Plainly, Zip’s thoughts were churning. He glanced at his man by the door. He’d heard every word; eagerness gleamed in his face, though he kept his silence. Zip began to pace back and forth, crushing pottery under his tread. “And the garrison?” he asked. “What about a way out? Armed resistance inside?”
Chenaya scoffed at his endless questions. “Tempus told me you were a man who knew when to act, yet you sound like Molin Torchholder with your endless queries.”
Zip shut up, but continued to pace.
“Would you do it with Tempus to lead you?”
He stopped in mid-stride, regarded her through narrowed eyes. Still he said nothing, but questions hung on his lips.
She spat again, but this time for Mama Becho’s sake the wad landed squarely on
Zip’s boot. “I’m everything that Tempus is, lover,” she said, grim-voiced, mocking his trepidation. “And more. You don’t believe that yet, but you will.”
She turned her back to him, went to the serving board. To Mama she said, “Got a pair of dice?”
The old woman reached up onto a shelf and found a pair of yellowed ivory cubes.
She set them on the counter with a rude grunt. Chenaya crooked a finger at Zip.
“Roll ’em,” she ordered. “High number wins.”
He paused, studying her, their gazes locked in a game of dare and challenge.
Finally, he swept up the cubes and tossed them. “Eleven,” Chanaya announced.
“Not bad.” Then, she rolled them. “Twelve.” Zip seized the dice again and beamed when eleven black dots showed up once more.
Chenaya didn’t even bother to look as she gathered and dropped the ivory bits.