VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “Einalem?”

  “Nay. ‘Tis Cidre I mean. The goddess wants him.”

  Sickness rose in Ardra’s throat. “How can you tell? Einalem watches him, so I thought—”

  “Oh, aye, Einalem watches the pilgrim, but Cidre touched him. On the lips and chest. She wants him, mark my words.”

  Einalem opened her shutters to let in the fresh air. When she turned around, Ralen had climbed from the bed. She watched him stretch. “I want to be your lifemate, Ralen.”

  “Nonsense. You would despise my life.” He dug in the bedding for his breeches.

  “Perhaps in the beginning, but I could grow to like it.” Why was he not succumbing to her wishes? She had given him half the powder in the vial and still he was aloof—nay, as cold as ever. What was wrong?

  “I must see to my horses. They need exercise.”

  She walked across the room, slowly, to be sure he could admire her every move, her fine shape. She lifted her arms and piled her hair on her head, then let it cascade down, something he loved to watch. “Forget your horses.”

  His eyes darkened. But not much. He was sated.

  “Let me pleasure you again,” she said, stroking her hands up and down his hips.

  He slid from her grasp and pulled on his breeches. “This is the last time I will seek your bed, Einalem, if you cannot accept one fact.”

  “What is that?”

  “I have no wish to lifemate. When I do—if I do—it will be a chief’s daughter, not a councilor’s sister.”

  “You insult me.”

  “I am sorry.” He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. “You are lovely. You know how to please in bed, but I suspect my future will not hold the fate you would choose for me.”

  She could not stop her tears. “What fate is that?”

  “A councilor’s seat. It is what you wish, is it not? To be a councilor’s lifemate? To be so honored?”

  He had a musky scent after lovemaking that she had been unable to concoct in her herbarium. She had even bribed a bathhouse attendant to collect the oils and sweat of his body for her. Still, the power he exuded when aroused eluded her.

  “You are the second warrior to disappoint me, Ralen.”

  “I am sorry. Now, if you wish to have me in your bed, you must forget this nonsense.”

  “Answer one question for me.” She took up his tunic and held it behind her back.

  “I am finished with your questions. Give me my tunic.” He held out his hand.

  She danced away. “Nay. Not until you answer my question.”

  But he would not play. He stood still and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have other tunics.”

  She hated him. “How will you feel when I give my favors to another?”

  “I will miss you, but I will not share you. Cidre has indicated she is most willing to take your place.”

  “Go to her, then. Lie with the goddess. May she curse your manhood. Nay, may she curse your sword arm.”

  In two steps he was upon her. He snatched her up and held her off the floor. “Never say such words aloud, do you hear me? Not even in jest. Call down the darkness on others if you wish, but curse me and I will visit it tenfold on you another day.”

  He dropped her and stormed from her chamber, slamming the door behind him.

  “Go, Ralen. I am done with you,” she called after him.

  She paced, then flung his tunic to the floor. She tossed the pillows from the bed and tore off the stained linens. Finally, her ire spent, she went to her coffer. She tossed up the lid and pulled out the Vial of Seduction.

  She did not understand why the potion had failed her. Then a thought flitted through her mind.

  “Perhaps it failed because I do not truly want him. Perhaps it failed because when last we made love, it was someone else I thought of.” The stone bottle was heavy, but she knew there was very little powder inside. It could not be wasted.

  “That must be it. I did not truly want him. My thoughts of Lien interfered.”

  Ardra escaped from Deleh. This time, she made sure Ralen was elsewhere before she knocked on Einalem’s chamber door.

  “Enter,” Einalem called. Ardra did so and swallowed her surprise. Einalem sat on a stool plaiting her hair; she wore nothing but a smile. Her figure was as lush as the ones carved into Cidre’s hearth. “What can I do for you?” Einalem stood up and stretched, then walked to the bed. It was bare of linens, which lay by the bed in a heap.

  Ardra stared in awe at what a storm of lovemaking must have taken place to cause the furs and coverlets to be on the floor.

