Thief of Light (20 page)

Erik’s chest ached—inside and out. If he hadn’t been so ravenous, he would have stretched out full length on the floor and sought the welcome oblivion of sleep.

“Yes,” he said, rising to take the tray and place it on a low table. The Voice had come out of fucking nowhere, completely beyond his control. Prue had done it to him—
again
. “I’ve been wanting to meet you too.” The shock of hearing the command echo around the room, of realizing how he’d failed, had destroyed his erection more effectively than an iced bath.

“But Katrin, what—?”

“Don’t blame Tansy, Mam.” Katrin bent to peck her mother on the cheek. “I was in the kitchen finishing up a cake and I didn’t give her a chance.”

The girl was at least six inches taller than Prue, still coltish in a way he was certain Prue had never been. As a mature woman, Katrin would be calm and queenly rather than sparkling with life and energy like her mother. But with their heads together, he could see the resemblance between them—those exotic almond eyes, the stubborn shape of the chin. Her hair down in a wavy, glorious profusion, Prue didn’t look much older, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him if he told her.

She was still pale and shaky. Gods, he was a bastard. He might as well have taken his big fist and rammed it into her stomach.

Katrin ran a considering gaze over his torso, lingering on the scratches and abrasions, but all she said was, “Catch,” as she tossed the bundle in his direction. It turned out to be a cotton bathrobe, large enough to fit even him.

Prue was fairly vibrating with agitation, Katrin as calm as milk. But the girl’s gaze was narrow with the unflinching judgment of the young. Erik was glad to shrug into the robe.

But when she removed the cover from the tray, he could have kissed her. “You did this?” he asked, surveying the platter of bread and meat and cheese, the pastries and fruit. There was a jug of wine and two cups. His belly growled so loud the girl grinned.

“I like to feed people,” she said, watching him lean forward to grab a plate and load it up.

“Katrin’s our pastry chef,” said Prue.
Not a courtesan
, said her level stare.

Erik nodded, his mouth full.

“Sister save us, when did you last eat?” asked Katrin, fascinated.

He chewed and swallowed, busied himself preparing another slab of bread and cheese. “Last night.” He darted a glance at Prue. “With you.”

“But why?” A pause. “And what happened to you?” Katrin’s cheeks pinkened. “Especially your, um, chest?”

But before he could reply, Prue patted her daughter on the hand. “Thanks, love. Better go now.”

“Yes,” snarled Erik. “I might sully her ears.”

“In that case, I’m sure I should stay.” With complete composure, Katrin sank to the rug and leaned back against her mother’s knee. Prue’s objections sailed over her head. Literally.

Two pairs of tip-tilted eyes gazed at him expectantly, one set wide and blue, the other bright with suspicion and blue green as a wave shot with summer sun.

He cleared his throat and began. “There’s a place on Concordia called Morte Swamp. Centuries ago, there was a dreadful battle there. Thousands were slain, some by cold steel, others dragged down by the weight of their armor and the evil of the bog. It stinks,” he said baldly. “Even now. Worse than anything you can imagine.”

“But what has—?” Katrin’s brow wrinkled.

“Sshh.” Prue laid a hand on the girl’s bright hair.

“I haven’t been there since I was a lad, the night I ran—” He broke off. “Last night, as the tide turned, I smelled it again. This afternoon, the seelies showed me the source of the stench.”

“
Seelies
?” Katrin gaped, then she giggled. “Have you been drinking?”

“Begin at the beginning,” said Prue. “And don’t leave anything out.”

By the time they’d finished with him, he felt as if they’d turned his skull inside out and scoured it clean, but only crumbs remained on the supper tray.

Prue rose to pace, her movements jerky. “No one in their right mind would make up a story like that.” She cast him a narrow, sidelong glance. “Maybe.

“Why are you the only one?” she went on. “To smell the . . . smell. Especially if it’s so bad.”

“I don’t know.” He met her skeptical gaze. “I nearly died of the lungspasm as a lad. I’ve been incredibly sensitive to airborne odors ever since. Drives me crazy sometimes.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Katrin’s eyes shone with excitement. “What are we going to do, Mam?”

Prue came to a halt. “I don’t believe what I can’t see. Prove it to me.” She challenged him with her level blue green stare.

