She gave me a goblet, of some transparent substance clasped in bright metal, and brimming with a red liquor. I took it with a bow, and she lifted her own goblet. As we drank together, I had another impression of Doriza's studying, wondering eyes. Did the warrior-woman, appointed as my military aide, disapprove? But the wine was excellent, and my spirits rose.
"Come," said Elonie. Her arm was through mine again, warm and gently urging. She led me toward a niche, set deep and shadowy into the wall. There was a divan with cushions, and a table with cups and flagons for drinking. The music had begun again, and some of the people were dancing together.
"Yandro is gracious to grant me these moments alone," purred Elonie. "Yandro is overwhelming."
"Can't we drop the third person?" I asked. "I do not feel much taste for formalities."
She clutched at that with a little cry of gladness and her eyes and smile were radiant. "You offer me intimacy!" she exclaimed. "It's honor—it thrills—" She lifted her glass. "Drink again, I beg you! You and I shall drink to each other."
"Why not?" I said, and touched her glass with mine. "To you, Elonie."
"To you, Yandro, my dear lord!"
The wine was galvanizingly strong. I felt my ears ring a little, and—why not admit it?—Elonie's nearness and adulation were wine in themselves. She leaned toward me on the divan, so that our bare shoulders touched. Her lips, full and trembling, were very close.
"Yandro," she whispered. "Yandro ... you could make me happy, and yourself happy, too...."