Page 46 of Sword Dance

“That might not have been the word you used. Perhaps it was ‘horror.’”

“What … ” He had been so sure he knew where this was going, but now he was lost again. He tried to remember when he had said anything like “horror” the night before. “Oh! Immortal gods—do you mean what I said about Shahaz’s father’s business? Of course that filled me with horror, it’s—it’s a horrible thing, and to discover that the family I was proposing to join made their money from such a thing? ‘Horror’ was the right word—‘disgust’ would have done too. But I wasn’t trying to suggest that I was horrified by you—or disgusted by eunuchs in general. That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“No?” Varazda gave him a wary look. “What did you mean? By telling me that.”

“I meant … I meant that I felt angry on your behalf. I was trying to be sympathetic.”

“Oh,” said Varazda tonelessly.

“But look—it was misjudged, I can see that now, and I’m sorry. And I’m not—not looking for an apology from you so that I can feel good about myself. If my sympathy isn’t of any use to you, then it isn’t, and that’s how it is. But it isn’t disgust, I promise you that.”

“I suppose I knew that.” He relaxed visibly, though not completely.

“Well. I’m sure I could have expressed it better. It isn’t even pity, really. It was in the beginning, I admit, but then I got to know you, and I don’t think of you as an object of pity any longer. Didn’t, even before I found out that you’re free and have a family and a beautiful daughter.”

Varazda smiled slightly. He was leaning back against the wall now, one leg drawn up and tucked under the other knee, looking at Damiskos thoughtfully.

“You also said you prefer women. I have to assume you don’t usually spar with them, though.”

“I’m not pretending you’re a woman, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What are you pretending I am?”

Damiskos shook his head and found himself saying, rather to his own surprise, “Not a damned difficult bastard. It isn’t easy.”

Varazda gave a boyish shout of laughter. “Oh, all right. Well played.”

“Look. I did say I prefer women. It wasn’t a lie. It was an exaggeration, but that was because I was trying to put you at ease. You were about to pass out from nerves. I was trying to be sympathetic. Again.”

“That was before the other time.”

“Shut up.”

Varazda made a little mime of one of the parries that Damiskos had taught him that afternoon. Damiskos laughed. Then he fell silent, and they looked at one another for a long, charged moment.

“You’re beautiful, Varazda. You take my breath away. Everything about you. I don’t expect—You don’t owe me anything for thinking that. My own preferences … my preferences are—were—formed by my experience, and I have been with both men and women, but never with anyone like you. Perhaps it took me a while to get used to how well I like that. Perhaps it took me longer than it should have.”

“I like how seriously you take everything, Damiskos.”

“I’m not—I mean, I do know how to enjoy myself. I think.”

Varazda smiled. “I said I like it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I enjoyed myself last night, too.”

“Ah,” said Damiskos. “Did you?”

“Yes. In spite of everything.”

“I’m glad. I was afraid … I wondered what had been done to you, that you are capable of … that you’re capable, and you know all these different, ah, techniques, but you don’t like it. I know that isn’t any of my business.”

“I was a slave, Damiskos. We don’t get to say no.”

“Right.”

“It wasn’t any one thing. It was just years of not getting to say no—not getting to say yes, either, when I might have wanted to. Part of what freedom meant to me was freedom from that whole area.” He waved a hand dismissively.