“In the morning,” he said. “First thing, I swear. And when I do, Mistress McGuire? What then?”

“This is the business of the Queen’s City,” she said with decision. “He’ll know what to do, how to fix it.” Her voice rose. “He’s a client of ours. I can contact his office and arrange an appointment.”

With a sigh, Erik rose and planted himself in front of her. “For tomorrow?”

Prue stepped neatly around him. “Don’t be ridiculous. More like a month, a fortnight if we’re lucky.”

“Prue.” Erik snagged her elbow and she froze, glaring. “I don’t have that sort of time, neither does Caracole.” Slowly, he released her. “Tell me, in the old stories, what did the seelies do?”

“Do? What do you mean,
do
?”

“Mam, don’t you remember? You used to read me
The Spotless Seelie
.” Katrin smiled across the room at her mother. “And that other one, about the seelie who lost his polishing cloth. He asked everyone in the sea if they’d seen it, and it turned out the leviathan was using it to mop up her tears because she was so sad and lonely. And they became lifelong friends. Remember?”

Prue’s tender smile illuminated her face in a way he hadn’t seen before. Suddenly, Erik was acutely conscious of standing alone in his skin, his abrasions singing an unlovely chorus. “Explain,” he growled.

“Seelies are supposed to keep everything in the sea nice and clean,” said Katrin. “Like little blue gardeners, I guess, weeding and pruning and taking the rubbish away.”

“Well, they aren’t, are they? Not under the Leaf of Nobility, at any rate.” All the small hairs rose on the back of Erik’s neck. “It’s dying,” he said slowly. “The whole Leaf is dying from underneath, that’s what they were trying to tell me.”

“Assuming you’re in your right mind—” Prue stopped and started again, horror dawning in her face. “There are over seventy palazzos on that Leaf.”

“How many people?”

“Gods, hundreds.” Helplessly, she shrugged. “Maybe a couple of thousand in round figures. I don’t know. Those places need a lot of staff.”

“What if it’s spread to other Leaves?”

Now she blanched. Katrin came to stand beside her, and they stood, hand in hand. Prue wet her lips. “Disaster,” she whispered. “A hundred thousand people live in Caracole. Sister save us.”

“Right.” Erik ran a hand through his hair. He’d do what he had to, he thought grimly, because this had to be the destiny for which the gods had saved his life. Even the divinities would agree the ends justified the means, as they had in the theater on Green IV. He hadn’t been shamed by his actions then, he’d been proud and grateful.

“Let’s try someone else. What about the Queen’s Entertainment? All I need is a few minutes alone with him and he’ll get me a private audience with Sikara.” He paused. “I guarantee it.”

“You’ll have to fight your way through the crowd in his antechamber first,” said Prue dryly. “Everyone wants to perform at Court.”

“Brother and Sister preserve us.” Katrin made the two-handed sign of the Sibling Moons. “What are we to do?”

Prue stared at her daughter. “The moons,” she whispered. “The
moons
!” Running to the window, she threw it open and lunged forward. Automatically, Erik reached out a long arm and grabbed a fistful of the back of her gown, acutely conscious of the rounded rise of her sweet bottom.

As suddenly as she’d flung herself forward, Prue retreated and whirled around, her small hand clamped onto his forearm. “The Open Cabal! That’s it!” She was practically jigging with excitement.

Nonplussed, Erik glanced at Katrin, but Prue reached up and wrenched his jaw around, capturing his undivided attention. “The day after Sibling Full Moons, the Queen’s Cabal sits in open session. Any citizen may speak before them. See?”

The sense of relief was so heady he had to touch her cheek. “Clever,
clever
Prue.” Because he couldn’t resist the triumph shining in her vivid little face, he picked her up and swung her around, a sweet night breeze dancing all about them like a giddy child. He was sure he heard her chuckle, a deep, delicious sound. The dimple quivered.

On the next breath, she went rigid in his arms. In complete silence, he lowered her to her feet and stepped back.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m not a citizen of Caracole.”

“I know,” she said, “but I am.”

“You’ll come with me?”

Once again she studied him, her expression unreadable. “Show me a seelie and I’ll vouch for you.”

“Done. As soon as it’s light tomorrow.” Erik held out his hand and after a short, stinging pause, Prue placed hers in it. But when he drew it to his lips, she wrenched herself free.

