Sabre had a powerful urge to tell the strange man to go away, without knowing why. When he had contemplated finding somewhere more comfortable to sleep than the floor, Tassin’s suggestion that one of the serving girls might provide him with a bed had been welcome. Their unwholesome interest in him had confused and repelled him, however, and he had decided that it was not such a good idea. Now, the young Queen’s obvious naiveté sparked a whole new set of strange and hitherto unknown emotions. He stood up to face the stranger, who topped him by a good eight centimetres.
“She’s not interested.”
The man raked him with a scornful glance. “I see no wedding ring on her finger, and I was addressing her, not you.”
Tassin’s wide-eyed confusion had given way to a calculating look that Sabre knew boded ill. Whatever was going on in her pea-brain, he was sure he was not going to like it. His suspicions were confirmed when she smiled at the stranger.
“I do not see why not.”
Sabre’s eyes narrowed as comprehension dawned. “Tassin, tell him to push off.”
“No.”
The man smiled, revealing white teeth. “Ah, My Lady is most courteous. What would you like? Wine? I hear they have an excellent vintage here.”
Tassin’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling.
Sabre toyed with the idea of leaving her to deal with the situation herself, a pleasant prospect on initial contemplation, but spoilt by the fact that he would eventually be called upon to extricate her from it. Far better to nip it in the bud, and perhaps avoid a conflict, he decided.
He turned to the man. “I said she’s not interested. She’s just a girl, and in my charge.”
The Olgaran shrugged. “She’s not that young. She can decide for herself.” He reached for the back of a chair to seat himself, and Sabre’s hand flashed out to grip his wrist, preventing him from completing his action.
“I’m only going to tell you once, now beat it.”
The Olgaran’s smile vanished, and he drew a curved knife from his belt so fast that it seemed to appear in his other hand by magic, pointed at Sabre’s chest. “I think it’s you who should leave.”
Sabre eyed the blade and shot Tassin a frown, which she met with a smirk.
He said, “I don’t want a fight.”
“Then you should leave,” the Olgaran replied.
“That’s not going to happen.”
The man’s eyes glinted. “I recommend you release my arm, unless you’d like to lose some fingers.”
The Olgaran’s chances of cutting through a cyber’s barrinium-reinforced phalanges were exactly nil, and on a modern world, a man would have had known better than to challenge a cyber. Sabre noted the growing interest of several nearby patrons, and decided that breaking the man’s wrist might arouse rather too much unwelcome interest in his ability to do so, as would the pugnacious Olgaran’s inability to slice off any of Sabre’s fingers. Clearly the man had no intention of backing down, and Sabre released him.
The innkeeper must have had a good nose for brewing fights, for he appeared beside Sabre and ordered them to take it outside. The Olgaran smiled again, tightly, and motioned for Sabre to precede him.