Too much, too fast. I didn't want this to end too soon. "Stop," I said into his mouth, or tried, as I was too out of breath to even make a proper sound.
But he did stop, and I immediately regretted telling him to. Ariv stood and undressed himself, slowly, never taking his eyes off me. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
He was tanned all over, and I suddenly longed to paint him practising naked, the sun warming his skin. I didn't even realise I was reaching out until I felt the heat of his skin beneath my fingers. He didn't stop me as I caressed his thigh, watched as I weighed his balls, and shivered as I ran my thumb across the slit of his cock. I rose and pressed my body against his, sighing at the feel of his naked skin against mine. My eyes caught his in the painting, the way they looked down the barrel of his shooter, and I shuddered.
"Yes," he hissed, turning me around, pushing me out of the gallery and onto my bed. "Lie on your back."
I swallowed, but did as I was told. He grabbed something off the floor. My mouth went dry as he showed me his shooter. Oh. He really did know what I wanted.
He pointed his shooter at me as he neared the foot of the bed, and I couldn't look away from it. His strong hand, muscles tense around the shooter, the copper glinting in the soft light of the lamp. "Close your mouth, so you won't bite your tongue."
I nodded and closed my mouth, spreading out my arms and legs like a sacrifice from the old tales, and waited. Waited for him to throw a stunning spell at me, waited for the effects to start, waited…
Ariv frowned.
I caught the scent of magic. Was that it? It didn't feel any different.
Ariv looked at his shooter, fiddled with it, shook it, and aimed it back at me. I could clearly see the concentration on his face as he squeezed his fingers around the handle. He frowned again, even before the scent hit me, and pointed the shooter down. The bed shook. He cursed and let the shooter drop to the floor. He formed a bowl with his hands. Pointing them at me, he spoke the spell aloud this time, and practically pushed it at me.
My mouth went dry, but it had nothing to do with arousal or the stunning spell. I shook my head and closed my eyes, clenching my fists by my side to keep from hitting something, someone. This wasn't happening.
The bed dipped, but I kept my eyes closed. I couldn't face Ariv, now. Still, I let him pull me against him, let him stroke my hair, let him mumble words I neither heard nor understood as I lay my head on his shoulder and let him wrap an arm around me.
We lay quiet for a long time as I listened to him breathe, my fists still clenched as I tried to keep myself under control. A feeble control that slipped the moment I felt his lips against my forehead, and I could no longer keep my tears from falling.
I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND what happened. All I knew was that the spell hadn't worked, and three days later, I still couldn't bear to think about it. I tried to put it out of my head, I even locked my gallery and hid away the key, but I still dreamed of it, and it hurt. I kept hoping Ariv would tell me he had done something wrong, had made a mistake, but he was gone by the time I'd woken up, and I hadn't seen him since. I tried to look for him, but with the harvest upon us, the soldiers only trained in the mornings before going down to the fields to help out the farmers.
Now that Queen Solanta and her family had arrived, I wouldn't have time to look for him, anyway. Just as Mother and Father had said in the garden, I was asked to paint a portrait of Orna, Queen Solanta's daughter.
Orna was a quiet little thing with a pretty face. She had dark skin like all the Atan people—sun touched, Father called it—long, light brown hair that hung down in waves, large golden eyes, and plenty of freckles. She made sitting quietly seem effortless, though I had to prompt her to smile every now and then.
I hadn't even told her she had to sit still, but no matter how often I said she was free to move, that I had memorised the pose, Orna stayed in the same position. Still, I had a hard time painting her, and that had nothing to do with her. The composition wasn't a problem, either. I had sat her in front of the orin bushes, hoping the pale green would bring out the warmth of her skin and her smile… when she smiled.
