The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [97]
“Lady,” he murmured.
“Ah. I did not mean to wake you.”
“The sound of a harp is not the worst thing to wake to, especially one played so beautifully.”
To his surprise she seemed to color a bit at that. “I was only passing the time,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Better, I think. Milady—I wonder if it is proper that you watch over me, so. I promise you, I will lie quiet. I have little choice.”
She cast her eyes down a bit. “Well, it is my cabin,” she said. “And I tire sometimes of being on deck. When it’s bright like this, the sun hurts my eyes and burns my skin.”
“You aren’t Sefry, are you?” he joked.
“No. Just unused to daylight.” She looked back at him. “But you’ve met Sefry, haven’t you?”
“I have. It’s not difficult to do.”
“I’ve not seen one yet. I hope to, soon.”
“I should not be in your cabin, lady,” Neil persisted. “Surely there are more suitable quarters for me.”
“There are none more suitable to someone in your condition,” she replied.
“But this is not appropriate. Your men—”
She lifted her chin. “My men wished you left to the sharks. My men do not command here. I do. And I think I am in no danger from you. Do you disagree?”
“No, milady, but still—”
“I can change my clothes there, behind that screen, and wash, as well. There is a cot for me to sleep on.”
“I should sleep on the cot.”
“When you are better, you will. When you are better yet, you will sleep with the men.”
“I wish—”
“What is your name?” she asked suddenly. “You have not told me your name.”
“I—” He fumbled for a moment. “My name is Neil,” he said finally. He was sick of lying.
“Neil,” she repeated. “That’s a good name. A Lierish name. Or perhaps you are from Skern. Do you—do you know the game of fiedchese?”
Neil raised his brow in surprise. “I know it, lady. My father taught me how to play when I was a boy.”
“I wonder—would you like to play it? No one on the ship knows how, and they’re too busy to learn. But you . . .”
“Well, it’s something I can do from my back,” Neil said. “If you have a board.”
Swanmay smiled a little shyly and crossed to a small cupboard built into the cabin. From it she produced a fiedchese board and a leather bag full of playing pieces. The board was beautiful, its squares made of inlaid wood, one set red-brown and the other bone white. The throne in the center of the board was black.
The pieces were of matching beauty. The king was carved of the dark wood, and he wore a sharply peaked helm for his crown. His men were figured with shield and sword, and they were tall and slender like their king.
The raiders were of all sorts, no two pieces alike, and they were a bit grotesque. Some had human bodies and the heads of birds, dogs, or pigs. Others had wide bodies and short legs or no legs at all, just long arms that served the function. Neil had never seen a set like it.
“Which would you like me to play, lady?” Neil asked. “The king or raiders?”
“I have played the king far too often,” Swanmay mused. “But perhaps I should play it again, to see if there is an omen in it.”
And with that opaque statement she began setting up the board. The king went in the center, surrounded by his knights in the form of a cross. The raiders—Neil’s men—were placed around the edge of the board. There were four gates, at each corner of the board. If the king reached any of the gates, Swanmay would win. Neil would win if he captured the king.
She took the first move, sending one of her knights east, but not so far as to strike one of his men. He studied the board a bit and countered by capturing the man.
“I thought a warrior might take that bait,” she said. She sent another knight across the board, this one to block one of his pieces.
Five moves later, her king crossed through the north gate and Neil was left wondering what exactly had happened.
“Well,” he said, “if it was an omen you were seeking, you found a good one.”
“Yes,” she replied.