The Kraken King, Part 7 (3 page)

“Then who—”

Click.

He couldn't have timed it better. Ariq crossed his arms over his chest and waited. She narrowed her eyes, not at all flustered by his clear victory, and suddenly he recalled the night she'd come to his home to negotiate her passage to the smugglers' dens, and the night he'd gone to her chambers at the embassy to hear the truth about who she was. Both times, she'd had her arguments prepared. She did this time, too. Because she'd already anticipated his path.

He hadn't anticipated hers.

But he realized now, beyond a doubt—Mara and Cooper were already gone. After Ariq had told Cooper that no word had come from Krakentown, they'd probably waited until he'd entered these chambers, then left on the same airship that had brought him here.

And Zenobia was very well named.

“My fox of a wife,” he said softly. “It is custom among my people that the husband makes all important decisions for his family.”

Her green eyes sparked with fire. “And among my people, the husbands nod along when the women speak.”

“Is that so?”

“It
should
be.” Her teeth briefly caught her lower lip before she added quietly, “I don't mean to take the decision away from you. It's your town. They're your people. I only wished to avoid wasting hours debating whether I would be safe enough here—hours that they could spend traveling, instead. You know this is the most sensible course . . . and if it isn't, you can call them back. They will be in sight of the tower for at least another thirty minutes. You only have to go to the western terrace and flash a lantern three times.”

Ariq didn't move. “So you have tactics that you will use against me, as well.”

This time, by withholding information.

“Only some. I just wanted to persuade you first. I'd have told you what I'd done before they flew out of reach.” Her cheeks had flushed. “I could have distracted you in bed and waited until it was too late. But I would never use that tactic against you.”

Because it was too akin to Ariq using his confession of love to batter her defenses, he realized. And she was right. That would have hurt him.

This only inspired a small amount of anger and a mountain of admiration.

He contained the anger. “In the future, we should toss away custom and make these decisions together.”

His chest tightened as he watched her hope flare again. This time no fear followed it. A tremulous smile appeared, instead.

“And if we can't agree?”

“Then we use whatever strategy we can to persuade each other. No rules, but for one: We both remove our clothes first.”

Her smile became a laugh. “That is acceptable.”

It was. And it would be no hardship. Raised first in the royal palace, then among rebels, Ariq had been taught to honor the customs of his ancestors and the most honorable khagans—but in all of the Golden Empire, there was not just one set of customs. The empire encompassed too many people, and governors often adopted the manners common to the territories in which they lived.

By building his town, Ariq had essentially established a new territory. He could create new customs, as well.

“How did you persuade the Coopers?” Although the mercenaries were in her employ, Ariq knew they wouldn't have left unless she'd convinced them, too.

“It was all the same argument. This tower is safer than the embassy is, and no one will kidnap me here.” She shrugged and looked to the hearth. “Will you eat?”

“Not yet. If you're hungry, start.”

“I'll wait.” Her gaze pierced him. “What can't you put aside?”

He glanced pointedly at the clockwork horse. “The imperial guard came today and put that in our chambers, yet Mara and Cooper still agreed to leave?”

“Oh. Well. I just pointed out that
if
Lady Nagamochi and her soldiers returned, Mara and Cooper couldn't protect me, anyway. The guards have more weapons and we would be far outnumbered.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Even you could probably not stand against them.”

Now she teased him. But there was likely some truth to what she'd said—and the Coopers must have seen it. Against the imperial guard, they would have little defense. Just as almost all of western Australia would have little defense if the empress decided to destroy them.

Which meant any danger the empress posed here was part of the same battle Ariq was already fighting. The same battle he had to win before a single shot was fired or sword was drawn. Because if it reached that point, he'd have already lost.

So Ariq forced it aside for now and looked at his wife. There was still another battle to win. “If the imperial guard ambushed us, I wouldn't try to stand against them. It isn't the custom of my people.”

Her eyebrows arched and she reached up, tugging a pin from her hair. “No?”

In the time that it took for her to lay the pin on the table between them, his cock hardened to burning stone. Ariq dragged his gaze from the pin to her face.

“I'd flee and leave you behind, because you would only slow my escape. Then I would return when I had enough strength behind me to destroy them and rescue you.”

She laughed and laid another pin beside the first, a soft
tic
of steel against wood. “And that is the custom? To abandon your wives?”

“Not custom,” he admitted. “But I wouldn't be condemned for it. Even Chinghis Khan did the same.”

“Truly?”

