Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (34 page)

“What?” Sara asked breathlessly, but she wasn’t really listening. She stared at Lance’s lips, watching them form words, wanting to kiss him. Her pulse magnified to fill her whole body.

“I need to talk to you about your pet— Sara, if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to kiss you.”

That sounded like a good idea to Sara. She bent toward him, but he held her back. “Are you sure? Tomorrow you’ll be home.”

Home wasn’t Temborium. Home had once been the Remillus estate in Elysinia. Sara didn’t know where it was now, but all she said was, “I’m sure.” She and Lance might not have a future together—his osseon brand made him a slave in the Republic, and she was under sentence of death in Kandrith—but they had right here, right now.

Sara gave herself to the moment, to the sun warm on her back, to the verdant smell of crushed grass and amarasave blossoms, and most of all to Lance.

Last time the wildness had taken control of her. This time she opened herself up to it.

Letting instinct rule, she leaned forward until their lips just touched, then drew back, teasingly. Then she did it again, lingering a little longer to taste him, the amarasave sweet on his breath and the masculine tang that was Lance beneath… Then again, ending in a small nip, that made Lance growl, his eyes dark and hungry. She laughed, low.

Out of patience, he pulled her back down, and his lips opened against hers, slid, clung. They rolled together in the grass, kissing, until heat burned away their playfulness.

Needing to be filled by him, Sara attacked the drawstring on his trousers—only to find herself rolled over and on the bottom once more. Lance shackled her wrists in one of his hands and held them over her head. “Oh, no you don’t,” he rasped. “You went too fast last time. This time, I’m going to see—and kiss—all of you.” His mouth closed over her breast through the thin silk of her dress. He flicked the nipple with his tongue, and Sara’s body bowed as sensation sizzled through her.

Her mind fogged over. When she surfaced again, he’d stripped the gown over her head.

Sara liked the heat in his eyes, liked his hands and mouth on her, but she plucked at his vest in frustration. “I want to see you too,” she complained.

A smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Later.” And he proceeded to drive her out of her mind with desire.

* * *

The Giant and the Once-Despoiled One were tupping. Embarrassed, Esam scampered to the far side of the meadow where the winged horse waited.

It was as far as he felt comfortable going. Though the Pathfinder’s spell still bound him, it wasn’t as tight as before. The voices of the dead seemed confused, some insisting on the girl, others tugging him elsewhere. For now, he would stay with what was familiar.

* * *

Lance’s chest felt congested—he must be developing hayfever now that his broken fingers were mended—but he didn’t care. He lay back in the amarasave, feeling fiercely satisfied.

Sara cuddled up to his side, idly tracing his pectoral muscles. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Lance looked around at the high meadow. “I could build a house right over there.” He played with the idea for a moment. He and Sara living an idyllic life, feeding on amarasave blossoms and making love whenever they liked, far from his mother and politics in general…

But even leaving aside the impracticality of such a life, it was one he had no right to. He wore the Brown. Living in isolation would waste the Goddess’s gift.

All he could offer a wife was a life of poverty, constant traveling and all-too-often unpaid nurse to an invalid. Lance had had vague dreams of someday finding a sensible Kandrithan girl, someone he could leave with her family for weeks at a time and visit as a home base.

Sara hardly fit that picture, but Lance worried about what she was going to do after they rescued Wenda. She would not be safe with her father. True, she was currently under sentence of death here in Kandrith, but once Wenda took the oath she could pardon Sara.

If, of course, they both rescued Wenda and survived.

Suddenly full of determination, Lance sat up and kissed Sara’s mouth. “Time to dress.”

She sighed and stroked his neck, but nodded. “Yes.”

After pulling on his shirt and pants, he went to find Sara’s refetti. He brought the furry creature back and set it in the grass by Sara’s still-bare feet. “Refetti, will you talk with me and tell me what you told my father?”

Sara laughed, a wonderful throaty gurgle. “What are you doing?”

The refetti cocked its head as if listening, but, of course, it could not speak to him.

Lance dug a pebble out of the turf and laid it before the refetti. “Touch this rock to answer yes. Touch my hand if the answer is no. Will you talk with me?”

The refetti touched the rock with its nose: yes.

“Is this a new trick you’ve taught it?” Sara asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

“No,” Lance said sadly. She would see. “Refetti, were you born an animal?”

