VirtualWarrior (20 page)

She did not understand why the potion had failed her. Then a
thought flitted through her mind.

“Perhaps it failed because I do not truly want him. Perhaps
it failed because when last we made love, it was someone else I thought of.”
The stone bottle was heavy, but she knew there was very little powder inside.
It could not be wasted.

“That must be it. I did not truly want him. My thoughts of
Lien interfered.”

Ardra escaped from Deleh. This time, she made sure Ralen was
elsewhere before she knocked on Einalem’s chamber door.

“Enter,” Einalem called. Ardra did so and swallowed her
surprise. Einalem sat on a stool plaiting her hair; she wore nothing but a
smile. Her figure was as lush as the ones carved into Cidre’s hearth. “What can
I do for you?” Einalem stood up and stretched, then walked to the bed. It was
bare of linens, which lay by the bed in a heap.

Ardra stared in awe at what a storm of lovemaking must have
taken place to cause the furs and coverlets to be on the floor.

“What do you want, Ardra? Surely you did not come here to
inspect my chamber?” Einalem picked up an azure robe, which she belted on.

“I wanted your advice. I was in Cidre’s herbarium and saw a
few things I did not recognize.”

Light filled Einalem’s eyes. “Tell me.”

“It occurred to me that I do not know what the Vial of
Seduction looks like, nor the potion inside. Is it liquid or powder? What color
is it? I may see the potion and not even recognize it.”

“So, you have come to me because I would recognize something
out of place in the herbarium.”

“Aye, and you are the one person who could visit the
herbarium without her suspicion.”

Einalem lifted the lid of the gold chest on her table. “But
not necessarily without Cidre.”

“I was hoping you could think of a reason to exclude her.”

“Let me consider.”

Einalem cast off her robe and dressed in a serviceable blue
wool gown and sturdy leather shoes. It was the garb of a healer who knew she
might dirty her clothes or need to walk a great distance through harsh weather.

Ardra felt a pang of guilt that she so disliked the woman.
Einalem was a healer who brought children into the world and eased pain.

Then Einalem wiped away the humble-healer impression by
pinning turquoise beads in her braid.

While Einalem worked on her hair, Ardra inspected the small
gold chest. It held rows of bottles with different stoppers, some wood, some
gold. “What are these vials?” she asked.

“My herbs. Come closer and I will teach you a little trick.”

Ardra stood on the opposite side of Einalem’s table. She
watched Einalem select a purple bottle. It was made of some smooth stone and
painted with stars. The stopper was silver. Einalem opened the bottle and
tapped a turquoise powder onto a small white square of parchment. Next, she
tipped the powder into a goblet.

“This is the night powder,” Einalem said. “And this the
night wine, brewed of grapes collected in the moonlight and washed in the fountains
found beneath the capital, the same fountains that feed the bathhouses, though
not the hot springs, the cold ones.” She poured some wine into the goblet.

Ardra understood why Einalem had three packhorses if she had
brought her own wine along. “I did not know there were cold springs in the
bathhouses.”

Einalem watched her over the cup rim. “Only initiated
healers know where they are.”

She drained her goblet. Next, she refilled her cup with the
wine. She opened another bottle after sealing the first. This bottle was also
purple, but it had no stars. It bore only a likeness of the sun at its most
red. The stopper was gold. Again, Einalem tapped a powder, this one dusty red,
onto the parchment, then tipped it into the wine. She drank.

“Now,” Einalem said, “I will mix the potion for you. The
night powder, I assume?”

“I do not understand.”

“Then you must have no lovers.” Einalem held up the two
stone bottles. “The night powder is to prevent conception if you have made love
at night. The day powder is for after-sunrise lovemaking.”

Ardra turned away from the table to hide her face from
Einalem. “I have no need of the potions.”

The crumpled bed, the two potions, told Ardra that Einalem
and Ralen had made love not only during the night, but also during the day. What
was it like to make love in the brilliancy of the sun?

“Come,” Einalem said. “I have thought of a reason to visit
Cidre’s herbarium.”

“How?”

“You shall see.”

Ardra accompanied Einalem to the hall.

