Morgan's Choice (32 page)

She retreated again. He repeated the process.
The pillar creaked.

“It’s going. Come away,” she called.

He ran. She grabbed his arm and pulled him
behind a column in the nave.

A grinding groan tore through the temple amid
the patter of falling debris. Slowly at first, the stricken upright
teetered, then, picking up speed, it thundered down in a roar of
sound, bringing the lintel with it. Echoes crashed and boomed and
banged around the chamber; rock and gravel clattered and bounced;
dust spiraled and swirled in feeble daylight. The great stone door
had fallen into the temple and smashed. A pile of rubble obstructed
the entrance, an easy scramble out of the mountain.

Relief flooding through her, she felt air
currents on her face, breathed in dampness and earth and life. She
squeezed his arm. “Good for you, Admiral. Well done.”

He pulled her against him and kissed her, his
mouth hard on hers, his fingers in her hair. His tongue pushed
between her lips, probed her mouth.

She kissed him back, pressing her body
against his. They were alive and free. The kiss deepened, tongues
entwined, bodies molding.

He withdrew first. “We should get on.”

She cleared her throat. She’d enjoyed that
far too much. “Yes, we should.”

He grinned, amber eyes glinting. “But this
is a conversation we will continue,
Suri
. At length.”

A warm, sexy quiver shimmied down her body
and into her groin. Tart or not, she wasn’t going to be saying
no.

They slipped and scrambled their way up the
rubble and slid down into a natural cave. On this side of the
temple the entrance was even more impressive. The decorated arch
sat on the backs of two huge felines, their jaws partly open in a
snarl that showed long, canine teeth.

Ravindra placed a hand on one of the beast’s
head. “And what are these? Real or imaginary?”

“I don’t know. Unwyn might have told us.” She
stared past him for a moment, through the gap into the temple, a
pang of guilt tugging at her heart. “Unwyn would have loved to
study this place.”

The look he directed at her held not a trace
of compassion. “And now this place is his tomb. There are so many
questions to answer. Who were they? Where did they come from and
what happened to them? Or should I say, why? Was our friend sealed
in there to die? Or maybe he hid and didn’t realize.”

He smiled, looking down at her. “But I think
you may be able to tell me a little.”

“Guesses, assumptions, inferences; that’s
all. But not now. My feet feel like lead.”

The cave had been left natural except for the
floor, which had been cleared and leveled. Although now leaves and
droppings mingled with fallen rocks to mar its surface. The roof
arched high and then lowered again, its cracks and crevices
festooned with webs. Long vines and branches obscured the cave
mouth. It felt like standing on the tongue in something’s
mouth.

Ravindra pushed the overhanging branches
aside. “That’s the river. We will have to climb. There used to be
steps but either they were destroyed or the river washed them
away.”

More climbing. Her legs trembled in sympathy.
She brushed aside a reddish-green vine and gazed at a river gorge.
Water flowed fast and deep down a rocky valley fifty meters below
the cave mouth. The cliffs on the other side of the river soared to
one hundred and fifty meters. Trees and ferns lined both banks and
to her right a muted roar promised a waterfall.

“There used to be a landing platform at the
river’s edge,” Ravindra said.

The river swirled around solid uprights
visible just below the water’s surface. Morgan could see the
suggestion of steps, now half-hidden in a visual puzzle, leading
down from the cave. Overhead, clouds rode a bright sky but the
light had that unmistakable cast of late afternoon. “Where would
the settlement be?”

“Further downstream, I expect. Let’s at least
get down to the river.”

Morgan’s muscles complained and strained
every step of the way. She stretched out a leg for a particularly
long drop and winced. At least in the tunnel the steps had been
even. One last scramble with Ravindra’s arm to steady her and she
stood on a relatively flat rock above the water. A movement caught
her eye. A spiked green something slid smoothly into the water and
disappeared, leaving hardly a ripple in its wake. She shivered.
That thing looked big.

“All right?”

“Yes. Sore, tired. But all right.” Morgan
gazed back up the slope they’d just traversed. “You wouldn’t know
it was there.” The cave was hidden; just another anonymous shadow
behind the undergrowth.