  “What do you want, Ardra? Surely you did not come here to inspect my chamber?” Einalem picked up an azure robe, which she belted on.

  “I wanted your advice. I was in Cidre’s herbarium and saw a few things I did not recognize.”

  Light filled Einalem’s eyes. “Tell me.”

  “It occurred to me that I do not know what the Vial of Seduction looks like, nor the potion inside. Is it liquid or powder? What color is it? I may see the potion and not even recognize it.”

  “So, you have come to me because I would recognize something out of place in the herbarium.”

  “Aye, and you are the one person who could visit the herbarium without her suspicion.”

  Einalem lifted the lid of the gold chest on her table. “But not necessarily without Cidre.”

  “I was hoping you could think of a reason to exclude her.”

  “Let me consider.”

  Einalem cast off her robe and dressed in a serviceable blue wool gown and sturdy leather shoes. It was the garb of a healer who knew she might dirty her clothes or need to walk a great distance through harsh weather.

  Ardra felt a pang of guilt that she so disliked the woman. Einalem was a healer who brought children into the world and eased pain.

  Then Einalem wiped away the humble-healer impression by pinning turquoise beads in her braid.

  While Einalem worked on her hair, Ardra inspected the small gold chest. It held rows of bottles with different stoppers, some wood, some gold. “What are these vials?” she asked.

  “My herbs. Come closer and I will teach you a little trick.”

  Ardra stood on the opposite side of Einalem’s table. She watched Einalem select a purple bottle. It was made of some smooth stone and painted with stars. The stopper was silver. Einalem opened the bottle and tapped a turquoise powder onto a small white square of parchment. Next, she tipped the powder into a goblet.

  “This is the night powder,” Einalem said. “And this the night wine, brewed of grapes collected in the moonlight and washed in the fountains found beneath the capital, the same fountains that feed the bathhouses, though not the hot springs, the cold ones.” She poured some wine into the goblet.

  Ardra understood why Einalem had three packhorses if she had brought her own wine along. “I did not know there were cold springs in the bathhouses.”

  Einalem watched her over the cup rim. “Only initiated healers know where they are.”

  She drained her goblet. Next, she refilled her cup with the wine. She opened another bottle after sealing the first. This bottle was also purple, but it had no stars. It bore only a likeness of the sun at its most red. The stopper was gold. Again, Einalem tapped a powder, this one dusty red, onto the parchment, then tipped it into the wine. She drank.

  “Now,” Einalem said, “I will mix the potion for you. The night powder, I assume?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Then you must have no lovers.” Einalem held up the two stone bottles. “The night powder is to prevent conception if you have made love at night. The day powder is for after-sunrise lovemaking.”

  Ardra turned away from the table to hide her face from Einalem. “I have no need of the potions.”

  The crumpled bed, the two potions, told Ardra that Einalem and Ralen had made love not only during the night, but also during the day. What was it like to make love in the brilliancy of the sun?


  “Come,” Einalem said. “I have thought of a reason to visit Cidre’s herbarium.”

  “How?”

  “You shall see.”

  Ardra accompanied Einalem to the hall.

  Ralen and Samoht had their heads together over a board game. It contained a large gold oval consisting of smaller turquoise ovals interlocking with each other. They cast a die and then moved coins from oval to oval. It was a notorious game of chance. Much ill-afforded money changed hands among the ice miners, who enjoyed the game as much as these men of status.

  Of course, the miners’ boards were not this fine, their pieces small stones. But the money they bet on the outcome could mean a child’s hunger and a woman’s despair.

  Einalem walked directly to the men and snatched a coin from the board. Samoht looked up and glared.

  “Playing games again?” Ralen asked.

  A vision of Ralen in Einalem’s chamber flashed into Ardra’s mind. She turned away, only to be confronted by the naked maidens on the mantelpiece.

  “Nay,” Einalem said. “I am done with games. How are your horses, by the way?”

  “My horses are well. I am looking into adding a new mount to my stable, though,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

  She tossed the coin in the air. Samoht caught the coin, then rose and kissed his sister once on each cheek. “Now be off. We want to finish our game.”

