Prince of Luster (21 page)

“There’s a break in the snow, so it’ll be colder tonight. Let’s get this over with,” he told her.

She nodded. “Stay close to me.”

She stalked out of the cave knowing he was recovered enough to keep up with her quicker pace. It would be some distance before they got to the city limits. Until then, it wouldn’t be necessary for him to bend over and act as though he was incapacitated.

Once they got near the city and he stooped to appear as so many of the citizens, they both kept their silence. To augment the perception of his being older, he’d added a long staff made of an old, dead branch.

Eventually, she felt the need to instruct him yet again, though he’d not take kindly to any suggestion of not yet looking like a colonist.

Nova put her hand around one of his biceps as he stooped lower to hear.

“I’ve decided you’re a neighbor that I’m helping. But it might be better if I did the talking.”

“I’ll relent on that,” he quietly returned. “But if there’s trouble, get out of my way. You run; I’ll do the fighting.”

“We both run, and neither of us fights, damn you!”

He might have made some retort she wouldn’t have liked, but they had approached the first place she wanted to stop. To her utter relief, he simply leaned heavily on his staff and lowered his gaze in what appeared to be a beaten, submissive posture.

“What may I do for you this day, little one? Pots, pans, or cutlery?” the elderly stall owner asked.

As the minutes flew by, she counted their sojourn so far as exceedingly fortunate. They seemed to garner no undue attention. But Marcos still kept his staff ready to use as a weapon. His grip on the branch told her as much.

They moved from one stall to another and bypassed children huddling near barrels where fires had been started to keep customers warm. Nova’s empty bags began to fill, but she never really saw Marcos relax. Knowing him as she did, she noted how his muscles tensed, and how he appeared more rigid than he would have back in the cave. Of course, that was a normal response to their situation, but he had to loosen up or someone would surely notice.

She patted him on the shoulder and shot him a silent glare, hoping he’d get the message.

When they came to a stand where dried fruit was being sold, Nova surveyed the choices. The seller there eyed her companion critically, but said nothing. To cover for Marcos’s presence, she made an offhand comment to him about how she’d look in on him tomorrow, after getting him back to his cottage. That tactically placed remark quelled any curiosity the stall owner had. The salesman went about helping her choose from his poor selection.

While she was paying for her purchase, a small girl approached the stall. The child was pitifully thin, and her brown curls were dirty and tangled. Her clothing was torn and hung too loose.

The child reached out her hand for one of the stray pieces of fruit that lay too close to the edge of the seller’s cart.

“Be off with you, girl,” the stall owner chastised. “I haven’t enough for my own family, much less someone else’s.”

The child turned away, but Marcos put his hand in his cloak pocket and drew out a coin. He handed it to the waif, and she took it and stared up at him as if such a thing had never happened to her before. Slowly, as if she’d imagined the entire thing, the little girl turned to walk away. But she hesitated once to glance back at the stooped man in the cloak.

Nova’s heart filled with love for him. It occurred to her then that any child of his would never ever go hungry or know fear. Not as long as he lived.

The stall owner shook his head in disgust. “You’ll just teach her to beg, old man. If the slugs catch that little girl asking others for coins, they’ll kill her. Better to keep what you have to yourself. You must have been confined for some time, or you’d know what I say is true.”

“He has been,” Nova eagerly responded on Marcos’s behalf. “He’s been very ill since he was burned.”

She caught a glimpse of both the compassion in Marcos’s expression and his anger, and quickly led him away, toward another stall. “That was a very kind thing you did,” she whispered.

“Not if it gets that child killed,” he solemnly muttered. “If that merchant was right, I might have given her reason to beg from others.”

“She’ll likely buy bread with the coin since it’s the cheapest product sold. My guess is it’ll be the first loaf she’s had in days.” She blinked back tears as she spoke.

“Don’t cry,” he softly instructed. “Someone will wonder what’s wrong.” He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it tightly.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He lowered his head to hide his smile.

About an hour later, they were almost ready to leave but stopped at one last stall for canned goods. These were the heaviest to carry, so Nova chose to purchase them last.

