Until yesterday.
And she had never longed for any man’s touch as she did now for Kyndan’s.
She scooted over to his side, brushing her check against his pillow, breathing in the warm scent of him. He had joined with other women. Certainly he was handsome enough that he would have his choice.
Perhaps he simply does not want me . . .
And yet there had been hunger in his eyes last night, his body taut and trembling, when he had pulled her against him. Her palm on his thigh had brought him to standing.
Was it the way of Tellarans to be so reticent in bedding? But even so, surely he could have kissed her . . .
What Jazan had done was so appalling that at times even now it seemed unreal. He should have lost all honor, all status and been cast from his clan but her mother’s order that the marriage go forward effectively silenced any outcry she might have made about his crimes.
But she did not know how Tellarans viewed such things. Did Kyndan think she should have called out to her guards instead of stifling her pain, denounced Jazan publicly in defiance of her mother’s order, that she had not fought hard enough?
Her throat tightened. Was it, then, what Jazan had done to her? Did the idea of it so repulse Kyndan that he could not see beyond it?
The door opened and, embarrassed to be caught on his side of the bed, she quickly sat up as Kyndan came into the suite.
“You’re awake.” His smile was instant upon seeing her and encouraged by his bright look she smiled back.
Kyndan came to the bedside. He was dressed again in the clothes of a Tellaran warrior, the dark blue of the tunic bringing out the color of his eyes. “Did you sleep okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, very well, my mate.”
“Do you feel like going out into the city? Kinara’s invited a few friends of ours for dinner tonight but Nisara arranged a tour of the city.”
“Nisara?”
“Lieutenant Nisara de’Cator. She’s a pilot really but she’s acting as my attaché for the mission.” He sat on the bed. “She met someone—a warrior—when we were captives here. She probably would have volunteered to carry my luggage if it got her back to Az-kye.” Kyndan tilted his head, searching her face. “How are you feeling? I know it must be frightening, to have your whole life turned upside down like this.”
“I am well.”
“I’m not a courtier, Alari,” he reminded gently. “I’m not pretending friendship to get something from you. It’s okay to tell me how you are really.”
Kyndan’s blue gaze warmed her center and suddenly she did not know where to look. She took in the bright, cheerful suite, the sunlight streaming in from the windows, the sweet fresh air from the open balcony doors.
“Truly, I am well, Kyndan.” she assured and gave a shy shrug. “And hungry.”
His smile widened. “Well, that’s easily fixed. Two of Kinara’s women will be bringing breakfast up any minute. They’re going to act as your maids while we’re here and Laric will supervise them.”
“You will share the morning meal with me?” she asked hopefully.
“I think it’s my only option now. I got an earful from Laric this morning for not sending ahead to let them know you were coming. I’m afraid she’ll poison breakfast unless she thinks you’ll be eating it too.”
She folded her hands in her lap, smiling. “You must tell her I thought myself well greeted and honorably welcomed to the clanhouse.”
“Yeah, something tells me that she’s not going to be assured by anything I say to her. I wasn’t her favorite person when I lived here before and showing up unannounced with an Imperial princess in tow might have me now officially counted among the enemy.”
“You lived here as a . . . a—?”
“‘Slave’ is the word I think you’re looking for. Kinara—well, Aidar really—rescued me. You know, I never thanked him,” Kyndan said thoughtfully. “’Course he punched me in the face to do it. It’s going to be hard for me to think of a way to say ‘thank you’ that won’t involve an elbow strike of some kind.”
Alari’s brow creased. “How did hitting you rescue you?”
“I was with Unata, the Az’quen heiress, in the Council of Elders chambers, I turned my head and found myself looking right at Kinara.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even think; I just headed right for her. Aidar knocked me down—twice, dammit—and claimed I was trying to attack his mate. Unata had to hand me over to the Az’anti clan. So after that, I lived with the Az’anti till I went home. Hey, breakfast,” he said as the door opened. Seeing that Laric had accompanied the maids, Kyndan leaned over to whisper: “You don’t mind if I eat off your plate too, do you? Just in case?”
