Thing was, Kral had rubbed me exactly the right way, and I’d done more than purr. I was never helpless, though—an important lesson the Dasnarian had yet to learn. “I seem to recall,” I echoed him, pursing my lips as if in thought, “that you had me on more than my back. You had me any number of ways—on my stomach, on all fours, on your back . . . Tell me, lover, which was your favorite?”
We hadn’t closed any distance, but it felt like we had, the heat thickening the cool morning air. Oh, yeah, that got to him. He didn’t shift to adjust his arousal, but he wanted to. I let my eyes linger there and smirked. Then blew him a little kiss.
“Witch,” he said, with narrowed, hard eyes. The same word his brother Harlan had used to name the late unlamented Illyria, priestess of a foul Dasnarian religion, Deyrr. An evil worker of magic indeed. Low blow comparing me to the resurrector of corpses.
“Resorting to that?” I snickered. “Though, from what I’ve heard of your Dasnarian women, what I did to you must have felt magical all right.”
“You know nothing of our women and yet you defame them with your sly insults. You will make an ill ambassador indeed. I will be hard-pressed to keep you from getting yourself killed.”
“Aw, so sweet. I didn’t know you cared. Oh, wait! You don’t. You made a promise to your brother. Tell me—does Harlan know you manipulated events to draw Dafne out of Ordnung in order to deliver her to King Nakoa KauPo?”
The accusation caught him unawares, guilt mixing with surprise before he covered it. My keen-edged question had flashed through his guard before he saw it coming, and I had my answer, thrice-curse it.
I shook my head, tsking sadly. “You pretend to make amends with a brother you wronged and lie through your teeth. Does your Dasnarian honor come with laundry service? I’m afraid yours is a bit soiled.”
Kral’s jaw bulged, and the fingers holding one forearm dug in, clearly longing to draw on me. Oh, I wished he would. Danu take him for what he’d done to Dafne. This wasn’t at all how an ambassador should think—or behave—but I’d been field promoted and likely wouldn’t survive to face Her Majesty’s censure regardless. Or, if I did manage to get through this and she cut me loose, I’d just go elsewhere. I’d re-created myself before and could do it again. Everyone needed good scouts.
The Tala shape-shifters might lump me in with the unchanging mossbacks, but I’d never stayed anywhere long. Not since I’d left home.
“I did not forswear myself to my brother,” Kral replied, his voice measured against the rage boiling behind the icy blue. “I promised to watch over the scribe in the Dasnarian court. If she is not at court, there is nothing I can do.”
My own anger burned at his perfidy. “You promised that, knowing all along that you would deliver her into a forced marriage with Nakoa. You have a large mouth that you can lie out of both sides at the same time. And to a brother you already wronged at least once. You shave the boundaries of your honor pretty thin.”
“What do you know of what passed between Harlan and me?” Kral flung out the question as a challenge, but he wanted to know the answer. Too bad. I wouldn’t give up my advantage by owning up that I had no idea. Dafne hadn’t known either. If Harlan had confessed the truth to High Queen Ursula, she’d kept his secrets well.
“Enough to know you’ve betrayed him yet again by failing to protect Dafne as you swore to do.”
“I neither betrayed him nor failed to protect your queen’s ambassador.” He held out a hand, ticking off the points. “I did not know King Nakoa KauPo’s intentions, only that he handed me a drawing of a woman and asked to meet her. I do not believe her to be in danger, as he clearly regards her as a much-treasured wife. Any woman should be grateful for such fortune. Harlan’s judgment may be questionable, anchoring himself in servitude to a foreign queen as he has, but any true son of Dasnaria would recognize the truth of this. Finally, the expressed goal of his mistress and your queen was to send an ambassador to the Dasnarian court. You might be a pitifully inadequate substitute who will no doubt immediately shame your Twelve Kingdoms, but the mission arguably continues intact as described in the treaty.”
I fumed, wanting to argue seven different points at once. Failing that, I curled my lip in my best sneer. “You are an ass.”
