Earth Borne (7 page)

It went against his very nature to settle down.

After all, no horse
chose
to wear a saddle and bit.

Thereus wandered to his study. His fingers traced the volumes and he plucked one off the bookcase. Inky numbers and letters scrawled across the pages, sorted into tidy columns. He squinted as he scrutinized the numbers. Meticulous. They were bloody perfect. He shook his head. Kalliste had been busy.

He used to loathe finances, but after he’d been appointed quartermaster on Arsenius’s ship, he’d devoted his efforts to making them exceptionally wealthy. It never occurred to him to send his gold home. He grimaced. What a selfish bastard he was.

Thereus searched the volumes for the one from right after he’d left and opened it.

His fingers paled, clenching the papers, eager to tear the book to pieces, or to toss it into the fireplace. Westgard and its village had been in such poor shape. He wouldn’t be shocked if the villagers starved that year.

How had she done it?

He withdrew the most recent volume and compared the two. How had Kalliste managed to undo his carelessness? And so spectacularly, indeed? He flipped between the two books, perusing the pages from four years ago and the one dated two days ago. She was far more intelligent and resourceful than he’d given her credit for. What other talents did she hide?

All this time, he presumed his father, or one of his brothers, would assume control of his lands. He’d reasoned he wasn’t abandoning anyone, since he’d been a pathetic Lord to begin with.

Now he saw otherwise. He opened another ledger and read through the villagers’ names. His subjects remained loyal. They were here, the families he’d grown up tending to. Some had been born and a few died, but on the whole his village had increased. He shoved down the sense of pride. They weren’t
his
subjects. He was not responsible for them flourishing.

Not yet.
He smiled. But hell, he’d charm them, too.

Tomorrow he’d visit them, determine what, if anything, they desired and bestow it upon them. On the whole, they would be the easiest to win over. While his wife did an excellent job of vanquishing his debts and providing stability, the village was not affluent. They were comfortable, but not wealthy. He would change that.

A sharp rap clacked at the door. He bellowed an “enter.”

Hector stepped into the room, doubtless to collect his wife. Of his brothers, Hector was the hardest on Thereus, and they’d clashed the most. He shook his head, snorting. “I didn’t believe it, yet here you stand.”

“Forgive me, bro—”

“How do you find the accounts?” Cutting him off, Hector pointed to the ledgers on the desk. Ah, right. Hector was never one for fancy words, or apologies.

Thereus stiffened and chose his words with care. “Very well, indeed. It would seem my wife has more talent for such things than I ever possessed.”

“Aye, Kalliste’s a clever one. As is the boy,” he added, his method of asking how Thereus liked his new fatherhood.

He chuckled. “Aye, that he is. Have you any—”

Hector shook his head and at once Thereus regretted the question. Five hundred years his senior, Hector had always hoped for a large family. The last time he’d seen his brother, he and Delia hadn’t been able to produce any children. What a torture it must be—to be bonded to a female, without heirs. Her barren womb must stupefy them. Delia was a Lapith, and Lapith females belonged to the sole race able to produce children for centaurs. They were incredibly fertile.

As the room screamed in silence, enormous guilt weighed on Thereus’s shoulders. Here he was, a male who’d never given children any consideration—except in the prevention of creating them—and he was blessed with a son he hadn’t known existed.

Was this why his brother was the first to visit? To check how he responded to his son? Such protectiveness toward Lucian warmed his heart.

“Aye, Lucian’s a fine lad,” Hector repeated. “Father has asked the family to gather, in two weeks’ time. He wishes to celebrate your return.”

“Aye, of course. We’ll be there.”

“Good.” His brother offered him a strained smile and a stiff nod. “That will be good.”

Chapter 7

It’s no use.
Melita huffed and tossed aside her half-finished embroidery. No matter how she attempted to distract herself, her musings fixed solidly upon the Lord of Westgard. She rose and departed her chamber for the tenth time this afternoon. Wherever she was in the castle, her feet steered her toward the door of his study.

She padded down the corridor, and at the study, spun on her heel to pace toward the bay window at the end of the corridor.

What is wrong with me? Have I lost all sense of self-preservation?
Best to spend as little time around Thereus as possible. Encounters were treacherous precipices she must avoid. The more she spoke with him, the greater risk something might slip.

Like earlier today, for instance. She’d wanted to laugh and smile with him as he played with Lucian, yet Kalliste would have been appalled.

Balancing her two identities exhausted her mind, yet left her body tense and edgy. She must not allow this new scheme of Thereus’s to take root.
Win me over.
She snorted. Five weeks from now, she would be as reserved toward him as she sent him on his way.

Melita wrung her hands and stared at the gardens below. Yes, that was simply how it must be. She refused to acknowledge the caustic voice in the back of her mind, irritatingly pointing out he wasn’t going to win her.

Because I’m already his.

Her feet betrayed her again, for she found herself located outside of his study, and her hand disobediently knocked. What was his impression of the accounts? She’d expended so much effort improving their circumstances, and well, he’d never proven himself capable in that area. In five weeks’ time, she vowed he wouldn’t leave them again in ruin.

A loud “enter” boomed from inside, and she pushed through the door, treading into the room.

“Kalliste.” Thereus arched a brow, clearly surprised at her presence.

Yes, well, as am I.

“How may I be of service, my Lady?” In human form, he pushed out of his chair but eased back while she marched straight to the desk.

She frowned at the ledgers, strewn haphazardly across the entire desktop. “Do the accounts please you, my Lord?” Wryness seeped through her tone, unforced. She’d spent
days
categorizing those books.

He’d taken seconds to throw her hard work into disarray.

