
Samhain Publishing, Ltd. www.samhainpublishing.com
Copyright ©2009 by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
First published in 2009, 2009
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Sometimes getting in bed with the enemy gives you the edge you need...
For Zonan Silvergard Commander Taryn Penthes, an assignment to escort a group of Bariani diplomats seems routine---until the party is ambushed. And when she realizes the attacker she just killed is the Zonan Crown Prince's lover, political winds shift. Now she's in a race to get the surviving diplomat to safety---while using whatever means necessary to find out what he knows.
Blade Von Stassos isn't all that surprised at the assassination attempt a mere fifteen minutes after he arrives in the Zonan capital. What does surprise him is the ferocious, deadly skill with which Taryn protects him. With no choice but to follow her lead, he tries to ignore the instincts telling him he's finally found a worthy consort in her. Which comes as a surprise, since he's not long on trust when it comes to women or Zonans.
Forced into an uneasy alliance, Blade and Taryn first seduce each other for information, unleashing sizzling attraction that can't be denied, even if they're each other's worst enemy. As the balance of power shifts around them, the only way to stay alive is to find out who wants them dead. And why...
Warning: Contains one 150-pound housecat, political intrigue, cave sex, one homicidally inclined royal, more political intrigue, monkish eyeliner, off-planet political intrigue, blasters, and fur blankets. Author is not responsible for a sudden desire to adopt big cats, have sex underground, or purchase fur blankets.
Some things just never changed: Zona was the only part of the planet Timarron still free of plastic and rivets, pesticides and pollution, and its neighboring giant, Barian, couldn't bring its collective self to send a female diplomat to a matriarchal culture.
Silvergard Commander Taryn Penthes watched her breath steam in the frigid air of early spring as a group of muscular men exited Eastgate's Internal Transit Authority door shouldering light duffels. Duffels, one each? Diplomatic hangers-on carrying their own luggage? What in hell?
"Those aren't diplomats," escaped her lips in a disbelieving murmur. She counted ten human males as a frown pulled at her scar. Nine of them moved like they were used to combat, though not with sabers; the last one looked like a valet. Balance and gesture were off slightly, almost as if they were more used to some other kind of weapon, but all of the nine moved like they knew how to fight with bare hands if need be. And there wasn't a scrap of lace or a ruffle in sight, unless she counted the elbow-length capelets attached to their coats. "Those are Rangers, or I'm a Bariani concubine."
But no, they weren't that, either. The worsted superfine cloth and close tailoring of their greatcoats spoke of the kind of money that wasn't spent on civilian togs by military men, especially military men who spent the majority of their time slogging through the ass-end of the backcountry like Rangers did. And no self-respecting Barian Ranger would wear shiny, knee-high boots. Had Barian sent mercs into Zona?
Or maybe this was their hare-brained way of trying to blend in with Zonan locals. Her snort of derision puffed away from her face in a cloud. The group of men had stopped some ten feet from the door with their backs to a blank brick wall, which meant it was her turn to move. She pushed away from the livery brick where she'd been waiting.
They had grouped themselves in a loose knot around the tallest, with his long, shaggy mane of dark-brown hair standing out in the small herd of short-cropped brown-blond heads. He topped the next man by a good four inches, maybe more, and was obviously the alpha in this pack of alphas. And of course, he spotted her movement first and focused on her with a coldly calculating expression. His face smoothed out almost immediately and he seemed to lose several points of IQ in the process.
At the requisite five paces away, she stopped, bowed, and waited for the rest of the party to notice. "Gentlemen, I am your guide to Balsom and the temples of Zona. Which of you is the negotiator?"
The tall one stepped forward, as hard-bodied as all the rest of the fighters, and verified her assumption.
"I am Commander Penthes of the Silvergard," she continued. "You may call me Commander, and I will address you as Negotiator. I will address members of your escort as Guardsman. This is for your own protection, Negotiator, and does not denote any inherent dehumanization of any member of your party. Do you understand?"
"Isn't Penthes the name of the royal house?" he questioned, amending that unsettling stare by raising one eyebrow. An eyebrow lighter in color than his hair, she noticed. At least the question was normal, even if everything else about them was bizarre.
"House Penthes is large, and only one line among the many holds the Matriarch's crown." She said it with a smile, even though it pulled the scarred skin that signified she was not of that line. Not anymore. The smile seemed to draw his eyes to the scar, and he looked puzzled somehow, along with something else.
"But you are related to the Matriarch," he persisted. Something else unusual. Normally they were either clueless enough to accept the size of the family as an explanation, or well-briefed enough to keep their mouths shut.
"Yes, I am," she confirmed, "along with a few hundred other people in the city of Balsom. The Penthes family has been around for a long time." Two hundred and ninety-six standard years, to be exact. "If you'll come this way, Negotiator, I have a carriage waiting that should be able to accommodate you."
"Do you have a first name?" he asked, still staring at her cheek. The frown had traveled upward to his eyebrows, drawing them together in a wrinkle of skin and betraying his intelligence again.
"As far as outland guests of the Matriarch are concerned, I do not." She spun on the ball of her right foot and started back the way she had come. He definitely had not been briefed if he hadn't known that. She strained her ears and could hear the sound of one of the others whispering, but couldn't make out the words. Finally, the group fell in behind her as she marched back to the livery, where she'd been waiting.
Three years she'd been on diplomatic escort duty, and three negotiators had been quietly slipped into the Lady Palace. He would be her fourth, and hopefully last. Escort was boring, but she'd done worse. It was so very much better than being "Prince Taryn of Zona," and it was considerably better than being dead.
She dismissed the unneeded baggage cart and the ten were settled in seats of some variety within a couple of minutes. She mounted Chuffer, the old dapple-gray who had done this for enough years that he could have made the long walk without her. Nevertheless, she patted his neck as she adjusted her weapon for riding. When she was ready, she nodded at the carriage driver---one she didn't recognize so he must be new---and set off at a walk through the thoroughfare at the edge of the gate plaza.
When they entered the marketplace, she glanced over her shoulder again, to check that the carriage was keeping pace with her, and got a shock. The negotiator had climbed out onto the box next to the driver and sat there looking more like a guard than anything else. The different angle of view made her notice another odd thing; the lower half of his face was lighter-skinned than the tanned portion around his eyes. Either he spent a great deal of time with the lower half of his face swathed, or a beard had shielded the skin.
"Weird," she whispered to herself. Was he the real Bariani negotiator? As her horse ambled through the market, she mulled the thought. This "diplomat" could disguise himself as a caravan guard all he liked, but he was still on a fool's errand if he thought the Matriarch or the Crown Prince would ever admit anything or forgive anything. That she knew from hard experience.
Blade watched the nameless female finger the fine scar during her one glance at him from the worn saddle as the overage nag plodded through the marketplace. She was tall for her kind, with a delicate bone structure that belied her broad shoulders, and titian hair tightly contained in a braid kept close to her head.
Gods, what a time to switch obsessions: All the while he'd been supposed to be screening potential wives in the social whirl last summer, he'd been consumed with the Zonan economic situation. Now that he was here to do something about Zonan relations, his subconscious decided it was time to get serious about finding a mate. If a Zonan Silvergarder fascinated him, though, he might require psychiatric help. Even if this one carried herself with elegance worthy of the duchess of Northshield, if not the queen of Barian.
"She might be less nervous if you'd stop staring at her like you're considering what wine would go with her charred flesh," Galen murmured next to his ear. "Silvergard officers aren't your usual type, Blade, though I have to agree that taming that one could be fun." Of course, Galen would have noticed, because he noticed everything.
Blade grunted as a reply. He was observant in his own way, but his way was usually wondering why Barian's Luddite neighbors had suddenly started raiding mountain villages for food, not checking hemlines on ball gowns, when the ridiculous things could be said to have hems.
Ladies weren't his field. And yet, something about this woman bothered him. Since when did mid-level officers carry themselves like royalty? Since when did they have the impeccable tailoring to make midnight-blue khakis look sexy as they skimmed every perfect curve? He stopped short at the observation. Not good. Not good at all. He was supposed to be scanning the city, not the escort.
The market in Balsom was sparsely populated for a trade day, and that made him suppress another frown. Sure, it was early and it was damned cold, but there didn't appear to be much for sale. A comparison trip to a Krystale junk market the week before gave him a baseline, but even allowing for the difference in the economies and population sizes, things were looking just a bit grim in Balsom.
Of course, they'd been much grimmer in the Jags.
He looked for more evidence in the market stalls they passed, ignoring the pseudo-Renaissance ambiance. Had any of his stuff made its way to the capital? A sign of anything he'd left for them to find would lessen the guilt.
Unfortunately, even rats were hard-pressed to eat well in Balsom's main marketplace, though a couple of the grain bags looked vaguely familiar enough to allow him hope.
Now he had to convince their political establishment that a little technology wasn't necessarily evil if it kept children from starving to death or gave the Matriarch's subjects clean water to drink, even if it hadn't been invented by a woman two hundred years in the past. Easiest thing in the worlds, right?
A woman. His eyes were pulled back to the Silvergarder like a compass needle to the pole. Even Dar was starting to nag him about getting married, but every year the debutantes were getting younger and less substantial. How was he going to find a future queen in a gaggle of idiot teenagers when he was closing in on thirty-five? He allowed his gaze to move down her back to the long, strong legs peeking out from the sides of her cloak as she straddled the horse, and he wondered what they would look like in one of those barely there evening dresses. Or better yet, straddling him.
He almost lapsed into fantasy, but the so-called carriage hit a patch of loose cobbles and jolted him from the base of his spine up. Right. He was supposed to be thinking about Zona. Cobblestone streets, a massive maintenance problem and entirely unnecessary, but Zona couldn't be all bad if it produced women like their guide on a regular basis. The end of her braid brushed her belt over the back-slung scabbard and was at least half as thick as his wrist all the way down, the kind of hair a man could lose himself in for days, exploring the silky soft locks and what they covered.
She glanced again to check on the wagon as they exited the marketplace, interrupting his train of thought as he caught another glimpse of the arc of stretched, white tissue on her left cheek. That scar was perhaps the weirdest thing in a week of the weird, because it did nothing to mar her beauty, or the eerie similarity between her profile and that on the hexagonal metal coins they'd received in exchange for their credit wands. He shook off the preoccupation and glanced back himself.
The wagon turned off the main thoroughfare, bringing Blade's attention back to the front. The Silvergarder was nowhere in sight, and the new street was a dead-end just wide enough for the wagon.
Trouble. Planned trouble.
"Fece," escaped his lips as his pulse went into overdrive and adrenaline coursed through his system. He snatched the reins away from the driver and was mildly surprised to feel a dagger scrape along the hidden vambrace on his left forearm.
The driver fell to the cobbles after bouncing off a brick wall with a scream and a crunch before Blade even realized he had kick-shoved with his left foot while hauling on the reins. The horses finally got the message after the wagon's left front wheel had severed the driver's spinal cord, bucking the box's left side up at least a foot so that he had to brace himself to stay seated.
Then he heard the distinctive thwupp, thupp of a pair of Zonan crossbow bolts and a gurgle. His men poured over the back of the wagon as he fought to get the horses out of the killing zone. It might deprive them of cover, but the wagon would get in their way for the hand-to-hand he knew was coming. The musical sound of a laser pistol firing behind him signaled Bariani counterfire that probably took out the snipers, but Blade was still in the wagon, and if he'd planned an assassination attempt, he would have had more than one backup plan on the ground---one of the few benefits of an education in ground-war tactics. He grabbed the knife tangled in his coat and slid off the seat as the horses came up against the end of the alley.
There were at least a dozen attackers, all with straight Zonan sabers, most still on horseback. The valet and the new kid were skewered to the back of the wagon seat, easy targets. One of his men went down with steel poking out of the back of his coat as Blade watched, and hoofbeats approached from the main street. The Silvergarder, or reinforcements? Did it matter? If it was her, she'd missed the sound of the wagon in seconds. If she'd been part of the plan, she would have been here already.
Turning back to the wagon, he tried to find the dead guard's katana in a hail of grunts, the clash of metal on metal and other less savory noises that signaled people dying. The damned thing wasn't there. A particularly nearby clang made him look up to see a Zonan saber still settling onto cobbles as its previous owner stared at the mass of seared flesh and smoking cloth where his chest used to be. Bless Galen's paranoia. Blade was about to be armed, and he felt more like himself than he had since agreeing to this errand. Sometimes it sucked to be him.
"Maris---packs, all of them," Blade barked as he rolled to scoop up the fried assassin's saber and waded in. "Galen, horses." He swung the blade up just in time to block someone's attempt to sever his head from his shoulders.
"But, my lord---" Galen started to protest, letting his guard down for a millisecond too long, and Blade had to move fast. He sliced across his opponent's throat and skewered the man about to behead his chief of staff in less time than it took to realize he was going to do that. Out of the corner of one eye, he noticed the Silvergarder was keeping up, two male corpses at her feet and a third about to join them if she could get her blade out of that eye socket in time. A flash of reddened metal told him she had as he scanned the gory scene for more attackers. She was left-handed.
Each of his guardsmen had killed one, plus his two, plus the commander's three---a long knife nearly brushed his nose as it sailed past on its way to another eye socket. Make that four. Damned woman had doubled his effectiveness, and she had a narrow target area. Was there something psychological about eyes to these people? The metallic clash of blade on blade had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the alley was quiet except for a lot of heavy breathing. And then there was the stench.
Nothing, Blade had discovered, smelled quite like the aftermath of a close engagement, the all-too-familiar mix of blood's metallic tang, the adrenaline bite of fear, burnt pork, human feces, urine, every bit of it nauseating and emasculating. And war was supposed to be such a manly pursuit.
He worked his free hand against the shakes that came with unexpended adrenaline and looked around for the Zonan commander. One of her opponents had bled all over her shirt and supportive vest, even on the edges of the cloak. As soon as the liquid cooled and congealed it would suck heat from her body and be a gruesome dead giveaway as to who had caused the massacre in the alley, even if the fabric was dark to begin with. Even if they had been attacked.
She had to get rid of those bloody garments before they went back into the market square, because the direct route to the palace was out of the question now. He pulled the dagger out of his belt as the thought occurred and strode over to where she leaned against a blank wall trying to calm her breathing. Her eyes widened in something like disbelief and the wet, red end of the blade rose to the vicinity of his throat.
Of course she was edgy. And he was a moron, exactly like his father thought.
"Get those soaked clothes off," he said, flipping the dagger to offer it to her hilt first, "before you freeze to death." Her expression changed minutely, from controlled fear to confusion, then she looked down.
"Oh." The sword dropped to a neutral position. Oh, indeed. Drenched clothing---even if it was drenched in something as horrible as human blood---was not exactly disguising her figure, and she was bustier than she'd originally appeared. Not a good thing to notice under the conditions. They had five minutes, maybe ten, before the city police arrived.
She didn't take the dagger. "Be sure to take any of the goods your dead comrades were carrying," she advised as she fished the blood-soaked laces out of the bodice. "I'll have to get you to the palace by a back route and talk to the Captain of Silvergard."
Blade grunted his impatience, flipped his dagger again, pulled her closer by the neckline of the damned bodice and sliced through half of the neat Xs that closed it. "We don't have time for niceties." He grabbed both halves of the stupid thing and yanked hard, almost pulling her off her feet. "Besides, you really don't want to wear these again. Trust me." Cut cord ends whipsawed through eyelet holes and it came apart. "Dorcan, get her a clean shirt. I don't care where."
He looked into her gray-blue eyes and almost started. Her pupils were dilated and her lips were parted in an unmistakable invitation that his body suddenly really wanted to accept, but the fact was that she had just killed four people and was now feeling the after-effects, much like his shaking hands. Nothing more. Although he had a feeling he would remember that look for the rest of his life.
She seemed to come back to herself and dropped her eyes, crossing her arms over the breasts outlined by her wet shirt.
Perversely, he was irritated by that. "Enough prudery, woman, I've seen mammaries before. Get it off so we can get you into something dry and a lot less gory." She bit her lip but complied, which gave him the luxury of looking around for a body that hadn't bled all over its outer coat to replace her cloak. He unstrapped the scabbard, wrestled the heavy garment off the dead man and stood just in time to watch her pull the dry shirt over her head, framing her breasts for a half a second before they disappeared. Two perfect orbs crowned by cold-hardened areolas, and though he hadn't been lying about having seen them before, that particular image seemed to have been burned into his retinas. And he was drooling. He swallowed hard and stepped forward to spin her around with her back to him and her face to the blank wall.
"Put this on and button it up." He set the coat over her shoulders and turned away to find Galen smothering a knowing grin. Definitely a white wine, but the flesh wouldn't be charred and the method of devouring was best not thought about if he wanted to stay alive. Blade raised one eyebrow and ignored the rustling behind him. If only he could ignore the way his pulse had spiked. And why was he sweating when he could see his breath? No, he knew why, just as completely as he knew there wasn't anything he was going to do about it.
"We have enough horses for the remainder of the escort and Commander Penthes, my lord." Galen had collected himself and reported without even a hint of a leer, and he had to have seen more of her body than Blade had. He had his moments, Galen did, for all that he was a glorified babysitter on this trip.
"How many did we lose?" Blade asked, but his train of thought was interrupted by a decidedly female gasp. He spun and saw the woman staring at the body he'd taken the coat from, her face ashy white. Now she was ready to faint?
"Commander?" Galen asked in a tone of concern while Blade was still trying to find his tongue. The question seemed to snap her out of her shock.
"Ride. Now." Her voice had dropped nearly an octave and was suddenly hoarse. "You have to get out of Balsom before the city guard arrives if you value your lives." She suited action to word by trotting for the nearest horse.
"Yes, ma'am," Blade replied and made for the horse Maris was holding. "How do you propose we get through the gate?"
"Getting out of the city is considerably easier than getting in," she said as she swung into the saddle. "But we won't be taking the gate." She surveyed the lot of them from horseback, and something tingled in the back of his mind. She looked good on a real horse, every inch a warrior. "Hurry up. We can't take out a company of Silvergard even with your laser, and that's what will be coming after us."
"Why would the Silvergard come after us?" Blade asked as he cleaned the saber on a nearby corpse. "We're here for a peaceful negotiation with Silean, and you're one of their own." He strapped the scabbard he'd taken off the dead man over his back, the way she was wearing hers, and slid the sword into it.
"And all of it means nothing now, nor does the fact that you were defending your lives against an assassination attempt." She wheeled the horse with a seat that made it look like she'd been glued to the saddle. He mounted and nudged his horse into a trot and left the stench of death behind, hoofbeats multiplying as his escort caught up. Thank the gods the two obvious non-riders had died quickly, because they would have slowed the survivors down and suffered immensely.
"What do you mean, the negotiator isn't here yet?" Crown Prince Talyn, Heir to the Matriarchy, yelled at the Lady Palace majordomo. "He should have been here half an hour ago. I purposely cleared this time in my schedule to welcome him to Balsom." She had even shaved her legs for the occasion, because she'd heard that Bariani perversions included liking their women hairless, like children, and it had taken nearly an hour. She only had another hour to seduce the drooling imbecile that her spies had assured her was the Barian Crown Heir before the Dozen Worlds representative showed up to check on her again. She didn't have time for this.
"I'm sorry to inform you of this, Your Highness, but the Bariani party has not arrived at the palace," the majordomo said again, bowing more deeply this time. His forehead wrinkled with concern. "I sent one of my clerks to inquire almost fifteen minutes ago."
"Great Goddess, not even a Silvergarder could have gotten lost between Eastgate and the palace. Who was their escort?" She fisted her hands on her hips.
"Commander Penthes was assigned to that duty," he said, face so stiff his lips hardly moved. Talyn felt an icy hand clench around her stomach. Not her. Not now, when all the carefully laid plans depended on getting to him first.
"Your Highness, are you all right?" the majordomo asked with concern.
Talyn pushed her dread away. "I'm fine, but I'm surrounded by incompetents. I'll send someone to find them myself." She forced herself to walk away from the lackey as if she were merely irritated, waiting to turn the corner at the end of the corridor before she broke into a sprint. The only person she could trust on this errand was herself, and the offworlder would have to wait.
When she got to her quarters, she slowed back to a walk, then flung the door open, pretending irritation again. All of her performance was for nothing, because the living room was empty. Talyn felt herself frown.
"Mychell?" Her call echoed through the luxuriously appointed space. Now uneasy, she headed for the bedroom, wondering if he could still be asleep after last night. Her lips curved faintly at the memory of their activities of the night before, but one swift look was all she needed to verify that not only wasn't he there, the maids had been in. She didn't even know what he was wearing today, so she had no idea where he might be. The unease intensified. First her Bariani mark had gone missing, and now her Prime. This wasn't shaping up to be a good day, and it wasn't even mid-morning yet.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and started looking for riding clothes.
The commander took them out of the city through another stench not all that different than the alley abattoir's smell, but only after they learned more of the back streets of Zona's capital in the next quarter-hour than Blade had ever wanted to know.
"I didn't know there was a sewer pipe this big in the world," Maris complained. "Or the smell that goes with it."
"It will confuse any dogs they send after us," Commander Penthes called back over her shoulder. "It smells dreadful, but we have only a couple of miles more."
"Miles?" The appalled question came from his left and sounded like Dorcan's voice.
"Easy," Blade said loud enough to be heard over the echoing. "If it stinks to us, it stinks worse to anything tracking us."
"Yes, Your---" Blade snapped his head up and to the left, and the remainder of his title died on Grigor's lips. "Sorry, Blade." It was a sign of how badly rattled they all were that it had started to come out at all, since every one of them had been in the Jags with him. He could relate. The only thing that had rattled him more than the situation was Commander Penthes. Any woman who could throw a knife and hit an eye socket was more than capable of herding a bunch of adolescent Stassos brats, or the Barian Upper Diet, into proper behavior. But she was hiding something, and it wasn't the breasts he could still see if he closed his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why did he even care?
Sure it had been a few months, but---no, it had been more than a few months, because he'd been in the Jags for six straight months, too busy to look for a casual bedmate. He counted mentally and was surprised to come up with nearly a year of celibacy. They passed some sort of grating to the street above and clear winter light gleamed off her hair. Someone sighed. A second later he realized the only sigh he would be able to hear in the echoes was his own. What was wrong with him? She was Zonan.
They came out of the pipe onto the edge of a pond about half an hour later. "Stay along the sides," she instructed. "There's a shelf, so it's shallow there. If you get more than four feet from the wall, it gets deep."
Four feet---a meter and a quarter, give or take. He nudged his horse a bit closer to the wall as the riders obediently strung out behind her in single file. Blade gritted his teeth. It was very open, every single one of them a perfect target if anyone had guessed how she was going to sneak seven obvious Bariani out of the city.
Almost halfway around the pond, there was a spot where the wall lowered into a lip. The Zonan urged her horse up onto the dry concrete and walked it carefully up along a sort of spillway before clambering off to the left. As soon as they were on actual ground, the escort formed up around him again, also surrounding their guide in a subtle ring of protection. He felt something relax minutely between his shoulder blades.
He might be a throwback, but protecting women was an instinct that had helped all of Timarron survive the dark times. Zonans would sneer at it as patriarchal, based in the belief that women were property, but it was deep in Bariani genes and he felt better without her on point.
She led them through thin forest along what appeared to be an infrequently used trail. There were still traces of snow on the ground and any prints he could see came from wildlife. Amazing that there would be fallow deer this close to a major city; maybe the Zonan distaste for technology wasn't all bad. Soon he could hear the sound of moving water. Ten more minutes went by before she pulled up her horse and dismounted, then walked it forward to peek out of the trees.
"It's safe," she called before she led the animal to a low beach and let it drink.
Blade followed suit, and in another couple of minutes all eight horses had their noses to the water. "Now what?" he asked.
She looked up at him warily. "Now we disappear into the Jags. The border is more permeable there than the government admits, as I'm sure you already know. You should be able to sneak back to Barian with little trouble, and let your people know what happened."
Blade fought not to laugh out loud. He'd spent the last six months of his life sneaking around the Barian side of the Jags until he knew every crag and hollow of the eighty-kilometer border. It was strangely fitting that his one journey into Zona would end by sneaking around in the crags and hollows on this side. There was just a loose end or two that he would like to have tied up first.
"Why can't we just circle the city and go to the consulate? Even the Silvergard can't touch us there." He patted his horse as he said it and tried to phrase it casually. Of course, if he were planning such things, he'd hide until dark, but ... he wanted to know what she was thinking.
"The consulate is the first place they'll look for you, and you'd have to hack your way in, because Barian sovereignty ends at the gates." She didn't sound happy, but her logic was sound. "Good luck on that."
"All right," he agreed, then hit her with the bomb. "Who was that guy?"
She studied the ground. "Guy?"
"The one that scared you."
That made her stand up straighter. "I'm not scared of any man, living or dead."
Uh huh. "You're wearing his coat," he commented in a mild tone just to see her reaction. She winced, but she didn't cringe. "Who was he, Commander?"
"The Prime of Crown Prince Talyn." The words were dragged reluctantly from her and she shuffled her feet, obviously uncomfortable with the whole topic. That meant it was important.
"Prime?"
She blushed at his prompt. "Her principal lover." The blush deepened, giving her an attractive rosy glow that almost matched the color of her nipples. There he went again, and they still weren't in a situation where it was anything other than insane. And she was still Zonan. And he kept going there anyway.
"How do you know who's warming the sheets with the crown, uh, prince?" It sounded weird to call a woman a prince, but she probably wouldn't recognize any other term. The first Matriarch had decreed the title, because princess made her heirs sound less worthy, simply because they were female. At least that was the story. "Does it have something to do with that?" Blade reached out to touch her scar and she flinched away.
"Don't!" Her tone of command made him pull his hand back. "Don't touch it."
"You touch it all the time," he said in self-defense. He knew he shouldn't have invaded her personal buffer zone like that, but the scar fascinated him. Somehow, she wore it like armor; he almost expected it to feel cool and metallic instead of alive. Now he would never know.
"It reminds me." She glared at him, but he was pretty sure his mild amusement wasn't the effect she was going for. She just looked so ... he wasn't even sure what, but he liked it. "And I forgot when I killed the Crown Prince's Prime. I have presumed too much in my duty, and I have committed treason." In spite of the fierce expression, she sounded lost.
He curled his hands into fists to keep from doing something intensely stupid, even if he could blame it on the after-effects of adrenaline. "He committed treason when he tried to murder a diplomatic envoy."
She shook her head and stared across the water. "It doesn't matter. I killed him, and I will be executed after due process."
"Then come with us." She looked back at him and blinked while he wondered what he would do with a technophobic Zonan in Krystale. "To Barian."
"Don't be stupid." Her horse nickered, seeming to echo her. Well, at least that much of his persona seemed to be working. "We need to get going. The horses have rested, and I can't hide a trail forever. We have a day, maybe less, before things get interesting."
"Where are we going?" He had gotten used to planning during his sojourn in the Jags, and now he didn't like being fed information on a need-to-know basis. Come to think of it, he'd never liked the sensation that everyone was in on a secret but him, even though it had grown familiar. Fortunately, secrets were easy to worm out of courtiers; he had a feeling she would hold onto secrets a lot more closely.
"North." The word was spoken slowly and distinctly, as if to someone slow. "Into the Jags." Then she turned and clucked at her horse. It came away from the water reluctantly, seeming to know it was in for a long ride all uphill. Blade did the same with his own horse, wincing a little when he mounted and felt old saddle sores already coming back to life.
Back into the Jags, but with a difference. This time he was being led by a woman who was becoming increasingly interesting, so very much unlike all the women thrown at him in Barian. And he still didn't know her name. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the rest of the party moving into formation.
As soon as they figured out her direction, she would be surrounded and protected the same way he was. She would end up on his left, so that neither weapon arm would be obscured if they were surprised, and probably a little in front of him as she was leading. Something about the fact that she fought left-handed was significant, because his mind kept coming back to it, but he didn't have a clue as to what it was. At least he would have several days to figure it out before he kidnapped her, forced her to emigrate, and got rid of that scar.
He allowed himself a faint smile at the fantasy, well aware he probably had a better chance at winning the Heliconan lottery than making it come true.
"Your Majesty?"
Silean looked up from the budget to see a young clerk wearing the diplomatic service uniform fidgeting in front of her desk. "Yes?"
"The Bariani ambassador has not yet arrived, and there's been an incident just outside the marketplace, behind the Temple of the Serene Mother." An incident involving the negotiator? Silean folded her hands so they wouldn't tremble.
"What sort of incident?" she asked in her calmest voice. It wouldn't do to alarm the clerk unnecessarily.
"From what the civil guard found, his carriage was attacked and three of the negotiator's party are dead, along with approximately twenty attackers." The girl fidgeted some more. "His Highness Mychell was among the dead, Your Majesty."
Silean gripped her hands together more tightly. Mychell had attacked the Barian negotiator? But why? The man couldn't even get a pair of boots on without two assistants, so it couldn't have been his idea.
"I see. I assume the Matriarch's Own are looking for our missing Barianis?" The girl nodded, looking miserable. Then something occurred to Silean. "What about their escort? There should have been a Silvergard officer bringing them to the palace. Was she killed as well?"
The clerk went white. "Commander Penthes' body was not found, Your Majesty, but a bloody Silvergard vest and cloak were recovered."
Silean felt her heart stop as the room went icy. It started again almost immediately, but it was beating too fast and the room was starting to spin, ever so slightly. Talyn had decided to kill her sister again, using her lover as the weapon, and this time Taryn had only Zona's almost-enemies to protect her.
Silean didn't need this on top of the problems she was already trying---and failing---to solve, though the extra food from the borderlands was helping. It was probably smuggled in from Bariani relatives, humiliating to Zonan pride, but a full belly beat pride with room to spare and she wasn't prepared to look at the origins of such a gift. Now Talyn had involved the Barian negotiator in her private feud, and Silean had seen the destructive results of the Bariani military with her own eyes. If she couldn't smooth this over, Zona would be a charred land in a week.
She nodded and dismissed the girl, then headed for her quarters. If luck was on her side, and that was a very big if because her luck had always been spotty and strange, Taryn had spirited the surviving Bariani away and was even now hiding out somewhere in the city to figure out her options. She was a bright enough young woman that she would know she could always seek help from her mother. Unless she thought Silean in her role as the Matriarch was behind the attack, of course. Pray to the Goddess Taryn knew her mama wasn't that big a fool, even if she'd been fool enough to declare a crown prince at their birth and not their majority as she should have done.
"Goddess help us," she breathed to the empty corridor, then continued praying silently for the daughter who bore her scars externally.
The first thing she needed to do was get out of her work clothes and into something that made her look like a Matriarch. She almost groaned when she realized she was going to have to wear the blasted crown for this, too, because the thing weighed at least five pounds and always gave her a headache, but needs must when the devil held the reins. She lengthened her stride to get to her quarters faster.
Taryn called a halt an hour past midday, and turned to the leader. "There's a tavern a few miles east on the main road. If you have any currency, I can get food there. It will be dark before we get someplace we can stop."
He twisted in his saddle and looked to the older man on his right. "Did you manage to hang onto the coinage, Galen?"
"Right here, Blade." He handed over a small satchel that the leader hefted.
"Won't it look odd to send a Silvergard officer by herself to get lunch for eight?" He looked at her, his eyes glowing again. "I mean, shouldn't you have a couple of grunts to help you carry stuff?"
Was that an insult? She sat as tall in her saddle as possible and looked down her nose at him as she said, "I assure you, Negotiator, I'm perfectly capable of transporting food for eight."
He smiled, which irritated her even more. "To quote my youngest sister, 'well, duh.'" He shrugged. "She reads a lot of historical novels. But I wasn't questioning your ability, Commander, only the customary practice. If you went in there by yourself, it might look strange. People remember strange occurrences."
She could have smacked herself for not seeing the obvious and thought furiously. Going after sandwiches for a command group would be just the sort of chore for a junior officer, especially one as notorious as the scarred prince. But would she be sent with an escort? "It doesn't matter," she decided. "All of the Silvergard is female, so there's no way you can pass." She took the purse from him. "I'll have to go alone."
He didn't like that, she could tell from the way his face smoothed into his dullard's mask. "Why eliminate half of your fighting population with gender discrimination?" he asked, his tone decidedly neutral.
"Why aren't any of your people female?" she snapped before she thought.
"Because the female portion of the diplomatic corps all refuse Zonan postings," he responded in that same calm, emotionless tone.
"Blade," the older man warned, but he held up a hand.
"Galen, someone's gunning for us. I don't think this is the time to hang on to euphemistic niceties. They've pretty much all come out and said they would quit before going to Zona." He turned back to her. "Why couldn't you have a couple of civilian flunkies?"
She eyed the seven survivors, none of whom could pass for a civilian with their cold eyes and hard-steel weapons, putting aside the revelation to be digested later. "I could. Where do you propose I get some? Anyone can tell you lot aren't civilians, Negotiator."
It was his turn to straighten in his saddle. He was silent for nearly a full minute, only the glowing scowl betraying his anger. "Fine. Do it yourself then, Commander."
"Thank you so much for your permission," she threw over her shoulder as she dug her heels into the horse. She shouldn't have snapped at them. She shouldn't have said anything about what she had noticed. Her carefully crafted shield was cracking and she had to get it back in place. It was becoming clear that her mother had sheltered her, even in the Silvergard, because she'd never seen combat before that morning.
It felt like the world had exploded into a thousand pieces and she had to put it back together. Soon. If she didn't get the seven surviving Bariani to safety, there would be a war. One look at the devastation a single outland personal weapon could do was all she needed to know Zona would lose.
Damn Talyn. Her personal vendetta had condemned not only Taryn to death, but Mychell and probably the entire Matriarchy as well. Taryn couldn't allow that to happen. She might be dead already, waiting only for the trial and the crossbow squad, but she was still breathing and Zona needed every skill she possessed to prevent that outcome.
And if she had to be charming to seven Bariani who weren't what they were trying to pretend to be, she could do it. She could do it because Zona had never stabbed her in the face.
Talyn surveyed the carnage in the alley with a handkerchief pressed to her nose against the smell. All of the bodies had been lined up in neat rows, waiting for the meat wagon to take them away to the morgue, but there was no question what had killed them. Some of the Zonans had been burned beyond recognition; others had been cut in half. And one still had the hilt of a dagger sticking out of its face where an eye had been. She leaned closer, because something about that particular corpse looked familiar. She walked closer still.
Mychell.
And then she was vomiting against the side of a building, because he had been so strange for the last couple of days, almost as if he'd somehow learned of her plans. He'd even been rough with her in bed last night, when he'd never been anything but tender and solicitous to the point of boring before. She couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed sex with him so much. It had been the final factor in deciding to keep him and find a convenient accident for her "husband" once she'd been through the coronation as Grant Barian Heir Consort. Now Mychell was dead in an alley, and it was all Taryn's fault.
"I'll get you for this," she gasped out when the contents of her stomach decorated the cobbles and added another stench to the mix. Indeed, even if His Royal Highness Blademir von Stassos wasn't one of the three dead Bariani, she would have to radically alter her timetable and the Dozen Worlds people wouldn't be pleased about that. She straightened and wiped her mouth on the edge of her cloak.
"There has to be a way to make this work," she muttered as she took the unsteady steps back to the alley entrance, where her horse had refused to go any farther. All she had to do was think of that way. She mounted and started for the teahouse where she was already late to meet the Dozen Worlds operative.
When she got there, she spied him immediately, because he was almost a foot taller than everyone else and had blue hair, along with a ten-foot zone of empty space around him. All of the other patrons were constantly watching him, too, and she cursed the DW penchant for public meetings for about the thousandth time. It made it very difficult to keep her negotiations with them quiet in a homogeneous population like Balsom.
"You're late," he said in his strangely accented Tereng when she slid into the seat opposite him.
"Yes, I am," she agreed, looking straight into his unsettling yellow eyes. "Now try something useful, such as, 'Why are you late?'"
"I am not here to play games, Timarrian." He leaned forward and made her watch his pupils contract to slits. She repressed a shudder.
"The Bariani Crown Heir was attacked on his way to the palace and now nobody knows where he is," she took great satisfaction in relating. "I've been investigating."
That made him sit back and an expression crossed his features that must have been something like astonishment, but it was so hard to tell with offworlders.
"There was no motorcade?" he asked after a few seconds of silence ticked by.
"We don't use motors for transporting people," she responded, biting back the sarcasm, "in case you hadn't noticed."
Blue-head made a throwing-away gesture. "Unimportant. There was a transport. There was military and-or police protection. Children throwing flowers."
"Don't be ridiculous," Talyn snapped in spite of her attempts to remain unaffected by his attitude. "We hardly admit that there's a permanent ambassador from Barian, let alone someone quartered in the palace for the sole purpose of sucking funds out of the pigs. There was one carriage being escorted by a Silvergard officer, all very quiet."
"But not quiet enough." The offworlder tapped a finger on the tabletop several times. "What of the Zonan soldier? Killed as well?"
"No." She hated to admit it, but Taryn was a ferocious fighter, and had been long before she'd gone into the Matriarch's Own. "She's probably taken them into hiding until she can figure out what happened."
"What did happen?" It was a logical question, but she wasn't certain of the answer, so she shrugged and said nothing of her suspicions. "Who was this soldier?"
Talyn swallowed hard and admitted the truth. "My sister."
The DW slimeweed leaned back in his chair and smiled as if it were good news. "The co-heir to the Zonan throne will work just as well for our purposes," he said, and Talyn was astute enough to hear the implied threat. If she didn't handle this, and fast, they would drop her like so much trash.
It meant she had to find the missing Bariani before anyone else got to them, and she had to get rid of Taryn once and for all, or everything she had spent the last two years working toward was for nothing. She should have kept her mouth shut.
"How nice for you. She will not work just as well for my purposes," she told him with the faintest touch of acid in her voice. "I'll contact you when I have him."
"I think I will contact you when I require more information." He smiled again, then rose and walked out of the teahouse without looking back. She sat back in her chair and fumed. When the waiter came a few seconds later, though, she decided she needed something hot. It was colder than a witch's behind, and she still had the taste of the alley in her mouth.
"I think that went well," Galen commented when she had disappeared into the trees. "I wonder if she's going to come back?"
"And yet I managed to shave this morning without slitting my throat," Blade said to the sarcasm as he dismounted. "I'm going to take a leak." In fact, it had gone considerably better than he deserved, including the information that his father's suggestion of a disguise had been completely useless. A soldier knew another soldier, like a sneak-thief knew another sneak-thief. That must be what kept drawing him to the woman, like calling to like, though the prickly antagonism was considerably safer than following his instincts would be.
Hells, she was having a bad day. They were all having a bad day.
He unzipped and emptied his groaning bladder of the four cups of kava that had gotten him going before dawn that day. Soft footfalls in the pine needles, along with the sound of urination, made him realize his bodyguards had decided to relieve themselves as well. After he had the dagger out and ready, with his genitals still out of his pants.
"Gods, you are a moron," he muttered to himself as he resheathed the knife and then himself before walking back to the small clearing where Commander Penthes had left them.
"What's gotten into you?" Galen asked, lounging against a tree at the clearing's edge. "You're acting like you're in charge or something."
"If we don't get out of this mess with our skins intact, who do you think is going to get the blame?" Blade returned. "It's not going to be the king's sainted little brother, I can tell you that." He looked at the sky that was almost blue in the overhead sun. "I was in charge the moment it went down the chute, Galen, and you know it." He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "I can see the headlines now: Crown Heir in new diplomatic debacle."
"You're forgetting the spin," Galen said, pulling a decorated Zonan dagger out of his belt and cleaning his fingernails with the tip. "How about, Crown Heir narrowly escapes Zonan ambush in Balsom? I like that one much better."
"Only if we get out of this foobar alive." Blade started to pace to burn off some of his nervous energy. "And that depends on a Zonan who doesn't have a first name."
Galen snorted. "A Zonan you'd bed in a heartbeat, given half a chance. If I'd known your taste ran to dominatrixes, your social schedule would have been decidedly different last summer."
Blade stopped. "What? Dominatrixes?"
"You didn't notice the parade of blondes, brunettes, and redheads? Short, tall, curvy, willowy?"
"I noticed teenaged and clueless," he retorted. "Spineless, simpering and superficial were there in abundance, too."
"She doesn't have to rule, Blade. That's your job." Galen's façade had started to crack, because the comment didn't come out mildly amused.
"Have you noticed how Sabinet spends her days, Galen?" Blade asked softly. He shouldn't be needling his uncle about this, but he was edgy and irritated and he hadn't had anyone to talk to for a long time. "She's not lounging around the pool, eating chocolates. And don't get me started on what that vixen you married gets up to when you're off babysitting."
He dropped his eyes from Galen's gaze and let out a sigh of pure frustration. "Sorry. You didn't deserve that."
Galen resheathed the knife and pushed away from the rock. "Actually, I think I did. I forgot there's a brain behind that goofy grin you feed the tabloids. I should have known you've been looking at the prospect of marriage from a strategic viewpoint. And you're right about the women, too. Not one of them was fit to be the head of the humanist departments."
"Yeah, and short of taking a foreign bride, that's pretty much all I have to choose from." Blade started pacing again. "Or maybe I just need to get laid."
Galen's laughter echoed through the clearing.
Silean called a stop to look at the nondescript alley as she rode past in her coach. Everything had been cleaned up but the bloodstains, but it wasn't difficult to imagine. The wagon would have turned in here with snipers already in place on the rooftops. No maneuvering room with a width that could be blocked by six good fighters meant it was probably the best killing ground on the route between Eastgate and the Lady Palace.
There were no doors or windows opening on to the block-long roadbed. Silean turned to her prime minister.
"Why is this here? It serves no function except for an ambush site."
"When the Temple of the Serene Mother enlarged its choir loft four years ago, the exit was blocked," Vallan said with equanimity. Her even temper was one of the things Silean liked best about the woman.
"I've been considering what to do with it, but we've had much more pressing problems than a single blind alley in the temple district." She gave a brief smile. "I was thinking of putting in a city guard station. Only a small one, of course, but you know as well as I do that people require more protection in hard times."
"It just moved up the priority list a considerable amount," Silean said as she eyed the narrow space. It might hold six officers and a couple of desks, perhaps with a small holding cell at the back suitable for two or three, but it would increase the guard presence in the quarter. And the space could never be used for an ambush again. "Make it so," she decided formally, then rapped on the forward wall of the carriage to let the driver move on.
They pulled into the parking area outside the Barian consulate half an hour later, after Vallan had handed over her diplomatic passport and explained the appointment with the Consul. Silean climbed out of the coach with the hood of her cloak pulled far forward, because this wasn't a state visit and she wanted as few Bariani as possible to see the Matriarch herself arriving like a common petitioner.
They were escorted through the public areas of the main building until they reached an office door flanked on both sides by large men with modern guns. Silean eyed the weapons as the male secretary knocked softly, then went in by himself at the muffled acknowledgment. The weapons looked sleek and very, very deadly, making her wonder how many Zonans each could kill before requiring a new battery, or whatever powered the evil things.
Praise the Goddess that Zona had never seen need to create things like them. Women had always been able to talk their way into resolving problems without killing their children, praise the Serene Mother. She would hate to think what would happen if women didn't, because when they fought, they gave no quarter and had no mercy. That was the main reason all of the Matriarch's Own were women.
The door opened again and the secretary gestured them in. She allowed Vallan to precede her, only raising a hand to twitch her hood forward a little more, since the Barian Consul---really an ambassador but she would never admit that publicly---knew her face well.
"Let me guess, Vallan," Tomal Codreascu said as he rose from his seat behind the desk. "Somebody fainted when the airship took off this morning."
To her credit, Vallan laughed and moved forward to shake his hand in the Bariani greeting of equals. "Nothing so silly as that, I'm afraid. Tomal, we have a problem that I think my companion can best explain." The secretary took his opportunity to leave, pulling the door shut behind him.
Silean pulled her hood back and was satisfied with Codreascu's split-second of frozen shock. "Your negotiator has disappeared with my daughter, and I want her back. Now."
"The p---the negotiator is missing? How very odd." Codreascu said smoothly. He was good at his job, she'd give him that. But she wasn't in the mood to put up with diplomatic stonewalling. "I will begin an investigation immediately, Your Majesty."
"You can start at the Balsom city morgue. Three of his party are being prepared for burial there." She forced a superior sniff. "Perhaps you can identify them, since we were never presented with the necessary papers and everything is missing but the dead."
Codreascu paled again. "Gods, could one of them be the ... negotiator?" Something in the way he kept stumbling over the term flagged an alarm in Silean's mind. This negotiator wasn't a simple diplomat. He was someone much more important, and in Barian, that meant someone who didn't have a clue when it came to Zonan morality. She had no fear that Taryn couldn't handle one bored and amorous Bariani, but the man had six others with him who might be just as inept. Even her little fighter couldn't take on that many. Her analysis had to be brief, because he was waiting for an answer, a comment, some sort of response. Something Codreascu had no ready defense for, and he was male. And Barian.
It would have to be the Outraged Mother.
"Goddess, man, what have you brought into the Lady's Jewel?" she demanded, advancing on him. "What Bariani animal has Taryn in his clutches, and what is he going to do to my baby?"
Codreascu backed away and licked his lips as if he were thinking furiously. "I'm sure that His Excellency will, in the finest traditions of Bariani nobility, protect any woman in his custody." He winced immediately after the final word, probably realizing it was an unfortunate choice. As far as Silean was concerned, it was an incredible relief, because she couldn't order her own people killed to protect Taryn any more than she had been able to keep Commander Varakis in the Matriarch's Own after the woman had saved her child's life.
"If he does not, I will hold you, Barian, and the person of the Barian Crown wholly and individually responsible," she told him in as cold a voice as she could command. "Can big, bad Barian manage the international and interplanetary scandal of picking on defenseless little Zona because one of their diplomats couldn't keep his pants fastened?"
Codreascu swallowed audibly and seemed to be at a loss for several seconds. "If you ladies will excuse me," he finally said in a faint voice, "I must consult with my superiors before taking any direct action in this situation."
"You do that, Tomal Codreascu," Silean agreed. "You tell Ramondar this is exactly why Zona has been asking for a female consul for so very long. I will be waiting for his response." She pulled her hood back up to cover her face as a signal the conversation was over, then swept out of the room with Vallan in her wake.
"That might have been a bit thick, Your Majesty," Vallan murmured when they reached the coach.
"With luck, they'll be nervous enough of their reputation not to ask any questions about why a Zonan prince was escorting the negotiator," Silean murmured back. "And with all the luck the Serene Mother has to give, Taryn won't have killed the son-of-a-bitch for trying exactly what Codreascu is now afraid of." She opened the door. "Besides, the one thing I've learned in thirty years of negotiating with the von Stassos crown is that you always lay it on thickest when you're in a position of weakness."
"What happens when they figure out the Bariani party was attacked by Zonans?" Vallan asked as she climbed in.
Silean seated herself and closed the door behind them. "We start dancing as fast as we can and wait for Taryn to get us out of this mess."
"What if she can't?" Vallan's question was quiet, but tense.
"She's never failed me before," Silean responded with all the grim expectation she felt inside, then rapped the wall to let the driver know they were settled. She chewed her lip, deep in thought for the entire trip back to the palace, and bit it hard enough to taste blood when the coach passed through a pothole.
Talyn swept through the outer offices of Silvergard headquarters with her head held high and her stride purposeful. She ignored the wake of twittering clerks and made her way directly to the captain's private office.
"Your Royal Highness, please allow me to announce you," the captain's secretary said, trying to interpose herself between Talyn and the door to the inner sanctum.
"Oh, I think I'll surprise her," Talyn said with a casual air as she fixed the woman with a look that said her career was over if she made waves. The insignia on her shoulder said she was a major, which meant she had aspirations of sitting in the inner office someday. Talyn stretched her lips in a soft smile she knew didn't reach her eyes, and the woman shrank back.
"I'm afraid she's in conference. There was an incident in the temple district this morning, and---"
"That's exactly what I've come to discuss," Talyn interrupted the excuse and pushed the woman aside, though it was difficult since Silvergarders all had the musculature necessary for swinging large swords or cocking ballistas in full armor, even if the major wasn't really resisting. "So I'll just go in, shall I?"
She didn't wait for an answer but pushed her way through and into a meeting of the top Silvergard officers, who all stopped and looked up.
"Captain Sillivan, I need to know what measures you're taking against the officer who killed my Prime this morning," Talyn said without any preamble.
"We're still not sure what happened this morning, Your Royal Highness." Auran Sillivan stood and motioned her officers to go. "I have dogs tracking the missing party, but they went through the sewer and it's making it difficult."
The door closed behind Talyn, leaving the two of them alone exactly as she had planned. "I've seen the body and there was a Silvergard dagger in his brain. I want Taryn's head for this. Find her."
"She could be halfway to the Jags by now, Prince Talyn." Auran didn't appear intimidated, which was annoying. She had hidden behind the Matriarch's skirts and that ridiculous oath to the crown for far too long. "And if Prime Mychell was killed---if indeed he's not ensconced with another member of the court even as we speak---my officer will have the chance to speak in her defense. She would not have done so without extremely extenuating circumstances."
Talyn strode forward and pounded her fists on the desk, allowing her frustration out for the first time. "I don't care about extenuating circumstances, you hide-bound little bitch. I want her dead. She killed the man I love, and I'm not letting her get away with destroying my life again." Oops. That had been a slip. It was vitally important that no one know about the Dozen Worlds operation.
"Your life looks fairly well intact to me, Your Royal Highness." Auran sat back down, which was a supreme insult in the presence of the royal family. "And just how do you propose I break my blood oath to the crown and wreak your vengeance on a member of the royal family when nobody knows where she is?"
Talyn suppressed her rage and let her face fall into a satisfied smirk. "Ah, but I know where she's going. Do you like your job, Auran Sillivan?"
"Not today, I don't." She scrubbed hands over her face and looked tired. "If it weren't for my oath, Silean would have had my resignation on her desk before lunch."
"Don't you have children, Auran?" Talyn planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Do they have a father? What would it be like for them to grow up in a foster house instead of with their mother?"
Auran sat up straighter, her face a mask. Of course, she was military and they never looked intimidated, even when they were. "Are you threatening me, Your Royal Highness?"
"Someone is going to pay for Mychell's assassination," Talyn told her. "And if I can't get the whore who did it, I'll take the commander responsible for her actions." She let her eyebrows rise in mock surprise. "That would be you, wouldn't it?"
Auran sat motionless for almost a full minute before she leaned forward and picked up a pencil. "Where is she going?" Talyn's lips curled, because the redoubtable Captain of Silvergard, the supreme commander of the Matriarch's Own, had made her choice not for honor but for the welfare of her own blood. At last, Talyn had won a round today. Maybe the series of disasters was about to turn in her favor.
"There's an inn, off the northbound road about an hour northeast of Leawindvale. It's run by a retired Silvergard Commander named Leone Varakis." Auran's hands stilled in her writing and she looked up with round eyes. Talyn straightened away from the desk. "Yes, that Commander Varakis. Taryn goes there for her home leaves and ignores her true family."
"You spy on your own sister?" It was barely more than a whisper, but even the quiet voice couldn't disguise Sillivan's distaste.
"She stopped being my sister before I was sixteen years old," Talyn said in a tone of ice. "She's been nothing but a disappointment to the Matriarch for her entire life, and someone I've had watched because I knew she couldn't be trusted."
Auran toyed with the pencil. "I'll have to send an entire company if she's going to Leone."
"Just make sure they're in place before dawn tomorrow, or I'll need a new dress for your funeral." Talyn didn't wait for a reply but stalked back out, slamming the door behind her. She was only a few steps away when she heard something heavy hit it from the other side.
Auran Sillivan was definitely going to be on her list when she took control of Zona. The woman had no respect for royalty and even less respect for true power.
"I believe it's only a matter of time before Timarron will be invited into the Dozen Worlds Federation, because our balance of trade with them is highly positive and---" Ramondar von Stassos, King of Barian, paused as an unmistakable tone sounded low in his ear, signaling an incoming message on the secure communication unit surgically implanted in his skull.
"Your Majesty, we have a situation in Zona." He straightened and stared into space, the question and his answer forgotten in those chilling words. What had his wayward firstborn done now?
Two of the plain-clothes bodyguards pulled him away from the lectern while his press secretary pushed into the amplification field with a hurried, "No more questions, please. His Majesty is late for another appointment." The media reps all pretended to believe it in spite of the fact that the conference had been scheduled to go on for another hour.
"The negotiation team was attacked in Balsom, three casualties. Prince Blademir, Duke Northshield and Viscount von Stassos are missing, along with their Silvergard escort, a Commander Taryn Penthes," the emotionless voice informed him while he fought to keep expression off his face. At least missing meant they weren't the three dead.
"Penthes?" he echoed aloud instead of subvocalizing for the mastoid implant.
"We're still tracking it down, sir, but the Matriarch has personally contacted our embassy demanding the commander's return."
Gods and demons, what had Blade done this time? It was going to be worse than the scandal over that vanishing act with sixteen-year-old Lady Tabethe at the last year's spring solstice celebration, especially since he now had that as prior behavior, and never mind that all the medical evidence supported Blade's story and not that of the conniving little minx.
"Understood," he muttered under his breath, "Let me know when you have her identity." He wasn't sure if he should bless or condemn the Crown Heir's actions if this turned out to be what it looked like. For Silean Penthes to take a personal interest meant the girl had to be a fairly close relative, and at least she was past the age of majority or she wouldn't be a Silvergard officer. He waved his press secretary over. "I'll need a statement for the media."
"Regarding what, Your Majesty?" Deg looked truly puzzled, which meant the communication had been scrambled, for Ramondar's ears only. That meant it was even more serious than it first appeared. What fecal matter had impacted the impeller in Zona? He needed more.
"I see. I have to talk to Tomal Codreascu, stat. There is something going on in Balsom, and it doesn't look good for the Crown Heir."
"Someone got to him in Zona?" The press secretary looked aghast. Maybe a little too aghast, but Deg had always been a bit of a ham. Well, he was about to get a real shock.
"At the moment, the Crown Heir doesn't appear to be anywhere on Timarron, Deg. And Silean seems to think he's got someone near and dear to her with him."
"Not again." Since he'd said it almost loud enough for the amplifier field to pick it up, Deg cringed.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Ramondar tried to reassure him. "He was attacked on the way to the Lady Palace. The woman is a Silvergard Commander, but her last name is Penthes."
"Ho-ly..." Deg's face paled. "I had an intel report about a month ago that said Silean has a daughter in the Silvergard, Ramon. There had been a couple of unsubstantiated stories over the years that Talyn had a twin sister, but this was the first nibble that it might be true."
"What are you doing with intel reports?" Ramondar pulled him a little farther into the corner of the dais. "You're the press secretary, by the gods."
"I never said it wasn't misrouted." But from Deg's expression, it hadn't been misrouted. And he'd been looking for a mythical Zonan heir, which meant---what? He was trying to find a Zonan bride for the Crown Heir? He had to be out of his mind. Zonans were nothing but trouble, and Blade had never needed any help getting into trouble.
"You're not a burgha, Deg. That's not your problem." He shook the biceps he had hold of. "A Zonan. What in all hells were you thinking?"
Deg colored. "You know what I was thinking. Men marry their mothers."
Ramondar drew himself up with more than a little anger. "Sabinet is his mother."