He nearly lost it, fingers twisting and body quaking as he almost lunged for my throat. I had my blades out and ready to strike before he viciously yanked himself back. “Because you are no proper female, I could justify taking you down for that, but I won’t.”
“Afraid if you bend that honor any further, it will break? Understandable, as you’ve stretched your vows thin enough to be flimsy threads in the wind.”
“What is it you want with these taunts, Jepp? I could break you in half without trying.”
“You’d have to get past my blades first.”
He unfolded his arms, fisting hands on his hips instead. Once under sail, he’d shed the black armor that made him and his men look half again as big, but still he towered over me by a head. “I already did,” he said softly.
“You won’t ever again.”
“I wouldn’t lower myself. As you pointed out, the rewards were hardly worth the sweat. I’ll now point out that you didn’t answer my question.”
“I want two things,” I spat at him, sheathing my knives. Might as well lay it out now. “I agreed to leave Dafne behind because me taking her place as ambassador is more important in the grand scheme than her personal happiness. She made the sacrifice and I won’t diminish it by gainsaying her.”
“And because you had no choice in the matter.”
That rankled. I still thought we could have broken her out somehow. Nakoa’s open-air palace had no physical security. Even with her unable to walk, we could have maybe . . . Eh, no help for it now. Dafne had made the decision—including handing me responsibility for the secret part of her mission—and she outranked me. “Therefore,” I continued as if Kral hadn’t made his petty point of clarification, “I’m calling on you to uphold your promise to your brother and aid me in navigating the Dasnarian court.”
He set his mouth mulishly. “That regarded the scribe, not you.”
“Oh, I think you bent that vow plenty already to accommodate covering me also. Don’t forget—we’re not in Dasnaria yet. You’ve yet to be allowed to cross out of Her Majesty’s realm. Queen Andromeda will meet us at the barrier wall, and if I tell her what’s transpired, she may not choose to let you pass. You need me if you want to get home. Also, if I send a message back to Harlan, detailing what you’ve done—how do you suppose he will interpret your rearrangement of the rules?”
“My little brother has long been estranged from me. What would it matter to me if he renewed his snit?”
Logical, and yet . . . I thought it did matter to him. Just as it mattered greatly to him to get his ship and men back to Dasnaria. Nothing like spending a skin-slicked night learning a man intimately to give a woman insight into his psyche. One reason sex made an excellent venue for spying and extracting all sorts of information. Kral was an indisputable, unmitigated ass, but family mattered to him. Whatever had happened, it had affected them both profoundly. He and Harlan had mended fences over a bottle of mjed, a Dasnarian liquor Harlan had saved during his travels for just such a special occasion—once the treaty had been signed. Several of the other Hawks and I had matched them shot for shot, the mjed deliciously light, belying the sucker punch that rivaled that of Branlian whiskey. Which may have led to the aforementioned ill-advised sexual encounter.
The scent and flavor of it certainly twined in my memory with the taste of Kral’s skin and the heated thrust of his body. No thinking about that. I needed to focus on carrying forward with Dafne’s quest. Like it or not, I’d need Kral’s help.
“I think it would matter to you. More, I think it would matter to him. Shall we find out?” My dare whipped out like the whisk of a blade against his resolve. Oh, yeah, he flinched ever so slightly.
“I will help you act
as ambassador,” he conceded. “As I had already planned to do. Not because of your weak threats, but because it would shame me to have you blundering about offending one and all. Thus my first piece of advice—learn to dress and move as befits a lady. Your mannish ways will only offend.”
“You didn’t find me so mannish at Ordnung.”
He ground his teeth, the click of his jaw audible. Not healthy at all. “Sampling the exotic fare travel brings is not the same as stomaching unpleasant foreign tastes in one’s own home. You asked for my assistance; that’s where we begin. No one at the Dasnarian court will speak to you garbed as you are and behaving as you do.”
“Do you think putting me in a gown will make me less dangerous? I could gut you before you knew I’d drawn a blade.”
