I stirred. Sula brought back memories I preferred to forget. “Are you done?”
“Not even half begun.”
Her laced braid hung forward over one shoulder, swinging as she worked. The ends of it brushed my chest.
It was, rather suddenly, intensely difficult to breathe. I shifted, sat a bit more upright, shoved myself down again. “Del, do you think—”
“Just hold still.”
She had no idea how difficult that was, in view of the circumstances. “You said you wouldn’t play games.”
She blinked blue eyes. “What?”
“Games,” I said in frustration. “What do you think this is?”
“I’m shaving you!”
“Give me back my knife.” I leaned forward, caught her wrist, stripped the knife free with my left hand. “If you think I haven’t lived thirty-five or thirty-six—or however many years it is!—without learning a few female tricks, you’re younger than I thought.”
Which, once said, didn’t make me much happier. I sat in cool water and glared, holding a wet knife dripping soap and bits of beard.
Del stood with hands on hips. “And if you think I would tell you I wanted two rooms, and then tease you like this—”
Frustration made me testy. “Women do that sort of thing all the time.”
“Some women, perhaps. Not all of them. Certainly not me.”
I scratched violently at my scalp. “Maybe not. Maybe not on purpose, but it doesn’t disguise the fact—”
“—that you have no self-control?”
I glared. “You could take it as a compliment.”
She thought about it. “I could.”
“So? Can I shave my own face?”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Go away,” I muttered, but Del turned her back on me and went to open the door.
A stranger stood there. A Southroner. He wore a sword in harness. “Sandtiger?” he asked.
Warily, I nodded. Wishing I had my sword in hand instead of on the stool; feeling foolish for wishing it. But a naked man often feels foolish. Or at least vulnerable.
He grinned, showing white teeth in a swarthy face. “I am Nabir,” he said. “I’d like to dance with you.”
Nabir was young. Very young. Maybe all of eighteen. And I’ll wager his knees didn’t ache.
“Ask me tomorrow,” I growled.
A frown creased his brow. “I won’t be here tomorrow. In the morning I leave for Iskandar.”
“Iskandar. Iskandar! What’s in Iskandar?”
Nabir appeared somewhat taken aback by my outburst. “The Oracle says the jhihadi—”
“—is coming to Iskandar; that I know. I think everybody knows.” I scowled at the boy. “But why do you care? You don’t look religious.”
“Oh, I am not.” He made a quick, dismissive gesture. “I am a sword-dancer. That’s why I’m going.”
I scratched idly at my scars, now bare of beard. “Why is a young, admittedly nonreligious sword-dancer going to Iskandar? There’s nothing to do there.”
“Everyone’s going,” he said. “Even the tanzeers.”
I gazed blankly at Del. “Tanzeers,” I echoed.
“Ajani,” she said intently.
Frowning, I looked back at Nabir, waiting so patiently. “You said everyone is going … sword-dancers, tanzeers—who else?”
He shrugged. “The sects are going, of course, even the Hamidaa and khemi. And they’re saying some of the tribes as well: the Hanjii, the Tularain; also others, I think. They want to see the Oracle foretell in the flesh.”
“Power shift,” I murmured. “The tanzeers’ll never let him survive, unless he works for them.” I straightened in the cask and waved a hand at Nabir. “Go down to the nearest cantina—I forget its name—and have a drink on me.” I arched a brow. “And tell Kima I sent you.”
“Will you meet me?” Nabir persisted. “It would be an honor to dance with the Sandtiger in the circle.”
I looked harder at his face—his young, still-forming face—and also at his harness. His new, stiff harness, squeaking as he moved.
“In a year,” I told him. “Now go have that drink.”
Del closed the door behind him, then turned to me. “He’s young. New. Untried. He might have been worth it for the practice. And at least you wouldn’t hurt him; some other sword-dancer might, just to initiate him.”
“I can’t take the risk, bascha. If I step into a circle, it will be against someone good. Someone up to the challenge of dancing against Chosa Dei.”
Del’s unspoken comment was loud in the little room.