LC02 Crystal Flame

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Ridge removed his boots from the deck and got slowly to his feet with a lazy grace that implied he knew his manners but didn’t always choose to use them. His eyes never left Kalena. She found his curious, golden gaze unexpectedly riveting. She had seen the brown-gold eye color that some labeled tawny before, but Ridge’s eyes did not fit that description. When she met his gaze, Kalena found herself looking into the golden flames of a fire. The title Arrisa had used for him floated through Kalena’s mind: Fire Whip.

  He looked somewhat older than herself, by perhaps eight or nine years. Ridge was a grim-featured man, his face carved with a harsh elegance that held no room for conventional handsomeness. His hair was a shade of brown that was almost black, and he wore it slightly longer than the other townsmen Kalena had seen, letting it brush the edge of his collarless shirt in back. He had apparently thrust it behind his ears with a careless hand, but if it fell forward it would undoubtedly reach the lobes of his ears.

  Ridge wore the wide-sleeved shirt favored by many of the traders on the floor below. His was undyed, still the natural light shade of the lanti wool from which it had been woven. It was round at the neck, slit halfway down the front and laced together with a thin leather tie. Ridge had left the top two lace openings undone and Kalena could see a hint of the dark hair that apparently covered his chest. The shirt’s cuffs were deep and narrow, holding the fullness of the material out of the way in a practical fashion. The hands that emerged from the wide cuffs seemed rather large to Kalena. They also looked quite strong, capable of controlling a mount, a weapon and, perhaps, a woman. A flicker of amusement went through Kalena as she found herself hoping he didn’t attempt all three tasks simultaneously.

  The trousers Ridge had on were belted with a heavy strip of zorcan leather. The garment fit him closely from waist to thigh, revealing the taut, hard planes of his body before disappearing into the knee-high lanti skin boots. A plain, unadorned sintar sheath hung from his leather belt together with a simple money pouch.

  He was a strongly built man with wide shoulders and a lean quality that was almost feline from the chest down. No, Kalena thought, not feline, but whiplike. For a moment her imagination saw in him the same promise of lethal danger that lay in a sheathed weapon.

  She glanced at the sintar on his belt. For some reason the stark, undecorated blade seemed to summarize the entire man. The sintar was a weapon that had long since evolved into a fashionable, frequently gaudy dress accessory among the males of the Great Houses. The one Kalena carried in her travel bag was a perfect example. It had belonged to her father and had been chased with gold and studded with gems. It was a showpiece, and had never been used as anything but an adornment. But this blade of Ridge’s was of a far different nature. There was no doubt in her mind that the steel of this sintar had been forged with one object in mind: to taste blood. Something tightened within her at the thought.

  “I’m Ridge. What can I do for you?” He spoke quietly, ignoring Arrisa, who watched with glinting amusement. His voice was as dark and shadowed as the rest of him, and it seemed to touch Kalena’s nerve endings.

  Kalena held out the document she had brought with her from the Interlock valley and forced herself to remember that, intimidating though he might be at first glance, Ridge wore no Great House band on his wrist. He couldn’t even claim a small House name. That made her more than his equal. It might be a petty consideration, especially given the fact that she was the last of her devastated House, but in that moment Kalena decided she needed a slight edge. She was going to have her hands full with this man. Olara should have warned her, she found herself thinking.

  “I am Kalena, from the Interlock valley,” she said with grave formality. “My aunt Olara negotiated this contract with Trade Baron Quintel. It is an agreement for a trade marriage between you and I. My aunt said that everything had been arranged and that you would be expecting me.”

  Ridge took the paper from her fingers, his eyes still on her face. Kalena could read nothing in the banked fire of his gaze; but she was suddenly, vividly aware again of the size and strength of his hands as his fingers brushed hers.

