Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (25 page)

He narrowed his eyes. “First you were his champion, and now he’s your chaperone. And he’s not even here.”

“Please, Kuramos.”

“Why? Why are you asking this?”

She looked at the stone floor as she considered her words. “True freedom is hard to find. So often, the things we want are not…attainable. Or even good for us. But this wish of Gunjan’s, it’s easy to bestow.”

He sighed, flexed his fingers. “I owe you many life-debts, Healer. I find it difficult to deny you anything.”

She smiled her thanks. Then the smile turned mischievous and he felt himself harden again.

“In that case,” she said, drawing slowly toward him, “you won’t mind if I go tell Gunjan.”

She sidestepped and sped out of reach before he had the chance to react. At the door she slanted him one last, delightful grin and raced off.

He followed her out, but she was already striding down the hall, laughing. Rather than give chase, he paused in the hall and watched the mesmerizing sway of her hips, somehow accentuated by the long gown.

His decision was made. He would not allow her to leave Kad while his body still strained for her—not when the same lust coiled in her own gaze. He would bed her, and thoroughly, before she returned to Teganne. He would quench his ravenous need for her, fill the air with her moans of pleasure, until they were both sated and joyfully spent.

Whatever it was that stood in her way and pulled her back when she was on the verge of reaching for him, he would conquer it, destroy it. She’d depart from Kad purring with pleasure. Then they’d both be free of this infatuation.

As she turned the corner and left his lustful sight at last, he jettisoned the ridiculous, niggling thought that he didn’t want her to go at all.

“You
dare
insult the House of Zeyed!”

Astonished by the accusation and its volume, Kuramos pivoted around and found Sulya glowering at him, just yards away. His Sixth Wife’s hands balled into sharp-nailed fists and she charged toward him, fury reddening her face.

His gaze flicked behind her down the corridor. It was empty, but wouldn’t stay that way for long, especially with such outcries. “Wife, you forget yourself!” he growled, and yanked her with him into an unused guest room, instantly regretting his choice of location. The repose of the huge bed and its immaculate sheets only highlighted the rift between them.

Sulya launched toward him, ebony hair thrashing about her wild face. “How dare you discard me!”

“Discard? Thorns, what are you shrieking about?”

“And ‘Wife’?” she retorted. “How can you call me that when you’re dallying with someone else?” She jabbed a censorious finger toward the bed.

His jaw tightened. “Lest you forget, I had five wives before you, and they’re still my wives and lovers even though I married you.”

Her jade eyes widened. “So she’s next? She’s ensorcelled you! How could you fall for her over me—that pale wraith, that low-born witch—”

“A witch
who healed your son
!”

His words pierced her rage. She yanked back, eyes closing, and her head sagged to the side. “Yes, she did. I want to hate her, I have to hate her, but for that…” When her dark lashes lifted again, tears slipped down her cheeks. “O Lord, where is the man who used to carry me to bed, or lean me against the wall, or lust for me to ride him for long hours in the night—”

“Long since gone. You know that.”

“But why?” Desperation shrilled her voice and she reached for him. “I can do what you want,
be
who you want!”

He caught her wrists, halting her fingers. “It’s too late, Sulya.”

“No!” She struggled against his hold. “Once
she
’s gone, you’ll see. You’ll realize you still love me. Once she returns to her cursed Teganne and releases you from her sorcery, you’ll lust for me once more, will wish me in your bed, will pour your god-born seed into me and make more children—”

The resentment he’d long locked away surged forth, and it took everything in him not to throttle her graceful neck. “Children are all you have ever wanted of me. You covet my seed to sow your new Zeyedi dynasty.” He leaned down, so close he could count every lash that rimmed her conniving eyes. “You don’t love
me
—Kuramos—you love the Sultan of Kad and what he can do for you and the House of Zeyed.”

“No, no…” she moaned, her head whipping back and forth in denial.

