CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

“There you are! By the gods, man, you had me worried.” Lying in his hospital bed and feeling far more sorry for himself than befitted a warrior of his standing, Nalyx opened his eyes, seeing Captain Leefe standing near the foot of his bed, stern and serious with his bushy eyebrows and thick moustache. “How are you feeling?” the captain asked. “Ready to return to the land of the living?”

To be honest, Nalyx was feeling like he’d been trampled by a team of horses. But it wouldn’t do to admit as much. Not if he ever wanted to earn Leefe’s respect. “Well on the mend,” he said, struggling to sit up and biting back a groan as his shoulder protested. “But you can’t fault me for wanting to spend a little more time with all these pretty nurses.” He winked at the woman hovering behind Leefe. She was young, maybe only sixteen years old, and Nalyx got the impression that she was entirely star struck by his presence. Plenty of warriors came and went through the hospital on a daily basis, for as long as the gate was open, but as young as she was, she likely hadn’t had the chance to treat one directly before. The nurse blushed and shoved her hands behind her apron.

“Come on, then,” Leefe said. “On your feet. The festival’s about to start for the evening and you’ve already missed enough of it last night.” Nalyx had spent most of the previous evening busy being unconscious, drugged up on opium while a diligent doctor had stitched his shoulder wound closed and treated the burns on his hands as best he could. Nalyx had woken this morning with a fiery pain in his shoulder, and had spent the rest of the day asleep, after requesting more opium, on the back of a string of curses that had earned disapproving looks from even the hospital’s most seasoned nurses.

“Right away,” he said, hauling himself to his feet. He was dressed in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns that always left one’s ass flapping in the breeze, and he was grateful that the blushing young nurse couldn’t currently see that part of him, as he carefully kept his back to the wall.

But then he looked down at his hands, both wrapped in copious swathes of bandages. Grabbing the unicorn’s flaming horn had been a poor choice, for all that he’d been trying to save his own life at the time. “I might need a hand getting my pants back on,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke. Gods above, what the hell was he supposed to do for the next week while his hands healed? The doctor had said he’d have to keep them wrapped for at least that long, and that his shoulder was likely to take even longer to heal.

“I’ll leave that to the young lady,” Leefe said with a smile, already on his way towards the door. “Don’t take too long, though. That whisky isn’t going to drink itself.”

Thankfully, someone had thought to bring him a clean set of clothes, and the nurse helped him dress, blushing all the while and desperately trying to avoid looking at his nudity. Which didn’t help things, when he was relying on her to be his pair of hands.

Twenty minutes later, with his pants and shirt back in their rightful places, Nalyx meandered across the road, grateful that the hospital was so near to the town square. The warriors’ barracks were on the far side of the square, far enough from the main events of the festival to keep the noise at bay – for those actually inclined to try and get some sleep – but close enough that it wasn’t an effort to stumble back to bed after a night of revelry.

Sure enough, the party was in full swing. Dancers swayed gracefully on the stage at one end of the square. A band of musicians kept up a lively beat, and down the centre of the square, a long row of tables were set out with every imaginable dish of food – roasted meats, herbed potatoes, mushrooms fried in butter, egg tarts, succulent pies. At one end, there were also desserts – fruit pies, pastries and honey cakes that had no doubt been brought along by the local bakers. Most of the two hundred warriors were right in the thick of things, eating, drinking and dancing with the serving women. Plenty of the townsfolk had showed up as well, giving boisterous cheers as various warriors told stories of their victories in battle. Ribbons were strung from the rooftops and lanterns lit the square, holding the darkness at bay.

On a good day, Nalyx would have gone straight for the table of drinks, eager to begin the process of filling his blood stream with alcohol. But tonight, he headed for the food first. He hadn’t eaten last night, nor had anything more filling than a piece of bread today, and his stomach was growling in protest.

“Nalyx!” A young woman spotted him almost immediately and sashayed over to him. “There you are, you handsome devil.” Nalyx grinned at her. Her name was Liatra, and for the last two cycles, she’d been making a point of being available to him – something he’d eagerly taken advantage of. She was dressed in a skirt that was almost indecently short and a blue blouse that hugged her generous breasts. Her long, blonde hair fell about her shoulders, and she tossed her head, making the curls sway and bounce.

