Untouchable (8 page)

They would, Sanura knew. The men here would leave the women behind and pursue the supposed murderers as soon as possible. At the moment, however, none wished to face the blades Trystan wielded. None wished to face the insanely grinning man who looked as if he were not only willing but eager for a fight.

None but one, apparently, as an incensed Tryfynian guard drew his sword and ran forward. Trystan was ready to do battle, but Sanura reminded him, “Do not kill him. Remember my promise.”

Trystan seemed a bit disappointed, but he did listen to her. He defended himself with two Claennis swords, meeting the soldier’s metal with expertly brandished blades. Trystan was faster than the soldier, he seemed to know how and when his opponent would strike. There was no contest. Trystan defended himself and then, with a skilled twist, sent the opposing weapon to the ground. He could’ve run the young soldier through with his blades, and likely would’ve, if not for Sanura’s promise. Instead of killing his opponent he deliberately scratched the Tryfynian’s arm before kicking the sword aside. “Anyone else?” he asked tersely as the sentinel came near with his saddled horse.

Trystan easily mounted the horse, but the sheaths built for his long, narrow swords would not accommodate the broader bladed and curved weapons he had taken from Paki and Kontar. After he had the sentinel’s surrendered sword and his own dagger, a dagger still stained with the princess’s blood, in his possession, he threw the Claennis swords. They flew end over end and then landed as he’d intended, their blades buried deep in the ground. That done, he offered his hand to Sanura. No one ever touched her, no one assisted her this way, but it was already too late. He was stained with blue, and her face burned with the memory of his rough morning beard. She took his hand, and he gripped hers tightly.

“Did you kill her, m’lord?” the young sentinel who had delivered the horse and surrendered his sword asked as Trystan lifted Sanura and deposited her in front of him. “Did you murder the princess?” It was evident in the young man’s voice, and in his heart, that he did not want to believe that his prince was capable of cold-blooded murder, even though he himself had no affection for the dead woman.

“No, I did not,” Trystan answered crisply. Again, he grinned. “But I thank whoever did. The Princess Edlyn was a royal pain in the ass, and I’m not sorry to see her dead.” He spared a precious moment to bend forward and rake his nose against Sanura’s neck, to further mark himself, and then he turned the horse about and they made their escape.

The others would come after them, Sanura knew, and she wondered how long it would be before they were caught. Vigilant and capable of anything, Trystan could protect her, but she suspected he could not remain in this state for very long—and no matter which part of him ruled, he would have to rest and sleep on occasion. Would Prince Alixandyr be as diligent when he emerged once more? He was likely to present them both to their accusers, certain that the truth and logic would be enough to save them, certain that justice would be served.

“It was Vyrn and Tari,” she called as the wind whipped her hair and her skirt about wildly. “I’m certain they killed the princess and set the scene to place the blame on us.”

“I don’t care,” Trystan responded. “I don’t care who killed her or why. I care only for your promise, love. I killed no one, just as you asked. I could’ve killed them all, if not for the promise of that which I desire more than blood.”

She shuddered. She’d done what she had to do in order to save her own life and his, and to protect innocent lives. She would not break her word. Still, she wished it had been Prince Alixandyr who’d saved them—Alixandyr, who could not believe that his men would turn against him; Alixandyr, who was sure the truth would be enough for the others, because the truth was enough for him.

“I do care!” she shouted. “We must prove that Vyrn and Tari are guilty in order to prove our innocence.”

“We are hardly innocent, love.” At that, Trystan laughed harshly. The discordant sound rang in her ear.

IT
could not have gone more smoothly. Vyrn suppressed a smile as the other men around him gathered their weapons and readied their horses. Two Tryfynian soldiers, includingthe one who had been slightly wounded, would escort the princess’s body and her weeping maids back to King Bhaltair. The rest, four sentinels and four soldiers, would pursue the murderous couple.

Vyrn had not expected the prince’s reaction to be so bizarre, but he could not be sorry for the strange outburst and the flight from the accusers. Prince Alixandyr now looked very, very guilty. Even if they did find his sword, which was hidden so deep in the woods it would likely never surface, they would not believe him innocent.

His primary goal had been the death of the princess, but there was a bonus to be had if the prince did not survive this journey. Vyrn was quite fond of bonuses.

Before he could mount his own horse, Tari approached at a run. Foolish girl. They could not be seen together, not in any way that might taint their stories and point to their mutual participation in this scheme. They were the only two who had claimed to see the prince in the whore’s tent on more than one night. That could not come under question!

She waited until she was very close to say, “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” It was a lie. When the time was right, preferably after the prince was dead, he’d break away from the others and make his way to the Lady Rikka, who would reward him well for his work.

