It was too much. Too much noise. Too many colors and textures and smells and people. She didn’t know who to answer, who to thank, which person to watch practice, or which of the dogs at her feet to kick.
Leão didn’t seem to have the same problem. He was shown to another stool across the fire. He ate, carried on two conversations, and applauded at the appropriate moments. His green eyes sparkled, and he flashed his dimples at every girl who spoke to him.
How can he handle all this attention? Pira thought as she took a bite of her bread, using it as an excuse not to answer the questions of a child kneeling in front of her.
Growing up, it had usually been just her and Jacaré. Their meals had been quiet, tucked in their little cottage. Even the noise of the barrack cafeteria on its worst day couldn’t compare to the jangle of instruments and voices clamoring over one another.
“You need to finish your food before the dancing starts.”
The word “dancing” drew her attention. “I’m sorry? What?”
It was Didsbury. Again.
“They’re building up a bonfire at the center of camp. When it’s ready, we’ll all go dance.” He offered her a grin that was both sweet and a little nervous. “You’ll have to save one for me.”
“Oh.” Pira set aside her bowl, no longer interested in the soup. “I don’t dance.” Apparently dancing was one more thing the Keepers and the Performers had in common, but she hadn’t done much of it since she was a little girl. She always felt awkward and gawky with her too-long limbs.
Didsbury grabbed both of her hands, ignoring the bread she still gripped in her fist. “Everyone dances at Performers’ Camp. It would be rude not to.”
Rudeness had never really concerned Pira. If she didn’t want to do something, she didn’t do it.
She dug in her heels and leaned away from Didsbury. “Maybe later.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” With a wink, he turned to the fray.
A pounding drum rhythm started and a cheer rose from the crowd. Pira found herself being moved from the padded stool and toward a towering bonfire. She ground her teeth and tugged free of the grip of . . . someone . . . who held her hand, but she caught sight of Leão with a teenage girl under each arm and several at his back. A coterie of small children skipped in front of and behind them.
He smiled at her over his shoulder and nodded for her to follow.
She didn’t want to go, but there was something in Leão’s face she hadn’t seen before—a sort of eager happiness. He looked forward to whatever was going to happen next.
Without a command from anyone in the crowd, all the young men and women (and some not so young) created a ring around the bonfire. A flute blew, and as one the group began a winding, skipping sort of dance around the flames.
She felt ridiculous, looking over most of her dance partners’ heads and treading on feet as she stepped at all the wrong times. Luckily the song didn’t last long, and Pira took the opportunity to slip outside the circle and tuck herself behind some of the white-haired members of the audience. They seemed unperturbed by her presence but wouldn’t let her escape the crowd. Eventually she quit trying, resigned to sit on the ground and watch the revelry.
Leão picked up on every dance as if he’d spent his whole life practicing. And maybe he had. Every time the music changed, a different girl would seek out Leão. They were all petite and lovely, with flashing flirtatious eyes and wide smiles. He’d dance, accept a kiss on the cheek, and move on.
Something small and sharp as a fine sewing needle jabbed into her chest every time he’d laugh or hold a hand or press his fingers against another girl’s waist.
Why would you let something like this bother you? she thought, and forced herself not to seek out his lean form in the crowd. You are an idiot.
Chapter 61
Leão
Leão shouldn’t have had any problem falling asleep. The bed was comfortable, the bedding fresh, and having walls and windows was an improvement over bugs attacking him all night long.
And yet, the soft breathing of the person on the wagon’s other pallet—just a scant four inches from his own—was enough to keep him awake.
He should have said no, should have turned down the Performers’ offer of shelter for the night, but he’d been afraid to offend them.
What difference did it make anyway? He and Pira slept side by side almost every night. Sure, her brother was usually on her other side, but being alone with her shouldn’t have made a difference.
But, oh Mother Lua, tonight it did.
He’d coerced her to dance, holding her tight so she couldn’t escape to a quiet seat on the side. Once he had her in his arms, he couldn’t pretend she was another soldier with a wicked jab and sharp tongue. She was a woman with long legs and full, pink lips.
Bedding down with his horse or even in a rank pigsty would have been more restful. No relaxation technique, no breathing exercise, no amount of sheep counting could wash away the memory of her body pressed close as they danced.
Light, how could I have been so blind?
The dance had ended and he hadn’t wanted to let her go, his palms aching to smooth down the length of her spine, to feel the texture of her skin, to—
She turned toward him in her sleep. Leão smothered his thoughts, afraid that perhaps she sensed him thinking about her. Not that it was possible, but members of the Elite Guard all developed an awareness of when they were being watched.
Pressing his forearm over his eyes didn’t block out the sweet torture of her nearness and the heat he could feel rising off her sleeping form.
Green grass. Blue sky. Boats on the water. Pira’s smile when she laughs. Pira’s eyes when she’s mad. Pira pinning me to the floor during that training exercise last year. Me pinning her back.
He rolled over, trying to create as much space between them as possible. The pallet’s hinges squealed as he moved.
“Leão, are you awake?” Her voice was low, husky with sleep.
