Brother of the Dragon by Paul B. Thompson and Tonya C. Cook Page B

out.”
    “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”
    “Once we fake Yala-tene, you’ll have your pick of girls, Zan. Keep your mind on the Master’s will till then.”
    He looked straight at the window where Beramun was peeping. “I will have what I will have. Neither you nor the Master need worry about it.”
    Beramun shrank back from the window. Roki clutched her leg, inquiring with large, frightened eyes. Beramun wanted to run, but a flood of light appeared from the open door of the hut as Zannian’s mother hobbled away.
    The women crouched low beneath the window. When the door flap closed again, Beramun moved. Before she could recover her spear, Zannian threw the shutter open, lamp in hand. Beramun was caught in a patch of soft yellow light. She froze, transfixed by the sudden illumination. Roki slunk away in the shadows, unseen.
    “I thought I saw someone,” Zannian said, his youthful face flushed. “What are you doing here?”
    “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, not without irony. “I thought I’d walk around and see the rest of the camp.”
    “Not a wise idea. The camp isn’t safe at night. Come inside.”
    Zannian waited until she started toward the door, then he closed the shutter. Beramun knew if she ran, he’d overtake her before she could reach the trees. With a discreet wave to Roki, she continued to the door. Zannian was there, holding the hide flap open for her. She ducked under his arm and entered.
    It was very warm inside, a condition aggravated by the heat of the flaming lamps. A sweet aroma she couldn’t identify hung in the air. Zannian sat down on the floor and bade her do likewise. He watched her closely as she sat, his guileless face betraying an obvious appreciation for her looks, dirty though she was.
    “How long were you out there?”
    She wouldn’t answer.
    “It doesn’t matter. I’m pleased to see you,” he said, finally breaking his gaze and taking up a gourd. He poured a golden liquid from the gourd into a small clay cup. He held it out to her, and she realized this was the source of the sweet smell.
    “Try it. We make it from the honey we collect from the hives.”
    Beramun took the cup but waited until she saw Zannian pour himself another measure and drink it. She held the cup to her lips and sipped. The stuff tasted as sweet as it smelled but burned as it slid down her throat. Beramun coughed and coughed.
    Zannian grinned. “Don’t let the sweet smell fool you. Mead’s strong.”
    Eyes filling with tears, she set the cup down. He refilled both cups.
    “You can’t escape, Beramun,” he said suddenly.
    Her eyes met his. “I wasn’t —”
    “Yes, you were. You figured out we put tane pollen in the slaves’ evening meal. Last night you didn’t eat yours to test your notion, and tonight you tried to escape.”
    Her incredulity was so obvious that he smiled.
    Beramun was suddenly struck by a strange thought. Tidied up, Zannian would be handsome. His smile, like a conjurer pleased with a trick, gave his face a whole new aspect. At the river, he’d given her his blanket. He’d saved her from Kukul and risked the dragon’s wrath by defending her. Was he a good man in spite of himself?
    “Nothing happens in Almurk I don’t know about,” Zannian said. “I was raised from the earliest age to rule this land, and I shall.”
    The odd moment was shattered. Beramun shook her head, angry for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts, even for a moment. This was the man who’d led the murderers of her father, mother, and kinsmen!
    He mistook her gesture for disbelief of his grand claim. “I will,” he insisted, “and you can be mine, Beramun – mate to the chief of all the plains.”
    “Why do you keep after me?” she snapped. “Aren’t there girls here whose families you did not destroy?”
    “My master and my mother taught me to take only the best,” said Zannian, unmoved by her rebuke. He tossed back his mead. His cheeks reddened. “You’re the most