The Twelve Kingdoms (24 page)

“What power does it hold, then?” I made the question sharp enough to break the moment, and they swiveled to look at me.

“Let me see it,” Rayfe returned.

“No. I came to have it because our mother gave it to me. And told me to keep it secret. That hasn't changed.”

“I remember seeing it now, as Rayfe describes it,” Andi whispered. “But so long ago. You never said you had something from her.”

The old guilt crept in. “It felt wrong to throw it in your face. I had more of her than you or Ami did. And I had that, too.”

“I notice you kept it anyway,” Andi replied, in a dry tone I recognized as an imitation of mine.

“She told me to.”

“What for?”

“I—”
Remember that you are the daughter of queens as well as of a king. A star to guide you . . . You will need it someday.
“I don't exactly know.”

“Our queens were said to pass it from one to the next.” Rayfe picked up Andi's hand, kissed it. “It belongs to Andromeda, by right.”

“No.” Andi denied the assertion almost before he finished speaking. “Ursula is more queen than I. I might be in Annfwn, but she's the one meant to be queen of all the Twelve—even of the Thirteen.” Her voice echoed eerily with prophecy, enough so the hair crawled on the back of my neck. Even Rayfe seemed taken aback.

The words reverberated with a hum in the air, gradually fading.

“What are you saying?” I said into the quiet.

Her eyes nearly glowed in the lamplight, both dark and bright at once. “I told you once before, Ursula. Your reign will be extraordinary.”

I remembered that day. “You said then you didn't know what the future holds.” Certainly not what had transpired lately.

She glanced at Rayfe, back to me. “Not precisely. But some events I do see. Rarely in much useful detail. None are certain, though some are more inevitable than others.”

“Are there futures where Ursula does not take the High Throne?” Harlan asked.

Andi turned to him. “Nothing is certain,” she repeated. “You, however, Captain Harlan, are a part of this. A crucial one.”

Though he didn't show it, I knew she'd surprised him. “Is that so?” He said it slowly, measuring her.

Abruptly she smiled. “It is so. I'd long wondered who in the Twelve and Annfwn you might be. Such a fascinating twist that you're not of us at all. I wonder what that means for our future.” Leaving him to ponder that, she focused back on me. “It's safe where it is. Keep the Star. I'll find out what I can about it, now that I see more.”

“I don't like it.” Rayfe glared at me, as if I'd been the one to say it. I steeled my spine against the wolfish stare, ready to draw if necessary. Trying not to think past that, of taking the blade to another of my sister's husbands.

Andi laughed, leaned in, and kissed him. He visibly softened at the caress, then intensified it. Like a spring squall, the moment passed. She pulled back and stroked his cheek. “I'll make it up to you.”

“Yes, my queen,” he replied. “You absolutely will.”

I had to look away from the exchange, uncomfortable, and found Harlan watching me with that implacable gaze.

She stood and Rayfe rose with her. “We'll leave you. I'm sure you have much to discuss.” She slanted me a sly smile and they went off, her arm threaded through his, heads bent together.

“It bothers you, to see them together?” Harlan asked, as I poured us both more wine.

I took my time answering, sorting through my thoughts, the still-roiling emotions of the conversation and all that had gone before. All I'd learned and observed. “Not exactly. I never truly contemplated what marrying him would mean for her.”

“Sharing his bed?”

That discomforting heat again. I sipped the wine to cool it. “I suppose. She seems content, though. I'm still not happy about it, but he's a surprisingly good match for her. They . . . suit each other.”

“As you and I do?”

“I don't know about that. Don't let Andi's vague prophecies go to your head.”

He chuckled. Picked up my hand now that they'd left and turned it over to press a sensual kiss to my palm. In the lamplit darkness of the warm night air, it felt more intimate, more dangerous. Restless, I shifted, and he let me pull my hand away, settling back in his chair.

“It can't be easy, to want what's best for your realm and for those you love—especially when they seem to be in conflict.”

“That's why I rely on the tangible—vows of loyalty and duty.”

“You don't think you operate out of love? And yet you made a number of decisions, as I've pointed out before, for love of your sisters.”

The restlessness niggled at me. I shrugged it off. “What you call love, I call duty. Our mother died. They've had no one else to look after them.”

