“What is wrong with you?” She snarled the words, trying to keep a semblance of discretion. “Attacking the Reinine? Is madness catching?”
Torchay’s eyes still failed to focus on her. He panted with his rage, fists closing, opening, closing again. “She’ll no’ force
that
on us.
Pentivas
or no, we’ll no’ be makin’ that one ilias. I don’t care if she’s the Goddess Almighty.”
Kallista glanced over her shoulder. The Reinine still sat, seemingly unconcerned, in her high-backed red velvet chair. Her bodyguards flanked her, close enough to touch, but they held their places.
“Obed,” Kallista said. “Go see if he has the mark.”
His eyes flashed dark fire, but he bowed obedience and strode toward the chained man who was trembling so hard now that his bonds set up a faint rattle. Obed pushed the prisoner’s head forward, brushed the matted tangles away from his neck and looked to see what might be there. A moment later, he met Kallista’s gaze and nodded, once, slowly.
So
. Yet another problem to be solved. Kallista took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.
“We will
not
have him,” Torchay said through clenched teeth.
Before anyone else could speak, Joh did, startling them all. “Is that your choice to make?”
Kallista held Torchay beside her with just a touch this time. “It is all of ours, his as much as anyone’s.”
“Is it?” Joh said. “Who made the first choice, when you took a Tibran as ilias?”
Torchay glanced back at the Reinine, but Kallista shook her head, finally following where Joh was trying to lead her.
“It wasn’t the Reinine,” she said. “It was
the One
who chose to accept what we offered. The One bound us together before any ceremony was performed. Who are we to reject the gifts She brings us?”
“Do we no’ also have the gift of free will? The right to
choose
where we go, what we do and who we do it with?” Torchay’s expression was as closed as his mind.
Kallista sighed. She didn’t yet know what she herself thought about this new situation. What with the hard riding of the past week, she hadn’t truly dealt with the separation from half her family and the absence of her ten-week-old babies, much less the concept that rebel assassins wanted her death. She’d faced death before—both on the battlefield and directed particularly at her.
Which of course was the problem, since the hand that had directed it in particular belonged to the man standing before her in chains. She needed time. More than she would be given, likely, but she would take what she could get.
“My Reinine.” She turned and bowed to the ruler of all Adara, remaining at a distance to keep the royal ilias and his fellow bodyguard happy. “Would you allow me time and the space for privacy? I must confer with my iliasti. While I do that, perhaps—” She paused to choose her words. “Perhaps the prisoner would benefit from a bath and a shave, more suitable clothing. Then, if you will permit, I should like a chance to speak privately with this man, to investigate his claim. I think it a thing done best without an audience.”
“You’ll no’ be meetin’ him alone.” Torchay’s north mountains accent was as thick as she’d ever heard it, an indication of the extreme emotion possessing him.
Kallista turned her head a fraction, addressing him quietly. “No, of course not. This is a matter for the ilian. I want you both there.”
“Do I need to order guards present to protect Suteny?” the Reinine asked.
Now Kallista faced Torchay head on. “Must I order you to hold back your hand? Will you, if I do?”
He did not look happy about it, but he nodded, a single abrupt jerk of his head. “Aye. I’ll no’ kill him—unless he makes the first move.”
“Fair enough,” the Reinine said.
Kallista looked then at Obed. She knew better than to assume he would keep any promise Torchay made. “Will you swear to the same?”
His expression bland, Obed inclined his head in agreement, a lock of black hair sliding forward on his face.
“Your word, Obed,” she insisted. “I want to hear you speak it.”
A tiny smile curved his lips and he bowed deeper. “I will not kill this man, unless he makes the first move. This I swear to my Chosen One.”
“Agreed.” Serysta Reinine came to her feet and addressed the guards officer. “Have a servant direct you to the palace barbers. When your prisoner is presentable, take him to the Noonday Suite in Daybright Tower. I assume, Captain, that your previous quarters will be acceptable. Since we will all be moving to Summerglen in another few days, I see no sense in locating you here only to uproot you so soon.”
Kallista swept into her best court bow. “Thank you, my Reinine. Your generosity is gratefully accepted.” She bowed again, this time to the bodyguard mate of her ruler. “Thank you, Reinas, for your restraint and for the life of my ilias. I apologize for his foolish and reckless behavior.”
