Tam’s boots were waterlogged as he slogged through the muddy street from a dilapidated tavern toward the room he was renting above another dilapidated tavern. The storm had moved up from the south quickly, and now he was stuck in the downpour. He was suddenly struck from the side so that he tumbled into a pile of crates beside an abandoned market stall. He glanced up just in time to avoid the club that was descending toward his head. He kicked his assailant in the kneecap, using the force to push himself from the pile of broken slats. His feet slipped in the mud as he took to the alley, realizing the mistake too late. Men grabbed him from either side, but he took the first by surprise with a head-butt. The grip on his arm loosened, and Tam smashed his elbow into the man’s jaw. He spun into the other man’s grip and then used his body weight to push him off balance into the first. Tam was nearly pulled into the tangle when the man’s foot slipped so that he smashed into the ground.
Tam took off running in the other direction, but his assailants turned out to be many. Three more followed him through the vacant street. With the rain obscuring his vision, he missed the two that were coming at him from the opposite direction. He drew his sword and met the first with a slash to the abdomen. The man’s entrails spilled onto the ground between Tam and the next assailant who stood in shock over what had just happened to his comrade. Tam’s blade slipped through the hesitant man’s throat before he could recover, then continued down the street with three in pursuit.
From behind him he heard a short burst of whistles, and he knew that somewhere more were waiting for him. He was breathing so heavily, he felt like he was drowning in the rain. He ducked around a corner and covered his face for just a moment to catch his breath and then began running down another alley. His stomach dropped when he realized the rain had obscured the form pacing him atop the roof. Two men stepped into the alley in front of him. He glanced back to see his three pursuers closing in on him. Suddenly, he tumbled to the ground in a tangle of netting. He was struggling to cut himself free with the sword when he was struck from behind, and all went black.
Chapter 10
Yserria stood gawking at the entrance to the dining hall with Frisha, Reaylin, and Nanessy. It was opulent and bright with warm yellow light radiating from mage-lit chandeliers. Round tables occupied the center of the room, draped in crimson table linens, with crystal goblets and filigreed porcelain place settings. No one was seated at the tables, though. All the women and their consorts stood in groups or gathered on the plush sofas and benches that were clumped around the room’s perimeter. The women were dressed in whatever they desired, from ballgowns to sheer strips of fabric. Every man in the room was massive and built like a warrior.
“I do not understand,” Nanessy whispered to Yserria. “Are there no normal men in Lon Lerésh?”
Yserria said, “I believe it is the same as anywhere, but these are some of the most powerful women in Kielen. They choose the most impressive champions to accompany them to palace functions.”
“Not every woman wants a warrior,” said Nanessy.
Yserria looked at her knowingly. “I have seen the way you look at our king. Can you say you would not choose him?”
Nanessy glanced around, obviously concerned that someone might overhear. “He is different. He is more than a warrior. I would not be interested if he were nothing more than a bunch of muscles and a handsome face.”
“I see,” Yserria said. “So, you are judging them for their looks. You do not know these men. How do you know they are not more?”
Nanessy flushed and tugged at her layers of fabric, wishing they were not so snug. She had decided to wear the sheer gown over a calf-length skirt and blouse that looked to be made from woven ribbons. She said, “That is not what I meant. You said that is the reason they are chosen. It does not seem like they are valued for anything else.”
A sultry voice crawled up Nanessy’s neck.
“Believe me,” a woman said as she moved to join them, beckoning to her consort. “We appreciate them for their many talents.” She purred in the man’s ear as he grinned appreciatively. The man had dark hair and hazel eyes, and his sun-darkened skin was stretched tight over thick muscles displayed openly beneath a loose, green, embroidered vest. The woman ran manicured nails over his exposed pectorals and said, “Banen, here, has amazing hands.” She met Nanessy’s discomfited gaze. “He is one of the court musicians who will be entertaining us tonight, and he is also one of the palace’s top archers, a member of the royal guard.”
Banen seemed to have eyes only for the woman. He stroked her jaw and pressed his lips to her neck before mumbling in her ear, “There is no need to brag, my dear.”
“Of course, there is!” she said, fluttering her darkened lashes. “You are amazing, and I am proud to call you mine.”
“As it should be,” he replied. He held her in a tight embrace, pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, and said, “I must take my place, my love. Please be sure to enjoy yourself.” He held up a finger and added, “But not too much.”
She giggled and swatted his rear as he strutted toward the musicians. As she turned to them, small jewels sparkled in the light where they dangled from her auburn hair. “You look surprised,” she said.
“No,” Nanessy said quickly and then stuttered, “Well, yes. I mean, I have never seen people so … affectionate … in public.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “I spent a short time in Ashai. This is where you are from, yes? You are all very cold.”
“Cold?” Nanessy said.
“Yes,” said the woman. “You do not share yourselves—your true selves. You are distant. Reserved, I believe, is how you say it. The women and the men. You try to act like you are not human—as if you have no feelings and desires. We Leréshi are a passionate people. We express ourselves openly in our dress, our art, our love”—she smiled fiendishly—“and in war. You do not want to cross a powerful Leréshi woman.” She eyed each of them as they remained huddled near the entrance. “I am Nayala, Matrianera of House Tekahl. Banen is my first consort. My second consort, Heylin, remains in the home to care for the male children.”
Reaylin pushed to the front of the group. “You have two consorts?”
Nayala looked her up and down and then nodded approvingly. She said, “Yes, Heylin is a good father. Several have tried to claim him from me, but Banen is a great champion and has always won him back. Together, they help to make my house strong. The strongest houses are those with the best balance.”
“Nayala,” said a vaguely familiar voice. It was the blonde, and rather forward, Matrianera Telía. She sidled up to them and said, “Do you intend to keep our guests to yourself?”
Nayala’s smile did not reach her eyes as she replied, “I was only introducing myself. They are curious about our ways.”
Telía looked over at Yserria. “I heard a rumor that you are Leréshi.”
Yserria glanced at the others and said, “My parents were Leréshi. I was born in Ashai.”
As Yserria spoke, Telía’s judgmental gaze roved her form. Yserria had wrapped a shawl around her torso, and her slinky skirt reached all the way to the floor. The woman pursed her lips at Yserria’s modesty.
“You do not carry yourself like a Leréshi,” Telía said.
“Telía, it is not for you to judge her dress,” Nayala hissed.
Telía ignored her as she ran a finger down Yserria’s neck to tug at the shawl. “You do not own your body.”
Yserria pushed the shawl away from her midsection, baring her abdomen—and the sword hilt at her waist. “If you touch me again, I will show you how well I own my body.”