Til the End of Time

by Iris Johansen

  If she lived. She had to live. Sandor didn't think he'd be able to exist without her. "I don't know." His hand resumed its tender stroking motion at her temple. "I just don't know."

  Ten

  He was falling, crumpling to the floor in slow, slow motion. The shot still echoed in her ears and her eyes and her heart as she watched with sick horror. The gun in her hand was terri­bly heavy, but she couldn't seem to let it fall. It was stuck to her hand. She didn't want to hold it. She never wanted to touch a gun again. "No. Please, no."

  "Shh. It's all right. You're fine now." Sandor s voice. Sandor's hand holding tightly to her own.

  She opened her eyes. "Sandor?" she whispered. "You're safe?"

  He was sitting on the bed beside her. His deep blue eyes were glittering. "I'm safe," he said. He cleared his throat. "Bruner's safe. And so are you. The doctor said your wound isn't much more than a scratch. The only reason you fainted was exhaus­tion." He paused. "And shock."

  Shock. Naldona. "Is Naldona . . . ?"

  Sandor's hand tightened. "Yes."

  She felt the waves of sickness return. "I was afraid he was."

  "Dear heaven, don't cry. It's tearing me apart."

  She hadn't known she was crying, but now she became aware of the tears running slowly down her cheeks. "I've never had to do that before."

  "He was a bloodthirsty bastard." Sandor's voice was harsh. "Everyone in Tamrovia wants to give you a medal. You're a national heroine."

  "He was a man." She closed her eyes wearily. "I didn't want to do it, Sandor. I didn't want to hurt anyone."

  "I know you didn't. Go back to sleep, love. You'll feel better when you wake up."

  "Will I?" She doubted if this terrible depression could be alleviated—much less banished—by sleep. But Sandor had said she would feel better, and it must be true. Sandor wouldn't lie to her. She could trust Sandor. ...

  "I don't want to stay in bed," Alessandra said firmly. "You told me the doctor assured you it was only a very minor flesh wound. I can't lie in this bed any longer. It will drive me up the wall."

  James chuckled. "Longer? You only regained consciousness two hours ago. I wouldn't say you've been exactly bedfast. The doctor also said you need rest and relaxation." His smile faded. "And to stay off those feet as much as possible for the next two weeks."

  "I can't do that." She sat up in bed, flinching as a hot twinge shot through her side. Why did every muscle in her body ache, when only her left side had been grazed? "I have to see Sandor."

  "You can't see him now. He's in a cabinet meet­ing. We sent a message to let him know you'd finally decided to wake up."

  "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long. Thirty-six hours." She shook her head. "It's incredible."

  "Not at all. According to Karpathan, you've been driven to the edge of exhaustion. He said the last few days had been a nightmare for you."

  Not all of it had been a nightmare. There had been moments of beauty and warmth and pas­sion. Moments she would remember for the rest of her life. Sandor Karpathan had stepped into her life and transfigured it in every way. "Cabinet meeting? That sounds very official."

  "As official as anything can be with a fledgling government. Sandor has formed a temporary cab­inet to set up committees and act as a governing body until a constitution can be drafted and an election held." He made a face. "I'm surprised the cabinet's wrangling didn't awaken you. Karpathan refused to leave you for the first twenty-four hours, so his cabinet set up shop in the sitting room. It seems they decided they couldn't do without Karpathan. That appears to be the common feel­ing here in Tamrovia. Everything stops without him."

  "Yes." She could endorse that viewpoint. Her own world would stop without Sandor. He had stayed with her during a period when the de­mands on him must have been titanic. She felt the familiar warm radiance begin deep within her. "They love him."

  "And they're not the only ones." James's gaze was searching her face. "I think you must share the general hysteria. I suppose I should have sus­pected as much. He was almost out of his mind with worry until the doctor assured him you'd be fine in a few days. It's very rare for that depth of emotion to exist without reciprocation."

  "I do love him." The words felt strange and came hesitantly to her lips, but what was there to be hesitant about? He was a man any woman would be proud to love. She lifted her chin. "I'm abso­lutely mad about Sandor Karpathan."

