She fell silent, gazing off towards the southern horizon where a heavy cloud bank could be seen, signalling an uncomfortable night, not that I expected to sleep much lying by her side. There was more grey in her hair now, I saw, watching it swirl in the wind.
“Just one word,” she said in a faint voice. “‘Slave.’”
• • •
As I had predicted, sleep proved elusive. The sea grew turbulent come nightfall, the wind rising to lash the clouded glass of the porthole with rain and howl through the myriad channels in the fabric of this ship. Fornella lay on her back, breathing slow and regular. I lay on my side, turned towards the hull. I had removed my shoes but was otherwise fully clad whilst she was naked, sloughing off her clothes without the slightest flicker of embarrassment, slipping into the bed beside me as I turned my back. We lay in silence for the better part of an hour, robbed of rest by the wind and the sheer oddness of our circumstance.
Finally, she said, “Do you hate me, my lord?”
“Hatred requires passion,” I replied.
“Ah, The Cantos of Gold and Dust, verse twenty. Don’t you think it a trifle conceited to constantly quote your own work?”
“The verse was drawn from an ancient ode sung by the tribes of the western mountains. As noted in my introduction.”
She gave a soft laugh. “So I do not stir your passion? Hardly surprising, given your preferences. Still, a woman accustomed to male admiration can’t help but feel somewhat slighted.” I felt her shift behind me, moving to lie on her side. “Who was he? The man you said you loved?”
“I will not discuss that with you.”
Something in my tone must have held sufficient warning because she gave a sigh of amused frustration before persisting. “I may have something to stir your passion, at least as far as it relates to your lust for knowledge. A small nugget of information concerning the Ally.”
I gritted my teeth, hard, wondering if I didn’t in fact hate her after all. I sat up, turning to find her regarding me with head tilted on her pillow, the gloom sufficient to hide all but the gleam of her eyes. “Then tell me,” I said.
“The name,” she insisted.
I rose, turning my back to swing my legs off the bed. “Seliesen Maxtor Aluran,” I said.
