Ark(6)

“Does it matter?” I sipped my wine and let my interest burn in my eyes.

“No, Highness.”

“Highness? What makes you think I am royalty? Perhaps I am just a servant girl wasting her mistress’s time?”

“Ha!” His blue eyes flashed and he drank deeply of his wine. “And perhaps I am a priest of Enlil. Or wait, no, perhaps I am one of your father’s guards, come to find you.”

“You know who I am?”

“There is not another woman in all of Bad-Tibira half so beautiful as you, Princess Aresia. I know, for I have bedded many of them.”

“An ugly ox-herder like you? I think not.”

He leaned forward and said, “You don’t think I’m ugly, Princess.” He sounded confident of himself.

“Don’t use my name so loudly,” I murmured, and took a long drink of the wine. “And what makes you think so?”

“I saw the way you looked at me.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. “It wasn’t that difficult to interpret.”

“How did I look at you, then?”

Damn him for being right; I buried my irritation in another swig of wine.

“Like a dog eying a scrap of meat.” He smirked at me. “Hungrily.”

“I did not look at you in any such fashion,” I said, lifting my chin. “I am a princess and a Nephilim. I do not look at pathetic, lecherous humans with anything like hunger.” I said this with more force than I had intended.

The wine and my lonely, bitter mood were beginning to win out over my self-control. I think this blue-eyed stranger knew this and was toying with me. I do not like being toyed with. Not one bit.

“You did, though, princess.” He was mocking me . . . not laughing outright, but the corners of his mouth were tipped up slightly, and his eyes flashed with humor. “Exactly like a hungry dog. Not that I’m comparing you to a dog, mind you.”

“I could have you killed for that, you know.” I was definitely drunk now. “And don’t call me princess.”

I thought about trying to stand up and walk back to the palace, but judging by the way the table was dipping and swaying, I decided I had best stay put. And no more wine.

“You could,” he was saying, “but you won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“One, because you’re drunk.” He ticked the numbers on his fingers as he spoke, “Two, even if you did call for the guards, they don’t come here. Not at this time of night. And three, you’re drunk—you need me to get you home. Do you see what I’m saying?” He was teasing, but also serious.

“I am . . . not . . . drunk.” I think I was trying to convince myself, at that point, because I certainly wasn’t convincing him. “And besides, I have my servant.”

He just nodded and laughed, tossed back the dregs of his wine. “Listen—why don’t you let me walk you home?” He was suddenly serious, glancing around at the other patrons of the tavern. “Both of you.”

I followed his gaze and noticed, for the first time, everyone was watching us. There were more than a few angry faces, many hard pairs of eyes glaring at me. The room continued to spin, but the heady pleasantness had gone, leaving me dizzy and more than slightly panicked. Some of the eyes were, as this man had put it, eyeing me with . . . interest. They may not have known who I was, but if they did, they were unafraid. The only option I had, it seemed, was to let him walk me home. If anyone saw me and reported my presence outside the palace, Father would be furious with me; if anyone saw him, and more specifically, the pendant around his neck, he would be dragged to my father and tortured to death. But if I tried walking home alone, I was sure I would never make it. Not intact, anyway.

He stood up, held a hand out to me. “Are you coming, Lady?” The callouses on his palms scratched my fingers, his hand warm and strong.

He easily pulled me to my feet, despite our height difference, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and guiding me out the door. I felt many pairs of eyes watch me leave, heard a few feet scuff the packed dirt floor, benches scrape and cups clatter on tables. The arm around my shoulders hustled me out into the street, hesitated, and then pulled me away from the inn and back toward the palace. At least, I hoped he was taking me there. It occurred to me then, with his arm locked around me, that perhaps I had only gotten myself in a different kind of trouble. How did I know I could trust him? The fear bubbled up slowly, penetrating the haze of wine fogging my mind.

“Wait.” I pulled him to a stop and wiggled out of his grasp. “How do I know you are not going to do the same thing to me?” It was hard to get the words out properly . . . I was a bit more drunk than I’d thought, it appeared.

He just chuckled and pulled me back into a fast, stumbling walk. “A bit late to think of that, Highness. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Irkalla was beside me, then, her arm in mine. “This is foolishness, mistress,” she hissed. “He is a human.”

If he had known me better, he would have known how impossible such a thing was for me. I did not trust anyone. My own father taught me this lesson. Among the Nephilim, we might sacrifice in the names of many gods, but our only real god was one’s own self. My people would do and say anything to benefit themselves, and they would not spare a thought about how it affects anyone else. To trust another person is to invite trouble, and I had invited plenty for myself.