Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [9]
Treia recoiled from him as she would have recoiled from a daemon.
“What does this mean?” she cried, upset and confused. “What has happened to you? Don’t touch me!”
Raegar raised his hands and backed away from her.
“I am sorry, Treia,” he said coolly. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” she asked, bewildered.
“Who I am.”
Raegar ordered the soldiers to take her below.
“This is a war galley. We do not have facilities for women,” Raegar explained. “I have made arrangements for you and your sister to berth in the storage room. It has a lock on the door.”
The soldiers took her away. She stumbled down a ladder, tripping over her wet skirts, that led to a narrow corridor. They took her to a large, dark room filled with two-handled jars that, she would later learn, held oil and water and wine, and sacks containing corn, grain, beans, smoked and salted meats, and fish. Someone, probably Raegar, had made a bed of sacking. The soldiers gave her food and water and then left.
The smell of the fish made her gag, but she drank some of the water. She had been offered dry clothes, but had refused. She crouched on the blanket, shivering in her wet chemise. She was like a person stunned by a blow.
The soldiers then brought in Aylaen and shut the door behind her. Aylaen peered about in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine. Seeing Treia, she hurried to her.
“Did you see Raegar? That whoreson! He betrayed us! He’s one of them!”
Treia didn’t answer.
“Treia, did you hear me?”
Treia made no response.
Aylaen regarded her sister in silence, then she said quietly, “I’m sorry, Treia. I know you loved him.”
Treia sat staring into the darkness that smelled of fish until weariness overcame her and she slept.
Treia woke suddenly, wondering if she had heard the sound of footsteps or only dreamed them. She glanced over at her sister. Aylaen was asleep. Treia heard a key rattle in the lock to the door, and she rose stiffly to her feet. The door opened. Sunlight, flooding into the darkened storage room, blinded her. Squinting, she saw a large man wearing long robes.
“Who are you?” she asked tensely. “What do you want?”
“Treia, it’s me, Raegar—” he began, but before he could get another word out she had flung herself at him, striking him with her fists. He caught hold of her arms.
“Hush, Treia. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you,” Raegar said, and he kept saying it until she relaxed and broke into wrenching sobs.
“There, there.” Raegar soothed her like a child, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. “There, there. You’re safe now, my love.”
When she had grown quiet and quit trembling, he said softly, “I need to talk to you.” He glanced at Aylaen, who was still asleep. “We must speak in private. Will you come with me? You must be quiet. If you make a fuss, you will bring the soldiers down on us. Promise?”
Treia nodded. Hearing his voice, feeling his touch, warmed by his embrace, she was with her lover once more. The strange Raegar was gone. Well, almost gone. She still found it hard to look at him; he was so different. She could get used to him, but it would take time.
He led her from the storage room and closed and locked the door behind them. They went to another room nearby; a small cabin. The only furnishings were a desk, two chairs, and a crude bed.
“This is the Legate’s cabin,” said Raegar, shutting the door and locking it from the inside. “Don’t worry. Acronis won’t disturb us. He has gone ashore to inspect the repairs on the Venjekar, which are taking longer than he first supposed. We will be alone.”
He began to kiss her passionately. Treia resisted him at first, but her body truly yearned for him and she returned his passion with passion of her own. She took off her damp clothes. He flung off his robes and they made love on the crude bed, carefully, for the cot creaked beneath their weight. Raegar cautioned her to silence when she moaned by putting his hand over her mouth.
Sated with pleasure, his body covered in sweat,