Part 46 (1/2)
The room was small, but far more opulent. And it was very cool, perhaps because it was built under the hill. A slender girl crawled around the low table on her hands and knees, pausing to plump cus.h.i.+ons of red and brown. Other servants-all young and beautiful, even the boys-scurried past with platters and pitchers. Did they know she was coming? Or where she had gone? Although there were no other doors in the chamber, she had vanished-just as she had that night in Oexiak.
The spicy aromas of the food vied with the fragrance of honeysuckle from the vases adorning niches in the walls. Paintings of trees covered one wall of the chamber, an autumn forest of gold and brown and scarlet. Not for the first time, he longed for the sight of something green.
He carefully placed her jewelry on the table. The servants bowed and left. The chanting continued in the outer room, augmented by the sweet trills of a flute. And still, there was no sign of her.
”Welcome, Darak.”
His greeting died when he turned to discover her emerging from the painted forest on the wall. There was no door. She simply . . . walked out of the trees. But even her entrance-incredible as it was-paled in comparison to her naked body.
”Don't gape, dear. It's unbecoming.”
The words conjured up a memory, but he simply couldn't grasp it. All he could do was stare at her, his gaze s.h.i.+fting between the heavy b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the thick p.e.n.i.s jutting from the black thatch of hair.
”How sweet. You can still blush.” She advanced on him slowly. ”And do you still think I'm beautiful?” Her lips pursed in a pout when he failed to reply. ”If you don't find me beautiful, I shall be hurt. You don't want me to be hurt, do you?”
Numbly, he shook his head.
The scent of honeysuckle wafted toward him as she approached. Her eyes were level with his. In the dark depths, gold flecks swirled. He could feel himself falling into them, just as he had when Fellgair's golden eyes first bespelled him.
A hand brushed his cheek, the palm as rough and spongy as a dog's pads. Two long shears sprouted from her upper jaw. A red tongue lolled out between them.
”Have you missed me, Darak?”
He could feel his mouth moving, but no words would emerge.
”Welcome to my temple.”
”Your . . . ?” And then he realized. The G.o.d with Two Faces.
”I told you I had many worlds. This is one of my favorites. They treat me so well here. A lovely temple, devoted followers . . .” The Trickster strolled toward the table. ”The finest food. Shall we eat?”
”Put some clothes on first.”
”It's too hot for clothes.”
”Fur, then.”
Fellgair shuddered. ”Far too hot for fur. Don't you like me like this? My followers find me quite impressive.”
”I don't doubt it. With that . . . spear hanging between your legs.”
Fellgair heaved an exaggerated sigh. ”A heavy burden, indeed. As are these.” He hefted the full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The coolness of the room had caused the plum-colored nipples to tighten into tiny buds. ”Come. Sit.”
Darak collapsed onto one of the cus.h.i.+ons. Fellgair seated himself far more gracefully across the table. ”You're staring,” he chided. ”I always thought your taste ran to small-breasted women. With red hair.”
”Leave Griane out of this.”
”But she's already involved. Who do you think requested that I look in on you? Well, you know how persuasive she can be. And when she wept-”
”She . . . she wept?”
”Or perhaps that was me. I can't remember.”
”Is she all right? Are the children safe?”
Fellgair leaned forward, proffering a bowl. ”Jhok?”
”Why did Griane come to you?”
”Try the lamb, then. It's rolled in spices, then roasted on skewers.”
”d.a.m.n the skewers.” Darak shoved the platter aside, sending it cras.h.i.+ng into a pitcher. He leaped up to steady it, cursing himself for losing control in front of Fellgair. ”I'm sorry. That was . . .” His voice trailed off.
Fellgair glanced up from grooming his brush. ”Rude? Petulant? Childish?” He gave the white tip of his brush a final lick, smoothed the fur on his ruff, and settled himself on the cus.h.i.+ons again. His black whiskers twitched as he grinned. ”You seem more comfortable with me in this guise.”
”Fox or man-or woman-I'm never comfortable with you.”
”Very wise. Mortals should always quail in the presence of a G.o.d. Speaking of which . . .” Fellgair held out another platter. Three golden-brown quail lay atop a nest of leafy vegetables.
”Did you make some sort of bargain with Griane?”
”I don't wish to discuss that.”
Darak turned on his heel and stalked toward the doorway.
”But I am prepared to discuss your son. The interview didn't go especially well, did it?”
Of course, Fellgair would know what had happened. After fifteen years, he'd almost forgotten how exhausting it was to try and keep up with the Trickster. Slowly, he turned. ”What do you want?”
”A conversation. Why don't you begin with, 'I'm delighted to see you again after all these years.' You are are delighted, aren't you?” delighted, aren't you?”
”Surprised.”
”Then you might also be surprised to learn that your dull little Tree-Father-what's his name?-had a disturbing vision in which your heart was cut out. Keirith was there at the time. Watching attentively. You look pale, Darak. Perhaps you should sit.”
He remained where he was, grateful for the wall at his back. ”Did you send Gortin that vision?”
”You always think the worst of me. If my nature weren't so forgiving, I might take offense.”
”If your nature weren't so devious, I wouldn't think the worst of you.”
Fellgair grinned. ”Very good. Thrust and parry. Oh. My condolences about Urkiat. Was it terrible for you?”
”We were talking about Gortin's vision.”
”Your verbal skills have improved. It must be your training as a Memory-Keeper. Who'd have thought it?”
”You predicted it.”
”It was one possibility.”