Beneath the Thirteen Moons

by Kathryne Kennedy

  Frizzy-hair jumped, her breast finally peeled away from Korl’s arm and Mahri relaxed her shoulders, unaware that she’d been so tense. Jaja gave a satisfied chirrup.

  “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” said the prince. The woman managed to look even more frightened and Mahri frowned in disgust. All of the villagers were familiar with Jaja—most of the time he played with the little ones and usually he got hurt during the tussles. The woman was obviously feigning fear just so Korl would pat her reassuringly. Like he did now.

  “I’d never be afraid,” she cooed, “with such a strong man like you around.”

  Mahri bit her lip. Did women really say such rubbish? And did men really fall for it?

  Korl’s chest puffed up and he flicked back his head. Both women closed in now, sharp-nails playing with the ends of his fine hair, the other one leaning against him. Korl smiled with unbelievable arrogance, watched Mahri with a look that flickered with more than firelight. Amusement, challenge, and for some reason, a hint of self-satisfied revenge.

  Mahri couldn’t figure that last one out, didn’t even try. She just turned to walk away but his arm lashed out, those strong fingers near bruising her. Their eyes met and magic shivered between them as he held her put—with more than just the muscles in his hand.

  Frizzy-hair watched the two of them with compressed lips. With the speed of an eel she reached out and fingered Mahri’s shoulders. “Ooh, my,” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Look at the muscles in your shoulders, why, they’re almost as large as Korl’s!”

  Sharp-nails grinned and nodded her head with enthusiasm. “All that poling, and your… how can we put it? Oh, yes, your masculine ways. It’ll make you a great provider someday.”

  Mahri gasped. They insinuated that she wasn’t even a woman! She felt no satisfaction when Korl’s full lips narrowed into a thin line and his jaw hardened with anger. He’d basked in their attention and encouraged them to continue it. She blamed him more than the women, although the game had gotten more dirty than he’d probably intended. Or had it? It didn’t matter, for she’d had enough.

  “You might want to wash that hand,” Mahri suggested to the woman whose hand the fish bone had landed on. “You never know what my pet might’ve eaten lately.”

  Jaja grinned.

  Then she turned to frizzy-hair. “And my pet’s never bitten anyone yet, but you never know, you could be the exception.”

  Jaja obligingly bared his teeth.

  Korl threw back his head and laughed, a deep-throated sound that made Mahri’s lips twitch even while she wanted to slap him. He disentangled himself from the clutching women and gallantly held out his arm to Mahri. “A dance, my lady?”

  Mahri put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got to be kidding. I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last—”

  “I only suggest it,” he interrupted, “to save the lives of these two unfortunate women who dared to tangle with a water-rat.” His arm snaked around her waist and Jaja clapped little webbed hands, then jumped onto Korl’s shoulder and mimicked the beseeching look the prince impaled her with.

  “They’re not worth the trouble,” snapped Mahri, trying to pull out of the circle of his arm. She’d never admit to him the humiliation they’d made her feel with their comments. She threw Jaja a baleful look but he just blinked at her innocently, clasped his hands together and shook them imploringly.

  Little traitor, she thought, and saw him blanch from the force of it. You’re supposed to be on my side.

  Jaja squealed and hopped back onto her shoulder.

  “Maybe they aren’t in any danger,” Korl replied. “But what about him?”

  Mahri turned and saw Trian standing nearby, watching them intently, a shell of quas-juice in his hand. “Why would I hurt my own cousin?”

  “Not you, me.”

  “All right, why would you hurt my cousin?”

  “He isn’t really your cousin, now, is he?”

  Mahri shrugged in exasperation. “By Brez, but not by blood.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Korl began to drag her toward the dance circle, his arm like a vise around her waist. He glanced at Jaja. “Thought you were supposed to help me out, buddy.”

  Jaja squealed in disgust and hopped back to his shoulder.

  Mahri tried to pull away, felt Korl’s muscles hold her in place, and a primal thrill went through her at his incredible strength. And disgust at herself for such a foolish reaction. He entered the circle of dancers and yanked her against his chest. His eyes glittered, the pupils so huge they overwhelmed the light green at their border. His pale face seemed carved of bone, his jaw stiff with suppressed fury, the flickers of firelight playing along the high angle of his cheeks.

