Mage Slave
Page 6
He simply stared in shock for a moment. “I can’t imagine anyone would not find you appealing.” His voice was a little more breathless than he might have liked.
She frowned. Odd. Ah, she was not sure what he meant and thought he was dodging the question. “I’m sorry, we were being frank. Something I am clearly less used to than I promised.” He stopped to compose the right words. He saw the flash of a lake in the moonlight, a traditional Akarian marriage ceremony. He tried to imagine meeting her there, naked under the stars to say their vows the Akarian way. Would she insist on different customs? He tried to picture the scene, and it was indeed beautiful, but he could not imagine much beyond the icy chill in her eyes, a predator about to catch its prey. He shook off the image; he was getting ahead of himself. She hadn’t proposed, she’d simply asked if he found her at all appealing. It was a simple question, really. “You are clearly lovely and strong. I do not know you, but I consider you a better potential match than others that have come before. Is that frank enough?”
She nodded briskly. “Yes,” she said without the slightest hint of laughter. “Then let me be clear. I do not mean to take up an excessive amount of your time; I am sure you do have pressing affairs of state on top of your existing diplomatic visitors. I propose that we waste no time with games and set about determining if any potential arrangement could exist between us. I am not here to live off your hospitality, and if we are not a match, then so be it. I will take my leave. But I hope… that that is not the case.”
It was refreshing to be frank about it… but it was also as impersonal as a trade agreement. They might as well be exchanging wool for iron. Her words were a more sincere compliment than he’d received from a woman in a long time, perhaps ever. Yet he was not moved by them. There was no love on the table here, only tolerance or perhaps alliance.
He smiled at her as warmly as he could. “As do I, milady.”
“Evana.”
“Why don’t you take some time to rest and then join me in the Proving Grounds? Camil can show you the way.”
The princess nodded, her jewels sparkling, catching rare bits of Estun sunlight. Aven bowed and took his leave.
The smell of the Proving Grounds hit Aven steps before he was inside. No amount of cleaning could rid the place of the dank, sweaty, wood-smoke scent. Why the Takarans liked this place so much, he had no idea. They were not warriors, but perhaps they liked feeling like ones for a little while. Aven certainly enjoyed the place at times—but to fight, not to watch. If there was no sword in his hand, it was pointless.
Except that it was his job to entertain. He surveyed those in attendance, trying to figure out where to sit. Should he sit on the usual royal benches or with one of their guests? Should he leave room for the princess to join him, or would he prefer she didn’t? Seeing no useful opportunities, he headed toward his mother and his usual seats, which should leave space for Evana to join them.
“So?” his mother asked as soon as he’d sat down.
“So what?”
“So what do you think?”
“The east fire could use some more wood, I suppose. Should I send someone?”
“Quit toying with me!”
He snickered. “Your description was very accurate. You weren’t wrong. She’s very beautiful and no timid mouse, either. She’s a little… strange, though.”
She nodded, not taking her eyes from the current competition. “Cold as ice.”
His turn to nod.
“Oh, before I forget to warn you, Jerrin has specifically requested to fight you today. He says he can’t leave Akaria without beholding your legendary skills himself.”
Aven tried not to groan. He heard her slight emphasis on leaving and understood. So perhaps Jerrin did know he had overstayed his welcome a bit. But why would he want to fight Aven? Jerrin was an ambassador, the highest-ranking member of the delegation now that their king had taken leave. Jerrin couldn’t hope to actually kill or hurt Aven, nor did that seem terribly advantageous. They had been nothing but friendly and had hashed out six detailed trade deals, which would all be rendered useless with a war. And Takar was known even less for its armed forces than for the martial skill of its ambassadors. Takarans made a great deal of money out of trade with Akaria; they did not need to attempt to control Aven’s supposedly uncultured, warlike people. Even the thought that they might be able to was ridiculous.
Perhaps it was indeed personal curiosity. What else could it be?
“Well, perhaps today is the day, then. What do you think, Mother?”
Her look said, if it makes them leave, by all means, do it. But there was also a streak of worry in her eyes. She, too, did not understand it. Well, he would not seek it out. If Jerrin came and renewed his request in person, Aven would accept. If he did not, Aven would let it conveniently slip his mind. These competitions were so engrossing, after all.
He watched one battle conclude and another begin between two young Akarian knights before Jerrin appeared.
“What do you say, my lord? Has your mother passed on my request?”
“I have, good sir,” she said, a slight edge to her voice.
“And what say you, sir?”
Aven smiled up at him. “I cannot say I share your zest for battle, Jerrin, but what kind of host would I be to leave you unsatisfied? Certainly, if you must see me fight before you leave us, I will not deny you,” he said, adding his own gentle emphasis. Aven stood. He was half a head taller than the man and twenty years younger. “Let us fight.”
Jerrin clapped him on the shoulder and grinned as they turned to enter the fighting ring. Murmurs of excitement swept through the crowd. The prince and the head Takaran ambassador were going to fight.
At least he hadn’t worn his favorite tunic.
The fighting area was nearly the size of the great banquet hall and could accommodate ten or more sparring pairs. At either end of the fighting area stood fireplaces that rose twelve hands high, blazing light for the fighters and warming the hall. Four more stone fire pits were placed throughout the fighting area, providing even more light to the cavernous room. The two men headed to the casual practice armory in the corner, donning mail for fairly serious protection. Aven helped the older man select his armor and appraised the various weapons at their disposal for the rapt ambassador.
