Page 28 of Sword Dance

He took a swallow of wine, trying to think what a man who wasn’t surprised to have Varazda sit down at his feet would do. He had no idea.

They were seated at a slight remove from the rest of the party, and one or two of the students had cast them curious looks, but no one said anything to Damiskos. Varazda folded his hands in his lap and looked at the ground.

Nione arrived and was listlessly polite to the newcomers. She gave Damiskos a strange look and did not speak to him.

“When you offered to help,” said Varazda in a low voice, still speaking Zashian.

“Yes. Anything. What can I do?”

“You can corroborate the story I’ve recently told our host.”

“Yes, of course. What have you told her?”

“I have told her that before Aristokles left, he sold me to you.”

That landed on Damiskos like a rockslide, though he realized he should have guessed it as soon as Varazda sat at his feet.

“You’ve … uh. Yes, I see how that will help. I suppose I should have thought of it myself.”

“I am very glad you didn’t. I would have refused any such proposal coming from you.”

“Oh. Yes. I quite see that. Rightly so. Why did I, er, buy you, do you think?”

“Well,” said Varazda dryly, “it could be that you are buying up slaves to work your olive farm. But I think it might go over a little better if we say you appealed to Aristokles’s sentimental side to let you have me at a price you could afford because you’ve developed a fondness for me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Damiskos managed. “I’m sure you could do a fine job of picking olives.”

Varazda looked as if he was struggling, very prettily, to suppress a smile.

“First Spear, I do appreciate that this puts you in an awkward position, and I wish I could have thought of a better story to account for my presence. If it is any comfort, you should know that I would not have told this particular lie if I had thought you would take advantage of it.”

“Yes, I see. Thank you. I won’t.”

“I know,” said Varazda patiently.

Aradne had come out, followed by the cringing Niko, to glare at the new guests and take a headcount.

“Tell the kitchen five more for dinner, Niko. I’m off to find something for them to sleep on.” Her tone suggested whatever she found would not be very comfortable. “Can I put some of them in Aristokles’s room?” she asked Nione.

“Yes, for now. His, um—Pharastes—told me this morning that he took the coast road to Laokia on an errand he wished to keep secret. I’m not sure when he will be back.”

Damiskos looked down at Varazda, wondering what gesture he could make to signal to the students that Varazda was now his property. He could touch him casually. That would be the sort of thing a master might do to a slave, especially one to whom he was supposedly attracted. He could reach out a hand and brush his fingers around the outside of one looped-up braid, flick a dangling earring in passing, perhaps graze the pale shell of Varazda’s ear with his fingertips.

He sat picturing the exact route his hand would travel, the movements his muscles would make. He couldn’t bring himself to make them.

It was repellant. It would make him no better than the sort of man he had imagined Aristokles to be.

What would Nione think of him?

Well, whatever it was, she probably already thought it, and he wasn’t helping Varazda by sitting here looking awkward.

“May I touch you?” he asked in Zashian.

Varazda glanced up, surprise flickering in his eyes for a moment.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I think you had better.”

Damiskos put out his hand and laid it on Varazda’s shoulder. It wasn’t the right kind of gesture at all. It looked like something you might do to comfort a grieving friend. Probably he had a frown on his face to match.