Untouchable (13 page)

When she was done, she turned her head and looked into the night, hoping that Alix would not see the shine of tears in her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” Alix said again. “What was done to you is not right. If I had been there, if I had known, I would never have allowed such an atrocity to take place.”

She heard the sincerity in his voice, she felt it, and somehow his outrage eased her heartache.

“I feel as if I should hold and comfort you,” he said, “but I cannot. I cannot hold you and not have you, I cannot wrap my arms around you and go no further.”

“Of course not,” she whispered. She did not expect comfort. No one had ever offered such a luxury, and she did not want or need it now. Yet, she did remember what it had felt like to wake that morning with Alix’s arms around her. She should cease her prattling and leave the man in peace. She had lived with her heartbreak for many years, always accepting that to remain childless was a small price to pay for being cherished and honored. “It’s Mali who has stirred these feelings to the surface,” she confessed, her tone changing as her anger faded. “She is unwanted, even by her own mother.”

“Surely you understand. The child is half-demon, and her creation was likely not pleasant for Donia.”

His defense of Donia made her angry. “And yet, Mali is still a child who has no choice about who she is, just as I have no choice.” She looked squarely at Alix. “Just as
you
have no choice.” She was glad to see that his eyes remained a pale green. Even in the firelight, she could tell which part of him was in control.

“What of you? Do you have children?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want them?”

“I’ve never given it much thought.”

Sanura smiled wanly. “Do not lie to me, Prince Alixandyr. I see you too well, even now.”

“I suppose I have thought about it,” he confessed. “It is expected that I will marry and have children. It’s my duty as prince.”

“I did not ask if it was your duty,” she clarified, even though he knew quite well what she’d asked. “Do you want children?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Of course he did. Almost all men wished to see themselves in their offspring. They wished to teach and play and train and watch their bloodline survive. That was not her purpose, and it never had been.

“You can hold me, you know. Now, tomorrow morning, whenever you wish. We can have sex again, as often as we please, and no one need ever know. There will be no child, and I expect nothing of you but pleasure given and pleasure taken in the days we are together.” She looked him squarely in the eye, brave as she had always been. “What you deny yourself is the reason I was created. Sex. Pleasure. A moment of physical wonder in which we can forget the darkness of the world.”

“You are Jahn’s,” he said simply.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

Alix shook his head. “You are Jahn’s,” he said again. He studied her quizzically. “Will you call the other to you if I won’t accede to your commands?”

“I make no commands; I merely offer suggestions.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“I don’t want the other, I want you. You possess a kindness he does not. He scares me,” she confessed. “I called him to me once before, when we escaped the camp where we were accused of murder, but I won’t do so again.”

“You did not call him to you early this morning?”

She shook her head. “He came on his own. I did not know it wasn’t you until it was too late.”

Alix nodded, and she was relieved to see that he believed her. “I think you are the only one who can call him. He has appeared a time or two on his own—when I’ve been sleeping and on that afternoon when I lost my temper with Edlyn— but if I work very hard, if I try, I believe I can keep him contained. ” His large hands flexed and he rolled wide, tired shoulders. “It won’t be easy, I suspect. He wants you.”

“So do you,” Sanura said honestly.

“Yes, but I can and will control my impulses. That’s the only way to keep him down. He’s stronger than he’s ever been, and I’m afraid the time will come when he is here and I am gone. What if he learns to keep me in the shadows, as I have learned to restrain him?”

Sanura knew she could have what she wanted from Alix. He would hold her, make love to her, offer her pleasure and connection and even the affection he denied. All she had to do was move closer and place her hands on him. If she made the first move, if she practiced all that she had been taught of seduction, he would not be able to resist her.

But she did not move. “Are you not stronger than he is?”

“I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.”

VERITY
was annoyed. She wanted to retire to her tent and wait anxiously for the other travelers to sleep so Laris could join her, but her Aunt Louiza insisted that they all sit around the campfire and share stories, as the night was mild and no one felt the need to rush immediately to shelter.

