Part 9

Bursting into Stacia’s room, Zaira dumped the basket on the table and stood there dancing from foot to foot, nearly bursting with excitement. Stacia, sitting on her pallet brushing out her long brown hair, stared at her open-mouthed. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “Gotta pee?”

Wrinkling her nose in distaste at her friend, Zaira shook her head. “No! He’s out back, waiting for me!”

“Who is?” the other girl said as she went back to brushing her hair.

“What do you mean, who? Gaavan, of course!”

“Oh, him. What does he want?”

Zaira grabbed the brush away from Stacia and plopped down next to her friend. “He was waiting for me when I left this morning, and said he wanted to spend the day with me. He came with me to the market and you should have seen him put Faruk in his place!”

That got Stacia’s attention. “He did what?”

Laughing, Zaira quickly told her of Gaavan’s dealing with Faruk. Stacia threw back her head and cackled as Zaira described the look on Faruk’s face. “Damn! I wish I could have been there!”

“You would have loved it. Oh!” she cried and jumped up. “I’ve got to go! He’s waiting for me!”

“But what about breakfast?” Stacia said, getting to her feet.

“It’s right there. Gaavan said he wanted to have breakfast with me.” Suddenly deflating, Zaira turned to her friend. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked as she twisted the end of her shawl.

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind!” Taking Zaira by the elbow, Stacia pushed her towards the door. “Go on! Don’t keep him waiting!” She pulled the other girl into a hug before opening the door for her. “Just don’t let it become a habit.” She winked and shooed her friend through.

“Never! Are you sure, Stacia?”

“I’m sure! Now go, before he gets tired of waiting and decides to go home!”

Zaira quickly gave her friend a hug and hurried down the hallway and down the stairs and out the back door. She skidded to a halt as she looked around for the tall red-haired man. She found him leaning against the wall near the bench, hands behind his head and looking more than a little irritable. Quickly, she hurried up to him, an apology forming on her lips. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to take that long, but I had to explain to Stacia—“

“Forget it,” he said flatly. She fell silent and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. She heard him push away from the wall, and a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Startled, she looked up to find him grinning down at her. “I thought you said you were hungry?”

Smiling tentatively at him, she nodded.

“Then where’s the basket?”

“Oh. I left that with Stacia.”

“You left our breakfast with that mouthy bi—wench?” he quickly amended as he saw her eyes go dark.

“It was her breakfast, too!” she said defensively. “I usually get breakfast, bring it over here, and we eat together. What am I supposed to do? Tell her sorry, she doesn’t get any today?”

“But I paid for the bread! It was supposed to be our breakfast. I didn’t know I was paying for her, too.”

Glaring at him, she put her hands on her hips. “Do you want me to go get it, then?”

Taking a deep breath, he sighed and shook his head. “No. We’ll get something else. Come on. Where’s a good place to get something to eat around here? Preferably meat. I’m starved.” Looking up at the sun, he remarked. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

“It is not. It’s barely mid-morning.”

“If you’ve been up for an hour before dawn and haven’t had anything to eat yet, it’s nearly lunchtime,” he said with a grin.

Shaking her head, she turned and lead the way around to the street that ran in front of the boarding house. “Is that all you think about? Food?”

If she’d turned around at that moment, she would have seen his eyes drop to watch her hips swaying as he followed behind her. “Nope,” he said. “Not hardly.”

Something in the tone of his voice made her stop and turn and look at him curiously. He gave her the most innocent look he could manage, which is to say, not very innocent at all. She narrowed her large eyes at him as she continued walking backwards in front of him. The cobbled lane was busy but not so busy that she was in any danger of bumping into anyone.

“What do you mean by that?” Zaira asked as she fixed him with a sharp look.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said with a smirk, thinking that he had just as nice a view from the front as from the back. Too bad she wore those high necked caftans, he thought to himself; he wanted to see more cleavage.

She sharpened her glare. “Why do I feel I can’t trust you?”

He drew up short. “You can trust me,” he said, feigning distress over her apparent lack of trust. “I have nothing but the most honorable intentions toward you.”

“Now, you see, it’s exactly that sort of thing that makes me think I can’t trust you,” she said.

Confused, he stopped and stared at her. “What?”

“That,” she said, pointing at his face. “That grin that says ‘I’m a bastard and I know it.’ How am I supposed to trust you when your mouth says one thing and your eyes say something completely different?”

His grin widened as he reached out and caught her wrist. Pulling her close, he pinned her with a strong arm while he put a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. “And just what are my eyes saying?” he growled softly.

“Something that isn’t polite to repeat in mixed company,” she shot back though her cheeks were flaming. She pushed against him but he held on, leaning in close.

“Why not?” His voice was a low thrum; she felt rather than heard his words.

