A Winter Night's Tale

 

The story is based on the part in Dragons of Winter Night, where it's said that Tika sewed flashy robes for Raistlin to perform in.

********************************************************

A Winter Night's Tale

Part I

The Port Balifor wind was frosty, and Tika Waylan quickened her steps to keep warm. The weather had been damply chill all day long, but now, towards the night, it had really started to deteriorate with the wind speed increasing and snow showers developing. Sharp pebbles of snow flew in the air horizontally and bit into Tika's cheeks as she walked with her shoulders hunched against the wind, holding to her chest a large package from the local clothes merchant.

All around her the noise of thumping feet and banging of doors echoed in the twilight as folk hurried toward the warmth of their homes. Tika gave a little, plaintive smile as she felt a tiny sting of homesickness. In her life everything had changed in a heartbeat; her childhood home had been burned down by the raging Dragonarmies and she had been forced to take on the life of a fugitive in a world torn by war. She never would have believed that she would see the things she'd seen on the road - mindless cruelty, heartbreaking famine, conscious indifference to suffering. Naively enough, she hadn't even believed a thing called war existed until it happened to herself.

Tika's melancholy did not last long. It was not in her nature to dwell on gloomy thoughts, and she was young and stubborn enough to believe she would easily outlive the war. What added to her merriness was the fact that, after she had trudged through a snowy uphill road, she could see the Pig and Whistle Tavern glow in the darkness, its windows lit and welcoming. Her new friends were waiting for her there; Goldmoon, Riverwind, Tanis... and, of course, Caramon. Her steps quickened even more, as did her heartbeat.

Passing under the familiar signboard that swung on rusty hinges over the doorway, creaking despairingly in the wind like a lost soul, Tika drew open the inn door and was immediately welcomed by the cheerful hum of voices and the wonderful smell of cooking fire.

Distracted from his task of polishing the counter with a rag by the sudden cold breeze, William Sweetwater, the owner of the tavern, cast his curious eyes to the door to see who had come in. Seeing it was Tika Waylan, the young pretty woman from Solace whom he genuinely liked, a wide smile appeared on his lips and he wildly beckoned for her to come closer.

"Top of the evening to you, Miss Tika," William greeted cheerfully, as Tika zigzagged her way through the crowd of clientele. "Weather gone bad?" he inquired, taking a glance at Tika's snow covered cloak.

"I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy," Tika replied with a smile, removing her gloves and hood. "Listen, William," she began, "I don't want to sound impatient, but the sewing kit I asked for earlier today -"

"- is waiting for you in your room," William quickly concluded with a grin, professional pride and happiness to be of service meeting in his voice.

"Really?" Tika exclaimed, delighted. "Oh, William, you're a real sweetheart."

William waved it away with his hand. "Nah, anything for my top clients."

Tika thanked the man heartily and said she wanted to get to work right away, promising William to take off her wet shoes and come down later for a hot drink to "keep the cold bugs away", as he charmingly put it. William's honest concern moved Tika deeply; she had taken quite a liking to the man, and not least because he reminded her a lot of his foster father.

Still smiling at William's words, Tika climbed the stairs to the upper floor of the inn, where the rooms of their six-member party were located. She opened the door to her cosy private chamber and in the darkness discerned the shape of the promised sewing basket that was waiting for her on the table. Almost bursting with excitement, Tika took off her shoes and cloak, shook off the remnants of snowflakes that clung to it and hung it upon the coat rack by the door.

After lighting the beautiful emerald colored table lamp that gave the room an atmospheric glow, Tika removed the brown wrapper from around her purchase, revealing a bundle of flaming red fabric. She studied the fabric for a while, admiringly stroking it with her hand. It was sumptuously smooth and had an elegant shine to it - she believed it would fit the purpose. Tika grinned. Finally she could do something she knew she was good at, instead of just clumsily swinging around a sword and putting everyone's heads in danger! She had never made a wizard's robe before, that was true, but she considered herself a skilled enough sewer, despite her young age. As Otik's only foster daughter, she had had her share of sewing and knitting.

With extreme care Tika unfolded the fabric and held it up in front of her, examining it with a tilted head and an appraising eye, determined to make it worthy of the amazing show Raistlin performed at the inn every other day. Raistlin, and Caramon too, had been dubious at first about the whole project - men always were when women presented them with an idea, Tika had noted - but when she had insisted that with the suitable fabric and Raistlin's measurements it would only take her one evening, they had eventually agreed to her suggestion.

