CHAPTER EIGHT Irrien walked from his new chambers, pleased as only a conqueror could be. He strode with the confidence of a man with no rivals, leaving behind him slaves taken from the cream of the Empire’s noblewomen. Last night he’d celebrated, and it was true what the songs said: stolen wine always tasted better. He very carefully didn’t touch the aching wound in his shoulder. He’d cleaned it and bound it, hiding it away beneath his dark tunic. For today, and every day, he would be the strong leader that his people needed. He would play the part until he healed enough to be strong again. There was an entourage of hangers-on waiting as soon as he came out of his new bedchambers, of course. It was one of the curses of a leader that a man couldn’t be alone, because there were always tho