Clay's flesh prickled with alarm. "Do you believe he means you harm?"
Kiarra's laugh tickled his skin. Her laughter wasn't a forced twitter. It bubbled genuinely from her stomach and turned heads. He found himself smiling at the beauty of the sound despite the seriousness of his accusation. "Oh no, I think he's a friend. I believe he is playing a game. I can always see him and I wonder if that's why he follows me around. I can't decide if he's playing at a test of his skill or my skill."
"Do you have reason to believe you will be in the Information House, then?" Clay asked. He didn't mention the several other reasons a young man might wish to follow her around.
Kiarra's expression turned pensive, reminding Clay of what she had revealed to him the other day in the schoolroom. "I have no idea," she said truthfully. Then, she shrugged, shaking off the worry she'd carried for so long. The piece of paper lay heavy in Clay's pocket.
"Kiarra..." the sound of her name from his lips recaptured her attention. “I might have to - uh - leave for a while."
"Oh." Her face fell anew. He hated that he'd put that look on her face though a tiny part of him rejoiced in the indication that she might regret the loss of his company.
He steeled his resolve. "If I'm not to see you for a while, might I ask for a boon?"
"A boon?" she asked. "What could I possibly have to give you?"
"I wonder if I might have a kiss," he said quickly. If he were never to see her again, at least he would have the memory. Her eyes widened in shock, settling on his mouth. As much as he hated to amend his words, he added, "A chaste kiss on the cheek is all. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." Her huge oceanic eyes moved from his mouth to his bearded cheek and he couldn't tell if she were disappointed or relieved. "You don't have to," he stuttered. She moved forward before he finished the sentence.
A breath of air whispered between them just before her lips pressed to his lightly bearded cheek. They were soft and warm and carried her scent and that of the sweet raisins she'd eaten earlier. They lingered a second longer than a truly chaste kiss, and the magical electricity of her touch travelled from his face straight to his groin. Thankfully, he'd been sitting when he asked. He'd never imagined a simple kiss would have such a strong effect on his body.
She leaned away from him slowly, her eyes dark with an emotion he hoped was desire. He imagined her eyes darkening further as he kissed her more thoroughly and intimately. He swallowed hard. Better to end this endeavor before he gave into the temptation to ravage her in the center of the marketplace. His imagination was working overtime this morning.
"Kiarra!" A snippy voice grated on his nerves, wrenching him rudely from his dreamlike stupor. Kiarra's sister, resplendent in her student uniform even on rest day with a blue ribbon in her dark hair, stood at the edge of their small oasis. Her hand was on her hip. "Quit dawdling. Mother said we were to return home right afterward."
Kiarra blushed, rising quickly. The sister's eyes, he had forgotten her name again, traveled to Clay's crooked feet, evident as they stretched out before him in his seated position. Revulsion twisted her features before she flounced away. Clay had seen that look on so many women's faces, he recognized the emotion instantly.
Kiarra picked up her bag and turned back to him. Her face showed not a hint of revulsion. In fact, quite the opposite. Clay thought he noted yearning and reluctance in her gaze, reluctance to leave. He held onto the idea with all of his being.
"I hope your business doesn't take you away for long." She leaned closer to him and squeezed his hand before darting into the crowd. He followed her retreat until he could no longer see her, his senses and thoughts unable to release her. He sighed. He had been given a chance at one of the most coveted positions in the kingdom, except the kingship itself, and he would relinquish it gladly if he could have the girl.
He had dropped his head into his hands when the breath of a light breeze ruffled his clothes. Frowning, he realized there hadn't been a breeze all day. Not only that, but the crowded marketplace was usually still and stifling. His head snapped up but he saw nothing except the whisper of a gray uniform making its way into the crowd. He shrugged, dismissing the brief wind as a passing courier needing to quickly deliver a message. It wasn't until he was on his way back to Merchant House that he realized his message from the King was no longer in his pocket.
