Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (23 page)

And what of the covert comings and goings of the Prophets? She began to feel paranoid that someone was always watching her from some secret corner, even if she could not sense anyone nearby. Every little movement she caught in the corner of her eye caused her to start and worry that someone hid in the shadows. She understood, after her own hidden moments in the garden, how one could hide in plain sight. A powerful mind could simply convince the occupants of the room that he wasn't there. The trick reminded her of old stories about invisibility formulas that rendered the consumer completely transparent. The question now in her mind was why they would be sneaking around the Palace in such a manner, known only to Councilor Morton, who had no relation to the Prophets, nor did she care much for their kind. What was their motive to spy on the Proctectress' activities? What was Morton's motive to help them?

The Goddess was the largest mystery of all. It existed as a living creature of energy and had done so for a virtual millennia. That was the extent of the information she could access. The secretkeepers offered little else, for their purpose was only to ensure that an outside party knew of the existence in case of extenuating circumstances. The Prophets, who likely knew the most about the entity, simply refused to appear. Axandra had no way of sending a verbal or written request. Tyrane and his kind were completely sheltered by the Storm.

Arriving at the Palace, Axandra was greeted at the door by Miri, who informed her that Quinn waited in the Library and that she had just taken up a pot of hot tea and light snacks. Putting the lid on her thoughts, Axandra ascended the staircase, each step up matched by an increase in her excitement.

She found him at the large table in the library, his head bowed to an enormous leather bound book. His thick index finger followed along the coastline of a landmass drawn on the pages. He peered through his wire-rimmed glasses at very tiny print in the legends.

Quinn looked up as he heard her footsteps and beamed from ear-to-ear.

“You did wait,” she said pleasantly, feeling her own cheeks rounding with a grin.

“Of course,” he responded, rising from the tall chair, leaving the atlas behind on the table. She assumed the book contained maps of Old Earth. There were many continents colorfully divided into countries and kingdoms. It was a book that a historian like Quinn could spend hours dissecting and digesting—yet now he ignored it. Was she more interesting to him than a prized piece of history?

His round cheeks pinked slightly as he came forward. He stopped just centims away, one hand touching the corner of the hardwood table, the other hovering in front of him as though reaching out for her. He drew that hand back slightly, uncertain what to do with it in that moment.

“You came down from North Compass?” Axandra inquired, gesturing him to sit next to her where she eased down on a long bench near the wall. He joined her, sitting at a proper distance. He folded his hands on his lap.

“I'm on my way back to Southland to collect some belongings. I need a few things I left at home.”

“Oh,” she said with some discouragement. He hadn't come just to see her. Her mind reeled, trying to decide how this relationship was going to go. Every look he gave her spoke volumes about his attraction and infatuation for her, yet some of his words seemed to brush that away.

“But I planned on staying in Undun for several days before I go south,” Quinn said, sensing her disappointment, “to see you. I-I want to—drat.” He stammered, flustered by his own thoughts. The pink in his cheeks deepened to a rosier hue as his eyes dodged about the room. He cleared his throat. “I thought we might spend some time together. I want to know more about you—if that's all right?”

Axandra tried not to giggle, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak, the girlish sounds came out. “It's all right,” she said with glee. She reached across the upholstery and placed her hand upon his where his thick fingers rested on the cushion. “I think that's a wonderful idea.”

His shoulders dropped with relief. “I can't believe I'm so nervous,” he said under his breath. “I have something I should confess to you,” he began to say.

“That you asked Sara to set up a way to meet me?” she offered.

Shocked, he looked directly into her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Eryn told me the story while we were on our way back to Undun,” Axandra explained. She couldn't contain her laughter completely. His expression amused her. “I'm not making fun of you,” she said, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

“Well, did she tell you why I asked for Sara's help?” he pried. Instead of being mortified, he relaxed. Tension fled his body and his shoulders shook as he joined her laughter.

Breathing deeply to contain herself, she stated, “ Apparently—as I was told—you saw me on the pier when I arrived in the port.”

