The Pages of the Mind (16 page)

His lips moved over mine with warm insistence, deepening the kiss, and I parted mine, allowing the flavor of him in. Desire rose in lazy, lapping waves. Not the volcanic, hard and desperate passion of our kiss on the mountain. No echo of a third heartbeat this time. Just Nakoa and me.
The language of the body is one I know and communicate in very well.
Nakoa would be like Jepp that way, knowing how bodies spoke to each other. His tongue touched mine, an intimate caress, and his hand trailed over my throat and down my back, petting me with long brushes, soothing and arousing at once.

I lifted my fingers to his cheek. He made an approving sound against my mouth and leaned into my touch. Encouraged, I threaded my fingers through the curls at his temple, imagining that the white locks felt different than the black, somehow more like coils of banked lightning. He echoed the gesture, touching my temple and then running his fingers through my hair, kissing me all the while, coming back to my temple when he reached the ends, combing through over and over.

Drowning in it, I let go, feeling only the warmth of his kisses and caresses, letting the fear and worry disperse. I leaned against him, his hot skin burning now, and reveled in simply being held.

Then I made myself stop.

I pressed a hand to his chest and levered myself away, expecting him to press me or give me one of those thunderous frowns. But he looked serene. Very nearly happy, his full mouth curving in a sensual smile, gaze slumberous. He took my hand from his chest and turned it over, pressing a formal kiss to my wrist. “Dafne
mlai
.”

“Nakoa.”

His smile widened. “
Ae
.”

The word for “yes,” most likely. Daunting how much it sounded like no. A slight difference in the vowel tone, a bigger change in pitch. One I'd have to be careful to get right. Pulling my hand from his, I tried it out, pointing my thumb up, “
Ae
,” then down “
Ayh
.”

He tapped my temple and nodded. Absurdly I flushed with pleasure. Or the residual heat of those kisses. Nakoa tipped his head toward the stairs and asked a question.

“Yes,” I told him in his tongue, and he lifted me. It would be really good when I could walk again, but for the moment, I enjoyed our temporary truce and relaxed in his arms, even resting my cheek against the bulge of his tattooed chest muscles. I realized I did recognize his scent, something like warm earth and banked coals, distinctly him.

Inoa waited for us in his rooms, anxiety and hope both in her wide eyes. She had the bed turned down for me, a sleeping gown laid out, ointments ready and tea brewing. The sleepy tea, by the smell of it. A wave of exhaustion crashed over me, as if I'd already drunk the potion. I didn't regret refusing it the evening before, but the fitful night, on top of the worry and tension, fatigue from my now throbbingly tender feet, and the hangover of Nakoa's drugging kisses all robbed me of the ability to think.

Obediently, I took the cup from Inoa and drank it down, vaguely aware of her and Nakoa conversing quietly. She wasn't scolding him for once and they were probably discussing me, but I couldn't focus enough to listen for words I knew. I turned my face away from them and stared out the deceptively open windows. A colorfully winged bird flew past, taunting me with its freedom. Tears leaked out of my eyes and I let them.

And fell asleep before Inoa even had the bandages off.

Evening had descended when I rose from the deep dregs of the sleep. And, thank the Three, I was alone. I hadn't been fully alone in weeks. Not since we'd left Ordnung. A strange experience for me, as in the past I'd spent entire days seeing people only glancingly and sometimes speaking to no one at all.

I supposed it spoke to their confidence that I could not escape the island. My prison had expanded, but I wouldn't forget that it was one. Uorsin had done that, early on, giving the conquered kingdoms unasked-for bounties and luxuries the people hadn't known, lulling them into believing they were better off under his rule. Arguably they were. As long as they tithed appropriately and did as they were told.

Not something I'd ever been good at, though I'd faked it well enough.

Inoa had left my feet bare this time—probably a good sign—and the cooler sunset breeze from the balconies brushed against the sensitive soles. Nakoa's rooms, and probably the whole palace, evinced ingenious design with the way the openings facilitated cross breezes. The only time it grew unbearably warm seemed to be midafternoon. Probably no one stayed inside then, but instead moved to one of the cooler open courtyards or outdoor rooms.

Taking advantage of my unexpected privacy, I brought up my foot so I could see. Goddesses—no wonder they hurt so cursed much. Jepp and Zynda had been generous in their descriptions, protecting me, as always. I didn't much like being the person who couldn't be told the truth. Scabbed over, yes, but also looking like one of the animals the Hawks had brought down and skinned for roasting during our travels. Tentative, I poked at it, feeling the pressure but nothing else. Numbed by the ointment, then. Checking the other foot, I found it in the same condition.

If I could have, I'd have told Jepp exactly what I thought of her comforting lies. No wonder she'd been so concerned about getting me to the ship, however.