“Oh, but you poor thing,” she crooned, stroking a hand down his right arm. It was supported in a sling now, to keep his shoulder steady. “You’re so brave, fighting all those demons.”

“Good to see you, Liatra,” Nalyx said. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You missed all the fun last night. Hallix killed a unicorn! I’d have been terrified, facing a beast like that, but he was all just stab, slash,” she said, mimicking the movements of what had no doubt been a rousing tale.

Nalyx’s moderately good mood vanished. “I heard,” he said, trying not to sound too put out about it. Hallix had more or less saved his life, after all. But clearly, his own role in the battle had not been part of Hallix’s retelling.

“Petra thinks he’s going to ask her to marry him. I don’t think he will. Petra’s too chubby for him. You boys would rather have a piece of this.” She stretched her arms above her head, pushing her chest out.

“And this is looking mighty fine today,” Nalyx said, feeling a stirring of interest in his groin.

Liatra grinned. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink. And I want to dance.” She grabbed his arm and tugged… but Nalyx let out a pained cry, pulling away. She’d grabbed his right arm, regardless of the sling clearly demonstrating the fact that it was injured.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”

No, he just enjoyed screaming for the sake of it. The stirring in his groin faded immediately on the back of the renewed pain in his shoulder. “Could you do me a huge favour?” he asked, ignoring her question. Despite her apparent sympathy, she wasn’t likely to be impressed if he actually admitted that the wound hurt.

“Anything for you,” Liatra cooed, adjusting her blouse so that it revealed an extra inch of skin.

“Set me up with a plate of food? I’m stuck with a few little complications after the battle.” He held up his bandaged left hand.

“Coming right up,” Liatra said, then walked away, hips swaying, while Nalyx went to find a likely spot to sit down. His arm was killing him, and he briefly considered bowing out of the party in favour of a good, long rest. But he’d never hear the end of it from the captain if he did. The townsfolk came out to see the warriors, he’d been told often enough, and it was their duty in return to show that the people’s efforts were appreciated. He should have got Liatra to get him a drink as well, he realised belatedly. At least whisky would have gone a way towards numbing the pain in his shoulder.

◊          ◊          ◊

Gantalla forced her mouth to continue smiling at the warrior in front of her as the waves of festival-goers flowed all around her. This was the famous Hallix, Fin had told her, when she’d introduced them, and Gantalla was doing her best to look interested as he recounted his apparently epic battle with the unicorn.

“So the unicorn rears up in the air,” he was saying, paying more attention to Gantalla’s breasts than to either Gantalla herself or to the story, “and I dart in and stab him through the heart.” His hands were thick and meaty as he acted out the scene, a far cry from the artistic hands of a hadathmet, and his light brown hair was much like the colour of… well, of hadathmet faeces, if Gantalla was honest about it. “But his hooves are going crazy,” Hallix went on, “and the damn thing’s trying to smash my brains in as it flails about. Fire everywhere and Henrick nowhere to be seen. I swear to the gods, I thought my life was over in that moment.”

“It sounds like a terrifying fight,” Gantalla said, trying to sound impressed. Indeed, it probably had been terrifying, but more so for the unicorn than for this arrogant human. “Oh, but your cup is empty,” she said, grabbing onto the first excuse to interrupt him. “Let me go and get you another.”

Hallix ran a sweaty hand down her cheek, tweaking her chin. “Much obliged,” he said with a smirk, once more glancing down at her breasts. Gantalla resisted the urge to pull the lace higher. “Don’t be too long.”

With her best attempt at a sultry smile, Gantalla walked away, swaying her hips as she’d seen the other young women doing. By the gods, how long would she have to put up with this alcohol-fuelled mess before she could make a quick getaway? Already she’d been leered at by a dozen different men, had her ass groped three times, and one man – already three sheets to the wind, despite the relatively early hour – had suggested she pull down her top and show him her tits. “Oh, you naughty boy,” she’d replied, resisting the urge to slap him. And then she’d swiftly redirected him towards another of the young ladies who had quickly proven herself only too willing to comply with his request.