"Sabinet is his stepmother." And he was still unrepentant if that tone of voice was anything to go by.
"I don't want to hear another word." Ramondar let go of his arm. "And I want that report on my desk in less than an hour. I need to know everything there is to know about this Commander Penthes."
"Yes, Your Majesty. What shall I tell the media?"
Ramondar considered. "Blade went under the lidar for a reason, and if he gets out of this alive, we'll find out what it is." He took a deep breath and wished for exactly that, because the boy was the last piece of a life he still wanted to return to almost every day. "Just make sure the media doesn't report that she's been kidnapped by a sex-crazed Barian."
"If she's really a Silvergard Commander, he's the one who's been kidnapped," Deg retorted, but stepped back to the lectern before Ramondar could do anything but start at the idea. Of course, he wouldn't put it past his son.
In the meantime, he had almost an hour that wasn't accounted for in a day that undoubtedly would end up too full, just like all his other days. And he needed to find out exactly what had happened in Balsom that morning.
Even being an officer in the Silvergard for a decade hadn't prepared Taryn for the pain in her legs when she swung down from her saddle. She tried not to wince. Nobody came forward to take the mounts, which was only to be expected in the darkened courtyard. Leone catered to a select clientele, one that didn't believe in calling attention to itself; if you didn't know Leone's inn was there, you shouldn't be going to it. She pulled the scabbard off her back and handed it to the body she could sense a few feet away. "I'll make arrangements with the owner if you all can see to the horses."
The shadowy figure accepted her weapon. "Are you sure they're still awake?" It was the leader, the big one they had called Blade. In the dark, his voice was like velvet, making her wonder what he'd been thinking when he'd cut her bodice laces. She shivered at the memory of the way his eyes had burned into her.
"She'll be awake. It gets dark early in the Jags, and we're only an hour or so late for supper. This inn is used by a lot of traders, so they come in at all hours, but half a dozen Bariani would be a shock."
"What about one Bariani with a Silvergard escort?" She heard him dismount. "Could she handle that?" Still velvety, and with the faintest proprietary note, as if he could protect her from any unpleasantness from Leone. He put his hand on her arm, and his fingers were warm, even through the coat sleeve.
The truth was that one Bariani with a Silvergard escort would be a lot worse, because it would look like official government interest, even if she was half out of uniform. And Leone would only have to lift an eyebrow for Tomascon to make a meal of any Bariani alive.
"Go in the barn and wait for me to come back." She shrugged off his touch and walked to the door.
It opened before she had worked up the courage to touch the handle, and Leone's familiar silhouette blocked the electric light pouring out from inside. "Well don't just stand there woolgathering, Taryn. It's cold, and I'm not heating the whole valley."
"I've got company, Leone." Taryn shifted her weight and swallowed, because it wasn't easy to explain. "Seven Bariani, one of them is the negotiator. They were attacked in Balsom, when I was taking them from Transit to the palace. Three of them were killed and the rest are here."
Leone pulled her inside and shut the door, then surveyed Taryn with her hands on her hips. "I've only got three beds free, including your room," she said, cutting to the heart of the problem. There would be time to discuss fear and politics after the important things were taken care of. Tomascon would be sharing Leone's room; Taryn knew better than to try to oust two hundred pounds of sleep-cranky cougar from his comfy bed. And she knew from the few times she had been allowed to train in real field exercises that sleeping on a floor would leave her bruised and aching worse than she was now.
"Shite." Taryn sighed. "Well, it's only for one night. Maybe they're sore enough that they'll leave me alone." She rubbed the back of her neck and looked at the wall between her and the courtyard. The tension between her shoulder blades wouldn't go away, because she'd left out the most important piece of information and she couldn't look Leone in the eye and keep her mouth shut about it.
"Taryn? Is there something else you want to tell me?" Leone's hands dropped and she looked concerned. Well, so much for keeping the secret.
"Mychell was leading the attackers. I killed him." Taryn rubbed her hands down her thighs, because thinking about it, remembering the ruined face with her dagger handle still quivering in the eye socket, made her palms clammy. Mychell had been as handsome a man as the negotiator, and now there would have to be a closed-casket funeral because of her.
"I can't say I'm surprised, but it's unfortunate." Leone sighed and scratched the back of her head. "You'll have to go to Barian with your bad boys. You know Talyn won't stop now that she has an excuse."
"You sound just like him," Talyn said, irritation making her stand up straighter. "He told me I have to go to Barian, too."
"He?" Leone raised an interrogatory eyebrow.
"The negotiator. He's big, even bigger than you, Leone." Taryn waved one hand to indicate height. "And I've never seen anyone move as fast as he did when they were attacked. He killed a man behind him and another in front of him with one sword stroke. Where do they learn to use swords?"
"Same place we do." Leone sounded thoughtful. "Big blond guy, huh? He scares you, does he?" Taryn couldn't meet her eyes and lie, so she looked at the floor and shrugged. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was more the instinctive wariness of a female predator when a male of the same species moved into her territory. She knew he wasn't interested in eating her and taking her hunting grounds, but she was a little worried about exactly what he might be interested in doing with her, especially after the suggestion at the river that morning. They couldn't still keep concubines, could they?
"He's not blond." She made a face at a knot in the floor. "At least his hair isn't."
"Oh?" Leone said in a tone of voice that implied Taryn had seen him naked. She raised her head and glared at the taller woman.
"Eyebrows, you pervert." She let the laugh out as soon as she got through the words, but Leone didn't laugh with her.
"Be careful, kitten. Ten gold says he'll be climbing into bed with you tonight. He's got to be the alpha in this pack." And she leered, as if she thought Taryn might like that. Taryn stopped and considered the way he had looked at her when the fighting was over. With a splattering of blood on his face and those aquamarine eyes, he had cut through her lacing and pulled her bodice open as if he meant to have her as the spoils of victory. If he'd been Zonan, she might have let him, and from the look on Leone's face, she knew it too.
"I've had the classes too, you old reprobate." Taryn turned back to the door. "He's not stupid and he knows he has to sleep sometime."
"Six is open, right across from your room. I'll get the stew warmed up again, and kitten---" Leone waited until Taryn looked over her shoulder, "---take a bath. You smell like blood, sweat and fear."
"You forgot feces, but otherwise that's about right." Taryn opened the door and started for the barn.
Blade led his horse into the barn when the Zonan disappeared into the inn, but it was inky black inside. If he'd heard correctly, her first name was Taryn, and the innkeeper knew her very well, indeed. Someone grunted and a lamp started to glow, allowing him to continue without running into a post.
More than half a dozen stalls were already occupied, which meant the place wasn't as deserted as it first appeared. That could be good or bad, depending on how much the other guests had to hide. How bad he had no way of knowing.
One of his guys walked over to him, not really recognizable in the gloom. "Why don't I have a bad feeling about this?" Galen's voice, echoing his thoughts.
Blade stopped and patted the horse's neck. "They're smugglers, so they have as much reason to be discreet as we do. A normal inn wouldn't be hidden off the main road an hour away from the nearest town."
"So I understand. Taryn Penthes is an interesting name, don't you think?"
"You heard?" Galen nodded. "Now tell me why that name sounds so familiar."
Galen shrugged. "Probably because the crown heir is named Talyn Penthes. There was a Commander Leone Varakis in the Silvergard about ten or twelve years ago, a very good officer. She was cashiered without fanfare and our operatives never found out why."
And she knew Taryn well. And that scar was at least ten years old. "Maybe she made the wrong friends."
"Mmm. Like maybe a disgraced member of the royal family that nobody ever talks about?" Galen smirked. "That would be your mission to confirm, Your Royal Highness."
"Shh." Blade looked over his shoulder. "Even in a smugglers' den, I don't think it's safe to get all formal, Your Grace." Then the implication sank in. "You want me to try to get the commander to spill something? Are you nuts?"
"Actually I was referring to the innkeeper." Galen started toward the barn entrance. "Even I know better than to try to make a spy out of a von Stassos when it comes to redheads."
Blade snorted and moved on to an empty stall, because Galen was a consummate spy and a von Stassos who had married a redhead. The horse almost pulled the reins out of his hand when it realized where he was going, but stood patiently once it got into its space. He loosed the girth and lifted the saddle off to set it over the half-wall of the stall by automatic pilot, his hands remembering what to do while his brain wrestled with the mystery of their guide. He had the blanket off and the bridle hung up before he realized that he was looking for a set of curry combs in a place he'd never been before.
"I can finish this, Blade," Maris said as he appeared with half a bale of hay. "Your Zonan is back."
"My Zonan? That's kind of like calling her my shaggyboar," he said as he looked toward the figure framed in the barn entrance. "If I'm not back in eight hours, throw a wake and tell Dar that Barian is his problem."
Maris chuckled and stuffed the hay into the feed sling. "We all have to die some time. I can think of worse ways to go."
Blade's eyebrows folded into a scowl. Maris was generally an intelligent young man and a proven warrior, but he hadn't just implied that Blade was going to get a piece of a Silvergard Commander tonight, had he? "What?"
Maris looked a little nervous. "I just mean..."
"What did you mean, Maris?" Yeah, he was young, but if he was that stupid, he might not get much older. She had killed four assassins without working up a sweat.
Maris stared at the horse nosing into the hay and exhaled angrily. "She's capable. She's honorable. She's gorgeous. Even if she slits your throat because she doesn't like the sound of your voice, I can still think of worse ways to die, you know? And you're the only one she's noticed." He shrugged.
That was better. "When you make an effort to express yourself, I have much less of a desire to punch you," Blade observed. "Keep working on it and a lady might give you the time of day in a couple of years." It was better, but it still wasn't great. He walked over to the Zonan.
"Trouble with the help?" she asked when he was near.
"He's twenty-two and full of hormones." Blade shrugged in much the same way Maris had. "At least he's starting to learn. The trouble was when he was eighteen and really full of hormones."
"You've known him that long?" She seemed surprised.
"I've known him all his life. He's my cousin." He glanced back at the stalls. Seven happy horses and one getting combed. "We're almost done. What did the innkeeper say?"
She grimaced. "There are only three beds empty, but they'll all sleep at least two." There was tension in her voice, and he could understand why. She would have to share with someone, and one thing he knew about Zonans was that they all assumed Bariani were perfectly willing to rape any unprotected female in the vicinity.
Just because that's what they had been like a few hundred years ago when Zona walled itself off from the outside world didn't mean it was still the case. Although ... he wasn't sure he actually trusted anyone else to sleep next to her and keep his hands to himself after the day they'd had. Commander Taryn Penthes was a very attractive woman, even after combat for breakfast and twelve hours on a horse.
"That should be fine," he said to reassure her. "Two on watch is standard ops."
"Of course." She pulled her coat a little tighter, making the buttoned center pucker. "Leone is getting food ready. It's just a hunter's stew, but it's hot and hardy."
"What about a bath? I'm already tired of smelling like a horse." Among other, nastier things.
"Not a problem. I'm under strict orders to take a bath tonight." She shifted her weight, still obviously restive. "Leone built here because there's a hot spring. It's piped in, so she has central heating and unlimited hot water. It smells a little sulfurous in the summer, but this time of year it's perfect."
Blade eyed her. "Sounds like a little slice of civilization. You can stop worrying, Commander. We need to stay in your good graces if we're going to get home in one piece, so nothing is going to happen. Galen has your sword for you." And Galen, like the courtier he was, had glided up on cat feet to offer the scabbard back to her. She took it with a palpable air of relief.
"If you're all ready, we can go in now." She turned and started walking back to the main building without waiting for an acknowledgment, another sign of nerves. He shared a glance with Galen and followed. They could retrieve the packs later.
When he stepped through the door, the first thing he noticed was the light: crisp, clean and even. Electric. The second thing was the heat: centralized, not emanating from a stove or fireplace. Although Taryn had said it was geothermal, no radiators were in evidence, either. Leone was, for Zona, extremely high-tech. And she believed in personal comfort.
"I can see why she doesn't advertise," he said as he pulled off his coat.
"The guest rooms are upstairs," she said, starting across the room.
"Hey, Taryn, tell them to get a move on." Blade looked over his shoulder and saw a true Amazon. She had to be six feet tall, and her shoulders were almost as broad as his were. She was maybe forty, if most of those years had been spent in the military living rough, forty-five if only some of them had. There was no gray in her dark hair, though, and apparently not an extra ounce of fat on her.
"They're on the way," he reported. "We just got the horses bedded down." As if in punctuation, the door opened again and his escort filed in, weighed down by their meager luggage. Half of it was weaponry, such as it was.
"After you eat, give them a warm oat mash," Leone advised, sweeping her eyes over the assembly with an air of assessment Blade knew from drill instructors too numerous to name. "They need it in this weather, especially in steep terrain."
"Yes, ma'am," Galen said smoothly into the silence. "But I didn't see any grain in the barn."
"I'll show you. It's hard to find in the dark." Leone let the swinging door that presumably led to the kitchen shut behind her, and Galen shared another look with Blade. This was the first person in Zona who hadn't treated them like scum. Very interesting.
"The rooms?" he murmured to the Zonan next to him who hadn't exactly treated him like scum. "We need to work out sleeping arrangements."
She started. "As you wish, Negotiator."
He put his hand at the small of her back in a polite gesture to guide her to the stairs, and she reached behind her and pulled it away.
"All right," he whispered to himself. Apparently there were limits to what he would wish.
The two rooms were across the hallway from each other at the end farthest from the stairs. One was large, with two full beds in it and lots of floor space. The other one was considerably smaller, but the bed was very large, with two layers of pillows. It looked comfortable and it looked sturdy, which made him wonder, because he'd seen that particular combination before in military brothels. He sat on the bed and tried to move it. Nothing happened.
"This is longer than the other two beds," she said from where she stood by the door. She sounded as stiff as she looked. "Better for your greater height." Oh, yeah, sure. Like this bed had been built for sleeping.
"And wide enough for two people to sleep without touching each other," he finished for her, carefully not adding that three could snuggle cozily, if they were bent that way. "You should probably sleep here, too." He leaned over and looked under the bed. Yes, there were the bolts, holding frame and floor tightly together. Apparently smugglers weren't Leone's only guests. And the commander hadn't objected to the suggestion, which made his blood hum with a nice tension he wasn't going to do anything about. Really.
"Is something wrong with the bed?" she asked, sounding puzzled. He reached over and pulled at the headboard. It was like pulling on an oak tree. Bolted to the wall, too? What kind of kink went on here? And how did he get invited?
"No, it looks nice and solid." He looked up and smiled at her, then lied through his teeth. "Sometimes they're rickety. I hate feeling like I'll break the bed if I turn over."
"I see." No expression whatsoever in that voice, and her face could have been a mask. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. I've been told to bathe before I'm allowed to eat."
"Where are the bathrooms?"
She turned back. "There are two at either end of the hall, so they're right next door." His eyes flicked to the wall the bed was bolted to, then back to her. Something must have leaked into his expression, because she squeaked and disappeared. He got up and walked around the room again, noticed the blackout-grade shutters over the window, and tried not to think about her, naked, up to her shoulders in a hot spring. Climbing out. Drying off those breasts with that hair unbound and slicked back. Oh yes, please.
She didn't have any clean clothing.
He was out the door and halfway down the stairs before the higher brain pointed out that it was just possible she had borrowed some from the innkeeper. He stopped and surveyed the room. There was a large stewpot in the center of a round table big enough for eight, with six men eating from bowls and tearing into a couple of loaves of bread that looked home-made. His stomach growled, but he headed for the kitchen first.
"Um, Leone?" he called when he'd stuck his head through the swinging door.
"What can I do for you ... Negotiator?" she asked from a butcher-block table. Her feet were up on it and a paper book was in her lap. A cougar lounged next to her, looking well-fed but interested. Blade swallowed and blinked his attention from the tawny eyes to the faded blue ones. Apparently Leone was as wild as Taryn was, if she preferred her housecats in the eighty-kilo range.
"Commander Penthes is bathing, and I wondered if you might be able to spare a change of clothes for her." One side of her upper lip curled in what might have been contempt or amusement. He would have to explain. "We left Balsom in kind of a hurry."
"She knows where the closet is." Leone turned a page, but otherwise didn't move a muscle. "Most of her mufti is here, anyway."
Blade stepped all the way into the kitchen and let the door swing shut at his back. The big cat stopped purring and sat up, looking even more interested. "She comes here a lot?" It would explain why she knew the place existed, but it raised even more questions.
"Every annual home leave." Leone looked up. "She likes it here. Besides, where else could she go?"
"Maybe to see her family?" Again, he had the distinct feeling that there were a series of puzzle pieces here that he just wasn't looking at the right way to put together. Why had she agreed to sleep in the same bed with him, if this was her home base?
Leone fixed him with that strange look again and actually put the book down on the table. "You are kidding me. You really don't know." At least that was a clue. He blinked at her. "Come talk to me after you eat supper. You'll take it better on a full stomach." The cat took that as his cue to stand up, amble over to Blade and try to knock him over by rubbing his legs, purring even louder than before.
He walked out of the kitchen in a daze and sat down in an empty chair at the big table. Someone set a bowl of stew in front of him, then a spoon. He stared at them like they were archaeological artifacts.
"There's fresh bread and the best butter I've ever tasted, too," Galen said from his shoulder. "What did she do, show you hers?"
"No." Blade concentrated and picked up the spoon. "She threatened to tell me what we're missing."
Galen threw his head back and laughed harder than Blade thought was warranted. "That did my heart good," he sputtered when he could speak again. "What about the rooms?"
"Six will do for a bunk room," Blade said around a mouthful of extremely bland stew. "Seven is ... smaller." He searched the table and spied a salt shaker. Not even a cellar, but a shaker. Leone ran a classy establishment.
"So you'll be taking that one with the Zonan," Galen finished, nodding to himself. Blade swallowed, then decided against the maybe stalled on his tongue, because he really didn't want to bed down on a slice of hardwood floor after spending the day on horseback. "How are the locks?"
"Hand me the salt, will you? There are no locks." He watched Galen reach, accepted the shaker before continuing. "Tar---the commander comes here for home leave. She has extra clothes here. And the bed in seven is bolted to both the floor and the wall."
"We'll mount a standard watch, then. Interesting." Galen reached for a loaf of bread and tore off a piece as if he'd been doing it all his life. "About the clothes, I mean. Leone seems like an extremely good person to cultivate on this side of the border."
"I'll find out after I clean up." Blade took another spoonful, and it was perfect. "Where are the packs?" He started eating faster as his stomach realized this was real, live, hot food, heavy on the protein and tasty, too, once the salt had activated all the other flavors.
"By the door. They brought everything in." Galen turned to his right. "Dorcan, when you're done, take a few guys and get the stuff upstairs. We're in six, Blade and the commander in seven. Then you can drink Zonan ale till your eyes bleed or you're on watch."
"Yes, sir," Dorcan said as he buttered a chunk of bread.
"So Leone has a whoring room," Galen said thoughtfully. "I wonder if she cultivates that herbal contraceptive they refuse to export. It could bring a good price off world."
"You actually believe in that old story?" Blade asked, only because he'd come to the bottom of the stew. He looked at the kettle and decided another bowl was in order. He was reaching for the ladle when the table went dead silent. Six men didn't even breathe that quietly.
He looked around just as Taryn came off the last stair. Her hair was loose and still damp, hanging in long waves down to her derriere. She was wearing a form-fitting sleeveless dress made of some fine-gage knit that molded to every perfect curve and ended at her ankles but was slit to one thigh and showing glimpses of cream-smooth rosy skin that stretched for miles, from ankle all the way up. She must have felt a chill, because he could see nipples through the fabric even from six or seven meters away. He swallowed, hard, and memorized every movement as she swayed across the room to the kitchen door, not even aware that six other pairs of eyes were doing exactly the same thing. Until she disappeared, and those six pairs of eyes turned on him with expressions of naked envy.
"Whoa," he said, suddenly aware of exactly how long it had been since he'd been with a woman, down to the minute. Maybe the second. And he had to sleep next to that without touching, because he'd told her she had nothing to worry about. Gods, he had a big mouth.
"Interesting color," Galen commented. Blade looked at him as if he were insane. "The dress. I didn't think they could get that kind of blue-green with natural dyes. It's almost the same color as your eyes, Blade. Perhaps she wore it in your honor?" Someone else whimpered.
Blade swallowed again. "Galen, there are days when I wonder about you. I really do."
"Never a burgha when you need one," Dorcan muttered.
"I bet she doesn't have a father to talk to even if there was one," Maris returned, though he threw a guilty look at Blade as he said it.
"Did you see the way her mams bounced?" Garid asked breathlessly, his eyes glazing over at the memory. He started, and it was pretty clear that someone had kicked him under the table.
"You know, Leone mentioned that there are four baths upstairs," Galen said into the silence. "Real showers, too. Geothermal hot water so there's no shortage, although," he looked around the table, "I wonder if cold water might not be a better idea just now." The others all stared at him. "Hey, I'm married. Looking is all I'm allowed, and I've done that."
Everybody laughed and the tension died, because they all knew Galen's wife was one of the most beautiful women in Barian, on top of running the entire Northshield duchy when he was doing court business. Even Blade smiled.
"And she gave us a good, long look, too." Juvenan was normally the silent type, but when he had something to say, it was inevitably right on point. "I don't need that kind of trouble from a woman who killed four men this morning."
Blade pushed his chair back from the table, silently agreeing that she was trouble, but then he'd always been a good troubleshooter. It was why he'd been sent into the Jags in the first place, in spite of his reputation as an attractor for certain kinds of trouble. "I don't know about you, but I could use a hot shower. Didn't I vow a few weeks ago never to spend another day on a horse?" He shook his head at the irony. "And here we are."
"The question is where we're going next," Galen said, also standing.
"I'll talk to Tar---the commander after I've had my little chat with the innkeeper," Blade said. "And that's not going to be until after I get a shower, thank you. And probably another bowl of stew." He walked over to the piled packs and found his, along with his commandeered Zonan saber, before he mounted the stairs in search of hot water and a little privacy to take care of that throbbing between his legs.
Silean sipped her wine and watched her daughter over the rim of the goblet. It was unusual for Talyn to attend the feast of the Redemption, but not unheard of. As a religious tradition, it was acceptable to be there even when in mourning, which Talyn certainly should have been, except the deep blue dress with the low neckline wasn't exactly mourning wear.
The laughter absolutely wasn't appropriate for mourning. Silean moved across the reception room and watched people scatter, probably from her expression. Deliberately smoothing out her face, she approached the daughter who hadn't changed nearly enough since her dreadful teenage years. "An interesting choice of dinner wear, daughter."
Talyn turned and sobered. "It was one of Mychell's favorites, Your Majesty." She dropped her eyes in a passable imitation of subdued grief. "I wore it in his honor."
"I see. How thoughtful of you, my dear." Silean scanned the crowd of would-be celebrants. "We have a good turnout this year."
"People always turn to their faith to help them get through hard times, Mother." Talyn tried to make it sound sincere, but there was a faint note of superiority in her voice that irritated Silean.
"Then it's a good thing we have so many temples, because I don't see good times coming back to us soon," she murmured when she really wanted to snap.
"Oh, I don't know," Talyn said with a mysterious half-smile. "Good times could be right around the corner, if you know what to look for."
"Do you know something I don't?" Silean asked, rather pointedly, she thought. "Just this morning your Prime attacked the Barian negotiator, Mychell is dead, the negotiator is missing, and so is Taryn, with half her uniform drenched in blood."
"Yes. I know." Talyn took another sip of wine. "Taryn never was able to keep her nose out of trouble, was she?"
Silean felt her lips press together in a tight line and watched her heir pale. "If I recall correctly, Taryn has never made a habit of looking for trouble. It always seems to be lying in wait for her, usually with your finger marks on it, Talyn Lunaren Penthes." She set her goblet on a convenient surface, uncaring if it was a table, a passing tray, or someone's purse. "And now you have referred to your twin sister in the past tense, when the best information I've been able to gather all points to the conclusion that she wasn't even wounded."
Talyn blinked, obviously surprised if one knew what to look for. "She wasn't wounded?"
"The blood on her uniform was male." Silean watched Talyn closely, but the damnable girl showed no emotion as she absorbed the information.
"Then I have a reason to be thankful this evening," Talyn said after a longish pause, but she didn't sound enthusiastic. "If you will excuse me, Mother, I see someone I should greet."
Silean watched her disappear into the crowd of celebrants and wondered what the scheming prince was thinking. A few moments later, she saw Vallan conversing with the foreign minister, their heads bent together in deep conversation and both faces somber. Apparently the Bariani hadn't had much luck with their satellite surveys. Silean made her way toward the pair, and Herren spied her first.
"Your Majesty," he said, breaking off Vallan's murmured sentence as he bowed deeply. "I am honored you saw fit to grace us with your presence."
"They didn't find anything, did they?" His hard swallow was all she needed, though he looked at the toes of his boots and shook his head minutely. "I didn't think they would. Taryn is adept at escape and evasion. She set a new record at the academy in that course."
"At least the Barianis could tell us she's not bleeding to death," Vallan offered. "That's worth something."
"You have no idea what it's been worth so far," Silean said before she could stop herself. "Would you excuse us for a moment, Herren?" The look of disappointment was masked almost immediately, but it was still painful to watch. She wondered for perhaps the thousandth time if she should have told him, if she should tell him now.
It couldn't have been easy for him, watching the entire country rejoice at their birth and not being able to claim them as his own, but he hadn't been her Prime, hadn't even been an appropriate match because he wasn't from a noble family. Bringing him into her cabinet had been the best she could do to keep her children's father close to them. He bowed even more deeply and retreated.
"Was that really necessary?" Vallan asked. "He's more than proved his loyalty at least half a dozen times, Your Majesty."
"I'm aware, and I fully expect you to convey my apologies." Silean sighed and rubbed her temples as she tried to decide how to say it. She gave up after a few seconds, because there was no polite or circumspect way to get it across. "I need Talyn followed. She said something tonight that leaves me with grave suspicions about the attack."
Vallan straightened and drew in a deep breath. "I see." She glanced toward Herren, now making polite conversation with a dowager wearing her family's fortune in jewelry. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Anything ... unusual." Silean nibbled her bottom lip for a moment. "And Vallan, I want to know of any Silvergard movements that aren't strictly routine, starting from mid-morning today."
"Goddess, what did Talyn say?" Vallan sounded shocked.
Silean shrugged. "She referred to her sister in the past tense, as if Taryn were already dead." Her lips pressed together again at the memory. "If she had anything to do with this, or if she's attempting retribution when Taryn was only doing her job, I will need to reconsider my choice of heir."
"Are you sure, Your Majesty? Zona has never had a firstborn passed over as Crown Prince unless it was a boy." Vallan sounded shocked and dubious, as well she might.
"Zona has never had a murderous crown prince," Silean replied, firm now that she had made the decision. "I don't like it any more than you do, but as Matriarch my first responsibility is to Zona, and I can't leave this peaceful place in the care of a woman with no morals and no understanding of the importance of family."
"I understand." Now Vallan's voice was as quiet and as serious as it had been when she was conversing with Herren, which made Silean wonder what they'd been talking about.
"You'll need to tell the cabinet that I'm considering changing heirs, but not why," Silean said just as quietly. "I realize they probably need to know that as well, but ... it's still a private matter." She glanced over to where Herren was and met his eyes for half a second before he looked away. Goddess, had she seen desire there? She was nearly fifty, for heaven's sake.
"You can rely on my discretion, Your Majesty." Silean started, because they were exactly the same words Herren had used when she told him no one must know of that night, so long ago.
"The troop movements. I need them first thing in the morning," she said, still watching him. Even thirty years later, he was still a fine-looking man, more muscled than she remembered, and with touches of silver at his temples, but with the same high cheekbones and kind gray eyes. He turned his back to greet someone and she saw something else that hadn't changed.
"Of course. It will be on your desk when you get there," Vallan assured her.
Silean swallowed her regrets and nodded, then moved away to make some polite conversation of her own.
The gathering broke up early, because it was still quite cold out and some had long carriage rides to get to shelter. Silean was shrugging on her cloak in the empty antechamber when hands pulled it from her and settled it on her shoulders.
"Allow me, Your Majesty." Herren's voice. She turned and looked up at him, unable to hide her expression. His reply was to pull her into his arms and hold her close.
She buried her face against his shoulder and held back a sob by sheer force of will. "She's all alone out there, Herren, and there's nothing I can do."
"I know." He stroked his hand down her hair. "But our warrior will get through this, Silean. Escape and Evasion wasn't even her best class at the academy."
Silean pulled far enough away to look in his eyes. "You knew all along."
"I can count to nine as well as the next man." He moved to put one hand on her cheek. "I've always wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the appointment that kept me close enough to see them once in a while."
"I'm sorry. I should have done more." Tears threatened again, making her blink hard to hold them back. Why was he so understanding? He should be furious.
"What, and open them up to a scrutiny of my background and bloodlines?" He shook his head. "You did the right thing, Silean. You protected my daughters better than I could myself. How could I ask for anything more?"
"She's not protected now," she managed, though her voice was husky and breathless. "I'm so worried for her."
"I know. I'm worried too, but I have faith in Taryn. And I'm here for you," he whispered as he lowered his head to kiss her for the first time in decades.
Taryn pushed open the door to the kitchen and made for the table, already set with a bowl of stew and a glass of red wine, only detouring to say hello to Tomascon, who affectionately swiped her forearm with his raspy tongue.
"I see what you mean about seven Bariani," Leone commented from the ladder where she was filling a salt shaker. "I can smell the testosterone from in here."
"Why did you put him in my room?" Taryn asked quietly as she sat at the table and pulled off a piece of bread.
"I'll tell you after you explain why you chose that particular dress for dinner," Leone replied, then backed down the ladder and set the salt shaker on the table, "and why you didn't braid your hair." She retrieved a bottle and two snifters, then sat on the other side of the table while Taryn salted her stew.
"It's a comfortable dress and I didn't want the stew to get cold." She spooned up a mouthful of thick broth and blew on it before putting it in her mouth.
Leone gave her a lopsided smile. "Uh-huh. And the fact that it's skin-tight and cut up to here and down to there was the merest of coincidences," she said as she uncorked the bottle. "You've got headlamps, too. In too much of a hurry for underwear?"
Taryn swallowed and glared. "I like this dress."
"From the absolute silence when you opened the kitchen door, seven Bariani liked that dress." Leone poured three fingers into a snifter. "And that's why I put him in your room. There's no shame in desire, kitten."
Taryn put down the bread she'd been about to bite into. "I don't want to sleep with him." It wasn't absolutely true, so she changed the subject. "And I've been a Silvergarder for ten years. Why do you still call me kitten?"
Leone smirked and swirled her brandy. "Because you are a kitten. Sure you can catch your own supper, but you'd much rather curl up in a warm lap and purr than sleep in a barn, much like that lump of fur by the fireplace. That's not a bad thing." Leone sipped. "And you do want to sleep with him or he wouldn't make you nervous. You probably spent the entire day snarling at him so you wouldn't jump him with an audience."
Taryn had nothing to say in reply, so she bit into the bread and chewed out her frustration.
"Tell me what happened in town," Leone said when she had swallowed the bread.
Taryn went through the events, ending with, "And when I realized it was Mychell, I knew they had been set up, but I couldn't figure out who or why. It's not Mother's style, and Talyn's not that smart, although I can't think that sending Mychell to assassinate someone was particularly intelligent." She stirred her stew again. "I knew I couldn't drop them off at the palace and be done with it, because that was where the kill squad came from. That's when I knew I had to get them out of the country before I could go to the captain and demand an investigation."
"Hmm. You're right, the brains behind this didn't come from Silean or Talyn. Unless it was an opportunity that was just too good to pass up," Leone commented as she picked up her wine glass. "Mychell's a moron. Or was, I guess. And Talyn had kept him around longer than any of the others, almost four years. Maybe she was ready for a new lover and needed to get rid of Mychell anyway. Kill three birds with one blow, you, Mychell, and the big one."
"Blade," Taryn said around a mouthful of stew. Leone raised an eyebrow. "They call him Blade."
That made Leone's eyes narrow. "Interesting name for a negotiator. I wonder what we're missing?"
Taryn shrugged. "He knows how to handle a saber, although their swords are ... strange. They're really sharp, because there were three bodies that had been cut in half, but the blades are almost paper thin, and they curve, just a little."
"Katanas." Leone took another sip of her wine. "A powerful tool in the hands of a professional. I find it interesting that only three of them died. These aren't your garden-variety Bariani diplomats."
Leone's comment confirmed what Taryn had already worked out for herself. Bariani were tech people, and they traded with offworlders and flew through the skies above Timarron. Why was this group of Bariani excellent riders? Why did they fight so well with swords? And Blade with the glowing eyes, who carried the mantle of responsibility as if he held no weight on those broad shoulders---what was he when he wasn't running for his life? He wasn't an ordinary negotiator; that she knew as well as she knew the contours of her scar.
"One had a laser pistol, Goddess knows how he got it through the customs search." She stirred her stew. "Two of them were picked off with crossbows before the hand-to-hand started, so technically they only lost one in the fighting."
"That's even more interesting." Leone leaned forward and pinned her with a leer. "If I can get the Bariani Blade a little loose after supper, can you pump him for information?"
Taryn digested the odd remark as Leone went on, a little worried about it. Interrogation wasn't one of her skills. "There's more going on here than the usual diplomatic saber-rattling. Only Barian Crown Guard can use katanas with proficiency," Leone concluded.
"That depends on what you mean by 'pump,'" Taryn said. "You know I'm no good at seducing men." The scar scared off all but the most dedicated fortune hunters, and they left her alone when they found out she didn't live like royalty.
Leone snorted. "You're not much good at seducing women, either, although you get a coy little come-hither look when you're trying to hide your scar." She drained her glass while Taryn thought about it. She was always self-conscious about the scar, and when she had been younger, had made attempts to hide it. But that was before she'd figured out it did her as much good as not. As her sister became more and more snotty, it was a way for people to know they were in the presence of the safe one---the one who was really only one of them.
"If you say so," she finally decided, and went back to her stew.
"Eat up, kitten, and then we'll find the bottom of this brandy while I explain the concept of not fighting too hard when a gentleman is a little drunk and feeling frisky." Taryn looked up and Leone had that lopsided grin again. She had a feeling she was going to need the brandy for this discussion.
"Oh. I thought this was going to be some state occasion," Benedar said when he stopped in the doorway of the family dining room. Ramondar smiled at his younger son and felt something relax in the pit of his stomach. Blademir might be out in the wilderness, but the rest of his family was here, where he could protect them.
"More of a crisis council, Dar. The dress uniform wasn't necessary." He motioned to the table. "Now that we're all here, let's have something to eat."
"Where's Blade?" Dar asked, pulling out a seat for his mother. Sabinet, Queen of Barian, paused in the act of sitting and glanced at her husband with an expression of slight reproach.
"That's why I wanted everyone here," Ramondar said as he took his own seat at the head of the table. "Blade was attacked this morning in Balsom." The girls both gasped, though Sabi stayed as calm as ever. "Our contacts in the Zonan government say he wasn't wounded, but he's disappeared." He frowned at his plate and considered how to phrase it. "They think a Silvergard Commander is leading the survivors out, possibly through the Jags."
"Daddy, what was Blade doing in Zona?" Cadisan asked, as blunt as only a teenager could be. Ramon forced himself to smile at his youngest and remember she hadn't been through all this yet. Sabi motioned for the waiters to start serving while he brought everyone current on the situation.
"Better Blade than me," Benedar said when Ramondar was finished. "He might actually get Uncle Galen and Maris out in one piece."
"Dar, what are you talking about?" Sabinet asked, giving her husband a chance to chew.
Benedar shrugged. "I'm not a strategist. I can fly okay, but don't ask me where the best places are to bomb so that it does the most good with the least damage. That's Blade."
Ramondar took another bite and considered his son's statement. Blade did have an uncanny ability to get himself out of tight situations, including some of the most devious stratagems ever devised by members of the court wanting a royal wedding. Until that moment, however, Ramondar had never considered it to be a conscious ability. It might even explain his anomalous test scores all through his education, because one of the first tricks taught in officers' school was to have the enemy underestimate your strength.
"But he always had such trouble in school," Sabinet commented, although she, too, sounded thoughtful.
Benedar actually snorted. "That's because he was either drunk off his ass or hung over for all of his final exams." He put his fork down and frowned. "Except for that one year when he had Malthus influenza at prep school. He was coming down with it the day of his calculus final and he took the test with a fever almost high enough to boil an egg. He told me later he couldn't concentrate enough to screw anything up."
Ramondar stopped chewing and swallowed hard. "You mean the time he blew the curve?" It had been the Crown Heir's first scandal, because he'd been sixteen and the headmaster of the private school had called the king to declare that he had cheated on an exam, and oh, by the way, he was gravely ill. The arrogant bastard had waited two days to make sure he wasn't faking it, and that was the last term any von Stassos had ever attended that school. Benedar nodded, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"You know that paper I did for my senior thesis at university? The one everybody raved over? I basically wrote down what Blade told me one night after I said I'd been assigned a deconstruction of the Hollandeier engagement. He kept saying, 'follow the money, follow the power.'" He shrugged again. "So I did."
"I'll be damned," Ramondar said under his breath. He stirred his food as Benedar laughed.
"He gave me the only decent criticism on it, too. After it was published, he commed me and said, 'You forgot the Brandenberg Cartel.'" Benedar shook his head slowly. "It took me two weeks of research to find out what he was talking about, but fiery hells if the Brandenberg Cartel out of Neostan Four didn't finance both sides and make a healthy profit. Blade just seemed amazed that someone had listened to him."
"He tutored me in astrogation," Nimashet said when Benedar stopped. "I couldn't find Dar and he was coming in from something, smelled like a horse, and asked what was wrong, so I told him. He spent the next three hours talking me through a problem that ended up as extra credit on the exam. I was the only one who got it right." She smiled and Ramondar felt something move in his chest. "Thanks to Blade."
Cadisan looked up from her plate, a frown creasing her forehead. "Then why does everyone think he's stupid?" She was almost sixteen years younger than her brother and didn't know him very well, Ramondar reminded himself. She was allowed to ask rude questions.
"Because he wants them to," Benedar said into the silence.
Cadisan's confusion morphed into irritation. "But why?" She gestured with her fork. "All it ever does is get him into trouble."
Benedar sighed. "Your turn, Dad."
"If an opponent thinks you're not all that bright," Ramondar tried to explain, "he's more likely not to spend a lot of effort on outsmarting you, and leave much larger loopholes in his plan. That way it's easier to outmaneuver him."
"Or her," Sabinet put in, the first time she'd said anything since almost the beginning of the conversation. Ramondar had his mouth full, so he quirked an eyebrow at her to continue. She cleared her throat delicately and said, "Lady Tabethe, for example. Taking off all her clothes and hiding in his skimmer at the end of the Solstice celebration last year wasn't exactly a brilliant plan, Cadi."
Benedar chuckled. "Blade's probably the only man in Barian who could have talked her back into her clothes, too. They're all after one thing, a fancy hat."
Cadisan looked like she'd had an epiphany, and Ramondar relaxed. She hadn't been sheltered too much, after all.
"Hang on a minute," Benedar said then. "Aren't the Matriarch's Own all female? Who is this Silvergarder leading them out of Zona?"
Ramondar fished in his pocket for a moment, then tossed the Zonan coin at his son. "Her name is Taryn Penthes, and she looks a lot like that, but I understand she has a knife scar on her left cheek, a couple of centimeters under her eye."
Benedar examined the coin closely. "I think Blade could be in trouble. This woman is beautiful." He looked up with a wicked grin. "If she's as intelligent as the Silvergarders I've come across, he could be in a lot of trouble."
"What do you mean?" Sabinet asked. Benedar handed her the coin, and the two younger women got up from their seats to look over her shoulder at the likeness.
"It's harder to get into the Matriarch's Own than it is to get into the Barian Crown Guard," Benedar said. "They're all highly skilled, highly intelligent, and deadly fighters. He needs to marry a woman who could be a queen when dad retires. That's royalty if I ever saw it."
"But she's Zonan," Sabinet protested.
Benedar pressed his lips together and looked at his plate.
"The house of Penthes has ruled Zona for three hundred years, Mother," came from Nimashet. "They're a lot more royal than we are."
Ramondar closed his eyes, and Julesan's face was there. She had never spoken of her childhood or where she grew up, but she had refused to marry him. She had been horrified when he'd told her he was going to inherit the Barian throne. And most telling of all, she had left him and her child who would be a king, disappeared one day with only a note saying he must find a woman who could be his queen, not just his lover.
It still felt like a stab wound every time he allowed himself to think about it. Blade must not fall in love with a Zonan, because they were ruthless, heartless people, and he couldn't bear to watch another Zonan abandon his son. He felt his hands clench into fists as he tried to restore his control over his rage, because he knew how seductive the independence of Zonan women could be, and he knew, with exacting precision, what Blade's weaknesses were. His only remedy would be to pull them apart as quickly as was humanly possible and then try to minimize the damage. If he was in time.
If Blademir survived long enough to get home.
Cadi cleared her throat in the uncomfortable silence. "I still want to know what could possibly take him to Zona," she demanded.
"Actually, that was Deg's idea," Ramondar admitted, then started. Deg, who had been researching rumors of a second heir to the Matriarch, had thought a quiet little negotiation for more trade rights in return for food and other basic supplies would be just the thing to help Barian forget the Crown Heir's latest brush with notoriety. "Since Blademir has been researching the border incursions---" he felt his eyes narrow as his thoughts went on independently of his words, "---he seemed just the person to convince Silean her people were on the edge of starvation."
"And what else have you just thought of, Ramon?" Sabi asked, putting her fork down.
He sighed. Sabi had known him since childhood, and while she wasn't the great love of his life, they had grown old---well, middle-aged---and comfortable together, and she knew him entirely too well to hide anything from her.
"Deg also had more information about Commander Penthes than a press secretary needs," he admitted.
"Gods and demons, you don't think Deg set up the ambush, do you?" Dar looked appalled, as well he might. Degusta Matamoss was one of the inner circle, privy to more of the von Stassos family details than any other member of the cabinet.
"If he had anything to do with it, I'll be damned to more than one Hell," Ramondar said into the shock. "Deg throws up at ingrown toenails." He shrugged. "I think he was researching possible alliances, since we all know their Crown Prince is a bitch on rails."
"And couldn't fight her way out of a cellophane bag," Benedar added with a smirk. "Not my brother's kind of woman at all."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Ramondar muttered to himself, his appetite suddenly gone.
Blade waited until Taryn had wobbled off before he slid into her seat. Leone had been staring owl-eyed at the table, but fixed him with a gaze that was barely impaired.
"You're a little young to be retired military," he commented, carefully placing both of his hands on the table, face down.
Leone shrugged. "I saw something I shouldn't have. I either got out or I got---what's your word for it? Frigged?"
"Fragged," he supplied. "Frigging is ... something else." And he wasn't about to explain what it was, either.
She shrugged again. "I went to Krystale once, right after. I wanted to see for myself what was so evil about people who looked pretty much like us that I'd spent my entire adult life on guard against them. They were having some kind of celebration, a big parade all through the streets in carriages that moved by themselves. I had a clear line of sight on the king for almost six minutes." She shook her head. "You people aren't evil, but you are crazy."
"He was surrounded by an energy shield, Leone," he explained. "We're not that crazy. Besides, it's important for the people to be able to get a look at the ruler once in a while so they can make sure he remembers who he's working for."
That made her laugh. "You want a drink?"
"Sure, if you've got something with a kick." He eyed the bottle and the two empty snifters. "Brandy's such a girly drink." Zonan brandy, of course, was as strong as Barian whiskey, but he was used to whiskey and the one time he'd finished a bottle of Ruby Blend he discovered he couldn't stand on his own and he didn't even feel drunk. The hangover had lasted for two days. Leone grinned and got up, taking the bottle with her.
"Pity we'll never meet again, von Stassos," she said as she put the brandy on the bar. The hair on the back of his neck tried to stand on end. How had she known? She bent and disappeared for a moment, coming back up with a familiar shape. That moment gave him time to collect himself after the shock of being called by name. "The king wasn't the only one I saw in that parade, Your Whateverness. It was your twenty-first birthday as I recall, and dark hair doesn't disguise you worth a damn. It's a good thing you washed it out." Which made it thirteen years ago, not the ten Galen had guessed. She had snagged a pair of shot glasses on her way back to the table and sat them down with a thump before she slid back into her seat.
"Call me Blade," he managed. "All my friends do."
"Am I your friend?" Leone asked as she uncorked the bottle. "Does His Royal Highness Blademir Erichsal von Stassos have friends?" She poured two shots of Northvale Twenty-Year and sat the bottle down, then stared at him.
"You wouldn't believe the friends he has," he answered truthfully. "Sanctuary Bishops and Malthusian hookers at the same dinner party in the same dress."
"And tonight you'll be sharing a bed with a Zonan Silvergarder." Leone folded her arms. "I assume that's why we're having this conversation. Goddess knows you don't care about tech smugglers."
"Hell, I'd make them a great deal on vaccines if I thought it would do any good." He picked up one of the shot glasses. "But, yeah, I want to know about Commander Penthes. She's hiding something, and I need to know what it is. Right now my life is in her hands, and I hate relying on people with secrets."
"Drink. You'll need it." Leone unfolded and picked up the other shot glass. "To biology." It was a strange toast, but after the day he'd had, anything was an excuse. He downed the shot and it burned just the way it should have, bitter smoky oak and all. "She's Silean's daughter."
The burn cut off abruptly as he absorbed the astounding words. That was the missing puzzle piece. And Leone was right, he should have known immediately. "Younger, I presume," he said when he could talk.
"Silean had a lot of trouble producing an heir. When she finally got pregnant and stayed that way, the entire country rejoiced." Leone poured two more shots. "Then the midwives started whispering that she was getting too big, too fast. They were worried that she was carrying some kind of monster, so they brought in a machine that looked inside. We had to wire a generator in the palace basement so it would run. Damnedest thing I ever saw, but it gave me the know-how when it came time to set up this place." She gestured at the overhead light. "Anyway, it turned out she was carrying twins. Both girls and, it turned out, identical." Picking up her glass, she finished, "Very bad luck."
Blade felt his forehead wrinkle. "Why?"
"For one thing, it's a high-risk pregnancy. For another, it muddies up the line of succession. It would have been okay if one had been a boy, or even fraternal sisters, but two daughters from one egg meant two Crown Princes. Mama tried to hush it up, but one of the midwives was so proud of delivering two healthy heirs that she let it slip." Leone downed her second shot and grimaced.
Blade followed, but was too distracted to enjoy the flavor. Identical twin sisters; Talyn and Taryn. "So Talyn was born first." Identical twins were often mirror images---and Taryn was left-handed. And the scar, of course, so people could tell them apart. Rage bubbled up and threatened to get out. Gods damn them, they hadn't had to do that. It had to have hurt like hell, and it was much larger than necessary. His hands were fisted and he deliberately forced himself to relax.
"By about four minutes." Leone was watching him closely. "Talyn doesn't like being a twin. She thinks it's an insult to have someone else walking around with her blood in their veins."
"Why?" Blade asked before he thought, which he realized when Leone gave him the "think first, dumbass" glare that was so familiar from adolescence. And from basic training.
"It's a hold Silean has over her. Be good, because I've got another one just as good as you." Leone shrugged. "At least I assume that's what started it. On the other hand, Talyn has taken it to extremes." She looked at the table. "Taryn has that scar because her sister tried to kill her and missed. I pulled the knife away from Talyn and slapped her to try to get her back to something approaching sanity. After that, Taryn disappeared for almost a year and my services were no longer required."
"You're telling me that the Crown Prince of Zona is psychotic?" Blade scrubbed his hands over his face. "Gods and demons."
"I don't know about that," Leone mused, "but she's definitely spoiled, vengeful and not very nice."
"Name me the reality where it's all right to kill someone for having the same DNA as you," Blade challenged.
She looked up and stared directly into his eyes. "Bariani do it all the time. It's called stem cell cloning." She frowned. "Or something like that."
Blade shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the drift off subject and especially with the direction of that drift. He'd been assured many times that the chimera were incapable of developing into people, but he'd also never seen any data that anyone had actually tried it to make sure.
"So Taryn is genetically identical to the Crown Heir," he said after a moment. Which meant her children would have exactly the same claim to the Zonan throne that Talyn's children would have. Only the father's DNA could be used to tell them apart. All the puzzle pieces in his head rearranged and clicked into place, and he knew he had a solution to several problems, if only she would go for it. Except she was Zonan, so she would never go for it and she'd probably try to kill him for the suggestion. Try?
"Crown Prince," Leone corrected. "I admit I don't understand all of your Bariani mumbo-jumbo about it, but, yeah, she's a threat to Talyn. A branch in the blood that isn't a branch." She poured. "The one thing that bothers me is Mychell. I don't think the attempt on your life was after you. I think it was a way to get Taryn between a rock and a hard place. No matter who died, she was screwed. And Talyn isn't smart enough to come up with a plan like that on her own."
"Silean?" he asked, distracted by the plan forming in his head.
Leone grimaced. "Smart enough, but not that ruthless." She fixed him with that glinty stare again. "You're her only way out, you know. And that's going to be a problem."
Blade forced his attention back to the conversation. "What do you mean?"
"Oh come on. King Ramondar is a crafty bastard, and you're his son, even if you only think when all of your other options have been explored and you avoid commitment like it's a disease." He bristled a little, because he didn't avoid it---he just hadn't found anyone worth it until that very day. "What if the next generation of Barian royalty are also direct descendants of Silean? Goodbye Zonan problem. Hello Dozen Worlds." She grinned. "Think about it. I'm sure it will come to you."
"You," he said as he leaned back in the chair, "have a dirty mind. I can't believe you're telling me to seduce her." Even if it had mirrored his own thoughts, right up to the point where Taryn tried to break his neck and probably succeeded.
The grin faded. "Son, I'm telling you to screw her brains out from here until you get to the Enclave. If you're lucky, really lucky, she'll be pregnant by then and you can talk old lamb-ass into a bonding. Then she'll be a member of the Bariani ruling family and beyond Talyn's reach forever, and Barian gets Zona back when the truth comes out and Silean revokes Talyn's crown prince status. The Dozen Worlds might even reconsider the petition for full status before you take over all of Timarron."
"True," he managed. He slammed the shot. Bonded, the religious equivalent of a civil marriage, to a woman he'd known for less than a day. Even if her breasts were perfect and her legs went all the way up, and he kept thinking about marriage every time he looked at her, if only in a general way. "How far is it to the Enclave from here?" Maybe he could put it off for a while. Take it slow. He remembered the dagger in the eye socket and amended the thought to very slow. Yeah, slow could be good.
Leone looked thoughtful. "The last time I went for a visit it took about three days, but it was the end of summer. I would recommend moving a little slower this time of year. It's pretty wild country in between, and the horses aren't used to that kind of workout. Call it five days."
"Five days?" He'd been hoping for a couple of weeks at the very least. A couple of years would have been his best-case scenario. "Your faith in my abilities is terrifying."
Leone shrugged. "The moon's going to be new in three days." Blade blinked. What did that have to do with it? She leaned forward. "Sorry, I forgot. That's generally when Zonan women are at their most fertile."
Maybe it was the whiskey, but he was completely lost. "And you know this because?" he asked.
Leone sighed. "We're a low-tech society, running mostly on sunlight. Our physical cycles mirror natural cycles a lot more closely than yours would with all that artificial light. Most women in Zona have their periods at the full moon, which makes ovulation most likely at the new moon."
"That was entirely too much information," he said before he could stop himself. In fact, the entire conversation was surreal. He would have to have sex with her every night for the next three days at least, not that it would be difficult in theory, but he would have to force it and that might be the last thing he ever did. "I think I need another drink."
"No, you've had your limit," Leone said. "You have work to do, Bariani, starting as soon as you get up those stairs. I fed her enough brandy to put down a horse, so at least you have a fighting chance." That was clearly a dismissal, with orders. He stood before he had a chance to reconsider.
"I was serious about the vaccines, by the way," he said. "Especially since we haven't got another way to pay for the rooms and the food."
"You save Taryn's life and I'm in your debt forever, though I'll personally beat the shite out of you if you don't treat her right." She stood, too. "But Trondheim-McKenna could get them to me if you're feeling grateful." Then she gave him a look with a lopsided grin that told him without words that he might be in for the ride of his life.
He definitely wanted another drink, and he wanted to let Taryn get good and asleep before he went anywhere near those stairs. Even then, he might seriously need the body armor he'd packed away after the shower.
Talyn shivered when she closed the door of her quarters behind her and realized she was all alone in the dimness. She had shared these rooms, and especially the bed, with Mychell for almost four years. He had become part of her, comfortable as pajamas; now he was gone.
Something in the ceiling creaked, sounding vaguely ominous. Talyn winced, shrinking back against the door to the hallway, where two stern Silvergarders stood watch. A light flared in the gloom and she saw the blue-haired offworlder light up a cigar, his legs stretched out over the table that had held her breakfast tray that morning. He puffed it several times, exhaling smoke that seemed to snake directly toward the door. It made her cough, because it smelled like no other smoke she'd ever come into contact with. She pushed away from the door behind her and advanced into the room toward the fireplace.
"Greetings, Prince Talyn," he said in that strangely velvety accent that made her think of vampires for some reason. "I've been waiting to hear what you've found out regarding the location of your sister and the Bariani Crown Heir. Where will they sleep tonight?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," she lied smoothly as she knelt to spark the tinder to life. "I do know Commander Penthes was not wounded in the ambush. My mother is working with the Barianis, who say the blood on her clothes is male, not hers." It came out in a rush, because she was disoriented, because he was almost seven feet tall and in her space, and especially because the flare of his match had shown he wasn't wearing any clothes. As the fire caught she sneaked a look at him over her shoulder to be sure. He was staring at her, and he very definitely wasn't wearing any clothing at all. She added a small log to take off the chill in the room. A chill he didn't seem to feel, if what she had seen was any indication. She turned back to face him when the flames were licking at the seasoned wood.
"Very interesting, Your Royal Highness." He took a deep drag on the cigar and held his breath for a moment, staring back at her while she fought to maintain eye contact. As the fire behind her grew, there was enough light to tell that his eyes weren't yellow anymore, either, but a rich, deep green, and his body was darkly bronzed and a perfect specimen of male homo sapiens. Talyn felt her mouth go dry. The Zonan Matriarchy might be descended from a Bariani pleasure slave, but they had been independent for a long time. It didn't mean, however, that a Penthes wasn't prone to instinctive tension in the presence of a prime male bent on domination, and the confidence for nudity implied that intent.
"Do you have a name?" she forced herself to ask after a hard swallow to get her throat cleared. "I'm tired of addressing a Dozen Worlds representative as Hey, You." He studied her for almost a minute, then shrugged.
"My name is Sharif Mustafan Tanaka." He smiled lazily through the cloud of smoke that came out with the words, showing disturbingly long canines. "I doubt very much that any magic you could use it for would affect me, though."
"Magic?" she echoed, confused, as he took another drag on the cigar. She stood and advanced on him to show his size and gender didn't intimidate her, even if it did just a little. "Just because we shun most of the high technology that shortens lifespans in the Dozen Worlds doesn't mean we're ignorant savages, Tanaka. Zonans know there is no such thing as magic."
