The Kraken King (53 page)
Though quietly spoken, his voice was like gravel. “Slower now?”
Because he was going to last a long time. Heart racing, she nodded.
His dark gaze searched her face. “And my seed—should I come inside you?”
Inside her. She wanted that, too. To take more. No matter what came of this time with him, whether it lasted a moment or a lifetime, she wanted everything he had to give her.
“Yes,” she said.
Fierce triumph raced across his features. Roughly his mouth found hers again, and he moved inside her on an endless stroke. Raw pleasure rolled through her body on an sensual wave, no longer a raging storm but a rising tide.
Oh, and there was so much more to discover. His scent mingled with hers and the humid night air, creating the most luscious perfume. The slick muscles of his back flexed beneath her hands and her fingertips explored the valley of his spine. She hadn’t known that there would be laughter here, but she found it in the sheer joy of being with him, in the sweet madness of it all, and he quietly laughed with her before murmuring in Mongolian against her lips. This time she understood everything he said, because it was murmuring within her, too, indelible as ink, as if his name had been tattooed beneath her skin.
“Ariq,” she whispered, and his kiss was hotter, the storm coming again after that long, intimate lull. He swept her up with it, surging deep. Clinging to his shoulders, her legs wrapping his waist, she rode it out, his touch the lightning, her heart the thunder.
She cried out when it broke, crashing through her in shattering waves. Back arched, her body quaking, she heard his groan. Mouth hot at her throat, he pounded into her before stiffening, his powerful arms braced by her shoulders, his body a strung bow. The pulse of his release within her swollen channel made her shudder again, and the sight of him above her, head thrown back and his muscles carved from stone.
Then he was flesh again, kissing her, rolling to his back and bringing her over. Gently, he withdrew from her body. Warm seed trickled between her thighs, but getting up was impossible effort for now. Drained, she lay upon his heaving chest.
There was so much to say. So much. But she had no words left at all.
XXIV
Through the window, the stars still ruled the sky. Aside from the distant sound of the ocean below, all was quiet. Ariq didn’t know what had awakened him until he heard Zenobia’s sigh.
Wearing her nightdress, she lay against him with her warm bottom tucked against his stomach, her head pillowed on his left biceps, and her breast cradled in his right hand. Mara and Cooper had told him that she never slept well. Apparently not even in his arms—not even after the night they’d spent, turning to each other again and again. Even Ariq had been worn down by the end.
Worn down, yet full of hope. She hadn’t only let him into her bed; she’d accepted his seed. His wife was far too practical to risk a child if she didn’t intend to stay.
And her walls were crumbling.
Not quickly. She hadn’t declared herself yet. Perhaps she’d decided to wait until her brother arrived before fully committing—following her sensible plan to learn more about each other first.
Ariq knew all that he needed to, but he could be patient. Zenobia Fox was well worth waiting for.
Her soft nipple hardened against his palm. She suddenly lifted her head and looked back at him, as if realizing that he’d woken. Long strands of hair tickled his ribs as she turned in his arms and slid her slim thigh between his. Shadows concealed her expression, but a flash of teeth revealed her smile. She angled her face up and gently kissed him.
“Good morning,” she whispered, then laid her head on his arm again.
Though there was no one else in the chamber to wake, his reply was as quiet as hers. “Good morning, wife.” If the heavens smiled on him, he would say it every morning for the rest of his life. “You can’t sleep?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She shrugged a little. “Thinking.”
And it troubled her enough to keep her awake? “Of what?”
“How to kill someone. Whether it should be quick—or more affecting to let him suffer for a while. And if I should make it obvious who murdered him or reveal the truth later.”
Her story. Before she’d fallen asleep the previous night, she’d laid her notebook and pencil by the bed. Now he understood why. As soon as she discovered her answers, he expected that she would be scribbling them down.
She shifted her weight, wriggling closer to him—and stilled. “Are you ready again?”
For her, he’d always be ready. But although his cock had been stiff since waking, he hadn’t been thinking of taking her again so soon.
Not until she’d suggested it. Immediately his erection hardened further, began to ache. His palm slid down her back to grip her hip.
“Do you want to?” Upon her hesitation, Ariq realized he’d asked the wrong question. “Are you sore?”
“A little.”
“Then we’ll wait.”
She shook against him with a muffled laugh. “I thought yesterday would be the end of waiting. But now I’ll be desperate for tonight to come.”
Ariq would, too.
Her forefinger trailed down the center of his chest. “You don’t mind?” she asked.
“That you’ll be desperate?” Not at all.
“That I put you off.”