  Ridge scanned the contract for a long, silent moment. Kalena was conscious of the curiosity in the clerk’s eyes and of the humorous expectation in Arrisa’s manner. Kalena found herself growing rather anxious. For the first time, she realized that, should Ridge claim no knowledge of the marriage contract, she would feel horribly embarrassed in front of Hotch and Arrisa. She realized such a concern was stupid—some would say quite feminine—when her main objective was of such a bloody nature, but Kalena couldn’t help it. She hoped Ridge would not make a scene in front of the others, even if he was surprised. Pride was a definite burden at times, and Kalena knew she had her full measure of it.

  Ridge looked up as if sensing the anxiety she was experiencing and Kalena held her breath. Abruptly, he nodded once and refolded the contract.

  “It’s about time you got here,” he said calmly. “Let’s go someplace where we can discuss our business in private.”

  Kalena let go of the breath she had been holding and smiled brilliantly, aware of Arrisa’s startled surprise and Hotch’s thunderstruck expression. The older man practically sputtered in his haste to speak.

  “Now just one minute, Fire Whip. I don’t know what this is all about, but you can’t just go racing off. I must have the information I need to finish this report for Quintel.”

  “I’ll give you the information later.” Ridge glanced at Kalena. “This, too, is Quintel’s business, and I promise you it’s more important than the report on the bandits operating in the Talon Pass. Besides, as of five days ago the bandits have ceased their raiding activities. Quintel knows that. I told him as soon as I got back from the pass. Your report is old news.”

  “But, Ridge…”

  Ridge ignored the clerk and Arrisa as he moved toward Kalena with a sleek stride that was deceptively balanced. Kalena knew instinctively it was a fighter’s stride. Before she could say farewell to Arrisa, Kalena found herself being steered toward the wide staircase at the end of the hall.

  “Well, Kalena,” Ridge growled softly as they started down the stairs, “you aren’t quite what I expected, but I guess you’ll have to do. Quintel always knows what he’s doing, and if he’s decided you’re what I need on this trip, then he’s probably right. Have you ever contracted out as a trade wife in the past?”

  “No,” she admitted, hitching her tunic up higher so that she could descend the stairs at his swift pace. She really was going to have to get some new clothes. “My aunt doesn’t approve of trade marriages.”

  “Hardly surprising,” he commented wryly. “Most properly brought up people don’t approve of such arrangements. Your aunt must be desperate for the Sand.”

  Kalena remembered her cover story. “My aunt is a fine Healer, Ridge, but she is almost out of the Sands of Eurythmia. All the Healers in the Interlock valley are running low. There is no more to be had anywhere at home or even here in Crosspurposes. Since Quintel’s traders have not been successful in bringing back fresh stores for many months, the Healers of the Interlock valley will have to stand in line behind the Healers of the large towns for a portion once a shipment does get through. You know that.”

  “But your aunt has cleverly decided that if she sends you along as a trade wife, she’ll at least be guaranteed a portion of the cargo. I’ll have to admit she’s pretty sharp.”

  “My aunt is a highly intelligent woman, Ridge. She also has the talents of a natural Healer.” Kalena spoke a little sharply, somewhat affronted by what she sensed was criticism. She had no great love for Aunt Olara, but Kalena was far too proud to allow others to criticize her only remaining relative. Whatever else could be said about Olara, she was the Lady of the House of the Ice Harvest. As such she was entitled to a certain show of deference from a mere bastard.

  “I don’t doubt your aunt’s intelligence one bit. After all, she was smart enough to convince Quintel to sign
that contract. You do understand the terms of the agreement, don’t you? You will be my wife for the duration of the journey. When we return to Crosspurposes, you get a ten percent share of the total cargo.” Ridge smiled humorlessly. “That should be enough to make you a rich woman in the Interlock valley.”

  “Thirty percent,” Kalena said quietly.

  Ridge looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I am to receive thirty percent of the total cargo,” she pointed out politely, thinking it hardly mattered as she had absolutely no intention of going on the dangerous journey to the Heights of Variance. Her goal was far more immediate, and when it was accomplished the trade marriage for which she had been contracted would be automatically terminated. Aunt Olara had negotiated for the higher percentage merely to ensure that Quintel believed Kalena’s cover story.