“No one until now,” he pointed out ruthlessly. “Queen Andromeda, at least, has found a partner who cares deeply for her.”

“Ami, too,” I replied, thinking of how she'd kissed Ash, turned to him for aid and comfort. Finishing off the wine, I reached to pour more.

Harlan put his hand over mine. “The wine won't calm what disturbs you.”

“Oh?” I gave him my frostiest tone, but his touch penetrated as always, warming. Disturbing in its own way. “I imagine you think that either sex or spilling my guts will.”

He didn't rise to the bait, instead tugged me to my feet. “Or something else.”

“I
t's late,” I said as he led me around the edge of the lake, my hand firmly tucked in his, my stomach knotting with dread. Yet, I didn't actually balk or refuse to go, which puzzled me. “Tomorrow will be a long day and we should get some sleep.”

“You're buzzing like a lightning storm, Ursula—you'll never sleep when you're this worked up.”

“You think you know me so well.” Though he had a point.

His laugh rumbled low, his thunder to my lightning. “I'm beginning to, yes. You're not so difficult to decipher. A bit of study and my strategy seems clear.”

“I'm not some castle for you to besiege.”

“An intriguing metaphor. I've scaled your walls—the lower ones—and penetrated the outer courts. Now, how to find my way into the heart of you?”

“If you're planning to make me talk, you'd have done better to bring the wine.”

“To extend the analogy, a heavy-handed method like a catapult will not work in the close quarters of the inner courtyards. That requires a more delicate approach.” He stopped in a clearing ringed by trees. Unbuckled his sword belt and set it aside.

I cleared my throat of the rattling nervousness. The overwhelming tide of desire I'd felt earlier had receded, leaving sharp rocks behind. This was delicate? “Harlan, I, ah—”

He stopped me with an annoyed look. “I don't plan to throw you to the ground and have my way with you, Ursula. Give me some credit. And take off your sword.”

“Why?”

“We're going to spar.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “You must be the most single-minded man under Danu's gaze.”

“Yes.” In two strides, he had his hands on my hips, unbuckling my sword belt. “I'll have your respect, Your Highness. If only as a fighter.”

Unbalanced, I braced myself on his muscled shoulders. “I respect you.”

“Not enough.” He pulled the daggers from the sheaths, tossed them carelessly aside, and ran his hands up my waist, down over my hips, then settled, flexing. “Not the way you need to. What other blades do you wear?”

Taken aback by his ferocity, my heart accelerated. The way I needed to? “Will you strip me of all my weapons?” My voice came out throaty.

“Not possible. You need not tell me, then. It shall be my pleasure to search you.”

Firmly, thoroughly, he ran his hands over my hips and down each leg, removing the short blade I strapped to my left thigh and the set of throwing knives at my right ankle. Bemused, I let him draw off one boot, then the other, so I stood barefoot on the dew-damp grass. Away from the lamplight, the stars above glittered diamond sharp, a dazzling array of light and color as bright as moonlight, such as I'd never seen, lending to the unreality of the moment.

Working his way back up, he loosened my shirt and smoothed hot fingers over the skin of my back, then over the material down my arms, finding the second set of throwing knives at my left wrist and discarding them. Back to my shoulders, he slid calloused fingers of one hand behind my neck and set the other in the hollow of my throat, holding my gaze and pausing there for a long moment while my breath accelerated. Preparing for the match to come, I told myself.

The thrill, though, of his finger slowly trailing downward over my breastbone had nothing to do with fighting.

“Anything else?” His pale eyes glinted in the starlight.

“No.” I could barely speak for the tightness of my lungs as he caressed the skin at the opening of my shirt, down between my breasts. They weren't something I thought about much, except to bind them, to keep my sword arm free. But now they ached, tight and full. Part of me wanted his big, rough hands on them, but somewhere inside I tensed, afraid of that very thing.

He seemed to read that in me, because he stopped, the hand at the back of my neck kneading the tendons there with that magical deftness. Then he stepped back, handing me a blunt-edged practice dagger. “Ready?”

I was. He called it correctly—the tension and emotion of the day begged to be burned off.

I'd spent enough time assessing his reach to situate myself well outside it. I picked my spot, level ground without loose rocks or limbs, and moved my weight into the balls of my feet. The restlessness and worry settled into keen anticipation. Weighing the light bronze in my hand, I found its balance and planned my strategy. “What are the rules?”

