She was crying, furious, miserable and pouring out a torrent of words, in which Keilin featured prominently. A dispassionate observer would have had some difficulty in reconciling her descriptions of events with actuality or the boy's point of view. But Leyla was not dispassionate. And once, very long ago, she'd felt much the same way. So she let Shael finish her eruption, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and an arm to lean on, while they sat down on the sea chest together.
"It's all right, little sister. It's all right. He'll come back."
Shael sobbed and shook her head. "He won't. He . . . he's from the bottom of the gutter. His mother was . . . a prostitute. He's a thief. He should know as much about chivalry as I do about . . . sailing. But . . . the core sections show him as he sees himself. He's a small, small knight in this big suit of armor, on a white horse, fighting evil and dragons and rescuing damsels. And he wants to be big enough to fill that suit of armor."
She sniffed. "So, he says that commoners like him and my kind don't mix. But he'll take me to my father and then disappear. He just doesn't understand!"
"But I do, Shael. And I promise you . . . he said no, but he's been kicking himself every night."
"Are you sure . . . I mean, why?"
"Because he's a normal man, if a young one, and they're even randier and less logical at that stage. Also," she said wryly, "he's stopped following me about with his eyes. It's not often that I lose them like that."
She looked at the surprise and hope in Shael's eyes, seeing as well the unasked question. "No. I always left him to you. You'd clearly marked him as your prey. And I use sex for generating alliances. Taking him would have made you even more my enemy." She smiled. "Besides, to be honest, the poor boy was so frustrated, he would have done anything for me anyway."
"Do you . . . I mean . . . is sex always just a weapon?" Shael asked doubtfully
"Oh no," said Leyla, in a deep throaty voice, with the hungry smile of the tigress. "It can be . . . delicious. Shall I show you?" she said, putting a hand on Shael's inner thigh.
She gave a shriek of laughter as Shael jumped, startled. "There. That's got you to stop feeling quite so sorry for yourself. Now, let's plan your stalking of your flighty knight. You can sit down again. I have had girl lovers, but they were all willing and eager ones. And quite frankly, dear, organizing your chase is more fun. I've never done that before. Now, first off you've got to get talking to him again. He's been really miserable since we rescued those folk. He needs someone to talk to. Go and find him. Be nice . . . for a change. But first," she looked at Shael's face critically, "let's do some repairs."
She found him at the stern rail, looking out at the trailing bubbles, and the lazily following gulls. His shoulders were hunched, and he failed to react to her approach. He was normally so wary that she couldn't come within yards of him without him noticing. This time she had to touch him lightly on the arm before he jumped like a startled cat.
"Careful. You'll end up in the sea, and the captain's in such a hurry to get out of here I don't know how keen he'd be on turning around to pick you up."
He managed a small smile, which, as it failed to extend to his eyes, was a parody of his normal grin. "It wouldn't matter. I can't swim anyway. I'd be drowned before they could get back."
"Then I'd have to jump in after you. And I've just washed my hair." She smiled at him, one of her devastating, saved-for-the-occasion smiles, which she had practiced so often in front of the mirror.
He sighed. "What can I do for you this time, Princess?"
It hit her like a douche of cold water. His reaction to her smile was to assume she wanted something. She looked down, bit her lip slightly, and looked vulnerable. Had she but known it, she looked far more beautiful like that than in one of her studied smiles. "Nothing . . . only you seemed so miserable, and I was feeling bad about the way I've been treating you lately. I . . . I just wanted us to be friends again."
He put his arm around her shoulder. It was working, she thought triumphantly. He was quiet for a long time, still staring into the sea. Finally he sighed. "I'm sorry, Kim. I can't explain."
Heartened by the familiar name, she touched his arm lightly. Her voice was gentle, quiet, "Try."
He turned from the sea, and looked into her eyes. Finally he spoke. "It's this mind thing. This psi. I . . . I sometimes get pictures . . . or feelings to do something. Not often. It's just this dread that if I don't . . ." He looked at the sea again. "With the people in that boat. I knew just how thirsty and desperate they were . . . how hopeless."