Staring into those penetrating blue eyes, she quite lost her voice. Her mouth worked soundlessly as he lifted her up until his lips were close to her ear. Gasping, she felt his warm breath on her skin; a chill ran down her back and settled deep into her lower back causing her to unconsciously press against him.

“What’s the matter?” he purred. “Do they tell you what I want? What I desire most?”

Helpless, she closed her eyes and shut everything out except his voice. Her fingers clenched in his coat and her breathing was quick and shallow through slightly parted lips. She completely forgot that they were standing on a crowded lane with people milling about them. “W-what’s that?” she managed to get out.

They stood like that for several moments before he answered. “Breakfast.”

Stunned, her eyes flew open and she stared at him. His expression hadn’t changed: That cocky grin was still plastered across his face. “What?” she stammered as her brain tried to keep up with the shifting thought processes.

Gaavan set her down and took her hand. “I’m starved. I promised to buy you breakfast and I’m going to do just that.” Pulling her along, he headed deep into the marketplace. “What’s good? I’m starved.”

She had to skip lightly to keep up with him. “Gaavan!”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder at her and winked.

“You’re a—“ Zaira left it unfinished, well aware that he knew what she was going to say anyway. “I’ll get you for that,” she said, dancing forward and ducking in front of him. He didn’t relinquish her hand, however.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “But right now I want to eat!”

“All right! I get the picture!” The red-haired girl sighed and led him to a stall where a cook was roasting strips of meat threaded on thin wooden skewers over an open flame. “Fatima,” she called.

The tall, wiry woman tending the meat looked up and gave her a wide smile, revealing an amazing set of teeth. “Zaira!” she said, leaning over to take her hand. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning! You usually don’t come by two days in a row.”

“I know, but I brought my friend with me. He’s starving for some meat. Think you can help me out?” she asked with a grin.

“That I can!” The woman turned back to the fire, grabbed a piece of cheap cotton cloth, scooped up two large skewers, wrapped the ends in the cloth, and handed them, dripping with juices, to Zaira. “Hold them carefully, dear, they’re hot.”

“Thank you, Fatima!” Zaira said, stepping back and waiting for Gaavan.

Fatima looked up at the tall red-haired man and held out her hand. “One silver piece,” she said with a smile, flashing those oversized teeth at him.

Gaavan stared at her. “One silver for two pieces of meat?”

The teeth disappeared behind a frown. “It’s the best meat you’ll find in the market! Good meat! One hundred percent meat!”

“Gaavan,” Zaira whispered behind him. He turned and looked at her. “Pay her. Please. It’s less than half what this meat is worth.”

His jaw tightened and she could see a muscle in his cheek twitching, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead he fished in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Fishing through them, he shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t have a silver piece.” He picked out a bright yellow gold piece and dropped it in Fatima’s hand. “You’ll have to take this.” Turning before she could say anything, he took his share from Zaira and stalked off. Zaira grinned at the shocked Fatima before hurrying off to catch up with Gaavan.

“Gaavan!” she shouted. He stopped but didn’t turn around. She drew alongside him and looked up at him curiously. “What was all that about?” she asked.

“What was what about?” he asked through a mouth full of meat. He tore the last hunk off before tossed the empty skewer aside.

“Back there, with Fatima.”

“What? I paid her, didn’t I?”

“But…” a confused Zaira said. “You…I thought you thought it was too expensive and yet you paid her a gold…”

As she watched, his brows drew together and the corners of his mouth turned down. When he’d finished chewing, he swallowed and turned to her, looking at her with an expression that made her insides twist because she saw the disappointment in the steel blue depths.

“Zaira, I’m getting rather tired of you thinking I understand nothing of what you’ve told me. I have been to the market before and I’ve bought meat from your friend—and she charged me four silver pieces for one stick. I was surprised when she told me one for two.” She squirmed as he continued looking down at her. “I was listening to you when you told me how things worked for you.”

Stunned, Zaira felt herself flush with embarrassment all the way to her toes. Swallowing the sour taste in her mouth, she found she couldn’t face those eyes and looked away. “I…I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—“

A large hand settled on her shoulder and turned her back around. “Dammit, Zaira. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Gaavan pulled her close and tilted her head back so she was forced to look at him. “I just want you to give me more credit than you are. That’s all I ask.” He smiled gently (if a bit crookedly), and winked. “Come on. Let’s forget this happened, all right?”

After a moment, she nodded and smiled, albeit it was a bit strained. “All right,” she said.

“Good. Now, are you going to eat that?” he asked, pointing at her meat.

She looked at it and held it out to him. “You eat it.”

“You’re sure?”

Nodding, she put it in his hand. “I prefer bread and fruit for breakfast. I’ll get something else. You eat the meat.”

Gaavan looked at the skewer then back at her. “Okay, if you insist.”

