Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 Read Free Page B

Beysib nor a stiff-backed Rankan courtier and so he looked the Beysa straight in the eye as a proud Ilsigi. Truth was, though,
    that the sight of Shupansea—with her dark gold hair night-braided, her soft wool gown and slippers, and her deadly emerald beynit draped across her shoulder—sitting on his cushions completely unnerved him.
    "0—0—0 Bey—" Words failed him as they had never failed before. The Beysa reacted with more aplomb. She tittered like an apprentice handmaid and scattered a pile of drawings clear across the floor. Only the
    slender serpent retained its dignity; it yawned, showing its ivory fangs and crimson maw, then wove itself deep into her hair. Shupansea grabbed the nearest of the drawings. She got to her feet and held it out as a peace offering. "I'm sorry. Storyteller . . ." Her lamp was guttering. A swathe of pale light came through the narrow window. She realized she'd spent the night in his room—with him or without him.
    "Oh, I'm really sorry."
    Hakiem bent down to pick up another drawing, and to look at something besides her face. A successful drunk leams that death is not the likely consequence of embarrassment. He had mastered that lesson years ago, but the Beysa, obviously, had not. She was redder than her serpent's
    mouth.

INTRODUCTION 225
    "Had I known it was you, 0 Beysa," he tried to keep the absurd amusement from his voice and reached for another drawing. "Had I but known, I would have come home much sooner."
    Time froze for a moment, then thawed as Shupansea exhaled in a long, trembling sigh. "I—I had nightmares. I thought you might be able to help . . . If I could think of an ending for the dreams, perhaps they'd go
    away. You always seem to know how things should end." Hakiem shook his head sadly. "That's because stories may end while the hero—or heroine—is still alive. Life is different, 0 Beysa. But I would be glad to listen."
    "No, I guess I understand that they're my dreams, and I must conquer them." She crouched down and gathered more of the colorful parchment scraps. Her fingers paused above a portrait of Prince Kadakithis standing
    uneasily beside a corpse. "I think maybe I learned something just looking
    at your pictures. It's strange—I've never thought of Ki-this using his sword. I mean, he's not weak, but I love him because he's gentle. He's strong and gentle—and someday maybe his people will realize that. But looking at this—well, I could see it happening. I knew. this man was a traitor, and that Ki-this had to kill him. He was proud and disgusted both at the same time—and he grew up that night.
    "I'll have to do the same thing—well, maybe not with a sword, but I've got to grow up if I'm to help him turn Sanctuary into one city for everyone, You should draw more pictures and put them where everyone can see them."
    Hakiem made a sour grimace and took the scraps from her hand.
    *That, I fear, is the general idea. I tell stories while an artist sketches,
    and then the Torch—excuse me. Lord Torchholder—intends to have them painted on his new walls."
    Shupansea straightened as if the priest had entered the room. She had a half-dozen contradictory opinions about the omnipresent bureaucrat. Not that anyone claimed to understand Molin Torchholder. He was a black-haired Rankan, a dedicated priest of a vanquished god and the driving force behind the resurrection of a city he openly loathed.
    "It's a good idea. He hasn't mentioned it yet, but he will, and both Ki-this and I will tell him so. He'll grumble something about doing what's necessary and walk away under a dark cloud. It must be hard, I think, to work as hard as Lord Torchholder does, and get so little satisfaction."
    "They say hate is as satisfactory a mistress as love."
    "I prefer love."
    "Lord Torchholder does not."
    The last drawing had slipped beneath the cushions. They both saw it at the same time and Hakiem, who recognized the subject from the visible 226 UNEASY ALLIANCES
    corner, dove to