Heart Thief (13 page)

His trailing fingers grew bolder, stroking her head again and again, then stopping at the rapid pulse in her neck.

Only the tension between them, his movements, led her to guess at his feelings. She felt no emotions or thoughts from him. For the first time in her life she wondered what another felt.

She concentrated on what his movements might mean—the hesitation of his hands as they smoothed out the waves of her hair that had been strictly bound in braids and tied with spellthreads. Ailim guessed that he was inexperienced in tenderness between men and women, and her heart ached. What had his life been like?

She sought to think, but his hands upon her drowned any thought. She could only feel.

Warm palms touched her shoulders, fingers found the knots in her muscles. Awkwardly, with several shifts of position, he began to massage her. Nerves within her prickled as the gentle touch continued, then increased in pressure as if his fingers were learning a new art. Wetness dampened her eyes and Ailim realized that her tears weren't solely from released pain.

She blessed them anyway, since they kept her eyes from seeing what they shouldn't.

Thumbs brushed at her neck and she tipped her head to give him access to her tight muscles. She enjoyed being at peace and without any thoughts or emotions intruding on her own. If she listened, she might even be able to hear herself think over the pulse of her heart.

Except the delightful massage took all thought away. Her physical senses bloomed and her sheer awareness of everything fascinated her. She thought she could hear the trees drawing in an interminable breath, withdrawing deep into their bark to slow and prepare for winter. A small breeze rattled leaves, and she imagined them swirling and dancing in joy of being free from twigs and branches. The leaves and the grass and the brook scented the air with layers of fragrance she'd never experienced.

She recalled the fingers moving down her back were long. They hesitated to pursue a tangled spot of muscle or sinew, then continued. When she was utterly relaxed, hands stroked, comforted and discovered the shape of her back.

Heat rose within her, languidly unfurling from low in her torso to spread throughout her body. Tingles pulsated out from her temple along her nerves. Her blood pulsed low and steady, carrying the throb of desire. A unique desire flowing so sweet and heavy that she felt caught in a spell, too drugged to move, aching for the next caress of his fingers. She wanted more, to hear and feel and smell and touch and see. The way she had experienced all her senses yesterday when her Flair had been suppressed by Ruis Elder's Nullness.

But to break the spell would be to set a lightning bolt of duty and danger against the cobweb of ease and comfort surrounding her. Better to doze and be dazed.

The light of Bel was blocked an instant, and something softer than fingers grazed her temple. Mint, another scent she remembered from before and ignored. This time when she sighed out her breath, it was of yearning, of a great need that had opened inside her. He was giving, of his time and himself. Tears backed up behind her eyes that a simple touch of comfort could so move her. But she hadn't felt a gentle touch for more months than she could count.

His hand tangled in her loose hair again. One sifting of fingers and a harsh sound as he started to move away.

She couldn't let him go without acknowledgment. With sheer instinct, she flung out her hand, caught his hand and clung. She did nothing else, just held on to him, savoring his strength.

For a moment they stayed that way, then she felt the brush of his lips on her fingers before her hand was replaced next to her face. Then his footsteps strode away.

Ailim shut her eyes tight, and wetness overflowed. She could not look, could not openly declare the lovely feelings that passed between them. It had to be Ruis. But if she didn't see him, couldn't swear that it was a banished Ruis breaking the laws, she couldn't be forced by her vows as Judge to report him.

When he left her, he took all the new brilliance of her senses with him.

She sat up and removed the tracks of tears with a spellword, then began to braid her hair again. Tight.

 
The hallway to his old apartment was as dark and dank as
ever. Even several paces away, he could see that the door to his old rooms stood splintered and tilted in the corridor.

He hesitated, sure he wouldn't like what he'd see beyond the door. He strode to the door, grabbed it, and heaved it aside.

A stench hit him and he breathed through his mouth. He forced himself to enter. The mainspace was a wreck, and someone had relieved himself on what had once been a chair.

Something was wrong. He stopped as still as the dead door, then pinpointed why his heart sped and his throat closed. Another scent lingered, a whiff of an expensive men's cologne. The odor of Bucus.

Ruis swallowed, and swallowed again, pushing away images of his uncle leaning over him with a razorslit. Smiling. For some reason GreatLord Bucus Elder had visited his nephew's lair. Ruis relaxed his tensed muscles, lifted a shoulder, and let it drop. So his uncle's presence still triggered physical reactions, so what? He'd live with it.

His eyes went to the hidden cache in the far wall. If Bucus had found the T'Birch necklace or the gems, they'd be gone, secreted away by fat greedy fingers into a secret treasure box. Bucus might someday sell the Earthsuns, but would hoard the necklace to use it against Ruis.

He scuffed through the mainspace, kicking up debris at each step. He licked dry lips. The last time he'd been here, the earthmotor had been the size of his head. Now he couldn't discern the remnants. Not one piece of the shabby furniture was whole. The odor got worse as his meager food rotted where it'd been thrown from the coldbox. Ruis counted bricks to the cubby. He pulled the brick out and reached inside. His fingers touched the rough leather of a satchel, and as he drew it out a metallic clink told him the T'Birch necklace was still safe.

Moving to an empty wall-shelf, he opened the case. Two uncut Earthsuns stuck into a fabric pocket now gleamed golden, picking up Bel's final rays.

He'd spent the day outside in his old world, in a culture that reviled him. He'd seen and touched his Lady. It had been a good day, better than many he'd had.

The cloak had hidden him from observation, and he'd taken care not to break any spells or stay close to anyone.

