The Tears of the Rose (20 page)

I was ready to tell him to put me down, but he dumped me unceremoniously on my feet the moment we crossed. Score one for him. He stalked away, ripping off his outer layers with fast jerks, surveying the landscape.

Andi—or her image—was gone. Still, I felt a prickling, a sense of her in the ground. Feeling self-conscious, I said out loud, “Andi, we're here again because we need to spend the night so we won't freeze. I, um, hope you don't mind. We'll stay near here and be gone in the morning.”

No answer, only a chorus of evening birds with a fluid, heartbreaking song I'd never heard.

“I don't want to talk to you again,” I added, for good measure. “I hope you'll respect that.”

Once again, I divested myself of all the winter gear. It would have been so much easier to make this plan to stay the night inside Annfwn earlier. In my heart of hearts, however, I knew it was my fault.

I walked over to where the White Monk studied several branching paths. “I didn't mean to call you a low-life former convict.” It wasn't exactly an apology—after all, it was true—but I honestly hadn't meant to blurt it out that way.

“You meant it, all right,” he commented without any emotion in his voice. “I think this path.”

“Why can't we stay here?” At least the logistics gave us something to discuss that wasn't treacherous ground.

He glanced down at me, eyes full of contempt. “We have no food or water. It would be as unwise to venture down the mountain in the morning without strengthening ourselves as it would be to go now.”

Oh.

“I suppose you imagined that servants would appear from nothing and bring you dinner?” Full of scorn, he turned his back on me.

I hadn't thought about where food would come from. Even after all I'd experienced on this journey, I behaved like a spoiled princess, that person clearly reflected in his gaze.

No wonder he detested me so.

No wonder everyone did.

And yet, I felt like a hind trapped by a pack of hunting dogs; no matter the reprimands everyone flung at me, I couldn't seem to change anything. They nipped bites out of me, but I couldn't seem to stop being who I was.

How did a person change?

We started down the path the White Monk chose, me trotting behind to keep up with his long strides. Just another puppet, following along because I didn't have enough sense to know we needed to find food, or a warm place to sleep. This was supposed to be my holy mission, and I'd been useless or a hindrance or annoying people. No power of my own, once again. Nothing useful to offer. Even the one thing I'd been able to contribute—crossing the barrier—came from an accident of birth.

My whole life seemed to be an accident of birth, in fact. Even this new ability to detect emotions was only borrowed, as was my time in Annfwn. And I'd been wasting them, going in my own circles. Maybe a person changed by breaking out of the circle. I looked around me, hoping for a sign.

In a glen to the left, dappled with golden light, a deer stood on the trail running through it. Her fur gleamed a glorious red-gold. She could have stepped out of my thoughts, the image of the hind—only this one looked free and powerful. No dogs chased her. She moved down another trail. Looked at me. The White Monk's ferocious strides carried him off through the trees.

This was something I would never do, follow a random deer in the forest. A good place to start.

“Hey, Monk!”

He stopped, shoulders tense, and turned with the infinite patience of a man about to lose his temper entirely. “Yes, Your Highness?”

I pointed to the hind, who took several significant steps down the path and looked back at us expectantly. “I think we should go that way.”

His gaze flicked to the deer and then to me. “Now you're an expert in omens in Annfwn?”

I wouldn't let him ruffle me but stuck close to my conviction. “This
is
my mission. You came along for the ride and I understand why you wanted to—though you might have told me. I'm going this way. You can follow me or not.”

19

I
turned away from him and went after the deer. After a bit, I heard the White Monk follow me, his fuming gaze palpable on my back, his anger like roasting meat. How long would he stay angry?

Not that it bothered me. We would part ways, as we were meant to.

The rest had been nothing but a fantasy.

I found that I could be okay with that. With the deer a vision of grace ahead of me, the birdsong, the sweet redolence of the exotic flowers, studding the emerald forest floor like the richest jewels, the gentle evening sun—it all worked on me, sending a feeling of peace into my heart. Even the iron fist of thorns lodged in my breast dissolved a little. My hurt, anger, and self-reproach thinned at the edges and cooled along with the violet sky above.

Like a gift, the trees gave way to a great clearing, a bowl holding a perfectly calm lake that mirrored the sky. All around, the verdant forest spread thick over the hills and I felt I could see it clearly for the first time.

On a moss-covered bank lay a blanket and a basket, along with a copper flagon, beads of sweat showing that whatever was inside would be cool. With a little coo of delight, I ran to the basket and opened it up. Inside was a feast—fruits, pastries, cheeses, some cold meats. I popped a grape into my mouth. It burst on my tongue like a melting, sugary snowflake. We'd had them once, when a delegation from Elcinea brought them to court. Those had been kept on ice for part of the journey, but they'd shriveled some on the way after it melted, the Elcineans said. I'd thought they were miraculous. After I gobbled all of my share, Ursula and Andi gave me most of theirs, too, I'd loved them so much.

Now I understood how grapes should be. Just like this.

And Andi had remembered. Indulging me now as then. Both gestures made out of love. Maybe those meant more, the small actions, than the poems and protestations.

