Dressing in a simple grey tunic and sandals he went downstairs. Molaire was already in the kitchen, cleaning vegetables for a broth. She gave him a look which was meant to be scornful. Crossing to her he kissed her cheek.
‘Your father would not approve of this,’ she said, blushing.
He gazed at her round, honest face. ‘Perhaps he would not,’ he admitted.
‘And you look dreadful this morning. Totally debauched.’
Skilgannon laughed and left the room, wandering through to the garden. Sperian was already there, kneeling in one of the flower beds, dead-heading blooms and clearing away weeds. For a while Skilgannon helped him, then both men walked back to the house, scrubbed the dirt from their hands and sat down to breakfast. Molaire left them and moved off to the laundry room. Skilgannon told Sperian about the thirty silvers that would need to be paid to Sashan.
‘Aye, that’s wise. Though I am not sure about her going to the market. I doubt she’s done any haggling in her life.’
‘I think she’ll do well enough. Are there watchers outside the house?’
‘Aye. Two men. They were here most of the night. They’ve been replaced this morning. Have you thought what you’ll say if Boranius returns? Has he ever met her?’
The question caused a tightness in Skilgannon’s stomach. ‘I don’t know.
I’ll ask her.’
Sperian cut some fresh bread and several thick slices of cheese, which he placed on a tray. ‘You want to take this up to her?’
Skilgannon returned to the bedroom. Jianna was awake, but still lying in the bed. ‘I brought you some breakfast,’ he said. She sat up, the sheets falling away and exposing her breasts. Skilgannon swore. ‘Could you at least dress?’ he snapped.
‘My, you are feeling tetchy this morning, Olek. Did you not sleep well?’
Reaching out, she took the food, then sat and quietly ate. Pushing the tray aside she rose from the bed. Skilgannon turned his back, and heard her laughter. ‘You may look at me now, my prudish friend,’ she said. She had slipped on the yellow tunic dress and was sitting in a wicker chair by the window.
‘Have you ever met Boranius?’ he asked.
She shrugged. The name means nothing.’
‘Tall and handsome, with golden hair. He was a student of Malanek’s.’
‘Ah, yes, now I recall him. Eyes the colour of emeralds, and an arrogant mouth. Why do you ask?’
‘He may come here. It would be best if he did not see you.’
‘Ah, Olek, you worry too much. The only time we met I was dressed in silks and satins. My hair was dark and I wore a tiara with seventy diamonds upon it. My face was painted, and he merely bowed his head to kiss my hand, then turned his attention to my father — whom he was desperate to impress.’
‘Even so. Boranius is no fool. He has men still watching the house.’
‘Then I should let them see me. I shall go to the market. You will give me coin. I shall buy a necklace, and a new dress.’
‘You seem to be enjoying yourself,’ he said.
Her smile faded. ‘What would you prefer, Olek? That I simpered and trembled in this room, waiting for strong men to save me? I will succeed -
or I will be captured and killed. No man on this earth will ever terrify me. I will not allow it. Yes, I shall enjoy going to the market. It is something I have never done. I will walk in the sunshine and I will revel in my freedom.
I am Sashan, the whore. And Sashan the whore has nothing to fear from Boranius or anyone else.’
He stood watching her for a moment. Then he nodded and bowed. ‘You are an exceptional woman,’ he said.
‘Yes, I am. Tell me about the market.’
They sat and talked for some time about the art of haggling, and how no-one ever paid the first price mentioned. He also warned her against the places women were not allowed to enter: gambling halls, private taverns, and public temples.
‘A woman cannot enter a temple?’ she queried.
‘Not by the main door. At the side there are entrances leading to galleries. Women cannot approach the altar, or sit in the altar hall.’
‘Ridiculous!’ she stormed.
‘Nor once inside the building are they allowed to speak,’ he told her, with a smile.
Her grey eyes narrowed. ‘I shall change
Skilgannon recalled with great fondness watching her walk away from the house. The sun was shining on her bleached hair, and turning the cheap yellow tunic to glowing gold. She had subtly exaggerated the sway of her hips, and had smiled broadly at the men passing by. It was a fine performance, born of arrogance and courage.
Alone on the jetty Skilgannon glanced up at the moon. ‘There never was a woman like you, Jianna,’ he whispered.,
The day had been long and tense for Jianna, Queen of Naashan. It had begun just after dawn, reading lengthy reports from the various southeastern war fronts in Matapesh, Panthia and Opal. Casualties had been heavy, especially in the jungles of Opal, but her forces had captured the three main diamond mines. Shipments of these precious stones would enable Jianna to purchase more iron from Ventria, and weapons from established Gothir armourers. She had breakfasted with four princes from northern Naashan, who had promised men for the coming battles in Tantria. After that she had met councillors and advisers, checking reports on tax incomes and the condition of the treasury.
It was now after dusk, and she was not yet tired as she strode with her bodyguard through the royal gardens, lit now by lanterns on tall iron poles. Behind her walked the Captain of Horse, Askelus, a tall, forbidding man, and alongside him the wiry figure of Malanek the former swordmaster. Both men had their hands on their sword hilts as they came into the open. Jianna laughed. ‘They say lightning does not strike twice in the same place,’ she said.
‘You take too many risks, Highness,’ offered Malanek. Moonlight cast shadows on his face, making the lines of age seem even deeper. No longer a fighting swordsman he had grown his hair, though he still sported the elaborate raised crest and pony tail that had marked him as the King’s champion. His hair was dyed black — a small conceit, which the Queen did not mind. She was fond of the old warrior.
‘I cannot avoid all risks, Malanek,’ she said. ‘And look, am I not wearing the mail rings you had made for me?’
‘Aye, and they look very fine on you, Highness,’ he said. ‘Which is, I think, why you wear them.’
Jianna did not reply, but walked on. He was right, of course. The thigh-length silver mail tunic, with its backing of soft lambskin, and its wide embossed belt, emphasized the slimness of her waist. It shimmered as she moved. Jianna strode on, sensing the tension in the two men as they approached the Lake of Dreams, a large marble pool on which sat a statue of a fabulously attractive woman. Her arm was raised towards the sky, and entwined around it was a snake. The statue was of Jianna. Often the Queen would wander her gardens, always stopping to gaze upon her own image.
Ten days ago two assassins had leapt from the undergrowth close by.
Both were dressed as palace servants. Only Malanek had been with her on that night. Despite his age he had acted with great speed, drawing his sabre and darting in to block their assault. He had killed the first, but the second barged past him and ran at Jianna, knife raised. Leaping high she had hammered her booted foot into his face, hurling him back. Malanek had stabbed him through the lower back. The man screamed and fell.
Unhappily the wound was deep and mortal, and he had died under questioning without revealing who had sent him.
It was the fourth assassination attempt in two years.
Jianna gazed at the statue. ‘She will be beautiful when I am ancient and a crone,’ she said wistfully.
‘Aye,’ agreed Malanek, ‘but she will never ride a horse, nor see a sunset.
Nor will she ever know the adoration of a people.’
