11
In a gesture of magnanimity, Kral arranged for me to have a proper bath, albeit in a fairly small tub that two of his men hauled in and filled with hot water from the galley. Still, it was Dasnarian sized and so big enough for me to soak in it—utter bliss.
I’d grown up bathing in snowmelt mountain streams and progressed to snatching dips in whatever body of water lay convenient to the campaign trail. Taking a real bath in hot water always implied the safety of home to me. A dangerous thought, as I couldn’t fall into being comfortable around the Dasnarians, particularly Kral.
But it was nice while it lasted.
I was toweling myself dry when Kral joined me. “Good,” he grunted, stripping off his bloodstained clothes. “I’ll use your water.”
“You sure you don’t want fresher and hotter?”
“No. A Dasnarian warrior doesn’t need such things. We’re made of sterner stuff than that.”
I rolled my eyes at his back and refrained from commenting. Witness the dramatic growth of my diplomatic skills.
“There’s some perfumed lotion at the back of the clothing cabinet,” Kral suggested, squinting at me as he stood—he was much too big to be able to sit in the tub—and soaped his hair.
“Are you saying I stink?” I wandered over to rummage through the cabinet anyway. Perfumed lotion, huh? Speaking of girl things.
“No.” Kral had that tone, the one that emphasized how patient and even tempered he could be. Ha! “But I do like the scent.”
I found the squat glass jar, uncorked it, and sniffed. Kind of like an evergreen forest, but with sweeter elements, too. Something like the cinnamon pastries they made in Elcinea, something else I didn’t know. At least it didn’t have the cloying density of the pink rose unguents the followers of Glorianna used far too liberally. Still. “Anyone would be able to smell me from a distance, maybe even leagues, if I’m upwind.”
Kral stepped out of the tub, sheeting water on the floor, crouched and dunked his hair to rinse it. A fine sight, with his thighs and buttocks flexing, a glimpse of his man jewels between. I’d never shared quarters with a man this way, but I began to perceive the many advantages. Kral grabbed a drying cloth and rubbed it over his face, then gave me a look. “Are you planning any stealth missions in the near future?”
“You never know,” I retorted. But I dropped the towel and took my time smoothing on the lotion, enjoying his attention. I liked my body just fine, scars and all, and it served me well as long as I took care of it. Kral, though . . . somehow his regard made me relish my curves, the softness of my skin. Danu help me, I wanted to smell pretty for him.
“I have dinner this evening with my officers.” Kral, with one last hot survey of my nakedness, moved to the cabinet and pulled out one of the folded cloths. “I’d like you to join us.”
Ugh. I must have made a face to match, because he laughed, running a big hand over my skull, smoothing my short hair, then handed me the cloth. “Call it practice.”
I had a bad feeling about this, unfolding the length of crimson silk. Not Kral’s deeper red signature color, but close. That’s all there was to it—a long length of nearly sheer silk. “This counts as clothes?”
“Yes. Female clothes.” Kral had gotten out the washbasin, dipped it in the bathwater, and set it next to a razor.
“I have zero idea how to wear this. I’m thinking like a big bandage or a funeral shroud. I’ll just wrap it around myself until it’s all used up and tie a knot, yes?”
He came over and took the silk out of my hands. “I can help. Pay attention.”
“It’s clothes, not like learning to read and write Dasnarian.” I paid attention anyway, watching as he expertly wound the cloth snugly around my torso, letting it drape more loosely on the outer layers, finishing with a long piece that swept over my bosom and trailed dramatically over my shoulder and down my back. “Dressed many women, have you?”
He grinned, full of sexy, wicked mischief. “I’ve undressed plenty. A man learns.”
I could just imagine. The outfit definitely felt . . . weird. Not bad, necessarily. Almost like wearing nothing at all. Aside from being unusually snug around my midbody, the silk provided a fair amount of range of motion. I tried a few of my favorite sword-form movements, satisfied with the freedom the silk afforded. “You realize, however,” I told a rapt Kral, “that an attacker’s weapon would go through this like I’m wearing nothing at all.”
