His laugh was silent this time, but equally mirthless.
“I don’t do favors for anyone. Not for you. Certainly not for Wesha. She’s the one who taught me the lesson, in fact—though when I woke up on her beach six months ago, skull empty and mouth full of sand, she had some regrets about that.” His lips didn’t part as he tested the point of a sharp tooth with the tip of his tongue. “So, no. If you want me to take you to the Painted Tower, you’ll have to make me an offer. A good one.”
“What do you want?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
He considered it, then shrugged. He stuck the knife back in his belt and opened the door to his dark bedroom.
“Nothing comes to mind. But if something does, I’ll be sure to tell you immediately.”
9
I woke up whena heavy pile of fabric fell over me.
I didn’t remember falling asleep on the divan’s lurid pink cushions, but I must have. I cried for a little, then I tried to get clean in the baths, and then I cried some more while exploring the other rooms of Taran’s overdecorated palace. Then I decided that I was done crying over Taran forever. I didn’t trust a single god with that vow, but the lying bastard wasn’t worth a single additional tear.
Before sitting down, I had made an inventory of everything that could be used as a weapon, then stashed a few sharp objects where I didn’t think he’d find them. Stupid of him, leaving me loose while he slept. He’d been scary and threatening instead of gentle and considerate, and so I, scared and threatened, had started thinking how to thwart him instead of writing mediocre poetry about his beautiful eyes.
Awake again after only a few hours of fitful sleep, I fumbled out from under the wad of silk that had woken me up. My unconscious mind had treated the sound of Taran’s breathing as a sign that I was safe and loved, rather than the contrary, and he sat by my feet.
He was still clad in nothing but his underwear and the golden light that streamed through the slits in the shuttered window behind him.
This morning he was using my surgical knife to slice a pomegranate, red juice staining his mouth and dripping down his fingers. His long eyelashes curtained his eyes as he bent to catch another seed in his lips, but I knew he was watching me, probably checking whether I was impressed by the lovely picture he made in gilded silhouette. When he saw that I was awake, he wordlessly offered me a bite of the fruit.
I shook my head and pulled my feet away from his lap as I sat up.
“Good morning, darling,” he greeted me, daintily licking a rivulet of juice from his wrist. He was a dark shape with brilliant edges, perfectly carved out of warm muscle. “I thought Wesha’s priests were early risers.”
Perhaps he’d planned this little display in advance, but I was already familiar with Taran’s derision for my sleep habits and the way his hair curled appealingly over his ears before he combed it, and I’d steeled myself against him.
“Not this one.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to ponder whether I require prayers at dawn. In any event, I found you something to wear.” He nodded at the bundle of silk. “Can you make breakfast? And press our clothes?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sayingno, but if you turn around, I can stab you in the kidney.I swallowed hard instead. “I’m afraid Wesha’s training was scanty on the domestic arts,” I said through gritted teeth.
Taran ate another bite of fruit before giving me a skeptical, mildly disappointed frown.
“You don’t cook at all?”
“Some. Do you like your barley boiled until it’s mushy or until it’sverymushy?”
I was tiptoeing around my vow of truth. I could have cooked breakfast. I’d just sooner die.
“Then let’s talk about what youcando for me, little priestess,”he said with a laugh. “Remind me of Wesha’s blessings. Do you know all of them?”
The engaging expression he made as he said this was a practiced performance, probably lethal to women in other circumstances. I used to melt like spring snow when he made any attempt to be sweet with me, but I was entirely unmoved now.
“If you think you might be pregnant, I can confirm the length of gestation.”
He dropped the attempt to charm me but was not deterred.
“You know what nobody ever mentions about Wesha? Howfunnyshe is.” He gave me a sterner look. “Tell me what Wesha’s priests do.”
“I can deliver babies. Cure many illnesses.” I didn’t know how evasive I could be. Wesha had been imprisoned for three hundred years. If he didn’t know about her more dangerous blessings, I would hold them in reserve while I considered my options.
“That can’t be all, if you survived this long,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I heard that some of the acolytes left behind during the rebellion began to invoke the blessings of gods besides their own patrons.”
“Oh?” I asked as if this was news to me. “Who said that?”
