Fortune's Stroke

She barked a laugh. "She certainly has the willpower of Theodora." Then, shaking her head: "But she is still a girl, in many ways. If she discovers, in the future, that one of her closest advisers—he is like a father to her, you know that—withheld his advice on such a critical matter—" The headshaking became vigorous. "No, no, no. That would shake her self-confidence to the very roots. And that we cannot afford. She may make the wrong decision. Rulers often do. But her confidence must never waver, or all will be lost."

Kungas eyed her, head aslant. "Have I ever told you that you were a very smart woman?"

"Several times," she replied, smiling. She cocked her own head, returning his look of amusement with questioning eyes.

"You still have not asked," she said softly. "What my opinion is. We have never discussed the matter, oddly enough."

He spread his hands. "Why is that odd? I know your opinion, just as surely as you know mine."

He dropped his hands and lifted his shoulders. "It is obvious. I even have hopes, once we explain, that Dadaji will be convinced."

Irene snorted. Kungas smiled, but shook his head.

"You are too skeptical, I think." The thick, heavy shoulders squared. "But we will know soon."

He began to move toward the door, his head turned away. "I think it would be best, Irene, if you spoke first."

"I agree. It will strike the harder, coming from an unexpected source. You will follow, of course, when the time is right."

He did not bother to reply. There was no need. For a moment, never speaking, the man and woman in the room reveled together in that knowledge.

Kungas had reached the door. But Irene spoke before he could open it.

"Kungas." He turned his head. Irene gestured at the writing table. "You can read, now. Kushan, rather well, and your Greek is becoming passable. Your writing is still very crude, but that is merely a matter of practice."

His eyes went to the table, lingering there for a moment. Then, closed shut.

"Why, Kungas?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but tinged with anxiety. And, yes, some pain and anger. "My bed has always been there for you. But you have never come. Not once, in the weeks since the battle."

Kungas reopened his eyes. When he looked at Irene, his gaze was calm. Calm, and resolute.

"Not yet."

Irene's own gaze was not so calm. "I am not a virgin, Kungas," she said. Angrily, perhaps—or simply pleading.

The Kushan's mask of a face broke in half. Irene almost gasped. She had never seen Kungas actually grin.

"I did not imagine you were!" he choked out. He lowered his head, shaking it back and forth like a bull. "Shocking news. Most distressing. I am chagrined beyond belief. Oh, what shall I do?"

As tense as she was, Irene couldn't restrain her laughter. Kungas raised his head, still grinning.

But the question remained in her eyes. He took a few steps forward, reached out his hand, and drew her head into his shoulder.

"I have this to do first, Irene," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I cannot—" Silence, while he sought the words. "I cannot tend to my own needs, while hers are still gaping. I have guarded her for too long, now. And this struggle, I think, is perhaps her most desperate. I must see her through it safely."

She felt his chest heave slightly, from soft laughter. "Call it my own dharma, if you will."

Irene nodded, her head still nestled in his shoulder. She reached up and caressed the back of his neck. Slender fingers danced on thick muscle.

"I understand," she murmured. "As long as I understand." She laughed once herself, very softly. "I may need reassurance, again, mind you. If this goes on and on."

She knew he was smiling. "Not long, I think," she heard him say. "The girl is decisive, you know."

Irene sighed, and ceased caressing Kungas' neck. A moment later, her hands placed firmly on his chest, she created a space between them.

"So she is," she murmured. "So she most certainly is."

Pushing him away, now. "Go, then. I will see you tonight, at the council meeting."

He bowed ceremoniously. "Prepare to do battle, Irene Macrembolitissa. The dragon of Indian prejudice awaits your Roman lance."

Gaiety returned in full force. "What a ridiculous metaphor! It's back to the books for you—barbarian oaf!"

Back | Next

Contents

Framed

Back | Next

Contents

Chapter 25

It was late in the night before Irene spoke. The council had already gone on for hours.

Irene craned her neck, twisting her head back and forth. To all outward appearance, it was the gesture of someone simply stretching in order to remain alert in a long, long imperial council.

In reality, she was just trying not to smile at the image which had come to her mind.

This isn't a "council." It's a—down, smile, down!—damned auction.