  Mahri felt slightly intimidated. “Jaja,” she whispered, “you’re my pet, aren’t you?”

  The monk-fish laid a weary hand on his scaled forehead and his feathery fin-like ears drooped as he shook his head. He crawled back onto her shoulder.

  Korl watched Jaja and half-smiled in pity. “Would you leave him out of this?”

  “Out of what?” Mahri made herself breathe. She was losing herself in his eyes again and hastily focused on his mouth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar,” growled Korl. “Trian called you his girl.”

  Korl moved her in his arms, guided her across the smooth bark beneath their feet with practiced skill. Mahri had never danced the courtly steps but knew the pattern as if she’d partnered with him her entire life. His body language spoke to her far easier than his words ever could.

  “Trian’s always called me his girl, especially after Brez… became sick. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Like those women didn’t mean anything to me?”

  Mahri shook her head, the black beads on her headband twinkling with the movement. So, he’d been jealous of Trian and had sought revenge for some imagined tryst. What had living in the palace been like, that he’d learned such ways? “You played a game.”

  Korl’s hand caught a stray lock of her hair and smoothed it back into the mass behind her head. As if it had been snared in some web he kept it there, filling his palm with the dark red strands, letting it flow through his fingers. “Life is a game.”

  His fingers through her hair created shivers of pleasure along Mahri’s scalp. She moved her hand over his shoulder, curled it around the soft skin of his neck, and caressed the fine ends of his hair with the sensitive pads of her own fingers.

  “Ach, my fine prince. Is that what we’re doing?” Mahri melted against him, the top of her breasts overflowing the green silk to brand his chest with a gentle heat. “Just remember, two can play at any game.”

  They stood so close that Jaja managed to put one foot on Korl’s shoulder while keeping the other on Mahri’s. With a triumphant chirrup he beat his chest with two webbed fists before he hopped to the ground, gave a nod of almost human self-satisfaction and scampered away.

  Korl ignored the monk-fish and Mahri felt his hand tense as he cupped the back of her head and forced her mouth close to his. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes and her steps faltered, slowed, until they no longer danced within the circle of people, just swayed to the rhythm of the drums, the haunting melody of the bone flutes.

  Mahri felt the beat of his heart against her own. His nose flared and his breath pounded across her mouth and she opened, inhaling the life of him as he lowered his head and set his lips on her own. For a brief moment his mouth lay unmoving atop her, that full bottom lip warm and quivering over her own. Then he groaned and sought to devour her, his tongue grasping at her, demanding her own in his, sliding back and forth as if he couldn’t get near enough, couldn’t taste her fully enough.

  Korl tore his mouth away. “I’ve wanted—I’ve needed to do that all day.” Then dipped his head down to hers again.

  Mahri felt like a jellyfish, trembling and pliant in his arms. If he laid her down and took her in front of the entire vil
lage, she wouldn’t have the will to resist him. Her mind kept screaming of danger but her body won with its insistence of pleasure. When she heard the clatter of hundreds of seashells she wasn’t sure whether to curse at Caria or hug her in gratitude.

  “May I cut in?” Caria insinuated herself between the two of them. Korl looked at her in dazed confusion. “For a prince,” she whispered, “you have absolutely no sense of propriety.”

  Mahri choked back a giggle. Caria sounded so stuffy! But then she looked around and realized that none of the villagers were dancing, eating… or talking, for that matter. They stood and stared at her as if she’d broken some taboo. Well, she’d been to enough celebrations to know that the villagers weren’t ordinarily a shy group. Why, she’d seen Caria and Wald near attack each other in the heat of a dance.

  “What’s the matter with everyone?” she asked.

  “It’s Trian, you fish-brain,” hissed Caria.

  “Trian?”

  “Everyone’s been watching him, waiting for the explosion. Now, dance with me Healer.” Caria waved at the musicians and they struck a lively tune, and she spun Korl away.

