She struck again.
The commissioner's voice slashed harshly, the fog of drink long gone: "Ylana! You'll kill him—!"
"You—!" The girl's contempt was a writhing, burning thing. "Where were you last night, you kabat-soaked sot? You, with your talk of duty, your fat-puffed pomp—"
Her father's voice went clipped and tight. "Enough, woman! Raider or not, this man's my prisoner. Tomorrow I'll ship him on to the Venus headquarters. He'll die in the slan-chambers there; not by your hand." The room echoed with the flat slap of his palm cracking down on the banquet table. "Atak! Get his tunic! Send him to his cell."
"Yes, Excellency...." The Malya let go Jarl Corvett's arms.
Blinking the blood from his eyes, the raider stood swaying. Still numb, still not quite believing, he stared at golden Ylana, in her scarlet stylon gown.
Now, her hair hung down, no longer nimbus. Her lips were pale, and her breasts rose and fell too fast. Madness gleamed in her dark-circled eyes.
She snatched the tunic from Atak. "Here! Let me...." Whirling, she ran to Jarl and thrust the wadded garment into his shackled hands. "Brave raider—!"
She spat full in his face.
The Malya aide caught her arm and jerked her back. "If you were not rey Gundre's daughter—" He cursed under his breath. "Get out! You disgrace us!"