“And you said, ‘Jalci’s not a woman!’” Jalci said. “Don’t deny it. I know you did.”
His slight smile was back. “Indigo females do not conform to the mold that gulden consider womanly,” he said.
She was indignant. “Oh, so just the
fact
that I’m indigo would have reassured your stepfather? ‘No gulden man could find a blueskin woman attractive, therefore I don’t need to worry about how much time Kerk spends with this Candachi woman.’”
“I think he might have been slightly more alarmed than that,” Kerk said, “but not much.”
“Hmpfh,”
she said and tossed her hair. He couldn’t tell if she was actually miffed or merely pretending.
“I cannot imagine you have said much more about
me
to your mother,” he said.
She laughed out loud. “Oh, I’ve been much more forthcoming, although I have to admit my motives weren’t pure. My mother has been needling me to have dinner with this
relentlessly
boring man who has been living in the city for two months. I have known him my whole life and never managed to have a conversation with him that did not revolve around his dietary restrictions. So I told her I was not going to marry Stuver, I wasn’t even going to have dinner with him, and that if she didn’t leave me alone, I would make a disastrous runaway marriage with my current flame, whom she would consider appallingly inadequate. Even so, she was excited by the idea that I might be dating someone until I told her you were a gulden man. Then she practically fainted. I actually had to grab her and guide her over to the sofa or I think she would have fallen on her face.”
For a long moment, Kerk just looked at her. “You told your mother you were dating a gulden man? That you were considering marrying him?”
She laughed again, a little more nervously. “Well. Yes. But only to upset her.”
But just to speak the words—even for a disreputable reason—meant Jalci had considered the idea at some point. That she had looked at Kerk and seen him, if only in the most speculative fashion, as a potential mate, and not just some random individual collection of bones and body parts. It was almost beyond his ability to fathom. They were so different, so far apart, that falling in love with Jalci would seem as alien as falling in love with a sea creature or a land plant, tragic and ridiculous and impossible all at the same time.
And yet . . .
“I didn’t mean to horrify you,” she said, when the silence had stretched on too long. “I’m really not eyeing you as a possible husband. I’m never even sure you’re going to allow me to be your friend for one more day. But in case you were wondering, yeah, I think you’re cute. I think you’re sexy. All those muscles and that intimidating stare. Yes, that one.” Now she was laughing, though he thought she was still speaking the truth. “But trust me, I don’t expect you to return the compliment. I know I’m not the kind of girl who makes an impression on a man like you. So don’t get all worried about it.”
It seemed probable, if he didn’t answer, that she would just keep talking this way for the remainder of the meal. “You
are
attractive, Jalciana Candachi,” he said formally. “I imagine your mother has no difficulty at all finding men who would be overjoyed at the chance to marry you. If I appear stunned, it is not because I find the notion distasteful, but because my mind has not, so far, turned in this direction.”
“Yeah, well, once you think of it, it becomes difficult to think of anything else,” she said, flashing him a brilliant smile. She actually seemed much less uncomfortable than Kerk felt—though he had to admit that part of his discomfort was actually excitement.
How strange, to think of an indigo girl admiring him.
How alluring, to think of
this
indigo girl attracted to him . . .
“I believe I will be able to school my thoughts,” he said.
She burst out laughing again. “Oh, you probably will. Look, what excellent timing! Here’s our food. Now we can talk about something else.”
He would have expected the rest of the conversation to be strained and halting, but in fact, they were both in high spirits, laughing at comments that were not particularly funny, sharing observations about their fellow diners, sharing food. She insisted he taste her wine, and so he drank from her glass; she touched his hand more than once to catch his attention; he called her by name more times than he could count. They were pleased with each other and amused by each other and drawn to each other, though Kerk, at least, would not examine that last thought too closely. It was, in many ways, the best two hours they’d spent together since they had met more than a month ago.