“Everyone will know, soon enough. It’s
amazing, isn’t it? Asbarthi had round eyes painted on and all the
while the truth was there to find.” Ravindra stared at the opening,
as if seeing into the temple.

Unwyn’s tomb. She said a silent farewell to
him.

They followed the river. Maybe a track had
existed once but mostly they simply found their own way, winding
around bushes and trees, climbing over fallen logs and once or
twice splashing across rocks in the water. She was soon too warm in
her jacket. She slipped it off and tied the arms together around
her waist.

The sun had moved across the sky and shadows
were lengthening when they finally came in sight of a jetty built
along the river’s edge. She heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. Cold
water had soothed her aching legs a little but now hunger gnawed at
her belly. The drifting odor of cooked food simply set her stomach
growling.

“Let’s find some food,” Ravindra said.

A road, little more than a track, ran
parallel to the river, beneath towering trees. The calls of water
birds and animals settling for the night filled the air with a
kaleidoscope of sound. At last; signs of habitation. Two small
boats tugged at their moorings at a jetty on the river bank. On the
other side of the road a large, ramshackle building held court
amongst a handful of shanties.

A hand-carved sign announced it was the
Riverport Inn. A simple establishment built of local timber, its
doors were flung wide onto a stone patio. A few locals sat at
tables drinking and chatting. They stopped their conversation to
watch Morgan and Ravindra walk into a cool, dim barroom. A man rose
from his seat behind the bar as they approached, sharp yellow eyes
glinting in a face that resembled an old boot.

“We’d like a room, please,” Ravindra
said.

The fellow inspected them, his jaw working as
he chewed on something. That was hardly surprising. Ravindra looked
weary and dirty and his hands were scratched; she wouldn’t look any
better. “No skimmer?”

“No. We had an accident and had to leave it
up on the mountain,” Ravindra said.

“Ah. Got caught in the quake, did ya?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

It was true enough, in a way.

“You look kinda familiar. You been here
before?” the barman asked, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“No.”

The barman’s expression hadn’t cleared. “A
room, eh? How long?”

“Just for tonight. And I want food. Juice, a
selection of whatever you have.”

“No beer or wine?”

“No. No, thank you.”

Morgan glanced between them. The barman was
doubtful about something. Maybe he recognized the Admiral. And
Ravindra… what had she thought before? You couldn’t take the
admiral out of the man. He had that air about him, used to command,
confident.

“Room’s at top of stairs,” the barman said.
“My woman’ll bring food up shortly.”

“Thank you.” Ravindra paid the man with the
guard’s card and put an arm around Morgan’s waist. “Come on. I’ll
let you wash first.”

She trudged up the stairs beside him, her
knees complaining with every step. At least they were going up.

Cool and simple, the room had a large bed,
wide windows thrown open onto a balcony to admit the evening breeze
and a washroom though a door to the side. The shower was a
blessing, warm water on tired muscles. She gazed at her reflection
in the mirror. The stain she’d used to darken her skin had held up
well enough. She pulled her pants back on, wishing she had some
clean clothes, while Ravindra had his turn in the washroom.

A knock on the door announced the barman’s
woman, as wrinkled and weather-beaten as her man. She set a laden
tray on the small table on the balcony. Morgan thanked her and
closed the door behind her.

A jug of juice and a selection of morsels;
pastries, nameless things on sticks, some bowls of wonderfully
fragrant items, fruit and vegetables. Yum. She ate and drank,
sitting overlooking a broad vegetable garden that separated the
building from the forest, a deeper dark below the velvet black of
the star-sprinkled sky.

She was still chewing when Ravindra joined
her, toweling his hair dry. He slipped into the seat opposite her
and selected an item from the tray.

He’d put on his pants but his chest was bare.
She almost forgot to swallow. What a man. The tattoo on his
shoulder writhed as he moved his muscles.

That reminded her. She pulled the clasp out
of her trouser pocket and put it on the table between them. “I
forgot. This is yours.”

The look he gave her was unreadable. He
picked the clasp up almost reverently and ran his fingers over the
coiled design. “I never expected to see this again. I am doubly
indebted. Where did you find it?”

