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“YOUR LORDSHIP,” EWAN Hazelrig greeted with mild surprise. “Becknam. Do come in. I heard about the demonstration fights—there’s nothing more wrong, I hope?”
“No, it’s fine. In fact, that’s part of why I’ve come.” Shianan looked at Ariana, who’d come to the entry passage with a welcoming smile. “These are for you.” He unwrapped the flowers—the hothouse workers had done a better job of it than he had—and held them up for viewing.
“Oh, they’re beautiful! Wherever did you find them?”
“They’re not from me,” he said, almost regretting his honesty after her pleasure. “They came from the royal hothouses, along with these.” He lifted a little box of fresh fruits. “They’re a gift, in gratitude for your actions this afternoon, interrupting the fight and entertaining the spectators.” He grinned sheepishly. “Apparently I was difficult to distract.”
She laughed. “You had other things on your mind, yes. But are you all right? I was worried when they marched you all away.”
“That was General Septime trying to sort it out. I’m fine, thank you.”
She gathered the flowers. “I’ll find water for these. And you may have some credit for carrying them.” She went into the kitchen.
Hazelrig cleared his throat. “There’s a rumor the king hired mercenaries to challenge you. Is there anything to that?”
Shianan shook his head. “No, it wasn’t the king.” He dropped his voice. “It’s nothing about—that. The Shard.”
Hazelrig nodded. “Good.”
Shianan shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t see—Tamaryl, and the other one.”
Hazelrig’s expression faltered. “The last Ryuven prisoner was executed today. Tamaryl didn’t take it well.” He looked toward the kitchen. “Ariana was distressed by the news as well, but she’s putting on a brave face at the moment.”
Shianan’s stomach clenched. His errand was difficult enough without the burden of an execution.
Ariana returned with a vase overflowing with bright flowers. “Let’s put them here, I think. Won’t you sit down?”
“Actually...” Shianan’s muscles tightened. This was not the day, not after the match and the reprimands, but if the king had liked the review, then Shianan had to act quickly to take advantage of his good favor. He would defeat the Ryuven, he would defend the kingdom, he would save the Shard. He would act on his own happiness.
He looked toward Hazelrig. “Actually, I’d hoped to speak with Ariana privately.”
Hazelrig raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” One corner of his mouth twitched. “I suppose I have enough work in my study to keep me occupied for a time.” He nodded to them. “Good evening.”
Ariana looked after him and then back at Shianan, her eyes widening. “Do you want to sit down?”
He shifted his weight awkwardly. “I think I couldn’t,” he confessed. His palms were sweating. Dear Holy One, what would he say?
She licked her lips. “I think I’d better.” She perched on the edge of the nearest seat, where Shianan had sat the first time he came to their house to speak of Tam.
He could not afford distraction now. He had to risk it, had to speak with her. “My lady mage,” he began, his voice odd in his ears, “I must—I must be utterly frank with you. May we speak plainly?”
She nodded.
“My lady mage, I—”
“Ariana.”
He blinked at her.
“Ariana. I’m Ariana, and you’re Shianan. You cannot keep an honorific between us at this late stage. You said you would speak plainly.”
“Ariana.” He gulped. “Ariana, I said before... I must know—what is between you and the Ryuven.”
That wasn’t at all what he’d meant to say, and he nearly cursed aloud. Yes, of course, he was anxious to know why she helped Tamaryl, whether she favored the Ryuven or Shianan or indeed either of them, but that was not what he meant to ask, and not at all how he would have asked had he meant to.
Ariana was visibly taken aback. “What do you mean? I was there for only... Or do you mean Tamaryl?”
Shianan pushed at his hair. “Yes, Tamaryl. What is he to you, that you’d risk yourself and your father for him?”
Ariana straightened. “He is the friend who risked himself for my father and me—and for his own friend, trapped here within the shield.” Her tone grew suspicious, defensive, indignant. “What exactly do you mean?”
He was such a fool. “I mean, if I thought of asking....”
Now Ariana looked angry. “I will have whatever friends I please, Shianan Becknam, regardless of whether you approve of them. I know you must hate the Ryuven, and I wish that weren’t so, because I do love Tamaryl even if he is the Pairvyn. He is my dear friend and I owe him my life. Maru, too, cared for me when I was helpless in the Ryuven world, and now he is helpless here in my world. They deserve better than a public axing to please a festival crowd. Is that what you wanted to know? Did you mean to ask if I would distance my friends?”
“I—”
“I won’t. I would no more abandon them than I would abandon you when some brute refers to you as the bastard. I hold my friends more dear than that. Do you understand?”
Shianan looked at her a moment, his chest burning, and then he looked away and began to chuckle sadly.
“Shianan!”
“Yes, my lady mage, I understand.” He did. It was clear now why he was fascinated by this woman who stood too passionately by her convictions while he bowed to pressure. “I am sorry to have upset you, Ariana. I did not mean to do so. I would not ask you to give up your friends, even the Ryuven.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He shook his head. “I wish I had your bravery.”
She caught his hands. “You are brave,” she said, and her voice was low and serious. “I don’t mean only in fighting the Ryuven, though obviously that’s true. But you face—every day, you have—with the king—” She hesitated, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as if she feared her own words. “Just, you’re very brave, Shianan. And I am in awe of it.”
He stared at her, unprepared for such open admiration. “I...”
She smiled at him, open and kind and strong like he wasn’t.
He looked down and fought for breath. “I am not brave, or I could speak right now.”
“I think sometimes we most fear those we most cherish,” she said quietly. “It is easy to speak to someone whose opinion may not matter. But to someone whose respect we want, that’s an entirely different consideration.”
He blew out his breath. “I do care about the king’s opinion. Perhaps too much.” He tried to swallow. “But if you think I am brave, I will find a way to speak to him.”
Her eyelids flickered. “About?”
Sweet all, he could not bear the shame of facing her if she accepted him now and then the king forbade it, leaving him helpless to act. He wanted desperately for Ariana to see him victorious, to see him with the strength she had, to stand by his own mind, and that meant he could not bare his vulnerable desire until he knew he could act on it.
Energy flooded him like the start of a battle, mixed with a new heat that flushed his entire body. He leaned close to her, breathing the scent of her. “I will speak to the king. Let me be brave and speak to the king.”
Her eyes threatened to engulf him. “And then you’ll tell me what it is you want to say?”
“I promise.” He squeezed her hands between his. “I’m going now. Please, don’t call me back. I am not brave enough to walk away from you.”
She smiled. “Then I will wait until tomorrow.” Her smile broke into a wide grin.
He wanted to kiss her—but he was not that brave, not yet. After he had conquered the king’s audience. “Tomorrow,” he confirmed, and then he reluctantly dropped her hands and backed away. “I’ll come to your office in the afternoon, or possibly the evening. Good night!”
The chill night air bit at his flushed skin, but he hardly felt it. Now, he would prepare. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, blocking the quiet street around him. The king could be generous toward him, yes, his title and Fhure proved that.
Tomorrow. He would chance it all tomorrow.
MARU EASED BACK SILENTLY, hoping the floor would not squeak and betray him. He had not meant to spy, but the commander and the rika had been intent upon each other and had not noticed him as he drew back from a conversation which was clearly not to be interrupted.
He had not heard their words, but they had been so clearly a match, so close in intimate conversation, their postures conflicted and hopeful... He would not tell Tamaryl yet. His friend was occupied enough in finding their way home and grieving the loss of Parrin’sho. He did not need this fresh disappointment, too.
Maru hunched his mismatched wings and slipped up the stairs.