But the fabric she was now holding certainly was of far better quality than agreed on. Tika knew men had no notion whatsoever about how much fabric cost, so, in that feminine certainty, she had taken much more of the pool money than was actually necessary or reasonable, and, without mentioning it to anyone, she had even added in a little of the personal earnings she'd made with her dancing. Truth be told, she didn't care so much about making a gorgeous robe for Raistlin than convincing his brother of her wonderful household skills. She wanted everything that she did to be perfect in Caramon's eyes.

Contently, Tika refolded the fabric and grabbed the wicker basket, making it hang from the crook of her elbow. She looked in the mirror on the wall and, for the incalculable time that day, frowned at her hair that she was in a constant war with. She corrected the wild red curls patiently and then patted her freckled cheeks. They at least had taken a nice pink tint from the cold weather that beautifully accentuated her green eyes. Tika smiled at her image, tentatively, in that certain practiced way that made her dimples visible.

She left the room and paced softly down the corridor with amorous butterflies in her stomach, following the gleam of moonshine that shone faintly through the illuminated windows, forming a pale path before her. They had stayed in the Pig and Whistle for little over two weeks now, but Tika still wasn't completely used to the splendour of the floor William had restricted for their private use in gratitude for the dramatic increase of money they provided him with. The wood-paneled corridor was lighted by luxurious, ornate wall lamps of Elven handicraft and adorned with thick, colorful rugs that absorbed the sound of Tika's bare feet. Even Riverwind had admitted, albeit reluctantly, that the royal comfort they never could have afforded otherwise was all thanks to Raistlin's magic show. And her dancing, as Tika smugly reminded herself.

Tika knocked at the door of the room the brothers lived in, more than eager to see Caramon. Trying in her mind a couple of different ways to say hello, she put the dimple smile back on her face and patted her hair again, certain that it had somehow been ruined after she last checked. She waited, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

After what seemed like a very long time, she heard the lock being turned slowly. The door opened a creak, and Tika found herself looking up into a pair of cold, golden eyes that rid her of her dazzling smile in a hurry.

Raistlin stared at her fiercely for a second, his hand buried in his robe pocket, his misshapen pupils deep black against the fiery irises. When he saw that it was only Tika, his tense posture relaxed - his hand came out of the pocket and the intense look of concentration in his eyes faded, turning into a look of pure irritation. "Yes?" he asked her then in a tone of conscious annoyance that made its message unequivocally clear - that she had managed to interrupt something important, the useless knucklehead that she was.

And hello to you too, Tika thought grumpily, her good mood gone. Reflexively, she squeezed the fabric to her chest as though it could somehow protect her from the mage's cold, unnverving stare. "The fabric," she blurted out. "I got it."

Raistlin looked at her expressionlessly. "And?"

"And if I measure you now, you'll be able to wear your robe tomorrow night."

Raistlin gave her and her basket an inspecting look. "Come on in, then," he finally agreed with a profoundly bored expression. He opened the door completely and bid her to enter with a graceful gesture of his arm.

With a muttered thank you, Tika brushed past Raistlin into the room.

As soon as she was in she froze in her tracks. She turned back abruptly to look at Raistlin. "But... your brother's not here," she stammered.

The mage closed the door and came to stand next to her. "What do you need him for?"

"Well, I..." Tika dropped her eyes to the floor and frowned. For some reason she felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I thought maybe he'd be the one to, uh, measure you," she muttered in explanation. She lifted the pack towards him and added, unnecessarily, "You know, for the robes."

She felt Raistlin stare at her piercingly. "I thought you were the sewer here, not him," he said in a tone that carried with it a slightly challenging edge.

"Yes. Well. This can wait, of course." Tika started to turn to leave, suddenly wanting to get out as soon as possible. She usually was perfectly charming in company, but somehow Raistlin always managed to bring out in her the scared little girl that she hated; the girl who was thrown in the wrong place at the wrong time, when she really should have been safely back in Solace, cleaning tables and serving spiced potatoes for the eating pleasure of local residents.