Chapter Seventeen
Ian
Ian loved mysteries. He loved that Kiarra's eyes reminded him of twilight secrets. He remembered the flush on her cheeks when she'd granted the attractive man’s boon. The Merchant had seen her for the least amount of time and probably knew the least about her, and yet he'd gotten the first kiss. That was also a mystery to him. Either the mystery or brief envy made him snatch the paper from Clay's pocket while he was still recovering from the kiss. While the rush of adrenaline from a successful grab couldn't compete with the thrill of Kiarra’s touch, he'd accept the momentary pleasure until he received his own kiss.
Reading through the message for the twentieth time, Ian pursed his lips. His crouched form perched atop the roof of first tier Scholar Housing, one of his new favorite places in the city. He'd changed into his black clothes as night fell and contemplated everything he'd learned that day. The messages were another mystery, one he was determined to solve.
After reading Clay's note for the first time, he'd shadowed the palace courier to see where else his swift feet led him. When he saw the run to Mason, he hadn't been surprised. Mason would make an excellent Advisor, much better than Head Commander. Evaluating the thoughtful look on Mason's face, he assumed the missives held similar directives. He had deliberated staying and talking to Mason about the note, but he'd had a courier to follow. When the courier waited until after Kiarra’s Scholar and Planner parted ways to deliver separate messages to each of them, he grew more intrigued.
He settled against the base of a chimney that was beginning to crumble, watching the sun set over the city. Shadows came out to play, as well as the seedier underside of Treleaven that the majority of citizens denied. This was typically his favorite time of the day to watch the city, but he had other thoughts that night which kept his eyes inward and not on the city.
Kiarra had five admirers, counting himself. Every admirer, except for him, had received a note calling them to an Advisor apprenticeship in the palace. Ian had uncovered additional evidence after the courier returned to his post. Each potential apprentice excelled in their field, each of them the youngest to reach second tier in each of their Houses. The young Planner, Seb, was the only man still in third because he had planned on being promoted with Kiarra's brother.
Ian wasn't sure whether he was pleased or worried the Information House hadn't received a similar summons. What did it mean if he was left out of the circle? What kind of game was the King playing? The apprentices were to meet in the palace an hour after the time at which Kiarra had been summoned. The timing couldn’t be coincidental. Ian shook his head bemusedly. Nothing made sense with the sparse information he possessed. Unknowingly, he considered the same arguments Clay had entertained earlier that day. The heir was due to leave the city in the morning to visit Bashir. Whatever the King's plan, he was enacting it quickly.
Ian's eyes returned to the same spot they always did this time of night. The Walton's corner unit only had two windows. One looked into the living room, the other into the girls' bedroom. He determined the mother had found this suitable because curtains and height protected her daughters' modesty. What she hadn't realized was that the gaslight silhouetted every shape that passed the interior of the room. Such shadows might not be visible from street level, but they were clear from his vantage point on the adjacent roof. He hadn't struggled long with any feelings of guilt regarding his spying. It was his Saint given gift and occupation, after all.
He had instantly discerned the differences between Kiarra and her sister. They weren't subtle. The youngest Walton's figure was rail thin, without chest or hips, while Kiarra's body s
poke of many men’s desires. She was built to his image of a perfect woman. He had always appreciated curves on a female. The shadow of her hair swirled as she brushed through the long locks and he envisioned all the colors shining.
The image of her this morning when she'd opened the door was branded on his mind. Her hair flowing over her shoulders, her breasts and ass easily defined by the small clothes. He had been thoroughly amused when Mason fumbled over his words. Women never made Mason nervous.
Ian was usually indifferent to women. His uncle had introduced him to the opposite sex at a young age, taking him to one of the brothels that operated in Abilon. He had learned two things from that early lesson. One, he didn't regard women in the same way his uncle did and two, Kiarra was perfect for him. She wasn't vapid or brainless, she wasn't constrained by societal pressures, she wasn't broken by her childhood despite her violent father, and she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Her shape alone could rouse him to hardness.
He hadn't slept with many women since that brothel experience, horrified that the desires of his uncle would transfer to him, but he had come into his own eventually. He'd used women, and the occasional man, in the same manner Mason did. When pent up desires interfered with daily tasks, he found a willing partner. His desire for those partners hadn't amounted to even a fraction of the lust and attraction he felt towards Kiarra. The realization scared him and he wasn't too manly to admit his fear. His childhood had scarred him in more ways than one. He hoped Kiarra was strong enough to accept him as he was.