He spat a cloud of blue smoke almost directly in her face with a bark of laughter. It smelled strangely sweet and made her head spin, and she realized it must be some kind of drug. She pressed a cuff of sleeve to her mouth and nose to try to screen out the smoke.
"There are many in Garnford Major and Minor who would consider Mustafan Tanaka a name to conjure with," he said, then smiled in a way that made her feel like he might like to bite her. "What an attractive dress, Your Royal Highness." He lifted his long, muscular legs from the table and flowed to his feet. "Where is it from? I would like to acquire one for my collection of Zonan art objects."
"It was a gift," she said through her sleeve as he sauntered the three steps toward her, puffing on the smoldering tube. Talyn backed away from the imposing form. "What is that thing? The smoke smells strange." Her retreat was stopped by the wall next to the fireplace.
"It's a Garnford Minor cheroot," he said when he got to her. His words breathed another puff of the smoke directly into her face, and the cloth didn't shelter her lungs from it at all. "Very powerful variety of the herb." He stepped closer, puffed again, and blew the smoke directly and purposefully into her face, making her eyes water.
"What herb?" she asked as she fought the sense of lightheadedness and a rising euphoria.
He made a clucking noise, took another pull from the blighted thing and pressed his body against hers. Even through her clothes she could feel his heat, and she dropped her wrist from her nose to try to push him away, which had no effect. Then he removed the cigar from his lips without exhaling, pinched her nose and forced her mouth open before sealing his lips over hers. Talyn thought he meant to kiss her, which would have been bad enough, but instead he exhaled the smoke directly into her, forcing it into her lungs.
"I don't think the name would translate, but it's a genetically tailored member of the hemp family," he said when he released her and she could cough the stuff out of her lungs. "It has quite ... unusual properties." She blinked up at him, suddenly unable to think of anything but the male body pressed against her, holding her in place. "That's it. Let the smoke do its work and keep that lovely mouth shut for once. You're very attractive until you open your mouth, you know."
"What?" There was something wrong here, but she had no idea what it might be or why it was wrong. Everything felt so good. She relaxed into him and felt his hands on her waist. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling myself right now. What did you say?"
"You'll be fine in the morning," he said, a predatory edge in his voice. "And tonight, you'll be ... more than fine." His hands were warm, the strength so comforting that she giggled and leaned into him, sighing when his arms slid around her waist and pulled her closer. "Damn, you're a docile little thing when you get some weed in you. I almost feel sorry for you, Prince Talyn."
"Sorry for me?" she echoed, confused. "I'm going to be queen of Grant Barian."
"Unlikely," he countered. "You are, however, going to be used tonight, like the toy you were bred to be. And the smoke is getting you ready." He pulled half a step away from her and ripped open the bodice of her dress. She looked down at her breasts, confused because they were visible. He covered them with his hands, and the convoluted statement unraveled a bit as she stared at the bronzed fingers with their claw-like nails against her pale, tender flesh. Moreover, she wanted it, wanted him, although she couldn't understand that either. Mychell had just been killed. She shouldn't be attracted to another man so quickly, should she? The offworlder began to massage her chest. "Does that feel good?"
Talyn moaned and shifted her legs, words almost beyond her.
"I thought it might. We'd better get this dress the rest of the way off, too."
Obedient to the hypnotic voice, she tried to shrug out of the ruined garment, but her arms and hands were clumsy, languid, as if they'd forgotten how to move properly.
"I can't---what's the matter with me?" she asked, hearing the plaintive whine in her voice but unable to care. She reached toward him, beseeching with her gaze. "Please, can you help me?"
He smiled slowly, and though it showed his white fangs she also saw the heat of desire. "Allow me," he said, taking his hands away from her breasts.
She whimpered at the loss, but he ripped her dress open the rest of the way, clear down to the floor-length hem, in a far more direct solution to the problem of access. He pulled her down to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, rolling on top of her and spreading her legs apart. She moaned, because it felt so good to be handled like that, just moved into whatever position he wanted.
He took one more deep drag off the cigar and carefully tamped it out on the hearth, then leaned over her and put his mouth on hers again. This time she was ready, and inhaled as deeply as she could, but also slid her tongue forward to taste him. He seemed to like that, grunting as he moved slightly away from her and spreading her legs still wider as he exhaled until her lungs were about to burst. He released her mouth and she gratefully let the smoke out of her lungs as she felt his fingers slide over and through the folds of her genitals.
"Oh!" escaped, a breathless surprise when two fingers found the opening and pushed inside. "Oh, yes."
"Mmm, nice and wet," he breathed, sliding the fingers in and out a couple of times. "I think this will do for the first."
"Don't stop." She clutched at his arms when he pulled his hand away.
"Don't worry," he said and pushed his hips forward, filling her completely, pulling back a little, then shoving something larger than she'd ever experienced into her. She choked a little at the strangeness of the sensation. "Generations of designer ancestors have given me a unique ability to comfort widows, little prince."
He began to move, slow and experimental at first, but within seconds he was riding her more forcefully than Mychell ever had, and it was so good, so very good.
Almost immediately she was arching and writhing from the intensity of the sensations. He muttered something that sounded like a curse in another language, then pinned her hands over her head and started thrusting faster. She was almost to the breaking point, teetering on the edge of nirvana, when he suddenly stopped, tensing, shuddering, then collapsing on her, barely even out of breath.
"No." He was still holding her down, or she would have slapped him. "No! You son of a bitch!"
"Oh, stop it," he admonished as she started to struggle in earnest. He raised himself on his elbows to look into her eyes without freeing the arms over her head. "I've needed that for weeks, and it's not like we're done here." Talyn was so astonished that she had nothing to say. He reinforced it by bending to nip at her collarbone, then began working his way down to a breast until he could cover her nipple with his mouth and suckle. She moaned, because it felt so good, even through the frustration.
"Isn't that better than being a bitch?" he asked as he switched to her other breast. "Bitches get used. Ladies are given pleasure." He went back to his interrupted task, leaving her with that odd thought and no brain to work out what he meant, although she had a strange feeling she wasn't going to get much sleep that night.
After she left Leone, Taryn could barely keep her eyes open for the walk up the stairs to her room. She suspected it was because of the brandy, but the long, nightmarish day might have had some bearing as well. After fighting the doorknob for entirely too long, she closed the door on the carefully stone-faced Bariani standing in the hallway and stripped off the dress. She wasn't wearing any underwear beneath it because it had only been something to throw on while she was eating, and sleeping in the nude wasn't uncommon at Leone's. There was something else she needed to do before she could crawl into bed, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what it was. So she burrowed down into the covers and fell off the edge of the world.
And came back to consciousness with a reminder of exactly what she had forgotten: to prepare herself for the arrival of Blade the Barbarian. He slid across the bed to get close and almost immediately reached for her.
Taryn plucked the hand off her breast and said, "No."
"Really?" He nuzzled the nape of her neck through her hair and she got goose bumps all down her arms. Then he moved closer and she felt hot skin press against her back. She swallowed and steeled herself, because it felt really good, solid and reassuring. "You don't feel like no." His voice was velvet in the dark again.
She squirmed around to face him, but the only light in the room came from the faint outline of the door, so she couldn't see his face. "What part of no don't you understand?"
"You don't mean that, Commander, or you wouldn't be naked right now." He sounded odd, his speech slightly slurred as if he'd been drinking, too. He pushed her shoulder firmly enough to roll her to her back, but not forcefully. "Tell me you're not a virgin, because I really don't want to hurt you."
"What?" Then her brain started working again over the outrage. Don't fight too hard. Leone had to be out of her mind. "Why do you care? I thought Barianis just took what they wanted and to hell with the consequences." He rolled on top of her and pushed a knee between her thighs. Damn, he was big, and he smelled good, like soap and masculinity. He was solid and hard with layers of muscle rippling under the light fur and smooth skin. More importantly, he didn't feel like an outlander who didn't belong in her bed. He felt, in fact, like a piece of herself that had been missing for her entire life and had suddenly been fitted into place, making her fight not to melt into him and sigh her contentment.
"Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me." And then he kissed her. Stupid man, thinking a simple press of flesh would bend her to his will. That was when he started gently nibbling on her lower lip, slowly, lingering over every millimeter and caressing her all over, as if he had no other plans for the night. He touched her gently, callused fingertips skimming over her sensitized skin as he explored her sides, her hips, her shoulders, even her hair.
It was nothing she would have expected from a Bariani. It was like being massaged with feathers, and almost frightening, because she could feel her body starting to respond to him even before her jaw relaxed and he began using his tongue to explore her mouth in much the same way. He tasted like whiskey and ale and something else that was unique, none of it unpleasant.
After a couple of minutes of guilty pleasure, certainly no more than ten or fifteen, she tried to shove him away and felt as much as heard him chuckle against her mouth, which was the only effect it had. She definitely shouldn't have finished the bottle of brandy with Leone. His weight shifted and he captured her sword hand, then pressed it over her head and started moving his mouth down her chin, along her jaw, to the sensitive skin of her throat, beard stubble scratching, but in a good way.
"You smell good," he rasped, then bit into the side of her neck. Taryn shivered and her legs moved farther apart of their own volition. "You taste good, too." He continued to move down her body, kissing his way across her collarbone and down her chest. When he got to the curve of her breast, he brought up his free hand to cup the mound before he captured her nipple between his lips and suckled. No one had ever done that before and the sensation was so strange, as if she felt it between her legs as well. She could feel swelling and dampness in a pleasurable ache. The ache intensified when he scraped his teeth over the sensitive nub and bit down---not hard, but enough to let her feel the power he had over her.
Taryn tried to wriggle beneath the massive muscle on top of her, but he had her pinned into near immobility. The attempted movement rubbed her skin against him and inflamed her body more. And now her body knew what it ached for, which meant he had won the battle of wills---not that she was working on anything more than instinct.
"Negotiator," she tried to say with dignity, but her voice failed her, coming out in a breathless murmur. Still suckling, he moved his hand from her breast, dragging it down her body and shifting his weight until he could slip his fingers between her legs and skim the tips across the folds of her female flesh.
She gasped and buried the fingers of her free hand in his long hair. Her face burned when he parted her labia and discovered beyond the shadow of a doubt exactly how wet he'd made her, proving that she had lied, not just to him, but to herself. She did want this, almost as much as she wanted her next lungful of air. He groaned and stroked her, moving to her other breast, sucking hard and pushing two fingers inside. It wasn't enough. She whimpered and clutched at the hand holding her sword arm down. "Negotiator---please..."
He raised his head a fraction of an inch. "Is that a yes?" Now he didn't sound at all as if he'd been drinking, but his voice was rough with lust.
"Oh, Goddess!" He pushed deeper inside her and her stomach twisted, the ache unbearable. She clutched the back of his head and moaned.
"Is that a yes?" Warm breath puffed over her wet nipple in a gentle caress as he spoke.
"Yes!" It was nearly a scream. He moved, but it was the wrong way, the stupid, sodding man, taking his hand away from her crotch and lifting his body off hers. No! He couldn't leave her like this. Then, finally, he pushed her legs farther apart and filled her in one swift, hard thrust, hurting a little but finally conquering the deep ache. She almost sobbed in relief.
"Better?" he breathed next to her ear as he adjusted the placement of arms and legs, but still keeping her strong sword arm immobilized. She could feel a fine tremor in his muscles, almost as if he was battling for control as he kept himself still inside her.
"Move, damn you," she growled back at him, then raised her head and sank her teeth into his neck for emphasis. That would teach him to tease her. He had better be worth the embarrassment, because Leone was going to take one look at her and gloat for hours. Granted she hadn't had many lovers in her lifetime, but none of them had been good enough to be teased about over breakfast.
"Yes, ma'am," was a barely recognizable growl. And he moved. He moved well, taking her slowly at first, letting her feel every fraction of each deep slide. He certainly proved he was no stranger to the art of sexually pleasing a woman. In fact, it was so good that she could easily become addicted to him, especially when he licked into her mouth and groaned. He groaned again when she wrapped one leg around him and rocked her hips in counterpoint, the sensations moving her muscles in luxuriant waves.
It went on and on, each thrust driving her higher, further into the sensual darkness of her soul that wanted to be enveloped by a man, penetrated and filled and forced into deep pleasure. She arched against him, her head thrashing helplessly, the nails of her free hand digging into his back as he drove into her relentlessly, almost, almost ... Taryn's body exploded into a thousand points of incandescence as waves of pleasure crested over her head, drowning her in surge after surge of release so sweet, so complete, that it would have been terrifying if she could have thought at all.
She dimly sensed him lunge into her one last time before he shuddered and emitted a strangled, grunting moan. He collapsed on her, panting and sweaty, just as her body twitched in a random aftershock. Taryn realized she could be in deep trouble even as he began to stir. No man had ever made her beg him to take her before. No man had ever made her come apart so completely, or so hard. No man had ever made her want more even before she came down from the climax.
"Blademir," he whispered into her ear, sounding satisfied and sleepy. She could feel his heartbeat slowing back to normal.
"Bless you," she responded just before she twitched again, since she had absolutely no idea what the word meant.
He nuzzled her neck. "You wanted to know my name, didn't you?" That would explain why they called him Blade; it was a nickname, not some strange new Bariani title.
"Just Blademir? You don't have a family name?" Part of her wanted to run her fingers through that long mane of chocolate silk. But if she did, it would imply her acceptance of him as her lover, and she was a Silvergard Commander. The Silvergard never yielded, never accepted the yoke of any master but the Matriarch of Zona. Even if he had made her beg. Even if she was glowing from the orgasm. Even if she wanted him again.
"I don't think we trust each other enough for that, Commander." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"I know you heard Leone call me Taryn." She nuzzled him back, burying her face in his hair, unable to resist completely.
He sighed and moved off her. "Yes, I did. Now shut up and go to sleep, you honey-thighed vixen." Normally an epithet like that would have made her head throb with fury, but just then she felt too relaxed to do anything more than giggle at the incongruity. "Gods, Taryn, you could topple empires with that sound." His voice dropped an octave. "Come here."
Apparently he wasn't the type to get chatty after sex. Leone had explained that it sometimes took several successive nights before they got expansive, but men had a terrible time remembering to keep secrets when they were sated. She had time. All she had to do was keep them on this side of the border for a couple of days, and then he would spill the secret---which evidently had something to do with his name. At least she'd found out that much.
"Shut up and go to sleep, Blade." Take that. She mustered the strength to turn her back to the infuriating, if skilled, Bariani. Before she could drift off, however, he pulled her to him and spooned her, wrapping his arm around her waist in an unmistakable gesture of possession and planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. She would have to correct that impression ... in the morning, because he was warm and comfortable and she wanted to go back to sleep exactly where she was.
Ramondar put down the intelligence report and stared out the window for a few minutes. It was sketchy, but it was damning enough. She had trained at what was politely termed a finishing school in Zona, but was really a combination of a craft college and a commando boot camp. Taryn Penthes had worked damned hard once she had won an appointment to the Silvergard college as well, taking top honors in almost every aspect of her training including the artistic skills that would make her a planetary treasure anywhere but Zona. After the requisite two years as a private, she had risen rapidly through the ranks and was considered a consummate warrior, a Silvergarder's Silvergard.
"Lord of Light, why did she have to be the one assigned to that escort?" he asked out loud as he rubbed his eyes.
"I have no idea," came Deg's voice from the doorway. Ramondar fixed the man with a glare. "I think it's odd that after all that, she was assigned to palace escort duty, don't you?"
"The Matriarch's Own is responsible for Lady Palace security, just like the crown guard is responsible for Krystale Palace security," Ramondar allowed himself to snap. "Why wouldn't she be assigned there?"
Deg shrugged and moved into the office, taking a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Something else strange. There's no record of her being officially disinherited."
"The report isn't very complete, Degusta. I hope you didn't pay a lot for it." Ramondar tented his fingers on the desk in front of him and considered how to make a very sensitive accusation, but he didn't get far.
"I didn't pay a credit for it. One of her classmates who didn't make Matriarch's Own got drunk at a bar outside the barracks and let the whole thing slip." Deg leaned forward. "You realize what this means, don't you? I know Blade will."
"Aren't you the one who called him an idiot to his face a couple of months ago?" Ramondar narrowed his eyes. "And then sent him into Zona undercover to keep him out of the media eye? How good was that cover, Deg? What were you setting up the dense von Stassos for, anyway? Even you couldn't have arranged to make the Matriarch's daughter the escort through Balsom, and if I ever find out you had something to do with killing members of the crown guard, I'll strangle you myself."
Deg took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. "If I thought Blade was as slow as he portrays himself in public, I would have backed Tabethe Schmythen last year just to get him out of harm's way." He shrugged. "He created the persona, so I go with it."
"I believed it," Ramondar whispered to the desk. "Gods help me, I believed it."
Deg took a deep breath. "Well, now you can stop believing it and think about the implications. The original asteroid mining grant was given to Grant Barian. Reunite Grant Barian, and three generations of legal challenges crumble into so much dust."
"I know that," Ramondar snapped again. "It also gives Grant Barian an overriding vote in the planetary council, effectively creating a single government centered in Krystale and eliminates the last barrier to full membership in the DW federation, but so what? It's not going to happen while Silean has breath in her body."
"Unless it's the only way for her to prevent Barian from invading and utterly destroying the Zonan way of life," Deg said in a voice that was almost pleading. "If---if Blade comes out of the Jags with her daughter in one piece we have a negotiating lever of unimaginable power. How difficult would it be to talk her into merging the two royal houses? A Penthes would still rule Zona."
Ramondar stared at his press secretary and watched the man pale. "I will not," he said slowly, quietly, "allow a Zonan into my family. Blade cannot be hurt like that again."
Deg looked like he was biting his tongue as he raked both hands through what was left of his hair and pulled. "Did you read the report? I mean, really read it, not just skim through it for the bare facts?" He leaned forward and picked up the folder, shook it in Ramondar's face. "Look between the lines, Ramon. See what's there without being there. Taryn Astaren Penthes has never run from a fight in her life, even when she was not-quite sixteen and the Crown Prince came after her with a kitchen knife." He threw the folder back on the desk.
"Yes, she has trust issues, because everything she's ever depended on has turned on her. Yes, she's unaware and unskilled in the use and design of high technology. But if one word was all I had to describe the woman in this report it wouldn't be noncommittal. It wouldn't be frightened. And it sure as dammit wouldn't be deserter. She's. Not. Julesan." The last three words were delivered in an outraged bellow, Deg leaning over the desk so that he was only centimeters from Ramondar's face. They stared at each other for several seconds in silence, neither man backing away, before Deg straightened, ran a hand over the hair he'd left standing on end, and smoothed down his shirt.
"How long have we known each other, Degusta?" Ramon asked, his tone carefully without emotion of any kind.
"More than fifty years, Ramondar." Deg stood a little straighter, and it was obvious he was expecting to be fired at the very least, maybe even executed.
"Why haven't you ever stood up to me before when I was being an ass?" Ramondar punctuated the question by leaning his temple onto an extended index finger and watched Deg take a deep breath.
"Because you've never been this much of an ass, Ram." He rubbed his forehead. "It's not just Blade's future you're fucking with this time. Your abandonment issues are endangering the future of Timarron, and as your loyal retainer, I can't let you do that."
"But if you'd told me to suck it up and move on twenty years ago, we wouldn't have been here tonight, would we?"
Deg looked at the floor and cleared his throat quietly. "I tried, Ramon. Remember the discussion we had just before Blade started university?"
It was Ramondar's turn to take a deep breath. "As a matter of fact, I do. And I had a very similar experience tonight." He ran his hands over his face. "It looks like the stupid Barian king is already on the throne."
"You're not stupid any more than Blade is, Ramon." Deg shrugged. "You just have blind spots, like everybody else. Fortunately, you have a few good friends who will point them out to you."
"With a mass driver, if necessary," Ramondar finished for him, his voice sounding wry even to him.
"Yeah." Deg paused. "Do you want to know why I came to see you in the middle of the night when you should be in bed with your queen?"
"What do you know?" He couldn't keep the sharp note from his voice, but if Deg had news and had kept it to himself until he was finished making his point, Ramondar was ready, more than ready, to hear it.
"A full company of Silvergard was dispatched to the Jags from Balsom this afternoon, their destination apparently a little-used trail that leads directly to the border a few dozen kliks from the cave Blade was using for his HQ during the investigation."
Ramondar sat up straighter. "Should we send troops?"
Deg grinned. "What, and steal his thunder?" He shook his head. "It's only one company, and Silvergard companies are half the size of a regular infantry unit. All they've got for weaponry are swords and horses. You want to be the Barian king to pit that against supersonic transport and pulse rifles?"
"They've got crossbows, too," Ramondar reminded.
"Blade's got a laser pistol in his party, as well as your brother for strategy." Deg stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'd say that evens the playing field somewhat."
"But does it level it enough?" Ramondar wondered out loud. He felt a little guilty that he wasn't all that worried about his brother or his nephew. They could be killed as well.
"We'll know by tomorrow night, because there's a full commo suite at the cave."
Ramondar tapped the file folder twice, then looked up at Deg. "Since you're into this up to your eyebrows, I want you to do something."
Deg stilled, then quirked one eyebrow. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Re-task the intel satellites. I want full coverage of the entire route between Balsom and the cave. If a rabbitoid cross the border, I want to know about it."
"As you command," Deg said in a formal acknowledgment that went back centuries, but his eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.
"Now get out of here and get some sleep." Ramondar stood and rubbed his hands over his face. "One of us should be in decent shape tomorrow."
"You know, I'd bet Sabinet could help you sleep," Deg said with a completely straight face. "I remember someone once told me she gives killer back rubs."
"She's been in bed for hours," Ramondar said. "I could sleep if I knew what Blade was doing right now. I wish there was some way I could help him."
Deg exhaled with enough force for a snort. "If he's got any brains, he's asleep right now. He's got to have his head working. How many heads does it take to worry?"
"I hope you're right." Ramondar glanced out the window at the city that was never really dark. "I really hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Now get out of that chair and go wake up your queen and make her glad she was born female. At least that's something constructive you can do with all your nervous energy." Deg looked exasperated. "Sitting here chewing your nails isn't doing anyone a damned bit of good."
"Remind me again why you're not prime minister."
Deg gave him the conspiratorial look they'd shared for more years than Ramondar wanted to think about. "Because I keep saying no."
Taryn woke to the sound of Leone slamming the door open, which made her head throb. "Mama's got goon squads out looking for you everywhere. They'll be here in less than a glass, so get your ass out of bed, Taryn."
"Did you tell Galen?" Blade rumbled from behind her while she was still sorting out what limbs went where.
"I told the guys on watch. The horses are being saddled and I have the breakfast staff packing up food." Leone pulled the duvet off the bed. "Hel-lo. Well, that'll make dressing faster. Move, girl." And she didn't sound one damned bit surprised to find them sleeping naked, all tangled together. At least this way Taryn got out of the leering looks over breakfast.
"Did someone have a little too much brandy last night?" Blade asked just before the bed heaved. Clothing rustled as Taryn fought her way to a sitting position.
"I sleep better without the snoring," she snarled back at him. Her clean shirt hit her face.
"She's not a morning person," Leone said, and Taryn heard more rustling, but didn't bother to turn around and look, because she was trying to figure out where the openings in her shirt had gotten to. "That's enough civvies for a week. You need anything packed, Blade?"
"Nada. I put it all away last night." He leaned in close to Taryn and whispered, "That goes on top, vixen." It sounded like he was grinning. "Leone, darling, I think this would be easier with only two people in the room." Hands moved the cloth around until her arm went through where she'd been trying to stick her head. She heard the door close just before she emerged from the neck and could see again. "You definitely need to get back into condition, Taryn. You haven't been keeping up with your AT, have you?"
"AT?"
"Alcohol training." Blade, who wasn't wearing a shirt yet, either, handed her the black merino riding pants. "Like physical training for your liver." His hair wasn't chocolate brown anymore, but a dark gold cascade that glinted in the early morning light.
"What happened to your hair?" she asked as she tried to untangle her legs from a corner of the sheet still on the bed.
"I washed the colorant out." He sat on the bed next to her and pulled on socks. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
The concern made her pause. "I'm tired. I'm a little out of practice for early call after a full bottle of Ruby Blend." Underwear. She needed panties under wool, so she trotted to the dresser hidden in the wall panel, thankfully without tripping over her feet. "I haven't been this sleep-deprived since basic."
He laughed, but he sounded relieved. "You'll get used to it. Luckily, we'll get to the Enclave in a few days and you'll be able to sleep for as long as you want." She bent over to step into her underwear and heard him hiss. It almost made her roll her eyes. Men were such simple creatures. She kept her back to him as she pulled on her pants and looked for socks of her own.
"Or when I'm dead, if I can't get my butt in gear." She buttoned the fly and looked for her riding boots. It was best not to even take the Silvergard uniform boots. Not only were they not suited for mountain riding, she would never wear the uniform again. She almost sighed, but picked out her tall boots instead and went back to the bed to get them on. Blade slid his arm over her shoulders as soon as she sat down and pulled her close to him.
"I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself," he said, sounding very serious. "My honor demands that you be protected with my life if necessary." She looked at him, and his expression was serious, too. Why? Because she'd let him have sex with her? He bent his head and kissed her temple as if he really cared about her, and it was all she could do not to lean into that strength. But they were being pursued, and at Leone's of all places. Talyn must have had her trailed on her home leaves, though it was strictly forbidden to spy on the Silvergard during the brief times when their lives were their own.
"Stop that," she admonished in that same breathless voice he had forced out of her the night before. "There is no time, and my honor demands that you be returned to your homeland while still breathing."
"Of course." He sighed. "There's never enough time for the things we want." He pulled on his shirt and folded his coat over his arm while she got her feet into the boots.
"I need a vest," she said and he handed her the black one that matched the pants. She arched an eyebrow in question.
"Leone," he said for an explanation. And it was just like Leone to choose the clothing most appropriate for a mad dash in the early spring, both warm enough for the weather and quick to get into. She shrugged into it and fastened the clever metal hooks-and-loops closing in less than a minute before she stood.
"Let's get out of here," he said and smacked her behind.
She turned on him, fully, achingly, bristlingly awake. "Do not ever presume to touch me like that again."
He stepped back, surprise plain in his eyes. "I'm sorry? Touch you like what?"
"Like a slave. Or a child in need of correction. I am not a child and I've done nothing wrong. And I am not yours."
"I know you're not a child, Taryn. And you are most definitely nobody's slave." His voice was a warm caress reminding her exactly what he knew about her, and how he had discovered it. Her anger evaporated in a profound chill. "I was being playful. Do you have any sense of humor at all?"
"No I don't." She turned her back on him again to signify the conversation's end, then shouldered her pack and stalked from the room. Or at least she started to.
"Coat and sword, vixen, or you'll freeze to death before we get to the Enclave," he purred into her ear after his hands on her shoulders had stopped her in her tracks. Taryn bit her lip hard to keep from bursting into laughter and proving herself a liar. He reached around her to hand her the items.
"You want to go to the Sanctuarians," she said as they trotted down the long hallway. "You don't have to go that far north to get across the border." Although it might be good if they had to find a trail north. She could wander around a lot and keep him off-balance.
"We can talk about it when we're on the way," he said. She glanced at him but he was intent on getting to the stairs.
"The Sanctuarians have no use for women," she said as they clattered down the wooden steps in riding boots. "I won't be welcomed there."
"That's not quite true. Unlike most men, they believe women have no use for them," he disagreed as they walked across the dining hall. "And they have no reason not to make you welcome." She felt his hand at the small of her back.
"You think I have a use for you?" she demanded as she lengthened her stride to get away from him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back close to him.
"You did last night," he reminded her.
"I was drunk last night." She twisted out of his grasp.
"I bet Leone packed several bottles of brandy." A glance told her he was smiling, confident. He thought he had control over her because of sex. That could be good, but she couldn't allow the belief to continue.
"I will guide you to the border, but you journey to the Sanctuarians by yourselves." She marched to the kitchen door with him in her wake.
"You don't want to make anything easy, do you?" he asked as he reached over her head to push the swinging door open. Leone was just picking up four sets of bulging saddlebags from the table. Leone. This was bad news for her, too. If a Silvergard squad showed up in the courtyard today, none of her regular clients would ever return.
"Life is pain," Taryn said. It was one thing she knew for a fact. She moved into the kitchen to take the saddlebags without waiting for him to reply.
"Taryn, drink your tea," Leone said and handed her a beaker.
"There's no time." She tried to hand it back, but Leone fixed her with a look that told her to shut up and drink it.
"There's always time for maidwort," Leone said with that same lopsided smile she used when she knew something more than she was telling. Taryn hesitated, but she took the tea and gulped it down as fast as she could. Leone thought of everything. There were more days than not when Taryn had asked the goddess why she had been given Talyn as a sister instead of Leone, but there had never been a reply.
When she finished the cup, Blade had all the saddlebags on one shoulder and was pushing back through the door to the common room.
"Leone," she tried to say quietly, but the older woman held up a hand.
"No time. You just come back when you can, and in the meantime, it's been a while since I had any time off." Leone grinned. "Maybe I'll go see some of Barian." Taryn nodded and swallowed hard, knowing that Leone knew everything she didn't have the words to say. Impulsively she stepped forward and hugged her best friend in the world, then turned around and went back to her duty.
Silean started awake and sat up, wondering what she had heard. A male silhouette cut the half-light of early dawn pouring in through the large glass window. She'd always thought the window was decadent, but with Herren in front of it, it was beautiful.
He turned. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Why are you awake?" she asked, mostly for something to say. It wasn't as if she couldn't guess the things that kept him up at night.
"I was thinking about Talyn," he said, walking back to the bed. He sat beside her and took her hand in his.
"Talyn?" Talyn was the reason for this whole mess, even if Silean hadn't figured out how yet.
Herren nodded, only half seen in the false-dawn light. "She's always been the Crown Prince, ever since she was born. She's always known that no matter what she does, that can't be taken away from her." He tilted his head to one side. "Am I right?"
Silean squirmed, uncomfortable with the question because it mirrored her thoughts of the night before. "A Crown Prince has never been disinherited, but there's a first time for everything."
"I just wonder," he said in a soft voice, "if it would have made a difference. She's never had any true control over her behavior, so there's never been any reason for her not to be ... bratty."
Silean allowed herself to laugh at the incongruity. "Herren, she's almost thirty years old. Isn't it a bit late to start spanking her?"
He shrugged. "It depends. The right mate might do wonders for her. Mychell was pretty, but he wasn't very bright and he seemed entirely too content just to do what she told him to." He reached out and trailed a finger along her cheek. "Not the best match for a firebrand Penthes."
"What do you propose I do, sell her to some Bariani noble?" It came out sharper than she had intended and she bit her lip, wishing she could pull the words back.
He sighed and pulled his hand away. "You really have no understanding of Bariani culture, do you?"
"I know they're male dominant and Zona is too small for them to trouble themselves about if it weren't for the Dozen Worlds watching them," she countered. "I know how they think of women as objects, to be owned and used, or they wouldn't insist on 'marriage' as proof of legitimacy."
Herren sighed again, and it sounded like he ran his hands over his face. "They do pass real property through the male line and the husband is the legal father of any child born to a married woman. But Silean, they don't consider women property." He leaned forward. "The entire concept of concubinage was banned almost three hundred years ago."
"Because of Zona," she finished for him, her voice cold.
She heard movement, but couldn't really tell what he was doing. "I'm sure that had something to do with it, sweet, but women have been voting in their elections, holding offices in their legislative body, even running corporations for over a century." Silean felt the comforter pull away, down her body. "I don't think women would be considered equal partners in government and business if they were property, do you?" He leaned close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his skin.
"What are you trying to say?" she asked, a little breathless.
"Zonan men were once Bariani," he murmured, unerringly sliding one hand up her arm to her shoulder. "Biologically, we're still the same kind of people they are. Take away their technology and it's difficult to tell the difference. Maybe what Zona needs is a little more balance between the masculine and the feminine."
She reached to push his chest away. "That's preposterous."
Herren paused. "I just get the feeling that Barian has learned from the mistakes they made in the past, and we're still holding onto a three-hundred-year-old grudge. I don't want to forget the past, but at some point we have to move on or we'll stagnate and die."
She swallowed, because she'd been worried about that very thing before the crisis had focused all of her attention on the diplomatic situation. If not for the offworld exports, Zona would have been insolvent for nearly a decade, but handmade goods only got made so fast, and the population was still growing. She definitely should have allowed Herren a larger role in her government if he gave this kind of thought to everything. At least now she could prove she wasn't an utter fool. She slid the hand still on his hot skin up to the back of his neck and pulled his head down to hers.
The public room was empty, so Taryn allowed two of the tears stinging the back of her eyes to roll down her cheeks before sniffing them away. She stopped at the outer door, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then opened it and trotted into the uncertain light of false dawn. There were torches in the courtyard, and all the men were there, complete with eight saddled horses. Taryn went to the gray mare she'd had the day before.
"Ready?" Blade asked. He was already in the saddle of the magnificent black gelding that had probably been Mychell's favorite twenty-four hours earlier. "It's your trail."
Taryn mounted and frowned to herself. The truth was that beyond Leone's she didn't know the Jags very well, and probably wouldn't be able to keep them off the main route as carefully as she had on the way out of Balsom. On the other hand, there weren't many main routes farther north into the Jags, only smugglers' trails that were fairly carefully hidden in the first place. She headed out of the clearing and looked for a path in the forest that went vaguely north.
The sun was just over the horizon when they came to a narrow place between two granite outcroppings. Blade stopped and the rest of the party swirled around him. Taryn turned her horse and raised an eyebrow.
"Afraid of some rocks, gentlemen?"
"Concerned," Blade reported. "It looks like an excellent ambush site. If we go through there on horseback, we'll be strung out in single-file and without maneuvering room."
"Well, it's the only trail north that I know of," she returned in a waspish voice and nudged the mare through the rocks.
"Hold it," he commanded in a clear voice that echoed off the rocks. "Grigor, you take point. Juvenan, you're tail-end charley."
Taryn halted her horse and counted to five silently. "I am capable of taking point, Negotiator," she said without turning around to look at him, and her tone came out almost icy enough to be her sister's voice. He pulled up next to her, and she refused to look at him, instead staring at the top of the rocks where the tree shadows waved gently in the cold morning breeze. The other leader, Galen, came up on her left.
"I know you are, Commander," he responded in a voice almost as imperious as hers had been. "But what if that's what they're expecting? After all, this is your country, not ours. I would expect you to be on point, and they're probably hunting you as much as they are the outlanders."
Damn him, he was right. Where was her brain? She stared at the shadows a few seconds longer, and her brain came on line, because trees didn't have lines in them that curved like cocked crossbows. There was no time to give a warning. She snatched the Bariani weapon from Galen's holster and fired it just as a muffled twang sounded from under the trees, ducking to center the sights on one of those curved shadows.
A crossbow bolt hit, a man screamed in pain, but no body fell from a horse and the shadows now had a pattern of four more distinct curves. Taryn aimed and fired the hellspawn weapon without conscious thought, one, two, three, four. Bodies started sliding down the cliffs, still clutching their bows and smoking from the laser burns. And the pattern was gone. She looked to her left.
"Thank you," she said quietly and offered the weapon back to Blade's lieutenant. So much for her original plan. They had to cross the border today, which meant she would never find out who she had escorted or why Zona wanted them dead. Someone moaned behind her. Galen took the weapon slowly, staring at her as if she'd grown a second head.
"I didn't know you trained with energy weapons," he said quietly. At least she had managed to impress them. A pang of regret registered. She liked these men, even---maybe especially---Blade, who allowed no walls between himself and the people he worked with, bled with. But there would be time enough for regret when the small deities of honor and duty had been satisfied.
"We don't. I watched you yesterday," she answered as she twisted in her saddle. The young one who had given Blade trouble last night in the barn was slumped over his saddle, moaning, a bolt sticking out of his thigh.
"They only got off one shot." That was Blade, so she swung her gaze to him. "And it was aimed at you. It got Maris's leg because you ducked." He shut his mouth with a snap and she saw a muscle twitching at the back of his jaw. Then his horse was galloping toward the rock cleft as he pulled the sword off his back.
Galen's curse echoed behind her, because she had kicked the mare into a gallop half a second behind Blade. Damn it, he was the negotiator, not some berserker out of bedtime stories. She put her reins in her teeth and pulled her sword, probably slicing off some of her hair on the way because she hadn't had time to comb it, let alone braid it. And as soon as she got through the cleft, at least a dozen attackers were waiting, probably closer to a score; a half-company would have been assigned for an ambush in the Jags and she had already killed five of them.
Blade yelled something and swung his sword in the wrong kind of slice for a saber. It kept the Zonan from getting a fatal cut on his leg, but it nearly pulled the sword from his hand and an officer was right beyond the first guard. Taryn pulled her dagger from the bottom of the sword scabbard and silently prayed to get him out of this alive, since unscathed was out of the question. The outland weapon chimed again and the officer dropped. All the Silvergard stopped for perhaps a second, then seemed to notice her.
"No! Taryn, get out of here!" Blade screamed, his voice tight and furious.
And then she was surrounded.
Sweet mother of all, soon I will see your face and feel your true embrace. Forgive this daughter for any sins I have committed, and forgive me for those I am about to commit in an effort to save my life.
Taryn swung, she thrust, she dodged and parried with both sword and dagger, not seeing faces, only targets. She growled around the reins, jerked her head and used her legs to maneuver, and she killed those she considered her sisters in arms. The outland weapon chorused again and again, bodies fell until her horse couldn't step without crushing what had once been human. A single saber slashed her side, cutting through coat, bodice, shirt and skin, but made it no farther. Strangely there was no sound at all in her head as it all happened, and the swordcuts were coming slower than Silvergard troopers moved in battle, but Taryn scarcely had the attention for it, focusing only on the next target or the next threat.
All of the targets in her range of sight were down, she squeezed and wheeled the horse, yanking her head to pull the mare around in a circle, but no Silvergarders remained conscious, if any of them were alive.
"Gods and demons, Blade, have you lost your mind?" Galen was yelling, the barrel of his weapon sending heat waves wavering through the air above it. Time snapped back into normal movement and she could hear the moans, smell the smoke, feel the throbbing in her right side, the stickiness of blood in linen.
Another of the Bariani had died. Another of her charges' soul on her conscience. Sweet mother of all, forgive me, I pray for you to forgive me for the lives I have taken or given this day. She spat the reins out.
"The ambush was for her." Blade's voice, audible ice-cold fury. She tried to pick up the reins from where they had fallen and was surprised to find her off-hand full of bloody dagger. "As soon as they saw her, they stopped attacking me."
And her other hand was full of bloody sword. Two days in a row. She had killed her own people on two days in a row, her only sister hated her and wanted her dead, and her mother never wanted to see her again. She dropped the weapons, but there was blood on her hands as well. There was blood everywhere in her life.
"Garid is dead because of your bone-headed stunt," Galen was yelling. His name was Garid. She stared at the body, incongruous among all the dead Silvergard.
"I know." Blade again, but this time from her side, and hands were pulling at her, large hands, warm in the cold air. He dug into the cut and a sharp spike of pain made her cry out. "Gods, you've been hurt." She was lifted off the horse, then the death was behind her and all she could see was Blade's chest.
She forced herself to look up into those eyes, into the expression of concern glowing blue-green, but dark, dark, everything was dark. She shook her head and opened her mouth to tell him the wound was nothing, and a sob wracked her body. He crushed her against him, holding her close and bowing her head into his shoulder. She clutched at the smooth wool greatcoat and tried to control herself, but it was no use. Grief had a schedule of its own, and after a decade and more it was refusing to be put off any longer.
"Shh. It's okay," Blade murmured into her hair, cradling her and rocking her gently back and forth. "We've got a first-aid kit, we'll fix you up as good as new." She shook her head, tried to tell him that it wasn't that kind of pain, it was the loss of everything she'd ever had, but the thought sent a fresh bout of sobbing through her. "Galen---Maris..."
"Taken care of." Galen's voice was tight, too.
She felt Blade relax somehow, though his hold on her didn't loosen. It was worse, when the only person she had left to cling to was her enemy, and one who had secrets she didn't know and didn't know how to find out. He didn't feel like an enemy, though, he felt like a big, warm, gentle wall. A blanket she could wrap around herself to keep out the awful truth---she was alone, she had always been alone, in a sea of blood and death. She molded her body against him and leaned into his male, muscular strength just to be able to stand up.
"It's okay, Taryn. None of them got away to warn command, we didn't lose any of the horses, we'll have at least a day or two before anyone suspects we got away." He nuzzled the top of her head, moved one arm to stroke her hair in a comforting caress. Her hair, the one vanity she hadn't given up because it helped hide the scar. She should slice it all off with her bloody sword and leave it with the remains of the Silvergard attackers to signal the death of all that had remained of the old Taryn, the Taryn who believed that honor could exist in Zona and could reside in the breast of a Penthes. It was a small revenge, but it would confuse Talyn no end.
Revenge.
At last, the crying slowed, and she could almost get her breath again, although she didn't want to let go of him even for revenge. "Where---I dropped my weapons ... where are they?"
"Don't worry about it. We're cleaning up." He used a knuckle to raise her chin, very gently. "Better?"
"I..." she took a deep breath. "I have to do something."
"It wasn't your fault. Somebody set you up." He looked concerned, almost worried. Almost as if he cared about her, and that was a crock of horse dung. Nobody cared about Taryn's pain. Even Leone had ignored her to hustle the Crown Prince away from the scene of a crime, and she had been holding her face together and screaming on that day.
"I know." She'd been set up long ago, it had just taken a while to spring the trap. A very long while. "I have to do this." Because it was the only way to let them know she would survive no matter what they did to her. To let Mother and Talyn know, even if they wouldn't know what to make of it.
"Do what?" The question was soft, almost seductive.
"You wouldn't understand." She pulled away from him and looked around. "I need to cut off my hair."
"I don't think so." It was the voice of a king. Negotiators were diplomats so they had coaxing voices, not the ringing tones of command, and no matter that he had framed the negation gently; there was no room for compromise. She straightened to her fullest height, prepared to be royal right back at him. "You're not destroying something beautiful for the sake of these people." He pulled her back to him by her shoulders, almost pulling her off her feet. "They don't deserve it."
"It's not for them." She wriggled in his grasp, but this time he refused to let her go and she realized how much stronger he really was. But it didn't frighten her, when it would have a day ago, before---before he had said her laughter could topple empires, before he had flown into a killing rage because she had been a target, before he had let her cry all over him.
"Then why? If it got in your way, I'll braid it for you." It sounded like he was trying to coax a frightened animal out of its den. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret tomorrow, vixen."
"Stop calling me that." Juvenan, the silent one, had picked up her weapons and was using a cloth to clean off the blood. "No," she called out, "I need the blood to stay on it." He looked up, confused, and Blade's hands tightened on her even more.
"Clean it," he said in a tone that a wise man wouldn't quibble with, again a ruler, not a diplomat. Juvenan might be quiet but he wasn't stupid, and the blood was gone before she could do more than inhale.
"Damn you, Bariani. Damn you to the coldest depths of hell." She almost dislocated a shoulder getting way from him, then stalked over to claim her weapons from the nervous-looking lackey. They were all lackeys to Blade, and he expected her to obey without question just like the rest of them, even if her one safe haven in the world appeared to be his embrace. He was going to be very surprised when she did not obey, because all of her havens had proved false before and she learned quickly enough not to trust this one.
"Better me than you," floated through the morning behind her, "and you still need to have that cut looked at." At least he didn't sound amused.
"It's nothing. A little skin, some cloth. It's already stopped bleeding." She fitted the dagger back into its piggyback sheath and resheathed her saber. There was no point in using it to cut her hair now. It wouldn't be the same if there was no blood on the hank wrapped around the Silvergard major's dead throat.
"Wrong answer, vixen." He loomed in front of her. There was no other way to describe it, because he hadn't been there a second before. "Remember that little chat we had this morning back at Leone's? This is part of it." There was the sound of cloth ripping, and she realized he was holding something. "Strip, woman. I'm not gluing you back together through your coat."
She glared at him. He stared right back, and that muscle was twitching in his jaw again.
"I said it's nothing," she spat at him.
"Don't make me pick you up and drag you off to doctor you," he spat back. From the way his eyes were glowing, he just might. "I'm not taking the chance that it breaks open and starts bleeding again while we're on the trail, because I know as surely as I'm breathing you wouldn't say a word until you passed out."
"No." She turned around to walk to her horse.
"Yes." He didn't pick her up, but he did wrap a disturbingly large and hard arm around her neck, then dragged her away from the rest of the men, back through the narrow gap and out of their sight. "I need all of my fighters in the best possible condition, and that includes you," he said into her ear when they were away from everyone else. When had she become his fighter? "Now get out of the coat and the vest and pull your shirt out of your pants, or I'll do it for you, and I might not stop there."
She considered refusing, but he'd already wrapped his other arm around her waist and was reaching for the first coat button.
"I can do it," she said, slapping his hand away. He let go and she turned around to glare at him as she undid the buttons, then unhooked her bodice. He started to breathe a little faster when her linen shirt came into view---especially the bloody rip.
"Are you sure it's just a cut?" He sounded worried, which was amusing.
"I've had blisters worse than this." She pulled the shirt out of her pants and tried to look at her ribs, but her breasts were in the way. Blade stepped closer and pulled the cloth back, turning her to get that side into the light. The cold hit her skin and raised the fine hairs, making the cut sting still more.
"I guess you're right, since I don't see any bone. The ribs are close to your skin here." He touched her skin lightly, which sent a tingle down her spine. "I'll have to clean it out first, and it's going to sting a lot."
Taryn smirked at him. She'd been lying about the blisters, because raising her arms hurt like anything, but she would die of strangled screams before she let him know she was in pain. "Just get it over with before someone comes looking. It's too cold to be on display."
He pulled something out of the small bag and ripped it open, fishing out a small white rectangle. "This is a disinfectant wipe." He dropped the bag and unfolded the square until it was the size of a handkerchief, but apparently made of wet paper. He wiped it over her side, gentle again, then along the cut, then inside the cut. And it did sting, badly enough to make her eyes water. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. When he pulled the cloth away it was covered in her blood.
"You know, it might be a good idea for you to have a code name until we get back to civilization," he commented as he squatted and pulled a small tube of something from the bag. She didn't say anything, because if Blade wanted to give her a nickname, he would whether she objected or not. "Commander probably wouldn't work." That sounded thoughtful. He snapped the lid off the end of the tube and squeezed it a little. "Dead giveaway." He separated the edges of the cut and she inhaled against the pain. Something cold that stung almost as much as the wipe filled the cut. It felt like he was pressing the skin together and holding it. He looked into her eyes. "What about Vixen? You already hate it."
"If you add honey-thighed, I'll kill you myself," she said through the gritted teeth. The ache and the sting were subsiding, but slowly. He looked back at his work and added another line of whatever was in the tube, pressed again.
"I promise I won't call you Honey-Thighed Vixen unless we're alone," he said, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was repressing a smile. "Even if it's true." He looked back into her eyes. "And it is."
"Are we done?"
"Give it another ... ten seconds." His hands were warm. She tried to stare off into the distance, but all she could see was Blade and a few rocks. "Vixen?" She looked at his face and his eyes were glowing again, but his expression was tender.
"Garid was an orphan. He once told me the only thing that bothered him about dying was that no one would cry for him."
"Oh." There wasn't anything else to say, not that she could think when he turned those eyes on her. Even blinking required concentration. Of course, she didn't want to spoil Garid's afterlife. And the way Blade was looking at her made her feel small, almost dainty, and somehow very precious, though she had no idea why.
"Thank you," he murmured, then his warm hands slid around her waist and pulled her close to him. "It meant a lot." He was staring into her eyes, his mouth less than an inch from hers, and she couldn't think. He wasn't anything like what Barianis were supposed to be if he cared that his subordinate wanted to be mourned, and he appeared to care deeply. She should tell him the truth even if it wasn't quite nice.
"Blade, I---" He cut her off by kissing her.
It was a gentle thing, soft and sweet and slow, with a heat that built from deep within her and softened her joints. Her legs trembled from the effort of keeping her body standing, and her breasts felt heavy and full, almost tingly. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin and she wasn't cold anymore, but almost feverish, aching, needing. She pushed her fingers into his hair and opened her lips, seeking his heat, wanting his strength and the comfort of knowing there was someplace he belonged.
Too soon, he raised his head and pushed her away, but only far enough to look into her eyes again, breathing as heavily as she was. He moved one arm, brushed fingertips over her scar, and she couldn't even flinch.
"We need to get moving," he said, staying right where he was, almost as if he knew she would have difficulty standing on her own. And there was something in the words---was it regret? Did he crave the connection as she did? Her body calmed, her knees firmed. She didn't trust her voice yet, so she nodded and stepped away to pull her clothes back together, such as they were.
Blade sighed. "Two days in a row and you're soaked in gore before lunchtime. Have you thought of getting into a different line of work, Vixen?"
"Goddess, I hate that name," she muttered as she buttoned her coat. "And in case you haven't noticed, you're covered in it, too."
She spared one halfhearted glare for him before she marched back into the canyon to find her horse. Blade followed her and conferred quietly for a while with a white-faced Galen, then unbuckled his Zonan scabbard and accepted one of the Bariani swords, probably Garid's. The rest of them all looked grim, and she took it for a sign that what was going on was important, so she looked around for something to tie her hair back with, coming up with a scrap of leather lacing. Then, as the Barianis stood in a circle talking in low voices, she gritted her teeth hard and got onto the gray mare without embarrassing herself or screaming in pain. She watched Blade fasten the Zonan weapon on the gelding's saddle so he could draw it, then he mounted as well, the last one back on a horse. Dorcan was leading the spare, with Garid's body draped over it.
"Ready, Vixen?" he asked with one raised eyebrow.
"You couldn't think of a better code name than that?" she asked, just so the rest of them would know it wasn't something more, then heeled the mare into a trot before she betrayed the embarrassment by blushing. It was strange, because the way he said it made it sound like something more, almost like the affectionate nicknames some of the women in her barracks had for their primes. Praise the Goddess that he hadn't chosen one of the more nauseating ones, like Pooky Bear.
The ride was pleasant enough after that, other than the constant ache and pull in her wound, and once the sun fully cleared the peaks it was even warm, for the first time since winter had descended. Warm enough to let her unbutton the heavy coat, anyway. They rode in silence among the birdsong and underbrush rustling of wild creatures until the sun was as directly overhead as it got during the season, but she was surrounded by male warriors the entire time. They didn't even let her get a step ahead of their leader in the center of the group, probably because he had threatened them with dire consequences if they did. The longer they rode, the shorter her temper got, because they were treating her like---like royalty.
Which meant they were treating Blade like royalty, too. She swallowed against the sudden fear that she had gotten well and truly over her head, but there would be time enough to sort it out later, after they were safely across the border.
"In a hurry, Captain?" Talyn asked as she stepped in front of Auran Sillivan. The Silvergarder stopped and gripped her dagger for a second before she visibly forced herself to relax.
"I've had news, Your Royal Highness." Her words were as stiff as her posture.
Talyn shifted her weight and folded her arms. "Good news, I hope." She waited expectantly while Sillivan eyed her.
"Are you certain you want to have this conversation in a corridor, Prince Talyn?" the Captain asked, a trace of smugness edging into her voice. "Anyone could overhear."
"I don't care," she spat back with bravado she didn't really feel. It was true, anyone could be in this hallway at this time of day, but she had a schedule to keep to that didn't include clandestine meetings on the ass end of the palace. "I'm in a hurry."
"Then the news depends on your definition of good. The company split, half searching the inn, the other half setting up an ambush." Sillivan paused and licked her lips.
"And?" Talyn prompted.
"Another Bariani was killed, but none were captured, and I've lost half a company of my best fighters," Sillivan said with an expression of respect. "The inn was deserted."
Talyn blinked, stunned by the bland recital. A company of Silvergard was a group of fifty of the toughest, most intelligent women Zona could produce and train. How could seven mere men destroy half of them with only a single casualty?
"That's impossible. Seven people couldn't take out twenty-five Silvergard on our own chosen ground." Sillivan had to be lying, which meant she had allowed Taryn and the Bariani to escape.
"It could have been eight, if Leone joined them, but I don't believe she would have sanctioned laser fire on Silvergarders. You've never seen Bariani weapons, Your Highness." Auran's lips twitched in what might have been a smile or a grimace. "All of the snipers were burned to death. They had been on top of a twenty-foot cliff, unreachable by anything but a projectile weapon ... or a laser."
Talyn felt her jaw drop. "They smuggled lasers into Zona?" They were at the top of the list of forbidden materiel and all the customs agents were trained to look for banned weapons.
"Evidently, but it turned out to be a prudent measure." Auran rubbed her forehead as if she were coming down with a headache. "Without it they would have been killed in the alley behind the Temple of the Serene Mother, an inauspicious event on the first day of the Redemption, and I don't care what religion they ascribe to."
It wouldn't have done her plan any good, either, if the Bariani Crown Heir had died at the hands of her Prime, but there had to be a way to get this back to Taryn. "Perhaps the laser weapon belonged to Commander Penthes." Yes. Possession of contraband weaponry was a court-martial offense.
Auran appeared to consider that for a moment. "I suppose anything's possible," she finally allowed, "but where could she learn to use it?" Talyn's mouth was already open to reply when she went on, "Leone wouldn't allow a thing like that anywhere on her property." Talyn closed her teeth with a snap as Auran shook her head. "No, it had to be the negotiator's people who brought it in, and I'd give one of my teeth to know how. The metal detectors didn't see anything, the dogs didn't smell a power pack, and none of them would have had time to unkeister it."
"Unkeister?" Talyn echoed, lost.
"Believe me, Your Highness, you don't want to know." This time Auran allowed herself a small smile, which was thoroughly irritating. "At any rate, they were headed north. I'll send another company south from Jaynesville and see if they can meet up."
"Just remember what we talked about yesterday," Talyn said. "I don't want any more screw ups. Tell them to cross the border if they have to. Nobody will notice in the Jags."
Auran folded her arms. "There's a Sanctuary Enclave right on the other side of the border from Jaynesville. I'd have to authorize invading a religious compound, because their land extends for about ten miles in any direction, almost up to the border. Shall I start killing monks to keep your dirty little secret, Your Highness?"
The irritation blossomed into full-bodied fury. "You'll do whatever I tell you to do, you uppity bitch. I want her dead, and don't touch the negotiator."
"And how will they know which one is the negotiator?" Auran asked, sounding singularly unaffected by the threat. "After all, another one was killed this morning." She paused long enough to shrug. "He might already be dead."
"Just do it!" Talyn hissed, then stalked off to get breakfast before she found Tanaka and reported her progress. Or lack of progress. She was at the end of the corridor before she heard the captain's boots start moving again.
Silean tucked her shoes back into her armpit and followed Auran Sillivan to her office without making a sound. The conversation she had just overheard had confirmed one idea, but had also thrown grave doubt onto the loyalty of her personal bodyguards.
"Your Majesty!" Sillivan's aide blurted as Silean padded into the outer office. "The captain has only just arrived for the day, so I don't think she could have any new information on the commander."
"Oh she has information," Silean said in her silkiest snarl. "And I'm going to get it from her right now. Sit, girl, before I have you up on charges as well."
