be insulted by a barbarian.’
‘There is the problem, you see,’ Chan said. ‘Translation. In our language, the
word for outsider, for foreigner, also translates as “barbarian”.’ He smiled,
his beautiful smile.
Wess pulled her chair forward again. She reached for Chan’s hand under the
table. He squeezed her fingers gently.
‘I meant only to offer you a place to sit, where there is no other.’
The stranger sheathed her dagger and stared down into Wess’s eyes. Wess shivered
slightly and imagined spending the night with Chan on one side, the stranger on
the other.
Or you could have the centre, if you liked, she thought, holding the gaze.
The stranger laughed. Wess could not tell if the mocking tone were directed
outward or inward.
‘Then I will sit here, as there is no other place.’ She did so. ‘My name is
Lythande.’
They introduced themselves, and offered her – Wess made herself think of
Lythande as ‘him’ so she would not damage the disguise again – offered him wine.
‘I cannot accept your wine,’ Lythande said. ‘But to show I mean no offence, I
will smoke with you.’ He rolled shredded herbs in a dry leaf, lit the
construction, inhaled from it, and held it out. ‘Westerly, frejojan.’
Out of politeness Wess tried it. By the time she stopped coughing her throat was
sore, and the sweet scent made her feel lightheaded.
‘It takes practice,’ Lythande said, smiling.
Chan and Quartz did no better, but Aerie inhaled deeply, her eyes closed, then
held her breath. Thereafter she and Lythande shared it while the others ordered