Keir (36 page)

That brought a faint smile to Quin’s face. “Where did you get such a terrible idea?”

Laughing, Keir sorted through the clothing. There was a sleeveless tunic in white he put aside for her. Swiftly stripping off his own soaked apparel, he pulled on trousers that ended just below his knees, with a sleeveless top, both made of a thin, light material. Quin changed too, the tunic long enough to be a short dress, since she lacked the height of the natives.

He pushed the wet hair out of her face as she stood before him then tidied the tangles before hugging her close. “I thought I had lost you,” he murmured. The sudden, terrifying possibility shook him, carved a hole in his heart.
I cannot lose her. I could not bear it…

“It’ll take more than a slimy sea monster to get rid of me,” she joked.

Anger filled him, and a terrible desperation. He needed her. “Marry me.”

“What?” He heard her gasp, felt every muscle in her body lock rigid. “No…”

Hurt and disappointment stabbed him in the chest and closed his throat tight. Perhaps his proposal had been too sudden, too brusque. He forced the words out. “I love you, Quin. Perhaps this is not your custom, but it is mine.”

Quin leaned back, both palms pressed against his chest as if to hold him at bay, her steel gray eyes wide. “This isn’t about custom. I…I just can’t–” He released her and pushed away, but she caught his arm. “It isn’t because I don’t love you–”

“Then what?” He tried to suppress the rage he felt. Whatever her reasons for refusing, for hurting him, she had almost died today and he could not forget that feeling.

Quin pulled him back to her, tugged his arms around her waist as she nestled into him. Despite his resentment, he let her do so, needing to hold her as badly as she seemed to want to be held. “I just can’t. Not yet.”

Bitterness tainted his thoughts. Did she not love him as much as he did her? Did he love her enough to wait, if time would be all it took?

He sighed, and tightened his arms around her, trying to shed the bad feelings.
You are here with me, and that is all I care about.
Had he not said that himself, back on Kasha-Asor? Perhaps, eventually, she might consent.

Quin curled her arms around his waist, and he could sense how shaken she was, and how tired. Now was not the time to force the issue. “Why do you not try to sleep?” he suggested, and urged her toward the bed behind them.

Quin tried to protest, but he guided her to it and insisted she lie down. “I’m not an invalid,” she complained, even as she capitulated.

“I did not say you were. But I think being half-drowned by a sea monster earns you a rest.”

Frowning, she wriggled down under blankets. There was a brief interruption when a knock on the door turned out to be one of S’rano’s crew with a tray of fruit and bread. Quin declined to eat anything, and Keir knelt by her side, stroking her damp hair. With surprising speed, she sank into a deep sleep leaving him free to eat, though he put some aside for her before venturing up on deck.

Keir had never been to sea and knew nothing about boats or sailing. S’rano’s vessel was some forty feet in length and, although it had clearly been built from a dark wood, had the same fluid, organic feel to it as T’rill’s convoluted palace. It held a crew of twenty–all men around his own age at a guess, bare-chested and muscular, working seamlessly together. S’rano stood at the wheel, keeping his ship on a steady course toward the land they had hoped to reach by raft. Keir joined him, and stood silent as he watched the crew work. The ship cut through the waves as swift and sure as a blade, and he found himself constantly trying to balance as it rocked to the rhythm of the sea.

The captain watched Keir closely. “You’ve never sailed?” S’rano asked, raising his voice over the booming of the wind in the sails and the ship hitting the waves, salt spray blowing over the sides.

The Salusian shook his head, trying to brace himself against the shifting deck.

S’rano gestured him over and offered up the ship’s wheel, placing his hands for him and steadying it with one hand himself for reassurance. Vibrations thrummed through the ship from the collision of opposing forces: current against rudder, waves against the hull, wind filling the sails. There was a pulse to it, like a heart beating, and he tried to feel for it, following the tempo.