Now, she headed for the table where a group of men were serving drinks. These lot weren’t warriors, and so were a more respectful crowd. Most of them were older, at least middle-aged, some with grey creeping into their hairlines. Glancing over her shoulder, she was relieved to see that Hallix was already distracted with another young woman, a second soldier slapping him on the back as he greeted him, and so Gantalla set the cup down on the end of the table, ignoring the men serving the drinks, and headed quickly in the opposite direction. Hallix wouldn’t notice her absence, and if he did, she could simply say she’d been caught up by another of the warriors.

Finding a quiet spot at the side of the square, she took a deep breath and gave in to the urge to adjust her blouse. Not that it did much good. The instant she let go of the fabric, is slid down again, stopping just shy of giving everyone an eyeful of her nipples. She checked that her obsidian gem was tucked safely and discreetly between her breasts. Well, if there was one good thing about the lace, it was that it disguised the leather cord that the gem was attached to. Why in the gods’ names had she let Fin talk her into wearing this?

Because if you don’t fit in, you’re a dead woman walking, she reminded herself sharply. These human customs were baffling, but if she didn’t at least try to blend in, someone was bound to get suspicious. Just a couple more hours, then she could be on her way to Palashran and away from these obnoxious warriors.

Her stomach growled as she stood there, and abruptly, she remembered the other reason she’d agreed to this ridiculous charade. She was poverty-stricken in this strange new world, and before she headed out of town, she needed to find a way to earn some money. Or at the very least, to charm one of the warriors into giving her the means to buy a coat or some boots. She’d seen several of the men handing the serving women gifts, like a string of jewels or a set of ribbons. She’d eyed the jewels longingly, remembering a jade necklace she’d once owned that she’d had to trade for a meal, and a diamond bracelet she’d given to a salas in exchange for safe passage across a ravine. The bridge had been guarded by thugs, and the salas, with his mighty sword, had cleared a path for her, after demanding the bracelet as payment.

Here, as well, jewellery was more of a practical necessity than a pretty decoration – as much as she longed to be wearing some of the pieces she’d seen around the other women’s throats. Jewels could be sold for money, which she could then use to buy some new clothes. But to do that, she’d have to put up with more leering and groping.

Her stomach gave a louder growl, and Gantalla winced. It had been three days since she’d had a proper meal, and two days without anything at all. But with all the stress of crossing the gate, and then the anxiety of trying to fit in with the humans, she’d overlooked her own hunger. But that was one problem she could do something about.

She headed for the table of food, feeling uneasy as she wondered if anyone would object to her taking a plate for herself, given that she was a newcomer here. But no one seemed to be paying her any mind, so she picked up a wooden plate and looked over the food on offer.

None of it looked familiar. There was meat, of course, and she helped herself to some, not knowing what sort of animals the humans ate, but prepared to give it a try. There was a pie, but she couldn’t identify anything that was inside it, so she decided to give it a miss. She didn’t recognise any of the vegetables, and a few of the dishes smelled decidedly odd. But then she spotted a tray of what looked like a type of mushroom. Mushrooms had been a delicacy back in Chalandros – before the heat had killed off the last of the cultures – and she scooped a large spoonful onto her plate. May as well make the most of the opportunity. There was also what seemed to be a type of bread, so she took a slice and sniffed it. It smelled different from the bread she’d had at home, but close enough. Further down the table, there were colourful fruits, and she picked up a slice of one of them and popped it into her mouth. It was crisp and firm, and she was surprised to find that it tasted a lot like grenfruit, one of the staple crops from back home. But this version was sweeter, with a pale red skin, rather than the dull green of grenfruit. Either way, it was delicious. She quickly loaded several more slices onto her plate.

Just at that moment, a drunken women lurched her way past Gantalla and happened to glance at her plate. “Oh, you like apples,” the woman crowed, grabbing onto the edge of the table for support. “This year’s crop was spectacular! I like apples,” she said emphatically, grabbing a couple of slices and shoving them into her mouth. Then she staggered off down to the end of the table.