“As our guest, what’s your pick?” Aven asked.
She frowned. Odd. Ah, she was not sure what he meant and thought he was dodging the question. “I’m sorry, we were being frank. Something I am clearly less used to than I promised.” He stopped to compose the right words. He saw the flash of a lake in the moonlight, a traditional Akarian marriage ceremony. He tried to imagine meeting her there, naked under the stars to say their vows the Akarian way. Would she insist on different customs? He tried to picture the scene, and it was indeed beautiful, but he could not imagine much beyond the icy chill in her eyes, a predator about to catch its prey. He shook off the image; he was getting ahead of himself. She hadn’t proposed, she’d simply asked if he found her at all appealing. It was a simple question, really. “You are clearly lovely and strong. I do not know you, but I consider you a better potential match than others that have come before. Is that frank enough?”
She nodded briskly. “Yes,” she said without the slightest hint of laughter. “Then let me be clear. I do not mean to take up an excessive amount of your time; I am sure you do have pressing affairs of state on top of your existing diplomatic visitors. I propose that we waste no time with games and set about determining if any potential arrangement could exist between us. I am not here to live off your hospitality, and if we are not a match, then so be it. I will take my leave. But I hope… that that is not the case.”
It was refreshing to be frank about it… but it was also as impersonal as a trade agreement. They might as well be exchanging wool for iron. Her words were a more sincere compliment than he’d received from a woman in a long time, perhaps ever. Yet he was not moved by them. There was no love on the table here, only tolerance or perhaps alliance.
He smiled at her as warmly as he could. “As do I, milady.”
“Evana.”
“Why don’t you take some time to rest and then join me in the Proving Grounds? Camil can show you the way.”
The princess nodded, her jewels sparkling, catching rare bits of Estun sunlight. Aven bowed and took his leave.
The smell of the Proving Grounds hit Aven steps before he was inside. No amount of cleaning could rid the place of the dank, sweaty, wood-smoke scent. Why the Takarans liked this place so much, he had no idea. They were not warriors, but perhaps they liked feeling like ones for a little while. Aven certainly enjoyed the place at times—but to fight, not to watch. If there was no sword in his hand, it was pointless.
Except that it was his job to entertain. He surveyed those in attendance, trying to figure out where to sit. Should he sit on the usual royal benches or with one of their guests? Should he leave room for the princess to join him, or would he prefer she didn’t? Seeing no useful opportunities, he headed toward his mother and his usual seats, which should leave space for Evana to join them.
“So?” his mother asked as soon as he’d sat down.
“So what?”
“So what do you think?”
“The east fire could use some more wood, I suppose. Should I send someone?”
“Quit toying with me!”
He snickered. “Your description was very accurate. You weren’t wrong. She’s very beautiful and no timid mouse, either. She’s a little… strange, though.”
She nodded, not taking her eyes from the current competition. “Cold as ice.”
His turn to nod.
“Oh, before I forget to warn you, Jerrin has specifically requested to fight you today. He says he can’t leave Akaria without beholding your legendary skills himself.”
Aven tried not to groan. He heard her slight emphasis on leaving and understood. So perhaps Jerrin did know he had overstayed his welcome a bit. But why would he want to fight Aven? Jerrin was an ambassador, the highest-ranking member of the delegation now that their king had taken leave. Jerrin couldn’t hope to actually kill or hurt Aven, nor did that seem terribly advantageous. They had been nothing but friendly and had hashed out six detailed trade deals, which would all be rendered useless with a war. And Takar was known even less for its armed forces than for the martial skill of its ambassadors. Takarans made a great deal of money out of trade with Akaria; they did not need to attempt to control Aven’s supposedly uncultured, warlike people. Even the thought that they might be able to was ridiculous.
Perhaps it was indeed personal curiosity. What else could it be?
“Well, perhaps today is the day, then. What do you think, Mother?”
Her look said, if it makes them leave, by all means, do it. But there was also a streak of worry in her eyes. She, too, did not understand it. Well, he would not seek it out. If Jerrin came and renewed his request in person, Aven would accept. If he did not, Aven would let it conveniently slip his mind. These competitions were so engrossing, after all.
He watched one battle conclude and another begin between two young Akarian knights before Jerrin appeared.
“What do you say, my lord? Has your mother passed on my request?”
“I have, good sir,” she said, a slight edge to her voice.
“And what say you, sir?”
Aven smiled up at him. “I cannot say I share your zest for battle, Jerrin, but what kind of host would I be to leave you unsatisfied? Certainly, if you must see me fight before you leave us, I will not deny you,” he said, adding his own gentle emphasis. Aven stood. He was half a head taller than the man and twenty years younger. “Let us fight.”
Jerrin clapped him on the shoulder and grinned as they turned to enter the fighting ring. Murmurs of excitement swept through the crowd. The prince and the head Takaran ambassador were going to fight.
At least he hadn’t worn his favorite tunic.
The fighting area was nearly the size of the great banquet hall and could accommodate ten or more sparring pairs. At either end of the fighting area stood fireplaces that rose twelve hands high, blazing light for the fighters and warming the hall. Four more stone fire pits were placed throughout the fighting area, providing even more light to the cavernous room. The two men headed to the casual practice armory in the corner, donning mail for fairly serious protection. Aven helped the older man select his armor and appraised the various weapons at their disposal for the rapt ambassador.
“As our guest, what’s your pick?” Aven asked.