Ralen and Samoht had their heads together over a board game.
It contained a large gold oval consisting of smaller turquoise ovals
interlocking with each other. They cast a die and then moved coins from oval to
oval. It was a notorious game of chance. Much ill-afforded money changed hands
among the ice miners, who enjoyed the game as much as these men of status.

Of course, the miners’ boards were not this fine, their
pieces small stones. But the money they bet on the outcome could mean a child’s
hunger and a woman’s despair.

Einalem walked directly to the men and snatched a coin from
the board. Samoht looked up and glared.

“Playing games again?” Ralen asked.

A vision of Ralen in Einalem’s chamber flashed into Ardra’s
mind. She turned away, only to be confronted by the naked maidens on the
mantelpiece.

“Nay,” Einalem said. “I am done with games. How are your
horses, by the way?”

“My horses are well. I am looking into adding a new mount to
my stable, though,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

She tossed the coin in the air. Samoht caught the coin, then
rose and kissed his sister once on each cheek. “Now be off. We want to finish
our game.”

“We are looking for Cidre,” Ardra said.

“Look behind you.”

Einalem frowned. “Cidre is with Lien.”

Lien and Cidre walked across the hall. The goddess touched
his arm and pointed to the blue-hawk near the lofty ceiling. Her hand remained
on his arm.

Ralen grinned. “Why should it matter whom he is with? He is
celibate and she is not. There will be little going on there.”

Samoht moved one of the coins on the game board. “I do not
understand how a man can abstain from women. It is not natural.”

Einalem crossed her arms and tossed her head. “He probably
has an active hand.”

Ralen and Samoht roared with laughter, drawing Lien and
Cidre their way. Ardra did not understand the jest, but assumed it had
something to do with pleasure. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. It
would not do to appear ignorant.

“I bid you good day, Einalem,” Cidre said. “I feared I might
not see you at all before my feast.”

“I love to lie in bed,” Einalem said, and Ardra glanced at
Ralen, but he seemed intent on his game.

Then Einalem put out her hand. “Lien. I wish to see your
rash.”

Lien rolled back his sleeve. The rash around his wrist had
deepened to a wide red cuff. “It’s a bit worse,” he said.

“Oh, aye, this is much worse. The salve I gave you has done
little to help. How I wish I had some…” Einalem broke off, then looked up at
the goddess. “Oh, Cidre, you must have an herbarium. May I use your stores? I
know of another treatment that may help our friend here.”

Cidre bowed. “Of course. I shall accompany you.” Ardra
followed Cidre and Einalem, conscious of Lien, who walked at her side.

Einalem stopped by Samoht and Ralen and touched a finger to
her lips. “It seems to me, Cidre, that you do not trust me.”

“Trust you?” Cidre’s flawless brow wrinkled into small
furrows.

“Aye.” Einalem spread her hands out, palm up. “I have no
need of assistance to make a salve, that I am sure you know, so I must assume
you accompany me lest I disturb some work of yours.”

Cidre smiled and swept out her hand. “By no means. I thought
to watch you and perhaps learn something new, but if you think I lack trust, by
all means, go alone. Use my herbarium as you see fit. Ardra has been there; she
will direct you.”

When they reached the lower levels of the fortress, Ardra
took the lead and showed them into the herbarium. It was neither guarded nor
locked up.

“So why don’t you fill me in on what’s going on here?” Lien
asked Einalem.

“Sit down, Lien.” Einalem pointed at a chair. “Ardra asked
me to examine the herbarium for the Vial of Seduction. We are here to do so,
quite alone, thanks to my quick thinking.”

Lien straddled a chair, resting his arms on the seat back.
“Really? Examining the goddess’s herbarium? Looking for the vial? Now, why
didn’t I think of that?”

Ardra decided to ignore his tart tone.

Einalem washed her hands in a silver bowl, whispering a few
words over the water as she poured it. Then, adding several ingredients, she
cooked up a smooth, oily salve. Its scent reminded Ardra of the dew on a fresh
apple.

While Einalem stirred and simmered, Ardra looked through
every bin, box, bowl, and bundle. She saw much that puzzled her, but no small
brown bottles, or powders that looked like dirt.

“‘Tis done.” Einalem poured the warm salve into a bowl and
then washed her hands again. “Take off your tunic.”

