B00CH3ARG0 EBOK (21 page)

She caught his fingers in her hand. “I haven’t—” she
whispered.

He found himself transfixed by the mild tenderness of the
emotions he sensed in her. “My heart grieves for your pain,” he said.

She nodded.

“He loved you well. You have no wounds on your heart but for
your loss.”

“He was the only man I ever loved—” She stopped. “I
shouldn’t say that.”

“Because you fear it will offend me?” He gave her hand a
gentle squeeze. “Or because it is not now true?”

She took a deep breath and looked down, her blush giving her
a glow he could not resist. He put one finger under her chin and lifted it,
catching her eyes, bringing an uncertain smile to her face. He slipped his
other hand around her waist, pulling her toward him. When her eyes went to his mouth,
he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She sighed, her arms sliding
around him and tightening. Their tongue tips met as he deepened the kiss.

Sweet. She was so sweet. He wrapped his other arm around her,
lost. This woman was a gift if he could win her heart. Breaking the kiss, he
pulled her against his chest, his arms tight around her.

“What are we doing?” she whispered. Uncertainty began to
stir in her. “We haven’t even known each other a day.”

“We attend a conference,” he answered, in a voice not much
louder than her whisper.

“Widows my age don’t ... not from
Boston
...”

He stroked her hair, trying to soothe the storm of confusion
and self-doubt his kiss had kindled in her.

“You hardly know me,” she went on. “How can you even want me
if I’m not Tolari?”

“You want me, and I am not human.”

“Yes, but that’s—” She interrupted herself and swallowed.
“Not different, I guess.”

He chuckled. “My ancestors came from Earth,” he said. “You came
from Earth. We are not very different.”

“But you hardly know me,” she repeated.

He loosened his arms around her and let her straighten. “Come,”
he said, standing to help her to her … feet. “Is there an art session you will like
to attend?”

* * *

Laura was intrigued by what seemed to be a master class on
drawing with charcoals, but she couldn’t understand the artisan giving the
session as he dispensed preliminary instructions. Discouraged, she tried to
slip away, but Kazryth, sensing her discouragement and realizing its source,
gave a quiet, if sometimes halting, translation. Each participant was to choose
a subject and draw it, and the artisan would critique each of them, one at a
time.

Once she saw the provided supplies, she relaxed. Charcoals
were charcoals and paper was paper, and the various types of each were easy to
identify. Odd, four-legged easels were available to those who desired them. She
grabbed one and set it near a window, positioning a bemused Kazryth in front of
it.

Lounging against the window, he pulled a small book out of
his pocket to busy himself in it while she became absorbed in making a portrait
of him. He sat on the sill, leaning a shoulder against the window, his face
thoughtful as he gazed at the far mountains, book in one hand, stylus pressed
against his lips with the other. Charcoal dust ended up on her hands, her face,
her robes, even in her hair.

The session’s instructor, a Paranian, stood behind her, silent
until he cleared his throat. She whirled, startled, finally noticing it was her
turn to be critiqued. The man smiled, gesturing at her portrait of Kazryth.

“Beautiful,” he said in Suralian. It was the only word she
understood, as he launched into an extended monologue. Kazryth, coming out of
his poetic reverie, provided a running translation, but she wondered if he was
just trying to flatter her. If the Tolari prince was to be believed, the
artisan had nothing but praise for her work.

Finally, the man smiled and made a last remark. Kazryth
broke into a delighted grin, and a reaction rippled across the room just as the
guards opened the room’s door to allow in visitors and students to view the
drawings created during the session.

“He is leader of the artisan caste in Parania,” Kazryth said.
“He says you are an artist. You can wear the color of the artisan caste, if you
wish.” He left his place at the window and came up beside her. His eyes went huge.
“Laura, I am—” He shook his head. “I have not the words in your language.”