S’rano grinned approval and pointed out an obvious peak on the landmass ahead. “Try to keep her in line with that!” he shouted. “Don’t fight her. Let the ship guide you.”

Determined to get this right, Keir fixed his eyes on the indicated landmark. It was hard work keeping the vessel on target, but he found it easier to stop analyzing and feel his way.

S’rano let go, passing over complete control of his ship and standing beside him. “You learn quickly,” he told him. “Perhaps the sea is in your blood, after all.”

Keir grinned back as the wind drove salt spray across his face. “Do you hunt those sea creatures often?”

“No. Only once a year at this time. Those who feel they are ready for adulthood volunteer, and it is their one and only hunt, unless they’re the captain,” S’rano grinned, revealing fine white teeth somewhat sharper than a human’s. “An experienced guide is needed.”

“And the initiation?”

“There is a celebration and then they are given their tattoos by the village elders.”

Keir shot a fierce look at S’rano, chilled. “They volunteer for that too?”

“Gladly. It is the sign they are ready to take their place as adults, leaving childhood behind.” S’rano placed a hand on his own markings, the twining figure of a sea wraith emblazoned across his chest. “Your people have the same custom?”

The Salusian looked back to his landmark as the ship bucked beneath him, the wind picking up. He was glad of the distraction from a subject he still found distasteful. “No. Mine were done by others when I was a child,” he replied grimly.

S’rano seemed puzzled by the level of his resentment. “They are impressive. I’ve never seen so many on one man.” He hesitated. “When we come to shore, would you show me the others?”

Keir paused, not wishing to insult the young captain who had saved their lives, but still uncomfortable. What would Quin have advised? He had always kept his tattoos hidden out of shame, yet Quin thought them beautiful and now the captain had also admired them. “If you wish,” he said at last.

The captain looked thoughtful. “I’ve offended you,” he apologized. “You have some taboo…?”

“I am not offended.”

In a flash, Keir realized that he should be flattered, no matter what pain they had cost him in the past. To the Metraxian islanders, they were clearly a badge of honor, a testament to courage and maturity. That he had survived having them done should be accepted as the same, a trial passed, something to take pride in.

As the land began to take on clearer definition, Keir handed the ship back to her captain and went below to see Quin. She was awake and looking brighter, having finished the fruit he left for her. She smiled at him, and he watched her stifle a laugh.

“What?”

She rose and tried to brush her fingers through his hair. The sudden pain yanked a squawk of protest from his throat before he could stop it and he swatted her hands away. “What was that for?”

“Your hair!” she scolded.

Bemused, he reached up. The black curls had been dampened by sea spray and windblown, and his fingers revealed that they had dried into salty spikes like some bizarre tribal headdress.

“What have you been doing?” she giggled, relentlessly pulling at his hair even as he tried to fend her off.

“Sailing,” he said and grabbed her. He pulled her forward and kissed her with passion, tasting salt and fruit on her lips. “S’rano says we shall make landfall in the next half hour, and they will send a message to the palace straight away. It is unlikely they shall receive it until tonight so we will be honored guests at the islanders’ celebration.”

“So we have one more day,” she whispered.

Keir frowned, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You say that as if we shall never see each other again,” he said. “Are you tired of me already?”

“Never,” she told him, opening her mind to him as she kissed him fiercely.

He saw again the terrible fear she had of something coming and tried to reassure her.

Still overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, she broke away. “Let’s go up on deck,” she suggested. “I want to see where we’re going.”

“All right.”

He followed her up, noting her ease with the movement of the ship as it coursed through the waves. In three hundred years, she must have done things he could not even imagine. She had already referred to secrets. How much more was there for him to learn?

As they stood on deck and watched, the bay and wooden docks S’rano and his crew called home took shape. Even from a distance they could see spectators on the pink sand of the beach, and clusters of huts like their own abandoned home perched on stilts above the shoreline, set against a background of trees and the mountainous landmark. The crew dropped sail and the ship glided in alongside the wooden quay. A sudden flurry of activity exploded on deck as various crew members jumped ship and swiftly moored her.

