Return to Shanhasson (34 page)

Benton broke for the Gates and fled,
casting frantic glances back over his shoulder, eyes wide with terror. Some of
the Sha’Kae al’Dan began to run him down, the drum of hooves warning her of
their approach. She flung up her hands and whirled around. “Let him go. He’s
nothing to me.”

Drendon reined his stallion to a halt
and dismounted, followed closely by his nine Blood. “Vulkar curse us, have we
missed the
kae’don
?”

She smiled warmly and accepted his hug.
“Your timely arrival helped avoid the
kae’don
entirely. Thank you for coming.”

“Alea would skin me alive if I had but
hesitated a single moment. Of course we came.”

He introduced the khuls who rode with
him, some she knew, like Lyell, who’d plotted to humiliate her years ago and
failed miserably, and Casson, who’d been Rhaekhar’s Second. The warrior who
shocked her, though, was Varne.

Why
on earth would he come to my call for help? He despises me.

Varne inclined his head stiffly, his
face as implacable and stone cold as usual, made even grimmer by the scars
she’d left on his cheeks. She couldn’t help the vicious pleasure at the sight
of all those deep white scars and his nearly bare braids. The golden rings told
her he’d fought in a few
kae’don
,
though for whom she couldn’t imagine.

“Khul, please accept my warmest
hospitality. I can’t house all your warriors within the Palace, but certainly
your Blood, khuls, and any others you desire may accompany us into Shanhasson.
We’ll overflow to the inns if need be.”

“That’s not necessary, Shannari.”
Drendon waved his hand above his head and the warriors dispersed, talking and
joking among themselves. “Most of our warriors would rather camp outside your
Shining Walls to graze the
na’kindren
.”

Casson stepped forward, his face
strained. “Shannari,
na’Qwen
, our
Camp is well.”

She’d never really known Casson;
Rhaekhar had led their Camp so well that she’d rarely even talked to the second
in command. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, smiling to ease the tension. “I
expect you to fill me in later on who’s been challenging us and whether any new
claimings have occurred.”

Drendon slapped the younger man on the
back. “Despite Alea’s best matchmaking skills, your new khul remains unmated.
Perhaps he’ll find a woman among your outlanders.”

Blanching, Casson stammered a denial,
and then nearly slammed his own fist into his mouth when he realized his
adamant refusals might insult her.

She laughed softly and quickly assured
him. “I know as few honorable outlanders as you, Casson, although I sincerely
hope you find a mate who makes you very happy.”

“What of us, Your Majesty?”

Slowly, she turned back to the waiting
tals
. She quickly glanced at each,
unwilling to scrutinize them openly, but she still couldn’t tell one from
another. Sandalwood smelled stronger, but it came from all three. He must be
deliberately sharing his scent with the others to mask his presence.

Which irritated her to no end. She’d
hinted that she could smell him all the way from Shanhasson. Why did it matter
if she knew which
tal
was the one
from her Dreams? Did he not hold her bond? Had he not won her blood? Eyes
narrowed, she tugged on that black bond in her mind, willing him to betray
himself with a sound, a move, but they all three stood silent and proud.

Her gaze lingered on the last warrior.
His heavy cloak had fallen about his shoulders, revealing loose hair as black
as hers, gleaming with oil in the sunlight. The other
tals
wore their hair tightly pulled back from their faces in one
long braid down their backs. His hair blended with the cape so that she
couldn’t tell how long it was exactly, but it looked incredibly soft and shiny.
If it smelled like sandalwood…

Unconsciously, she took a step closer.
Dharman bumped into her slightly, warning her back and breaking the moment of
attraction. Behind her, Sal muttered beneath his breath. “It’s always the hair.
I wonder if she’d love me as much if I shaved mine off.”

“You’re welcome to try,” she growled.

Sal laughed and gave a little toss of
his head so his blood-auburn hair tumbled over her shoulder.

She fisted her hand in that heavy silk
and tugged firmly, drawing a low rumble from him. “You know I’d love you bald,
but I’d much rather have your hair wrapped around me at night, if only to annoy
Dharman.”

Despite their teasing, the
tal
didn’t miss that moment of
intensity, and his eyes widened slightly. She even thought they lightened a
moment, a cast of silver, perhaps? She didn’t dare study him openly, and at her
next glance, his eyes were just as dark as the others’. For whatever reason,
the Black Dragon wished to remain hidden among his comrades, so she’d play
along. For now.

“One of you,” she stared at each
tal
a moment, letting him feel the pulse
of holy water in her gaze, “already bears my bond. One of you already wears my
mark in his flesh. One of you is already bound to me heart and soul. If you
three and your
ravs
wish to accompany
me to the Palace, I’ll allow it, but no other Keldari may enter the Shining
Walls. To cross the Gate without my permission will bring your death.”

“And the challenge?” The middle
tal
smiled so widely his face must hurt.
“Will you allow us to join the Dance?”

“The only
tal
I’ll discuss challenge with is the one who bears my mark.” Her
lips curved in a fierce smile just as wide. “He’d better have a care that my
Blood don’t carve that mark from his flesh when he approaches me.”

A thought occurred to her that turned
her smile of dominance into something closer to seduction, which shook the wide
smile off the middle
tal’s
face.
Indeed, all three stiffened expectantly.

This Black held her bond. So she would
use it against him.

The black serpent in her mind coiled
tighter and hissed warningly.

She lowered her lashes, turning her head
slightly away from them, while she remembered the spicy taste of his blood, his
thigh gripped in her jaws, the steel of his erection brushing her cheek, the
pleasure that had poured through her from his blood alone. Not like her
Council, oh no. She ached to taste him again.