As she turned to look at the other end of the goods displayed on the long cart before them, an elderly man slowly approached. She vaguely recognized the gentleman, but couldn’t remember why.

“Sir … madam … may I speak with both of you?” the stranger softly asked.

“I’m with a friend and am, as you see, indisposed,” Marcos replied.

“Highness, please … I’m the man whose life you saved. You were badly burned in my stead, and saved the life of my granddaughter as well. I am, therefore, deeply indebted and obligated to warn you.”

Nova froze. Only long-practiced skills kept her from gasping aloud and staring wide-eyed at her lover.

“What did you call me?” Marcos asked.

“Sir … I know who you are. There aren’t many here who would recognize the green eyes of the Starlaw purebloods. But I knew who you were by your bearing in the marketplace that day. You have your father’s strength of character.” The older man slowly nodded in acknowledgement. “I know you, sir. I have been to Luster and know who you are.”

Nova felt her heart actually beat harder as she stared at the dirt in shock. A stranger had just acknowledged Marcos as a member of one of the most regal families to have ever existed—a family headed by a man to whom she’d shown virulent disrespect.

Surely she’d misheard. Or the stranger who’d approached them was addled. She waited, barely able to breathe. What possible explanation could there be but that some wild mistake had been made.

She waited to hear her lover’s response. But rising gut instinct told her the elderly stranger had hit on a truth she hadn’t wanted to see.

How utterly, ridiculously foolish I am. Of course he acted like a warrior. He is one!

If her life had depended on it, she wouldn’t have been able to move. She just stood there, frozen, and waited to hear what he’d say even as her heart told her the truth. That he’d lied was clear. That she’d believed him was her own fault. But what now? What could she say or do with the enemy patrolling around them, only yards away?

She swallowed hard and let years of experience—where being a non-entity in a dangerous environment meant surviving—take over. No one must see how her reality had just been shattered. It took everything she had to keep a calm posture and show no physical response.

• • •

Marcos quickly glanced at Nova. She was no more than ten feet away, and was clearly trying not to stare at him. “You’ve made a mistake, friend.”

The elderly man shook his head. “No. I have not.” Then he nodded at a stand across the street. “You must come to my stall. Come quickly before my absence at my place of business is noticed.”

Marcos watched the older man walk away and tried to slow his racing pulse. Fear for his life wasn’t at issue. He’d been in dangerous situations many times. But not with the woman he loved by his side. Not with slug brawlers prowling the streets like vermin.

There was no choice. He gripped the staff and saw Nova nod almost imperceptibly. She’d heard. She
knew
.

This was not how he’d wanted her to find out, but he had only himself to blame. He should have been honest with her from the start. Now, he couldn’t read her emotions. She cast her gaze to the ground or toward the passing slug killers that walked by only several feet away.

He took her hand in his, and helped her hoist their parcels while edging closer to the stall the older man indicated. To anyone watching, they must appear as innocent shoppers, nothing more.

“We stay together. No matter what!” she whispered as they neared the stranger’s stall.

The earnest way she muttered the words made him want to hold her. Whatever she felt at that moment, she was keeping it to herself. If she hated him for his deception, she was doing a good job of hiding it.

Marcos turned toward the elderly man. He kept his bent stance; his hand clutched Nova’s much smaller palm as he waited.

Whatever the stranger might say, he’d been recognized. Who else might know his real identity, and why—when they were so close to turning back for their small cave—did this have to happen now?

“Let me speak quickly and bluntly,” the vendor said as he eyed Marcos and Nova. “Time is running out. You must listen carefully.”

Marcos stood in front of his revealer’s stall. It was filled with inexpensive, handcrafted jewelry that meant nothing to him at the moment. All he was concerned about was getting back to the cave safely, and explaining his duplicity to Nova.

“What do you want of me?” Marcos softly asked as he gripped Nova’s hand tighter and glared at the older man who’d outed him.

“I assumed this girl with you knows of your identity.”