He closed the satchel. After one final look around, red tinted his vision and he shook his head, struggling to clear it of wild ideas of vengeance. His body trembled with the urge to lash out at Bucus.

When he sucked in air, the scent of Bucus came again. And anger won. Whirling, he slammed a fist into the wall. Old brick crumbled around his knuckles, pain shot up his arm. He stilled until the sweat beaded on his forehead dried, then withdrew his hand. The cloak caught on shards. He froze. He couldn't afford to damage the light-bending cape. He lifted the odd cloth bit by bit until it was free and flung the cloak back over his shoulders. He shook his hurt hand and swore. The injury wasn't as bad as it could have been, the wall was too rotted for that, but it hurt. Once again he'd given in to anger, and once again the only one he had harmed was himself.

“Ruis,” a voice hissed from the doorway. “Ruis Elder.”

Ruis spun, swinging the satchel. A slight form darted into the room and past him to hover by the window.

“Ruis Elder.” A young man of about nineteen grinned at him, showing canine teeth filed to points and gilded with the iridescent Celtan metal of glisten. He jittered with twitchy energy, shifting often, darting glances around. He wore black trous and shirt, cuffed at ankles and wrists, of good material but oversized for his body.

He held up both hands, palm out. “Truce, quarter-septhour?”

Ruis needed to find out how much the youth knew. The boy's eyes were dark with an edge of something disturbing—madness or viciousness or desperation.

“You want to talk to me?” Ruis kept his voice low and menacing.

Light flashed off teeth again. “Watched you, before you caught.” He spoke the rough short-speech of Downwind. Twitching his shoulders, he cocked his head toward the open door. Glisten-capped teeth spoke of a triad—three boys linked by the Flair of them all into one mind, functioning as one person. And the unstable triads ran with gangs.

Ruis had never tangled with a triad and wondered how his Nullness would affect them. Would there be some sort of reverberating shock? Or would he break the triad bond?

Nerves and discomfort bordering on paranoia showed in the youth's rattled state. With T'Ash's new Downwind youth centers, the gangs were slowly dissolving. Testing for Flair was common now, and the young men were being directed into careers. Only the worst gangs remained.

“Heard you banished, but didn't think you coward to leave.” The youth smiled with more amusement now, and Ruis liked it even less. “Didn't think fliggering nobles scare you. Hee, hee, hee,” he wheezed. “Watched this old hidey. Heard you. Came.”

“Who—” Ruis started.

Loud male voices interrupted. “Did you see where the kid went? Let's check the Null's old place again.”

There came the sound of spitting. “Those rooms stink!”

A rumble of laughter answered. “Yeah, noble piss don't smell no better than any other.”

The other man snorted. “Imagine wanting to do that to your nephew's place. I can't stand the stench.”

“Huh! We're gettin' paid to watch the building. I saw the kid come in.”

“The kid is just a kid. There's no sign of him now, prob'ly got his own burrow somewhere else in this lousy building.”

The boy swore under his breath and swung out the window into the courtyard. Ruis gathered his cloak around him and settled into a crouch, one odd shape among many. Cold air poured in from the open window.

Loud steps paused outside the threshold. “See? Nothin' there. Can't figure out why T'Elder'd think the Null bastard would return. Nothin' for him here.”

“Pew! Almost puts me off my feed.”

“Yeah, it's time for dinner, awright.” Lips smacked.

“Come on!”

“I want some clucker with noodles.”

“You always want noodles, but I'll let ya have some if we play Dice later.”

The other snorted. “Your gamblin's gonna get you in trouble someday, Sloegin.”

The footsteps faded from the hall.

Ruis waited until silence shrouded the building before standing, then slipped from his old apartment into the alleys. If Bucus's bully-boys found him before the guards, Ruis would disappear quietly and permanently. He'd fight and die before he fell helpless into his uncle's hands again.

Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream. Danger from the guards. Danger from his uncle. And now danger from the youth. But Ruis was willing to bet that the teen would be known to the guardsmen, too. A chill slithered down Ruis's spine, cooling his ire. He'd never quite figured out why Bucus had wanted him dead.

The sun had set and the afterglow was fading. Ruis rubbed his jaw. He saw no signs of the two other young men who were linked to the teenager who'd spoken to him. The youngster's flight bespoke a criminal wariness. Ruis vividly recalled how it felt to be young and nervous and hunted. His first year on the streets of Downwind at fourteen was imprinted on his brain in horrible vignettes that could still sweat him awake.

The satchel with the T'Birch necklace and gems bumped against his leg. The necklace was the last of his thefts. The emeralds had been useless in focusing his reconstructed lazer. Now all he wanted to do was restore them to the Birches.

His mouth tightened as he thought of D'Birch and her lies at his trial. The Birches had voted for his death. His gut burned.

Think of something else. Something pleasant. D'SilverFir came to mind and his temper dissipated as he recalled the silky mass of her hair under his fingers, her skin pale and beautiful and soft, how her body had relaxed and yielded under his hands. Without trying he could remember her scent, her lovely features, and the thrill of knowing his touch was welcome. Not flinched from, not endured, but welcomed. There was a true Lady, a woman of honor and integrity, one who cared about others. He'd learned that much when he'd listened to her decisions in JudgmentGrove.

Holm Holly had watched her for a septhour in the Grove, noticing her as a woman. Holly could be looking for a wife. Ailim D'SilverFir would be high on any noble's list as a good alliance. Ruis sucked in cooling air.

But she'd been aware of Ruis. He knew she'd sensed him when he'd dispelled her Flair, and he knew she'd liked his company.

Ruis draped the cowl over his head and made sure he was covered before stepping out of the alley.

Six