“You’ll not find me ungrateful,” Casull went on.
“My lord King,” Adrian said. “Forgive me if I claim your gratitude so early, but there’s a favor I would like to claim.”
Casull’s eyebrows went up; it was slightly boorish to take him up on his offer so early. “Ask,” he said.
Adrian reached behind himself without looking around; Helga squeaked slightly as his hand closed on her shoulder and pulled her forward. The fingers were slender but unexpectedly strong, warm through the cooling blood on the fabric of her halter.
“My way here came through the Director’s—the ex-Director’s hareem,” he said. “I’d have this woman assigned to me, if Your Majesty would be so kind.”
Helga swallowed. Hell, it’s got to be better than the hareem, she thought. Women in the Emerald lands were closer-kept than in the upper classes of the Confederacy, but vastly better than in the Isles . . . and Adrian hadn’t made the slightest objection when she took a sword and came along for some payback. He’d even thanked her for probably saving his life—it would have driven most men she knew crazy, to owe a woman that.
Although he has eyes in the back of his head, for a man who isn’t paying much attention, she thought, puzzled for a moment. His brother Esmond, you could sense that he saw with his skin, like a cat. Adrian, he gave off a feeling you could walk right up to him and bash him on the head; only you couldn’t, he’d start and look up and be ready for it, from what she’d seen. As if someone was talking to him, and paying attention when he wasn’t.
The King’s words brought her back to her own personal reality with a thump.
“That’s a little irregular, but since they’re Royal spoils . . .” he said. Then he looked at Helga and laughed. “I see the former Director wasn’t averse to a little perversion—that one looks like a boy with tits, or a field woman . . . no, those are acrobat’s muscles, I suppose. Well, she’ll be athletic, if you like that sort of thing. But what by the Sun God is she doing with that sword?”
The King’s voice was amused, a little contemptuous. Adrian’s was blankly polite when he replied: “Killing Vasean soldiers, mostly, my lord King. Five . . .” His head went to one side. “No, six, with two probables, O King. Probably saved my life, as well.”
The King laughed uproariously. “We can’t deprive our master artificer of his bodyguard, then,” he said. “By all means—”
“Excuse me, my Royal Cousin,” one of the nobles said. A tall slender brown-haired man, he’d had time to shed his armor, but the padded leather doublet underneath was rank with sweat. “If I might?”
Casull nodded uncertainly, and the Islander noble came two steps down from the dais, giving Helga a slow head-to-toe.
“As you say, rather perverse . . . but interestingly. By ancient law,” he went on, giving Adrian a cool glance, “officers chose personal spoils by rank—and I believe I outrank this outlander.”
Casull’s lips pursed in annoyance. He glanced around the circle of courtiers, and saw many nods and chuckles. Of course, Helga thought. An outlander, raised high so suddenly, was bound to arouse resentment—any Islander court was a snakepit at the best of times. And Adrian, unlike his brother, hadn’t just pulled off a spectacular Wodep-like feat of public heroism.
“Unless,” the noble said, “he’d like to fight me for her? No? I didn’t think so.” The noble had several skull-and-bones earrings, and he moved like . . . Like Adrian’s brother Esmond, Helga thought. No! I will not go back into another Islander hareem! No!
The Islander stepped forward, and she tensed.
“Actually,” Adrian said mildly, “I do object, and if necessary, I will fight you. But I appeal to our lord the King, whose wishes you are quite obviously contravening, my lord . . . Sawtre, isn’t it?”
Sawtre grinned, flushing and letting his hand drop to his sword. “Interfering in the affairs of real men, little Emerald manure strainer? Better to get back to your toys. We should all consider the consequences of our decisions, shouldn’t we? You are what you do, after all. And we know what you are.”