Slowly, Ariq nodded. “They didn't have enough horses. Börte was left behind because he knew his enemies wouldn't kill her as they would have killed him. In those days, it was custom to enslave captives.”

Her amusement had died. “But enslavement is not all that a woman has to fear when she's captured.”

“No,” he said softly. And was not all that Börte had suffered. She'd given birth to their first son not long after her return. Seven centuries later, the argument over lineage still created small factions within the empire. The histories claimed there had been no question of paternity, that Jochi had been Chinghis Khan's son, but those were only histories—and written by men who'd had reason to make that claim, beginning with Jochi's son Batu, who had been both khagan and the greatest general the Golden Empire had known.

“What happened to her?”

“He rescued her months later, then went on to conquer the world. She became empress of it, and her children its rulers.”

“Months,” Zenobia echoed.

“Yes.”

“I suppose it's sensible,” she said, but the set of her jaw told Ariq that she didn't care if it was. “If they had been caught together, he would be dead and she would still be enslaved, but with no hope of rescue.”

“Any sensible man would do the same,” Ariq said.

She stared at him, a glassy sheen shimmering in her eyes. “You are not sensible at
all
.”

“I'm not,” he agreed.

“Ghazan Bator thought you would be. On the ironship, he thought you would . . . do the . . .” Her breath shuddered. “He thought you would do the same. Leave me behind. Because it
would
have been sensible. And who could have blamed you? Even I wouldn't have. But you came anyway.”

“Yes.”

Her hair unpinned and tumbling over her shoulder, she bowed her head. Tears slipped from beneath her lowered lashes and glittered in the lamplight.

Ariq's chest constricted. He shoved the table aside but she was already crossing the distance on her knees and reaching for him, her hands framing his face and her eyes shining. He lifted her against him, sitting back on his heels as she straddled his hips, her feet braced on the floor and her knees tucked alongside his ribs.

Her ink-stained fingers stroked his cheeks. “You came for me,” she whispered again, her gaze searching his, filled with something more than hope this time.

He always would come. But his throat closed like a fist, and he couldn't reply.

“You'll never let me go, will you?” she said and softly kissed him, hesitantly, as if she had never kissed him before. Her words whispered over his lips. “When you hold me, I never have to fear that you'll fall out from beneath me.”

He could only manage a rough
“No.”

A sobbing breath burst from her in response. Her fingers pushed into his hair and she tasted him fully this time, her mouth claiming his. Hot, carnal, she kissed him as if she might never get enough. Ariq wouldn't. Heart pounding, he gripped her hips and pulled her tighter against his aching erection. She moaned into his mouth. Her fingernails dug into his scalp, the sweetest pain. Then her head fell back, and he licked the length of her throat before snagging the collar of her robe in his teeth and dragging it over her shoulder, baring her skin. She arched her back and her exposed nipple pouted up at him, taut and aroused. His hunger surged. He needed to taste, needed to hear her cry out his name.

Click.

Ariq reared back. That rutting—

“No.” When the device had sounded, Zenobia had deflated against him, her forehead against his shoulder. Now with a single word she drew his gaze from the device to meet hers. Eyes bright, her skin flushed, she leaned in and nipped his lower lip. Her hands slid down his shoulders. With a playful flick, she unclipped the buckle of his tunic. “Let them see how strong you are.”

He didn't care if they knew. “I don't want them to see you.”

“Then they won't.” She pulled the edge of her robe up over her shoulder, then trailed her hands down the front of his chest. “They won't see anything. Only the Kraken King, sheathing his weapon and making me scream. Oh, they'll tremble.”

She made him laugh, but he would be the one trembling if she continued. His breath hissed as her fingers worked the ties of his trousers, fabric tugging against his engorged cock.

Zenobia grinned against his mouth. “They'll know better than to make an enemy of you when they see how ruthless you can be. How you make me beg but still show no mercy.”

May the blue heavens help him. Her warm grip closed around his shaft and he couldn't stop the primal jerk of his hips. Groaning, Ariq stilled. He would
not
thrust mindlessly into his wife's hand. She was determined to play with him and he would let her.

His will was steel. His body was hers.

Her tongue slicked over his lower lip before she rose against him. Her hands fumbled between them, rustling silk and linen. Baring herself.

Ariq gritted his teeth in agonized pleasure as scalding wetness surrounded the head of his cock. So tight, her snug channel clasped his throbbing flesh, as if pulling him in.

