Ignoring the scattering of candles and oil lamps which cast flickering shadows about, she glanced again at the large chair which dominated the room. All signs indicated that she was finally going to meet the man she had been trying to contact since she reached town. Well, her requests had said a time and place of his choosing.
Her thoughts were cut short by the entrance of a man through a door she had not seen in the shadows. Although his features were obscured by a blue hawkmask, she had no difficulty recognizing him. Tall and lean as he was dark, she had applauded him often in the Rankan arena, and stood near him in the “tribunal” that Tempus had convened on Zip.
“Jubal,” she said-more a statement than a question.
He had been studying her covertly as she waited, and admired her spirit despite himself. Naked and alone, she showed no sign of fear, only curiosity. It was clear to him that this conversation would not be an easy one to control.
Neither acknowledging nor denying his name when she uttered it, he set one of the two clay bottles he was carrying within her easy reach.
“Drink,” he ordered. “It’s better against the night chill than your blanket.”
She started to reach for the offering, then hesitated, her eyes going to him again as he settled himself in the thronelike chair.
“Aren’t you supposed to taste this in front of me? A hospitable gesture to guarantee against poison? I was told it is a local custom.”
He took a long drink from his own bottle before favoring her with a mirthless smile. “I’m not that hospitable,” he said. “The wine I’m drinking is of a notably better vintage than yours. I swore off that slop when I left the arena, and I don’t intend to break that vow just to make you feel better. If you don’t trust it, don’t drink it. It makes no difference to me.”