“No,” she grated. “Don’t.”

Crockery clinked as Katrin hefted the tray. “Would you hold the door for me, please, Erik?”

“Of course.”

As he strode into the office toward the outer door, their voices dropped to a low feminine murmur behind him.

The farewells made, Katrin walked past him into the passageway. Then she gestured with her chin. “Out here. And shut the door.”

Erik did as she asked, bracing himself.

“Rose likes you,” she said abruptly.

“Good.” Erik raised a brow. “And you?”

“I saw Mam’s face just then.” She was a little pink, still young enough to be uncomfortable with the rudeness of plain speaking. But she wasn’t her mother’s daughter for nothing. She stiffened her spine. “What have you done to her?”

Godsdammit, he couldn’t prevent the betraying flush either.

Immediately, Katrin went bright scarlet. “Actually, I’d rather not know.” Her nose wrinkled. “Gods!”

Stepping forward, she shoved the edge of the tray into his stomach, not gently. “Rose says you’re strong enough to hold your own. Mam’s awfully bossy, you know.”

He had to smile. “So I’ve discovered.”

“Yes, but it’s all on the surface.” The girl’s intensity was palpable. “Underneath, she’s . . .” The blue eyes filled with tears. She dragged in a hasty breath and took the plunge. “Do you love her?”

The spiky feeling in his guts had told him that one was coming. “What? Katrin, how could I possibly know that so soon?” He thought he managed it creditably enough, but in the back of his mind, he heard the Lady’s huge dark laughter.

“Keep your voice down!” She glanced at the door. “That’s how it was with me and Arkady. One look and—
boom
!”

“Arkady? Who’s—?”

“Never mind,” said Katrin fiercely. “I have to go. Don’t hurt her, that’s all. Please don’t hurt her.”

“I’ll do my best not to, I swear.” But he was speaking to the girl’s back as she hurried toward the stairs.

When he went inside, Prue was standing in the middle of the office, her arms folded. “What was all that about?”

“You. How old were you when she was born?”

“Eighteen. And you have no right to discuss me with my daughter.” Turning, she walked toward the bedchamber, hips swaying en ticingly beneath the gown. Was she doing it on purpose? “Be here early tomorrow. You have a seelie to show me.”

Erik glanced out the window at the moons high in the sky. “That’s only a few hours. Not worth going back to the boarding house.” He fiddled with the tie of the borrowed robe. “It’s been a hell of a day. I’d like to stay.”

Prue lost a little of her high color. “I don’t want you anywhere near me,” she said through her teeth.

“I know that. There’s a lock on the door to your bedchamber, isn’t there?” When she gave a curt nod, he said, “Use it.”

Her chin went up. “Why should I?”

“So we can go seelie hunting at dawn?” He let out a gusty breath. “Prue, I’m so bloody tired, I’ll sleep on the stairs if I have to, but I’d prefer the couch.”

Twice now he’d compelled Prue without intending it—
twice
. He felt hollow inside, scraped raw by an appalling realization. Once he might pass off as an inexplicable lapse, bad luck, a moment of madness, but not twice. Something about Prue simply pulled the Voice out of him. It flowed forth, borne on the tide of his desire. The Horned Lord knew what he might command her to do the next time he kissed her, when he finally got her beneath him.

The fact remained he could no longer trust the discipline that had served him all his adult life. Shit, the Dark Lady had him exquisitely trapped. With Prue, he’d gone way beyond anything as pale as
like
or
respect
, into a realm of ironclad purpose and possessiveness. By all the gods, he was going to have her! But as himself, and himself alone. Walking a tightrope made of razor wire would be simple in comparison, but otherwise, he’d never know if she truly consented.

In the process he’d do his best to heal the wounds he’d inflicted. Erik met a murderous glare that informed him in no uncertain terms how much ground he’d lost and how badly he’d hurt her. His gutsy Prue.

He watched her watching his grip on the open front of the robe.

“I’ve already said what I had to about . . . what happened. I’m not going to make it worse.” He steadied himself. “I know I’m a bastard, but I swear it wasn’t what it seemed. I swear. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Just don’t . . . shut me out of your life. Please? Give me a chance?”

Prue shook her head. She walked straight into her bedchamber and closed the door firmly behind her.