Heat shot through Adon at the horrid suspicion that Istrak would likely share Oprak's bed tonight, too.
The Emperor stepped down from his high seat, followed by his sons. Istrak knelt in total silence, so Adon thought he could hear the songs of night insects in the city outside. Oprak grasped her shoulders and raised her to her feet. Then he kissed both her cheeks and her forehead and turned her to face the silent, waiting crowd.
"I proclaim holiday in Parses for an entire moon-quarter, in thanks to the Unseen for his mercy and blessings. My daughter has defended the honor of the throne and of her royal bloodline and has returned triumphant!"
Daughter? Adon stared. The Parsadi shouted her two names, L'istra and Istrak, until the ceiling rang and the ground vibrated under his bare feet. He could only stand and stare, feeling as if he had been hit between the eyes with a roofing beam.
General Istrak was Princess L'istra.
She was everything a princess should be, Adon decided. Beautiful and brave, skilled and loyal and strong, intelligent, loyal to her troops, commanding respect and earning it.
Another strong woman, yes, but different from Taisha. L'istra didn't have to prove anything, didn't have to earn anything. Adon decided he could admire her, even though she had entirely turned his life upside down. The difference between her and Taisha was that L'istra hadn't meant to do it.
Chapter Four
"The healer. Which one is he?” Emperor Oprak gestured vaguely at the long rows of hostages to the right of the dais as the priests went through their ceremony of thanks and celebration.
L'istra wasn't fooled for a moment. Her father knew the face and history of each hostage. She didn't doubt that when Meer rode to her father's workroom after they entered the city, and presented him with a thick bundle of reports and sketches, Oprak had read and memorized each one in the short time before the ceremony.
Dutifully, she gestured at Adon. She had tried not to look ever since she sat down at the Emperor's right hand. It amused her that, just as she tried not to look at him, every time she did glance that way, she caught Adon trying just as hard not to stare at her. She wondered what stunned him the most, her reception by the Emperor or her double identity or the scanty costumes the hostages were given to wear?
They were the clothes of high-ranking male house slaves: bare feet, short vests, loose trousers gathered at the ankle, their restraining collars visible for everyone to see. Some hostages looked far better in their uniforms than others did. That long white scar, clear against the warm tan of Adon's arm, running from shoulder to elbow—where had he earned it? She wondered if he had spent time in the battlefield, defending his patients as fiercely as Hialatus said he worked to heal them.
"You like him?” the Emperor murmured, his head turned so watching courtiers couldn't read his lips. It was a trick all the royal family learned early.
"He is honorable and intelligent and deserves better than to suffer for the crimes of his rulers.” L'istra knew better than to dissemble. Even if her father wouldn't read her thoughts, as he often did when dealing with suspicious diplomats and nobles, she hated even the slightest cloud of deception between them. He was her closest friend and confidante, the only one besides Nona who knew that she still woke, screaming, from nightmares of L'innea's murder.
"He swore loyalty to Eber when he took his position as Chief Physician,” Oprak countered. “He is son of Naqueron, Prime Minister, your choice as vassal ruler. I think that makes him somewhat responsible."
"Point.” L'istra pouted for a few heartbeats then matched her father's grin. “What about him? You haven't shown that much interest in the other hostages I sent back."
"Hialatus especially likes this one."
"The son he never had. I intend to give him to Uncle. They will be very happy working together. Parses will benefit, and Adon.... “She acknowledged her father's amusement at her easy use of Adon's name. “Healer Adon will not suffer any more than necessary in his exile."
"I think not."
"Political necessity,” Inak offered from the other side of their father. “Sorry."
"No.” L'istra met her father's gaze and saw in his eyes confirmation of what she still could only half-grasp. She turned to her other three brothers, and they all nodded. It irked her that they apparently agreed to this unpleasant surprise, and no one had bothered warning her.
All right, so they were warning her now, before the disposition ceremony. She wouldn't stand there, gaping like a stunned rabbit caught outside its hole. She had time to compose herself so she wouldn't shame her family. Or Adon.