As Raistlin saw Tika's intention he put an immediate stop to her haste by grabbing her by the arm, causing the scared little girl in her to almost let out a shrill scream. "No, it can't," he said sharply. His fingers dug painfully in Tika's skin, and she yanked her arm in protest. Raistlin loosened his grip and let go of her. Then he said in a little more gentle tone, "You said I'd be able to wear them tomorrow, so I will wear them tomorrow."

Tika bit her cheek in annoyance, rubbing her arm where she could still feel the touch of Raistlin's vice-like fingers. "Alright, alright!" she hurried to agree and in her mind added an ugly word that pretty much summed up what she thought of the mage. She glanced at the door. "I... I suppose your brother's coming back soon then?" It was more a wishful statement than a question.

"Oh, but I wouldn't count on that," Raistlin returned nonchalantly, crushing Tika's hopes. "He only left a moment ago, to buy supplies with Tanis." Unexpectantly, a shadow of a smile touched his thin lips. "It's only me and you now," he said in a tone that sounded playful almost. Then, seeing Tika's terrified expression, he sighed irritably. "I won't bite you, I promise."

Tika opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind in the last minute. They stood silent for a while in the hum and crack of the fireplace.

"So what did you get?" Raistlin asked then, breaking the awkward silence.

Swallowing the dryness in her throat, Tika limply handed the fabric to the mage without looking at him. "Before you say anything," she sighed, "it was the best fabric there was. I asked the merchant. It's from Tarsis."

She fell silent again, waiting for a biting remark. The wood in the fireplace blazed brightly and cheerfully, providing a stark contrast to the gusts of wind outside that made the windows rattle in their casements. Tika noticed she was squeezing the basket handle so hard her knuckles were turning white. Annoyed at herself, she loosened her fingers.

Raistlin unfolded the fabric and, without giving it a second glance, threw it on the massive four-poster bed. "Good," he uttered in an indifferent voice.

From under her brow, Tika watched the fabric go with hurt eyes. I should have known, she thought sourly, glaring at the mage when he wasn't watching. She gave a soundless sigh and decided not to care. Why should she have? She knew Caramon would appreciate her endeavor, and that was all that mattered.

Raistlin leaned against the table behind him, half sitting, half standing. He folded his arms and coughed dryly a couple of times, causing Tika to throw him a worried glance, which he caught. "Well?" he urged, on his face the expression that Tika hated, the expression that communicated peevishness towards everything and everyone. "I haven't got the whole evening."

"Mmm, of course not," Tika breathed out. "If you could just stand up..." She lifted the basket indicatively and shrugged.

With an air of condescending amusement, Raistlin stood up and stepped in front of the large bronze-framed dressing mirror hanging on the wall. "Be my guest," he offered theatrically.

Grateful for having something to do, Tika lifted the lid of the basket, rummaged in it and, forcing down her desire to poke Raistlin's eyes out with the sewing pins she saw, coolly extracted a tape measure. With feelings of impending doom, she put the basket on the floor, took a determinate draw of breath and turned to confront the mage. "Let me start from your arms then, for the sleeve length," she suggested, not sounding at all as convincing and professional as she had intended to.

Raistlin threw her a look of mock obedience and allowed his arms to drop at his sides. He stood silent and watched them in the mirror, as Tika hastily placed one end of the tape measure at the level of his shoulder and drew the rest of it downwards. Complicated as it made the measuring, she kept a careful distance from the mage, reaching towards him in an absurd manner with straightened arms. She knew without looking that there was a pitying, arrogant smirk on Raistlin's lips, but, as long as she'd get the job done, she couldn't care less. Her eyes went to the door, furtively. But apparently not furtively enough, for Raistlin gave a despising snort.

"He's not coming back, no matter how you goggle the door," he said, staring in the mirror, hardly able to keep the amusement from creeping into his voice. "Very often his, how should I put it" - he paused, seeking the right expression - "fun trips to town take longer than expected. Not anymore, of course," he added, nodding towards Tika. A cruel smile twisted his lips for a second and disappeared.

Tika flinched but pretended she didn't hear the mage. They continued in silence.

"Make them long", Raistlin ordered after a while. "Longer than these."

"Hm," Tika answered blankly.

She checked the result and, keeping the numbers firmly in her mind in order not having to repeat the act, went to the basket, squatted down - a lady always squatted down first if picking something up from the floor, that's what Laurana had taught her - and drew out a little, plain notepad. She rose, eyeing the table beside her - it was spread with old-looking scrolls bearing strange markings. Tika pointed to a quill standing in an inkpot among them. "Can I use this?" she asked Raistlin hesitantly.