Tari’s eyes narrowed. She handed him a bit of bread wrapped in cloth, which supplied for those around them a purpose for her coming to him. At least she was smart enough not to ruin their cover now. “Good. If you didn’t come back, if you just left me here . . .” Her eyes met his, and they were stronger than he’d imagined they could be. At this moment she did not look so naïve. “I might be forced to tell all that I know. About you, about the drugs we put in the tea and the cider, about stealing the blue powder. About everything.”

Vyrn was a bit surprised. He had taken Tari for a fool who would wait forever for his return, before slinking off to drown her sorrows in wine or other men. Somehow she saw through him. Somehow she knew he was going to flee, just as the prince had fled.

He soothed her fears. “Before I run, I’ll come for you,” he whispered. “How can you doubt that? After all we’ve planned, after all we’ve done in order to build our life together, I would not, could not, go on without you. Say nothing, dearest. Remain calm and stick to the story.”

She nodded, and in her eyes he saw the love which made her his willing slave. Good heavens, the woman would do anything he asked of her. Hadn’t she proved that?

A Tryfynian soldier shouted, “Hurry, you laggards! They’re getting away!”

Another responded, “Steady yourself. Where can they hide? How many blue women do you expect wander the countryside? ”

A couple of the men laughed. They’d put aside the horror of the morning for the more welcome thrill of the chase. A Tryfynian soldier pointed out that they were two on a horse, which would slow them down considerably. Another agreed heartily that there was no place for the criminals, the murderers, to hide.

They had all seen the slave stand in the rain and not lose her blue coloring. It was very likely not even possible to scrub her bizarre cosmetic from her flesh. Yes, they’d find her, and the prince, too. The prince would die first, of course, and then the woman might die as well. She did have some magic, he had heard, and might know more than she should. Her death might not be necessary, but Vyrn would feel better if he did not have to worry about her when he started his new and wonderful life.

When those two were dead, there would be no one to dispute the claims that the emperor’s brother and his forbidden lover had murdered Princess Edlyn. What a scandal would ensue! What chaos! Yes, there would likely be war, but there was always a price to pay for change. It wasn’t as if he’d be forced to fight in the war. By the time the fighting started, he’d be living in his own palace somewhere, rich and happy and surrounded by beautiful women. He’d have his own servants, his own sentinels.

But first, there was a job to be completed. Vyrn mentally went through his priorities. He had to find the prince and kill him—or arrange for his death to occur in some way which would not fall back on him—and then do away with the woman. When that was done, there would be Tari to dispose of—a job which should be easy enough—and a generous reward to collect so he could start his new and wonderful life.

Yes, all was going as planned, and life for Vyrn was very, very good.

“DID
I kill her?”

Sanura heard the pain in Prince Alixandyr’s voice as he asked the question that plagued him; she felt the torment roiling off of him as if it were a wave of the ocean she had left behind to come to this cursed land. “No.”

“But if I was not entirely myself...”

“No,” she said again, her voice more forceful than before. “It was Vyrn and Tari. They drugged us, murdered the princess, and set the scene to make it look as if we did the killing.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Trystan had departed and Alixandyr had emerged sometime before they’d stopped to rest the horse. Though there had been no physical signs of the change that she could see, since his eyes were not in her range of view, Sanura had felt the shift within him and experienced a wave of relief. Alixandyr remained the stronger of the two, though she imagined Trystan would return—and probably sooner than she’d like.

In the early days she had been so sure that the two men within the one body were one and the same, but since neither of them accepted that, they continued to act separately. More and more she thought of them as separate beings. One of them frightened her; the other she liked very much. In essence, they truly were two men, not one.

Alixandyr looked down at the blue stain on his hands. He’d tried to wipe the paint away, brushing his palms briskly against his trousers. He’d attempted to wash his hands in the stream where the horse drank. Neither effort removed much of the stain. Sanura did not yet have the heart to tell him that his face was also marked. She should be horrified that he had touched her so when it was not his right, but she could still feel the scrape of his cheek against hers and she liked that memory of connection, even if it had been his darker side which dared to be so bold.

“Can this damnable blue paint not be scrubbed away?” he asked tersely, standing and wiping his wet hands against his trousers. “Until we settle on a plan of action, we’d best keep a low profile. In this part of the world, you are anything but low profile. I suppose I could wear gloves, but you are not so easily disguised.”

“With time and enough vigorous washing, the blue can be removed,” Sanura explained. “The process takes several days without the oils made specifically for that purpose.”

“We don’t have days,” he snapped. “Where might we obtain this oil?”

“In my tent,” she said softly. “A large vial of the oil is kept in a box along with the paint and brushes necessary for the application and repair of my blue. A few drops will be enough to see the job done.”

