Demon King (41 page)

Alegria splashed happily, singing to herself. She, at least, was awake and alert. I considered drowning her. I thought about putting the robe back on, then thought myself foolish, went to the tub, and lowered myself into it. It was just above blood-warm, about three feet deep. Submerged, I felt my hair float like seaweed about my head. Finally I had to surface to breathe, and I stretched out on my back, my head resting on the tub’s rim.

The water was unusual, bubbling, caressing my skin, soothing it, but without the usual stink of a mineral hot springs. Alegria lay as I did across from me, peering at me through toes she wriggled from time to time.

“Are you happy, Damastes?” she said.

I realized, somewhat to my surprise, that at least I wasn’t unhappy. The leaden misery that had companioned me since Marán had discarded me was still there, but far distant, almost a memory. “Pretty much,” I said.

“I am, too.”

I yawned.

“None of that, sir,” she said. “You will be awake to dine. We have been eating slugs and snails and worms and grain and things I wouldn’t feed a duck for ages.”

“Well, we better not wait too long, then,” I said. “Or I’ll drown in the soup.” Oddly, as I spoke, I felt fatigue draining, as if the bath had rejuvenating powers.

“Of course not,” Alegria said. “These tubs are dangerous, I’ve learned.”

“How so? Too warm and you melt to death?”

“No,” she said, putting a worried look on her face. “It’s the wood the casks are made out of. I read that it harbors small creatures that slip out after a time.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “They’re somewhat dangerous, since they have a single claw, and dearly love to bite.”

“I’m deeply concerned,” I said.

“Oooh. I just felt one,” she yelped. “It’s down on the bottom, and it’s moving toward you.”

At that moment a pair of pinchers closed on my cock, and I found the power of levitation. Then I realized the “claw” was Alegria’s toes.

I stood, streaming water. “Wench! Hoyden! Liar!” My outrage might have been more convincing if my cock hadn’t been rising in front of me. “I told you not to do things like that,” I said, again failing at dignified outrage.

“I’m
very
sorry, Damastes,” Alegria said. “Especially since I hear the sound of our table being set outside. Shall we dine?”

• • •

We did, on freshly baked warm bread, tubs of country butter, a wonderful salad of many different kinds of greens, and tiny shrimp Alegria swore came from the inn’s tubs, and were just like the one that had bitten me, sans claws. We could have had meat or fish, but both of us lusted after vegetables, and so we had quickly fried bitter melon with black beans and assorted mushrooms. Alegria had two glasses of wine; I drank mineral water. I summoned a servant and had him remove the ruins of the meal.

“And now to bed, my lord?”

“And now to bed,” I said and yawned.

“Actually,” she said, as she rose and went into the bedchamber, “I’m quite grateful we have the arrangement we do.”

“Oh?”

“Were we anything other than what we are, we might be losing valuable sleep, which we need to build our bodies for the morrow.”

“You sound like my mother,” I said.

“But do I look like her?” She dropped her robe as she spoke. I caught a glimpse of her lithe, nude body, then she closed the gas valve, and we were in darkness, except for the tiny fringe of a moon through racing clouds. “Come to bed,” she whispered, and I heard the creak of the springs.

I obeyed. It was huge, soft, warm, and wonderful, although, at the moment, I was having a bit of trouble thinking about the bed and sleep. Alegria was on her side, back to me. I took several deep breaths, but that didn’t help matters.

“I’m almost asleep,” Alegria said, but she didn’t sound sleepy. “Tell me something, Damastes. Do Numantians kiss?”

“Of course, silly.”

“Why is that silly? I’ve never been kissed by one. Least of all by you. I thought maybe your people thought it was evil or something.”

“Alegria, you’re not being good.”

“No? What’s the harm in one little kiss? I mean, just to satisfy scholarly curiosity and things like that.”

“All right.”

She rolled on her back and stretched her hands above her head. “Do Numantians kiss with their mouths open or closed?”

“This one does it with his mouth closed, because he’s trying to stay out of trouble,” I muttered. I leaned over and kissed her gently. Her lips moved under mine a little. I kissed the corners of her mouth, and it opened slightly. But I held to my resolve and kissed her cheeks, then, gently, her eyelids. There seemed no harm in caressing her eyelids with my tongue, however.