  “We are looking for Cidre,” Ardra said.

  “Look behind you.”

  Einalem frowned. “Cidre is with Lien.”

  Lien and Cidre walked across the hall. The goddess touched his arm and pointed to the blue-hawk near the lofty ceiling. Her hand remained on his arm.

  Ralen grinned. “Why should it matter whom he is with? He is celibate and she is not. There will be little going on there.”

  Samoht moved one of the coins on the game board. “I do not understand how a man can abstain from women. It is not natural.”

  Einalem crossed her arms and tossed her head. “He probably has an active hand.”

  Ralen and Samoht roared with laughter, drawing Lien and Cidre their way. Ardra did not understand the jest, but assumed it had something to do with pleasure. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. It would not do to appear ignorant.

  “I bid you good day, Einalem,” Cidre said. “I feared I might not see you at all before my feast.”

  “I love to lie in bed,” Einalem said, and Ardra glanced at Ralen, but he seemed intent on his game.

  Then Einalem put out her hand. “Lien. I wish to see your rash.”

  Lien rolled back his sleeve. The rash around his wrist had deepened to a wide red cuff. “It’s a bit worse,” he said.

  “Oh, aye, this is much worse. The salve I gave you has done little to help. How I wish I had some…” Einalem broke off, then looked up at the goddess. “Oh, Cidre, you must have an herbarium. May I use your stores? I know of another treatment that may help our friend here.”

  Cidre bowed. “Of course. I shall accompany you.” Ardra followed Cidre and Einalem, conscious of Lien, who walked at her side.

  Einalem stopped by Samoht and Ralen and touched a finger to her lips. “It seems to me, Cidre, that you do not trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Cidre’s flawless brow wrinkled into small furrows.

  “Aye.” Einalem spread her hands out, palm up. “I have no need of assistance to make a salve, that I am sure you know, so I must assume you accompany me lest I disturb some work of yours.”

  Cidre smiled and swept out her hand. “By no means. I thought to watch you and perhaps learn something new, but if you think I lack trust, by all means, go alone. Use my herbarium as you see fit. Ardra has been there; she will direct you.”

  When they reached the lower levels of the fortress, Ardra took the lead and showed them into the herbarium. It was neither guarded nor locked up.

  “So why don’t you fill me in on what’s going on here?” Lien asked Einalem.

  “Sit down, Lien.” Einalem pointed at a chair. “Ardra asked me to examine the herbarium for the Vial of Seduction. We are here to do so, quite alone, thanks to my quick thinking.”

  Lien straddled a chair, resting his arms on the seat back. “Really? Examining the goddess’s herbarium? Looking for the vial? Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

  Ardra decided to ignore his tart tone.

  Einalem washed her hands in a silver bowl, whispering a few words over the water as she poured it. Then, adding several ingredients, she cooked up a smooth, oily salve. Its scent reminded Ardra of the dew on a fresh apple.

  While Einalem stirred and simmered, Ardra looked through every bin, box, bowl, and bundle. She saw much that puzzled her, but no small brown bottles, or powders that looked like dirt.

  “‘Tis done.” Einalem poured the warm salve into a bowl and then washed her hands again. “Take off your tunic.”

  Lien put out his hand. “I’ll rub it on, thank you.”

  Einalem shrugged. “Do your wrists first. I will know immediately if it needs adjustment.”

  He rolled his sleeves and worked the salve into his skin. “It feels a bit better.”

  “It should have a cooling effect. May I look at your neck?”

  Lien stood up, pulled his tunic over his head, then straddled the chair again.

  “This has spread badly,” Einalem said, and Ardra could not resist a peek. The rash which had encircled his throat now bloomed down his back in lines of dark red.

  Knotwork.

  The room shifted, darkened. Ardra put her hand to her temples and pressed hard. The air cleared.

  It must be the warmth of the herbarium, together with the heavy scents of the spices and herbs that made her feel faint.

  She took a deep breath and moved closer. Nay, she was not faint. ‘Twas as she believed. A tracery of knotwork overlay the honed muscles of his back. Yet Einalem seemed to see nothing in the inflamed skin.