While not generally prone to jealousy, he'd still been surprised he hadn't experienced any resentment towards Kiarra's other admirers. A twinge of emotion pricked him when Kiarra kissed the Merchant, but he concluded it had been a spark of envy, not jealousy. Ian had wished the kiss was upon his own cheek, or elsewhere on his body, but he wasn't angry she'd kissed someone else. If that someone had been a random stranger and not one of the other four men who adored her, he imagined his emotions might have been different. The understanding was just another facet of the mystery. He knew one thing for certain. He hadn't felt so alive since he'd taken revenge on his father and uncle.
A whisper of noise brushed his radar and Ian stood quickly, his hand at his boot. He didn't pull the dagger at his ankle when the form dissolved from the shadows. His fellow Information House spy, Jeff, was his closest friend besides Mason. Jeff did his best work after the sun fell. He wasn't a native of Megreria, the truth evident in the dark tone of his skin which was the color of the night at its darkest hour. In the daylight, he stuck out like a sore thumb, so he mostly worked nights, or undercover as a foreign trader.
"You're a hard man to find," Jeff greeted in a low tone, joining him in the darkness cast by the chimney. They pitched their voices so the night swallowed the sound instead of carrying it away from their bodies.
"That is my job," Ian replied with a quick grin.
Jeff grunted in response and pulled a piece of white paper from his pocket. The royal seal glowed in the wan light. Ian accepted the message. He didn't have to read it to know what it said. Still, he turned his shoulder to hide the words from his companion and skimmed the contents. His friend wasn't offended; they both valued the power of secrecy.
Relief rolled through him, suggesting he had been more upset to be left out of the summons than he'd thought. His mind wasn't on the position of Advisor, however. His focus centered on how the situation involved Kiarra. It wasn't a coincidence her five admires would be in the presence of the King at the same time. One more piece slid into the puzzle.
"Any news?" Ian asked. The general greeting was the standard between members of his House. Subtle competition existed and whoever possessed the most information typically came out on top. At the moment, Ian was content hiding the knowledge of the Advisor apprentices. But he had been so focused on Kiarra, he might have missed something important.
Jeff was silent as his eyes scanned the city below. Like any good Shadow, Jeff's every movement was conserved for optimal efficiency. Fidgeting wasn't in their nature. It drew the eye where the eye shouldn't be drawn.
"Everyone is discussing the rumors surrounding the renovations of the palace and the Crown Prince's departure tomorrow morning. Sources within the palace say he is not pleased to be sent away. There are whispers..." Jeff paused. Whispers were harder to countenance than rumors but sometimes held the most truth. Whispers could get a man killed if spread improperly, or sent to one of the inferior Houses in one of Megreria's smaller towns. "There are whispers that the Crown Prince will not follow his father on the throne."
Ian sucked in a silent breath. He had wondered, given the contents of the missives, but the prospect left more unanswered questions. The King had no other children, no brothers or sisters on either side of the family. Everett was the only son. The Caden family had ruled the kingdom for a century. While he had no desire to see Everett on the throne given the young man's nature, he didn't think other options existed. Implementing a form of democracy would send their entire society into upheaval. Putting an unknown person on the throne might cause civil unrest.
"Would that missive you're holding have any further information? Our Advisor himself asked me to deliver it to you."
Ian had wondered why the courier hadn't carried the missive to him. The current Advisor really wanted this to remain secret. Ian glanced at his fellow Shadow. If Jeff asked, his curiosity was indeed eating at him. "Sorry, friend. I've been sworn to secrecy. I imagine the truth will out within the week, however. An order of this magnitude won't be able to stay quiet for long."
Jeff and Ian were close. If it wouldn't have challenged his position as an Advisor, he might have shared the news. The whispers and rumors would start the moment the men entered the renovated portion of the palace, though. The palace household was vetted properly, but nothing ever stayed quiet. It wouldn't be long before Jeff possessed all the information.
