “Sorry,” he said sarcastically. “Just trying to show a little concern here.”
“Well, don’t. I don’t want your pity, so just stop it.”
“Pity?” he asked, sitting up again and leaning his weight on his elbow. She turned at the sound of the growl in his voice and looked at him, shocked. “I do not pity you, dammit. I don’t waste my time with pity!” He looked away, disgusted, and muttered, “You’re too damn much of a bitch to pity.”
Undaunted, she directed a hot glare in his direction. “Being ‘a bitch’ has helped me survive ten long years of discrimination in this gods-forsaken place. If that’s what it takes to survive, then I’m proud to wear the title.” With that, she lifted her chin, making her look as regal and proud as any queen.
He looked at her a moment, straight into those sparkling green eyes, eyes that could still sparkle in spite of the hardship she’d faced. Eyes that held a spirit he’d had the rare privilege of seeing only a handful of times before. A spirit like his own, unwilling to accept the fate that it had been dealt and fought to gain a better one. Not even his harsh comments had daunted her; she just came back with her own. Suddenly, the irritation he’d felt evaporated and he grinned at her. His grin widened as he saw the confusion in her eyes. He popped the fig into his mouth and chewed.
“What?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
Gaav shook his head, his red hair shifting in the cool evening breeze. “Nothing.”
Her mouth pursed up in irritation at him and she picked up another fig and threw it at him. “Tell me.”
He caught it and ate that one, too. “Really, it’s nothing. I was just thinking…That’s all.”
It was her turn to smile; her irritation gone. “About what?” She picked out a fig for herself and bit into it.
Settling back, he put his hands behind his head and looked up at the darkening sky through the leafy trees. “About myself. About how much you’re like me.”
He could feel the curious look she gave him and knew he’d said too much. “Like you? How am I like you?”
“You won’t let the bastards beat you down, that’s how,” he said simply, hoping that would satisfy her curiosity.
“I…” she stammered.
He could sense that he had nonplussed her yet again. “It was a compliment,” he half-growled to hide his amusement. She wasn’t used to being complimented like this and was obviously uncomfortable with the idea. He grinned to himself, knowing he’d won this round.
“I knew that,” she snapped, right before he felt another fig land on his chest. He looked down at it curiously.
“You keep throwing fruit at me. Is this some sort of ritual for the holiday that you haven’t told me about? Pelt your neighbor with figs in honor of the Water Dragon King?” He looked at her and tossed it back where it landed in her lap. She laughed then, high and clear like a bell. It occurred to him he had never heard her laugh before. He decided he liked it, so he reached over, picked a fig out of the bowl, and tossed it at her, too. “Ragradia, we honor thee,” he said mockingly, sending yet another fig in her direction. “Am I doing it right?”
“Stop!” she laughed, holding up her hands to shield her face. “You’re wasting good food!”
“But you were throwing them at me,” he said, another fruit poised to launch at her. “I thought this was something we were supposed to do…”
“No!” she said, leaning forward and snatching the fig from his fingers.
“No fig-lobbing contests? You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! You eat them.” To his surprise, she held the fig out and touched it to his lips. A sudden thrill went through him as his eyes locked on hers. He watched her carefully as a slow flush of color reddened her cheeks and the fruit trembled against his lips in response to her sudden trembling. Then deliberately, slowly, he leaned forward and took a bite out of the fruit, letting his lips brush against her fingers. Her blush deepened and she quickly pulled her hand away. He smothered a bark of laughter. Twice in one night; he was on a roll. Feeling quite satisfied with his life at the moment, he lay back and even grinned up at Ragradia’s Eye, riding high above the crescent moon.
* * *
Zaira stared at Gaavan as he lay in the grass, grinning up at the sky that was almost completely dark now. She couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t stop her. She was still trembling from that seemingly casual touch, in fear or excitement, she didn’t know. A little of both, probably. Her face was flaming and she was glad for the cover of darkness. Unconsciously, she rubbed her fingertips where his lips had touched them, feeling again the quick press of his flesh against hers; the strength and heat. What had possessed her to feed the fig to him anyway? she wondered to herself. Although, it had been pleasant. She wondered what it would be like to have those lips on hers, those strong hands on her waist, pulling her close to him—
Her breath caught in her throat and she turned away from him, fear souring her stomach. Drawing her knees up, she hugged them fiercely as she fought down the panic that threatened to send her running back to the dock and away from him. But she couldn’t control her thoughts and her breath came quick and ragged as memories welled up unbidden inside of her.
There was a movement next to her and she felt Gaavan lean over and gently touch her shoulder. It froze her and she stiffened involuntarily. “Don’t,” she pleaded softly.
“What is it, Zaira?” he asked, voice low and gentle. He removed his hand and she found she could breathe again. He spoke another word and a ball of magelight appeared above them, casting a soft glow on the two of them.
“I…I was just…Nothing. Bad memories is all.” She buried her face in her arms.
“Tell me,” he commanded softly.
