Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (10 page)

Sardelle watched him out of the corner of her
eye. Was he trying to give her some small task so she wouldn’t
dwell on the woman’s death? Or did he truly want this favor from
her? Jaxi’s advice aside, she ought to stay away from him—he saw
all too clearly through her fibs. Just because she found him
handsome—especially with his cap off and his hair tousled in such a
way that made her wonder what it, and the rest of him, might look
like when he climbed out of bed in the morning…—didn’t mean he
wasn’t the most dangerous person here.

Despite that acknowledgment, she found
herself asking, “So… you would want me to report in to you every
morning with the latest gossip?”

“Well, the gossip related to this
investigation. Or if you were to see or hear something that
suggested… someone or some persons within these walls
were
using witchcraft.”

Sardelle’s heart forgot to beat. He wanted
her
to let him know if anyone was using
magic? She coughed to cover the strangled sound her throat wanted
to make.

It must have sounded strangled—or
distressed—anyway, for he put a gentle hand on her back and asked,
“Are you all right?”

She managed a nod, though his touch flustered
her further.

That’s what you get for
imagining him in bed.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just—”

Zirkander withdrew his hand and waved it
dismissively. “Never mind on the witchcraft. I wouldn’t want you to
get yourself in trouble on my account. They say that back in the
old days, those people could read minds.”

“Yeah,” Sardelle managed, her voice
hoarse.

“The last thing I would want is for you to be
hurt because someone thought you were a spy.” He considered the
towel he was folding. “Perhaps this was a bad idea. Even the
average prisoner here might get suspicious if you’re always
wandering up to my office.”

“Given what I’ve seen, heard, and been
propositioned with today, I’d guess they would think I was sleeping
with you rather than spying for you.”

This time, Zirkander made the
strangled-distressed noise in his throat. She held back a smirk,
though she was somewhat pleased to have broken his equanimity for
once.

“That would also be… less than ideal.” He
glanced toward the furnaces, probably wondering if the other two
women had heard, but they had disappeared into the building
somewhere or perhaps left for the day. The lanterns in their work
area were out now.

“I’m not your type, eh?” Sardelle wasn’t sure
why she asked it, or why she was making light when the notion had
disturbed him.

Jaxi smirked into her mind.
Because you want to know.

“Oh, you’re nice, but it wouldn’t be
appropriate for an officer—or, as I am now, a glorified prison
guard—to take advantage of a prisoner, and whether that was
happening or not, the appearance… ” Ridge snorted. “You don’t know
how ironic this is, coming from me, with my record full of
demerits, but they were always honorable demerits. I mean, I could
argue that way. Ignoring the rules for the greater good. Or to irk
annoying senior officers who deserved irking. I—oh, hells. Never
mind. I guess it doesn’t matter that much what these idiots
think.”

Well, you’ve succeeded in
flustering him.

So I see.

Not quite sure whether
“you’re nice” answers your question though.

Sardelle sighed inwardly.
Me either.

“So, just to be clear, I am or am not having
coffee with you in your office tomorrow morning?”

Zirkander blinked and looked at her—he had
been avoiding her eyes for most of the towel folding session. “Does
that mean you’ll share what you hear?”

“I will, but I feel it would be fair for me
to receive a small favor from you as well. Since I will be making
your job easier for you.” Sardelle smiled.

He smiled too. It was warm and friendly as
usual, but there was a keen intensity in his eyes, too, and she
almost had the feeling that she had walked into a trap.

He wants an opportunity
to observe you and figure out who and what you are. You’ve just
agreed to see him every day. And you’re also about to tell him
something you want, something that might give him another puzzle
piece.

You sound like you don’t
approve. I’m angling to get you out of here.

I know, but be careful.
He’s not dumb.

No, I’ve figured that
out.

“Yes?” Zirkander prompted and went back to
folding towels. Maybe he realized his eyes had given away too
much.

“I would like to see a map of your
mines.”

“Would you?” He said it more like a statement
than a question.