“Numantians are very gentle,” she murmured. “Do that again.”

I did, and somehow my mouth opened a little, and her tongue slid into it. Alegria sighed and lowered her arms around me. The kiss went on, and became less gentle. Her arms moved up and down my back. It seemed appropriate to run my tongue back and forth across her neck, and her breathing came faster. She took one arm from around me and pulled the sheet away. Her breasts were against me, tight nipples hard.

I kissed one, then the other, teased them with my teeth, then came back to her mouth. One of my arms was around her back, pulling her close, and the other caressed her, moving down, just over the swell of her buttocks.

She lifted a leg, curled it around me, and I felt dampness and a curly tickle on my upper thigh.

Then she yelped, pulled away, and rolled out of bed to her feet.

“What the — ”

“Something bit me! Ouch! Son of a palsied — find the light, quickly!”

I fumbled on the bedside table for the covered slow match, opened it, and relit the gas.

Alegria stood naked in the middle of the floor, warily looking at the bed. “I’m not getting back in there — pull the blankets back, my lord.”

I obeyed, and a black spider scuttled across the sheet. I crushed it with the heel of my hand.

“Where did it bite you?”

“Here,” she said. “On the back of my arm.”

There was a red area, rapidly swelling. I found the bellpull and clanged for a servant. One arrived in minutes, and I ordered vinegar and baking soda. When they arrived, I mixed the two together, then laved the back of her arm again and again. As I did, the innkeeper appeared. She was appalled that such a thing could happen in her inn, especially to such a noble visitor, and insisted on having the entire bed removed and replaced. She wanted to have the chamber smoke-filled — to make sure the spider was dead — to move us to another room, even though it wasn’t her best like this one — and so on and so forth. But eventually I got rid of her and went back to Alegria. After about half an hour, she said the pain was gone.

“But when we reach Jarrah,” I said, “I want you to visit a seer. Spider bites can turn nasty.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She looked at me wryly. “I’m starting to believe Irisu wishes me to remain a maiden forever, though.”

I managed a wan smile. My mood of romance, gentle lust, was gone. Now I wanted …

I didn’t know what I wanted.

Alegria correctly read my expression. “Come, Damastes. Let us sleep. For real.” Once more she shut off the lights, and once more we got into bed.

“Good night,” she said, and her voice was dull, flat.

“Would you mind if I kissed you good night?” I asked.

After a moment, she said, “No,” and there was a breath of life to her tone. We kissed, and it was very tender, very gentle, with no heat. She turned over, and I yawned. Her breathing gentled, became the tiniest snore.

I felt myself sinking, but as I did, she moved toward me, her behind warm against my stomach. She fitted her legs against mine until we were nestled together, her head just below and in front of mine. I kissed the tip of her ear.

I cupped her breast with my right hand, and she made a contented sound. It precisely filled my grasp.

Then sleep took me.

• • •

I don’t know what might have happened if we’d stayed another day or two at the inn … or perhaps I do.

But the next day we moved on, and by dusk we were in Jarrah.

Jarrah sprawled for leagues, its symmetrically laid streets broken by parks and small lakes, even more than graced Nicias. The boulevards were wide and tree-lined, and a river wound lazily through the city, from east to west. The city was walled, but in a rather haphazard manner. It had been planned as an octagon, with siege-proof walls nearly thirty feet thick, and onion-shaped guard towers at the angles. But the city had sprawled beyond, and each time it did, another set of walls was built. These walls, when the metropolis devoured them, had arches driven through them, so commerce could pass through.

Farther south were rolling hills, and here were the palaces of the mighty. One held the Numantian Embassy, where we were going. Beyond these estates, each set off by parklands, was Moriton, the King’s Own, a fortress enclosing many more elaborate mansions, barracks, and administration centers. Here dwelt King Bairan, and his satraps, servants, slaves, and administrators in their thousands.

Shamb Philaret had sent riders ahead the night before, so we were expected. A pavilion was raised beyond the city gates, against the occasionally spattering rain, and richly garbed dignitaries waited under it.

