Don’t be bitter, she reminded herself. After all this time, she couldn’t possibly care what he did.
“You look amazing, Lena,” Zeph said in her ear. “Quit fidgeting. You’ll soil the white silk, and you can’t shapeshift it clean again.”
“Don’t be smug.” Lena yanked once more on the strapless bodice in a futile attempt to cover more of her cleavage. “It’s so low cut. I don’t know what Mom was thinking.”
“Your mother may be a librarian, but she’s also a woman—and she was thinking you could stand to flaunt your impressive assets.” Zeph hooked her arm through Lena’s and hugged them together in solidarity. “Rhy won’t know what hit him.”
Lena gave her a rueful look. “If he even notices I’m here.” If she even wanted him to notice her.
Gendra slipped her arm through Lena’s on the other side. “Oh, he knows,” she said. “He’s been in a rotten mood ever since Andi made it a royal order that he had to attend tonight.”
“She did?” Lena studied Rhyian from her vantage on the balcony overlooking the great hall. Gendra had already been dressed when she arrived at Ordnung—having flown there in hummingbird form and showing off her shapeshifting skills by returning to human form wearing the gorgeous indigo ballgown—but she’d joined Lena and Zeph for wine and gossip while they changed clothes after the journey. Stella hadn’t been able to pop in as she’d hoped, sadly too busy playing hostess with Astar. “You didn’t mention that tidbit before.”
Zeph nodded. “It’s true. Even if a few birdies hadn’t overheard—and it was apparently a loud argument—Rhy got drunk afterward and bitched to all his buddies about his mother running his life.”
“Oh, please. When is he going to grow up?” Lena conveniently set aside the fact that she’d had a similar argument with her own mother, and welcomed the exasperation that helped defuse the heart-tripping dizziness of seeing Rhyian again. He’d only gotten better looking over the years. How was that fair?
“Speaking of growing up, Astar is looking fine tonight,” Zeph murmured, licking her crimson lips. “That boy has seriously filled out.”
Gendra and Lena exchanged glances. “Astar always looks fine,” Lena said, though he did seem to have added bulk. “I hear Harlan has him working with a broadsword now. That will build some muscle.”
“And I’m sure it helps to be the son of the most beautiful woman in the Thirteen Kingdoms,” Gendra added. “Though, really, he looks just like his father, the late Prince Hugh. I saw a portrait of him at Castle Windroven.”
Astar was handsome, it was true, fair with golden hair, and eyes the color of the summer sky. He was also the high queen’s heir, and the responsibility, along with his innate honor, lent him an air of nobility. Over the years, Astar had taken on the role of leader of their group of friends, and he was the sun they orbited around. To Lena, though, Astar’s sweet sunniness couldn’t compare to the dark, languid, and wicked appeal of Rhyian. Not that she was going to let him break her heart again. “Fool me once,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Gendra asked with concern.
“I’m going to seduce Astar tonight,” Zeph, completely oblivious to Lena’s angst, announced in the same breath, sparing Lena from answering. Zeph tossed back her long hair, which fell nearly to the hem of her scarlet gown in a glossy blue-black waterfall. If Astar was their sun and Rhyian the dark star, Zeph was the beauty of the four girls, with her mother’s exotic Dasnarian bone structure and her father’s Tala coloring—and his flirtatious nature. She licked her perfect lips again as Astar and Stella escorted Rhyian off somewhere. Astar wore powder blue with gold trim, and even Lena had to admit he cut a fine and truly princely figure.
“Look at that ass,” Zeph mused, nearly salivating. “Makes your mouth water. Do you think he’s still a virgin?”
Gendra had a hand clapped over her eyes. “Noooo… Don’t say things like that.”
“Don’t be silly,” Zeph scoffed. “Astar isn’t our cousin. We can lust.”
Gendra dropped her hand, her eyes fixed on the trio as they disappeared from view. Lena wasn’t sure if Gendra’s longing gaze lingered on Astar or Rhyian. Or Stella, for that matter. Unlike the rest of them, Gendra hadn’t dabbled in romance much, keeping to herself, spending much of her time in one animal form or another. Always practicing her skills. Of course, Lena wasn’t much better. Since Rhyian, she’d buried herself in her work—and she was happier for it.