He stopped scrubbing and looked her in the eye. She was relieved to see that his eyes were still a nice light shade of green. “So our choice is to remain blue or else to return to a camp where everyone wants to execute us for a murder we did not commit, so that we might fetch your box.”

“Yes.” She did not tell him she wanted that special box for other reasons: that it was special, that it reminded her of home and of being cared for and appreciated. She did not tell him that she wanted the container, which was a work of art, because it was all she had left of who she’d once been.

“I could wear gloves,” he said again, “but you...”

She reached up and touched his face, her fingertips very lightly raking along the section of his cheek which was more brightly blue than his hands, and then across his nose. Why did touching this man’s nose, such an ordinary and unimportant body part, feel so intimate? She allowed her fingers to linger for a moment. “Gloves will not cover this,” she explained as her hand fell away.

“I don’t remember,” he said softly, not bothering to question her assertion. Did that easy acceptance mean he trusted her? She knew he was not a man who gave his trust easily or often.

“I know.”

“This darkness, this part of myself I can’t control, what else might I have done?” There was such frustration in his voice. “I could’ve murdered the princess...”

“You did not,” she assured him again.

“I could’ve done anything.” His eyes narrowed. “More than one sentinel said he saw me go into your tent on at least one occasion. I do not trust the Tryfynians, but I see no reason for my own sentinels to lie.” He hesitated before asking, “Did I visit your tent?”

“Yes. Once.”

Muscles in his jaw clenched as he fought to control his emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you did not wish to know,” she answered honestly.

He nodded crisply, as if that answer was sufficient, at least for now, and then he handed her the dagger he had retrieved before they’d run from camp. The weapon was well made and well cared for, but not at all fancy. He had cleaned it well even before trying to remove the blue from his skin. Surely he was as aware as she that this weapon had caused the princess’s death. The sharp blade had sliced through her skin. A shiver worked its way through Sanura’s body. She could see into people, not things, and yet at this moment the weapon in her hand seemed wholly evil.

She had never before touched a weapon, and she did not care for this one, and yet her fingers gripped the handle easily. Surprisingly, it was lightweight and more well balanced than she’d thought it would be. It was deadly, and forever stained with Princess Edlyn’s blood.

“If I turn again . . .” Alix began.

Realizing what he was about to ask of her, Sanura gasped. “I could not!”

His hands were already marked, so he did not hesitate to grab her arms and hold on tightly as he stared into her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m capable of when I’m not myself.”

“Anything,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and she knew he was sincere, at this moment when Alix ruled and Trystan slept.

“You will not,” she promised. She did not yet fully understand all that she saw, but she did know one thing without question. “When you change, when the darkness takes control, you are still present. You do not leave, you are not buried. The one who calls himself Trystan will not harm me because you, the one who calls himself Alix, will not allow it.” She returned the dagger to him, and he reluctantly took it.

“I wish I could be as sure as you are,” he said. “If I remain present at all times, why don’t I remember? Why don’t I recall visiting your tent when the other took me there?”

“Are you sure you don’t remember?” she asked, looking inside him for answers. “Do you not know at the very core of yourself how I smell, how my skin meets yours, how I reacted when you touched me?”

A part of him did recall, though what he found within him was so primitive that what he felt could not be called recognition.

“When I snapped at Princess Edlyn, when I lost my temper,” he said, “I was not entirely myself then, was I?”

“Not entirely.”

“That I do remember,” he said with a touch of sadness in his low voice.

“You are always there, and you can be in control. Perhaps you must fight for that control, but it is yours. You won’t hurt me. You won’t let the other hurt me.”

“You would stake your life on that belief?” Alix asked with a harsh and humorless laugh.

“I just did.”

WITH
just the two of them on horseback, they were probably two and a half days’ hard ride from Arthes. Perhaps three, since carrying two riders would be demanding for the horse, and they’d be forced to stop more often for the animal to rest. With the princess’s entourage and conveyance they’d been weeks from the palace.

Anything might happen in that relatively short time. The darkness he battled might rise and take control once more. The soldiers and sentinels who were certainly in pursuit might find them, or at the very least force them to take a roundabout path to their destination, adding days to the journey.

Those who gave chase likely thought the accused murderers would race for the palace and imperial protection, and their search would take them in that direction. Just as well. Perhaps it would make sense for Alix to rush directly to his brother, but two things stopped him from heading there. First, Jahn would feel obligated to protect his brother at all costs, and that cost would certainly include war with Tryfyn. King Bhaltair would surely be willing to go to war over the murder of a daughter, even a difficult one.