The gray-haired man inclined his head. “It’s not your apology to make. But for the thanks—you’re welcome.”
His face flushed red, Torchay stepped forward and bowed stiffly, head almost touching his outstretched knee. “My apologies. I was…overcome.”
The older man did not respond, leaving Torchay bent in his awkward bow, until the Reinine spoke his name. “Keldrey.”
He exchanged a look with her before relenting. “Apology accepted. But—” he went on as Torchay straightened “—if it happens again, I’ll cut out your heart.”
Torchay met the man’s gaze without blinking, giving back stare for stare. Finally he tipped his head in a slight acknowledgment. Keldrey did the same. Torchay spun on his heel and urged Kallista from the room following the already departed prisoner. Obed waited until they passed him before whirling in a dancelike move to act as rear guard.
“What was that all about?” Kallista thumped Torchay on the arm when the door shut behind them. “She is the Reinine of all Adara, not some backwoods naitan with a grass-green bodyguard.”
Torchay shrugged. “A bodyguard’s a bodyguard, whoever the body to be guarded.”
She thumped him again. “We do not have time for you to be playing ‘whose is bigger?’ games. And if you ever do something that stupid again, I will
let
him cut out your heart.”
He gave her a look that so obviously meant “We will see whose heart is removed,” and she thumped him once more.
Servants were still whisking dust covers from the elaborate white and gold furniture in the suite when they arrived. Every piece Kallista had ordered removed during their previous sojourn, clearing the first two-thirds of the long central room for a practice area, had been replaced, requiring them to thread their way through the obstacles.
“Perhaps we should have paid a visit to the palace barbers as well.” Kallista stripped off her grubby overtunic, letting it lie where it fell. “I scarcely feel human.” She plucked at the damp shirt beneath. She didn’t think she’d been dry since they left home.
“Servants will bring baths,” Obed said. “I requested it before they departed.”
“Bless you.” She touched his cheek, stretching up for a kiss he ducked away from. He disguised it as a bow, graceful as a dancer, but he could not disguise the truth. He did not want her kiss.
Hurt, she turned away, found Torchay there as always, and kissed him. But that was not fair to him, to give kisses because they were refused elsewhere. She rested her forehead in the curve between his neck and shoulder, taking comfort in the arms around her until the tension in him broke through her pout.
Kallista tried to move back, but Torchay’s arms tightened, holding her in place. His hand moved, cupping the back of her head, and he turned his face to nuzzle her ear. “This has to end, Kallista,” he murmured for her only. “We’ve arrived. We don’t need his sword. If he hurts you again, I’ll kill him.”
“You can’t.” She kept her voice low despite her need to scream at something. Obed’s behavior offended Torchay most, because he knew her best, saw better how it hurt her, cared more that it did. “He won’t. He hasn’t.”
“Has he no’?” He softened his grip enough she could see his face, turned toward Obed with angry challenge in his eyes.
“We need him, Torchay.”
“The One sent him. She can send another.”
“You think She will? If we destroy Her gift?” She worked her hands free and clasped his face between them, forcing his gaze away from Obed to her. “Do not turn your anger at this…this
mess
onto one who bears no fault for it.”
“I blame him only for his own faults.” Torchay tried to lift his head, to glare at Obed again, but Kallista held him with a touch he could easily break.
“Your anger is out of proportion with this fault.” She brought his face down to hers and kissed him.
No longer seeking comfort or offering thanks, this was a kiss of desire rekindled and passion delayed. She scuffed her hands through the week-old growth along his jaw, savoring the bristly softness against her palms. He opened his mouth over hers and she welcomed him in, needing the taste and feel of him like she needed the very air to breathe. His hand at her waist slipped lower, cupped her bottom and brought her in hard against his arousal, thick and straight and all for her.
Kallista’s moan nearly drowned out the distant sound of a genteel knocking at the door. It registered only when Torchay set her away from him. “Too much demands our attention now,” he said.
