He squeezed her. “You were dreaming.”
She met his stare, intense concern in his azure depths.
“Sarah...” She trembled, recalling the crimson in her aunt’s eyes.
He touched her cheek, his fingers a fire against her clammy skin.
She willed the terror to dissipate, wishing to forget as she leaned against his solid form. He stroked her hair, easing a sob out of her.
Sarah had been so real, so solid, alive—even trapped in the nightmare of her existence. Alexia’s heart twisted, her lungs too tight, her whole world shards of shattered glass. Her sister was alive! But the hunger in her stare...
She cried, soaking his handkerchief and jacket, unable to stop.
“Was this a prophetic dream?” Kiren’s chest rumbled with his words.
She smashed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to crush away the tears. “Is she truly dead? Entirely? She must remember me.”
He stroked her arm. “I have not been to the other side, but the most dangerous part of this situation is that she will retain her memories.” He turned her face up to his. “She may yearn to be reunited as deeply as you.”
“I do not...”
He sighed. “I have lost friends, Alexia. They look on me as though nothing has changed, and if I allowed myself to believe that, I would be one of them.”
Of course. He was right.
She exhaled.
But Sarah lived! Seeing her aunt had torn a gaping chasm in her soul, a hollowness not even Kiren could fill. She forced herself to breathe around it, kept it from entirely deflating her only by gripping the protective arm looped about her.
“Tell me—” Anything—anything to keep her from thinking, from the pain. “—about your childhood?”
He straightened. She twisted and reached for his cheek. His brows pulled together, accompanied by a slight pucker and downward curve of his lips. She hated that the request troubled him.
He glanced away. “There is not much to tell.”
“Please?”
Kiren sighed, the lines smoothing from his forehead. “It ended sooner than most.” The weight in his voice pulled her down with him, like iron shackled both arms and they’d been plunged into the sea.
She squeezed his leg and he came back with a smile, quickly looking away.
“I recall the forest, trees not so aged and a little brook where we caught frogs.” He looped the tethers about her middle and tied them in a loose bow. She crossed her arms, and he tightened the knot beneath her elbows, with a quick peck on her forehead.
Her giggle escaped.
“Father taught me to use a sling. We practiced by targeting fruit we would take home for supper.” He huffed and leaned back, fingers curling around the back of the saddle. “I used the skill to terrify a herd of cattle into a wild stampede and nearly destroyed our neighboring village.”
Alexia twisted as far as the reins would allow and placed a hand on his thigh. “It could not have been so terrible.”
The corners of his eyes squeezed, lips drawn in a frown. “But it was.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It seems no matter what he taught me, I always used it to get into trouble—not terrible mischief, but enough to cause my parents discomfort or misfortune.” His brows lowered, gaze dropping to the ground. “You would expect he might stop teaching me so many dangerous truths. Not him. He wanted me to know everything, to experiment, to truly see the world in all its splendor.”
She touched his hand. “He sounds wonderful.”
With a nod, he closed his eyes. A sweet little smile pierced one cheek. “I remember the window above my bed bent triangles of light across the ceiling, and I imagined the shards a tangible defense against the night. If I could clasp one and tuck it under my pillow, monsters would run in fear.”
She laughed.
He grinned with her. “I recall the book Mother read every evening—at my request, the tale of two brothers, one good, one bad. One would live until the end of time, the other would walk the earth as a ghost, haunting him for his murder.”
“What a horrible tale!”
He cheeks dimpled with mischief. “But you must understand, she wished us to realize the importance of our decisions. She probably hoped it would persuade me to behave.”
“Us?”
He cleared his throat, eyes squeezing with pain.
She caught his hand and cradled it between both of hers. “You will show me the memory, one day?”
“Yes.” His brows lowered. He slipped from the horse’s back and took the steed’s bridle, walking alongside. “Occasionally, we took trips to the palace, a palace so magnificent I cannot find the words to describe it. You have never seen anything like it.”
“Like the one in your mind?”
He blinked back at her.
“The crystal walls and seven towers?” She nearly burst into laughter at his shock. “They were glorious!”
His face lit, but it faded. “Yes, they were.” His neck bowed. “While Father took care of his business, I explored the uppermost turrets, looking out over the entire island—”
“You were allowed inside?”
He shot her a smirk. “If you will recall what I said about mischief?”
Alexia reached out for his hand. He took hers, beaming back at her. Warmth flooded through the connection, the warmth of goodness inundating his soul.
“Let us just say, I saw more of that castle than the king himself.”
She giggled. “And who was this king?”
His smiled dropped, face turned to stone. The darkness startled her. “He is long dead. Why should it matter?”
“What happened?”
He pulled away. She reached for him and he stepped clear of the horse. She waited for him to resume, to lighten and come back, but the droop of his shoulders weighed far more than even she could lift.
How many loved ones had he lost? Friends? Family? She truly knew so little about him, and he understood everything about her. One day. One day he would let her in, allow her to love away the grief in his heart.
This was not that day.
And he was not the only one aching.
