Evermine: Daughters of Askara, Book 2 (7 page)

Glaring, I used my chair to stand, then sat before I toppled onto the floor. “As much as I love having unannounced visitors, I have work to do.” I forced my gaze to Harper, who sat on the floor, his knee bent and forearm propped across it, as if I’d offered him the best seat in the house. Pity I couldn’t get rid of Dillon without Harper leaving too. “I should get to it.”

“We need your help.” Harper’s voice grated. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have come.”

Silly, fragile hope bubbled and burst in my heart. For a moment, I had hoped…

Wait…he’d risked traveling for my help? I glanced between them. He and Dillon both wore glamour. Dillon, of course, was never without it, but Harper itched beneath the illusion.

Some slaves had been conditioned to maintain it, Dillon for instance, since he’d spent several decades on Earth where every trace of his heritage must be well hidden. Harper never had that luxury. The breath-stealing beauty that earned him
sthudai
status meant his ebony perfection was displayed, never covered, not when the use of glamour would have devalued him.

Why the charade? Unless secrecy demanded he doctor his appearance as an Askaran.

I stared where his long legs stretched in my direction. Shivering as gooseflesh raced over my arms, I reminded myself of Nesvia’s request. I’d gone to sleep with the promise of three months to work up courage to face the male lounging at my feet, cool and confident. Now what?

I wasn’t prepared to be in the same room with him. My hands slipped off the armrests when I adjusted myself with sweat-slicked palms.
Breathe, Emma.
“What can I do for you?” I picked up a new marker and tapped its dyed clay tip on parchment. “It’s not a worker, is it?” All his new colonists had checked in with me, happy with their lot, content to live in tent city, as many called the colony.

A tic worked in his jaw. “Our caravan was ambushed by Askaran raiders this morning. We lost two males, a third was critically injured.” His fingers tapped a rhythm on his ankle my toes twitched to match. “So, consul, what are you going to do about it?”

My foot froze in place. Throat already raw, I asked, “What were their names?”

“Anders and John.” He blinked in what I thought was surprise. “They were—”

“Twins.” I finished his sentence, already sick as their shy smiles filled my memory. “They were part of my first dozen cases.” Loss blurred my vision. They’d lived down the hall for months instead of weeks, both full of shy wit. “They wanted to be placed together, but no one who could afford two wanted them. It was either working the colony’s mines or splitting up.” Second-guesses choked me. If I’d pushed harder for their separation, they might still be alive.

I’d fumbled Helen and Joshua’s placement, now I’d cost Anders and John their lives. What had I been thinking by coming here and accepting this position? My sole area of expertise was in running a diner. No one died if their fries were served cold or their drinks were flat. I had no right to make these decisions, but if I didn’t, who would?
No one
.

Slaves—ex or not—we mattered only to ourselves.

“Emma.” Harper climbed to his knees, as if he meant to stand.

I lost sight of him for a few seconds. Blinking, I brought the room into focus and gulped air heavy with his cardamom scent. His rough hands cupped my face, forcing my gaze up to his.

His breath fanned my neck, and my chest flushed. “What will you do?”

“I’ll contact Nesvia, and we can—”

“Not good enough.” His warmth slid away from me. I scrambled to get it back. “This has happened twice in less than three months.” The air crackled with his anger. “You can do better.”

“I can’t demand an audience. She’ll be in Rihos.” My excuse sounded weak, even to me.

“And?” His illusion fizzled for an instant, and his black eyes peered out at me.

“I can’t.” I shook my head, dislodging his eerie calmness. My hands curled into claws, stabbing into the wood of my desk. He was lucky I didn’t clutch his collar and shake him senseless, or shake sense
into
him. I wanted to scream. I wanted him to scream. I wanted a reaction from him when faced with the place where we spent our childhood, where he’d been imprisoned, where we were headed again unless he woke up and realized it was a very bad idea.

Earth, Askara, all the same.
Every little thing is fine as long as we don’t talk about it.

Five years lost. A year later, and he still acted like it was nothing.

“How many more will die before summer court ends?” He paced. “They planted explosives, blew up an older section of the mine.” He stopped, raking fingers through his hair. “When we left, everyone was accounted for except those in the lowest quadrant. Just because I can only report two bodies doesn’t meant there aren’t more, or that there won’t soon be.”

