The reference made his son chuckle in memory of one of his favorite handmaidens. It served to remind them both that there really were very good women in Sanctuary, and they shouldn’t condemn them all for the acts of one. But caution was regretfully necessary now. Two attempts on Trace’s life, one on his own, and Karri’s aborted attempt to kill Chancellor Malaya had seen to that. That was to say nothing of damage like what Ashla had gone through. The little half-breed healer took on the properties of the illnesses she healed before her body purged them, and her delicate constitution had made that a dicey trick on more than one occasion. She was now prohibited from doing any healing until the baby came.
Magnus smiled softly, catching his son’s curiosity.
“My granddaughter,” he said in answer to the unspoken query. “She will be my first grandchild, and I am eager to begin training her for religious duty.”
He was teasing, and it was obvious, so Trace chuckled.
“I think she will be more inclined to politics,” he informed his father.
“Hmm. I suppose we will have to wait and see.”
“I suppose so.”
Trace was no fool. He knew the sound of a gauntlet hitting the floor when he heard it.
Chapter Four
Daenaira inspected herself in the floor-length mirror very carefully.
For the fifth time.
“Light, you’re a vain bitch,” she muttered to herself.
In actuality it was more about never having put on a new, tailored sari before. When you wore a rag, it didn’t really matter what it looked like. However, she had been given a brand new midnight blue sari, the uniform of a handmaiden. It was made of a beautiful and fine velvet that gleamed against every curve of her body before draping over her shoulder. The long-sleeved blouse she wore with it ended just beneath her breasts, hugging her snugly every inch of the way. The low scoop of the neckline wasn’t exactly shy about cleavage either, especially considering she had a pretty generous amount to work with.
The underskirt holding the pleats of the sari was gossamer soft, brushing against her legs like delicate air and making her wince whenever it caught against the rough calluses of her knees. She would have to see if she could find a cream to help ease and soften the rough places on her body. She was highly aware of their ugliness, and the other handmaidens she had peeked out at now and then were all so soft and beautiful and feminine. Their hair shone, where hers was dull and stripped from the harsh soap she had been forced to use. To hide it, she had tightly plaited the mess and curled it into a cobra knot on the top of her head. Those other women had no flaws or bruising that she could see, and even those who forwent slippers to go barefoot had the prettiest and smoothest feet Dae had ever seen. They also wore black kohl to outline their dark, lovely eyes. She hadn’t tried to use eyeliner since she’d gotten into her mother’s at age ten and had made quite a mess of herself.
On the vanity there was a pretty new pot of the stuff and an application brush as well, but she was afraid she wouldn’t do it right and would look foolish. Twice as foolish, she thought grimly as she touched the scarring and burns at her throat. She had a feeling they would always be there, for the rest of her days, always reminding her of exactly where she had come from. She had seen some of the women wearing jewelry, so she would probably be able to cover it up with something one day. But ornamentation cost money, and she didn’t think handmaidens got paid for their work. They were paid in the things they needed, and those needs were provided quite lavishly. Every single touch in her rooms and her small new wardrobe was finely done and generous, but not in the least vulgar. The only actual gold and precious elements she had seen so far had been artistically inlaid into the pommels and scabbards of the weapons collection of her priest.
Her priest.
And what a priest!
The great and venerable M’jan Magnus, spiritual leader of all Shadowdwellers and, most especially, the twin Chancellors who now ruled over them. The mighty and terrible Magnus of whom she’d heard frightening tales from her spot on the bar rail. Tales of unrepentant Sinners and a ’Dweller priest, deadly and devoted, hunting them down and gutting them. Warriors of all clans had feared the wrath of Magnus. Others had marveled over his skill when they had seen him in actual battle. She remembered hearing such amazingly varied accounts of him; it was as though he were a myth, not a true being.
Well, he was real enough. She had felt the reality of him on every level available to her at the time. He was more volatile in temperament than she would have imagined for one so wise and experienced. She also knew better than to poke a stick at a cranky bear, so she would try and tread carefully until she figured things out a little.