“Astar is just honorable enough to be a virgin,” Lena said. “He probably has some idea of saving himself for whichever princess they marry him off to.”
“Yes,” Gendra agreed vehemently, “which is why you should not mess with his head, Zeph.”
“His head isn’t the part I want to mess with,” Zeph purred.
“Zephyr!” Lena and Gendra exclaimed in one voice.
“What?” She pouted, managing to look utterly gorgeous doing it. “His being so noble and honorable makes me want to seduce him just that much more.” She narrowed her sapphire eyes in the direction he’d gone. “He’s a big boy now, and I think I’m just the girl to drag him to the dark side.”
Lena closed her eyes in dread. “We have to keep them apart,” she said to Gendra.
“Absolutely. For the sake of the Thirteen Kingdoms,” Gendra agreed.
Zeph glared at them. “Why, you traitors? I thought you loved me and wanted me to be happy.”
“We do,” Lena said.
“But we also love Astar and want him to be happy,” Gendra added.
“I could make him happy,” Zeph said, truly sulking now. “That’s entirely the point of seducing him.”
“Astar is to be high king,” Lena explained patiently, “which means a marriage of state for him someday.”
“I don’t want to marry him,” Zeph replied in a petulant tone. Then she grinned wickedly. “Just deflower, despoil, and thoroughly debauch him.”
“Are there any ‘de’s’ left after that?” Gendra wondered.
“I’m just saying,” Zeph continued, fully warmed to her subject, “if our darling Willy has to be saddled with some ice-hearted, baby-making mossback princess someday, I can at least tutor him in all the delightful perversions he’ll be missing. That’s just being a good friend,” she added loftily, not fooling anyone.
“Odds are his future queen will be Dasnarian,” Lena pointed out, “which means she could be better tutored in the sensual arts than you are.”
Zeph gave her an arch look. “My mother is a Dasnarian princess, don’t forget, and—”
Lena and Gendra groaned. “How could we forget?” Lena asked.
“You remind us daily,” Gendra agreed.
“—and,” Zeph plowed on, “she taught me as she was taught.” She smiled smugly. “Plus, I’ve been practicing. Did I tell you about the two—”
Gendra held up her hands in surrender, stepping away from them. “I’m crying uncle on this conversation.”
Lena had to agree. Combining her mother’s sensual Dasnarian education with her father’s Tala flirtatiousness had been like putting oil on a fire in producing Zeph. She’d already cut a swath through Annfwn, and Lena was only thankful that Zeph hadn’t seduced Rhyian. So far as she knew, anyway. If Zeph had, she wouldn’t want to hurt Lena by saying so and, of course, Rhyian didn’t speak to her at all.
“Naughty Zeph. What did you say to scare our sweet Gendra?” an arch voice inquired.
All three young women spun and squealed, launching themselves into Jak’s arms. Laughing, he managed to embrace them all at once, kissing their cheeks and foreheads. Zeph managed to plant an enthusiastic kiss on Jak’s mouth, but he shook a finger at her. “I’m wise to your ways, shapeshifter. You won’t be witching me.”
Zeph gave him a saucy smile, swishing her scarlet gown, which glittered with crystal beads. “But you dressed to match me.”
Jak threw back his head and laughed, then struck a pose. “You like?”
“I didn’t know this was supposed to b
e a costume party,” Lena remarked, eyeing the high glossy boots and long crimson coat. He even had a cutlass hanging from his belt. “Are you supposed to be a pirate?”
Jak scowled at her. “So cruel, fair Lena.” He plucked up her hand and kissed it, bowing with a dramatic flourish. “I bought this in Jofarstyrr and thought it would be perfect for tonight.”
“It is perfect,” Gendra assured him with perfect sincerity—and giving Lena a reproving glare. “You look very handsome.”
“Ah, sweet Gendra!” Jak whirled her into his arms and spun her in a few steps of a waltz. “And you look dazzlingly lovely tonight. Say you’ll save every dance for me.”
She giggled, and Zeph made a face. “Except for when you’re dancing with us,” she called.