No, the reason I had trouble painting her was because the few paintings that I'd started in the past few days had all gone horribly wrong, had all turned into some depiction of Ariv, and I wasn't even trying to paint him. I needed to get him out of my head. I needed to accept that I wasn't going to be seeing him again.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught Father talking to Queen Solanta, and the conversation between Mother and Father came back to me. I didn't understand what Father was worried about. Queen Solanta seemed all right to me. She looked a little like Orna from afar, the same long, light brown, wavy hair, sun touched skin, and nose. She probably had freckles, too, when she had been Orna's age. How young had Queen Solanta been when she became queen?
Orna coughed and I looked at her. She was trying hard to sit still, but I could see something was troubling her. She kept twitching her nose.
"You can move for a bit, if you need to," I told her.
Orna immediately started sneezing. I grabbed a cloth and handed it to her.
"Thank you."
That was about the most she had said to me since we started.
She sneezed again, into the cloth this time.
Despite my painting problems, the portrait wasn't going too badly. I'd had better days, but I got her face, with a smile, and I was content with the way her hair turned out. The colour of her dress was where I truly struggled. Not quite grey, not quite blue, but I couldn't seem to get the hue right.
With a sigh, I put a different blue on my palette and mixed it with the grey I had used before. I held it to the light and shook my head, though it was closer than my earlier attempts. I added more blue of a darker shade, and the result seemed better already.
While Orna settled back into her pose again, the cloth crumpled into one of her hands, I redid part of her dress in the new colour. I nodded. That was much closer to the actual hue, even if it was a rather severe colour for a young girl. When I finally finished the dress, I took a step back.
A high–pitched voice sounded next to me. "Oh, doesn't my princess look pretty?"
I turned to see Queen Solanta standing there, Father close behind her.
I wasn't sure if she meant the painting or Orna herself, but I decided it didn't matter. Orna did look pretty, and her efforts to sit still certainly deserved a compliment. "She does, Your Majesty."
Queen Solanta smiled, but Father frowned. Orna had stopped smiling as well, and once again I found myself wondering why Father was worried about the queen.
AT DINNER, I was seated between Orna and Vik, but neither seemed keen to talk to me. I tried to start a conversation a couple of times, but Orna would only nod and stare at her plate, while Vik looked decidedly bored. I couldn't wait for dinner to end and be allowed to retreat to my rooms.
I had barely seen Vik since he had arrived. He probably spent his afternoon with my brothers. Vik hadn't changed much since the last time they visited. Atan people weren't as broad–built as our people, and Vik was no different. He was tall, dark, and muscular, and his long, black hair easily reached his lower back—black like his father's, Royal Consort Rass. Vik had his mother's and sister's golden eyes, though. Rass' eyes were more a strange mix of green and brown. Not a colour I'd often seen.
With both my companions being quiet, I had plenty of time to glance around the room. Royal Consort Rass sat with Mother, while Father sat next to Queen Solanta. All were talking, though their conversations couldn't be more different. Not that I could hear them, but Father still wore that same frown, while Mother and Royal Consort Rass smiled and laughed as they talked.
The harvest meetings had been held that afternoon, and I hoped Father had managed to arrange for that grain I could never remember the name of, the one that made our bread taste spicy and interesting.
"Mother seems to like your paintings." Vik's voice interrupted my thoughts. I turn
ed towards him, but Vik wasn't looking at me.
"She said she liked the one I did of Orna this afternoon."
"She wants me to sit for a painting tomorrow, before we leave."
Oh, so he wasn't going to be allowed to travel alone. I suppressed a smile at that and scolded myself for feeling so jealous before, especially since Vik didn't seem thrilled about me painting him.
"If you don't want—"
"Mother wants it."
Right. He didn't want to, but he would because his mother wanted it. Painting someone who didn't want to be painted never worked out well. Orna had been quiet, but her face had lit up when she had seen the result. I doubted Vik would enjoy a similar pose. "Will you be training with my brothers tomorrow?"
Vik turned his head. "Yes. And I'm not going to decline just so you can paint me."
Of course he wasn't. "I can paint you while you're training."
Vik narrowed his eyes and looked at me, through me. His stare was nowhere near as effective as Ariv's had been. When Ariv looked at me like that…
So much for trying to forget about him.
