Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (29 page)

Her crush…

The impact of the realization slammed home, flattening her under all the weight of those long and wasted years. A crush, an infatuation run amok. She’d built a sweet, safe dream around the simple kindnesses Findar had offered when she needed them most.

A crush she’d forced into love to stop herself from looking elsewhere, from risking, so she could keep her heart safe from those who might break it again—as Tharkin had, so brutally, in Fallorm.

She didn’t feel the glass slipping from her fingers.

It crashed by her right foot, the juice splattering over the marble floor, her caramel shoes, and the burgundy linen of her gown. Yanked from her memories, it took her several moments to gather her wits and realize what had happened.

She clapped a hand to her mouth and twisted to look at Kuramos, now standing in the doorway from the garden. “I’m so sorry…”

His gaze was down, staring at the pomegranate splotches, and at last he shook his head as if clearing a thought. “Please, don’t worry about it. That’s not even the first time it’s happened in recent days. But your dress, I’m afraid…”

“Oh.” She glanced down. “That’s nothing. The linen’s dark enough to hide most of it. Do you have anything to clean the floor?”

“Just a moment. Don’t move—the glass will be sharp.”

As he turned away, she realized she’d been presumptuous. As if he’d clean the mess himself, the sultan of all Kad! He’d call a servant to mop it up.

But she heard water flowing in his bath, and he returned with an armful of stark white towels, some dry and some damp.

Well then, he’d have her clean it up—after all, she’d dropped the glass. She held her hand out for a towel.

But he ignored it and knelt on the floor, quickly clearing the floor of shards and juice. Then, with a fresh towel and his powerful, warrior’s hands, the ones that had so recently roused her body with rhythm alone, the sultan gently mopped her silk shoes.

Varene didn’t breathe. She felt his touch along each of her toes, and imagined what it would be like if he continued that touch back to her ankle, up her calf, her thigh…so close and yet so far from him, separated only by her gown and shift.

As if he knew her thoughts, he moved from her shoes to the splattered hem of her gown. He pressed it between two clean towels, one hand
under
her skirts, ever-so-reasonably invading that private space of a woman. His dark head and sensuous mouth hovered near her waist, near…

She pulled back, out of reach. “Th-thank you. But the dress can be laundered, no need to waste time on it.”

He looked up then, into her eyes, the smallest smile curling the corners of his mouth. Varene’s breath hitched again. Heated blood coiled through her limbs.

She was lost. She wanted him,
craved
him—this man who set her senses aflame and made her soul dance.

Staring into her eyes, he rose to his feet. “You could always take the gown off.” His voice rumbled through her, a deep, rich purr. “Or…I could take it off you.”

She had no doubt that he could rip it off her with those hands of his. And she wanted him to, wanted to shred his own clothing with her eager fingers.

But she’d known the man for just three days. And she was leaving. This was all too fast, too soon, too wrong.

When she said nothing, he moved back to the garden and filled another glass for her, then picked up his own and came back inside. “When Burhan was a baby, he loved my drum. So I gave him one of his own.” He grinned. “Nearly drove my wives into fits.”

She accepted the glass from him and smiled, picturing the boy, his drum, and a fed-up household. “Perhaps you’re a little too good to your children.”

“They’re precious to me. I’ve lost too many.” He took a long sip, then came in from the garden. “Do you have any children, Varene?”

She froze where she stood.
Yes,
her soul cried. Her womb still carried the scars. So did her heart.

The guilt of the loss swarmed up her like a black cloud and her ring dug into her pinky. “No,” she said as lightly as she could. At least she
sounded
credible. And it was true enough, now.

But it was too much to handle, too much to think about. Her heart jittered and her pulse drummed an uncertain rhythm.

After a brief silence, she cleared her throat. “Kuramos, thank you for the lovely meal. My stomach is much happier now, after being empty all day.” She smiled so she wouldn’t appear as rushed as she sounded. “Unfortunately, I’m feeling a bit tired. It’s been such a long day. You don’t mind, do you?”

Disappointment flared in his eyes, but he covered it with a diplomat’s words. “Of course not. I thank you for your gracious company this evening.”

“It was my pleasure. Truly.” She glanced around, but there was no table nearby on which to place her glass.

He held his hand open for it, and she moved toward him reluctantly. His fingers closed just over hers on the stem. “Varene…”

“Goodnight,” she said firmly, and made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. There she was caught, wishing she could throw herself into his arms, forget the past and her scars, if even for a night.

After a long, jagged breath, she swerved from his hunger and hers and slipped away.

CHAPTER TWENTY

V
arene spent the night clutching her pillow and drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming of a man with sea-green eyes.

In the morning, Priya hovered by her bed. “My lady, there are patients for you to see.”

Varene shot up on the mattress, one hand clutching her groggy head. “The bird illness is back?”

“No, please don’t worry. Just a few people from the city who heard of you and hope you’ll help them.”

Varene pulled on her indigo silk gown, newly cleaned by the palace laundresses after the riot. She wolfed down a small breakfast and then she and Priya trotted to the Infirmary. Three grateful patients waited for her, along with the guardsmen that had escorted them in from the gates. Fortunately, the afflictions were relatively minor—a bronzesmith with a broken arm, an overworked confectioner whose stomach pains indicated an ulcer, and a potter with a skin rash that hadn’t healed in months. After examining his raw fingernails and exploring deeper inside him with her kyrra, Varene suspected an allergy to his favorite clay.

The Infirmary’s fourth visitor was the shopmistress who had supplied the sugarwort for the palace ill.

“Rupal!” Varene exclaimed with a broad smile. “Your sugarwort saved many lives.”

