The Last of the Wilds

“Rissi,” she replied. Here was a welcome distraction. She wondered if he could stay long. Perhaps they could play a table game. Anything to keep her mind from these worries. She ushered him toward some chairs. “Teiti, would you send for something to drink? Maybe something to eat, too?”

Her aunt narrowed her eyes at Rissi, then nodded and left the room. As Imi sat down, Rissi gingerly took a seat. There were dark, bluish patches on his arms.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

He grimaced. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“Fighting.”

“What for?” She frowned. “You boys aren’t playing at wars again, are you?”

He grinned. “No. Me and a few others are having warrior lessons.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

He scowled. “No.”

She bit her lip as she realized she’d offended him. Boys were like that. Always wanting to be older.

“Of course you aren’t,” she said apologetically. “Is this something all traders’ sons do?”

He looked away. “We have to be able to defend ourselves, if we go outside the city.”

She looked at him closely. There was more to it than that. He glanced at her, then shrugged.

“And besides, I don’t want to be a trader. I want to be a warrior.”

Surprise slowly changed to alarm. If he became a warrior now, when warriors were going to be attacking raiders, he might be killed. And this, too, would happen because of her.

“The First Warrior has promised me I will have a place among the recruits when I’m old enough,” he told her. “If I pass the tests. Father doesn’t like it, but he can’t stop me.”

“Why?” Imi blurted out.

He spread his hands. “Because he wants me to take over trading.”

“No, I mean why do you want to be a warrior?”

He stared at her silently, then slowly began to smile. “Because, Princess Imi, I’m going to marry you one day.”

Teiti saved her from trying to think of a reply to that. The door to the room opened and the woman bustled in with a tray of food balanced on one hand and a jug held in the other. She placed both on a table next to Imi and Rissi, then straightened.

“The king sent a message for you, Princess,” Teiti said.

She always used and emphasized the titles when Rissi was visiting. “The messenger has returned from the Pentadrians. They have agreed to all terms.”

Imi jumped up. “They have! That’s wonderful. I have to talk to father now!”

And ignoring Teiti’s protest that she had just brought them food, and Rissi’s confident smile, Imi seized the opportunity to escape.

Hurrying through the palace, she felt a flash of annoyance. I should be overjoyed, but Rissi’s gone and spoiled that. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never been so embarrassed! And where did he get the idea that becoming a warrior would mean he could marry me?

Then she remembered. She had told him. She’d told him her father would probably marry her off to someone of royal blood, unless he decided a warrior leader of impressive standing would bring new blood into the family.

It’ll take a lot to impress father, she thought. But he’s willing to give it a try.

And that was quite flattering, she realized. Would any of her cousins, second cousins and distant relatives do that? She doubted it.

Smiling, she slowed her stride and started considering where her father was likely to be.

48

“Ah, here he is,” Tamun said, looking away from her loom toward the cave entrance.

Emerahl turned to see Surim climbing the stairs. Around his neck was an enormous snake, its body as large as his thigh and so long he had draped it around his shoulders twice. He carried it to the side of the cave where they always prepared meals, and shrugged it off his shoulders.

He looked at Emerahl and grinned. “Dinner. We will have a fine feast tonight.”

Emerahl regarded the snake in horror.

“A fine and boring one, if that’s all you’ve brought us,” Tamun replied.

“I have more,” Surim said defensively. He reached into a woven bag that had been concealed by the snake and drew out several objects, all of plant origin, Emerahl noted with relief. She looked at the snake, lying motionless on the floor.

“Have you eaten takker before?” Surim asked.

Emerahl dragged her eyes from the reptile. “No.”

“They’re delicious,” he told her. “Rather like breem in texture, but slightly meatier in flavor.”

“You should have caught something more conventional,” Tamun said disapprovingly, her eyes not leaving her work. She glanced at Emerahl and smiled. “You don’t have to eat it. It took us a while to adapt to this place, but we’ve grown accustomed to some unusual additions to our diet. You are our guest, and,” her eyes narrowed as she turned to regard Surim, “should not be expected to eat such things.”

One of his eyebrows rose cheekily. “No, she should be treated with special generosity. Given the best. Rare delicacies like roasted takker, for example.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Emerahl said quickly, hoping to head off another endless argument. It wasn’t that their banter was hurtful, but it could and often did go on for hours. “And if I don’t like it, I’ll happily eat the vegetables instead.”

Surim smiled broadly. “Thank you, Emerahl. Or you might like to try this instead...”

From the bag he drew a spider at least twice the size of his hand.

“You are kidding me,” Emerahl found herself saying.

“He is,” Tamun growled. “Stop it, Surim.”

He pulled a face. “But it’s so much fun. I haven’t had anyone to play with for so long. Tricking someone as old as you isn’t easy.”

Emerahl looked at Tamun. “You’ve put up with this for how long?”

“Nearly two millennia,” she replied calmly. “You’d think after all this time he’d realize his pranks aren’t funny. It’s like being told the same joke over and over. Some would call it torture.”

“Being old doesn’t mean I have to lose my sense of humor,” he told her. “Unlike some people.”

“I’m amused by you every day,” she said dryly.

Emerahl shook her head. “You two never stop, do you?”

Surim grinned. “Not for a moment. Not even after we separated ourselves.”

The Twins paused to look at each other, their faces open and full of affection. Emerahl glanced from one to the other, wondering...

“A century ago,” Tamun said suddenly, turning to meet Emerahl’s eyes. Her expression was serious. “To escape the gods’ determination to rid the world of immortals.”

Emerahl stared at her in dismay. “Did you just...?”

“Read your mind? No.” Tamun shrugged and returned to her weaving. “But we know that expression well.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re not offended by your curiosity. Ask away.”

Emerahl nodded. “How did separating save you?”

“The gods, as you may already know, cannot easily affect the physical world,” Surim told her. He had dragged the snake up onto a table and was gutting it. “They must work through a mortal, preferably someone