Apples. Right, then. Gantalla resolved to remember the name.

Meal sorted, she looked around for a quiet corner to eat in. Not too far from the main crowd, lest anyone think she was being standoffish, but far enough that she could have a few minutes peace to concentrate on her meal.

But as she cast her eyes over the throngs of people, one man in particular caught her attention. From his build, he was likely a warrior, all lean muscle and wiry strength. But it wasn’t his body that had caught her eye. He was sitting on a wide stone step, with three of the serving women hovering around him. All three were coyly trying to gain his attention, playing with their hair, puffing out their chests, and one was actually sitting on his lap, gyrating her hips as she giggled and smiled.

But the man had clearly been injured. His right arm was in a sling, and both his hands were wrapped in bandages. His injuries were making it difficult for him to eat, and the women seemed to be making a token effort to ‘help’. But they seemed more focused on flirting than actually allowing him to eat anything, and the man, in contrast to so many of the other warriors, seemed more annoyed than amused by the constant teasing. As she watched, the woman on his lap held up a fork with a piece of meat on it, waving it enticingly before the man’s face. He tried to bite at it three times before the woman finally gave in and let him eat it, then she pouted in what Gantalla assumed was supposed to be a seductive way and stroked her fingers through the man’s hair. His hair was dark and long enough that it almost reached his chin, much like the style a hadathmet man might have chosen. His skin was a bronzed brown colour, and his jaw was dusted with a few days’ growth of stubble. He was still ugly, by the colourful scope of Chalandrian beauty standards, but Gantalla could see a certain appeal to him, physical strength and a canny watchfulness in his eyes.

The man gave a pointed look at the plate of food set beside him and said something to the woman, though Gantalla was too far away to hear what it was, and the woman coyly speared the next piece of food with her fork… before cheekily shoving it into her own mouth instead. Gods, at this rate, the man was going to starve to death before he got to finish his meal.

Before she could think twice about it, Gantalla strode in his direction, taking her own plate of food with her. “May I share a little secret with you?” she said to the woman in his lap. The woman looked up, a scowl appearing on her face as she clearly objected to the interruption. “I happened to overhear Calium talking just a moment ago,” Gantalla said, nodding to a warrior over by the dessert table. She’d happened to learn the man’s name as she’d overheard a conversation earlier in the night. “He said you’re looking exceptionally pretty this evening. And… now, I could be wrong… but I thought I heard him mention something about a sapphire necklace that would look exquisite around your neck.”

The woman squealed in delight, all traces of annoyance disappearing. “Oh, well, I’ll have to go and have a chat with Calium then,” she said, hopping off the man’s lap without a second thought. She was gone a moment later, and as predicted, her two companions got up and rushed after her, no doubt eager to ply the unfortunate man with their own charms.

Gantalla watched them go, then turned back to the man. He was watching her with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. “I’m Gantalla,” she said, taking a cautious seat beside him.

“Nalyx,” the man said. “That’s Nay-lix, with a long ‘a’. Too many people pronounce it Nah-lix, and that sounds too much like Hallix, and the gods know I’ve heard quite enough about him this evening.”

Gantalla, too, had heard quite enough about the revered unicorn-killer, but she refrained from saying so. “I thought maybe you could use some help in eating your dinner,” she said, glancing at his plate – which was still mostly full. Nalyx rolled his eyes, but Gantalla jumped in before he could say anything. “I mean actual help, rather than someone just gyrating on your lap.”

Nalyx looked surprised for a moment – likely not having realised anyone had noticed his predicament – then he smiled, a far more genuine expression than he’d given to the group of young women. “That would be most appreciated.”

Gantalla set her own plate down and picked up his, spearing a random piece of food with the fork. She held it out, and he took the bite, seeming both relieved and surprised when she actually let him have it. She waited while he chewed, then fed him the next piece, and in between bites, she ate the food on her own plate, relieved that she seemed to have found the answer to her current dilemma. She had a quiet place to sit, along with an activity that would keep anyone from getting suspicious about her lack of enthusiasm for the drunken flirting going on across the square. And as far as serving the warriors went, helping one of them eat was far preferable to giving them foot rubs or massaging their shoulders, as she saw several of the other women doing.

