Goddess of the Rose (28 page)

“Of course, Empousa,” he'd said formally, but the joy that had rushed through him hadn't been formal and he hoped she could see its reflection within his eyes. As they'd hurried away from Aeras and her women, Mikado's palla had fallen from her shoulders and snagged on a nearby rosebush. Deftly he had extricated it and then placed it back around her, letting his palms rest against the roundness of her shoulders until he felt the stinging burn of pain.

But when she smiled up into his eyes, he forgot the pain and remembered only the warmth of her skin against his hands. Little wonder the handmaidens' eyes followed them wherever they went. He couldn't keep his hands from her, and she . . . she
smiled
at him, often taking obvious pleasure in his company.

It had taken Mikado longer to inspect the southern section of the gardens. The roses were more ill there, though he didn't need to look at the plants to know that. Watching Mikado become grim faced and pale told him more than inspecting the rosebushes ever could.

Midday came quickly. He was readying a bed of wilting, multicolored roses called Masquerade for their baskets of fish entrails fertilizer when he caught the scent of food. He didn't look up when the women from the palace arrived with the midday meal. He kept working. The most uncomfortable part of the day before had been at exactly this moment. The women had separated into their little groups to talk and laugh and eat together—things that were denied him. He could guard them, but he would not be accepted by them, not enough to share a simple meal with them. Last night Mikado had granted him a great gift when she'd shared her table with him, and he silently cursed himself for ruining the evening.

He could hear the women breaking for the meal. They grouped around the fountains in the area, letting the garden's clear water wash their hands free of dirt. Their laughter came easily, and it mixed musically with the sound of the tinkling fountains. He wondered where Mikado was—probably in the middle of the laughter. She laughed readily, and the women of the realm responded well to her. He hoped she was busy, distracted enough that she would not notice him and see how they shunned him. He did not want her pity.

He knew one of the palace servants would soon find him and offer him food and drink—not because she wanted to, but because it was her assigned duty. Without looking around, he slipped from the rose bed in which he'd been working and headed toward the rose gate. A large tree sat near it, under which he could call its shadows to him and attempt to cloak himself from prying eyes. There he would rest and perhaps drink some of the wine the servant would offer him. Of course he was hungry, but he would not eat. He could not stand their stares. It was as if they expected him to fall to his haunches and tear at the food with his teeth. Perhaps he should! That would cause quite a stir amongst them. No . . . he stifled a weary sigh. It would cause nothing more than a reinforcement of their belief that he was, indeed, a mindless, heartless beast.

“There you are!” Mikado hurried up to him, a little out of breath. “Good thing you're so tall or I would never have found you out here.”

He stopped and looked down at her. She was carrying a large basket. Her hands and face were wet, as if she had just washed, and as she smiled up at him she used a fold in her dirt-speckled chiton to wipe a trickle of water from her cheek.

“I completed readying the bed of Masquerade. What is it you would have me do next?”

“I'd have you eat!” She grinned, nodding at the well-laden basket. “I made sure this one had enough for both of us.”

He wondered if she could hear the blood rushing in his veins, pumping shock and disbelief through his body. He drew a deep breath. When he spoke, he struggled to keep his voice low and for her ears alone.

“You should eat with the women, Mikado.”

“No. They've already formed their little cliques. If I butted into one, it would just be awkward, kinda like eating with the boss who crashed a workers-only party. And as many orders as I've given them today, I'm sure they need a break from me. Plus, I'd rather eat with you,” she finished simply.

“But it has never—”

“Stop!” she interrupted, causing several of the women's heads to turn their way. In a more sedate, but no less firm voice, Mikado continued. “I'm tired of hearing what hasn't been done before. I'm Empousa now and things are going to be different, and not just with the roses.”

“As you wish, Empousa,” he said, using comfortable formality to cover his turbulent emotions.

“Good. Let's go eat under that tree you disappeared beneath yesterday. I want to take another look at the gate anyway.”

“As you say, Empousa.” He began to walk toward the ancient tree that shaded the area near the rose gate, careful to shorten his stride so she didn't have to struggle to keep up with him.

When they got to the tree, he felt a rush of relief when he saw that no group of women had chosen to eat nearby. With a long sigh, Mikado sat and leaned her back against the wide trunk of the oak and gazed at the rose gate.

“It doesn't look any better than it did yesterday,” she said.

“It also does not look any worse.”

“I suppose that's something. You know, I don't sense anything horrible coming from the forest. If you hadn't told me about the danger there, I wouldn't have thought the forest was anything more than an old, dark woods.”

“Dream Stealers choose their time carefully to appear. Remember to be on your guard always when you are near the gate or in the forest itself.”

“But you'll be with me, won't you? I mean, I can't open the gate.”

He raised a brow at her. “Of course you can, Empousa.”

Her eyes widened as she looked from him to the gate and back to him again. “I'll be careful,” she said. Then she turned her attention to the basket of food. “Let's worry about the forest later. Now, let's eat.”

Hesitating only a moment, he sat and made an almost imperceptible gesture that caused the shadows around them to thicken. He wanted to be able to watch her without schooling his expression, and that was not something he would do if the other women could easily see them.

“You look tired,” he said.

“So do you,” she countered as she pulled a wineskin from the basket and then took a long drink.

“Your face is pale, Mikado.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” She tossed him the wineskin and then began taking cheese and bread from the basket. Mikado glanced up at him. “Drink,” she ordered.

He drank, thinking that he could taste the essence left by her lips, and that lingering touch was more intoxicating than wine could ever be. Then he realized what she had said and commanded himself to stop daydreaming.

