Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [37]
Arvin expected her to be exhausted when she finished, but instead she seemed invigorated. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed a healthy pink, enhanced by the light of the setting sun.
“Those exercises,” Arvin said. “They remind me of an acrobat I saw once-though he was nowhere near as graceful.”
“They’re called asanas,” Zelia answered.
“Do you do them every day?”
“At Sunset, without fail,” Zelia said, slipping on her dress. “They focus the mind.”
“My mother meditated each morning at sunrise,” Arvin said. “These-asanas-are for the same purpose, aren’t they? To aid your psionic powers?”
“They restore my ability to manifest my powers,” Zelia answered, “much like a cleric praying or a wizard reading his spellbooks.”
“I see,” Arvin said. During her routine, Zelia had gone through a lot of different poses. She must have had quite a number of psionic powers at her disposal. If he wanted to learn how to master his psionics-to do more than merely charm and distract people-Zelia would be an invaluable instructor. “You said you’d teach me to use my talent,” he reminded her. “Do you think you could teach me one of those asanas?”
Zelia untied the thong that had held back her hair and shook out her long red tresses. “It takes years of practice to learn to do them properly,” she answered. “You need to master not only the movements of the asana itself, but also the mental focus that goes with each pose. You might be able to crudely mimic one of the simpler asanas, but-”
“Will you teach me a simple one, then?” Arvin asked. He rubbed his temples. It hadn’t been his imagination, earlier; his head was throbbing. He really could feel the mind seed putting in roots. “At the very least, it’ll give me something to… distract me.”
Zelia stared back at him, and for a moment Arvin wondered if she was going to dismiss his request as ridiculous and impossible. Then her lips twitched into a smile. “Why not?” she said at last. “It might prove amusing. An interesting test of your potential. I’ll teach you the bhujanga asana. Take off your clothes.”
Arvin blushed. “It that absolutely necessary?”
Zelia’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to learn-or are you wasting my time?”
“I want to learn,” Arvin hurriedly assured her. “But my bracelet and amulet stay on.”
Zelia raised an eyebrow. “Everyone draws the line somewhere,” she said. “But your glove must come off.”
Arvin fumbled at the buttons of his shirt then peeled it over his head. He unfastened the belt that held his sheathed dagger and set the weapon to the side then sat and pulled off his boots and his glove. Finally he unfastened the laces of his trousers, let them fall in a heap at his feet, and stepped out of them. He stood with hands cupped in front of himself, hiding his nakedness. Zelia seemed oblivious to it, however. Her eyes never strayed from his.
“Lie down,” she instructed, “on your stomach.”
Arvin did, gratefully. The stone of the rooftop was warm against his bare skin.
“Place your hands, palms down, under your shoulders,” Zelia continued.
Arvin did. Zelia walked behind him and nudged one of his ankles, adjusting his legs. Arvin’s ankle tingled where her bare foot had touched it. “Feet together, and point your toes,” Zelia said. “Now arch your back-slowly-and tilt your head back until you are looking straight up at the sky.”
Arvin did as he was instructed, arching until his stomach and throat were taut. He stared up at the rapidly darkening sky, wondering how long he’d have to maintain this position.
“Continue to hold the pose,” Zelia said.
Arvin did. Above him, the first glimmers of starlight became visible as Sunset slid into Evening. Slowly the sky darkened, changing from