Krita bent again, this time filling Malcolm’s mug.
Hansen thought the new Lord of Thrasey looked flushed, but with Malcolm’s complexion it was hard to tell. Besides, the color might come from drink, the hearth, or the fact that Malcolm was now the man sitting to the King’s immediate left.
“—don’t we?”
She drew her index finger up the back of Malcolm’s wrist. He jerked his hand back as though she’d touched him with a branding iron. Taddeusz clutched the arms of his chair.
“Lord Golsingh?” Hansen said loudly to cut through the woman’s—the women’s—deliberate provocation. “Have you given any thought to what I said about Frekka?”
“Have I realized that you were correct in what you told me before the battle?” Golsingh said with the trace of a smile. “Yes, I have.”
He looked to his other side. “And you’re of the same opinion now too, aren’t you, foster father?”
“That Frekka needs to be put down?” Taddeusz said harshly. “Yes, I’ll grant that. Burnt down and sown with salt, I say—but you’ve got your own notions there, too, don’t you?”
He glared fiercely at Hansen. His daughter shifted so that her back was to the warchief and her mocking, enticing smile played over Malcolm, Hansen and Maharg.
“We need—” Hansen said.
“We need!” Taddeusz snarled.
“Lord Golsingh needs—” Hansen said, raising his voice to shout down the warchief if that were necessary, but Taddeusz was only interjecting “—the trade and manufacture of Frekka to succeed in his plan of unifying his kingdom. What he doesn’t need are the present Syndics of Frekka and their games.”
Taddeusz drained his goblet. “And Golsingh will take your advice, I suppose?” he said/asked bitterly.
“The king will do as seems good to the king, foster father,” Golsingh said in his thin voice.
Taddeusz met his eyes for a moment, then blinked.
“More beer, girl,” he growled as he thrust his goblet out to Krita. Unn filled it instead.
“I’ve looked over your suggestions of which warriors go to Thrasey with Lord Malcolm,” Golsingh continued when he was sure his point had been taken.
“And your own requests, Lord Malcolm.” He nodded toward Malcolm, who leaned closer in relief at the change of subject. “There are discrepancies.” The king smiled. “Only discrepancies, I would say. Now. . . .”
The conversation turned to the merits—and otherwise—of warriors Hansen knew only as battlecolors, not names. He relaxed, glad not to have a fight just now. He was bruised and aching, and his eulogy on Shill had drained whatever energy the battle two days ago had left.
Shill died because he trusted Hansen farther than he should have.
Maharg got up from the table. He patted Hansen on the shoulder and said, “Thanks,” as he left.
Maharg wasn’t on watch tonight, and he’d made a female friend since he came back from the battle a hero. . . . Which was Maharg’s doing, not Hansen’s, not really; but the boy didn’t see it that way.
A female friend. . . .
“We’ve been wondering, Lord Hansen,” said Krita as she refilled the mug that he seemed to have emptied, to his surprise, “whether you’re one of those men who don’t like women?”
“What?” The question sobered him like a bucket of melt-water.
Unn’s eyes were amused, Krita’s were laughing.
“Since none of the girls say you’ve,” Krita continued, “shall we say—given them the time. That’s so, isn’t it?”
“I haven’t had the time!” Hansen snapped, flicking his eyes right and left—and right again, to the cross-table; but thank god the bitch had chosen to keep this conversation in a low voice.
He grimaced. “This is the first day since I’ve, I’ve been here, that I haven’t been training in my battlesuit. You know how exhausting that is.”
“Are you ashamed of your tastes?” Unn asked coolly. “Some of the male slaves quite like it, we’re told. Not that it matters what a slave thinks.”
Krita giggled. “Some of the warriors, too. And not the least of them, either. Would you like some names?”
“What I’d like—” said Hansen, standing as he downed the beer in his mug in three quick gulps. And he’d been wondering if Malcolm was flushing at this bitch’s games! The low firelight was sufficient camouflage now, thank goodness.