Their traveling party was fairly small: Verity herself; Aunt Louiza, serving as the necessary chaperone; Gregor Wallis, the pompous deputy minister of something or another; Laris and the other two sentinels, Alroy and Cavan. She’d paid those two little mind on the journey. Until tonight she hadn’t been sure which was which. Now she knew that Alroy was the older, quieter sentinel with the slightly crossed eyes and the horsey laugh; Cavan was younger and not quite so shockingly unattractive, though he did not hold a candle to Laris, who easily outshined them all.

Her father had wanted to send a maid along, but Verity had refused. No, she had
insisted
that a maid who was not accustomed to traveling on horseback would only slow their progress, and she was anxious to get to Arthes and have this whole empress episode taken care of so she could begin her new life. It would be best if she had a chance to settle in and learn her way around the palace before the wedding took place.

Her father always gave in when she insisted. The emperor would be the same way, she imagined.

Louiza laughed at something Wallis said, and then she began, “When Verity was a child, she was such a trial. Why, I remember one time...”

Verity shot up from her uncomfortable position by the fire. “No! You cannot tell amusing stories about me as a
child
.” After all, one day these men would be her sentinels, her minions, if you would. She could not openly declare that she was confident she’d be chosen, but she
was
confident, and to have these men laughing at her childhood exploits was unacceptable.

Louiza’s smile died. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Verity. You were a funny little girl.” Her father’s younger sister was a sweet enough woman, widowed too young and too often at loose ends. It was no wonder she’d volunteered to chaperone on this trip.

Verity hated to be the one to spoil her aunt’s fun. She resumed her seat. “Oh, all right. Go ahead and humiliate me.”

She noted that Laris was paying extra attention as Louiza began her tale. Of course he was paying attention. The love potion made everything about her more special, more important. Louiza went on and on about one winter’s holiday, and with a long sigh Verity realized which story her aunt was sharing.

The bucket tale.

“We stepped outside,” Louiza said, her grin widening, “and there was Verity swinging a tin bucket toward her little friend’s head. Her mother screamed, ‘Don’t hit Jana in the head with a bucket!’ Verity turned about and looked at her mother with a very grown-up expression and said, ‘Well, then, what can I hit her with?’ ”

Everyone laughed, even Laris.

“She had ripped the head off my favorite doll,” Verity whispered beneath her breath. “One whack with a small bucket didn’t seem like such a harsh punishment for the crime.”

Across the fire, she caught Laris’s eye. She could not afford to hold it for too long, she could not afford to let anyone else see that she took great comfort from that gaze and the smile he sent her way. It was a smile meant just for her, she knew, and in that moment she felt a burst of emotion wash through her. What was it? Affection? Desire?

Guilt?

THE
night was warmer than it should’ve been, and Sanura was more comfortable. A blanket kept away the night’s chill, and arms surrounded and cradled her.

A child’s arms. Mali’s arms.

In her short lifetime Mali had been held no more than Sanura had, though the reasons they were rarely touched were very different. Sanura wore the blue; Mali was rejected and untouched because of her mother’s fear.

This was a dream and yet more than a dream, Sanura knew. Mali was experiencing the same vision and sensation at the same time. The child, too, longed to be held. She longed to be touched by someone who did not fear her.

The child whispered in Sanura’s ear. “Mother thinks I don’t remember, but I do. When I was an infant, she placed a pillow over my face, but I did not die. She fed me poison weeds, but I did not die. She tried to take a knife to my throat, but could not make herself finish the task. She did not wish to see my blood spill, even though she despises that blood. Even if she had, I would not have died.”

“She loves you,” Sanura said.

Mali sighed. “Sometimes.”

They held one another, and it was very nice. In the way of dreams, one minute they were both blue and the next they were not. They were connected; they belonged to one another. Sanura felt so much love for this child, she thought her heart would burst.

Mali was the daughter she could never have, and in that same way Sanura was the mother who was capable of accepting and loving this child for who she was, not how she had come to be. She could not hold her tightly enough, for she knew the dream could not last. She knew the comfort was temporary.

“Come back for me,” Mali whispered as she began to fade away.

“I will,” Sanura promised.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“I do.”

“Don’t forget me,” the child commanded.

“Never.”

And then Mali was gone, their connection severed but not forgotten.

When Sanura woke before dawn, the dream was still clear and real to her. She could remember every word, and more important, she could remember holding Mali and soothing the child. She had long ago put away all maternal inclinations, knowing them to be senseless and a waste of her time and energy, but Mali brought them all to the surface.