L'istra turned to stare openly at the healer. That odious Prince Eber stood next to him, babbling, gesturing grandly. Whatever the hostage prince said had all Adon's attention, and from the stiff uprightness of his posture, his clenched fist hanging at his side, the healer didn't like it.
Then the hostage prince turned to her. Their gazes met. Eber grinned and blew her a kiss. Adon turned and the fury on his face made L'istra feel strangely safe. And she knew in that moment what Eber had been saying.
So that babbling fool thought he would be given to her as a slave? Did he think he could win a place in her bed and charm her into releasing the kingdom of Eber from vassal status? Was that what he thought—if Eber could think at all?
L'istra hid her smug, bitter smile and nodded acceptance of her father's decision. She would enjoy the cruel surprise waiting for Eber.
If only she didn't have the certain feeling Adon would suffer for it.
Why do you care what a peace hostage thinks or feels? L'istra scolded herself. Do you think any of them would care if your positions were reversed?
She thought of Adon, how he had labored and snarled in frustration over a patient who wasn't one of his own people. Yes, she silently answered that defensive voice. Adon would care.
* * * *
"You'll see,” Eber repeated. “I am a prince. They'll have to give me to her. It's tradition to give the highest-ranking hostages to the royal family. We'll have a love-match and a royal wedding before winter solstice. She can't help watching me. She's half-mine already. When I get this wretched collar off.... “His too-wide, too-wet grin faded and he cast a sideways glance at Adon. “What is so funny?"
"Nothing.” Adon bowed his head and let his hair fall forward to shield his eyes. The only light moment of this evening was knowing that Eber lied when he boasted about the fun he had with the Four Furies—and knowing that Eber would never have ‘fun’ with Princess L'istra. She had too much sense to remove that lecher's collar until he was dead and cold, and preferably half-rotted.
Watching L'istra made him ache in ways he didn't understand or like, but he couldn't stop stealing glimpses of her. Adon had never thought he would feel sorry for a Parsadi princess, or that he would feel fear for General Istrak, but he did. His healing magic hadn't detected any drugs in the food fed to the hostages before the ceremony, but it was the only possible explanation for how he felt. Adon said a dozen prayers in as many heartbeats, begging the Unseen's mercy. He had never hated political necessity as he did right now, knowing Eber might be right.
The fallen kingdom of Eber was the strongest of the ten allied kingdoms that had rebelled against the Empire. According to the servants who had tended him, the four princes had peace hostage slaves already. L'istra was the only royal who hadn't been given one yet. Still, Adon prayed for a miracle, for intervention from the Unseen and all the demi-gods that guided and guarded the kingdoms in this half of the world.
Protect her from him, he begged. Eber couldn't rape the princess, and Adon didn't doubt she could kill her attacker with her bare hands, but there were other ways to torment and wound, and Eber was skilled in all those cruelties. L'istra was the more civilized and adult of the two, and she would restrain herself, taking wounds in her spirit and heart with no way of retaliating until it was too late. Protect her. Do with me what you will, Blessed Unseen, but protect her.
Crown Prince Inak stood and
moved to the edge of the dais. The waiting nobles and officials fell silent before he raised his hands. Adon shivered, sensing how eagerly they all awaited the coming ceremony to dispose of the peace hostages. How many of these people waited for someone to dominate, in retribution for damage caused by the rebellion? How many had asked for a specific hostage slave? How many would go to kind households, where they could be comfortable for the duration of their exile? How many were as lucky as he felt, to have a friend and a place he wanted to go to? Adon looked for Healer Hialatus, who sat close enough to the dais to have conversations with the royal family. The army healer nodded to him, and Adon nodded back. He hoped the ceremony wouldn't take too long. He longed for the simple cot in the healer dormitories and his new life that waited in the morning. He ignored the speech the prince made, until L'istra stood up and joined her brother.
"Stop,” he growled under his breath as Eber stepped out from the line of hostages.
"Never keep a beautiful princess waiting,” the prince said with a smirk, and made a show of tugging his vest straight and running his fingers through his hair to arrange it.
