ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第30章

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　　He　stared；　mesmerized；　words　and　thoughts　scattering　in　disarray。　He　watched　her　hands　descend　to　the　pearl　buttons　of　her　overtunic。　She　undid　two　of　them；　and　paused。　It　was　not　an　overtunic。　She　wore　nothing　beneath。　In　the　extremely　clear；　soft　light　he　glimpsed　the　pale；　pear…like　curves　of　her　breasts。
　　His　throat　was　suddenly　dry。　His　voice　husky　in　his　own　ears；　ibn　Khairan　said；　〃My　rooms　are　just　here。〃
　　〃Good；〃　she　said　again。　〃Show　me。〃
　　It　did　occur　to　him　just　then　that　she　might　have　e　here　to　kill　him。
　　It　did　not　occur　to　him　to　do　anything　about　it。　He　had；　truly；　never　been　accused　of　being　immune　to　enticement。　He　lifted　her　up；　she　was　small…boned　and　slender；　no　real　weight　at　all。　The　scent　of　her　surrounded　him；　dizzying　for　a　moment。　He　felt　her　mouth　at　the　lobe　of　one　ear。　Her　fingers　were　about　his　neck。　His　blood　loud　within　him；　ibn　Khairan　carried　her　through　a　doorway　and　into　his　bedchamber。
　　Is　it　the　possibility　of　dying　that　does　this？　he　wondered；　his　first　and　last　such　clear　thought　for　some　time。　Is　that　what　excites　me　so？
　　His　bed；　in　a　large　room　hung　with　Serian　tapestries；　was　low　to　the　ground；　covered　with　cushions　and　pillows　in　a　diversity　of　shapes　and　sizes；　as　much　for　love…play　as　for　color　and　texture。　Crimson…dyed　squares　of　silk　hung　from　copper　rings　on　the　wall　above　the　bed　and　set　into　the　carved　wooden　foot。　Ammar　preferred　freedom　of　movement　in　his　lovemaking；　the　slide　and　traverse　of　bodies；　but　there　had　been　those　among　his　guests　in　this　room　who　derived　their　keenest　pleasures　otherwise；　and　over　the　years　he　had　earned　a　reputation　as　a　host　solicitous　of　all　of　his　guests'　desires。
　　Even　so；　even　with　almost　twenty　years　of　nuanced　experience　in　erotic　play；　ibn　Khairan　was　swiftly　made　aware…though　not；　in　truth；　with　any　great　surprise…that　a　woman　trained　as　Zabira　had　been　knew　some　things　he　did　not。　Even；　it　began　to　emerge；　things　about　his　own　nature　and　responses。
　　Unclothed　among　the　pillows　some　time　later；　he　felt　her　fingers　teasing　and　exploring　him；　winced　at　a　bite　and　felt　his　sex　grow　even　more　rigid　amid　the　growing　shadows　of　the　room　as　her　mouth　came　back　to　his　ear　and　she　whispered　something　quite　shocking　in　the　exquisite；　celebrated　voice。　Then　his　eyes　grew　wide　in　the　darkness　as　she　proceeded　to　perform　precisely　what　she　had　just　described。
　　All　the　training　mistresses　and　castrates　of　Almalik's　court　had　e　over　the　wide　seas　from　the　homelands　of　the　east；　where　such　skills　had　been　part　of　courtly　life　for　hundreds　of　years　before　Ashar's　ascetic　vigil　in　the　desert。　It　was　possible；　Ammar's　drifting　thoughts　essayed；　that　a　journey　to　Soriyya　might　have　more　to　offer　than　he'd　imagined。　He　felt　a　breathless　laugh　escape　him。
　　Zabira　slipped　further　downward；　her　scented　skin　gliding　along　his；　her　fingernails　offering　counterpoint　where　they　touched。　Ibn　Khairan　heard　a　sigh　of　helpless　pleasure　and　realized　that；　improbably；　he　had　made　that　sound　himself。　He　attempted　to　rise　then；　to　turn；　to　begin　the　sharing；　the　flowing　back…and…forth　of　love　but　he　felt　her　hands；　delicately　insistent；　pushing　him　down。　He　surrendered；　closed　his　eyes；　let　her　begin；　her　voice　exclaiming　in　delight　or　murmuring　in　mentary；　to　minister　to　him　as　he　had　ministered　to　so　many　people　in　this　room。
　　It　went　on；　astonishingly　varied　and　inventive；　for　some　time。　The　sun　had　set。　The　room　was　encased　in　darkness…they　had　paused　to　light　no　candles　here…before　his　sensibilities　began；　as　a　swimmer　rises　from　green　depths　of　the　sea；　to　reassert　themselves。　And　slowly；　feeling　almost　drugged　with　desire；　ibn　Khairan　came　to　understand　something。