Long minutes passed in silence, though the lack of conversation was comfortable, rather than awkward, until both their plates were empty.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” Nalyx said, once she’d set the empty plates aside. “And not to push my luck, but could I ask you for a favour?”

“I suppose so,” Gantalla said, wary of what he was going to ask for. So far, he’d neither said nor done anything suggestive, but given the behaviour of the rest of the men, she wasn’t holding her breath.

“Could you go and fetch me a bottle of whisky?”

“Of course.” Such a simple request was a relief.

“I mean a bottle,” Nalyx said, as Gantalla stood up. “Not a cup. A bottle.”

Gantalla felt a sly smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said playfully. Odd, how it was suddenly so easy to flirt a little with this man. He had neither horns nor tail to pique her interest, his lips were a little too thin and his ears slightly too low… but he was quiet and respectful, and that was currently making the world of difference. And the crooked smile on his lips when she agreed to his request gave her an odd little flutter in her belly. With the war and the famine going on back in Chalandros, it had been a long time since anyone had had the time or energy for something so simple as flirting.

She headed for the table of drinks. Unlike the last time she’d approached this table, she walked straight up to the grey-haired man at the near end. “A bottle of whisky, please? It’s for Nalyx,” she added, nodding to where Nalyx was sitting at the side of the square.

“Ah, such a fine young man,” the elderly man said. He reached down and picked up a bottle from near his feet, holding it out, along with two cups. “Enjoy. And take care of him, would you? Poor bastard copped a right lashing this time around.”

“I will,” Gantalla said, taking the offered items and returning swiftly to Nalyx’s side.

“Oh, you’re a gem,” Nalyx said, as she arrived back. “I was beginning to think I’d die of thirst before the night was over.”

Gantalla poured a generous portion into one of the cups, then, because Nalyx seemed to expect it, she put another splash into the second cup. She wondered if she would have to help him drink it, but Nalyx reached over, cradling the cup between his bandaged hands, and lifted it to his lips. It was a clumsy movement, but he got the job done well enough, taking a large swallow. Then he sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Oh, sweet nectar of the gods.”

Curious, Gantalla took a cautious sip from her own cup, surprised to find it tasted quite good. There was a drink in Chalandros called gerian which tasted similar. Normally, of course, she’d have been sipping on sweet wine from a fine crystal goblet, but given the circumstances, this was a pleasant surprise.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, before Nalyx spoke again. “Aren’t you going to ask how I was injured?”

Something in his tone made her look twice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he said bluntly.

“Then let’s talk about something else.”

Nalyx raised an eyebrow at her. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You’re not like the other women.”

Thank the gods for that, she thought bitterly. She had yet to expose either her breasts or her buttocks, nor had she felt the need to run her hands over anyone’s muscles. “I’m not from around here. I’m on my way to Palashran. To see my brother.” She was sticking to the one lie, lest idle gossip catch her out and she find herself having to explain any discrepancies in her story. “I happened to be in town when the gate closed, and then everyone insisted I stay for the festival.”

“You don’t sound terribly happy about it.”

Gantalla sighed. “I’m very grateful to all the warriors for your efforts,” she said, knowing it was the expected answer. “But it’s not a good time for me. My father was killed recently. I only have one brother left, so I thought…”

“Gods, I’m sorry. It must be rough. I mean, around here, everyone gets so caught up in worrying about the gate, it’s easy to forget that people have other things to worry about.”

Gantalla smiled sadly. “I don’t want to inflict my problems on everyone else.” They both fell silent, but she found herself wanting to continue to conversation. Nalyx seemed more respectful than most of the warriors, and if nothing else, talking to him gave her something to do for the evening. “Tell me something about you?”

“Like what?”

