He turned, ordering, “Someone, bring me water. A bottle-necked gourd will do.”
Moments later young Winter Leaf cautiously stepped in to hand him a gourd. “You didn’t mean that, did you? What you said to Green Stick?”
He glanced at her, at the rest of them, watching him like half-panicked field mice. “I meant it. When I give an order, you jump.”
“I’m the Lady’s cousin,” the man called Clay String remarked haughtily. “I’m Four Winds Clan, slave. You try and order me around, and I’ll have you in a square.”
Fire Cat made a final check of Night Shadow Star, satisfied that she was still breathing normally. Then he rose and advanced on Clay String, who backed away unsteadily.
“You know what I think of the Four Winds Clan, you worthless excuse for a man?”
Clay String shook his head, still backing away, trying to keep his expression stern and commanding.
“I think they’re trash, you gutless fish. And you can tell them so, because I’ve got nothing left to live for. That being the case, I will not grovel before you, free man. Or before any other Four Winds maggot.” He thrust a hard finger toward Night Shadow Star’s room. “But I gave my word to serve the Lady. So, serve her I will, and to the best of my ability. If it means breaking a couple of your worthless heads in the process, then by the bleeding stars, I will do so. And you, you wiggling little maggot, will accept it and like it.”
Clay String’s feigned resistance collapsed like a punctured bladder. His hands rose defensively. “Don’t hurt me. I was just … I was…”
Fire Cat looked around at the rest. “Since Field Green was murdered, this place has started to look more like a weasel’s den than the Lady’s palace. Within the next hand of time, I want it straightened up, the bedding folded, the ashes taken out, the matting swept, and the dishes cleaned. I can smell that brimming chamber pot clear across the room.
“Meanwhile, I want a feast ready for when the Lady returns from her Spirit journey. Not that half-burned corn gruel you’ve got on the coals, but real food. And a pot will be kept boiling for black drink when she comes to.” He paused, smiling grimly. “You’ve got a hand of time, get to it.”
Then he walked back to ensure that Night Shadow Star hadn’t relapsed. Behind him the room was bustling with activity.
Kneeling, he placed a finger on her smooth neck, feeling her pulse, weak, but there.
In a gentle voice he told her, “So there it is, Lady. I probably created a miserable mess for myself with your household staff, but they really need to be slapped into shape. If you want to save me any more such trouble, you’d better get back here so you can keep me in line, or I’ll have half the Four Winds Clan trying to cut my throat.” He paused, studying her vulnerable and slack face. “You wouldn’t want that, now would you? You did want to save that privilege for yourself, didn’t you?”
No change of expression darkened her smooth brow, so he sighed, patted her on the cheek, and lifted her naked body onto the bed where he should have put her in the first place. Then he settled himself beside her and studied the alluring charms of her round breasts. Her brown nipples seemed to tease him with their demand for attention. The swell of her hips and flat abdomen accented the dark shadow of her navel. He struggled to ignore the promise of what lay hidden beneath the thick black triangle of pubic hair.
“Power mocks me, Lady. I’d worship that body if it belonged to anyone but you.” He shook his head to rid it of unwanted images and desires, and then carefully arranged a blanket to cover her. He gently tucked her in. Drawing his bow across his lap he fitted an arrow into place.
In addition to the assassin, he wouldn’t put it past Green Stick or Clay String to sneak up behind him and bash his brains out.
“Good thing we dislike each other so much, Lady. I’d never put up with this nonsense if you were just someone I only mildly despised.”
Forty-six
Seven Skull Shield entered through the Council House door and looked around. Stepping to the side, he crossed his arms and placed his back to the wall. He dabbed at his sore forehead, discolored from the bruises it had suffered while banging the Tula’s face into pulp, and he’d strained a couple of muscles during the fight, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.
Blue Heron sat on the raised dais beside Tonka’tzi Wind. The spoiled niece, Sun Wing, looked sullen where she sat on her floor-level litter to the right. Perhaps she appeared so petulant because—though another rival for the Tonka’tzi’s chair had conveniently vanished—the Keeper now occupied the spot she might have claimed for the first time in her short life.