She laughed. The women came in to bow to her. She gave them leave to rise and Laric indicated that the maids should set the table.
“Here,” Kyndan said, standing. Her new sister had sent a robe that matched the nightdress she wore and he took it from the nearby chair.
Alari pulled away the bedclothes and stood as he took a step toward her holding out the robe. His gaze dipped to her breasts outlined in the light fabric of the nightdress then he flinched and snapped his eyes away. He extended the robe a little further toward her, turning his face.
Her smile faded. She slipped her arms into the robe.
He was attentive and talkative at the morning meal, taking particular delight in shocking Laric with the jokes he made to an Imperial Daughter. He did not after all eat off her plate as she half expected he would, but his manner of dining was very different. He did not signal to the maids to fill his plate or seem to expect her to direct them as his mate. He picked up the dishes and served himself—and her—with scarcely a pause in conversation.
He sipped on a Tellaran beverage then offered it to her, his eyebrows raised. She tried not to make a face at the bitter taste but he laughed at her reaction.
“Caf is kind of an acquired taste,” he said as she handed back the cup of disconcertingly muddy liquid. “Nisara will be here in about an hour to take us on the tour. I’m sure she’ll understand if you want to skip it though. We could stay here instead so you can rest.”
“No, it would please me to go,” Alari said and took a swallow of her own—much more palatably sweet—spiced tea. He could not begin to imagine how exciting it was to her to go about the city with him again.
Then a maid came in carrying her court gown and Alari’s mood dimmed.
“What’s the matter?” Kyndan followed her gaze. “Is it the dress?” He gave her a questioning look. “Do you want to wear the pink one?”
“It is traditional for an Imperial Daughter to wear Imperial black, Commander,” Laric said shortly.
“She’s married to a Tellaran now. She can wear whatever she wants,” he said impatiently, then looked at Alari and softened his tone. “You know Tellaran custom is to wear black for funerals.”
Alari blinked. Az-kye donned white for mourning. “It is?”
“Yeah. I mean, you can wear the black if you like. But if you wanted to wear another color, doing so would acknowledge Tellaran tradition.”
“Blue. I want to wear blue,” Alari said quickly, then her cheeks warmed.
He smiled. “Blue, it is.” Kyndan looked at Laric. “The princess would like a blue dress.”
Laric’s mouth turned downward in disapproval.
“I’ll be happy to go out and buy her one if you don’t want to do it,” Kyndan offered.
Laric shot him a narrow look that said volumes of what she thought of that idea. “Well,” she huffed. “What shade of blue?”
Three hours later, dressed in a gown of deep sky blue only a bit darker than the color of Kyndan’s eyes, Alari stepped out into the sunshine of the lower city marketplace and smiled over her shoulder at him.
“You could have warned me,” he grumbled to Nisara as the door to the café closed behind them.
“The proprietor said it was spicy.”
“Spicy?” he
echoed. “I think it actually took the top layer off my tongue.”
“Well, you should know better to take a big chomp like that,” Nisara said, frowning at him.
“That’s your response as my cultural attaché? I should have known better?”
Nisara threw him an impatient look. “Yours was okay, wasn’t it, Al—Your Highness?”
“It was delightful,” Alari said honestly.
The casual good humor of her companions, sitting in a room of strangers, trying dishes considered too common to be offered at the palace, and all of it new to her. The tiny wizened owner talked and joked and flirted outrageously with her male customers while she served. She fussed over the Tellarans, and Alari too. News had already spread through the Empire of her scandalous marriage, but dressed as she was in blue, and with other Tellarans from Kyndan’s crew visiting the city, no one recognized her as an Imperial Daughter—or Kyndan as her mate.
“I think she piled on the spice on purpose as a joke,” Kyndan said good-naturedly. “The owner was something else, though, wasn’t she? I’m surprised she can fit a restaurant and customers and that much personality into such a small space. So what’s next?”