More ripples of reaction spread and attracted other
conference-goers into the room. Laura vacillated between embarrassment and
being pleased by the attention. Kazryth offered her his arm to lean on, and she
took it, grateful for the slight refuge, but to her further embarrassment, she
smudged the charcoal on her fingers onto the sleeve of his robe. Not knowing
what to say and unable to express herself in a language anyone but Kazryth
could understand, she just smiled and blushed and stood flustered while the
commotion attracted the attention of the Sural and Marianne.

Marianne whistled through her teeth when she saw the
portrait. “If you can do that when you’re out of practice ...” she murmured.

“Yes, even so,” the Sural agreed.

“Why in the world have you hidden that kind of talent,
Laura?”

“I didn’t hide it, not exactly,” she replied, feeling
sheepish. “I just didn’t have any time for it as a ship’s wife, remember? Even
after the children were grown and I wasn’t busy with them anymore. You weren’t
here when I was working, so you didn’t see how focused I get. I forget about
everything else – I didn’t even know when the artisan giving the session was
critiquing the others. I couldn’t get absorbed like that when I had children to
look after, or when I had responsibilities on board ship.”

“Well, you should definitely pursue it now. You’ve had
plenty of time to draw since you arrived here. Why didn’t you say something?”

Laura shrugged. “It’s been so long I didn’t know if I could
still … lose myself in it the way I need to.”

Marianne turned her gaze back to the charcoal portrait. “Amazing,”
she said. “Just amazing. You’ve really captured him.”

* * *

At the midday meal, Kazryth disregarded protocol and seated Laura
next to himself at the Sural’s table. He fixed his attention on her, ignoring
the amusement the Marann was trying, and failing, to conceal. The Sural was
perfectly impassive, but Kazryth suspected he shared his bond-partner’s feelings
about his audacity. He smiled to himself, not allowing it to concern him. Their
affection for Laura was obvious, and the Marann seemed glad to see Laura taking
an interest in him.

He noticed the Marann exchange a look with the Sural just as
Laura glanced over at them. The Sural let some devotion show in his eyes, and
the Marann’s face glowed as she gazed back at him. Beside him, Laura’s
expression turned analytical.

During the afternoon portion of the art session, he watched
Laura, equipped with fresh charcoals, begin to sketch the look she’d seen on
the Marann’s face. He settled himself where he could watch her work and took
out his tablet to read reports.

Summer was his busiest season, as it was for any adult
member of the ruling caste, and he had a great deal of work to do. In Parania,
if he wasn’t meeting with his mother’s advisors or overseeing her summer
projects, there were always any number of reports to read. Here, he had neither
advisors nor projects, but there were still the reports.

The Sural, he knew, had even more work, burdened as he was
with leadership of the ruling caste. Even in the midst of the conference, Kazryth
caught sight of him leaning against a wall to pull out his tablet and read. He shook
his head. If there were a way to remain longer in Suralia, he would do it, but
he couldn’t delay his departure more than a day past the end of the conference.

An idea struck him. Could Laura be enticed to return to
Parania with him?

Whatever the answer to that question, he was here with her
now. He glanced up from his tablet to watch her work. She stood engrossed in
front of the easel, a portrait of the Marann’s face, glowing with that
expression of devotion, coming alive under her hands. Reaching out with his
senses, he hovered about her, drinking in the state of near-ecstasy she was
experiencing as she worked. He pocketed the tablet, unable to resist, and went
up behind her to gaze over her shoulder, placing a hand on her waist to share
in her feelings as he watched. She was so absorbed that she barely reacted to
his touch, her rapt focus mixed with an almost fierce joy.

Reluctantly, he broke the contact and went back to his
reports. This woman ... there had to be a way to be hers. He was losing his
heart to her.

* * *

Storaas woke and cracked open his eyes. A room in the
apothecaries’ quarters, cheerful and airy and smelling of
tryllen
and
astringents, greeted his blurry vision. How did he get here?

Memory came on reluctant peds. He’d been in the audience
room, shocked at the sight of a man he thought long gone into the dark – then
shocked at the realization he could only be that man’s natural son – the double
shock so potent that his heart had begun to stutter.

