The bald priest had seen too much upheaval in one day to argue successfully. He
bowed, gave his blessing, and backed out of the antechamber. The prince set the
careful arrangement of chilled morsels beside the bed and returned his attention
to the Beysa.
Streaks of opalescent powder shot across the bleached white imperial
bedlinen. Brushing aside a blue-green swirl, Kadak-ithis resumed his vigil,
waiting for her eyes to open and more than half-expecting that he’d made a
terrible mistake. He smoothed her hair across the pillows; smiled; dared to
kiss her breasts lightly as he’d never dared to do at any of the few other
times they’d stolen moments alone together and jerked upright when he felt
something move against the back of his neck.
The Beysa ran orchid-colored fingertips down his forearm. “We are alone, aren’t
we?” she inquired.
“Quite,” he agreed. “They’ve sent food up for us. Are you hungry?”
He reached for the dinner-tray and found himself restrained. Shupansea raised
herself up and began dealing with the clasps on his tunic.
“Kith-us, I have two half-grown children and you have had a wife and concubines
since you were fourteen. I surrendered my virginity in a ritual that was
witnessed by at least forty priests and relations-tell me the first time wasn’t
just as bad for you.”
The prince blushed crimson.
“Very well, then. We’re pawns. The cheapest whore has more freedom than I’ve
had. But everything’s in flux now. Even Mother Bey is affected. She says not to
be alone tonight; I don’t think she can absorb your stormgod into herself as She