“This is not normally a problem for women,” he admitted. Ironic, that. The men armored themselves like tortoises set to bury themselves in the mud to last out the dry season and the women went virtually naked—but it was the men who thought they had all the thick skin and bravery. Kral trailed a hand over my one bare shoulder, down my arm, then to my waist and over the slight curve of my hip. “You look ravishing,” he murmured. “You could be a Dasnarian lady. If you had different coloring and longer hair, of course.”
“I’ll have long hair at the same time it turns blond and my skin goes peaches and cream.” I moved away, gathering my knives from the bed where I’d left them while I bathed—and the two from the floor by the tub. Finding places to secret them in that outfit posed a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. The drape of the lower part allowed for thigh and ankle straps. The bare shoulder meant my arm sheath showed, but the delicately tooled leather made it decorative enough.
When I finished, Kral shook his head from his observation point on the lone chair. “Rather less like a Dasnarian lady now.”
I cocked a hip and grinned. “Better, then. What do I do for shoes with this getup?”
“Dasnarian ladies go barefoot. Many of them wear lovely ankle and toe jewelry. I’m sorry I don’t have any for you.”
Barefoot, huh? Well, I’d spent the lion’s share of my early life running barefoot in all weather; I supposed I could relearn. Time to toughen them up again, apparently. “I think I can live without foot jewelry.”
“Good. Will you shave me?” Kral cocked his head at the bowl and razor.
“Is this a handmaiden thing?”
“Less sexual than practical. I never seem to get the shave as close as another can.”
I stood in front of him, between his long, splayed legs, and dug my fingers through the silky hair. “I like the beard.”
“It itches. And it’s not appropriate for—”
“Let me guess. For the general of the Dasnarian military and an Imperial Prince of the Royal House of Konyngrr.”
His lips that I loved so well twisted in a rueful, wry smile. “Exactly. Though our sail will take an extra day or so, we’ll be in more trafficked waters soon. I need to be presentable.”
“I’ve never shaved a man before.”
“You’ve a deft hand with a blade; I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I shrugged for that, checking out the razor, and followed his instructions for soaking a cloth in the warm, sudsy water. Kral tipped his head back, gaze on me as I brought the finely honed edge to his throat. I caught his eye. “So much trust.”
“You made a vow.”
Interesting. Working carefully, I found the ideal angle, bringing the gleaming razor just so along his golden throat. Indulgent, even, to follow the ridges of his corded neck, the hard bulge of his larynx, the etched line of jaw, for once relaxed and not set in aggravation with me. As the light hair fell away from his fine cheekbones, the tanned, smooth skin of his face showed a darker shade. I followed the sharp edge with my fingertips, checking the closeness of the shave, the softness of the newly hairless skin. Another way of enjoying a man’s body, this. With his eyes closed and face relaxed, Kral seemed almost a different person. Whatever demons drove him lay still in the moment. Perhaps part of why he liked to be tended to this way.
Of course, being me, I couldn’t help needling him a little. “Vows can be broken.”
He opened one eye, the pale blue diamond bright in the light of the lantern I’d set on the ledge. “Can they?”
I shrugged, then set the blade against his other cheek. “Depends, I suppose. But I’ve yet to see one of the Three descend from wherever They lurk to chastise someone who broke a vow made in Their name.”
“What of living with yourself?”
“You tell me.”
His jaw flexed. “At some point you’re going to have to let go of what happened to Lady Mailloux.”
“I’m not much for letting things go.”
“Why does this not surprise me?”
“Don’t taunt the woman with a sharp razor at your throat.”
He closed his eyes again, mouth curving in a pleased smile, and tipped his head back even more. “You won’t hurt me.”
