I awake with a gasp. I always hate dying in dreams. It makes me feel so sick and awful when I wake up. But it happens so frequently now that I have almost forgotten what it is like to wake from some pleasant figment in my mind. I sigh, closing my eyes and then opening them again, trying to drive away the phantoms lingering there. Slowly, I push myself up, feeling heavy and sick. I can scarcely breathe through my nose, and my eyes feel swollen and hot. I look to the window. Twilight. It is nearly twilight.
It is best at dawn, but sunset is good too. My favorite part of the day. I scramble out of my bed, my unsteady feet dropping me to the ground. But I gather my bearings and pull myself back up, scrambling over to the window. There, on the horizon. In the darkening sky, I can see it, that strip of red on the horizon, glowing brightly. Home. Home, I can see it. The sky has turned to gold and pink froth in the sky, and at the base is my beautiful, burning paradise.
“In the future, you would be wise to not try and attack every soldier you see.” Gabriel’s voice sounds from the doorway, and I spin around, startled, wide eyes locking with him. He raises a brow at me, frowning in displeasure. “Why are you in front of the window? Are you trying to kill yourself?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He does not know. He has not seen. What could he possibly understand? “What do you care? I can leave the window open if I choose to do so. Or do you fear me jumping from the height?”
Gabriel just sighs as he walks around the bed to me, pulling the window closed and latching it. Angry, I shove at his chest, knocking him back. “Stop that! Must you always override everything that I say! Can I not make one decision on my own! I am a prisoner, Gabriel, not an invalid!” I turn back to the window and unlock it, pushing it open just a bit.
Gabriel grabs my shoulder and spins me around, and I give a small cry, my bad shoulder throbbing. He hesitates then, apparently having forgotten that I am injured. Then, he glares and growls at me. “Perhaps I would stop if you would remember that I hold your life in my hands, Cara. To use or end as I choose.”
I roll my eyes and turn away from him, hardly concerned. “This again. Do you not ever get tired of that same speech? Have you not noticed how very little I care?” I sigh, heading back to my bed and sitting down on the edge of it. He looks at me, growling, the wolfish sound dark and deep in his throat. I turn my eyes up to him, golden eyes catching his. He huffs a sigh and shuts the window, latching it, before turning back to me. “Gabriel…tell me about your wife.”
He is stunned for a minute—then angry. “What?”
I shrug. “Your wife…Catherine…I met her lady-in-waiting today. You never mentioned her before.”
He turns away from me, hands on his hips, back ramrod straight. “Why should I?” he growls. “I do not discuss those things with prisoners of war.”
I shrug again, tired and sore. “Is there anything else you want? If not, then go away. I am in no mood for company.”
He looks back at me, and I swear that I have never seen blue eyes so cold and so hard burn like a fire loose in a forest. He stalks towards me, and I lose my breath; my golden eyes meet with his. I can hear my heart pulse in my chest, and I shift back, away from him. “Why do you torment me, Cara?” he snarls, boxing me against the corner of my bed, looking like every inch the wolf he is, ready to pounce for the kill. “Why!”
For once, I am genuinely confused, but my bewilderment turns to anger and irritation that he is trying to corner me, and I push at his chest. “Get away from me!” I snap, eyes locked with his.
He does not budge, but lays his hands over mine against his chest, and I can feel his heart race against my skin. His heart usually beats so slow; Crystalice hearts always beat so slow. And yet now, his own is racing in his chest. I have a sudden desire to snatch my hands back, but I cannot. I start breathing a bit harder, trying not to panic, furious eyes holding his. He moves closer, and when one hand scoops the small of my back, the other braces beside my head on the bed, I cannot move. I could not move an inch of muscle if my life depended on it. My hands lay against his chest, the inside of me burning with a dark fire that will not let me breathe while his predatory eyes devour my face, my eyes. I cannot breathe.