The aide, whose name she couldn't remember, went white-faced and dropped back into her chair. Silean opened the door to the captain's inner office and slammed it behind her.
"Praise the Goddess, my part in this is over," Auran said, glancing up from a stack of notes, probably messages. "I hope you heard the whole thing, Silean. Talyn is a menace to Zona."
"That's treason," Silean said, controlling her voice through sheer force of will.
"And threatening my children if I didn't dispatch troops to kill Taryn wasn't treason?" Auran dropped the sheaf of papers on the desk. "I have no witnesses, of course, but that's exactly what she did. And Goddess help me, I sent a company to Leone's place for the purpose of killing Prince Taryn." She scrubbed her hands over her face. "I lost half of them and they failed in Talyn's crazed quest, but I did it. I can fall on my dagger now, Your Majesty, or we can go through the messy formality of a trial."
"Leone Varakis?" Silean sank into a chair facing the desk.
"Yes. We were in the same class at the academy, and I always counted her among my friends, Your Majesty." Auran took the opportunity to sit as well. "I've betrayed not only my oath, but the bonds of shield-bearers as well."
"She went to Leone?" Silean asked herself quietly, not quite able to believe it. Her daughter felt she could trust Leone Varakis more than her mother. Because of Talyn. Because Leone had protected her from Talyn when Silean could not. Her view of Auran began to blur, and she had to blink very hard to keep the tears from spilling.
"It was on her way to the border, Silean," Auran said quietly, one mother to another and all titles forgotten. "She had a duty to get the Bariani to safety, and that was her only option." She sighed, sounding tired. "If it helps, she's still alive, and so is the negotiator. The description of him from Customs doesn't match the description of the Bariani casualty." Her eyes narrowed. "Talyn doesn't know that, but she seemed very concerned that he not be harmed."
Silean came back to herself and leaned forward. "He's more than a negotiator. Codreascu was scared almost spitless when I told him something had happened yesterday. I think we're dealing with a high noble here, maybe even a von Stassos. Maybe even a member of the royal family."
Auran frowned, then rummaged through several stacks of papers until she came up with a drawing. "Have you ever met any of the Barian royal family? Does this look familiar?" Silean took the charcoal drawing, now slightly smeared, and felt her heart begin to thump with anxiety.
"What color is his hair?" she asked, praying silently for anything but blond, because she knew that face. It was almost a copy of Ramondar von Stassos' coronation portrait from some three decades in the past.
"Funny you should ask that," Auran said, steepling her fingers. "The head hair was dark brown, but his eyebrows were lighter, as if it had been dyed. It made the head customs inspector suspicious, and she ordered his luggage searched twice."
Silean let the drawing drop back to the desk. "Goddess preserve us, it's the Crown Heir." Ramondar von Stassos' eldest son had been sent into Zona, and someone had dared to try to execute him, using Talyn's Prime as their weapon. Nightmare. She dropped her face into her hands and wished with all her will to wake up, but nothing happened.
The nightmare was her life.
"I don't see that this information changes anything very much," Auran said after a moment. "If she can get him back to Barian, we're all right."
"What do you mean, all right?" Silean looked up and glared at the woman she had trusted with her life until that morning. "Assuming Taryn can get him across the border and make the Bariani accept that the attack wasn't a government action, they'll still demand concessions we don't have the resources to give." She pounded her fist on the desk in sheer desperation. "We're not producing enough food, Auran, let alone all the glazed bowls and earrings they want to buy. The only thing between most of Zona and starvation right now is the extra coming out of the Jags, and I'll bet you ten gold we both know where it's really coming from. One way or another, Zona is doomed."
"Unless she mates with their Crown Heir," Auran said thoughtfully. All of the fine hairs on the back of Silean's neck tried to stand on end. "I hear he's been looking for a..." her lip curled, "...wife in some of the strangest places."
"That's it," Silean said, her heart thudding in her chest. It also explained the ambassador's slip. "Mother of All, they sent the Barian Crown Heir to Zona to seduce Talyn in the negotiations."
Auran's eyes narrowed. "And Talyn knew it. She's planning to be queen of Grant Barian and she's terrified that Taryn will get to him first." Her face paled. "I sent a full company out of Jaynesville to intercept them at the Sanctuary Enclave."
"Recall them," Silean snapped.
Auran shook her head. "I can't. They've already left, and they're out of communication until they report back." She looked troubled. "Taryn and the Bariani have already taken out a half-company."
A half-company. Twenty-five of the toughest, most experienced fighters Zona could produce and Taryn had killed them with only half-dozen or so Bariani as backup. Silean chewed her lip as she thought. If Taryn could keep the Bariani Crown Heir alive and under control until she got him across the border---no, just crossing from one side of the peaks to the other wouldn't be enough; she would have to get him back inside the circle of Bariani security, because anything could happen in the Jags and did so regularly.
Maybe it all depended on Ramondar's son. What did she know of the Bariani Crown Heir? Beyond the facts that he was big and blond and constantly in the middle of scandals, she didn't know much at all. She knew, however, that he must be very good at hand-to-hand combat with primitive weapons---primitive by Bariani definition, anyway, because eight against twenty-five was bad enough odds if the twenty-five picked the ground and had the advantage of surprise, even with a laser pistol smuggled through customs. Taryn against twenty-five Silvergard was suicide. She had to have had help from him, which meant he hadn't done the stupid thing, the Bariani thing, and underestimated her effectiveness based on gender stereotypes.
Maybe there was hope, for him, for Taryn, for Zona. But Silean had to do something to even the odds.
"I need a courier that can cross the border and deliver a message to the Sanctuary Enclave before tomorrow night," she said into the silence.
Auran started. "Your Majesty," she began tentatively, "what about my court martial?"
Silean waved a hand in dismissal. "You're exonerated. Extenuating circumstances and all that." She fixed Auran with her most flinty look and finished with, "But if circumstances ever come up like that again, I expect to know about it immediately. Not the next day, and not because I was skulking in a corridor, do you understand?"
Auran seemed to shrink an inch or so in her seat, but bravely picked up a pencil and pulled a sheet of paper closer. "Certainly." Her voice showed no sign of her relief. "What would you like to say, and who shall I deliver it to, Your Majesty?"
Silean smiled and began to dictate.
Talyn slid into a cushioned bench opposite the blue-haired Sharif Mustafan Tanaka and had to repress a wince. Damned man had made muscles sore she hadn't been aware of possessing, even if it had been worth it at the time. He looked up from the remains of a breakfast that would have fed her three or four times, judging by the number of empty plates, and smiled, showing his fangs.
"I'm glad someone is pleased this morning," she snarled at him in irritation. And he definitely was pleased, probably with himself. His face hardened and took on that aloof mask she was used to seeing.
"And once again, that mouth opens," he murmured, picking up a blueware mug and sipping before he grimaced. He set it down again with a thump. "What is it about this planet that renders Timarrians incapable of producing a decent cup of kava?" He glared at her for no reason, his jolly mood vanished, and it mollified her for some reason she wasn't about to examine. "Even Barian can only make watered-down mud."
"I spoke with the captain of the Matriarch's Own this morning," she said into his vibrating silence, using her silkiest voice. He arched an eyebrow, but the glare didn't diminish. Talyn cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious, and leaned over the table. "They escaped a dawn raid at the smugglers' inn near the border."
He lifted his mug again, expressionless. "You said you didn't know where they were going." He sipped, still-green eyes following her every twitch with predatory intensity.
"I might have had a suspicion," she admitted. "One of the Barianis was killed, but it took a half-company of Silvergard to do it."
Tanaka sat up straighter. "Which one?" he demanded in a voice harder than anything he'd let slip past his lips in the six weeks she'd been dealing with him.
"I don't know." A waitress arrived, staying carefully to Talyn's side of the table, before she could say anything more, and she ordered a pot of maidwort and a plate of fruit. She'd already had a dose of maidwort that morning, but, with someone like him, a woman couldn't be too careful. He was insatiable.
"The group of Bariani sent to Balsom for the negotiation included the Duke of Northshield and Viscount von Stassos, the duke's youngest," he said softly when the waitress left, loaded with empty plates. "They are King Ramondar's brother and nephew, respectively. You need to find out if the casualty was either of them."
Talyn leaned forward again and glared at him. "And how am I supposed to do that, since I don't know what either of them look like?"
He took another sip of whatever was in the mug. "Never mind, I'll do it myself. Now tell me why a half-company of Silvergard was sent after them."
Talyn felt her mouth drop open. Why? How could he even ask such a stupid question? "So he wouldn't get away, of course."
"I believe I told you yesterday, all the Dozen Worlds requires is a union between House von Stassos and House Penthes. The Penthes doesn't have to be you."
"And I believe I told you that wasn't acceptable." She tapped the table several times to get her thoughts in order. "I'm going to be queen of Grant Barian, Tanaka. Essentially, I will rule over all of Timarron."
"All of Timarron," he echoed. "One small, backwater world just emerging from a dark age is as large as you can think? Talyn, Talyn, Talyn. You can do better than that."
"You don't think ruling an entire planet is big?" she challenged back. "I happen to disagree."
His lips quirked as if he was suppressing a smile of some kind and he shook his head minutely as those green eyes glinted. "The galaxy is a big place, little prince."
"Stop calling me that," she snapped, just before the waitress appeared again and set a plate of sliced pears and apples in front of her, then poured a mug and left it, along with the pot. Talyn waited for the woman to get out of earshot before she finished, "My title is Crown Prince." She picked up the mug and took a mouthful of the strong tea.
"You didn't seem to mind it last night," he drawled, and she nearly spit the tea across the table when she choked. A hard swallow let her set the cup down with a thump while her eyes watered in reaction. He reached across the scarred wooden plank to trace his taloned fingertips delicately across the inside of her wrist and she couldn't pull away. Again it was something new, something totally outside her experience; she wasn't in control and she discovered, to her dismay, that it was actually sort of a relief. "You liked it. So why would you want me to stop, little prince?" He traced one blue vein a few inches up her arm with the nail, hardened and pointed, of his index finger. She shivered in response.
"Please, not here." She shifted her eyes around the restaurant and made the effort to pull away from his touch.
"Most definitely not here," he agreed, but his tone was odd, almost thoughtful. "There are so many places better than here, but you wouldn't know. Have you ever even been off this planet?"
"No." It was pulled from her by the force of his personality. She didn't want to answer, didn't want to look provincial and stupid and coarse in front of him, but the question, the tone of voice, the look---they all demanded an answer and, indeed, promised punishment if it wasn't the Goddess's own truth.
He nodded, accepting, not really even paying attention because he was off to his next topic. "This ... rift with your sister." He folded his arms, elbows on the table. "Why is it so serious?"
Talyn blinked at him, not quite able to believe that he'd asked the question. "You don't need to know that," she got out while she tried to calm her racing pulse with a sip of maidwort. "Suffice it to say she has interfered with my plans for the last time."
"And what plans has she interfered with in the past?" The same watchful look as before. Talyn squirmed, grateful he hadn't changed his eyes back to the yellow slit-pupil version.
"Lots of them," she forced out, not truly willing to reveal even that much. Taryn had always tried too hard and had ended up besting her at everything---the musicale exhibitions, the schoolwork, even dressage and flower-arranging, for goddess's sake. How was she supposed to explain to an offworlder, who probably had been hatched from a vat, what it was like to be the second-best of identical twins?
"What if you could be sure she would never do so again, even without killing her?" He scratched at a dried spill on the wood. "Would that be enough to break the vendetta?"
Talyn almost snorted. Nothing would be enough to keep Taryn from interfering, because it seemed to come as naturally to her as breathing. "She would have to be on another planet for that to happen."
He stopped toying with crumbs and looked at her almost sideways, through lowered eyelids and lashes too long to belong to someone male. But the look was intense. "That could be arranged, I suppose." He leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Or you could be on another planet."
Talyn leaned back and studied him for a moment, picking up a slice of pear and sucking the juice off its flesh before eating it. He stared, eyes still intense, without even blinking while she ate two more. "It would be difficult to keep Timarron in line from another world, don't you think?"
The intensity faded from his eyes. "Not really," he said, sounding somehow disappointed.
This time she did allow herself to snort. "Oh, and you have experience with the ruling of multiple planets?" He smiled again, that same slow, predatory display of teeth she'd seen the night before, just before he ripped her clothes away. Only this time there was no accompanying heat in his eyes, and the extended claws of one hand dug furrows into the ironwood tabletop. She looked at his hand, then at his face, and wondered exactly who Sharif Mustafan Tanaka was outside the sheltered borders of Zona. Was it possible she'd just insulted someone with far more power than she had ever dreamed existed?
"Do you care about anything but power?" he asked, almost as if he could read her mind.
"Of course I do." There was also revenge. And pleasure.
He leaned forward and set the points of those talons on her wrist again. "Exactly what?" She tried to pull away and felt him clamp fingers around her arm, keeping her right where she was as her pulse thundered in her ears. He really could hurt her, and no one was close enough to make him stop in time.
"What do you want from me?" she asked in a strangled whisper. It was all the voice she could come up with through the mixture of fear and want that suddenly flooded her.
"When I decide, I'll let you know." He threw her wrist aside and flowed up from his seat, pausing only to toss a handful of golden squares on the table before he stalked out of the teahouse, for all the world like a predator seeking something to kill and not because he was hungry.
Talyn looked at the table and swallowed, then noticed he'd left enough gold coins to pay the waitress's wages for a month. She glanced up at the door, but he was already gone, leaving her with her sore muscles and a nagging idea that she should be far more worried about him than about her sister.
They had just remounted after a quick lunch from the saddlebags, the Bariani forming up around Taryn and their leader, when Galen, on her left, twisted around in his saddle, then turned and twisted around the other way to look behind them.
"Hang on a minute," he said, and the guards on point came to a stop. He walked his horse around to face the other direction and studied the mountains. "I've been here before."
"What?" Taryn asked, stomping on the sarcastic retort with both feet. "We're in Zona. You can't have been here unless you've crossed the border."
Galen looked back at her. "Not right here, but within thirty kliks, right on the other side of the border." He walked his horse back. "We're about three or four hours from Broken Pine Pass."
"Which makes it about six hours from the cave by horse," Blade finished for him. "It would be a good place to camp tonight, since we've got wounded." He glanced around. "Think you can find the trail to Broken Pine?"
Galen twisted to look behind him again, then came back around and squinted at the trail. "I'd bet money this will take us right to it. Why else would it be here?"
Maris moaned softly. "Then let's get moving," Blade said, sounding grim.
It was less than three hours later when they came to a saddle between two hills with a tall pine tree growing on one of the slopes that had been hit by lightning at some point in the past. About twenty feet above its base, the crown tilted at a crazy angle.
"You're a master, Galen," Blade said, and he sounded relieved. "Broken Pine Pass, just like you ordered."
Taryn straightened in her saddle, because this was the border. This was where she stopped, except for one little problem. There were six trained fighting men surrounding her who thought she was going to cross it with them. While that wouldn't normally be a problem, she had a feeling Blade wasn't going to take no for an answer. She wasn't sure she could tell him no again, anyway.
Blade clucked to the big gelding and it started to trot, followed a moment later by the rest of the riders. Even Juvenan, who had been riding at the last of the group, passed her. Then her horse started to trot on its own.
Taryn pulled the reins a little and the mare slowed to a walk, though she didn't like being left behind. Taryn patted her neck to reassure the horse while the Barianis trotted ahead. The horse kept walking, but slowed more, and the gap between her and the other horses widened more.
The ground was almost level, which meant the border between Zona and Barian was right here under her feet, the invisible line where upgrade changed to downgrade and homeland changed to foreign soil. Taryn reined in a little more and listened to the hoofbeats fade when the mare came to a stop. One of the Barianis faded to the back of the group the same way she had, then pulled his horse to a dead stop and wheeled it around. Even at this distance, she knew it was Blade, and his expression was as dark as a thundercloud, his eyes the lightning.
He jabbed heels into the gelding's ribs and it jumped to a gallop, making the gold-brown hair stream out behind him in a glorious image of gallantry, strong and very, very determined. Taryn turned her own horse and made for a bend in the trail with as much speed as she could. If she could make it back to where the hills leveled out a bit, which was doubtful, she might be able to go off the trail and elude him.
He came up on her right, then leaned out and caught her bridle in a long-fingered hand and pulled the mare to a stop along with his own mount. She was almost knee to knee with him.
"I told you I would get you back to Barian," she forced herself to say evenly. "I never said I would go with you." She lifted her chin and tried to bolster her courage to face those eyes that saw so much. "My responsibility for your lot ends either when I drop you off at the palace or at the border, and this is the border."
"I never said I would allow you to stay in Zona," he responded in absolute calm. "And I won't allow you to stay, because right now someone very high up in the Zonan government wants your head on a platter. They only way I can protect you from that is to get you out of the country and to a Sanctuary truthtester." He let go of the mare's bridle and put his hand on her thigh. "Even Prince Talyn can't ignore that."
"I don't need your help." Taryn tried to brush his touch away, but though his hand was relaxed, the wrist and arm attached to it were clenched. "The truth is that I killed the Crown Prince's Prime, and that won't help me." He moved the gelding one step, then two, and they were almost nose to nose. "I'm not running from my duty and I want some answers, even if I have to beat them out of very important people."
"And how will letting your sister kill you be helpful to performing your duty? You know as well as I do that a Silvergard ambush means you'll never get anywhere near very important people." He sounded patient, almost like a teacher leading a student through the logic to an obvious conclusion. Taryn couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
"My honor demands it," she said to her hands. Interesting. Her knuckles were white where she was holding the reins. She made an effort to relax them. The gelding stamped and Blade twisted in his saddle to frame her jaw in one hand, lifting her face to look at him.
"But does it demand it today? And does it demand that you do it in person and not through Bariani diplomatic channels?" He rubbed his thumb up over her cheek, grazing the bottom of her scar. "This is a lie if you go back to Balsom. How long have you used this as a touchstone for the truth, your truth? Are you prepared to abandon everything you are just to let your nutball sister have her way?" He leaned toward her and smiled faintly. "Is it a lie, Taryn?"
His words echoed through her head even as he went on. "Or are you Silvergard enough to see this fight through to the end?"
He leaned more, far enough to drag his lips lightly over the scar. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth with a gentle patience that only served to punctuate the power he held in check, not only over his world, but over her, too. Something in that kiss paralyzed her. She couldn't make herself move, couldn't make the horse move, couldn't even blink away his glowing eyes. She whimpered, torn between honor and the sudden need to stay with him.
He took it as his cue to kiss her more deeply, licking the seam of her lips and coaxing them apart. Then he thrust his tongue into her mouth and need won, pulling her eyes closed and stretching her arms so her hands could clutch his shoulders. Everything vanished but him. The taste of him, the scent of him, the subtle creak of saddle leather when he pulled her closer. One hand held her face captive and even though he wasn't wearing gloves in the cool weather, his skin was warm against hers. His other hand covered the cut, searing heat into the ache and obliterating it. If she hadn't been sitting on a horse, she might have wrapped her legs around him.
When he lifted his head she was out of breath and dazed. "It's time to go," he said, his breathing also uneven, proving that if it had been a ploy it hadn't worked quite the way he'd intended. The saddle creaked as he pushed her back upright. He still didn't trust her, though, because he pulled the reins from where she'd forgotten she held them in her left hand and led the mare in a half circle until they were facing the pass again. He toed the gelding into a trot and the mare snorted when her reins tugged, but obediently kept pace.
Taryn held her breath as they clopped through the level stretch, held it until the land was definitely sloping down. She turned and looked back at the mundane scene, a saddle between two hills, patches of snow still in the shadowed places between the sparse trees that had invaded the rocky soil, punctuated by the broken pine. It was so strange, to be leaving Zona. To be turning her back on Zona. And there had been no bolt of lightning, no vengeful Goddess stopping her heart or exploding her head. Taryn swallowed and turned to face the choice she had made under a peculiar sort of duress.
The only feature that distinguished her future from her past was Galen, scowling over crossed arms on the unhappy roan with its ears back in the middle of the trail. "What have I told you about taking off like that?" he demanded when they were close enough to hear, and Taryn had a dizzying moment of déjà vu when Galen's voice in the present mixed with Leone's voice from the past.
Blade slowed the horses to a walk. "Are you talking to me or her?" he asked, and Taryn could hear the smile in his voice though she couldn't see his face.
Galen seemed to sit straighter in his saddle for a few seconds, the closest to startlement she had ever seen him. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "but it goes for both of you. Do not leave the escort again. Is that clear?" It almost sounded like he'd left something off the end of that question, something like a title. Sweet Mother of All.
Blade looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
"He can't be talking to me," she defended herself. "I'm just a disgraced ex-Silvergarder, not someone important."
Galen snorted then toed his horse into motion, steering the roan to her left. "Really. And if you take off, what is Blade going to do, my dear Vixen?"
"Go after her," Blade said, sounding cheerful. "We have an appointment with Llamass, after all. How's Maris doing?"
"He'll be happy to get to the cave and some medical treatment," Galen reported, "but he's being pretty stoic about it, unlike the time you broke his arm."
"I thought the bone laser went back to Westhollow when we left last month," Blade said, not taking the bait.
Taryn sat up straighter in her saddle, which made the mare's ears twitch. "You were in the Jags a month ago?"
Blade glanced back at her. "I've spent seven of the last nine months in the Jags trying to get to the bottom of the Zonan border attacks."
If Taryn had held her own reins she would have stopped the mare.
"Zonans don't cross the border. We have no need of the outside world." Even as she said it, though, she thought of other truisms that had proved false in her own life. Mothers did favor one child over another. Sisters were sometimes enemies. Comrades-in-arms could turn on you. Maybe there had been Zonan raids across the border, but for what purpose? She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they hadn't been covert military activity.
"Unless you've had three utterly fecal harvests in a row and two colder than normal winters, you don't." Blade sounded grim. "We caught a group of raiders red-handed. I killed two of them before I realized that they were so emaciated they could barely fight. What I took for teenage boys were women who had no body fat at all." He glanced at her over his shoulder again. "That's when I started interviewing the places that had been hit. No women or children, no noncombatants had been killed, and only basic supplies had been taken. And nothing had been burned. They were raiding because that was their only option if they were going to survive. I just hope those two deaths didn't make any orphans."
His horse blew a warning and Galen looked around, searching for whatever threat the gelding had detected as Blade fell silent. The birds were still singing though, which meant that it wasn't a threat to humans.
"Did you contact the Matriarch?" Taryn asked, wondering how this could have been kept a secret. There was traffic between the mountain villages and Balsom, so surely Mother had known what was going on.
"No, I started making caches, because I knew Silean would be too stubborn to accept aid from Barian. Grain, preserved protein, root vegetables, warm clothing and basic fuel went into unguarded shacks on the edges of settlements nearest the border, along with a healthy stipend to keepers for any reports of withdrawals. That little feat made me an expert on Zona."
"Seven months in the Jags made you an expert?" She made no attempt to calm the outrage in her voice.
Blade only shrugged. "I lived like a Zonan, within limits, so my ... King Ramondar felt I had insight into the thought process. I was chosen to offer covert aid to Zona because I knew what people needed and how to get it to them without humiliating them." He slowed his horse and offered her reins to her. "The border villages are doing pretty well now, but I'm worried about the interior. More has gone in than those villages need and I don't want people paying through the nose for what we're giving for free."
"We would never do such a thing."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing Bariani clothes, Vixen. The hook and eye closure is a dead giveaway." Her expression as she stared down at herself must have given him what he was looking for, because he switched his gaze back to the trail. "I'm guessing it was a midwinter gift from Leone that someone used to pay their lodging bill."
This time she did stop her horse. "It was a solstice gift," she said through numb lips. It explained so much. Why the clever closing that no one had thought of before. Why Leone had been so pleased when the pants and vest fit properly.
"It came from the Stormhaven cache. We color-coded the clothing so we'd be able to recognize it if it showed up in Balsom, and all the women's clothing in that store was black."
"Keep moving," Galen said. Taryn nudged the mare back into motion, but she was too distracted to pay much attention to what the horse did as she chewed her lip and tried to make sense of what she had heard. Yes, official reports said harvests had been disappointing, and anyone who had stuck her head out of doors knew the winters had been colder than usual, but ... killing Bariani for food? Had things really gotten that bad? Could Mychell's strike against the negotiator have been designed to precipitate a war to hide the desperation? Barian covered half a continent, while Zona was tiny in comparison, making a war sheer insanity. Her head throbbed and she pinched the bridge of her nose to try to concentrate, but even worrying at the mystery for hours didn't make any more sense out of it.
Finally, they stopped in front of a dark rock face with a darker opening when the sun had already dropped behind the highest peaks and night was falling fast. Dorcan came out of the opening as Blade slid from his saddle. Taryn eyed the black hole with suspicion. It looked small. Dark. She could almost feel the tons of rock pressing down on her, and she wasn't even inside yet. She swallowed hard.
"Grigor's checking Maris through the medical unit," Dorcan said. "The other guys are setting up camp." He took Blade's horse and led it into the opening.
"Time to go into the mountain, Vixen." She looked at Blade and watched his expression soften. "Galen, you go on ahead." Galen, who had dismounted sometime during the exchange, led his horse into the cave. "It's okay, Taryn." He took the few steps to her and reached to rub the small of her back. "It's big inside, and there's plenty of light. It's dry and warm and safe. And Maris needs you."
"Me?" The mare moved under her, restless to get to the rest of her herd. "I can't work a Bariani machine."
He smiled. "Neither can Grigor, and Maris has no reason to be strong in front of him. But whimpering at you isn't an option for him, which means he'll actually take enough pain medication to sleep and let the nanites do their work." He clasped both sides of her waist below the cut and pulled her from the horse, then set her on her feet with only a low twinge. Whatever he had done that morning had been very effective. She felt her brow furrow. "Ready for your adoring public?"
"You are so---oh, never mind." She tried to pull away, but he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her closer.
"I'm so what?" She looked up and his eyes were glowing with amusement.
"Bossy," she spat at him, then yanked herself away hard enough that she almost fell over when he let her go. "If I have to go babysit your cousin, you can take care of my horse." She turned and stalked into the dark opening, almost running into a rock wall that loomed up about eight feet in. She turned right, because it was darker that direction, and sort of felt her way around another corner and into soft overall illumination. A glance up showed a series of electric lights sunk into the rock at a height of about ten feet.
At least he hadn't been lying about light. And the light trap at the entrance was a nice touch. She moved on, because she could hear voices.
The speech Ramondar was working on blurred and vanished, replaced in his holographic display by a live rendition of Degusta Matamoss's face. Deg must have invoked highest-security overrides to break into the king's virtual space, and though his expression was serious, the system faithfully reproduced a mischievous twinkle that really didn't bode well for Ramondar's peace of mind. He must have news about Blade, and it must be news he liked.
"Your Majesty," Deg said formally. "These still images were taken approximately three hours ago at Broken Pine Pass by BOAS 2. We would have had video, but the memory cache is being used for some big science project."
The first picture flashed and began to resolve itself while Deg's face shrank to a small frame and retreated to the upper right-hand corner of the projection field.
"That's nice," Ramondar said to the pixels in front of him. "What is Broken Pine Pass?"
In the corner, Deg's face grinned. "The border crossing of a clandestine trade route between Barian and southern Zona. Didn't you see Blade's report on it?"
Ramondar suppressed the automatic frown and circled the center of the satellite picture for magnification. When the projection field zoomed in, he saw a group of horses from directly above. He counted silently and came up with eight, which meant everyone who had made it out of Balsom alive had made it to the pass alive.
"The casualty appears to be Garid Maretski, a crown guard sergeant in Blade's personal detail for two years," Deg said gently about the time Ramondar's eyes discerned something different about one of the equine outlines. The tiny image shifted mentally and became a picture of a body draped over the saddle. Ramondar shuddered.
At least it wasn't his son, his last piece of Julesan. He looked again and identified Blade's figure by the long hair streaming out behind. To his left and a little behind there was another long-haired figure, which had to be the Zonan. Ramondar felt himself frown, because she was riding too close to his son.
"Oh, it gets better." Sarcasm might have dripped from Deg's voice if it hadn't been electronically reproduced. A second picture moved in from the left margin of the projection field, sliding over the first. The strawberry-blond figure was farther back, almost behind the rest of the riders. "And better," Deg continued, with another photo sliding in, this time from the right. She had turned her horse, pointing its nose back to Zona. Blade, however, had also reversed the direction of his mount. It was like an extremely slow motion film. "But this is my favorite," Deg finished as a tiny dot started to spin in the center of the field, getting progressively larger and spinning more slowly, until it overlay the image behind and came to a stop.
Ramondar's hands tightened around the edge of his desktop, his knuckles turning white. This still had already been magnified and re-centered, and there was no mistaking what was going on in the scene even with the severe foreshortening of satellite imagery. Two horses, pressed side to side. Two figures, practically twisted together like plies of a rope.
"No." Blade had done the unthinkable. He had caught her, had kissed her in the open, had obviously seduced her into leaving Zona with him. A Zonan. He would never have done such a thing if he hadn't been serious about the damned girl, and she was Zonan.
"Yes." The last image simply appeared without the fancy presentation, obscuring the horrifying scene that preceded it. His son, leading the Zonan's horse through the pass, a lone figure waiting for them on the Barian side of the border.
"No." He looked up at the projected face of one of his oldest friends, silently begging Deg to take it all back. She would desert Blade. Dear gods, she had already tried, turning back at the border like that.
The tiny representation of Degusta froze, lips unmoving as his voice came over the network. "Give it a rest, Ramon. He's almost thirty-five and he's not going to let you tell him he can't marry a woman who is obviously suitable by right of birth as well as political expedience, no matter what the circumstances of their meeting were."
"I can't let him be hurt like that again, Deg." He let go of his desk and rubbed his hands over his face. "The gods only know what he's thinking, but I allowed it the first time only because there was no way to keep her around without verifying every prejudice they have about the Bariani."
"Ramondar," Deg said, his frozen face vanishing and leaving only the image of Blade leading a mounted Zonan woman out through a mountain pass, "this is his life, and we've already established that he's not as dumb as he pretends. Let him make his own mistakes." He paused and Ramondar inhaled to try to explain again, but not soon enough. "Although I don't think this is going to be a mistake if he can pull it off." Ramondar closed his mouth with a snap. "Gods and demons, Ram, at least meet the woman before you decide she's evil incarnate. Besides which, there's no guarantee Blade will be able to talk her into it. He might have used up all his karma getting her to save her own life by crossing the border."
"Save her own life?" Ramondar echoed. "What in cold hell are you talking about?"
"Ah." A telltale rustle meant Degusta was smoothing his hair, going into spin-control mode. "Well. This isn't the only imagery we captured."
"This is how Sergeant Maretski was killed, isn't it?" Ramondar glanced back at the virtual pile of still images. "You know what happened."
"Yes." It was cautious and drawn out almost to the point of a drawl. Then Deg sighed and started into an explanation that set Ramondar's nerves on edge.
"You're sure they left off attacking my son to go after her?" he questioned when Deg came to the end.
"Twenty to one, Ram. Her own service turned on her like a school of eaterfish." Deg's voice was quiet, but with an underlying current of outrage. Ramondar could relate, because he felt a vague helpless outrage just from hearing the story. Degusta had seen the imagery, so it had to be worse for him.
He levered himself out his chair and began to pace, thinking hard. What possibly could have prompted Silean Penthes to order her personal bodyguard to kill the daughter she had spent nearly three decades trying to keep quiet? Was it because continuing the girl's obscurity was impossible? Was it because she'd been tainted by exposure to Barian males? His blood pressure tried to rise at that thought, but Silean had never been jingoistic in the decades he'd dealt with her at arm's length. She was tough, a shrewd negotiator who knew how to get as much as possible out of a weak position, but she wasn't a true believer.
Then why try to kill her daughter today? He shook his head, because it made no sense, unless ... he stopped and stared into space. "Is there anyone else who could have given the order to set up that ambush, especially anyone who could have done so without Silean knowing about it?"
"You mean other than the Captain of Silvergard?" From the sound of Deg's voice, he was frowning in thought.
"Yes, someone who could order the captain around but not have it cleared through Silean," he confirmed.
There were several seconds of silence, then Deg's face reappeared in the projection area. "Yes." He looked Ramondar straight in the eye. "The Crown Prince, who gave Commander Penthes the facial scar."
"And thirteen or fourteen years later, she's still trying to kill her." Oh, it just got better and better. Blade had saved her life by pulling her across the border. What other lengths might he go to in order to ensure her safety? On the other hand, knowing she couldn't run away to Zona might be a good thing, but was a life as Barian Heir Consort forced by fear of death really any better than the sexual slavery Julesan had talked about?
And if the Zonan crown heir considered her anathema, was Commander Penthes, prince of Zona, capable of cementing the necessary alliance to bring Grant Barian back together and get Timarron into the DW federation? He needed more information. He needed to talk to his son. He needed to calm down and think about this logically, only logically.
"Rammy," Sabinet's voice broke into his reverie, "it's time for tea and you said we could talk about the situation in Zona today." He stopped and looked up from the rug, and there she was in the doorway, as lovely as ever even if she didn't make his heart soar the way Julesan had.
"Of course, my dear. I've just received some good news, too." Sabinet's shoulders sagged, ever so slightly, probably from relief that he hadn't forgotten again. Guilt stung him a little as he faced Deg. "When he coms in from the cave, I want it patched through directly to me, immediately." Please, gods, let the boy use the com at the cave tonight. He turned back to his wife. "Are we in the garden or your salon, dearest?"
Taryn disappeared into the cave, her fear of it banished in irritation with him. Blade smiled after her for a moment, still feeling the glow from her presence.
"So you did," Galen said from his shoulder.
He turned around to look at the older man. "Did what?" Yes, he knew exactly what Galen was talking about, and it might have started out political, but now it was ... private.
"Let's just say this morning was the first time in my life I've seen a woman collapse into hysterical sobbing and you not turn tail and run." Galen folded his arms. "You slept with her, and I'm talking about the hot, sweaty, breathing hard kind of sleep."
Usually Galen could take a hint, but apparently not today. "Yes. I had my reasons." Like her best friend had told him it was the only way to save her life, and when he'd seen her asleep in the light from the hallway after just long enough for the alcohol to kick in, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. When she let those walls down, there was a lot of woman behind them, and he was only human.
"Perhaps you should share them with your Chief of Staff, Your Royal Highness." That tone meant he had better share them, and immediately. Blade sighed, then explained Taryn's complicated family structure and Leone's plan. "And just what do you expect to get out of this?" Galen asked carefully when he was done.
"What do you mean?" He felt his forehead crease, but he had no idea what Galen was talking about. "Hells, my father has been nagging me to get married since I turned sixteen. I expect to get a consort and some kind of heir, eventually."
"Gods, Blade, she doesn't know who you are." Galen stamped a foot and exhaled frustration. "Putting aside for a moment that Ram would have a stroke if you brought home a Zonan wife like an adopted puppy, if she doesn't want to be a secondary heir to Zona, what in the dozen worlds makes you think she wants to be the Barian Heir Consort? She's never been out of the thirty-thousand square kilometers of Zona. How in Hells is she going to react to mucous-covered offworlders?" He turned his back and started to pace.
"Plus there's the coercion factor, since anyone entering into a Sanctuarian bond has to give informed consent. And then there's Zonan culture. They don't believe in permanent sexual relationships, in case you forgot." Galen gestured as he talked, ticking off points in the air. "You have---what, two more days, maybe three, to get her to fall in love with you, agree to marry you, and accept the fact that she's essentially a treaty bride between Zona and Barian."
He stopped and stared at the westering sun for a moment. Blade waited, because what he had said made sense. The plan was crazy, just the sort of romantic happy-ever-after a woman would come up with. Except Galen's expression had taken on that faraway look that he got when he was playing chess in his head. And Taryn was ... important. He would die before surrendering her to Zonan butchers, and he would take as many of those butchers with him as he could on his way out.
"I would have told you it was insane before that episode this morning. She was determined to drown herself in their blood," Galen said. "I don't know what happened when you two were on the other side of that rock, but that was the quickest trip back from a suicidal depression that I've ever seen." His eyes focused and the look he gave Blade was flinty. "This is so crazy that it might just work." Then he walked back and poked Blade in the chest. Hard. "But I'll tell you this. Crown Heir or not, if you don't tell her the bare-assed truth before she talks to Llamass, I'll bury you up to your ears in dung and piss in your mouth. Taryn is royal from the toes of her boots to the bloody tips of her fingers, for all she's a Zonan wildcat. I will not stand by biting my tongue while you trick her into abandoning her life for political expedient."
Blade threw his head back and laughed, because Galen of all people suddenly sounded like a protective father dressing down a prospective suitor. "Guess you've discovered a fondness for uppity women, Your Grace," he said when he got himself back under control. He swept his arm forward in a formal court bow. "Bury me in dung? Man, you've been in the Jags too long."
Galen bristled visibly, which was even more amusing. "I mean it, Blade."
"Right." Blade looked into the cave entrance. "I'm going to save her from her crazy sister, impregnate her, marry her, declare her my consort, and then screw her over." A chuckle escaped, and he looked back at his best friend. "When we get home I'll give you a credit for that clue purchase, Galen."
He started into the cave with the two horses and heard the faint mutter, "Gods above, he's in love." It made him smile because he knew better. Two days was not long enough for that, but ... if he was going to love any woman, she would have to be a lot like his feisty Vixen, deadly in combat and fascinatingly seductive outside of it. Her little walk through the inn's public room had proved she possessed a deep, abiding sensuality lurking far enough down in her subconscious, maybe her very cells, that she wasn't even aware of it. It had been a long time since a woman had made him throb just by walking past him. And an even longer time since kissing a woman had forced him to endure long hours on horseback while aroused.
After the horses had been coaxed into their underground stable and taken care of, he went back to the main cavern. Taryn, coatless in the warmer air inside the cavern, was crouched in a corner near Maris, who was looking a little doped but a lot less strained, and smiling up at her dreamily. She, however, was scowling at the redimeal container, clearly unsure what to do with it. He watched her turn it around twice, probably looking for directions.
"Hey, Maris, how's the leg?" he asked as he ambled over. There was no point in rushing to help, because it would only annoy her more. Vixen was proud as well as feisty, and Galen had been right about one thing in his tirade. She was royal, every millimeter of her, and some part of him had recognized it the first time he'd laid eyes on her, or he wouldn't have been considering the general concept of marriage before the attack in Balsom.
"Hurts a little," Maris said with a languid movement of shoulders that might have been a shrug. "Grigor said there's a hole in the bone, so I'm supposed to stay as still as I can. Vixen's going to feed me." He smiled lazily, which made her shoulders hunch.
"I don't think so," Blade said to defuse the bomb that would go off in a minute. His cousin was clearly tranq'd to the gills, and he had enough trouble watching his mouth about Taryn when he was cold sober. "She's wounded, too." He knelt and pulled the container out of her fingers. "There's nothing wrong with your hands, so you can feed yourself."
"No, he needs to stay still or he'll get marrow in his blood," she protested, reaching for the container. Blade pushed her hands away, activated the heater and pulled off the lid.
"Grigor shot you up with phage and nanites, didn't he?" he asked as he handed the fish and pilaf to Maris, who nodded with wide eyes. "Then they'll take care of any blood clots and knit the bone back together in a few days. Faster if you move, you lazy bum." Make that lazy, infatuated bum. He turned to Taryn, who looked like she was biting her tongue. "And how is your side?"
"Fine." The one word was clipped, and the fingers of her sword hand traced her scar, back and forth. He reached for that hand and pulled her to her feet as he stood.
"Uh-huh. And what did the analyzer have to say about it?" All the color drained from her face as her throat worked in a hard swallow.
"It said it was fine," she tried to lie, but she wasn't any better at it than he was, because her eyes slid away from his. He knew they were tight-minded about technology, but she was going to have to overcome her fear sooner or later. And in this case, sooner was better.
"Fine isn't in the stupid thing's vocabulary," he said and dragged her across the cavern to the equipment lockers. "You didn't get checked with Maris, so you'll have to wait to have supper. That's what happens when you misbehave."
"I don't want to be subjected to some outworld machine," she protested. He opened the locker and she almost---almost---cringed. It was the closest thing to fear he'd seen from her so far in their admittedly short acquaintance.
"Why not?" he asked, wondering what had caused the reaction. It seemed very specifically targeted to medical gear, since she hadn't had a qualm about Galen's laser pistol. "It's not like it's going to hurt. I'll just run a scanner over the cut to make sure we got all the bacteria and viruses out this morning." He picked it up and set it for female vitals, then set for full scan. "It should take half a minute. Stand still."
She did, parade ground attention still, until the scanner beeped. Blade looked at the screen and had to stop himself from swearing under his breath. She was showing a low-grade anaerobic bacterial infection in the cut, but that wasn't a problem. According to the scanner, she was indeed within forty-eight hours of ovulation, and one amenity the cave lacked was privacy.
"What's wrong?" she asked, obviously picking up something from his expression. He had stubble back, but clearly not enough beard to hide things just yet.
"Nothing bad," he said, turning away. "I just need to give you an injection." He replaced the scanner and picked up the nanite/phage injector while he got his face under control and set it for both. Phage would take care of the infection, but the nanites would do something else he wanted. When he turned back, she had taken several steps away from him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Vixen. You picked up some bacteria from the sword cut, probably off your clothes. This will prevent fever."
"I'll take the fever." She took another step back, her eyes darting.
"Oh no you don't." He lunged and got her by the arm, pulling her enough off balance to rip the shirt and get the instrument in contact with her skin. A quick squeeze on the trigger and it was done. "Welcome to modern medical care," he said as she stared at her arm. She transferred her gaze to his face, her expression a mixture of shock and wonder. He liked that look. Maybe he could get to see it again tonight if he left the lamp on. If he could find someplace without an audience.
"That's it?" She sounded skeptical, as if she'd been expecting a great deal more. Gods, did they bleed people in Zona?
He forced himself to grin. "That's it. Of course, you're going to need a new shirt tomorrow, but didn't Leone say she'd packed clean clothes for a week?" He let go of her arm and patted the skin where he'd pressed the nozzle. "Go grab some chow."
"What did you do to open it?" she asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I couldn't figure it out and the directions were these bizarre little pictures that didn't make any sense at all."
"I'll show you, since I'm starving, too. Come on." He moved down the row of lockers to the insulated food storage, pulled out a couple of redimeals and some water bottles, then led her over to the area where a few camp tables had been set up. After showing her how to heat the food and open the container, they ate in silence and he thought about the real problem.
There was a small alcove off the back where they'd stored some of the bulkier foodstuffs when this had been his central headquarters for the covert aid operation that might do the trick---if he could talk her into it. Getting her drunk and surprising her wasn't going to work twice in a row, especially without Leone's help. And that meant he was going to have to be at his eloquent best, and talk fast enough to make her change her mind before she decided to kill him and go home. Unfortunately, eloquence always seemed to desert him when he needed it the most, and this was one conversation where dear old Uncle Galen wouldn't be at his shoulder to feed him lines.
Blade ate mechanically, barely tasting the food because all the redimeals tasted vaguely alike. He'd never been much of a gourmet, but six solid months of the stuff had made his first state dinner back in Krystale taste like manna from Heaven, and state dinners were notoriously bad food, because they had to be bland enough not to offend any offworld palates. Taryn betrayed her military training by silently shoveling food in as methodically as he did, although she somehow managed to make it look elegant as she did it. That meant she was probably thinking just like he was, and in his short experience of her, that could be bad. He started eating a little faster.
They were almost finished with the food when she looked up at him with round eyes. "How did you know I have a sister?"
"I don't know, doesn't everyone have a sister?" he countered over the racing pulse. "I have two sisters." He must have let something slip, but for the life of him he couldn't remember when. This could be really bad.
"You said 'How will letting your sister kill you be helpful to performing your duty?' when we were at the border." Now she was staring at him with that familiar smoky glare. "How did you know?"
Blade swallowed the last bite of whatever he'd been eating, then fixed her with his most open expression and lied through his teeth. "I honestly don't remember. Maybe Leone mentioned something." She was still staring at him, but her expression changed slightly, from accusing to troubled.
"I'm going for a walk." She stood and walked back across the cavern to Maris, shrugged into her coat and started strapping on the scabbard. He watched, fuming, because there was no way he could stop her short of dragging her off to the alcove and bedding her now. When she had stomped through the baffled entrance, someone cleared his throat. Blade looked up to see Dorcan standing a few feet away.
"Where do you want to set up, ah, Vixen's bedding?" He shifted his weight and looked at the floor.
"How about the storage area?" Blade stood and picked up the empty containers. "It should be pretty empty." He glanced over to see Dorcan looking relieved and fought the urge to frown.
"Good, I put your stuff in there, too." Dorcan walked away with the air of a man satisfied with his decision, and for some reason it irritated Blade. Did everyone know what was going on, or was he that obvious? He sat down at the table again for a moment, then pounded his fist on it and went to make sure the bedding was set up properly and figure out exactly how he was going to persuade her to sleep where she belonged.
Silean was stirring the food on her plate and trying to work up a will to swallow some of the potatoes when Herren pushed open the door of her salon and grinned at her across sixteen feet of space. Her fork dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
"No, no, it's good news." He walked to the small table where she had set an extra place for him, just in case, but he knelt at her side and took one of her icy hands in his warm grasp. "Tomal printed some pictures of them crossing the border at mid-afternoon. She's all right, Silean." He fumbled with the large envelope he'd been carrying and had dropped to take her hand, then pulled out several letter-size printed pictures. She took the stack and immediately tracked her daughter's glorious titian hair from the aerial view. Rapidly she flipped through the pictures, only coming to a stop with a gasp when she got to the one where Taryn and one of the male figures melded together into one bizarre figure astride two horses.
"What..." She looked up at Herren. "What are they doing in this picture?"
His eyes glowed. "Kissing." He leaned toward her and murmured. "He cares about her, Silean, because she tried to turn back and he wouldn't let her. He went after her, he told her in the only way she wouldn't be able to talk herself out of, and he led her out of Zona." He pulled the prints from her and shuffled them to a picture she hadn't yet seen, Taryn's little gray being led by the male figure on the larger horse. "See?"
He set the prints on the empty plate and took her hands in his again. "Everything is going to be all right. Taryn is well, and she's with someone who understands her, someone who can love her as she deserves."
Finally, she found her voice. "I doubt that very much, Herren." She pulled her hands out of his grasp and picked up her fork. "While I'm grateful that Taryn is still in good health, I'm not certain that her current companions are good for the Zonan political situation." She brought the fork to her mouth laden with creamy vegetable, but she hadn't counted on how dry her throat would become when Herren shuffled the prints again and thrust that disturbing scene back in front of her face. It was difficult to swallow, in spite of the carefully hoarded butter softening the starchy root.
"What do you mean, not good for the Zonan political situation?" He shook the printed page. "Look at that. That is the Bariani Crown Heir so besotted with our daughter---your daughter---that he went after her. He forgot his dignity far enough to kiss her where a witness could see. He took her home with him." He tossed the stack of paper aside again. "Silean, don't you see? If he mates with her, no matter what happens to Zona, the next generation but one of Bariani royalty are going to be Zonan. House Penthes will rule Grant Barian, not just Zona."
"If he mates with her, House Penthes will cease to exist," she said through numb lips. "House von Stassos will swallow us as House Tinitias swallowed every woman they chose to mate." She lifted the wineglass and sipped twice, both because she wanted to numb the shock and because her throat was still dry.
"But, Silean, my darling---"
She cut him off, brutally. "The first Penthes of Zona was an escaped Bariani sex slave. Would you have Zona's existence end with the recapture of a Penthes to become a Bariani sex slave?" Silean set down the goblet hard enough to slosh its contents onto the linen tablecloth, though not quite hard enough to break the stem. "A full circle," she finished, and the bitterness made her voice flinty.
"Not entirely a full circle," Herren disagreed, his tone equally hard. "Taryn Astaren is a Silvergard commander, one of the Matriarch's Own. No Bariani pleasure slave could have made that claim even when they still had such a thing. She has held her own in combat with members of the Barian Crown Guard. Nobody can take that away from her, or from you." He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. "And nobody wants to."
She looked at him and wondered how she could feel the pull of him and want to slap him across the room at the same time. "What name will her children carry?" she asked instead. Herren recoiled and she remembered, too late, that Taryn didn't carry Cavanaugh, his family name, at all. He let go of her and she bit her lip until she could taste her own blood, wanting with all her being to apologize for the unintended insult at the same time she knew she was right. Penthes wasn't just a family name, it was a royal dynasty of three centuries' standing. If that name died, all of Zona might well cease to exist along with it, because there would be no memory of what they had fought for or why.
"If that's how you feel," he whispered, "then I apologize for bringing you such ill news, Your Majesty. A pity your daughter couldn't have died on Zonan soil by the hand of the Matriarch's Own rather than possibly find happiness for the first time in her life." He got to his feet and left without looking back.
The first tear forced its way out of her before the door had slammed shut behind him. "Goddess," she gasped between long, wracking sobs, "what do I do now?"
Taryn stalked out of the cavern without asking permission, and that made her feel like she was in control of something for the first time since she'd been led across the border. However, it didn't prepare her for exactly how dark it had gotten in the meantime. A little light leaked through the baffle, but outside of that it was inky black until her eyes adjusted.
"I thought you were off watch tonight," Galen's voice cut through the darkness. "You got cut today, after all."
She rubbed her arm through the coat where Blade had pushed the outland machine into her skin and made it tingle. "I don't like caves," was all she could think of for a reply.
"You get used to it after a while," he said. "So if you're out here, who's guarding the negotiator?"
Taryn fumed silently for several seconds. "Maris is."
"Maris has no head for hydrocodone. He probably couldn't tell you his mother's name right now, so he's not going to do Blade a hell of a lot of good." Galen sounded amused, and as if he were genuinely fond of Maris, who was young enough to be his son.
"There are four other guards, and the negotiator seems quite capable of guarding himself. He's got some interesting calluses for a man in diplomatic service." It suddenly struck her that she might have said too much about what she had noticed.
Galen was the most like the oily courtiers she had expected, other than the little fop who had been the first to die, and he was standing watch like a common trooper. She felt herself frown in the darkness. No, he was more like a mid-level officer, as she herself had been. Tactical, not strategic. Strategic was Blade, who didn't trust her enough to tell her his family name, although she would bet money it started with "von". Who was he? She couldn't ask Galen, because he wouldn't tell her anymore than she would tell a near-stranger she was the younger daughter of the Matriarch.
"There are some interesting scars to go with them," Galen commented, interrupting her train of thought. "I thought they were being paranoid to send a seven-guard escort, but we've already lost three fighters and the valet, and Maris is wounded. I don't know what we would have done without you, and His ... Excellency seems rather taken with you, Commander."
She looked toward the place where his voice had come from. "I thought you were supposed to call me Vixen."
"Vixen is not a word I would associate with you." Was he smiling? It sounded like it. "Tigress, perhaps, but a vixen is a sleek, sensual creature capable of seducing with a glance. I don't see that in you, but Blade obviously feels otherwise."
She shrugged in spite of the darkness, because she'd never seen herself that way either. "I'm handy, I suppose. There aren't a lot of sleek, sensual creatures around, in case you hadn't noticed."
"You're an independent, stubborn pain in the ass, and a fighter equal to any in the Barian Crown Guard," he said in much the same way he might have commented that it was a little warmer out than the night before. "In spite of exactly no training, you're a better shot with a laser pistol than I am." It was a ferocious compliment and she allowed herself a small smile, secure that he couldn't see. "Exactly his type of girl," Galen went on, and her smile died. "Tread carefully, Commander, or you'll have a Bariani of considerable rank in love with you."
"If that's a threat, it's not very convincing," she said, and moved off into the darkness. "I'm going for a walk." She needed to think about some things, not the least of which were his slips. How would Galen know the fighting styles of the Barian Crown Guard so intimately, and exactly what was Blade's considerable rank? If she'd slept with a von Stassos, the Goddess would want some hard answers from her come time for judgment. They weren't the same family that had discarded her ancestor as unworthy, but she'd been told all her life they came in a close second. A tiny voice in the back of her head whispered that just because she'd been told that didn't mean it was true.
"Don't ever say I didn't warn you," he called after her. She snorted her derision, because Blade would never allow himself to feel anything for a woman he couldn't control, and she was never going to relinquish control of her fate to someone else again. Of course, it seemed to happen every time she looked him in the eyes, so she was never going to do that again, either. Kind of a pity. He had gorgeous eyes.
She hadn't made it thirty yards from the cavern entrance before she heard the telltale crunch of a boot snapping a twig, and it had come from behind her. Galen was on watch, so it couldn't be him, but he wasn't above making sure she had an escort. Who else had been listening to the conversation? She glanced at the sky to orient herself. The moon was a faint, dying sliver, nearly gone, but the sky was clear and she saw several orienting constellations, so she continued walking.
"Taryn." Blade's voice.
She stopped and sighed. "I thought my name was Vixen. Did you all forget the protocol as soon as we crossed the border?"
"Fine. Vixen. You need to get extra sleep tonight, not go wandering around unfamiliar territory in the dark." His hands closed over her shoulders with uncanny aim, almost as if he was so attuned to her presence that he knew exactly where every part of her body was. Or, and she wouldn't put it past him, he could see in the dark.
"I'm not tired. I have to burn off some energy before I'll be able to get to sleep." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew it had been a mistake. He pulled her back against him and she could feel body heat in spite of the coat and her sword in between them.
"I can think of less dangerous ways to do that," he purred into her ear. "And by the time you're relaxed and ready to go to sleep, you're already in bed."
"Maybe I like danger." She tried to pull away and he slid an arm around her waist to hold her where she was.
"I'm dangerous." He nuzzled her hair. "Come to bed."
"Is this your way of saying you want sex from me?" He stiffened at her wry tone.
"I want to protect you, and I can't do that if you're out here wandering around." It sounded defensive, no longer coaxing. "I won't lie to you, sex would be nice, but I'll be able to sleep if I can just hold you and know you're all right." She laughed at him, or more precisely at the idea of him not being able to sleep without her next to him. For all his sincere voice, he made himself sound like a sheepdog worrying over a lame member of his flock.
"What about Maris? Do you need to hold him, too?" She tried to pull his arm off her, but he ignored her to nuzzle her ear through the hair.
"Somehow, I find the two situations completely different," he whispered, just before he nosed her hair aside, buried his face inside her coat collar and nibbled the base of her neck. At that moment, he felt warm and somehow comforting, and the intimate touch raised goose bumps on her thighs, of all places. It also made her breasts tingly, as if they ached for his touch, and her knees went a little weak. He was really good at this.
"Has anyone ... ever ... told you you're crazy?" she managed to get out through the sudden intense desire to turn around and rub against him. His arms tightened and she almost closed her eyes in pleasure. It felt that good, and she didn't know why. Yes, she did.
He raised his head, but only betrayed a slight hitch in his breathing. "No one has ever dared." There it was again, that invisible something wedging itself between them. The only people in Zona nobody dared say were crazy were Taryn and Mother. The thought was like a bucket of icewater. What was the Bariani crown prince called? The king was Ramondar von Stassos, but he had two sons, Ben-something and the other one. She couldn't remember which was the heir, either. Politics had never been her area. "You need your rest," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
"Don't," she whispered to herself. She didn't want to give in to the temptation he offered, because she didn't know him, and he'd been secretive and deceptive with everything from his hair color to his name. But he wanted to take care of her, he was almost whining in his sincerity. For her entire life no one had cared about her, and he refused not to. All she had to do was let him have her body, surrender her control, and he would care. He would take care of her if she let him between her legs.
