“You’re certain?”
“Beyond certain.”
She went down to the ground, letting her weight pull him down with her. The grass was not as soft nor as green as the famed Triotian carpet, but it would do. For this, the very rocks would do, for what was beneath her mattered nothing next to the man above her.
She knew without asking that this was as new to him as it was to her. Such was Triotian culture. Besides, not only had she always known where he was, he had also told her of his few forays into experimenting—usually carelessly, as a man who had tried sips of various brews and discovered he liked none of them—although he was too well-bred to name names. She couldn’t blame him for those, not when they practically lined the paths he walked with velvet.
She had once wondered aloud why he took none of them. He had given her a crooked grin and answered, “Maybe I’m waiting for you to join them.”
“You’ll be old and gray before that will happen, half-wit.”
The memories flashed through her mind in an instant. She felt the odd need to acknowledge this, now. She reached up, cupped his face. Her words were statement, not question. “It truly was destined, wasn’t it.”
“Of course,” he said easily, and kissed her again.
She knew little of this, beyond the basics once explained to her as a girl by her mother in a session she’d mostly ignored because what did a mother know of it? That her mother obviously knew a great deal or she herself would not be here was something that had only come to her later.
There was fumbling, a bit of awkwardness, but none of it shook the sense of destiny, that the inexorable journey toward this had indeed been inevitable. It was only the physical they didn’t know. Their hearts, their minds, all else was work long done. They knew each other as few did. They had only to focus on the moment, the now.
Any lingering resistance, born of stubbornness, was seared away by the heat of his mouth, his body, and when the fumbling with clothing was done and they were bare to the sun in each other arms, it felt so right she couldn’t wait another moment.
“Now, Lyon,” she whispered, opening her body to him.
He froze even amid caressing her until she could barely breathe. “You never call me that.”
“And so now I do. As you call me Shay.”
He seemed, as always, to understand. He kissed her, even more deeply this time, and she let go of all restraint and kissed him back with every bit of heat and fierceness she was feeling. He let out a sound much like his namesake, low and rumbling. Then again his hands were stroking her, while his mouth trailed down her throat. He cupped her breasts, lifted them for his lips. She arched in delighted shock at the way her body fairly rippled in response, an almost violent clenching of every muscle. Uncontrollable.
But there was no need for control. Not here, not now, not with him. Her hands slid over him, stroking, urging. From this moment, that beautiful golden body was hers, forever, and she wanted to start that journey with an urgency she couldn’t mask.
It hurt, in that first moment of his body joining hers, but the strange feel of it distracted her. And then he was there, and the sound of his low groan was enough to make her body clench anew.
She breathed her earlier thought. “Forever.”
He settled deeper into her. “Yes. How long we’ve waited. How long it will be ours.”
The rough words arrowed through to the last protected corner of her heart, and she gave him that as well, as she had given him everything else, and always would.
It was wild, and a bit mad as the unbearable tension built with his every move. He drove hard, as if overtaken by the same frenzied need that had filled her. She arched to meet him, clinging to him even as he slammed into her. All the years of waiting, when she hadn’t even known what she was waiting for, culminated in the moment when her body hit the peak, when fire and emotion and need and drive all exploded at once, and her entire being seemed to clench around him. He gasped even as she cried out, unable to hold back.
She felt the hot pulse of him inside her. Her name burst from him in a voice she’d never heard before. The world seemed to spin, even to rumble beneath them. If it were to fly apart at this moment she wouldn’t care, for they had achieved this and there could be nothing more.
At last it ebbed. She waited, cradling him, savoring his quickened breath, his hammering heart as evidence he’d been on the same soaring flight she had. Not that she needed evidence, she knew as well as she knew the color of his eyes and that small scar on his right shoulder, that he had.
She wished they could stay like this, lying quietly in the sunlight, bare to a world that in this moment seemed without shadow, without threat. That they would have to speak of this, she knew, but not yet, she pled silently, not yet.
Long moments spun out, and she was momentarily glad she did not have Rina’s internal clock; she wanted time to stop, just as it was now. She stroked his back, fingertips tracing the line of lean, strong muscle. Her other hand touched his hair, fingers threading through the golden strands, letting them slip through her fingers. It was said a mating between a golden Triotian and a dark one such as she, one of those known as the Children of the Evening Star, could produce either, although the golden coloring was more the norm. She wondered what—
She snapped out of her musings with a start. Was she truly thinking of such things? How had she gone from resisting this with all her might to pondering a future with a child?
As if her jump had transmitted to him through their connected bodies, he slowly, almost lazily lifted his head, as if he were indeed the fabled golden Arellian lion, bestirring himself after a nap in the sun.
Or after a fierce mating with his lioness.
Something new, something different glowed in his deep blue eyes. And she could have sworn he was fighting a smile when he said, “How much does it provoke you that they were right?”