“You told me once, Cara,” he pulls me a little tighter, pressing my stomach to his hips, looming over me, “that you held my mind…were in my skin…in my dreams…tell me, Cara…” his voice is a husky whisper now, and I do not remember him moving, but his face is before mine, my back bent, my crimson hair spilled out on the bed inches beneath me, “am I in yours?” A soft groan of anguish escapes my lips, and I close my eyes, breathing out a breath of air. Damn him!
He laughs then, a dark, rich thrum against my skin, his face against my neck, his lips tasting my skin, his breath cold, heavy, making me shiver. “Good, Cara…then we will suffer together.” He drops me then, leaving me to plop onto the bed. I stare up at the ceiling, breathing hard as I try to arrange my tangled web of thoughts.
I suddenly twist and grab a pillow, tossing it at Gabriel and screaming, “Damn you!” The pillow hits the door just as Gabriel closes it.
Chapter Twenty One
Gabriel
I lean my back against the door once it is closed, almost smiling when I hear the pillow thump the door. I can hardly breathe, but I steel my resolve, at least for now. The guards both look at me and then exchange glances, but neither of them dare to say a word. They know better. After a moment, I force myself to stand, heading down the hall, down the stairs. I need something to clear my head. Sparring, training, evaluating new troops, anything.
I look down at my feet while I head down the stairs at a faster pace than usual, so that when I look up to watch where I am going, I almost run right into someone else. I stop suddenly, my eyes meeting a pair of brilliant teal eyes with purple around the iris.
Avene smiles warmly, a well-practiced, charming smile aimed right for me. “Prince Gabriel,” she greets in a carefully pitched voice, smooth as honey. She gives a little laugh, the sound calm, charming, like soft bells. “Are you in a hurry, my lord? I must admit, I was disappointed when you weren’t at the full-moon festival night before last. You’ve always gone before.”
Avene is a well-bred, high born countess who has had her eyes on me since before I was ever married. Her Teir is married, and as I recall, Avene and he rarely get along. They use each other to get out of tough situations, but they are by no means ‘close’. Normally, I enjoy the time I spend with this woman, escorting her through the garden or dancing with her at the festival or at dinner. My father pressed me a few times about asking her hand, but I am persistent on not remarrying. But if Catherine had not been chosen for me, I have no doubt that Avene would have been.
She was raised in the courts, a well-respected young woman with excellent etiquette and manners. She can charm any unattached, or perhaps even married, man, and I have been interested in her a few times. But now, she seems a bit irritating to me. Everything about her is carefully practiced and coordinated to lure any man, to seem gentle and appeasing. I wonder if there is any personality or soul behind the careful mask.
“Forgive me, Lady Avene. I have been busy as of late with a new prisoner,” I reply honestly, perfectly polite, the taste of Cara’s skin lingering on my mouth, burning into my mind.
Avene just smiles charmingly and answers, “Ah yes, I heard about the little spitfire causing all kinds of trouble.” She sighs and gives a little toss of her hair. “Honestly my lord, why do you put up with her? Your attentions would be much better received elsewhere.” She looks back at me.
I have a sudden desire to tell the woman that my little ‘spitfire’ of a prisoner is far more entertaining than walking through gardens or quiet, reserved dances meant to bore the soul to its core. I imagine then the idea of Cara walking and talking quietly in the gardens or taking part in one of our dances, and I almost laugh. It would be like trying to make a bird swim or a horse fly.
“Have I said something to amuse you, sire?” Avene asks, a bi
t perturbed. My attention is clearly somewhere else, and she is displeased.
I just shrug her off and say, “I am needed elsewhere, my lady. Good day,” and continue my way down the stairs, leaving her to stare at my back.
Chapter Twenty Two
Scarlet
I am still laying on the bed, slowing my breathing and trying to organize my thoughts when the door cracks open. “So help me, Chelyah,” I growl, “If that is you, Gabriel, you will not leave here alive.”
There is silence for a long moment as the door shuts again, but I can feel a cold presence in the room. Finally, a voice, a low thrum of sound: “Are you always threatening our prince’s life?”
