Royal Airs (38 page)

“It’s just that I can’t think of any lighthearted and meaningless things to ask for just to keep the game going.”

His breath caught, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Josetta so rarely bothered with
lighthearted
and
meaningless
. “You could ask for something serious and important,” he suggested.

Now she offered that faint smile again. “Oh, the only things I can think of are
too
serious and important.”

His heart slammed against his ribs, its impact almost as sudden and forceful as an aeromotive crashing to the ground. “Well, that’s got me curious,” he managed to say.

Smiling now, she shook her head, and light flickered around her yellow hair. Gaslight, he realized; it was true night now, dark everywhere that some kind of man-made illumination wasn’t making a valiant stand. “It’s getting late,” she said, coming to her feet. “And you’re still an invalid. I’ll go to my room so you can sleep, and I’ll check on you in the morning.”

He stood up so quickly his head did a little spin. “I’m not sleepy,” he protested. “If you leave, I’ll just be bored.”

“Lie down,” she suggested. “I bet you’re more tired than you think.”

She turned toward the door, but he was close enough to head her off. He didn’t quite dare to grab her arm and hold her in place, but he did step in her path and crowd her back toward the middle of the room.

“I bet I’m not,” he said. “Won’t you stay a little while? Long enough to play a game of penta, maybe?”

She wasn’t meeting his gaze, but she didn’t move away from him, though their bodies were almost close enough to touch. “Last time we were going to play penta, we couldn’t agree on the stakes. It’s no fun unless you’re gambling.”

He reached out a finger and tilted up her chin. “We agreed on stakes,” he reminded her. “We just didn’t bother playing.”

Now she did lift her eyes to his and he was astonished to see them bright with tears. “That’s right,” she whispered. “A kiss. How could I have forgotten?”

“Josetta—”

She stretched up and pressed her mouth to his, and he forgot anything else he might have wanted to say. The kiss kicked the blood through his veins at a galloping pace; it riled up every bruise he’d sustained, but it stirred other, far more pleasurable regions of his body as well. His skin ran with heat and his brain was steeped in desire. Heedless of bandages and bruised ribs, he wrapped his arms around her, drew her closer, and kissed her for all he was worth.

Only when he paused to draw a long breath did he remember that he was battered and realize that she was crying. “Josetta,” he repeated, alarmed now. “What’s the matter? I’m sorry, was I too rough—”

Shaking her head, she clung to him with a mute appeal that made him hold her tighter still. “It’s just that—I was so
afraid
,” she wailed. “I saw the aeromotive falling, and I thought you would die, I
knew
it, and I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t do anything, and I thought my heart would break! Right there! And then you didn’t die, you’re alive, and I’m so grateful, and I want you to know how I feel—but you’re all beaten up and hurt and I don’t know what to do—”

There was an easy answer for that sad, disjointed speech. He kissed her again, harder, ignoring the protest of his ribs as he crushed her to his chest. Her mouth was fervent on his, her hands insistent, pulling at his arms, seeking a way under his tunic. He thought she truly must be a creature of air alone, because he didn’t seem to need to breathe; all he had to do was kiss her, and that was enough to sustain him.

They might have stood there all night, passionately embraced, except he shifted his weight to keep his balance and practically yelped with pain as he twisted his ankle. She broke free, apologizing madly, and he had to grab her wrists and pull her back to prove he was fine.

“Just a little twinge, nothing to worry about—”

“I’m so sorry! You don’t even have the strength to stand, and here I am, throwing myself at you—”

He laughed at her. “This is the best I’ve felt since the LNR went down,” he declared. “Let’s tell all the medical folks! Euphoria is the best opiate there is.”

She laughed weakly, resting her head against his chest. “I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“You’re hurt.”

He drew back and she lifted her head enough to meet his gaze. “Not as hurt as I’ll be if you walk out the door.”

