Path of Honor (52 page)

In the dark she flushed hot, remembering the feather touches across her breasts and between her legs during supper two nights ago as he watched her over the rim of his glass, his lips shiny, his gaze knowing. All through the supper, course after course, the magic touches persisted. She could not escape them, forced to sit calmly and enter into the toasts and gossip. In the end, she wasn’t strong enough to resist them. She remembered the shivering power of the tide that swept over her. Pleasure so intense it was almost pain. And he did not stop there. He kept his distance, never even asking her to dance. But the touches never ceased, and twice more she succumbed to them before she could escape her duties and flee to the safety of her room.

“He’s expressed an interest in you, and I want you to spend time with him. Discover his secrets,” Aare had said just this night, before he sent Prensik to teach her a lesson.

“I can’t,” she’d said before she could stop the words. It was a mistake. The kind she couldn’t afford to make with him.

“What?” That quiet, colorless voice, the raised brow. She’d seen that expression and heard that voice too often not to know the danger.

“He—” She faltered, mouth dry, scrabbling for something to say. Finally she resolved on the truth. Aare wouldn’t want her soiled for marriage. “He has said things, things he wants to do. . . .” She trailed off, blushing, and Aare had laughed.
Laughed!

He scanned her up and down appraisingly, pausing on her décolletage. “Good. Then you won’t have to work hard getting him into your bed. Men talk in bed. I want to know everything he has to say. It’s a pity you’re not more skilled in those arts, but perhaps your innocence appeals.”

Emelovi had stared at him openmouthed. “But, the gossip,” she said weakly.

“This is
my
court now,” he said with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “Should anyone think to make a gossip of you, they shall soon be taught better.”

She’d refused again, too shaken and appalled to be afraid. And with Aare, that was often a fatal mistake. He’d not hesitated long to teach her the error in her thinking. Prensik had caught her in the curtained antechamber and forcefully pressed his suit. She was not a slow learner. But what to do?

A scraping noise made her stiffen. She wiped her tears away, listening hard, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. There it was again. In her room. Someone was coming in through the secret panel. Emelovi froze. She forced herself to breathe slowly and quietly as she sat up, pushing back the bedclothes and inching toward the nightstand.

Footsteps, soft and careful. There was a slight thump and a sharp indrawn breath. Emelovi snatched at the candlestick, catching its heavy length in her fingers. There was another scrape, a rattle of bric-a-brac on a table. The intruder moved closer, and now Emelovi smelled the scent of a blown candle. Her heart pounded so loud, she could hardly hear. A step on the pedestal, low ragged breaths. The mattress sank slightly. Still Emelovi could see nothing in the stygian darkness. A hand touched her knee. She yelped and swung the candlestick with all her might. There was a dull thud and the hand jerked away, the intruder collapsing onto the bed with a
whuff
and an agonized groan.

She scrabbled backwards, still clutching the candlestick.

“Emelovi—it’s me.”

“Kebonsat?”

There was an inarticulate sound of agreement.

“By the Lady, how?” Swiftly she felt for the second candlestick on her nightstand. She clicked the striker and at last was rewarded by a flickering flame. Turning back to Kebonsat, she found him lying on his side, right hand holding his left arm, his contorted face frighteningly pale, even in the ghostly light.

“Oh, my Lady! Are you all right?”

“What did you hit me with?”

“A candlestick,” she answered, helping him sit up. He cradled his left arm. “I didn’t know—”

“My fault. I was afraid you might have one of your maids here.”

“No.” Her voice turned brittle, and he frowned.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” Yet. But she couldn’t tell him any of that. “How are you here?” She glanced at the panel.

“Now that is a story. And one I have no time to tell.” He paused, staring at her. She shivered, suddenly aware of her light nightshift. She raised a hand to cover the spot where Prensik had bitten her. “I’ve worried about you,” he said abruptly.

She nodded. “Me too.”

The silence stretched between them, and Emelovi shifted, curling her toes into the piled rug.

“I am leaving Koduteel,” he said at last. “I want you to come with me.”