On the whole, she had to look at this whole thing as a decided improvement. Warm room, new clothes, no chains and no zapping. She still wasn’t certain it wasn’t just a prettier form of slavery, but she believed what he had said to her about Dreamscape, and she had been comforted by the way he had apologized to her and relented about his heavy-handed dictates. It wasn’t the topic she took issue with, she just didn’t want him thinking he could make unilateral decisions and she would step in line like some—well, a slave. Dae was well aware that she only had as much power in this place as that man allowed her to have. However, the trick would be in the way she made him want to manage her. This could quickly degrade into anger and fear and some vicious fights if either of them wasn’t careful with the other. She could sense quite easily he didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. For the moment, though, they had both decided to trust each other enough to give this thing a test run.
Magnus cleared his throat and nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned with a gasp to look at him. How in Light was he able to sneak up on her like that? Better yet, was he willing to teach it to her? All ’Dwellers had remarkable hearing, as well as a bevy of other keen senses. To fool them was an amazing trick, one she absolutely had to learn for herself.
“You look very nice,” he complimented her evenly. “The blouse seems to fit.”
“It’s a bit snug,” she corrected wryly, smoothing a self-conscious hand over her breasts, making certain the sari draped to hide the lush swell of her cleavage.
“It’s supposed to be snug. A woman’s body is one of the most beautiful things we have on this planet. Do you know what the sari represents in our culture?” When she silently shook her head, Magnus continued. “Traditionally, it was to do the two most important things every woman should receive. The underclothing is sheer and snug, flattering the shape and displaying lovely charms that deserve to be shown proudly. The sari is meant to protect those charms, while at the same time symbolizing that every woman should always be draped in comfort, protection, and a fine cloak of queenly grace.”
Magnus slipped around behind her and looked into the mirror with her. He met her eyes even as he reached around her to smooth the sari back into its natural fall, instead of hiding her. It brought the heat of his big body cradled up against her back, brushing her as he moved and somehow making her very aware of his fingertips traveling across her breast as he followed the drape of the sari to her shoulder. In a way, he was almost embracing her, with his arm crossing over her like that. Daenaira felt suddenly trapped by all of that strength and ominous power, her skin rippling with chills and heat in turn as she broke from him and turned around, bumping back into the cold wall mirror as she crossed her arms over her bare midriff under the sari.
Magnus looked at her, his golden eyes looking puzzled for a moment. Then understanding seemed to dawn as she heard him swear softly under his breath.
“I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t do that and I keep breaking that promise. I hope you can forgive me if I tell you…”
No. He couldn’t tell her about the familiarity of his visions of her. Visions were just possibilities; he knew that even though he had never had them before six weeks ago. It was as though Karri poisoning him had unlocked some kind of shuttered door within him, and now
everything was rushing to show itself to him. She was rushing to show herself to him. But Chancellor Malaya was a true precognitive, and he had seen her struggle, from an up-close perspective, with comprehension of the things she saw in her mind over the years. They could be tricky, taunting things, visions. They were always truth, but it was often imagery of truth and other unreadable or unreliable representations.
Of course, his visions had been stark and clear.
Raw.
Magnus swallowed the sensation of nerve-rushing heat that the admission chained through his body. He reminded himself that, since sexual needs had been the issue that had boiled away the Bond between him and Karri, dissolving their sanctified trust, it was probably Drenna’s way of warning him to keep very aware with this new maiden. That being the case, he forced himself to focus on the fragile trust he was trying to create with her.
“No one will be allowed to touch you if you do not want them to, but you will see we are a warm and affectionate group here. The women are kind and friendly and will want to hug you in greeting. The men will want to welcome you with hand-clasping. I tell you this so you understand my forgetfulness, but also because I will need to know how you wish me to handle it for you. I can request that you not be touched.”