“Damn! It’s so late!” she exclaimed after one quick, unwary look at her watch. “Your stepfather will
really
begin wondering about how you spend your time if you don’t get home fast.”
“I might need to begin inventing excuses,” he replied. They had already paid their bill—some time ago—and so they just shrugged on their coats and headed out.
She paused with one hand on the door. He was so close behind her that his arm brushed against her shoulder. “You’d do that? Lie to Brolt? About me?”
He smiled down at her. “I am not in the habit of lying,” he said. “But I have sometimes found it useful to fail to provide all the truth.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a laugh, pushing the door open. “Because I
hate
it when people withhold information from me.”
“I’ve noticed that,” he said, following her out into the chilly dark. “That’s why I find it so entertaining to tell you only part of a story.”
She laughed again and turned around to answer him. But before she could speak, rough hands pushed her to one side; two burly bodies shoved themselves between her and Kerk.
“You
dare
to touch the hand of an indigo goddess,” someone hissed in Kerk’s ear, and he felt a hard blow land against his kidney from behind.
Without conscious thought, he sent his body into motion. A tight whirl, and he had rammed a hard fist across the faces of the two men in front of him, whipped a steely forearm against the throat of the attacker in back. Another spin, another series of punches, plus a ferocious kick that brought one of the men to the sidewalk with a wailing howl. The two who were still on their feet came boring in with renewed purpose, yelling and brandishing makeshift weapons—an umbrella in one case, a piece of street junk in the other. Kerk shook his dagger into his hand and backed against the restaurant wall, falling into a crouch. His eyes were burning, his blood was racing, and he was prepared to unleash any level of force.
Astonishingly, Jalci jumped in front of him, her own hand upraised, her own weapon out. She really thought that ridiculous bottle of chemical spray would stop a determined assailant. “Step away from both of us,” she ordered in a cold, clear voice. “
Back away!
Now. I’m embarrassed that indigo men would behave so offensively.”
The man on the ground was still sniveling in pain, but the other two shifted position, uncertain and still angry. “Gilder trash,” one of them snarled.
“Blueshi bastard,” Jalci shot back. “The man is here at
my
invitation. Doing work on
my
behalf. How dare
you
interfere with a woman’s business?”
“He’s too familiar,” the snarling man said.
“At least he’s not stupid,” was her contemptuous reply. “At least he behaves with the dignity of a man.”
“I can’t stand up,” whined the assailant on the ground. “Help me. I think he broke my leg.”
Jalci looked down at him and toed him none too gently. “You deserve to have your leg broken. You deserve to have every bone in your body broken.” She returned her angry gaze to his companions, who were backing away a little, starting to look sheepish. “Take your friend and go. Be glad I don’t ask who your families are so I can report your behavior to your mothers.”
“
Hela
, we will leave when this gilder man is safely gone,” said the one who hadn’t spoken till now.
“You will leave now,” Jalci replied fiercely. “Or—no—stay where you are and
I
will leave, so that I no longer incite you to reckless and misguided behavior.”
Without even looking behind her, Jalci reached back and grabbed Kerk’s wrist. She kept her hard gaze on the blueskin men, who still looked mutinous but a little more subdued. “Stay where you are,” she repeated, and drew Kerk along the sidewalk in the general direction of the Centrifuge. She didn’t glance back once as she hurried him away from the restaurant, around the corner, and out of sight of the indigo vigilantes.
They continued at a pretty rapid pace for another few blocks. Kerk listened closely to make sure they were not being followed, but within a couple of turns he was certain that the blueskin men had obeyed Jalci’s orders. Nonetheless, he kept his dagger in his hand. No telling how many blueskins had witnessed the altercation and might agree with the general sentiment. No telling when he might find himself in a real fight that even Jalci’s indigo arrogance couldn’t defuse.
