Pixilated (14 page)

"I promise."

Kayseri watched Kree pluck the vial of
Goddess nectar out of his field kit and turn it between his long
fingers. There was an odd look on his face...wistful.

"Are you going to use your nectar to make
yourself better?"

He stood slowly, like an old man, tucked the
vial under his belt. "It doesn’t work that way, little girl. Nectar
isn't a magic elixir. Oh. Sure. I’d feel stronger, but it’d be an
illusion. One meant to keep a Goddess-born man on the battlefield
long after he should quit. I’m going to feed a few drops to Eldren.
If you really want to help me, keep Sandahl out of the way."

Kayseri entwined her arm through his and
sighed. She was back to being little girl. "How will it help
Eldren?"

"It will give him a quick peaceful
death."

***

Sandahl drew herself up to her full
four-and-a-half feet, every inch, a princess of the First House,
and fixed Kree with a steady gaze. "I have heard that Templemen
accept contracts. Is this true?"

Kree regarded this little marvel of a
princess with frank admiration. Just less than two hours ago, she
had wept inconsolably because he told her they had buried Prince
Eldren in the ground. She shuddered when he said ground.
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to do. Kree didn't know shit
about the elfish idea of afterlife. Now Sandahl stood before him,
full of regal composure, asking about Temple contracts.

"Some do, Princess."

"Do you?"

"I am not a Templeman. I am Goddess-born.
There is a huge difference. I have not practiced my faith in years,
but, yes, in a way I suppose you could say I do. My garrison and I
are contracted to the Great Ladies in Elhar."

Sandahl wet her lips with the tip of her
tongue. "Exclusively?"

Kree frowned. "Are you offering me a
contract, Princess?"

Sandahl advanced two steps and spread her
hands in supplication. "My prince-protector insisted I do so."

Kree felt his face turning dark as a
thunderhead. That thrice-damned elf had not trusted him. All right,
maybe he hadn't given Eldren much reason to trust him, but
hell...it brassed him off. Seriously.

Contracts, like everything having to do with
the Goddess Namar, required an offering of passion or pain, usually
from the one making the contract. Since Kree wasn't about to bloody
the princess, and passion was out of the question, he sank to his
right knee. That way he could rise on the uninjured left. It was
not correct form, but it was preferable to pitching over on his
teeth when he tried to stand. Blood sealed the pact, not the form.
With one of his gryphon knives held parallel to his chest, the
razor sharp edge resting on his palm, Kree glanced at Sandahl.
"Place your hand on top of mine." She did as he instructed and he
closed his hand tight on the blade. Blood welled, overflowed his
fist, staining the steel and Sandahl’s tiny hand.

"I will see you to your destination. This
promise, I give you in my blood." Kree brought the knife to his
chest so their bloodied hands touched his heart. "I live to
serve."

He stood, slower than he would have liked.
"There. You have a blood contract, Princess. May it satisfy your
damned prince-protector." Anger roughened his voice, turning velvet
into sandpaper. He quit the house, slamming the heavy wooden door
so hard the windows rattled.

"My prince said the captain would not like
it. He did not say he would be furious." Sandahl shuddered. "I
should not have done this."

"Your lion has a thorn in his paw now.
That's a certainty," Greta said, as she finished packing a hamper
for their journey.

Kayseri carried the hamper to the door. "My
Captain made the oath freely. No one forces him to do anything,
Sandahl. He’ll be fine."
I hope
. She had no wish to spend
the rest of the trip tiptoeing around a surly Kree Fawr.

She glanced at him through the window as he
packed their gear onto their horses with Hob Woodstock's aid. He
laughed at something Hob said. Out of view, as he believed he was,
Kree moved slowly, paused often, favored his injured leg. What a
strange creature he was.

Mistress Greta assured her that men in love
behaved strangely, but Kree was not in love with her. He hated her
race. Hadn’t he said as much? She used to be able to read him, but
not anymore. How had five short years changed her open, easy-going
captain into a quick-tempered, complicated riddle? He was fire and
ice, sunlight and thunder wrapped up in one delectable package.
Kissing him last night made her heart stutter. Just looking at him
made her stomach tingle, made her hot between her legs. Kayseri
heaved a heartfelt sigh. What was that all about?

