The Gypsy King (34 page)

After they reluctantly departed for their own quarters, Persephone tiptoed over to the loose floorboard and withdrew her dagger and other things. She knew she'd have to hide them again soon enough, but she badly needed to see them now—to touch them and to draw strength and courage from the memory of those to whom they'd once belonged. Returning to her chair, she curled her sore bare feet up beneath her and, setting the dagger, lace and rat tail in her lap, placed the soft auburn curl in the palm of her open hand.

Azriel's curl
, she thought as she stroked it with the very tip of her finger and watched it shimmer and glint in the firelight,
Azriel, who might even now be—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

Persephone leapt to her feet so fast that the things in her lap fell to the floor. Closing her fingers around the curl, she pressed her fist to her hammering heart and stared at the chamber door. She could think of only one person who would dare to come knocking at such an hour and with such insistence—as though he was owed something for which he hungered and would not be denied.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

Swiftly, Persephone tossed the rat tail, lace and curl into the hole beneath the loose floorboard, slipped her dagger, hilt first, up her sleeve and hurried across the chamber floor. Whatever the consequences might be, she would
not
allow that monster to force himself upon her, she would
not
—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

Silently bounding the last few steps to the chamber door, Persephone took a deep breath to steady herself, then threw back her shoulders and flung open the door to find not the Regent, but two filthy, blood-splattered New Men.

And standing between them—shorn, fettered, shirtless, singed, battered, bloody but very much
alive:

Azriel.

TWENTY-SEVEN

P
ERSEPHONE MANAGED NOT TO CRY out or shriek or fall upon him—but only just barely. In an effort not to openly stare at his shorn head—which accentuated his chiselled features to a shocking degree—she fixed her gaze firmly upon the nearer of the two soldiers, a man so hairy that the rank, tangled mess upon his broad chest spilled up over the collar of his dirty black doublet.

“Yes?” she said stiffly.

Hastily, the man removed his cap with his free hand and stared at his feet. “Apologies for disturbing you, Lady Bothwell,” he said, “but this ruffian claims to be your slave—”

“My
slave
?” choked Persephone, whose euphoria at seeing Azriel alive suddenly threatened to unleash itself in the form of loud, uncontrollable giggles.

Upon seeing her strange reaction, the hairy New Man inhaled deeply, mashed his lips together and shot a furious glance at his companion. “I
told
you he was lying!” he hissed.

“I never said he wasn't lying, I said I didn't want to take the
chance
that he wasn't lying,” retorted the other, who looked more like a Latin tutor than a New Man and who was looking everywhere but at Persephone. “I said I didn't think we ought to imprison him or beat him to death until we knew for
certain
that he was lying!”

“
I
knew for certain that he was lying,” snarled the enraged hairy one. “Ye gods, what do you think the Regent is going to do to us when he finds out that we not only disturbed Lady Bothwell without cause, but that
we allowed a common criminal to gaze upon her nearly naked body
!”

The desire to giggle abruptly extinguished, Persephone looked down to see that though her body was yet clad in the dead queen's night things, the robe had fallen open and the torchlight from the corridor was shining through the fine weave of the nightgown in a manner that gave anyone who cared to look an exceedingly detailed view of her every curve, hollow and shadow.

Mortified, she snatched her robe shut and looked up to find the New Men and guards all pointedly looking in other directions—and Azriel gazing straight at her with a little lopsided smile on his lips and a heart-stopping expression in his very blue (but rather bloodshot) eyes.

“I hadn't noticed,” he said in a rasping voice. “Is she really nearly naked?”

With a cry of outrage, the hairy New Man pulled back his fist as though he meant to smash it into Azriel's face.

“Stop!” ordered Persephone sharply. “Do
not
strike him!”

“But m'lady, he—”

“Belongs to
me
,” she said. “And I would have you know
that I am
most
displeased by the condition in which you have returned him to me.”

Azriel gazed at the man reproachfully before turning back to Persephone. “They tore my clothes and beat me without restraint, Mistress,” he offered humbly as he pointed to a nasty gash on his forehead and lifted his arms to display his well-muscled but badly bruised midriff. “They had me halfway to the dungeon before they thought better of it.”

Feeling as short of breath as though she were once again trussed up in her corsets, Persephone tore her gaze away from Azriel's injured (but still naked) torso and fixed it upon the now thoroughly alarmed New Men.

“Give me the key to this … this
slave's
fetters and be gone,” she said coldly. “Go first to the kitchens and tell the servants to send up food enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger in my belly, then go curl up in a corner somewhere and pass this night wondering what punishment the Regent shall inflict upon you should I decide to inform him of your gross trespass against me and mine.”

“B-but—”

“And the next time you happen upon a person of unknown providence, I encourage you to think before you strike, lest misjudgment on your part see you a head shorter before you're a day older.”

As soon as the tutorish New Man gave her the key to Azriel's fetters, Persephone grabbed her “slave” by his
biceps, pulled him into her chamber and closed the door. Alone with Azriel at last, Persephone was so overwhelmed by relief at the knowledge that he was safe—and by her desire to fling her arms around his neck and feel the reassuring warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of her nightclothes—that she began to back away. Before she'd gone even one step, however, his powerful arms were around her, sweeping her off her feet and crushing her against him. She made a fleeting, half-hearted attempt to summon feelings of outrage, but the heat and strength of his embrace were too potent to resist, and as sensation collided with sensation, Persephone began to feel reckless and drunk with desire. Sliding her hands up his naked biceps and across his impossibly broad shoulders, she ran her fingers up through his shorn hair until she felt him shudder violently. And when he whirled her around and pushed her roughly up against the chamber door she felt her desire surge, and when he cupped her head in his hands and leaned in with an expression that told her that the long, hard kiss he was about to give her was only the beginning—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

“You all right in there, m'lady?” bellowed a gruff voice.

