The Kraken King (33 page)

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Authors: Meljean Brook

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Adult

BOOK: The Kraken King
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Zenobia bit her lip. After another second, she said, “Before he could sell the sketch, an antiquities dealer learned that Archimedes had found it. A man was sent to my home to look for it. That was the first time I needed rescue.”
There was truth in that, he thought. Perhaps not the details. But Ariq knew remembered fear when he saw it. Usually from soldiers reliving a battle, yet with Zenobia now. Eyes unfocused, she was utterly still. Whatever had happened, she’d faced death, and a part of her wasn’t here in this room. She was recalling every moment of it.
Softly, he asked, “Is that when you hired Mara and Cooper?”
“No,” she said, and returned to him. “Not then. There still weren’t many people who knew Archimedes Fox had a sister, until a former partner of his had me kidnapped by mercenaries, trying to force my brother on a fool’s errand to New Eden. So Archimedes put out an advertisement, offering a fortune to whoever found me and delivered me safely home. So the mercenaries who kidnapped me brought me back and collected their reward. But there were others after that. It was an easy way to earn money—kidnap Archimedes Fox’s sister and wait for the ransom.
That’s
when I hired Mara and Cooper.”
And there was truth there, too. The former partner—Bilson. The twins had said he and Gunther-Baptiste had been in New Eden. A betrayal might be the reason for the trouble now.
But her story didn’t explain this. “And my uncle? How do you know of him?”
“The letters.” She gestured to her pack. “Archimedes traveled to Morocco just before the revolution.”
“But how did he know that Temür Agha was a rebel? Few people did.” Gunther-Baptiste had known.
She didn’t have an answer ready for that. Ariq took another step. Her hands fluttered up and she said, “Helene was right when she said I was confused by the news reports.”
But she hadn’t been. “And that was all the letter said—that my uncle died in the rebellion?”
“No.” Her fingers twisted together. “My brother and his wife flew him out of Rabat on her airship. They took him to Europe. He’s there now, gathering people from the outposts, and moving east.”
Ariq froze. “My uncle is?”
“Yes.”
Even the Khagan had feared his uncle’s power over the Golden Empire’s armies, so much that he hadn’t dared to kill him. Instead, he’d sent Temür Agha to the farthest end of the empire and appointed him governor.
If Temür Agha returned, he wouldn’t need to conceal his loyalty to the rebellion. The time of sitting at the Khagan’s right hand had passed. Many soldiers in the Khagan’s armies would defect to his uncle’s banner, shattering the waning strength of the emperor’s forces.
But even if the soldiers remained loyal, an army would still be marching east, gathering support as it went. The people in the outposts were almost all dissidents from the empire who’d been rounded up and forced to labor in walled compounds surrounded by zombies. Many outposts had war machines and had been charged with keeping the Europeans from returning. With a man like Temür Agha at the lead, they would turn those machines toward the heart of the empire, instead.
A man like Temür Agha . . . and his guard, a woman with a body of mechanical flesh. Without Nasrin, no army would have stood a chance in the zombie-infested lands. If her life hadn’t been tethered to his uncle’s, she could have probably cleared the entire continent of the creatures instead of simply clearing a path—and when they reached the empire, she could be a knife instead of a bomb. The rebellion’s greatest failure was that they’d often hurt more people than they’d helped. But his uncle could send her ahead of his forces and precisely target any threats against them, so that fewer innocents were destroyed in their wake. Instead of cursing the rebellion, more people would join him.
And Zenobia had known he was returning. Ariq stared at her, his heart thundering.
This
was why the rebellion would have targeted her—why Ghazan Bator would have. The news of Temür Agha’s return would light a fire through the empire, and through the citizens who supported the rebels. His uncle’s return would accomplish what they’d all been fighting for: the people overthrowing the corrupted ministry and the tyranny of the Khagan, and reclaiming the Golden Empire.
What they’d all been fighting for, except for those eager to place themselves on the Khagan’s throne. Except for those who wanted to claim victory for just one faction of the rebellion. They’d all want to stop her so they could control how the news of his uncle’s return spread, and turn it to their advantage.
Zenobia hadn’t trusted him, but she’d told him the one thing that mattered over everything else. Now he knew what she needed to be protected from. She hadn’t hidden it from him.
And she probably had no idea what she’d given him: hope for the rebellion. Hope that he hadn’t felt since a blade had cleaved his mother’s neck.
“How did you know?” she asked.
Know? Ariq didn’t understand. He shook his head.
He only knew that he would be kissing her soon.
Eyebrows drawn, she rested her hip against the desk. “That I was Zenobia Fox. What gave me away?”
So many things. Her mercenaries, her glider contraption, an overheard shout. But Zenobia Fox?
He glanced at her pack. “I read your letters.”
No need to mention that he hadn’t been able to read the English. Just the names.
“My letters?” Disbelief registered on her face. “You saw my name by accident?”
“No. I wanted to know what information you carried that was so necessary to protect.”
Lips parted, she stared at him, her green eyes like stones tossed into a fire. “And you wanted to earn my trust?” Abruptly she straightened and moved away from the desk—away from him. Her back straight, she bit off each word. “Telling me this was the worst way to go about it!”
No. She already didn’t trust him. So he’d had nothing to lose by telling her.
“I lost too many people to the marauders. I needed to know if you were the reason. And you sent a letter that said, ‘The Kraken King suspects me.’ I needed to know if I should.”
She whirled on him. “You read
that
?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled through clenched teeth, as if battling for control. “I knew you would.”
“You must have, because you wrote it in code. You should have chosen a better one.”
Fury reddened her cheeks. Her slim frame shook with it as she pointed to the door. “Go. Now.”
