What did they know of his grief?
He stared down at the mask. Even in this there was vanity, for the front was built out in the shape of a nose. He might just as well have cut two holes in it.
He was a man without a face and without a future. Only the past brought him pleasure – but with that came the pain. All he had now was his prodigious strength … and that was failing. He was forty-six years old and time was running out.
For the thousandth time he remembered the arena battle with the Joining. Had there been another way to kill the beast? Could he have saved himself this torment? He watched the battle once more through the eye of memory. There was no other way – the beast had been twice as strong and half again as swift as he. It was a miracle that he had slain it at all.
His horse whinnied, its ears flicking up, its head turning. Ananais replaced his mask and waited. Within seconds his keen hearing caught the soft clip-clopping of a walking horse.
‘Ananais!’ called Valtaya from the darkness. ‘Are you there?’ He cursed softly, for he was in no mood for company.
‘Over here! On the lee of the hill.’
She rode to him and slipped from the saddle, dropping the reins over her mount’s neck. The gold of her hair turned silver in the moonlight and her eyes reflected the stars.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, turning away and sitting down on the grass. She removed her cloak and spread it on the ground, seating herself upon it.
‘Why did you ride here alone?’
‘To be alone. I have much to think about.’
‘Say the word and I shall ride back,’ she said.
‘I think you should,’ he said, but she did not move, as he had known she would not.
‘I, too, am lonely,’ she murmured. ‘But I do not want to be alone. I am alone and I have no place here.’
‘I can offer you nothing, woman!’ he snapped, his voice rough as the words ripped from him.
‘You could let me have your company at least,’ she said and the floodgates opened. Tears welled from her eyes and her head dropped; then the sobs began.
‘Whisht, woman, there’s no call for tears. What have you to cry about? There is no need for you to be lonely. You are very attractive arid Galand is well-smitten with you. He is a good man.’ But as the sobs continued he moved to her side, curling a huge arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him.
She pushed her head against his chest and the sobbing died down into ragged crying. He patted her back and stroked her hair; her arm crept round his waist and she gently pushed him back to lie upon her cloak. A terrible desire seized Ananais and he wanted her then more than anything life could offer. Her body pressed down on his and he could feel the warmth of her breasts upon his chest.
Her hand moved to his mask, but he grasped her wrist with a swiftness that stunned her.
‘Don’t!’ he pleaded, releasing her hand. But slowly she lifted the mask and he closed his eyes as the night air washed over his scars. Her lips touched his forehead, then his eyelids, then both ruined cheeks. He had no mouth to return her kisses and he wept; she held him close then until the crying passed.
‘I swore,’ he said at last, ‘that I would die before a woman would see me this way.’
‘A woman loves a man. A face is not a man, any more than a leg is a man, or a hand. I love you, Ananais! And your scars are a part of you. Do you see that?’
‘There is a difference,’ he said, ‘between love and gratitude. I rescued you, but you don’t owe me anything. You never will.’
‘You are right – I am grateful. But I would not give myself to you out of gratitude. I am not a child. I know you do not love me. Why should you? You had your pick of all the beauties in Drenan and refused them. But I love you and I want you – even for the short time that we have.’