“I fell for your schemes, Sulya, your whispered seductions. I married you, hoping our warring houses could finally rest. But to you, I’m merely a vessel that pours sovereignty into your bloodline. You already have Tahir—my beloved Tahir.” His voice broke at his son’s name. “But hear this: You will never have more of me.”

He thrust her from him and held her there at arm’s length. “It’s over. And it has been for such a long time.”

When he released her, she swayed, tears streaming down her face. For a deep, swift moment, he wished things could have been otherwise, and the pain of it coiled in his heart. But the bitter strength of his soul knew that their intimacy together was a lie—one now shattered. He’d been mourning the loss for days beyond count.

He stepped back, and she crumpled to the floor in a ball of grief. His heart ached as he looked down at her, but she would have to cry for both of them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

G
unjan, delighted to have his freedom, swooped in ecstatic circles around Varene as she strode to the harem courtyard, and then soared up to do loop-de-loops over the rooftops.

Varene checked Rajvi and found her almost completely recovered. Rajvi’s secretary was with her, helping the Sha’Lai catch up with administrative issues. Varene yearned to ask Rajvi the many questions she harbored about her marriage with Kuramos, indeed, about all his marriages—but kept her mouth shut, all too aware of her personal reasons for asking.

Leaving Rajvi’s quarters, she spied Priya entering the courtyard, bearing a tray of food and looking this way and that.

“Oh!” Varene hurried to the handmaiden. “I’m sorry—I forgot about lunch. I was supposed to be back in the infirmary by now, I know.” Her stomach growled as she smelled the spiced lentil stew, fresh bread and mangoes.

“Healer, is that you?” Maitri peered out of her quarters, her hair still damp from the hammam. “It is! And you and your handmaiden haven’t even had time for your meal, I see. You’re welcome to eat here in the shade. We have a fresh-brewed pot of lirrah.”

“Wonderful. My thanks.” She and Priya entered Maitri’s comfortable antechamber, with its many pillows and bookshelves lit by the window to the courtyard. Though Mishka had a separate suite adjoining her mother’s as all the children did, she was here making a long daisy chain, and quickly pushed aside the nearly depleted vase of flowers so Priya could lay the tray on the low table.

“Ah, Princess Mishka. You’re a thoughtful girl.” Varene gave her a smile and was rewarded by a shy gleam of Mishka’s dazzling green eyes, so very much like the sultan’s.

Varene settled on cushions beside the table. As Maitri poured the fragrant lirrah and Priya arranged the bowls of food, Varene realized the handmaiden’s lips were somewhat swollen and that her eyes held a faraway, dreamy look. After a few seconds of staring, Varene gave a mental squeal.
She’s just been kissed!

Varene resisted the urge to dance about the room, and instead inquired in the mildest of tones, “How is Sohad?”

Priya’s face flamed vermilion. “He’s…fine,” she whispered.

“Ah. Very good.” Varene hid her smile by sipping from the lirrahcup.

Priya straightened and looked humbly at the floor. “In fact, w-would you mind if I met you back at the Infirmary, my lady?”

Varene glanced at the tray. “What about your lunch?”

“I’m…not very hungry.”

“Make sure you get some sustenance into your body, Priya. You work too hard to go without.”
Though perhaps good kisses qualify as sustenance…
“I’ll be at the Infirmary soon. I want to examine our patients before I release them to their duties.”

“Yes, my lady. And thank you for your hospitality, my sultana and my princess.” Priya bowed and left.

Varene pointed at the food. “May I share this with either of you?”

“We’ve both eaten, but thank you,” Maitri said. “Would you mind if I continued sketching?” She reached for a sketchbook beside her chair.

“Not at all,” Varene said with interest. “I love art, but have no talent for drawing, myself.”

Maitri laughed. “You have other talents, though, much more crucial than these scribbles I do!” She gave a modest shrug. “It’s a hobby of mine. It passes the time.”

Varene glanced at the sketch Maitri was working on and forgot all thoughts of food. The vase of daisies had sprung to life on the paper, some of the flowers so realistic they seemed to quiver in the air. “What stunning work!”