She glanced up at the sun hanging in the west. The botched wedding had taken place near noon, and the day had passed on the road, some of it sleeping, some of it galloping. Only an hour remained before sunset, one hour before her dream came to fruition. She would see Sarah.
Kiren stepped off the road, pulling the horse behind and caught hold of a tree branch. A half formed apple plumped into a ripe, bursting fruit. He plucked it and lifted it to her. “I am afraid I do not make a very considerate kidnapper. I ought to take better care of you.”
Wrapping her fingers over his, she pulled him closer. “You have not had much opportunity.”
His smile froze. She sensed the need in his quietude, his touch against hers, the way their pulses matched, the heat crawling through her soul...
He let go. “Eat, dearest.”
She lifted the fruit, and froze. “Would you like some? I can only imagine you are equally starved.”
His head shook.
She chewed, thinking back to this morning. She had seen him take no nourishment—not a drink, not a bite of food, but he could have eaten while Nelly and Ethel dressed her.
“Kiren, if you are fasting out of consideration for me—”
He laughed. “Dearest Alexia, this may be a foreign concept, but I do not eat anything I have aided to grow.”
“Why not?”
He gave her a squinty-eyed look. “The way I generate growth is by lending my own energy or life-force to a living thing. It is a gift, and I cannot reclaim the strength. I am not hungry.”
“Not even a little?”
He shook his head.
“What you are telling me, is that in effect, I am eating a piece of you?”
His face screwed up into a mixture of agitation and humor. “The cells were dormant in the fruit’s core—they all belong to the organi
sm, but the energy I supplied enabled its quickening. I gave it the push.”
She sat back. “I do not understand how you cannot be hungry.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it is part of my...talent. I naturally regenerate, making my energy requirements a minimum. I do not take more than I need.”
“Which is?”
“One meal a day? I often go as long as three between dining.”
She stared, bewildered. “Three days?”
He shrugged. “Once as many as seven.”
“Without issue?”
Kiren scratched his head. “I was quite fatigued, but that is because I had not slept.”
“Tell me about this sleeping thing. You seem to do it so rarely.”
He laughed. “That scares you?”
“Tell me.”
He laughed harder. “I sleep when it is needed, a few hours here, a few hours there, but like food, I do not typically require much, unless I have employed my skills.”
She gulped. “And then you act normally?”
“What is normal but a perception?” He glanced at her quizzically. “What you are accustomed to by way of living is completely different than, say, Ethel’s way of life.”
Her fists balled and she tucked them into her lap. “That is because she is married.”
“Alexia—”
“Well it is.”
He gave her a frown. The silence between them widened. The sun dipped lower.
Kiren’s shoulders heaved. “Is that what you want of me? To find the next church and bribe the clergy to marry us like a couple of vagabonds?”
She blinked, slapped by the animosity in his tone. “Yes.”
His brow rose. “With no record of your marriage having taken place? No family, friends or loved ones to share in the occasion? You would have me treat you no better than a common barmaid?”
She bit her lip.
He crossed his arms. “These things only happen once, and I am determined my bride will have every privilege her heart desires. There will be no dread of being overtaken, no rush to make a hasty attachment.”
She backed down from the warning in his eyes.
Kiren exhaled loudly and slid a hand across hers. He met her gaze, his lighted by the late sun. “It is all I can do not to run away with you. Even now—now when they are expecting me to join them, to lead them—it is all I want.”
Had a more romantic suggestion ever escaped his tongue? She wanted it. She wanted that adventure, that excitement, that freedom.
He groaned. “And then I think of those who serve with the belief I would sacrifice everything for them.” Both hands combed through his hair. “Why can we not live in a world free of warfare? One where I could convince your father to surrender your hand by proper means of etiquette? One where you do not have to give up your home and dreams for me?”
“I have not given up my dreams for you.” She placed both hands on her hips. “You are my dream.”
He laughed. “More like a nightmare. Now are you ready to tell me about yours?”
Alexia glanced at the sun, nearly touching the horizon, at the building coming up on the skyline. “I...I saw Sarah.”
“I discerned as much.”
“It was just a dream.”
He stopped the horse. Taking her hands, he met her eyes. “Tell me.”
He was hiding much from her, and perhaps he dreaded a stronger connection between them for fear she would discover his mysteries. She deserved her own secrets, didn’t she? She deserved to see Sarah again.
“There is nothing to...” The inn hung in her periphery, a testament to her lie.
He looked, then back to her. “She is there?”
She bit her lip. Miles had once warned her about trusting too easily. Kiren himself had warned her against laying herself entirely at his mercy. This once she would use her own discretion.
She would face Sarah.
Alone.
He volleyed into the saddle behind her. The reins snapped and wind howled past her ears. He crushed her to him, the rhythmic knock of his heart heightening her own. The sun dipped toward the horizon.
The exactness of her vision stole her breath—the rickety porch and added gazebo off to the east, the scythe and cracked wide stump out front, the square door with two small glass panels above it, the framing widows to either side and bays protruding from the upper floor, the two very large chimneys and slatted-wood roof that nearly domed rather than slanting... Mae would be inside, knitting a brown scarf to match her apron and the dog at her feet would be panting quietly.