It was full dark now, and cold, and the streets were relatively empty, though they passed dozens of shops and restaurants filled with people of all races. They were only a block or two from the Centrifuge gate when Jalci abruptly stopped and drew Kerk into the flimsy shelter of a shallow doorway that seemed to lead to some kind of commercial establishment. Not a restaurant, at any rate; its high plate-glass windows revealed only an empty darkness inside.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She had not yet dropped her hold on his arm.
“For which part of the encounter?” he asked.
She peered up at him, but he doubted she could see much of his expression. Her face, so much darker than his own, was almost completely lost in the shadows. “I am sorry that they were stupid and officious enough to
care
that I was having dinner with a gulden man,” she said, rattling the words off as if to get out as many as possible before he interrupted. “I am sorry that they attacked you and insulted you. But most of all, I am sorry that it had to appear as if I was protecting you. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you defend yourself. I know you are proud, and that you must be mortified to be shielded by a woman. But, Kerk, I could not let you fight them. City justice still favors the indigo, and if you had actually hurt those wretched boys, you’d have been in jail before the night was out. I
couldn’t
let that happen. Kerk, if you had cut one of them—if you had killed one of them—”
“I am impressed that you think I could have done that much damage when there were three of them and one of me,” he said in a clipped voice.
She shook him by the arm she still clung to. “I
know
you could have! The only reason all three of those men aren’t dead right now is because you aren’t the kind of man who kills at random!”
“And because I learned long before this that I cannot give myself the luxury of succumbing to rage,” he said.
She dropped her hand then, but did not step back. Did not indicate in any way that she was afraid of standing so close to a man she believed could commit three murders with a few swipes of his hands. “You’re furious,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry. But please, please, don’t be angry at me. I wasn’t defending you against indigo men. I was protecting you from the indigo system—and no gulden knife has ever won a fight in
that
battle.”
“I
am
angry,” he acknowledged. “But not at you, Jalciana Candachi. I knew what you did as you did it. It is why I allowed you to speak in my defense. I put my trust in you instead of in my own instincts. But it goes very much against my nature to allow someone else to fight a battle on my behalf. Had one of those men spoken the slightest insult to you, I don’t believe I could have kept myself from ripping out his throat.”
She took a deep breath, shuddering a little. “I thought you were going to do it anyway,” she said. “I could feel you coiled behind me. I was so afraid.”
She had been touching him all night, but now, for the first time, he deliberately put a hand out and laid it against the side of her head. His fingers felt her hair, silky black against his skin; his palm rested against the smooth heat of her cheek. “You showed no fear, Jalci Candachi,” he said. “You showed courage, and quick wits, and wise judgment. I am proud to be defended by such a noble companion.”
They stood that way for a long time, his hand against her skin, her body only inches from his, the chill air seeming to snap with a sizzling current. She didn’t move and yet he could sense her battling an intense inward pressure that bent her in his direction, as if she would collapse against him and mold herself to his chest. As for himself, he held his body utterly rigid, utterly still, neither leaning forward nor pulling away, unwilling to back off from the emotion swirling through him, unwilling to give in.
Jalci spoke after what seemed a flayed hour of nerves and resistance. “If you’re not going to kiss me,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I suppose we’d better go home.”
“Then we’d better go home,” he said. But he still did not drop his hand.
She reached up then, tentatively, touching those ink-dark fingertips to his cheek, his chin. “I can’t get over your
face
,” she said in a marveling voice. “Your color. I always thought gulden men were pasty and sort of—unfinished looking. But I love the textures of your skin. I love the way it seems as if it’s lit from underneath. I keep thinking that if I touch you, it will be like I’m holding a candle under my hand—my bones and veins will light up and grow transparent.”
“The color of your skin seems to register on me with an actual heat,” he replied. “So perhaps you are the candle, after all, and I am the thing that is going to burn up.”
She laid her palm gently across his mouth, brushing it infinitesimally back and forth as if to test the grain of a particularly delicate satin. “You are too cool to burn,” she murmured. “From the very beginning, you have been indifferent to my particular brand of fire.”