Zaira laughed softly, put her arm through his and pulled him into the flow of the market. “I insist. After all, I have to keep you fed and happy, don’t I?”

He made a low noise deep in his throat as he tore off a hunk of meat. “Sure do,” he said through a mouthful of meat. “Never know what might happen if I get unhappy. I might take you over my knee or something.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, only half sure he wouldn’t.

“You never know,” was all he’d say as he went back to devouring his meat.

The girl swallowed hard to cover her slight shiver of…What was it? Fear? Excitement? She didn’t know and wasn’t sure what she should be feeling. Instead, she chose to ignore it. So they walked in silence as Gaavan finished chewing his meat and tossed the second skewer into the gutter.

“I’m still hungry,” he growled.

“Still? After all that meat?” she teased.

“That? That was hardly enough to whet my appetite,” he growled again, pulling her close and putting an arm around her shoulders. “What else around here is good?”

“Well…” Zaira said musingly, trying to fight off the warm distraction his close proximity caused. “There’s always Luzak’s elephant ears.”

He stopped, nearly jerking her off her feet, and stared at her in disbelief. “Elephant ears?”

She peered slyly sideways at him. “Yes. Ever had them?” she asked innocently.

“Not that I recall, and I definitely think I’d remember something like that.”

“Ooo, you don’t know what you’re missing!” she cried, dancing ahead of him and pulling him along behind her. Zaira could hardly contain herself at the look of disgust and shock on his face. “They’re really good when they’re fried nice and crisp, then you cover them in all sorts of toppings. I like mine with cinnamon, some sugar and blackberry preserves.”

“Uh…huh?” he asked, looking lost.

Chuckling, Zaira tugged him up to another stall. “Here.” She pointed and together they watched as the man behind the counter rolled out some very sticky dough into a rough circle, then deftly lifted it and tossed into a large pot of oil over the fire. The bread immediately started to bubble.

“Oh,” he said softly. “They’re a sort of frybread.”

Zaira looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “What did you think they were?”

“I thought—“ Suddenly his face went red and he bit off what he was going to say.

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “Surely you didn’t think I meant real elephant ears.”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“Sure you didn’t.” Her look was positively devious as she stepped up to the counter. “Luzak! Two elephant ears, please!” she said loudly.

The baker looked up and gave her a huge smile. “Zaira!” he called back, his voice louder than necessary. Zaira smiled back and waved, holding up two fingers and repeating her order, still shouting as she had earlier. She glanced up at Gaavan and saw him looking curiously at her. She pointed to her ear and said softly, “He’s nearly deaf.” The tall man nodded and watched.

Luzak deftly separated out two large hunks from a pile of sticky dough he had on the table near him. He shaped them with nimble fingers then tossed them into fry. After just a few moments, when the outsides were golden brown, Luzak fished them from the oil and laid them on a couple of wooden shingles to bring them to Zaira. “Here you go!” he shouted, grinning wide enough for her to see his gold tooth winking brightly at her.

“Thank you, Luzak!” she yelled back at him as she took the cakes and headed to the end of the counter where there were canisters and jars set up. Gaavan made to follow her but a strong hand on his arm stopped him.

“You paying for those?” the baker shouted at him. Without a word, Gaavan dug in his pocket for some coins and dumped them in the other man’s hand. “Thanks! G’day t’ya!”

Zaira grinned up at him as he joined her at the end of the counter. “You have a sneaky streak in you,” he said.

“Who? Me?” she said with feigned innocence as she lifted the lid of a jar, scooped out a generous helping of a thick purplish-black paste and spread it on one of the cakes. She topped that with a generous sprinkling of a brownish powder. “How do you want yours?” she asked.

“You know what I mean, and what are my choices?” He peered into the containers, lifting the spoons out and sniffing cautiously at the contents.

“No, I don’t,” she said. “Well, there’s blackberry jam, strawberry, fig jam, apple butter, walnuts in syrup, sugar, cinnamon…”

“I mean leaving me to pay for these.” He lifted the lid of a jar of what looked like strawberry jam, sniffed then nodded. He scooped several generous helpings onto his cake.

“But you said you’d buy me breakfast!” As he returned the spoon to the jar, she picked up a crock and scooped a fat dollop of a fluffy white substance onto his cake.

“I bought you meat—Hey! What’s that?”

“Which you ate. It’s whipped cream. I think you’ll like it.” She put the cover back on the crock and looked coyly at him as she licked an errant bit off her finger.

“You gave it to me.” Ignoring her, he picked up the shingle and looked at the sickly sweet concoction on it. “How do I eat this?”

“You still owed me breakfast. Though it's nearly lunch. Anyway you can manage.” She picked hers up and led him towards a group of trestle tables set up near the food stalls. There weren’t any empty—until Gaavan stepped around her and glowered threateningly at several mercs who were just sitting around killing time. They silently gathered up their weapons and cleared a table for them to sit.

