The Destroyer Goddess (57 page)

"Ah. You're abducting her," Verlon guessed.

"I've already abducted her. Now I need a safe place to keep her until the child is born."

"What about Tansen and Mirabar?"

"Let's be optimistic and hope that Kiloran kills them both. If not, of course, then we'll have t—"

Verlon gave an ugly cackle. "You don't know, then."

Cheylan went still. "Know what?"

"They're both here."

"
Here?"
Cheylan said.

"Here in the east, I mean."

"Where?" he snapped.

"The ruins of Gamalan. Tansen is trying to end the bloodfeud of the eastern clans. Mirabar..." Verlon smiled unpleasantly. "No one knew why she was here, too. Until now, that is." When Cheylan didn't reply, Verlon added, "She's come here looking for you, hasn't she?"

"Dar curse that woman," Cheylan muttered.

"Maybe you are telling the truth this time," Verlon mused. "If she's come all this way in pursuit of the
torena
..."

Gamalan
.

It was too close to where he'd hidden Elelar.

"The
torena
's current prison is inconvenient. I need to move her as soon as possible," Cheylan told his grandfather.

"And bring her here? To live the remaining months of her life under my protection?" Verlon nodded slowly. "By all means."

Their gazes locked. Verlon tried to look reasonable and guileless. Cheylan smiled pleasantly. He knew this old man well, knew what he was thinking right now. Once Verlon had the unborn child under his control, he would be eager to get rid of the child's uncontrollable sire. Standing there with a bland expression as he leaned on his cane, the old man was plotting Cheylan's death.

However, Cheylan knew there was no better place to keep Elelar—
especially
if Mirabar was now so close—and certainly no hope that Verlon wouldn't find out what Elelar knew, as soon as she was under his roof. It was essential to give the old man a good reason to open his home immediately to the
torena
and make every provision for her confinement here; and this could best be accomplished, ironically, by telling him the truth. Once Elelar was safely imprisoned here, Cheylan would be obliged to kill Verlon, since he knew full well that Verlon would thereafter look for a chance to kill
him
.

So he was doing a little plotting, too. Of course, it would be very convenient if someone
else
killed the old man. So perhaps Tansen's arrival here in the east was a good thing, after all, even if Mirabar's presence in Gamalan was alarming.

"It was I who destroyed the Lironi alliance," Cheylan reminded Verlon, having always neglected to mention that Searlon was the one who did the actual work of making sure that Jagodan found his wife in bed with another clan leader. "So now, what are
you
going to do to stop Tansen from resurrecting it?"

"He and Mirabar should never have come to
my
territory," Verlon said grandly. 

"Well?"

"Don't worry," Verlon said. "I've made plans. They won't live through the night."

Tansen sat in the tumbled ruins as a murky, shifting twilight descended on him. This house still had walls, though the roof was gone. Had this once been his house? He wasn't sure. After killing Jagodan, he'd ascended to the cliff where his childhood home had once stood. Long abandoned and turned to rubble, this whole part of the village looked nothing like what he remembered, and try as he might, he couldn't tell which one of these heaps of tumbled rock had been his birthplace.

At least this one had a few walls still standing, though, so he chose to think it had been his home.

He heard a footstep close behind him, but he didn't flinch or move. He recognized her stealthy step, as he recognized the feel of her presence. He should have known she would come. He supposed he was only surprised she hadn't come sooner.

"They're not here," he said quietly.

He heard her come close to stand directly behind him. When she placed a hand on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and focused his senses on her.

"No," Mirabar said after a moment. "They're not."

"I'm not even sure this is the house we lived in."

"You had a grandfather..."

"And a mother and a sister." Tansen put his hand over hers. "A brother, too, but he went off to join the
zanareen
and died in the volcano... a long time before the massacre here." After a moment, he added, "I hardly remember him. Don't remember my father at all."

"Me, neither," she said.

"Do you ever wonder?" he asked. "About him or your mother?"

"I used to. But now I don't think they can be alive. Or if they are, they don't want me to know."

"Ah. You're the most famous woman in Sileria."

"Well, famous enough, anyhow, that whoever they were..."

"If they were alive..." he said.

"Or if they wanted me to know them..."

"They'd have come forward by now."

"Yes. I really think so."

Tansen said, "Your mother must have loved you."

"I know."

Children like Mirabar were usually killed at birth.

"Tashinar used to tell me," she said, "that someone must have cared for me. I don't remember anyone, but... I suppose it feels true."

"Maybe your mother died."

"Maybe so," she said. "Maybe that's how I wound up alone as I did."

"Before Tashinar found you."

"Living like an animal. Barely able to speak. Terrified. Hunted. Lonely." She put her arms around him and whispered, "I was so lonely."

Tansen didn't move or say anything. He couldn't. Just breathing took all his conscious effort. His heart started pounding, his mind swamped by her scent, her heat, her embrace.

Finally she said, "There was no other way. You know that."

"I liked him, Mirabar." He heard his voice break. "I always liked him."

"He liked you, too," she whispered against his hair. "I could see it. He wanted you to be the one."

"I didn't."

"I know."

