The Pagan's Prize Read Free

sister's
sincerity, Zora joined in the toast. She was content with Prince Mstislav's
choice for her husband.
    True, she didn't love Ivan—and his arrogant, imperious
ways sometimes grated upon her—but she had agreed to the match knowing it would
please her father. She could do no less for the honored place he had given her
within his household, even though she was born out of Christian wedlock to a
Slavic concubine.
    Yet it was strange that she would be the first to wed,
Zora thought, licking the tangy wine from her lips as she lowered her goblet.
Lady Canace, Hermione's Greek mother, would never have allowed such a thing if
she were still alive. After all, Hermione was older by a few months and a
trueborn princess. Zora imagined that Prince Mstislav must have someone else in
mind for his eldest daughter, most likely some foreign monarch's son who would
befit her status.
    "And now for my gift." Hermione's eyes were
curiously alight as she again clapped her hands. Two slave women hastened to a
great carved chest and while one held open the lid, the other withdrew a large
oblong bundle wrapped in gray linen.
    Despite herself, Zora felt excitement flare as the
slave knelt before her and placed the heavy bundle in her lap. She glanced up
at Hermione, whose smile seemed fixed upon her face.
    "Open it, dear sister."
    Taking a small knife from the table, Zora slit the
twine binding the linen and hastily unwrapped her present. Her breath caught as
a bolt of iridescent cream silk was revealed, the thin, tissuelike material
striated with sparkling threads of gold.
    "It—it's beautiful," she murmured, astonished
that Hermione would give her anything, especially a gift so fine.
    "For your wedding gown. Do you remember those
Byzantine fabric merchants who visited our camp last week?"
    Zora nodded. She draped a glittering length over her
arm, the fabric feeling wonderfully cool against her skin.
    "I bought the entire bolt for you. I knew the
moment I saw it that the color would accent your tawny hair and golden skin to
perfection."
    For the first time since Hermione had said she wanted
to make amends, Zora dared to believe that she might have meant it. She met her
half sister's gaze, and although it felt strange to do so, she smiled at her,
her gratitude heartfelt.
    "Thank you, Hermione. I'll wear it proudly."
    "I know you will." Hermione took a long sip
of wine, then set her goblet upon the table. Delicately dipping her spoon into
a silver bowl filled with glistening black salmon roe, she added, "The
food grows cold. Dine with me."
    "If you don't mind, I still wish to retire,"
Zora murmured, rewrapping the bolt of silk. Indeed, she did feel tired, her
eyelids strangely heavy. "As you said, this has come as a great surprise.
I need time to think—"
    "I understand," Hermione interrupted, wiping
her full, red mouth with an embroidered napkin. She rose with Zora, calling, "Phineas?"
    The eunuch must have been waiting in the antechamber,
for he appeared as if in an instant.
    "Princess Zora would like to return to her tent.
Will you escort her?"
    "Of course, mistress, the litter is waiting
outside."
    "I'd rather walk." Zora wondered why her legs
felt so sluggish as her taller half sister led Zora to the entrance. She hadn't
drunk much wine, but her weariness seemed to have quickened its effect.
    "Walking will not be possible, fair one,"
said Phineas. He cast a covert glance over her head at Hermione. "The rain
has begun again."
    "Yes, you wouldn't want that lovely silk to be
ruined, Zora, and you do look exhausted. Please take my litter."
    "Very well," she said, suddenly feeling
disinclined to argue. Clasping her gift to her breasts, she turned to Hermione.
"Good night . . . and thank you."
    Hermione's tight smile did not reach her eyes. "Good
night, dearest sister."
    As Zora entered the antechamber, she stumbled, but
Phineas caught her arm, preventing her fall.
    "I don't know why I'm so tired," she said as
he helped her into the litter