“You take me down, you win. I take you down, I win.” He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots, then flexed, muscular chest rippling as he settled into a ready stance.

“And the forfeit?”

He grinned, sending a bolt of answering desire through me. “I think we both know that.”

He launched himself at me.

I spun, easily dodging the expected move. Men nearly always tried to grab, and I'd paid attention to how he wrestled. I hadn't expected him to spend any time waiting for my blade to find him. His best bet lay in grappling me, and mine would be slicing him before he could get there. I evaded him, moving out and away, but—faster than I'd anticipated—he turned his momentum, rolled and grabbed me by the ankle, taking me down. He'd been watching me, too, to know where I'd plant that weighted foot.

Changing my fall into a dive, I reversed and neatly twisted out of his grip, arcing over to come up behind him. I'd done it fast enough to get the blade up near his throat, but he'd anticipated me in turn, rolling so his meaty shoulder deflected the blade, then continuing to surge to his feet, dodging the undercut I'd thought to bring under his guard and dancing back with surprising grace.

“So fast, my hawk,” he said in admiring tones. “Come a bit closer.”

I laughed, blood humming. “Not a chance, rabbit.”

“You don't know the hares of Dasnaria.”

He leapt. How a man that size could spring so far, I'd no time to contemplate. Inside my perimeter in an unexpected flash, he seized me, pinning my dagger arm to my side in an unbreakable bear hug, taking me down and rolling so my head spun. He'd miscalculated—or been too soft on me—by taking the brunt on his shoulder and flattening onto his back instead of crushing me beneath him.

It gave me enough room—barely—to get the blade between his heavy thighs to press the flat against his man jewels. Not a killing strike, but one few men could fight through. Feeling it, he stilled.

I allowed myself the moment of triumph and smiled at him. “I win.”

“Do you?”

Before he finished the words, he'd broken the grip, clamped his hand over my wrist, flipping me and simultaneously pinning the knife hand over my head, crushing me as he should have to begin with. I didn't bother to fight it. With an opponent of his strength and bulk, I'd truly lost the moment he managed to pin me.

“If I'd had my sword, you'd never have gotten close enough,” I panted. Oddly out of breath, given how quickly the match had ended.

“Had you used the dagger as you meant to, I'd have been in no condition to trap you like this,” he conceded. “As it is, I believe you've lost and are now my prisoner.”

“Do you plan to interrogate me?”

“No.” He stared into my eyes for an endless moment. “I plan to enjoy the spoils of war.”

His mouth closed warmly over mine and I welcomed him in, the heat of the fight flashing into the heady need I'd felt earlier. Instead of threatening, his heavy weight roused me, stirring my blood, pressing all along the lines of my body. And when his hand slid up my side, to clasp my breast as I'd imagined earlier, my mind rolled into some dreamy place where all that mattered was him touching me and me wanting more.

“Harlan,” I moaned.

“Yes,” he answered.

The dagger must have fallen away, because my hands were running over his short hair, soft like the pelt of a rabbit, then found his broad shoulders. Those muscles flexed under my hands and his mouth left mine, letting me catch a breath, stealing it again as the heat moved down my throat. He sank teeth into the juncture of my neck and shoulder and I cried out as it jolted through me. Unstoppable, unbearable. Undeniable.

With a sound like a growl, he slid down, pulling open my shirt and finding the cloth I used to hold my breasts tight against my body. Sitting up, he pulled a short knife from the small of his back, bringing the sharp edge against the binding cloth where it ran flush against my ribs, glancing at me for permission.

“Why did you get to keep a blade?” I whispered through otherwise held breath. The moment should have frightened me. Instead I wanted him to cut the cloth away, to touch me in truth.

His face tense with desire, he smiled, feral and intent. “In case I needed it.”

The material gave, parting with a hiss under the razor edge, baring my breasts to the warm night air and his avid gaze. My nipples tightened and, abruptly self-conscious, I covered them with my arms. Harlan cupped my cheek, all gentleness again. He leaned down to kiss me, bracing himself over me now, lightly brushing and nibbling at my lips until my breath sighed out.

“We can stop any time,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Okay.”

He lifted his head. “Okay you want to stop?”