  “I’ve never heard of Quintel negotiating away thirty percent of any cargo, let alone a shipment of Sand. Your aunt must be a remarkable woman.”

  “Oh, she is,” Kalena said quite truthfully. “Where are we going?”

  “To the trade baron’s home. I stay with him when I’m going to be in town for a short while,” Ridge explained casually. “This time I’ll only be here long enough to make preparations for the trip to the Variance Mountains. Where’s your luggage?”

  “At the inn where I stayed last night.”

  “I’ll send one of Quintel’s servants to pick it up.”

  Kalena took a deep breath, astounded by how easy it was going to be. Olara had interpreted the auspicious omens correctly when she had gone into her Far Seeing trance two months ago. A strange excitement gripped Kalena as she and Ridge stepped out into the warm sunlight, but she tried to keep her voice calm as she said, “I was afraid you might be taken by surprise by the contract. I knew it had been negotiated by Trade Baron Quintel in your absence.”

  Ridge shrugged. “I’ve been away for the past two months. There was some business in the Talon Pass that had to be handled. I knew Quintel was getting worried about the Sand trade, and it was hardly a surprise to find out he wanted me to check out the situation as soon as I returned. There would have been no time for me to find a suitable trade wife on my own, so it made sense for him to handle the matter for me.”

  “Yes,” Kalena agreed in a distant voice, “quite sensible.” Well, at least she didn’t have any persuading to do. Ridge seemed quite content with the arrangement his employer had made, both for the trade marriage and for herself as the trade wife.

  Kalena gazed at the sights around her with great interest. She had only been in Crosspurposes for a short time, and most of the sprawling, bustling town was still new to her. The distinctive pink stone that had been used in most of the buildings seemed to give everything a warm glow. In the warm end of the summer weather, the windows overlooking the streets were open to catch whatever breeze happened past. Few of the buildings were more than two stories, although a couple went as high as four levels.

  Crosspurposes had sprung up at the juncture of several important trading routes. Precious gems from the Talon Pass, medicinal herbs and the Sands of Eurythmia from the Heights of Variance, and lanti hides and wool as well as grain from the plains of Antinomy all flowed through Crosspurposes and on to their final destinations. The town had become wealthy as a result of its fortunate location, and that wealth showed in the fine buildings, busy shops and well-dressed citizens.

  The streets were active. Several carts pulled by the huge, flightless creetbirds rattled past with loads of produce and market goods. People thronged the stone walkways, the women in colorful, short tunics and trousers, the men in the more subdued shirts, pants and boots. Children bounced around or clung to their parents. A few stray cotlies darted across the streets and disappeared into alleys in search of food. The sight of the animals’ long ears and wagging tails made Kalena smile wistfully. Her pet cotly had died the year before, and Olara had refused to allow her to replace the small, furry beast. Perhaps her aunt had sensed how attached Kalena had become to the animal. In Olara’s mind, nothing must be allowed to come between Kalena and her ultimate goal, least of all any sort of emotional attachment.

  The thing was, Kalena thought, Olara had never realized just what Kalena’s ultimate goal really was. It wasn’t the assassination Olara had planned for so many years. It was the new life she would gain for herself afterward that kept Kalena so firmly fixed on her course of action. True, before now she had had difficulty trying to imagine that new life in detail. Her own lack of knowledge about the lives of the almost legendary freewomen she had heard rumors about kept Kalena’s vision for her own future hidden in a misty cloud, but she never doubted that it awaited her. She sensed instinctively that after she had performed her duty to her House, her own future would become clear and vivid.

  “Do you think Trade Baron Quintet will object to my staying in his house?” Kalena asked in a soft voice as Ridge stopped in front of a massive, arched moonwood door. In another moment she would enter the house of the man she had come to assassinate.

  “He’d better not,” Ridge said flatly. “He’s the one responsible for your being here, isn’t he? He can damn well put a roof over your head while we make the trip preparations.” He reached up to rattle a heavy metal doorknocker to the house of the man Kalena had been sent to kill.