“W-what?” panted Persephone, who felt as though she'd just been yanked back from the edge of a precipice.

“I heard noises,” bellowed the voice. “Groaning. Banging. Panting.”

Flushing hotly, Persephone gulped down her next pant. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” she called as she shakily ducked under Azriel's arm and skittered away
from him. “Now … now, stop listening in at my door. It's rude and I won't have it!”

While the gruff-voiced guard mumbled his apologies, Persephone gestured for Azriel to follow her away from the prying ears on the other side of the door. Upon reaching the fireside, she slid the dagger out of her sleeve, hid it beneath the loose floorboard and warily turned to face Azriel. She didn't know what had gotten into her a moment earlier, but she was back in control of herself now, and she didn't know what she'd do if he wanted to talk about what had just happened—or worse, if he tried to pick up where they'd left off.

But he didn't seem interested in doing either of those things. Acting as if
nothing
had just happened, he collapsed into a chair.

“Among other things, I've come to fulfill my solemn vow to protect you,” he announced in a voice so weak and raspy that it was nearly lost in the quiet clinking of his fetters.

Trying not to feel piqued by how easily he'd put their moment of feverish madness behind him, Persephone said, “As ever, your willingness to lay down your life is a tremendous comfort to me.”

Azriel's satisfied smile told Persephone that he was well pleased with her words. Rolling her eyes, she poured a second goblet of wine, handed it to him and said, “What is wrong with your voice? Where are Rachel and Fleet? Did you ever find Cur? Were you able to save the child?
What happened to your hair
?”

Azriel drank deeply of the wine.

“I cut my hair,” he said in a much-improved voice as she knelt before him to unlock his fetters, “for my disguise would not have borne up under scrutiny otherwise.”

“But why disguise yourself as a slave?” she asked, sitting back on her heels. “Why not just call yourself a servant?”

Azriel took another long swallow of wine. “A male servant would never have been allowed to enter a lady's private chambers at night without a chaperone,” he explained, wiping his mouth with the back of his sooty hand. “A eunuch slave, on the other hand.…”

“A
eunuch
!” squeaked Persephone, her eyes involuntarily flying to Azriel's crotch. “You mean … you told them that someone cut off your … your.…”

“Equipment?” he suggested, the corners of his mouth twitching as he followed her gaze. “Yes, that is what I told them—though you needn't look so distressed, Persephone, for I can assure you that my equipment is still intact and in excellent working order.” He arched an eyebrow and let one hand hover over the laces of his breeches. “Shall I prove to you that I speak the truth?”

“Not unless you'd like to see your precious equipment go sailing out yonder window,” replied Persephone with a scowl that she hoped
clearly
conveyed to him the fact that she'd put their moment of feverish madness even farther behind her than he'd put it behind him. “Now, where are Rachel and Fleet and Cur?”

“I've not seen Cur alive
or
dead since he saved us with his timely departure from the alley, but after the way he survived his fall into the river, I'd wager he's still alive,” said Azriel. “As for Rachel and Fleet, they are safe and on their
way back to the Gypsy camp—though it took a staggering number of sugarberry branches to persuade Fleet to leave you behind. Oh, and I'm to tell you that Rachel intends to ride hard and return to Parthania as soon as may be in order to save you.”

Persephone frowned at the thought of her friend needlessly putting herself in harm's way. “And the child?” she asked, rising from her knees to perch at the edge of her chair.

“With Rachel and Fleet, but—”

“Thank goodness for that, at least,” she said. “Last night when I stepped into the light of the soldiers' torches—”

“As I watched helplessly, wondering if I'd ever see you again, that I might have the opportunity to soundly chastise you for your courageous but infuriatingly foolhardy actions,” interjected Azriel pointedly.

“And I saw the soldiers herding the people away and setting fire to the slum, I feared that you would be unable to save the child,” continued Persephone, as though he'd never spoken. “For some reason, I could not stop thinking of Sabian and imagining his little body lying beneath the charred ruins. Knowing that your kinsman has been saved makes it easier for me to bear … to bear the price paid to rescue him.”

“You are very kind to say so, for I know how you loved your hawk,” said Azriel. “Unfortunately, however, your fears were half right.”

Persephone stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“The message the pigeon carried was incomplete,” he explained, smacking the chair arm in frustration. “There
was not one child, but
two
. Two little brothers abandoned to a fiery death by the family into whose care they'd been entrusted. Using the cover of chaos and smoke to slip into the slum, I reached the place we'd been told we'd find the child just ahead of the flames. Upon discovering him hiding behind a sleeping pallet, I scooped him up and ran.” Azriel leaned over as though he was about to vomit. After a moment, he sat back up and continued. “I never thought to look for a second child and was halfway to the alley before I realized what the one in my arms was trying to tell me. Of course I turned back at once but by the time I got there it was too late.”