The refetti licked Lance’s fingers: no.

“Were you born a man, one of the Qiph?”

Back to the rock. He touched it twice with his nose, answering both questions: yes, yes.

Sara looked uneasy.

Lance took her hand, but kept his attention on the refetti. “Are you the Qiph warrior who tried to kill Felicia in Gatetown?”

“What?” Sara exclaimed. Lance squeezed her fingers in warning.

The refetti hesitated, then touched the rock: yes. His body quivered, ready to run.

Lance hid his anger at the memory of Felicia’s crushed throat. “Were you trying to kill Sara?” He wasn’t certain the refetti knew her name, so he held up their joined hands in illustration.

The rock: yes.

Sara sucked in a shocked breath. “Lance…” She stared at the refetti as if it might turn itself back into a warrior at any moment.

Lance didn’t think it could transform at will or it would have already, but he kissed Sara’s knuckles. “If he tries again, I’ll be ready. He has no sword when he transforms, remember?”

She settled back down.

Lance cleared his throat. “Refetti, do you still want to kill Sara?”

The refetti bumped its nose against his palm: no.

Lance wished he knew if the refetti was capable of lying. But surely, if it wanted to deceive them, it wouldn’t have admitted to trying to kill Sara.

“Were you trying to kill her because of the blue devil attached to her soul? The evil inside her?”

The rock again: yes, yes, yes.

“We think we know where the evil has gone. We think it is in Sara’s father,” Lance said. He released Sara’s hand and brought out the carved Qiph box. “Will this imprison the blue devil, the evil?”

The refetti rushed to the rock: yes, yes.

“How do we use it?”

The refetti squeaked, and Lance realized he hadn’t posed a yes or no question. But before he could rephrase it, the refetti went to the box and flipped open the lid with clever paws, then looked at them expectantly.

“That’s all? All we have to do is open the box?” Lance clarified.

The rock: yes, yes, yes.

“But you opened the box before,” Sara objected. “When Julen gave it to you after the Qiph attack, I was standing just a few feet away. I felt odd, but nothing happened. I didn’t want to touch it, though.”

Lance turned back to the refetti. “Does the box need to be touching the blue devil when we open it?”

The rock and then, after a hesitation, the hand.

Lance swore and then coughed. And what did that mean?

“He doesn’t know,” Sara guessed. “The priest was the one carrying the box. His job was just to find me. True?”

The rock: yes.

“To be safe, I think we’d better not open the box until your father is touching it,” Lance said. He coughed again, harder.

Sara looked at him with concern. “You’re ill again, aren’t you?”

“It’s just hayfever, I think,” he told her. “I should improve once we leave the meadow.” He turned back to the refetti. “Thank you, Qiph warrior.”

The refetti sat up straighter.

On to the next problem then. “What would you like us to do with you? Do you wish to accompany us?”

Five minutes worth of detailed questions established that the refetti wanted to be taken to a priest of his own kind so that his transformation might be reversed.

As soon as Lance swore to do so, Dulcima approached them, shaking out her wings, obviously ready to go. Was that what she’d been waiting for all along? Him to talk to the refetti? The thought was both eerie and reassuring.

* * *

Full night had fallen before Dulcima’s great wingflaps brought them to Temborium. They glided over the city walls unseen by the patroling guards. The city sparkled below them like a reflection of the starry sky above.

Sara picked out the Primary Residence by its domed roof and only belatedly realized that Dulcima was descending directly toward it. “No! Lance, can you talk to Dulcima?” Sara feared she was incidental to the magical being. “If we go straight to the palace, we’ll be arrested before we even get close to the dungeons and Wenda.”

“We have the box,” Lance reminded her. “Getting captured might be the most direct way to see your father.”

Sara thought about it, then shook her head. “No, too many things could go wrong. The palace guards will almost certainly bind you, and they might separate us or confiscate the box. We need another plan.”

“Better come up with one soon.”

The nine high spires of Diwo’s temple caught her eye, and Sara made a quick decision. “Dulcima, can you take us there?” She pointed.

Dulcima neighed and dipped her wings, wheeling in the direction of the Goddess of Luck’s temple.

Lance turned his head in question.

“We’ll go to my aunt.”

“You trust her?”