Jeff nodded, mollified by the answer. "What down there has captured your attention? You've been distracted this past week." Jeff inclined his head minutely toward Scholar House. On cue, Kiarra's silhouette rose and framed itself perfectly in the window. Each luscious curve was delineated. She must be wearing next to nothing, Ian thought. The image sent desire flooding through him.
"Ah," Jeff remarked with a quick grin. His teeth shone white in the darkness surrounding them. "A woman." Jeff cocked his head, studying the frame of Kiarra as she bent to pull back the covers on her bed. "And not just any woman, I would wager."
Ian wanted to sock Jeff right in his pretty mouth. He resisted the impulse, examining the urge instead. Another man, one Ian had never met, had allowed Kiarra to kiss him in the marketplace that morning. During the kiss, he hadn't felt much besides a twinge of envy and a spark of resentment. That was nothing compared to the frenzy that ignited within him at Jeff's gaze on Kiarra's curves. He pushed back the raw fury. The rare emotion reminded him too much of his uncle, of his brother, of his father. He was not like the men in his family, he reminded himself for the millionth time in his twenty-two years.
"I can sense your anger," Jeff murmured. His gaze was no longer on the window. Instead, he looked across the city. The rooftops were colored blacker than the night. Ian allowed the anger to pass through him, the task easier now that Jeff had averted his eyes. Kiarra had lain down in bed. Another shadow passed the window, lacking any womanly curves, and then the light extinguished. "Is she your Soul's Match?"
"I'm uncertain," Ian said honestly. "The strength of the attraction I feel towards her points to that being the case, but I'm not the only one who feels that way about her." Ian wasn't one to confide, but he trusted Jeff. His friend had his own opinions regarding Megreria's customs, Soul Matches in particular. Perhaps Jeff's beliefs would offer insight into the puzzle.
Jeff hummed thoughtfully, drawing Ian's attention. "In the country of my birth, there are no Soul Matches. We consider your country's Soul Matches a curse by the Gods upon your kingdom. The belief is
that your kingdom has so fractured itself by dividing its people, the Gods have retaliated by fracturing souls."
Ian considered his friend's words. Jeff worshipped different gods than were recognized within Megreria, but he hadn't heard other kingdoms believed Megreria was cursed because of its House-driven society. Megreria was one of the most prosperous kingdoms in the discovered world. If he were a more narrow-minded man, he would have considered their beliefs borne from jealousy.
"How many men have the same attraction towards this woman?"
"Five, one from each House."
Jeff nodded, confirming an internal thought. "I think the Gods, or your Fates, are sending a message. This might be an opportunity to restore your kingdom to wholeness. A moment ago, you were angry when I sighted your woman. Do you experience the same rage towards these other four men?"
The prospect of Kiarra being his woman momentarily distracted Ian. He loved the idea more than he liked to admit, and he was surprised how much that had changed in the days he had followed her. He had never desired a Soul Match. He believed his soul was already whole; it was one of the reasons he considered himself different from other males in his family. "No," he answered. "I feel envy, perhaps slight resentment they are touching her and I am not, but not jealous rage."
Jeff nodded again. "Have you never wondered why your Soul Tenders believe souls are only broken in two pieces? If you break any other object - a priceless vase, a clay pot, possibly even a human bone, they rarely break into two distinct pieces. What if a soul has broken into more than two pieces? What if it broke into six pieces?"
Ian rocked back onto his heels. His gaze focused on the darkened window. "What would happen to the person whose soul broke into six pieces?"
Jeff shrugged. The movement was almost imperceptible except for the rustle of thin cotton. "It depends on how the break happened. How big are the pieces? Does every piece recognize that it came from a whole? If a woman were born with one sixth of a soul, the rest of the pieces scattered into five different men, she would have to be extraordinarily strong to survive. Or perhaps the lore is mistaken. Perhaps souls are not fractured but reflected. Maybe your woman has a whole soul, as do each of you, but your souls are all reflections of the others. Maybe that is why you feel a kinship towards the other men. Perhaps that is why she doesn't suffer the loss of her soul."
Pieces of Her Soul Page 15