Until he developed a fascination for someone else and discarded her. And he could be lying through his teeth; Talyn was almost always lying when she sounded sincere.
"Why not?" he whispered back, tickling the fine hairs at her temple. She shivered, but not from cold. He nuzzled her neck again, but didn't stop at nibbling. With a quiet groan he bit down, driving the cluster of nerves into ecstasy. Her knees felt wobbly, she couldn't catch her breath and something in her stomach twisted and pulled in delicious agony.
"Blade," she breathed, wanting him to stop and desperately wanting him not to stop. Her hands alternately fisted and stretched, needing to hold onto something, wanting that something to be him. She couldn't think why it was dangerous, couldn't remember why she had been wary, or what was missing from the picture, if anything had been.
"Taryn." He kissed her where he had bitten, soothing, caring. "We've been running for two solid days. Come to bed." He turned her around with deceptive gentleness and shepherded her back to the cavern, keeping that arm around her waist.
Goddess, guide me. They walked ten feet, another ten feet, and she could see the faint glow where light leaked around the baffle and out the cave entrance.
"Blade?" Galen's voice.
"Found her." She could feel the voice rumbling up from his chest.
Guide me, Mother of all. She couldn't see the stars anymore. One more step and she stumbled on something. He caught her and stopped, taking almost all of her weight on his arm until she got her feet back under her body.
"Okay?" He had caught her. He had asked. The goddess had spoken. She turned in the circle of his arm and reached for him, finding coat and skin so hot it almost burned her fingertips. When had he taken off his shirt? "Taryn?"
"Are you wearing anything under this coat?" An exhale and more boot-crunching told her Galen could hear them.
"Of course I am. Come on, you need to get some sleep." She ran her hands over the hot skin, felt muscle and hair and the tiny nubs of male nipples. His breath hissed in, making the surface expand, and he closed his hands over her wrists. "Vixen." His voice was suddenly rough, not the smooth deep rumble of a moment before. He almost sounded alarmed. "Behave yourself."
Right. He'd spent the entire day keeping her on the edge of sanity, and she was supposed to behave herself. She bent her head and licked the hot skin. Take that. He tasted salty and like nothing else she'd ever had on her tongue, so delicious that she nipped to get more of him.
"Taryn!" It was part groan of pleasure, part cry for help. She couldn't help the soft chuckle as she reached for his crotch, fondling him through the tight trousers, because for once she was in control. When she found his erection, she explored the full length while he fought to get enough air into his lungs. Suddenly she was glad she'd been very relaxed the night before.
And, truthfully, she was a little curious as to what the experience would be like when she was fully aware. No, she was more than a little curious, she was burning inside. Then his hands clamped over her wrists and pulled them away from his body.
"Hey, I wasn't done with that," she pouted for effect. No noise came from where Galen had been, not even breathing. Maybe he had gone someplace else.
"Get in the cave and you can finish what you started." Now he sounded angry, or possibly, just possibly, almost terminally frustrated.
She bit her lip and let him drag her back inside and all the way to a darker corner where one of the fur blankets they'd brought all the way from Balsom was hung over the wall. He lifted a corner and pushed her into what looked like a partially closed niche just barely big enough to hold the gear and bedding for two.
"Very cozy," she commented. "Where is the light coming from?"
"Never mind that," he said as he shrugged off his coat, "get your damned sword off." He sounded almost desperate, but she made him wait while she slowly unbuckled her scabbard and eased it to the stone floor, then started on the coat buttons, one by one. He already had his boots off when he noticed and turned a smoldering stare to her hands, seemingly mesmerized. He sank to his knees without taking his eyes off her. The coat dropped on top of her scabbard, and she pulled her hair forward over her shoulder to untie the leather thong, shaking the makeshift pony tail free over her shoulders. If she didn't get a brush to it soon it would take hours to get the knots out.
His breath hissed again, but still he didn't blink, so she took it up a notch, unhooking the bodice and biting her lip as she strained to see the hooks on the underside of her breasts in the dim light, then sighing as it opened and they were freed. Blade swallowed as she shrugged it off. She followed by sitting on a surprisingly thick pallet and pulling off her riding boots, with a little bit of a struggle that wasn't feigned for his benefit because they weren't easy to get off. Then came the slow removal of socks.
"Your turn," she said when she sat in front of him in only her pants, shirt and underwear.
"Your shirt." His voice sounded as if he'd been screaming orders on a smoke-filled battlefield all day. "I already took mine off."
She shook her head. "That comes off last." He blinked, then frowned.
"Then your pants. You're still wearing more than I am."
She tipped her head to one side, considering it, then began to unbutton the fly, still slowly, and finally eased them off to reveal her legs one agonizingly slow inch at a time. He winced and put a hand to his crotch to adjust something; she didn't need three guesses to know what. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
Taryn smiled and said nothing, but arched an eyebrow and waited. He reached out to catch one of her bare feet, pulling her leg straight to kiss the inside of her ankle.
"That tickles!" It came out as a squeal accompanied by an instinctive jerk to get her sensitive skin away from the beard stubble driving her nerves crazy. He simply tightened his grip and rubbed his cheek up her leg as far as the distance between them would let him.
"Gods, I love the way you squirm." He moved like a cat, flowing onto the other fur blanket beside her, then lifted her onto his lap.
"I'm not undressed," she said as she looked up into his eyes. Those eyes she had once found unsettling, blue-green and glowing, were now staring into her soul with hunger, but as she watched, it softened into something else that made her warm all over in spite of the slight chill inside the cave.
"I like you just like this," he said in that same rough voice. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say. He dipped his head and brushed his mouth across hers, slowly, softly, with more gentleness than when he had kissed her after gluing her skin back together that morning.
Taryn wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, wanting his heat, wanting that look, wanting all of it, because it almost felt like she belonged with him. Most of all she wanted to belong with him, and she would give him anything he wanted to get that. He licked into her mouth and she moaned from the pleasure, curled her tongue around his, and sank her fingers into his hair, the long silk that wasn't chocolate anymore. He pulled her hips closer to his, close enough that she could feel the pulsing erection pressing against her. She writhed, trying to rub against him, and he groaned.
"Taryn," he said as he pulled away from her mouth, "that shirt needs to come off now or I rip it completely to shreds."
"Like you're about to do with these pants?" She deliberately squirmed again. His body shuddered and he tipped her gently off his lap. Even as she was falling over onto the fur she was pulling her mangled shirt over her head. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs so her hands were tangled in the sleeves. It was so stupid, and so completely the wrong thing, that she giggled helplessly. And then he was there, carefully pulling the loops back over the buttons and slowly, torturously pulling the sleeves off her arms. When her hands were free, she started to quickly divest herself of her one remaining garment, but he caught her wrists. When she looked at him to see what was wrong, she met eyes that were more black than blue-green.
"Slow," he whispered. "Do it slow." She bit her lip and slid the silk down her hips inch-by-inch. When she got it to her knees he pulled the cloth from her fingers and gently eased the garment the rest of the way off before pressing one soft kiss to a bruise on the outside of her thigh so purple it practically glowed.
Taryn hissed, because until that butterfly-light caress, she hadn't known it was there and suddenly it hurt. "It figures that skin this soft bruises easily." He looked up at her, still bent over her leg. "I don't want to know what you looked like when you got out of Basic."
"About like this, but not as bloody," she responded, unable to break away from his stare. Hadn't she decided not to look him in the eyes again? Too late. He kissed another bruise, then a place where her scabbard belt had rubbed the skin almost raw, working his way up her body. He lingered over her breasts enough to nuzzle them both before he went up to the other chafed spot on her left shoulder. She ran her hands over his chest, down the ridged muscle of his stomach, until she ran into cloth. He hadn't taken off the rest of his clothes. She found the button and undid it, but there was only one.
"Too high," he murmured in between mouthfuls of skin.
"Too clothed," she murmured back. "I want you as naked as the day you were born." She felt him smile against her collarbone.
"How can I resist a demand like that?" He pulled away enough to finish what she had started. "Get under the covers, it's cold in here." Without him against her it was cold, so she pulled down the fur and crawled into the makeshift bed, then he slid in right behind her.
"Where were we?" she asked, giggling when he ducked under the fur to kiss her cut. He mumbled something, but she couldn't make out the words, so she reached to touch him again, stroking his hair, exploring all the skin and muscles. She found the scars Galen had mentioned earlier, traced them with sympathy, then wrapped her hand around the base of his penis and gently squeezed. His body jerked.
"Careful," he whispered, then straightened enough to lick her nipples as she caressed him. He kissed them, too, before moving up to brush a few stray hairs from her face. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
She felt her face heat. "I know I used to be pretty, every time I look at ... my sister." She looked away from him. "But that was before---"
"She tried to kill you," he finished. Her head jerked back, but he didn't look triumphant, only caring, as if Talyn's betrayal hurt him, tool. "I asked Leone." He traced the scar. "You don't have to have this, you know. It's not necessary anymore and easily removed." She opened her mouth to tell him she would keep the one visible sign that she wasn't like her sister, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "Just think about it ... later." And then, probably to make sure she didn't do any thinking for a while, he kissed her mouth. He played with her tongue, he sucked on her lips, he moved away from her mouth to tickle her neck with his beard, and she lost herself in every sensation.
When she was ready to scream from the swollen, empty ache between her thighs he finally moved into the position she wanted, sliding the outside of his thighs against the inside of hers and pressing her bent legs farther apart as he burrowed hands under her shoulders to wrap her more securely in his embrace.
"Ready, princess?" She nodded, too startled by the title to speak. His muscular body pressed her into the fur and she felt his hard penis probing her labia. She spread her legs even more and wrapped herself around him, closing her eyes, ready to give him anything.
"Look at me, Vixen." He brushed hair from her cheek. "I want to see your eyes." She opened her eyes and he was staring down at her, the planes of his face craggy in the half-light of the Bariani lamp. He kissed her and pushed slowly into her, still staring into her eyes as he filled her. When he was seated deep inside, his lips moved against hers, forming words, but there was no sound and she couldn't tell what the movements meant. He did it over and over, even as he eased out and back in for his first thrust. It was like he wanted to make it last forever by slowing everything down.
The way he moved was maddening, the way he touched her, the way his eyes burned into her, it was almost too much. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel, really feel what was happening between them. He surrounded her, all strength and restraint although she could feel passion in the tension of his body, the fine tremor as he tried to hold back. He kissed her and she drank in the warm breath, suddenly aware down to her bones that she could trust him. He wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't betray her, would always be there when she needed him.
Then he surprised her by rolling to his back, carrying her with him and bunching the covers. "Blade? Is something wrong?"
"Now you're in control. I'm at your mercy, my goddess." He arched his back so she could free her arms, then took her hands to steady her as she sat up. She wriggled and felt him slide even more deeply into her, then took the control he had offered. He slid his hands up her thighs and sighed, a small smile of contentment on his lips. She decided she was going to wipe that smile away and replace it with an expression of raw hunger as she lifted her hips and went back down. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and tightened her internal muscles, making him feel even bigger inside her.
Blade choked.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. "There is no mercy for the wicked."
Talyn turned over for the third time in ten or fifteen minutes, sleep eluding her. She could still smell traces of hemp cheroot smoke in the room every hundred breaths or so. The scent triggered a series of memories that alternately made her blush in the dim light from the fireplace or else made her hot and itchy all over---except for the ache they caused deep in her belly. The previous night he'd been lying in wait for her, ready to drug her to get what he wanted and now that she wanted, he was nowhere to be found.
Damned man, never there when she needed him.
What had he meant, when he said she could do better than that? Or when he suggested she could get away from Taryn by going to another planet? Was he suggesting exile? And who would take her in if she ran away? Surely no one outside of Zona had a use for a woman whose skills ran to glassblowing, ironwork and horse training? She frowned at the ceiling in the dark and turned over again.
Annoying man, trying to be subtle and mysterious.
The truth was that she wasn't very good at Zonan-style leadership, either. She could play political games because she had watched her mother from the time she could walk, and had made a careful study of the thin line Zona had to walk between Barian's indifferent protection and jealousy of other Timarrian geopolitical units. The Matriarch had spent nearly a decade dodging in and out of Barian's skirts to avoid an annexation attempt by Helicon, Zona's coastal neighbor to the west, and even then it was a near thing, only squelched by the Order of Tirnav decreeing annexation anathema. So that wasn't what he'd been talking about. Talyn wouldn't have been able to keep up that sort of obsequious dance for anywhere near that long.
But Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, of the blue hair and brown skin, mutable eyes, fangs and claws---he had something different in mind, just as his body was different and his attitude was utterly beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. He seemed to see Talyn when he looked at her, not the Crown Prince of Zona. And every so often he seemed to like what he saw, mostly when she let down the armor and her true personality leaked through. The personality she so carefully hid from everyone else but couldn't seem to quite keep hidden away in front of him, more so when they were alone. The personality she especially had to hide from Taryn.
Dangerous man, slicing through all her defenses like a hot knife through cold lard.
And she still had no idea what that damned man had been talking about. He'd picked the worst possible time to disappear, too, because she wanted to ask him what he'd been saying without actually saying anything. She wanted to demand a few answers instead of giving up answers she needed to keep secret.
She was better off if he would just stay wherever he had disappeared to, because her life and her plans were safer without him around, throwing out mysterious questions, making her feel things that were at best politically incorrect.
She wanted another drag off that hellspawn cheroot.
She would just have to go find him. There was no other option, though she had mentally explored many. Talyn threw off the quilts and swung her legs over the side of the bed, suppressing a shiver as the cold air met her fevered skin. The fire was still glowing from the hearth, so she walked naked across the room to the closet that was still half-filled with Mychell's clothing. She hadn't had time to have it taken out and packed away or given away, so it meant another thing she would have to do in the morning, along with making arrangements for his funeral. This time she allowed the shiver, because Mychell shouldn't be dead. He had been so pretty, so full of life and eager to please her. He hadn't been all that bright, but she hadn't wanted him for his chess game. He shouldn't be dead and yet he was very dead. She shuddered again.
"Someone walking on your grave, Talyn Lunaren?" She froze at the sound of the familiar voice and a shadow detached itself from the wall next to the closet door.
"Where have you been?" she hissed in the gloom as Tanaka's arms slid around her waist and he pulled her bodily off her feet.
"I had something to take care of ... in Barian," he whispered. "I told you I would find out about Blade and his family. They weren't hurt and they made it back across the border mid-afternoon local."
"Was Taryn with them?" she asked, her voice tight with suppressed anxiety. If Taryn had crossed into Barian in the keeping of the crown heir, she would have to take drastic action to keep her appointment with her destiny. She felt claws start to sink into the skin of her behind and decided not to make a fuss about it.
"Yes, but that's not your problem." The claws tightened just slightly, both a warning and a promise. She sighed and deliberately relaxed into him, not that it was difficult. Somehow, with him there and holding her, even Taryn wasn't as much of a problem as she had been.
"I'm so glad you could make it back in one day," she murmured into his neck and felt him sigh. He nuzzled the top of her head and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Are you going to make it worth my while?" he countered and she shivered again, but not from cold or dread. She lifted her face without another word and showed him exactly how she was going to make it worth his effort to sneak back into the Lady Palace after traveling to and from the Barian border.
She realized he had been moving when she felt her bed under her back. He pulled her gently away from him and hurriedly shrugged out of his Bariani-style garments, then slid between the sheets next to her. She was already reaching for him when he pulled the quilts up over them both.
Blade's lips on her shoulder woke her, and though she knew she'd been asleep for a long time, she was still tired. Taryn moaned in protest. It had taken a lot of work and several different positions to make him serve his penance, pleasant work, but it still wore a woman out. When she finally relented and let him go to sleep he could barely move, and now he was already awake. It almost wasn't fair, even if he'd been roughing it in the Jags for months longer than she had.
"Time for breakfast, Vixen." He pulled down the fur blanket and cool air brought her the rest of the way to consciousness. "We need to get going before too much longer if we're going to make it to the Enclave by tonight."
"What, you can't just wiggle your nose and fly yourself there?" she asked, cranky because he sounded like a morning person. When she could focus properly, she realized he was already dressed. "How long have you been awake?"
"Maybe an hour." He wrapped her hand around a flimsy mug. "It's not maidwort tea, but it will help you wake up."
She sniffed, and the smell coming from the cup was tantalizing. "What is it?" She sipped, and knew her eyes had lit up from the flavor when he smiled knowingly.
"It's called kava. We imported some seed from offworld about four generations ago, and now all of Barian can't get going in the morning without it. I warn you though, two cups can make you vibrate if you're not used to it." He started folding the blanket. "I'm going to see about importing several hundred of these fur things. It's warmer than a synthdown sleeper."
"They're called travelers' rugs. They were for sale in the market," she said in between sips of kava. "In Balsom. The trapper guild makes them."
He hesitated, looking at the patchwork of short fur. "You don't farm the skins?"
Taryn looked at him over the rim of the cup. "These are much lower quality than the farmed skins, though the trapper guild regulates those, too." She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, because it was still chilly. "You know, I was still using that."
"Think of it as incentive to get dressed." He finished folding it and placed it in the corner, then asked, "What do you want to do with this?" as he held up her ripped, bloodstained shirt. It was pretty much a total loss. Maybe if she was better with a needle and thread she could have made a handkerchief out of the cloth still in good shape, but needlework had never held her interest. At academy she'd been a decent weaver and a fair potter, but never a seamstress.
"I didn't realize I bled that much yesterday. I guess I should throw it away, because I'll never be able to fix it."
Blade let his arm drop. "Now you know why I was so worried about you."
"You were worried?" There were clean clothes neatly folded next to the pallet on top of her pack, so she set down the cup and started pulling them on.
"When I saw that wolf pack surround you I think it took ten years off my life," he said, turning his back so she couldn't see his expression. "And when I felt the blood..." His voice trailed off and he shuddered. "I never want to be that scared again, you hear me?"
She frowned and stopped in the middle of putting a foot in her drawers, only half of which came from the solid ache from the waist down. "Why would that frighten you? It's my---was---my job to do that." He'd known her for exactly two days and two nights, and they'd spent most of the time arguing, so why would he care? His slow smile and the imperious arch of one eyebrow reminded her of how they had spent the rest of the time. She felt a slow wave of heat crawl up her neck, her cheekbones, her forehead, until even her scalp felt like it was burning.
"I knew you'd figure that out eventually." His eyes were starting to glow again, and she recognized it as an expression of mischief. "Now get dressed before I start getting ideas." He ducked back out of the almost-room and let the other travelers' rug fall shut behind him. Once she was decently clothed, Taryn started investigating whether or not Leone had thought to stuff a comb into the leather satchel that had been packed in such a hurry. A toothbrush would be nice, too, and maybe something to tie her hair back with, although a strip from her ruined shirt would do in a pinch.
She emerged with her hair in its customary braid and her pack and scabbard on her shoulder less than ten minutes later, pausing only to take down the rug and fold it before stowing it with the rest of the bedding. Blade was looking at a map set up on one of the folding camp tables with Galen, as usual, at his shoulder. Both of them were absorbed and she was ravenous, so she walked over to the cupboard where Blade had found food of a sort the night before and looked at the containers.
"Do you need some help, Vixen?" Grigor appeared next to her.
"I'm starving, and none of these containers is labeled in anything other than arcane symbols."
"They're from off world. The symbols are supposed to be universal, but you have to learn them like any other language." He smiled. "What would you like?"
She thought about it---normally she ate whatever was being served at mess, but if she had a choice, "Protein and carbohydrates."
"All right." He stared at the shelves for a moment. "Ham, eggs and some kind of porridge. It's okay, even though we've never figured out exactly what kind of grain it is." He handed her two containers.
"Do all Bariani eat like this?" she asked, eyeing them.
"Gods, no." He chuckled. "When we're not in the hinterlands trying to sneak around, we eat real food, just like Zonans."
When she had finished her meal and disposed of the containers, Juvenan and Dorcan were leading horses out of the back of the cavern, Maris was limping for the entrance with Grigor supporting him, and Blade and Galen were putting the map back in one of the cabinets, still conversing in low voices. She didn't belong there, among the half-dozen men who all had their places and who were comfortable enough with their jobs that they didn't require any direction. Would she ever belong anywhere again?
She pushed away the unwelcome question and buckled on her scabbard, then shouldered her pack and walked outside. The other three horses, including the mare she had come to think of as hers, were tied to trees. Taryn untied her horse and petted her nose, telling her she was pretty and soon she would have a real stable instead of a nasty cave, and maybe some carrots.
"Wouldn't you like a nice carrot?" she asked quietly as men began emerging from the dark opening. "I promise, tonight you can really rest, okay?" The mare whickered some sort of acknowledgment, or maybe greeting. Taryn looked up and Blade was standing only a few feet away from her with the strangest expression. He almost looked like he'd been hypnotized. "Something wrong?"
"No." He said it too fast, then looked at the trees. "We should be able to make it to the Enclave today."
She swallowed her unease. "Good." She climbed into the saddle and arranged her scabbard and reins. "You're staring at me."
Blade actually started. "Sorry." He walked over to the big gelding and she fingered her scar and wondered what that had been about. She was still wondering five minutes later when she was herded into position on his left and they started riding northeast. Again. Only the third day and already it was getting very, very old.
He hadn't been prepared to find Taryn sweet-talking a horse, murmuring gentle little nothings about treats and a long rest, when he came out of the cave. Somehow, with all the fighting to stay alive and running to find safety, he'd never thought of her as ... motherly. And it had triggered a memory that had been buried so deep for so long he hadn't known it was there.
Another woman, her hair a lighter, honey blond but just as long and usually braided, had tucked him into bed and cooed to him like that. She hadn't been his nanny because he'd had four of those, plump older women who all bore the title Brigha. And that meant the startling snatch of memory had to have been...
"My mother," he breathed to himself, because she must have been the mother who had walked away when the shuttle crash had thrust his father into the Crown Heir's seat. Blade didn't even know her name, had thought all memory of her obliterated by time and the betrayal a three-year-old feels when his mother deserts him because his father suddenly finds himself a king. Had his mother been Zonan?
It would explain the sudden, strong attraction to Taryn, even during that initial disastrous ride through the Balsom marketplace. It would explain his sense of triumph last night when she had accepted an equal footing in their physical relationship. What it didn't explain, of course, was why he hadn't thought about his biological mother in over thirty years.
Nobody ever talked about her, and his father had married again by the time he'd turned six, so he'd never really thought about it beyond vaguely wondering what kind of woman would leave her child because she couldn't face being in charge. If she'd been Zonan, a number of other things that had been vaguely stinging over the years began to click into place with a revolting logic. Why his exam scores had never been an issue, even when they weren't as high as they should have been, and yet Dar had been hounded about them. Why Dar had been shuttled into the Navy when Blade had been slated for infantry since before puberty. Why everyone always assumed he was the best person to deal with Zonan issues, even if all his work had to be closely overseen in case he did something stupid. Of course he was stupid: he was half Zonan. He might even be a bastard.
And his mother had probably been a commoner, unaware that her lover was first in line for the Bariani throne after the royal family. A woman like that, still dealing with the vast difference in technology and the sudden obsolescence of almost her entire skill set, would be horrified to discover the truth, totally unprepared for the responsibilities of managing a space-faring economy.
No wonder she had left. He had still been betrayed, but, looking at Taryn, he was beginning to understand. Taryn could handle it---he had no doubt whatsoever that her background had given her more than ample political acumen and very thick skin. Hells, her own family had been trying to kill her for two days and she wasn't taking it personally.
But some very primitive part of him wanted to lock her away someplace beautiful and protect her from everything ugly. Had his father tried to do that with his mother? And had she responded the way Taryn undoubtedly would that kind of high-handed treatment? After all, Taryn had walked away from everything she had ever known when it turned on her, so there was nothing to keep her from walking away from him.
The thought was shocking enough that he almost missed the stirrup when he was mounting the gelding.
He had to tell her. He had to tell her soon, even if it meant she would leave him. Of course, he wouldn't just let her go like his father had. He would track her down and ... what? He couldn't drag her back without making her deepest stereotypical beliefs about Bariani a reality. He couldn't talk her into coming back on her own, because he was no good at that kind of thing---no, he'd never been trained as a diplomat because everyone knew Zonans were wild to their bones---and she was too important to screw it up.
Fortunately, he had the rest of the day to figure it out. The tension eased slightly when she fell into place on his left and they started the long ride to the Enclave. It was his third full day on a horse and he was getting sore in places he hadn't known existed, so sore he might not even be able to make love to her that night. But he would find a way.
They stopped for lunch by Carolla Falls, near the head of the Great Wooded River, after a peaceful morning ride in warm sunshine, with just enough of a breeze to bring the scent of winterbells every once in a while. It was one of Blade's favorite places on Timarron, and he had to restrain himself from wandering into the surrounding forest to look for one of the aromatic flowers to give to Taryn while his escort broke out food. If he started into normal courting now, she'd probably think he was crazy, and he hadn't thought of a way to tell her his identity and his plans without losing her for good. He chose a food container at random and sat on a flat rock.
Taryn likewise picked one up without looking at it, hesitated briefly, then sat next to Maris and spoke with him quietly as they ate. Quashing the sudden spike of possessive jealousy wasn't easy, and it left him frustrated and furious. He had to think of a way to make this work. He wasn't going to allow a Zonan to abandon him a second time in this life. She was too important, and not just politically.
"Your Majesty." The blue-haired stranger swept down in a full-court bow with an elegant flourish, rising again to reveal extended canines and yellow eyes. Silean tried not to recoil, but he looked so---odd. Not even ugly, just---odd.
"Have we met, my lord?" she asked through the nagging sensation that she'd seen him before. It must have been déjà vu, because she was quite certain she would have remembered, well, that.
"I believe you met my progenitors some twenty years ago at the last Dozen Worlds convocation on the Timarron application," he supplied. She raised an eyebrow in discreet astonishment.
"I met several thousand people at that convocation, and as you pointed out, it was a long time ago." She felt her forehead crease, trying to remember anyone over six feet tall with blue hair, but drew a blank. "Perhaps you could refresh my memory?"
He bowed again. "I am the fourth Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, first heir to the Hauptmann Cartel presidency." Silean felt the skin over her cheekbones tighten. Hauptmann might claim to be a loose affiliation of commercial ventures, but as an organization it ruled three planets in the Garnford system, a string of orbital habitats, and several commercial and military fleets. Its newly acquired artificial moon, Calexi Seven, was the sector's largest duty-free port, if one didn't count the taxes levied by the cartel itself. And this strange man was heir to the president's seat. What, by all the goddess loved, was he doing in Zona? "I was commissioned to replace the third Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, currently the President of the Hauptmann Cartel."
"Yes, I do remember your, ah, your father," she said into the silence perhaps a beat too late. "What brings you to the Lady Palace, my lord Tanaka?" She didn't remember Mustafan Tanaka the original---or the third, or however they put it---at all and was fairly certain she had never been introduced to someone that important.
"Oh, I'm mad for all things Zonan," he replied, smiling again and giving her a better look at his fangs than she wanted. Fangs. Ugh. "I've come here several times looking for new objects to add to my collection." He leaned toward her and it was all she could do not to step back away. "Such incredible workmanship," he murmured, "such clean, purposeful lines. Each item is unique and each item is perfect. I've never seen anything like Zonan work anywhere else. It's a privilege to walk the same streets as the masters who live here."
"I see. Thank you." He was letting her know, in as subtle a way possible, that he drove the offworld market that had kept her little piece of land and her people alive. This was someone she needed to make happy, except that she didn't need him wandering around the Lady Palace in the middle of a political mess. "But there are no artisans in the Lady Palace, Lord Tanaka, and you are in a secured area without an escort."
"I am?" At least he had the manners to look surprised before he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Well, to be honest I was hoping to catch someone from the Matriarch's Own to see if I could get any news of the Barian Crown Heir. I just heard what happened a couple of days ago." He shook his head slowly. "Poor Blade. This sort of thing always happens to him, and it's never his fault."
"You know the Barian Crown Heir?" It was out of her mouth before she could censor it, but at least the astonishment and surprise were not only genuine, but appropriate. If the von Stassos family consorted with the likes of the Hauptmann royals---and an inheritable presidency was just another name for a monarchy---then it was time to give up all pretense and get the best deal she could.
"We were at university together." He smiled, his eyes glinting. "He gave me my first Zonan object, a wooden goblet. Can you imagine?" He sighed, looking off into the distance. "I still have it, and it is as simple and beautiful as ever."
Dear Goddess, it was the faraway stare of a true believer. He really was crazy about Zonan artifacts and she would have to handle him with kid gloves. "Well, at least I can set your mind to rest about your friend, Lord Tanaka. He returned to Barian yesterday afternoon."
"How delightful." The smile faded, replaced by a slightly apprehensive look. "Now all I need to do is find Crown Prince Talyn. I had an appointment with her this morning to discuss a possible tour of a craft guild, but I can't seem to find her anywhere. Have you seen her, Your Majesty?"
Silean stood straighter. "She was not in her office?"
He shook his head. "She hasn't been anywhere I've looked, and no one I have asked can remember seeing her leave the palace, either."
Silean's heart started to beat faster, fear threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't lose two daughters in three days. "Could you come with me, Lord Tanaka? I believe the Captain of Silvergard will want to hear about this."
He hesitated just a little too long and Silean felt her eyes narrow. He was hiding something, but what? Almost all of his story was easy enough to check out, especially given his bizarre appearance, so lying wouldn't have afforded him any advantage. "I only hope this won't delay beginning a search outside the palace, Your Majesty," he said finally, meeting her eyes head-on. Which meant he knew more about Talyn's disappearance than he was willing to say to her mother in a hallway.
"Then we'd best get started immediately." She took his arm and led him into Auran's outer office, noting that he didn't drag his feet in reluctance.
Blade was still thinking when they trotted into the small valley that formed the main entrance to the Enclave. He had barely swung his sore backside out of the saddle and onto solid ground when the small door in the large gate opened and Llamass came out.
"Hello, Blade. What brings you back to the Enclave so soon?" Llamass asked as he pulled him into one of those full-body hugs that had become increasingly disturbing over the years. They had always greeted each other that way, and it wasn't as if a truthtester, of all people, was suddenly going to try something embarrassing and tacky with an audience of six. "And with such interesting company," Llamass murmured in his ear before thumping his back and letting him go.
"There's an interesting story to go with it," Blade said, being careful to look his oldest friend directly in the eyes as he did. "I need a favor."
"No, you need several favors," Llamass corrected with a serene smile. "I was just about to water the courtyard. Come and talk to me while I do." He gestured to the small door and Blade preceded him back into the Enclave, throwing a look to Galen, who nodded.
"I know this looks bad," Blade started when the door swung shut behind them.
Llamass picked up a large watering can and walked toward a rose bush just beginning to leaf out. "On the contrary," he interrupted, "from my perspective it looks quite favorable, if you're willing to do the right thing." He paused and poured. "The rumor is that she's been kidnapped, you know."
Blade stopped short. "Kidnapped? Vi---Taryn?" He knew Sanctuarians had a communication network probably better than the official intelligence service, fueled by a reputation as unstoppable gossips, but he hadn't known Llamass's reach extended into Zona.
"Oh, yes, and by an envoy whose description would fit the Bariani Crown Heir to a freckle if it weren't for the hair color." Llamass moved on to the next bush, one Blade couldn't identify. "Although I would hardly be expected to believe the redoubtable commander could be taken alive and relatively unscathed by a mere dozen Bariani, even led by you, old friend." Amusement colored his voice. "A lover with a temper to match yours and the skills to back it up is not an easy thing to come by anywhere on Timarron, though Zona is by far the social and geographical terrain most suited to produce such a female."
"She's not---" Blade started to protest, stopping when he realized he was lying and Llamass was a truthtester. It might have started out as a political gambit, but what had happened in the cave had been about mutual pleasure, and maybe the beginning of trust. They weren't exactly lovers---yet---but if it kept on, they would be. And his very presence here meant he wanted it to keep going. He finished up with a sullen, "It wasn't my idea."
"Whose idea was it?" The water can tipped again.
"There's this clandestine inn at the foot of the Jags run by a woman with a pet cougar." The water can came back upright and Llamass turned to regard him with the closest thing to astonishment Blade had seen on his face since he'd joined the order.
"Leone came up with this?"
"So you know her." Blade couldn't hide his own grin and wouldn't have tried if he could, because it was obvious Llamass didn't know Leone as well as he thought he did.
Llamass frowned. "This doesn't sound like Leone. She sees Taryn almost as a little sister, not someone she would feed to the Bariani to protect her business." He shook his head. "She would never go yenta on Taryn with a Bariani, and especially not you, even if she didn't know. You're hardly the sort of person one looks at and says, 'perfect for my sister.'" He puffed out his cheeks in what might have been a sigh.
Blade forced the irritation down and tried to focus on the subject of the conversation before Llamass had turned it to his own failings. "Thank you so much. She fed Her Highness half a bottle of brandy and then told me exactly what to do about it. She even discussed Zonan fertility cycles."
The astounded look changed to pensive. "Why?" He went back to watering.
"Because she recognized me and thought it was the only way to save Taryn's life." Llamass didn't react to that statement, just went on watering. The silence stretched through three more bushes, then he put down the watering can as if he'd come to some kind of decision.
"I see. Talyn has finally decided to end the rumors of rebellion."
"Taryn isn't a rebel."
"Isn't she?" Llamass moved to a sand pit with a pattern raked in it and some sort of construction on the edge, the rake lying next to it. "What do you think she is, Blade?"
That wasn't an easy question, because she was a lot of things. He thought back to his first impression, the day they'd landed outside Balsom, the way she had neatly turned aside his gentle probes, killed four men to keep him alive, then absolutely refused to leave Zona by telling him the suggestion was stupid.
"She is the most stubborn, pig-headed, uncooperative ... witch I've ever tried to work with," he said. It was true, but she was also beautiful, sensual, and gentle in her own way, strange and strong and absolutely beguiling. She fit in his arms like the other half of him, and she didn't take any nonsense from him, either.
"Not surprising," Llamass said as he sprinkled blue sand over the top of the construction. "I'm sure her description of you would be similar, but for the use of terms like arrogant, overbearing, or possibly gorilla." He looked up and his eyes twinkled. "Common adjectives for the von Stassos family among ladies, I understand."
"Yeah, whatever." Blade toed the rake, though not hard enough to make it flip up and smack him. "I'm talking about her life, Llamass."
"You're trying to run her life, Blade. I'm sure she hates that. She's been a soldier for, what, ten years? More? And one day something awful happens, her sister sets up a trap so that she's dishonored no matter what she does. Either she allows the foreigner she's guarding to be killed or she kills the heir consort, no other options. Very neat." His forehead creased. "Neater than Talyn's usual intrigue, in fact." Llamass shrugged. "But Taryn makes her choice for the honor of the Silvergard, as I would expect her to. And then," he grinned at Blade, "this arrogant, overbearing gorilla, whose life she has just sacrificed her own for, starts telling her what to do and demanding sex every time she turns around, making her job that much more difficult."
Which was almost exactly what had happened, in the most unflattering terms. Blade felt the back of his neck heat up.
"I'm surprised she's still speaking to you," Llamass continued without seeming to notice. "Although I have to say it's about time you met someone who wouldn't let you dominate her the way you usually do, and under circumstances that wouldn't let you play the fool to keep her at arms' length. Watch yourself, old friend, or you'll be following her around like a lovesick puppy in short order."
Blade thought of the night before and how he'd heard the whine in his voice when he was trying to coax her back inside. "Too late," he muttered. Sometimes Llamass had a little too much perception for comfort. The truthtester in question watered another shrub and said nothing. "You heard what happened in Balsom a couple of days ago."
Llamass straightened and looked at him. "Everyone has heard about it. It looked like the consort's own guard had turned on him, except that four of them had been killed with a laser, and there were two Bariani pinned to a wagon with crossbow bolts. According to my information, that's when Prince Taryn was 'abducted.'" The smirk betrayed Llamass's disbelief of official events.
"We were attacked, and he was leading them. Taryn killed him to keep him from killing me," Blade said, watching for his reaction.
Llamass put down the watering can and folded his hands inside the long sleeves.
"And you want your version of events on record with Sanctuary." He nodded. "That can be arranged, though I'll have to bring in another truthtester."
"I want her version of events on record with Sanctuary," Blade corrected. "Whatever I say would be suspect regardless of who verified it."
"Ah." Llamass smiled, an incongruous expression given the nature of the conversation. "I would be pleased to take the Zonan prince's testimony after the new moon celebration tonight. She may stay in the penitentiary for that time, and the rest of your escort may stay in the Enclave proper."
"What?" Separated during the exact time they most needed to be together? Panic loomed, with fury not far behind. "She hasn't done anything to require penance."
"Yes, but the Enclave cannot have a woman in it for the new moon right, and I trust her by herself," Lamass told him, sounding really serious for the first time. "She's a commander of the Silvergard, which means she thinks of nothing but honor. You I wouldn't trust any farther than I could throw you."
"What are you talking about?" Blade felt himself frown. "I'm honorable."
"Blade, do you love this woman?" Llamass's calm question actually made him take a step back, because it was the question. The one he kept shying away from in his own mind, the one he told himself it was too soon to ask.
"I've only known her for three days, including today. How am I supposed to know if I love her?" He tried to rake a hand through his hair and discovered it was matted. This was just getting better and better; separated from Taryn, trying to talk sense to Llamass when he was as ragged as a miner, and having the question---that question---asked by a truthtester.
"Ask yourself." Llamass said in that tone he'd never had before he entered the Enclave. "When you have an answer, you will understand why I can't trust you to leave Her Highness Taryn Astaren Penthes alone tonight." He picked up the can and walked off, the words clearly a dismissal.
"Hey," Blade called after him in helpless frustration. Llamass looked over his shoulder without stopping. "She's waiting outside the gates. What do I tell her?"
"You don't tell her anything. I'll send someone to bring your party inside and settle them in their respective quarters." He opened and gate and was gone, leaving Blade alone in the courtyard that wasn't peaceful, no matter what it looked like.
He slumped on a stone bench and let his face fall into his hands. Ask yourself. So he did, out loud. "Well, Blade, do you love her?" He thought of the way she had kept fingering her scar and watching him, always wary, always waiting for the universe to turn on her. He thought of the feel of her body against his that first time, firm muscle under skin softer than anything he'd ever felt before in his life, the shock and the incredible high of being inside her.
That memory brought a faint smile, and he closed his eyes to try to capture the feeling again. What he saw behind his eyelids was the smoldering look he'd seen so often when she was irritated with him, and then it morphed into the mask she'd worn when she was killing people she respected, fighting not only for her own life but also those of half a dozen strangers she had pledged to protect. And he felt the helpless, gut-churning panic again, exactly as he had when the band of Silvergard had surrounded her in the canyon and he couldn't get to her, couldn't protect her the way she deserved. The way he wanted to protect her.
But he didn't just want to keep other people from killing her. He wanted to protect her from everything bad, everything that would wipe that smoky glow from her eyes or make her smile fade. Something in his chest started to ache and he rubbed it absently without opening his eyes, because the next memory was her face just before he had turned out the lamp the night before: relaxed into innocence, soft and trusting. Trusting him. Yes, that was what he wanted, along with the warm glow of contentment that only came after really good sex with the woman you loved.
His eyes popped open and he sat up as straight as if he'd just been tasered. "I'll be damned," he whispered. Apparently three days was long enough to know if he just bothered to ask.
"I don't believe this," Ramondar growled as he slammed the door on his bodyguards. Sabinet started, sloshing tea over a bone china saucer and causing a stab of guilt. "Sorry, dear, but there's still no word from Blade. He crossed the border more than a day ago, and he has to know we're all worried. Why hasn't he commed?"
"Maybe he's been busy," she responded, sounding a little absent. He glanced away from the window to see her mopping up the spill, her hands unsteady. Yet again, he felt unworthy. "Degusta stopped by a few minutes ago, looking for you." She nodded at the table. "He left those."
Ramondar strode over and patted her shoulder, then picked up the folder. Inside were printouts of more satellite imagery. More overhead shots of people on horses, though the dead body had been removed. Thank all the gods Sabinet hadn't seen that.
"He said it looked like they were riding north," she supplied as she tried to pour again. "What's north of the cave that Blade might think was more important to get to than calling home, Rammy?"
"I have no idea." Frustration had turned his voice into another growl. "It's something to do with that damned Zonan, though. It has to be."
He was still staring at the pictures when the teapot clunked back onto the tray.
"Ramondar von Stassos," his queen said in a voice that might have been chipped from a glacier, "you are an ass." Then it was his turn to jump. He stared at her, the printouts forgotten. "The Sanctuary Enclave is a day's horseback ride from the cave in good weather. If I were a man deeply in need of cementing a political alliance through an unbreakable bond, getting it done would be at least an order of magnitude more important than calling daddy. He's not six years old anymore." He was astonished enough that his mouth fell open, though he had nothing to say. Sabinet sniffed and picked up her teacup. "Get over it, already," she threw at him before taking a dainty sip.
"Sab-Sabinet," he tried, almost wincing to hear himself stutter, "you don't understand. The political ramifications---"
"Are perfectly obvious to anyone with brains, which Blademir has never lacked," she finished, overriding his protest. "And you're ready to execute the poor girl because she had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of an entirely artificial border. If you can stop thinking with your genitals, you'll notice there's no difference between Zonans and Bariani, aside from a disturbing tendency among Barian men to underestimate women. All women." The look she gave him was a frosty glare. "If you hadn't underestimated Julesan, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because she would be queen of Barian and I would be somewhere else. Thirty years of this nonsense is enough." She paused for another sip.
"But Zonans aren't like us, Sabinet."
"Thank the gods for that," she practically snorted. Then she did something he never would have expected in his wildest dreams. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and hiked up her full skirt to sit cross-legged on the settee. "I'm tired of leading you to the obvious conclusions by asking questions anyone with an average education and normal intelligence would find insulting, and I'm not doing it anymore. Now get over here so I can rub the tension out of your neck and shoulders before you give yourself a stroke, you big idiot." The last was delivered in a tone of exasperated affection, accompanied by a glare that could have come from Julesan's eyes.
He let the folder and printouts slide from his numb fingers as he complied.
"Blademir is a good man and he'll make an excellent king," Sabinet said when she had him on the floor in front of the settee and was kneading his shoulders. "I couldn't love him more if I'd given birth to him myself, and this Zonan soldier of his is exactly what Barian needs on the throne if we're going to herd every political unit of Timarron into a common economic and legal policy in the next fifty years."
"You really think so?" he heard himself ask in a faint voice, as if they'd discussed the political situation every day since forever when he'd always tried to shelter her from the more unsavory aspects of his job. He grimaced when she found a particularly tense spot.
"The intelligence on her is a bit thin," she said, sounding thoughtful, "and I absolutely refuse to leave that scar intact no matter how attached to it she is, but she understands power and command. Of course, it helps that she's beautiful, too." She ran her fingers into his hair and began rubbing his scalp. "Maybe she can start a fashion craze for comfortable shoes while she's at it. These heels are only bearable with orthopedic inserts."
"Then why do you wear them?" he asked, truly curious. Even nearing fifty, Sabinet had gorgeous legs. In fact, she was as taut and toned physically as most women half her age.
"Because you like them," she breathed into his ear. "Although after the coronation, I think I'll only be wearing them in the bedroom." He knew that tone of voice and it always made him shudder, even after twenty-eight years. He glanced at the door, almost reflexively. "I programmed it to lock when you came in, because I knew I was going to bruise your ego, Ramondar. I thought you might need a reminder of why I still keep you around."
"Now?" It came out a little strangled, but he'd managed to form a word.
"Now, before I spend another month sleeping alone." Her fingers dragged down out of his hair and started unfastening the magnetic studs holding his shirt together. "Have I ever mentioned that my family can trace its origins to a concubine of Peridos the Fourth?"
"No you haven't." Now she wanted to talk about genealogy? What in the world was Sabinet trying to do to him?
"We generally don't advertise the fact, because she had a very famous sister." She reached inside his shirt and lightly scratched her nails over his chest, sending all the blood in his brain somewhere else. "Her name was Carnivale Penthes." The name sounded vaguely familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't think of why. In fact, just about the only thing he could think of was what his wife was doing to him and how good it felt. "So you see, Ramondar, in a peculiar way, I'm Zonan, too. And I've never left your side."
In that instant, he fell in love with the woman he'd been married to for nearly three decades.
Taryn followed the Sanctuarian through a maze of corridors and across---a volleyball court?---before he led her down a Spartan corridor into what looked like a cell block. When he opened the door she paused and looked back at him without expression.
"It is the residence for those who come here to shed their worldly goods and contemplate spiritual matters, so the quarters are somewhat plain," he explained. "The new moon celebration is tonight, and the ceremony is not for viewing by the uninitiated, but you should be comfortable here, Your Highness."
"Normally a person has to have done something very wrong to be kept in solitary confinement," she commented as she unslung her pack and walked through the door.
"Normally ladies seek enlightenment at the Enclave on the full moon." His lips twitched in a smile. "You would have much company then, but I fear it would not be to your taste."
"Oh?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. What insult was he setting her up to receive?
"Ladies of Barian seldom come to the Enclave armed and tend to converse on topics of some triviality while they are here." He turned to one of the small rooms. "This penitent cell has been cleaned and furnished for your use. It has excellent light in the morning."
"Thank you." She walked into the cubicle and let her pack slide to the floor. It was plain, but no more spartan than her BOQ in Balsom. The monk---if that's what they were called---hovered in the doorway.
"Perhaps one of your companions could bring a selection of reading material for you?" He gestured helplessness, which looked out of place on him. "I have no knowledge of your taste, Your Highness."
"That would be nice. Thank you." He still didn't leave, so she cultivated patience and waited.
"What would you like for dinner, Your Highness?"
Okay, the title thing was getting irritating. "Please call me Taryn, and I'll eat whatever everyone else is having." His eyes started to twinkle, but she couldn't tell if it was in amusement or irritation. "Unless they're eating something special as part of the ceremony," she amended with some haste. "Really, whatever you want to feed me is fine."
"Be careful, Prince Taryn, or Shobenar will pull out that recipe for lark's tongues that we've been trying to get rid of for years." The twinkle had graduated to a full grin, and he was definitely amused.
"You're right, that sounds disgusting. I'm more into plain food, although combat rations are getting pretty boring." She unbuckled her scabbard and placed it on top of her pack. "Is there a special meal for the celebration? I don't know anything about Sanctuary."
"Nor would I expect you to." He bowed. "I will tell Shobenar that our regular meal will suit your palate."
When he was gone, she wandered the eight-feet by ten-feet area of her cell for a few seconds, then took off the oversized coat and wished she had thought to ask him about a bath. She paced the small room for another few minutes, then explored the entire building and discovered, along with a menacing hum emanating from the door to the rest of the Enclave, that there was a large communal toilet with showers at the opposite end. It was far more luxurious than she would have expected for penitents, with a deep bathing pool and a strange, cedar-paneled closet full of benches and some kind of a control panel in the wall. There was even a walk-in cupboard complete with a hundred towels large enough that she could wear one as a dress.
If not for the lack of company, it wouldn't have been bad at all.
"Vixen?" echoed through the large central space of the building, sounding like Dorcan multiplied several times. She came out of the baths and found him standing next to the humming door, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Right here." His face relaxed in unmistakable relief. "What's up, Dorcan?"
He offered a small, rectangular object and she walked across the echoing chamber to take it from him. "They asked me to program a book for you." The big man shifted his weight, nervous, while she inspected the thing. "I didn't know what you would like, so I put a little of everything in it."
"Thank you, but I can't even figure out how to open it." She offered it back and watched his face freeze as if he'd done something wrong.
"I'm sorry, I forgot you're probably used to paper books." The words were a little rushed, as if he wanted to get past the apology without dwelling on her ignorance. "Here, let me show you how it works." He pulled it from her hand and thumbed a sort of button in the case, making a screen light up. "There's a menu to choose titles from, you just highlight and press here, and then it comes up on the screen. This is how you change pages, and you can search on a keyword with this." He offered it back. "It holds about six thousand titles. There's history, and military tactics, a few adventure stories, and," he looked at the floor and blushed slightly, "some romance novels."
Taryn laughed. Who would have thought that tough-as-nails Dorcan would harbor a secret fetish for true love and happy endings? "What, no candles so I can read while I'm soaking three days on a horse out of my muscles?"
Dorcan looked up, startled. "I---I can get some if you want."
"No, that won't be necessary." She accepted the device and squeezed his hand. "Thank you for everything you've done already."
He blushed even more, then nodded and stammered, "S-see you in the morning."
When he was gone, she considered what to do and finally ended up in the bathing pool with the book reader and more than a hundred gallons of the hottest water she could stand. She spent an hour soaking out the kinks while she skimmed three hundred years of history that was decidedly different from what she had learned in Zonan schools. After washing with soap that smelled better than the wonderful lavender-scented stuff Leone stocked---and how had they gotten the bars so evenly sized?---she wandered back to her room wearing only a pair of enormous towels and ate what was waiting for her.
The rest of the night loomed long and empty, so she kept reading after putting the towels away to dry to banish the loneliness that was suddenly a burden. Finally her eyelids were heavy, so she closed them. Only for a moment, and then she would turn out the light.
Silean Sylvanen Penthes hadn't been this nervous since her own coronation. After informing Auran where she was going, she had deliberately sneaked out of the palace for a very special, very clandestine visit to this unpretentious townhouse in Balsom's diplomatic district. And now she stood, trembling like a teenager and loitering in the frigid shadows of the front stoop, unable to remember a word of the apology she had rehearsed for over an hour.
If this was what men went through whenever they approached a woman they desired, she had nothing but respect for their entire sex. It was a wonder the species hadn't died out. She took a deep breath and rang the bell before she lost her nerve.
Nothing happened.
No noises from inside, no lamp being lit to show a visitor's face. Disappointment warred with relief as she turned to begin feeling her way down the steps. By the time she was at the bottom, her vision had blurred and her throat had closed down so that even breathing was difficult. She stepped, unseeing, into the street and turned toward the palace.
And hit a wall.
"Silean?" No, not a wall. She had walked directly into Herren Cavanaugh, returning to his house from some evening's entertainment. Her heart froze for a second, then started beating a rapid tattoo in an attempt to make up for it. "What are you doing wandering around without your escort?" His hands closed over her shoulders and kept her close to him while he looked around the dark streetscape for potential brigands. As if there would be brigands in the streets of Balsom in this weather, especially in this neighborhood. Hysterical laughter made an attempt to get out and she quashed it with all her will.
"I came to see you," she murmured through her tight throat. "To apologize for what I said yesterday."
"And I've been looking all over the Lady Palace for you with new information from Barian," he breathed next to her temple. "It's still colder than an asteroid's dark side. You'd better come in before you freeze."
She nodded and let him shepherd her up the steps. After he fumbled for a moment with the lock, the door swung open, spilling golden light into the street until he pulled her inside and shut it behind them.
The foyer was warm enough to make her cheeks ache with the transition from the cold night. She turned to look at him in speechless reproach, but he was busy pulling off his cloak and gloves.
"Now you know my dark secret," he said, his back to her as he hung the cloak on a mirrored stand just inside the door. "It's solar powered, so I'm not contributing to the winter smoke in the city, Your Majesty."
And how had he hidden the collectors? She untied her own cloak and tried to think of something to say. Strangely, there was no sense of betrayal, but only a dawning realization that she'd been even more wrong about Herren than she'd already known.
"I see," she finally put into the strained silence. He took her outer garment from her fingers and hung it next to his, then fixed her with a rueful-looking half-smile.
"Come into the kitchen. I know I could use a drink and, unless I miss my guess, you need one, too." He took her hand and led her through a couple of hallways to the back of the house.
"How did you install this without anyone knowing?" she asked when she found her tongue.
"I didn't." He let go of her when they reached the homey room with its scrubbed pine table and dark brick hearth. Silean sank into a chair. "The previous owner was a Helicon assistant consul who was asthmatic. She had a medical exemption for the installation," he said as he busied himself gathering a bottle and glassware. "I bought it when she retired, about ten years ago."
"And you succumbed to the male need for technological gadgetry," she observed. He frowned, but he still offered her a glass of brandy.
"My decision was entirely practical, Your Majesty," he said as he took turned another chair backwards and straddled it, then swirled his drink. "I save a small fortune in heating and lamp oil, and I haven't been sick a day since I moved into this house." He sipped, quirking one eyebrow at her. "Can you say the same over the last decade?"
She returned his bold gaze as she sampled her drink. Obviously, he knew she couldn't claim to have been well for ten years, because every winter she had breathing trouble and the physicians blamed it on the smoke-laced city atmosphere. Last year, they had even gone so far as to suggest she winter in a warmer climate. "This is very good brandy," she commented instead.
Herren sighed. "Silean---"
"You're right, Herren. If we had the money, I'd do this with every house in Balsom, starting with the Lady Palace." She looked into the amber liquor in her glass. "Zona just doesn't have the money." She forced herself to look him in the eyes and took a deep breath. "You were right about everything."
He laughed, but it sounded a little grim. "Just when I was having second thoughts." He raked a hand through his hair, still that dark, dark auburn that made her toes curl. "They entered the Enclave today."
Silean felt a strange thrill, but whether it was from fear or excitement she had no idea. She got up from her chair and took another sip of her brandy. "What does that mean?" she wondered out loud.
Had Jervais been able to get there ahead of them with her note of blessing for the match? And the fine titanium chain, more costly than gold would have been---had it arrived in time? She turned back to face Herren, suddenly determined that there would be no more secrets between them, and no more secrets from her people.
"Von Stassos might want to get his story to a truthtester before it comes out in their media," he cautioned. "In the past, he's had terrible luck in trying to fight rumors."
"Herren, if you were seriously searching for a woman who could be a queen, you had Taryn in debt to you for her life, and you were going to a Sanctuary Enclave, why would you be going there?"
He finished his brandy before answering. "Good point. Would you like to see the rest of the house?"
Silean gulped the rest of her brandy and set the glass on his table with a thunk. "I believe I would."
"And then I'll escort you back to the palace," he continued, but his eyes slid away from hers when he said it.
"Yes, you will." She felt herself smile. "In the morning."
Blade couldn't banish the unease or the nervous energy, repeatedly going over scenarios in his mind of what would happen when Llamass told her the truth and she left to go back to Zona and death. Nothing had helped, not the pounding hot shower, not the care and concentration required to unsnarl the hair that he left long only because it had been part of his cover, not Llamass's carefully inconsequential conversation over a meal he hadn't even tasted.
He'd been guarded by Sanctuarians every moment since he'd been shown into the Enclave's royal apartments, so there wasn't anything he could do, but every muscle screamed for action. He had to get to Taryn somehow, even if Llamass had warned him not to bother trying. He had to. The thought kept running through his brain as he tossed in a bed that was far too large without the soft curves that should have been lying next to him.