Emelovi just stared.

He reached for her hand, his fingers warm and firm. “Please. I can’t leave you here. I know I have nothing to offer. I don’t even have my name anymore. But at least let me get you free of the city, from Aare. There must be someplace safe you can go until this is over.”

Emelovi’s mind clicked on the last. Over? Nothing was going to be over. “My brother is planning to take the crown. But he’s been hunting the
ahalad-kaaslane
. He says they kidnapped my father.”

But Kebonsat was nodding. “I know. I know more than that. The
ahalad-kaaslane
did not kidnap him, Emelovi. That much is a fact.”

“Then he is safe?” She clutched his hand.

He shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. I know he did leave with Sodur, and I believe he went freely.”

Emelovi closed her eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. “Thank the Lady.”

Kebonsat tugged on her hand, pulling her down onto the bed, grunting as he jerked his injured arm. “Emelovi, surely you see how dangerous your brother is? Hunting the
ahalad-kaaslane
? I’m Patversemese, and even I know how deranged that is.”

Emelovi thrust herself to her feet, an odd sense of protectiveness driving her. “Aare is a strong hand and intelligent.”

“You’re a good sister, Emelovi. Loyal. But you can’t tell me you really agree with what he’s been doing. You know what he’s capable of. You can’t defend him.”

His voice had turned hoarse. Emelovi stared at him, her mind whirling. Everything in her craved escape. But she was the Vertina and a Varakamber. To run would be a coward’s act. And who would speak for her father? Kebonsat read the answer in her face. He swung to his feet, sliding his hand around to cup her neck, his lips inches from hers. She splayed her hands on his chest. He could persuade her. So easily.

“Please listen,” he said. “If you leave, you will have a chance to find your father, to stop your brother from destroying everything your father built.”

Emelovi licked her lips.
Find Father.
Hope blazed within her—he would know what to do. He could stop Aare with a word. Hope joined inclination and fear. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

Kebonsat let out a gusty sigh, like he’d been holding his breath for days. “Gather some traveling clothes. The sturdier the better. Any jewels or money you have. You might need them.”

Emelovi turned to obey. He watched as she packed, then dressed behind her screen.

“Here,” she said, dropping her bag at his feet. She held up a silk scarf and threaded it around his neck and arm, tying it firmly. “Shall we?”

As they stepped into the passage, pulling the panel closed, Kebonsat laid a hand on her arm, his face haggard in the candlelight. “Emelovi—” He broke off and glanced away at the wall and then back. “Emelovi, I want you to know how much I’ve come to care about you. I want nothing more than to see you safe. I could never forgive myself if I left here without you.”

His words made her eyes burn with sudden tears. She took his hand, brushing his cheek with her lips, delighting in his musky scent, like tobacco, mint and bryony.

“Let’s go find my father.”

 

Juhrnus skulked in a shadowed doorway, his skin clammy. At the end of the corridor was the entrance to Kedisan-Mutira’s room. He’d watched long enough to know she was alone. Still he dithered. Since the Regent had begun purging the
ahalad-kaaslane
these last weeks, it wasn’t safe to walk along the streets, much less come here. Standing in the palace now was the most supremely stupid thing he’d ever done. He stroked Esper’s head. Not content to risk his own fool neck, he’d brought Esper too.

Juhrnus twitched. He should turn right around and leave. Forget about her. Instead he pushed himself out of the shadows. He tapped lightly on her door with his fingertips, glancing back up the corridor, his spine prickling. He tapped again. Finally the door swung open. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. She wore a silken wrap tied loosely at the waist and nothing else. The skin arrowing down to her navel was white and splotched with red, yellow and purple. Bruises. He didn’t want to imagine where they came from.

She said nothing as he slid into the room. Her face was remote, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides.

“What brings you here?” she asked, her voice husky and low as if she’d had a cold.