***

The homey scene greeting Kree when he came
inside to collect his charges did not improve his mood. There was
Kayseri, heart stopping beautiful, damn her eyes, bustling about
the kitchen while the old woman and the little elf princess washed
and dried their breakfast dishes. It echoed of home and family.
Something he had longed for and could never have.

"The horses are ready, Princess. We’d best
get going." Kree picked up the hamper. "Thank you for your
hospitality, Ma’am. Today or tomorrow men may come looking for us.
Say I forced you to help us. Say nothing about the Garrison at
Qets. Tell these men that I am Goddess-born, a Gryphon of the
Temple." He flashed a quick crooked grin. "It’s a solid fact, and
if they are Templemen, it might make them rethink their choice of
contract. I’ve told Hob to do the same. I’d not see your household
suffer for your kindness."

"I’ll do that, sir." Greta gave Kree a
motherly buss on the cheek and whispered. "Don’t be too hard on the
little one, sir. It weren't her idea."

Kree knew this, but he was through playing
warrior-fool for a bunch of Wilderkin. All he wanted was to finish
the dammed contract, get Kayseri safely home, and hope he could
avoid her for rest of his days. His gaze flickered over her.
Damnation. Maybe he’d make war on Malachite. There was nothing like
a nice little war to make a man forget his troubles. "Let’s get
underway, Princess. Daylight’s wasting." The princess darted an
anxious glance at Kayseri. Good. He hoped to the hells he did
frighten them.

Chapter Eleven

Kree's party traveled southeast throughout
the morning leaving the foothills behind. The sky was a bright
clear blue promising another fine hot day. Kayseri and the princess
rode before him shaded from the twin suns by broad brimmed straw
hats courtesy of Good-wife Woodstock. He followed exactly one horse
length behind. The arrangement allowed him to watch the trail and
afforded him an ample reaction zone, but best of all it discouraged
conversation. He was in no mood for conversation although it did
not prevent the ladies from trying. Twice they dropped back
alongside him. Twice he ordered them forward.

It was a joke really. He was only going
through the motions and he knew it. If they came under attack
today, he could do little to protect his charges. He had lost too
much blood. This was what? Three days in the saddle on a couple of
hours sleep. He was too tired to plan anything beyond their next
rest stop.

His ribs plagued him with every jarring
movement and made it difficult to draw a breath. The newly closed
gash on his leg throbbed in time with the horse’s gait. His craving
for Goddess nectar was—Namar's bloody tears. It did not bear
thinking about. Still a man did what he could. Accordingly, Kree
arrayed his party for optimum defense sure that the only thing he
could do for his charges was die well. Hells. He'd have to work
pretty damned hard just to manage that. What would happen to
Sandahl then? What would happen to Katie? He let go of a soft
stream of curses. He should have left Kayseri at the woodcutter's
cottage.

Kree's gaze shifted to the wild half-pixie
woman who commanded his heart and mind these days. Luscious black
curls spilled down her back and brushed against the saddle’s tall
cantle. It was a sight to see. Kayseri rode in strict emulation of
the troopers she had grown up watching, backbone straight as an
arrow with a good steady hand on the reins. Kayseri had a good
seat, a very good seat. She’d needed no lessons. Pixies and horses
don't mix. What a fool he was.

When she had kissed him last night, Goddess
help him, he had lost control. The memory shamed him. Where was his
discipline then? Discipline was practically his middle name, and
this was a good thing because he was a see-the-hill-take-the-hill
sort of fellow, with the all the natural restraint of a twelve year
old.

But the mere sight of Kayseri's bottom
moving in the saddle set a fire in his groin, adding one more layer
of discomfort to his already miserable ride. What the hell was he
going to do about Katie? Not one damned thing, that’s what. She
shot a glance over her shoulder he could not decipher. Kree huffed.
He used to be able to read Kayseri. Not anymore. How had five short
years changed a charming, sweet little girl into a temptress bent
on his destruction?

He moved his horse up alongside his charges.
"According to the map, Princess, there is a small lake over the
next rise. We’ll stop there and get out of the sun for a
while."

Sandahl brightened. "What a splendid idea!"
Then she raised her chin a fraction. "If you think it is
necessary."

Elves. I’ll wager she can’t even feel her
legs, and she asks me if I think we need a rest.
Kree wiped the
sweat beading his upper lip off with the back of his hand covering
the weary smile lurking there. "Yeah, it is. I’m pretty whipped,
Princess."

