CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When the forest dwellers returned from their pilgrimage, knees bruised from supplication, they found Boy-Who-Passes-Twice seated calmly. “I will run in circles no more,” he said, “instead, I will find a destination. I thank my friend, Ayal, for showing me the way.”
The seeker raised her arms in appreciation and watched them transform into the forelegs and paws of a lion.
—THE AYALYA
Lizvette peered inside the brown paper bag before shutting it and tossing it away. It landed on her pillow with a thud. She clenched and unclenched her hands, then crossed the bedroom to wrench open the closed door. The others had gathered in the common area after dinner.
Darvyn was still unconscious in the other room, and Tai stood in the doorway staring down at him. The events at the Dominionist meeting were terrifying. It merely proved how dangerous the sect was, and how desperately they needed to be stopped. And if they had amalgams that could drain the power from an Earthsinger and shatter his bones with sound, what horrors were in store for Clove from the device Lizvette had been given? Lizvette had no idea what would happen if she used the thing, and her father would slip through their hands if she didn’t. She needed to find a way to tell the others, but hadn’t figured out how to bypass the amalgam necklace around her throat. Scissors wouldn’t cut the chain. It didn’t fit over her head. She’d even tried to break the clasp with the heel of her shoe. But it was impervious.
She paced the floor, wringing her hands. She was losing time. Clove would be going to bed soon.
“Darvyn is getting better,” Vanesse said, looking up from the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. “I checked on him an hour ago and his bruises are already fading. It’s slow going, but his power is returning and he is healing.”
Lizvette nodded but couldn’t stop her pacing.
Tai glanced over at her, worry and weariness etched into his face as starkly as his tattoos. He’d been in such a state after dragging Darvyn back into the suite. Lizvette couldn’t allow another of their group to come to harm. There had to be some other way to bring her father to justice. But if she didn’t use the device, was there some other plan for Clove? Knowing her father and his lack of faith in her, she bet there was a backup plan. She had to warn the woman.
“I have something to say,” she announced.
Three pairs of eyes focused on her.
She cleared her throat. “Only … you see…” She formed the words in her mind. Father visited me. He knew of the plot to kill Alariq. He’s going to sabotage Clove. But even as she thought the words, the necklace heated up.
She cried out in pain, clutching her throat. Vanesse rushed to her. Lizvette pulled at the chain, unable to speak anymore with the fire in her throat. It now seemed to be obstructing her airway, making it hard to breathe, and she was losing feeling in her limbs.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Vanesse asked.
Lizvette’s arms dropped away from the necklace. A dark haze covered her vision. She could feel Vanesse’s fingers trying the clasp but knew the woman would have no luck. Her legs collapsed underneath her, and she fell to the floor. This was all useless. There was no way she could warn them, no way to get around the magic searing her body.
Then Tai was there. She felt rather than saw him. Strong fingers moved around the back of her neck. His touch was gentle, though his skin was rough. The path his hands took felt immediately cooler, giving relief from the burning until it stopped completely. Her throat opened, and she sucked in cool, refreshing air. She grasped at her neck and sat up.
Tai kneeled next to her, the necklace dangling from his fingers. She reached up and tossed the thing away, tears burning her eyes.
“How … did you…?” she breathed out, then shook her head. “Father … came … other night … I couldn’t speak of it … because of that.”
Tai looked at the discarded necklace with alarm as Vanesse brought Lizvette a glass of water, which she took with gratitude. She sipped it, cooling the remaining heat in her throat. Then she told them of her father’s visit and his plans for Clove.
Vanesse insisted they call Jord Zivel. Given her father’s escalating actions, they all deemed it necessary to fill in the Foreign Service on exactly what their mission in Melbain really was. Zivel arrived quickly with his second-in-command, Sergeant Kendos.
“Where is the device you were given, Miss Nirall?” Zivel asked.
Lizvette went to the bedroom and returned with the paper sack, holding it gingerly. “Be careful. I do not know what it does, only that apparently it was meant to work overnight and was to be placed under Clove’s pillow.”
