Part 19

The two women stood in Zaira’s room and wondered at how empty it looked without Zaira’s scarves and hangings to turn it from an impersonal room in an inn into a place she’d called her home for over a year.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow,” Zaira said, fairly dancing in her excitement. She turned to Stacia and gripped her friend’s arms and shook her gently. “Can you?”

“Nope!” she said. “Finally, to be able to get out of this nasty, awful place.” Stacia was just as excited as she was and they danced together.

“Oh, gods…Do we have everything packed?” Zaira let go of her friend and started around the room, making “one last circuit” for about the hundredth time.

“Yes, everything is packed and waiting at the caravan camp. All we have to do is get there in the morning, bring the last few things and we’ll be out of here!”

“Okay,” the red-haired girl said, stopping in the middle of the room and trying to calm herself. It didn’t work, however, as another concern surfaced. “The robe…Where’s the robe?”

“It’s right here, where you put it for safekeeping.” Stacia opened the wardrobe and pulled the box it had been packed neatly into out of the bottom of the empty cupboard.

Zaira heaved a sigh of relief and hugged her friend. “What would I do without you?”

“I dunno. Go crazy?” Stacia hugged her back then took a step away from her. “So are you going to give it to him?”

The other girl nodded. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Tonight. I have…something planned.” Her cheeks flushed slightly.

“You’re blushing, Zaira. What are you planning?” Stacia demanded.

Zaira’s blush deepened but she didn’t turn away. Instead, she looked Stacia in the eye and winked.

Stacia’s jaw dropped. “Zaira! Are you—“

“I am.” Zaira took the box with the robe from Stacia and turned to the pallet where she sat down and put the box in front of her.

“I can’t believe this!” Stacia dropped down next to her. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

“I…I think so. I still haven’t quite made up my mind.” She bit her lip and looked at her friend. “I’m still a little…Scared, I guess.”

The other girl reached out and tucked a bit of Zaira’s hair behind her ear. “Of course you are. It’s natural. Just…take it slow, okay? And make sure he knows that, too.”

“I think he does…”

Stacia sat back and stared at Zaira. “You told him and you weren’t going to tell me?”

“No! That’s not what I meant! I meant…I think he knows that he…we, that is, need to go slow. That’s why he hasn’t pushed me. And I haven’t told him yet. I wanted it to be a surprise. With his robe.”

“He’s going to be surprised, all right,” Stacia remarked. “He’d damn well better appreciate what you’ve done for him.”

“I’m sure he does, Stacia,” Zaira said with a smile. Suddenly, she looked up towards the door. “He’s back.”

“He is? I don’t—“ A knock on the door interrupted her. “Then again…”

Zaira shoved the box aside and hurried to answer the door. Gaavan stood there, leaning against the doorjamb. “Hey,” he said, giving her a crooked grin. “I’m back.”

“So you are…” Zaira bit her lip and glanced back over her shoulder at Stacia and the box the other girl was hiding.

“Well, now…Don’t sound so excited,” he muttered, his grin fading.

“Oh! No! I didn’t mean that…I just meant…”

“What she means is that you’re back and you’re very fragrant smelling,” Stacia said as she came to Zaira’s rescue. “I can smell you all the way over here. What were you doing? Gads…” She waved her hand in front of her nose.

He glared at the Stacia but Zaira seized the opportunity. “She’s right, Gaavan. You do smell a little ripe. Why don’t you go take a bath?”

The glare was transferred to her. “It’s not that bad,” he muttered.

“No, it isn’t, but all the same…” Zaira smiled up at him. “I’ve got a few more things to do, so why don’t you go take a bath and enjoy yourself and when you’re done I’ll be ready to give you my full attention.”

He grinned again and put a large hand under her chin to tilt it up. “Your full attention?”

“Every bit of it.”

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said. Before he turned away, though, he leaned down and kissed her. “I won’t be long,” he murmured.

“Take your time,” she whispered back, stroking his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. At least not tonight.”

“Okay.” One more kiss and then he was on his way to the baths. Zaira watched him striding down the hallway with a strange smile on her face. She didn’t notice that Stacia come to stand beside her until the other girl spoke.

“You know, I think he’s part cat.”

Zaira startled and gave her friend a strange look. “What makes you say that?”

“Just that he takes more baths than all the men I know combined. He takes more baths than Remy here. He takes more baths than me.”

“He just…likes to be clean.”

“I think he’s using it as an excuse to—“

“Don’t you even say it,” Zaira interrupted.

“What?” Stacia asked innocently.

“Don’t give me that,” the dancing girl said.

“Well, why do you think he spends so much time in the baths? You get him all hot and bothered and—“

“I said don’t!”

“You’re blushing, Zaira,” Stacia said with a sharp-toothed grin.

“Oh, stop it and help me, would you?” Zaira tried to ignore the flame she felt burning in her face as she pulled out her little box of cosmetics.

“Of course. What do you need?” Stacia came and sat by her.

“I want to look…perfect tonight. Will you help me? And we’ve got to finish before Gaavan gets out of the bath.”

