Perilous Seas Read Online Free Page B

let the evening breeze sift through. The one on
the left was being erected by a jabbering band of youngsters, the daughters of
Sixth Lionslayer.
    “A
favor, Aunt?”
    Kade
looked up and nodded, her jotunnish blue eyes puzzled, and the rest of her
invisible below yashmak and draperies.
    “Tonight
take your cue from me? No arguments?”
    The
blue eyes widened, then quickly narrowed in a frown. “You aren’t
planning something impulsive, are you, dear?”
    “Impulsive?
Me? Of course not! But, please, Aunt? Trust me?”
    “I
always do, dear,” Kade said suspiciously.
    Nevertheless,
Inos knew she would cooperate. “Well, if you can spare me for a moment .
. . I need a quick word with Jarthia.” She turned and trudged off between
the trees.
    She
thought she almost approved of Tall Cranes, despite the sinister reputation of
its inhabitants. Yet not long ago an isolated hamlet like this would have
seemed squalid and pathetic to her. How fast one’s standards could
change! Probably the Ullacarn place would feel like a grand city when she
reached it, after so many lonely little desert settlements, most much smaller
and more poverty-stricken than this. She did not yearn for grand cities. She
would cheerfully have turned down a visit to Hub itself in place of a quiet
afternoon in Krasnegar-dull, scruffy old Krasnegar!
    Cheerfully
she returned the greetings of familiar fellow travelers as she passed their
tents, women and children with whom she had shared the ordeals of the Central
Desert: thirst and killer heat and the terrors of a sandstorm. She should have
brought a water jug as an excuse for this excursion. Kade was much better at
carrying water on her head than she was. Patience had never been her strong
suit.
    Then
she reached the tent of Fourth Lionslayer. Fourth would be engaged elsewhere,
helping Azak oversee the unloading. His wife, Jarthia, was about the same age
as Inos and admittedly striking, in a voluptuous djinnish way, with hair of
deep chestnut and eyes as red as any Inos had ever seen. Shortly after the
caravan had left Arakkaran, Jarthia had given birth to a large and healthy son.
Now that her belly had flattened again and her breasts were still large with
milk, her figure was even more lush than usual. None of that was visible at the
moment, of course, or ever would be visible to any man except Fourth himself.
He was elderly and utterly enslaved by his beautiful son-bearing wife, whose
predecessors had produced only a double handful of daughters. All these factors
found their place in Inos’s devious inspiration.
    Kneeling
on the rugs spread before her tent, Jarthia was lighting the brazier. Just
another anonymously shrouded female, she looked up in wonder at the visitor,
for this was the time of day when the women must rush to prepare the day’s
meal for their hungry, hot, and hot-tempered menfolk.
    “Mistress
Harthak?” Jarthia murmured respectfully, and inscrutably. That was Inos’s
current name, Azak’s choice. It was certainly better than the name he had
bestowed upon Kade, which had unfortunate implications-at times the young
sultan’s ferocious mien concealed a wicked sense of humor.
    Mistress
Harthak had not thought to prepare what she wanted to say. She mumbled some
sort of greeting, then decided to sit down. She settled stiffly on the rug.
    Jarthia’s
surprise increased to became distrust. She muttered the customary welcome from,
“My husband’s house is honored,” to the final offer of water.
    Inos
declined the water. “I was wondering,” she began, remembering to
harden the Hubban accent she had cultivated so painstakingly at Kinvale, “whether
you were planning to visit the bathhouse this evening.”
    Jarthia
sat back and studied her visitor with unblinking red eyes. “The
lionslayer insists. He is a very demanding husband.”
    Inos
doubted that. “Oh, that’s good . . . but not quite what I meant.
Actually, I was more concerned about thali . . . if you had thought of