Alix was already awake. No, Sanura realized as she looked at him, he had never slept. He was afraid the other would rise to control while he was sleeping, and so he did not allow himself that luxury. He had spent the night watching her, watching and wanting what he could not have.

What he truly wanted at the moment, what he wished for himself more than anything else in this world, was to prove himself innocent of murder and be rid of her so he would not be pained by his physical desire. Seeing the truth in him, seeing who he was and what he wanted, hurt her to the core. Here was a man she could choose, a man she could love no matter what inner battles he fought, and he wanted nothing from her beyond the sex they had already shared.

Physical pleasure was the reason for her creation, it was the gift she offered, and yet at this moment it was not enough. It was not close to enough. Not for him; not for her. A rush of emotion brought heat to her cheeks. If she was going to live in a land where she could have the luxury of choosing, she would insist upon more. She would insist upon love.

AS
she got ready to mount her horse, Verity smiled at the pompous ass who was escorting her to Arthes. She was not a seasoned traveler, yet she seemed better suited to the harsh conditions than the diplomat Gregor Wallis. He rarely smiled, and she sometimes felt as though her own smiles annoyed him. All the more reason to flash her teeth at him and toss her hair. Sure enough, he grumbled.

“Isn’t it a beautiful morning!” she called.

His answer was no more than a grunt.

She wanted to smile at Laris, but did not. In the past few days she had started to feel a bit ill when she looked at him. More rightly, she felt guilty when he looked at her with those moony brown eyes of his. She never felt guilty! Still, if he was ever caught in her tent, or creeping in or out of it, she’d have no choice but to make it clear that he had not been invited. He would likely be killed if that happened, and that would be a pity.

Verity patted Buttercup on the neck and then stepped into the stirrup and lifted herself up, unassisted, to take her seat firmly in the saddle.

Immediately, Buttercup bucked and tried to throw her off. Verity hung on tightly. As there was very little else in the way of entertainment in the Northern Province, she was an accomplished horsewoman. Thank goodness she didn’t ride sidesaddle! Without a firm hold on the horse she would’ve been thrown to the ground. Her neck might’ve been broken. At the very least, she would’ve been badly bruised, and it would surely hurt to hit the ground so hard. Verity was not fond of pain, especially when it was her own.

She held on, as the horse took off at an uncontrollable run. With the air rushing in her ears she couldn’t hear the shouts of the others, but surely they were concerned. Surely someone would save her! Holding on for dear life, she glanced back briefly. Already many horses were in pursuit, but it was Laris who was in the lead—Laris who bent low over the saddle and raced toward her.

Thank goodness for that love potion.

The horse beneath her was wildly uncontrollable. She’d ridden this mare for years, and Buttercup had never behaved in this way. Verity leaned down and tried to whisper to the animal, to calm her, but the mare was wild. Something was horribly wrong.

The mare was running for the hills, where there were steep drops and rocky cliffs and a rushing river and many, many other places an out-of-control horse should not go.

Again Verity glanced back. No one, not even Laris, was able to keep up.

She would have to rely on herself, she imagined. How annoying. She held on tightly with her arms and her thighs, and she leaned down until she felt as if she were a part of the horse—a part of the wild animal. Her heart pounded too fast, but there was no time to feel sorry for herself. That would come later.

Buttercup bypassed a turn that would’ve taken them both over a cliff and to their deaths, and Verity sighed in relief even as she was mercilessly jostled and tossed about. The animal stayed on a path which would take them through rough hills and to the river—but not at the crossing place where they were headed on this once-fine morning, where the ferry took horses and people safely across.

“No,” Verity whispered as the mare raced headlong toward the banks of the rushing river. “Good heavens,
no
!”

Buttercup did not even slow before flying down the steep bank and plunging into the cold water. For a few moments Verity continued to hold on, and then the animal twisted in a new manner and finally managed to throw her—right into rushing, icy cold water. Verity’s traveling gown immediately grew heavy, taking on the weight of the water and dragging her down.

For the first time, she was truly afraid. Not just afraid, but terrified. She’d thought Laris and her lucky talisman and the fact that she knew the mare well and the animal knew her and was accustomed to her voice and weight would protect her. Apparently that was not the case. Nothing and no one was going to save her. She was going to drown.