“We have plenty of time.” Stacia pushed Zaira’s hair out of her face and started applying powder to her face.

“Stacia, I’m serious! I want to make sure everything is perfect before he gets back.”

“Hold your water,” the other girl said with a grin and a wink. “We’ll have you looking perfect long before he gets out of the bath. Now hold still.” She put down the powder and picked up a little pot of kohl. “Close your eyes and hold still.” Zaira did as she was instructed and Stacia spread the kohl around her eyes. Then a bit of rouge on her cheeks and some color on her lips. Stacia sat back and looked at her handiwork. “I don’t know why you bother,” she said. “You look beautiful without all this paint.”

The dancing girl sat back and blinked. “I know, I just…want to look perfect.” She smiled shyly. “Will you do my hair? Please?”

“Of course, you silly girl.” She got up and moved behind Zaira, found the brush in the box beside her and set out to brush out Zaira’s hair. Just a few minutes later, Stacia finished settling the fiery curls around her shoulders. “There.”

“Good. Thank you.” She jumped up and grabbed up the box with the robe. “I hope I’ve still got time to set things up!” She hurried towards the door.

“Of course you do! I’ll help.”

“Thank you, Stacia! Here’s what I want to do.”

* * *

Gaav came back down the corridor carrying his coat and shirt and had his sword slung over his shoulder. He grinned as he approached his door. This was their last night in this stinkin’ place and he was ready to be gone. The last few days had passed uneventfully, and he’d spent today going ‘round the city and removing his wards. He wanted no sign left behind that he’d ever been here, but had wanted to wait until the very last moment before actually leaving. He’d remove the ones on the inn tomorrow as he left.

He paused before the door to Zaira’s room and knocked upon it. “Zaira?” he called softly.

“She’s across the hall,” Stacia called from inside.

“Oh. Thanks.” He turned and pushed open the door to his room—

And froze.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he saw when the door opened. He took a step or two inside and was only peripherally aware of the candles scattered everywhere, bathing the room in their golden glow. It was the figure that stood in the middle of the room held his complete, enrapt attention: Zaira stood wrapped in a black robe that was obviously several sizes too big for her. The skirts of the robe were spread out around her like a train, though curiously they were lying on the floor in front of her as she faced him. Her tiny hands peeked out of huge sleeves as she held the robe closed at her throat. Her green eyes sparkled in the dancing candle flames as she smiled softly up at him.

“Hello, Gaavan,” she said quietly.

It was a moment before he could find his voice. “Zaira…” he rasped out finally. “What’s…” Unconsciously, he let his coat, shirt and sword slip and fall to the floor from his lax grip on them.

“What’s this?” She glanced down at the robe that enshrouded her. “It’s a robe.”

“I know what it is, but…”

Zaira smiled up at him. “It’s for you. A gift. I made it. I mean, Stacia made it, and I did the embroidery.”

“It’s beautiful,” was all he could say. Something in his chest tightened as he looked down. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“But you haven’t even seen the whole thing yet,” she said with a small grin.

“Haven’t I?”

“No. Stand back.”

Feeling a little confused, he stepped back as instructed. When she was satisfied he was far enough away, she slowly turned to face away from him, and lifted her arms out to the side. All he could do was stare. Again.

With the robe displayed so that he could see the pattern embroidered upon it in its entirety, it was as if it jumped off the fabric at him. He could swear it was alive and staggered back a step as it dawned upon him what he was looking at. He felt himself go weak in the knees as the red and gold dragon strained against the fabric, reaching for him with cruel talons and slashing fangs. The effect was such that he felt the draconic forces inside him react in territorial rage and he had to squash them quickly. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to remember that it was simply an embroidered representation of a dragon upon a field of black silk. As he did so, he was able to take in the rest of the wonderful work that lay before him:

The dragon was done in shades of red, ranging from dark blood to the bright red of a sunrise across the desert. Highlights of gold picked out the edging of the scales, the sharp line of the back ridges, the deadly shine on the teeth and talons. The head was lean, almost delicate looking, with long jaws and a sinuous neck connecting it to the main body. That continued the curving line started with the neck on down through the whiplike tail. While it didn’t have wings, ribbons of gold and blue entwined about the creature, spreading onto the shoulders of the robe and down the sleeves, supporting it on currents of intangible power.

He couldn’t believe the intricacy of the work, the incredible detail, the way the dragon seemed not to be stitched upon the silk but rather just lying upon it, lurking in some sort of dimensional gate to darkness. The shifting light from the candles lent it the illusion that the creature was moving, ever so slightly, as it hung there in nothingness, staring at him…

Again he suffered another shock: Eyes the color of blued-steel stared back at him. His eyes. First she’d called him a dragon, and now presented him with this magnificent gift with a dragon emblazoned upon it; not just any dragon, but a red one with blue eyes. How…? His own blue eyes lifted to look at her as she was half-twisted around to look at him. How did she know? And how much…Was this all some sort of trick?

“Gaavan?” she asked. “Do you like it?”