His smug confidence tempted me to slice him, just a little, if only to see his surprise. I resisted, however, and quite easily—because I didn’t want to hurt him, a realization that took me aback.
“I’ve never fucked a woman without a lind before,” he remarked.
Aha. I turned that bit of information over in my head. “What of all those concubines?”
“Even with them. A concubine with an Imperial Prince’s child holds power. I couldn’t afford for anyone to have that kind of control over me.”
Weren’t we in a confessional mood? It seemed a good opportunity to worm information out of him, and yet . . . I didn’t like this. It felt wrong. And I’d been down this path before and met with trouble.... the point is not for the goddesses to rescue us from our own mistakes, but for us to follow the example of the virtues they embody and learn to do better. “Kral,” I said, and waited for him to open his eyes. “That might have been significant for you, but it’s business as usual for me.”
“So?” His voice carried a faint edge. This is what came of being honest, apparently. Still I plunged on.
“I just don’t want you getting ideas, like you did before. I’m being clear on things.”
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, holding me there. “Are you reneging on your promise of exclusivity?”
“No.” The thought hadn’t occurred to me, which was unusual. If nothing else, however, Kral had a knack for keeping me sated. Now that he was on board. “But when my job is done, I’ll have to leave. I don’t want you getting . . .” attached. I didn’t speak it aloud, faintly horrified at the thought. Is that what I meant?
Satisfied, he let me go, running his hands over his face, then snagged me onto his lap. “Well done. I’ll miss this quiet time with you, once we reach Jofarrstyr.” He kissed me, and I leaned into it, enjoying the newly soft skin around his clever mouth. Though I missed the contrasting texture of his beard. Ah, well, something of pleasure to be found in both, I supposed.
“We can make time, can’t we?” I murmured against his lips.
He kissed me a bit longer, then set me on my feet. Stood himself and went to get fresh clothes. “You should be aware that . . .” He trailed off, searching for words, his back to me.
Uh-oh. “Just give it to me straight, General.”
“Fine.” He yanked on trousers in his signature color.
I almost asked why the ever-faithful Karyn hadn’t embroidered the Konyngrr fist on his ass. At least he hadn’t dressed me in something with it. I would have to take exception to that. Too bad I didn’t have any reproductions of the new flag for Her Majesty’s reign. That I would wear, and proudly. Following Uorsin’s death, the Hawks had gathered and made a ritual of removing his bear from our uniforms. It wouldn’t have been politic for us to wear our own symbol, not with the former High King’s level of paranoia. When I got back, if Her Majesty would let me remain in the Hawks, I’d have to ask about us wearing something of our own. Or at least her symbol, as her elite guard.
“The Emperor’s court is a dangerous, delicately balanced community,” Kral was saying. I nearly yawned in his face. That described any king or queen’s court, ever. Power—and the lure of it—did that to people. “Very few ladies attend court or other official business. The ones who do are noble wives, or my sisters, the Imperial Princesses.” He cleared his throat, casting me a cautious sidelong glance.
“Kral, I’m not going to knife you for giving me good advice. Let me guess—all of these fine ladies are wives. No rekjabrel among them.”
Surprise ghosted over his face. “You know what that means?”
“Essentially ‘bed slave,’ right? Dafne translated it for me.”
“I thought you might be offended by that, should you discover it.”
“And yet you call me that anyway.”
“It is an accurate representation of our relationship. My men needed to know. It’s not an insult.”
Restless, I drew my favorite throwing knife and twirled it, prowling the room. “Seriously, Kral, it takes far more than that to bother me.”
“Good. I’ve been thinking about how to put this to you. When your High Queen said she intended to send three women to Dasnaria as her emissaries, I thought that would be all the better for our advantage. I could have told her that, for any emissary of hers to be taken seriously, she should send a man, but . . .” He lifted a shoulder, let it fall, and pulled a shirt over his head. “I had no intention of helping her cause. In all honesty, I’m surprised Harlan did not warn her of this.”