The proprietress seemed to have developed uncharacteristic nerves. She shifted from one foot to the other and finally shrugged. “I had a stash of it handy. You were the one who healed with it.”

“Has your stall been repaired?”

Rupal grunted her assent, then added a bashful grin. “The sultan was more than generous. It’s in better shape than before that infernal mob ran it over. Which, eh, brings me to why I’m here. The sugarwort was in good condition?”

“Indeed. Especially considering the beating it took during the riot.”

“Well—” the proprietress glanced down at her pointy-toed shoes. “I’d be happy to find more for you. Or other herbs and such. If you like.”

Sohad, who was wiping down one of the examining tables, chuckled and looked over at Varene. “I’m sure our herbal needs will increase with you around. If she’s to become an official supplier, there’s a protocol with the palace accountsman. She’ll need to apply through his office.”

“Rupal, I won’t be in Kad much longer.” She glanced out the window. “But Sohad’s right—if I have my way, herbs will be an important resource for the next Physician in these walls. If you apply soon, I’ll see what I can do to help. The quality of your goods has been more than proven.”

“Thank you for noticing.” The shopmistress inclined her head gratefully.

Priya touched the woman’s arm. “Perhaps I can take you to the accountsman’s office and remind him of your recent service to the sultan.”

They walked out together, escorted by the last guard. Sohad’s gaze clung to the petite handmaiden until she’d moved out of sight.

Varene leaned her hip against the table. “Have you told Priya yet that you’re fond of her?”

Sohad’s head shot up and he stared at Varene. “What?”

“Have you?”

“I’m not.” He moved away from the table, gathering up the rags.

“Of course you are. Admit it.”

He dropped the rags in a bucket and went still. “Varene…I’m not
fond
of her. I love her.”

She blinked. “Well, that makes things easier. Now you can tell her so.”

“I can just tell her.” Sarcasm threaded his voice.

“Can’t you?” She raised a brow.

“It isn’t a simple matter to give your heart away.” He washed his hands at the basin.

She spoke softly at his turned back. “Maybe it should be.”

“Why?” he asked, eyeing her over his shoulder.

She gave a self-deprecating laugh and reached for a jar of crushed beebane to put away. Now it was her turn to play with the equipment. “I…had feelings for a man named Findar for many years,” she said finally. “I never told him—I always assumed he’d realize it one day. There never seemed to be a hurry.” She studiously pushed the shelved jars into a straight line.

His gaze gentled. “Then why, if it took you so long to tell this man, should it be easy for me to say it to Priya?”

She fingered a whorl on the wooden tabletop between them. Love or crush, Findar had also been a good friend. “Because I realized, too late, that life can be ripped away in an instant. Or a slice of a thief’s knife.” Curiously, it was Kuramos’s deadly dagger that flashed into her mind as she spoke.

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” The compassion in Sohad’s eyes brought moisture to her own. “With all the powers you have for healing bodies, it’s unfortunate hearts can’t be mended as easily.”

“I’ve been thinking along those lines, myself.” Varene laughed and wiped away a tear before it ran down her cheek. “So much for omnipotence.”

His lips quirked. “About that…how do you understand how to do your magic? Is it inborn?”

“My
kyrra
is—the power for it, so to speak. But the knowledge comes like anything else. Through learning.”

He gave her a sideways look. “Do only the Tegannese have this kyrra?”

“No.” She smiled. “I know that for a fact. I bet Kaddites have it, too, just as we do.”

He feigned indifference, but curiosity won. “How would someone know if they have any?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘if’, but how much. Everyone is born with kyrra. It’s part of the soul. But some have much more than others. In Teganne, those with the most are trained to be mages. They protect the realm on many levels, including the magical.”

“You think your mages could hold off our armies?” His eyes glinted.

She raised a shrewd brow. “I notice that Kad hasn’t managed to invade, even over all these years. Your people took the strategy of physical might. Mine chose magic and the inborn power that fuels it. Is one strategy better? Who can say?”

She shrugged and tapped the table with her forefinger. “But Kad shuns all things magical. Even in your medicine. I’d like that to change.” Sohad was already curious, so she gave him a challenging smile. “To start, I’ll prove you have kyrra.”

He looked around surreptitiously, as if the very walls might spy on him, and then leaned forward. “What do I do?”

“Give me your palm.”

She put her right hand under the back of his. “Close your eyes and try to notice something…different.” She woke her own kyrra, reveling in its joyful song, then sought for his.

His brow furrowed. “All I feel is your skin below mine. What am I supposed to sense?”

“Some people think of it as a tingle, but it’s music to me. A rhythm—sometimes as deep as a drumbeat, and other times high like a piper leading me to the right way to heal.”

“Music? I’ve heard it sometimes, when you work.”

“An excellent sign, Sohad.”

His mouth tensed into a frown. “But I don’t hear any of those things now.”

“Wait. And listen.”

Tight wrinkles formed around his eyes with the intensity of his concentration. They soon evaporated in surprise. “There’s a…hum, sort of.”

“Yes?”

“Deep inside. Like a bee buzzing, trapped in a glass.”

“That’s it! And you’re the glass jar, Sohad. Open up and free the bee.”

Eyes still closed, he laughed. “It tickles!”

Joined at their hands, Varene laughed with him and nudged harder at his kyrra, now that he was connecting to it.

“Oh!” he said. “That feels good!”

“Does it?” roared the sultan of Kad.

Varene and Sohad let go and whirled to Kuramos, who somehow loomed even from across the room.

“G-Great Sultan,” Sohad began, his face turning a shade of alabaster. He ducked into a rapid bow. “The Healer was just t-teaching me…”

Kuramos’s glower intensified. “Teaching you
what
?”

“Just…just…”