She was searching his face, looking for reassurance; she was offering him her own expression of unvarnished honesty. “I thought I had lost my chance to be with you,” she said softly. “I thought you would die, and the only memories I’d have would be a kiss or two. I want more. I want all of you. But if you—”

He kissed her again before she could finish the sentence. He didn’t know if she was going to ask about his injuries or question the state of his heart, but it didn’t matter; his answer would be the same.
Nothing will stop me from making love to you tonight.

It turned out he needed to breathe, after all, but it was only reluctantly that he lifted his head to gasp for air. Josetta kissed the stubbled curve of his chin and whispered, “You seem enthusiastic about the idea—”

“Oh,
very
enthusiastic,” he panted.

“But last time I—I offered myself to you, you practically chased me out the door.”

“And cursed myself every day since.”

She brightened. “Really?”

“I wish I had the strength to sweep you into my arms and carry you to the bed, where I would prove how much I want you. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to walk alongside me as I hobble over.”

“Let me help you to the bed, my wounded hero,” she said. “Maybe it’s even more romantic this way.”

“It’s not,” Rafe said, “but I’m not going to complain.”

The bed was reasonably sized and reasonably clean, and Rafe suffered only a few easily overlooked spikes of pain as they tumbled into it together. “Clothes, clothes, clothes, clothes,” he muttered, yanking off his tunic and slipping out of the loose pants. Josetta was down to a single thin undergarment but she got distracted by the stark evidence of his recent misadventure.

“You’re covered with bruises!” she exclaimed, running her palm very lightly over the discolored patches of skin visible among the bandages. “It’s even worse than I thought!”

“That’s not the part of my anatomy I want you to notice,” he said.

She choked back another giggle and widened the range of that questing hand. “Very nice muscles,” she said, trailing her fingers along his arms and shoulders. “Broad shoulders. Slim hips. And—and—other interesting body parts.”

“The most interesting,” he agreed. He was tugging at her last silky piece of clothing, and she paused long enough to pull it over her head with one quick motion. This half of the room was in darkness, but there was plenty of light to see her slim shape, and he greedily drank in all the details—narrow shoulders, small breasts, pale skin as smooth as worn ivory. She looked like a treasure in some rich man’s cache. He remembered suddenly that she was young, that she was royal, and that she was very likely a virgin.

“Josetta,” he began, and he knew she could hear the remorse and worry in his voice. “Maybe this isn’t—”

She stopped his mouth, practically stopped his heart, by laying her body next to his and pressing a kiss on his lips. She was capable of great reserve, but she had never been shy, and she was not shy now. “No more talking,” she whispered against his mouth. Her hands were busy touching him again, and she needn’t have bothered with the prohibition; he was incapable of saying a word. “Just show me how to love you.”

Silently and willingly he began the demonstration, and silently and willingly surrendered her his soul. He wouldn’t ask for promises, he wouldn’t offer them, but they were already written on his heart.

TWENTY

W
hen Josetta woke up the next morning, the first thing she did was squeeze her eyes shut tight again. No, no, no, she did not want it to be daylight, she did not want it to be time to get up, leave the bed, move away from Rafe’s side. She wanted to lie there forever, curled next to him, feeling the amazing sensation of body to body, skin to skin. She wanted to think over the events of the night before, remembering each sensation, each new surprise.

She had long believed that she would enjoy making love to a man, and she’d been right, but her imagination had been woefully limited. She hadn’t realized how consuming the experience could be, turning every other concern insignificant, at least for that precise moment. She hadn’t expected it to leave this particular emotion behind—a sense of well-being, of satisfaction, that left her feeling almost smug.

It was enough to turn her sweela, she mused, to change her into a creature of pure physical hedonism. She thought if she were to draw a set of blessings now they would all be stamped with the glyphs for fire. Or maybe there would be a torz trait thrown in—the sign for contentment, perhaps. She lifted her arms over her head and stretched as high as she could. She felt magnificent.

Rafe lay on his side next to her, sound asleep, but one arm still curled protectively over her waist. He had been so sweet last night, funny and tender, careful and ardent, explaining, exploring, exhilarating. It had been easy to trust him, easy to make love to him. Easy to fall asleep beside him and wake up beside him, conscious of only a single regret—that it was morning already.