Kral narrowed his eyes. “I am not young Blagor. You would not take first blood so easily.”
“Heard about that, huh?” Ursula, back then not the High Queen, but heir and captain of the Hawks, had chosen me to demonstrate to Harlan and his Dasnarian mercenaries, the Vervaldr, just what a well-trained woman with a pair of delicate blades could do. Surprising them had been most satisfying.
“An exaggerated tale, I’m certain,” he said.
“I’m happy to demonstrate anytime, General Killjoy, no matter what I’m wearing.”
“Ah. I’m glad you agree, then, that wearing a proper garment will not be a problem for you.”
Danu save me, I couldn’t back down from that. Besides, I would need every advantage I could muster. “Fine. Once we arrive in Dasnaria, I will obtain some of the local clothing.”
“Best to practice before then.”
“I didn’t exactly pack a lot of ball gowns.” My job had been bodyguard, not prancer-about-in-pretty-outfits woman.
“There are some traditional Dasnarian costumes appropriate for females aboard. I will arrange for them to be sent to your cabin.”
On a shipful of men? I probably didn’t want to know. Kral read it on my face, however, enjoying my discomfort. “Occasionally our rekjabrel accompany their men on shorter journeys. And we bring gifts back to them and our wives. The wise man keeps his woman in pretty things, as her happiness may not guarantee his, but her unhappiness will surely create his misery.”
“You’re just chock-full of advice today, aren’t you?” I almost preferred his studied refusal to acknowledge my existence.
A strange expression crossed his face, as if he’d also only just realized he’d reversed his recent behavior. “As you will be ambassador whether either of us enjoys the prospect, then yes—it occurred to me that I’d best take you in hand to ensure I am not censured for bringing a disgrace into His Imperial Majesty’s court.”
Sweet talker. I sent a prayer to Danu for patience. And wisdom. Maybe a double helping of both. This prayer felt far more sincere. Look at all this celibacy I’ve offered, Danu—my idea or not, I’m doing it. A little assistance in return wouldn’t go amiss.
I managed to swallow my pride at the “take you in hand” remark. What would Dafne say? “I am . . . grateful for your advice and assistance, General Kral.”
He grinned, not at all nicely. Couldn’t even be gracious in victory.
“What was the other favor you craved of me?”
Excuse me? I bit back the seventeen different retorts that sprang to tongue at that one. I almost regretted that I’d announced I wanted two things, but oh, well. Hurt nothing but my pride to ask. “Lift your edict on no one having sex with me.”
Ridiculous that I had to ask, but I was getting thriced-desperate. Neither Dafne nor Zynda had been persuadable on the topic; the couple of days on Nahanau had been entirely in crisis mode with no time for dallying. Now I’d be trapped with Kral and his men for Danu knew how long, and not a one would go against his order that I was hands-off. Goddesses knew I’d tried.
Kral smiled with only half his mouth, a definite smirk. “Feeling the burn, kottyr?”
My turn to clench my teeth together. “As I’m sure you must be also.”
Instead of delivering a scathing remark, he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Though it seems to me you scratched your itch more recently than I have mine.”
No dallying with the pretty island girls, then? Interesting. “By hardly a day,” I pointed out. Which was the wrong thing to say. Kral had taken it quite badly that I’d fucked Brandur hours after leaving the general’s well-used bed. I wasn’t even sure why I had. Kral had left me thoroughly sated. Brandur and I had never been exclusive, but Brandur had invited me in a persuasive way and . . . Okay, maybe I’d felt the need to scrub the lingering and overpowering feel of Kral from my body. No lover, man or woman, had ever stayed on my mind like that, for most of the next cursed day. Danu’s tits—who knew the man would be possessive of a woman he’d just met?
“Are you asking for an apology?” I asked, sounding reasonably neutral.
His gaze sharpened. “Are you offering?”
“No, I’m determining the terms of this particular treaty.”
