Authors: Randall Garrett
“Keeshah was with me during the fight,” I said. “I feel sure that’s what made it possible—the cubs must have recognized his mind, on some level.”
“And when Keeshah left you, when the danger was gone?”
“The link remained.”
“With both of them?”
“Yes.”
“And what of Keeshah? Is he linked to them directly, as well?”
It was a possibility that had not occurred to me, and I felt myself getting as excited at the prospect as Tarani sounded.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, and in my eagerness woke Keeshah up, then and there, to test it out.
*Say something to the cubs*
I asked him, when he had grumbled awake. There was an unflattering picture in his mind of a crazy two-legged creature, but he complied. He snarled. The cubs jumped, and looked up curiously. Yahshah snarled back.
*
Not like that,
* I said. *
Say something to them the way you talk to me
*
Keeshah squirmed on the rooftop until his head lay across one paw. His silver-flecked eyes glowed as he blinked slowly at me.
*Silly,*
he said, and closed his eyes.
I knew that mood; it was no use trying to rouse him now.
“He won’t even try,” I said to Tarani, exasperated.
“I am rather glad,” she said, surprising me. “Look at it from Yayshah’s point of view,” she explained. “Would you care to try to teach a child who could learn any needed thing directly from the mind of his father?”
“It might be hard,” I admitted.
“And it is hard enough to know that you can speak to them; I would feel even more deprived if Keeshah had acquired the ability, as well.”
I took her hand, and we sat quietly for a while. I was feeling nearly fit, after all the rest and attention I’d been enjoying. I was feeling fit enough, in fact, to be a shade restless. Thanasset had forbidden us visitors until we were healthy again, and I knew nothing of what was happening in the city except what Thanasset brought home, and that was usually a relieved announcement that no vineh attacks had occurred that day.
“How’s your leg doing?” I asked Tarani suddenly. Her most severe wound had been four lacerations dug from the outside of her right thigh by the nails of a vineh hand. She had limped a bit the first few days, but I hadn’t noticed the limp lately.
“It is nearly healed,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“I think we deserve a little fun, as well as a lot of rest, don’t you.”
“Yes, but—” she began, bewildered.
“Come out with me tonight,” I urged her. “Dinner first, and then dancing. Well pretend we have nothing to do but have a good time.”
Her face lit up like a child’s; she laughed out loud and threw her arms around my neck.
“It is exactly what I want to do,” she said, and kissed my ear, sending a tingle down my chest. “I did not know I wanted it until you spoke. But yes, please, I want to dance again.”
Tarani disappeared for the rest of the day. I played with the cubs, harassed Milda in the kitchen, napped, and finally bathed and dressed for the evening. Daytime dress in Gandalara was a haphazard sort of thing—usually long-sleeved or sleeveless tunics, with trousers added for adults if the tunic’s hem hit midthigh or higher. The most common fabric was made of a woven grain floss, the cost inversely proportional to the tightness of the weave. Raithskarians had a fondness for bright colors and were not particular about how they were combined. If you bothered to wear colors that matched or complemented each other, you were getting dressed up.
Markasset had enjoyed dressing well, so that I had a lot to choose from. I looked at, but rejected, the green outfit I had worn when I had taken Illia dancing back in my “innocent” days, when I had not known the truth about the Ra’ira. The outfit reminded me of my hope, long since abandoned, of being able to settle into a quiet and contented routine in which to live this strangely acquired second life.
I refolded the green outfit and put it on one of the higher shelves in Markasset’s closet. Digging around the back of the lower shelves yielded an unusual garment: a sleeved shirt of pale yellow, hip length, styled like a vest but large enough to wrap. I tried it on, looked into the polished bronze of a mirror, and decided Markasset must have saved this for very special occasions. The color accentuated the dark gold of my headfur; the opening exposed a long “V” of curly-haired chest. I found some trousers of a warm brown color and a matching vest. The vest belted to form a second “V” over the pale yellow shirt. I was satisfied that I looked special enough for my first date with Tarani.