　　She　was　beside　him　just　then；　having　turned　him　on　his　side。　One　of　her　legs　was　wrapped　about　his　body；　she　had　him　enclosed　within　her　sex；　and　her　movements　were　indeed　those　of　sea　tides　in　their　insistent；　unwavering　rise　and　fall。
　　He　brushed　a　nipple　with　his　tongue；　testing　his　new　thought。　Without　pause　in　her　rhythm…which　was；　intuitively；　his　own　deepest　rhythm…she　caressed　his　head　and　tilted　it　away。
　　〃Zabira；〃　he　whispered；　his　voice　distant　and　difficult。
　　〃Hush；〃　she　murmured；　a　tongue　to　his　ear　again。　〃Oh；　hush。　Let　me　carry　you　away。〃
　　〃Zabira；〃　he　tried　again。
　　She　shifted　then；　sinuous　and　smooth；　and　was　above　him　now；　more　urgently；　his　manhood　still　within　her；　sheathed　in　liquescence。　Her　mouth　descended；　covered　his。　Her　breath　was　scented　with　mint；　her　kisses　a　kind　of　threading　fire。　She　stopped　his　speech；　her　tongue　like　a　hummingbird。　Her　nails　raked　downward　along　his　side。　He　gasped。
　　And　turned　his　head　away。
　　He　lifted　his　hands　then；　with　some　effort；　and　grasped　her　by　the　arms；　gently；　but　so　she　could　not　twist　away　again。　In　the　darkness　he　tried　to　see　her　eyes　but　could　discern　only　the　heart…shaped　shadow　of　her　face　and　the　curtain　of　her　black　hair。
　　〃Zabira；〃　he　said；　an　utterly　unexpected　kind　of　pain　within　him；　〃you　need　not　punish　yourself；　or　hold　back　sorrow。　It　is　all　right　to　mourn。　It　is　allowed。〃
　　She　went　stiff　with　shock；　as　if　slapped。　Her　body　arched　backwards　in　the　first　uncontrolled　movement　she　had　made　all　evening。　For　a　long　moment　she　remained　that　way；　rigid；　motionless；　and　then；　with　real　grief　and　a　simultaneous　relief；　Ammar　heard　her　make　one　harsh；　unnatural　sound　as　if　something　had　been　torn　in　her　throat；　or　in　her　heart。
　　He　drew　her　slowly　down　until　she　lay　along　the　length　of　him；　but　in　a　different　fashion　from　all　their　touchings　of　before。　And　in　the　dark　of　that　room；　notorious　for　the　woven　patterns　of　desire　it　had　seen；　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　held　the　woman　beloved　of　the　man　he'd　killed；　and　offered　what　small　fort　he　could。　He　granted　her　the　courtesy　and　space　of　his　silence；　as　she　finally　permitted　herself　to　weep；　mourning　the　depth　of　her　loss；　the　appalling　disappearance；　in　an　instant；　of　love　in　a　bitter　world。
　　A　bitter；　ironic　world；　he　thought；　still　struggling　upwards　as　through　those　scented；　enveloping　green　waters。　And　then；　as　if　he　had；　truly；　broken　through　to　some　surface　of　awareness；　ibn　Khairan　confronted　and　accepted　the　fact　that　she　had；　indeed；　been　right　in　what　she'd　said　on　the　terrace　as　the　sun　set。
　　He'd　killed　a　hard；　suspicious；　brilliant；　cruelly　ambitious　man　today。　And　one　whom　he　had　loved。
When　the　Lion　at　his　pleasure　es　
To　the　watering　place　to　drink；　ah　see！　
See　the　lesser　beasts　of　Al…Rassan　
Scatter　like　blown　leaves　in　autumn；　
Like　air…borne　seedlings　in　the　spring；　
Like　grey　clouds　that　part　to　let　the　first　star　
Of　the　god　shine　down　upon　the　earth。
　　Lions　died。　Lovers　died；　or　were　slain。　Men　and　women　moved　in　their　pride　and　folly　through　deeds　of　pity　and　atrocity　and　the　stars　of　Ashar　looked　down　and　did　or　did　not　care。
　　
　　The　two　of　them　never　left　his　room　that　night。　Ammar　had　trays　brought　again；　with　cold　meats　and　cheeses　and　figs　and　pomegranates　from　his　own　groves。　They　ate　by　candlelight；　cross…legged　upon　the　bed；　in　silence。　Then　they　removed　the　trays　and　blew　out　the　candles　and　lay　down　together　again；　though　not　in　the　movements　of　desire。
　　They　were　awake　before　dawn。　In　the　grey　half…light　that　slowly　suffused　the　room　she　told　him；　without　his　asking；　that　at　the　end　of　the　summer　her　two　sons　had　been　quietly　sent　for　fostering；　after　the　old　fashion；　to　King　Badir　of　Ragosa。
