Tristakinnia came up to Frey from behind, the warrior was looking down from the balcony, with his head touchingly resting on his hand like a child. The woman smiled. She has a handsome husband, probably the most handsome man in the world. But probably the cruelest and heartless. The woman put her hand on his shoulder. She remembered how she had nearly suffocated that afternoon when Frey had dragged her out of the dining room. He took her into the throat, hissing, telling her what her mouth was for, and that if she dared to interrupt or call him down again, he would make sure that she used her mouth only for its intended purpose. The excitement made her shudder, even as remembering. Frey was cruel, but it’s like he melted the mind. Frey turned to her. The light blue eyes looked blank, all the charm of childishness was gone. Tristakinnia didn’t remember anymore when he had been looking at her differently, when his eyes had had an indescribable hue that had been warming her in any bitter cold. Frey had shaved off the beard he had worn in the North because it was too hot here. The man's blond hair was now completely braided in two braids so that it would not be so hot. It made him look younger, so much younger, the woman felt older even. Tristakinnia smiled.
“Let’s go to bed?”
Frey stood up.
He put his arm around her and led her into the room.
“Where are the children?” she suddenly took alarm.
“Dagaz is in the cradle, I think,” Frey said, smiling.
Tristakinnia couldn’t but kissed her husband in the corner of the lip.
“And Lima!”
“What's going to happen to her?” – Frey waved off “She's asleep in her room.”
“Well, you saw the way that boy had looked at her, and she's such a gentle girl…”
“Aivaz is quite capable of protecting her. And your daughter has a very sensitive ear.”
“She’s your daughter also,” the woman said.
Frey chuckled as he fell onto the bed in the bedroom.
“Frey...” called Tristakinnia, bit her lip, wondering whether to talk about it.
The man was taking his clothes off lazily, without getting out of bed. It was also uncomfortable here in Northern clothes. The next day, he would try to wear local ones.
“Do you think the Sultan really can have no tricks in his conversations?”
“He wants us to understand what a developed, intelligent world this is, Tristakinnia,” Frey said with a grin, “And if the king's family gets into the local... husk, they'll tell Iceland to accept the new power. The Hevding family will be listened because they think your father has some clever plan. It doesn't occur to them that he betrayed his hometown.”
Tristakinnia frowned. Frey thought her father was a traitor, and he didn't want to listen to any explanations. There was no excuse for what he had done.
“So why did you go then, Frey?! Why didn’t you go to the mountains, and gather…”
“Shut up, you fool,” Frey hissed, leaning toward her sharply, “And be grateful that I'm here, looking for this clever plan so that the northerners don't hang your father by the balls when they understand the real reason.”
The man undressed and went to the bath. Tristakinnia swallowed back the lump of tears.
Frey sank into the hot, scented water, let out a groan, and closed his eyes. He took his hair out of braids and ran a hand through it. There was something he liked about this country. Baths, for example. The fact that women were silent and didn’t speak out of business. The warmth and fertility of the earth. Coffee, chocolate. The rich taste of food. Seraglios. Didn't like their god, their Nasihat. Frey had learnt larabavian yet at home, with one libian slave, with him also he had learned about Nasihat and then began to read it in the original already here. The northerners wouldn’t accept the local god. They would stay unbelievers. And Osnan would forcibly proselyte them. What could prevent it? Prevent for centuries. What could make Osnan afraid of proselyting the northerners? Frey didn't think it was too much for one. He was used to being responsible for his family, for himself, for his native land, so he was looking for a way out. There was another reason why Frey was here, stayed here, and sought an opportunity of living together with Osnan. Iska.
Frey remembered one of the moments of Iskander's slavery and groaned in pain, with his groin aching. Yellow, animal eyes looked hunted and inviting, Iskander lay on the couch, involuntarily moaning in desire. Frey polished his body with his palms, rubbed the slave's penis, which was rawed to bloodstains. The Viking grinned, doused into the water, and surfaced.
The man came out of the bath and went to bed. Tristakinnia pretended to be asleep. Frey lay down beside her. Strumpet. She slept with Iska. Frey was sure of that. The children were his, but everyone knew that the mark of the man who had struck her was shown in children. Aivaz is a strong and noble warrior. But Lima is a bint. That’s why she gave her mother out, was born with eyes of Iska. And why would she? Neither the Torisazes nor the Hevdings had such eyes. It was difficult to say anything about Dagaz since he was only a few months old.
The man fell asleep, lightly and quickly. Before that, read a prayer that in the dream a spirit would walk and listen to what someone was planning. But the spirit flew in its own way. Wherever it wanted.
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