Zivel nodded. “We have a contact we can bring this to. A former Physick who might be able to give us some clue as to its use. We’ll take the necklace to him for inspection, as well.”
Lizvette nodded, grateful for their businesslike manners and efficiency.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t seek medical attention for your friend?” Kendos asked, peering through the doorway at a sleeping Darvyn.
“I think it best not to. He’s already healing,” Tai said. “It’s only a matter of time now.”
Darvyn did appear to be in peaceful slumber. Quite different from how he’d looked only hours before.
“Very well, then. We’ll put a protective detail on you tomorrow, Miss Liddelot,” Zivel said. “And I’ll set a guard on your ship to make sure it isn’t tampered with overnight.”
Clove thanked them, appearing unfazed, while Vanesse was quite pale.
When the men left, silence descended on the suite.
“I’m so sorry,” Lizvette said, forcing herself to meet everyone’s eyes—Clove’s last.
The woman looked up, no change evident in her cheery demeanor. “It’s not your fault. None of us get to choose our parents.” She shot a measured look at Vanesse, whose scars stood out more than usual against her bloodless cheeks. Clove took her hand and leaned to whisper something in Vanesse’s ear.
Lizvette wanted to look away but couldn’t, drawn in by the tenderness and care between the two women. Any action against Clove would harm Vanesse, too, and the Sister had clearly been through a great deal already.
“I think ice cream is in order,” Clove announced. Vanesse didn’t look appeased but allowed herself to be drawn up by the hand and nudged toward the door.
“Would you like any?” Clove asked.
Lizvette shook her head, and Tai denied the offer, as well. Vanesse said something softly that Clove chuckled at.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find an amalgam that will check for poison.” Her dark humor was alarming, but Vanesse seemed somewhat mollified.
In minutes, the two were gone, leaving Lizvette and Tai alone.
She blinked at him, unsure what to say. Shame ate away at her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. They stood in awkward silence until she couldn’t stand it any longer and retreated to her room with a mumbled apology.
Tai found his feet moving across the sitting room of their own accord. He stood outside Lizvette’s door and listened, but this time there was nothing but silence. He began to return to his room, then stopped and turned around. Lizvette was too quiet, or maybe he was merely rationalizing the pull he felt to go to her. His heart splintered recalling the anguish in her face, the desperation as she struggled against the damnable necklace.
He had no idea how he’d been able to remove it—the clasp had released easily when he’d tried it. Whatever the reason, he was glad. Perhaps he would just peek in to reassure himself that she was all right.
Indecision warred within him, but he pushed through it and knocked.
A pregnant pause left him holding his breath until her quiet voice pierced the silence. “Come in.”
Lizvette’s eyes were red, but dry. Her composure, however, was slowly crumbling.
Tai wanted to seize her sorrow and slay it like a raging selakki, the ferocious sea creatures harvested in Raun. He wanted to find her useless father and dangle him over the edge of his ship, then toss him in the deepest waters of the ocean. When she’d relayed how her father had spoken to her, what he’d done—saddling her with that amalgamation necklace—Tai had wanted to wring the man’s neck. His heartlessness reminded Tai of his mother. The very qualities that had succeeded in making her king of Raun did not make her very maternal. Still, even he couldn’t imagine his mother being so hateful and cruel—and she had imprisoned him.
He took the liberty of sitting on the bed beside Lizvette as she stared at him, wide-eyed. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and held her. He’d expected a protest, perhaps even a slap, but her body crumpled against him immediately. He embraced her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. Her fine gown was wrinkled, her hair sticking out of its neat bun, but he found he liked her best this way. Her body shook with silent sobs, though her cheek, pressed against his chest, remained dry. It was as if she could draw forth no more tears; only these tremors racking her body displayed her anguish.
Soon her muted cries stopped. Her shoulders stilled, and her breathing deepened. He thought she might fall have fallen asleep until she whispered into his chest, “Why do you comfort me? I’ve been so cold to you.”
He stroked her shoulder. It was too thin. The stress of the past weeks had probably caused her to lose weight.