She blinked. Tried to brush away the lingering fog of pleasure. “What?”
“The ones who wished this upon us.”
She nearly gaped at him. Of all the things he could have said. . . . But the moment she thought about it, a rueful smile curved her lips. He knew her so well.
“I know how little you like being given no choice. You’ve been fighting it your entire life.”
“And you have not? You have always had less choice than I.” The still new realization hit her. “Or,” she amended, “at least you did.”
“Now we’re even,” he said.
He lowered his head and kissed her, this time a light, gentle caress that nevertheless sent a tingle through her.
“I should have known,” she said with a small sigh.
“I think I did,” he said. “On some level. It’s why I . . . dallied now and then, a few kisses, but this”—he shifted, pressing his body against hers—“this was only for you.”
She was torn between kissing him and demanding to know who had been the recipient of those kisses, although she suspected Glendar’s great-niece, who had made no secret that she greatly admired her prince.
Sorry, Avalyn. He’s mine. He has always been mine, and now he is in every way.
“I was not so wise.” Her voice was quiet. “Yet I dreaded losing you to your future more than anything.”
“You are my future, Shay.” He ducked his head, pressing his lips to the spot where her pulse beat in her throat. “And I’m glad you waited for me.”
“It is the Triotian way.”
“And you—we—are half-Arellian.”
“Perhaps that’s why it happened here.”
He smiled as if he liked that. “It is not a bad place, this home of our mothers,” he said, glancing around.
He froze. He was staring over his shoulder, and she could not see at what. She was loath to surrender the connection between
them, but something about his reaction made it imperative. She moved to sit up, and he shifted to let her, but slowly, as if transfixed by whatever had caught his attention.
She wondered if she should dive for her weapons, if their follower had returned, or if—
She saw it then. Her eyes widened. For a moment she forgot to breathe.
It had not been just a flight of fancy, a by-product of consuming pleasure when she had felt the ground beneath them rumble.
It had.
The split boulder had moved. Had rolled apart, as if moved by an unseen hand with the power to move mountains.
For Graymist of pure heart and mind, the cavern of the waterfall shall open when the two halves are joined, when what is destined is completed.
The old man’s words echoed in her head.
It hadn’t been the rock he’d been speaking of.
It had been them.
“We’re the halves,” Lyon whispered.
She rose to her knees, staying close to him yet staring at the impossibility before them.
A breeze caught the spray of the waterfall at the base, which they could now see. And there was no mistaking the dark opening behind it.
Chapter 34
“DO YOU KNOW of a private place in the forest, or on your mountain here?” Rina asked with a vague wave upward as she took another sip of the dark, powerful morning brew in her mug. Even weakened with water, as Tark had done for her before handing it over with the explanation that he’d gotten used to the more potent strain of the beans it was produced from, it was more than she was accustomed to, and she guessed a small amount would go a long way.
He stopped his restless pacing—the man never seemed to be still if he was on his feet—and turned to look at her. “A private place?”
“Somewhere no one would stumble across.”
He considered for a moment. “I know of a few, yes.”
“Good.”
He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowed. “Are you thinking of a meeting place? For the watchers?”
“I am thinking,” she said, her gaze fastened on him, “of the pleasure of mating with you in the sunlight.”
For an instant he just stared at her. And then, abruptly, as if his legs had given out, he dropped to the stone bench. In the glow of the huntlight he’d turned on when they had at last left his bed, she saw with satisfaction the tinge of color beneath the sun-toughened skin.
“Mating with me,” he said harshly, “is something better kept in darkness.”
“If I thought that, it never would have happened at all,” she said. “Why is it so hard to believe I find you beautiful?”
He laughed, and it sounded even harsher than his voice had. “I do not have a mirror, but the faces of the people who see me serve as well.”
“Perhaps,” she said, her tone intentionally mild, “it is your glowering expression they fear.”
He made a sound, a low, unintelligible sort of grunt that nearly made her laugh. She had heard this sound from Dax, from Dare, even from Lyon when they were uncertain of their ground with their women.
“You are, after all,” she went on, “the man who laid waste to an entire battalion of Coalition troops. When you go about looking as if you’d like to do the same to them, anyone would be wary.”
“You weren’t.”
“But I am notoriously stubborn,” she said blithely.
“That,” he said, his mouth quirking, “you are.”
“And I,” she added, putting all she had of sincerity into her voice, “have adored you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. No mark, no scar could change that.”
“Rina, I—”
She was thankful when an odd knocking sound cut him off; she did not want to hear that while she might be Triotian, he was not. True, but she had Califa and Shaylah as examples of offworlders who had accepted bonding.
Belatedly she realized the knock had come in an odd rhythmic series, rapid, then slower.
“A signal, I assume?” she asked as he rose.
He nodded. “One of us.”
