Keeper of the Heart (6 page)

“Well, that’s more like it,” the man huffed. “You will fly us immediately—”

“Sorry, but if you want a ride, it will have to be on those
hataari
over there. I’m not going back to the Center, and even I can’t land an airobus within the city, or didn’t you people read the laws of this planet to know that isn’t allowed?”

The man visibly bristled at that. “Then you are as stranded here as we are, because we have already been informed by those ignorant savages that those particular animals are not for rent.”

Shanelle did some bristling of her own at that point. “Those men happen to be my father’s warriors, under his orders to escort me to him, so they wouldn’t give up
hataari
brought for my use no matter who the hell you say you are. And I’ll have an apology on their behalf, or you can—”

“How dare you speak to me so! How
dare
you—”

“Oh, for Star’s sake,” Shanelle said in disgust and turned away, finished with trying to get through to someone
that
pompous.

Only she came face-to-face with the four warriors who had quietly come to join the group, and who were each looking down at her in what was so obviously amusement. Likely they had heard what had been said, and that was what they were so amused about, that she had come to
their
defense. They wouldn’t have taken insult themselves, not from someone so beneath their notice as the rotund visitor was.

“The little man with the big voice requires your assistance, Shanelle,” she was told by Lowen, a brown-haired warrior with eyes almost as light an amber as her own. “Best you see to it.”

She thought she was being reminded of the ride she had offered, until she heard the groan. She swung around to find that the visitor must have tried to stop her from turning away from him, because Corth now had the man’s fingers closed in his own fist and was bending those fingers back in such a way that the visitor dropped to his knees under the pressure.

“Let him go, Corth.”

The man was released instantly, but another voice was heard from, quietly commanding, “You should have known by the way she was dressed that she was Ly-San-Ter’s daughter. Apologize, Alrid.”

“But, Jorran—”

“Apologize!”

The little man, still on his knees, began a long spiel about how sorry he was to have offended the daughter of the
shodan,
and damned if he didn’t sound sincere. But Shanelle was barely listening.

She was looking down at herself and trying to figure out how they had guessed her identity by what she was wearing. She wasn’t wearing the
chauri
that all Kan-is-Tran women wore. Her calf-length skirt might be of the same length as the
chauri,
her blouse also sleeveless, but there the similarities ended. Her outfit didn’t consist of the semi-sheer scarves that made up the skirt and top of the
chauri,
but was solid white with muted silver glitter, thin, surely, but in no way transparent. The skirt was narrow; the short blouse hung loose, but conformed to her ribs and waist in the way it was draped, outlining her figure. She wore white boots instead of sandals, and even her hair was tightly rolled at her nape instead of left unbound.

Of course, she was forgetting the one item that she took for granted, that would make her father send her straight home to the palace if she wasn’t wearing it: the white cloak thrown back over her shoulders that said clearly she was under the protection of the
shodan. A
blue cloak would have done just as well, blue being the color of the Ly-San-Ter family. But no Kan-is-Tran woman went out without her cloak; otherwise she became claimable.

But these visitors wouldn’t know all that. It had to be the fact that she was the only one in her group cloaked, and the visitors were likewise cloaked, for them a symbol of royalty. Whatever, she finally looked at the man who had forced the other to apologize.

This one had to be the High King. He wasn’t more fancily dressed, just more regal-looking, and not bad-looking either, with light blond hair cut short, emerald-green eyes, and an ideal height in her opinion of no more than six feet two. Nothing intimidating in that.

But she hadn’t even noticed him before, nor had he paid much attention to her either, until he figured out who she was. Now he was smiling at her and it plainly turned her stomach. Stars, why did they always get ridiculous as soon as they knew her for a Ly-San-Ter?

“They claimed you were beautiful,” he said now, offering her the barest bow—probably a tremendous concession for a man of royal blood. “I feared it would be an exaggeration, but I see instead it was an understatement.”

Shanelle didn’t need to hear that kind of rubbish just now, and didn’t bother to address it. “If you people still need a ride up to the city, you can use three of our
hataari.
We don’t mind doubling up.”

“We accept your offer gladly,” King Jorran told her, only to add to his men, “I will ride with the princess.”

“I’m not a princess, and I’m afraid you can’t ride with me. My father’s warriors wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m pleased to know your virtue is so well guarded,” he replied, if somewhat stiffly for being refused. “My queen must be untouched.”

Oh, Stars, not another would-be suitor. Shanelle walked away, Corth right behind her.

“Forget it, doll,” Martha said soothingly, to remind Shanelle she wasn’t alone. “You were only mildly interested in that one.”

“I know.”

“Besides, when they know who you are, there’s always the possibility that your family’s wealth might be motivating them, or the prestige of being connected to a powerful
shodan.”

“I’m aware of that, Martha.”

“Not that those reasons matter once they get their first look at you and see that
you
are the true treasure.”

“What program are you running?” Shanelle demanded irritably. “Bolster-the-flagging-spirits?”

“You
always
get depressed over this subject for no good reason,” Martha complained.

“I’m no different than any other Kan-is-Tran woman, golden from head to foot. There isn’t anything unusual about me, Martha, to call for all that ridiculous flattery that comes out once men know who I am.”

“Then you haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”

“Oh, real cute. But you don’t hear warriors dumping out all that garbage.”

“No, they just give you the sincerest form of flattery every time they’re around you. Take a look behind you if you think I’m pulling your leg.” Shanelle did, and found all four warriors following her with their eyes. “Want me to tell you what they’re thinking?” Martha added.

Shanelle blushed. “No.”

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t know they all want you, that just about every one of them has already asked your father for you?”