Lien put out his hand. “I’ll rub it on, thank you.”

Einalem shrugged. “Do your wrists first. I will know
immediately if it needs adjustment.”

He rolled his sleeves and worked the salve into his skin.
“It feels a bit better.”

“It should have a cooling effect. May I look at your neck?”

Lien stood up, pulled his tunic over his head, then
straddled the chair again.

“This has spread badly,” Einalem said, and Ardra could not
resist a peek. The rash which had encircled his throat now bloomed down his
back in lines of dark red.

Knotwork.

The room shifted, darkened. Ardra put her hand to her
temples and pressed hard. The air cleared.

It must be the warmth of the herbarium, together with the
heavy scents of the spices and herbs that made her feel faint.

She took a deep breath and moved closer. Nay, she was not
faint. ‘Twas as she believed. A tracery of knotwork overlay the honed muscles
of his back. Yet Einalem seemed to see nothing in the inflamed skin.

“Einalem,” she said. “I will put the salve on Lien’s back
while you search the herbarium.”

“Yeah,” Lien said. “Why is Ardra searching instead of you?
She probably knows nothing about all this stuff. No one would know better than
you what to look for.”

“Well. That is true.” Einalem smiled and slid her hand over
Lien’s bare shoulder.

Ardra tugged the bowl away from Einalem, but Lien put his
hand under the bowl. “I can do it myself.”

“Oh, you could never reach the center of your back.” Ardra
knelt behind him. She tipped the salve into her palms and took a deep breath.

The red lines were composed of tiny dots. His skin was hot
where the rash was darkest. It seemed to run beneath his skin, not on top of
it.

She placed her palms at his waist. He tensed. She held her
hands there, not moving, until he relaxed. Then she ran her hands up the column
of his spine, pressing her thumbs into the heat of his flesh. His hard muscles
flexed beneath her fingers as she smoothed on the salve. She resisted the urge
to trace the actual lines of his rash lest Einalem notice.

Ardra moved around in front of him, and he looked up at her.
She could not read his expression in the dimly lighted herbarium, but when she
set her hands on the inflamed circle of red about his throat, he closed his
eyes.

His neck was reddest, the rash an angry collar like that
worn by recalcitrant slaves in the warmer climes. If they were alone, she would
run her hands down his chest, touch his flat, dark nipples, and explore the
line of hair that just showed at the edge of his breeches. But Einalem hummed
in the background, so she worked the salve into the rash and remembered that he
had no desire for little Liens. She knew deep within her that he would leave
with the pilgrims after the feast.

Dispassion was what she needed. But she could not lose this
last chance to memorize the feel of his skin.

As she worked, the rash faded, not completely, but it
changed from dark red to a ghostly remnant against his sun-darkened skin.

Lien arched his back and rose quite suddenly. “That’s
better, Ardra. Thanks.”

“Did it help?” She cupped the bowl in the circle of her
arms.

His chest was in front of her nose. So were the roses. So
was the snake.

“Very much. My back feels a lot better than my wrists,
though.” He held out his arms.

Behind him, Einalem poked in a cupboard, lifting small linen
pouches out and sniffing them. Ardra dipped her fingers in the salve. She
examined the rash on his wrist as she had on his back.

There was no mistake. The rash formed of tiny dots did not
run randomly across his skin, nor follow the path of his blood. It ran in a
familiar pattern, thick as a manacle about his wrist.
The Shield.

The salve faded the marks to a barely perceptible shadow on
his skin.

He pulled on his tunic. She could not look away from his
chest, nor forget the way his skin felt beneath her fin­gertips…or his thighs
against hers when he’d sat behind her on the bed.

He belted the tunic and then touched her cheek. “Thank you,”
he whispered and turned away.

She pressed her hand to her cheek. To think that his rash
formed the Shield pattern was madness.

“So, what’s all this stuff?” Lien asked. He leaned an elbow
beside Einalem. She slapped his hand when he poked a finger in a wooden box.

He sniffed a dark liquid that bubbled sluggishly over a wick
burning in a dish of oil. “What’s that?”

“Oh, a simple for a child who may be fevered.”

Ardra’s heart began to hammer. “We have been gone a long
time.”