I’ve seen the map. If
you’re thinking you could find a spot to dig me out on your own,
I’m nowhere near any of their tunnels.

I still want to see it
for myself. I have an idea.

Yeah? It better be good.
He’s going to be suspicious of why you want to see the
map.

“Yes, I’ve studied the civilization that used
to live here, inside this mountain. I might have some insight into
where you should be digging to find… that which you seek.” She
almost laughed. Beyond a vague notion of “crystals,” she had no
idea what they were mining for—more than ore, she was certain of
that now, because an enemy vessel wouldn’t need to spy on a silver
mine. But she suspected it had something to do with what her people
had left behind.

Maybe he wants your
magical laundry machine.

Funny.

Sardelle mentally pushed Jaxi away, wanting
her full concentration, for he was studying her again.

“A half truth this time, I think,” Zirkander
said.

She gave him her best
I’m-too-mature-for-these-games single eyebrow raise, though she
doubted he bought it. “I won’t answer that other than to say I’m
beginning to think
you’re
the telepath
around here.”

Sardelle smiled, but his eyes widened in
surprise—no, anger. He grabbed her arm and stepped close, his chest
brushing hers as he leaned down and whispered harshly, “Do
not
say such things.”

He glanced about the facility again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stung by his
anger. Even more, she was irritated with herself for turning their
playful chat—their cat-and-mouse game—into something darker. “I
meant it as a joke. That’s all.”

He stared down at her, and she could feel his
deep breaths, the hardness of his chest beneath his shirt. She
didn’t ready any defenses, didn’t think she would need to, but she
was aware of the strength of his grip—of him. His dark eyes bored
into hers, no longer playful or speculative, but intense, as if he
were
trying to read her every thought, as
if by sheer will he could do so. She looked into his eyes, trying
to show him that she hadn’t been lying, not this time.

Zirkander glanced down, seemed to realize
that he had a lock on her arm, and loosened his grip. He lifted his
hand, fingers spread, and stepped back. “I overreacted.” He faced
the towel table again, though he grasped the edge, his hands still
tense and tight. “I apologize. It’s just that I’ve seen careers
ruined because of such accusations.”

Not his, or he wouldn’t be here, but some
close friend perhaps.

“Once they’ve been made, no matter how
dubious the source… well, you can’t prove a negative, as they
say.”

Sardelle should have felt mad or at least
disgruntled at being manhandled, but the haunted expression on his
face made her want to give him a hug instead. “I understand.”
Before she could think better of it, she laid a hand on his,
wanting to ease the tension there. “I shouldn’t have said
that.”

Zirkander eyed her hand, his face
inscrutable. Sardelle withdrew it, a little disappointed by his
reaction, but she shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.

He grabbed his parka and put it on. “I should
go. I hope my small assistance with these towels has lightened your
load somewhat.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and
bowed slightly.

When he turned away, Sardelle asked, “Are we
still—uhm, am I reporting to you in the morning?”

He hesitated for a long moment, and she
expected a, “Never mind” out of his mouth. He glanced toward a dark
window. “If you find something to report, I’ll be in the office
until nine.”

As he walked away, she was certain he
presumed she wouldn’t find anything tonight, that he wouldn’t have
to see her again soon. He didn’t want to see her. She didn’t need
telepathy to sense that in the stiff way he took his departure. Her
stupid comment had changed something.

Too bad.

She wanted to see that map. She
would
find something to report.

* * *

He had almost kissed her. The memory from the
night before still burned in his thoughts. What in all of the hells
had he been thinking? She had made that joke, and after his initial
reaction—
over
reaction—he had recognized
the humor for what it was, but then he had been standing so close
to her, staring into her eyes… and it had been as if he were some
sexually starved inmate who couldn’t control himself.

“I have not been out here
nearly
long enough to be that desperate to get with
a woman.” Ridge blew on his mug of steaming coffee, fresh from the
little stove in the break room downstairs. “Though apparently I’ve
been here long enough to start talking to myself.”

At least his door was closed this time. None
of his men should hear his solitary conversations.