“You’re putting me into a really foul mood for my homecoming, Martha,” Shanelle growled. “I don’t
want
a warrior. I want love. I want to be able to stand on an equal footing at least some of the time with my future lifemate. I want what my mother has.”

In a soft, gloating voice Martha made her point. “What your mother has is a warrior.”

What your mother has is a warrior.
Martha left Shanelle alone as they traveled the long winding road leading up to Sha-Ka-Ra, but those words wouldn’t.
What your mother has is a warrior.

Well, no one could deny it, and that particular warrior happened to love. But he was the sole exception. Only Tedra didn’t think so.

“It’s a fallacy,” she had once told Shanelle, “that warriors don’t feel love. They just
think
they don’t. It’s that damn calmness they pride themselves on, a
warrior’s control.
And they certainly have that. They never shout, never argue, never get upset the way normal people do. It’s like they have no feelings at all—but you know they do. You see the humor, the caring, even the anger if you know what to look for. Your father wouldn’t admit it until he thought I was dying, and that tore him up. He cried, Shani. He shouted to the heavens. He knew right then that he loved, and so did I.”

That supposition was easy for Tedra to make. She had a warrior who admitted he loved her. But no other warrior would admit it. Even Challen’s friend Tamiron, who cared deeply for his lifemate, staunchly maintained that warriors didn’t feel the strong emotions their women did. Shanelle’s own brother said the same thing. “Women experience love, warriors do not. Warriors give protection and caring, no more, no less.” She’d thrown a pillow at him. He hadn’t even raised a brow.

She hated their calm. And it stood to reason that anyone that calm couldn’t experience anything as wildly passionate as love. Was she supposed to put a warrior through hell to shake him loose from that calm? And even if she could, would that do any good?

No, Tedra was wrong in this instance, and Martha wasn’t helping matters by siding with Tedra as she always did and pushing Shanelle in the wrong direction. Martha meant well, of course. She knew Tedra would be hurt if Shanelle moved off-planet permanently, and so Martha would do anything to prevent that. But Shanelle wasn’t going to beat her head against a wall trying to squeeze a few drops of emotion out of a man. It didn’t matter that she loved the look of warriors, that she could think of a half dozen right now whom she could probably come to love if she let herself. She wasn’t even going to try. She was going to put her energy into finding a man with normal emotions, one who would love her and admit it, and one who did
not
know beforehand who she was. But she had so little time ...

“If you don’t get out of those dumps you’ve slumped into, your mother’s going to think I’ve been browbeating you and pull my plug.” Martha’s voice drifted into her thoughts.

“Well, haven’t you?” Shanelle said somewhat resentfully.

“Not even a little. It’s called pearly-gems-of-wisdom. Browbeating is when I pull out the big guns and mention probables for the future, like a family devastated, a daughter who can’t come home because she defied her father, a mother never forgiving her lifemate because her daughter can’t come home, a father who—”

“
I’m
going to pull your plug, you miserable loose-screw!” Shanelle hissed.

“That’s my girl,” Martha crowed. “Put some color back in those cheeks, and none too soon, or haven’t you noticed where you are?”

Shanelle hadn’t, and where they were was in the city already, with the park just up ahead. It no longer looked like a park, however. Covering the smooth green lawns were pavilions and tents of every color and size, and arenas roped off and crowded around by spectators watching the competitors test their skills against one another. Merchants of the city had set up stalls for food and drink;
hataari
were corralled everywhere. And Shanelle saw more warriors than she had ever seen gathered in one place before—and more visitors.

It was so unusual seeing hair and eye colors other than shades of golden-to-brown in her city. Every other color imaginable was here now, making visitors easy to spot, even though the males had gotten into the spirit of local competition by donning the black
zaalskin bracs
of the Kan-is-Tran warriors,— at least those who were competing in the arenas did, some even wearing swords.

Shanelle glanced back to see how her friends were holding up, and couldn’t blame them for all looking a bit apprehensive. To the Kystrani, warriors were considered giants. The average warrior was a little more than six and a half feet tall, some reached seven feet, some even more, and here were hundreds of them milling about, bare-chested, all muscle and brawn.

Caris and Cira were probably having second thoughts about sex-sharing right now. Shanelle wasn’t. She was seeing a great many visitors who actually had the look of a warrior about them, maybe not so tall, but definitely well made.

“It didn’t take long for your interest to start perking.” Martha chuckled. “All those bare chests, huh?”

“My mood
has
improved, and I can see my father’s pavilion already, so do us both a favor and forget you have a voice, Martha.”

Blissful silence, until another voice was heard from at her back. “The Martha’s feelings have been hurt.”

Shanelle snorted. “You’re way off the mark, Corth. The Martha is sitting back gloating because she’s got my life all mapped out and I haven’t made any detours yet.” And Shanelle wasn’t going to say a single word to the contrary when Martha was listening to every word
and
monitoring her emotions with the Rover’s scanning sensors.

“Your mother has seen you,” Corth said next.

“Where is she?” But Shanelle saw her almost immediately, a flash of blue running through the crowds toward her. “Oh, Stars, I think I’m going to cry,” she whispered as she slid off the
hataar.

“Shanelle, wait!” Corth ordered.

“I can’t!” she called back.

She was running, too, unmindful of the crowds, dodging, weaving, and she was crying. And then her mother was before her, folding her in her arms, crushing her with the strength of her emotion. Shanelle didn’t care. She was hugging back just as strongly, and laughing, and still dropping those silly tears. It felt so
good
to be back in the embrace of this kind of love, where nothing could go wrong because her mother wouldn’t let it.