"As a gift, to show his esteem for the loyalty and service of General Istrak, for the love he holds for his daughter, Princess L'istra,” Prince Inak said, “the first peace hostage given as slave will be a gift to the royal daughter.” He turned and looked directly at Eber.
No. Adon felt his stomach twist when he realized the prince looked at him, and nodded with actual respect in his eyes. He knew he should grab Eber's wrist and stop the prince from making a fool of himself yet again, but Adon felt as if his feet were nailed to the floor.
"A man of honor and skill, devoted to peace and to life, gifted with magic as a blessing on all people, chosen by the Unseen to heal. A man of noble blood, son of the vassal ruler of Eber.” Inak held out his hand. “Healer Adon of Eber, son of Naqueron and Adieri. You are now given into the household of Princess L'istra. You will serve with Chief Physician Hialatus, but your first duties will be to—"
"No!” Eber shrieked. He took two steps toward the dais, then as a few giggles rippled through the otherwise silent crowd, he turned back and lunged at Adon. “She's mine! You can't have her. I'll—” His words died, choked by a rising shriek as if he had been emasculated.
Lightning encased Eber's body at the same moment one hand wrapped around Adon's neck. Adon gasped, feeling the fire that raced through muscle, blood, and bone and sent the enraged prince crashing to the floor. His muscles went slack, weak as water, and he slid to the ground, unable to free himself from Eber's grip. Then palace guards surrounded them and Hialatus’ face appeared in the encroaching black cloud that filled his vision. Hands separated the two men. Adon inhaled sharply and loudly as the paralyzing fire left his body.
"Doesn't tickle, does it?” Hialatus murmured as he caught hold of Adon's wrist and checked his pulse.
"I didn't think about attacking him,” Adon gasped. “I swear.” He looked around and realized they were alone in what had to be an anteroom.
"No, you probably didn't have time. The most powerful magic embedded in those collars is to keep the peace hostages from attacking each other. Like snakes imprisoned in a box or rats tied up in a sack, waiting for drowning, peace hostages have a nasty tendency to turn on each other when they would be smarter to work together.” Hialatus nodded, pleased, and released his wrist. “You only felt an echo of what that fool suffered because he was touching you."
"That was an echo?” Adon didn't know whether to laugh or be sick. “He's not dead, is he?"
"No, but he'll wish he was when he wakes in a day or two. Feel like you can walk?” A sympathetic smile caught one corner of his mouth. “You don't have to go back there. I'm sure Issy prefers not to make you go through that with so many witnesses. But you'll still have to make your vows in front of Oprak. Probably tomorrow."
"Vows?” Adon sat up and exhaled in relief at being able to move at all. “Issy? You called the princess Issy?” He would have laughed, but his stomach kept twisting.
"I've known her since before she was born. Privilege of familiarity.” He stepped back and gestured at the door. “Come along."
The white-haired, dainty little woman who met them at the door of Princess L'istra's chambers looked Adon over from head to toe three times before she let them inside. Adon hoped that nod and the flat line of her mouth were positive signs, accepting him, and not resignation and a wish for something better. As he walked through the anteroom and stepped into the open-air courtyard, he realized he would live in close quarters with the princess, day and night, at her beck and call. A surprising warmth in his belly responded to the image of seeing her first thing in the morning, tousled with sleep. Did she sleep naked in this perpetually warm, southern climate?
He wasn't supposed to feel lust. The collars prevented it. Was the collar defective or had he gone mad?
"Your rooms.” The woman gestured to the right of the courtyard, where a whitewashed door hung half-open, revealing a room holding shelves and a table and chairs, and another door beyond it. Then she pointed at another door, painted blue. “Mine. And those are her Highness’ rooms.” She pointed to the emerald door beyond hers. The lily pool in the center of the courtyard lay between Adon's new quarters and the princess'.