“That is true,” Quinn confirmed. “I happened to be at the port coming in on a ferry from the coastal islands. I remember it was a very cloudy and windy day. The seas were rough.”

“Yes, they were,” Axandra recalled with him. “You saw me in that crowd?”

“It certainly was crowded, wasn't it,” he agreed. “Somehow, it was as though a sunbeam shown just on you—you seemed to glow. I pushed through the crowd trying to catch up with you, but you disappeared around a corner. I must have looked for you for a half-hour, checking inns and restaurants along the way.”

“I went straight in search of transportation to Undun,” she inserted into his story. “I happened on the bus depot and a bus that was just about to leave for the City. I wasn't thinking of anything else.”

“All so you could come here and be…who you are,” he marveled, gesturing at her as a whole. “I never thought I would see you again. When I saw your face on the announcement placard in Lazzonir, I nearly fell backward! I thought there was certainly no way you would ever want to see me. I wasn't going to walk right up to the Palace and say hello. That would be crazy!”

His hands gestured as he talked, animating his story and prompting continued chuckling. It all seemed so comical, how they had come to this point, sitting together. “The Elite would have chased me away. Then I realized that Sara was here all the time, so I asked for her help. I'd never felt so drawn to anything in my entire life—other than digging up the Ancients. I had to know what the outcome would be.”

“You certainly were determined,” Axandra noted. “Sara seems quite the matchmaker.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Quinn hinted, then skipped on. “My little plan seems to be working. Would have worked better if that Believer hadn't ruined things for me in Lazzonir.”

She frowned at him. “That isn't nice to say. Many of the Believers are very ill. They can't seem to control themselves.”

Clasping her hand apologetically, he sighed. “I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be nasty.”

She drew her hand away for the moment and looked across the library at nothing in particular. She didn't feel very relaxed at the moment. “It's just that I've worried so much about them. The Healers try to help them, but nothing works. And now we have to evacuate people due to the flooding. I'm letting everyone down.”

“What? You're not a miracle worker, Protectress,” her guest reminded emphatically. “You're a human being, just like the rest of us. You can't fix everything.”

“Aren't I supposed to be more?” she asked. She looked into his gray-blue eyes, searching for that answer. Maybe he would know. She didn't know why she thought he would have the answer, but she wished he would say something.

He responded with such certainty she believed every word. “The Protectress is not supposed to be better than everyone else. She is supposed to be just like everyone else. You are the people. And humans have a lot of flaws. You've done everything you have the ability or the right to do.”

Quietly, Axandra studied him and thought about what he said. He made such sense. She asked him another question. “Why are you here?”

“Here in Undun or here with you?” Quinn asked for clarification. He smiled as he said it and the tension seemed to fly out of the room. “If you mean here with you—I'm not sure, but I like it.”

Smiling, she said, “I like it too.”

She offered to let him freshen up for lunch, and after they ate the chef's preparations, they continued to chat and share their ideas with each other. Axandra's calendar was quite clear for the day. Since most of the world's resources were temporarily locked up in evacuating the coasts and redistributing food, most other matters were on hold. She gave him a brief tour of the Palace from the top to the bottom, showing him the Archives in the basement and the art work that graced every hallway and room. In the Library, Quinn pointed out articles about the Ancients in the collection of journals that graced the private shelves. He even found the very one that had sparked his interest in digging up the past. With boyish excitement, he read a few sentences aloud.

After all this, they took a long stroll out in the garden. The sky was draped in twilight with the suns already half hidden by the mountains. They walked in the shadow of the Palace. Around them and above them, five Elite stood watch, their vigilant eyes patrolling this maze of hedges and trees. Axandra was finally learning to ignore the presence of the guards. She wondered if Quinn even noticed them, because he seemed so at ease.

“What is your favorite color?” he asked her. He had been asking questions all day long about what she liked and what she disliked and reveled in their common interests as well as their differences of opinion. In this colorful place, it seemed a natural question to ask.