“You should be rough with me,” she said breathlessly. Clinging to his shoulders, she swiveled her hips and slowly drove him deeper. “Let them see you . . . hold me down—
oh, God
—and take what you want, until I can't, I can't take any more—
Ariq
.”

His shaft buried inside her, she threw her head back and keened his name. His control frayed.

With a ravenous growl, Ariq fisted his hand in her hair and captured her panting lips.
His wife.
He couldn't love her any more than he did.

But he would. He knew he would.

And that was what the Empress's Eyes would see. His need. His desperation. His heart.

Ariq didn't want to share it with anyone but Zenobia.

Carrying her with him, he surged to his feet. She gasped against his mouth, then moaned as his first step pushed his cock deeper. Her thighs tensed around his waist, and he almost dropped to his knees when she began to ride him, pumping shallowly as he walked. Tried to walk. Her teeth sank into his shoulder. He staggered past the screen.

The bed was too far. The wall was closer.

He pinned her against it and shoved deep. She cried out, her slick sheath tightening around him. Her nails dug into his biceps, and she looked up at him, her lips swollen and her eyes like polished jade.

“Zenobia.”
He loved the breathless, whimpering sound she made when he rocked against her. “You want rough and merciless?”

Though gasping, pushing back against him, she still managed a laugh. “So long and hard we'll need three days to recover.”

As he'd promised. But three days or three thousand, it didn't matter. Ariq would never recover from this.

He gripped her bottom and slid her higher up the wall, and thought of the invisible wall surrounding her.
Long and hard.
If he battered against them long enough, hard enough, one of these walls would fall.

Ariq prayed the wall would be his wife's. Because if it didn't crumble, he would never recover from that, either.

Even if a long, hard bout of coitus against a wall had actually required it, three days of quiet recovery would have been too much to hope for. By the second morning, anxiety had a constant hold on Zenobia's chest, gripping her heart in a tight and heavy fist. Though Ariq appeared as calm as ever when they watched the sunrise from the eastern terrace, he hardly touched his breakfast before Ambassador Auger arrived and they boarded the airship that would carry them to their first meeting of the day.

Oh, but this worry was all so foolish. At least
now
it was. Later, they might have reason. But even if Mara and Cooper flew over Krakentown and immediately turned around, they couldn't possibly return to Nippon before midday. Zenobia was determined to put fear aside and write until then.

But she found herself staring blankly at her typesetting machine, and before long, she found herself standing on the western terrace and searching the skies for a sign of them.

Also foolish. How would she recognize their hired airship among so many others? Yet she couldn't force herself to go back inside, and every time an airship flew near the quarantine her heart thudded . . . then fell with disappointment when the vessels docked on other levels.

So she remained on the terrace, standing in the shade of a potted palm and sketching the scene that lay before her. It was work, of a sort. Her current story wasn't set in Nippon, but maybe someday she would write one that was—and the imperial city was not all impressive coral towers. Fields and clusters of homes lay to the southwest. Near the beach, houses were more densely packed and docks crowded the shoreline, as if a fishing village had been plunked into the midst of the city. Each day, from the balcony in her chambers, she'd spotted boats leaving early in the morning and returning late in the afternoon, tiny dots floating atop turquoise swells.

As in the Red City, the larger residences with their walled gardens and expansive courtyards had been built farther away from the water. But as grand as some were, none compared to the imperial palace.

Another small city within a city, but it could never be mistaken for a fishing village. Sprawled atop a hill in a collection of courtyards and watchtowers and residences, the palace overlooked both the coral towers and the Red Wall.
The empress sees all,
everyone said.

From that perspective, perhaps she truly did.

Another airship approached the quarantine tower. It couldn't be Mara and Cooper's. It was only midmorning and the ship was a small hired cab, not a cruiser built for travel, but still Zenobia's heart slammed into her ribs as it neared the docking platform.

Then she spotted a masked Helene at the rail and was flooded with dismay. Oh, blast it all. She hadn't expected her friend today, and Zenobia knew herself too well. She wouldn't be good company. Too much worry and frustration boiled beneath her skin, and though she knew Helene would try to ease both, Zenobia didn't want to be placated. The Coopers were worth worrying about.

But perhaps it was for the best. If the mercenaries didn't return by this evening, then she and Ariq would surely leave for Krakentown by tomorrow morning—yet she had other obligations here. If Helene hadn't yet told her husband about the baby, her friend's situation was still uncertain. Zenobia needed to make sure Helene would be safe before flying off to the other side of the continent. At least now Zenobia would have the opportunity to ask her.

