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the winepress. You will play or I will make you play. I have wanted
you for five years, Isranon. To play the nibble games with your blood
in my mouth."
Isranon said nothing. After a moment, Bodramet laughed at him
and walked on.
He remained uncertain who he hated more Bodramet or Hoon. It
depended on which he had encountered most recently. They both
disgusted him, filthy, repellant creatures with not a shred of humanity,
decency, or compassion, always plotting; corrupting everything they
touched.
A flash of remembered pain and the loss of all his hopes took
Isranon and he leaned against the dank walls as the ghost's promise
echoed through his mind that he would be free and have the staff of
his ancestor Isranon Dawnhand, something that could never be now.
Nevin had told him that no one knew where the staff called Warrior
was.Warrior? Warrior, where are you? Who has you?
"You will walk with kings and gods of light to Ildyrsetts to claim the
staff of Dawnhand," the ghost had told him.
The cycle of loss completed itself with thoughts of Merissa. He had
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been seventeen when he and Merissa became lovers. Then Claw,
Merissa's father and chieftain of Clan Red Wolf, sent Merissa away.
Isranon assumed that Claw had taken offense at the thought of his
daughter sleeping with a sa'necari. Nevin had promised to take
Merissa word after he perished that he had died well and had loved
her.
He forced the thoughts from his mind. It would not do for them to
find him standing here. While Anksha never punished him, it still
would not be wise to test her.
Isranon climbed the stairs, which folded themselves inside the
tower walls at the front ell of the mansion, opening behind the
kitchens. The smell of baking bread and strawberry pie wafted over
him and made his mouth water. Nevin and Olin waited for him there,
sitting upon a bench to the side near the door that led to the formal
stairs.
He suspected they were using it as an excuse to harass the kitchen
nibari. Haig's Nainee, a slender and aristocratic nibari of Black Cliff
stock, very expensive and coveted among both the hemovores, stood
near one of the tables. She was near to term in pregnancy by a Black
Cliff stud belonging to a friend of Haig's, and extremely swollen. Haig
had arranged to have all of his nibari bred before he followed Isranon
to Charas. Black Cliff nibari were said to have the sweetest, most
savory blood of all. And they made a satisfying death in the sa'necari
rites ofmortgiefan . She smiled at Isranon, her hands folded over her
belly. Haig had promised her that she would be allowed to keep this
child, that he would not sell it: her first master had always sold her
young before they were weaned to cover his gambling debts.
Three of the younger girls were laughing and daring the scarred
lycan to change in front of them. Nothing would come of it. Olin
frequently played the game of seduction with them. Nevin never did
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more than tease since his taste ran to males. Olin remained sitting, his
face leaning toward the nearest of the kitchen nibari.
"Change, Nevin," said Eilwen. "It isn't as if I haven't seen a lycan in
the " she raked Nevin with her eyes, letting them linger on his crotch
before raising them again.
"What would you want with a scarred old wolf like me?" Nevin
grinned at her.
Olin grabbed Eilwen's dress. "Yes, what would you? I am far more
interesting to watch and ten years younger than my cousin. And I have
no scars& ."
Isranon grinned, because from the nuances, he suspected they were
not talking about his shape. Then he started walking again.
Nevin put his hands on his knees, started to rise and follow. "Where
are you going?"
Isranon shook his head, thumbing at the ceiling. "I've been sent to
the garden," adding at Nevin's frown, "I'm not in trouble."
Nevin settled again. Even if he were, there was nothing any of them
could do about it. His spirit-brother and friends tried to go everywhere
with him, like guardians. That was neither comfortable nor possible.
Hoon kept finding chores for him that left him alone or nearly so.
Isranon suspected Hoon was trying to find an opening to kill him.
Then Isranon thought of Nainee and how much he had once wanted
children, a family of his own. Isranon loved children. Blood-slaves of
the Beast did not produce them. The temporary distraction provided
by watching Nevin and Olin faded and he found himself dragged back
to brooding.
Isranon reached the rooftop garden and discovered Ephry there, the
pale lycan whom Timon called his mate. The intense fragrances of
rose, honeysuckle and jasmine, favorites of Timon's father, permeated
the air, rising from the lush growths in the orange-glazed planters on
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the glassed in rooftop garden, which was artificially heated to keep
them blooming all year long. Ephry went shirtless in the humid late
summer-like warmth that had swept in to challenge autumn, showing
his lean perfection, his white hair loose. He glanced over his shoulder
at Isranon's entrance, surprised, clearly expecting Timon.
"Isranon?" Ephry made his name a sensual note of speculation,
drawing it out.
Isranon closed his eyes briefly, placing his hands behind his back
with his wrists crossed as if corded: he was learning the positions the
masters here expected of their slaves, and assuming them
automatically when summoned. He was not certain what Ephry's
intentions and feelings were toward him; whether he was friend or foe
on the estate. "Timon sent me to wait for him."
"Did he?" Ephry grinned, rose from the couch, and ran his tongue
along his lips.
Isranon went very still. "A disagreement in the chapel."
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