  “Einalem,” she said. “I will put the salve on Lien’s back while you search the herbarium.”

  “Yeah,” Lien said. “Why is Ardra searching instead of you? She probably knows nothing about all this stuff. No one would know better than you what to look for.”

  “Well. That is true.” Einalem smiled and slid her hand over Lien’s bare shoulder.

  Ardra tugged the bowl away from Einalem, but Lien put his hand under the bowl. “I can do it myself.”

  “Oh, you could never reach the center of your back.” Ardra knelt behind him. She tipped the salve into her palms and took a deep breath.

  The red lines were composed of tiny dots. His skin was hot where the rash was darkest. It seemed to run beneath his skin, not on top of it.

  She placed her palms at his waist. He tensed. She held her hands there, not moving, until he relaxed. Then she ran her hands up the column of his spine, pressing her thumbs into the heat of his flesh. His hard muscles flexed beneath her fingers as she smoothed on the salve. She resisted the urge to trace the actual lines of his rash lest Einalem notice.

  Ardra moved around in front of him, and he looked up at her. She could not read his expression in the dimly lighted herbarium, but when she set her hands on the inflamed circle of red about his throat, he closed his eyes.

  His neck was reddest, the rash an angry collar like that worn by recalcitrant slaves in the warmer climes. If they were alone, she would run her hands down his chest, touch his flat, dark nipples, and explore the line of hair that just showed at the edge of his breeches. But Einalem hummed in the background, so she worked the salve into the rash and remembered that he had no desire for little Liens. She knew deep within her that he would leave with the pilgrims after the feast.

  Dispassion was what she needed. But she could not lose this last chance to memorize the feel of his skin.

  As she worked, the rash faded, not completely, but it changed from dark red to a ghostly remnant against his sun-darkened skin.

  Lien arched his back and rose quite suddenly. “That’s better, Ard
ra. Thanks.”

  “Did it help?” She cupped the bowl in the circle of her arms.

  His chest was in front of her nose. So were the roses. So was the snake.

  “Very much. My back feels a lot better than my wrists, though.” He held out his arms.

  Behind him, Einalem poked in a cupboard, lifting small linen pouches out and sniffing them. Ardra dipped her fingers in the salve. She examined the rash on his wrist as she had on his back.

  There was no mistake. The rash formed of tiny dots did not run randomly across his skin, nor follow the path of his blood. It ran in a familiar pattern, thick as a manacle about his wrist. The Shield.

  The salve faded the marks to a barely perceptible shadow on his skin.

  He pulled on his tunic. She could not look away from his chest, nor forget the way his skin felt beneath her fin­gertips…or his thighs against hers when he’d sat behind her on the bed.

  He belted the tunic and then touched her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered and turned away.

  She pressed her hand to her cheek. To think that his rash formed the Shield pattern was madness.

  “So, what’s all this stuff?” Lien asked. He leaned an elbow beside Einalem. She slapped his hand when he poked a finger in a wooden box.

  He sniffed a dark liquid that bubbled sluggishly over a wick burning in a dish of oil. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, a simple for a child who may be fevered.”

  Ardra’s heart began to hammer. “We have been gone a long time.”

  Einalem ignored her. She moved methodically through the rows of bottles and dishes.

  “Do you see anything unusual?” Lien asked.

  Einalem tipped a bowl toward them. “A very large quantity of the herbs that prevent birth. She must have a very virile lover to need so much.”

  “They do not look like the ones you…have,” Ardra said and glanced at Lien. He merely lifted his eyebrows.

  Einalem smiled at her. “These herbs are taken before one makes love.” Einalem lifted the bowl and weighed it in her hands. “In fact, I stand corrected. ‘Tis the quantity needed to cause a birth to slip.”

  “What?” Ardra abandoned her spot at the door. She looked closer at the deep bowl filled with innocent green herbs. It could be a mix to season soup, save for the scent, which was that of the forest, not the garden. “What are you speaking of?”