  "Well, you were never one to do things halfway." His hand covered hers on the counterpane of the bed. "Does that mean I'm going to have to go to Mariba alone?"

  "We'll work something out. Nothing is settled." She hadn't even told Sandor she loved him. She experienced an instant of uncertainty. For that matter, he had made only the most fleeting men­tion of any lasting emotion to her. No, there hadn't been any need for words. Sandor had said words weren't always necessary. The bond between them might be new, but it was very strong. "I have to talk to Sandor."

  "I believe we've gone over that ground before."

  "And I'm not staying in bed."

  "Alessandra ..."

  "She is causing you trouble?" Paulo stood in the doorway. "Sandor said she would. He also said we are to keep her in bed until he can make arrangements for her."

  "Arrangements? I don't need 'arrangements.' All I need is for everyone to stop arguing with me."

  "Sandor says you need these arrangements." Paulo strolled into the room to stand beside the bed and grin down at her. "Now, why are you being so difficult? Sandor has entrusted me with this mission, and you know I never fail at any­thing I undertake."

  "This may be the exception to prove the rule. Since when have you accepted such unexciting assignments, Paulo?"

  "I decided I owed it to Sandor. I didn't take as good care of his woman as I might have."

  "Because I was shot? That wasn't anyone's fault but my own. It was my decision to go alone. You wanted to come with me."

  Paulo shook his head. "Not because you were shot." His gaze was reproachful. "You didn't tell me about your feet. If you'd complained, I would have found a way to help you on our trip from the air­field. Sandor was very angry I had let you walk that distance."

  "Let?"

  He chuckled, and inclined his head in a half bow. "My apologies. Just then you sounded like my sister, Marna. I'm not fool enough to think a woman can't equal a man, but any person has to be taken care of when she or he is hurt." His smile vanished. "Now, let us be sensible. Sandor has many claims on his time right now. You may have slept for the last thirty-six hours, but he has not. I don't think he's snatched more than a few hours since the assault on Belajo began. He's very tired. He's been dividing his time between watching over you and establishing his government. If you in­sist on getting up, I'll have to tell him, and he will break off his meeting to come and argue with you, which means he will have to go back to the meeting later instead of resting. Do you want that?"

  She frowned. "No, of course not."

  "Then why not stay quietly in bed this after­noon and let him make his arrangements? In a few hours I will send a maid to help you with your bath and make you beautiful for him."

  Dear heaven, she hadn't given a thought to how she looked. Even at her best, she was no beauty, and she was definitely not at her best now. She probably appeared as worn and frazzled as an old army boot. "I suppose I'm not very presentable."

  Neither James nor Paulo answered, but their silence spoke volumes.

  "Oh, very well." She sighed. "When are these 'arrangements' supposed to be set?"

  "This evening. Sandor said he would be pleased if you would dine with him in the grand ballroom."

  "The grand ballroom?" she repeated. "Are you sure that's what he said?"

  Paulo nodded.

  "Is it a party?"

  Paulo shrugged. "He didn't say. I don't think so. He wouldn't want to tire you." He turned to leave. "I will go and arrange for the maid." He glanced pointedly at James. "It would be best if she rested now."

&
nbsp; James rose hurriedly to his feet. "Yes, of course. I'll come to see you later, Alessandra." He followed Paulo to the door and paused to glance back and smile at her. "I doubt if I'm invited to your party. I have an idea Karpathan has a very private affair in mind this evening." He closed the door quietly behind him.

  She hoped it was private. The only person she wanted to see tonight was Sandor. But the grand ballroom? Perhaps it was some belated victory celebration. She slowly settled back in the bed and tried to relax. It wasn't easy. She wanted to see Sandor, touch him, talk to him. She was feel­ing terribly isolated. They had grown so close in their time together, she hadn't realized how lonely she would be when separated from him. Unfortu­nately, everyone in Tamrovia seemed to feel the same way.

