Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [10]
“I brought you some dry clothes,” he said. “I don’t have a chiton, which is the proper dress for a woman of Oran, so you will have to wear one of my long tunics.”
The robe was plain, without adornment, and of fine wool, smooth to the touch. Treia put it on. The tunic was far too big, but she didn’t mind.
“It smells of you,” she said, and she twined her arms around his neck.
“Sit down,” he said, gently withdrawing from her embrace. “I have to tell you what is going on and we don’t have much time—”
“Before you lock me up again!” said Treia angrily. She sat down on one of the odd-looking chairs and looked up at him, trying to see past the bald head, the snake tattoo, and his now unfamiliar face.
“You lied to me!” She glanced over at the bed. “Was our lovemaking also a lie?”
“I swear, Treia, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you,” said Raegar. “I longed to tell you the truth, that I was a warrior-priest of Aelon. I did tell you some of the truth when we were together in the temple. I had hoped you would understand—”
“I understand that you are a traitor!” Treia cried, rising to her feet. “You betrayed your own people. You betrayed me!”
“Hush! Keep your voice down.” Raegar caught her by the wrists. “I did what I did for your own good, my love. I’m trying to save you, Treia.”
“By making me a slave?”
“Not you, my love. You will not be a slave. Neither will your sister. I swear. If you will trust me and listen to me, you and Aylaen will be loved and honored. As for the others,” Raegar continued, his voice hardening, “Skylan and your stepfather, Sigurd, and the rest, do you care what happens to them?”
Treia said nothing. He took hold of her hands, kissed them, and clasped them in his.
“They have no respect for you, my love,” said Raegar. “I have often heard them make jokes about dried-up old virgins. . . .”
Treia stiffened. She had often heard the laughing and sniggering behind her back. She was twenty-eight years old and unmarried in a society where most girls were married by the age of sixteen. After several failed attempts to arrange a marriage for her, her stepfather, Sigurd, had told her he had taken her off the market.
If she had been ugly, she might have understood why no man wanted her. But she wasn’t ugly. Her brown hair was thick and luxuriant. She was slender with a good figure. Her eyes were large and dark; though due to their weakness, she had developed a squint. Treia couldn’t understand it. Ugly women got husbands all the time, and she could not.
“You are right,” she said harshly. “I don’t care.”
He kissed her and she pressed against him. He held her close and whispered softly, his breath brushing her cheek, “There is one thing you must do for me.”
“Anything, my love.”
“When the Venjekar is repaired, you will use the spiritbone to summon the Dragon Kahg and order him to sail the ship to Oran.”
Treia pulled away from him and shook her head.
Raegar eyed her with displeasure. His voice was cool. “What’s wrong, Treia? You are not going to refuse to do this for me, are you?”
“I want to please you,” Treia said confusedly. “It’s just . . . What if . . . for some reason . . . I can’t summon the dragon? . . .”
“Then I would be very displeased with you, my love,” Raegar said, his voice growing colder still.
“I want to!” Treia said fervently. “But you know the Dragon Kahg is obstinate and sometimes he won’t come. . . .”
“He came when you summoned him to fight the giants. The Legate watched from the ship. He saw the dragon battling the giants. Acronis was most impressed.”
Treia shivered. She had not summoned the dragon. She had not even been there. She had been with him in the temple. She opened her mouth to say this, but her courage failed her.
“You will summon the dragon,” Raegar told her.
Treia gave him a smile that she hoped didn’t look as false as it felt. She tried desperately to think of some lie, some way to put him off. A thought came to her. Before she could tell him, she was startled to