Her back was turned to him, and she was lunging at an unseen enemy, her trous—
Hanstau swallowed hard, and closed his eyes firmly. His late wife had been dear to him. Their marriage had been arranged, as was proper, and they’d been well suited to one another. They’d been comfortable with their duty and taking pleasure with one another, and they’d shared pride in their children. He’d mourned her death.
A whisper of cloth on skin, and his eyes flickered open to see Reness pivot into a slow, steady lunge at an unseen opponent.
She stole his breath away.
Enough. Hanstau closed his eyes tight, settled back into his seat, and reminded himself sternly that while it was perfectly normal to be attracted to a healthy, muscular, lovely woman, it was not proper.
It didn’t help that the tent was warm and the air was still thick with Reness’s unique scent. Hanstau could let himself breathe deep, drift off, dream of—
He jerked his head up, stiffened his back, and rejected that thought. Time to think on other things. The Epic of Xyson was dull enough to kill any thoughts of—
A flash of light flickered at his closed eyelids.
Hanstau opened his eyes a crack to see gold sparkles gathering by his bare toes. He frowned at them. That was another bone of contention. Walking in grass toughened the feet of those of the Plains. His feet were far more tender, and pale. They’d taken his boots as yet another way of keeping him captive. As a result, his guards, even Reness, had commented on his pale feet and long toes.
If they gave him back his boots, maybe they wouldn’t have to see them.
The power also seemed fascinated. The sparkles jumped around his feet, and he could almost feel their giggles.
‘Practice as a child does,’ Reness had urged him. ‘Try, fail, try again.’
‘Wild Winds warned against that,’ he’d told her. ‘He said he would teach me.’
‘That is no longer an option,’ she’d pointed out.
Hanstau frowned at his toes, wiggling them the tiniest bit. The sparkles scattered, then danced around them, growing brighter.
He’d seen Snowfall use her powers just the one time, when she had somehow shielded them from the wyverns threatening them. He’d been focused more on his patient at the time, trying to carry the woman to safety with Snowfall’s help. But he seemed to remember that she had pulled the glow within as they’d moved, drawing power into herself. After, Snowfall had been tired, she’d said something to Simus about…
“I had to carry, and concentrate, and move,” Snowfall shook her head. “Not as easy as I thought.”
Concentrate… Hanstau thought about that. Snowfall had been talking about her thoughts, but maybe the sparkles could be brought together. Like boiling willow bark down to a thick paste for fever’s foe. Absorbing it through your skin to aid the whole body.
He wiggled his toes again, and the sparkles clung like gold dust in the dim light. Like putting on joint cream to help stiff fingers and toes. He’d often wondered what caused the stiffness to be so bad in some, and not as bad in others. But the joint cream, applied thickly and then covered well with wool socks warmed by the fire, was a remedy that eased the pain of those that suffered.
Hanstau stifled a yawn, and continued to stare at the glow as it grew and then diminished, wrapping in and around and through…
He could see his toes. No. See through his toes. He could see the bones, the muscles, the blood rushing through healthy flesh, see the joints in all their complexity. So many bones. He flexed his foot, and then his ankle, watched the interplay of healthy flesh under the skin, watched bone and muscle work together. Entranced, he stared in wonder at—
“Antas wants the male,” came a gruff voice from outside.
Hanstau started, disoriented. The vision was gone, and he was left blinking in the light as the tent flap was thrown open. Had it been a dream? He felt odd, tired, drained and yet… elated.
Reness had calmly moved, swift and silent to sit on her pallet. She gave him a puzzled glance as one of the guards stepped within their tent.
“Come,” the warrior gestured. He dropped boots and a hooded cloak at Hanstau’s feet. “Antas summons you.”
Hanstau reached for the boots, and quickly pulled them on. The cloak was for a much bigger man, and he was lost in its folds. The warrior frowned, pulling the hood up to cover Hanstau’s head. Satisfied, he grunted, and held the tent flap open.
Hanstau glanced at Reness.
“Be careful,” she said in Xyian. “Assume nothing.”
Hanstau nodded in the depths of the hood, and followed the warrior out of the tent.
It wasn’t far. Hanstau noticed for the first time the size of Antas’s tent, nearly as big as Simus’s. A warrior waited for him at the flap, she bowed him in, holding out her hands for the cloak.
“Greetings,” she said. “I am Catha, Token-bearer to Antas of the Boar.
The tent was warm, lit with braziers. It was set up the same as Simus’s had been, with a low wooden platform. A general meeting area, Hanstau remembered. Even the scent of leather, old kavage and sword oil was similar.
Antas stood before the platform, waiting for him.
Hanstau steadied himself, and walked toward his captor, looking him in the eye.
Antas watched him with lowered lids. “You speak our tongue?”
“A little,” Hanstau said. “Not too well.”
“Enough, though.” Antas gave a nod of satisfaction. “Come. We will eat, you and I. We will exchange truths. You understand?”
“Yes,” Hanstau said.
Antas walked toward another opening. Hanstau followed, only glancing back when he heard the chiming of bells. Catha was weaving a strip into the tent ties.
This was a smaller area of the tent, clearly Antas’s sleeping area. There were weapons and armor thrown about, piled on saddles and saddle bags. Against one wall of the tent was a raised pallet, large enough for two.
Off to the side, was something different. Hanstau stared in surprised at an actual table, with wooden stools.
“Sit.” Antas gestured, as he sat on one of the stools, adjusting his sword out of the way.
Hanstau sat, and Catha approached with water and cloths for the hand-washing ritual. Hanstau whispered a quick prayer to the God of the Sun for protection.
There was a small lamp on the table, with an open flame. Hanstau could clearly see that Antas was studying him. He lifted his chin ever so slightly.
Catha began to bring out food, and kavage. Antas seemed content to eat in silence, and Hanstau had no intention of trying to start a conversation. The food was normal camp fare. Flatbread, some kind of roasted roots, and grilled meat. Hanstau spotted the little red flakes on the meat, so he expected the explosion of spice on his tongue.
The food was good, the kavage was hot, but it all tasted like ash in his mouth. All he could think of was the brooding man across the table and the huge bed so close at hand. It felt like every breath he took; every move was being tested and weighed.
Catha was clearing the bowls when Antas spoke abruptly. “Do you know what ‘Warprize’ means?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something rude in Xyian, but he’d been warned. “I know of Queen Xylara,” he said carefully. “And the Warlord, Keir of the Cat.”
Antas nodded. “You and I,” he made a gesture toward Hanstau. “You are my Warprize.”
“No,” Hanstau said.
Antas considered him through narrowed eyes.
“I did not aid your people,” Hanstau said. “You did not take me from a battle.” His voice cracked a bit at the look in Antas’s eyes, but he kept on. “And between us, there is no… heat.”
Antas was silent for a long moment, then he gestured to the pallet. “You. Me. We share.”
“No,” Hanstau kept his eyes on Antas.
“No share?” Antas frowned.
“No man with man share,” Hanstau stumbled a bit. He’d known that this was common among Firelanders. The Queen, Master Eln, both had mentioned this, and been blunt as to its prevalence on the Plains. Hanstau really didn’t take issue if others wished to—