I pick my head up to look at Ckai’ten as he leans back against my door, arms folded over his chest. He is young, probably close to my age. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I sit up on the bed. My legs are tucked to the side, my wide, full skirts splayed out over the bed, my hair a tangled mess of crimson and gold. “What are you doing in here?” I ask him, frowning a bit, looking a bit anxious. “Have you not been told that it is improper for a man to be in a woman’s room?” Actually, I care so little that it is not worth mentioning, but I do want to be left alone.
I cannot stay here much longer. Monster or not, Gabriel will be the end of me. I need to find a way out of here. I’ve explored my entire room from top to bottom, but I am far too high up to use the window, and my door is always heavily guarded.
Ckai’ten shrugs. “I doubt very much, Inferno, that you care for propriety.”
I suddenly feel even more wary, like a caged tiger. I sit up a bit straighter, my eyes narrowing. “If you mean to try and force yourself on me, soldier, I swear I will cut off your—”
“No.” Almost a yell, but he doesn’t move, only sets his eyes on me. He shakes his head, adding a bit more softly, “No, my lady…I am no enemy of women, and I would not allow a fellow soldier who is hold post at a woman’s door.”
I sigh, not sure that I trust him enough to let him near, but he seems sincere enough to continue the conversation. “Fair enough,” I say quietly, then sigh and shift. I am not comfortable holding this conversation while I sit upon my bed. I slide off the bed, tugging my skirts and adjusting them to dangle around my ankles. I stand on the side of my bed opposite to him. When I straighten, turning my careful eyes back to him, I ask quietly, “So, what do you want?”
He shrugs again, a small smile on his face. “Every month, the castle holds a festival for the people. It is nothing special, only to celebrate the work we have done and enjoy the fruits of our labors. Most lords and ladies of higher breeding do not attend, but some will.”
I quirk a brow at him, slowly gathering the courage to walk around the bed to stand in front of the fire. I welcome its warm glow, golden light pouring over my skin. I rub my arms, suddenly realizing that I had been cold, a state that I am now perpetually in but never quite grow accustomed to. Glancing back, I watch the soldier. I notice then that he is a bit warmer colored than others, and I know that he must have mixed blood. “How does this festival concern me?”
He just studies me for a long moment. “I heard you complain that you have not been outside for weeks. I have already asked Princess Petara, and she agreed that it would be good for you to go. It is flooded with soldiers, so any escape or attack would be futile.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Oh yes, I am going to run through the snow, to the border, across the wasteland, and all the way through the flaming forest to the Den. Good plan.”
Ckai’ten gives a small smile, chuckling softly. “Would you like to go, my lady?”
“Scarlet,” I say, looking into the flames, mesmerized by the thought of home, the thought of flames devouring my flesh, breathing life into my fragile bones. Realizing that he had spoken, I look back at him, suddenly remembering what he had said. “I am no lady. Certainly not here. I am only a woman scorned and a soldier injured. My name is Scarlet.”
“Scarlet,” he tests the name, speaking it with more care than I have heard it spoken in a very long time. I smile softly. “Will you go to the festival? I will be by your side. No one will harm you.”
I shake my head. “I am not afraid of the cold, Ckai’ten, but would you not rather be with your dame?”
He just chuckles. “My Senai is happily married with four children. She is a dear friend of mine, but she is not my dame.”
I shrug and answer, “If you wish to wear a viper on your arm, by all means. But do not be surprised if no one else wishes your company because of it.” Perhaps…perhaps this fool can be my chance. Heavily guarded or not, I have a much better chance of outrunning the wolves at the festival in my tigress form than I do of escaping my room.
He shakes his head and answers, “You are many things, Scarlet, but a snake, you are not.”
I study him for a long moment, then walk to the door, standing in front of him. “You have yet to see who I am, Ckai’ten. I am no damsel who needs rescuing. I am not even a tempered lady. I have been raised to be too brazen, and I have spent too many years as a soldier to be tame. So if Gabriel’s sister hopes to try and calm my nature by sending a man to court me, then she will be gravely disappointed.”