  As Ridge waited for one of Quintel’s servants to open the door, he threw a sidelong glance to his companion. What had Quintel done? he wondered. Finding out that he was expected to journey to the Heights of Variance to discover what had happened to the lucrative Sand trade had not surprised him. Learning that Quintel had negotiated a trade marriage for his Whip while he had been gone these last two months did not surprise Ridge. But discovering that his short-term saddle wife was an innocent young woman straight off some farm in the Interlock valley did surprise him.

  Trade wives, by nature, tended to be tough, shrewd creatures who were inured to the social criticism that was often their lot. Trade marriages were legal associations, but hardly socially acceptable among the middle or upper classes. Even a farmer’s daughter would normally be above this kind of arrangement.

  The regrettable fact of business was that the Healers of the Variance Mountains would not deal with a man. Healing was a skill that came from the Light end of the Spectrum, and as such it was the province of women. Trading was the province of men. When Quintel had opened up the Sand routes he had been forced to find a compromise; his answer was the concept of a trade marriage. With a little political pull, Quintel had gotten the arrangements recognized in law. As an additional incentive for women to contract such marriages, he gave trade wives on the Sand route a small percentage of the profits.

  Women were involved in other trade activities, sometimes accompanying the traders as cooks and sleeping pallet companions, but that sort of arrangement was not satisfactory to the Healers of the Heights of Variance. They demanded that the women with whom they dealt be properly married, although no one was sure why. The High Healers of the Variance Valley were, after all, unmarried women themselves.

  Ridge could see why Quintel had jumped at the chance of having a recognized Healer’s niece along on this trip. Surely the niece of a Healer would have a certain tendency toward the Talent herself. It ran in families. Quintel was hoping that the High Healers of the Variance Valley, who had been refusing all trade lately, might look favorably on dealing with a woman who could be presumed to have a touch of the Talent. They certainly hadn’t been favorably disposed toward any of the other women who had been sent along on the trade caravans to deal with them in the past few months. Quintel’s profits had been suffering badly.

  But even so, knowing what he did about the situation, Ridge had nevertheless found himself taken by surprise when he had turned around in Hotch’s office and looked at Kalena for the first time.

  His first thought was that she had eyes the color of the precious green crystals that miners wrested from the mountains near the Talon Pass. Cool, ic
e green eyes that waited to be ignited into green flames by the heat of a man. Ridge sucked in his breath as he realized that, with the aid of a trade marriage contract, he was going to be the man who awakened Kalena. This situation was going to prove interesting.

  Her eyes were not the only thing that had caught his attention. There was a sunset in her hair. A mass of small, red-gold curls had been pulled back from her face and fell in a rich waterfall down her back to a point well below her shoulders. Ridge found himself wanting to thread his fingers through those curls. He wondered how they would look spread out on a pallet pillow.

  Her face was not beautiful, but her clear, delicate features intrigued him. There was something striking about her faintly slanting eyes, high cheekbones and firm, straight nose. She was of average height for a woman. The top of her head would have just touched his jaw if she had been standing close enough to do so. He could bend his own head and kiss her easily in such a position.

  The long-sleeved, purple tunic she wore over yellow trousers was belted to reveal a small waist and gently flaring, very feminine hips. Her breasts were full but delicate and sweetly curved. Ridge decided that they would fill his hand pleasantly. He also sensed that, were she to realize just what he was thinking, she would be shocked to the toes of her little velvet boots.

  Ridge wondered just how much Aunt Olara had explained to her niece about a trade marriage. Kalena seemed to be treating the whole thing as a purely business matter. For an unsophisticated farmer’s daughter who had probably never been out of the staid, conservative Interlock valley before in her life, that was a little odd.

  Perhaps she didn’t realize just how long and lonely the nights could get on the long trail to the Heights of Variance. Ah, well, there would be plenty of time to introduce his trade wife to the realities of business. For the first time since he had learned of his next assignment, Ridge began to look forward to it with a sense of anticipation. He was playing with that thought when the moonwood door to Quintel’s mansion swung silently open. He stepped aside politely to allow Kalena to enter.