from the farthest meadows accompanied by Kevin the barbarian. Having forgotten she had sent other than a runner slave on the errand, Mara's temper had not improved with the delay, nor at the realization her judgment had been clouded by emotion. Hungry, but too nettled to eat, she waited in her study, while a poet whose verse she had not listened to for the better part of two hours read from a seat on the bare wooden floor. Mara waved him silent each time she heard footsteps in the corridor. The poet resumed with feigned patience each time the tread turned out to be that of a passing servant. If not for the great Lady's patronage, he would be on the streets in Sulan-Qu' trying to eke out a living composing verse for passersby. When the expected party arrived at last, he graciously bowed at his dismissal; Mara was generous in her ways, and if he felt slighted by her inattention through the afternoon, she would make up the discourtesy to him later.
Cued by striding footfalls, accompanied by the quick patter of feet as a much shorter servant attempted to keep up with the long-legged barbarian, Mara bade the pair enter before either had a chance to knock. The nearly incapacitated scribe pushed the screen open, his face bright red as he gasped, 'Lady . . . Kevin.'
Too preoccupied to be contrite, Mara dismissed him to rest and leave her alone with her slave. When the screen clicked shut, she regarded Kevin, framed in the space before the doorway. For a long moment neither spoke, then Mara made a curt gesture for the barbarian to step closer.
Kevin complied, deeply suntanned and freckled over the nose, his blue eyes in startling contrast to his darkened skin.
His hair had bleached red-gold, and the untrimmed ends fell curling to his shoulders. He wore no shirt. Hours spent digging with his work crews had left him callused and heavily muscled across the back and arms. The intensity of the summer's heat had taken its due: his precious Midkemian-style trousers had been hacked short at the thigh, and his knees showed old scars and new scratches from the briers. Absorbed with taking in details, and unprepared for the leap of her heart as she saw him again after so long, Mara did not anticipate his anger.
Kevin bowed with insulting brevity. He locked gaze with her and gestured in his un-Tsurani fashion. 'What do you want of me, Lady?' He fairly spat out the title.
Mara stiffened on her cushions and the colour left her face. 'How dare you speak so to me?' she whispered, barely able to speak.
'And why should I not?' Kevin shot back. 'You push me about like a chess . . . shah pawn! Here! There! Now here again, because it suits you, but never one word of why, and never one second of warning! I've done as you've bid- not for love of you, but to save the lives of my countrymen.'
Startled into the defensive, Mara broke poise and found herself near apology, as she attempted to justify her acts.
'But I gave you promotion to slave master and allowed you charge of your Midkemian companions.' She gestured at the slates. 'You used your authority to see them comfortable. I see they have been eating jigabird and needra steak and fresh fruits and vegetables along with their thyza mush.'
Kevin threw up his hands. 'If you work your men at heavy labour, you've got to feed them, or they weaken and take ill.
That's common sense. And those fields are a lousy place to be, filled with stinging flies and insects, and all manner of six-legged pests. Any kind of cut gets infected in this climate.
You think my men have been enjoying banquets - you try sleeping on the ground out there, where the dust chokes your nostrils, and what passes for slugs and snails on this godforsaken world invading your blankets after dark. And when you do rid your kit of guests, you lie awake unable to catch a breath of air.'
Mara's eyes darkened. 'You will all sleep wherever I bid, and keep your complaints to yourselves.'
Kevin tossed back his untrimmed bangs, the better to glower at her. 'Your damned trees got cleared, and the fences are nearly complete - give me another week. That's something, considering our Tsurani counterparts wilt and take siesta every time the sun crosses the zenith.'
'That does not give you leave to take liberties,' Mara