And give her a chance to rebuild her walls again? No. They
were
going to fall.
Ariq crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He expected more anger—hot or cold. It didn’t matter. He could withstand it.
But he was wrong. When she spun away from him, it wasn’t anger that he glimpsed in the sudden bleakness of her eyes. Her hand dropped to her side before sliding around her middle, as if holding in a brutal ache. She wasn’t just angry. He’d hurt her.
Ariq couldn’t withstand her pain.
He went after her. Crossing the room, she stiffly turned this way and that, as if looking for escape, her back always to him. She passed the bed, and there was nowhere else to go. She stopped at the wall, her hand flat against the yellow paper, her head bowed. Her exposed neck was a knife in his chest.
He’d hurt her. By reading her letters? He understood the anger. Not this.
She stood before him, shaking. He wanted to hold her against him, but she looked so fragile, as if a touch might shatter her bones and flesh. He reached out with his voice, though he could only manage a rough whisper. “Zenobia.”
She shuddered and shook her head. “I knew I shouldn’t have thought so well of you.” Though her body trembled, her voice was strong and hard. “But you were so blunt. I liked that so much. And I thought you were honest. You even told me that you wanted to know my secrets. I shouldn’t have trusted that any of it was true.”
Ariq hadn’t told her everything. But he’d always told her the truth. “I would not lie to you.”
“You would. Oh, I
knew
you would, from the very first night. But I let myself believe. Like an idiot, I wanted to believe.” Her head came up, her fingers fisting against the wall. Abruptly she pivoted, eyes like cold green stones as she stared up at him. Angry again—but the pain still there. “Mara heard you. You and your brother. You agreed I was ugly, yet you still pursued me. Now I know why. So you could get close enough to look at my letters. So you could make certain that I was no threat to your town. Well, there you have it. I’m not. You can stop pretending.”
Pretending?
Ariq stood frozen, struggling for control. He was engaged in a battle, the most important war he might ever wage, and he couldn’t find his calm.
He couldn’t give in to anger, no matter what she accused him of.
Pretending.
There was nothing false in what he felt. Nothing false in the emotions ripping through him now.
But she had reason to doubt. That was his fault.
“It wasn’t agreement that Mara heard. It was me letting my brother release his bitterness and anger instead of silencing him with my fist,” he said, and the thinning of Zenobia’s lips told him that she didn’t trust a word. “He wanted to apologize to you, but I didn’t let him. I thought telling you what had been said would do more harm than an apology could fix. I should have let him. I’m sorry for that. But there was nothing false in my pursuit. There’s nothing false in what you see now.”
Her hard gaze skipped down his body and lingered at his groin. He’d shed all but his trousers as he’d crossed the room toward her, and the loose material hadn’t concealed his arousal. His erection had softened at the sight of her pain and during his second pursuit. Now the need stirred again as she looked at him.
But she didn’t soften or warm. Her smile was brittle when her gaze rose to meet his again. “Do you know you aren’t the first to call me ugly? My father liked to tell me that no man would ever have me.”
Each word was a fist to his heart. Was this what lay behind those walls? Pain deeper than he’d ever imagined in her.
Throat thick, he shook his head. “I don’t—”
“Then he would say, ‘If you spread your legs once, you’ll be doing it for any man who comes along.’ Which taught me never to listen to anything he said, because it made no sense. According to him, either no man would have me or every man would.” A sharp laugh accompanied the shake of her head. “But he was right. All this time. He was right. Because you think I’m ugly
and
want me to spread my legs.”
He couldn’t bear this. “I don’t want you to spread your legs! I want you to open your arms.”
Another laugh ripped from her. “So you think I’m beautiful?”
“No,” Ariq said, and her sharp breath stabbed through his chest. He moved closer. “Except here.”
She flinched away from the hand he lifted to her face. Another knife through his heart. Gently, he cupped her jaw and smoothed his thumb across her cheek. Her gaze held his, hard and shielded against him. But Ariq knew how to get through. He just had to surrender first.
So he did.
“When I first saw your face, I thought it was unremarkable—but I already knew you were extraordinary. You jumped from a flyer and saved Mara, then you picked apart the marauders’ intentions so easily. Then I looked here.” He brushed the corner of her eye. “And they are beautiful. The way you use them to smile and shout and doubt me, even when you aren’t speaking. And here.” He touched her bruised lips, and their trembling quaked through him. “Everything you say, every laugh. Your kiss. And here.” He traced her dark eyebrows. “Every question you ask with them. Every time you’re angry. And I will tell you why I wanted to know your secrets.”
Jaw set, she shook her head, rejecting his reason even before he spoke it.
He told her anyway. “Because you have a light in your face and a fire in your eyes, and the first time I looked into them, I knew it would be you. The woman I would want forever. The woman I need at my side. The woman I would love.”
She stared at him, jade eyes like stone. Her voice was gravel, rough and broken. “I don’t believe any of that.”
“Then believe that you are everything to me,” he said, and she closed her eyes, a desperate defense—as if she were struggling to keep him out.
But she wanted to let him in. Her body trembled as his fingers followed the curve of her jaw, and he felt the need as sharp as his own, exposed and vulnerable. This doubt might destroy them both. Nothing was more important than making her believe him. If not now, then one day.
Tonight, there was nothing more that Ariq could say. But he could show her.
“Zenobia,” he said softly. “It’s my turn.”
Her eyes flew open. Her focus locked on his mouth and followed him down. Leaning in, he braced his hands against the wall beside her stiff shoulders, surrounding her, but not trapping her. She didn’t try to escape.
Gently, he claimed her lips. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. “Trust me,” he murmured against her mouth, but it didn’t soften and she didn’t respond, until the building pain in his chest forced him to pull away.

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