The current carried Verity along at a frighteningly rapid pace. Now and then she managed to raise her head for a gulp of precious air, but she realized that soon it wouldn’t be enough. Soon she’d be dragged to the bottom of the river, where she’d get caught in the rocks, or else she’d just be too exhausted to move and she’d run out of air. What a horrible way to die. Her chest hurt, and she was so cold she felt as if she were encased in ice. She raced along out of control, so fast, so frightened. The world started to go black. Her plans to become empress and have fancy parties and take lovers and have many devoted servants seemed so silly, when all she wanted was to breathe.

Something touched her, and she panicked. Rushing along, cold as ice, not getting enough air, she was grabbed by an animal or a monster that lived deep in the river. She kicked, but had little strength with which to fight. The river beast held on tight, it had her in its grip and would not let go. The monster led Verity up to the surface, and once again she took a gulp of air. That done, she struggled to free herself from the grip which held her so firmly, even as the current took them both. The creature called her name, screamed her name, and she lifted her head to look at it.

Him, not it. Laris held her. It was Laris who struggled to keep both her head and his own above water, as the current steered them toward a nasty-looking outcropping of rocks.

ALIX
became more cautious as they neared the village, where they would be able to buy supplies. According to Donia it was a small and isolated place, so it was likely that the news of Princess Edlyn’s murder had not reached the inhabitants. Even if they’d heard everything, they’d expect Sanura to be blue.

He packed his cloak, which was too fine for a common traveler, in the saddlebag with what remained of the food Donia had given them. He’d spent part of a sleepless night removing imperial insignias from his vest and a pocket of his trousers, and though the removal left a ragged mark, he doubted anyone would notice.

The sentinel’s sword he carried might alarm anyone who looked too closely, as it was finely made and not at all common, but he would not part with it, not even for the short amount of time they’d be in the village.

“You should not speak,” he instructed Sanura as they approached the town. They left the woods and walked upon the road, which looked to be well traveled but was deserted at the moment.

“Why should I not speak?” she asked, openly incensed by his request. “Are you afraid I will say something stupid? Do you think I will give away your secrets?”

She had been in a foul mood all morning. “You have an accent,” he said simply. “If we are to pass for common travelers, it would be best if we do not have to answer questions about where you are from.”

“I worked very hard to learn your language, and my accent is not vile.”

No, it was not. It was just enough to give her speech an arousing lilt, just enough to set her apart, just enough to make his gut dance in anticipation of what he could never again have. It was also just enough to raise questions. “I will tell any who ask that you are mute.”

“Mute!” She ran until she was alongside him. “I will not be able to speak at all! Do you expect me to walk behind you, head down and mouth shut like a meek little wife? Will you call me
woman
so no one will hear you speak my name?”

“Yes,” he answered without heat.

She snorted, but did not argue.

“We will not be in town long,” he said. He had a plan, of sorts. Though he was not ready to run to Jahn, he did need help. Someone would need to get to Jahn with a message, and Sian Chamblyn was the perfect choice. The enchanter and his wife were regular visitors to the palace. They came and went quite often, so no one would question Sian’s request for an audience with the emperor.

Sanura did not argue again, though she was no happier than before. Alix was not thrilled himself. Her bracelets and earrings and girdle had been left behind, but she still sang. She still made music. Now it was the swish of her plain skirt and the sound of her boots in the dirt and the rhythm of her breathing that made music.

Music only he could hear. She was in his blood, and he wouldn’t be rid of her until he was
rid
of her. When he proved his innocence and presented Sanura to the emperor as the gift she was intended to be, it was likely she would be released. Still, Jahn was nothing if not unpredictable, and it was also likely that he would keep the scandalous gift simply to annoy the more staid ministers and priests who would certainly be shocked.

Besides, what man would not want her? Bride or no bride, Jahn might very well see the benefits of keeping Sanura. If that happened, there would be no way Alix could remain in the palace and watch the two of them together, knowing what they shared—realizing what he could never have for himself.

“I wish you would stop this,” Sanura muttered.

“Stop what?” Alix asked. Was she already tired? Did she need to rest? He turned and looked down at her.