“No. Please. It will just make me stand out like…like some sideshow. I can tolerate it. Don’t…I don’t want anyone to know what bothers me.”
Advantage. She meant that she didn’t want anyone she met to have an edge over her. Magnus was sorry she had to react in such a way to the world around her, but at the same time, in light of his troubles, her suspicion and caution would help protect her.
“Tomorrow I will start to make your sai,” he informed her. “But I was wondering what your preference of holster was going to be.” Sai were an unusual choice for a woman, their bulk making them obvious and tediously heavy on occasion. They also could get in the way of a woman’s daily activities. Since handmaidens in Sanctuary only wore saris or k’jeet, both of which were dresses, thigh holsters were awkward and unattractive.
“Really? My choice?” She licked her lips, clearly anxious to respond even though she was surprised that he was going to arm her. But Magnus wanted her to be able to defend herself in any moment.
“Yes. Your sai, your holster, your choice.”
He could appreciate that she hadn’t had much in the way of choices in her life. He also appreciated the slyness of her smile.
“Calves. But…one for boots and one set for without. If…if that’s okay.”
It was clever and devious, he thought with amusement. With the long fall of her sari, as long as she was careful, no one would even know she was wearing them. They would be completely out of her way, also, and impossible to disarm from her. Not both at once. And Magnus didn’t doubt for a second that she was aware of every single one of those details.
“I will make both,” he agreed, watching her smile snake in wicked satisfaction. The sly thing. That little grin of hers was going to get her into trouble. “But only if you tell me where you learned to use them.”
It was like throwing a gate across her face. Total lockdown. She went rigid and her crisp eyes narrowed on him. She didn’t like ultimatums. She liked even less having to barter personal information for something he knew she wanted very badly. She hated him for using it against her.
“Keep it. I never asked for it in the first place,” she snapped. “I never asked for any of this. Not in my waking hours,” she shot out, cutting off that avenue of argument.
Dae was furious. She pushed past him and stripped the sari from over her shoulder. She destroyed painstakingly created pleats and unwound it completely from her underskirt, and once she had the yardage in hand she couldn’t seem to control the urge to throw it in his face.
“Priest or man, you’re still a bastard!” She shucked off the blouse and threw that at him, too. “Here! Why bother with little tactics like too-tight blouses? I’ll walk around like this and you can show me off just like all the other pretty little cows I see herding through the hallways!”
Magnus drew the velvet, still warm from her body, away from his face and saw her standing there, feet braced hard in righteous anger, fists clenched by her sides, and her body, naked from the waist up, on proud display. From the waist down the close-to-sheer underskirt pretty much completed the picture of her entire figure.
Holy Light.
She was something else. Bruised and battered, thin under her ribs, too slim at the waist, but…skin the color of a light touch of milk in coffee, so even and beautiful as it flowed over her very generous breasts. Her nipples were large and dark, a luscious maroon that accented the perfect teardrop shape of each breast. Below that was the span of a flat, taut belly that had seen a great deal of work tucked into its shape. Just above the low-riding skirt was the slightly darkened indentation of her navel.
The urge to tongue her in that spot rode onto him like a storm out of a clear blue sky.
His gaze shot up to hers and he hoped to Darkness the fiery desire of that thought wasn’t in his eyes right then. Not that he didn’t expect to be attracted to women or to have sexual cravings, because he was still a man, after all, but not toward her when she might see and be further insulted.
She’s the one who stripped to the skin, his libido reminded him dryly. What does she think is going to happen?
“We have time to settle this,” he said, really quite impressed with himself for his flawless tone of voice. “The sai will take a week to make. Instead of throwing tantrums, we might discuss this.” He held out her clothes to her. “Please dress yourself.”
Her response was rude, crude, and, he was certain, anatomically impossible. He wondered how furious she’d be the day he asked her to tell him where she’d learned language like that.
She marched up to him, shoving the clothing out of his grip and onto the floor. Her face was flushed with her anger, her dark eyes like amber on fire.