“I thought we could head out and see the shrine of Azis,” Nisara said. “She’s their goddess of the—”
“Rainbow,” Alari finished, her heart picking up speed. “Yes, please, I should very much like to go.”
Kyndan’s smile was puzzled but he shrugged. “Azis’ shrine it is.”
Kyndan craned his neck following the spiraling galleries of the building. “So it’s an art museum?”
“It’s a sanctuary,” Nisara corrected. “Azis is also patron goddess of the visual arts.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Kyndan said.
Alari looked around hungrily. It seemed an age since she had last been here. She spied one painting that she knew well, and two more that she had never seen just here on the first floor. That brushwork was the kind done during the Xar dynasty and the canvas revealed Pelnarah’s hand—
“The Day of the Red Falls,” Alari breathed.
“Alari?”
She could scarce tear her eyes from the work long enough to glance at him. “It is from the time of the great divide of Empress Yi’ara’s reign.”
“Uh, do you want to take a closer look at it?”
She nodded, her quick footsteps already taking her in that direction. The brushstrokes were so short, so precise! The colors were dark without a hint of muddiness; it almost thrummed with intensity of the coming conflict.
“And you . . . like this?” Kyndan asked.
“It is sublime,” Alari murmured, clasping her hands together against the urge to touch it, to feel connection to one who possessed such mastery. But that would be sacrilege, an offense to both Azis and to the artist’s genius.
“I guess I just didn’t think battle scenes would be your thing.”
“This is not a battle scene,” Alari argued. “It is the complete story of an age. Look you on the way the shapes of darkness—in the water there, in the shield that one carries—form the image of Ren’thar? Do you not see it?”
He frowned. “Not really . . .”
“Here,” she cried, seizing his wrist to urge him farther back, and Nisara followed. “See you now?” Holding her arm out she traced the pattern. “See you how the god’s hand hovers over the victors? How his head is bent in sorrow over those that fall?”
“Yeah,” Kyndan murmured. “I didn’t even notice it. You’re right, that is pretty amazing.”
“Look you now from here,” Alari said, moving them to the right. “See you how the fallen are led from the city by the goddess of the Underworld?”
“Wait, the painting changes depending on where you stand?” Kyndan asked.
“How do they do that?” Nisara asked.
“Different shadings of paint are done at various depths but the lighting must be perfectly set to bring out all the scenes within,” Alari said. “I have never seen this work before. In Pelnarah’s earlier paintings the strokes are far more smooth and long. There used to be a painting on a level above of the falls. If you stood just so, you would see Azis as both woman and rainbow bursting from the spray simultaneously.”
Kyndan sent her a curious glance. “Why didn’t you tell me you were such an art lover?”
Alari flushed. Even Saria would only listen to her babbling on about it for so long.
“Well, come on,” Kyndan urged, taking her hand. “You can’t stop now. Take us around and tell me and Nisara what we’re looking at.”
Her heart hammered at the feel of his long fingers intertwined with hers, his blue eyes smiling down on her. She wished very much that Nisara were not with them, that they were alone here.
Alari nodded to a level above. “That one is called Flight of the Jen’tala. It dates from the Li’thar dynasty of the First Empire but the colors are still remarkably vibrant. We could start there.”
“Sounds good.”
Alari basked in his encouragement as they went through the sanctuary despite having to share his attention with Nisara, delighting in the opportunity to spend the afternoon so.
It was late in the day when Nisara parted company with them to attend a party with Dael’s family. Friends were also to attend dinner at the Az’anti clanhouse and Kyndan went to hire a litter to carry them back.
Alari waited just inside the gate of the sanctuary grounds for his return when she spied a familiar face walking along the boulevard.
“Elder,” Alari said, surprised.
Sechon blinked. “Imperial Daughter. I am very pleased to see you!”
Her fear that the elder would shun her evaporated but Alari’s face warmed as Sechon took in her blue gown. “It is good to see you too, Elder.”