Because Harlan knew exactly why Ursula picked Dafne for the job. No one had her same skill set to be the spy the throne needed in Dasnaria. Unfortunate how things had worked out.
“Okay, so you’re saying I’m not anyone’s wife, virginal or otherwise, nor am I a concubine.”
“Correct. Even concubines are formally contracted, a kind of lesser marriage. But no concubine would show her face in court.”
Perish the thought. “I can only guess where a rekjabrel falls in this hierarchy.”
“At the bottom,” Kral admitted. “You should know that this does not reflect my regard for you. I would offer to marry you or make you officially a concubine, but—”
“Absolutely not.”
“As I assumed you’d answer. Besides, you have no one to sign the papers for you, so it would be impossible to set up the contracts.”
I went to Kral’s secret cabinet, pulled out a fresh flask of mjed, uncorked it, and took a long pull. Kral’s hands settled on my shoulders, his mouth brushing my cheek from behind.
“I’m sorry for this,” he said quietly. “I would give you status if I could. As it is, I’ve determined your best chances for acceptance lie in not being any of the usual things, which includes rekjabrel. No one can know of our liaison. No one there will know what to make of you any more than I did.”
I managed to stifle several sarcastic replies and didn’t even shrug off his hands. The man meant well. Not his fault he was an idiot. Not entirely.
“That’s very sweet of you. Thoughtful. I think I can endeavor to keep our forbidden love a secret.” Okay, I didn’t quite squelch all sarcasm. “But what of the seventy-odd men on this ship who do know?”
“Loyal to me. They won’t betray our secret . . . relationship. Nor will any but a few officers be at the Imperial Palace.” Kral had an odd sound to his voice, so—figuring I had schooled my expression sufficiently—I turned in his arms. Sure enough, he seemed bothered by something, though I couldn’t discern what.
“It’s a plan, then.” I took another drink of mjed and offered him the flask. “To secrets kept.”
He took it and drank, watching me as he did.
By the time Jens informed me we’d reached within half a day’s sail of the harbor at Jofarrstyr, I’d grown quite proficient at donning the klút, as the Dasnarians called the female garb. In many ways I liked the ease of it—no buttons, laces, or stifling undergarments needed—but the weather chilled as we approached the coast, and I was thrice-damned cold.
Keeping my promise to Kral, and in a greater sense to Her Majesty, I’d turned my entire attention to learning to dress, speak, and behave as a proper Dasnarian lady. I feigned the meek subservience well. Not looking directly into men’s eyes went against every instinct I’d honed as both a fighter and a scout, but Danu taught to turn disadvantages to advantages. While obeying that particularly stupid social rule, I practiced attention to peripheral vision. As with my long-sight, it was excellent. Even better, it seemed I could observe more peripherally, all because people thought I wasn’t watching.
The interminable dinners with Kral’s officers proved useful for practicing that and the others in my new quiverful of spy skills. The men tended to fall into boasting, telling stories of various battles and hunts, particularly when Kral broke out his stash of mjed. Once I would have been the first to join in, matching them shot for shot and tale for tale. With the prohibitions against proper Dasnarian females drinking—kill me now—and speaking up unless directly questioned, I found myself distressingly sober, and able to observe a great deal. The men, including Kral, frankly seemed to forget my very presence, revealing themselves in ways I might not otherwise have noticed.
Much like stalking deer from a blind, I remained in plain sight, yet camouflaged, able to witness how they behaved. Lurking in prime position to take them down, should I wish to.
Of course, I had no problem with Kral’s men in general. The officers shared the usual annoying thickheaded ways of most Dasnarian men, with the salient exception of the Vervaldr, but they possessed intelligence and—if their stories were to be believed—excellent strategic and fighting skills. They made perfect sparring partners for me to learn upon, though ignorant of their role as I honed my skills for the true enemy.