In the five weeks since the Regent had begun his campaign to be rid of the
ahalad-kaaslane
, Juhrnus had kept hidden, helping Karina to move people out of the Fringes and out of the city when possible. Following his warning to the Temple, many of the
ahalad-kaaslane
who escaped had joined the effort. Too many others had been caught. What had become of them, Juhrnus hated to think about. The way Soka went silent and all expression bled from his face told Juhrnus more than he wanted to know.

Juhrnus had been grateful for the labor, for the danger, for the worry—anything to take his mind off
her
. Still he had not slept for more than a few hours at a time. And now he was here, where he shouldn’t be, and he couldn’t think of a thing he wanted to say.

“You’re a mess.”

Juhrnus reached up to touch his hair. It was tangled and matted, and the gale outside had done little to improve it. He hadn’t shaved in weeks; his eyes were deepsunk and bloodshot. He looked more than halfway to being a corpse. Kedisan-Mutira wasn’t the first to say so.

“I thought he might have taken you,” she said.

“Had some warning. Got away.”

“So I see.”

An awkward silence fell. She continued to look at him with that remote, inscrutable expression, as if she watched him from a great height.

He smoothed the nap of his cloak with uneasy fingers. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you alone.”

“No?”

He glared. “No.”

“Well, you have.”

She ceded not an inch, everything about her armored and forbidding. What was he doing here? What did he expect? She drew him like a moth to flame, but there was nothing here for him. Nothing at all.

“I should go. I’m going to be late.” He reached for the door.

“You’re leaving.”

He stopped. “Yes.”

“Koduteel,” she added.

He hesitated. He
couldn’t
trust her. Even if he wanted to. But he couldn’t help himself. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Why did you come here?”

He turned helplessly. “On my life, I do not know.”

As he watched, the mask slipped from her face. She frowned, her dark eyes tired and troubled. “You shouldn’t have. It’s very dangerous.”

The more so if she decided to sound the alarm. He fingered the wax-covered pellet of tanghin poison in his pocket, a gift from Soka with the helpful advice, “Don’t get caught.”

“I had to see you. And now that I’m here . . .” He spread his hands out helplessly. “You are the enemy.”

“Do you think I’ll betray you?”

“If necessary.” Her flinch at his forthright response startled him. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do the same,” he added softly.

“What do you need?” she asked, folding her arms across her stomach.

Juhrnus drew back. “I can’t—”

“I’m not asking for your plans. I ask only what you need. If I can afford to give it to you, if it’s in my power—tell me.”

He licked his lips. “Time. We need time.” Time to get away, time to organize.

“How much?”

“All we can get.”

She nodded. “You should go. I never know when the
pengakum
will come.”

Juhrnus scowled at the mention of the two sorcerers. His eyes slid to the bruises on her pale skin. There wasn’t anything he could do. She didn’t want rescuing, even if he had the means.

“Don’t take chances. Keep yourself safe. I’d like to know you were safe,” he said.

She smiled and shook her head, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Her touch jolted him to his boots, and he closed his eyes against the force of it.

“There is no such thing as safety. Only chance.”

He caught her fingers and held them. “May your Dahre-Sniwan guard you well. I won’t forget you.”

His throat closed and he dropped her hand, yanking the door open. Juhrnus slipped into the corridor, returning to the hidden passage. His face contorted. What had he told Yohuac?
You should have kissed her while you had a chance
. He wiped roughly at the corners of his eyes. He doubted he’d have another chance. Next time he saw her, she’d be in the midst of Aare’s army.

 

“I don’t care what you say. We aren’t going with you.”

Metyein took a breath to argue, but Soka jumped in first. “Suit yourself. Give our regards to the Regent when you see him.” Soka winked at Metyein with a knife-edged grin.

Metyein frowned. There was a growing wildness about him; one might even say madness. Soka hardly seemed to value his own life anymore, though he’d become almost fanatical about improving his sword skills. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to sell his life cheaply. He carried quick-acting poisons secreted all over his body. He wasn’t going to let Aare take him again. Not for the first time did Metyein wonder what had happened in Aare’s underground torture chambers. But Soka wasn’t telling.