The Wilderkin reined in at the top of the
rise and waited for him to come abreast again. The glen was
secluded, inviting, and, best of all shaded by tall Cypress trees.
The lake looked so cool and clear the captain felt refreshed just
looking at it. He lifted Sandahl off her mount's broad back, and
watched her totter painfully into the shade to stretch out on the
cool grass.

Kayseri swung down from her horse and tugged
his sleeve. "My Captain, we have to travel slower. I don’t think
Sandahl can keep up this pacer."

She looked up at him expectantly, but Kree
made no answer. The only words that came to mind were not things
she needed to hear. After half a day’s hard riding in the blazing
suns, a woman ought to look—he didn’t know. Weary? Sweaty? Not
Katie. Oh, no. Velvety lashes framed deep brown eyes so warm they
melted the door to his heart, a door he had thought bricked over
years ago. He fought the temptation to take her in his arms by
ignoring her. It proved more difficult than he imagined with
Kayseri standing so close to him he smelled Good-wife Woodstock’s
homemade almond soap on her skin. It was enough to make man dizzy.
Her delicate nostrils flared and spots of anger bronzed her cheeks.
Goddess above, he was in for it now.

Kayseri snatched the hamper from him,
stalked over to the princess, and laid out their picnic of venison,
apples, and cheese on the red blanket the good-wife provided.
Fortified by several deep breaths, Kree followed with the
wineskin.

What should have been a delicious repast was
dust for all the pleasure he took in it. To her credit, Sandahl
tried to ease the tension between Kayseri and himself. She talked
of Nhurstari art and protocol subjects in which Eldren had
thoroughly educated her. She stove, without success, to draw them
into the conversation.

Kayseri was not interested in anything
beyond starring daggers at him. Kree could almost see the wheels
turning in her head plotting ways to get even with him for snubbing
her. Her ire was fine by him. Anger was a safer emotion. At the
very least, it was one he could to deal with.

For his part, Kree cared for nothing elfish,
and he was too tired for pretense. The torturous meal finally
ended, and he stretched out on his stomach in the deep shadow of a
Cypress tree. "I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes,
ladies. Enjoy yourselves. But keep alert, and don’t wander out of
ear shot."

***

Sandahl and Kayseri walked arm in arm along
the lakeshore. "You must settle your differences with the captain.
Apologize to him."

"My differences! You’re the one! He’s been
brassed-off ever since you asked him for a contract. He’s..."
Kayseri sputtered with impotent rage. "Impossible! He cut me dead
just now. He's the one who owes me an apology."

Sandahl sat on the bank and took off her
slippers and stockings. "I don’t see that happening. Do you? You
and my prince-protector tricked him into accompanying us did you
not?" She dipped her feet into the water and leaned back on her
arms with a satisfied sigh. "We cannot continue like this. He is
scarcely speaking to us. Someone has to make the first move."

"Then you make it. Apologize for insisting
on a blood contract. That’s what set him off. He was fine before
that." Kayseri slipped off her moccasins and dipped her feet in
too. "I haven’t done anything to him...lately. Did I tell you he
wanted me to stay with the Woodstocks?"

The princess bundled her skirt up and wadded
out the clear water. "Oh, I’m so glad you talked him out of it,
Kayseri. I've wanted to ask you to stay with me in Nhurstari. I
feel so alone without Eldren. My Sar Vashada believed your captain
would not help me unless I bound him to me in some way, but I think
he was mistaken. I think I should have trusted in Kree."

Kayseri waded out to her. "So you’re going
to apologize to him?"

Sandahl nodded. "Yes. Yes, I am, and I think
you should too."

"But I haven’t done anything!"

***

Giggles woke him, high-pitched, delighted,
girlish giggles mingled with splashing water. He grinned at the
sight of his Wilderkin charges shrieking and darting about in the
lake like a pair of mermaids. Kree was not much of a swimmer. His
first lieutenant claimed it was because he had too much dense
muscle and too little buoyancy. The man was probably right. Duncan
was a bona fide genius. Still and all, splashing around in the
water was a fine way to cool off on a hellish hot day. For a
moment, Kree considered joining them, but only for a moment. The
idea of being nude or nearly so and in close proximity to Kayseri
invited the very kind of disaster he was desperate to avoid.
Better, he stay right where he was.