On the terrace, Helene removed her mask, revealing a sickly smile, but waved away Zenobia's suggestion that they go inside.

“The fresh air will do me good. And I don't wish to interrupt your work,” she added with a glance at Zenobia's notebook.

That was kind. Though now Zenobia wasn't working as much as she was trying to think of a delicate way to broach the subject of Helene's pregnancy. They stood quietly in the shade, Zenobia sketching and Helene gazing off into the distance.

“The airship pilot said that rains were coming,” Helene suddenly said. “And when it does, the wind howls through the towers.”

“I believe it,” Zenobia said softly. Now and again, even a small breeze in the right direction resonated through the courtyard like a dreadful moan. “Though I'm not so certain about the rains.”

Only white clouds dotted the sky now. White clouds and airships that weren't Mara and Cooper's.

“You'll forgive me if I trust the aeromancy of a pilot who has flown in this area for decades over your oh-so-analytical forecast,” her friend said dryly.

“I'll forgive you.” Especially since Zenobia liked it when Helene was as prickly as she was.

Helene smiled a little before looking at Zenobia's sketch. “The palace grounds are undeniably beautiful, but they simply can't compare to the towers. They're so impressive. I don't understand why the empress doesn't reside in one.”

On her second day here, Zenobia had wondered the same. Ariq's answer was scribbled in her notebook, but she didn't need to consult it. “The governor says it's probably for two reasons: tradition, and because the fortress is less vulnerable to airship attacks.”

“Ah,” Helene said, but her eyebrows stitched together as she studied the tiered fortress on the palace grounds. The enormous stone structure dwarfed every other nearby building. “An airship can fly over it as easily as it can a tower.”

“But there aren't as many access points—and the strongest part of the fortress is likely underground.”

Her friend still looked doubtful. “Your husband said that?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose he is right, then.”

So prickly. “Was there any news from Lieutenant Blanchett this morning?”

Zenobia hadn't asked earlier, because she'd assumed that Helene would immediately volunteer the information if there had been anything to report. But her friend was in a quite a mood, so perhaps she wouldn't have.

“No,” Helene replied, dashing Zenobia's small hope. “Any news of Mara? My husband said they had flown to Krakentown to see if anything was amiss.”

“Not yet. But they aren't due back until later this afternoon.” Zenobia couldn't keep the tension from her voice.

“I'm certain they are well,” Helene said softly.

“Yes,” Zenobia agreed, though she wasn't so certain, and the anxiety was twisting ever tighter in her chest. At least this gave her the opening she'd needed, however. “If they don't come, I expect that Ariq and I will leave for Krakentown by tomorrow morning.”

“You are going, too?”

“Of course I'm going.” Her reply had an edge to it. The question shouldn't have irritated her so much, but it did—probably because Helene had been so willing to leave Mara and Cooper to their own devices in the smugglers' dens, as well, simply so that she could return to her husband . . .

Oh.
Well. She'd almost closed that opening very quickly, hadn't she?

Carefully, Zenobia asked, “Unless you need me to stay?”

“Need you?” Her friend seemed surprised by the question, then amused. “I'll be perfectly well without you. There's plenty to entertain me. And I imagine that after this is all settled you will be living in Krakentown, anyway.”

“Well, yes, but . . . I wondered if—” Dear Lord, there really was no delicate way to put this. “Has the ambassador learned of your condition?”

“Oh.” As poised as ever, Helene folded her hands over her stomach. “Yes.”

“You told him?”

“He guessed. I was so ill when I returned home the last time—after our trip to the temple—and he asked me if I was with child. I could not lie to him. What good would that do? He would never believe that any child born in seven months was his. So I told him the truth of my condition.”

“And what did he say?”

“He intends to accept the child as his own.”

Zenobia gaped at her. “So easily?”

Lifting her shoulder in an elegant shrug, Helene said, “He is a man of extraordinary compassion.”

And a better person than Zenobia was. If Ariq ever did anything similar . . . oh, she couldn't even bear to
imagine
him with another woman. The anxiety in her breast was nothing compared to the pain of a mere thought. She would kill him. Then cry until her heart burst. Then kill him again before leaving forever. She would never recover from such a betrayal of trust.

Perhaps the ambassador and Helene had different expectations of love than she did, however—and Zenobia didn't doubt that Helene loved him. Maybe that was enough for them both.