“They’re just flowers,” Maitri said, her smile now resembling her shy daughter’s. “Nothing special. I drew quickly, since Mishka’s been removing them for her chain.”

“O Lady, this
is
special,” Varene said firmly. “You have a true gift. Might I see more of your work?”

The sultana’s chocolate eyes lowered, even as her grateful smile grew. “Mere doodles, that’s all.”

“Please, consider sharing them with me for a moment, I beg you.” She held out her hand.

Maitri riffled the edges of the paper leaves shyly, then passed the sketchbook.

The daisy vase drawing had been near the back of the book, so Varene looked through it from back to front, turning the left-hand pages with reverence. There were more than mere sketches in here, some almost full paintings. The images ranged from the garden outside and its denizens—tiny geckoes in the leaves and birds splashing in the fountains—interspersed with still-lifes of Maitri’s quarters and more of Mishka—smiling, sleeping peacefully, and even feeding the courtyard birds, her angelic face half-hidden by a fall of sable hair.

“These are gorgeous,” Varene whispered, turning at last to a portrait of Mishka cross-legged, weaving a daisy chain just as she was doing now. “Your lines are so evocative. You’ve captured her hands in such motion, I can almost see the next link rolling from her fingers.”

Maitri blushed and clasped her hands together. “Thank you. You said you love art?”

“Very much. When I was ten, my dream was to become a famous painter.” She gave a wry smile. “Eventually I found my calling as a Healer, and had no time to improve my painting, so I became a wistful enthusiast, instead. But you…these are exquisite.”

The sultana made a dismissive gesture and smiled. “Unlike you, I’ve found myself with too much time on my hands. I envy you.”

“Me?” She looked up in surprise. “When you have all this?”
And you’re married to Kuramos, too?

“As you said, you have a calling. Anyone can see how much you love your work.”

Varene gazed at her for a long moment. “What would you have done, if you hadn’t married the sultan?”

Maitri gave a delicate snort. “Much the same. The life of a highborn Kaddite woman is predestined: marriage and children. The only question is whose wife she’ll be, and her rank in his harem.”

The injustice cramped Varene’s stomach, and she glanced empathetically at young Mishka, who was reaching for another daisy from the full vase.

The
full
vase?

Varene frowned. Just a minute ago there had been only three daisies left, and now it was repopulated…

“But in truth,” Maitri continued, “I’ve been blessed. There is nothing I wanted in this life more than children. Fortunately, my husband knew how important this was to me, and he and Kismet were finally able to grant my wish.” She looked lovingly at Mishka, and leaned down to brush her fingers along her daughter’s string of white blossoms on the floor.

Varene found herself decidedly unwilling to hear any more about Mishka’s conception. For a distraction, she turned to the next page of the book. And there, in naked glory, lay Kuramos, sleeping in Maitri’s bed.

The envy that stabbed her heart soon braided with desire as her eyes traced the man’s form, his muscular back and taut buttocks, his legs tangled in the sultana’s sheets.

Pain won. She tore her gaze away and flipped the page before the sultana could notice. “H-how long have you had this sketchbook?”

Maitri sat back up and cocked her head to the side, thinking. “Since I married, most likely. Nigh on twenty years. But I have many others. It’s nice to feel a pen in my hand.”

I’m sure it was nice to feel his hot skin on yours.
The thought of the naked, rock-hard Kuramos kissing Maitri, splaying his hands on either side of her until she leaned back on the bed, so eager for him…of him making love to her, thrusting into her again and again until she quickened with his child…

Cold hands fisted around Varene’s gut.

“It’s done,” Maitri’s child softly announced. She rose to her feet, glanced bashfully at Varene and held out the long loop of daisies. “Healer, I made it for you. A necklace.”

With her mind whirling in surprise, Varene stared into Mishka’s green eyes—Kuramos’s eyes. She blinked and dropped her gaze to the gift, and a sweet warmth crept in and chased away the chill.