Finally, when the faint sound of chanting had been gone for over an hour, he couldn't stand it anymore. He threw off the duvet and pulled on an Enclave robe from the closet, then carefully cracked open the exit door. The corridor was deserted and only the faint luminescence coming out of the paint gave any light. It was just enough to keep from running into a wall without a moon. He pulled up the cowl of the robe and tried to walk like a member of the order who had a good reason to be wandering around in the middle of the night after a new moon ceremony.
After two close calls, he found the door to the penitents' block unguarded, which made him pause in a shadowy corner, sensing a trap. After Llamass had gone so far as to tell him he wasn't trusted, it was weird that she wasn't chaperoned---unless the bald statement had been designed to get him exactly where he was. Llamass was nothing if not subtle. As if anything less than an antimatter baffle would have kept him away from this woman tonight.
Or the guard could have stepped away for a few minutes for something like a bathroom break, which meant he would have to hurry. He palmed the electrical shield control and slipped through the door, reassured when it latched and the shield came back online behind him. Only one cell had light spilling from it, so he padded through the main room until he was standing in front of it.
He peeked through the door grille. She'd left a reading light on, turned to the lowest setting, and a pocket-size book reader lay on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Her face was relaxed in sleep, the expression as innocent as an infant. Only a couple of days ago this woman had killed four people for his sake without even knowing his name. She had fought at his side, she had argued with him, she had slept with him, she had run away from him, and she had trusted him.
And now he was watching her when she was most vulnerable, when the walls were down and she wasn't armoring her soul with that damned scar. The nanites he'd injected the night before would smooth it away in a couple of months, but it was only a symbol of her barriers, not the barriers themselves. Galen had been right, he did owe her more than his life. He owed her everything, and if only she would let him he would give her everything he had, everything he was and would ever be. Something swelled in the center of his chest, sending warmth all over his body.
It was time to gamble it all, just throw everything out there, because he wasn't willing to give up the way his father had. The rest of his life was too important, regardless of how the politics fell out.
He eased the door open and slipped into the cell, closing it quietly behind him. He picked up the reader and set it aside, knelt at the edge of the bed, then smoothed an errant lock of fiery gold hair behind her ear. She sighed and opened her eyes.
"Blade?" She blinked once and reached up to touch his arm in a feather-light caress. "What are you doing here?" She tried to sit up and he gently pushed her back down. She was waking up far more quickly than the morning at Leone's inn, so maybe that first night had been more brandy than Taryn, but it didn't matter now. "They said---"
"I know," he interrupted, "but the new moon is tonight which means now or not for another month, and I'm not sure I---we can afford to wait that long." We. Yes, that was right, because for the rest of his life, all his decisions had to take her needs into account. They needed a pregnancy as soon as possible to cement everything else, including peace and quite possibly Zona's entry into the last century if not the current one. It meant she wasn't going to get enough sleep tonight, either, as much as he wanted to fold her into his arms and cuddle her close forever. He pulled down the blanket.
Her eyes widened just slightly, though she made no effort to cover herself, and she was nude. At least he'd gained enough trust that she wasn't embarrassed to be naked in front of him. "You can't be thinking ... how would you know?" She blinked and her face smoothed into a mask, as if the pieces had suddenly come together. It was almost a relief. "Leone told you."
"Leone recognized me." The truth, all of it, no matter how ugly it would sound. "My full name is Blademir Ericsal von Stassos." Your enemy. Your lover. Gods willing, your mate.
Although her eyes narrowed, she didn't look all that surprised. "So are you the heir, or the spare?" It confirmed that she'd had suspicions, had been piecing together small bits of information, and had already come to an unpalatable conclusion. So be it.
"I am the Barian Crown Heir," he confirmed, "and I love you."
"Oh, please." She sat up again, gathering the covers around her, and crossed her legs in a half-lotus. "If you want to get laid, just say so. Don't start lying about that, too."
"I'm not lying."
"Yes, you are. If not to me, then to yourself." Okay, he hadn't been quite sure what reaction to expect, but stark disbelief hadn't been on the short list. "I'm willing to believe that you're having some sort of an emotional reaction to the stress of the past couple of days, but this is a little extreme, don't you think?"
"What?" he asked, stalling for time to regroup.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You can't be in love with me. You don't even know me."
"Don't I?" He leaned closer to her and cupped her face to make her look him in the eyes. "I know what it feels like when you cry---like a rusty knife ripping out my intestines. I know what you look like when you're fighting for your life. I know what I feel when I'm inside you, and I know I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy."
She regarded him with that masked stare for a moment. "What's my favorite color?"
"Blue," he said without conscious thought. "Dark, midnight blue, the color of Silvergard uniforms." The mask cracked in astonishment, and he took the breach as an opportunity to slide his arms around her waist and pull her closer. "I also know that in the morning you're going to have a long talk with my old friend Llamass, and then he's going to bond us for life, because we'll have every reason to believe you're carrying our child."
"No we won't," she came back, although she looked even more startled. "I've been taking maidwort."
Ah, it was the herbal contraceptive. "Who gave you the maidwort?" He pulled back far enough to cover her abdomen with his palm. She nibbled her lower lip and he felt a surge in his groin. Her expression closed again. "Taryn?"
"Leone gave it to me." It was a factual report, which meant she was holding in rage with all of her considerable will. He had to break through that wall if he was going to make her see that Leone hadn't betrayed her trust but had included him within the circle. "Does Galen know?"
"He knows who you are, and he knows I love you." He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach and admitted to himself that Galen had known before he did. "I had to let him know I was serious or he would never forgive me." He felt his lips quirk in a soft smile. "He threatened to do unspeakable things to me in defense of your honor."
"And the others?" If anything, she seemed even more guarded.
"I didn't say anything, but they know I care about you." He leaned forward. "And they respect you as much as I do." No response. "I don't know if they've figured out that you're their next queen yet."
That elicited a response---not the one he had hoped for, but at least the one he had expected. She pulled away from him, scooting back into the corner of the small bed where it was butted up against the walls.
"No." Her voice had dropped by almost an octave and there was no room for negotiation in the answer. Then she lifted her hand to the scar, her touchstone, and he knew she was saying it to hope, not to him.
"Taryn, don't." He pulled her hand away. "It's not like that."
"How long will it be before you get bored and go looking for pleasure somewhere else, leaving me alone in a culture I don't understand and don't want to understand? How is it not like that?" Her eyes burned as she stared at him. "How would any kind of permanent bond make me anything more than a Bariani slave once this infatuation wears off? How could it possibly be not like that?"
"Because." He opened his mouth and groped for words, but nothing came to him. He'd already told her he loved her, what more could he say? He had to try. "It's not. I don't know what you've been told about Barian culture, but slavery---any form of slavery---has been outlawed for centuries. Marriage is a partnership between equals. You are my equal. And I can't let you go back home and be killed. You're too important to me to ever allow that."
"I'm not important." This time her voice was strong, and the anger was bleeding through. She got up on her knees, leaned close to his face and almost yelled it. "I've never been important, never been anything more than a lever, a tool to achieve something else."
Her mouth was so close, those smoky blue eyes snapping fire. She was so beautiful, so very much alive, and he wanted her at that moment more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, but he had to make her understand first.
"You are to me." He took a deep breath and bared everything. "You are the most important woman in the dozen worlds, the mother of all my children, the bodyguard covering my back. I've known you for three days and I can't imagine my life without you in it." He had no idea where the words were coming from, but as soon as they were out he knew they were all true---right down to the bone marrow. "I'm not going to wake up tomorrow or fifty years from now and wonder what I was thinking." She said nothing and he felt his pulse speed up. Something was squeezing his chest, making breathing difficult. Didn't she understand he was baring his soul? "Say something."
"What am I supposed to say?" She looked at the wall. "Thank you for ruining my life and turning me into your brood mare?"
"Your family ruined your life, sister or mother doesn't matter, but they weren't there for you. I get the feeling they've never been there. Leone was there, and she still is. She wants you to be happy as much as I do, Vixen."
"Don't call me that!" She gathered her legs under her and jumped off the bed over his head. By the time he got to his feet she was almost to her scabbard. If she pulled that saber, he was a dead man, because she had reflexes like a cobra and she was deep in an icy rage. He grabbed for the only thing within reach, her hair, and pulled her back to him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured to her cry of pain and surprise. "I don't want to hurt you." He kissed the back of her head. "I never want to hurt you, Taryn." She writhed against him and tried to pry his hands off her body.
"Let go of me, you animal!" When prying didn't work, she struggled to get away from him and he had to use every bit of his upper body strength to keep her where she belonged. "What did you offer Leone to make her sell me out?"
"I told you, she didn't sell you out. Leone loves you like the sister you should have had." She stopped struggling, but she was breathing unevenly, which was a bad sign.
"Let me go." She sagged against him and it felt so good.
"I'm never letting you go," he said into her hair, closing his eyes and savoring the way she fit against him. It was like sinking into his favorite chair after a long day, only better. "I can't keep you safe if I let you go. I won't know you're unhappy if I let you go, so I can't fix whatever's wrong."
She sobbed with her whole body, but it was from anger and frustration, not defeat. His Vixen would go down fighting, using her last breath to curse her enemies. All she had to do was figure out how to distinguish them from her friends. He turned her around and tightened his arms in support, gently walking her back to the bed while she leaned into him and slid her hands up his chest to cling to his shoulders. By the time he got her there, she already had herself under control, so he picked her up and laid her back on the sheets that were still warm from her body.
"Better?" he asked as he leaned over her. She sniffed again and her lower lip trembled, ever so slightly. He knew she wouldn't want to cry again, so he kissed her. She whimpered, a small noise of desperation and confusion, and then she opened to him, pulling him down onto her like a compass needle seeking a pole. Everything else faded into triviality as he surrendered to her heat, touching and tasting, slowly working his way down her luscious body with special, gentle attention to her wound before he buried his face between her thighs and drank her in.
Taryn squirmed and moaned, digging her fingers into his scalp. At that moment, all he wanted in life was to give her pleasure, to prove her trust hadn't been misplaced. If they could come together here with trust and love, there was hope for them. He licked and suckled and stroked until she convulsed and melted back into the mattress, but his work was only beginning. He slid off the robe and let it drop to the floor as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her peace, then carefully stretched out next to her and pulled her close again.
"What happens when you tire of me?" she asked without opening her eyes. He kissed her shoulder.
"Nothing, because I will never get tired of you."
"You will." She turned onto her side and pushed hair out of her eyes. "Statistically you will seek another lover in two years."
"We are not a statistic." He pulled her to him and kissed her, reveling in her taste. When he moved between her legs, he promised himself to take it slowly. The sooner he climaxed, the sooner he had to leave her alone in this cell when he never wanted to leave her alone again. He groaned as he pushed into her wet, willing flesh, had to fight for control to keep from bucking like a wild animal when she sighed her acceptance of him.
"Taryn, my only love," he murmured, "look at me." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, tears of fury gathering while he started moving gently inside her. He didn't want the anger, even if she had banked it down to a physical reaction. He fought the need as long as he could, but when she was breathing in deep gulps he couldn't stop himself. He thrust as deeply into her as he could in long, desperate strokes while she stared up at him, hating him and wanting him, and he gave her everything he had. Taryn's body arched, her nails raked down his back and he was coming, and coming, long and hard, emptying his seed into the ripe womb of the woman he loved.
"Mine. Oh Gods, yes." Belatedly, he realized he had gasped it out loud as he tried to raise himself onto his elbows, unwilling to retreat any farther from her than that.
"You should go." She was still trying to catch her breath, but already backing away from him. Unfortunately for her, he wasn't about to be abandoned a second time.
"Oh?" He dipped his head and kissed her lightly. "You really need to work on your pillow talk, Vixen." She tried to push him away, her hands sliding on his sweat-slick skin.
"I'm serious. You got what you came for." He rolled to one side and came up against the wall. Apparently, penitent beds weren't designed to be occupied by more than one.
"Did I?" He pulled her onto her side so he could look into her eyes. Sated, but still angry. "Did you miss the part about this being permanent? I'm not going anywhere." At least not until she internalized the facts. There might be a hell to pay in the morning if he were to be found with her, but he wasn't about to leave her when she was still angry, still denying their deep connection.
Frustration joined the anger. "You are impossible."
"Get used to it." He sat up to pull the covers over them and every muscle protested. Thank all the gods they wouldn't have to spend a fourth day on horses. "Voice command. Lights out." The room pitched into darkness as he settled her against him more comfortably, almost content because he'd finally found the one woman he wanted for the rest of his life and she was with him.
Taryn listened to Blade's breathing and wondered how he could sleep when the world was slowly crashing down around her. Again. He wanted her to make a choice, to abandon everything she had ever thought and believed, but she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth. After he had what he wanted he hadn't even bothered saying it again, which was a sure sign he hadn't meant those three words.
He didn't love her.
He meant to use her to force Barian's will on Zona by mixing the royal lines and that was all. Well, almost all; there was the male penchant for possessiveness and ownership in there as well, or he wouldn't have called her "mine" with such satisfaction. She had told him the truth when she'd said she had never been more than a tool, so that wasn't what was making the cold lump in the pit of her stomach. No, she was used to that, which meant the cold lump had to be because she had fallen in love with her enemy and knew she would be cast aside when he found a woman who could truly stand beside him as an equal. For example, one who already knew how to read a Bariani book and didn't have to have the mechanism explained to her.
Tears welled in the darkness, but she couldn't allow them to fall. The water would wake Blade and let him know his deception had not been successful. She blinked hard several times and tried to control her breathing so that he wouldn't know, but he sensed it on some level anyway, tightening his arm around her and murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. Finally, she buried her face in his neck and willed herself to unconsciousness, but it was a long time coming.
She watched from a balcony as Blade announced to a crowded assembly that he had taken a consort, then removed the veil from a woman standing next to him. Talyn stared up at her from Blade's side, her eyes glittering and triumphant---and the cell door slammed open, yanking her from the horrible dream with a small shriek. Wait, hadn't they been here before?
Blade was already rolling, pulling her down off the bed to the floor and pushing her under him, trying to protect her by using his own body as a shield from the attack. But she, for once, wasn't the object. Still disoriented, but with the sense of déjà vu rapidly dissipating, she could only watch as four large men in Sanctuary robes pulled him away from her. He fought like a wild thing, connecting with fists and legs---even sending one of the Sanctuarians flying across the small room to crash into the wall and shake something like plaster from the ceiling, but more came in until there was a sea of male bodies all bent on subduing the Barian Crown Heir without hurting him. There wasn't even any room for Taryn to try to help, too much noise for her to tell him to stop before he injured himself.
It took six of them, one on each of his arms, two for each leg, to hold him still enough for another to wrap him in some sort of cloth before they passed him, still struggling, through the door. The man who had hit the wall stirred a little, then climbed shakily to his feet as Taryn watched, spellbound. Blade had fought odds of eight to one just to stay with her. She could hear his enraged cursing for another ten seconds or so, and then the clang of the Enclave door.
It was over.
She gathered the bedclothes around herself and stood in a daze, hearing the first notes of dawn birdsong just as the Santuarian who had showed her to this place quietly stepped into her cell.
"Truthtester Llamass requests that you visit him in your study at the second hour past dawn if that is convenient, Your Highness." He picked up the robe Blade had been wearing the night before, then fixed her with a look of polite inquiry. Hysterical laughter bubbled up and threatened to get out, because the situation was so surreal. He stood there as if the heir to the throne of the most powerful nation on Timarron hadn't been forcibly removed back to his proper sphere of existence a minute or two before.
"What is the subject of the interview?" she asked, matching him formality for formality and ignoring the fact that she was wearing only a sheet and some kind of blanket that crackled if she moved it too much.
"His Royal Highness Blademir has asked that your recollection of the events in Balsom three days ago be recorded with the Enclave." He folded the robe with care, thereby avoiding looking at her. "The truthtester agreed that this would be a good thing."
"I see." She stood and dropped the bedclothes, just to see what he would do. He looked her in the eyes. "Am I to be allowed to break my fast before the inquisition?"
"But of course." His eyes twinkled again, as they had the evening before. "Since the new moon celebration is over, you can eat here or with the rest of the Enclave in the refectory, as you wish. When you are ready, use the communication system to call me and I will either bring your meal or lead you to the refectory."
"And how do I do that?" she asked with only the tiniest hint of acid in her voice. "Tie a note to the talon of a pocket dragon?"
"Nothing so imaginative as that, Prince Taryn." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the robe draped over his arm. "Simply say the word voice, followed by the word command, then the word communication to activate the system. My name is Hideo. Saying that will connect you to me."
"I think I can manage that." She turned her back to him. "I would like to eat in the refectory, please."
"Then I will leave you to dress." She heard the door close quietly behind her and began sorting through her remaining clothing, looking for something suitable to wear.
The refectory was a large hall filled with round tables and perhaps a hundred men, most in robes, all eating and talking. The tables were covered in white linen and each had a small vase in the center filled with three or four stems of winterbells, giving an overall impression of a grand salon in a palace rather than the dining hall of a religious order. Nor did Taryn see a mess line in evidence as Hideo gestured her into an empty chair at the table holding the rest of her traveling companions, except for Blade. They all stood.
"Goddess," she muttered under her breath, wondering if she also would be presented with an array of forks, as had been the case at the few state dinners she'd been forced to attend.
"Vixen!" Maris greeted her with a wide smile that somehow reminded her of the conspicuously absent Blade without causing any emotional upset beyond the hysterical panic she was already holding at bay by sheer force of will. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mostly," she allowed. "The wake-up call was a bit abrupt. Where do I find the food?"
"Someone will bring it if you will be seated," Galen said. "I trust you are suffering no lingering ill effects from your wound?"
She had forgotten all about it. "If I am, I can't tell," she said as she sat and draped a linen napkin over her lap before someone else could do it for her. "It's lost in all the aches from three solid days on horseback."
The five men sat back down and chuckled in appreciation. A plate appeared in front of her, and she looked up to thank the server, but stopped when she noticed he was wearing makeup. He grinned, winked at her, and moved on. She hardly remembered the rest of the meal, too puzzled by eyeliner on a monk.
At the appointed time, Hideo appeared at her shoulder then escorted her through a maze of hallways to an ornate set of double doors. "Please go in," he said with a small bow. "He's expecting you."
She took a deep breath and walked through the door into what appeared to be an office, one wall made almost entirely of windows. But that wasn't what surprised her.
"Welcome to the Enclave, Prince Taryn." A man stood from behind the desk and Taryn had to stop herself from gaping, because he was quite possibly the most beautiful human being she had ever seen, and he couldn't be any older than Blade was. Truthtesters were supposed to be some kind of mystics who could tell at a glance when someone was lying or even knew more than she thought she did. Wouldn't a skill like that take a very long time to acquire?
"And on behalf of my order, please accept my apology for the behavior of His Royal Highness Blademir."He looked distinctly troubled, which made her want to comfort him. And that irritated her, since Blade was the only person who might possibly have something to apologize for. "He's normally much less selfish than that."
Taryn sat down without being invited. "Really? How selfish is he normally?" He stared at her for several seconds, then his eyes crinkled at the corners. Yes, he was beautiful, but he wasn't Blade.
"About as selfish as you are," he began as he walked around the large desk. "That is to say, not at all. I suppose it's my own fault, because I warned him not to seek you out last night, but I didn't tell him it was because it might taint your testimony regarding the Balsom attack." He sat in the chair next to the one she had taken. "I'm Llamass."
"Hello, Truthtester Llamass. We didn't talk about the attack." She leaned forward. "Aren't you a little young for this job?"
He smiled, and she knew the eye-crinkling came from mirth. In her experience, mystics were supposed to be serious. "You are exactly what I expected." He crossed his legs under the robe and planted his elbows on the chair arms to tent his fingers. "Indeed, I think the poor thing never had a chance at all." She waited, because he seemed to be talking more to himself. Then he fixed her eyes almost as penetrating as Blade's, even though they were a nice normal grey color. "Are you familiar with 'The Legend of the Bastard King'?"
Taryn sat back in the chair, a little lost at the sudden change of subject. "Of course. Who isn't?"
"Ah, but the versions vary widely." He gestured toward her. "Tell me the one you learned."
Taryn sighed. "In the darkest of the dark times, the bastard king arose from the mists of Tirnav and beat back the darkness and the waste for the hand of the warrior queen, though he had never seen the sun or the stars and knew only the light of the fire in his soul." Certain parts of the old bedtime story had a disturbing resonance with the events of the last couple of days. She rubbed her palms unobtrusively down her thighs. "He united the warring lands and ensured peace and prosperity for a thousand years, signaling the end of the dark times and the return to the stars. Helicon still has a knighthood called the Order of Tirnav and they claim their royal line is descended from the bastard king."
Llamass nodded. "And did you know Blade's parents were never married?"
Taryn swallowed. "He didn't mention it."
"The interesting thing about legends and prophecies," he went on with a slight smile, "is that they are fairly general, so that some might be able to say this is a modern re-enactment of the prophecy."
Taryn frowned. "There's no prophecy. It's just a story for children."
"Ah, but you haven't read the version in the Sanctuary archives," Llamass said quietly. "I took the liberty of re-reading it last night. There was a prophecy, spoken by the high priestess of Doneghin. The waste was a sexually transmitted disease that killed in a matter of weeks, and it was decimating the population everywhere but an isolated island in the middle of the Sea of Leagues that was continually shrouded in fog. Of course, no such place exists now. Modern Tirnav is known for its warm, sunny climate and its vineyards that thrive in the volcanic soil."
Taryn fought not to fidget. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything." Again he flashed that enigmatic smile. "It also contains the rather adult tidbit that the bastard king only took on the challenge of ruling after learning the warrior queen was carrying his child." He lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Not quite the same, but last night was the new moon, wasn't it?"
Taryn realized she was fingering her scar again and forced her hand back to her lap. "Obviously."
"Another eerily similar parallel, though I think Blade started fighting as soon as you met." He leaned to one side and supported his head on an index finger. "Tell me about your scar."
Her fingers covered it protectively. "M-my scar? Why?"
"I'm not entirely certain," he said, sounding calm, "but scars are usually reminders of the events that caused them, and you have touched that particular scar three times since you entered this room. It must have a deep personal significance."
"My sister tried to kill me and I didn't dodge quite fast enough," she said. "So I have a scar." She dropped her hand again and shrugged. "No big deal. We were almost sixteen and we were fighting, and she lost her temper."
"And how long was it after that incident with your identical twin that you abdicated?" That question actually made her jump.
"Technically, I've never abdicated." Technically. Mother had asked if she wanted to be safe from Talyn, and she had nodded through the pain, desperately trying not to cry so there wouldn't be tears burning in the raw flesh on top of everything else. And the next day, the machine had burned away her royal mark, set just above her left ankle when she was little more than a baby.
"Silean allowed a crown heir to go into the military?" Llamass shook his head. "You should know better, my dear, than to prevaricate in front of a creature with no illusions." He leaned forward. "Talyn deliberately tried to kill you. You fought as hard as you could, but it wasn't enough, and a Silvergard officer saved you. An older woman, I'd say, someone you could look up to, someone you could trust. What happened to her?"
"She was dismissed from the service." She couldn't meet his eyes, so she folded her hands and looked at them.
"So, you couldn't trust your sister, you couldn't trust your mother, and a Silvergard had possessed the reflexes you lacked and had protected you. You entered the Silvergard."
Her head came up. "It wasn't that simple." He wanted to know, then by the goddess, she would tell him. "I had to work damned hard to get in, and then I had to prove myself a dozen times over before they would even consider me for an officer. I spent a year shoveling crap in a backwater stable before I was allowed to carry a piece of paper from one room to another."
"And what became of your self-defense skills during this period?" he asked, unperturbed.
Taryn swallowed. "I learned to fight." She closed her eyes. "I learned to kill."
"According to my resources, you have consistently out-fought every member of Blade's personal guard, and you saved Viscount Marison von Stassos from an ambush." Her eyes popped open. Maris had a title? But he was so young. "Apparently, you don't learn things by halves." Llamass allowed himself a small smile. "I have not yet spoken with his father, but I'm sure Northshield is likewise grateful for his son's lucky escape."
"Northshield?" There was a duchy called Northshield that was bigger than Zona. She swallowed again, harder than she had the first time. "Maris is the heir to Northshield?"
"No, Lavindar is Galen's heir." Taryn felt her mouth drop open. "Maris is her little brother." Maris, who had babbled and beamed at her while higher than a kite, had sighed every time she touched his forehead while he waited for the tiny pills to take away the pain of a skewered femur. And Galen had calmly pulled the bolt from his leg and bound the wound. But he had known Maris's reaction to their medicine. Then the truly astounding thing filtered through.
"The heir to Northshield is a woman?" Bariani would allow a woman that much power?
"Actually, the heir to Northshield is a married couple."
Unable to stop herself, Taryn sneered.
"They've been married for seven years," he finished.
The sneer faded. "How long?" she asked, unable to credit that length of time.
"Seven years, Llamass repeated, "though they were together for at least two years before Jamius could gather the courage to ask if she wanted to make it permanent. And they show every sign of still loving each other ferociously. The lack of permanent pair-bonding among Zonans is one of the things I find the most ... curious in your culture, being as it is matrilineal."
Okay, now this conversation was veering way off course. "I thought Blade wanted you to know what happened in Balsom."
"I do. Tell me." So she told him, wiping her clammy palms on her thighs when she got to the part where she had recognized Mychell. He didn't move, didn't interrupt, he barely even blinked.
"And why did you help the surviving Bariani to escape?" he said when she ran out of words.
"Because." She frowned, trying to think of how to put it into words. "It was my responsibility get them out of danger. They came---went---I don't know, ended up there because they wanted to maintain diplomatic contact, not because they wanted to kill Zonans." She met his gaze as grimly as she could. "At least I wouldn't send my heir with less than a dozen outriders to a covert attack."
"So leaving them to die wasn't...?"
"Right." Yet Bariani were always considered enemies, until proven otherwise. "Honorable," she amended. He leaned his cheek on his finger and waited. "Fair?" she finally came up with.
Llamass nodded. "How have you been treated by this group of Bariani?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you at any time felt like, oh---" he waved a hand in the air, "---a decorative appendage---not appreciated for your skills?"
"Oh. No. They all pretty much treat me as an equal. Even Blade." Even the master of them all saw her as his equal. His life partner. She shivered, but not from fear, or from anger. With the distance of the next morning, she could see why he had kept his secrets until he was sure of her and sure of their surroundings. It made a lot of sense. Except he hadn't been really sure of her, even when they had drifted off to sleep tangled together on the narrow bed. She needed to talk to him. She really did, because there were things he needed to know.
"How do you think the bonding formed?" Llamass asked. "Was it because you finally found someone who would stand by you when it wasn't a politically favorable thing to do?"
"B-bonding? But I thought you..." Her voice trailed off, because she wasn't exactly sure what she thought.
"You are already bonded, Taryn Penthes von Stassos. I merely record the fact in front of unimpeachable witnesses." He smiled faintly. "It is a moment I savor, because I was beginning to think it would never happen. Blademir is a difficult man to love." He sighed.
A number of things clicked into place. They believe women have no use for them. Hideo had ignored her naked body. The server. "How long have you known him?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Llamass visibly composed himself. "As long as I can remember."
"And how long have you been in love with him?" She leaned forward as she asked it, waiting for him to admit what she was already certain of. It didn't mean a great deal in the larger scheme of things, because the Goddess made room for all people in Heaven, but by the Goddess she was having the truth out of someone before it went too far.
He laughed softly, but his eyes did not crinkle. "Very good," he said without expression. "To answer your unspoken question, all truthtesters are of the third gender."
"What about the spoken question?"
"As soon as I was old enough to understand such things." He made a throwing-away gesture, as if it didn't matter. "I don't believe he knows, however, or he would be mortified." Then he fixed her with a gaze nearly as penetrating as Blade's. "I would prefer that he never know, because it would cause a rift with someone he considers his oldest friend."
"I see." She sat back and thought for a moment. She was done here. She had told Llamass what had happened and he hadn't said a word. Then he had pronounced her bonded without even asking her opinion. Blade must have been right about Sanctuarian beliefs, because she certainly had no more use for any of this at the moment. "You have my version of the events. Please convey to His Royal Highness my compliments, and my goodbyes." She stood. "I think I've seen all of Barian I care to see."
Llamass watched her through lowered lashes. "He won't like this," he said quietly. "Do you really want to be dragged into Krystale Palace kicking and screaming?"
"I won't be dragged anywhere, either by a man who lies to get what he wants or by someone who has given up what he wants." She turned to leave, but was stopped by his voice.
"What about what you want? When do you get that, Prince Taryn?"
"Starting right now." She didn't say it with venom, because Llamass wasn't the one who had earned her venom. She even walked out without slamming the door behind her. There was no telling where Blade might be, though, so she ran through the corridors until she got to the iron-bound door that blocked the force-field containing the penance-cellblock. The monk present since Blade had been dragged away nodded and closed the door behind her with a clang as the hum came back to life. This time, though, it was more reassuring than menacing.
Taryn let out a breath she hadn't quite been holding when she was safely locked away from the rest of the Enclave, then headed to the cell they had opened for her use. It was exactly as she had left it, clothing neatly packed away, her sword on top of the pack, and bedclothes scattered all over the room. Even Blade's scent was still there, a stark reminder of what had happened to her when she let him get too close. She pulled on her coat without buttoning it, gathered up her pack and sword along with the wonderful book-reader that Dorcan had claimed contained the text of an entire library, and stalked down the central hallway on her way to the unguarded, unlocked, un-force shielded door to the outside.
When she was standing on moss instead of slate tiles, she looked around for a path and felt the terror of absolute freedom for the first time. It almost made her dizzy, but she forced it down and set off on a path that looked as if it went into the Jags instead of back down toward the center of Barian, civilization, and His Royal Highness, Blademir von Stassos. The bastard who would be king.
She had no idea where she was going, other than away. She had no food or water with her, and no knowledge of the terrain, which became almost painfully evident when she was trotting down a slope in the midst of thick trees and nearly trotted off the edge of a sudden cliff. But she was away from the Bariani and finally had the sort of privacy she needed to think of what she was going to do with her life now that she was no longer a Bariani slave. Or a Zonan slave, for that matter.
Blade's hands tightened around the balcony railing until he felt the cool metal cutting into his palms as he remembered watching the solitary figure emerge from the penitents' entrance. His vision blurred and his throat had tightened down so much that each breath was an aching torture. The door that had remained locked tight for the last three hours opened behind him, but his eyes were locked on Taryn, still barely visible on the trail leading back into the Jags. Taryn was leaving him, and she hadn't even looked back. His mother all over again, but this time he didn't have the strength of childhood innocence to keep going.
"She'll be back," Llamass said from just behind him, moving as silently as he ever had. Blade felt a hand on his shoulder and stiffened, then turned to shrug it off. He knew it hurt Llamass when he refused the comfort, but he didn't care. With a monumental effort of will, he swallowed and forced a deep breath.
"No, she won't be back." He turned away and saw Galen standing in the doorway across the room, his face carefully neutral but compassion in his eyes. "If you knew her, you would know she doesn't second-guess her decisions. And that is an absolute truth." He couldn't face Galen either, so he took refuge in anger. "What did you tell her, Llamass? This morning when your goons dragged me away from her, she was happy. Now..." He looked over the railing one last time at the tiny figure bent beneath the pack, trudging uphill and about to plunge into the trees. "Now she's not happy. I should kill you for that."
Llamass inhaled more loudly than was strictly necessary. Yes, he was serious about the threat, but it would be the last thing he would ever do, because killing a truthtester, even one who had betrayed him on such a deep level, was a capital crime.
"Don't do something in haste you will regret when your mate returns, Blademir." Llamass looked as calm as ever, but then his entire world hadn't come apart around his ears.
"She's not my mate. She left, Llamass, and no amount of begging is going to bring her back." Just like his mother. Could Llamass even begin to know how much, how very much that stung? Not just stinging, though, but deep stabbing, rending pain, all the way through. He had to call his father and abdicate because he would die without issue. He had to go after Taryn so he could protect her from all the pain waiting for her. He had to do something. He turned to look again, maybe to catch one last glimpse of her through the trees, but there was nothing. He looked farther up the slope. And farther.
A thin wisp of smoke angled into the morning sky from the direction of the Zonan border, but he wouldn't be able to see the remains of a campfire from thirty kilometers away and no Bariani used Sanctuary lands for recreation.
Something was very, very wrong in the Jags, and his instincts screamed it was aimed at Taryn.
"Galen! Get the power armor. Now!"
Llamass grabbed his arm. "She will be back."
"Not if the Silvergard get her first." Blade grabbed Llamass by the ears and forcibly turned his head. "What do you see in the sky?"
"I don't..." Llamass's voice trailed off and he stiffened. "Gods. They sent killers across the border? But that's---there must be some other explanation. Zonans don't do that."
"Talyn does." Blade was pulled away from Llamass and Galen started strapping armor onto his body. "If I'm wrong, I'll be the first to laugh at myself and apologize to whoever I scare the hells out of in the next hour, but I'm not taking a chance."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Galen said as the torso clamshelled into place with a snick. It was odd, because Galen would have told him flat out not to do it before the journey into Zona, but he didn't have any brainpower left to consider the change in his keeper's attitude.
"I hope you relayed orders," was Blade's reply as he fastened one of the legs while Galen worked on the other. Even Llamass started to help, holding the gauntlets while Blade slid his arms into them after the arms were on.
"There are only four of us." It was as close to a warning as Galen would come with Llamass within earshot.
Blade paused long enough to meet his eyes. "Five. It's the Barian Heir Consort, Galen. I'm not sitting in a bunker."
Galen swallowed visibly, but didn't demur his decision. "I'll catch up as soon as I get my own armor on."
Blade took his helmet from Galen's hands. "I'm taking the skimmer." He pulled the last piece of armor on and latched it to the rest, then tongued the control to bring it online so he could be heard in the room. "Have them meet me at the mountain entrance."
He threw one look at Llamass, who was uncharacteristically white-mouthed. He nodded once, giving tacit permission to take the Enclave's sole air vehicle. Normally it served to ferry Sanctuarians from the Enclave to the Krystale, usually when they were ill or injured, which didn't happen often.
"Call the palace for backup. Tell them we have a real border incursion---armed troops, not starving hicks. And pray that I'm wrong." Then Blade vaulted over the balcony rail and dropped the four stories to the packed earth. The armor cushioned the impact so that he didn't even have to roll, and he immediately started the familiar long-strided lope around the very large building to the mountainous side, wishing the suit would let him sprint. The Enclave was big, and even with power assist it would take more than ten minutes to get to the skimmer's landing pad.
When he got there, the impellers were already spinning up and Juvenan was in the hatch holding a plasma rifle. "Big gun, Your Royal Highness?" he offered. Blade held out his hands and Juvenan tossed the weapon into his hands.
"Follow Taryn's thermal trail," he decided as he followed Juvenan through the hatch. "What's the ETA on Galen?"
"Two minutes." Tomal's voice. "Had a little trouble with a sticky connector."
"He's getting too old for this nonsense," Blade muttered. "By rights, he should be home with Siobhellen, tickling grandchildren."
"If you'd stop getting yourself into trouble, maybe I would be," Galen's voice crackled over the squad channel. "And now you've got a Zonan just as bad as you are. I'll never get to retire."
Blade grinned behind his visor and sat next to the hatch. Taryn wasn't a fool and she knew not only the mountains, but how the Silvergard operated as well. She would be able to get to cover and hold them off until the cavalry arrived. She had to be able to get to cover.
An alarm pinged, signaling pulse rate and blood pressure were too high. No kidding.
"Ramondar, we have a problem." This time it wasn't a disembodied voice in his head, it was Deg, leaning into the amplification field so that every media representative knew why the continuation of the interrupted press conference was being cut short. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize with all my heart, but His Majesty has a situation. It appears Zona is invading the Sanctuary Enclave at the border."
Ramondar pulled Degusta out of the field and to the back of the dais as the media hounds erupted in a roar. "Are you crazy?" he yelled at Deg, barely audible over the wall of shouted questions.
Deg shook his head and yanked Ramondar off the platform with enough force to make his shoulder protest. "The Zonans are crazy. You know the crown guard keeps power armor at the Enclave, and Blade has five bodyguards with modern weapons. I had to get it out there that Zona invaded before charred female bodies start turning up on the news feeds."
"Gods, demons, blood and martyrs," Ramonder recited under his breath. "What are we doing about it?"
"Admiral Crais lifted a few minutes ago with two shuttles of strikers." Deg opened a door and hustled Ramondar down a staircase that officially wasn't there. "We need to get to the situation room before he does something unacceptable."
A mirthless laugh forced its way out of Ramondar's chest, because everything was already far beyond unacceptable and well into bizarre. "How did we get here, Deg?" he asked as he pounded down the secret steps to the back entrance of his command and control bunker. It was three stories under the palace, so they had a lot of steps to cover, but a cut in power wouldn't affect them the way it would an elevator.
"I thought it would good to send the Crown Heir into Zona for a simple negotiation so he wouldn't amuse the tabloids for a few weeks," Degusta admitted. "What a stupid fucking idea."
"Have you contacted Silean? Does she know about it?"
"Codreascu's on his way to the Lady Palace even as we speak." Deg paused to pant a couple of times as he swung around a landing. "Maybe now we'll get her to let us install a microwave link directly to her office."
"If she survives," Ramondar agreed, also beginning to lose his breath and silently praying the situation wouldn't escalate to a strike on the Lady Palace. Thankfully they were more than halfway. He might get to the nerve center of his military without passing out.
They blew through the bottom doors and Deg hit the palm plate to close the blast shield. Ramondar snorted. It might have been SOP, but against Zonans it was just overkill to a degree that was silly. General Sobietski took two strides from a console and came to attention, then saluted.
"As you were," Ramondar told the stiff woman. "I need a report."
She pretty much repeated what Deg had told him in the conference room, giving him time to get his breath back and scrub his hands over his face.
"Did he say what he was going to do about it?" he asked, starting to pace.
Leontyn Sobietski looked uncomfortable. "The transmission must have gotten garbled at that point, Your Majesty. The last sentence said His Royal Highness was proceeding to secure the Heir Consort's security."
Ramondar stopped pacing to stare at her. "Did you say Heir Consort?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. As I said---"
"I heard you." Yes, it was rude to cut her off, but, Gods! Had everyone lost their minds but him?
"Do you think," Degusta said carefully into the tense silence, "the Zonans could be attempting to retrieve Her Highness?"
"Sir?" Sobietski questioned. "Her Highness who?"
Ramondar sighed. "Her Highness Taryn Penthes of Zona. And quite possibly Barian, by now." Sobietski looked visibly shaken. He started to pace again to do something with the energy that had no other outlet in the bunker. "If he did manage to talk the Santuarians into a bonding, she can't be allowed to leave Barian."
"What if they don't intend to remove her?" Deg asked. "Two days ago, they tried to kill her. And her sister, Prince Talyn, has been missing almost that long." Sobietski's face went even whiter. "Even if the bonding hasn't been accomplished, this message conveys a clear intention on Blademir's part, Ramondar."
"I'm not bombarding a dark age duchy over it," Ramondar snarled. "Great gods, what would Helicon think? What would the DW think?" He was near a wall, so he slammed the edge of his fist against it in frustration. "There has got to be diplomatic solution here, people. Find it!"
Taryn climbed to the top of a small dome of granite and sat, digging the toes of her boots into a thin crack for purchase on the nearly barren slope. It was time to think, time to create a plan for the rest of her life. One day with Bariani technology had confirmed one of her most basic fears: she didn't know enough to fit in with their society. What kind of work could she find, when she couldn't figure out how to open a food packet? How could Blade possibly expect her to rule over people who knew so much more about---everything? She fingered her scar and was surprised again to feel the skin softer than normal. It was disappearing, along with every other truth she had depended on.
"I hate you," she whispered to Blademir Erichsal von Stassos, even though he was miles away and far beyond range of the words. And it was a lie, on top of it, because even through her deep anger, she could sense the love pulsing, waiting to be set free. It wasn't fair. Her vision blurred and she raised her eyes to the lavender sky, blinking hard several times to banish the tears. It wasn't worth crying over. Nothing was worth feeling over anymore. Her forehead creased. Was that a crooked line of grey parting the atmosphere? She followed it back down until it vanished behind the second-tallest peak to the north and west.
Smoke. From a single fire. It was still too cold for camping, and none of the game in the area would be worth much, so it couldn't be hunters even if hunting was allowed on this side of the border in the early spring. Her training and her instincts told her the line of smoke meant something far more sinister. And she was in the open.
She brought her eyes back to her immediate surroundings and listened intently. The birdsong that had accompanied her trek was gone to silence, which meant whoever had created the smoke had to be nearby, and the nearest cover was a trio of scrub bushes that had found a roothold in the granite much the same as the crack holding her toes. Quickly, slithering and slipping on the steep slope, she half-crawled to the bushes, ripping her shirt on spines that got inside the open coat, and prostrated herself under the dense branches. Then she waited.
And waited.
The birds were still silent. Normal hikers would have made noise by now, so this was the silence of stalking. The only question was who was doing the hunting, and what the prey might be. She could be completely paranoid, but after the last few days, it would be a relief to be proved a fool.
Silvergard snipers were masters at waiting, able to sleep open-eyed and watch their targets at the same time, but this was her life. She could stay motionless undercover for days if she had to. Of course, a water bottle and a few pieces of biscotti bread would make the wait less horrific, but as she didn't have any, it didn't really matter. She would do what she had to. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her panicked heartbeat, and refused to allow herself to wish for rescue. This was her fight, and hers alone. If only she'd brought a bow on this hellspawn journey, but she would have had to have taken it with her for escort duty in order to do that, and who needed a bow in Balsom?
A loud whoosh echoed through the high valley, then proceeded to get louder. A silvery metallic shape rose into the air from the direction of the Enclave and streaked across the sky, covering in a few seconds what had taken her an hour to get through on foot. She bit her lip and fought off the sense of inadequacy.
A spear of light left the flying thing with a musical chime much deeper and louder than Galen's pistol, touching below the tree line and setting the forest ablaze. She thanked the goddess that she had chosen an outcropping that wasn't surrounded by trees. Then the airship sank to maybe twenty feet above a fairly level patch of open ground less than half a mile away and a hatch opened.
Two man-shaped objects that glinted in the sun dropped from the hatch, followed a few seconds later by two more, and the ship rose again. All of them carried large silvery tubes that might have been weapons, because they had that sleek look of deadly purpose to them. The first two loped into the baby forest fire while the other two began moving toward her. They had to be Bariani in some kind of armor, but what would allow men to move with that kind of grace on such a steep slope, and while carrying weapons?
A crossbow quarrel whanged off the rock and shattered to splinters ten feet above her hiding place. Taryn set her jaw and pulled her dagger from its sheath. Her hunters knew where she had gone to ground, but someone had panicked in the fire and taken a badly aimed shot. Or they were finding the range. A weapon chimed the deeper tone from within the trees and a woman's scream echoed, audible even above the roar of the flying machine. More chimes sounded, a chorus of destruction, and the two figures had reached the bottom of the granite dome.
Another quarrel shattered on rock, this one closer, almost close enough for the wood splinters to hit her. She gathered her legs under her and huddled in the thickest part of the branches to make a smaller target. The two figures were a third of the way up the dome, and the way they moved somehow looked familiar, especially the taller one. It couldn't be ... but he would, wouldn't he? Her lips curved into a faint smile. Damn you, Blade.
The third crossbow shot surprised her, because the quarrel hit within inches of where her legs had been stretched out a moment ago, and because the fletching was acid yellow. They were using poisoned bolts. She shifted a cautious few inches east, reminding herself that terrapins were safest in their shells. Except she didn't have a shell, only a few branches between her and what hunted her. One of the figures on the rock turned and fired, sighting back along the path of the toxic quarrel. The top third of a large tree exploded, but there was no sound of a scream or a visibly falling body. More loud chimes sounded from within the burning trees.
Zona must never incite a war with these people, she suddenly realized. They had tools to turn warfare into slaughter. The thought was punctuated by a veritable rain of quarrels on and around the bushes. The noise they made against the granite was different, and none of them shattered. Taryn tried to move again as the Bariani weapons fired, but realized one of the quarrels had pinned her coat to the granite, a scant two inches from her ankle. And the fletching on the metallic shaft half-sunk in granite and still quivering---was yellow. Where had they gotten all-metal quarrels? And hard enough metal to penetrate rock.
The crash of a large metallic object falling on rock raised her attention from under her feet. A quarrel had gotten through a gap in the armor, and the shorter of the two figures had fallen. Given what she'd seen of their medical treatments, she wasn't worried until she saw the yellow fletching. He might not have time to get to treatment.
She shed her coat as quickly as possible and skittered out from the doubtful shelter of the bushes, more fell than climbed down the rest of the granite to get to him, then used every bit of her upper-body strength to pull the quarrel out of his body; the longer it was in contact, the more neurotoxin he would get. She bit her lip and wondered who was inside the suit---quiet Juvenan, helpful Grigor, or shy Dorcan? Goddess, let it not be Maris, who had already taken a bolt on this trip. It wasn't Blade, because he could only be the figure behind her. Ice ran through her blood, because she realized there was one more in the group: Galen, Duke of Northshield.
"No," she said out loud, rejecting the very idea even as her stomach clenched with recognition. Galen wouldn't have allowed anyone else at his prince's side in a situation like this. Galen was on the brink of death. "No!" She had to get him to treatment---surely Barian technologists had developed an antiserum for passadder venom if Zonans knew how to fight it? But to get him out of the field of combat, she had to become more of a target.
Galen feebly dropped his weapon and fumbled with the helmet. Taryn picked up the ungainly metal object, pointed it at the trees and loosed a burst of fire to get a feel for it. It fired exactly where she pointed it, but there was absolutely no kick to the thing, which was bizarre in such a large weapon. She knelt, sighted carefully and thought of where snipers liked to wait for their victims. Then she turned around to face behind the two armored men and caught the flanking maneuver being covered by the sniper attack. They hadn't left any possibility uncovered. Of course not, they were Silvergard, and Silvergard were the best of the best.
It was almost surreal that Silvergard troops had been sent across the border for the sole purpose of killing her. And yet, there they were, at least until she started shooting them. The last one to go down was the major---another major---and she saluted Taryn with her sword before her body exploded in flames, a gesture of respect and camaraderie. Then they were all gone and she turned to see Blade, with his face plate up, kneeling on the slanted rock next to where Galen had fallen, his weapon discarded.
"It's passadder venom," she called. "The quarrel had a yellow fletch." Blade looked up, his expression thunderous, and she understood immediately. "Start with norepinephrine and adipene, and then we have to get him to good medical treatment quickly."
"Or what?" he asked, his shoulders tense.
"Or he dies." Blade glared at her a second longer, then picked up his uncle and trotted downslope to the flat area where they had jumped as the flying machine came in for a landing. Taryn picked up the discarded weapons, tore her coat free of the metal quarrel buried six inches into solid granite, and followed.
The other two came trotting out of the wooded area that was still smoldering, their faceplates also up. Juvenan looked at her---she was carrying both of the rifles as well as her sword, pack and coat---and shook his head, then spat on the ground. The flyer touched down and extended a ramp. She waited with a mouth as dry as summer dust for all the men to climb up it and duck through the hatch, and then swallowed hard. Summoning all her courage, she set one foot on the ramp, but for the life of her she couldn't make the other foot follow it. She didn't want to get on that thing. She didn't want to fly through the air.
Galen would die if they didn't get him help.
It was awkward, but she managed to pull her other foot onto the ramp without dropping anything she was carrying.
"Vixen, get in here!" Blade bellowed from the hatch. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, using the pain against her fear, and walked up the ramp. He yanked her through the doorway and she heard the roar start up again as the ramp rose behind her, sealing her in.
She dropped everything she was carrying and turned around to watch the door close, her breath gone and her heart racing. She was going to throw up. The room---was the inside of one of these things even called a room?---spun crazily, as if she were about to faint. She had never been frightened enough in her entire life to faint, and she wasn't about to start now, so she took a deep breath and held it to keep herself from hyperventilating, then punched the door as hard as she could with her right hand. Pain was a wonderful tool to help a person focus. She turned around.
"Vixen, are you all right?" Grigor asked, his voice gentle.
Before she could say she was fine now, the floor shifted under her feet and trees fell away from the windows. And that was when sanity deserted her entirely. Someone screamed the high-pitched wail of an animal being disemboweled.
She realized she was clawing at the hatch when she was pulled away from it.
"Get this off me," a male voice that might have been Blade's bellowed as she struggled in a metal-ceramic embrace, still screaming. "Sedative. Now, damn it!"
She was still trying to get away from whoever was holding her when another pair of hands grabbed her head and pulled it up, then something cold pressed against her neck and she felt the same warm tingling from when Blade had injected her in the cave. Almost immediately, her body went lax and a wall of thick glass slid between her and the intolerable reality outside her skull. She was passed from armored hands into flesh-and-blood hands and the last thing she heard before unconsciousness covered her like a warm blanket was Blade's voice.
"We're almost there, Taryn. It's okay, nothing bad's going to happen." Cradled against the heat of his skin, surrounded by his familiar scent, she almost believed him.
"Gods, I think she left teeth marks in the armor," Juvenan muttered, and Blade looked up from her hair. Indeed, the nearly invulnerable fullerene-tigerm alloy did look scuffed. He shook his head and wondered what else could possibly go wrong. They had discovered Taryn's one weakness at exactly the wrong moment, while struggling to keep Galen alive. Who would have thought she would be terrified of flying?
"Blade, where would Zonans get depleted-uranium crossbow bolts?" The question came from Dorcan, who had one of the items in his hand with a portable scanner in the other. The skimmer shook a little as Grigor brought it back to ground inside the Enclave walls.
Blade waited for the impellers spin down some before he said, "Depleted uranium?"
"Scanner says so, and it's mixed with a type of fullerene I've never seen before." Dorcan shrugged, which the power armor amplified. "It wasn't made on Timarron."
What was Zona doing with offworld ammunition for antique weapons? Blade tightened his arms around Taryn's limp form and rocked her a little.
"We'll take it with us. How's Galen?"
"Alive," came a whispered response from the floor, "but I've had better days." He didn't even try to sit up. "I'm too old for this noise." Grigor popped the hatch.
Blade shifted his hold on Taryn and stood with her in his arms. "We all are. And thanks to Taryn, you're going to get older." He waited until the Enclave medical team had carried Galen out before he climbed through the hatch himself, careful not to hit his burden's head on the coping. He snarled at the Sanctuarian who tried to take her from him and followed the floating stretcher.
Llamass was waiting in the infirmary, but Blade pushed by him and found an empty bed. He could feel the truthtester's eyes on his back as he pulled off her boots and covered her.
"I'm sorry, Blade." He ignored the olive branch to sit next to the bed and let his face drop into his hands. "I thought this was an isolated issue between Taryn and Talyn."
"Yeah, well now it's an attack against Bariani royalty on Sanctuary lands with offworld weapons and bite me if I know what's going on or how Taryn fits into it. Gods, I'm tired." He pressed his thumbs into the hollows of his eyes. "Why is it so important to kill her?"
"You will have the opportunity to find out when you return to Krystale," Llamass said. "Was she hit?"
"No, she came unglued when the skimmer took off. We had to sedate her before she hurt herself." He dropped his hands and looked at the bed, where Taryn's chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm. "She might have gotten a little too much, but she was trying to dig her way out of the hatch with her fingernails, and then she was trying to dig her way through Juve's armor to get to the hatch."
Llamass moved closer to the bed and freed one of her hands, then inspected her nails. Blade noticed blood and felt a little dizzy. Normally the sight of blood didn't faze him, but it was Taryn. This was twice now that she'd managed to get hurt while the worst thing that had happened to him was a bad hair day. "Indeed. I will have someone look at this." He regarded Blade with an inscrutable look. "I relayed her testimony to the prime minister."
"And?" Blade took her hand from Llamass and covered it with his own. If the universe was kind, she hadn't broken any fingers.
"She found it most interesting, since Silean has been demanding Prince Taryn's return from just a few hours after the incident. Apparently, Zona has threatened war over this. Your father was unavailable, as he had been sealed into the war room."
"Silean wants her dead too?" It came out more bitter than astounded, but what kind of mother would kill her own child? Desertion was plenty bad enough. Ramondar going into the command bunker under the palace because of this was just ridiculous, so he didn't dignify it with another thought.
Llamass shook his head. "From what I understand, Silean believes Barian is trying to kill her daughter. Whatever Talyn is up to, neither the prime minister nor I feel Silean has been included."
"Which makes about as much sense as the rest of this misbegotten plot." Taryn's body twitched as if she were having a nightmare. He checked her eyes, but they weren't moving.
"There's something else, Blade." Blade tore his gaze away from her and looked at Llamass. "Three Dozen Worlds representatives were tracked to Balsom in a direct landing a week before you were sent to Zona. It's believed they were from the trade ministry."
"We can barely get Zonans to trade with us," Blade blurted. "What would they have to talk about with Dozen Worlds reps?"
Llamass sat down on the end of Taryn's bed. "What comes out of Zona?"
"High-end handmade goods, mostly art pieces that go for a small fortune offworld," he responded automatically. He could recite the figures for the last five years of trade with Zona in his sleep, and there was always demand for more than could be produced, which meant Barian had a fairly lucrative trade in authentication service, as well. Not that weeding out the low-quality, mass-produced fakes was a problem since they tended to be obvious. "Although," he continued, suddenly remembering the travelers rugs, "they're not art pieces in Zona. They're eminently practical everyday articles and not considered all that valuable. Zona could be a wealthy place if they'd---" He stopped talking abruptly as it clicked into place.
Talyn wanted offworld trade. She might even want to form an alliance with Barian. Maybe even an alliance cemented by a dynastic marriage, and her lover Mychell, discovering what she had planned, had tried to prevent being displaced. Taryn hadn't been involved at all, at least not in the beginning. But Talyn had to remove the Silvergard witness while keeping her potential husband alive, at least until her political power was solidified. He'd foiled the little bitch without even trying, even if Leone had originated the idea.
"Blade?" Llamass sounded worried. "It disturbs me when you smile like that."
He stood and began to pace, thinking furiously. It all depended on, "How soon can we have the bonding ceremony?"
"She hasn't agreed to it," Llamass protested. "I can't perform it without Taryn's consent."
"You'll have it, if I have to mortgage my soul." Blade sat back down and took her raw, bloody fingers in his own. "Weren't you going to find a healer to look at her hands?" He heard a scrape as Llamass left the room, but between watching Taryn and making plans, he couldn't spare the attention to look.
Someone else came in a few minutes later, clucked over her and started working, washing off the blood, wrapping antiseptic gauze around them, then giving her an injection to speed the healing process, all while Blade watched with every bit of concentration he possessed. If the man screwed it up and caused her any more pain, he would pay. But Taryn stayed out through the whole thing, even when a sliver of wood was pulled out from under a fingernail---only the gods knew where it had come from. When the healer left, Blade smoothed her hair away from her face and settled back to watch over her.
He was still watching her when she stirred about fifteen minutes later. He stood and leaned over her so that he would be the first thing she saw when she woke up.
Reality came back slowly, as if layers of fluffy, scrubbed wool were being pulled away and spun into the yarn of her life. Taryn wasn't sure she wanted to wake up, but she needed to know something, if only she could figure out what. Maybe Blade could tell her. Blade. The flying machine.
Galen.
She opened her eyes and blinked in the glare coming from around a familiar silhouette.
