The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  He hadn’t missed Sabine’s slip, and he hadn’t dismissed it, even though Meera had sailed right past it as if nothing had been said. Coming to be her mate? It was an interesting twist to an already interesting situation. Maybe Patiala had intentions she hadn’t told Meera. Maybe Meera wasn’t keen on her mother’s interference. Heaven knew Rhys could understand that.

  He decided to shave. After all, this meeting might be far more interesting than he was expecting.

  Patiala of Udaipur, niece of Anamitra and mother of Meera, was smaller than he’d imagined. Tiny, in fact. She was the same size as her daughter and appeared roughly the same age, but while Meera had soft curves he wanted to handle, Patiala had muscle intended to intimidate.

  “So,” she said from the head of the table, “tell me what you will do to further my daughter’s research.”

  “I have some ideas having to do with a memory I was able to extract from Sabine yesterday. One of those ideas has to do with tracking avian populations in the Atchafalaya Basin where Meera believes the Wolf is living. Another has to do with tracking folklore among human populations.”

  Patiala’s eyebrows went up. “You play no games, scribe.”

  “I have no interest in being reticent with information.” Rhys glanced to a side door where Meera had just entered the library. “Your daughter is brilliant, and we’ll find the Wolf faster if everyone is forthright and works together.”

  Patiala looked pointedly at Meera. “Indeed.”

  “Don’t look at me that way. I’ve shared my information with Rhys,” Meera took across the table from Rhys. “He’s seen the research I’ve done so far.”

  “Most of what Meera has collected is important for preservation, but it’s not geographically significant. If your haven desires to find Atawakabiche, I believe my tactics will do that most quickly. However, I’ll need her help when we locate the singer.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s hidden herself for somewhere around three hundred years. She obviously doesn’t want to be found. It’s far more likely she’ll speak to one of her sisters than to a scribe she doesn’t know.”

  Patiala folded her hands under her chin. “And you’re confident you can find her?”

  Rhys recalled the feelings of desperation, hunger, and fear Sabine had passed to him with her memory. “I think if the Wolf truly believes we need her, we will find her.”

  “Interesting.”

  Patiala fell silent, and Rhys took the opportunity to drink his tea. It was a truly excellent Darjeeling that she’d poured for him and his first indication that Patiala might not hate him. He certainly couldn’t tell from her expression. It wasn’t often outside Turkey that Rhys found a tea enthusiast as passionate as he was, but this well-balanced blend from Nepal would send the tea blenders of Istanbul into raptures.

  Patiala said, “I find your confidence reassuring, scribe. I was told you are a proud man.”

  “I am,” Rhys said. “I am the best at what I do. I was born from a line of scribes who have been guarding Gabriel’s library for thousands of years. I have no false modesty about my abilities.” He kept his eyes locked on Patiala, absorbing the intense stare of the Irina singer and warrior without flinching. “But despite how my brothers joke, I am not arrogant. I can work well with others if they are equal to me.”

  Patiala turned to Meera. “I approve of him.”

  “Mata, don’t start with this.”

  “You avoid this part of your life, Abha.”

  “Don’t.” Meera’s expression hardened and she turned away from her mother. “Just don’t.”

  Rhys knew he needed to tread carefully. He was getting a picture of what might have put the reluctant look in Meera’s eyes when it came to a relationship with him, but assumptions were dangerous.

  “I’m pleased and honored to work with your daughter.” He directed his words to Patiala. “It’s clear her work on language and cultural preservation is very important, and it will likely create a bridge for us with the Wolf. We are asking her for a favor, so Meera’s work will assuage any suspicions Atawakabiche might have about us merely using her for her magic.”

  “Pragmatic too.” Patiala sipped her tea. “But you do intend to record her martial magic if you are able.”

  “Absolutely. The singers in Vienna need it if they’re ever to regain their leverage over the council and be seen as equals.”

  “I like your thinking,” Patiala said. “Yes, equality is what we need.”

  “Equals in war,” Meera said. “Equals in violence. Equals in destruction. This is the equality we strive for?”

  “Equals in a language the scribes’ council currently understands,” Rhys said. “After the elder singers regain status, then we can work on changing hearts and minds.”

  Patiala set her tea down on the table. “I really approve of him.”

  “I wonder why,” Meera muttered.

  Before the conversation could get any more fraught for Rhys, he rose. “I hope you don’t mind if I try to find Roch this morning. I’d like for him to be our guide, and I think I may have a way of convincing him.”

  “You are excused,” Patiala said. “Thank you for your candor, Rhys of Glast.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to Meera, nodded, and walked out of the room, feeling like he’d just passed a test.

  Chapter Ten

  “You think you have all the time in the world.” Patiala set her teacup on the table and folded her hands. “But you do not. Every day we live in a world that is not our home. Every day the sons of the Fallen stalk us. This is a good man who is your equal. A man who would stimulate your mind and, if I am reading both of you correctly, every other part of you as well.”

  “Mata!”

  “Why do you hate my counsel? Why do you rebel like this when I only want what is best for you?”