"How?"
"How what?" I asked.
"How would you paint me?"
"However you want. I've painted the soldiers while they're training often enough. Man–to–man, sticks, shooters, swords, whatever you want. You wouldn't even have to hold your pose for long. Once I know how I'm going to paint you, the image will be stuck in my head."
"Is it really that easy for you?"
What could I say to that? As easy as magic is for you? No, though I had no doubt he expected it. They knew about me, after all. Mother and Father had never made my deficiency a secret. "Secrets ruin lives," Father once told me. Having it out in the open hadn't made life any easier for me, but I could see his point. I shrugged. "It's what I do."
Vik seemed to think about that, for quite a while, actually. Not until we were leaving the dining room did he speak up again. "All right. Sword. I'd like you to paint me training with my sword."
I hadn't expected anything else. I wasn't sure I could have handled painting him with a shooter, even if theirs looked different from ours. "I'll be at the training field tomorrow, then."
I stopped when I noticed where we were headed. The dance hall. Neither Mother nor Father had said anything about dancing after dinner. Still, they wouldn't appreciate me refusing. Going back to my rooms would have to wait.
Our parents retreated to the back of the dance hall while, in the opposite corner, a harpist, the wife of one of the soldiers, started playing a tune.
Lerran and Riki were the first to dance—they were always the first to dance—quickly followed by Endyrr and Kalnor. Danen, my eldest brother, was not dancing. He sat with our parents, but I didn't see Inau, his wife. Maybe she was checking up on Sirr. I contemplated asking Orna to dance, out of politeness, but Jeon beat me to it, sticking his tongue out at me when Orna couldn't see it. Orna seemed as uncomfortable on the dance floor as she had been at the dinner table, following Jeon along like a wooden puppet. I tried to remember how much younger than me she was. It had to be five years, at least. Only a stripling, a very shy stripling, who was dancing with my dissolute brother, more than a decade her elder.
With a shake of my head, I made for the comfortable window seats, only to be stopped by Vik. He held out a hand.
"Care to dance?"
He would barely talk to me, but he would dance with me? Who would have thought? I couldn't slight a visiting prince, so I took his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.
Vik was an elegant dancer who knew how to hold a man. Despite my reluctance, it was easy to follow his lead, and we ended up dancing together for quite a while before Jeon wanted his turn.
Strangely enough, once partnered with me, Orna turned out to dance remarkably well for such a shy girl. She liked the faster songs and preferred not to be held while we were dancing, and the more we danced, the more relaxed she seemed. She even managed to smile a few times, though probably because I stumbled during some of the quicker turns.
When we were finally all danced out, Orna and I settled ourselves in a window seat and enjoyed a cold drink while we watched Jeon and Vik twirl around the room. Jeon was a far better dancer than I was, obviously, but the two of them made dancing look like fighting battle. Neither seemed to want to follow the other or let the other lead.
Endyrr and Kalnor, on the other hand, showed no such strife. They fitted together like they belonged, and glided effortlessly across the floor. As did Lerran and Riki. Perfect examples of how lovers were supposed to dance. I closed my eyes. Would dancing with Ariv be that perfect?
Chapter Four
I DELIVERED A rather sharp blow that hurt my hand more than it did the dummy I was practising on, but I couldn't stop. I needed to hit something.
Five days had passed since Ariv sneaked out of my bed. Yet, despite my efforts to put him out of my mind, I found myself training the way he taught me, found myself unable to ignore his instructions. My routine was tighter, my hits more accurate, and I rarely let my left hand drop any more. It made it hard to be angry with him.
I hit the dummy again, with three swift blows. Why had he sneaked out after being so kind to me? He had seen me at my most vulnerable and had stayed and held me until I slept. I couldn't understand why he now seemed to be avoiding me. For five long days. Was it wrong of me to expect this to be more than a one–time affair? Had I read too much in the way he had looked at me? Maybe he had been indulging me, after all: the poor, powerless prince who wouldn't stop crying.