  And she didn't want to be alone now. She didn't want to have to think of that moment when she'd had to pull the trigger and seen Naldona fall to the floor. It had been too horrible to accept. But she had to accept it. She had taken a life. If she hadn't taken that life, others would have died. Still, she wished with all her heart that she hadn't been the one to have to do it. She closed her eyes. Perhaps it was better she had this time alone Since she had awakened, she had flinched away from thinking of what she had done. Now she had to face it and come to terms with it. She had faced many ugly shadows in her life, and this might be the ugliest one of all. Nevertheless, the shadow had to be confronted. She would lie here and try to nerve herself to confront what she had done.

  The small, dark-skinned maid, who arrived in her suite a few hours later and identified herself as Bette, had obviously been given very explicit instructions. Alessandra was helped carefully into the bathroom, where she was bathed and her hair was shampooed and dried. Then she was wrapped in a bath sheet, transferred to the Queen Anne chair in the bedroom, and was manicured and pedicured. Her hair was curled and then brushed out to fall down her back in a shimmering flow of rich brown silk. Ordinarily, Bette's solemn deter­mination to turn her into a pampered beauty would have amused and then exasperated Alessandra. However, she was still sore and weak enough to sit back and enjoy the cosseting.

  "Makeup," Bette announced firmly. When it had been duly applied, the maid stood back and ob­served her critically. "Now you are beautiful."

  "Not unless you're a sorceress," Alessandra said dryly. "There's only so much soap and paint can do. It's almost seven. I guess I might as well dress. The white gown will be fine."

  "No, the Tanzar will send you what he wishes you to wear. You sit back and rest."

  Sandor's "arrangements" covered attire as well, it seemed.

  The gown was delivered ten minutes later. When Bette returned from answering the door, she was carefully carrying a garment that was a splash of magnificent color and fabric. The jade green of the brocade shimmered in the lamplight as if it were alive.

  "Beautiful," Alessandra whispered. "I've never seen a gown so beautiful."

  But she found it wasn't a gown at all. The gar­ment proved to be a robe, full and flowing, with a high mandarin collar and wide sleeves. The robe itself was gloriously extravagant, and she felt ab­solutely royal as she slipped it on. Royal and con­fident and . . . treasured. She was still gazing bemusedly at herself in the mirror when another knock sounded. Paulo.

  She turned to face him. "I feel as if I've been groomed to be the concubine of Kubla Khan."

  "It's funny you should say that." Paulo's eyes were dancing. "You must have the power to see what others do not. My sister has such a power. Come, it's time." He scooped her up in his arms. "Now, do not protest. Sandor said you must not walk." He nodded to the maid to open the door. "I promise I will carry you only until we get to the foyer."

  The reason for Paulo's amusement was at the bottom of the stairs, sitting squarely in the huge foyer.

  "A ricksha." Alessandra couldn't believe it. Not just an ordinary ricksha, but a vehicle as extrava­gant as the robe she was wearing. The edge of the seat and the back of the ricksha were garlanded with gardenias and tuberoses, the wheels spoked with gold and studded with jade and amber. Stand­ing beside it was a tall, powerful man in a scarlet uniform with gold braid. "But how did Sandor do it? There wasn't enough time."

  "Everyone in Tamrovia is crazy to please Sandor. He only had to ask." Paulo sat her on the seat of the ricksha and motioned to the majordomo. One finger touched her cheek affectionately. "Joy." He stepped back.

  The wheels of the ricksha had rubber rims, and the vehicle moved silently through the foyer and down the halls. Alessandra passed several soldiers standing at attention who were trying with some difficulty to repress their smiles. She didn't blame them. This entire scenario was completely outrageous. She didn't know whether to be more amused or touched.

  The tall double doors were thrown open, and she caught her breath. Flowers were everywhere. White roses, jasmine, lilac. The scents were heady and fresh and the colors vibrant with a beauty that was a drug to the senses. The teardrop crys­tals of the huge chandelier reflected their hues like icicles in sunlight. Then she saw Sandor stand­ing totally alone in the middle of the flower-bedecked ballroom and forgot everything but him. He was wearing a dark blue dress uniform embel­lished with only a narrow scarlet stripe down the sides of the trousers. No medals. No braid. Just Sandor.

  The majordomo stopped before Sandor and, with a little flourish, set the arms of the ricksha on the floor and stood at attention.