Something about his voice did not allow her to disobey. So, slowly, she began. “I…I suddenly thought of my mother. Of the night she died.” She faltered, but he did not press, instead waiting for her to continue. She looked up and towards those far mountains, the mountains that had come to symbolize everything to her, so far away and yet solid and real. She just had to find the means to get to them.
“It was ten years ago,” she began again, not thinking of her words, just remembering that night so long ago. “I was fourteen. My mother and her people had gone to Ogra, a city north of here, bringing with them their flocks of rider birds for the Fall Festival. It’s a time when the fledglings are auctioned off, hens are sent to be breed, and an excuse for a wild time for the citizens of Ogra. Merchants from all over come to sell their goods, and the birds aren’t the only things that the Pari bring to the Festival that are highly sought after.
“One night…my mother and I were in the market selling the few things we had for a little extra money. My mother was a skilled dressmaker.” She smiled suddenly at the memory. “She taught me how to embroider and so she sewed and I embroidered. We always made enough at the Festivals that we were able to live comfortably. Which was a good thing, because the Pari did nothing to help us other than provide us with a place to live.” Zaira had to pause and swallow against the lump in her throat.
“That night we headed back towards the Pari encampment, taking our goods with us. It was dark and we had to pass through several streets that were dark and deserted. He was waiting for us in the shadows.”
“What happened?” he prompted when she fell silent.
“He attacked us. Threw me down and grabbed my mother. He had her pinned down before either of us knew what was happening, a knife to her throat. He was…” She realized she was shaking and she hugged herself against the sudden chill she felt. “He was drunk, and he wanted her. Wanted her body and her money. He…he had a knife. I’d seen him in the market earlier in the day, and he’d been making advances towards her, which she spurned. Maybe it made him angry. I don’t know.
“When she screamed and tried to throw him off, making him drop his knife, he hit her. He hit her so hard…” Biting her lip, she fought to tell of the events of that night, something she had never done before. “He hit her so hard her head snapped backwards and she went limp. Blood came out her nose and mouth and her eyes rolled up into her head. She was dead. But he wasn’t finished. He couldn’t get what he wanted from her, so he turned to me.” Her hands clenched into fists, and her fingernails dug painfully into her palms, but she ignored it. “While he was busy with her, I picked up the knife he’d dropped and hid it in my sleeve. When he came at me, and I took it out and I shoved it into his stomach. Over and over again until he fell down, screaming, holding his insides with his hands where they were spilling out of him. Then I slit his throat.” There was a long silence after that. Zaira remained staring at those distant mountains, but her face remained dry.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“They found me, covered in blood, sitting with my mother’s head cradled on my lap, in shock, and the dead man lying in a pool of blood. The city officials wanted to put me to death for killing the man, but my mother’s people put a stop to that. My mother had been one of them; she’d been attacked and killed. The city dropped their arguments when the Pari started making noises about skipping Ogra on the next migration route—which would have devastated the city financially. So, I traveled with my mother’s people for about a month. But without my mother, I didn’t even exist to them. So when we came to Carana, I took what few things I had and left. And I’ve been here ever since.”
“Alone?”
She nodded, not looking up at him.
“Hey,” he said.
“What?”
“I think this should be a new tradition: Fig-lobbing in honor of Ragradia.”
Startled, she twisted around to look up at him just in time to see the fruit come sailing through the air towards her. She tried to catch it, but missed and it fell inside the gap in her neckline caused by her twist. It slipped down and disappeared into her cleavage. She flushed and glared at him. “Stop that!” she said, twisting around and trying to fish it out, the horror of her mother’s death fading with the distraction.
“Hey, nice shot,” he said, leaning around to try and get a look.
“It was not! It’s all sticky!”
“Really? Here, let me help.” He reached around like he was going to try to help her fish it out but she pulled away from him, not in fright but in indignation.
“I can manage, thank you very much,” she snapped as she finally got hold of the fruit, pulled it out and held it up. “See? I told you, they’re for—“
He reached out and took it from her, interrupting her in the process. “I know. They’re for eating.” This time he offered it to her, just as she had done a few minutes before. His eyes held hers and challenged her to take it. Zaira felt her pulse quicken as she considered what to do. She felt the panic returning and hesitated, shifting away from him.
“Zaira,” he said softly, but firmly, his voice penetrating her fear and drawing her back. I’m not going to hurt you, his eyes said. But you have to trust me.
Trust him? How? How did she trust someone else, especially a man, when she had survived so long by trusting no one? It’s not that simple, she thought to herself.
He nodded, as if he had heard her thoughts, holding the fig higher. She started to shake her head, to dismiss his offer, but as she looked into those blue eyes she’d come to know so well, she couldn’t ignore the challenge—or let him down. So she leaned forward and carefully took the fig the same way he had earlier: By gently biting into it. At the last moment, just as she was about to pull away, he stretched closer and stroked her cheek lightly, a quick caress and then he pulled his hand away.
Shakily, she put her hand to her cheek, but before she could say anything, he let the magelight fade. “Time to be getting back, don’t you think?” he said.
