by Carol A Park
He chuckled. “Why do I feel like that suggestion has the ring of a threat about it?”
“She stopped by your room, too, which was how I knew you weren’t there.”
“You asked if she stopped by my room?”
She shrugged. “I was curious what you would do when offered your old vice on a platter.”
“Was she pretty?” he quipped, offering her a half-cocked smile.
She frowned. “Not amused.”
He ducked his head, duly chastised. “Sorry. Poor taste. I’m kidding, of course.”
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. “Of course.”
He looked over at her, but she said nothing more. Her hair was still bound back at the nape, but strands had come free. He didn’t know why he always found those loose strands that tickled her neck so irresistible, but there it was.
He took a deep breath and looked away. “Did you need something, or did you seek me out merely to cheer me up with ominous warnings?”
“I thought you might want company.”
He raised an eyebrow. “She who would prefer the companionship of a rock to a human being offers me this? How uncharacteristically generous.”
She put her hands behind her back as if standing for inspection. “If you don’t, I can leave.”
An owl hooted from somewhere across the palace grounds. Company. Such a simple concept, wasn’t it? “I never mind your company,” he said softy, though he suspected her offer had to do more with her own frame of mind than her concern for his. He’d never get her to admit that, though.
“I appreciate you not killing Airell today,” he said.
She said nothing.
“If it makes you feel any better, he’s locked up in the dungeon.” He pulled out the key he had put on a chain around his neck by way of demonstration. “And I confiscated the only key because I don’t know who might be loyal to Airell. Is that sufficient foresight for you?”
Neither the jailor nor his mother had been happy about handing over the key, but he didn’t even know if he could trust his mother, let alone the jailor.
His stomach clenched again, and he pushed it away.
Sadly, Ivana failed to praise him. “I’ll feel better once he’s dead.”
He tucked the key back under his shirt. “Will you? That doesn’t seem to be your experience.”
She said nothing.
They stood in silence for a while, she in her at-ease position, and he slouched over with his hands in his pockets. A warm breeze occasionally lifted the still hot air, and crickets took up a chorus in the palace gardens below. Beyond the palace walls, the city of Cohoxta stretched out on all sides. To the south, the Atl River glistened in the moonlight; to the east, the Fereharian Mountains rose above the horizon, blocking out stars.
In that moment, it seemed surreal that he was staying at the Fereharian palace, when not even two years ago he had been on the run from the Fereharian Ri, his own father. That his mother seemingly accepted him, had even sided with him over her firstborn. That he would attempt to wrest the title of Ri from his own brother, who, knowing the way the rule of law tended to work in Ferehar, would likely be executed for treason if Vaughn won.
“What am I doing here, Ivana?” he asked softly. “I spent the past hour courting three of the four Fereharian Gan for their votes and support. My mother seems pleased with how it went, but I was never raised for this.”
“I’m sure Yaotel and Tanuac will provide you with some quality advisors.”
His mouth twisted at the taste on his tongue. “Yes. You’re right. I’m here to do what I’m told, aren’t I?”
“You want to do something else?”
“No, I—” He exhaled, frustration bubbling up. “I was the third son of Ri Gildas, and then a Banebringer—to Yaotel, an asset, and to the other Ichtaca, a member of their ‘club,’ as you like to put it. They want me to be Ri? Fine. I can be whatever identity they want to slap on me. I’ve plenty of practice, after all.” His words caught audibly with a hitch in his throat, and he pressed his lips together to stop the bitter barrage.
Ivana shifted.
“I know,” he said. “What sane person complains about being handed one of the most powerful and affluent positions in the Empire?”
“That was,” she said softly, “not at all what I was thinking.”
“No?”
“No.”
He waited. She didn’t elaborate.
“What were you thinking, then?” he prodded.
There was a long silence, and then she turned to face him. “That perhaps you and I have more in common than I originally suspected.”
He gave her a wan smile. “Yes. Except while I’m dying to be known as the person beneath my layers of identities, I rather think you’re hoping just the opposite for yourself.”
She didn’t return his smile, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was her response to his observation. “We’re both a mess,” she conceded.
A warm breeze blew again, and loose hairs flitted into her eyes. He reached out to brush them away before she could, but instead, their hands collided.
He caught her hand in his, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she intertwined her fingers in his own and looked up at him. Her face was implacable no longer; instead, it was strained with what he could only describe as grief.
He almost never knew what was going on in that head of hers because she rarely told him. But he knew how his own isolation ate at him, and he knew that somewhere inside she was still hurting deeply.
He hesitated, and then he drew her against himself, untangled his hand from hers, and wrapped his arms around her.
She stiffened, but he held her tightly. Bit by bit, the tension drained out of her, and she at last slid her arms up his back and relaxed into his offered embrace.