“No.” If she couldn’t enjoy it, he wouldn’t either. “We’ve promised to accommodate each other’s customs.”
She came up on her elbow. “And?”
“I can take many wives. So if you can’t see to my needs, I’ll marry another.”
“I see.” With a disdainful sniff, she lay down again. “Where I come from, I’m allowed to take fifty husbands. All of them richer than you. And with bigger penises.”
How could he love her more? Yet he did. It filled him until his chest burned, and a long moment passed before he could tell her, “Marry them, then. They’ll never have you in bed.”
“Will you fight them all?”
“I won’t need to. If their cocks are bigger than mine, they’ll never get into you.”
She sucked in a strangled gasp, then hid her face against his chest as she laughed. He grinned, then caught her chin and kissed her.
But this was something she should know, too. “Never,” he said softly. “I will never touch another.”
“I wouldn’t, either.” She looked up at him, her fingers idly tangling in his hair behind his ear before her chest lifted on another sigh. “Helene said she’ll visit today. You’ll be out?”
“Yes.”
“Should I remind the ambassador that you can’t eat with the mask on? Or will you come back at midday?”
He’d gone longer than a day without eating. But he kissed the top of her head and promised, “I’ll try to come back.”
To see her, if for no other reason.
She nodded, then asked, “Is the war machine so very terrible? The Horde has so many. I can’t believe that one machine is so important that the admiral and the general would risk all this. Is it big?”
“Yes.”
“How big? This tower has twenty levels. If the machine stood next to it, which level would it reach? The tenth? Eleventh?”
“If it stood beside this tower, you could look out that window and still only see the machine’s base.” At her gasp, he said, “They called it the Skybreaker because my father wanted a machine that could tear Khan Tengri from his seat in the Eternal Blue Sky.”
“Good heavens,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“How did such a thing remain secret?”
“When my father was killed, most of those who knew of it were killed with him.” And their heads mounted on pikes. “If there were any aside from my mother who lived, they must have decided to stay quiet as well. You don’t ask me where it is?”
He’d thought she would. She asked about everything else.
She shook her head. “I know what it is to have lives depend on the secrets you keep. I
do
wonder. But it’s dangerous knowledge, isn’t it? Your town is threatened because of it. The whole western coast. So although I’m curious, I don’t need to know.”
do
wonder. But it’s dangerous knowledge, isn’t it? Your town is threatened because of it. The whole western coast. So although I’m curious, I don’t need to know.”
If she ever did, Ariq would tell her. He gathered her closer.
Head nestled under his chin, she slid her hand over his ribs and up to the back of his shoulder. “When do you expect word from Krakentown?”
“Within two days. Blanchett should arrive this morning.”
“So they’ll know all that has happened here.” When he nodded, she said softly, “Did you see the Empress’s Eyes when you were visiting with the clans? Are they truly everywhere?”
The clockwork devices. Tension stiffened his body. “Yes. Do they bother you?”
Ariq wanted to smash every one of them.
“Yes. But what can be done?”
Nothing. Now.
As if sensing his frustration, she smoothed her hand down his back. “What do you think they are?”
“They watch people. Or make the people think they are being watched.” Which could be just as effective. “Dissidents wear the plague masks.”
She looked up at him. “What?”
“One of the men we met with said he wasn’t surprised to see a rebel in a mask. It was a joke. But it told me why there’s still a quarantine. If dissidents use the masks to hide from the Empress’s Eyes, the masks could become a symbol of rebellion.”
“But instead a mask still means that someone is an outsider,” she said slowly. “A foreigner.”
And so it would seem that any trouble or uprising was started by outsiders, too. Potentially diseased outsiders. Not her own people.
With a sharp little breath, Zenobia rolled out of his arms. She reached for her notebook.
Ariq laughed and waited for her to return. When she did, he pulled her close. “Will you be able to sleep again now?”
“Yes.” Her voice was already heavier. “Though I want to watch the sunrise.”
“I’ll wake you,” he said.
She nodded against his arm. “Are you worried?”
Ariq didn’t need to ask about what. He stared up into the dark. Two wars to win. His town was no safer yet. At least he’d made progress in the battle for his wife’s heart. But nothing was certain.
“Only that I’ll fail,” he said.
***
Two hours later, Zenobia stood at the edge of the world. Ariq had kept his promise to wake her, then accompanied her to the east terrace, where she leaned back against his broad chest and watched pink and orange become gold.
Ariq was solid behind her. Gulls floated on the warming air. The ocean roared quietly below.
It was, she decided, the perfect way to greet the day.
Except that beneath the whisper of the breeze and the gulls’ strident cries, she still heard the soft
click
of the Empress’s Eyes.
click
of the Empress’s Eyes.