"Blade?" She clutched at the bed. She was on a bed. "Did we land?"
"About half an hour ago, Vixen." He traced a fingertip along her jaw in a feather-light caress. "You're going to be fine."
"Galen. Did he make it?" Guilt roiled in her gut. Not Galen. Her life wasn't worthy of that sacrifice.
"Yes. His medical pack in the power armor injected everything you said to, and he'll make a full recovery in a few days." He lifted her bandaged hand and she stared at it, trying to remember how she'd been injured. "I was more concerned that you would break bones trying to get out of the skimmer. Haven't I told you about trying to scare me to death?"
Her forehead furrowed, but she couldn't think. There were still layers of fluffy something between her and the world. "I don't remember."
"I told you not to do it again. You're not leaving me again, either; you're not safe unless you're with me. Please understand that, because I'm not saying it again," he whispered just before he kissed the furrow away. And then, seeming unable to resist, he kissed her eyelids, her nose, and finally her mouth, nibbling gently on her lower lip the same way he had the first time he'd kissed her in her room at Leone's. It seemed years ago, not a few days, but his kiss was just as intoxicating as it had been that night. A small noise of want came from her throat and she skimmed her hands up his chest, expecting hot skin but feeling only the hardness through her bandages.
Bandages. She had hurt herself trying to get out of the---skimmer, he had called it. But Blade hadn't let her, Blade, who was parting her lips, licking into her mouth, wrestling her tongue with his. Blade, who was melting her joints and heating her body from the inside out. Everything centered on him and her connection with him, the sweet madness inside that grew every time he touched her with such tenderness and passion. If only it would last. If only she could be enough for him.
If only she could accept what he offered and be content with that. Maybe she could. And in the meantime, she would enjoy every moment, revel in every touch. There was one thing he wanted from her, one thing she could do to make him happy and she was ready for it now. It still wouldn't be enough to keep him from boredom in years to come, but it would make him happy now, and her sacrifice was nothing compared to what his people had gone through.
"Blade?" she asked when he raised his head, "Can we get this ceremony or whatever over with now?" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm so tired, I just want it done so I can sleep." It wasn't the most eloquent she'd ever been, but then nothing about this relationship had been normal from the very beginning and she was tired and sore everywhere. She only hoped it was good enough.
"You're tired?" He grinned at her. "I don't know when I've been this strung out and I've got saddle sores with saddle sores." He brushed his fingertips over her scar in another gentle caress, and she didn't even want to flinch because the sense of violation was gone. She had no privacy with him; he was part of her. "So that's a yes?"
She swallowed hard and pushed away all her doubts. It wasn't easy, because there were a lot of them. "If you still want me." She managed a slight smile. "I'm trouble on two legs."
He gave a short, quiet laugh. "Vixen, my love, you're trouble on no legs and I want you more than I have words to say."
"I can't bring Zona with me," she warned. "There's still a Crown Prince."
"I don't care anymore." He looked vaguely startled at his admission. "I love you."
"Then I'll..." what was the word? "...marry you."
He buried his face in her neck and let out a long, slow breath, seeming to relax into her. She slid her arms up over his back, unable to resist touching him. "I promise when we get to Krystale, you can take a nice, long nap," he mumbled into her neck.
She heard herself sigh. "How many days will it take to get to Krystale?"
He pulled away, but only far enough to look in her eyes. "It's about an hour flight." She felt herself tense with the remembered terror of the floor vibrating under her feet and the sight of the ground streaking away, sheer paralyzing terror that she had no way to fight because she'd never felt it before. Could she go through that again and remain sane? "Shh, sh, sh, it's okay. It's very safe. In fact, given our record on the ground, it's got to be the safest way to get from here to there, because Zonans don't have aircraft." She hadn't thought of that. Maybe, if she had him to hold onto, she wouldn't be so frightened. "Besides, it's the best way to get Galen to someplace where we can monitor the anti-venom's effectiveness, in case he needs another dose."
Galen. She would have to suffer flying again, because she could not let her childish terror get in the way of his recovery.
"All right," she acquiesced. And the sooner she got out of this bed, the sooner it would be over. She tried to sit up, and he backed far enough away to let her. "What do I have to do for the ceremony?"
"Ah. That." His expression smoothed into a mask. "You have to get beautiful." Her face must have given something away, because he amended it to, "Well, more beautiful. I don't suppose Leone packed that green dress, did she?"
Ah, the green dress Leone had thought was provocative. Apparently she'd been right. "You liked that, did you?"
Her eyes had begun to glow again, but they were darkening with passion. "Yes," he admitted in a voice so husky that her smile spread slowly from the heat building in her body. A knock sounded and the door opened behind him.
"Excuse me, Your Highnesses, but a trio of shuttles have just landed outside the gates and there's an admiral demanding to speak with the crown heir." It sounded like Hideo, but she couldn't see around Blade.
He sighed, straightened, and turned. "I'll be there in a minute. Is there someone who can help Her Highness prepare for the ceremony?"
"Absolutely." Hideo put one hand on his hip and shifted his weight as Blade turned to leave. "Girl, I thought you'd never come to your senses. I know exactly what we're going to do with your hair." Something about the way he said it reminded her of someone she'd once known, but she couldn't think of whom.
Blade walked out of the infirmary room and hit a roadblock---Crais on one side, Llamass on the other. "Llamass, I'm going to need a clean shirt if you can scrounge one up," he said over his shoulder as he turned to the military man with the thundercloud between his ears.
"You don't mind if I verify that with Her---the commander, do you?"
"As long as you don't mind that she's still working on mood-altering medication, I don't care if you play pat-a-cake." Blade pointed to Crais. "You, come with me."
"So it's true, you did abduct a Zonan soldier." He heard the sneer and turned back.
"Do you have a problem with the Barian Crown Heir, Admiral Crais?"
The man stiffened to attention. "No, Your Royal Highness."
Blade suppressed his temper. "Then you'll be relieved to hear that I did not, in fact, abduct anyone. Her Highness Commander Penthes escorted my party from the original ambush site to the border, and elected to seek sanctuary in Barian after the Matriarch's Own tried to kill her---twice."
"Twice?" The admiral's face flushed, then paled. "Her Highness? She's royalty?"
Blade started walking again, and this time Crais fell in at his side as he explained exactly what had happened. "Tell my father he can come out of the bunker. The invasion was repelled with prejudice." Which meant, of course, that all of the invaders were dead. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a bonding I have to attend."
"A bonding." Crais stopped. "Who would get bonded in the middle of a crisis?"
Blade stopped and forced a grin. "Me. Who else would be that stupid? Check on Northshield and make sure he gets settled in the command shuttle all right. I have to find a shower and some clean clothes."
He left Crais standing there with his mouth open and trotted the rest of the way to the royal apartments. He started stripping for the shower and realized all he was wearing was the bottom half of power armor. No wonder Crais had pulled a bad attitude.
It took almost an hour to get himself together, mostly because somewhere in the middle of the shower it occurred to him he was about to take an unbreakable oath to spend the rest of his life with a woman he'd only known for a hundred hours. His hands were shaking so much he almost slit his throat, not once but twice, while he was shaving.
"It's just Taryn," he told his reflection. "She's not a stranger. You know how she thinks. She's covered your back in combat three times in four days." It didn't help, so he tried the big one. "She makes you complete, idiot. You want to try this with Tabethe Schmythen?" And just like that, his hands stopped shaking and a sense of calm came over him. He was shrugging on the ridiculously over-embroidered shirt and trying not to wonder where it had come from when a soft knock at the door preceded Llamass and Dorcan.
Dorcan was wearing a Barian Crown Guard dress uniform, and only the gods knew where he had gotten it.
"Ready?" Llamass asked, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of his official robe. "Her Highness is receiving her finishing touches with remarkably good grace."
Blade stopped in mid-fastening. "Please tell me they're not putting makeup on her."
Llamass smiled. "All right, I won't. I will say, however, she's being a very good sport, having balked only at eyelash extensions."
"So far," Dorcan put in. "I've got twenty cred says she won't go for the tiara." Llamass pressed his lips together and glared.
"I'm not taking that bet," Blade said to both of them. After thinking for a second, he amended, "Unless it's shaped like combat headgear. You might get that on her head and keep all your limbs intact." He sat down and started to pull on his Zonan-style boots, which had mysteriously been polished. Damn Sanctuarians and their sense of style. They loved pomp and ceremony, too.
"You're not going to your bonding with that scraggly mop hanging down, are you?" Llamass asked, sounding scandalized. Right on time.
Blade sighed. "I don't have time for a haircut, Llamass."
"It will take five minutes to braid." Llamass folded up his sleeves. "Dorcan, get me a comb and one of the queen's fasteners from the bath." Blade fumed at the delay while the truthtester he'd known since childhood combed, yanked and twisted, then clipped something around the end before laying the braid over his right shoulder.
"That was more than five minutes," he protested, mostly because he'd felt ridiculous the entire time. There was something weird and unsettling about letting another man touch his hair, and if Taryn hadn't let it slip that she liked it long, he would have shaved his head at that point rather than go through that again. Llamass, restoring his long sleeves, merely exhaled in a not-quite-snort of contempt.
"Actually, Blade, it was three and a half," Dorcan put in. "And the gold cap is a nice touch. You look like a man about to get married."
"Whatever. Where are we doing this?" He stood, stamped once to make sure the sticky right boot was all the way up, and started for the door.
"The royal chapel, of course," Llamass said behind him. Good, because that's where he'd been headed anyway.
He'd been waiting for almost fifteen minutes, pacing for at least five as tension made a comeback with the fear she had changed her mind, when Taryn walked into the chapel's antechamber with an escort of three Barian Crown Guards who just happened to be Dorcan, Juvenan and Grigor. One look at her made it all worthwhile and banished the emotional turmoil.
They had put her in a white draped confection of sheer silk fastened only at the shoulders with two jeweled brooches and a thin matching cord emphasizing her waist, but that wasn't what took his breath away. Her hair had been pulled to the top of her head in a loose knot circled by a crown of winterbells, but with a cascade of fire-touched curls falling down her back that made his fingers twitch, wanting to touch. Then she stopped.
"Is something wrong?" She glanced down at herself and the neckline of the dress slipped forward to reveal ivory swells of skin that looked as smooth as vella cream. Tactile memory brought out the information that they felt even softer.
He realized his jaw had gone slack and he was drooling when he tried to say something and his mouth was already open. A hard swallow got some kind of control back into vocal apparatus before he answered, "No, nothing's wrong." Praise the gods, his voice didn't break in the sentence, but it felt as if he might have ruptured something by forcing out such an understatement. "You look ... edible."
She looked uncertain. "Did you say edible?"
"Edible, as in good enough to eat." He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. "Or the last half of incredible, if you'd prefer." He kissed her, very carefully because her lips had been stained a deep red with something he was sure she wouldn't want mussed before the ceremony even started. "Ready?"
Taryn opened her eyes and he could see her throat working. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she whispered. "Let's get it over with before I lose my nerve."
Blade took her hand and they walked into the inner sanctum together where Llamass was waiting. The fine tremor through her bandaged fingers was the only thing that betrayed the nerves behind her cool façade. They came to a stop before the altar and he raised her hand to his lips.
"It's not going to hurt, Vixen," he whispered. "Everything's going right for once."
"That's why I'm nervous," she whispered back. "Somewhere, something is waiting to go horribly wrong."
Llamass raised both hands and intoned something in a language he didn't understand, then called for Blade's witness. Maris stepped forward, limping only slightly. He stated his name and relation. Then Llamass called for Taryn's witness and Blade could feel her holding her breath. A Sanctuarian stepped forward and pulled the cowl from his head.
"Jervais?" Taryn said, then beamed a smile at him. "Of course." The man grinned and Blade felt a twinge of foreboding. She was right; this was going a little too well, almost as if someone had planned things ahead of time. This couldn't have possibly been part of Talyn's plan, so how many fingers were in this recipe?
"I am Jervais Druin Penthes, second cousin to Her Highness, Prince Taryn," he said, bowing slightly to the head of his order.
"Do you stand as witness for her family?" Llamass asked, the same as he had of Maris.
"I do." Jervais held up a length of fine, silvery chain. "Further, I bring this as a symbol of the bonding."
"Is there a symbol from House von Stassos?" Llamass inquired.
"I bring this as a symbol of its permanence," Maris said, holding out the cold-weld tool to Llamass, who took both items and held them up as he moved in a semicircle, almost as if he were exhibiting them to a large audience, though there were only five people in the room.
"Taryn, please raise your right hand, Blademir, your left." When they complied, Llamass positioned their wrists side by side, then looped the chain around them both in a figure-eight pattern.
"As this chain is welded together, let it show all that these souls are bonded in a fashion no construct of humanity can break," he said, then placed the tool at the point where the chains crossed. There was a bright flash of light that almost made Blade flinch, and their wrists weren't connected anymore, but a tight chain bracelet surrounded each.
"Two halves of one whole," Llamass said with apparent satisfaction. "The bond is complete."
"I so witness," Jervais said.
"I so witness," Maris followed a beat later.
"Well, kiss her, you idiot," Llamass said, just before his somber façade broke into a mischievous grin. So Blade did, pulling her tight against him and taking her mouth with all the pent-up hunger of a day full of fear. Finally, the long run was over. They were safe and she was his and he could put his plan into motion. Finally. When he was out of breath and she had melted into him, he raised his head and picked her up off her feet to carry her out of the worship area. It wasn't a traditional way to exit a bonding, but it worked.
Admiral Crais was waiting in the corridor, and didn't even raise an eyebrow. "The Duke of Northshield and your belongings are aboard, Your Royal Highness."
"Viscount von Stassos could use a hand," Blade told him, indicating where Maris trailed behind. "He took a crossbow bolt in the femur yesterday, so he's not moving very fast."
"Day before yesterday," Taryn corrected him. "Nobody tried to kill us yesterday, Blade."
He smiled at her. "The Heir Consort is correct." The admiral's façade cracked enough that his lips formed the words "Heir Consort" with an amused expression. "Amazing how the days all blend together when you're killing people up close and personal before midday," Blade threw over his shoulder as he carried his Zonan out through the courtyard to the waiting shuttles.
He carried her through the hatch, noting that Galen was installed on a fully reclined rear couch with their luggage, such as it was, stacked into the chairs next to him. At least they still had the travelers' rugs; he was very fond of those. Taryn went rigid as they stepped into the cabin. "Steady, Vixen," he soothed, "I promise, nothing bad is going to happen."
A small, hysterical laugh escaped before she could tamp it back down to trembling. "If you're lying, I swear I'll come back from the dead to beat the living crap out of you," she whispered. He sat her carefully on the plush double-seat and had to forcibly remove her arms from his neck.
"You can do it in the afterlife, because I'll be right here with you," he told her as he sat and pulled her onto his lap. It took a few minutes for the admiral to help Maris get settled and give the command to lift. Taryn had started to relax, although if the glare was anything to go by, she didn't appreciate the lemon-sucking expression Crais leveled at them when he walked by to get to his own seat. Blade didn't appreciate it either, and made a mental note to speak to someone about it later, because all of his immediate attention needed to be focused on his wife.
Such a delicious word, wife. Such a delicious woman. Almost unconsciously, he nuzzled the side of her head and nibbled an earlobe, which made her sigh and soften even more. It was a military transport shuttle with no place for privacy, so this was all he was going to get. On the other hand, now that they were safe and on their way home, every bit of the last few days of stress started to catch up with him.
Five minutes into the flight he caught himself nodding off when one of the flowers in her hair tickled his nose. He'd been in the military for too long, because his body knew it had an hour of peace and was going to use it for sleep. The soft almost-snore from the woman snuggled against him betrayed that Taryn, Silvergard to the core, had the same instincts.
Smiling, he shifted her into a more comfortable position, stretched out as much as he could, and let their training take over.
"Your Majesty, the Barian consul is seeking an emergency audience," the secretary said from Silean's office door. She looked up and regarded the man with a raised eyebrow. "Something about a military incursion. He seems ... agitated."
Military incursion? Goddess, the company out of Jaynesville. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to try to calm her racing pulse. "Send for the foreign minister and show the amba---" oops, "consul in, please."
She shoved the papers she'd been working on into a folder and rose from her desk to greet Tomal Codreascu, who did, indeed, look agitated.
"Your Majesty, I bring grave news," he said as he shook her hand. "A full company of Silvergard attacked a party on the land of the Sanctuary Enclave near the border."
"Really? I find that difficult to believe," she lied as smoothly as she had ever done in her life. "Why would I send the Matriarch's Own across the border of a nation with whom we have friendly relations?"
Codreascu licked his lips. "His Majesty Ramondar believes this particular group might not have been actual Silvergard, but perhaps a rogue element wishing to disrupt our friendly diplomatic relations." He was inhaling to go on when the door opened again and Herren came into the room. The two men nodded at one another, Herren looking slightly confused and Codreascu wary.
"The consul has just informed me someone posing as a Silvergard company attacked---someone on Sanctuary lands inside Barian," she explained. Herren's face smoothed into a mask.
"Essentially, I'm here to request an explanation, if you have one," Codreascu finished.
"I have never ordered any of the Matriarch's Own to cross the Barian border," Silean said with absolute conviction, carefully leaving out that she might know who else could have done so. "If such a thing has occurred, it certainly wasn't sanctioned by the Matriarchy. I concur with Ramondar's theory that this group of ... guerrillas, I suppose, might have been able to pose as the Matriarch's Own to someone not quite familiar with my troops."
"Were there any casualties among the Enclave?" Herren put in.
"No, but the Duke of Northshield was seriously injured by a poisoned crossbow bolt." Codreascu looked grave and Silean had to suppress a wince. Zonan poison in his little brother was guaranteed to tick off the king of Barian, and angering that man was never a good idea.
"What kind of poison?" Herren asked, his tone sharp.
"Her Highness correctly identified it as passadder venom, praise all the gods. Without her quick diagnosis, the duke would most likely have died." Even Herren looked taken aback at that, and Silean felt all the blood drain from her face. The passadder ammunition was about as classified as a weapon could be and Taryn had not only recognized it but had let the secret out.
But she was alive and unharmed.
"I'm afraid it wasn't a band of imposters, Your Excellency," she forced out. "The Matriarch's Own has been experimenting with passadder venom in order to make our ammunition more powerful against armored opponents."
"But where would a line company get experimental ammo?" Herren wondered out loud. "None of that has been allowed out of the research arena."
Codreascu drew his body into a rigid line. "Perhaps you should discuss this with His Majesty."
"You have secure com in your office?" Herren's voice was calm but sharp. Intel for intel, Silean realized.
Codreascu froze for a second and appeared to gnaw the inside of his cheek. "I do," he finally said.
"I propose we adjourn there immediately and get this mess, at least, straightened out before tensions escalate any further." Silean glared at the Bariani for good measure. "And then I would like to speak with my daughter, if Ramondar doesn't mind."
Codreascu sagged with relief. "I have a coach waiting, Your Majesty."
She gave him a single nod. "Herren, collect the prime minister and meet us at the Barian consulate." She started for the door, brought up short by Herren's throat clearing.
"Your Majesty, it's barely forty degrees outside. Perhaps a cloak would be in order?" Silean looked back over her shoulder and noticed Herren's eyes were twinkling, as if he were suppressing a smile. "Maybe gloves, too?"
"Men," she muttered under her breath. Not only did they think they knew everything, but they were quite certain a respectable woman was made out of glass and just as easily broken. But she went to the closet and pulled out a cloak and gloves. "Better?" she asked him, voice dripping with sarcasm. Codreascu was looking from one to the other, his face set in lines of speculation.
"Much, Your Majesty." Herren bowed deeply. "I will inform the prime minister and escort her to the Barian consulate as instructed."
Silean stifled the small growl of frustration and swept out of the room, only dimly aware that Codreascu was following in her wake.
They were halfway to the coach entrance when the Bariani asked, "If I might inquire, Your Majesty, is Zona soon to have a new Consort? If so, I am delighted to be able to tell you that Barian would rejoice."
Silean slowed. "Perhaps." She glanced back at Codreascu and noted his face was red, whether from embarrassment over asking such a personal question or from trying to keep up with her furious pace. "Unless I kill him first. Now I know where Talyn gets her insufferableness from." Codreascu's footsteps silenced. Silean stopped and turned, wondering what had happened. He looked poleaxed.
"Minister Cavanaugh is ... is---"
"Yes. May we continue?" She started to walk again. "I know you always assumed the Crown Heir was fathered by my late Prime, but it has no bearing on the situation, nor is it without precedence. My offspring are mine, and the sperm donor is of no consequence."
"Oh, I see."
Silean pushed the outside door open. A pair of Silvergard braced to attention and eyed Codreascu. "I'm going to the Barian consulate," she told them. "Inform your captain." Then she turned to the Bariani beside her. "Tomal Codreascu, I doubt very much that you understand the situation at all."
The impellers were almost silent and all of the men had gotten up from the seats. Blade peered into Galen's eyes before motioning Maris to take his father off the transport ahead of the rest of the group. Taryn bit her lip as she watched Galen do his best to walk down the ramp and onto some kind of rock landing pad. He looked far older than he had the day before. She heard a muffled roar, as if a crowd was cheering the return of the Duke of Northshield, and it chilled her to her marrow. Leone had once said the von Stassos family lived very much in the public eye, almost daring assassination---and from what she had experienced, it was true. Could she hold her head up and walk by hundreds of screaming Bariani without breaking into a cold sweat and feeling concentric targeting rings blazoned on her back?
"Ready?" It was Blade's voice echoing her own thoughts. She looked up at him and saw the glow coming from his eyes again, as if he were enjoying himself.
"I don't know. It sounds like there are a lot of people out there." She wiped her hands on her thighs.
"Well, it's not every day I kidnap a princess from Zona and bring her home to meet the family," he said, shrugging. She looked up and his lips stretched in a smile, but his eyes looked grim. Maybe the glow came from anger.
"Who said you kidnapped me?"
"Your mother, who has been raising eight kinds of hell ever since the ambush site in Balsom was discovered." He smirked. "She's threatening to personally rip out my liver if she hasn't heard from you by sundown."
"How...?" But she knew Bariani had ways of talking to each other even when they were far away. She had to stop forgetting things like that. "Can you get a message to her now?"
"We can relay it through the embassy at Balsom."
She stood, feeling a bit like herself for the first time since the smoke had cleared outside the Sanctuary Enclave that morning. "Send her this message: 'Do not attempt to invade Barian under any circumstances. The Zonan soul needs no scar.' Sign it Taryn." She pushed past him and trotted down the ramp into sunlight. A breeze blew hair across her vision so she wasn't prepared for the wall of sound that engulfed her, nearly knocking her over. She had to get away from it, but with hair in her face, she had no idea which direction held shelter.
Familiar arms slid around her from behind while she was still clawing curled locks out of her line of sight, and the roar intensified. He said something, but she couldn't hear it over the crowd, could only feel it as a vibration from his body into hers. She looked up, turning in his embrace, and this time the smile was genuine and his eyes were glowing with pure joy.
"Where do I go?" she tried to ask, but he shook his head, lifting one hand to wave to the people being held back by something invisible a foot beyond the polite velvet ropes. The roar got even louder. He glanced back down at her and his grin became positively wicked, just before he kissed her in front of a thousand screaming strangers. Or maybe ten thousand. The thought of being watched by that many people was enough to keep her from losing her grip on reality while he was trying to lick her tonsils, but not enough to keep her from melting into him for protection against all those eyes.
Finally he lifted his head and smiled at her again, then turned her around, looped an arm around her waist, and with a final wave to the berserker crowd, marched her across the landing pad into a highly ornate portico fronting the biggest building she had ever seen. Two metallic doors, flanked inside and outside by men in armor holding energy rifles, clanged shut behind them, echoing in a marble hall almost the size of Mother's ballroom.
"Gods, I'm glad to get out of that noise," Blade muttered.
"Now what?" she forced herself to ask, even though she didn't really want to know.
"You go get some rest, and I find out what's been going on through channels while we were hiding in the wilderness."
"But---You want to split up?" He must have heard something in her voice, because his arm tightened on her waist.
"No, but we have to." He stopped walking and pulled her close. "If it were my choice, I'd never let you out of my sight again." It seemed like he was about to kiss her when footsteps echoed across the room. "You're safe now." She didn't feel safe. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel safe again.
A throat cleared behind her and Blade raised his face from her hair. "Your Royal Highness, His Majesty wishes an audience at your earliest convenience."
"Which is herald-speak for 'Get your ass in here, slime-for-brains,'" Blade translated quietly, then sighed.
"If you would see the Heir Consort to my quarters, Alainor, I can speak with His Majesty now. It's been a rough journey and she needs to rest someplace where people aren't trying to kill her."
There was the tiniest hesitation before the man she couldn't see said, "The Heir Consort. Of course, Your Royal Highness." Taryn set her shoulders and tried to center herself, but it was very difficult. She pulled away from Blade and turned around to face the herald, who was wearing an expression not unlike someone who had bitten into an unripe piece of fruit and was trying to hide it. "If you will come with me, lady."
"Alainor." Taryn tensed, because she'd only ever heard Blade use that tone of voice when the situation was dire. "If I ever hear you address Her Serene Highness Taryn Penthes von Stassos as lady again, I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you. Do I make myself understood?"
"Without doubt, Your Royal Highness." Alainor bowed, his hands visibly trembling. "If Her Serene Highness would be so kind as to accompany your humble servant, I will show her to the Heir Consort's apartments."
Blade gently pushed her in the herald's direction and she followed him through another ornate doorway, down a hall, up a staircase, down another hall, and when he was about to ascend the second staircase she couldn't keep silent any longer.
"Herald Alainor?" she asked, unable to keep quite all the hesitation out of her voice. He stopped and turned to her with one slightly raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry you got in trouble. He's ... a little touchy after what happened on the trip." She remembered the firefight outside the Enclave and shivered involuntarily.
His expression softened the tiniest bit. "Nonetheless, to address a person who is royal both by birth and by ... marriage is an unpardonable lapse of etiquette, Your Serene Highness, and His Royal Highness was most proper to correct me. Rest assured, dear princess, it will not happen again." He bowed slightly, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.
"He didn't have to be so brutal about it," she murmured. "Or so graphic."
Alainor cocked his head a little to one side. "Your Serene Highness found the correction offensive?"
"Not if it were coming from a top sergeant," she said with a shrug, "but Blade has the power to do it. As the heir to the throne, I would expect him to be a little more circumspect."
Alainor's mask cracked completely in the form of a broad grin. "Ah. I should have expected that only Crown Heir Blademir could go into the wilderness and return with a Zonan royal to her fingertips." He bowed deeply this time. "Shall we continue, Your Serene Highness?"
Taryn took a deep breath and tried to be gracious. "Of course. I'm actually looking forward to a little peace and quiet." They finally stopped in front of a set of floridly carved double doors, whitewashed and the most outrageous of the wooden swooshes highlighted in gold leaf. "This is where Blade lives?" she asked with only a tiny bit of the horrified amusement leaking into her voice.
"Oh, no! This is the Heir Consort's quarters," Alainor informed her as he swept open the door into a gloom-filled room full of dustcloth-covered furniture. He cleared his throat. "It hasn't been used since His Majesty ascended to the throne, so things might look a bit ... dated." Taryn walked in and shed her pack.
"Well, it's been dusted at least." She smiled at him, though she knew it didn't make her look anything more than resigned to her fate.
"If we'd had a bit more notice---" he tried to apologize, but she waved him down.
"This is a thousand times better than the cave," she told him as she pulled out a comb that had started digging into her scalp and tossed it on what looked like a cloth-covered table to the sound of breaking glass. She froze.
"I'll send someone to make this a bit more habitable, Your Serene Highness." And Alainor disappeared down the hallway.
"I hope you have a very good explanation for this." Ramondar von Stassos turned from the viewscreen showing the kiss on the landing pad and regarded his firstborn with the stare Blade had privately named the Laser-Death-Look many years before.
He folded his arms. "You kiss your wife in public. Why can't I?"
His father stepped physically back from him. "Gods and demons! Please tell me that was a joke, so I can believe my son isn't that masochistic."
"It's no joke. Taryn Astaren Penthes von Stassos made her vows at a Sanctuary bonding ceremony this morning, with full knowledge of exactly what she was getting into." Blade took a deep breath. "Can you say my mother did the same? Did you tell her the truth?"
The king's complexion faded to an ashy white and he turned without a word and fumbled for his chair. "Who told you?"
"Nobody told me. Thirty fucking years and nobody ever spilled the secret that my mother was Zonan." Blade moved forward and planted his fists on his father's ornate desk. "What did you tell her?"
Ramondar's hands fisted on the chair arms. "I loved her. And we don't know that she was Zonan. Julesan never said where she was from."
"Oh, yeah, you loved her so much you couldn't tell her she was sleeping with the enemy." He pounded the desk and ignored the feeble attempt to deflect him both from the truth and from the real issue. "And who paid for your silence, Dad? Who ignored the whispers and the innuendo, who put up with the tacit acceptance that, of course he has trouble with quantum mechanics, here, let him go into the infantry instead of the navy like every other von Stassos? Who paid?"
Ramondar stared at his desk. "Everyone," he finally whispered. "Everyone paid."
"Well not this time." Blade turned from the desk and started to pace. "Taryn knows, and she agreed to all of it. My Amazon is not going to run."
"I didn't think your mother would leave me once you were born, Blade." Suddenly Ramondar looked tired and infinitely sad, almost helpless. It was an expression Blade had never seen on his father's face before and never wanted to see again, because he was pretty sure he'd felt exactly the same thing that morning, watching the woman who owned his soul walking away.
"Enough ancient history." Blade picked up the remote and turned off the screen, where the crowd was looking ecstatic, if a little shell-shocked. "I need get a message from Prince Taryn to her mother immediately, and then I need a brief on the diplomatic situation." He sat down opposite his father. "If we play this properly, we can reunify Grant Barian and get full membership in the Dozen Worlds."
His father sat up straighter, astonishment all too evident in his eyes. Yes, he really had believed the media's portrayal of his son. "You can't be serious. You really have it all worked out?"
Blade let his lips stretch in a smile that was almost the snarl he felt inside. "Sit back and watch, Ramondar von Stassos. You're about to see how political a feral half-Zonan can get."
It took over an hour to get through the entire story of what had happened while he and Taryn had been fighting for their lives in the Jags, and almost another to walk his father through his plans to unify the two countries and solidify the lucrative offworld export market for rare, hand-produced Zonan merchandise on top of everything else.
"I'll be damned, that's the most adroit bit of maneuvering I've ever seen," Ramondar said when he'd finally fit his brain around all the complexities. Strangely, this time he didn't seem surprised at all. "There was nothing of this in your aptitudes."
Blade shrugged. "I learned one thing early on about strategy, Your Majesty. It's much easier to surprise people if you allow them to underestimate your resources."
Ramondar laughed, but he didn't sound amused. Or surprised. "I see Benedar was right." A tone sounded, then warbled up an octave. "Crap of the cosmos, that's the secure line from Balsom embassy."
"I'll take it," Blade said, standing. He punched the hands-free from the wrong side of the desk. "Yes, Tomal?"
"Y-your Highness? You've returned to Krystale?" Codreascu stammered, obviously not expecting Blade. "I, I have Her Majesty Silean in the embassy looking for news of Her Highness Taryn."
"Excellent. Can you get full video?" There was the sound of fumbling, then a click and the screen came on with the Barian ambassador's pale face.
"Yes, Your Royal Highness."
"Put on the Matriarch, please. I have a message for her from Taryn, and something to show her." Blade opened his left shirt cuff and started rolling up the sleeve as the ambassador disappeared, leaving a view of his empty desk on the screen. After a moment, an older woman with pale blond hair pulled back in a braid much like Taryn habitually wore strode into the frame and sat.
"This had better be good," she said in much the same tone of voice his father had greeted him.
"Hello, Silean," he said and watched her face flush, then go ashen. He held up his wrist in front of his face so that she could get a good, close-up view of the bonding chain. "I have a message for you from my wife." Then he repeated what Taryn had told him on the shuttle.
Silean's face tightened, but her color came back. Just for a split second, she almost looked relieved. "I see. And when did you enslave my daughter?"
"Excuse me? A life partnership between equals is not slavery. Sanctuary would not permit anything else."
"You expect me to believe Taryn entered into a bonding with a Bariani royal without coercion?" Silean's voice rose to a throaty female roar, again reminding him of his father, but he'd been facing down that kind of roar for more years than he cared to count. And something about it was playing false, as if she were putting on a show.
"Frankly, Your Majesty, I don't care what you believe." He rolled his sleeve back down and fastened the cuff as he continued. "The fact is that one set of your grandchildren is going to wear the crown of Barian some day, and your declared heir is so bent on preventing that from happening that I fought a company of Silvergard this morning to keep Taryn alive. The Duke of Northshield was gravely injured, and if it wasn't for Prince Taryn's expertise with Silvergard weaponry, he would have been killed. Do you want a hot war with Barian, Silean? Not even the ancestor you were named after was ballsy enough to match crossbows with energy weapons and absolute air superiority."
"I never ordered any such attack. You're lying." Silean leaned back in the chair and folded her arms, suddenly calm. Ah, she'd known what Talyn had been up to and was confirming she hadn't been involved. "I want to speak to Taryn, immediately."
Blade sighed and pulled out the crossbow quarrel he'd gotten from Juvenan while Taryn had been dressing for the bonding. "Do you recognize this?" he asked, holding it up.
Silean's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that?"
"Taryn pulled it out of Northshield's shoulder about twenty kliks from the Sanctuary Enclave in the Jags." He heard his father hiss an inhale. "She said the yellow fletch denotes passadder venom, and all the medical scanners we ran him through agreed." He tossed the bolt onto his father's desk. "Any idea where a rogue company of Silvergard---excuse me, extremely well-trained female fighters wearing Silvergard uniforms and using Silvergard weapons---would have gotten crossbow bolts made of depleted uranium and an offworld fullerene?"
"You've missed your calling, Stassos. You would have made a wonderful bard with stories like this." She sniffed, somehow making her inhale derisive. Praise the gods his wife didn't do that.
"You know, I can wake Taryn from her nap and have her confirm everything, although I'd rather not as she's had a stressful day already and needs some extra sleep. Furthermore, I can bring in the Enclave truthtester to verify it." He folded his own arms. "I appreciate the Zonan never-surrender attitude as much as the next ground-pounder, Matriarch, but there comes a time to get out of a bad situation before it gets worse. You've got one kid who's gone off the deep end trying to kill the sane one, who has just married into the Barian royal line." He smiled. "You're going to have to pick one of them to back, and I'll tell you right now which one gives better odds of Zona finishing the year this side of a new stone age."
She dropped her face into her hands and rubbed her temples, a gesture he recognized from Taryn when she was trying to face unpleasant truths and make decisions.
"What do you want, von Stassos?"
He sat down in the same chair he'd used earlier and put his boots on his father's desk, crossing his ankles. "First off, I would very much appreciate it if you'd call me Blade. I don't think a cordial relationship with my motherin-law is too much to ask for, do you?" She groaned, and he barely managed to contain his mirth to a slight smile. "Secondly, I want Grant Barian reunited. Zona will be a principality and a national treasure for its preservation of historic culture and inimitable artistic excellence, with all direct rule accomplished by the eldest daughter of the Grant Barian crown, after you decide to retire from ruling, of course. You're still a young woman. Furthermore, I'm going to institute a new order of knighthood for artistic excellence to be known as the Order of Penthes, and only the Princess of Zona will be able to bestow it."
Silean's head came up and she had the same expression Taryn had worn the first time he'd told her to stop scaring the daylights out of him---equal parts shock and wonder. He realized with a start that mother and daughter had almost exactly the same color of eyes.
"You would do that?"
He snorted. "If I did anything less, I'm sure my mother would track me down and give me the chewing out of a lifetime. It's widely rumored she was Zonan."
"Blade, that's a family matter---" his father tried to break in.
"And as of mid-day today, the Matriarch is family. My family." He stared down his father until Ramondar subsided. "My father has always protected her privacy ... zealously," he went on, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It's a Bariani thing, protecting the women we care about." He shrugged. "But if she's anything like Taryn, she'd probably beat the snot out of me in the process." He let his booted feet drop to the antique hand-woven Zonan carpet and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I have strong ties to Zona, and I don't want everything special about the place and the culture subsumed once Grant Barian is reunited."
"At least that's something we can agree on," Silean allowed. "But Zona doesn't need reunification, as much as I'm sure we've been a thorn in the paw of the mighty Barian."
"Securing offworld markets would raise the price of Zonan exported goods about---" Blade looked at the ceiling and pretended to calculate, although he'd worked out the economics at the Enclave. "I'd say tenfold. Maybe more, if the original Terran land grant were reunified and Dozen Worlds import tariffs were dropped. Their excise taxes for federation members run about a third of import tariffs, which is why Timarron applied for membership a generation ago. I've seen the marketplace in Balsom recently." To say nothing of the poverty in the regions relatively far from the capital. He looked her directly in the eye. "You need this, Silean. Zona isn't starving yet, but the last three years have eaten up all of your reserves, and I don't know how much longer I can keep sneaking you food without the Diet getting suspicious."
Silean's eyes slid away from his and he knew he had her. "I'm willing to look at a detailed proposal," came out of her mouth as if each word were torture. They probably were.
"Great. Now. How soon can you get to Krystale for the coronation?" Silean spluttered but said nothing intelligible. "We had to do the bonding without you because it was kind of an emergency." He let his lips stretch in a grin. "But I'm not willing to force Taryn into another Barian high ceremony without a member of her immediate family present for moral support."
"What? I ... that's impossible."
"Two days?" He gave her his brightest smile. "Excellent. I'll send Endo One for you so you can travel in comfort and have the shortest possible transit time, and Endo One has a medic on board in case you find flying ... distasteful."
"I will not---"
"One other thing," he overrode her protest, glaring at her again. "The constant attempts to kill my consort have got to stop. I didn't mind them at first, because every one of them drove her closer to me, but they've ceased to be amusing. Curb your dog, Matriarch, or I'll have to put it down. I'll have Taryn call you when she wakes up." He leaned forward and cut the connection while the Matriarch of Zona was still doing her impression of a suffocating fish, then sat back and looked at his father. "I think that went well."
"Why two days?" Ramondar asked after clearly suppressing his own gaping-fish expression.
"Because that's how long it will take the heralds to get all the regalia together and make Taryn's investiture outfit." Blade smiled. "I just spent three days on the back of a horse. I've had some time to think about this."
"You really think she can't handle it without her mother?" That was asked in a subdued tone, and his father looked thoughtful, as if he were remembering more past sins.
"No, I think Taryn can handle anything." He remembered the incident in the skimmer and amended, "With the proper tranquilizers. She doesn't like flying. I just want the entire family together for the celebration."
"Which would explain the weird remark about the medic," Ramondar concluded. He scrubbed his face. "Well. Since she's been intensely private for most of her life---my best intelligence could only tell me she was a Silvergard officer---I think we should introduce her to this a step at a time. I'll call the immediate family together and we can all sit down to supper tonight."
Blade rubbed his hands together. She might be recovered enough by then. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"I want to meet my daughter-in-law before the entire court does, Blade." Ramondar's eyes had that steely glint that meant he wasn't going to back down. "And don't you think she has the right to meet your family without the entire media corps in attendance?"
"Oh, all right," he agreed with a little irritation, mostly with himself for not thinking of it first. Taryn should be able to at least match faces to names before she had to do it with an audience waiting for her to screw up. "I can spirit her off to Crag Lodge for a few weeks of R-and-R after the ceremony." He stood. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go check on her."
Ramondar nodded and gestured for him to leave, but his lips quirked as if he was suppressing a knowing smile. He couldn't know, of course, exactly how bruised, sore and exhausted they both were. All Blade really wanted was a few hours of peace for a nice, long nap with his bonded mate in his arms.
Silean sat back in Codreascu's extremely comfortable chair and chewed her lip as she thought, stopping when she found the sore place where she'd drawn blood a couple of days before. The Barian Crown Heir had been behind the extra food. Interesting. He had irrevocably joined himself to the Zonan royal line, even if he couched it in opposite terms with typical Bariani arrogance, which meant Jervais had come through, bless him. And von Stassos was protecting Taryn in a way she had never been able to, even as her mother, threatening to kill Talyn if Silean couldn't control her, perhaps the most interesting thing of all. At last, something had gone right.
She turned her mind to the other portion of the conversation. An independent principality, with rulership retained through the female portion of the line, was more than she could have hoped for. "I'll have to demand restricted borders," she mumbled to herself, "or we'll have offworld tourists under our feet at every turn. Zona isn't a theme park."
"Your Majesty?" Vallan asked from the other end of the room, sounding worried. "Is Taryn all right?"
"Get the coach, Val, we have to pack," Silean said as she rose. "I want the principle members of the government ready to fly to Krystale by dawn the day after tomorrow." With luck, Auran and that Hauptmann---Tanaka? Whatever---would have tracked down Talyn and hauled her back from wherever she was sulking by the time they left.
"S-Silean, are you sure?" Vallan asked, paling. "It will take almost that long for Berent to return from the Jags."
Silean shrugged. "I'm not missing my daughter's coronation as Barian Heir Consort, and I'm not going there looking like a pauper, either." She strode past Vallan's frozen shock and Herren's relaxed amusement. "Come on, we've got work to do."
Herren. She would have to find the Matriarch's Consort coronet and have it fitted to him, on top of everything else. She had a great deal of work to do, but it was far less unpleasant than she would have thought. She was smiling when she found her way through the maze to the front entrance and trotted down the steps to her coach.
"That was extremely well played, my love," Herren murmured from her shoulder, making her start. Would he ever stop surprising her?
"That was nothing," she said as she pulled herself through the door. "Wait until you have to spend a day under one of the hats, Herren. Then you'll realize what a true headache is, because those things weigh six pounds each, if they weigh an ounce."
He had climbed in behind her, but now dropped to the padded bench with a whuff of exhaled breath. "What do you mean, under one of the hats?" His question was equal parts shock and suspicion.
"Your secret is out. Codreascu knows you're the true Consort of Zona, and you'll be onstage with me at the coronation---wearing the Consort's coronet."
Herren ground the heel of one hand into an eye socket. "You certainly know how to kick a man when he's down," he observed. The coach door opened and Vallan climbed in.
"You have no idea," Silean told him, then signaled the driver they were ready to leave.
Blade went looking for his wife, fighting panic when he couldn't find her in his rooms. After considering who had led her off, he went to the Heir Consort's apartments fighting fury.
"Taryn?" She hadn't been in the bathroom, she hadn't been in the bedroom, the other doors were locked, and guards had said she hadn't left, so she had to be in her salon. The only question was where? Blade rubbed the back of his neck and surveyed the gloom again with an irritated curse in Alainor's general direction.
This mausoleum, where everything was three decades out of fashion and out of date, was almost the last place Vixen should have been left on her own, because it was decorated in some idiotic retro-space age style guaranteed to make her feel incompetent. He started searching in shadowy nooks, finally finding the fainting couch in the corner a couple of minutes later.
She had curled up on her side facing the window, and she looked so exhausted that he nearly left her where she was, wilted winterbells and all. But if he left her where she was, he couldn't snuggle her close to him, so she was going to have to put up with being moved. He knelt in front of the lounge and kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyelids flickered.
"Vixen, wake up," he breathed next to her ear, "or I'll kiss you awake." She blinked a couple of times and then smiled at him, a real smile that heated his blood and made his chest swell with something suspiciously like joy.
"Hello," she said, her voice quiet in the tomb-like room.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked. "There's a perfectly good bedroom in this cave, although I have no idea if the sheets have been changed in this decade."
She looked away from him and bit her lip, a sure sign that she was embarrassed. "I couldn't work any of the doors," she admitted. He glanced back and sighed, because it had taken him almost five minutes to figure them out and he'd used the stupid things before. They were all the pocket type with remote controls that had been fashionable when his stepmother had occupied these rooms.
"I'm not surprised. Half of them probably don't work, anyway." He stood and picked her up. "Let's go take a nap ... together."
"Blade, I'm exhausted and I'm sore. Couldn't we do that some other time?" He didn't stop walking. "I'm not used to spending sixteen hours a day on a horse, even if you are."
"Okay, first a hot soak, then a massage to get all those toxins out of your muscles, and then you sleep for a couple of hours." He glanced down at her. "Unless you'd rather get some new clothes before we have dinner with the king and queen. I really like this outfit, but it's a little ... formal." She groaned and buried her face in his neck. "I know, I don't want to either, but he's the king and he said he wanted to meet his daughter-in-law before the rest of Barian did."
"How can I face them?" she murmured from her hiding place.
Blade stopped and she looked up at him. "With your head held high," he told her. "Your family has been royal for three centuries, Taryn. My father is the first von Stassos king ever. We're the ones who should be worried about impressing you."
"You don't have to worry," she said. "I'm impressed."
"You keep that up and you won't get a nap," he warned before he pressed the thumbpad and took her through the heir consort's bedroom into his bedroom. Disguised doors in adjoining suites were wonderful things, but he'd never quite understood why they couldn't officially sleep in the same bed.
"Do I look okay?" Taryn asked when they reached the doorway flanked by two men almost as tall as Blade who both carried the sleek metal laser rifles she'd learned to shoot just that morning. The only clothes she had were what Leone had packed, and she felt ridiculously underdressed. If she'd been having an informal dinner with her mother, she would have worn her dress uniform, but the only thing in the pack even remotely appropriate was the green dress.
This time, however, she was wearing underwear.
"For the third time, you look fine," he said, amusement coloring his voice. "Stop worrying." He opened the door and pushed her into the room in front of him.
The first person to look up at her was an older man with Blade's height and eyes that glowed, though they were plain blue. He had to be Ramondar von Stassos, Blade's father and King of Barian. The other occupants of the room all bore a family resemblance to each other, but, except for Ramondar, none of them looked much like Blade.
"Well, you don't look like you've been kidnapped and ravished." The king followed his outrageous pronouncement by standing.
"Rammy, behave yourself," an older auburn-haired woman admonished, also standing. "I am Sabinet, Queen of Barian, and this rascal is King Ramondar, my dear. Welcome to the family. I adore your shoes."
Taryn was still digesting that odd remark when the younger man, who had to be Prince Benedar if this was the royal family only, trotted forward, swept up her hand and kissed it. "A pleasure to meet you, Taryn. Tell me you have a sister."
"She does, but you wouldn't like her, little brother," Blade rumbled. "Taryn's twin is the Zonan crown heir, Talyn Lunaren Penthes."
Benedar's eyes widened, but somehow it looked artificial, as if he'd already known who her sister was. "If I'd known we were to be in the presence of true royalty, I would have worn my dress uniform."
Taryn looked up at her bonded mate. "I see your outrageousness is a family trait, Blade."
Everyone laughed, but Blade leaned close to her and murmured quietly, "Only in private, Vixen." The low rumble had enough caress in it to make her shiver involuntarily, but apparently it wasn't low enough, because Ramondar started to laugh. It seemed to break a tension she hadn't quite been aware of, and everyone started talking at once, all formalities forgotten.
When they left his family, it was late. Taryn had to stifle more than one yawn as he led her through the maze of hallways that marked Krystale Palace as considerably larger even than the Lady Palace where she'd grown up. Finally they went through the carved door---this one mercifully not whitewashed or gilded---to the Crown Heir's rooms and Blade shut it behind them.
"Now what?" she asked, unsure what to do.
"Now we get some much-deserved sleep." He pulled off the long tunic over his head and tossed it on a chair. She hesitated a moment longer, watching the muscles in his back as he toed off the short boots and kicked them under the same chair. "Doubtless there will be an early wakeup call for some damn thing."
"Blade, I don't have anything to sleep in," she finally said when he was down to underwear.
He glanced at her and his eyes glowed the same way they had the morning she'd first met him. It seemed like so long ago. "That's why they call them bedclothes, Vixen." He picked up the gold band on the end of his braid. "Do you have any idea how this thing works? Llamass braided it before the bonding, but I'll give myself a black eye if I try to sleep with it."
She moved forward and found the clasp on the band, undid it and pulled it off the end of the braid. "Why do you keep your hair long? It's not fashionable in Barian."
He grinned. "After my military obligation was satisfied, I was so tired of spit and polish that I went the shaggy route for a while. And during the last six months in the Jags, there wasn't time or opportunity for little things like haircuts." He raked his hands through his hair repeatedly, unraveling the braid.
"Thank you," she said softly. He stopped and looked at her, uncertain.
"What for?"
"Everything. For helping Zonans. For saving my life." She pressed against him, rubbing her cheek on his collarbone and relishing the hot, satiny skin. "For making me welcome in your home and your family." His arms came around her, though he seemed to tense.
"Is that all?" he asked softly. She looked up at his face, but he wasn't smiling. He looked like he wanted something, wanted it desperately, but was never going to ask for it in words.
"Isn't that enough?" she asked back in a voice barely more than a whisper, then raised up on tiptoe and kissed him. He pulled her even closer as the familiar heat uncurled and spread languid pleasure to every limb, but it seemed halfhearted.
"I'm not a hero," he murmured when he broke the kiss after only a few seconds. "And we still have a lot of work to do, but I'm too tired to deal with it now." He pushed her away a little, then turned her around and steered her toward the bed. "We need to get some sleep."
She bit her lip as he stripped down to underwear, finally shedding her own clothes and slipping into the bed with him. It was bigger than her bed at Leone's inn, which meant there was probably two feet of space between them. Maybe more. If only she knew what that look had been about, what he wanted from her. Should she ask him? He told whatever control mechanism they had to turn out the lights, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace.
"Blade?" she tried, comforted by the anonymity of the gloom. It was so strange, to feel timidity---she'd faced almost certain death how many times in the last few days?---but still, forcing that one word out of her throat had taken all the intestinal fortitude she could muster.
"Umm?" He already sounded half-asleep.
Ask him. Open your mouth and ask what that look was about. "Do you want...?" Goddess, now she couldn't even say the word sex? What was wrong with her?
"Shh. Get some sleep, Taryn. Trust me, we'll both need it."
"Will someone come to tend the fire?" she asked, giving up. Maybe she was just too tired. The Sweet Mother knew it had been a long, long day. Days.
"Oh. Sorry, I forgot. Voice command, fire out." The room plunged into inky black. Blade sighed and turned over. Taryn stared at the ceiling she couldn't see and wondered why her eyes were stinging, even though she knew exactly why.
She rolled to her side facing away from him and fought despair. Four days, and already he was losing interest in her. She should never have agreed to the bonding and now it was too late. She tried to control her breath with fierce concentration, because crying before he fell asleep was unacceptable. He must never know how much it hurt.
"Taryn? What's wrong?" She heard movement and the rustling of the bedclothes, and then his arm slid around her waist.
"Nothing," she forced out through a throat tight with pain. He pulled her body back against him, much as he had done the first night at Leone's inn.
"Uh-huh. And that's why you're as stiff as a tigerm rod and sniffling? Nothing." He sighed. "The sooner you get it out, the sooner you can go to sleep." She couldn't force any more words out, could barely swallow around the lump in her throat. "Talk to me, Vixen."
That name. Her body convulsed in a sob she couldn't hold back because he'd said it with such caring, and yet she still felt so alone. Blade swore and pulled her around to face him, rolling to his back and cradling her against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she gasped out in between gulps of air as she tried to breathe through it all. "I just thought ... I thought I would have more time."
He tensed a little, but he held her and stroked her hair as if he didn't know she knew. "It's all right," he murmured in a gentle voice. "I know this has all happened a lot faster than any sane human being could cope with, but I promise, as soon as we get the coronation over with, we can disappear for a while and let it catch up."
"Who will you be sleeping with when you disappear?" She wanted to bite her tongue as soon as the words were out, because her voice had been angry. Yes, that was it. She was angry. In fact, she was furious. How dare he force her to love him, tie her to him irrevocably, and then just ... just roll over and go to sleep?
"What?" He let go of her and pulled away, probably trying to look at her face in the dark. "What do you mean, who will I be sleeping with?"
"You've made it clear that it won't be with me."
He started to laugh. "That's what this is about? Am I going to get in trouble every time I need to go to sleep without ravishing you first? Taryn, I'm not eighteen anymore. The spirit is willing but the flesh is thinking seriously about going into a coma for a week or two."
She paused in her mental tirade, because he had a point. "That's all?"
It was his turn to pause. "Mostly," he finally allowed. She heard him turn over again and she could feel that strange tension in him again. Determined, she followed him, sliding her hand up his back. His muscles were so tense they were practically quivering.
"Tell me," she purred into his ear.
He sighed, hard and short. "I just keep wondering if I'm really the monster your mother has been painting me as for the last several days. I did force you to cross the border. Hells, I dragged you over it. You left me when you found out who I am and only agreed to the bonding after Galen was injured trying to keep them from killing you again. And you were sedated. It's going to be damned hard to sustain a meaningful relationship with someone who's going to start resenting me in a couple of months."
"Why would I do that?" She laid her cheek on his back, closing her eyes to listen to his voice in the dark.
"Because you don't love me," he mumbled into his pillow. At least she thought that was what the garbled words translated to. "Duty and honor don't cancel hate. Or resentment. I'm well aware you only went through the bonding for Zona. I'm also painfully well aware that Zonans find men interchangable." Her eyes popped open.
He'd been uncertain? Mr.-I-have-everything-under-control hadn't assumed she would swoon with delight at the prospect of bearing his children?
"That's not why I agreed to the bonding." His back went rigid and she fought panic, because it was obvious he didn't believe her. "I thought you knew that."
"Voice command, lights low." A dim, romantic glow filled the room as he turned over, his eyes glowing so brightly they might have been lit from within themselves. "Then say it."
She took a deep breath and licked her lips, because she wanted to get this exactly right.
"Blade, I want you to listen very closely, because I'm too tired to fix this if I say it wrong. I love you, you big Bariani imbecile. I let Llamass put a chain on me that says I have to be returned to you if I get lost. I'm not going anywhere. Ever."
"Well, all right then." Finally he relaxed, though the glow intensified. "Now can we go to sleep?"
"Are you sure that's all you want to do?" she countered, cuddling close. His arm draped around her.
"No, but it's all I'm capable of right now." He nuzzled her hair. "Besides, we have all the time we need now."
"Then turn out the lights and go to sleep," she said as she made herself more comfortable. He chuckled, but he did as he was told.
Oddly enough, they were allowed to sleep in, the wakeup chime not sounding until almost mid-morning. And then he was given the privacy to discuss his plans for Zona with his bride in private, because breakfast was brought on trays and discreetly left, along with several sets of clothing for her, while they were in the shower. Of course, they were in the shower quite a while.
From there, the morning got frantic, with some functionary or other coming in every fifteen seconds to ask him to make some kind of trivial decision. After a couple of hours, he growled, "Why don't you ask the queen? This is her area of expertise, not mine. Ask me about troop movements or something."
The clerk bowed deeply and flushed. "Her Majesty said to consult you or the Heir Consort, Your Royal Highness."
Amusement bubbled up, because Taryn would have considerably less patience with this nonsense than he did. "And did you consult the Heir Consort? After all, it's her coronation, not mine."
The clerk colored even more, almost going purple. "After she threw Damond out of her fitting---bodily, Your Royal Highness---no one has been willing to consult her."
