She's lying there, all aglow in the moonlight, half turned over. I'm not worthy to look at her face, her creamy brown skin, her full lips tinged with purple, her flaring nostrils. All that I can see of her now is her lustrous black hair. It gleams like moonlight on the ocean. She's so lithe and strong and confident and perfect. I could almost compete with her in the purity of her emotion. I admire her in that torturing, smothering way that a master overwhelms the senses of a slave, and she despises me as only a master can.
And to make matters ever so much worse, Bree is courting her. Don't laugh; I mean it. Watching the preening way that he struts around, I've finally come to understand pride. Not the pride of a noble birth either, the mean, sneaking sort, the I know something you don't know kind. And his voice when he's speaking of me, it hurts me with a thin, sharp sort of pain. Less of a blow from a fist; more of a crack from a whip. It's strange that I could possibly be jealous of a horse. But I suppose it's no stranger than the idea that a horse could speak to begin with.
He must think that I don't see him when we've stopped for the night, the way that he rests his long chin on her arched shoulder when she dismounts. The way that he snuffs the air as she passes by without speaking just as if I don't exist. He doesn't even say 'goodnight' to me anymore, because they're still talking by the time I fall asleep.
Her eyes cut me. She's looking at something else, and they land on me accidentally before she snatches her gaze from my bowed head. I feel the heat from her stare for just a moment, and it sears me just like a brand. Just another scar. You'll never see them, Aravis. I know how to hide them well.
I don't look her way while we ride. I don't want to see her face harden in that disgusted way. I don't want to see the effects of my presence on her royal highness's composure. After all, she is a noblewoman, even if she's just a runaway right now. The only time that I can truly gaze upon her is when she sleeps, the way that she's sleeping now. I've never seen such a self-sufficient woman. I doubt that I ever will again.
She stirs in her restless sleep, eyes suddenly opening to meet my own. But only for a moment, as her lips curl with a sneer and she rolls over, presenting me with her well-formed back.
Just one more wound. Don't worry, Aravis, I'll never tell.
I've only been to Tashbaan with Arsheesh a few times, selling fresh fish. We never visited the city for the sake of pleasure. He was too practical of a man for such frivolity, and I remember not liking the city very much as a young boy. I suppose it's because of the smell – an overwhelming combination of hot sweat and garbage, pungent food, rotten food, and unwashed bodies. It's quite distasteful. And I'm not the only one who feels this way. Aravis looks sterner than I've ever seen her. It must be quite a comedown for her, actually walking the streets with us normal folks. She seemed to get quite a kick when that soldier hit me, though.
We've made a human wall now, as a herald passes by, shouting for us to move. That's one other thing I never liked about Tashbaan, that you learned quickly to get out of the way of nobles, even to the point of endangering your own well-being to do so. As a child, I watched as an old man, not much older than Arsheesh himself, was first struck down with a blow from a spear, and then trampled in the ensuing crush right before my eyes. I marveled that no one even cared enough to move the body after the lord went by. Arsheesh seemed quite unmoved by pity, offering no answer to my naïve questions. I didn't sleep very well that night.
"Make way for the barbarian lords!"
The announcement seems out of place, as a group of fair-skinned men come strolling by in a happy, carefree manner. They don't remind me of savages. Their very presence causes that quiet voice to whisper in my ears again. See? There are other happy people in this world other than just you. Watching them walk in a natural, unrestrained motion, free from the pretentious air of mystery that seems that suits the average Calormene so well, my mind drifts away in a hopeless dream, wondering just what it would be like to be with them, truly loving life.
So maybe that's why when they grab me and haul me away, I don't really have much to say about it.