People had lined the gangway to welcome them home and S’rano was the first to step ashore and be greeted by an older saurian male, dressed in a robe. A rapid discussion ensued and set a look of wonder on the robed elder’s green-scaled face. The chattering crowd fell silent in a wave as the news swept through them. The queen’s friend and her companion had been found and were now guests in their village. A ragged cheer went up and S’rano, his face triumphant, came to take Quin’s hand and escort her ashore. Keir followed, his steps less certain, hoping Quin’s actions would guide him on local custom. The saurian elder stood with his hands clasped together, yellow eyes wide with amazement. She bowed to him and he took her hands with gentle respect.

“My lady,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “All the world has been searching for you. I am L’enko, the chief here, and you are most welcome to our village. We are honored.”

She smiled. “Thank you. If it wasn’t for your brave captain and his crew, we wouldn’t have made it here alive.”

“Then there is double the honor to S’rano and his men,” the elder said, somberly. His eyes flickered to Keir. “And you are Keirlan?” He waited for Keir’s nod of confirmation before continuing. “You must be exhausted. Please.” He gestured aside the curious crowd, making a path through for them. “Come to my house and rest yourselves. You are our guests.”

Enthusiastic applause sent them on their way as they left the docks. S’rano accompanied them to L’enko’s house, and the chief’s wife and daughter whisked Quin away. Keir had misgivings at being separated but L’enko insisted on him being seated and provided for in the spacious living room of his palatial village home. Keir felt a surge of gratitude for S’rano’s steadfast presence as the captain kept the flustered chief from fussing over his important guest by recounting the hunt and the events of their rescue. Keir sat and listened as he surveyed the chief’s home, sipping from the cup of chilled fruit juice thrust upon him by L’enko.

The room, its floor space equivalent to the entire area of their abandoned hut, opened completely at one end to overlook the docks and the sea with a scattering of smaller homes set at a lower level. Rugs in the same shades of blue as those onboard S’rano’s ship covered the pale golden floor and lay draped over much of the furniture, which was large and ornately carved. Keir sighed and imagined having such a home himself. Was that too much to wish for?

The details of the sea wraith hunt appeared to horrify L’enko, who blessed the captain for his timely rescue. The tale all told, S’rano offered to take Keir on a tour of the village, despite the chief’s protests that he should rest. Keir accepted the offer gladly, curious to see how the islanders lived compared to his brief experience at the palace, though he wondered at Quin’s continued absence. Walking in the sun with the captain made for a pleasant distraction though they soon attracted a crowd. It was mostly children, wide-eyed at the sight of the mysterious visitor who knew the queen, although Keir recognized one or two faces from the ship tagging along at the back. Several demanded his name, his origin and an explanation for his hair and lack of scales. One small child, perhaps six or seven years old, his skin sky-blue, tugged at his hand amidst the clamor of questions and Keir stopped.

“What is it?” he asked, and the rest of the group fell silent.

“Can I see your tattoos, please?” the child asked.

Before Keir had done more than open his mouth to speak, S’rano intervened, already familiar with his reluctance.

“T’leko, you shouldn’t trouble our guest,” he reproached, and the boy looked as though he would burst into tears.

Keir knelt down, unable to refuse such an earnest and innocent request from one so young. With only a fleeting moment of hesitation, he pulled off the top S’rano had given him, and a small chorus of awe rose from the children. T’leko’s eyes grew large with amazement and Keir noticed even the two older crew members wearing envious expressions.

A little girl in pale-pink, even younger than T’leko, stood in front of him, one finger in her mouth. “Did they hurt?” she lisped.

“Yes,” he told her.

A floodgate of questions followed and S’rano sternly hushed some of the more demanding as Keir struggled to keep up.