“An apology for offending my honor and betraying my trust would go a long way, yes. Along with the acknowledgment that you agreed to be mine and will not stray again. At that point, I might be able to be persuaded to assist with that itch of yours. If you ask nicely.” He grinned, a definite challenge.
“Not going to happen. I never agreed to be yours, you misogynistic tool.” I added that last insult in Common Tongue, as—no big shocker there—Dasnarian didn’t seem to have a word for the concept, though they might as well have invented the practice.
His smile vanished, face going as icy as those Branlian glaciers. “You did agree, when you accepted the invitation to my bed.”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Sex! I accepted the offer of sex, not lifetime servitude.”
“I offered you the protection of my body, a guarantee of food and shelter. Those are the terms.”
“Dasnarian terms.”
“Of course,” he replied, frowning a bit. At least he might be processing some of his mistake there.
“Look, Kral.” I made an effort to sound reasonable. “I realize you think the Dasnarian Empire is the center of the universe, but there are other cultures, other ways of doing things. I protect my own body, work for my own food and shelter. In my world, an offer of sex is just that. We had a good night. We parted ways after. Now we have to work together. Can we call a truce already?”
“Certainly.” He smiled again. The smile failed to reassure me. “But my orders stand.”
I cursed him, a vicious one from old Bryn, which only made him look more pleased.
“I’m responsible for my men and for your welfare as ambassador. The Tala sorceress, too. I would be remiss if I allowed any trouble to ensue.” He looked me up and down. “But if you wish to renegotiate the terms of our truce, you know what to do.”
He sauntered off, whistling, much too pleased with himself.
2
Full of restless energy, I couldn’t bear to go below. I should likely check on Zynda, but she knew how to find me. It wasn’t that big a ship. Instead I headed for the wide area near the stern, where I could train without being in the way of any of the sailors. My body felt creaky with inaction and sleep deprivation.
Not to mention being nearly gutted alive.
Don’t think about it. Still, that moment when High King Uorsin burst out of his barricaded rooms, insanity and bloodlust in his eyes, seized my brain in the occasional surprise choke hold. Like his namesake, he’d charged like a bear startled out of hibernation, crazed, starving for the first flesh he came across. I’d seen that once, when I was a kid and accidentally awakened a brown bear. It had been a warm winter, with the scant snowfall already receding well before actual spring. A fringe effect of the drought in Aerron, though my little clan hadn’t known much about that—or anything in the larger world. Bored with the tree stand my aunts had staked out on the deer trail, my cousin and I had wandered off. Found the cave and foolishly explored. Awaken
ed the bear. Then ran screaming right back for safety.
Our shaman later said the bear was too skinny, that the lean summer and fall before had sent her to sleep with too little fat and she likely would have emerged anyway. Just bad luck we happened on her cave when we did. Worse luck for my cousin and two of my aunts, who were disemboweled by those heinous claws before enough spears and arrows stuck to bleed out the bear. I’d had nightmares for months after. Occasionally still did after a bad fight.
Or after Uorsin, mad bear in his own right, did the same to me.
In my head, I knew that was why I’d frozen. The sight of him, sword drawn and spittle flying, had rocketed me straight back to being nine years old and terrified. Marskal, Lieutenant of the Hawks, had berated me even as he’d packed my guts back in and staunched the bleeding with his shirt. Why in Danu didn’t you dodge? If Queen Amelia’s consort, Ash, hadn’t been there, I would have died.
I should have died, both times, way back when, with my cousin, and again barely a month ago.
Perhaps the third time would be the charm. Did they have bears in Dasnaria? Perhaps whatever they did have would be the third and final iteration of the monster that sought my death.
Dark thoughts needed to be dispelled, so I elected to go for Danu’s Dance, instead of one of the more demanding, strength-building series of forms. A bit easier on the body, promoting flexibility, with the added benefit of allowing me to draw my twin blades and let them fly flashing through the morning light. A sight that always made me happy.
The Edge of the Blade Page 2