  “Because everyone wants what is best for me!” Meera said. “Everyone thinks they know what I want. Everyone coddles me and guards me and sends for favors from the other side of the world so that I can meet a man you think is right for me!”

  “He is right for you!”

  “I want to decide that.” She pointed at her chest. “I do. I didn’t even get to pick my first lover. Everything in my life was prescribed. Everything.”

  Patiala said, “You had no complaints at the time, and Dalvir was a good friend.”

  “This is not about Dalvir.” Meera closed her eyes and tried to banish the memory of her first lover from her mind. “It’s not about that.”

  She would never forget his pure joy when he informed Meera that he’d found his reshon among the healing singers of Udaipur. They hadn’t been lovers for over five years—her sexual education had been deemed complete after two—but she’d still felt fondness for him. More, she’d felt jealousy that she would never know the joy that Dalvir and Simrat shared.

  She’d never know it because a mate would be picked for her, a mate who was not her reshon but a partner who couldn’t threaten the higher calling of Anamitra’s heir. A partner who would know his place.

  “He’s not who you think he is.” Meera stared at the intricate pattern on the table linen. “He’s not someone you can manipulate. Not even with good intentions.”

  “I know he’s not,” Patiala said. “He’s a man with his own mind. That’s why I like him for you. He will be a strong ally. Your best ally.” Her mother shrugged. “And he comes from a very good family, but that is secondary.”

  Meera swallowed the bitterness in the back of her throat. “His voice…”

  “What about his voice?”

  Meera remained silent, staring at the intricate swirls of red and blue paisleys.

  “What about his voice?” Patiala stood. “What are you talking about?”

  Meera looked up and directly at her mother. “What if he is my reshon? Will you like him for me then?”

  The quick play of emotions in her mother’s eyes reminded Meera why she loved her parents so fiercely even when she
didn’t agree with them.

  A quick flash of joy. Then worry. Then calculation. Joy again. Caution.

  “How certain are you?” Patiala asked.

  “I’ve only allowed myself small pieces. You know how ironclad my shields are. The fact that bits have slipped through tells you how strong his mind is. It’s… different.” Her heart rushed in excitement. “I’ve never heard anything like it. I want to wrap myself in it, if that makes any sense. But I know I can’t. I know that’s not for me.”

  “When you are mated,” Patiala said quietly, “your partner’s soul voice becomes your home. Your father may not be my reshon, but there is nothing that centers me like his voice. He is my steady place. My anchor. I want this for you because I know the burden of purpose you carry. I know you have been frustrated with my attempts to find you a mate, but you must understand my reasons.”

  “Anamitra—”

  “Anamitra was an old and wise singer who loved you very much,” Patiala said. “But she was not your mother.”

  “You know she warned against anything that could divide my loyalty.”

  “I know.” Patiala sat. “I know she did.”

  “The idea of Rhys being more than other scribes—”

  “Being your reshon?”

  “Don’t use that word,” she said. “I don’t know that. Neither do you. But it makes me wary. I don’t like the idea of others deciding my fate, not even the Creator.”

  Patiala smiled. “Rebellious child.”

  “I’ll take my rebellion where I can find it,” Meera said. “We both know my life doesn’t belong to me. Not really.”

  Her mother’s smile turned sad. “When you are ready to step into your power, you will be revered by elders and rulers. Emperors will pay you tribute, and angels will tremble at your voice.”

  “There aren’t many emperors left in the world.”

  “There will always be emperors,” Patiala said, “even if they go by different names.”

  Meera held out her hand. Patiala stretched her arm out and linked their fingers together.

  “When you were born,” Patiala said, “I gave you the name Abha because you were the light of my life. I had been born to scholars, found my true path when I met Maarut as a warrior, but you were the light and joy of my life. And when you showed your gifts, I held on to that, even when your old name became a memory. I knew you were still my light. I knew my purpose to protect you as your mother only became a greater mission as part of your retinue. You have always been my purpose.”

  “Mata.” Meera closed her eyes and held on to the warm glow of her mother’s love.

  “As your guardian, I must caution you away from any attachment that could divide your loyalties.” Patiala squeezed Meera’s hand. “But as your mother, I only feel joy that the Creator may have given you the gift of a mate designed by heaven just for you. No singer deserves that joy more.”

  “I don’t know if that is what Rhys is. I haven’t given him any encouragement.”

  “Truly?” Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “That doesn’t seem to affect the way he looks at you.”

  She looked up. “How does he look at me?”

  “Like a hungry man. Hungry for your attention. Hungry for your words.” She offered a wry smile. “And very hungry for your—”

  “Don’t.” Meera held up a hand. “Please.”

  Patiala burst into laughter. “You are your father’s daughter! When did I teach you to be so reserved?”

  “You taught me to be the opposite,” Meera said. “And embarrassed me at every turn.”

  “My poor shy daughter.”

  “Not shy. Simply not… rude.”

  “I will back off for now,” Patiala said. “Because when you and this man go searching for the Wolf, you won’t have any chaperones. We’ll see what happens when you can’t keep him at a distance.”

  As always, Meera was very afraid her mother was correct.

