“I hope you won’t be offended when I say that I sincerely hope she crosses you again so that I have the pleasure of seeing her shipped south,” Riah says with a snort, and I decide that I really do like the female.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Awri chimes in, “after watching her chase after Xey for centuries. As if he would ever consider her.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” I ask. “She is exceptionally beautiful.”
“No lovelier than you,” Awri says, and I gloss over the lie.
As much as I’m sure she’s just trying to reassure me, I’ve never been vain enough to require flattery.
“And the female is an absolute snake, just like her sister,” she continues,“She’s the last feyn on the continent I’d trust with the king. I’m sure Xey feels the same.”
If he does feel that way, then they are both wrong on that account. If they really knew me, Siserie would be second on that list.
I bite into a juicy apple when Awri asks around a mouthful of food, “Do you remember Ishara?”
I nod, but unlike the memory I’m sure my friend summoned, the day I met the female in the dressmaker’s shop is not what comes to mind. It is her voice, calling after me when I jumped from her balcony.
“Siserie and Ishara are sisters,” she explains.
I’ve heard of sibling rivalry, and though I wasn’t raised with siblings, it’s still hard to imagine why sisters would pursue the same male.
I’m trying to recall all that Awri said about their family when Kishek appears at the edge of the hedged road and she perks up with a smile. Discarding her lunch, she darts off to greet him and they disappear behind the dense bush.
Riah grins at me as she says, “The question you asked before, about pleasuring the male,”—I nearly choke on a fat thimbleberry—“I can tell you how, if you like?”
Before I know I’ve agreed, the female is weaving tales of long passionate nights that she’s spent diligently engaged in just such a task. Exhaustive accounts of what she, in her long life, learned will bring a male to his knees. She is quite descriptive and while the lady I portray should shy away from such things, the inquisitive student I truly am hangs on every detail, supplying questions that will draw out the finer aspects of the acts she describes.
Her deep throaty laugh calls Awri back to the ring as I try to compose myself. I hack out the small sip of water I inhaled when she began to describe a long night she’d spent with not one, but two males. I’m still not sure how I would manage the general’s thick length in any of the ways she described, let alone have another to contend with.
Kishek follows Awri back to where we sit with our mostly consumed meal. She is beaming, all the morning gloom shed in the ring, and perhaps behind the tall hedge where she’d lingered out of sight with the male by herside.
“What are you two talking about?” she asks with a suspicious smile.
I sputter the last of the water from my lungs, eyes watering, when Riah answers, “The art of war.”
Kishek’s mouth twists. “I’m not sure that is what the general had in mind for your lessons.”
“Trust me,” the lieutenant retorts with a wink, “The general will thank me later.”
I slap her arm with the back of my hand and laugh. Not a small or forced laugh, but a laugh that makes your eyes glisten and your belly ache. A laugh that sears a happy memory into your mind. I laugh like I have rarely laughed before, my sides splitting at the look of pure confusion contorting the male’s face.
The lieutenant jogs off with a wave when Kishek gathers up our picnic supplies and leads us to the palace. Awri apparently arranged for Adora to come for a final fitting before the masque, and I find that we have time to do little more than wash and dress in fresh clothes before she arrives.
Kishek waits in the main room of the general’s chambers while I wash, and I smile when after a quick bath I find that the general had the rest of my clothing brought over and hung in his closet. I pluck a colorful gown from the racks and a pair of matching pants sewn in a sheer beaded lace.
Adora sees to Awri’s fitting in the privacy of her own chambers before coming to see to my own. She must be sure of her work when she binds my eyes with a thick black cloth, shielding the costume from my sight. I was wrong when I thought she would seek my approval of the gown. Instead, the female claims that while half the fun of the masquerade is revealing yourself to those in attendance, the other half lays in the anticipation of the event. She assures me that none of the ladies view their gowns until the evening of the party, and I suppose I can always discard it in lieu of a simple everyday gown if I feel it’s necessary.
Awri stays with me until early evening, a stack of papers in her hands containing decisions and orders yet to be made for the party. She seems at home in the general’s quarters, and I suppose she’s spent many days in the war room with the others. She excuses herself when it grows dark, wavinggoodbye with assurances that she will continue training with me. I shouldn’t press her about it, after all, she is well positioned to interfere on the king’s behalf when the time comes and any skill she gains between now and then will only prove to hinder my task.
My companion is quickly replaced by an exhausted looking Riesh. He enters the room bearing a small plate stacked high with an overindulgent dinner. We sit by the fire and share the meal, the male explaining that the general is tied up in meetings of strategy.
“You are sure it was another La’tari ship they saw off the coast?” I ask, my eyebrows rising.
“I don’t doubt the male who saw it, but no one else has seen the ship since it was first sighted,” he explains.
It makes no sense. Why send a lone ship followed by another a few days later? There is no way to approach the shores of A’kori without being seen. Awri and I may have been the first to see the warship as it came into the bay, but more reports of the vessel came from many others, shortly after.
“What do the La’tari say?” I wonder.
