The Twelve Kingdoms (13 page)

“If I wanted entertainment, I'm sure that's so. I want something more.”

His hands lightened, still rubbing my neck, but changing tenor, stroking me with touches like sueded leather. With the softer caresses, his own sword calluses made themselves known, scraping from tough to velvet, depending on the angle.
I have this idea of how your hands would feel on me, strong and soft, rough and caressing, all at once.
I understood now what he meant, and my body went taut with expectation, thrilling to the imagined sensation of him touching me in far more sensitive places.

“It's you I want, Ursula.” He said it in a rough voice, as if continuing the words he'd left off some time before. Those strong, rough-soft fingers feathered down the sides of my throat, from the tender hollows under my ears down the shallow artery to my collarbone. “Any way I can have you. Even if only this much. You're satin and steel under my hands. Like a finely balanced blade, beautiful, sharp, deadly. Seductive. No one else will do.”

His hands drifted lower, and I froze, my stomach clenching. Pulling away, I scrambled to my feet, putting distance between us. He regarded me with a slumberous gaze, relaxed and predatory. Hungry, too. Then he climbed to his feet, downed the rest of his wine, and toasted me with the empty goblet.

Pausing at the door, he looked back and smiled in his serious way.

“I'm very good at waiting, Ursula.”

I
awoke early after a fitful sleep in which I compared columns of numbers that never quite added up and chased after a cloaked woman who left bloody footprints in her wake. Though I caught up to her, my sword had become a quill pen and she laughed as I slashed at her with it.

Putting my hand on my sword, I felt better knowing I had it still. Only a dream. A common one at that. The Hawks often joked about such dreams, of riding into battle naked or with feathers instead of blades.

I dressed in my practice leathers, smiling to hear Dafne's step in the outer chamber, bringing me tea. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she called out, as if I might expect someone else. Had the guards or someone else mentioned Harlan's late-night visit? Despite what I'd said the night before, people might gossip. Or was that my guilty conscience?

“Danu,” I growled at myself. “Nothing happened.” And nothing ever would.

Dafne had set a pile of books on my desk and looked weary, dark circles smudging under her eyes. She waved a hand at the collection and handed me the key. “I think that's everything to be had.”

“Did you stay up all night going through them? You needn't have.”

“I felt I did. Better to extract what I could before I lost the opportunity.”

I studied her, sipping the hot tea, grateful for the warmth that diffused the lingering frost of the nightmares. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing specific.” But she shook her head, unhappy. “Ordnung has a very strange feel. It's nerve-wracking to be forbidden to leave like this.”

“Like being under siege.”

“Yes,” she said on a long, considering breath. “Very like that.”

“I know you worry about Ami and Stella also.”

“Still nothing?”

“I haven't talked to Jepp yet today, but she'd have sent word if there was any. However, I've learned something else that has me worried.”

She winced in dismay. “I am afraid to ask.”

“Did you read much, about the Dasnarians?”

“Only enough to find the correct passages and mark them. I don't really know where to begin. Why?”

“I had an extended conversation with Captain Harlan—twixt thee and me—and he told me some interesting details about Illyria. I'd like to know your perspective, from a more objective standpoint. If you want to start researching, look for the Orsk dynasty and the Temple of Deyrr.”

“Deyrr?”

“A Dasnarian term. I won't prejudice you by giving you the Common Tongue translation. I'm not convinced the mercenary's interpretation is correct.” Nor the rest of his dire warnings.

“I'm not going to like what I find, am I?”

“I doubt it. But well-armed is well prepared.”

“Speaking of strange events, had you noted that Lady Zevondeth has not been at court since we arrived?”

I frowned, replaying the images in my head. “True, I don't think I've seen her. But she's not required to be present. Perhaps she's unwell.”

“Perhaps.” Dafne sounded unconvinced.

“I shall check on her. Before court commences, if I can.”

The Hawks and mercenaries alike were out for early morning practice and warm-ups. To my surprise the two groups mingled extensively now. Jepp appeared to be showing several of the mercenaries the opening stance of the Midnight form. Not that it was forbidden to share, but that she wanted to had me rethinking.