"Hm," he answered in the same tone she'd used.

She ignored it and carefully wrote down the numbers on the notepad, casting a nervous look at the scrolls with their arcane scribbles. God knows what they were. Again her eyes went to the door. She hoped for nothing more than that Caramon would come.

He didn't, so, disheartened, Tika collected the tape measure and turned back to Raistlin. But no sooner had she taken the first step than she paused in confusion - she could have sworn that, at the moment she turned around, Raistlin's eyes quickly jumped back to the mirror from her, almost as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. She also could have sworn she'd seen a glimpse of something different in his eyes before the old coldness returned to them, making him as unattainable as ever.

Approaching the mage with caution, flummoxed by the odd look she thought she'd seen on his face, Tika awkwardly strived to arrange the tape measure so that it would run from Raistlin's one shoulder to the other. The task was simple enough, surely, but her nervousness turned it into a real challenge: the tape measure slipped from her sweaty hands and she almost didn't succeed in catching it before it hit the floor. She was positive that her clumsiness would provoke Raistlin to unleash his insults. Because that's what he was doing, she could sense it - it was clear that he was intentionally seeking to find something wrong in the way she was doing the damn measuring. Tika expected, but to her suprise Raistlin didn't say anything. Instead, he took a step closer to her - a simple movement, which made her task a whole lot easier and, as Tika thought with a clenched jaw, also made her look like a complete idiot.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed. Keeping her eyes sternly fixed on the work at hand, she rapidly measured Raistlin's shoulder width and memorized it, deeply bothered by the way he was breathing with a sick, rasping sound. It made her skin crawl - to this day she still didn't know what in the name of the Abyss was wrong with him. Absent-mindedly she observed, as she'd done many a times before, the strong smell of roses emanating from him. Now, standing close - too close - to him, she noted it was mingled with a weird undertone, somehow dusty and sweet and ancient.

Feeling somewhat light-headed from the sweet scent, Tika went on to take Raistlin's shoulder-waist length. As she was drawing the tape measure down from his shoulder, she mustered up courage and risked a glance up at the mage - and her movement stopped in mid-air. It took her a moment to realize that Raistlin was closely scrutinizing her features. His face wore an expression Tika had never seen before - he seemed rapt and absorbed. Then his eyes rose to the level of hers, slowly; his eyebrows gave only the slightest twitch in indication that he had not meant her to see his gaze.

For a few moments Raistlin and Tika studied each other closer than ever before; Tika looked up at Raistlin's fine cheekbones, at his large eyes surrounded by long, silvery eyelashes that gazed back at her with their frightening intensity, and she noticed he was handsome - something she had never considered about him before, not really, but once given the chance to observe she could not help coming to the conclusion. He looked tired and haggard, sure, but under the superficial marks of his illness, he was a frail version of his sturdier twin whom Tika happened to think was the most gorgeous man she'd ever laid eyes upon. The moment lasted five seconds at best, but it seemed an eternity before Tika managed to tear off her eyes and look down again. Her heart beat in her throat; she could almost feel it pumping her blood in the wrong direction.

In a violent fit of self-consciousness, Tika started towards the table, but, after taking a couple of steps, noticed with irritation that Raistlin's shoulder width had been erased from her mind. She went back and measured it again, firmly avoiding further eye contact. As she turned her back to the mage, Tika rolled her eyes at herself and wrote down the result in angry hand that betrayed her inner turmoil. He was watching me. He was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse. Except a cat's eyes wouldn't have the hint of a starving need, a look almost identical she'd seen in Caramon's eyes when they...

Dispelling the train of thought in horror, thanking all the gods that it would soon be over, Tika walked around Raistlin on tottering feet to stand behind his back. "Raise your arms," she exhorted faintly.

"I can't hear you. Speak up."

She was certain he had heard her well. "Raise your arms, please."

As quickly as she could, Tika slipped the tape measure under Raistlin's right arm and, grimacing at the way her breasts grazed against his back in the process, leaned closer to receive it from the other side. She connected the ends and peered at the result, feeling sweat slide down between her breasts and from her armpits down her sides. Why couldn't the door just open and save her? How long could buying some stupid supplies take, really? She got angry at Caramon for not coming. Gritting her teeth, she confirmed the result and, almost flying away from the mage, once more wrote the numbers down. She thought hastily, By heavens - he's slim.