Sara felt a niggle of doubt. But ‘Never trust anyone’ was a maxim of her father’s, and she didn’t want to be like him. She shrugged. “She won’t care two pins about Kandrith being conquered, but I’m her niece. She was my mother’s sister—not my father’s. And she loves intrigue. Sneaking me in to surprise my father will appeal to her.”

Lance inclined his head, accepting her plan.

They began to descend. Sara let out a small whoop as Dulcima flew between two buildings, then held deliciously tight to Lance’s back as they skimmed over the dark river. Much too soon, Dulcima’s hooves clattered down onto the empty street beside the Goddess of Luck’s green and gilt temple.

Sara heard voices lifted in drunken revelry from just around the corner. “Hurry!”

The moment they dismounted, Dulcima launched herself back into the air.

“She’ll be back when we’re ready to leave,” Lance said confidently. “She’ll know when. She’s Kandrith’s Need.”

Yes, but Wenda was the next Kandrith. After they rescued Lance’s sister, would Dulcima fly off with Wenda and abandon Sara and Lance? After all, Kandrith didn’t need them.

The revelers strutted around the corner then, a group of five boisterous young men. Lance stepped in front of Sara to hide her from view.

* * *

The voices of the dead clamored in Esam’s ears.
This way
! they shouted.
The one who killed us is this way
!

Helpless, he followed the scent of the Defiler.

* * *

The refetti wriggled out of Sara’s pocket and dashed off down the dark street. Sara made a move to chase it, but Lance shook his head.

One of the revelers made a jesting remark about hidden treasures, but Lance’s size kept him from investigating. They probably assumed him to be a sanguon or a cuoreon guarding his mistress—an opinion that would change the instant they saw the bedraggled dress Sara wore. Then they’d think them both slaves and Sara fair game.

By the time the party of drunks had passed, Sara could no longer see the refetti. “What do we do?” she asked, worried. The refetti could be crushed under horse’s hooves or be bagged for the family pot by some beggar.

“Nothing,” Lance said.

Sara glared at him.

Lance sighed. “He’s not your pet, remember? He’s a man, one that’s been transformed, but still a man. He’s probably gone to seek out a Qiph priest. There’s nothing we can do, but proceed with our plan. Where does your aunt live?”

“On the other side of the river near the Primary Residence,” Sara said. “At this time of night, we have a better chance of catching my aunt at one of Diwo’s gambling houses than at home in bed. She likes to roll dice until dawn.”

Lance nodded. “Let’s go.”

At the third gambling house, Sara spotted Aunt Evina’s distinctive lavender carriage. “There.”

Lance studied the carriage uneasily. “Your aunt’s favorite color?”

“Yes.” Sometimes Sara thought that was why Aunt Evina had married Uncle Paulin, so she could have lavender as her House color.

Sara boldly stepped up to the coachman, who was feeding one of the horses an apple. Thankfully, the stout sanguon knew her. His eyes widened.

“Don’t say my name,” Sara commanded. “Fetch my aunt. Tell her it concerns a horse and a great deal of money.” Aunt Evina owned several racehorses so that should get her attention.

The coachman left at a quick trot, as if he’d lived so long among horses he even moved like one.

As the minutes passed, Sara grew nervous. Maybe they should have gone to her aunt and uncle’s villa. If Aunt Evina was winning at cards, she might keep them waiting for hours. And what if she was drunk? Sober, Aunt Evina was as clever as they came, but tipsy…she might make a fuss when she saw Sara.

“What are you going to tell your aunt?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know,” Sara admitted. “I’m not sure if I should introduce you as Prince Lance, or an osseon.” It struck her that she didn’t want Lance to meet her aunt at all.

Aunt Evina was everything Lance disliked in a noblewoman. Sara had changed since journeying to Kandrith, but would Lance see that or would he look at Evina and see all Sara’s old faults magnified? She opened her mouth to remind him that she would have to act the part of the old Sara or risk making her aunt suspicious, but before she could speak, the coachman reappeared, walking a step behind his mistress.

Aunt Evina wore a low-cut gown of lavender, which did wonders for her bosom, but emphasized her chubby arms. The feathered mask she wore, which glittered with diamonds, looked absurd to Sara. It was considered scandalous for a woman to gamble, so when ladies went abroad they wore masks to protect themselves from society’s censure.