I went downstairs, and realized that I had begun to take my union with Markasset’s memories for granted. Thanasset was just coming in, and it wasn’t until his face registered shock that I identified the “special occasion” for which Markasset had saved the open-necked shirt. It was intended to be nightwear—
wedding
nightwear. Markasset had bought it while thinking about Illia.
But I chose it, thinking about Tarani
, I told myself, pausing on the stairs.
What the hell … I don’t have a reputation for being normal in this world; why change now?
I stepped down to the wood parquet floor of the house’s center hallway and touched Thanasset’s shoulder in greeting. His face was a study in embarrassment: Does he know? Should I tell him? What can I say? Will it embarrass him?
Before I could say something to make him less uncomfortable, I heard a sound on the stair behind me. Thanasset’s face took on a whole new expression, and I knew when I turned that I would see Tarani.
She was something to see.
And I thought I was going to some trouble to look nice tonight
, I thought.
No wonder I haven’t seen her at all today. She must have spent the whole day shopping and sewing.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a movement in a doorway down the hall. Milda was hovering there, peeking around the corner.
Dear Aunt Milda
, I thought.
She must have had a lot of fun today, helping and keeping the secret.
From the multitude of fabric colors available in Raithskar, Tarani had chosen black. Her outfit was made up of a loose, bell-sleeved tunic and full-legged trousers. The high collar and hem of the tunic, as well as the edges of sleeves and trouser legs, were decorated with a pattern made up of hundreds of small, shiny black beads.
There’s no way she could have sewn each of those beads in the time she had
, I thought.
Someone must specialize in making beaded trim.
Tarani smiled when she saw us, and did a small turn down the last three steps. Like the blue gown she had designed for her performances, her new outfit was designed to enhance the movements of dancing. The material draped in graceful folds as she walked, but swirled out at hips and ankles when she turned her body. The lightly weighted hems were responsive to her every movement.
Thanasset still had his mouth open. Milda couldn’t stand it; she came from the dining room to join us in admiring Tarani.
The girl’s looks came from her genetic link to the Lords of Eddarta, and were very rare on this side of the Morkadahls. She was tall, with very dark headfur that made the widow’s peak above her supraorbital ridge much more noticeable. Her cheeks were high, with narrow planes joining them to a small chin. The dramatic outfit enhanced the contrast between her pale skin and silky headfur, and made her black eyes seem larger.
She had the kind of raw beauty that quickened the heart. She had enhanced it artfully, and her glow of pleasure at our obvious admiration added to it. The final touch was the spark of appreciation that lit her eyes when they rested on me.
I had taken Illia to the same places I took Tarani that night, but I felt no sense of nostalgia or déjà vu. The women were too different; I wasn’t the same man; and the city had changed.
Illia’s golden beauty had caught appreciative looks on that other night, but Tarani turned heads wherever we went. It was more than her striking looks and the stunning, dramatic outfit. It was the way she carried herself and kept her attention on me, as if she had no awareness of the sensation she was creating.
She was born to be a queen
, I thought, as we entered the Moonrise Restaurant. The next logical thought jolted me so that I must have twitched physically. Tarani felt it through my hand on her elbow, and looked at me with concern. I smiled, shook my head, and we continued following the host to the table he had selected.
Queen of Eddarta
, I repeated in my thoughts, as we sat.
All our talk of destiny
—
we’ve been assuming that “destiny” brought us together for a permanent alliance. What if we’re wrong?
“Rikardon?” Tarani asked, leaning over the corner of the tile-topped table. “Something disturbs you?”
I put my hand over hers. “Nothing we need to talk about tonight, love,” I said.
She looked at the patterns in the tile. “Are you eager to be moving again?” I felt the tension in her fingers. “It should be possible soon… .”
I touched her chin with my hand, and she lifted her face to look at me. “I’m eager to do nothing but enjoy this evening, Tarani. I haven’t told you tonight—perhaps I’ve never told you, now that I think of it—how beautiful you are, how proud I am you care for me, how just being with you gives me a sense of wholeness, but not of complacency. You excite my mind, feelings, and my body. I feel challenged and powerful when I’m with you, Tarani, and”—my voice faltered, as I realized what I was saying—“and I never want to
not
be with you again.”
