“What would have been dangerous,” I said, “would have been not knowing that Jakoven was moving against my family. For that you are welcome to stay here until you grow old and rot.” My words eased her and she allowed me to pull the covers over her again. I waited until her breathing slowed before I touched her cheek.

She wasn’t objectively beautiful—she had her father’s hawklike nose for one thing. On her father it was distinguished. On her it was . . . intimidating. Her face was all angles except for her slightly slanted eyes and overlarge mouth. She was too tall as well, and not in the slim-fragile manner of most tall women. Instead, she was lithe yet muscular, stronger, I daresay, than many men.

To me she was glorious, even battered as she was. For the past four years I had measured every woman I met against her, to their detriment. Now she was here, in my bed.

TISALAPROGRESSED RAPIDLY FROM INVALID TOcranky and bored. Sympathetic, I brought out a chessboard to help her pass the time.

“My father taught me,” she said apologetically as I stared at the board as if that would explain how she beat me faster than Oreg ever had.

I gave her an annoyed look, sat back on my chair, and shook my head. “You never apologize for winning, that just increases your opponent’s humiliation.”

A slow smile crossed her face. “I know.”

I shook my head again. “No. When you win, you want to crush your opponent, not just humiliate him. A humiliated opponent just gets vicious, a crushed opponent crawls off and never bothers you again. Watch.”

I took a deep breath, then hit the table with sudden violence, scattering hapless chess pieces on the floor. “Hah!” I bellowed. “Doyou call that agame ? My grandmother’s dog played better on its deathbed.Fifteen moves! Teach you to believe it when someone claims to play alittle chess!” I subsided slowly.

Tisala had flinched at my first move, but it had been reflex only, and even when I loomed over her, she was relaxed in her chair. It had taken me weeks to get my father’s warhorse to trust me that much—but Tisala had only been abused for a short time.

“Subtle, Hurog, subtle like a battle-ax,” she said. “My father taught me better manners than that—but I suppose we must take into consideration that you are a Shavig barbarian and given to fits and starts.”

I collapsed back into my chair and put my hand over my heart as if she had wounded me.

She’d been here for five days and looked much better than she had at first. Her left hand was healing well. Though it would never be as strong as it had been, she’d be able to hold a shield or use a bow with it.