The quick, gasping rate of his breath eased Kallista’s frustration. A bit. Most new mothers did not wait so long before welcoming their mates back to their beds. Because Kallista had borne twins, and because her magic was so strange and so strong, Merinda had advised caution. So Kallista had followed the healer’s advice.
Now, caution drowned in a flood of passion and she was in no mood to resurrect it. She needed this, needed to know soul deep that what family remained to her here was indeed hers as she was theirs. And if Obed didn’t want her, Torchay did. But he was right, damn it. Now was not the moment.
Her own breathing finally under control, Kallista glanced up, saw Obed following the teams of servants bearing tin hip baths and willed him to look at her. Maybe the magic was returning, for he did what she wished. Or maybe the guilt she read in his eyes the few seconds he met her gaze made him look.
Why guilt? Did he believe he should want her kisses? He had wanted them—wanted
her
—once with a fervor that pulsed so powerfully through the magic linking them it had come near driving her insane. What had changed? Could it be changed back? Did she have any right to do so?
Torchay ordered the tubs set up in three of the small private sleeping rooms off to each side of the main parlor. A wise decision. If they’d bathed together in the same room, Kallista feared little bathing would have been accomplished. On her own, she washed quickly and efficiently, using the extra can of water to rinse her hair of soap. Dressed again in fresh clothes provided by the ever efficient Torchay, she was the first to emerge, her hair spread across her shoulders to dry.
She notified the servant waiting outside the suite door that her bath was ready to be removed and returned to find Torchay, clean and freshly shaved, if a bit crumpled around the edges. She was no better. Saddlebags did not keep clothing in the best of press. He drew her like one bespelled, but the only spell was the man himself. Fortunately, Obed joined them a moment later or she might have shocked the servants. Certain things called for the privacy of the ilian.
The last tub had just been carried out when another knocking, this one far from genteel, pounded at the door. Likely the guard had been waiting for this moment. Kallista caught Torchay’s gaze, then Obed’s, silently reminding them one at a time of the promises they had made. Then she called out.
“Come.”
The door flew open and the guard lieutenant filled the opening, a sturdy young woman with a square jaw, taut now with disapproval. “The prisoner, as ordered, Captain. My men will remain here at the door.” Obviously she disapproved of leaving her prisoner unguarded.
“Outside the door, if you please, Lieutenant.” Kallista tried a smile, but when that had no effect, she put on her captain’s face. “Produce your prisoner.”
The lieutenant saluted and stepped back, vacating the opening. With a rattle of chains, Joh Suteny was shoved stumbling through the doorway. The ornately carved door slammed shut behind him with a noticeable “on-your-head-be-it” boom.
Kallista could only stare. Joh’s rags were gone, replaced with…nothing. He wasn’t quite naked, she realized once she managed to blink. He’d been given a loincloth, the sort worn by the poorest of the poor beneath their ragged tunics when summer grew too hot for trousers. It didn’t cover much.
He stood motionless there at the far end of the room and let her stare. Kallista had always thought Joh a fine-looking specimen of Adaran manhood, but she’d never suspected him of hiding this sculptured perfection beneath his uniform. She took a deep breath. If the One had indeed marked him, as Obed had verified, Her appreciation of male beauty had not diminished any over the past year.
“Come.” Kallista beckoned him closer.
Hobbled by his shackles, Joh did as he was bid. Kallista sensed more than saw Torchay’s tension and quieted him with a touch. Joh’s hair, beginning to dry from its washing, streamed from the dropped peak at his forehead back over his shoulders nearly to his waist. He’d worn it in a queue before, but one three times longer than an enlisted man’s short regulation braid. The prison had obviously not required him to cut it.
His hair was brown, a rich color lighter than Kallista’s own near-black, and much darker than the pale brown left behind after Stone had cut away all his gold fluff. The warm shade somehow made his eyes seem a brighter blue.
The barber had removed his beard, revealing the clean angles of Joh’s face, exposing the crisp edge of the mouth that had so often before been pressed into tight disapproval. Now, his lips pressed themselves together, but with some other emotion Kallista could not read. His face was the same, but different—more lines, or perhaps the same lines carved deeper. He seemed somehow thinner, though his defined musculature mocked that thought. Still, he seemed…as if all the unessential bits had been burned away leaving behind pure Joh.