If he came in now, I'd probably scream and rage at him until he left. I might even throw a punch his way if he came close enough. It wouldn't stop me from following his advice. It wouldn't stop me from wanting him, either.
At breakfast, Mother had frowned and sighed as she watched me pick at my bread. A couple of times she had opened her mouth as if to ask a question, only to close it again. The others hadn't seemed to notice her fretting. Father, Danen, and Lerran had been discussing training regimes, with Riki, Lerran's wife and fellow soldier, listening in, while Jeon and Endyrr had been stuffing their faces, as always.
Finally, Mother had scolded me for looking tired and not eating enough, her expression only darkening when I used working out as an excuse. It could hardly tell her what had happened with Ariv. I had held my breath when she turned to Father. One word from him and I'd be done with training, and I needed it, needed to vent. My painting wasn't a useful outlet these days. Every other picture still ended up looking like Ariv in one horrible pose or another, as if he'd been struck down.
When Father had finally looked up, at Mother, at me, studying me with that serious expression of his, he'd shrugged. "Exercise is good for the boy, Héale," was all he said.
Boy. I hadn't been a boy for a good while now. But I would still be allowed to train. That was something, at least. While Mother had held her tongue, her expression told me she didn't agree. She worried too much.
I stepped back from the dummy, looked at the timepiece, and sighed. Still no Ariv. He wasn't going to show up again.
"I always thought you were just fooling around in here, little brother. I didn't know you trained this hard."
I jumped, nearly stumbling over a low bench. Lerran came out of the shadows near the door.
I sighed. "Father sent you?"
Lerran shook his head. "Does he have reason to?"
"Other than Mother hounding him? No, I suppose not." I hoped not.
"Walk with me."
"I need a shower."
"You can shower after."
After what? But I didn't ask Lerran what he meant.
Neia stood outside the hall, ready to follow me. She inclined her head at us when Lerran dismissed her, and made her way towards the castle.
Lerran took me to the far end of the outer gardens, to a secluded area with low benches, surrounded by apple trees and zei fruit bushes. I rarely came here, unless to paint a portrait. I loved usi
ng the purple zei fruit and lavender blossoms as a background. And there was something about the combination of sweet apple and tart zei fruit that always made people smile more genuinely.
Lerran told me to sit. I frowned at his formal tone, but did as he asked, even though he stayed on his feet, pacing from one bench to the next.
"Captain Ariv came to me this morning."
I couldn't breathe. Was this why Ariv hadn't approached me?
"His story was a little vague, but he seemed convinced that stunning spells do not work on you. Is that true?"
Oh, no. No, this couldn't be true. He had no right to go to Lerran… I closed my eyes and swallowed. But he had a duty to his king, and Lerran was his commander. It didn't make me feel any better, and I was only lucky he had not gone directly to Father. Was this why Ariv had not come to see me?
"Llyskel. I asked you a question."
I looked up at Lerran, who had a familiar expression in his eyes that I mostly only got from Mother. "Sorry."
"Is it true? About the stunning spell?"
I nodded, then frowned. "I'm not sure. I didn't get stunned, but I'm not sure the spell worked."
"Captain Ariv thought you might say that," Lerran said with a sigh. "I guess that only leaves one way to check his suspicion."
"No." But my protest was too late. The scent of magic surrounded me as Lerran stunned me…or rather, didn't stun me. I couldn't tell whose eyes went wider when I could still move, his or mine.
"Beloved Okané, it is true. You cannot be stunned."
Somehow, I was less than thrilled about it.
Lerran rubbed his hands together and opened them, pointing them at me.
"What are you doing?"
"I need to make sure it's only stunning that doesn't work."
"What? Are you mad? No, I…" I had no idea what Lerran did, but whatever it was, it seemed to go right through me. I looked behind me just as a zei fruit changed from purple to white. I turned back to Lerran. "You are mad. What if you had hit me? How would you have explained that to Father?"
The Fifth Son Page 3