“Why did you decide to become a warrior?” It wasn’t just an idle conversation starter. She was genuinely mystified about the humans’ insistence that all those from Chalandros were demons, so maybe hearing Nalyx’s story would put some of it into perspective.

Nalyx sighed. “It seemed a pretty easy decision at the time. My father was a warrior. So was my grandfather. They were both killed defending the gate.”

She gave a pointed look at his injured arm. “So you thought you’d try and do the same?” she said, before she could think better of it.

Nalyx scowled. “Takes more than a busted shoulder to take me out,” he said.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Gantalla apologised. So it seemed he had an ego after all. Plenty of the other warriors did, though so far, Nalyx hadn’t seemed interested in boasting about his accomplishments. But she still had a long way to go before she got the hang of the humans’ culture. “Please, go on.”

Nalyx took another mouthful of whisky. “I grew up listening to stories about how many demons my father had killed and how brave everyone thought he was. I wanted to be like him. I still do. But he was killed when I was fifteen. There was this big funeral and everyone gave my mother gifts and sang songs about the demons he’d killed. They kept telling me what a noble sacrifice he’d made, but I just wanted him to come home again. And I guess I thought twice about it all, for a little while. I mean, for young, single men, it’s fine, but once you’ve got a wife and kids… But then my mother…” He stopped, a dark look coming over his face.

“But then your mother…?”

“Never mind,” he said, swiftly changing his mind. “The point is, I was sixteen, and I needed to find something useful to do with my life, so I started training with the warriors. Defend the city, make some money, have a bunch of pretty young women running around after me. It didn’t seem half bad. So here I am.” That seemed to be the end of the story, and he picked up his cup again, draining the last of the liquid. Then he reached for the bottle, only to be brought up short as he realised he couldn’t undo the cap with his injured hands. “Gah, fuck!”

“I’ll get it,” Gantalla said, filling his cup again. He drained it in one go, then held it out again.

Obligingly, she filled it. It was none of her business if he ended up with the mother of all hangovers tomorrow. She’d be long gone by then.

“So it was just you and your brother?” Nalyx asked, an obvious attempt at changing the subject. Since the raid on her city, Gantalla hadn’t actually had a chance to talk about it. Perhaps it would help to exorcise some of her own demons.

“No. I had three brothers and three sisters. I was the youngest of them all. Two of my brothers were killed. I still have a sister, though. But she’s still in Gadash.” The name of the city was irrelevant. Her sister has chosen to remain behind. “My father was…” She stopped herself before she blurted out that he had been a king. That detail would make no sense to these humans. “He was wealthy. He owned some land. But our home was attacked by raiders. They burned the whole place to the ground. I tried to talk my sister into coming with me, but she refused to leave. She said the journey would be too dangerous. Maybe she was right. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just figured I had to try. There was no point in staying.” She sighed, taking another sip of her whisky. “I guess I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“Sometimes, that’s the best we can do,” Nalyx said. “I gotta say, though, I’m glad you came here. If you hadn’t, I’d never have got to eat dinner.” He snorted, then laughed, and Gantalla realised the whisky was having an effect.

“Tell me more about the city,” she said, wanting to keep him talking. “What do you do while you’re not fighting at the gate?”

“Training. Drinking. Having lots of sex.” He winked at her, but as crude as the statement was, she wasn’t surprised. The crowds of young women had already made it plain that that was the case.

The conversation meandered on, and by the time the whisky bottle was three-quarters empty, Nalyx’s eyes were drooping and he was slurring his words.

“You know, you’re really pretty,” he said, grinning sloppily at her. “And you’re good at listening. Most of the girls just want to get into my pants. Which is nice, most of the time. I like women. But you’re different. Better.” He reached for his cup again, but only managed to knock it over. Thankfully, it was mostly empty. “Fuck,” he swore, though he dismissed the issue a moment later. “I think I’ve had enough to drink.”

“I think so, too,” Gantalla agreed. For her own part, she’d only had one cup, so she was still feeling fairly clear-headed. “How about I help you go to bed?”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Nalyx said. “You might have to help me out, though.” He shot her a lascivious grin. “I don’t think I can get my pants off. I like your hair.” He clumsily patted her head. “All silky and smooth.”