She waved a slender hand at him, in obvious frustration. “Your insides are so jumbled and uncertain, I can see nothing. ”

“Oh,” he said, relieved as he resumed his walk toward town. If his indecision confused her, all the better. He didn’t much like the idea of Sanura using her gift to study the very essence of his being.

“It’s disconcerting,” she explained. “Most men are very simple. Their desires are superficial, and they are easy to read and understand. You are not.”

“There is no need for you to understand me at all,” he argued.

“That is true, but if we are to journey together for a while longer, then it will be easier for me if I can understand your motives and your intentions.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he assured her, not for the first time.

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She sighed. “You could never understand.”

Alix took a few more steps before saying, “We’ll reach the village soon. Perhaps you should practice pretending to be mute for a while.”

“That is not at all funny,” she said sharply, and then, with pursed lips, she settled into the silence he had requested.

Soon he saw a rustic building in the distance, the first structure of the village where Donia sold baked goods and bought the supplies she could not grow or make on her own. What he could see from this distance was roughly made and plain, but there were a number of buildings which likely supplied all the surrounding farms, as well as the occasional traveler. There they would stock up on supplies and . . .

His thoughts were interrupted when Sanura grabbed his arm and pulled him back in a display of surprising strength. “Wait,” she whispered. “We can’t go there.”

He had learned not to dismiss her feelings. He’d done so once before, when she’d warned him about Vyrn, and that had led to disaster. They were still a good distance from the town, so whatever she was sensing must be very strong. “What’s wrong?”

Her black hair was pulled back into a braid, much as his was, and he was still unaccustomed to the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, now that they did not have to compete with the blue paint that had covered her face until yesterday. He’d thought she’d be less tempting when she was presented like other women, without the paint, without the sensuous clothing, without the jangling gold. Somehow she was more tempting than before.

Her hand on his arm was warm, and she gripped him tightly.

“Fear,” she whispered. “Fear and . . . violence, the same violence I sensed from Vyrn in the early days of the journey. ” Her eyes caught and held his. “I think he might be there. We must not go to the village. He is there, looking for us.”

“And the fear?” Alix asked.

Sanura’s face paled. “It is the fear of many. That is why it’s so strong.”

Alix placed his hand over hers. “If what you sense is truth, then I cannot turn away.”

She blinked twice and her spine straightened, then she sighed. “I know.”

VYRN
leaned forward to place his face close to that of the innkeeper who was bound to a plain wooden chair from his own common room. The man was middle-aged and gone to fat and his hair was more gray than brown, and he was very, very stubborn. The two of them were alone in this room made for merriment, drink, and food. The Tryfynian soldier Rolf held many of the village’s residents prisoner in the feed and metalwork shop two doors down from the inn. Vyrn had insisted on speaking to the innkeeper alone. No one else could know of his actions and his plans, especially not Rolf.

His plan to divide the searchers had been a brilliant one.

“Simply admit to the truth, and this will all be over very quickly.” So far everyone he had spoken to had denied seeing any strangers of late. A blue woman and a prince would’ve stood out quite prominently in this backwater village, so he had to assume they were telling the truth. However, a witness or two who could claim to have seen the odd couple, and perhaps even overheard a confession, would lend credence to the story Vyrn had fabricated.

“They stayed here, surely,” Vyrn said calmly as he grabbed a strand of the older man’s thin hair and yanked the innkeeper’s head to one side. “I imagine you heard them share whispers of confidence, I’m
sure
you overheard them bragging about the murder of a defenseless princess from Tryfyn.”

The innkeeper knew what Vyrn was capable of. Upon their arrival, the villagers had been welcoming enough. They didn’t see many travelers, and it was thought that a sentinel, an official representative of Columbyana, might bring news and gossip from the capital city. It wasn’t long before Vyrn made his purpose known, and he’d shown them that he had no patience with those who could not deliver what he requested. Those who had given him trouble had been restrained. Those prisoners and the cowards who did not dare to act were all in Rolf’s care.

One overly enthusiastic young man had made the foolish mistake of rushing Vyrn with a tiny dagger in one hand, and had taken a sword to the gut for his folly. The body still lay on the town’s muddy, main street.