The biggest surprise came from how all the Dasnarians reacted differently to me in the traditional female garb. In a seeming contradiction, I became both the subject of intense male attention, to a level I’d never before experienced—and someone easily dismissed. When it didn’t stick in my craw, I considered their behavior in terms of Kral’s remark, that he’d considered Her Majesty’s decision to send three females a sign of her ignorance and stupidity.
Some of that came from his own foolishness. Even with his many changes in attitude toward me, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around a woman ruler. A fundamental blindness on his part that I could exploit, though I hadn’t yet determined exactly how. Ursula had been my captain long before she became my High Queen, and I’d experienced firsthand her canny knack for recognizing ability and placing people where they’d do the most good. She might have other flaws as a leader, but choosing the wrong person for the job, especially for an effort this key to the security of the realm, simply didn’t play for me as an explanation. I could see that now, from the words she’d sent. I picked you for good reasons this time, too. Not the ones you think. When boulders speak, they give good advice. I listened and acted accordingly.
Kral also underestimated the depth of her relationship with Harlan, her personal boulder. Of course she would have discussed her plan with him. If she talked to no one else, she would ask the person she trusted as much as, if not more than, her sisters. And with him being Dasnarian? He absolutely would have explained the implications of sending women into the Emperor’s court. Furthermore, she could have sent someone else. Many other ambassadors to Ordnung from various kingdoms, quite a few of them men, would have more diplomatic skills than Dafne did. Marskal, lieutenant of the Hawks, outranked me in experience and easily matched my scouting and fighting abilities. Zynda might be her trusted cousin with powerful abilities, but there were Tala men the High Queen could have called upon.
Considering all the puzzle pieces—and thinking like Ursula, as I’d tried to do—why send the offender with the very foreign dignitary she’d pissed off?
If she’d truly been angry, she could have simply sent me away from Ordnung on one of the many reconnaissance missions I myself had been fielding scouts on. We’d needed more trained observers out there. Why not send the disgraced head of her scouts to do that?
I picked you for good reasons this time, too. Not the ones you think.
It bore contemplating, which was what I did, making those words into a comforting mantra, moving through Danu’s Dance, the twelve sword forms, and any other drills I could recall or devise for myself. Anything to keep moving in the dense, chilled air on deck and to test the limits of the flowing silk scarf that counted as a dress. In becoming adept at the wrapping, I’d improvised a few improvements that gave me greater range of motion. Kral shook his head at that, but I challenged him to point out how it differed in appearance from his way of doing it, and he conceded. I may also have distracted him by allowing him to unwrap the thing and examine my inventions. That paid off nicely for us both.
I finished a spin, coming up short and pulling the sweep of my blade when I caught sight of Kral. “I hear we’ll be there soon.”
“Yes, soon you’ll be able to sight the harbor with those keen eyes of yours.” He looked me up and down. “You’ve been at your exercises since dawn—haven’t you had enough?”
I rubbed my hands up and down my bare arms, wishing I could do the same for my rapidly chilling feet. “Yeah, but if I stop moving, I get cold—and I’m a mountain girl. I thought I was tough. Why don’t Dasnarian women freeze to death?”
His face blanked with some surprise. “I never thought about it. They don’t go outside in the winter months, I suppose.”
My turn to gape at him. “Say you’re not serious.”
“If you stayed in our cabin, you’d be warm enough,” he pointed out. “There’s coals for the brazier and blankets to wrap up in.”
“So I could lose my mind with boredom? No, thank you.”
He grinned. “No, that wouldn’t be you.”
“What is me is that I’m going to wear Zynda’s cloak. I’ll keep the klút on, but I’m wearing the cloak over it. It’s pretty and flowing, so you’ll approve.”
“I’m sure I will,” he replied, with unusual agreeableness, making me narrow my eyes at him. He snagged me around the waist. “Only a couple of hours until we have to pretend not to be lovers,” he murmured, brushing my ear with his lips. “Want to put the time to good use?”
Oh, yes. Yes, I did.