But it would be night again soon.

She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll be back in a minute,” then extricated herself from his loose embrace. She slipped on her overtunic and stepped into the hallway, where one of Darien’s soldiers was keeping guard. She nodded at him nonchalantly, then headed down to the common room to clean up. There, she locked the door and immersed herself in the water, washing her hair, washing away the last traces of lovemaking. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of putting on her dirty clothes again—well, she’d make a quick detour to her own chambers, get dressed, then be back in Rafe’s room before he’d even woken up.

She stepped into the hallway and found Darien waiting for her.

“Good morning,” he said affably enough. “I’m glad to find you awake so early.”

For a moment she could only stare at him, her mind an utter blank. She hadn’t seen him when she emerged from Rafe’s apartment. Had he seen her? Had he figured out what they’d done last night? Did she care?

“Darien,” she answered finally. “Why are you here?”

“I had business at the port,” he said. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

She pulled her wits together. “Give me a few minutes,” she said, brushing past him toward her own door. “I need to get dressed. And then I need to check on Rafe. I assume you heard what happened yesterday—no, the day before?”

Darien nodded as he fell in step beside her. “Rafe crashed, but survived more or less intact.”

“He’s in a lot of pain, but I think he’ll be fine. He knows he’s lucky.”

“I hope he’s learned how ridiculous it is to want to fly an aeromotive.”

“I don’t think so. He says he can’t wait to do it again.”

Darien shook his head. “Some people are hopeless.”

She was fishing in the pocket of her overtunic—where, by some great stroke of luck, she had left the key to her room—and she laughed as she unlocked the door. “Not everyone can be a wise, practical hunti man.”

“No, but they don’t have to be half-wits.”

He took a seat at the table, facing the window while she hastily selected clothes, dressed, and tied back her wet hair. A glance in the mirror showed her face was a bit pale from too little sleep, but still shaped by that hint of smug delight. Zoe might notice—Corene certainly would—but she didn’t think Darien had picked up on anything in her expression.

She rummaged through the area set aside as a kitchen, where she had a loaf of bread, half a round of cheese, and a stoppered pitcher of water. She was starving. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m fine.”

She made a small breakfast plate for herself, then pulled up a chair across from him. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Do you want to come with me to visit Romelle?”

She had to swallow a mouthful of food before she could speak her surprise. “At Taro’s? Why?”

He tapped a finger against the table. He was edgy and displeased—also a little worried—and it was rare for Darien to display those emotions, even if he felt them. “She went to Mirti’s over the last nineday for some event. Mirti had explicitly told her to bring Odelia, and Romelle said she would, but when she arrived, it was Mally who came with her.”

That
was
astonishing. “Did she think Mirti wouldn’t know the difference? A
prime
?”

“She made some excuse. It was such a small gathering, she didn’t think it would matter—Odelia had been coughing and feeling poorly—the usual reasons.”

“Maybe Odelia really does have a lot of ailments,” Josetta commented. “Vernon was pretty sick in those final years, you know.”

“Yes, thank you so much for reminding me, I had practically forgotten,” Darien snapped. It was Darien who had had the desperate task of trying to keep Vernon alive as long as possible while concealing from the entire court how weak he really was. “And it has not occurred to me
a single time
that Odelia may have inherited his poor constitution.”

It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t help laughing. “Well, it doesn’t do any good not to acknowledge the truth.”

“No, which is why I want to confront Romelle at her home, when she can’t possibly fail to produce Odelia.”

“Do you plan to arrive unannounced?”

He nodded. “It sounds cruel, I know, but I have the feeling I cannot allow her time to prepare. Perhaps she would whisk Odelia away somewhere before I could see her.”

“But to what end? She can’t be afraid
you
will harm the princess.”

“I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.”

“And why do you want me to come with you?”

His face softened into the smile that always made Josetta forget how difficult Darien could be. “Because we miss you, in my household. Zoe, Corene, Celia, and I. We’re not used to you being gone so many days in a row.”