"Will you be teaching me my duties, Mistress?” Adon nodded respectfully to the old woman. She reminded him of the healer priestess in charge of the novices in his mother's healer hall. She had a harsh tongue and a hand swift at dispensing punishment, but she had a lovely laugh, a good sense of humor, and a strong sense of justice. She was also surprisingly lenient and understanding when young boys and girls broke discipline and acted like young boys and girls.
"Just Nona.” The hard line of the woman's mouth softened, and she nodded to Hialatus. “I am the princess’ nurse. Be sure, you will not be allowed to hurt her."
"Hurt her?” Adon glanced at Hialatus, questioning.
"Nona, trust me. I recommended to Oprak that Adon serve Issy."
"You did?” Nona's eyes widened, and she looked Adon over as if she hadn't already. Then her eyes sparkled, and she nodded. “You're a clever rascal. I hope our dear girl forgives you. And you, Healer, do you think you can serve my princess?"
"Whatever she needs and wants, I will do my best,” Adon said, turning his words into a vow.
"What she needs most is a friend. Whether she ever admits it ... well, we shall see. Come along."
It was nearly midnight before Nona was satisfied that Adon had been settled into his new quarters. She clucked sympathetically and shook her head when Hialatus told her about Eber's outburst in the throne room. She kept a close watch on the servants who brought clothes and linens, scribe supplies, and scrolls, filled the tall water jars sitting just outside Adon's door, and brought the basic supplies for a healer: mortar and pestle, jars and bottles of healing herbs, lamps and lamp oil.
"Well, we shall probably find more things we forgot, but that can be taken care of tomorrow. It's close on midnight, and you will have to stand before the Emperor in the morning before he meets with the nobles. Morning comes early enough in the palace without staying up all night to meet it.” Nona gestured at the half-open door of his bedroom and headed for the door out to the courtyard. “Sleep you well, Healer."
"Sweet dreaming, Lady Nona,” Adon said. “Thank you, Master Hialatus."
"Just Nona,” the old woman said. “Adon,” she added with a chuckle. She winked at him just before Hialatus pulled the door closed, leaving Adon alone in his new quarters.
Blessed Unseen, if this is your answer to my prayer ... Adon wasn't sure how to finish that prayer, so he washed his face, undressed and stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable but narrow bed. He slept far sooner than he had expected.
* * * *
L'istra cried out like the child she had been and heard the harsh scream of a woman echoing around her. She was ten years old again, hearing the screams of her sister L'innea, struggling to esc
ape, crying out for help, throwing pebbles and bark and finally her jewelry at Mitterand. The crown prince of Gohl. Her husband. Her murderer.
Knowing what she would find, L'istra still ran toward the sound, reaching out for the door in the hedge that let her into her sister's private gardens. The place where Mitterand chased her and toyed with her, first slapping her with the flat of his curved blade, then slicing at her. L'istra had seen too much to let her hesitate for even one second when the murderer claimed that someone else had done it. She hadn't seen enough to teach her discretion, and she had called him a liar while her sister's bloody, bruised body steamed in the chill night air.
L'istra had seen enough to make her vow to never be so helpless ever again, and to defend those who could not fight.
"Princess?"
The sudden intrusion of a man's voice shattered the nightmare. L'istra yelped as she fell out of bed and out of the dream.
"Princess? Are you all right? Do you need help?"
"Here, what are you doing?” Nona's stern, sleepy voice helped L'istra grab hold of the frayed edges of memory and haul herself back over the edge into waking and reality.
"She's ill, I think.” That was Healer Adon.
L'istra hiccupped, half-sob, half-laughter. Now she remembered. Adon was her slave. Had it only happened last night?
"Child?” Nona's key scraped against the lock, then the lock clicked. “Here, you can go back now."
"If she's not well—"
"I'm fine,” L'istra managed to say, her voice rough. So, that had been her own voice, shredded in screams. “I had a bad dream."
"Dream? Pish.” Nona pushed the door open enough to stick her hand, a lamp and her face in. “Child?"
"A dream,” she said, putting emphasis on both words.
"Didn't scream until after he came to your door,” the old woman murmured and tipped her head back a little, indicating Adon.
The Sword and the Slave Page 4