“Favorite color?” she returned with a question. “Do I have to choose just one?”

“You don't have a favorite?”

“All colors have their place,” she stated matter-of-factly. “The green sea, the lavender sky, the blue butterflies, even the brown of the soil. Without each color, there wouldn't be much to see.”

“Tell me which color you like the least,” he switched the question.

“Black,” she answered almost immediately.

“Very interesting,” he mused. “And not entirely uncommon. Now, black can be the absence of all light or the presence of all color. Which is it to you?”

“To me,” Axandra clarified, “black is a void. It is emptiness.”

“Ah. Interesting. Let me ask another one. If you were choosing an article of clothing, what color do you prefer to wear?”

“The context makes a difference, doesn't it,” she noted with a crafty smile. They strolled along very slowly, each step a deliberate stall for time. “I look best in pinks and purples.”

“Interesting,” he hummed, making a metal note. “The sky is purple.”

“Must you read so much into everything?” she complained. “Those colors go best with my skin tone.”

“Oh, everything means something, Protectress—”

“Please,” she halted at the sound of her title, wrinkling her nose at the word. “You may call me Axandra.”

“Everything – Axandra?” he questioned curiously, breaking his own thought. “I thought your name was Ileanne?”

She waved dismissively as she started walking again. “It is. But I—maybe I'll explain it sometime. Just not now.”

“All right. Well, where was I?”

“You were about to say 'Everything means something.'” She lowered her voice in a sad attempt to impersonate him.

“Right. It does, you know. Every moment has meaning.”

“So,” she stretched the word coyly. “If I were to hold your hand as we walked, that would mean something?” She reached to her side and caressed his thick hand, interlacing his fingers with her own.

Those round cheeks arched more as his smile spread into that giddy grin. “We both know that would mean a great deal. And, if I were to pluck this bloom, it would mean,” Quinn paused to choose a bright pink puff from the nearest bush, “that I am willing to disrupt the life cycle of this innocent plant to give you a beautiful gift.”

He gave a twist and the bloom broke from the stem. He presented the sparkler puff to her with a slight bow.

“A gift that will wilt and fade within hours,” she said, examining the puff with her nose and eyes. The perfume smelled musky, a subtle scent. The flower was composed of hundreds of tiny, slender tubes. The end of each flared open like the bell of a trumpet and bore a fringe of hair-like wisps.

“Now you read too much,” he complained, squeezing her hand.

Stopping on the path, they turned to each other, face-to-face, both pairs of hands entwined.

“What does this mean?” Axandra asked him. The sunslight was almost gone. Each of their faces glowed copper in the light reflected off the high–floating clouds.

“This means that I am being very serious,” Quinn told her. “I would like to see you again tomorrow. Will you extend me the invitation?”

“You don't have to leave,” she offered in a yearning whisper. Her body tingled and her heart pounded so heavily against her breast she felt certain he could feel the sensation through his skin.

“With so many eyes watching, that may not be the proper thing to do tonight,” he whispered back. His voice dripped with anticipation.

Forget about them
, she begged in her thoughts.

He heard her. “I can't forget who I'm with right now. I will come back tomorrow.” He started to loosen his grip.

She held fast. “At least kiss me?” she begged sweetly.

He responded without delay by pressing his thin lips warmly and firmly on hers, his breath against her cheek. She leaned into him.

Yet he drew away. “I-I have to go.” His voice cracked in his throat.

“But we haven't had dinner,” she offered, her voice ripe with disappointment.

“Dinner,” he chuckled feebly, somewhat out of breath as he increased the distance between them, “will only lead to me staying with you.”

“I know,” she admitted boldly. “Don't you understand? Come inside. Have dinner. Then we will let what happens happen.”

“Axandra—” he sighed. He fought the battle in his brain. Stay out of a desire for pleasure, regardless of what talk would come out the next day, or protect his respect for her and who she was. Strangely, the logical side prevailed in the fight.