“Umm-hmm.” He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Have Jacaré or Tex stopped in yet? Have you heard anything?”
The men had disappeared with Benton, Elma, and the rest of the Performers’ Council before the meal. There had been a few whispers of some sort of broken Performer Code, but no one had speculated about what was happening behind the Council House doors.
If they were anything like the Keepers’ Mage Council, a month could pass before they heard any word of Benton’s fate.
“No. Not yet.”
“Oh.” She stretched, her arm brushing against his as she reached high above her head. “No matter what happens tonight, I bet Jacaré will expect us to ride at dawn.”
“Yes.” He pinched his eyes shut tight, trying not to measure the distance between them, but his body knew she was right there.
Pira rolled onto her side, propping herself onto one of her elbows. “You aren’t getting sick, are you?”
Oh, I’m some sort of sick all right.
When he didn’t answer immediately, she pressed her hand against his cheek. “You feel a little feverish.” Her fingers trailed down his face, finding the pulse at the side of his neck. “Your heart’s beating fast.”
And with her words it leaped into an even faster pace.
“Pira.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a groan. Couldn’t she tell that every move she made, every little touch, incited a battle within him?
She’s a commanding officer. She looks at me like I’m a child.
“I’m not good at healing. I have very little affinity for Spirit.” Her hand quested down his chest, pressing her palm over his heart. “But I can try.”
“Stop.” He grabbed her wrist gently, holding it in place. “I’m fine.”
He opened his eyes, finding her surprised face hovering near, but he didn’t release his grip.<
br />
“Are you sure?” Her breath was warm and minty against his skin.
And the war was lost.
He raised his head, pressing his lips against hers once, hesitantly. He expected her to jolt and then to slap him. She gasped, but didn’t move away.
So he kissed her again, with more intent. To his surprise she responded, her mouth softening against his.
Chapter 62
Pira
Leão’s hand was on her side, his lips tentative against hers. Pira paused for the length of one thought—one moment of what in the Light am I doing?—before giving in. The brush of his mouth wasn’t enough. She needed to measure the breadth of his shoulders with her hands, to feel the crush of his arms, to taste him on her lips.
Whenever they’d sparred, Leão fought her with skill and intensity, never holding back. His kiss was the same, fueled by desperation, all tongue and lips and gasping breaths. Hands searched her body, strong and certain as they ran down her back, finding her belt loops, using them to pull her closer.
The muscles of his chest flexed and tensed under her fingers. She traced the lines of bone and sinew she’d spent so much time staring at, finding the valleys between his ribs.
This is so wrong. So wrong, so wrong, she thought as the heat from his body scorched her own, singeing her palms with a touch that had been forbidden. And yet she didn’t do anything—didn’t want to do anything—to make it stop.
Tex took care of that for her.
“I’m not going to ask what you two think you’re doing because it’s quite obvious there isn’t a whole lot of thinking going on.” His gruff tone filled the tiny space.
They lurched apart, each hugging the wagon’s opposite walls.
The old man shook his head, and Pira wasn’t sure if he was amused or disgusted. “Jacaré wants to ride in three hours. I suggest you use that time to sleep.”
With that he slammed the wagon’s door and marched down the stairs.
In the sudden silence their breathing rattled like loose shingles in a windstorm. Pira could see the rapid rise and fall of Leão’s chest and the bare skin of his abdomen where his shirt had ridden up.
“Pira . . . I . . .” His mouth hung open for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to—”
She heard shame in his tone and didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. “It was a mistake. We’re both tired and not thinking clearly.”
“I know—”
“It’s late. We’ll just chalk it up to stupidity and pretend it didn’t happen.”
“A-all right.”
She turned her back to him, tucking her knees close to her chest and the blanket up around her ears. “Go to sleep. I know Jacaré’s going to want to ride hard tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Pira covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the tender skin of her lips. She pressed them together, savoring the flavor of Leão as it lingered on her tongue. He doesn’t have any feelings for you. It was a mistake. He agreed. It was stupid. I was stupid.
Chapter 63
Johanna
Johanna woke to the sound of male voices. Rafi’s face immediately popped into her mind. She rolled to her elbows, peeking over the sill, and saw two men in DeSilva livery sitting near the fire pit. For one ridiculous moment Johanna was disappointed that the lordling hadn’t come as her personal escort. After his apology, which had been surprisingly sincere, something changed in the way she saw Rafi.
Under the brooding, arrogant facade was a boy—not much older than herself—who was fettered with responsibility. He feared failing his family, his people, and disgracing the memory of a deceased parent. She knew the weight of those chains.
He’s doing the best he can, she thought as she climbed over Michael’s sleeping form. I have to respect him for that.
She tried to ignore the bubbling sense of something else, something a little stronger than respect.
The sun peeked above the horizon, but it was so early. She wanted to clean up their small living spaces before she left for the day, but that meant facing whatever beast may be asleep in the other wagon.
