Beneath the Thirteen Moons (15 page)

He reached for her, wincing from the tightness of not-quite-healed skin. Mahri couldn’t back away, there was nowhere to go, her bottom was plastered against the wall of the tent. His big hand curved around her hip, tugging her forward.

“But it doesn’t matter what I think,” she hastened to add. “Morning is dawning and you’ll soon be home and we’ll never see each other again.”

Korl pulled his hand away from her and raked it through his hair. “That’s what you think?”

“Aya. There’s no other way
to
think.”

He smiled at her. “For you, no, there isn’t.”

Mahri didn’t ask what he meant. She had to concentrate on fighting this sudden hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of never seeing him again.

It’s because he’s such a pleasure to look at, she thought. And then followed that thought with another: Vissa’s just as handsome, although in a darker sort of way, with those black eyes and curly dark hair. She’d visit the tavern keeper when she needed release—he’d been begging her for years—and Korl had awakened something in her that she knew wouldn’t go away without a struggle.

And Vissa didn’t threaten her soul the way Korl did.

Mahri backed out of the tent and bailed until the sun brightened the green canopy overhead, knew when Korl rose and washed with the fresh rainwater but refused to look at him. If he threw his head back, with that freshly scarred face making her shiver with the memory of his courage, making him look even more appealing, she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

I’m too close to being free of him to imperil myself now, she thought.

“How many enemies do you have, anyway?”

Korl’s deep voice was muffled in a drying cloth. “Why do you ask?”

Mahri fisted her hands on hips. “How do you think I’ll get you back in the palace? You going to just walk up to the front door and knock?”

He stood silent for so long she glanced back at him. He threw the cloth over Jaja, who squealed in mock protest and fought his way free, only to be covered again and again. The crazy pet looked like he enjoyed the game.

“You’re right,” Korl admitted. “I’ll need the protection of my personal guard, but who knows where they’ll be assigned now? If S’raya finds me before anyone else knows I’m alive, she’ll just make sure to kill me.”

Mahri shook her head. To be threatened by your own sister, half or not, made her grateful she had no real family.

“It’s what I thought.” She sighed. “I’ll have to take you to Vissa’s. He’ll be able to hunt your guards down for you. We can hide you there until they’re found, and bring them to you.”

“That should work,” he mused.

For some reason Mahri thought he spoke about something more than his return to the city. Then he reached her side in one purposeful stride and grabbed her arm in a bruising grip.

“Wait a breath, who’s this Vissa? Some fat, old friend, right?”

Mahri tried to shake him off. “What’s it to you? As long as he helps and gets you home, that’s all that matters.”

“So.” He just stood there and stared at her, tapping on her mind barrier again. As if she’d let him in.

“Well, then,” he said, “I’ll just have to kill him.”

“What?”

“He’s your lover, isn’t he?”

“No!”

Korl smiled. He’d gotten her to tell him what he wanted to know.

He thinks he’s so much smarter than me, she thought in frustration. “But I plan on making him my lover—not that it’s any of your business.”

“What for?” he choked.

“Let’s just say,” she said, feeling empowered, “that you’ve awakened urges in me that were too long buried.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

Mahri shrugged.

“Fine. I’m sure I can find some cozy prison farm to ship him off to. I don’t necessarily have to kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“He’s your—” Korl snapped his fingers. “What do you criminals call it? Your distributor? I’m sure he’s wanted by Royal Law just as much as you are.”

Mahri clenched her fists, her face tight with anger.

He smiled. “You’re beautiful when you’re furious, too.”

She spun around so fast her hair slapped him in the chest and she began to pole vigorously. Korl gave an exaggerated sigh and stroked the middle of her back.

“I’m only teasing, water-rat. There’ll be no reason to send him away, or kill him for that matter.”

Mahri tried not to show her relief. When they were in her swamp, she’d forgotten about how much power this man could wield, not through zabba, but through an
army. As they neared the city she realized that any kind of threat coming from a Royal couldn’t be taken lightly, and lover or no, she counted Vissa as a friend.

“I’ll have your promise on that, Great One. Or I’ll dump you here to find the rest of your way as best you can.”

“Consider my promise given.”

She pulled the strip of octopi skin from her belt and shoved it into the hand that just wouldn’t stop caressing her otherwise. “Put it on and keep it there. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to remove it.”