“Bah.” Jak didn’t even pause, spinning Gendra faster. “I know how this goes. You will be drooling over Astar, and Lena will be mooning after Rhy. A plain sailor like me doesn’t stand a chance.”
“And Stella won’t notice Jak is alive,” Zeph murmured to Lena, who agreed with a rueful smile. Jak had his Dasnarian father’s height, but his loose-limbed and agile bone structure was all from his mother, Jepp. He had her keen dark eyes, dusky skin, and brown hair, too—and all of her zesty lack of restraint.
“But I forget!” Jak whirled Gendra to an abrupt halt, kissing her hand, too. “I am commanded to escort you ladies to the private salon Astar arranged for our merry crew. I was sent to seek you out. Now that I have, you are my prisoners, and you must face the censure of your king.” He winked. “Or the high king in waiting, which as good as the likes of us will get.”
That was where Astar and Stella had taken Rhyian. And where Jak intended to take them. Lena’s heart jammed in her throat, choking her breath away, and she felt abruptly far too warm. “I… have to go check in with my parents,” she stammered. “Tell me where, and I’ll join you. Later.”
The look all three gave her was far too knowing.
“Don’t be absurd, lovely Lena.” Jak hooked her arm firmly over his. “The kings and queens are not thinking of us—for once in our lives—and we have toasts to make. The seven of us, together again. This will be a night to remember.”
Lena dragged her feet, but Zeph poked her in the back, she and Gendra falling in behind them to prevent escape. “The Feast of Moranu is a night for forgiveness and renewal,” Gendra reminded her.
“You can’t forgive someone who isn’t sorry,” Lena retorted over her shoulder.
“Of course you can,” Jak replied cheerfully. “People forgive me all the time, and I’ve never once been sorry.”
“Besides,” Zeph said, “how do you know he isn’t sorry?”
“The tiny fact that he’s never said so,” Lena muttered.
“He can’t apologize if you won’t speak to him,” Gendra put in.
“I’ve never not been speaking to him,” Lena protested.
All three very loudly said nothing.
“I’ve been busy,” she added into their accusing silence. “In the Aerron Desert.”
“Yes, darling Lena.” Jak patted her hand on his arm, as if that made up for the vise grip she had on him. “We know.” Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, he darted in to kiss her cheek. “And we love you. Let’s all just set aside any differences and have fun tonight.”
“Bless Moranu, yes,” Zeph agreed fervently.
Neatly trapped, Lena turned with them into the small salon, where Astar, Stella, and Rhyian sat in a conversation circle of ornately upholstered chairs and sofas. Rhyian’s cobalt-blue eyes immediately fastened on hers—immobilizing her like a snake strike to the heart.
~ 3 ~
And there she was. Salena. Looking like she’d stepped out of his fantasies. Rhy couldn’t look away. He was dimly aware he sat riveted to the spot, frozen like an idiot, holding a goblet of truly excellent Branlian whiskey in his hand, but he seemed unable to do anything about it.
Of course he’d known that she’d grow up in the intervening years, but Salena had truly become a woman as formidable as her namesake’s reputation. With the wide, angled cheekbones of the Nahanauns, bronze skin and a full, generous mouth, Salena’s face had matured from the pretty blossom of her teens into mesmerizing beauty. Her gleaming hair was the color of rich caramel kissed by the sun, and her thick, dark lashes framed her Tala blue eyes, full of magic and sharp intelligence. She wore white—an unfair reminder, there—lavishly embroidered with pearls and small crystals, which caught the light and scattered it again. The gown left her shoulders bare, showing off her gracefully muscled arms and an entrancing amount of cleavage.
She was staring back at him, standing frozen in the doorway, her arm looped through Jak’s. Zeph and Gendra eased quietly into the room on either side of them. Rhy realized all their friends were holding their breath, avidly awaiting whatever came next. Jak even smirked pointedly, knowing full well how painful this was for Rhy—and making it clear the next move was up to him.
Faithless, treacherous louts, every one of them.