The
tal
with the incredible hair shivered, the black cloak whispering against the
grass, betraying his movement.

“The hair,” Sal repeated, shaking his
head.

“And the blood.” Dharman stared at the
savage, his muscles straining, his stance widening in aggression. “Do you want
him now,
na’lanna
, or later?”

“Later,” she said, shrugging casually,
and turned her back on them all. She even managed to smile at Varne, which made
the glowering warrior stumble a step. “Or perhaps not at all.”

She started back toward Shanhasson,
dismissing the Keldari entirely. A scuffle behind her accompanied a rush of
determination through the Black’s bond. He surged toward her, ignoring the
rahkes
flashing at him, the shouted
warning from the Sha’Kae al’dan, and the grim fury of her Blood. She felt each
rahke
take a piece of him but he refused
to stop, and her Blood knew her heart.

They would not kill him, not unless she
wished it, and Lady help her, she didn’t wish him dead.

Shannari didn’t even turn around, but
when his hand landed on her shoulder, she whipped the white
rahke
back into his groin. Panting, he
pressed against her back despite the blade she held, fully prepared to gut him
as she’d done to Theo. The
tal’s
scent rolled over her, burning sandalwood and blowing desert sands, his hair
heavy and soft with oil.

“Or perhaps now,” he whispered against
her cheek.

Ever so slowly, she turned her face
around toward his, shifting enough to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”
she breathed against his lips, using the
rahke
to punctuate her threat.

“Mykal
tal
'Mamba.”

“Mykal,” she whispered, letting his name
roll on her tongue like fine wine. “If you come with me, I’m going to ask my
Blood to pin you flat on your back with their
rahkes
so I may wallow in your blood and taste every wound we’ve
given you.”

His eyes bled silver, his dragon peeking
out from behind his dark desert eyes. “Every wound?”

She nodded. Lady above, her mouth
already watered at the thought.

“My heart beats for you, brightheart.”
He pushed harder against her
rahke
until the blade broke his skin. His breath sighed out against her lips. “Do as
you will with me.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

SO
MUCH SURROUNDING STONE MADE THE DRAGON PACE UNEASILY WITHIN HIM. Mykal could
not soar free of this place if she changed her mind. He kept very quiet and
unassuming as she led him into her Palace. He watched while she directed her
people to provide an entire wing of guest quarters for the Sha’Kae al’Dan, and
large rooms for the Keldari in the adjacent wing, separated only by a
courtyard. The temptation to invite the barbarians to Dance would be great.

Of course, he noted that she’d requested
only two rooms for his fellow
tals
.
Yet he displayed no outward anticipation or demands. By the dark looks her
young Reds continued to cast his way, he might very well find himself staked
out in the desert beneath the roasting sun before she was done with him.

After her guests were seen to, there
were messages to write in order to request new ambassadors from those countries
which had betrayed her. The remaining Council sat huddled together like
frightened rabbits. Disgusted, he studied her Blood instead, for at least
they’d proven themselves fearless.

They would have each died without his
assistance and they knew it. Only he’d been able to provide her the blood she
needed to access her power once they were felled by the attack. That
indebtedness burned like an itch between their shoulders every time one of them
looked at him. His little smiles didn’t help matters much, he admitted, but he
especially couldn’t resist smiling at her First Blood.

Dharman. His main competition. The Red
stood at her back and glowered. The more he glared, the more Mykal smiled.

An intolerable eternity later, she
finally pushed tiredly up out of her chair and led the way toward her
bedchamber without a single glance in his direction. He could almost convince
himself she’d forgotten about his presence entirely, but tenseness remained in
her shoulders even after she shut the door and privacy was ensured.

Outwardly, she remained controlled and
calm. The First Blood helped remove her armor, he and the red-haired warrior
speaking to her soothingly, giving her the intimate little touches that spoke
of great affection and dedication. Inwardly, though, Mykal swore a fierce storm
blew in her so cold that it burned. She felt brittle and sharp in his mind, as
though…

As though she might break.

Sympathy and understanding welled within
him. She’d nearly lost those she held most dear, after already suffering great
loss. She needed to release this storm of emotion with her beloved, but she
dared not break down before him, a man she rightfully did not trust. He watched
silently, trying to decide whether she would most appreciate the dragon or the
savage. Should he offer arrogance, and thus drive her to battle and violence?
Or better yet, he would once more do what her proud Blood could not.

“In the desert,” he began, ignoring the
fierce glares from her two closest warriors, “I would offer you what small
water I possessed in exchange for hospitality. Whether you accepted me into
your tent only, or your
sepah
, the
entire encampment, or not at all, would be entirely up to you. Keldar is a hard
land, a hard life, and you might as easily kill me where I knelt. Water is all
in the desert, more precious than blood or family, and if you accepted me, you
would be required to share your stores with me. Most guests are killed outright
to spare the water, so to offer hospitality first with no gift from me, and
then allow me into your private tent, is truly rare.”

She listened but couldn’t look at him.

Slowly so as not to alarm her guard, he
unbuckled the leather straps crossed over his chest and disarmed himself,
handing his weapons to the nearest warrior. He tugged off his boots and let the
taamid
slip to the floor. Holding his
hands palm up before him, he slowly moved closer. Both warriors bristled, but
he came only near enough so she could breathe his scent and touch him if she
desired, where he knelt at her feet.

“Once accepted, a guest is often proven
more loyal than even a
rav
or brother
by blood. He’s been given water, the most precious commodity in all the desert,
followed by shelter from the punishing sun. A guest who dared to kill or harm
his host would be the vilest of all creatures, worse than any scavenger or
jackal. We Keldari would rather take by force or die in the attempt than sneak
and steal a single drop of water.”