Kiren pulled to a halt. Her chest ached from the hammering within as he slid from the horse, and she couldn’t decide if he was pretending at a sudden calm to ease her nerves.
“Come now, Alexia.” He took her hands, steadying her when she met the ground, legs trembling. “Are you all right?”
She looked at him in horror, his words the very tone of her nightmare.
He slipped a cloak about her shoulders. “Let us find you something to eat, shall we?”
The door creaked open. Mae’s needles clicked rhythmically and the dog on the floor lifted his head. Flickers of light romped across the room from the fire, elongating the distance with ominous shadows.
Kiren guided her in. Instant gloom—an absence of warmth she’d never known—filled her lungs. She turned to him.
The healthy glow of his skin had paled and tired lines hung under his eyes. His grip felt less stalwart. His hair held less body, his lip cracked from dehydration, but his eyes—they remained true.
“Wh-where are we?” she whispered.
“Scorched earth.” He smiled. “Here all beauty, all strength, all extremes of emotion or hunger are diminished.” His eyes touched hers. Something more hid in the strain of his tenor.
She grabbed his arm. “The Soulless are powerless here?”
His smile soured. “And they are not the only ones.”
Her fingers bit into him. “You are saying I cannot halt time here?”
Severe sapphire flashed at her. “Trying could kill you.”
And by extension, him. She shuddered. “How did you find this place?”
He waved at the room. “We built it.”
The structure was an echo of his home in Wilhamshire, the elegant use of windows to produce an airy feel, lighter woods, and a hearth at the heart of the building which must warm the entire place. Above, a balcony curled around the great room, a narrow staircase along one wall leading upward.
Mae’s gingerbread bun bobbed and she turned. “Have you finished in the doorway, or shall I ignore your presence longer?”
Her needles had long since ceased to move, scarf set aside. Brown wisps framed her smiling cheeks, eyes blankly fixed their direction, one lid nearly closed.
Kiren squeezed Alexia’s shoulder. “Mae, you are looking well.”
Her grin widened, crystal-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who have you brought me then?”
Kiren cleared his throat. “May I introduce Dana’s child.”
She reached for the chair arm and missed. Catching it the second time, she pushed up and tottered forward, arm extended. Kiren took her hand and guided it to Alexia’s.
Mae’s warmth thawed through her skin. “Welcome. I have waited long for you, Alexia.”
“For me?” She turned a questioning brow on Kiren. Had he intended to bring her here all along?
Mae’s nose flared. “But I smell blood?”
Kiren exhaled. “She will need a change of clothes, a bath, and a washboard. Oh yes, and a meal. What would you have me do to help?”
Their hostess waved a hand. “You are exhausted from the ride.” His mouth opened and she lifted a finger, silencing him. “I can always detect the exhaustion in your voice, and if you do not relent, I will tell her what else I hear.”
His nose twitched.
“What else do you hear?” Alexia asked.
The woman squeezed her arm, drawing her face to face. “What has h
e put you through?”
“It was not him.”
Mae’s frown relaxed. “Come. Have a seat. Allow someone less foolhardy to take proper care of you.”
“Mae.” Kiren crossed his arms.
She pointed that finger at him again. “You have a horse to stable.”
Alexia couldn’t help her grin, adoring Mae already. The woman pushed her into a chair and swept through a doorway.
Kiren’s chuckle lightened her heart further. He placed a kiss to her forehead. “You could not be in better hands.”
“I could be in yours.”
He tipped her chin toward him, his white scar standing out starkly against tanned skin. Alexia followed each zag. Had he obtained this cut while saving someone’s life or while battling for his own? She ached to know.
“I will only be a moment.” He rubbed a thumb down her jaw. “You cannot be harmed here.”
“They know you do not have your pendant, or they will soon.” She glanced to the dimming daylight through the windows.
His head shook. “You are safe on scorched earth.” He straightened, rising. With a glance back from the exit, he winked and slipped from view.
Something wet raked her hand. The dog sat panting at her feet.
“And what are you? Some kind of guard hound bred by our kind?”
His head tilted.
She patted him, the mutt was as benign as in her dream. Her gaze landed on the ring stationed over her left finger. It glittered marvelously in the room, scattering twinkles over the furniture.
She inhaled. Why had she let him go? Any instant Sarah would appear. Somehow she would slip by him.
The dog growled, nose aimed toward the exit.
The door moved.
Alexia pressed back into her seat, gripping the wood, wishing for the strength to slow the minutes.
Long dark curls spilled over the proud set of shoulders so well known to her, face obscured by a hood. Flowing black skirts dusted across the floor, pale hands illuminated by the fire. A chill followed her in, and a paralyzing silence.
“Sarah,” Alexia breathed.
The cloaked woman halted in the middle of the room.
Her hood fell back. Olive eyes sparkled in the firelight, unadulterated surprise the only emotion in her blazing red pupils
Soulless (Maiden of Time Book 2) Page 10
