Men came forward and carried the still-unconscious headman out of the circle, back to his own tent. Those who remained watched Jonathan thoughtfully.
Coram rushed forward with a drying-cloth, and Kara handed Alanna her healer’s bag. She started to work on Jonathan’s chest wound: the blood from it was already clotting. “How did I do?” Jon said, panting, accepting a skin of water from Kourrem.
“Where did you learn that kind of fighting: kicking, and that style of punching?” she demanded, rubbing salve into the gash. “George never taught you to fight like that.”
Jonathan smiled at her. “About a month after you left, a Shang warrior called The Wolf came to stay at the palace. I’ve been studying with him. I just never thought what he taught me would be useful so soon.”
“Shang warriors are tricky,” Coram admitted. “But this one did well by ye.”
“What’s a Shang warrior?” Kara whispered to Alanna.
“They’re trained to fight from childhood,” Myles answered. “They can handle all manner of weapons as if born holding them, but they’re deadliest with their bare hands and feet. The men and women—”
“And women?” gasped Kourrem, surprised.
“Not many women survive the Shang way of life, but those who do are as legendary as the men,” Myles replied. “As I was saying, they set great store by personal honor and skill, always seeking new challenges and never staying long in one place.”
“Like Alanna,” Kara pointed out.
“Very like,” Myles agreed, smiling slightly.
Alanna finished bandaging the Prince. It was funny to hear Myles teaching the girls much as he had taught her. She stitched the bandage closed as Ali Mukhtab came over to them.
“You have earned your way among the Bazhir, Jonathan of Conté,” he said formally. “Will you join with our people now?”
Jonathan nodded, standing. “What must I do?”
Alanna, Myles, and the others watched as Jonathan underwent the ceremony that bound him to the Bazhir and the desert. Only a fool would not have noticed that the Bazhir were less happy with Jonathan’s becoming a Bazhir than the men of the Bloody Hawk had been when Alanna had joined them. They were quiet as Ali Mukhtab cut Jon’s arm and his own, and there was no feast afterward.
“They welcomed you, didn’t they?” Jon asked Alanna when they were in bed.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“They’re still not convinced I’ll be a good Voice of the Tribes. I’ll simply have to prove it with my actions,” he commented. He hugged Alanna close. “I know I’ve been a bit difficult to be around lately,” he confessed. “I’ve been hemmed in and proper all my life, and lately it’s been bothering me. I want to break loose and do all the things I’m not supposed to. I’ll probably never do them, and right now I’m fighting it. Can you understand that?”
“No,” Alanna replied frankly. “I’ve spent all my life trying to avoid getting caught in just that kind of trap.”
“Well, my lovely Lioness, that’s the trap I was born into. I’ll get over this restlessness, I suppose. I really do want to be a good king, and a good Voice of the Tribes.”
“Then you’ll do it,” she reassured him. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
After Jonathan’s initiation into the Bazhir, Alanna spent little time with Kara and Kourrem, leaving them to study with the visiting shamans. Her visits to Ali Mukhtab grew to twice a day, leaving her weary and sick each time. Only Farda and the Voice himself knew what she was doing. During her free hours, she talked with Myles, learning all she needed to know about Barony Olau, even as Jon studied late with Mukhtab.
At last Myles admitted that Alanna had nothing left to learn about his estates. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to formally adopt you here. The Bazhir ceremony is simple, and quite legal.” He chuckled. “I think your desert friends would be happy if you gained a father, even a disreputable one like me.”
Alanna hugged him. She was discovering that each time she hugged Myles, it got easier. It was one of the many ways in which living as a girl was far more pleasant; boys were not supposed to show affection openly. “You aren’t disreputable at all; well, not that disreputable. If only you’d wear nicer clothes. It’s not as if you can’t afford it.” She had discovered Myles was far wealthier than she dreamed, as a result of an unnoble-like interest in trade.
“But I’m comfortable this way,” the knight pointed out. He added shrewdly, “Of course, if you married Jon, I would have to dress up from time to time.”
Faithful uttered a small yowlp as Alanna stared at her friend. “How did you know?”
“I’m not blind. All the way down here he was brooding. When he wasn’t, he talked about why a Prince marries.”
“Oh.” Alanna fingered her ember-stone. “I told him I’d think about it.”