“No—okay, I know that.” Screwing up my courage—something I'd thought would never fail me—I unwound my arms and slid them behind his neck. “I don't want to stop. Yet,” I added. He settled a hand at my waist and gave me a smile so tender, something in me shredded.

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he whispered. “A shining star.” He sat back, cupping my breasts like birds that might fly away. No one had ever touched me that way, and my skin came to life under his hands, filling me with sweetness. With consuming need. I arched my back, wanting, demanding, more, and his fingers tightened, moving with greater urgency, his roughened thumbs flicking over my nipples. The deep, dreamy heat sharpened, zinging into my blood, and I gasped at it, digging my nails into his thighs where my hands had fallen.

He relaxed the grip, softening it and stroking me. Around my breasts, down my ribs to my belly, tracing the scar I'd gotten when I was sixteen and failed to step back fast enough from my opponent's blade. Then relentlessly back up, circling my nipples, watching my face as I shifted under him, close to begging for more, afraid to ruin the moment by allowing this to go too far.

So far none of it had felt like that night, but those memories—oily and jagged—lurked beneath. For the time being I had them locked away. Still they made themselves known, pressing against my control, softly hissing, the buried threat implicit.

I wouldn't let them poison this.
Lance it and let it go.

Harlan bent his head, following the path his hands had taken with his mouth, so hot on my skin, sending the steaming heat into me, like the bubbling springs beneath Windroven, molten from the earth's core. When his lips closed over one aching nipple, the pleasure so transfixed me, I held his head to my breast, making soft mewling noises I'd never made in my life, too rapt to care how I might sound.

He moved to my other breast and I thought I might not be able to stand much more. The stars wheeled above, bright jewels seeming to circle with the stroking of his tongue. I was hot, aching empty between my legs, and I wanted him there. I needed him to touch me there, to salve the hollowness, to fill me. I wanted to open to him. With all the bright, delightful desire riding through me, it felt so good and real and possible that this could work. I shifted, offering, inviting.

His hand stroked over my thigh, sliding along the outside and, following my movement, up the inside, cupping my mound.

The walls imploded, old poison pouring through, and—Danu help me—I shattered, bursting into tears.

With a soft Dasnarian curse, Harlan rolled onto his back, drawing me against his naked chest and stroking his hands up my back. I pushed against him, suddenly desperate for distance, and scrambled away. I didn't make it far, though. Covering my face to stop the flow of tears, bearing down to quiet the wracking sobs, I pulled my knees up tight against my chest and buried my head against them.

“Ursula—” Harlan sounded wrecked, but I shook my head furiously.

“No. Go away. Don't touch me.”

“I won't touch you, but I'm staying right here.”

“Give me a minute.” I battled against the tide of old feelings, determined to wrest back some control. He stayed quiet, blessedly giving me that time. The tears, however, would not abate. My stomach rolled and the spike up my spine drove knives into my temples. I clenched against the need to sob out the pain, my ribs aching, my lungs burning. I needed to be alone. “Please go away,” I managed, completely humiliated.

“No. You've been too much alone in this and it's solved nothing.” His arms came around me then, and I struck out, wildly. He absorbed the blows like the mountain he was, easily holding me and pulling me onto his lap. The feel of his skin under my hands seemed to unravel the last of my fragile control, and the tears came harder, the sobs escaping my rigid grasp, heaving out in ugly, awful gulps. I couldn't fight it and him, too. “Let it go, my love,” he murmured, rocking me. “Cry it out. No one will ever know. I'll keep watch.”

As if unable to resist the command, I came apart entirely. Burying my face against his chest, I let him rock me as I wept. It seemed I cried for hours, for all the years I hadn't. As delirious with the overwhelming grief as I'd been with desire, I wept for the girl I'd been, for my mother, for the shattered teacups. For all the sorrows, great and small.

Eventually, like a storm subsiding, the wracking sobs eased, relinquishing their brutal grip, softening and gentling. The tears still flowed, an endless river, but less urgently, no longer fountaining under the pressure of the awful ache in my heart. I became aware of Harlan's heart, steadily thumping beneath my cheek, that his skin skidded wet from my weeping and that he sang that Dasnarian lullaby, a profound vibration in his chest, deep voice wrapping around me as surely as his strong arms.