“Don’t you dare talk to me in that condescending, holier-than-thou tone like I’m some kind of recalcitrant child pitching a fit! I am no child! And you will damn well stop trying to train me like a puppy with rewards and treats if I’m a good girl and withholding if I am bad! If that’s the way this relationship is going, I am walking out of this gilded cage and never coming back. I don’t care what you dreamed with me or what price you paid. I’d rather be a slave in my aunt’s house than a well-heeled lapdog for you!”
Then she swung at him. She almost caught him, too. Would have served him right for letting himself be distracted by the way her furious body language jolted through her amazing breasts. Gods, you’d think you’d never seen a naked woman before! he tried to sternly lecture himself. Just the same, he caught her wrist tightly in hand, saving himself a bruise, and jerked the little spitfire forward and off balance. She crashed into him, all softness and warmth everywhere, and Magnus instantly recognized his error. She was too close. Much too close. Now that she had bathed and groomed herself, she had an incredible scent that rode on her body warmth like a dolphin skimming waves. He was eye to eye with her, nose to nose with that fury as she glared up at him, but all he could think about was the aroma wafting up from all of that bare skin. Sweet. Soft. Yes, it was like sweet whipped cream. Light and delicious and decadent.
“Drenna, you smell good.”
Oh, Light and damnation. Had he just said that aloud?
Obviously he had. The shock on her face was probably only half as amusing as his, and his throat was completely paralyzed as he tried to figure out how to counter such an incredibly stupid blunder. He’d be lucky to walk out of that room without severely bruised balls.
“Excuse me?” she said numbly, her free arm curling protectively across her chest.
Magnus had lived a long time and advised a great many people on how to repair all kinds of situations, but he was at a complete loss right then. He reacted, breaking away from her and walking around her toward the bath at a rapid clip. He should have go
ne for the hall, but he didn’t doubt for a second that she would follow him just as she was. She wasn’t the type who made threats she wasn’t prepared to follow through with. He was passing the water when she caught up to him, grabbed his arm with both hands, and forced him to turn toward her.
“We haven’t settled this!” she hissed at him. “Don’t you dare walk away in the middle of an argument.”
“What are you going to do if I do?” he snapped irritably. “I’m done. We’ll talk when you are rational and clothed.”
“Oh! Fuck you!”
That mouth. Quite the weapon, just as he had suspected. And just distracting enough for her to throw all of her kinetic force into a huge shove that sent him staggering back off balance.
Magnus hit the bath with the most satisfying splash Daenaira had ever heard. Uniform, weapons; the whole kit and caboodle. She probably shouldn’t have jumped and cheered. She should have been running really fast. Instead she waited for him to surface, hands on her hips and a smug smile on her lips.
“That will teach you to brush me off, you big jerk. And for making me swear at a priest!”
She held her chin up and marched back to her room. She found her blouse on the floor and tugged it on quickly. This time, there was no way he could be silent as he approached her. For one, he was streaming water. For another, he was rip-roaring mad, and there was no mistaking it in his step. Just as he reached for her, she figured they were going to kill each other. They were both so dominant they would end up tearing each other apart to make a point.
But quite abruptly he seemed to stop behind her. After a moment or two of listening to him drip on the floor, she turned and looked over her shoulder at him. He was soaked, of course, and his jaw was clenched as tight as his fists. She tried not to look too superior as she lifted a questioning brow.
“Can I touch you?”
The request rasped out of him on a hard breath, a combination of his repressed anger and…she had no idea what else. She’d never heard anything like it before. Surprise and curiosity warred with common sense and, more importantly, the understanding that despite his roaring temper he was struggling to keep his promise to her. Struggling and succeeding. Daenaira had very little experience with how to respond to someone respecting her wishes. Considering the indignant dunking she’d just given him, she couldn’t help the desire to relent—and to see just what he was going to do.
Rapture: The Shadowdwellers Page 7
