Dragon Blood (Hurog #2)(12)

The smile fell away from her lips and she struggled up on her elbows and forced her eyes open. "I shouldn't have come here," she said, her voice slurring the words. "It's too dangerous."

"What would have been dangerous," I said, "would have been not knowing that Jakoven was moving against my family. For that you are welcome to stay here until you grow old and rot." My words eased her and she allowed me to pull the covers over her again. I waited until her breathing slowed before I touched her cheek.

She wasn't objectively beautiful - she had her father's hawklike nose for one thing. On her father it was distinguished. On her it was ... intimidating. Her face was all angles except for her slightly slanted eyes and overlarge mouth. She was too tall as well, and not in the slim-fragile manner of most tall women. Instead, she was lithe yet muscular, stronger, I daresay, than many men.

To me she was glorious, even battered as she was. For the past four years I had measured every woman I met against her, to their detriment. Now she was here, in my bed.

Tisala progressed rapidly from invalid to cranky and bored. Sympathetic, I brought out a chessboard to help her pass the time.

"My father taught me," she said apologetically as I stared at the board as if that would explain how she beat me faster than Oreg ever had.

I gave her an annoyed look, sat back on my chair, and shook my head. "You never apologize for winning, that just increases your opponent's humiliation."

A slow smile crossed her face. "I know."

I shook my head again. "No. When you win, you want to crush your opponent, not just humiliate him. A humiliated opponent just gets vicious, a crushed opponent crawls off and never bothers you again. Watch."

I took a deep breath, then hit the table with sudden violence, scattering hapless chess pieces on the floor. "Hah!" I bellowed. "Do you call that a game! My grandmother's dog played better on its deathbed. Fifteen moves! Teach you to believe it when someone claims to play a little chess!" I subsided slowly.

Tisala had flinched at my first move, but it had been reflex only, and even when I loomed over her, she was relaxed in her chair. It had taken me weeks to get my father's warhorse to trust me that much - but Tisala had only been abused for a short time.

"Subtle, Hurog, subtle like a battle-ax," she said. "My father taught me better manners than that - but I suppose we must take into consideration that you are a Shavig barbarian and given to fits and starts."

I collapsed back into my chair and put my hand over my heart as if she had wounded me.

She'd been here for five days and looked much better than she had at first. Her left hand was healing well. Though it would never be as strong as it had been, she'd be able to hold a shield or use a bow with it.

Giving up my pose, I reset the board, having to scramble under the bed to find the dark rook, and we started again. This time I was playing for death. Lunch came and went, and the early shadows of the shorter winter days necessitated the lighting of candles before the game was over. I beat her this time, but I'd had to work at it.

"Hah!" I bellowed, hitting the table, and she laughed.

Better than the healing of her body was the easing of her spirit. She hadn't talked about what had happened to her, and I hadn't pushed. I knew from experience that some wounds heal best in silence. Later, when the experience wasn't so fresh, I'd press her on what had happened, and in the meantime I worked on helping in other ways. She didn't even flinch at my aggressive gloating.

When she quit laughing, she said, "Not that I don't appreciate the game, but don't you have other duties here that call for your attention?"

I picked up the scattered pieces from the floor again, and said, "The harvest's in and stored. My aunt needs no help keeping the Guard busy. I could help lay the floor in the main hall, but it's not necessary."

As I set the pieces back in their case, I asked her something that had been bothering me. "What were you about in Estian? I thought your so-public fight with Haverness was staged, but I've never figured out the reason for it. What did your exile to Estian accomplish?"

"What was it supposed to accomplish?" she asked.

I scowled at her. "No one who plays chess like you would do such a stupid thing without reason."

"How was it stupid?" she asked. "I fought with my father. He tried to tell me how to think, and when I refused to agree with him, I was asked to leave - I think he believed that would make me give in. So I left."

"And went to Estian," I said.

"Where else?"

I laughed. "That might work with Tallvenish folk, my lady. But I've seen how your father dotes upon you. Like me, he might understand that Alizon's rebellion hasn't a chance of succeeding, but he'd never toss you out for that. What took you to Estian?"

She was silent, but it was a challenging silence. I'd grown up with a sister who couldn't speak and communicated by expression. Figure it out yourself, Tisala's folded arms and superior expression said.

What makes Tisala unusual enough that Alizon's cause would pull her to Estian? I wondered.

I smiled at last, getting it. "A man, even a man of high rank, whose support of Alizon became common knowledge would be taken in for treason."

She smiled back, but didn't say anything.

"But a highborn woman would be safe because of Tallvenish custom - at least you should have been. They would need a single woman - otherwise her husband would be expected to stop her. But to what purpose ... " I stared at her and she stared back blandly.