Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [169]
“I do not.”
“Poets speak of hope in ladies’ smiles, but give me a smirk any day, I say.” Somehow, his thumb was massaging her palm again, tracing the subtle muscles of her hand. It felt wonderful. She wished he would rub her shoulders, her feet, her neck, her everything-that-hurt. And everything hurt.
“I thought you said Arhys was the great seducer in the family.” She tried to muster the energy to take her hand back again, and failed.
“Not at all. He’s never seduced a woman in his life. They leapt on him from ambush all by themselves. Not without cause, I grant you.” He smiled, briefly. “There is this, about being the sparring partner of the best swordsman in Caribastos. I always lost. But if ever I meet the third best swordsman in Caribastos, he’s going to be in very deep trouble. Arhys was always better at all things we turned our hands to. But there is one thing that I am quite certain I can do that he cannot.”
It was the fault of the hand massage; it lulled her. She said unthinkingly, “What?”
“Fall in love with you. Sweet Ista.”
She jerked back. She had heard that endearment before, but not on those lips. “Don’t call me that.”
“Bitter Ista?” His brows climbed. “Cranky Ista? Cross, ill-tempered, cantankerous Ista?”
She snorted; he relaxed, and his lips quirked again. “Well, I can no doubt learn to adjust my vocabulary.”
“Lord Illvin, be serious.”
“Certainly,” he said at once. “As you command, Royina.” He bowed slightly. “I am old enough to have many regrets. I’ve made my share of mistakes, some”—he grimaced—“hideous indeed, as you well know. But it was the little, easy things—the kisses I did not give, and the love I did not speak, because there was no time, no place—and then, no chance . . . Surprisingly sharp sorrows those are, for their size. I think all our chances grow narrow, tonight. So I shall reduce my regrets—however brief—by one, at least . . .”
He leaned closer. Fascinated, she did not retreat. Somehow, that long arm had found its way around her aching shoulders. He folded her in. He was quite tall, she reflected; if she didn’t bend her head back, she was going to end up with her nose squashed to his breastbone. She looked up.
His lips tasted of soot, and salt sweat, and the longest day of her life. Well, and horsemeat, but at least it was fresh horsemeat. His dark eyes glittered between narrowed lids as her arms found their way around that ridged torso and pressed him inward. What was it she had snarled to dy Cabon—mimicking above what is desired below . . . ?
Some minutes later—too many? too few?—he lifted his head again and set her a little from him, as though to look upon her without having to cross his eyes. His slight smile was altogether drained of irony now, though not of satisfaction. She blinked and stepped back.
Liss, sitting cross-legged against the parapet on the opposite side of the platform, was staring up with her mouth open. The two soldiers weren’t even pretending to be watching Jokonans. Their riveted expressions were of men contemplating a daunting feat they had no desire to emulate, such as swallowing fire, or being the first to charge up a scaling ladder.
“Time,” Illvin murmured, “is where you take it. It will not linger for you.”
“That is so,” whispered Ista.
She had to give his dalliance this much credit; the stones seemed suddenly a much less attractive solution to her plight. That had been his intent, she had no doubt.
A dark violet splash of light sparked past her inner vision, and Ista’s head turned to follow it. From somewhere below, an outraged cry rang out. She sighed, too wearied to pursue the mystery. “I don’t even want to look.”
Illvin’s head, too, had turned at the cry. By his lack of further craning, he also shared her surfeit of horrors. But then he looked back at her, his eyes narrowing. “You looked around before we heard anything,” he noted.
“Yes. I see the sorcerous attacks as flashes of light in my inner vision. Like little bolts of lightning, flying from source to target, or like streaking fire-arrows. I can’t tell what their effect