I plucked another, ready to savor it, when the White Monk knocked it out of my hand.

“Ami! Don't eat that stuff.”

“Why not?” Clutching the bunch of grapes to my breast, I put distance between us.

“It could be poisoned.”

“I thought this was paradise.”

His jaw muscles clenched. “A euphemism. That doesn't make it perfect.”

I deliberately put the basket between us. “I think you're mad that invisible servants
did
show up and provide me with dinner.” Slowly and deliberately, I placed another grape on my tongue and crunched it, letting the pure sweetness of it fill my mouth. “Mmm . . . delicious.”

His gaze seemed to be riveted to my mouth. The hatred had faded from his eyes, and I smelled that dark, smoky current. Not so oblivious to me, perhaps. It helped to know what this meant, my borrowed gift.

“You're being foolish. It's my job to protect you,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Can't protect a fool from her own choices, can you?” I shrugged cheerfully, spreading my arms wide. Oh, yes, he looked at my breasts as they bounced, even if he immediately yanked his gaze out to the lake. Feeling much better, I sat and emptied the picnic basket. “You can wait and see if I die. Meanwhile, I'm starving.”

I poured some of the water into a thoughtfully provided cup and drank deep. It tasted like the snow at the top of the mountains looked. Making myself a plate of the food, I soaked in the gorgeous scenery. If this was only the buffer area, what was the rest of Annfwn like? Feeling happier than I had in forever, I devoured the food, wordlessly passing a bunch of the grapes to the White Monk when he grudgingly sat. Without further comment, he ate them and the other offerings. Guess he'd decided I would have died by now if they were poisoned.

He repacked the leftovers in the basket and set it aside. Sated and sleepy, I decided I'd better brush my hair, lest I fall asleep soon. Rummaging in my cloak pocket, I pulled out the brush, then unbraided my hair and starting counting strokes. A bright moon had risen, the lake reflecting the light with silver-violet serenity.

“You brought a hairbrush?” the White Monk asked, breaking the long silence.

“In my cloak, yes.”

“You don't have a dagger to defend yourself with, but you keep your hairbrush on you at all times.”

“Yes. And you're making me lose count.”

“Count?”

I stopped at twenty, an easy number to remember. “One hundred strokes, every night. Well, usually. I missed the last couple of nights.”

“Unbelievable.”

“If I were Ursula and hopped up to practice moves with the dagger you think I should carry around, you wouldn't be so incredulous.”

“That's different.” He sounded as grumpy as ever.

“Is it? I will never be Ursula. Maybe I need to learn to use what I'm good at—like I have a different kind of weapon.”

He heaved out a breath, reclining on the blanket to watch me. It was frankly a relief to have him relax a little.

“Your beauty is not a weapon, Ami.”

And at least he wasn't hurling titles at me like rocks.

“Don't say that.”

“Why not?”

I pointed the brush at him. “Because it's all I have. Didn't you point that out to me first? I have no power of my own, only what I can borrow or steal from someone else. I certainly don't have smarts to offer. How I look is my best tool. Perhaps I'm coming to terms with that.”

He fell silent, so I resumed brushing, the rhythm of the count like one of Glorianna's prayer cycles.

“I didn't mean it that way,” he finally said.

“No?”

“I think you have many talents. You're unbelievably strong-willed, courageous, sensitive, passionate . . .”

He trailed off after the last word, leaving it to hum between us. Something he hadn't meant to say. It made me smile, and he shifted, looking away.

“I don't think that counts as an ability.”

“It does,” he countered immediately. “You have no idea how many people in the world lack that ability, to love life and live it. Even now, when you've been kicked in the worst way, over and over, you revel in everything. Look at you—brushing your hair, laughing at me. And the way you ate those grapes . . .”

The dark current of desire deepened, and I breathed it in. Infinitely preferable to that stagnant hatred and scorn.

“What about the way I ate the grapes?” I teased him.

“Never mind.” He growled the words, but I could feel that he wasn't angry, not anymore.

“Okay, let's try this. Why did you say those things to me if you didn't mean them?”

“I wanted to . . .” He heaved out a lungful of impatience. “To get through to you. To get you to really see what was going on around you.”

Aha. “Why?”

He didn't answer. I tipped my head sideways, brushing up in the reverse direction, from the bottom over the top of my head. In the sapphire dusk, his eyes gleamed without color. Not saying. Okay, then.

“I guess we all say things we don't mean sometimes.”

He nodded, with a rigid jerk of his chin.

“Look.” I set the brush aside and leaned on the blanket on one elbow, propping my head on my hand. “I apologize for what I said. I'm thoughtless and I blurt things out when I'm angry, which I was. Andi and I . . .” I sighed and rolled onto my back, staring up into the sky. Stars were beginning to prick the darkening sky, glittering with prismatic brilliance. “I don't know how to handle anything anymore. But I am sorry that I hurt your feelings. You're right—I meant what I said, but I didn't say it to wound you.”

Seeming as if he couldn't help himself, the ground growing soft and warm beneath me, the scent of wood smoke and grapes in the air, the White Monk edged closer. Picking up a long tendril of my hair, he rolled it through his fingers.