He crossed to the hidden door. She stole the moment to watch with enjoyment; he had not put on his shirt—because she was wearing it—and she found the sight of his muscled back and shoulders, brushed by dark strands of the hair she had not so long ago had her fingers buried in, a much more potent brew than that in her mug.
As Tark reached to open the door, it occurred to her that her own skimpy attire at the moment might be a reason for concern. Quickly she darted back to the sleeping alcove and grabbed up her own clothing, reluctantly surrendering the worn yet comforting shirt she had pulled from his body last night.
She dressed hurriedly, wondering if she should stay here, hidden, if Tark would be embarrassed if her presence were revealed. She discarded the idea almost instantly. Not only would she not hide her feelings from him, she would hide them from no one else, either. Besides, anything worth the trek out here was something she wanted to hear.
She stepped back into the main room. One of the men she’d seen at the meeting was the first thing she spotted. His face was knotted with worry. Crim followed. And then she heard a female voice. She took another step into the room and saw Kateri, somehow still managing to look imperious even in a slightly frayed cloak.
The woman might be old, but her eyes were quick and clear. She spotted Rina the moment she moved. A gray brow rose, and that penetrating gaze flicked to Tark for an instant, but it was followed by a slight nod. And, Rina thought, a fleeting smile that looked almost as one of approval. And it warmed her, not for herself, but for the simple idea that someone cared enough about him to be concerned.
She glanced at Tark, half-afraid she would see embarrassment in his face. But she saw only a new grimness, and wondered what news Kateri had brought.
“Good morning,” Rina said respectfully.
“’Tis well you’re here,” Kateri said, her voice brusque. “We received word this morning that what appeared to be a Coalition flagship was spotted leaving Darvis II two days ago. Our informant states it jumped to light speed almost immediately.”
Rina sucked in a breath, her mind racing, doing the navigation in her head, the calculations. “It could be here by tomorrow, if they’re any good.”
Kateri nodded, and the approval was more definite this time. “We’re sending a scout up, to monitor the rally point where the other ships are holding.”
“You have a ship capable of reaching the far side of the outer moon?” Rina asked, surprised. From what Tark had told her, what ships Arellia had not decommissioned were in no shape to venture that far.
“No.” To Rina’s surprise, Kateri gave her a wink as she added, “But we have one capable of low orbit equipped with a Paraclon-modified scope.”
Rina grinned at the mention of the eccentric but brilliant Triotian inventor. The old man had come up with a rather bizarre-looking arrangement of mirrors and hinges and beam enhancers that enabled his telescopes to, in effect, see around corners.
“Tark?” Kateri said.
He was, of course, pacing. He turned then, and Rina stared at him. Gone was the brooding, shadowed man she’d first seen when she’d arrived. Gone even was the intense but tender lover of last night. This was Captain Bright Tarkson, before the token promotion, the man who had been the pride of the Arellian operations force, the daring tactician, the fierce warrior who had held twice against impossible odds.
“We have little time,” he said. “If this is true, and I have no doubt that it is, then our assessment was correct. The battle is imminent.”
“You think they will strike on the anniversary?” Kateri asked.
“They are much about the significance, the symbolism of such things,” Crim said. “And the people will be in the streets, even more than now.”
>
“Easy targets,” Tark agreed. “And yet . . .”
“What?”
Kateri’s demeanor was one of respect, as if she knew she was now dealing with that warrior. Rina liked her even more for that.
“They might realize we would expect that,” he said.
“And thus strike at a different time?”
“When we are off guard.”
“Do we know which of their strategists survived?” Rina asked.
Tark glanced at her, and one corner of his mouth turned up slightly in approval. She felt a burst of heat within, so fierce she feared it must show in her face.
“We know Brakely is still with them,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, as if he had indeed seen her response.
She fought to keep her voice even. “Then if he is in charge, anything could happen.”
Tark nodded. “He is half the reason the Coalition was able to spread as far as they did. He is brilliant, and unpredictable.”
“And trained by Califa Claxton,” Rina said with some dread. “And if Mordred is truly here, if he is somehow back in the Coalition fold—”
She stopped as Kateri held up a hand. “We have news on this as well. One of ours swears he saw Mordred last night. Off in a corner in a taproom, plying a drunk with more drink.” Her mouth tightened. “The drunk was Hared.”
Rina knew from the groan that went around that this mattered more than just the confirmation of the presence of one of the Coalition’s most infamous officers. Tark saw her expression and explained.
“He is not one of us, but is the one who first spotted the gathering of ships.”
She frowned. “Does he have some other knowledge in addition to that?”
Kateri shook her head. “We know he has a weakness for drink, and it loosens his tongue. We’ve kept away from him.”
“Then why would Mordred care? He would know already, would he not, about the presence of the ships?”
Tark went still. “Unless he did not.”
Rebel Prince (The Coalition Rebellion Novels Book 3) Page 24