And now this was all very anticlimactic. Even if the ambassador hadn't rejected her friend for infidelity, Zenobia had expected far more arguments and tears, followed by the long process of repairing their marriage. She'd expected to hold her friend's hand through it all.

But apparently Helene would be perfectly fine without her.

Shaking her head in bemusement, Zenobia said, “He sounds very forgiving.”

Her friend gave a tinkle of a laugh. “Oh, he is not that.”

A chill raced up Zenobia's spine. “Not forgiving?”

“No. Compassionate, yes. Forgiving, no.”

“But . . . is everything well between you?”

Helene frowned. “I have just said so.”

“You also just said he wasn't a forgiving man. So I'm at a loss to understand how he so easily accepted all of this. Is he angry with you?”

“Of course not.”

Worry snagged at her heart. Was her friend simply saying that to ease Zenobia's fears? Because she couldn't understand
how
an unforgiving husband could so easily forgive Helene for lying with another man.

“Oh, do not look at me like that, Geraldine! That is the same face you wore when your father was home.” Helene clasped her hand. “You don't have to fear for me.”

If she insisted it was so, then Zenobia must believe it, but she couldn't shrug away the terrible heaviness that settled onto her shoulders. She looked out over the terrace rail, feeling Helene's gaze on her profile.

After a long moment, her friend sighed. “You don't need to forgive someone who didn't have a choice.”

What?
Her gaze shot to Helene's face, her stomach roiling with horror. She'd been forced?

Helene looked away. Shame? Oh, no. Speechless, Zenobia clung to Helene's hand, squeezing her fingers in desperate sympathy. In all this time, she'd never even considered Helene might have been raped. She'd just assumed that her friend had been lonely and sought comfort with another man—or, knowing how Helene blossomed with flattery and attention, that she had been seduced by someone with a clever tongue.

Oh, she was a terrible friend. The very worst.

Heartsick, she whispered, “Oh, Helene—”

“Well, he
did
take advantage of me.” Helene jerked her hand from Zenobia's. “He knew my husband was away, that Basile's family all resented me, and that I was alone and out of sorts. He knew exactly which weaknesses to prey upon.”

Zenobia stared at her. What was Helene saying now? What had Helene thought
she
had been about to say to provoke such a defensive reaction?

Eyes swimming, her friend implored, “What should I have told Basile?”

She didn't know. She still wasn't absolutely certain what Helene was admitting to. “You lied to your husband about being forced?”

“What choice did I have? And I thought
you
of all people would understand, since the same thing happened to your mother when
she
was left alone and taken advantage of.”

Zenobia's mother? “You think that was the same?”

“Isn't it?”

The unapologetic set of Helene's chin said that she believed it was—or she'd convinced herself it was. Zenobia had to look away from her, feeling as if molten lead had been poured down her throat, burning and heavy, but slowly hardening as it cooled. And toxic. Oh, so toxic. She didn't answer, terrified of what would emerge if she spoke.

Oh, and she would be
glad
to go to Krakentown now, to put a continent between her and Helene. Not forever. Just a few months during which she would not hear Helene's voice and remember how she'd insisted there was no difference between her situation and Zenobia's mother's.

Her friend sighed. “What could I have done, Geraldine? I would lose everything. Should I be punished so harshly for a mistake? I am not you. I have no wealth of my own. I have no brother to come to my rescue.”

“You have a friend who would do anything for you.”

“Yes,” Helene said, her voice suddenly thick. “And must I now choose between you and my husband? Don't force me to.”

Zenobia wouldn't. And now the anger was going, leaving her with a sick ache in her chest and the helpless need to cry. So she only nodded, because never would she ask Helene to make that decision.

But she would still be glad to go.

***

He'd done this before. Only two days ago, Ariq had flown back to the quarantine tower, knowing that he would soon be going again. There were differences. Now he returned in the afternoon instead of the evening. Cooper didn't wait for him; this time Zenobia stood on the terrace, her face pale and her fingers twisting together in anxious tension.

As the airship docked, she called over the noise of the engine. “Any word?”

Ariq shook his head, then wished he'd waited until he'd joined her before answering. Instead he had to watch her eyes close in despair and her shoulders slump, and he couldn't hold her against him.

But by the time he strode down the gangway, she'd already steeled herself again. “I've had everything that we'll need packed.”

Of course she had. Chest heavy, he started toward the courtyard with her. How many times had he watched soldiers leave their families and head off to battle? He'd always known it must have been difficult for them. Until now, he hadn't known how deep the ache was, aware that he only had hours left . . . and then weeks or months before he saw her again.