Marcos glanced at Nova; she kept her face down and almost hidden by the folds of her hood. “Go on and be quick about it,” he instructed.

“Sir, constables have been visiting the various businesses, asking if anyone has tried to buy large amounts of certain herbs or medicinals,” the merchant said as he pretended to show Marcos a handful of jewelry. “Slugs are looking for someone who might be a healer. There was once one among us. She was a Wiccan woman. The lady you’re with has the look of that culture. It’s her eyes, sir. Despite her scars, no other planet but Wyrdan produces such remarkably colored eyes. There are many here who might not know such things, and might think her a spawn of many races, but I’m older. I have traveled throughout this sector. And if she’s who I think she is, I knew her mother. Many of us thought the girl dead.”

Marcos’s blood ran cold. Nova was everything. His fear on her behalf tripled over any angst he’d experienced so far. He’d rather face fire plasma a thousand times over than see her caught for helping him. The powers that be were looking for her due to him. He had gotten her into this mess; it was up to him to see her safely out of it, no matter what. This would likely be the last time he could chance coming into the marketplace. With this news, they’d be lucky to make it back to the cave unnoticed. So great was his fear that he could feel himself physically shaking; something he’d never experienced in his life. No matter how bad circumstances got, he’d always reckoned there was a way out. But what way out was there for her? Apparently, even her scars couldn’t hide who she was or the skills accredited to her.

“I’m afraid your eye color gives also gives you away, sir,” the merchant said. “I’m certain Prometheus and Forrell have figured out who you are and are looking for you. My guess is they know you escaped death, likely with the help of this girl by your side,” he explained. “I have kept my silence and will continue to do so. No Limaxian or guard Forrell sends will make me reveal what I know. But you must not come back to this place again. Stay hidden.”

As in the past—when Marcos had been on such undercover operations—he’d decided to explain the unusual hue of his eyes by claiming Vegan ancestral ties. That race had eyes that were almost the exact same shade of green. No one had ever questioned his heritage. Not until now. Again, Nova’s ancestry was particularly prevalent in the shade of her beautiful gaze. There was almost no way to explain it away except that she
was
of Wyrdan ancestry.

Had he kept his mouth shut that day he’d been burned, the ruse he’d always used would have worked. But then this good man—a stranger risking his life to warn the enforcer son of a distant king—would be dead. Along with a helpless girl.

“You should leave here,” the merchant warned. “There are many who will turn you in, in order to save themselves.”

Marcos nodded. “I thank you, my friend. You risk your life for us, and I won’t forget it.”

“As you risked yours for me and my granddaughter, good sir. I consider the debt as one I owed.” The man then reached beneath his stall and beckoned Marcos closer. “Take this. We are not allowed to have such weapons on Delta Seven. I constructed it some years ago and would never part with it unless I saw a chance of escaping. Now … I see you as that chance. If you can get away, do so. Tell the king how we fare and bring help.”

Marcos took a heavy sword the old man brought from beneath a display table. He quickly hid it beneath his cloak, and badly wanted to tell his benefactor that help would most certainly come. But that knowledge had to remain with him and Nova for the time being.

Still, his heart soared over the hope gleaming from the elderly man’s eyes. It was the first time since coming to this damned planet that he’d witnessed such an expression, except when alone with Nova.

The vendor would conclude that enforcers were coming to look for the second-born prince of Luster. Even without anyone saying so.

“I thank you,” Marcos whispered. “If I’m caught, you and I never spoke. I never saw you or heard your warning, and I never obtained any weapon from you.”

“If you should need other help, sir, I will gladly be of service,” the merchant said. “My name is—”

“No. Don’t tell me. That way, I can never be forced to give you up,” Marcos insisted.

The elderly man bowed. “You are of old blood and would never do so, sir. My best wishes for your speedy trip home.”

“Thank you.”

Marcos gripped Nova’s hand harder, then turned and slowly lumbered away.

To her credit, she kept her head down and her mouth completely closed.

He knew a confrontation was coming. But she was far too intelligent to broach the subject here, in the middle of a marketplace crawling with slugs and Forrell’s butchers.