“And you as well, Princess,” Sechon’s mouth quirked upward. “I have never seen you in colors before.”
“Ladies not of the court wear bright shades in honor of Azis and Lashima.” Alari lifted her chin. “And my mate is Tellaran; they consider black the color of mourning.”
“I see,” the elder said, her white eyebrows raised. “Well, blue looks very fine on you, Your Highness.”
Alari’s hand went to the skirt of the gown, a little embarrassed for her sharp tone to an elderly woman who had only ever shown her kindness. “I am sure Her Imperial Majesty would not approve . . .”
The elder gave a faint smile. “I do recall another Imperial Daughter who—when she was young, mind you, did once or twice scandalize the court by wearing a bright color to turn the eyes of a handsome warrior her way.”
Alari blinked. “The empress—?”
Sechon shrugged, her eyes crinkled with humor. “I am old now and my memory could be failing. But I do recall such at least one such occurrence. Perhaps Her Imperial Majesty would not be so shocked as you imagine.”
In Alari’s mind her mother loomed as such a powerful figure, the very embodiment of Az-kye tradition. It was hard to imagine her as a young woman—let alone one infatuated enough to flaunt tradition within the very walls of the palace.
The elder’s gaze turned serious. “I spoke to First Daughter Saria yesterday. She—we—have been very worried for you. We none of us knew where you had gone. We none of us expected you to leave the palace.”
“Her Imperial Majesty did not restrict me to the palace grounds,” Alari said defensively. “I did not disobey the empress. And I am in disgrace, none should care where I am.”
“Even in disgrace there are those who care for you. I certainly am pleased to look on you.” Sechon tilted her head. “Perhaps you might disregard Tellaran sensibilities for a few hours to don a gown of Imperial black and visit the First Daughter?”
Alari hesitated.
“I will be at the palace tonight and tomorrow as well,” Sechon offered. “Perhaps, if needed, my memory could recall other Imperial Daughters who have disregarded convention . . . when they were young.”
Alari smiled and touched t
he elder’s arm. “Tell my sister I will come in the morning.”
The elder inclined her head. “I will. And, Princess, if you ever have need of me . . .”
“Thank you,” Alari said quietly.
Kyndan arrived just as the elder’s litter was being lifted up.
“Our ride’s coming down the street now. That was Sechon, the Leader of the Council of Elders, wasn’t it? Everything okay?” he asked, his brow slightly furrowed, glancing toward the departing litter.
“It is so,” Alari assured. “I am to visit my sister in the morning.”
“At the palace.”
She tilted her head. “This troubles you?”
“No.” He folded his arms. “Okay, yes, to be honest, Alari, I’m not exactly happy about how they treated you. I’d feel a whole lot better if I went with you tomorrow.”
“Of course you will go,” she said, surprised. “You are my protector.”
“Oh.” he said, his expression a little bemused. “Right.” He gave a short laugh. “I probably need to get Aidar or Tedah to run through all that with me.”
“Tellaran men do not act as their mates’ protectors then?”
“Well, they’re certainly protective of them, but how that plays out on a practical level is a little different. A bit less sword swinging and a bit more ‘call me when you get there.’” He nodded in response to the litter bearer’s bow and, taking Alari’s hand in a suddenly protective grasp, led her that way. “I’ll be sticking with the sword concept tomorrow.”
Alari had spent her life surrounded by the finest warriors in the Empire but had never met anyone with as much courage as Lianna of the Otan.
“You and Tedah were bound while he was still wearing the white?” she asked astonished and put down her teacup.
Lianna nodded and threw a fond glance at her mate, now warrior but born Tellaran, Tedah. After the evening meal they gathered to continue their conversation in a less formal sitting room at the back of the Az’anti clanhouse. Seated comfortably together on the couches and chairs, they enjoyed their tea and wine before the open garden doors. The warm night air blew into the sitting room and the sounds of celebrations drifted in on the breeze.
The Consort (Tellaran Series) Page 10