“I…Yes,” she said, grateful for the distraction. She gathered up the remains of their supper, and packing it back in the basket. He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. Gratefully, she took it and marveled at how effortlessly he pulled her to her feet. Flashing him a shy smile by way of thanks, she led the way through the trees to the little dock.
Once in the punt, she settled in the prow again as Gaavan took up his position in the rear. Smoothly and effortlessly, he guided the punt out, swung it around and headed back towards the dock on the riverbank. Zaira took a deep breath of the cool night air, sighing almost, and leaned forward to stare at the water as it passed. Forgetting about the little incident on the way over, she let her fingers trail in the water, watching the way the reflected moonlight shattered across the broken surface then reformed like quicksilver. She smiled to herself as she played with the reflections.
A sudden, sharp slap to her backside interrupted her reverie. Squawking, she sat up in time to see Gaavan lower the pole back into the water. “What did you do that for?” she demanded, indignantly wiping at the water that was seeping through her caftan.
“Didn’t I tell you to quit hanging over the side of the boat?” he growled.
“Yes, but since when do I do what you tell me?” she retorted with a grin. Scooping her hand into the water, she sent a stream up and back in his direction. His shout confirmed that at least part of the water had found its mark.
“Stop that, or I’ll be forced to take action.”
“And what, pray tell, would that be?”
There was just enough reflected light to allow her to see the wicked grin on his face. “Know how to swim?”
She sat up straight and glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me,” he said with a smirk.
Zaira knew from the look in his eyes he would follow through with his threat. However, they were near the dock, so she reached out, grabbed the side and hopped out before he could react. “Can’t do it if you can’t catch me!” she said with her own smirk, lifted her skirts and hared off towards the street.
“Damn it!” he yelled, dropping the pole into the punt, grabbed up the basket and was after her in an instant. “Come back here!”
Quickly, she darted down the lane away from the docks, back towards the inn, laughing. There were several trees lining riverside of the lane, and when she felt she’d put enough distance between them, she hid in the shadows beneath one of them. Leaning against the trunk, she listened for his pursuit and laughed softly to herself. She felt quite giddy, in a wonderful way, though. She couldn’t remember an evening as wonderful as this.
Several minutes went by as she waited, but no one passed down the lane. Cautiously, she peered around the tree to look, and found the lane empty. He should have at least come this far by now…Stepping carefully into the lane, she looked up and down; had she missed him somehow?
Suddenly, two great arms wrapped themselves around her from behind, lifting her off her feet. A scream formed in her throat but died as a gravelly voice sounded in her ear. “Got you.”
Gasping with relief, she let her head fall backwards onto his shoulder. “Damn it,” she said. “Don’t do that! You scared me!”
“That was the point,” he said roughly, hefting her upwards and slipping one arm under her legs to carry her. He turned and started back towards the inn.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her heart beating fast and wild. Struggling, she tried to escape his arms.
He merely tightened his grip on her. “Making sure you don’t get away from me again. I caught you; I’m keeping you.”
“I’m not property,” she growled at him indignantly.
He stopped suddenly and looked at her. “I know you’re not. You’ve made that very clear.” His lips twisted upwards in a smirk. “Think of yourself as a pet.”
“What?” Gaping at him, her mouth worked as she tried to think of a decent reply to this.
“You look like a fish. Maybe I should throw you in the river.”
“Bastard,” she finally managed to get out through clenched teeth. “I’ll…I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he teased more. “What can you do to me?”
“I’ll think of something! Now put me down!” She pushed and squirmed against him.
“Okay, okay. Stop squirming and I’ll put you down.”
Zaira looked up at him. “Just like that?”
“No,” he said. “Like this.” With that, he swooped in close and covered her lips with his.
The kiss was so sudden, so unexpected, that for a moment, she couldn’t do anything, except stare at him. Slowly, the feel of his lips on hers registered in her brain and she let her eyes slide closes as her pleasure centers were stimulated. Losing all self-control, she melted into him, welcoming him and even encouraging him. She slid her arms around his neck and held on, giving as good as she got, feeling the warmth that started in her loins spread upwards as she pressed against him—
His arms around her—
Body pressed close to hers—
Mouth on hers, hungry, wanting her—
Choking back a scream, she pushed away, inadvertently scratching his cheek with her fingernails. She heard his grunt of pain and that fueled the fire of panic. Beating at him with her fists, she kicked out.
“Let me go!” she yelled, using all her strength to free herself. Then she was on the ground and she would have stumbled if it hadn’t been for the hold on her elbow. She jerked free and took a step away.
“Zaira!” she heard him shout. That low voice pulled her out of her panic, only to send her into another kind of panic. His cheek was scored from her nails; blood trickled down to stain the collar of his shirt. “What happened?”
“I…” She stared at the blood on his cheek in horror and backed away yet another step. “I’m sorry,” she managed to get out before turning and fleeing from him. She didn’t stop running until she was safe behind the locked door of her room, and didn’t look back once. Leaning against the rough wood, she fought down her fear. Sliding to the ground, she sat on the floor and stared at the ceiling for a long time…
Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui
Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.