These Dasnarians had a way of using charm to sneak under your guard.

Of its own accord, my eye found Harlan's bulk easily. The rising sun caught his fair hair, gilding him with a crown of light. He talked with Marskal, several other Hawks, and another of his men. Then threw back his head, showing the strong column of his throat and letting loose that booming laugh. He spotted me and raised a hand in greeting, his smile warming in a different way for me.

Marskal grinned and saluted. “Captain! We're offered a demonstration of Dasnarian wrestling. They seek to redeem some of the pride Jepp cut away yester eve.”

“Oh?” I made sure to keep my stride casual, my tone slightly bored. This irritated me also. “Are we meant to coax our enemies into the ring and pin them until they cry mercy?”

Harlan's eyes glinted and I knew he restrained a pithy—and lascivious comment—in response. I gave him a hard look, to forestall any undue familiarity on his part. If he thought I would cut him any slack, excuse any rude behavior, he was mistaken. The bawdiness of soldiers was one thing. I had the dignity of rank to uphold.

Instead he bowed, showing perfect respect. “You are absolutely correct, Your Highness, that this technique would be rarely used in battle. As a last, and most dire, resort, perhaps. Much like your blade forms, our wrestling is intended to build strength, endurance, and character. We believe the most confident fighter, the most determined, will carry the day.”

He just loved to layer in multiple meanings, his words deferential, even bland, but somehow suggestive of the previous night's encounter. And his declared intent.

I shrugged. “Do as you will. I have a workout to get in before court. I'll leave you gentlemen to your games.”

“Ah, badly timed, then,” he replied, then turned to the other men. “Not this morning. We shall save the demonstration for when Her Highness is less pressed for time.”

He kept good discipline, as the mercenaries showed only a hint of their disappointment. Marskal and the other Hawks, however, did not manage to be nearly so polite.

“Captain.” Marskal gave me an odd look. “We already placed bets—only awaiting your arrival.”

Danu take it. He knew full well I should have wanted to see this. Now I'd only made him wonder about my hesitation, knowing I otherwise loved any opportunity to witness a new fighting style. Especially if it gave us insight into our unwelcome guests. Besides, my Hawks would be as restless as I with our comfortable imprisonment—I should be happy for them to find distraction where they could.

I inclined my head. “You have the right of it, Marskal. I can spare the time. You may proceed,” I said to Harlan, and he seemed amused by the regal command.

Yes, it had sounded stiff, but I needed all the formality I could muster at this point. Create and keep distance. That would be key going forward, to manage his expectations. And discourage further advances.

Two of the mercenaries marked off a circle with twine, roughly twice a man's height in diameter, while Captain Harlan and another man began stripping off their shirts and pants. To keep from watching, I pulled up a bench and set to polishing my sword. Not that I hadn't seen plenty of men unclothed—field outposts and battle left little room or reason for modesty—but Harlan's muscled physique seemed unduly attention-grabbing.

His all-over golden tan hinted that he often went unclothed outdoors, and his fair hair barely showed, leaving the rippling cuts of his muscle plainly defined. He seemed more lithe, more like a male animal, without the hardened leather armor he typically wore. Fortunately he and the other man retained strips of cloth over their groins, though their buttocks were bared.

Unfortunately, they commenced applying some sort of oil, the morning light catching it and making Harlan's golden skin gleam over taut muscles. I resheathed my sword when I came close to slicing off a finger, Danu take him.

“Now,
that
,” Jepp said, coming to straddle the bench next to me, “is a fine way to start the day.”

“I thought you were teaching those mercs the Midnight form.”

“This is much more interesting. Everybody is coming to watch.”

Indeed, the other female Hawks had drawn quite close, expressions avid with more than casual interest. Marskal circulated, taking more bets, no doubt, but everyone else watched Harlan and his man. At the far end of the practice yard, Madeline and some of the maids and kitchen ladies gathered, their giggles carrying on the air like birdsong. The castle ladies would likely be sorry that they were not early risers and had missed the spectacle.