  Mahri snapped her mouth shut. Truly, she and Trian were fond of each other, but she’d never thought—

  “May I have this dance?”

  Mahri looked up into the face of her cousin. Without waiting for an answer he swept her up in his arms and danced her as far away from Caria and Korl as the circle allowed. He stumbled and Mahri knew he’d had too much quas-juice this night.

  Trian concentrated on his steps, that broad forehead wrinkled in a frown, his amber eyes almost hidden beneath thick curls of dark brown hair. “I’ve been waiting,” he said, his voice slightly slurred, “until I thought you were ready. After what I seen tonight, I’m thinking it’s time.”

  Mahri didn’t want to have this conversation. All the villagers had decided to dance, crowding into the circle and huddling around the two of them, their ears tuned toward their words.

  “Trian—”

  “Now, do not interrupt, girl. You know I care for you, always have. But you weren’t done grieving, wanting to be alone, and I left you. But seems like I need to be asking now, before you get yourself into any trouble. What I’m saying is… that I want you for life, to belong to me.”

  Mahri stepped on his foot. Hard. He blinked, that smile still pasted on his dear face. She sighed. “Trian, I don’t want to belong to anyone. Not ever.”

  His arms tightened on her shoulders. “What about that Healer?”

  “That’s different. It’s just—a game, Trian. That’s all. I only want to belong to me. After Brez, well, it hurts too much, tangling your life with someone else’s, then having it ripped away. Do you understand?”

  Suddenly he hugged her to him, picking her up off her feet and dancing her across the floor as if she were one of Sh’ra’s rag dolls. Mahri saw a flash of blazing pale-green eyes as she spun.

  “I want you to know that I love you,” whispered Trian.

  “And I love you too, but like a cousin, that’s all. Now let me down.”

  He stopped dancing and set her on her feet, raked strong fingers through his mahogany curls in frustration. “All right then, I’ll let it be. But you best be careful with that Healer, something’s not right with him.”

  Mahri nodded, grateful that Trian hadn’t pushed his suit any further. She’d had no idea that he’d wanted her in that way. “I’m sorry, Trian.”

  Trian’s generous mouth split into a grin. “You’re still my girl, that’s sure. And being family means I’ll have to protect you from anyone whose intentions aren’t honorable. You hear?”

  Mahri threw her arms around the big man’s shoulders, grateful after all, that they’d talked. She hadn’t known how much he cared. “I’m a Wilding, Trian. I don’t need anyone to watch over me.”

  “I know,” Trian whispered into her ear, “but that man’s peculiar, girl. You’re playing with fire.”

  Mahri nodded. “Aya, I’ll be careful,” she promised. Then she kissed him, a small part of her wondering why it felt so different when she placed her lips on Korl’s. With Trian, it felt the same as if she’d just touched his hand.

  Then she felt herself torn from his arms, glimpsed a blur of pale hair and raised fists that slammed into her cousin like a wave of white water from a storm. Trian grunted, rolled, and came up smiling. Then the prince went down in a flurry of fists.

  The villagers surrounded the combatants, almost stepping on Mahri in their haste to see the action. She heard them calling out changes in wagers and realized that they’d been waiting for this all night.

  Caria dragged her to her feet. Wald glanced to make sure she was all right, then pushed his way through the crowd, already yelling encouragement at Trian.

  “Wald thought you’d ruin it,” muttered Caria.

  “What?” Mahri craned her neck to see over the crowd. Taller than most women, she could almost see over the men’s heads.

  “Said the whole village knew there’d be a fight tonight. Either a cat- or fist-fight, they didn’t care, although they wagered on that, too. Wald thought you’d spoil their fun.”

  Mahri bit her lip. In the swamps they worked rough and played the same. So she wasn’t surprised. She just didn’t appreciate that she’d been a part of the wagering.

  Jaja! she mind-sent. Her pet scampered up her dress, almost tearing it in the process. “See how Korl is faring, will you?”

  He nodded briskly and hop-skipped across several shoulders to the innermost circle. Mahri saw him clap his hands with delight, shake a fist and swing it in mock fighting, then bound back to her own shoulder. He nodded, bared pointed teeth in semblance of a human smile, then went back to the action.