Ivana buried her face in Vaughn’s shoulder. He was wrong. He was so, desperately wrong. She wanted to be known more than anything. She wanted to be just Ivana, without anything else complicating her life. The problem was she didn’t know who that person was anymore. She had lost herself three times over, and the shattered pieces of the person who had been left behind were more than just a simple mess—as if a sturdy broom could swiftly sweep them up or a skilled hand could untangle the knot.
No, her deepest fear was that she was irreparably broken.
She had never truly healed from her shattered past; she had never learned to cope in any other way than running, literally and figuratively.
She had never faced herself, and therefore now she no longer knew herself.
But she did know that right now, she didn’t want to be alone, and so she let Vaughn hold her, drank in the simple comfort of another’s solid presence.
The thought of going back to her room and lying in the darkness…
Aleena would welcome a change of mind. But Aleena would also ask her questions. Prod and pry at her, even if only with those eyes. And Ivana didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to reflect—she wanted company, not a counselor.
After a moment, she whispered, “Can I stay with you tonight?”
He pulled back to look at her, one eyebrow quirked up.
“Just…in the room.”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You can stay with me.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Just to Be
Vaughn’s suite was bigger than Ivana’s, with a separate bedroom from the sitting area as well as a private bath, so it turned out she would have plenty of space to “stay in his room.”
He unlocked the door and held it open for her, and then he crossed the room to light a lamp.
She sank down onto the couch in the sitting area. A weariness that went beyond physical fatigue pulled at her.
“Do you want something to drink?” Vaughn asked, holding up a bottle of wine that was on a side table. “It looks like a good vintage. By that I mean, it might even taste good, even if it can’t offer anything else to us.”
&nb
sp; She glanced at the bottle. “Where did that come from?”
There was a tag around the neck of the bottle, and he flipped it over to read it. “A gift from my mother, apparently.”
She sighed. “I’ll pass. And so should you.”
He looked at the bottle in his hand and then set it back down. “It’s from my mother. Are you suggesting that my own mother would try to poison me?”
Ivana felt that he shouldn’t rule out that possibility, but he probably didn’t need that thought implanted in his head right now. “So the tag says. Have you confirmed that?”
He rubbed at his jaw. “Oh. Right.”
Gods, sometimes he still seemed so naïve. “Do you think anyone would be interested in a pool for how long you last? I’d go for two months.”
He plopped down next to her on the couch. “You know—”
“I’m joking.”
“Are you?”
She turned her head to look at him, considering the matter more seriously. “Well, you’re a Banebringer, so that’s a slight deterrent. An assassin would be wary of taking such a job, and that information is public knowledge, so a client couldn’t hide it in your case. Still, that doesn’t rule out poison and ‘accidents.’” She tapped her chin. “Also, since most clients wouldn’t want to unleash a bloodbane in the middle of the palace, you’ll need to be the most concerned when you’re traveling or out of the city.”
“Most?”
She shrugged. “There are always those people who just want the world to burn.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“All things considered, if you continue on your current path of naivety, I’ll give you four months. Six, if I’m being generous, and I’ll grant a year if I’m overestimating how many people might take the more blunt-force method of getting rid of you.”
“Ivana—”
“We still haven’t addressed those who will seek to depose you in other ways—more subtle ways. Such as framing you, hurting people you care about, or, since a strong point in your favor over Airell is that you’re generally a ‘nice guy,’ slowly eroding your reputation through gossip and rumors, or forcing your hand in less ‘nice’ ways to destroy trust. Granted, it’s hard to get rid of a Ri, but someone could certainly negate your influence or make life miserable enough for you that you just give up and run.”
“Ivana!”
She stopped. “Yes?”
He rubbed his temples. “I am perfectly aware of the sort of games people play in these circles. Why in the abyss do you think this is the last place I want to be?”
“Ah. I assumed—”
“That since I seem to have a knack for being reckless with my own welfare, I don’t know anything else?”
“You did say you weren’t raised to this.”
“I wasn’t. Airell was. Ironically, Airell squandered the opportunity. But I know what’s out there. I just won’t be a natural at navigating it.” He sighed. “I thought you wanted to stay here because you needed companionship, not to give me a list of all my potential problems.”
Huh. He had a point. “Well. I suppose if I’m focusing on solving your problems, I’m not thinking about mine.”
He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “How about,” he said, “we not talk about problems right now?”
“Fair enough,” she said.
He exhaled through his nose, and his face softened. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he scooted closer to her, put his arm around her shoulders, and drew her against him.
Her instinctual reaction was to pull away, to stiffen, to reject his offer of comfort.
But she fought it because if she didn’t stop to think and just let herself be…this was…nice.
She forced herself, as she had earlier, to relax against him. She closed her eyes, and they were silent for long enough that she started to drift off.
“Ivana?” he asked abruptly.
“Mmm…yes?”
There was a long pause, long enough that the pause itself roused her.
“What are you going to do after all this is over?”