“You never said…” More bodies, more lives lost, no alternatives. “I’ll contact Nesvia—”

“That’s not—” He spun toward me, and I cut him off.

“She’s Askara’s queen. I can’t just grab her by the ear and drag her to the colony.”

His lips thinned.

“I’ll send my courier. Once Nesvia approves our request for an audience, we’ll leave.” I turned to Isabeau, who inspected Dillon with due interest. “Find Aaron and send him on the fastest horse in the stable.” She knew I’d caught her staring. Blushing, she nodded and rushed from the room. I turned back to Harper. “This is the way it must be done.”

Freedom and peace were too tenuous for one enraged Evanti to snap the balance.

“Emma,” he said. My shoulders hunched, expecting his condemnation. “Thank you.”

Tension bled from me when the corner of his mouth upturned. “You’re welcome.”

The sick taste in my mouth kept me from wanting to talk, but a smile from him and I would spill my every secret thought, if I had any left he didn’t know.

I settled for staring at him like the infatuated youth his presence always reduced me to. When he stared back, I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I was glad he did.

“Whatever Emma has must be catching.” Dillon spoke up from his quiet corner. “I’m feeling rather green all of a sudden.” He grabbed for the door. “I think I’ll wait out in the hall.”

“It could be morning before Aaron returns.” My chest tightened. “Where will you stay?”

His gaze flickered over me, toward my bed. “With you, if you’ll have us.”

I heard wood snap and found the edge of my desk broken in my hand. “Of course I will.”

Though I would make sure he took the room farthest from mine, the one with a heavy bolted lock I couldn’t pick. I closed my eyes, swore I had more self-control than this. Forced out thoughts of how easily I could break down the door to reach him if I wanted.

Only Harper inspired this all-consuming madness in me. And it was madness. He wouldn’t face his past, and he forgave mine, because he ignored it. No matter how this played out, we had no future. I would help him. He would leave. It wasn’t perfect, but life seldom was.

Chapter Seven

Harper walked a circuit of the guest bedroom. Night sounds poured through the open window, carried on an arid breeze. He paused when the curtains rustled and the soap-clean scent of Emma teased him to lift the fabric, inhale her fragrance and wish for things best forgotten.

Dillon lay on a cot, staring at the ceiling. “You’ll wear tracks in the floor.”

“I have a lot on my mind.” He stepped away from temptation.

“I don’t supposed this ‘a lot’ has blonde curls and a temper?” He sat upright. “She could have at least been born with red hair.” He scowled. “A warning label would be appreciated.”

“She wasn’t feeling well.” The excuse came easy. It was one he’d made often after finding out about Emma’s caffeine addiction the hard way. Seeing her doubled over and gagging on her bedroom floor brought his first night in the earthen colony rushing back in perfect detail.

His bittersweet homecoming had served as a wakeup call when he snuck from Clayton and Maddie’s guestroom to find Emma and made a chilling discovery. He’d found her, all right, crawling on her hands and knees on the floor of her diner. Shattered coffeepots had driven glass into her palms. Mud-brown sludge had smeared her mouth, her chin. Her eyes had gone glassy.

He’d seen enough courtesans crazed with their drug of choice not to recognize her symptoms. She’d purged her stomach across his lap, then curled up against his chest and slept as if she hadn’t closed her eyes in all the time he’d been gone. Other memories drifted into his conscience, but he choked them, stuffed them back into the hellish box where they belonged.

On good days, he nursed a five-year gap in his memory. He craved the fuzzy edges of his recollection. It was how he kept his anger with Emma in check. The urge to throttle her for being so reckless simmered below his skin. He could have lost her. Regret churned. He’d lost her anyway.

“I’m heading out.” This oasis Emma had carved out of the city’s heart boasted a small garden. It wasn’t much, but even two extra steps in either direction would help ground him.

“Okay.” Dillon stood. “Let’s go.”

Harper’s skull ached, shoulders burning where his wings were hidden. “I’d rather go alone.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’ll be in the garden.” He shrugged. “I need to stretch my wings for a while.”

“You get a half hour. After that, I’m coming for you.” Dillon folded his arms across his chest. “You’re a target in this city. Remember it’s not just the mine and the colony at risk. It’s you too. You control distribution. Nobles won’t like that. Raiders already don’t like it.”