“Will you now?”

He’s sarcastic, too, grumbled Mahri to herself. But at least for the next few hours he sat quietly in the middle of the boat, his head held high, somehow managing to look dignified in that blindfold, the scars on his cheek pink against that golden skin.

He’ll make quite an entrance when he returns to the Palace Tree, that pale skin now gold from the sun, the physical exertions from his time in the swamps evident in the developed muscles in arms and legs. Hair untrimmed, his jaw stubbled, he cut an entirely different figure than the man she’d kidnapped in silk sleeping clothes.

She’d miss him, and ach! How she hated him for that.

Towards nightfall they’d reached the city cove and Mahri had him remove the blindfold, knowing that the trick now would be to avoid looking into those eyes. She knew she’d do something stupid if she let him enchant her with his gaze.

He put on her birdshark cloak and threw the hood over his face as Mahri paddled to the docks. Rain fell and obscured the light of the moons, aiding their
stealthy advance, making the glow from the pleasure houses shine like beacons of warmth. She anchored her craft and bid Jaja to protect it as she led the prince into Vissa’s tavern.

One of the few real structures—actually carved into a tree rather than a rickety construction of dead wood—it lay within the heart of the docks, a carved bone door testifying to Vissa’s prosperity. Mahri knew it hadn’t been purchased by the selling of any quas-brew, though. His real wealth came from smugglers like herself.

She opened the door and light spilled across the threshold, laughter rang in her ears, the smell of fish stew and too many unwashed bodies near overwhelmed her. Mahri sighed and strode across the room, aware of Korl following, of the curious glances of patrons. Of the sudden strained silence.

She caressed the top of her bone-staff.

“Mahri Zin!” bellowed a familiar voice. “Crawled from the muck at last, eh?”

She heard whispers of ‘“water-rat” and “swamp dweller,” the sound of badly played harps being started up again and she relaxed. Then Vissa reached her and swung her around, enveloped her in a seabear hug that left her gasping.

“Hoo, woman. I know ya’ stay away from me so long just so I’ll want ya’ even more,” crooned Vissa, dark eyes sparkling.

Mahri glanced pointedly at the woman, hands on hips, pouting at the sudden abandonment of the tavern keeper. “I don’t think you’re very lonely while I’m away,” she mused, a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Ach, but darling girl,” he murmured, skillful hands
reaching out to caress her cheek. “If ya’ will only be mine, I’d pledge to be true.”

“Liar,” laughed Mahri.

Vissa looked hurt, his sensuous mouth turned down into a frown.

“Ya’ do me an injustice, when ya’ mock my feelings.” He lowered his face to her ear, his breath warm and inviting. “Who be yer friend, darling?”

Ever watchful, her Vissa. While he had seemingly devoured the sight of her, she’d caught that flicker of awareness for the cloaked stranger.

“No fear, the Healer can be trusted.”

It’d been so long since she’d thought of Korl as Healer, not Prince. But that title would be much safer than the other, for she only trusted the tavern keeper so far.

“Get your hands off of her,” growled Korl, flinging back the hood of the cloak. His chin jut at air, his eyes narrowed at the clever hands of Vissa. Hands that caressed Mahri’s waist from hip to underarm, flicked over the sides of her breasts as if by accident, then fondled the arc of her bottom with an innocence that didn’t seem to fool Korl in the least.

The tavern keeper stilled, his body rooted next to hers with a tree’s strength. She’d seen that strength tear a man apart and threw Korl a look that told him how stupid she thought his words were.

“Vissa, I’ve come to ask for a favor, if you’d be so kind.”

Black brows rose in surprise. Mahri had never asked him for a thing, knew that it’d shake him out of his urge to strangle Korl, and wondered with a sigh what he’d ask in return. In her experience, people didn’t do favors for nothing.

Vissa glanced from her to Korl, decided to ignore
the blond man, and enfolded Mahri in his arms. “For ya’, darling, anything. Ask and ya’ shall receive.” Soft, warm kisses feathered her brow. “What’s mine is yers,” he promised. “I only hope it’s a really big favor.”

Mahri heard Korl growl and tried to wiggle out of the black-haired man’s arms. “Can we talk in private?”