“I thought we weren’t talking about problems,” she said.
Another pause. “Is that question a problem?”
She turned it over in her mind. “Sort of. Because I don’t know.”
“You could stay here with me.”
She drew back. She told herself that it was only so she could see his face, but inside she felt more like a bird that had fluttered away from something that had startled it.
The latter must have shown on her face, because he rushed to explain. “I mean—I could use someone around who thinks the way you do. To remind me not to do stupid things like drinking anonymous bottles of wine given in gifts.” He rubbed his jaw. “Temoth, I could even give you an official title. Like, ‘Advisor of Keeping Vaughn Alive.’”
She had to smile at that. “Doesn’t that normally fall under the purview of bodyguards?”
He waved his hand. “Oh, I’m sure eventually I’ll collect some burly men I can trust for that purpose. But that’s not what I meant.”
“Ah. You meant more like an Intelligence Advisor.”
“Fine. Your version wins.” He flashed her a smile. “Besides, long-term, it will be easier to figure out how we’re supposed to use your powers to fight Danathalt if you’re here. This would give you something to do in the meantime.”
She turned the possibility over in her mind. “Does the official title come with pay?”
“Official titles normally do.”
If he was serious, there was a certain appeal to it. It would be a way to use her skills to protect someone she cared about rather than hurt someone she didn’t. “I’ll consider it.”
“Really?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.
She was rather surprised herself. Especially that she had listed Vaughn in a category of people she cared about. When had that changed? “Yes. But maybe you should get elected before you start spending Ferehar’s money.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “As long as you promise that you don’t turn me down and then end up working for someone else—like Yaotel. Because then I might become disgruntled.”
She snorted. “That is not likely to happen.”
“What if he paid more?”
She rolled her eyes. “Even were it possible for Yaotel to match the coffers of Ferehar, I would make a horrible ‘Intelligence Advisor’ for Yaotel because I don’t like him enough to care about what happens to him—not to mention he doesn’t like me enough to ask.”
There was a long pause, during which all that happened was Vaughn’s small smile grew until it stretched from ear to ear.
She frowned. “What are you grinning about?”
“You just admitted that you like me.”
“I said no su—” Gods help her, she sort of had, hadn’t she?
She sniffed and looked away. “All that means is I like you enough that I’d be willing to keep something from happening to you. For pay.”
“You,” he said, putting his hands on either side of her face and forcing her to look back at him, “are a big, fat, liar.” His smile had returned to more normal proportions, and a playful twinkle was in his eye.
She had no response for him because he was right, and they both knew it. She could no longer deny it: She had grown fond of him.
She pressed her lips together, shoved his hands away, and glared at him. “Well…don’t let it go to your head.”
He was not to be deterred. He poked her nose. “You don’t scare me in the least.”
She swatted at his hand and let out a breath. “Temoth, I know. I never have. It’s so irritating.”
His smile grew again. “If you haven’t discovered by now that my biggest talent is being a pain in the ass…”
Her own smile was back; it welled from her core and filled her wholly. But it was more than a smile: it was the warmth of shared friendship, and more—the breathtaking, impossible-to-dismiss ev
idence of life inside what she thought was only a dead and empty husk.
It was overwhelming.
Vaughn’s smile fell away. She didn’t know what he saw, but he lifted his hand to her face to trace her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, following his own fingers with his eyes—as if he were committing every line to memory—until his fingertips brushed her lips.
Fire shot through her, burning away her smile and bringing into sharp awareness her danger.
Vaughn dropped his hand and met her eyes at last.
He didn’t move, but he didn’t have to. She could read his thoughts in his eyes, could feel his kisses and caresses warm on her skin before he had even touched her.
Danger melted into desire, and in that instant she lost—or won?—whatever battle she had been fighting these past months. In giving him her smile, her friendship, she had freely offered him a glimpse into whatever was left of Ivana, and she had no energy—no desire, even—to manufacture further pretense or excuses right now.
She was tired. She wanted to live in the present for once. Not the past. Not the future.
She just wanted to be.
Vaughn sensed the change in Ivana when it happened. It was the sound of a key turning in a tiny lock, audible only to those who were listening for it.
And he was. He was drinking in every pore of her skin, every mark in the brown of her irises, every line of her face, and wondering when she had become so absolutely beautiful to him, in a way that went far beyond the warmth of her skin or softness of her lips.
He ached from his fingertips to his toes to imbibe her fully, but he didn’t dare.
Until he heard that soft snick.
He couldn’t pinpoint what was different; it wasn’t the first time her lips had parted at his touch and her eyes reflected his own longing.
But when he tentatively reached out once more to touch her face, and she visibly shuddered…
He wrapped his other arm around her back, drew her close, hesitated a hairsbreadth from her lips…and then kissed her.
Once. Twice. Three times—and she returned it all without hesitation.