“Nice of you to grab us a ringside seat,” Jepp continued, sounding entirely too casual, “but then, this is staged for your benefit, isn't it?”

I was sorry I'd put my sword away, as I had nothing to do with my hands now and seemed to be unable to look away from the glistening display of Harlan's masculine form. “Yes. Marskal knows I'm keen to learn more about how these Dasnarians train and fight.”

“Oh, Captain, we are
all
keen to see more,” she drawled.

“No consorting,” I snapped, without thinking it through. Always a bad sign.

Jepp gave me an astonished—and terribly disappointed—look. “You can't mean it.”

She leaned in on the pretext of drawing her knives to polish and dropped her voice. “If we're to get out, it will be through them. I'm working on making some
special
friends.”

“Duly noted. But you needn't do anything you don't wish to.”

“Not exactly a sacrifice.” She boldly eyed the near-naked men. “I don't mind fucking one or two. Or five. Possibly all at once.” The two men in the ring circled each other, thighs flexing in their half crouches, backs rippling, as they flexed muscles in display. “Do you think they all look that good under their clothes? I need to know. Call it scouting. Postcoital glow is excellent for extracting information from a man. Danu, I love my job.”

“You worry me, Jepp.”

“I won't touch the captain, but say I can try a few of the others. Please?”

“Danu. Fine. Have any of them—even the captain. I don't care. Just watch your own glow and what gets extracted from you.”

She tore her gaze away to cast me a quick, delighted grin. “You're flustered. I've never seen you flustered.”

“Shut up, Jepp.”

The men connected, grappling, their hands sliding off the oiled skin of the other before catching to hold. They strained to master the strength of the other, their muscles hardened and impossibly bulging.

“I missed my workout is all,” I added. “All this waiting and wondering. It's making me restless.”

Harlan flipped the other man and they went down in a tangle of limbs, the oil gleaming bright. The other man slipped partly free and Harlan laughed, exultant, scrambling to lock him into another hold.

“Uh-huh,” Jepp breathed. “I feel exceptionally restless this morning also.”

The maids and kitchen ladies had made bold to press through the ring of onlookers now—else they wouldn't have been able to see through the crowd—and cheered wildly, cheeks pink and eyes bright. No one blocked our view, however, much as I wished they might.

“We'll have a crop of Dasnarian-made babies in nine months,” I predicted. “And likely no Dasnarian fathers about to help feed the lot.”

“Mmm,” Jepp hummed, not listening to a word I said, fascinated gaze locked on the men as they tumbled over each other. Harlan had the other man pinned, facedown, locked so that he could barely struggle. Another mercenary counted in what must be Dasnarian, slapping the ground on a shout.

Thankfully that ended the match—the mercs, Hawks, and overexcited ladies cheering alike. Even Jepp leapt up from the bench, squealing in most un-warrior-like fashion. Harlan and the other man rose to their feet, now swarmed by the onlookers with much congratulating and slapping of backs.

“Not bad for a little rabbit!” The loser clapped the mercenary captain on the shoulder, shaking his head as he did.

Jepp turned on me with a stern, expectant expression. “You can count on me, Captain. I swear to extract as much as womanly possible”—she couldn't suppress her grin at the thought—“and hands off Captain Harlan. Fair?”

“I told you, I don't care if—”

“I'll report!” She gave me a distracted salute and sauntered over to the man Harlan had defeated, a saucy sway to her trim hips. Harlan used her arrival to deftly extract himself from the cluster. For a big man, he moved with slick precision, and came toward me.

I stood to go, but he stepped into my path.

“Not bad for a rabbit?” I echoed his man, raising my eyebrows.

Abashed by nothing, he grinned. “ ‘Harlan' means ‘rabbit' in Dasnarian.”

“Not very auspicious.”

“I don't know about that. What did you think?”

“An interesting sport,” I commented, keeping my eyes on his, pretending that he wasn't standing nearly naked in front of me, glistening with oil and sweat. “As you noted, not terribly useful on the battlefield.”

“Did you like what you saw, though?” he pressed.