“Why is it that you are not surprised by your pallor?”

“The roses in this part of the garden are sicker than the ones in the east,” she said between bites.

“Yes, I thought so, too.”

“Somehow I'm connected to them. They make me feel sick, too.”

“I guessed as much. You seemed to change when we entered this part of the gardens.”

“Do you know if this has happened to any other Empousa?”

“Each Empousa has a special bond with the roses,” he said slowly.

“It is in the blood of Hecate's High Priestesses.”

“I already know that. Even back in Tulsa I had a connection to roses, and so did all the women in my family. We always have. It's—it's a kind of family tradition.”

He thought she looked uncomfortable. Perhaps she missed her family? Or her old world? The thought made his chest feel tight. Could there be a man for whom she was pining? Is that why she suddenly sounded so awkward when she mentioned her old life? Before he could consider asking, Mikado continued.

“But what I want to know is have any of the other Empousas felt things because of the roses?”

“They may have, but I would not have known. The other Empousas rarely spoke to me.”

She looked surprised. “But you're Guardian of the realm. Didn't they need to talk to you about”—her hand fluttered in the direction of the rose wall—“protection and whatnot?”

“Each Empousa knew I would do my duty. None felt the need to speak with me about it. If an Empousa felt that any danger approached, she would call for me. Other than that, we rarely had the need to speak together.” He thought of the Empousa who had come before Mikado and realized, again, shame at the ease with which she had fooled him into believing she might care for him. That for generations the Empousas had shunned him, taken his guardianship for granted, had been precisely the reason her ruse had worked so easily on him. One or two kind words and he had been blind to anything except the chance that she might show him another kindness.

Could that be what was happening with Mikado? Was he still so desperate for a woman's gentleness that he was becoming lost in yet another game?

But what game? Mikado did not know her destiny, so she had no reason to falsely seduce him.

“Asterius?”

The sound of his true name broke into the turbulence of his thoughts. “You must not call me that when any of the women might overhear you.” His voice sounded rougher than he had intended, and he hated the hurt that was reflected in her eyes.

“I'm sorry. I should have asked if you minded that I call you by your given name.”

“I do not mind.” He met her gaze, willing her to read within his eyes all that he was feeling and all that he could not find words to say. “It is just that to the rest of them, I prefer to remain Guardian.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Do you? Do you know what power there is in a true name?”

“No,” she said softly, “tell me its power.”

“When you speak my true name, I hear it not with my ears, but with my soul. With that one word, you touch my soul, Mikado.”

“The soul of a man, Asterius.”

“So the goddess tells me,” he said.

“You don't believe her?”

“I would never lack belief in Hecate,” he said quickly.

“Then it's yourself you don't believe in,” Mikado said.

He looked away from her too-knowing gaze and didn't answer for several moments, during which he unconsciously flexed and contracted his claws over and over. Then, reluctantly, he said, “Perhaps it is the man inside the monster in which I have trouble believing.”

Then it was her turn to be silent. He could feel her thoughts. He couldn't actually read them, but he knew that she was thinking of him . . . considering . . . weighing her response.

“Maybe you need someone else to believe in the man, so you can quit seeing nothing but the monster.”

The meaning of her words jolted Asterius, and hope surged so sweetly within him that he felt the beast shiver in response. “How can you see anything but the monster?” The depth of his emotions made his voice rumble with the force of a growl, and even though he noticed that this time she didn't flinch away from him, he struggled to regain control. Through gritted teeth he said, “Look at me. Listen to me. I cannot even gentle my voice to speak soft words to you! There is little that is manlike in my appearance.”

“Then I suppose I'll just have to look deeper than your appearance.”

The smile that tilted her full lips made his heart beat painfully against his chest. He wanted to pull her into his arms and crush her to him. But he could not—not here and now, and perhaps not ever. But he could touch her. Just for an instant . . .

Asterius lifted his hand and let his fingers brush the side of her cheek. “Mikado, you make me believe that I still dream,” he murmured as gently as possible.

She met his eyes. “Sometimes I think that would be nice. Gii told me that I have the power to weave dreams. Maybe I'll figure out how to weave one for us.”

His fingers began to sting, and reluctantly, he took them away from her face. She sighed, as if she, too, was disappointed that he wasn't still touching her. Then she gave herself a little shake.

“Dreams are for later. Right now let's hurry up and eat. I'm still not done here, and I really do want to check in with Nera and Gii before it gets too dark.”

So amazingly, he and Mikado ate the midday meal together within sight of many of the women of the realm, who did often steal looks in their direction, trying hard to peer through the shadows of the ancient oak.

His inhumanly acute hearing caught the sound of the Elemental approaching before Mikado noticed her, and he surreptitiously motioned for the shadows under their tree to lighten. Then he stood and moved aside, purposefully giving the appearance that he might only be there to wait on the Empousa's next command instead of sitting close beside her, sharing an intimate meal.

“Empousa, the women have finished their meal,” Floga said after sliding a narrowed glance at the Guardian.

“Good! We're done here, too.”

Then, very deliberately, Mikado held out her hand to him. Asterius hesitated only an instant before taking it in his own and helping the priestess to her feet. She smiled and thanked him as if he were a man accustomed to the touch of a woman's hand. Then she turned to the staring Fire Elemental.

“Let's get back to work.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“
I
'M glad the palace is situated in the north so Gii and her group of women are in charge of the roses surrounding it,” Mikki told Asterius as they watched the Earth Elemental pass the word to her women that they were done for the day.

“It's obvious that you and she are becoming friends,” Asterius said.