Cena gave him one of her infamous potions, relieving the crushing
pressure in his chest. The pain was serious, he had no doubt, but that mattered
little to him, as long as he could distract himself with work. It only made
good sense to return to his duties, but Cena had grown so annoyed with his
repeated attempts to leave that...

Ah. And that was the last thing he remembered. She had dosed
him with a sleeping draught.

He felt better than he had in years, and Cena was certainly to
blame for that. She must have repaired whatever was wrong with his heart. It
would go on beating even longer than it had up to now, and that was already far
too long. He rubbed his face with his hands, realizing he was naked under a
blanket on one of her examination beds. Yes, she had indeed practiced her
arcane medical wizardry on him. He sighed and tried to determine how long he had
been unconscious.

The sound of his sigh brought Cena to his bedside. She gave
him a penetrating look, using her apothecary’s privilege to probe him
empathically. “I sense no discomfort,” she said, passing her scanner slowly
over his chest.

“No,” he croaked. The rough sound of his voice surprised
him. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “No,” he repeated, in a voice almost
as rough. “I feel quite well. Water?”

“In a moment,” she said, nodding. She gestured to an aide
and continued to scan him.

“How long did I sleep?”

She frowned. “You need to ask?”

He heaved another sigh.

“A full day, and part of another,” she answered, and hovered
her scanner over his head. “It is now just past the evening meal.” She took a
small cup of water from her aide and held Storaas’ head for him while he drank
it. Then she studied the readout on the bed console. “I see no sign of damage
to your brain. Your time sense should be intact.”

He grunted.
Perhaps it is age. Will I never be allowed to
go into the dark?
Annoyance and disappointment settled in his belly. Cena’s
face shuttered as she sensed it, and he thought she was going to scold him. Instead,
she leaned down to kiss him, the intimate contact creating a clear window to
her intention – to give him something for which to live. He sighed at her after
she broke the kiss. “You never stop trying,” he said, his voice cracking.

“I will never stop trying. I am stubborn and persistent.”

Annoyance still simmered, but he took her hand. “Yes, you
are.”

* * *

After an evening meal at which she’d not been able to eat
much for the fluttering in her stomach, Laura walked hand in hand with Kazryth
along one of the paths that wandered through the gardens. There were more
people in the garden than she had ever seen, but then, there were also more
people in the stronghold than she’d ever seen. It would have been nice to have
a little more privacy. She wasn’t going to do more than hold hands, not with
all the visitors walking around.

Hand in hand as they were, he would know she was feeling
warm, tingly, and aroused. The thought gave her a pleasant shiver. It was a
little unsettling to think that all the strangers in the stronghold could also
sense her feelings – but maybe not his – if they were close enough. Hopefully,
they wouldn’t bother. Kazryth knew what she felt, and that’s what mattered,
though he wasn’t pushing. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her again.

She was beginning to wish he would, audience or no audience.

She wondered what it would be like if she could ‘read’ Kazryth
the way he did her and be sure of his feelings. On the other hand, she already
knew how he felt, in her own way. She had a ...
sense
of it, combined
with watching the way he moved, the way he looked at her, the tone of his voice.
And although he hadn’t exactly admitted he wanted her, in the audience room
that morning, he hadn’t denied it, either.

And there was that kiss. Goosebumps raced across her skin at
the memory. He squeezed her hand.
He knows, yes indeed, he knows.

They seemed to fit so well together that she kept forgetting
they’d known each other little more than a day. Were they soul mates, then? It would
be wonderful to have a friend of the heart in Kazryth. John had been husband
and lover, and a considerate one, but as far as friendship went, she’d depended
on others. John was a wonderful lover, but a distracted friend at best.

This man, this Tolari prince –
my Tolari prince
– she
had the notion he could be as much friend as lover. She wanted to find out, and
propriety be
damned.
So what if society decreed that middle-aged widows
had to behave like proper matrons? She wasn’t living in society now. No one was
here to give her a cut for failing to remain devoted to her deceased husband.

No one here even wanted her to.