“No,” said Imraldera fiercely. “You’ll not touch him!”
“Easy now, old girl,” Eanrin said, putting out a restraining hand even as Imraldera pushed past him and stood, shoulders squared and feet braced, small before the might of that terrible queen. Nidawi took a threatening step forward, and with that step her face aged, her black hair streaked with white, her eyes sank into hollows, and deep pits formed in her cheeks. But she was more terrible still, and her eyes were orange-gold in their hollows, all trace of demure shadows fled.
“I demand in the name of the Lumil Eliasul that you give him up!” she cried.
“No!” said Imraldera again. “Such is not our way or the way of our Lord. Don’t use his name lightly and expect us to concede.”
“Are you not Knights of Farthestshore?” Nidawi said. “Are you not sworn to defend the weak against the predators of the Wood?”
“Well, my dear lady,” said Eanrin, stepping forward to take hold of Imraldera’s shoulder and draw her back, for she looked as though she might fly at the powerful queen, “you certainly don’t make a great case for yourself, demanding blood vengeance one moment and protection the next. You’ve said your piece, however, and we will consider it—”
“Consider it?” The Faerie queen shrieked and tore at her own hair, her fingers ripping away the vines and flowers and leaving cuts in her scalp. “I want rest for my people! He must die, I say! Murderer! Parasite! Life-sucking leech! Send him out to me! ”
With that, she flung herself at them, her mouth gaping wide and black, her eyes too round and too huge to be human. Arms raised above her head as though she would snatch them all and tear them apart, she flew at the door, her hair streaming like white smoke behind her. Eanrin hauled Imraldera back and slammed the door in the wild woman’s face; just in time, it would seem, for she struck with such force that the whole of the Haven echoed with it. But the Haven was built for protection, and none could breach its defenses (save perhaps dragons, though that had yet to be tested).
Nevertheless, Nidawi hurled herself at the door again and again, scrabbling and tearing and pulling at the locks, her voice shifting from a crone’s to a woman’s to a child’s and back, each more chilling than the last. And over all this cacophony, Lioness roared.
Eanrin and Imraldera stood in the passage, clutching each other and staring at the door. Then Eanrin, still grasping Imraldera’s upper arms, turned her to him and said in a low voice:
“Well, we’ve heard her side of the story. Best to get his now, so we can decide what to do.”
“It does not matter,” Imraldera said. “He is our guest.”
“According to our other guest,”—with a nod to the door—“he’s a murderer.”
“It’s not true.”
“He’s a savage enough chap, you must admit.”
“He’s a warrior. But he would not murder.”
Eanrin studied the face of the young woman before him. She would not meet his gaze. He drew back, letting her go, and crossed his arms, still watching her intently.
“All right, out with it, my girl. Who is this fellow we’ve got bleeding on our furniture even as we speak? This man who calls you Starflower.”
Nidawi screamed fit to shatter glass, and Imraldera jumped and shifted on her feet nervously. She pressed her lips together as though wanting to refuse to speak. Then reluctantly, she said, “His . . . his name is Sun Eagle. He was my . . .” She cast about for something on which to fix her gaze, anything but the cat-man’s face. “He was my intended husband.”
“What? You were married?”
“No!” Imraldera shook her head. “No, you idiot, we were betrothed.”
“You never told me!”
“You never asked.”
Eanrin threw up his hands. “Right! Because I should have out and said one day, ‘By the by, Imraldera, have you ever promised to marry some fool chap?’ Why would I ask such a thing?”
“I don’t know why you would.” She glared at him. “And I don’t know why I would tell you.” Then she drew a long breath, and her face relaxed into a gentler, tired expression. “It was a different life, Eanrin. And it was so long ago, before my voice, before my knighthood. . . .”
Her voice trailed off, vanishing behind Nidawi’s screams of, “REND! TEAR! BLOOD! FIRE! KILL!” each word punctuated by the thump of her shoulder hitting the door.
Eanrin’s head tipped to one side, his eyes golden slits on his face. “So that savage in there . . . he means nothing to you?”
“You are not giving him to Nidawi.”
“Who said I was?”