He looked down again at the lurking dragon and could not find his voice. Emotions raged and warred inside him; for the briefest of moments the fear that he’d been discovered and that she was not really who and what she’d made herself out to be to raised its ugly head, but looking into her green eyes, he knew she’d told him only the truth. What followed was a storm of emotion and reaction that he could not possibly hope to sort out.

“Gaavan?” she asked again, her eyes clouding with concern.

“Zaira,” he breathed. “It’s…beautiful. But…” Gaav spread his hands wide. “Why?”

Her eyes clouded even more. “What? What do you mean, ‘why?’”

He could tell by her tone that he’d said something wrong. “No, I didn’t mean why that way, I meant…Why?”

“You’re not making any sense, Gaavan.”

“I…I know.” He took a deep breath. “I meant, what I meant was…I don’t remember doing anything that deserve something like this.”

Her delicate brows drew in. “You’ve done lots of things.”

“But nothing that deserves this.”

“Sure you have, but that’s not the point. I made this for you because…I wanted to give you something that told you how much I care for you. How much I appreciate what you’re doing for me. For…proving that all men are not alike. For…being you.”

It was several moments before he could speak. Never before had he been given a gift of this magnitude. Oh, he’d gotten gifts from his underlings, but they were always designed to curry favor with the second general of Shabranigdu and their liege lord. Someone who could give power or take it away. Never had he been given anything as thanks for what he’d done, but then again, he’d never done anything unselfishly the way he’d helped Zaira. Even when he saved Val, he’d had his own, completely selfish reasons.

And now, to find himself presented with a gift of thanks, motivated not by selfish reasons, but rather just to please…He had no idea how to respond. “Zaira…I…” he started to say, only to find no words to express how he was feeling.

“Do you like it?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Of course,” he responded automatically. “It’s…like nothing else I’ve ever seen before. I’m…” Again he faltered. “I just…can’t find the right words. It’s stunning. Like you.” He looked down at the huge expanse of black material fanned out behind her and at his feet, he felt as if his heart would burst inside him. “But…It’s so beautiful. I’d be afraid to wear it. I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she said, turning to look at him, taking the lurking dragon away with her. “There’s something special about it: It will never fade, or rip, or wear or tear.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll explain later, but right now…” She blushed and he noticed she’d painted her face and done her hair, something she didn’t usually do unless she was going to be dancing. “There’s something else I want to give you.”

His eyes searched her face even as he lifted a hand to stroke her hair, picking out one errant curl that refused to stay put. “And what’s that?” he asked gently.

“This,” she said and lowered her arms, letting the black silk fall open; the collar slipped off her shoulders as she spread her arms wide.

Of their own accord, his eyes traveled downward, expecting to find her wearing perhaps a similar robe stitched in the same manner.

He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Staring, he let his eyes travel downwards from her face and down her lovely neck—and farther. She wore nothing underneath the slick silk of the robe she displayed for him. The candlelight danced across her skin, casting soft shadows and feathered highlights upon her skin as she stood before him, picking out and emphasizing the curve of her shoulders, the shape of her breasts, the firm musculature of her stomach sloping into the sensual swell of her belly, the gentle curve of her hips as they flared outwards, the long line of her legs…

Heat flashed through him like dragonfire and his trousers suddenly felt very tight in spots. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he dragged his eyes back to her face, to look into her eyes. “Zaira?” he asked, her name loaded with more questions than he could ever hope to vocalize.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly at first, but with more conviction with every movement. “Yes,” she whispered.

His heart raced in his chest and his blood sang as he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Her skin was like dry silk under his calloused hands, warm and soft. Slipping that hand behind her head, he pulled her gently forward while tilting her head back. With ponderous patience, he lowered his head, never breaking eye contact with her until his lips hovered just over hers. Only then did he tear his gaze away from her verdant eyes to look at the rosebud of her mouth. Her lips trembled and were parted slightly; he could hear her breath coming fast and shallow through them. Her pulse fluttered under his hand; he could see it threading there in the candlelight as he leaned closer and closer until only a breath separated them.

At the moment their lips touched, the heat inside of him flared from smoldering desire to incandescent passion. Like nothing else in his life, he wanted this slip of a woman standing before him, offering herself to him without thought to what she might get in return. Her hands came up to clutch at his arms even as he slipped his other hand around behind her, beneath the robe, feeling her smooth skin below her neck for the first time. Gasping, he felt her breasts brushing against his chest as he pulled her upward, supporting her even as he bared down hard on her mouth.

Soft sounds of pleasure came from deep in her throat as he kissed her, explored the dark cave of her mouth with his tongue. Oh gods, he thought to himself as he tasted her eagerness, smelled desire strong as perfume rise from her skin, nervous anxiety darkening the flavor. Yes, even as she responded and welcomed him, she fought with herself. He could feel her struggle with herself, sense her indecision and determination.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. She stood quietly in his hold, but he could feel her tremble. Her eyes, still full of determination, were also full of shadows. Shadows that he would have to dispel before he would be able to go any further.

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