“I can take a bit of coldness, duchess. I can take whatever you’re dishing out.” He thought she may have snorted, but it was too unladylike a sound to have come from her prim self. But the way she froze afterward made him believe he’d heard correctly.
She sniffed and pulled back. He immediately missed the warmth of her against him but looked her in the eye. “I can’t believe Father knew about the plot to kill Alariq and did nothing,” she said.
“You mourn your fiancé?” He did not want to hear the answer, but being jealous of a dead man was senseless.
She shook her head. “I am angry about his murder, but my sorrow is only for me. For being a fool.”
“You’re no fool. And you deserve a far better father than you were given.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Perhaps I was given exactly what I deserve. I listened to Father’s whispers and cajoling for such a long time. I would have done just about anything to make him proud of me. To lessen the sting of having been born a girl. No wonder he thought I would sabotage Clove.” She shook her head. “But it never would have been enough. Nothing would be enough.”
Her stare had gone vacant, and her fists clenched so tightly he thought she might hurt herself. He picked up her hand and gently loosened her fingers until they lay flat against his, palm to palm. Her gaze focused on their joined hands. He ran his thumb gently up and down the side of hers, mesmerized by the sensation. No silk could compare to her skin. The small point of contact of their palms was all that tethered him to the world at this moment.
Lizvette made a sound that drew his gaze to her lips, then to her eyes, which were heavy-lidded. She leaned forward a fraction, and he felt himself do the same. When his lips touched hers, it was through no conscious thought of his own. He’d merely allowed his body to do what it did naturally. And it wanted to kiss her.
He would have thought it impossible, but her lips were softer than her hands. They brushed against his, leaving him feeling only the two parts of his body that were in contact with hers.
Their mouths were still closed, but blades of fire licked at him. This was the most chaste kiss he’d experienced since childhood, but somehow also the most erotic. Perhaps it was her scent, dewy like morning rain with a hint of ripe fruit and sunshine. He’d never smelled a woman so sweet, so enticing. He’d noticed it the first time he’d seen her, when she’d passed him surrounded by a phalanx of guards. The aroma had remained in her wake. He’d stared after her, wondering what in this world or the next could smell that good. Now it surrounded him.
He brought his free hand up to stroke her cheek and found it wet. He kissed the tears away, tasting sweetness and salt, wishing to imprint himself on her so that she could no longer remember what had made her so sad in the first place.
He was still surprised that she’d made no move to stop him. Their palms pressed against each other; she curled her fingers around his, locking their hands. He leaned her back until she was fully on the bed, him at her side, hovering slightly above her but keeping his weight off.
She opened her eyes, looking dazed, cheeks high with color, amber gaze piercing him. He simply stared until his breathing was back under control. It was as though he’d just sailed through a flash thunderstorm.
He pulled away, suddenly wanting to run, to put some distance between them, but the warmth of her still attached itself to him, and he found he couldn’t move his legs. After a few moments, he was able to push himself to a sitting position and run a shaking hand through his hair. Her eyes tracked the movement, then returned to his, before moving down to his lips.
He huffed out a breath then drew a shaky smile, infusing it with the same cocky bravado as always. But her knowing gaze said she would not be fooled. Not this time. He had to collect himself. He’d never been affected so powerfully by a kiss before—never thought it possible.
Clove and Vanesse would probably be back shortly, he realized, and he should check on Darvyn again. He stood, trying to discreetly adjust his trousers to better accommodate the most tangible results of the last few minutes. But Lizvette’s perceptive gaze strayed downward, not missing a thing.
She cleared her throat and popped up from the bed as if suddenly free from a trance. Looking down at her wrinkled gown, she frowned and patted at the skirts in vain.
Tai took a step backward toward the door. “I, um…” He cleared his throat as well.
All her attention was consumed by her skirts, and she kept her head bowed. It was just as well. One look into those fire-lit eyes would have undone him again. He needed to go pull himself together. Perhaps even get a drink, though the kiss had left him with a greater buzz than alcohol ever had.
He stumbled backward through the door and into the sitting room. He wanted to say something witty, or even crass, to break the tension, but instead he said nothing at all and retreated into his room as if something were chasing him.