Part VII
THE KRAKEN KING AND THE EMPRESS'S EYES
The Imperial City, Nippon
June 6
My dear fearless brother,
I’ve finally done something that you haven’t, despite all of your travels: Today I crossed a coral bridge in the Living City. You should applaud me. It was a terrifying endeavor. The bridge traversed the river between two of the city’s tallest towers, and was high enough that an airship flew beneath our feet as we walked its length.
So please applaud me. Because I am wretched and cannot congratulate myself.
Oh, Archimedes. There have been times when I unexpectedly received from you long letters that were more revealing than any of your other messages. I came to recognize that those letters were written while you faced some mortal danger—such as when your spark lighter died in the mountains and an ice storm closed in, when you were trapped while zombies battered a crumbling door in Venice, and when you were courting Captain Corsair. So many letters. And each time, I believed that you wrote them as a farewell, so that there would be nothing left unsaid if you weren’t lucky enough to escape the danger. But I was utterly wrong, wasn’t I? I didn’t realize it until now, when it is my turn to write a longer letter.
If you could see the bridges, you would be all amazement. From the moment I spotted similar walkways in the Fox Den, I wanted to run across them, yet they are nothing compared to those in the imperial city. Were a sunset to be poured into the shape of a building, it would resemble the towers, and the bridges are filaments stretching between them—appearing so thin and unsubstantial from a distance, but upon drawing nearer, the strength of the structure reveals itself. Sunlight glitters over the coral as if it had been fashioned of crushed crystal. The flowering vines winding through the balustrade create a parade of blossoms in the loveliest pinks and red. The roadway is rough-textured, so there is no danger of slipping, and wide; a steamcart rolled past us with room to spare for a buggy on its other side.
Yet from the moment I stepped onto the bridge, the urge to flee back to the tower flattened my courage. I could barely force myself to cross it, even though our destination was the most splendid temple I’ve ever seen. If Mara and Helene weren’t with me, and the thought of revealing my distress hadn’t been so unendurable, I don’t know that I would have ventured more than a few paces.
I felt certain, utterly
certain
, that as soon as I began to cross it, the bridge would fall out from under me.
certain
, that as soon as I began to cross it, the bridge would fall out from under me.
And I can’t account for the fear. There are so many things I’m afraid of, yet great heights has never been one. It was nothing to look over the side, even as I walked. But not a second passed that I didn’t feel the terror of the bridge dropping from beneath my feet. It makes so little sense. How many balloons have we jumped from together with gliders strapped to our backs? I didn’t feel the same fear then.
I don’t know when I became this woman. My distrust of
people
is a sensible one. How many have given me reason to be cautious? Yet now I’m distrusting even solid structures. What will be next? Will I stop eating, fearing that I’ll choke because I won’t trust my teeth to properly chew my dinner?
people
is a sensible one. How many have given me reason to be cautious? Yet now I’m distrusting even solid structures. What will be next? Will I stop eating, fearing that I’ll choke because I won’t trust my teeth to properly chew my dinner?
No doubt you are laughing at me as you read this. You are pointing at what I’ve written and shaking your head because the true source of my fears is all so obvious. Laugh all you like, my brother. I’ve written far too many stories to be incognizant of how one fear represents another . . . and I have just been married.
I love him. More than ever I believed possible. Never did there exist a man more suited to both my heart and my mind. And despite the turmoil surrounding us, these past few days have been the happiest I’ve ever known.
So I’m terrified that it will drop out from under me. I’m utterly certain that it will—and my heart has no glider to break my fall.
But I
did
cross the bridge. And I understand these longer letters now. They are not farewells, are they? Because what use would it be to write a good-bye that would be lost in the ice or a zombie’s teeth? None at all. No, those letters were to remind you of every reason you had to escape the danger you were in, to fight past any hopelessness or despair. Because what good are the words you’ve written if they are never delivered? They would be naught but ink staining a paper clutched in a dead hand. They only mean something when the letter is read, and if you didn’t fight, those words would never be said.
did
cross the bridge. And I understand these longer letters now. They are not farewells, are they? Because what use would it be to write a good-bye that would be lost in the ice or a zombie’s teeth? None at all. No, those letters were to remind you of every reason you had to escape the danger you were in, to fight past any hopelessness or despair. Because what good are the words you’ve written if they are never delivered? They would be naught but ink staining a paper clutched in a dead hand. They only mean something when the letter is read, and if you didn’t fight, those words would never be said.
So I will battle my fears. And when you arrive, I hope to meet you on the other side, smiling.
Always,
Zenobia
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