Instead of a mess of bottles, a bucket of sick, and the lash of her mother’s drink-sharpened tongue, Johanna found the space empty and everything in perfect order. The wooden surfaces gleamed, the floor was freshly swept, and across Johanna’s bed lay a dress of pale green damask.
It had always been one of her mother’s favorites.
Tucked into the laced bodice was a single sheet of paper and her father’s necklace. Johanna brushed it aside and read the words on the note.
My Dearest Johanna,
Your father wanted you to have this necklace when you were old enough. Tonight, I realized that time has come. The casing is bent and the stone is flawed, but I promise it’s worth far more than it appears. I hope it will bring you more luck than it brought my dear Arlo.
You are a better daughter than I deserved to have.
Love Always,
Mother
Johanna’s chest ached like she’d been shoved into a corset five sizes too small, and she knew the feeling wouldn’t abate until she was able to speak with her mother.
She slipped into the dress and attempted to comb her hair so it somewhat resembled a lady’s and not the overgrown mop of a boy. The gold chain dropped over her head, and the warm pendant slid under the neckline.
She checked her reflection in their small mirror and was pleasantly surprised at how well the color suited her.
“All right, boys,” she said as she stepped out the wagon door. “Let’s get ready to go.”
Chapter 64
Tex
Far to the north, a glass glowed bright enough to wake a sleeping man.
Tex stumbled to the saddlebag on the floor, finding the leather-wrapped bundle. Frantically, his fingers tore through the ties that covered the glass’s surface. He was too late to catch the image in action, but he hurried to the window to determine what he could see.
The picture was frozen again and horribly murky. A bright beam of light fell across a crisscrossed lump. Tex could make out a square window, a splash of washed-out color.
And then it made sense. He was looking at a crazy quilt of some kind, a tiny body asleep in a narrow bed—a bed terribly similar to the one he’d just climbed out of.
Someone had touched the stone and activated it.
The question was who. And where.
Chapter 65
Rafi
“My lord! My lord, wait!”
Despite Rafi’s desire to ride into the meadow and leave the rest of the servants and underlords behind, there was something compelling about the voice.
Ugh. So this must be Vibora. His staff was all abuzz with discussion about Inimigo’s kind, pleasant, thoughtful, beautiful assistant. Even Rafi’s steward Mortimer—a notoriously difficult person to impress—said Vibora seemed “relatively intelligent for someone in Inimigo’s employ.”
Rafi could ignore her, and whatever she needed. No one would stop him. If he rode Breaker at a gallop, no one would even be able to catch him. But that would be running, and a responsible duke never ran from anything. Especially not from high-ranking staff members of a visiting duke.
“Yes? What can I do for you?” he asked.
The crowd of servants—busy attaching panniers of picnic goods and other necessities to saddles—parted for her, nodding hello and offering smiles as she went. Whoever she was, she’d certainly made friends among the maids and couriers quickly.
“Good morning, my lord.” She stopped at his stirrup and bowed her neck in deference. “Forgive me for interrupting you, but Lord Inimigo wanted me to make sure you’d received his invitation to join him for breakfast.”
Rafi took a deep breath, hoping to calm his temper. Who was Duke Inimigo to invite Rafi to breakfast? Visitors waited f
or invitations; they didn’t issue them.
“I’m afraid I’ve already eaten. Please give Duke—”
“Your mother also requested that you join the duke and his daughter.” Vibora offered Rafi a square of paper between two outstretched fingers.
Rafi’s heart sank. He’d been looking forward to a morning away from his guests, to give him space and a chance to put his thoughts straight about betrothals and intrigue and too many secrets.
Dom urged his horse closer, so he could see over his brother’s shoulder. Rafi tilted the paper so his brother could read his mother’s missive.
“Tell them you already ate, and that you couldn’t possibly stomach a bite in Duke Inimigo’s company,” Dom suggested. “Because you’re already full, of course.” He smiled at Vibora and received a flat-eyed stare in return.
Rafi crumpled the paper and tossed it into the goat pen. “Tell my mother and the duke that I’ll be along shortly. I have a few arrangements to make.”
The woman nodded, and Rafi watched her return to the house at a slow, gliding pace, as if all the world would wait for her. Halfway back to the house, Vibora froze as if a poisonous snake had slithered across her path.
Her head swiveled toward the line of horses, eyes scanning the servants who laughed and chatted as they waited.
Was she looking for someone specific? Perhaps she needed something else. Rafi opened his mouth to shout after her, but she blinked and continued into the house.
“Can you manage this on your own?” Rafi wanted Dom to say no, to tell him he couldn’t possibly direct the servants without assistance.
“I intend to stay out of Brynn’s way,” Dom said with a grin. “She’s quite capable of handling this, as you are well aware. I’ll lie in the shade all day, listen to the birds sing and the wind blow through the meadow.”
Dom was right. Accompanying the servants to prepare for that afternoon’s picnic wasn’t necessary, but Rafi liked having an excuse to be close to Johanna. He turned in the saddle, searching for her. She sat shoulder to shoulder with Brynn, the two of them laughing lightheartedly. Two guardsman in DeSilva livery loomed behind her like shadows at dusk.
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