  She found Rhys in the guest cottage, his computer open on the small kitchen table and notebooks spread across the bed.

  “I didn’t wait for you,” he said. “I’ve been researching historic birds of Southern Louisiana, and I believe the distinctive call I heard was the whooping crane.”

  “Is that helpful?” Meera sat in the other chair, watching him sort through his thoughts at lightning speed. “I don’t know much about birds.”

  “The cranes were considered nearly extinct in the wild until recently, but there have been projects that tracked their historic range and new efforts to seed wild populations are following that.” He didn’t look up as he spoke, shuffling through a notebook with one hand while typing with the other. “I’ve found some research projects online that give some interesting clues about the areas where the cranes historically nested in the Atchafalaya Basin. It gives us a starting point.”

  “That’s a good lead.”

  “Combine that with oral history reports—I want to focus on crying woman or ghost legends—and I believe we can narrow down the geographic area significantly. It’s not as precise as wildlife mapping, but it’s an avenue to explore.”

  There was something very seductive about watching a man work at a job he was passionate about, and Rhys had dived into the mystery of finding the Wolf headfirst.

  “Your soul must remain your own.”

  She was fighting against herself. Part of her wanted to keep her distance—keep a sense of control over her heart—but the other parts…

  She’d told her mother the truth: she didn’t like the idea of a predetermined fate. Too much of her life was already predetermined.

  But then there was Rhys.

  Irritating, persistent, relentlessly curious Rhys with a soul voice that soothed her, a mind that called to her own, and a body that woke parts of her she kept under very strict control.

  Desire equaled weakness, which was why she only took it in small doses. Doses she could handle. Men she could control.

  She wouldn’t be able to control him.

  “Do you have any maps?” He gripped a fistful of hair as he clicked his keyboard, a frown wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. “I need a large map of the basin. Topographical if that’s possible.” He stood and looked around the cottage as if expecting a topographical map of Southern Louisiana to magically appear.

  Meera rose and walked across the room. “I don’t have a map.”

  “Damn.”

  She stepped in front of him and put her palms on his chest.

  Rhys froze. “Meera?”

  She could feel his heart beating under her right palm, the firm muscles of his chest rising and falling with his breath. He was warm and vibrant with energy. Heaven above, he made her want. She lifted her shields a fraction, just enough for the resonance of his soul voice to hum in the back of her mind.

  She closed her eyes and let his voice fill her. The sun poured through the window, warming her skin as a breeze licked along her neck. She lifted her face and leaned into his voice and scent.

  Rhys’s lips touched Meera’s, and he was the only thing.

  The scribe’s mouth was slow and deliberate. His hand came to the nape of her neck and pulled her closer. He placed a firm hand at the small of her back and pressed in. She was enveloped in his scent and touch and sound. The outside world dropped away, and she was transported to a place of sense and heat.

  The slow glide of his mouth against hers didn’t stop as he swung her around and pushed her against a wall. He reached down and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her so they were face-to-face. He held her with ease, angling his mouth to taste her more thoroughly.

  For the first time in a very long time, Meera didn’t think. She took. She took his hunger as her own, stretching into it as the magic twined between them, amplifying her need into his. It was a crescendo of senses. Rhys reached down and cupped her bottom, pressing her into his body as a low groan left her throat.

  There you are.

  The thought was unmistakable, thrilling, a
nd alarming, like seeing the flash of a face familiar only in dreams.

  There you are.

  Reshon.

  Meera tore her mouth away from Rhys’s, her breath coming hard and fast. His eyes locked on her mouth, and she recognized the hunger her mother had spoken of. It was written across his flushed lips and the hard set of his jaw.

  “I wasn’t finished,” he said roughly.

  “I know.” She pushed back and he lowered her to the ground. “We need to stop.”

  “Why?”

  Meera blinked. “You know why.”

  He frowned and tore his gaze from her lips to look into her eyes. “I want you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let it interfere with this mission.”

  “Good.” Meera’s heart was racing. She felt split in two and exposed. “Good. I was…” She didn’t know where to look, but it definitely wasn’t a good idea to look at the arousal evident in Rhys’s trousers. That gave her too many ideas. “I’m… going to—”

  “What?”

  Meera blinked. “I’m going to get you a map.”

  “A map?” He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because you were just looking for one. A topographical map of the Atchafalaya Basin. It’s an excellent idea. We definitely need one.”

  He looked around the cottage. “A topographical…” He looked back at her. “Right. A map. I needed a map before you…”

  “I kissed you.”

  “Yes you did.” His eyes turned from hunger to caution. “You said that wasn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s not.” Meera walked to the door. “I just decided to do it anyway.”

  He caught her arm before she could walk out the door. “Is this lapse in judgment going to happen again?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “It wasn’t intended to be.” Damn it, why did she find him charming when he turned stubborn like this?

  “I’m being presumptuous,” he said. “Feel free to put me in my place. Use both hands if you like.”

  Meera didn’t know whether to scowl or smile, so she tugged her arm away and walked out to the porch without saying a word. Rhys did not follow her.