Encouraged by the fact that there was only one measure left to be taken, Tika returned to Raistlin, saying "Could you hold this up here, please?" She positioned the tape measure at his waist.

Their fingers touched lightly as the measure passed between them. The contact, albeit brief, sent a flame through Tika. She squatted down, which conveniently hid the embarrassment visible on her cheeks, and balanced the other end of the tape measure to the level of Raistlin's ankle, seriously planning on making the hem a tad too long so that he would trip on it on the stage and break his neck.

As she looked up again she noticed where his downcast eyes were. Completely forgetting about checking the last result, Tika put the tape measure on the floor - almost threw it, actually -, crossed her arms tightly over her chest and stood up, red as a cherry. "That's it, then," she exclaimed with forced gaiety to counterfeit unconcern. Her choice of clothing was not an innocent accident; she knew that the deeply cut white top only barely managed to cover her anything but unnoticeable shapes, not to mention the way the tight fabric flattered their size and movement when she walked. She'd noticed that Caramon liked it. She also knew she couldn't be limited to his private viewing only, but nevertheless felt strangely violated.

"That's it? Are you sure?" Raistlin tilted his head to the side and looked at Tika with a raised eyebrow. "You don't want to measure anything else?"

Tika looked at him candidly, in earnest puzzlement. "Anything else? Wh-what do you -"

Raistlin leaned down towards her, so fast that she didn't have the time to react or complete her question.

His breath was hot on her neck. He whispered in her ear.

Tika sharply drew in her breath and felt herself blush, if possible, even more violently. Her cheeks were burning bright, her whole body felt flushed, actually, from what Raistlin had just said. If this was his idea of a joke, it certainly wasn't funny! Tika's first impulse was to storm off the room and slam the door in the mage's face, but the only thing she did, after taking a moment to regain her composure, was say quietly and with as much dignity as she could gather, "I have to go now."

"Really?" She heard Raistlin ask in a voice that sounded as if he was holding back a smile. "Where to?"

She could give him no answer, because there was none. Pursing her lips, Tika dared a cautious look at the man, and her puzzled expression changed into one of consternation.

The cold, contemptuous stare that Raistlin usually treated her with was gone. He almost looked friendly. At least not very far from friendly. It was such an incredible sight that Tika only stood staring at him with her mouth half open.

"Say, why don't you stay and wait for my brother here?" asked Raistlin so casually that it made Tika think she had imagined the whole whispering episode. "After all," the mage continued, "he wants us to get to know each other. He wants us to" - a curious smirk touched his lips - "get along."

That said, Raistlin reached for a goblet that was upside down on the table and with smooth elegance filled it with sparkling red wine from the bottle that lay next to it - yet another token of William's gratitude.

"We should consider it fortunate that my brother's not here," Raistlin remarked in a pleasant conversational tone as she handed the goblet to Tika like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Otherwise we wouldn't have any of this left."

Tika didn't know what to think or say of that sentiment, so she remained speechless and slackly raised the goblet as Raistlin took the other cup and clinked it lightly against hers, still harboring that strange half-smile that didn't quite manage to convince her.

Raistlin squinted pensively and then looked straight into Tika's eyes. She forced herself to answer his gaze that crawled under her skin and studied her insides, one by one turning her thoughts over like stones. "To friendship," Raistlin then said in dulcet tones that to Tika seemed to carry a mocking undertone. She didn't answer his salute but only nodded sideways, not even knowing what she wanted to convey with that gesture.

"Take a seat," Raistlin encouraged, taking just a sip of the wine before putting his goblet back on the table and turning his back to Tika.

Tika could only stare at the mage, utterly confused by this sudden act of friendship and - she threatened to blush again - weird joking. Her eyes moved suspiciously to the wine bottle and then back to Raistlin.

She suddenly remembered he had spoken. "Oh, I don't know," she muttered in answer to his offer. "You said you were busy."

Raistlin was silent for a while, studying one of the scrolls he'd picked up from the table. "Did I?" he asked then with a hint of amusement, without turning to look at her.

No, he didn't. Feeling unpleasantly cornered, Tika raised the goblet to her lips and tasted a little of the wine out of common politeness. Its sourness burned in the back of her throat and she blinked rapidly in succession - her experience with wines was weak at best, and, wanting to keep it that way, she quickly abandoned the goblet.

