"Oh, fine." Garion laughed. "Now my wife is consorting with butterflies."
"I'll do whatever it takes in order to get a kiss," she replied, giving him an arch look.
"If it's kisses you want, I'll take care of that for you," he said.
"That's an interesting thought. I think I'd like one right now. My other lover seems to have lost interest." She pointed at the butterfly, which had settled with quivering wings on a bush near the foot of the pool. "Come and kiss me, Garion."
"You're right in the middle of the deepest part of the pool," he pointed out.
"So?"
"I don't suppose you'd consider coming out."
"You offered kisses, Garion. You didn't make any conditions."
Garion sighed, stood up, and began to remove his clothing. "We're both going to regret this," he predicted. "A cold in the summertime lasts for months."
"You're not going to catch cold, Garion. Come along now."
He groaned and then waded manfully into the icy water. "You're a cruel woman, Ce'Nedra," he accused, wincing at the shocking chill.
"Don't be such a baby. Come over here."
Gritting his teeth, he plowed through the water toward her, stubbing his toe on a large rock in the process. When he reached her, she slid her cold, wet little arms around his neck and glued her lips to his. Her kiss was lingering and it pulled him slightly off balance. He felt her lips tighten slightly as she grinned impishly, even in the midst of the kiss, and then without any warning, she lifted her legs, and her weight pulled him under.
He came up sputtering and swearing.
"Wasn't that fun?" she giggled.
"Not really"' he grumbled. "Drowning isn't one of my favorite sports." She ignored that. "Now that you're all wet, you might as well swim with me."
They swam together for about a quarter of an hour and then emerged from the pool, shivering and with their lips turning blue.
"Make a fire, Garion," Ce'Nedra said through chattering teeth.
"I didn't bring any tinder," he said "or a flint."
"Do it the other way, then."
"What other way?" he asked blankly.
"You know-" She made a sort of mysterious gesture.
"Oh. I forgot about that."
"Hurry, Garion. I'm freezing."
He gathered some twigs and fallen branches, cleared a space in the moss, and concentrated his will on the pile of wood. At first, a small tendril of smoke arose, then a tongue of bright orange flame. Within a few minutes, a goodly little fire was crackling just beside the moss-covered hummock upon which the shivering Ce'Nedra was huddled.
"Oh, that's much better," she said, stretching her hands out to the fire. "You're a useful person to have around, my Lord."
"Thank you, my Lady. Would my Lady like to consider putting on some clothes?"
"Not until she's dry, she wouldn't. I hate pulling on dry clothes over wet skin."
"Let's hope nobody comes along, then. We're not really dressed for company, you know."
"You're so conventional, Garion."
"I suppose so," he admitted.
"Why don't you come over here beside me?" she invited. "It's much warmer here."
He couldn't really think of any reason why he shouldn't, so he joined her on the warm moss.
"See," she said, putting her arms about his neck. "Isn't this much nicer?" She kissed him -a serious kind of kiss that made his breath catch in his throat and his heart pound. When she finally released her grip about his neck, he looked around the glade nervously. A fluttering movement near the foot of the pool caught his eye. He coughed, looking slightly embarrassed.
"What's the matter?" she asked him.
"I think that butterfly is watching," he said with a slight flush.
"That's all right." she smiled, sliding her arms about his neck and kissing him again.
The world seemed unusually quiet as spring gently slipped into summer that year. The secession of the Vordues crumbled under the onslaughts of the armored Mimbrate "brigands", and the Vordue family finally capitulated, pleading with an almost genuine humility to be readmitted to the Empire. While they were not fond of Varana's tax collectors, they all ran out into the streets to greet his legions as they returned.
The news from Cthol Murgos was sketchy at best, but it appeared that things in the far south remained at an impasse, with Kal Zakath's Malloreans holding the plains and Urgit's Murgos firmly entrenched in the mountains.
Periodic reports forwarded to Garion by Drasnian Intelligence seemed to indicate that the re-emergent Bear-cult was doing little more than milling around out in the countryside.
Garion enjoyed this respite from crisis and, since there was no really pressing business, he took to sleeping late, sometimes lying in bed in a kind of luxurious doze until two or three hours past sunrise.
On one such morning about midsummer, he was having an absolutely splendid dream. He and Ce'Nedra were leaping from the loft in the barn at Faldor's farm into the soft hay piled below. He was awakened rather rudely as his wife bolted from the bed and ran into an adjoining chamber where she was violently and noisily sick.
"Ce'Nedra!" he exclaimed, jumping out of bed to follow her. "What are you doing?"
"I'm throwing up," she replied, raising her pale face from the basin she was holding on her knees.
"Are you sick?"
"No," she drawled sarcastically. "I'm doing it for fun."
"I'll get one of the physicians," he said, grabbing, up a robe.
"Never mind."
"But you're sick."
"Of course I am, but I don't need a physician."
"That doesn't make any sense, Ce'Nedra. If you're sick, you need a doctor."
"I'm supposed to be sick," she told him.
"What? "
"Don't you know anything, Garion? I'll probably get sick every morning for the next several months."
"I don't understand you at all, Ce'Nedra."
"You're impossibly dense. People in my condition always get sick in the morning."
"Condition? What condition?"
She rolled her eyes upward almost in despair. "Garion," she said with exaggerated patience, "do you remember that little problem we had last fall? The problem that made us send for Lady Polgara?"
"Well -yes."
"I'm so glad. Well, we don't have that problem any more."
He stared at her, slowly comprehending. "You mean- ?"