　　Ragosa。　She　had　made　that　decision　herself；　she　said　quietly；　immediately　after　ibn　Khairan's　poem　had　arrived　in　Cartada；　lampooning　and　excoriating　the　king。　She　had　always　tried　to　stay　ahead　of　events；　and　the　poem　had　offered　more　than　a　hint　of　change　to　e。
　　〃Where　will　you　go？〃　she　asked　him。　Morning　light　had　entered　the　chamber　by　then。　They　could　hear　birds　outside　and　from　within　the　house　the　footsteps　of　busy　servants。　She　was　sitting　up；　cross…legged　again；　wrapped　in　a　light　blanket　as　in　a　shepherd's　cloak；　her　face　paint　streaked　with　the　tracks　of　her　night　tears；　hair　tumbling　in　disarray。
　　〃I　haven't；　to　be　honest；　had　time　to　think　about　it。　I　was　only　ordered　into　exile　yesterday　morning；　remember？　And　then　I　had　a　somewhat　demanding　guest　awaiting　me　when　I　came　home。〃
　　She　smiled　wanly；　but　made　no　movement；　waiting；　her　dark　eyes；　red…rimmed；　fixed　on　his。
　　He　truly　had　not　thought　about　it。　He　had　expected　to　be　triumphantly　home　in　Cartada　as　of　yesterday　morning；　guiding　the　policies　and　first　steps　of　the　new　king　and　the　kingdom。　A　man　could　make　plans；　it　seemed；　but　he　could　not　plan　for　everything。　He　hadn't　even　allowed　himself；　through　the　course　of　the　night　just　past；　to　think　much　about　Almalik　ibn　Almalik；　the　prince…the　king；　now…who　had　so　decisively　turned　on　him。　There　would　be　time　for　that　later。　There　would　have　to　be。
　　In　the　meantime；　there　was　a　whole　peninsula　and　a　world　beyond　it　full　of　places　that　were　not　Cartada。　He　could　go　almost　anywhere；　do　so　many　different　things。　He　had　realized　that　much　yesterday；　riding　here。　He　was　a　poet；　a　soldier；　a　courtier；　a　diplomat。
　　He　looked　at　the　woman　on　his　bed；　and　read　the　question　she　was　trying　so　hard　not　to　ask。　At　length　he　smiled；　savoring　all　the　ironies　that　seemed　to　be　emerging　like　flower　petals　in　the　light；　and　he　accepted　the　burden　that　came　not　from　killing；　but　from　allowing　someone　to　take　fort　with　him　when　no　fort　had　been　expected　or　thought　to　be　allowed。　She　was　a　mother。　He　had　known　that；　of　course；　but　had　never　given　any　thought　to　what　it　might　mean　for　her。
　　〃Where　will　I　go？　Ragosa；　I　suppose；〃　he　said；　as　if　carelessly；　and　was　humbled　by　the　radiance　of　her　smile；　bright　as　the　morning　sunlight　in　the　room。
　　
Eight
　　Ivories　and　throngs　of　people；　these　were　the　predominant　images　Alvar　carried　after　three　months　in　Ragosa。
　　He　had　been　born　and　raised　on　a　farm　in　the　far　north。　For　him；　a　year　before；　Esteren　in　Valledo　had　been　fearfully　imposing。　Esteren；　he　now　understood；　was　a　village。　King　Badir's　Ragosa　was　one　of　the　great　cities　of　Al…Rassan。
　　He　had　never　been　in　a　place　where　so　many　people　lived　and　went　about　their　business；　and　yet；　amid　the　bustle　and　chaos；　the　swirling　movements；　the　layers　of　sound；　somehow　still　a　sense　of　grace　hovered…a　stringed　instrument　heard　in　an　archway；　a　splashing　fountain　half…glimpsed　beyond　the　flowers　of　screening　trees。　It　was　true；　what　he　had　been　told：　the　Star…born　of　Al…Rassan　inhabited　an　entirely　different　world　than　did　the　Horsemen　of　Jad。
　　Every　second　object　in　the　palace　or　the　gracious　homes　he　had　seen　seemed　to　be　made　of　carved　and　polished　ivory；　imported　by　ship　from　the　east。　Even　the　handles　of　the　knives　used　at　some　tables。　The　knobs　on　the　palace　doors。　Despite　the　slow　decline　of　Al…Rassan　since　the　fall　of　Silvenes；　Ragosa　was　a　conspicuously　wealthy　city。　In　some　ways　it　was　because　of　the　fall　of　the　khalifs；　actually。
　　Alvar　had　had　that　explained　to　him。　Besides　the　celebrated　workers　in　ivory　there　were　poets　and　singers　here；　leather　workers；　woodcarvers；　masons；　glassblowers；　stonecutters…masters　of　a　bewildering　variety　of　trades　who　would　never　have　ventured　east　across　the　Serrana　Range　in　the　d