Feeling she had to hold on to something, she slipped her hands under her armpits and watched Raistlin leisurely pile up his numerous manuscripts. He didn't seem likely to start up a conversation any time soon, so Tika let her eyes wander around the walls and the ceiling for a while, in search for inspiration to talk. She ended up saying something that didn't make sense even to herself. "Maybe it'd be better for me to leave, though," she said. "I mean, maybe your brother doesn't even want me to be here."

Raistlin gave a short, mirthless chuckle to that. "Why not? You're his girl."

Tika's eyes darted to him, surprised. Am I? Am I really? she wanted to ask and knew she would have, had the statement come from anyone else but the mage. She couldn't help smiling a little, in spite of her nervousness, so pleased she was at the sound of Raistlin's unexpected words of acknowledgement. Her eyes happened to fall upon the bronze mirror where she saw herself prettily framed - she smiled at her image, suddenly feeling the luckiest girl in the world. I'm his girl. I love him. By Reorx's beard, I love him! The thought filled her with a tingling warmth and she wanted to laugh out loud.

A shadow moved in the mirror, arresting Tika's attention; Raistlin came to stand behind her, stopping a courteous distance away.

Her ecstatic smile wavering a little, Tika followed Raistlin's gaze through the looking-glass. She saw his eyes drop down to her waist, slowly, and then rise back to her face, lingering a little longer - so she believed - on her bust. Usually his face had no expression and she had no access to his thoughts. It made her uneasy. But now there seemed to be a tiny crack in his coldness; the surface of his eyes was emotionless still, but underneath Tika could discern that same, somehow hungry look that she'd seen earlier. It made her just as uneasy.

Suddenly Raistlin's hands rose to her shoulders. Tika startled, ready to flinch away from him; but his touch was very light and friendly in manner, so she paused, staring at him with round, frightened eyes. She immediately became aware of the peculiar discrepancy between his eyes and hands - the latter were as warm as hellfire and she could feel their heat even through her short, puffy sleeves. She thought there would be burns on her shoulders once Raistlin removed his hands - that is, if he removed them.

For a while Raistlin merely watched her, his lips moving ever so slightly as if he was on the brink of saying something. When he finally spoke, his voice was husky. "My brother is a lucky man," he said gravely, without mockery of any kind, and Tika thought she saw sadness pass across those cold, mirror-like eyes.

Her brows went up. It was hands down the nicest thing Raistlin had ever said to her, and, as Tika realized this, she nearly got misty-eyed. Simultaneously surprised and grateful, she tried to come up with something appropriate to say, but in her bewilderment only managed to give the man a small, insecure smile.

Raistlin didn't notice it. Absorbed in studying her features in the mirror, he said, speaking slowly and musingly, "Other men not as lucky need to live on dreams."

Hearing his words, Tika made a wary movement, and her smile faded into a perplexed frown. Licking her dry lips, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She could hear the rasp in his lungs had become slightly faster.

"I have dreamt of you," Raistlin whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling a little with the force of some forbidden memory. Raising his eyebrow and slightly lifting the corner of his mouth, he let his fingers travel down upon Tika's bare arms and then crawl back up again, as light and smooth as a feather. "Last night. The night before that."

Tika didn't know what to say. She wasn't even sure whether she understood what he meant. Except that it was something dirty, maybe. She just kept staring at Raistlin helplessly, having no idea of how to feel.

"Have you not noticed?" Raistlin continued eloquently, his eyes fixed on Tika as he talked. "No, of course you haven't." He was speaking to himself rather than her. He smiled - a thin smile with a stark touch of bitterness. "You only see his gaze. You like the way he looks at you. All women do." A look of despise crossed his face, even as his fingers continued their slow movement up and down upon Tika's arms, hypnotic and caressing, raising her skin to goose flesh. His eyes still held the hungry intensity, which equally frightened and fascinated her.

Raistlin took Tika's chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly lifted it upwards until she was looking straight at their reflection in the mirror. He seized her eyes with his penetrating stare. His lips parted - in the ruddy glow of the fireplace they looked as red as his robes, almost blood-like. He said quietly with strange ardor, "I look at you now. I."

 

 

Move on to the second part of the story...