“Hmph,” he grumbled as he sat, but he didn’t deny her words. Instead, he glared at the mess in front of him: A greasy fried cake topped by red goop and white, runny cream. “I think I need a shovel.”

“Nonsense. If you’d been thinking, you would have planned ahead, like I did,” Zaira said sweetly as she carefully folded her cake in half then tore off a small chunk to nibble on.

Not to be outdone, Gaavan folded his over in thirds and lifted it. Grinning, he said, “Seems you aren’t the only one that can think ahead.” He leaned forward and took a large bite out of the end of the cake—which caused a huge mess of strawberry jam and whipped cream to squirt out the end onto the shingle.

Laughing so hard she nearly choked on her cake, Zaira had to turn away to compose herself. She could feel Gaavan glaring at her but she couldn’t stop. Helplessly, she leaned on the table for several minutes before she could turn back to him and keep her face straight. When she did, she found him staring coldly at her, steely eyes hard and unamused.

“This is the second time this morning you’ve had fun at my expense,” he grated between clenched teeth.

Biting her lip to keep from saying something that would simply make matters worse, Zaira pulled a cloth from her sleeve and leaned forward to wipe a bit of jam that had dripped on the lapel of his coat. “No, no, that’s not how it is at all!”

“Yes, it is, and what’s more, that’s twice you’ve spilled something on my coat.” He caught her hand and yanked her forward gently but firmly. With a gasp, she fell into his arms. Mere inches from his face, she looked up at him open-mouthed in surprise as he gazed at her through narrowed eyes. She was so close she could see that he had unusually long eyelashes for a man. The shape of his eyes, too, was unusual. Large and shapely yet angular. The blue of his irises was both cold and dark; their depths impenetrable. She couldn’t suppress a slight shiver at the thought that she could fall into those eyes and never find her way out…And what was more, she felt herself wanting to do just that.

Then a wicked smirk twisted his lips upwards and his eyes changed. Still the steely blue of the sky at night, they no longer seemed bottomless. Impudent fires flickered in them as he took the kerchief from her and daubed at chin. “You’ve got jam on your face,” he said, voice deep in his throat. Her heart racing, she tried to pull away from him. He simply tightened his grip on her and stole a quick kiss from her before letting her go.

She sat back on the bench with a jarring bump that made her eyes water. “Ow!”

“Aww…Hurt yourself?” he asked around a mouthful of fried cake and jam.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Rather, you did.”

Eyebrows arched upwards, he gazed levelly at her. “I didn’t do anything of the kind.”

“If you hadn’t grabbed me—“ she started.

“If you hadn’t been laughing at me, it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Necessary? Just how was it necessary?” she demanded.

“Because it was. That’s why.” He shoved the rest of his cake into his mouth, licked his fingers, then wiped them on the purloined kerchief. “That all you’re going to eat?” he asked.

Zaira looked down at the rest of her forgotten cake and nodded. “These are always too much for me to eat in one sitting,” she said. “Let me run back to the inn and save it for later.”

Shaking his head, he picked up the two shingles and stood. “No. If you want one later, I’ll buy you one.” He headed for a large barrel where people were dumping their rubbish, but stopped halfway there; he turned to watch two little street urchins making their way through the crowds, begging for food. The tallest was a painfully thin boy with a shock of aqua-colored hair and large eyes. The little girl who tagged along after him, one hand twisted firmly in the ragged shirt he wore, had hair a darker blue than his, and her eyes were large and haunted. Curiously, Zaira watched as Gaavan altered his path towards them. The boy looked up at him fearfully but bravely, pulling the little girl behind him. In a surprisingly gentle movement, the tall red-haired man went down on one knee and held out the leftover cake to him. The boy looked at him a long moment before nodding solemnly and taking the shingle from Gaavan. He and the girl quickly melted away before anyone could take it from them.

Zaira left the table and went to where Gaavan was standing, still watching after the urchins after they’d disappeared from sight. “That was very sweet of you,” she said softly. The hidden depths she was discovering about this strange man were amazing.

He startled at her voice, and turned away. “The boy…He reminded me of someone.”

“Who?” she asked, leaning around trying to see his face.

“It’s not important,” he said, dumping the other shingle into the barrel. “Someone I knew once.” He reached back and took Zaira’s arm and pulled with him out of the crowd. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

She smiled up at him, nodding. “Okay. Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere away from the crowd,” he said, once again composed and his old, gruff self. He grinned down at her. “Give me the guided tour of Carana.”

“I’ll try, but there’s not much to see.” She tucked her arm in his and led him away from the market. “Carana is pretty boring as far as towns go.”

“Good. That’s the way I like it.”

Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.