Ridge took a sip and picked up his pen again.
He had the operations manual and the personnel rosters out and was
working on a list of things he hoped would improve efficiency and
free up more men for defenses. At nine, he was heading to the mine
entrances again, this time with an engineer. While he would like to
think those people down there wouldn’t take advantage of an enemy
attack, not when they seemed to respect him for his exploits in the
skies, he couldn’t assume that. He wanted some heavy iron doors
built over the tram shafts, doors that could be locked from the
outside while his soldiers had to defend the fort. He had been up
early and had sketched what he wanted for the engineer.

Actually, he had been up early—and
late—thinking those sexually starved inmate thoughts. Though he
forced himself to get his work done, his gaze drifted often toward
the rolled up map leaning against the end of his desk. He had
fished it out as soon as he’d gotten to his office, several hours
before dawn, just in case. If she truly wanted to see it, she would
come. He would have to make sure she wasn’t lying, telling him some
made-up fibs about Bretta’s death, so she could gain access to the
information. She wasn’t a good liar, at least she didn’t seem to
be. He had to accept that she could be there, trying to gain access
to his information by playing inept… or by playing
him
.

Agreeing to show her the map… even as he had
done it, he had known he was bordering on treason. The map didn’t
mention anything about the crystals or where they had been found—he
had another map that did that, which he would
not
show her—but it might give her… something.
Something she needed. What, he didn’t know. That was why he had
agreed to it. So he could watch her, see how she reacted, and try
to make some guesses.

“Seven gods, Ridge, if she were a man, you
would just interrogate her.” He rubbed his temple, annoyed because
he knew he was right, and more annoyed because he couldn’t imagine
doing it. He had only known her a day. How had she insinuated
herself into his thoughts so? Maybe she was some master seductress.
Except she had seemed surprised last night when he had gotten
close, startled. If she had sensed when his anger vanished and…
other feelings arose, she hadn’t shown it. That touch on his
hand—the one that had sent an incendiary jolt of electricity
through him—had been the purest innocence, an expression of
concern. Surely a skilled seductress would have slid a hand around
the back of his neck, pulled him down for a kiss, and—

He grunted. “I need an ice bath, not
coffee.”

A knock came at his door, and he cursed
himself. He had been so busy thinking about
other
things that he hadn’t heard anyone walking up.
“Yeah?” he called, wondering if his visitor had heard him talking
to himself. Wondering, too, if his visitor was… she.

Captain Heriton poked his head in. “Sir, I’m
never quite sure if that’s an invitation to enter.”

“I’m rarely doing anything in here that’s so
scintillating that I can’t be interrupted.”

“Yes, sir.” Heriton pushed the door open
wider, but paused again. “I’m not sure that was an invitation,
either.”

Ridge winked. “Maybe you’ll have it figured
out by the time I leave.”

“I’m hoping I get to leave sooner, sir. Six
months left on my orders… ” Heriton gazed wistfully out the
window.

Understandable. “Come in, Captain. What do
you have for me?”

Heriton glanced over his shoulder, shrugged,
and came in with a stack of papers. “It’s actually what you have
for me, sir. Did I understand your memo correctly? You want these…
reading lists to go out to the guards to be posted for… the
miners?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh. I thought you might mean it for the
soldiers.”

“I trust
you
all
have a good education already.” Ridge waved toward the papers. “I’m
trying to improve morale, offer some incentives for them to better
themselves.”

“Better themselves, sir? To what ends?”

“To work more efficiently for us.”

“And, uh, reading the classics will cause
that?”

“Call it the crazy colonel’s experiment.”
Ridge was certain the gaming tables would be more popular, but if
some of the prisoners
did
start reading…
“Those who show an interest might prove themselves worthy of more
responsibility. What I’m hoping these changes will ultimately do is
give us some trustworthy individuals who might help us—or at least
keep others from stabbing us in the back—should we need to funnel
all of our resources into defending the fort.” And if that didn’t
work, Ridge had his backup plan. The doors.