Her hand moved across his chest and into the neckline of his worn tunic. He felt his head swim and his vision fade before he remembered to keep breathing. Her breath was warm on his neck, her cheek rubbing softly against his hair. He was trembling with waves of instinct and emotion that howled to be unleashed.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered.

"Yes," she murmured, smoothing her hands down his sides to find the hem of his tunic.

Tansen stopped her from pulling it up. "What about—"

"Don't," she said, tugging the frayed garment out of his grasp and sliding it up his back. "Don't bring anyone else in here with us."

"No," he agreed, feeling the hot rush of need flow through him unguarded now. "No one else. No one but us."

Her palms were warm against his skin as she pushed his tunic up. He ducked his chin and raised his arms, letting her pull it over his head. The night air on his naked back had never felt so soft before, so full of promise. Mirabar tossed his tunic aside as he turned to her, still seated, and drew her to stand between his legs.

Her eyes glowed like the heart of Darshon's caldera, and he would never look into another woman's eyes again without finding them dull and lacking. Her fiery hair was soft in his hands, tangled from the winds which had swept Gamalan all day. Her touch was firm, cherishing him, inviting him to be bold. 

There was so much to discover, so much to learn. All the wonders hidden beneath a
shallah
  woman's modest clothes. All the secrets hidden beneath a lover's skin. The whispers they had never exchanged before, the looks they had veiled, the desires they had kept secret and fiercely imprisoned. All this was theirs now, without reserve or thought or caution. It seemed incredible they had waited so long, and unthinkable that they should wait even a moment longer.

 He kissed her hungrily, feeding on her, devouring her, letting her passion sweep him away from the sorrow and regrets of the day, from the burdens of his duty, from the memories that haunted him and the doubts which consumed him. He inhaled her scent, floated on the music of her sighs, drank the sweetness of her love, and gave everything he had in return. 

"More," she murmured, sinking to the dust-and-rock strewn ground with him as they struggled with the last of their garments and discovered each other's bodies with fevered longing.

The damp heat of her kisses, the quivering warmth of her flesh, her once-small waist now thickening ripely with new promise... Her body was so firm from the hard life she had led, so lush with youth, so feminine and giving. Tansen ventured into this womanly land like a dry branch tumbling into the fire. He found the hollows of her neck, the soft skin behind her knees, the flowing wonder of her naked back... Unlocking secrets he hadn't even dared let himself dream about, exploring every curve and crevice which he had always forbidden himself even to imagine. In return, her lips sought every scar on his war-weary body, soothing the wounds on his spirit as she tasted the ones on his flesh. Her hands made him feel treasured, whole, healed. Her passion made him feel worthy, strong, triumphant... and also weak, helpless, and willingly vulnerable.

Love was a fire between them, sizzling where they touched, incendiary on their skin. It glowed in the breath they exchanged, their mouths clinging together, their arms fierce and possessive, their bodies straining to absorb each other. All the mysterious wonder of a woman's welcome had never before seemed so explosive, so tender, so rich and humbling and overpowering. He no longer remembered his sorrows or his fears, no longer even remembered his own name... But he remembered hers, and he said it over and over as they surrendered to a shower of darkness and light that eclipsed even the tempestuous passions of the volcano goddess.

"Really, Vinn, can't you be more thoughtful?" Baran chided. "That blood will ruin the carpet." 

"With respect,
siran
," Vinn replied, "damp ruined it years ago."

Baran pursed his lips and assessed the bloody assassin whom Vinn had hauled into his study at Belitar. "You were very zealous, Vinn," he observed. "He looks half dead."

"I wanted to be sure it wasn't a trick before I brought him to you,
siran
."

"Very wise." Baran looked down at the battered, splattered assassin and prodded, "Well?"

"Meriten is dead," the man said.

"You sound as if your nose is broken."

The man gave Vinn a cold glance. "It is."

Baran smiled. "Sister Velikar, a gifted healer, lives here. If I should happen to decide not to kill you, I may let her tend you."

The man was no newcomer to the Honored Society. Though undoubtedly in pain, he didn't show a flicker of fear. Or hope. He was well-trained, this one; but slightly stupid and a tad impetuous, to seek Baran out as he had.

"So Meriten is dead?" Baran mused, more pleased than surprised. 

"The loyalists," the assassin said through bloody lips, "have beaten him." 
      "So the Emeldari have prevailed. Led by that noisy fellow with the beard," Baran murmured. "Some relative of the Firebringer's, as I recall. What was his name?"

"Lann," Vinn supplied. 

"Ah, yes. Lann. Such a talker," Baran said. "Did I mention how much he
talked
the whole time I was journeying to Emeldar and back with him, when Mirabar sent me there before our wedding? Without ever saying a single thing worth listening to. Really, it's a wonder no one killed him years ago out of sheer boredom."

Their visitor looked a little perplexed by this digression, but gamely continued, "The Society has lost the Shaljir River and all the territory around it. For good."

"It almost makes one feel like celebrating," Baran said.

Vinn replied gloomily, "Well, it would if the volcano weren't threatening to kill us all now."

"Yes, the destroyer goddess does seem determined to ruin everyone's plans."

Could his pregnant wife, now somewhere in the east, even still be alive? Or had Dar decided to amuse Herself once again at Baran's expense?