  "Sandor, are you trying to overwhelm me?" Alessandra asked with a shaky smile. "All of this ..." She waved a hand. "I feel like someone in a fable."

  "You're the type of woman men write fables about." He stepped closer and lifted her into his arms. "I've given you enough sordid reality to last you a lifetime. I wanted to give you something beau­tiful, for a change."

  He had already given her something beautiful that had nothing to do with gold or jade or expen­sive brocade. Didn't he realize that? She opened her lips to ask him and then closed them again without speaking. Lord, he looked tired. Now that she was closer, she could see the shadows be­neath his eyes and the deep grooves around his mouth. "Paulo said you hadn't been sleeping enough."

  "I'll sleep later. There's too much to do right now."

  "Including 'arranging' all this for me," she said in helpless exasperation. "I'll bet you haven't had a decent night's sleep for days, and yet you—"

  "Hush." He set her down in the midst of a pile of satin pillows on a low, wide couch vaguely re­sembling a sultan's divan. "That wasn't work; it was pleasure." He brushed her lips lightly with his own. "You're a pleasure." He gestured and the majordomo left the room. "How are you?"

  "Fine. Stiff, but better than you."

  "Don't you ever give up?" He sat down beside her. "I'm a little tired, that's all." He suddenly frowned. "I know this is all a little glitzy, but I thought you might enjoy it."

  She experienced a surge of love so great, she couldn't speak for a moment. He had planned this wonderful, thoughtful gesture and she hadn't even told him how much it meant to her. "I love it," she said softly. "It's utterly insane and completely glo­rious. Thank you, Sandor."

  "You're welcome." He inclined his head, his frown disappearing. "I'm glad you appreciate it. You know, of course, I'm going to have to produce receipts for the new treasury department to prove I paid for it all out of my personal fortune. We mustn't have any hint of corruption in the government."

  "You're definitely going to be the new president?"

  "For one term, at least. We can't persuade any­one to run against me, so it looks as though I have no choice."

  "You'll make a wonderful president."

  "Will I?" He smiled crookedly. '"I don't know about that. I know how politics are played, but I've grown accustomed to bypassing diplomacy. Perhaps I'd better have someone around to keep an eye on me to make sure I don't become a dictator." He paused. "The job's open, Alessandra. All you have to do is apply."

  "Watchdog?" She shook her head. "You wouldn't need me. There's no way on earth you could ever turn
into another Naldona."

  "The hell I don't need you." He knelt beside her, his eyes intent. "I'll always need you. Look, I know you're probably upset with me because of what happened to Naldona but—"

  "Why should I be upset with you?" She stared at him in surprise. "It was my decision. You and Paulo seem to be on the same wavelength. No one is responsible for what I choose to do but me." She smiled sadly. "I know we made a deal, but there are some responsibilities we have to shoul­der alone."

  "I didn't want you to go through that." His voice was husky. "Why the hell didn't you go to Switzer­land?"

  "Because you were on your way to Belajo. Why the hell didn't you take me with you?"

  "I wanted to keep you safe. This wasn't your war."

  "But you were my man." Damn, she hadn't meant to say that. She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. "Weren't you? I've been called your woman so many times since the night we met, I've learned to accept it. But it has to go both ways."

  "Yes, it has to go both ways." A smile tugged at his lips. "But you should rephrase it to reflect the present tense. I am your man. Or perhaps the future tense is even a better idea. I will be your man." He paused. "Forever."

  Joy, warmth, radiance. "I think I'll have to prac­tice that for a while," she whispered. "I'm not used to thinking about forever."

  "Neither am I. It's been a long time since I've dared to think more than one day at a time. But I want to get used to it, and I want to get used to it with you." He looked away, "Oh, hell, I'm rushing you again, aren't I? I didn't mean to pressure you into ..." He made a motion to stand. "I'll tell them we're ready for dinner."

  "No." Her hand on his sleeve prevented him from rising. "Not yet. I've been waiting all day to talk to you, and I have no intention of observing the social amenities until we have a few things clear."

  He frowned. "I would have come to you the min­ute they told me you were awake, but—"