Shortly after Arlomë had left, Arshalous had stood up abruptly and strode to the priests' table, where she selected a low seat that gave her a fair vantage point to watch the Emissary.
The king was trying to teach him how to eat a fig, and she smiled a little as she watched the pair. Even the king seemed happier in the man's presence. She traced the rim of her wine goblet as she stared into his blue grey eyes. What kind of country did he come from? What customs did they have? And...why, did such a country so far away care about little Pashtia? The question bothered her...she didn't know why. She took a quick swallow of her wine and savoured the sweet poignant flavour....how different it was from Korak's wine, she thought with bitter distaste.
A troup of musicians filed into the hall, and struck up a soft tune. Men beat a slow rhythm upon fish skinned drums, while girls played upon wooden flutes. Though the musicians did not dance, their bodies swayed to the rhythm of the music like bulrushed played by the wind upon a lazy river.
Arshalous flicked her eyes back to the Emissary as she took a small sip of wine. Did he like the music they played for the entertainment of the guests? She sincerely hoped so....it would not due to offend the Emissary, even if the offense was trivial.
The Emissary and the King had actually coaxed Morgôs, the Pashtian general, out of his usual taciturn mood. She leaned forward slightly and strained her ears so that she might hear snatches of their conversation, all the while silently cursing the merry chatter of voices around her.
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