All except for Stella. The tense undercurrents must be nearly unbearable for her because she put her left hand to her lips, inserting the tips of the prettily enameled nails of the littlest fingers. It was an old habit of hers, to suck on those two fingers, and when they were kids, Stella’s mother had been forever after her to stop, bemoaning the eternally shriveled state of those fingers. Even shapeshifting back to human form restored them only so much. Stella hadn’t much cared, though she was careful to hide the habit around her mother, but Rhy remembered that summer in Annfwn when Stella had suddenly started to care—and how Salena had helped her break the habit.
It had been the same summer that he’d noticed Salena as more than a friend.
Shaking that memory away, Rhy pulled himself together, if only for Stella’s sake. These days, she only reverted to nibbling those two fingertips under stress—and him and Lena not being adults about dealing with each other was a stupid reason to upset their sensitive Nilly.
He stood, grateful for the shapeshifter heritage that at least guaranteed his balance and maybe a modicum of grace. The way he felt, pulse pounding in his skull, he’d otherwise pitch over face first. Finding he was clutching his goblet hard enough to dent the ornamental metal, he lifted it in a toast. “To old friends,” he said, impressed with himself that he sounded reasonably poised.
Jak gave him a disgusted look, but Astar came to his rescue, standing also. He offered his twin a hand up, gently tugging her fingers from her lips. “To enduring friendships,” Astar said, lifting his own goblet, Stella joining him.
After a moment’s hesitation, Rhy affirmed the toast and drank, watching over the rim of the goblet as Salena looked everywhere but at him.
“But I’m a terrible host,” Astar exclaimed. “We can hardly have a toast when not everyone has drinks.” Releasing Stella’s hand—though not before giving her a searching look to make sure she was all right—Astar strode over to embrace Salena. “Princess Salena Nakoa KauPo, you look ravishing,” he said, releasing her to take her hand and kiss it. “We hear daily about your brilliant work in Aerron—and the High Throne thanks you—but I can’t say how happy I am to have your sun-kissed self here with us tonight.”
Salena laughed, a throaty sound that Rhy would recognize anywhere, though he’d long since given up hoping to elicit it himself. “Why, Prince Astar,” she replied with warm affection, “I do believe you’ve been practicing your courtly charm.”
Rhy gulped some whiskey. Coming tonight had been the second-stupidest thing he’d ever done, and he’d done more than his share of stupid things. It only figured that the top two—possibly more—had to do with Salena.
“Don’t be sad.” Stella touched Rhy’s arm, her healing magic flowing into him with green light that chased his dark thoughts into hiding.
“I’m not,” he assured her. “Don’t waste your magic on me.”
“You’re not a waste, Rhy,” she replied gravely, her eyes softly
gray, like fog. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
He smiled at her, feeling the wistfulness in it. “I think you’re the only person who isn’t hard on me.” Then he kicked himself for sounding like a self-pitying gruntling and produced a grin. “Too bad we’re first cousins, otherwise you’d be the perfect woman for me.”
“Every woman is the perfect woman for you,” Zeph informed him archly, draping herself against him. She had the whiskey carafe and refilled his goblet. “At least for the five minutes she’s in your bed,” she added with a smirk.
He feigned an outraged expression. “I beg your pardon! It’s at least ten minutes—sometimes fifteen.”
Zeph laughed lustily and kissed his cheek. “Happy Feast of Moranu, Rhy. I’m glad you came tonight, even if you had to be hog-tied.”
He clinked his goblet to hers. “Just a bit of emotional leverage and a royal command. No ropes involved.”
“More’s the pity,” she purred. “But this is a family celebration, so we must resign ourselves.”
Rhy laughed at Zeph’s flirtatious remarks, enjoying her easy ways and outrageous loveliness. Across the room, Salena glanced over, a set expression on her face, before she looked back at Astar and Jak, pasting on a patently fake smile for them. Rhy knew all of Salena’s smiles, and that one was her I’m-pretending-I’m-not-really-upset smile.
“Tonight is hard for her, too,” Stella said, tapping the two littlest fingers of her left hand against the goblet. “She doesn’t want to be here either.”
“She doesn’t?” Maybe Rhy didn’t know her as well as he’d thought. Salena had seemed to be eating up the attention from Astar and Jak. And that dress…
Under a Winter Sky Page 10