He was right. “I know.” Harper opened the door, then slid through it, careful not to wake boarders in the adjoining rooms. He’d counted seven males and one female at dinner. Emma had a full house and expected a mated pair’s return. He spotted her bedroom turned office and picked up his pace. Too late, her fresh scent teased his nose. Four long strides later, he reached the back door, shoved through it and inhaled deeply of the night. Spice from the nearby markets stung his nose. The familiar smell and sounds of horses carried. Over everything, he all but tasted Emma.

“Definitely Hell.” He shivered as his glamour dropped. His wings flexed, stretching kinks from long-denied freedom. Rolling his neck, muscles loosed and bones popped.

“I don’t know.” Emma’s laughter carried on the breeze. “I kind of like it here.”

He spun around and found her sitting on a low chair beside the door with bone needles in hand, a basket of wool at her ankle, knitting. The better part of a throw covered her legs as she worked at the topmost corner. Tightness gripped his skin, stretching his wings out of shape.

“Have a seat.” She gestured toward the seat against the opposite wall with her chin.

“No.” He tried to turn away, but couldn’t. “I came out for a walk.”

She glanced at her hands. “Suit yourself.” Her needles resumed clacking.

She paused to shove hair behind her shoulder. It sprang back, curling under her breastbone. Lines scrunched between her eyes, and her head tilted back and forth as she worked.

“You knit.” Fascination drew him closer. Her calm rhythm soothed his frayed nerves.

“I picked up the habit in the colony.” She shrugged. “It keeps my hands and my head occupied. I’ve done it off and on, made things for Maddie. Now it kind of fills the void, I guess.”

“What you said up there…” he cleared his throat, “…you meant it?”

Her hands slowed. “I kicked the caffeine habit, quit cold turkey once I left Earth.”

“That’s good.” He swallowed sweet relief.

“And in case you’re wondering, I haven’t picked up any new ones.” She pushed a strand of yarn aside. “Well, except this, and it doesn’t count. This is more of a rededication.”

“Fair enough.” He turned away, shook out his wings, stretching until they stung. Glamour was an illusion, but it was a tangible illusion. When he altered his appearance, tucked his wings out of sight, they were plastered to his spine, trapped in a magical cocoon that itched and burned.

Emma gasped. “What happened?” Seconds later, hot hands smoothed down his back.

Every inch of him tingled at her touch. Color drenched his wings, turning their dusky carmine to vibrant crimson. No hiding his arousal in his natural form. He shouldn’t have dropped his glamour. He still didn’t know what she was fussing about— “Damn it.” She poked a finger below his wing joint and pain crashed over him in agonizing waves. “Could you not do that?”

She caught his arm, wheeling him around to face her as she snarled, “Has anyone checked your back?” Her fingers tightened. “Were you in that mine when it exploded?”

“No, I was outside.” His back had been burned, hadn’t it? The pain hadn’t registered until she mentioned it. His wounds weren’t life-threatening, so he blocked it like everything else. The men in the mines mattered. The lone survivor of the caravan required their healer. He didn’t.

“Males.” She didn’t ask permission, just shoved him onto her lounge face-first. Expert hands spread his wings one at a time as delicate fingers inspected every leathered inch. He pushed up when her hands deserted him, but she shoved him down as if he were a child. He’d forgotten how strong she was. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he surrendered to her whims.

The same gentle hands returned, stroking every inch of his back, working over every muscle, pausing to pick debris from his cuts. “You know you’ll get infected if you let something like this go untreated.” She jabbed a nail deep in his shoulder blade, and he grunted. “Those mines are a case of wing rot waiting to happen. Don’t you have a healer?”

“We have two in training,” he defended, “but they were needed elsewhere.”

“Good grief. They were needed
here
.” She stabbed his hip for emphasis. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The lounge smelled of Emma. He buried his face in the pillow, and a stray hair tickled his nose. Sleep weighted his limbs, and his eyes closed for a moment.

“This is going to burn.” A second later, she slathered icy ointment across his back.

He shivered. Let it burn. This was one pain too delicious to block. Emma’s hands on him, nursing him like she had a thousand times when his protection of Maddie earned him lashes from her father’s whip. Archer had been so consumed with desire for Maddie, he assumed Harper shared the same twisted lust and punished him for her affection. He hadn’t suspected Harper craved only one female, or that Archer’s halfling daughter was the one true light in Harper’s life.