I wore a waist-length red cloak against the weather, black knee-high boots, white riding breeches, a white tunic with red trim, and a shako. I was armed with the sword King Bairan had given me.

Alegria wore a dark brown, almost black, silk garment with needlework, high-necked. At the waist, the suit flared into wide-legged pants, and she wore short boots underneath it. For protection against the weather, she had a hooded cloak that appeared to be no more than translucent cloth with exotic embroidery. But the garment was spellbound, so it cast off the rain and was windproof as well.

The first to greet me was Baron Sala, sad-eyed as ever. I wasn’t sure if I outranked him, but there was little harm in being the first to bow, especially since the emperor wanted peace, and a peaceful man is never arrogant. Sala looked a little surprised, bowed as well, first to me, then, to my surprise and pleasure, to Alegria, whom he greeted by name and gave the title of
woizera
— noble lady. She might have been no more than property, but Sala had decency.

“Baron,” I said. “You told me once you doubted if my emperor would allow me to visit your land. I’m delighted you were wrong, even though I’m deeply unhappy about the circumstances.”

“As am I, as is my king,” Sala said. “And by the way, my title is now
ligaba.
My king has honored me greatly.”

“And wisely,” I said honestly.
Ligaba
was the title of the court’s highest chancellor.

“Thank you, Ambassador. I hope to prove you right. The king has also named me to represent Maisir in our negotiations.”

“That is truly excellent,” I said, a little less truthfully. It might be good I’d be dealing with someone familiar with Nicias, the emperor, and Numantia, but on the other hand it would make it very hard to run any sort of bluff.

Another man came toward us, dressed in a very dignified dark gray tunic and pants, with many decorations on a sash over one shoulder. I knew him by portrait, although we’d never met. He was Lord Susa Boconnoc, Numantian ambassador to Maisir. He came from a very old family that had been well rewarded when they declared loyalty to the emperor a day after the Rule of Ten had given in to Tenedos’s demands. Boconnoc had always been a diplomat, and so he was named to the extraordinarily important post in Jarrah. I’d read his file, talked discreetly to others in our Foreign Service, and found he was considered no more than averagely bright, and not particularly creative. He was very good with people, particularly high-ranking ones, and moved easily among them.

One person said, frankly, that most people thought him somewhat thicker than sand, and I wondered why the emperor had chosen him. Then I realized Tenedos thought Maisir too important for anyone but himself to deal with, and had picked the ideal man for the job, someone who would obey any instructions to the letter but no further, someone who would report exactly what was going on without interpretations, someone who was utterly loyal.

Boconnoc was in his fifties, had a distinguished, carefully shaped gray beard and short hair, and carried himself with dignity. He could, depending on his choice of expressions, look like a favorite, if a bit stern, grandsire, or, when angry, or simulating that emotion — as all diplomats, commanders, and parents must learn to do — like the embodiment of Aharhel the God Who Speaks to Kings.

“Ambassador á Cimabue,” he said, “there’s a bit of a surprise. Originally you were to be quartered in our embassy. But the king determined otherwise, and requested you lodge within Moriton. This is a great honor, Ambassador, one which no other Numantian has ever been granted. I’ll see your men are well provided for.”

“The king made this decision,” Sala broke in, “not merely as an honor, but to show how seriously he takes this dispute, and how quickly he hopes to have the matter resolved … before other alternatives are forced on him. He and I both hope a peaceful solution is possible.”

“It is,” I said. “Quickly and immediately. I have explicit orders from my emperor.”

Both professionals looked surprised and a little shocked. Sala suddenly smiled. “Well … I wondered why you were chosen for this task, since I hadn’t been aware of your talents in subtle negotiations.”

“I have none,” I said. “That’s exactly why I was picked.”

“This,” Sala said musingly, “may be a
very
interesting time.” He hesitated. “Ambassador á Cimabue,” he asked, “may I inquire as to the state of your vitality?”

I was perplexed, then grinned. “Are you challenging me to a footrace, perhaps?”

Sala laughed. “I was instructed to ask the question, because if you feel up to it, there is someone who wishes to meet you immediately, even before you refresh yourself.”