Second, and most important, Alix was afraid of what the darkness might do to Jahn if the opportunity arose.

He had always been aware of the dark part of his soul. No one else knew of it, and no one knew that the times when it was roused were very often connected with his brother. It roiled when Jahn—or Devlyn, before their lives had changed so dramatically—got something Alix himself wanted. As children, when their mother had looked into Devlyn’s face with such love and remarked on how his eyes were like their father’s. As young men, when the girls all swooned over Devlyn and kept their distance from the other twin, as if even then they sensed his darkness. When Jahn had been made emperor, thanks to a few moments of life which preceded Alix’s, it had stirred.

It had never before stirred as it had when he’d been asked to take Sanura to Jahn. He wanted her, but she was not his to take.

No, he could not immediately retreat to the palace. The first order of business would be to remove the stain from his skin and from Sanura’s. That meant that instead of rushing toward Arthes, they turned back toward camp and those who thought them killers and lovers.

As night fell, they walked the horse through a dense portion of the forest. Alix led the horse, and Sanura walked beside him. Their steps were slow and cautious, as they could not see well in the deep shadows, and here and there limbs and low bushes impeded their path. The silence in which they traveled was companionable at some moments and strained at others. Alix did not have Sanura’s gift for seeing into those around him, but somehow he did connect with her. When she was tense, he felt as if the air around him changed, as if it grew heavier and denser. When she relaxed, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and the air which filled his lungs grew sweeter.

He wished he did not want her. Wanting her had awakened the part of him he had always fought—always denied.

“We need to sleep, at least for a short while,” Sanura whispered, as if those who searched were nearby and listening.

“There is no time for sleep.”

“I can hardly put one foot in front of the other,” she argued. “A few minutes. Please.”

He could’ve continued on all night without stopping, but the woman and the horse could not. For their sakes, Alix grudgingly found a suitable place in which to rest. They had no bedding, but he removed his cloak and spread it out so Sanura wouldn’t be forced to sleep directly on the hard, cold ground. They were both hungry, but they had found water and edible leaves during the day, so their needs were not critical.

Sanura reclined upon his cloak as if it were the finest mattress. She sighed and closed her eyes, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.

After Alix had tended to the horse, he lay down beside Sanura. The night had turned cool, so he thought it a good idea to share the heat of their bodies in the name of comfort. She did not seem to need the heat—her skin was warmer than his, warmer than that of any woman he had ever held. Even though her ankles and her worn slippers, which had not been made for walking, were exposed, she seemed not to feel the chill. Still, he flipped the end of his cloak over them, trying to offer some comfort.

He knew he should keep a distance from the sleeping woman, but his skin was already stained with the blue, and it wasn’t at all easy for the paint she wore to transfer to cloth. It was an argument he would use in their defense, if it ever came to that. The only way that stain could’ve been transferred to the princess’s blanket was if someone had purposely placed it there.

He doubted he’d ever have the chance to make that argument. He could not go to Jahn for help, and those who thought him guilty of murder would likely not allow him a second opportunity to escape. They’d be more vigilant if he fell into their hands again.

So he placed his body close to Sanura’s and absorbed her heat. He placed his arms around her and pulled her body against his. She fit quite well. Exhausted and anxious and on edge, his body still responded to hers in an immediate and primitive way. His erection strained against his trousers, and he was acutely aware that very little stood between him and what he so desperately desired. A slip of cloth, a minor adjustment of their bodies, and he could be inside her. She was so soft, so warm . . . so gentle. Such was true of many women, perhaps even most, but everything about Sanura seemed more pronounced. To touch her would be extraordinary, he imagined. He imagined too well.

She would require little in the way of seduction. There had always been an unmistakable attraction between them, a physical draw, and Alix was experienced enough to know the attraction was not one-sided. Unfortunately, she was not his to take.

He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her close, and the sleep he claimed not to need came upon him very quickly.

SANURA
had never slept so deeply, so blissfully. The events of the previous day had exhausted her completely, that was the reason, she supposed. That and the fact that a man’s strong arms held her.

She had never before slept this way. Even when she had belonged to a man, even when she had been possessed and treasured, she had not been held so. After sex her man would need to be cleaned of the blue markings. She usually saw to the chore herself, which could be pleasurable if done correctly. There had been rare nights when she’d shared her bed with Zeryn until dawn, but no one had ever held her so close.

“You’re awake,” Alixandyr whispered in her ear. As he spoke, one hand slipped beneath her skimpy blouse and cupped a breast as if he owned it, as if she were his to fondle when and where he pleased. Her eyes drifted closed. When he raked a thumb across the pebbled nipple, she felt a rush of dampness between her legs, and her body instinctively swayed back and into his.