  “Has Korl had any zabba?” asked Caria.

  Mahri shook her head. She would’ve Sensed any Power within him.

  “Then it’s a fair fight and they won’t kill each other, so let’s go get some food.”

  Mahri trailed behind the clatter of Caria’s shells, glanced back once at a particularly loud thump, and cringed. They fought over something that neither one could have.

  At the mention of food, Jaja had left the pleasure of the fight for that of the table. The little scamp stuffed sweets in his mouth at an alarming rate, and Mahri watched in fascination while she nibbled on farnuts and redshoots.

  Shells clattered and Caria nudged her arm. “The fight’s over. And I think Korl won.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s coming to claim his prize.”

  Mahri looked up in alarm. Korl strode determinedly toward her, his golden hair in wild disarray, that gorgeous smink vest torn to shreds, the beginnings of a swelling in his right eye and a line of scarlet running down his full mouth. Every inch the conquering hero.

  He grabbed her arm. “Come with me. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, you arrogant…” sputtered Mahri.

  The muscles of his face tightened hard as bone and Caria drew in a breath. With a negligent sweep of his arms he tossed Mahri over his shoulder and stomped out of the clearing, villagers stumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of his way. The frizzy-haired woman and her friend glared envious daggers at Mahri and even though she cursed Korl viciously, she paused a moment to give the women a grin of smug satisfaction.

  Then resumed cursing, crying out for some root. If somebody would give her some, she’d show Korl that he couldn’t just toss her around like a bag of seed. But the villagers didn’t interfere and she had a feeling Trian couldn’t.

  “Put me down!”

  Korl plunged into the forest, the sounds of the village party dwindling behind them. “Not a chance.” He paused for a moment, as if getting his bearings, and Mahri heard the unmistakable sound of root being crunched. When he resumed his purposeful stride she tried to take the Power shuddering through his body but this Bond thing was so new to her. She hadn’t yet forced the Power from him and wasn’t quite sure how to go
about it without him Pushing it to her.

  By the time she thought she’d figured it out he’d reached wherever he’d been taking her and dumped her into a carpet of fallen leaves. While the blood drained back out of her head she looked around and gasped at the sight before her.

  In the middle of a road branch grew one of the largest, most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen. Taller than two men’s heights, wider than four, it grew from a vine that twirled around the trunk of the tree and along the branch. At the bottom of the red blossom small petals puffed out like feathers, but the larger, silken ones gathered up to a peak at the top. She’d never seen the like before.

  “What is it?”

  Korl grasped her hand and lifted her to her feet, his grip firm and final, pulling her toward the scarlet flower. “Wald showed me. He said this vine blooms once every thousand moons. It’s called a xynth flower.”

  His voice had dropped to that deep timbre. Mahri shivered, thinking of the man who’d saved her life, the jealous feelings that those two women had aroused in her, the Bond and the fusing of their souls. And the smell of him that mingled with the spicy scent of that red flower. “What are you doing?”

  Korl had dragged her next to the bloom, reached out and forced an opening through the huge petals, revealing a crack just large enough for a person to squeeze through.

  “Get in,” he commanded.

  “I think not.”

  He sighed, picked her up, and tossed her through that curtain. She landed with a bounce and a curse. The spicy scent was stronger inside the flower; it filled her senses as she noted the small opening above her where the petals reached in a peak, allowing the light of the moons into this nest, the soft, powdery surface she lay on, which had a golden glow of its own, and the feathery fronds of stamens that encircled the inner wall of the petals.

  Mahri filled her lungs with that wonderful perfume and it seemed to flow into every muscle of her body, through the channels of her root-paths, relaxing yet stimulating all of her senses. She sighed. A feathery touch brushed her cheek, then the sides of her arms, the top of her breasts. Yet it didn’t startle her, even though it took a few seconds to realize that those gentle caresses came from the flower itself, that the stamens surrounding her swayed with almost sensuous undulations, stroking and releasing even more of that marvelous scent.