“Ach!” Vissa slapped his forehead. “I’ve been trying for years to get ya’ in my privates and here ya’ are just begging for it.”

Mahri had grown used to Vissa’s blunt ways and didn’t take them too seriously.

But Korl did. “That does it!” he growled, lunging for the larger man.

The tavern keeper smiled and stepped out of the other man’s path. “As I thought, ya’ brought me a rival, darling.” Korl spun and swung a fist. Vissa ducked. “‘It’ll be my pleasure teaching him who ya’ belong to.”

Mahri opened her mouth to protest that she’d didn’t belong to anyone, when Korl’s punch accidentally hit a bystander, who then swung at the man standing next to him. Then someone yelled, “Fight, fight!” and the tavern erupted, and she stayed busy for the next few minutes fending off thrashing fists with her staff.

She cursed with the swing of her weapon, catching glimpses of Korl and Vissa. The prince held his own, but seemed to be getting the worst of it. The tavern keeper knew how to fight dirty.

Then another cry could be heard—“Guards, guards!”—and the place emptied as if by magic. Mahri stood panting as uniformed men flooded the room and surrounded the remaining combatants, who seemed unaware of anything but each other.

“Ya’ fight like a woman,” bellowed Vissa, his huge fist slamming into Korl’s stomach.

The prince let out a whoosh of air, then uppercut the black-haired man’s jaw.

“You fight like a water-rat,” he replied.

Black hair slapped forward and he licked his lips at Mahri. “Then ya’ admit it man, she belongs to me.”

Vissa’s leg snapped up and slammed into Korl’s groin. He moaned with pain, the watching guards echoing the sound in amused sympathy.

Why didn’t they stop them? wondered Mahri. The guards just stood with arms crossed, as if enjoying a show.

Korl stayed bent over with pain. Vissa smiled in premature victory just as the prince rammed his head into him, sending both of them crashing into the bar, toppling bottles of quas-juice down around their heads.

A full bottle hit Vissa squarely on his crown. He blinked, shook his head, then fell over, unconscious.

Korl got shakily to his feet and shook the hair from his face, making Mahri freeze in response to that sensual movement.

“She’s mine,” he hissed at the prone man.

One of the guards gasped. Mahri glanced at him. He looked like that guard that she’d fought when she’d kidnapped the prince. And he’d recognized that arrogant movement of the head. They’d brought him to his personal guard, or at least one of them, but not in the way she’d planned.

“Your Highness?” queried the guard.

The rest of the uniformed men looked at the tall, rough-looking man before them. Mahri could see them
peering at Korl with dawning surprise. When they saluted their prince, she sighed and edged her way to the stairs, toward the back door.

They wouldn’t even have time to say goodbye, she thought with regret. But perhaps it’d be better this way.

She saw that veil of arrogant superiority fall over those handsome features and barely heard Korl’s command to the guards to arrest her. His voice, that deep, husky timbre, no longer sounded familiar to her. At first he’d spoken to the villagers with that air of assumed command, but he’d lost it over the past few weeks. To hear it again reminded her of the gulf that lay between them.

Mahri’s mouth fell open as Korl’s command penetrated her senses. By-the-moons, had he told his men to arrest her? They all looked from her to him, confusion etched on their faces. But as he barked the order again, it confirmed in their minds that this must indeed be their prince, and as one they converged on her.

She sprinted for the stairs. Thankfully, she’d chewed root before reaching the docks and it sang in her system, danced through her muscles to give her speed and agility. She knew they’d never catch her. Behind her, she heard him again, all arrogance gone, with what sounded like an actual plea.

“Water-rat. Mahri! Are you sure you never want to see me again?”

She shouldn’t do it. Keep going, urged her mind. But her heart, that silly thing that melted whenever he spoke, made her hesitate. And she’d known as soon as they’d reached the city that if she looked into his eyes she’d be lost. But she couldn’t help turning around for one last look at him, to drink in the sight of that pale
hair curling over his strong forehead, those wide shoulders rippling with hardened muscle, that line of dark gold hair that snaked its way beneath his leggings to that promise of pleasure.

Mahri moaned. Full lips, arrogant nose, sculpted, scarred cheek. Thick, dark gold lashes.

Eyes that stole her very soul.