"Cowards," Blade commented as he stepped out of the fitting tank. "Take a couple of hours, make a list and I'll go through it with her. It's this six-times-a-minute stuff that's getting old."
He was on his way to the Heir Consort's quarters with the list that had appeared as promised, guided by the sounds of carpentry as much as knowing the route, when a familiar outline caught his eye through the open door of a receiving room. He turned and went in, and there was Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, two meters and blue hair, in the middle of the Dozen Worlds diplomatic delegation being greeted by the Prime Minister. Tanaka seemed to feel eyes on him and looked toward the door, then broke into a grin and sauntered over.
"What luck. I wasn't counting on running into you until the reception. Congratulations, Blade." He offered a hand, Garnford-style, and Blade touched palms.
"What brings you to the backwaters of Timarron, Tanakasan? More collecting?" Since Sharif, scion of the Hauptmann Cartel, had almost single-handedly started the craze for Zonan art, it was a fair question.
But he laughed. "You don't think I would miss the reunification of Grant Barian and Timarron's entry into polite society, do you? Especially when it comes with the long-awaited marriage of my old friend, Blademir von Stassos." He leaned a little closer to murmur, "And to a Zonan, no less. Well done, old man."
Blade pulled his hand back. Sharif's fascination with all things Zonan was indirectly his fault, since it had started with the hand-carved wooden goblet he'd taken to Muscva University on Gorky Three. Sharif had been assigned as his first-year roommate and hadn't been able to get over the fact that a human being had taken the time and effort to hollow out a piece of living wood to create a drinking vessel, let alone had the tools or know-how to do it. He'd tried to buy the cup, had even tried to steal it at the end of the term. Finally, Blade had made him a gift of the damned thing and it seemed to have marked him as forever one of the good guys in Sharif's mind. Truthfully, he didn't much like the Hauptmann, but couldn't actually bring himself to dislike him, either.
"Thanks," Blade said out loud, suppressing his irritation at being called old. They were almost the same age, by all the gods. "How did you get here so fast? The news only went out day before yesterday."
Sharif looked uncomfortable. "Ah, I was already here," he admitted, refusing to meet Blade's gaze. He looked up, the yellow contact lenses giving him a demonic aura. "Collecting." And Sharif was lying through his teeth, because he had that guileless expression he only wore when he was holding the truth very close to his chest.
"What is it this time, travelers' rugs?" Blade forced himself to sound nonchalant, but he heard a low click in the back of his mind. Sharif had been the brains behind the conspiracy, and had probably been planning it for years. He was more than capable of talking Tabethe Schmythen out of her clothes and into a strange skimmer. He was probably capable of nudging hungry people into looking across a poorly patrolled border at their fit and healthy neighbors. He was definitely the kind of person who would drop a hint that sending the crown heir into Zona would keep him out of the media for another month or so.
Sharif, on the other hand, had a very weak stomach when it came to blood. He would never have planned an assassination, which meant that Blade really had met the wrong sister first, and the clumsy daylight attempt had probably been Talyn's lover's attempt to keep his place in her bed. He allowed his triumphant grin to show on his face, because there was no more mystery. The Illuminati pulling the strings was standing in front of him.
"Travelers' rugs?" Sharif's eyes lit up with an aficionado's greed, even through the stupid cat-eye mimetic lenses.
"Yeah, they're these fur blankets made from trapped skins considered too low-quality for clothing. Warmest damned things I've ever slept in, and they drive women wild." He shrugged and amended, "Well, Zonan women. I've never tried one on a Bariani, and I don't want the chance to." Sharif blushed, the odd orange tinge to his tawny skin making a strange contrast with the blue hair. "I see I'm not the only one to have discovered a fascination for Zonan women," Blade observed. "Best of luck, Sharif. They're not what I'd call biddable." He clapped his sort-of friend on the shoulder and started to leave before something occurred to him that would clinch it. "One more thing, I'd lose the lenses if I were you. I know they're the height of fashion in Garnford, but on Timarron they just look creepy. You'll never get laid here looking like a tanned vampire."
Sharif's face sort of froze, almost as if he was remembering something. "I think you're right," he said slowly. "I don't really need them here, anyway. No crèche-mates to get confused with me." He smiled beatifically, as if the idea was novel. Blade had to repress a shudder. "Thank you, my friend."
"Anytime." Blade shrugged again. "If you'll excuse me, I have a thousand details to see to, and a not-biddable Zonan to see to them with. Nobody else will ask her to make a decision since she threw a herald out of her coronation robe fitting."
"They're frightened of her because she dismissed a servant?" Sharif looked confused.
"No, they're frightened of her because she picked up a 60-kilo man and threw him through a doorway. Thankfully, the door was open at the time." He couldn't quite suppress his smile, because every time he'd heard the story throughout the day, it got bigger and more outrageous. She'd probably shoved him a little, although with Vixen, it was hard to tell.
Sharif shared the grin with him for a second or two, then waved and went back to the delegation.
"Your Highness, it's time." Alainor favored her with a brief smile before disappearing again, probably to check on someone else. Taryn took a deep breath to settle the insects that had taken up residence in her midsection, wiped her sweaty palms on a scrap of cloth, and smoothed down the over-robe one last time.
A quick check in the mirror told her that her appearance hadn't done anything bizarre in the last ten minutes, if she didn't count the fact that her scar was almost gone. She fingered it gently, feeling for the hard tissue that had softened back to the consistency of her skin. All that remained of her old life, it was faint now, after only five days. It was fitting, because that life was already beginning to feel like an adventure story she'd read, not events she had participated in and had direct memories of. Then it was time to leave the relative safety of the ready room and face a ceremony where she couldn't melt into the wallpaper.
Mentally rehearsing her lines for what felt like the millionth time, she opened the door without looking and took a step into the hallway, where something hit the back of her head, hard. The world exploded into white-hot pain. Reality began to spin, then faded rapidly to black.
Pain brought her back, the stinging in her cheek overlaying the throbbing in her head intensely enough that she must have been slapped. She heard a grunt and realized it must have come from her. Everything was still black, still spinning ever so slightly. She tried to ask what had happened, but only a moan came out.
"How hard did you hit her, you imbecile?" That was Talyn's voice. She would recognize her sister's distinctive sneer anywhere. "I want her alive, at least until the ceremony is over." Taryn struggled a bit and got her eyes open. Everything was blurry, as if she was seeing double. She probably was. She blinked hard, trying to bring reality into focus, but reality was that her sister was in Krystale, in the palace, and still trying to kill her. She just wouldn't give up. Talyn wasn't going to stop until Taryn was dead or she was completely neutralized---which meant Taryn would have to kill her, even though she'd never been able to harm her sister even when she wasn't reeling from what was probably a concussion with Talyn giving a deadline for the rest of her life. Reality was that this time, Talyn would probably succeed in her lifelong quest. Bile rose in her throat and she gave into it.
"Oh fece, not on the dress!" She felt herself smile faintly, even though her teeth felt soft and her mouth was full of the most disgusting taste. "I'll have to wear her clothes. Get them off her---and don't rip anything." Hands pulled her to her feet and began disrobing her.
"You'll never pull it off, Talyn." The words were barely recognizable, but she'd managed enough control of her mouth to get them out. "Blade will know." He wouldn't, but she had to try. Someone pulled the jewel-encrusted over-robe over her head, while other hands began unlacing the heeled shoes. The bracelet. Somehow she had to hide it or Talyn would cut off her hand to get it. One of her holders closed a hand over her right wrist, and she relaxed a little.
"Oh, yes I will." Talyn grabbed her chin and forced Taryn to meet her gaze. "We still look alike, in case you forgot. I have worked too hard for too long to let you trip into my deal at the last minute like a winning lottery chit." Talyn shook Taryn's chin for emphasis. "You're not stealing this from me too, you little bitch. I hope you're coherent enough to understand that." She let go as Taryn wondered this too? What could she be talking about?
"Work hard? You? You don't even bathe yourself," she managed, but it took all of her concentration to think of it.
"She's wearing some kind of suit under it. You want that too?"
"No, there's no time. Just give me the thing on top." Clothing rustled, but it was dark again. Had her eyes closed?
"You'll have to take off the veil to get it on. Here, let me help you."
"I've been working with the Dozen Worlds ambassador for almost---" Talyn's muffled voice paused briefly for a grunt, as if the over robe was a tight fit. Apparently she'd put on some weight from her lazy lifestyle. "Two years," she continued. "Setting up the export pricing structure. Engineering the accidents that will take out everyone between me and the Grant Barian throne. Setting up the scenario to force a treaty marriage, at least until that idiot Mychell stumbled in to try to save his position and nearly ruined everything." One of the shoes fell to the floor with a thunk. "Ugh. No, I refuse to believe that my feet are bigger than yours. I am going to get ... these ... on. Ow!" Taryn heard another slap. "I need that ankle."
"Sorry, Your Highness."
"That's Your Royal Highness. Give me the veil." Taryn opened her eyes again and saw her sister fitting a filmy construction over her hair, which was pulled back into a high bun much as her own was. The hairdresser had said the Heir Consort coronet would fit better that way.
"The Dozen Worlds?" Taryn asked as something her sister had said filtered back into her brain. "That explains it. You're not smart enough to have come up with this on your own." She focused down hard, memorizing everything, mapping every possible move, then let her body go slack in the grasp of whoever held her and dropped her head as if she'd lost consciousness again.
"Crap of the cosmos, I think I did hit her too hard." From behind and to the right. Taryn exploded into action, kicking left and punching for a solar plexus in the direction of the voice, then charging at Talyn's last position when the hands on her loosened enough to let her break free as she snapped her eyes open again.
Talyn had opened her mouth to scream but hadn't even had the chance to inhale before Taryn got her hands around the throat so very much like her own. "I'm---not dying ... for your ego," Talyn grunted out as she started to squeeze, trying to find the fragile hyoid that would snap and suffocate the Zonan Crown Prince even if she were pulled away.
"Get ... her..." Talyn managed to grate, sounding like two stones grinding at each other as she clawed at the hands around her throat. Other hands were pulling at her, trying to haul her away from her quarry, but she was too focused to notice.
"Do it!" was the last thing she heard before pain exploded again, although she could feel herself crumple to the floor and her eyes were still open. She lay there for a moment and twitched uncontrollably with an excellent view of the wall, listening to Talyn wheezing air back into her lungs from her bruised, though not broken, throat.
She had lost. They had used some outland paralyzing weapon on her and she was now helpless, unable to do anything to save herself.
"Tie her up and put her in front of the viewer," Talyn ordered, her voice hoarse and deep.
Taryn closed her eyes against the gathering tears, because there was no way in all the hells she would give her sister the satisfaction of watching her cry.
They pressed the nozzle of a Bariani injector against her throat after they tied her up. Her eyes popped open as it fired. "This should give you an excellent view of the Crown Prince's coronation," the older woman said with a smile that didn't extend to her eyes. "And then, in about three hours, it will kill you so that there's no embarrassing extra consort." They carried her like a bag of grain down the hall to an unobtrusive door. Then they sat her in a chair with a viewscreen in her field of vision and shut the door of the tiny room.
The screen showed the Royal audience chamber, all of the Bariani nobility sitting in throne-like chairs or on padded, exquisitely carved benches. Ramondar was on his throne, everyone was wearing coronets, and even her mother was there, sitting to the king's right where the Crown Heir would be for a normal court; it was so beautiful and she would never see it for real. Some kind of music started and she was treated to the dim echo of it slightly out of sync with the video relay from the screen.
Blade stepped forward to the edge of the dais before the camera panned to the figure wearing her clothes and that ridiculous veil walking ponderously through the sea of people to the dais, where her bonded mate waited. Her stomach lurched with both pain and nausea. Her throat closed down and she felt the tears of humiliation gathering. It was exactly like her nightmare, only this was real, and there was nothing, nothing she could do. Blade wouldn't know the difference between the two of them, would present Talyn to all of the people who mattered in Barian as his bonded mate, and it would be too late.
No one would go looking for Taryn. No one would care. She was alone, as she had always been alone, and the last, safest place had proved to be the most illusory of all. She choked on her misery as she watched Talyn stop at the bottom of the steps, watched Blade come down them and lift the veil. Taryn closed her eyes, unable to take any more.
A second later she opened them again, even though she couldn't focus as far away as the screen. She was Zonan. She was Silvergard. Damn all of them, she was Taryn Penthes, and it would take more than---than---more than a scheming slut of an evil twin to kill her. Her eyes narrowed as she forced her bruised and throbbing head to concentrate. Her feet were tied, her hands were tied behind her back. She was locked into some kind of storage closet, probably with guards on the outside.
Well, at least she wouldn't have to go far to find an enemy.
Blade turned from his glance at Silean and the strangely familiar man standing to her left wearing a matching crown to watch the heavily veiled figure enter through the massive double doors and begin the long walk to the royal dais. When had Taryn had decided to mask her face? She couldn't still be worrying about the scar that was fading even faster since the second nanite injection at the Enclave. Then he was suppressing a frown, because something wasn't right. She was the correct height, the clothes fit fairly well if a bit tighter than the fitting the day before, but something about the way she moved was off. Was Taryn feeling unwell? No, that wasn't it, because Taryn moved with willowy grace even when hung over and sleep deprived, always coiled for an explosion into martial activity.
That was it. This woman didn't move like she'd ever wielded a weapon in combat. The subconscious cues that always told a fighter when another was present ... weren't present. Which meant this creature was a double, and he only knew of one person who could pass as Taryn's double and would want to cause any grief possible in her life.
Adrenaline spiked, and he wanted to sprint down the aisle, rip off the veil and demand answers, because Taryn's double had already tried to kill her too many times through intermediaries. Maybe she'd finally decided to finish the job herself. The only thing that gave him hope was Crown Prince Talyn's twisted psyche: she would want Taryn to watch him confirm the wrong woman as his consort before having her killed. Until that happened, Taryn was still alive.
He waited, like a spider in the center of a web, for his prey, his enemy, to come to him, because he needed her to be surrounded by his personal guards, people who knew Taryn almost as well as he did. People who were starting to stir restlessly at his back because they were also sensing something wrong about the putative Heir Consort, people who---another glance confirmed---included Silean and the unknown man at her side.
Taryn took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and centered all her concentration. She would have to move quickly. She would have to think of her legs as a single weapon, not something for movement. All right, what else? She had elbows that she could move a little, and that gave her a second weapon. She also had the hard bone on the front of her skull, though she would have to be careful not to injure her brain any. She took another deep breath, forcing air into her lungs to get more oxygen to her muscles, then began to methodically hyperventilate, because there would be no time to breathe once she started. One. Two. Three.
She raised her feet and kicked the door with all of the power she could summon. Nothing happened, so she did it again. And again. And again. Muffled voices on the other side told her the guards were getting concerned, so she raised her feet one last time and waited.
The door opened and the ugly woman stuck her head into the tiny room. "Knock it off or---" She never finished the sentence, because Taryn's feet smashed into her face, knocking the back of her head against the doorjamb before her eyes rolled up and she slithered to the floor. It had pulled Taryn off balance on the seat, though, and she toppled to the floor just before she heard one of the most beautifully terrifying sounds in the Goddess's creation, the scream of a cougar.
Tomascon had sniffed her out. She allowed herself a soft smile as she rolled and scrambled to a kneeling position. The second guard fell against the outside wall and screamed in counterpoint to the angry cat, but her cry sounded like a soul in torment. Good. She deserved it.
"Tomascon, I'm in here," she called out after she heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. There was no other sound and she had no way to lever herself to her feet, so she put some steel in her voice and tried again. "Tommikitty, you'd better not be eating the guards. You don't know where they've been."
A large paw curled around the door and pulled it farther open, then a pair of tawny eyes regarded her with reproach over a muzzle stained red. He seemed to be saying he wouldn't lower himself to have any more contact with traitors than was absolutely necessary to kill them, and she had to smile. "You're a mess, sweetheart, but right now you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't suppose you'd be able to untie these knots, would you?"
The big cat regarded her for a moment before he padded over the limp body of the guard still mostly blocking the door and swiped her face with a raspy tongue as he started to purr. Taryn leaned her head into his shoulder and drank in the musky scent for a second or two before he pulled away and turned his long body around, curving almost in half in the small space. A roar came from the viewer, but she couldn't spare the attention to see what was going on in the throne room. She had to get her feet freed and get in there herself, and then they would hear a roar.
Finally she was at the foot of the dais and his father was rising to his feet, ready to hear the declaration and fealty. Blade almost changed his timetable, because having an oath of fealty from the Zonan Crown Prince would be a great coup, but he couldn't take the chance.
He walked down the two steps and lifted her heavy veil, then paused to study her features. It was obvious that she wasn't Taryn, from the faint crease between her tweezed brows to the slightly snakelike expression and the complete absence of any scar tissue on her left cheek. How anyone could mistake one for the other was almost beyond comprehension, but he had to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He smiled faintly, because he knew exactly what to do. Telegraphing broadly, he hauled back and punched her directly over her left cheekbone, where Taryn's scar of honor was now only slightly visible.
The gallery erupted into a roar of shock and Blade was hauled away as the imposter crumpled to the carpet, and then the imposing figure of his father blocked his view.
"By all gods, have you lost your mind?" Ramon demanded as Blade struggled to get away from his friends, currently holding him away from the viper who knew where his wife was.
"Where is she, Talyn?" he bellowed as the fury overwhelmed him. "What did you do with my consort?" Ramon stiffened and turned, moving aside enough to let Blade see Galen, resplendent in his Northshield regalia and cradling her shoulders, suddenly look at the woman with intensity. Silean was off her chair and kneeling in front of her daughter, also staring, and the---Zonan consort, he supposed---was holding her shoulders, before he turned and glared at Blade in an extremely familiar expression. The man had to be Taryn's father, which made him Talyn's father, too. Blade swallowed hard, realizing that, whichever twin was on the carpet, he had a lot of explaining to do.
"Blade, don't be a fool," Maris hissed in his ear. "You just hit your consort in front of the entire court." Blade tried to make a break toward the woman in question and was hauled back again, a foot appearing underneath one of his boots to make him stumble and nearly lose his balance.
"You really think I would be able to land a hit that obvious on a Silvergard commander?" Blade turned to glare at his cousin, daddy Penthes no longer his biggest problem. "Taryn would have broken my arm. That is not my wife. It's her sister, Crown Prince Talyn." Maris looked from him to the woman, who was beginning to stir. "If that's Taryn, where's her bonding chain? They don't come off, you know." He must have yelled the question, because the audience roared again.
"She could have hidden it in her sleeve," Maris shot back when the noise damped down.
"There's no scar on her cheek," Blade continued, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Why wasn't anyone agreeing with him? Couldn't they see?
"Taryn's scar was almost gone when we spoke last night," Ramondar put in. "And since that's the exact spot you chose to strike, there's no way of knowing." He didn't say a word about the chain.
"All right, we'll ask a couple of questions to make sure." That was Galen, as smooth as ever, helping her to her feet. Blade was pleased to note that her cheekbone was already purple and beginning to swell. "Your Highness, if you would come with me for a moment?" He directed it to Talyn before firmly clamping an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the row of abandoned chairs.
"Start searching the palace," Silean said to no one Blade could see, but several of her attendants scurried away, with knives suddenly in evidence. "She won't be dead, yet."
Maris hesitated, obviously swayed by the Zonan monarch's certainty. "Are you sure?"
"You're alive because of Taryn's reflexes, Marison von Stassos. Could that ... person have taken out the crossbows snipers who had the drop on us?" Maris's eyes narrowed and he let go of Blade's arm.
"No, she couldn't think as fast as Taryn moves. I'll find her, cousin." Maris faded from the crowd of bodies on the dais and other hands released him as well.
Tomascon came back with the handle of a dagger between his teeth, and Taryn blinked in surprise. Yes, cougars were intelligent cats, but it would never occur to her that his thought process would extend to knowing what tool she would need to extricate herself from her bonds. It was truly a day of wonders, since that was obviously the case. She squirmed her legs out from underneath herself, knocking the chair over in the process and nearly hitting her feline savior with it. "Sorry," she said as he glared at her clumsiness. "I'm not used to having my paws tied, you know." When she had her feet extended in front of her, the cat offered her the knife. "I can't, my hands are tied, too." He looked at her expectantly, obviously not understanding. "Tommikins, I can't take it." She wiggled her elbows for emphasis. Somehow, even with a mouthful of knife handle, he looked disgusted. He dropped the unusable tool and brushed behind her, licking her hands. And then she felt a large fang scrape flesh as he began to chew at the Zonan rawhide rope.
She winced, and willed the cat to chew faster, carefully holding in the screech of pain when one of his fangs nicked her wrist. His teeth weren't made for gnawing ropes, after all.
Blade walked the couple of meters to where the imposter consort was seated. She was touching the bruise on her face---with her right hand, crossing the arm awkwardly across her body. Galen glanced up at him without expression.
"No, I don't need any water," she said, and even her voice was different, waspish. "What in cold hell was he thinking?" An epithet Taryn had never used. Galen went to one knee in front of her.
"Your Highness," he said gently, "would you do me the honor of telling me the code name you were given during the journey from Zona to the Enclave?"
Suspicion and a sort of low panic entered her eyes, though Blade doubted anyone else would see it. They still weren't sure she wasn't Taryn. "Why?" she asked. "That's a ridiculous question."
"I merely wish to ascertain that you've suffered no memory loss," Galen explained, smooth as ever.
"Answer it," Silean commanded in a tone that promised mayhem if she was disobeyed. Coming from a ruler it would have been chilling. Coming from a ruler and your mother, it was worse.
She hesitated, tellingly to Blade's eyes. "She doesn't know," he said into the ringing silence. "It wasn't something Taryn would have forgotten, Galen."
Galen held up a warning hand. "Or she could be embarrassed to say it in front of everyone," he said, giving her a hint without realizing it. Her eyes gleamed and Galen leaned forward a millimeter, his posture changing slightly.
"Bitch," she said, staring straight at Blade. Galen smiled and stood.
"It seems His Royal Highness was..." Galen paused dramatically, which almost made Blade roll his eyes, "...correct. This is not Her Royal Highness Taryn Penthes von Stassos." He turned to Ramon, who had stepped back in astonishment. "It appears the entire royal family of Zona has seen fit to grace our small ceremony with their presence, Your Majesty."
"What was her code name?" Ramondar asked, apparently shocked into curiosity. Galen looked at Blade.
"Vixen." It gave him immense satisfaction to say the word. "Did you honestly believe I would call any woman a bitch to her face? Particularly one who had saved my skin from perforation several times as well as keeping Northshield from death?" The crowd of courtiers erupted in what were probably individual murmurs but collectively became the third roar, albeit duller than the first two. Ramondar bit his lower lip and shook his head, though his eyes gleamed in suppressed humor.
Talyn chose that moment to make a break for freedom, but was caught and brought back before she'd run three steps. Blade stalked to where she struggled in the hold of two of his bodyguards.
"This creature is not a member of the royal family of Zona," Silean said in that same deadly voice. "She is nothing to me." She turned her back and walked away from the group around Talyn.
"Where is she?" Blade demanded. Talyn said nothing, but continued to struggle. He grabbed her chin and tipped her face up to glare into her eyes. "What have you done with Taryn?" She went stock-still and stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened. He wanted to shake her, but he settled for repeating the question. "I know you haven't killed her yet. Where is she?"
Talyn seemed to rally then, losing her fear and stretching her lips in an evil smirk. Blade was saved from hitting her again by Galen, who raised a hand to his ear in an almost subconscious gesture. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Galen von Stassos, whose poise was legendary, let his mouth drop open, then turned his head to the main entrance, his look followed by the entire court.
To where Taryn was standing barefoot, her hair straggling out of the bun and a swash of blood on one side of her face, with a large cougar supporting her right thigh and a long dagger in her left hand. Her bonding bracelet was clearly visible on her right wrist. She swept her eyes over the crowd as Blade stood rooted to the spot. Someone pushed out of the throng of courtiers, now all on their feet, and rushed to her, enveloping her in an embrace that nearly pulled her off her feet. Belatedly, Blade recognized the figure as Leone Varakis. Of course, since the cat had to be the same one that had nearly pushed him off his feet by rubbing his leg at the inn.
"Leone?" Dorcan asked from Blade's left, and he felt himself nod in agreement, too stupefied to speak. "How in the...?" Taryn went limp in Leone's arms, and Blade never heard the rest of the question, because he was running, pushing through a suddenly rioting crowd to get to his wife, the other half of his soul. He shoved aside bodies, not caring about gender, age or importance, until he was at the other end of the room and pulling her away from Leone, scooping her up into his arms, carrying her out of the room into the massive corridor.
"She said she'd been poisoned before she dropped," Leone told him from his shoulder. "Something from an injector, slow acting. We have about three hours before it kills her."
"Lovely," he snarled and changed direction. Maris was pounding down the hallway. "Get me medical," Blade yelled at him. "Ten minutes ago."
"I have a job to finish," Leone called from behind him. "I've been waiting almost fifteen years to kill that bitch."
"See if you can get the name of the poison out of her first," he called back, instinctively knowing exactly which bitch Leone was talking about. The sound of a skimmer landing drove his steps toward the courtyard outside the main audience chamber. He waited in the colonnaded porch until the fans had finished blowing grit and debris around, then started forward when the hatch opened.
Sharif climbed out of the hatch, an injector in one hand.
"What the---?"
"It's the antidote." Sharif pressed it against her neck and pulled the trigger. "It took me two days to track it down, but I finally found the Nedrian shop that took a handful of Zonan gold for a single dose of oxatansyltalis."
Blade moved to set Taryn's form on a padded bench on one side of the steps and then grabbed his old roommate's neck. "If she doesn't make a full recovery, I'll hunt you down wherever you try to hide, Hauptmann."
Sharif sank talons into his arm without breaking skin. "Given what I just paid for this in terms of time, money and fried nerve endings, if she doesn't make a full recovery, we'll both go beat the living light out of a Nedrian apothecary before I lay my neck on your katana."
Blade let go and watched dark green eyes cloud with concern as Sharif also dropped his arm. "This wasn't my plan, Blade. I didn't realize how deep Talyn's insecurities went and I should have. Dust, I'm one of five clones. The only reason I'm in line for the presidency is that I was decanted first." He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in spikes. "I'm sorry."
Taryn moaned and the doors of the audience chamber opened to reveal the King of Barian and the Matriarch of Zona standing beside each other. Blade swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say as the injector hissed.
"My lord Tanaka," Silean broke the tense silence, "I do believe you know more about this matter than you've been telling."
"You're absolutely right," Sharif said without adding a polite honorific. He popped out the injector's reservoir and fitted a different vial into it. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to finish my Zonan collection before someone does something I'll regret."
Blade stared after him as he pushed through the two heads of state into the crowded throne room, then blinked as the realization hit him. But he didn't have long to ponder that Sharif was going after Talyn and intended to take her off planet with him, because a gurgle came from his wife's form. When he turned to check on her, her face was dead white, there was no reassuring rise and fall to her chest.
Taryn had stopped breathing.
"No!" What had happened to his three-hour window?
He saw the Zonan Matriarch jump from the corner of his eyes, but there was no time. He dove to Taryn's side and tried to remember how to start CPR while he fought animal panic and impotent rage. Finally something, somewhere, clicked into place. His body began moving though he hadn't consciously directed it, and then he was breathing for his mate. He created a rhythm of life that he was going to keep going until she began doing it for herself or he died with her, the entirety of creation narrowing down to that connection while his mind chanted prayers to every god he could ever remember having heard of.
A second skimmer landing broke the spell and forced him to acknowledge something beyond two breaths and ten heartbeats. Blade scooped up his woman and ran for the hatch, climbing in behind the medic who took her from him and watching as they hooked her into the mobile scanning apparatus. They barely missed a beat when the skimmer took off again, heading for the medical institute, talking arcane shorthand over her supine body.
"Mid-level concussion, at least two blows occipital."
"Recent injuries to hands and torso, abrasion, incision, contusion, non-threatening. Krystos! She's already full of nanites."
"Respiration non-responsive. Initiating external heart-lung stimulus---now."
Suddenly one of them turned and eyed Blade. "HCG is elevated and still spiking. This woman is pregnant, but at a very early stage, pre-implantation."
"Yes," he allowed, still watching them work over her.
"The oxatansyltalis antiserum can cause spontaneous abortion."
His eyes went to the woman talking to him and he swallowed hard. "Well, it's already been administered, and a baby couldn't survive without its mother, could it?"
The woman shook her head. "I didn't explain that very well. The antitansyltalis causes the uterine lining to slough. If implantation occurs after a loss of lining, there's usually an incomplete placental bond." He took a deep breath. She was talking about it as if Taryn were going to survive the next hour, so he would, too, and push the dark despair someplace where he didn't have to deal with it.
"So?" He looked directly at the medic and she stiffened.
"It's a very high-risk type of pregnancy. I recommend removal of the zygote to a uterine replicator." A replicator. Taryn would have his head. If she died, though, he would still have some part of her. Something would be left.
No. He wasn't going to plan for the worst.
He rubbed his hands down his thighs. "How long do we have to decide?"
The medic frowned. "It's not that difficult of a decision, Your Highness."
"She's Zonan," he spat back. "You think she wants her firstborn to come out of a machine?" Then he realized who he was yelling at. "Sorry. I just can't make the decision without consulting her." The woman nodded and went back to work, but they were already landing at the medsurge.
He followed the grav-sled gurney until someone barred his way, and even then he considered muscling his way through to stay with her, because he couldn't tell her how much he needed her from a waiting room if she regained consciousness. But she might not get the care she needed if her doctors were nervous because the Crown Heir was glowering at them. He swallowed hard, forced his hands to relax from the white-knuckled fists, and let the administrator show him into a room where he could pace and worry all he wanted without getting in the way.
Fifteen minutes of absolute hell went by, taking several years, and then the door opened to reveal the King, the Queen, the Matriarch and the Matriarch's Consort, all looking like nothing more than worried parents.
"Will she be all right?" Ramondar asked in a tone of concern.
Blade dropped to a chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. I haven't heard anything except that oxatansyltalis antiserum causes spontaneous abortion. She wasn't breathing on her own when they shoved me in here."
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Silean Penthes, white-faced, was standing next to him. "She'll be fine," she murmured. "Taryn's come through worse than this with flying colors."
"What happened after we left?" he asked, trying to distract himself with the rest of reality.
"Well, that's rather an interesting story," the unknown Zonan man said as he came to stand next to Silean. "I'm Herren Cavanaugh, by the way." He tried to smile, but it came out as barely a twitch of his lips. Blade could relate. It was damned hard to be civilized when he wanted to bellow, and the only reason Herren had any reason for an introduction was the precious woman somewhere on the other side of the walls closing them in. "Leone Varakis was about to deliver a coup de grace when this extremely strange person swooped in, shot everyone armed with some kind of fast-acting tranquilizer, scooped up my daughter, and left." He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Two meters tall, blue hair?" Blade asked after forcing his attention back to the conversation. Herren looked startled, but he nodded. "Congratulations, Your Majesty. Your daughter was stolen by the heir to the Hauptmann Cartel presidency."
Silean gasped and looked like she was about to faint. Blade levered himself to his feet and pushed her into the chair. His stepmother came forward and offered her a small cup of water. Silean took it without looking.
"I knew there was something wrong with him," she murmured. "He had the strangest eyes."
"Mimetic contact lenses," Blade supplied. "I think he dyes his hair, too, so he won't look exactly like any of his ... brothers. He's not really as weird as he looks."
She looked up. Blade sank to his knees, because he and Herren must be looming. "He said he'd met you at university."
"He was my roommate for a year," Blade admitted. "I think he engineered this entire mess, for which I should probably beat the snot out of him."
"He did all this to kidnap the Zonan Crown Prince?" Ramondar asked, obviously confused. Blade shook his head.
"He engineered a political union between Zona and Barian to get Timarron into the DW," he explained. That made everyone look confused, so he focused down, ignoring the panic at the edge of his consciousness, and led them through his theory of what had really happened, how everyone's plans had gone south.
Including his plans, because his plans hadn't included almost losing his Vixen on the day everything was supposed to be sealed and finalized. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hit something as hard as he could. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare and find his wife asleep next to him, that secret, contented smile on her lips.
The door opened again, but it was only Benedar, not the doctor. Well, Benedar and what remained of the crown guard detail Blade had taken into Zona.
"No word yet," he told them. The small room was starting to get crowded and it occurred to Blade that a fragmentation grenade thrown through the door right now could wipe out the unified government of the entire planet. Apparently Juvenan thought so too, because he grunted, grabbed Grigor by the arm, and disappeared through the door, probably to take up a guard station just outside it. Blessings of all the gods on him.
A few more minutes passed and then the door opened a third time, the doctor stopping halfway through when he saw the crowd inside.
"How is she?" Blade shot to his feet.
"Her Royal Highness is alive and beginning to recover," she blurted, probably terrified of annoying any of the crowned heads. "We had a few tense moments in the operating theater when her heart stopped the second time," she continued, starting to relax, "but it's been strong since we got it restarted. The nanites in her system are already repairing the head trauma, but I was wondering if anyone could explain what appears to be an animal bite on her wrist?"
"Tomascon," Silean said quietly. Everyone looked at her and she cleared her throat self-consciously. "She was accompanied by a large cougar when she made it to the throne room. He is ... the pet of a friend."
"The wound was probably a byproduct of the cat helping her get her hands untied," Blade thought aloud, and then it was his turn to have everyone staring at him. He shrugged. "She's a Silvergard. I wouldn't try getting poison into her without tying her up first." A chorused murmur of assent filled the room. "And he's an extremely intelligent cat." The doctor's eyes went round.
"I see," she said in a kind of strangled voice. "The other wounds appear to be from several days ago and are healing well, except for the facial scar. That has been there for over a decade, although the nanites are making headway with it as well."
"Do you still want to remove the baby?" Blade asked a little sharper than he should have.
The doctor started at his tone. "We already have. They're being held in stasis pending your decision on reinsertion or transfer to replicator, Your Royal Highness." She bowed again. "But I must make a correction. We found three zygotes, two of which are more than marginally viable, and traces of a fertility enhancer."
Ramondar started. Silean and Sabinet looked at each other. Blade felt the room start to spin, ever so slightly. Apparently Leone's plan had worked a little too well. He must have stumbled back a step, because he heard Dorcan's voice close behind him. "Easy, Blade. She is a twin, after all."
Yes, she was a twin, but ... "Triplets? She's going to kill me." Fertility enhancer? Gods, the maidwort. Leone must have substituted something else.
Silean laughed, the joyous sound incongruous in the hushed room. "Sweet Mother of All, what I wouldn't have given for a replicator when I was trying to produce an heir. I had morning, noon, and night sickness through the entire pregnancy." Sabinet chuckled at that, nodding with sympathy.
"Do you have any idea what the fertility enhancer was?" Blade asked. "Could it have a reaction with the antiserum?"
"It was maidwort," Silean said, standing. "It was originally used as an aphrodisiac three centuries ago in the Barian harem. In Zona, we discovered that doubling the dose suppresses ovulation." She laughed again. "Taryn must have been trying to stretch it." She looked at Blade. "It's quite harmless and it breaks down quickly."
Except Taryn had only had the one dose, administered by Leone. And Leone wouldn't have had any problem making the tea half as strong as usual. Yet another plot, but at least this one had been in his favor.
"There was nothing to indicate any pharmacological interference had taken place," the doctor said. "The antiserum had almost completely neutralized the poison by the time we got the last of the zygotes. If Your Royal Highness would care to come with me, I think she might be near regaining consciousness."
"You might as well get it over with now," Dar said. "Since she's sedated and concussed, you might have a fighting chance." Blade glared at his little brother. Of course, Dar would think it would be easier to face her now---he hadn't spent the last two hours desperately trying not to face being without her.
"Yes, I would very much like to see my wife," he said, trying to pull dignity around him because inside he was almost terrified of what Taryn was going to say when she saw him. Triplets, though something was wrong with one of them. Triplets. Gods and demons.
He followed the doctor out of the room, nodding to Juvenan and Garid as he passed where they were stationed. A small sound told him Juvenan had fallen in behind him and he felt his shoulder blades relax slightly. Having Juve at his back was so normal, so routine, that it somehow pushed the fear and rage back a step.
The doctor stopped in front of a nondescript door and gestured him to go in. Juvenan planted himself next to the portal and turned to scowl at the hallway in general. Blade took a deep breath and went in.
Taryn had the head of the narrow gelfoam bed elevated so that she was nearly sitting up. She'd been facing out the window, but her head slowly turned at the door's noise and he felt breath leave him as if he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Someone had washed the blood off her face, along with what traces of makeup there might have been. Her hair was a complete mess. Her face folded into a frown.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And then she was frowning from within his arms, her bonding bracelet scraping across the goldwork on his jacket because he was trying to wrap himself around her and hold on forever.
"Thank all the gods, you really are alive." He buried his face in her hair and breathed her scent in deep.
"Blade." She sounded vague and lethargic, but she was speaking to him. He let go enough to look at her. "How did I end up carrying triplets?"
"It wasn't my fault." Her lips twitched, but her eyes were drooping. He pulled her close again, cradling her head against his shoulder. "Multiple births don't run in my family."
"You animal," she sighed into his ear, raising the fine hairs on his arms. "You're gloating anyway, I can hear it in your voice. Stop it."
"I can't. You're alive. You're going to be all right." He nuzzled the side of her head and then kissed her before she could tell him he was impossible. "What do you want to do about the triplets?" he asked when he could finally force himself to pull away.
She stared up at him with huge, dark eyes and a slight smile. "Well," she said after a moment, "they're not all going back in me, at least not all at once. I refuse to create the same problem my mother had with more than one firstborn." The smile slipped. "And I'm not deciding anything else until this headache goes away."
He cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. Both pupils were the same size, although they were as huge as a cat's at midnight. "The doctor said the nanite injections from the cave and the Enclave were already repairing any damage. You should be ready to go home soon. Maybe even this evening."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what's happening to my scar, too?"
He dropped his gaze to her hands, and was slightly surprised to find them knotted together so tightly her knuckles were white. "Probably," he allowed. "I didn't think about programming them for specific damage, so I'll bet the Enclave healer didn't either." He looked back into her eyes. "Is it important?"
"It's the only way to tell me from Talyn," she whispered. So that was its significance. Like Sharif's hair and mimetic lenses.
"I knew it wasn't you the instant I saw her," he said to reassure her the scar wasn't needed anymore. "Long before I got the veil off her face so I could plant a fist where your scar is. With any luck, the signet ring gave her a scar by which to remember the occasion, so you're better off losing yours."
Her eyes rounded and she let herself fall back against the bed. "You hit my sister?"
He smiled at the memory. "I decked your sister. And then I let Leone have her."
"Goddess, Leone didn't kill her, did she? It's an act of treason."
"Not really. Your mother disowned her on the spot. Talyn finally dug a hole so deep, in front of so many witnesses, that she couldn't talk her way out of it." Taryn sniffled and he relented. "But she's not dead." His lips quirked at her alert expression. "She's been collected by Sharif Mustafan Tanaka, heir to the presidency of the Hauptmann Cartel of the Garnsford system. It should be quite an eye-opening experience for her."
"Collected? You mean ... he took her, like a slave?"
"That's what I heard." This time he let the evil smile out. "And he's one of five exact duplicates of their progenitor, Sharif Mustafan Tanaka the third. I wonder if he's still sharing everything with his crèche-mates?"
Taryn giggled, finally smiling back at him, and something relaxed deep inside. They were still together, still bonded forever. "I was so afraid the last thing I would see would be you introducing Talyn as your bonded mate." She shivered, and her eyes got suspiciously glittery.
"That wasn't going to happen. You're the other half of me, Vixen. My one and only Amazon Prince." He raised both her hands to his lips and kissed them, first left, then right, then left again. The door creaked and he stood up, still holding her hands. "They're about to throw me out, but don't worry about security. Juve's on the door now, and I'll have you surrounded if you want it."
"I'd feel better if I could go with you." She offered him a tentative smile. "I always seem to get into trouble when we get separated." He froze, struck by the accuracy of her perception. The doctor cleared her throat from the doorway.
"Juvenan, escort the doctor out of the room," he called through the open door. "Vixen doesn't want to be alone." The door swung open maybe thirty centimeters and the doctor was yanked through. He turned back to his mate and sat on the edge of the bed. "Now. Where were we? Ah, yes. No more Talyn, at least one heir successfully created, Zona ready to reunite Grant Barian and catapult Timarron into the DW. And, lest we forget, nobody is trying to kill us." He nodded to himself. "As soon as we get this coronation business finished, I think we get a nice, long rest." He looked at her and felt the contentment, the peace he'd never quite known before she entered his life. "Commander," he whispered softly just before their lips met. "I do believe we just won."
She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Right. Go ahead and believe that and I won't mention all of the work, stress and frustration ahead of us."
"I don't care about that, because we can do it together."
To learn more about Val Roberts, please visit valroberts.wordpress.com/. Send an email to valmroberts@gmail.com.
On Meli Galdes' home planet, the struggle for power is a bloody, full-contact sport---in business and on the battlefield. For years her lethal skills have been a valuable asset in advancing her family's interests. She's more than earned her right to retire, but her kinsmen have one last favor to ask.
Kill the man who ruined her life.
Celino Carvanna's razor-sharp business acumen---and skills with a blade---won him the freedom to do as he pleases. There's only one thing he can't seem to control---his reaction to the mysterious woman who tantalizes his senses. Her eyes alone set his blood simmering, stirring ridiculous adolescent fantasies about breasts and honey. With a few words she dissects his soul. Who is she? And how does she slide so easily under his well-guarded skin?
It's almost too easy to draw Celino within the kill zone. Meli plans to revel in him. Drink him in. Wring every drop of pleasure out of every moment.
And when she's sure he belongs to her, she will finally repay a decade's worth of pain---in a single, brutal dose of reality.
Warning: Contains a heroine who excels in moving targets, a hero who can't get into her pants fast enough, and implant-enhanced sex (no, not that kind of implant ... ).
Enjoy the following excerpt for Silent Blade:
The file lay on her lap, downloaded into her notebook. She had read it, committing every word to memory. She had printed Celino's photograph. His face was a glossy smoothness underneath her fingertips.
She moved her hand and looked down on the god of her adolescence. He hadn't changed as much as she expected. The years had sharpened his face, honing his features with a lethal precision. A perfectly carved square jaw. A crisply defined nose with a small bump. His cheekbones protruded, the cheeks beneath them hollowed, making the contours of his face more pronounced. His eyebrows, two thick black lines, combined with the stubborn set of his wide, narrow-lipped mouth, gave his face a grim, menacing air. But it was the eyes that elevated his appearance from merely harsh to dangerous.
Dark grey, they matched the fabled bluish steel of Ravager firearms. Perceptive, powerful, they betrayed an intellect sharp enough to draw blood but revealed no emotion. Not even a minute glimpse of his inner self. She vividly remembered staring into their depths, trying to gauge what he felt for her, if anything, and finding only a hard opaque wall.
Every time she looked into those eyes, a jolt of adrenaline tore through her.
Meli forced herself to look at him again, trying to separate herself from the adolescent flutter of her pulse. That flutter, the slight pain in her chest, the rapid chill, all that was but a bitter memory of a little foolish girl, hardly more than a child. Her little foolish hopes and dreams had long turned to dust.
She had to evaluate him for what he was---a target.
In her mind a younger Celino sprang from her memories: handsome, tall, with a lazy, self-indulgent smile, standing on a verandah with a short blade in his hand, inviting the party guests to throw polymer drink cans at him. He was barely seventeen then. He looked incredible poised against the backdrop of the flower beds that gave the province of Dahlia its name. As a barrage of the multicolored containers hit him, he sliced at them in a blur, severing them with his blade. When he was done, the tile around him was drenched. Celino, on the other hand, remained perfectly dry.
Carvannas had a reputation for their knife skills, superb even among the kinsmen.
The man who looked at her from the photograph now wouldn't show off. Tempered by a decade and a half in the kinsmen family feuds, he would watch, calculating the odds, until the right moment came, and then he would seize it without hesitation and squeeze out every advantage. He had survived four known assassination attempts and likely a dozen or more that remained secret. She tapped the notebook screen, calling up the only recorded attempt. She had viewed it twice already.
The premiere of Gigolo. A brightly lit street. Red carpet stretching into the mouth of Miranda Theater. Adoring crowds shouting their worship at the stars and their escorts.
A sleek, bullet-shaped aerial slid up to the ropes. The door swung up. A metal step unfurled from the underside of the vehicle, permitting the passengers to exit in comfort. Celino stepped out. Tall, lean, and overwhelmingly masculine in the traditional Carvanna black doublet stretched by his broad shoulders. He had matured well. Too well, Meli reflected.
He bent lightly, offering his hand, and immediately feminine fingers rested in his palm. A woman stepped out. She wore a glittering silvery sari that stopped a shade short of vulgar. In spiky heels, she stood only a couple of inches shorter than Celino, six two to his six four. A fountain of blonde hair spilled down her back all the way past her butt.
Celino led her down the carpet. They seemed perfectly matched---her glamorous light to his brooding darkness. A painful needle pierced Meli's chest. Old dreams, she reminded herself.
She sensed the attack a moment before it came. Celino's head jerked as the crowd on the right erupted and four men dashed at him. The magnetic disruptors installed by theater security made any metal projectiles unusable, and the attackers opted for dark red monomolecule blades.
Celino thrust his date behind him with a powerful shove and attacked so quickly, he blurred. He was preternaturally fast. Meli tapped the screen, slowing the recording by twenty-five percent. He held a simple metal knife. His swipe drew a bright red gash down the first attacker's throat---beautifully done. A vertical gash opened a bigger hole in the carotid without slowing down the strike. It was nearly impossible to hit the artery that way---like aiming at a piece of lubricated IV drip dancing around in the wind. Meli had factored in the enhanced strength and speed, but Celino seemed to have enhanced reflexes as well. Or perhaps a targeting implant. Or both.
The second cut grazed the second attacker's arm pit, severing another vein. The third assailant received a sideways swipe to the kidneys. That strike took a quarter of a second longer than Celino had planned. She saw him change his strategy in mid-move, hammering a kick to the fourth man's neck. She rewound half a second, slowed the feed to half speed, and watched Celino's black boot connect with the man's neck. She couldn't hear the telltale crunch, but she saw the man's neck line jerk sharply. Celino's kick had broken the vertebrae of his attacker.
She shut down the notebook. In a purely physical confrontation, Celino would kill her. She had absolutely no doubt of that. She was a small woman---he towered over her by a foot, outweighed her by at least eighty pounds of hard muscle, and he had enhancements she couldn't match. Judging from Celino's performance, very few people would be able to match him blow by blow. Add to it bodyguards, who always accompanied him. And Marcus. One couldn't forget Marcus. Only one generation removed from old planet, Marcus was ill suited to traditional enhancements. Instead he had done horrible things to his body in the name of service. A walking poison, he killed with a mere touch. Celino had saved him years ago and Marcus was devoted to Celino like a dog.
To kill Celino Carvanna, she would have to get close to him and separate him from his guards.
Father was right. None of the people at Galdes disposal could take out Celino Carvanna. In fact, of all the millions that inhabited New Delphi, she alone was uniquely qualified to take him on.
Father, in his wisdom, also reasoned that she would do it. If not for the sake of Galdes, then for the sake of sliding the tomb stone atop her broken heart. He believed she would hate Celino Carvanna. After all, Celino had humiliated the Galdes family. He ruined her life, obliterating her future. Of course, she had to hate him.
Meli recalled the file. Celino chose to oversee a number of projects for Carvannas, including Raban, Inc. and Sunlight Development. He was active and ruthless, and his leadership brought his family to its prominence. He made the Carvanna millions. For all practical purposes, he was the Carvanna family. His death would plunge his clan into chaos and destroy the value of their stock.
Angel had managed to obtain Celino's calendar for the next two weeks, at astronomical cost, no doubt. Celino scheduled an inspection of the new development to the south. That meant a flurry of meetings and formal dinner engagements, which, if the new Celino was anything like his younger self, he would loathe it with great passion. He was both too active and too smart. Time may have taught him patience with less agile minds, but it could hardly teach him how to escape boredom in their presence.
She had reviewed his recent development projects. Celino built beautiful places, full of sunlight and flowers, all of the modern technology seamlessly married with the provincial earthiness. Meli smiled. One could remove a man from the provinces, but one couldn't take the provinces out of the man. He would strive to escape tedium of formality, which meant he would likely stay in his villa on the Terraces and lunch below, among the cafes.
Revenge was sometimes best served hot.
Taken in as an infant and raised by the primitive, non-human natives of the colony planet Denahault, Noisy Girl has always known she was different. Human settlers initiating peaceful contact confirm it---her true home is a planet called Earth, millions of miles away among the stars.
Her search for her heritage leads her to the home of Harrison Fairfax and Trieka Cavendish, and their guest Jeff Anderson, Trieka's former second-in-command.
For Jeff, Trieka's offer to captain the legendary ship Starchild is a lifelong dream fulfilled. Then he meets Noisy Girl, an entrancing young woman who speaks only in sign language. She captures his imagination like no other woman ever has, and his efforts to teach her English deepens a relationship he never thought was possible for him.
But the claustrophobic, technology-laden atmosphere of Earth traumatizes the gentle Noisy Girl, and suddenly Jeff's choices aren't quite so clear.
If he accepts permanent command of Starchild, all hope of happiness with this beguiling woman will be destroyed. Unless a compromise can be found...
Enjoy the following excerpt for Earthchild:
"...so she just stripped right there and put it on."
"At least you know she liked it," said Fairfax.
Jeff glanced down the table at Noisy Girl. He wasn't comfortable talking about her while she sat only a few feet away. But her smile reminded him she had no idea what he was saying. Even if she had, he didn't think it would have bothered her because she had no idea why what she'd done might seem unusual.
Trieka gestured with her fork. "She has no concept of nudity, Jeff. Think about it. She's lived her whole life among people who are physically incapable of being naked."
He nodded. That part made sense to him. "But the merchant---he barely blinked an eye."
"It's a frontier planet." Trieka shrugged. "Most of the people here left Earth because they wanted to get away from the restrictive environment. There's a lot of acceptance here. As long as you aren't hurting anything, nobody really cares what you do."
"Personally, I'm highly in favor of women running naked in the streets."
Jeff stared, barely believing the comment had come from Fairfax. It must have, though, because Trieka, grinning, smacked his arm. Fairfax, unfazed, opened his roast beef sandwich and added another spoonful of horseradish.
Jeff decided it would be easier to change the subject than to dwell on the fact he'd never in his life had so much fun shopping with a woman. And that it would have been fun even if she hadn't taken her clothes off. "There have to be rules, though. Don't tell me the whole planet is anarchist."
"Not as many rules as there were," said Fairfax, "and there weren't many to begin with."
He took her to the observation lounge. They sat at a small table near the huge, curved, transparent wall where the stars shone like a carelessly scattered bag of diamonds, and the great, blue sphere of Earth drew the eye. It still amazed Jeff with its pure beauty. From here, it looked unsullied, as if man had never touched it. The night side would be scattered with lights, echoing the surrounding stars, but the day side appeared as pristine as it must have been on the day of its birth.
"It's beautiful," Lark said. "It doesn't look very different from Denahault."
"Not from here." He reached across the table to take her hand because he wanted more than anything in that moment to touch her. "From the ground, it's a different story."
"You'll be with me."
Her trusting smile humbled and frightened him. How could he promise to protect her from dangers she couldn't imagine? But he would promise, and he'd do the best he could. "I'll be with you as much as I can."
It seemed an appropriate time. He slipped his free hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. Gently, he laid it on the table. He'd bought it earlier in the day at one of the space station's newer shops, on an impulse, as he'd tried to work his way around the delicate dilemma Lark presented.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Open it."
She withdrew her hand from his and picked up the soft, maroon box. He tried not to be impatient as she caressed the velvet, sliding her fingers around the small object as if it were something wonderful and new. He supposed it was to her. Another woman would have ignored the box entirely, bent on discovering the contents. Her admiration of it made his heart warm.
Finally she tipped the lid upward. He studied her face for a reaction, but saw only a small reflective frown. After a moment, she looked up. "Rings?"
"Yes."
"They're very pretty." He could tell from her tone she was waiting for him to explain the rings' significance, or if they had any at all.
"Call them promise rings," he said finally. "I thought about having a contract drawn up, but you said you didn't want that. So I got the rings instead, as a symbol of my promise to take care of you and be with you for as long as you want to be with me." He paused, then took the plunge. "And to love you."
Tears glittered through her smile. She pulled the larger ring out of the box. "Give me your hand."
He held out his hand, suddenly conscious of the three or five other people in the room, the sudden silence that had fallen. He didn't want to look up. He should have taken her back to his quarters for this, made it a private moment. But she seemed unaware of anyone but him as she slid the ring over his finger. Then she handed him the velvet box, and he slid the matching ring over her left ring finger.
From elsewhere in the lounge came applause. Embarrassed, he tried not to look, but Lark, grinning, stood and took a bow. "They're happy for us," she said, sitting back down.
He dared a sidelong glance, barely meeting a variety of warm smiles. "Yes, I think they are." He kissed her hand, looking at the silver filigree ring, the way it fit her finger, how right it looked. "I love you, Lark."
"I love you, Star Man." She leaned across the table and kissed him. "Take me back to my room."
She barely let the door close behind them before she was in his arms, her mouth finding his, her hands finding their way under his shirt. So much for a slow seduction, he thought. Then he quit thinking entirely and lost himself in her enthusiasm.
He'd made love to more experienced women, but never one with such exuberance. She kissed him hard and long, following his lead as his tongue found hers and danced with it. Her lithe, warm body responded to his every move until they were hot and bare and stretched across the bed that seemed huge after the narrow shipboard berths. It was far too late to turn back now, and he didn't want to. If he could have everything he wanted in his life, it would be this woman and the Starchild.
She stretched long and sleek beneath him and he explored her with his hands, cupping her breasts, feeling the curves of her ribs, tracing the round tattoo beneath her right arm. Her skin was milky in places where the sun had never touched it, brownish and marked with tiny scars in other places where sunlight and the forest had left their signs. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful as the thorn-scratches on her ankles, or the odd blue-black mandala under her arm.
Then his fingers moved between her legs, found her hot and damp. Her hips jerked as he explored, tracing each fold, resting his fingers a moment against the evidence of her virginity. He hoped he wouldn't hurt her.
"Have you done this before?" he asked, his voice quiet, strained with the effort of self-control. His erection grazed her legs, steely and insistent, while he forced himself to ignore it.
"Not with a partner," she answered. The image of her pleasuring herself sent all the blood rushing from his head. He couldn't think anymore. Instead, he moved his fingers away from her heat and put his mouth to her.
Lark was far from ignorant about sex, but she'd never anticipated this She knew how her body worked, knew what caused pleasure and what brought the deep, pulsing fire. But what she'd discovered on her own was nothing compared to what Jeff coaxed out of her now.
She held still, letting herself feel. Jeff's mouth and hands teased her for a time, then he shifted his body over her, his mouth on her breasts. She slid her hands down his back, reveling in the smoothness of his skin, excited by the tension beneath it. She knew he held back, also knew he had no reason to. Lowering her hands to his hips, she shifted under him, opening her thighs until his thick erection nudged against her.
"It's all right," she whispered.
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