Homecoming (10 page)

Wiley suffered through another hug and tried to look happy.

“And this is your cousin Urseya,” Jayems introduced a young woman near Wiley’s own age. A sloe eyed beauty of perfect dimensions and practiced poise, Urseya contented herself with kissing Wiley’s cheek and murmuring hello.

Wiley was grateful. She couldn’t take anymore damp hugs without jumping and running.

Fallon managed to tear himself from Jasmine’s side long enough for a proper greeting. “I look forward to renewing our acquaintance under these happier circumstances, dear cousin,” he said formally, then winked. “I’ll try not to tell too many embarrassing baby stories about you.”

She welcomed the laugh, and liked him better for it. His loose trousers and gold-trimmed tunic, cut in the Chinese style, made the blond of his queued hair all the more striking. There was little resemblance to Jayems or Keilor in him, unless one counted the strength in his face, or the intelligence in his green eyes. While he looked to be in his late twenties, she knew appearances were deceiving among their kind.

Many things were deceiving.

She was relieved when they sat down at the table. She and Jayems were seated at opposite sides, leaving her mother and her aunt to flank her. Poor Jasmine was looking strained, unsure what to do with Fallon’s attentions. He’d taken the seat to her left and spent most of the meal flirting with her.

Or maybe Jasmine was distressed with Keilor’s behavior. Wiley’s eyes narrowed as she saw the way he was flirting with Urseya. Nobody treated her friends like that.

“Is something wrong, dear?” her mother asked.

Wiley jerked herself back from contemplating Keilor’s death. She had her own backside to cover. “No. I was just … trying to remember things. I was very young when I … got lost.” She watched her mother closely, but all she Wiley saw was sympathy.

“Oh, let’s not speak of it again,” Rhapsody implored. “I don’t want to cry anymore. So many of our family were lost that day.” She held her napkin to her mouth while Urseya patted her gently on the back.

“Happy memories! We must replace our dreary past with happy memories,” Lady Portae announced. “Let’s start tomorrow. What do you say, Rihlia? Would you like to go shopping? We can have lunch together, just us ladies.”

What could she say? ‘No’ would have required an explanation. “That sounds like fun.” She looked at her ivory cup for a long moment, toyed with the gold rim. Memories were robbing her of any desire to play nice. She said slowly, “But I do want to know one thing. I was too young to remember anything at all, but how did I get lost?”

Conversation slowed, then ceased. All eyes moved to Rhapsody.

She took a deep breath. “We were attacked, as you know. The two of us were riding a stag together. When they came, our stag shied and threw me. You stayed on for a moment longer and fell off the other side. I assumed you’d run into the brush when I couldn’t find you, but I couldn’t get to you. Our own guards pulled me into their circle to protect me …” She let out a shaky sigh. “Most of them died in the battle, too.”

Wiley watched her mother, and then turned her eyes back to the cup. That was not

what happened.

Something made her look at Jayems. Whatever he saw, he gave her the faintest of nods. Knowing Jayems, he wanted to talk. Maybe the nod meant he would listen, too.

Time for a subject change. “Well, all’s well, and all that. Where was it you wanted to shop?” Wiley said, looking at her aunt. She couldn’t look at her mother, not then.

Jasmine excused herself early, claiming too much wine. Wiley waited a few minutes after she’d left, then caught Jayems’ eye. Maybe she looked as stressed as she felt, for he managed to excuse them without seeming rude.

Wiley endured more hugs, and then gratefully allowed Jayems to escort her to his rooms.

He waited until they were inside and she had plopped down on the couch before saying casually, “Now that your mother is here, if you would like to share rooms with her--”

“No!”

His head came up and he nodded, as if in self confirmation. “All right. Would you like some water, anything to drink?”

She was tempted to order a double, but shook her head. “Nothing. Thanks.”

He took the seat opposite her and rubbed his lower lip. “What did you want to tell me about your mother?”

She let the silence stretch as she considered what she knew of him, what her gut said about him. “She lied.”

“About?” he asked calmly.

“We were riding the same … stag.” Over the years she’d gotten confused, thought it was a horse, but now she knew better. “She jumped off and ran into the bushes. I got off the stag, but it was a long way down, and I hurt my foot doing it.” She took a deep breath. “I ran after her, but I wasn’t quick enough. I caught her scent, saw a glimpse of her, but that was all. She never slowed down, never came back. I got lost, running from the battle. I was so afraid they were going to catch me and kill me.” She could see the tree, remember parting the ferns … they’d seemed so huge to a child. She’d known they would smell her trail, so she’d kept running, falling, crawling. “It was some time before I noticed the trees had changed. I didn’t think much of it, was too scared to care. I remember finding the road …” The road that had ultimately led to an orphanage and years of hell.

She met Jayems’ eyes. “She lied.”

He was silent some time. “There is no way you could have misremembered? You were very young.”

“We got off on the same side of the horse … stag,” she corrected, angry at the slip. “I followed her into the bushes, calling her name. She looked back, saw me, and ran faster. She wanted me left behind.”

“She was found by the rescuing party with her remaining bodyguards. Keilor and I were there. If she left, we didn’t notice it, nor did we see her return alone.”

“How big was this battle, how old were you, and how scared?” she asked cynically.

He lowered his eyes as bronze colored his cheeks. “Point granted. We also lost our fathers and mothers that day. We were … distracted.”

She looked down and swallowed, feeling his grief. “Okay.”

He mastered himself and met her eyes. “Could she have panicked and made a wrong decision? Maybe she lied about how you were lost, but bitterly regretted her cowardice later? Could she not have truly grieved over you?”