“Asbarthi left it on a table—with your hair,
of course. I don’t know why—something to show off, I expect. It was
one of the reasons I realized you weren’t dead.”

“
Mmm. He said he would keep my
coti
as a trophy. It seems it served
a better purpose.” He put the brooch down and ate a few more pieces
of food.

She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. The man’s
revolting. I don’t know what possessed me to go along with
him.”

“Why did you?”

She chewed at her lip. How
embarrassing.
I thought it might help me forget about
you
. “Why not? What did
I know about your society? Anybody can rule where I come from. I
figured I’d help him and then go back to chase
Yogina
.” Her face felt hot. She felt stupid.

Ravindra smiled. “Here, it seems not to work.
Vesha rule disintegrates. Did he ask you to use any of your special
skills?”

“It was mentioned in passing. I got the idea
taking Krystor was just a start. They think I’m like Jones, that
I’d do anything for wealth. But I’m not.”

This was all getting far too up close and
personal. Time to change the subject. She picked up the clasp.
“This is so beautiful. I… I noticed it when you wore it.”

“It was made for me by an artisan on my
estate. My father’s, then. It was a gift when I entered the
military academy.”

“Is it the same beast on your shoulder?”

“It is. It’s a Vulsaur, native to the
mountains near my home.”

She gazed at his shoulder, at the flowing
beast depicted in golden lines. Wings, gaping jaws, talons. A
little like the mythical dragons. Many men and women in the
Coalition Fleet had tattoos but she’d rarely seen one so
beautifully executed. “I think it’s magnificent. So well done.”

He smiled, a wide grin that showed teeth.
“Not too many other people do. My mother was horrified and my
father disgusted. My wife was unimpressed, too. She didn’t approve
at all.”

“Why?”

“Mirka don’t have tattoos. It is considered
uncouth. But I had a close relationship with a Shuba hunter on the
estate. He taught me much about hunting, survival in the mountains.
For them a tattoo is a rite of passage. I had it done for him.”

“Oh.” He’d never mentioned his wife again
after that first revelation she was dead. “Did you love her? Your
wife?” She blurted the words out without thinking and instantly
wished she could haul them back.

He mulled the question over as he ate. “No,
but it didn’t really matter. She was of good family and we did our
duty. To be honest, she didn’t approve of me at all. I flouted
tradition too often.” He lifted his shoulder, signaling ‘too
bad’.

“Was your wife allowed to look you in the
eye?”

He grinned. “Yes. She was my equal, at least
in that respect.”

She looked at him from underneath half-closed
eyelashes while conflicting emotions raged in her head. Yes, she
wanted him; yes she respected him; yes, she despised what he was, a
despotic autocrat born to his post. Though perhaps not your
traditional despotic autocrat. She even liked him—okay, loved him;
even more so with these new revelations about the clasp and the
tattoo. As well as being an out-and-out hunk. Would he be able to
smell her now?

“Tell me, why did you leave me? Leave my
bed?”

He was serious. This meant something. Tell
him the truth?
Because I’m afraid you’ll break my heart?
Or another, closely related,
truth. “You called me a tart.”

His expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

“Well, where I come from, a tart is a whore
who doesn’t even need to be paid. She’s anybody’s for the asking.”
She rubbed her hands on her thighs, her eyes averted. “And I’m
not.”

A soft chuckle. “
Suri
, must I remind you again? You are
not…”

She said the rest with him. “…where you come
from.” Oh, shit. This was going to be one of those stupid
misunderstandings.

“
A tart is luscious, delicious. A woman who
enjoys sex, who doesn’t simply endure as so many women seem to. I
can have any woman I want. I am a
Darya
, I have power, wealth. They throw themselves at me.” He
paused to lick his lips. “But you did not throw yourself at me. You
were my prisoner and you hated me. Worse, you despised me. And you
intrigued me. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? No, you could
not because I knew you would reject me. And then when I finally
succeeded, it was better than my fantasies. You wanted me. You gave
yourself to me, enjoyed my body as I enjoyed yours. A tart. And
then you disappeared.”