Several voices tossed out an answer.
“Smart!”
“Clever!”
“Wise!”
Halani snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Exactly. Golnar knew this was strange, likely a trap. Still, he lingered and watched. Why?”
Gilene answered. “Because dragas are greedy.”
Asil joined her. “And lust for treasure.”
Halani nodded. “And the draga couldn’t resist the Sun Maiden. Instead of flying away to safety, he folded his wings and climbed down into the ravine. Kansi Yuv readied the ballistae. Golnar was enormous, with a mouth full of sharp teeth that could snap an ox in half with one bite!” The crowd gasped. “His eyes were as red as the rubies in the Sun Maiden’s hair.”
She stalked through the crowd. “No one made a sound as the draga crept toward the Sun Maiden, his great feet making the earth shake beneath them. He stretched out his claws to snatch up the Maiden and flee. Do you know what happened next?”
One of the children leapt from his father’s lap, waving a toy sword in his fist. “Kansi Yuv shot the draga!”
“Yes! The great spear cleaved the draga’s breast to pierce his heart. Golnar roared, and fire shot from his mouth. He tried to spread his wings and fly, but there was no room. He clawed at the spear in his chest. But the point had gone deep, too deep. He fell to the ground, dead, still reaching for the Sun Maiden.”
Gilene blew out the breath she’d been holding. She spared a quick glance for Azarion. Unlike the others, he didn’t look at all entranced but bleak instead. She could puzzle for days over what thoughts lay behind those enigmatic green eyes and never learn the most inconsequential thing about him. She turned her focus back to Halani.
“Kansi Yuv and his men waited, making certain the draga was dead before they ventured from their hiding places. When they knew for sure the monster no longer lived, they used ropes and pulleys, axes and swords to butcher the corpse and heave it out of the ravine for transport to the capital, a magnificent gift for the emperor and an end to that which had terrorized the countryside for so long.”
Enthusiastic applause and whistles filled the air when she ended the story. “Another, another!” the crowd chanted, clapping their hands even harder.
“Not tonight.” Halani remained unmoved by their disappointed cries. “Besides, there’s always tomorrow night and another story.” She glanced at Hamod, who stepped into the firelight.
“It’s late. We’ve a long day of travel tomorrow. See to your chores and go to bed.” No one argued with the leader’s commands, and soon the group dispersed, filing away to their wagons or the sleeping pallets laid out on the ground beneath the trees.
Gilene left Azarion to seek out Halani. “You’re a born storyteller, though I’ve always found the tale of ‘The Draga and the Sun Maiden’ tragic in a way.”
Halani’s pretty face looked haggard, as if the zest with which she told her tale had drained her. “I hate that story,” she said in a flat voice. “But it’s popular with everyone. Sometimes when times are lean and trade is sparse for the free traders, we’ll travel to a town, and I’ll earn supper for us by telling stories to the crowds in the pubs or in the town squares if the weather is fine. ‘The Draga and the Sun Maiden’ always brings the most coin and the better suppers.”
“You’re a bard then.”
The other woman shook her head. “I play no instrument, and I’m terrible at verse.”
“Your instrument is your voice,” Gilene argued. “You had those people enthralled, though they know the story by heart.”
Halani’s eyes took on the melancholy shadow Gilene had noted when they first spoke. “Thank you.” Her gaze shifted to a spot past Gilene’s shoulder, and her mouth tightened. “My uncle summons me. You’re welcome to stay in the wagon again tonight.”
Gilene glanced back and found Hamod watching them from a short distance. She turned to Halani. “I’ve kept you out of your shelter long enough. Thanks to your poultice, I’m much better and can sleep outside with . . . Valdan.”
Distracted, Halani gave her a quick bow. “Good night then,” she said before striding toward her uncle.
Gilene called after her. “Good night.”
She found Azarion by a pallet under one of the big oaks. Made of layers of blankets and furs, the makeshift bed looked both comfortable and warm and big enough for them to sleep without fighting for the covers. All very enticing except for the fact that she’d have to share it with her captor.
Azarion took off his shoes and slid gingerly between the layers of bedding, fully clothed. He stretched out on his back, one arm crooked behind him so that his head rested in his palm and acted as a pillow. He watched Gilene, who stood at the foot of their bed.
“Your ribs don’t trouble you now?” Just days earlier, he’d been unable to sleep lying down, the pain in his ribs too sharp to stay in such a position. Cracked ribs took weeks to heal, yet he lay there, looking peaceful and pain-free.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said, and his eyes narrowed with a silent amusement that made her back snap straight. “They still ache, but Halani used a salve for bruising, and it’s taken much of the pain away.”
Gilene looked to where Halani stood talking with her uncle and three others. They spoke too softly for anyone beyond their immediate circle to hear, but whatever was said elicited argument from Halani and excitement from Hamod and the others.
The trader woman possessed a gift or two worthy of note: that of storytelling and of healing. The second was remarkable in its effectiveness, and Gilene suspected there was more to her poultices and salves than just a skilled hand with herbs and beeswax.
“You can’t stand there all night, wife. Come to bed.” Azarion’s teasing interrupted her musings, and Gilene growled at him.
“Don’t call me that,” she said.
“Gilene then.”
“That either.” She sat down on her side of the blankets and pulled off her borrowed slippers, wondering whether anyone would question things if Valdan was found dead of suffocation the next morning. Such a plan was doomed to fail as she didn’t think she could summon enough false tears to convince even the most sympathetic soul she was a grieving widow.
Like him, she slid under the blankets fully clothed, trying not to sigh her pleasure that the heat generated by Azarion’s big body already warmed the space between the covers. She lay on her side, back to him, and pulled the blankets up to her jaw.
“Did you like Halani’s tale of Kansi Yuv and the draga?” he asked.
Gilene flipped to her other side so she might face him. “I liked her telling of it, though I think the ending sad.” Why was she even carrying on this conversation with him?