She looked stunned, as well she might. I dropped my hand from her chin before she could feel it tremble.
“Your outfit is magnificent,” I said, surprised that my smile felt reasonably steady. “I’m sure everyone here appreciates all the work you must have done today.”
She started to say something, changed her mind, and went along with changing the subject. She smiled hesitantly at first, then let the smile light up her face.
“You have made it clear,” she said, “that
you
appreciate it, which was my only goal. It is generous of you to assume that I am the one who attracts the eyes of the crowd. It takes no special skill to read the envy in the women who watch us.”
A hostess appeared, carrying glasses of faen, the Gandalaran equivalent of beer. We placed our orders—I wanted a glith steak; Tarani opted for a vegetable stew dish—and the evening took on one more similarity to the time I had spent with Illia. Now, as then, we shared a willingness to ignore thoughts of past or future in favor of enjoying the moment.
It worked for a while. We ate dinner and walked to the dance hall, hand in hand. Tarani was absolutely delighted with the large, patterned floor, and the people moving rhythmically, in unison, each following the pattern of the specific dance. I was surprised to learn that this type of dancing was unknown outside of Raithskar. The dances themselves were based on dances Tarani knew, but they had been formalized. Movement was linked to the floor patterns, and interaction between the dancing couples had been added. Tempos varied from graceful swaying to an intricate and rapid foot placement that would have put calisthenics to shame.
Each of the tables was numbered and could seat four people. It was still early, so that we were alone at our table. Tarani could barely contain her eagerness until our number was called. We took our place on the multicolored tile, and the music started.
And I thought Tarani turned heads at the restaurant,
I said to myself, amused at the sensation the girl in the black outfit was creating.
Tarani danced exactly the same way everyone else danced, incorporating variations with the skill of a trained dancer. Her movements were the same as the other dancers, but the grace of her body and the design of her clothes enhanced them, setting her apart from the ordinary. Knowing we were in the spotlight, literally, I put forth some extra effort to be a better partner for her.
After the dance, some of the nearby couples took the trouble to speak to us, complimenting our dancing. Tarani was positively glowing as we headed back to our table—which was no longer empty.
“Good evening,” Zaddorn said, as he stood up. “Illia assured me you would not object to our joining you.”
Illia was looking at the table top. I didn’t bother wondering why.
“You’re welcome, of course,” I said. “Tarani, I believe you met Illia outside the house just before we left.”
“Yes, I recall it well,” she said, nodding at the girl. Then she turned her attention to Zaddorn. “I am pleased to see you, Zaddorn. In the stress of the day we returned to Raithskar, you and I did not meet formally. But I was very much aware of your kindness and concern, and I am grateful for the opportunity to thank you now.”
To his surprise and mine, Tarani put out her hand. Zaddorn bowed slightly as he took it. I couldn’t miss the eyebrow he raised in my direction. I had been the only other person ever to offer him a handshake.
“I can assure you, you have the sympathy of everyone in the city,” he said. “You”—he gestured to include me, as well as Tarani, in his statement—“and your family of sha’um are a center of interest, a spot of joy in an otherwise very frightened city.”
I had been trying to ignore the signs—laughter just a bit too loud, faen flowing more freely than usual, a frantic quality to the gaiety. I wanted to continue to ignore it, but Zaddorn’s expression told me I wouldn’t have the opportunity.
Tarani, sensitive as ever, said: “Will you excuse me for a moment? Illia, would you mind showing me where …”
Illia looked from Zaddorn’s face to mine, and showed more perception than I would have given her credit for. “Of course not—it’s this way,” she said, as she stood and left the table.
Zaddorn and I sat down, and he wasted no time.
“Had you been accepting visitors,” he said, “I would have talked with you long before now. This vineh business, rough as it has been, has not made me forget about the Ra’ira. I presume we would have it now, if you had returned with it. Where is it? What happened?”