“Aye, they do, my Lady.” Sadness clouded his smile. “I can’t express my deep gratitude for what you’ve done. When I left…” His brows drew together. “I assumed my lands would go to one of my brothers, you would return to your people, and everyone would be better off. I didn’t seek any of the responsibility thrust upon me. I—”

“That’s quite all right, my Lord,” she snapped. His confession was too much; his sincerity poked holes in her defenses and drained her anger. She couldn’t bear to hear his regrets. Not when she possessed so many. A male who humbled himself was too worthy. Her heart groaned under the added strain of another reason to admire him.

Besides, his disclosures made her guilt sink, a pile of bricks in her gut. The temptation of divulging her secrets wavered on her tongue, but she forced her attention onto the accounts.

As she fingered the pages of one ledger, a memory flashed through her mind. She peered at a bookcase. Part of the reason she’d taken so long to organize his study was because she’d spent half her time reading his personal journals. Had she not already been deep in love with Thereus, reading his secret thoughts would’ve plunged her to the bottom of the ocean.

Through reading his words, she’d come to truly understand him, and what she’d lost when he’d disappeared. She’d empathized with the young Lord, with how devastated he’d been by his mother’s death. His actions had simply been the motivations of a man lost to grief. He’d been searching for a way to ease the hole in his heart.
Sweet Thereus, if only you’d filled it with me.

She sighed but started as the man she’d drifted off dreaming about stared intently at her. Only, he wasn’t the same male. A hardness vitrified the emerald of his eyes. Before, those depths were pools spun molten from his warmth. Now, an impenetrable gaze met hers. A male she did not recognize sat across from her. Did she even know him anymore?

For years, she’d fancied herself in love with the dark Lord. When he’d returned, a part of her had leapt back into that fantasy. Yet this man was not the same as the one she’d loved. He was…changed.

“Yes, we’ve done well.” She collected herself and inclined her head toward the books. “I’d never managed an estate before. I would have been lost without Alkippe and the other servants. It’s because of them our villagers are not starving.”

“Aye, so I’ve seen. You’ve done a remarkable job, Kalliste.” He stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, and relaxed into the chair. “I do have another confession. I’ve not been idle these past few years. I’ve had the management of a very profitable pyrate ship. I’m sure my share will please you.” Lacing his fingers behind his head, he smirked at her. So it was true. He was a pyrate.

“I’ve made a small fortune, you see.” Pride coated his words. “One to ensure our village’s success for generations.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.
It doesn’t please me.
“My Lord, the villagers are fine. They’re comfortable, they’re content. Money doesn’t bring them happiness. Working the land with their hands does.” He presumed to
buy
them? Purchase their loyalty and devotion with his soiled gold?

His smug grin struck her, the resultant welts enflaming her fury. “Your father and brothers offered to purchase the villagers’ farms. Can you guess their response?” She paused and arched a brow. “They’d rather die working the land they love than give them up. There’s a pride, my Lord, in
honest
work that means more to these people than any amount of money.” She snorted and added, “You ran a pyrate ship. Your wealth is ill-gotten.” Her indignation flamed. He thought to stroll back into their lives, dump a load of stolen gold on them, and expected to be called their savior. The villagers were loyal because their honor demanded it, not because their Lord filled their pocketbooks.

“Well, mayhap you should’ve accepted their offers,” he growled. “You might learn a thing or two about
business
, my Lady. For instance, you cut their taxes in half. Instead of selling those failing farms, you let the castle go to ruin.” He flung his hands out from behind his head, waving to the walls around them. “You employ half the number of servants I used to. What of those men and women? What about their livelihoods?” He shifted forward in his chair, his hands gripping the pages with pale knuckles.

“Unlike you, my Lord.” Ice frosted her tone as she scoffed. “I am not in need of a maid to dust every vase hourly. This is an enormous castle, far too large, and
we
, Lucian and I, do not require this entire space. The west wing is enough for us.” She leaned over the desk, glaring at him, unwilling to be intimidated this time. “As for those servants, I can assure you they are content working in the village. Which, by the way, is thriving. Its numerous shoppes have become an established part of the trade route throughout Thessaly. You would know as much, if you’d been here.” She should have trembled, yet righteousness bolstered her courage.

Thereus shot to his feet, so they were nose to nose across the desk. The fury of his breaths blew hot against her skin. “Well, rest assured my Lady, I shall see for myself and these,” he tapped several of the names in the ledgers, “these villagers will be made to pay what they owe me. Thank the gods I came back, before your charity had them living in the castle.” He snorted and rose to his full height. “They’ve been abusing your softness. What they require is the heavy hand of a man, before the whole village is in tatters.” He slammed his fist on the desktop.

She jolted and fought the quivering of her lower lip. “Westgard isn’t in tatters.”

“Not yet, wife, but in a few years it will be. They’re scraping by, not turning a profit. You’ve offered too many loans without receiving repayment.” He narrowed his cold, unyielding stare on her. “We’ve a phrase, we pyrates, ’tis ‘no quarter asked and none given.’ ’Tis the law of survival, sweetling. Best you learn it.” He crossed his arms and continued to glare at her.

She slumped in the chair behind her, sitting on her hands to hide how they trembled. This was the real answer she’d been seeking.
No quarter asked…
Quarter was the pyrate word for mercy. Perhaps the old Thereus would have forgiven her, but not this fierce male before her. He
was
different. Hardened. Too hard to show mercy to someone like her.

His growl dismissed her presence and he paced to the bookcase, shoving his hands through his hair. Was he as distraught as she? Had her words cut him as deeply as his hurt her? Her heart tugged in opposite directions. She dug her nails into her palms to prevent her hands from reaching out to him.

Her gaze darted to the bookcase, to the scrolls penned in the impeccable handwriting of King Cheiron. Words clearly stating centaur law—and the punishment for impersonating nobility.