Eloise

"And, who knows, perhaps even Earth itself!"

Chapter Three

Eloise had taken special care, setting out a tray of tiny cakes, crisp things adorned with abstract designs and bright with touches of color. Another tray bore goblets of fine crystal placed close to decanters of sombre red and vivid blue wine. The liquids of forgetfulness, thought Adara bleakly. Forgetfulness and a false courage; the poison which numbed minds and made even the prospect of imminent conversion a bearable concept. Protection against what was to come. A defense for himself at least, though the woman did not seem to need such aid. He glanced at where she sat, lounging in the deep chair at the far side of the room; the curtains drawn back from the window at her side to reveal the city beyond, the spires and pinnacles, the rounded domes, the streets and buildings which stood in their mathematically precise arrangement, coldly white beneath the pale glow of the stars.

She said, "If the sight bothers you the curtains can be closed."

"No." He dragged his eyes from the window. "It does not bother me."

"Not the darkness? The cold?"

Shaking his head he looked directly at her, studying her as he had done a thousand times before; more conscious now than at any time before of the influence she had had on him, the way in which she had altered his perception. Conscious, too, of her beauty which sat framed in the arms of the chair.

She was tall, thin fabrics covering the long, lithe lines of her figure; the material enhancing the swelling contours of hip and thigh, the narrowness of her waist, the twin prominences of her breasts. Her neck was slender, her face strong with finely set bone; the eyes deep, watchful beneath thick and level brows. Tonight she had dressed her hair in a rising crest which exposed the tiny ears, the gems at their lobes, more gems glittering in the ebon mane. The nails of her high-arched feet naked in thin sandals were painted a flaring crimson; the color matching that on her fingers, her lips.

Hard as he searched he could find no trace of the trepidation which surely must possess her, the mounting dread which threatened to engulf him.

An animal, he decided, and envied her the cool self-possession which clung to her like a cloud. A strong, female animal who should have borne many children-he was disturbed by the train of thought. In Instone, such things were not the province of those who lived under the aegis of Camolsaer.

Camolsaer!

It was all around, everywhere, watching, calculating, omniscient-inescapable!

He felt the sudden dryness in his mouth and looked longingly at the wine, yet the formalities had to be observed.

Stiffly he said, "My thanks, Eloise, for your invitation. This is not a good time to be alone."

"Then why suffer it?"

A question which she had asked before, many times; and to which, as now, he could find no answer. Because it had always been so. Because things did not change. Because instilled pride maintained the composure which was a part of his heritage. Why were her questions so direct? The answers so difficult to find?

Weakly he said, "You are a stranger. You would not understand."

"A stranger?" The musical resonance of her voice held an acid amusement. "You say that, after so long?"

"You were not born here."

"True, thank God. But does that assume a lack of comprehension?" She rose as he hesitated, the thin fabrics she wore streaming behind her as she stepped towards him; the scent of her perfume signaled her proximity. "Adara! My friend!"

Their hands touched, softness against softness, the delicate fingers no harder than his own. Her body too, he knew, held a more than equal strength. Once it had disturbed him; now there was no time or room for concern. And yet he was grateful for her presence.

His hand shook a little as he reached for the wine.

"So soon, Adara?"

"You deny me?"

"Nothing-I owe you too much for that. But do you think it wise?"

"You tell me that. You provided it."

"To celebrate."

He lifted the lambent fluid trapped in its container of crystal and looked at the vivid blueness. One glass would do no harm. Two even and, if things went against him, what did it matter how much he swallowed? And he needed the strength it could lend.

"To celebrate," he said, mocking her tone. "To show my gratitude? To what? The Goddess of Luck you have so often mentioned? You see, my dear, how you have corrupted me. In this place there is no such thing as luck."

"Nor guts either, from what I've seen!" Immediately she was contrite. "I'm sorry. You can't help being what you are and, God knows, I've little cause to berate you. It's just that, at times, I-"

"Will you join me?"

"No." She had sensed the raw emotion within him, the turmoil which could be controlled only by an effort. "Drink if it pleases you, my friend. Drink and be happy for tomorrow we die."

Only the wine stopped the words; the savage, biting words which sprang from the outraged core of his being. For her to have so broken all accepted convention, at a time like the present!