“You didn't wound me,” he said, sand soft. “You're right—it was all true. Of course you were angry at the insinuation that I would be your lover. It's an absurd thought.”

How did a person change? Maybe by doing things they wouldn't normally do.

“No, it's not,” I told him. “That's the thing. It's not absurd at all.”

My breath held tight in my chest.
Happiness doesn't grow thick on the ground.
This might be my chance. If not now, when? We weren't even in the Twelve Kingdoms, so it seemed that none of those rules applied. And I wanted this. Wanted to know how it felt to be with at least one other man. One who saw me as something more than a fragile prize to be protected. I'd been trying to seduce him, I realized, luring him in.

And he said beauty didn't count as a talent.

He wound the lock of my hair around his finger, studying it as if it held all the answers. “You would take a criminal—a demon part-blood—to your bed?”

“We're not in a bed,” I answered lightly. My breasts felt tight and hot, my nipples pushing against the silk. I wanted him to touch me. Hard. I wanted to feel something again, some of that passion he thought I possessed.

He laughed under his breath without humor. “That's not really the point, is it? You and I both know I'm not fit to touch even this much of you.”

“You touched me before, far more than this.”

“That was different.”

“You healed me—and slept for a day and a night to pay the price for it. I owe you.”

“You were my ticket here. I think you realize now how I tricked you.”

“And yet you're willing to leave, to see me to safety.”

“I might be a low-life criminal, but I'm not one to abandon my duty,” he growled. My skin warmed, heat pooling between my legs. I liked him this way, a little impatient and rough.

I stretched my arms up over my head, letting my back arch, aware of how the movement drew his gaze, the air and ground thick with his wanting. With our intertwined desire. “I didn't thank you, for healing me. What kind of boon can a poor princess offer a man like you for her rescue from dire straits?”

He stilled, my hair wound so many times around his finger that I felt it pulling against my scalp. At last it was sinking in.

“You can't mean it,” he said, in a rough whisper.

“It's not as if you can get me pregnant.” This felt wild. Totally unlike me. Not the pretty princess. I wanted this. “Tonight, can't I just be Ami? And you can be just . . .”

I waited for him to fill in the space.

“Ash.” The name fit neatly into the quiet spot.

“Ash,” I repeated, tucking his name away like the gift it was. “Ash, I want you.”

He groaned a little, lifting his eyes to my face. I waited while he lifted a hand and held it near my cheek. It hovered there, shaking a little. “I was wrong,” he gritted out. “You wield your beauty like the finest blade. So sharp you cut me to ribbons before I knew it.” Still without touching my skin, he drew his hand down my center, floating barely out of reach. I held still, praying for him to touch me.

“You are so damn beautiful, Ami, looking at you is like staring into the sun. I'm afraid I'll come away burned and blinded.”

“Then close your eyes,” I urged him. “Don't look. But, Ash, please. I want you.”

He did close his eyes, shuddering, the musk from our desire wrapping around us like down-filled quilts. Then, in a quicksilver movement, he straddled me, pinning my wrists over my head, craggy face close to mine.

“Last chance to back out.” He said it like a demand. My blood heated to boiling. This would happen.

“I don't want to back out.”

His grip tightened on me. “It won't be gentle. I'm no nobleman to courteously and reverently make love. If you don't say no, I'm going to fuck you, Ami. Do you understand what I mean?”

I shuddered, trembling with a lust so fierce I thought it might tear me apart if he didn't do as he promised.

“I understand.” I lifted my hips, brushing his hard member with my belly.

He lowered his head, lips a breath from mine, my wrists still held in his implacable grip. I wanted to thrash against it but didn't want to frighten him away.

“Say it one more time,” he commanded. “Three is the magic number.”

“Ash,” I breathed. “I want you.”

His mouth clamped on mine, as if he devoured the words from my lips along with the breath that spoke them. The kiss crashed through me, breaking me apart, making me wild. Now I did writhe against him, opening my mouth and letting him plunder it as my fantasies had promised he'd do.

Giving myself over, I cried and whimpered, urging him on by rubbing my body against him wherever I could. He pulled away from the kiss and I followed him, trying to chase the fiery feeling of his mouth. Nipping me on the lower lip, he told me to behave, then sat up, knees still straddling my hips.

“Don't move.” He released my wrists and I curled my fingers into fists to obey. Moving slowly—tortuously so—he trailed a finger down my throat and down over the silk, between my breasts. “From the first moment I saw you, I dreamed of this moment. They warned me that your beauty is like a drug. That once a man beholds you, he won't think straight again. But I thought I'd be immune. No such luck.”

“Is that why you hate me?” I whispered, my nipples so hard, so desperate for him to touch, that my head spun with it, as if I'd drunk too much wine.

He was shaking his head. “I don't hate you, Ami.” Winding his fingers in the silk of my shirt, he pulled the fabric tight. “I hated how much I wanted this.”

His face contorted with a passion that rocked me to my core, he tore open the shirt. Involuntarily I cried out, my back bowing as the silk pulled me up, the moonlight revealing my naked breasts.