I know that I am right, because I see something flash in his eyes. Yes, this is not his own decision. Gabriel’s oldest sister—I do not remember her name—sent him to me. I sigh and shake my head, “I am sorry that she asked this of you. You are no whore, and neither am I. I will not be treated like one either.”
Ckai’ten watches me for a long moment, then shifts, straightening from leaning off of the door. He reaches for me, and I meet his gaze, my eyes hard, warning. But he cups my chin, brushing his thumb over my cheek. I cannot remember someone ever touching me so gently. The times that my Dai’lyn laid hands on me, they were devouring, eager, a nightly battle of strength and will and control. Even Gabriel, his passion ruled by lust but nothing tender.
He says softly, “Even if I had not been told, I would have wanted you to come. I just would not have had the courage to ask.”
I laugh softly then, smiling. “Why does everyone here think I bite?”
Ckai’ten laughs, the sound rich and welcoming. “I have heard the things you say to our Prince Gabriel, and I have no wish to be on the receiving end of your displeasure. And if it is all the same to you, Scarlet…I hoped that I was not asking a meek damsel or a mannered lady. Festivals tend to be rather dull when your company is more concerned with powdering her nose and not moving too much as to disturb her hair arranged in a way that you cannot run your hand through.”
I watch him peculiarly, and after a moment, I smile and answer, “You must be a mixed blood.” He knows that I mean it as a compliment, for he smiles cheekily at me, and I laugh, his hand dropping down to his side again.
“Very well then. I will go. When is it?” I ask.
“Tonight.”
I sigh and put my hand on my hip. “Of course it is.” I just smile and shake my head at him. “Very well. Go, so that I change into something suitable for your cold, and will you have someone send Heather up?”
Ckai’ten’s smile has not yet fallen, and answers, “Yes, my lady. I will send servants to bring Heather.”
I watch him for a moment. I see kindness in his eyes, a gentleness without fear or anger. This man does not hate me. He does not think me some brand of hellion. To him, I am a woman and nothing more. If nothing else, I can respect him for that. Perhaps it will not be so bad to befriend my mixed blood guard. I can use all the friends I can get. “Thank you, Ckai’ten,” I say softly, reaching up to touch his face.
He gives me a teasing look and replies, “It is only an herb woman.”
“Not for that,” I answer, my voice softening.
He watches me for a long moment, his blue-violet eyes looking into mine. “I know.”
I smile at him, then go up on my toes and kiss his cheek. To give affection is as desperately needed as to receive it. At home, I was used to many kisses, touch
es. Ladies playing with each others’ hair and giving little shoves and kissing cheeks; men twirling one around and kissing the crown of her head, looping a playful arm around a lady’s shoulder. I long for that connection with someone, and Ckai’ten is safe. The only person here who will get that close to me is my little Enté who snuggles up to my side most afternoons for a nap. My kiss is chaste, friendly, and I laugh softly when I go back to my heels and see his nervous expression, his ears red. I smile at him, and he chuckles nervously, shaking his head at me and taking my hand, bowing and kissing the back of it before he leaves.
I stand staring at the door for a long moment, just smiling gently. I have a friend. It sounds so silly to think, so desperate. But I realize then that I am desperate for some form of companionship and acceptance that does not have some sort of alternate motive.
A few moments later, Heather comes in. “Thas’ gay fine o’ Ckai’ten ta ask ye,” Heather says as I carefully undress. She moves about my room, pulling out clothes and smoothing them on the bed. She glances over at me.
I smile hesitantly, laying out my clothes on the bed. “I do not know him but…it was kind of him to ask.”
She laughs. “Dinna tink it as him doin ye a favar, lass. He’ll be ire o teh other soldiers who’d ha loved ta have so pretty a lass at teh fair.”
I just smile at her ruefully, correcting her: “Yes, but this was all the princess’ idea.”
“An if eh twas?” she asks, looking back at me and returning to my side to hustle me out of the rest of my clothes.
I give her a guilty look. “I’d hate to ruin his reputation because she is trying to ‘civilize’ me.”
A Heart of Ice Page 13