“Steady on, champ,” Gantalla said, getting to her feet and then helping Nalyx stand up. With the amount he’d drunk, there was little chance he’d manage to do more than fall into bed and pass out. And if he did try to get handsy, she should be able to fend him off well enough – not only because of all the alcohol in his veins, but because he couldn’t actually use his hands at the moment. Besides which, she was going to have to spend the night somewhere, so it may as well be with a warrior who was too drunk to cause any trouble. “Let’s keep your pants on at least long enough to get back to your room.” He’d told her earlier in the night that each of the warriors had their own room, in the spacious barracks off the back of the town square.

“You’ve got the best tits,” he said, and Gantalla rolled her eyes. The gods forbid she find even one decent man amongst this rabble. It had been going so well, too. Before he’d drunk the better part of a bottle of whisky, he’d been perfectly polite. “This is exactly what I needed tonight,” he slurred, weaving from side to side as he walked. “Whisky and…” He let his gaze wander down over her body, a sly look on his face. “… and lace.”

Gods above, she was getting rid of this blouse at the first available opportunity. What the hell would her father think of her, strutting about like a prized heifer in a show ring?

Well, maybe he’d actually be proud of her, she reflected after a moment. After all, she’d made it all the way to the gate and then survived a whole day in the human world. Maybe he’d make allowances, given the circumstances.

Ignoring Nalyx’s comments, she led him across the square, where most people were by now either too tired or too drunk to pay them much mind. “Which way?” she asked, when they reached the edge of the soldiers’ compound.

“That way,” Nalyx said, pointing. “Room number eighty-five. On the right bit of the… the bit of the… thingy…”

Thankfully, Gantalla didn’t have to make too many guesses. The rooms were all neatly labelled, and she simply followed the row until they reached number eighty-five.

“Here we go,” she said, opening the door. Inside, the room was surprisingly spacious, with a wide bed, a large closet and colourful tapestries on the walls. Her own room back in the palace had been larger, but not by much. She led Nalyx to the bed, barely managing to pull back the blankets before he collapsed, letting out a heartfelt groan. “Fuck, that’s the best feeling in the world,” he said, burying his face in a pillow.

“Do you want to get undressed?” she asked. But Nalyx didn’t move. A moment later, he let out a gentle snore.

Gantalla simply stared at him for a moment, not sure whether to be amused or offended. Then she chuckled. Clad in armour and with a sword in hand, he was probably the stuff of nightmares, but right now, he just looked cute. Helpless, in a way, with his hands wrapped in padding and his mouth hanging open. Her eyes were drawn to the stubble on his chin again, a detail that Gantalla found intriguing. Of all the peoples of Chalandros, only the salases and the mages grew facial hair. Both groups of people were powerful, the salases as warriors, and the mages wielding magic that could make or break entire kingdoms. She ran her fingertips over his rough jaw, fascinated by the way it felt against her skin. Human skin was soft, she’d realised – far softer than a hadathmet’s leathery hide.

Stop staring at him, she scolded herself. She had no reason to be overly interested in the way a human man looked. He was just a means to an end, nothing more. But even so, she took the time to remove his boots for him, then covered him with the blankets.

She looked around, wondering where she could spend the night. She’d seen plenty of women wandering off with other warriors throughout the evening, and from the comments Fin had made earlier, it seemed it was not only acceptable, but expected that she’d end up spending the night in one of their rooms. And if she hadn’t actually got around to taking any of her clothes off? Well, that was no one’s business but her own.

There was a thick rug on the floor. Three months ago, she’d have been horrified at the idea of sleeping on the floor. Now, though, it looked comfortable enough, given the nights she’d spent sleeping on hard ground. But even so, she took the time to steal a spare pillow off the bed, then took one of the blankets as well. She set up her makeshift bed, checking one last time that Nalyx seemed to be comfortable.

All things considered, she hadn’t done badly for the night. She’d had a decent meal, she’d avoided the worst of the wandering hands, and now she had a safe place to get some rest. If only she could be certain of tomorrow being as successful…