Silence stretched between them, as Alanna fought to keep from either slapping him or from bursting into tears. Finally she hissed, “I refuse to marry you.”
Jonathan was now white with rage. “And I think I’m well out of a potential disaster!”
“Obviously!” she retorted. “Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conté!” She hurled herself out of the tent.
Kara and Kourrem looked up from their packing, startled, as she marched into her own home. “I’m not leaving!” she snapped. “Next time someone tells you I am, check with me first!”
They bowed and hurried from the tent, their eyes wide above their face veils. Alanna threw herself onto her sleeping mat and gave way to furious tears.
Tears led to a long, exhausted sleep. When she awoke, it was dark. Jonathan and Myles were gone.
“Jonathan.” Queen Lianne beckoned to her son. Jonathan obeyed the summons, trying to erase the frown that had creased his forehead since his return from the desert over a week ago. He could hear courtiers whispering now about his unusual surliness.
Let them talk, he thought savagely as he bowed before his mother’s throne. What do I care?
His mother gestured for a willowy blonde to come forward. “Prince Jonathan,” the Queen said as the blonde sank into a deep curtsy, “may I make Princess Josiane known to you? Josiane is the second daughter of the King of the Copper Isles; she has come to stay with us for a time. Her mother and I were good friends as girls. Josiane, my son, Jonathan.”
Josiane looked up at him from her curtsy, her blue eyes huge with admiration. “Prince Jonathan,” she said, her voice soft and husky. “It is an honor to meet the man who fought so bravely in the Tusaine War.”
Jonathan took Josiane’s hand and raised her to her feet, lightly kissing her fingertips. “I was just a boy then, Princess,” he reminded her. She said nothing, her full mouth curved in a smile. “Would you care to dance?”
“I would love to.” She moved gracefully out onto the floor at his side as Jonathan noted with satisfaction that she was tall (the top of her head level with his eyes), slender, and milky-skinned. She’ll do, he thought with grim satisfaction. Shell help me prove to that—female in the south that I never want anything to do with her again!
eight
The King of the Thieves
House Azik, Dog Lane, in the city of Port Caynn, was one of many large residences set off from each other by high walls. It looked like a respectable merchant’s home.
“That a Trebond should come to the point of associatin’ with thieves—with the worst of them all—” Coram grumbled as she tugged the bellrope.
“The thief is my best friend,” Alanna reminded him tartly. “And he doesn’t take me for granted.”
She had tried to concentrate on tribal affairs after her fight with Jon, but her attention wandered constantly. It had been Coram’s decision to accompany her when she decided at last to visit George; Alanna could only wish that he had decided to keep his tongue between his teeth when he did so. Coram had never approved of her friendship with George.
A brown-eyed, brunet young man peered out of the porter’s door and yelped. Swiftly unbarring the large gate, Marek Swiftknife, George’s second-in-command and perennial rival, let them in. “Quickly!” he hissed. “Before you’re recognized!”
Once inside the courtyard, Alanna and Coram dismounted. Marek rebarred the gate and gripped Alanna’s hand, his sharply cut, handsome face alight with glee. “It’s still a jolt, seein’ you with your chest unbound,” he explained, ignoring Coram’s warning growl. “And it’s good t’see you, what with his Majesty sulkin’ about, makin’ life miserable for us all.” He showed them into the house as he asked, “Where’d you get your skin so tan?”
“We’ve been in the desert,” Alanna explained as Marek showed them into the house. “We’re Bazhir now.”
Marek shook his head. “If it isn’t one thing with you—”
“Guests?” A buxom redhead came out of the shadows at the back of the main hall. “Who’s come at this early hour?” Seeing Alanna, she laughed. “Well met, youngling. My cousin’s goin’ to be glad t’see you”
A hard elbow met Alanna’s ribs painfully. “Introduce me,” Coram growled into his knight-mistress’s ear.
Grinning, Alanna said, “Rispah, this is Coram Smythesson. Coram was my first teacher; now he’s my companion. Rispah is George’s cousin and Queen of the Ladies of the Rogue,” she added impishly.
Coram bowed over Rispah’s hand. “How can I think ill of th’ Rogue when such lasses are part of it?”
Rispah smiled. “I’m glad a strong-lookin’ soldier like you don’t wish to think ill of us,” she replied, her husky voice a purr.