“She left me, and she lied. I don’t need a mother like that,” she said flatly. She looked to the side. “I’ve seen some ugly things over the years, and I’m sure you have, too. You’re giving her a very mild reason to have run away. Maybe there was something worse.”

He drew in a slow breath. “You’re talking about conspiracy to kill her own family, Rihlia.”

“Wiley,” she said fiercely. “You’re the guy with all the connections, J. Why don’t you check it out?” She left for her room, slamming the door for good measure.

She hated it when he butchered her name.

Jasmine was hung over the next day and refused to come out of her room. Gritting her teeth, Wiley banged on the door one last time for good measure and stalked back to her room. She was going to hate her day.

She’d had a hard time falling asleep last night, then tossed and turned with foul dreams. Jayems hadn’t had time for breakfast. Whatever he was doing, his mind had been on it, not her. Not that she cared about that, but she had the morning to look forward to and it would have helped to talk to someone, even him.

Her mother, Portae and Urseya were waiting for her outside Jayems’ door.

Dressed to kill, they looked wide-eyed at her choice of black pants and her tank top.

Rhapsody smiled uncertainly, eyeing Wiley’s tattoo. “Are you ready, dear, or would you like time to change?”

“Nope. Let’s go.” Wiley refreshed her ponytail, feeling a wicked thrill of humor at their thinly hidden dismay. They reminded her of the rich chicks she’d seen slipping into Nordstrom’s, all glamour and glitz. No doubt they would be eager to make her over in their image.

She was right. Their very first stop was in a manicurist’s. Since she was just along for the ride, she let the girl there tackle her ragged fingernails. They were just going to get dirty when she dug up her new garden, but it was a novelty she’d had a mild curiosity about.

The hairstylist wanted to do an extreme number on her hair, but after arguing with him for five minutes, she fixed him with a look of promise and said, “Touch up the dead ends and leave it all one length, or I will teach you what a full nelson is.”

Her mother, who’d been on his side, paused in horror, then nodded quickly to the man. Maybe she was afraid of a scene.

Smart woman.

Wiley exited the salon with her hair in a French braid, a mild concession to her mother’s quest for a new look. Of all the good luck, a merchant was selling guitars across the street. Brightly enameled and oddly shaped, they drew her like cotton candy to a child. Picking up a hot pink and red model, she tuned it by ear.

“Oh, you play?” Portae said curiously, seeming a little relieved. Maybe she thought she was about to hear some ladylike ditties she could show off to her friends at teatime.

Wiley grinned wickedly, then played a few warm up chords, surged into a couple of hard rock riffs, then opened with a little Van Halen.

Rhapsody’s eyes got big. She looked left, then right, paling as she realized they were drawing an audience. Undecided, she stiffened and waited for the song to end.

Wiley rocked on, loving the surge in her blood as the music flowed through her. It was a wicked delight to tease her mother, and her smile grew in proportion. She finished the last notes with a flourish and saluted her audience, who clapped and cheered.

She handed the guitar to the bemused peddler with a grin. “Deliver it to Lord

Jayems’ room. He gives good tips.” Adopting an innocent expression, she walked on with her mother.

Rhapsody seemed to be searching for words. “That was … very surprising. I had no idea you had any musical interests as a child, or we would have gotten you harp lessons.” ‘Something more suitable’ remained unsaid.

Wiley laughed. “Good thing you didn’t. I like the guitar and the drums. If I’d started out on the harp, you would have ruined it for me.” Her eye was caught by a display of ready made clothes. “Oh, nice. I need one of those.” She picked up a pair of black pants made of a thick, silky material.

“Oh, you don’t want those,” Portae said quickly, making shooing motions with her fingers. “Those are male attire, for doing labor and such.”

“Exactly.” Wiley took two pair, one black and one brown, into the curtained alcove in the back of the merchant’s stall. They fit perfectly and felt even better than jeans.

“Sold.” She said when she came out. She picked out a few more pairs, some long sleeved shirts and a few shirts with tulip sleeves and Chinese collars and arranged for delivery. She even tossed in a couple for Jasmine, knowing she’d appreciate it. Dresses had their place, but she didn’t want to be stuck in them for the rest of her life.

Satisfied she’d covered the basics of her wardrobe, she turned to the rest of her party and took pity on their distress. Well, the older two were distressed--Urseya looked amused. “So, where else did you want to go?”

She was ushered into a dressmaker’s shop so fast her feet barely touched the ground. If the outside of the store had looked feminine with its pink and white striped awning and fancy mullioned windows, the inside was even more plush. Muted fawn walls washed with lime glaze surrounded a grouping of plush velvet couches and chairs.

The ceramic tile floors were softened with delicate floral rugs. Several ladies were waiting already, sipping tea. They looked at Wiley with curiosity.

The proprietor, a pretty redhead dressed in cream and strawberry robes, met them at the door and bowed her head respectfully. “My ladies. What may I do for you?”

Rhapsody took over. “My daughter needs an entire new wardrobe. We’re going to need simply everything.”

“It will be my pleasure to help, my lady. Please, follow me.” They were led to a private parlor and served tea and dainties. An assistant brought pattern books and swatches of material while the ladies looked through books.

Wiley was unsurprised to find that her tastes differed wildly from her mother’s. “I don’t do pink,” she said firmly when her mother pointed out a picture. “No pastels, no ruffles. I like this,” she said, pointing to a calf-length tunic. She liked both the sleeveless version and the one with sleeves. They looked especially good with a sash around the waist.