"Don't stare at me, you evil thing," he growled as he dressed. "I'm taking you back to Nightshade. You ought to be happy about that. You've missed her, haven't you? Old Marmot used to say you did. Marmot said that was why you refused to let him use your Power."
He strode across the room, picked up the Bundle, and ducked beneath the door-hanging. His steps echoed in the quiet. From somewhere came sounds of a priestess chanting her morning prayers to the unrisen sun. The scent of spiced hickory oil mixed with dust as he walked by the Sun Chamber and turned left, striding down the hall toward Nightshade's room.
Tharon clutched the Tortoise Bundle to his chest, took a deep breath, and slipped silently beneath her door-hanging. The firebowl in the middle of the floor had gone out, leaving the windowless chamber cloaked in darkness. He could just make out the line of multicolored pots sitting along the right wall, one stacked atop another. Each brimmed with a seed or plant that he knew Dreamers liked: morning glory, toadflax, the dried leaves of foxglove, mistletoe berries, and the shriveled black seeds of Sister Datura from islands in the Great Salt Water. Tharon knew Dreamers liked such things because he had taken these pots from Marmot's room. The filthy old meddler didn't deserve the benefits of my wealth.
Marmot's intricate starmap blanketed the entire left wall over Nightshade's sleeping bench. Points of silver revolved in interconnected circles, representing the sky gods during each moon of the cycle. A jug of water and a washing bowl sat at the foot of her bed, half full. She must have bathed before going to sleep. In the transparent halo of light that crept beneath her door-hanging, her skin and hair gleamed. He could hear her breathing, the sound soft, deep with the rhythms of slumber.
He tiptoed across the room and sat down cross-legged on the floor beside her. Very gently he placed the Bundle on the silken veil of black hair that tumbled over her mats. She didn't move. Grinning, he leaned close, so close that he could feel her breath warm on his triangular face. He wanted to clap with excitement! She had no idea that he sat there! He couldn't wait until she woke and discovered him.
Tharon let his gaze wander her body. She lay on her back, her ivory-and-green blanket pulled up so that it just covered her bare breasts. The thinness of the blanket revealed her sensuous curves with brazen clarity. He had to fight his hands to keep from reaching out to touch her naked shoulders. Yes, she had grown into quite a woman. Her large eyes, full lips, and tumed-up nose were perfect in her oval face.
And you cast her out of Cahokia? Idiot. You could have married Nightshade instead of that tittering little fooly Singw. You know how much Nightshade loved you when you were young. He smiled to himself, smugly recalling the adoration in her eyes when she had looked at him.
Nightshade stirred, rolled to her left side, and her forehead touched the edge of the Tortoise Bundle. Tharon slapped a hand to his mouth to suppress his mirth. Would she awaken now?
No, she slept on; but her eyes had started to move erratically beneath her lids.
He leaned back and straightened his lace tunic. Thanks to the richest brew of bloodroot and hematite that his textile specialists could concoct, the crimson color stood out regally against the golden background of his robe. The lace had been created with the delicate thread spun of cottonwood seeds; it sported tiny circles in a flowery weave. It came from the south, from Yellow Star Mounds, the village closest to the Forbidden Lands of the Palace Builders. He had given small segments of the precious cloth to his own weavers to see if they could duplicate it, but their crude imitations failed to satisfy him. So Tharon's traders continued to pay a chief's ransom for the lace. But he loved it too much to do without it—even if it meant that he had to force his galena or chert miners to work all day and night to quarry the necessary trade goods to pay for it. He could always threaten to withhold com from their clans to get them to work harder. Lazy. Everyone these days had grown slothful. That's why the people were starving.
Tharon straightened the coils of black hair on top of his head. He had adorned the elaborate style with the inner spirals of conch shells and with copper clips engraved with the images of Father Sun, Moon Maiden, and First Woman. He wanted to look his best this morning to impress Nightshade.
She stirred again, nuzzling her forehead against the Tortoise Bundle as though it were a lover's cheek.
Tharon leaned forward until his nose was poised only inches from hers. A broad smile split his face when her eyes fluttered briefly open and closed. He thought he would burst from suppressing his laughter!
When finally her lids opened fully, she didn*t react at all in the way he had expected. Instead of jumping or crying out in surprise, she stared unblinking into his eyes, the black of her pupils boring so deeply into his soul that he felt he had been skewered by a dull lance. The hair on his arms began to stand on end.