The ever-thoughtful Inoa had left my journal, ink, and food by the bed, so I ate and worked on recording all that had occurred and my speculations about Nakoa and his agenda. I also added to my growing dictionary of Nahanaun. An advantage of
not
being a warrior—I didn't have to have working feet to do what I did best. I might not be able to challenge Nakoa to a duel for my freedom, but I could think my way out of this situation.

He'd recognized something about me from that first moment. It had been important that my bare feet touch the soil of the island. I hadn't imagined that instant shock at contact, the way the dizzying magic swirled through me, nor that sense of connection to the dragon. Something of that ritual had both released the dragon, then quieted the volcano. Or vice versa.

And Nakoa had known it would from the moment he saw me.

How? Had he truly sent Kral to bring me to the islands, and if so, why me?

I needed answers and I would find them. Answering the riddles of High Priest Kir and the Temple of Deyrr might be beyond my reach, but the information to resolve my immediate problem lay here. Nakoa knew something that I didn't. If they had ink and paper, it logically followed that they had books. Maybe even some in Dasnarian, if I was lucky. I had nothing but the leisure of forced inaction now.

All I could do was use my waiting time wisely to make Nakoa give up his secrets, one way or another.

14

T
he door to the rooms eased open so softly I didn't hear it, absorbed as I was in my journal. But the movement caught the corner of my eye in time for me to glimpse the wide, dark eyes of one of Inoa's ladies before the door closed again.

Moments later, Inoa herself came in, talking cheerfully and ordering her ladies about. She took the journal and writing implements from me and set them nearby with firm resolve. They set up the sponge bath basin and I let them undress me, pleased to get clean. The day I could do for myself again—and take a full bath!—would be a happy one. They managed to maneuver me to a chair, urging me to lean back so they could wash my hair.

It felt wonderful, but the extra level of primping aroused my suspicions. Ones that were confirmed when Inoa tried to dress me in a gown that would be entirely transparent. Something a bride might wear on her wedding night. Oh, no, no, no.

“No,” I told her firmly in her tongue.

Her brows drew together in a frown very like her brother's. All of his stubborn temper in her lovely face. “Yes,” she said.

“No, Inoa. I will not wear that. Give me one of the other dresses.” I pointed to the cabinet they kept them in.

She folded her arms and stomped her foot, speaking rapidly and holding up the confection. Demanding, with a coaxing edge to it.

“No,” I repeated, losing my own patience. Ursula may have taught me to use a blade, but Amelia had shown me the value of a well-timed fit of arrogance. I might be hurt, but I wasn't going to be meekly herded about. Also, if I'd become betrothed or married to the king, I should have some measure of rank and accompanying power. I snatched the towel from the lady comb-drying my hair. It was short enough to dry on its own soon, even in the island humidity. I wrapped the towel around my naked self. “Fine, I'll get one on my own.” I made to stand and the ladies all cried out and rushed to stop me, Inoa scolding me much as she did Nakoa.

“Then get me a dress.” I used the phrase for fetching and the word I thought meant a general garment.

She threw up her hands in exasperation and went to the cabinet, returning with the copper gown I'd worn the night before. It would do. “Thank you,” I told her in her language, but without the accompanying gesture. I wasn't feeling that generous and she wasn't being gracious about it either. I let them finish fixing me up, however, while I contemplated how to handle Nakoa when he inevitably arrived.

I dug in my metaphorical heels again—if only I could in truth—when they tried to reinstall me on the bed. I had enough disadvantages facing Nakoa without that suggestion. They gave way more easily this time, acceding to my wishes and, by dint of joining together to scoot me in a chair out to the balcony, set me up there with a stool to prop my feet on and a table for my journal and other supplies. From that vantage, I could see the evening activities of the palace, far more interesting than staring at the walls, no matter how decorative the art.

As I'd suspected, the place came alive as the afternoon heat receded, torches like the ones on my balcony blazing into light. Servants and other workers bustled about, engaged in what appeared to be repairs to part of the palace. From what I could tell, part of a wing had broken off as the ground gave way beneath it, probably during the magic wave and volcanic instability. Had Kral and his men spent their time lending their considerable strength to rebuilding? There must be villages, too, on other parts of this island and the others. Maybe asking for a map would be a good opening to finding out what kind of library they kept.

“Greetings, Dafne
mlai
,” Nakoa said, coming out onto the balcony and taking in my arrangements with interest, but not anger. The salutation he used might mean more ‘good evening,' but I wasn't entirely clear on it. It seemed they used pitch to convey the time of day and possibly the pleasantness of the weather. Because a pitched language wasn't difficult enough to learn without adding complexities like that.

“Greetings, King Nakoa KauPo,” I replied, approximating his pitch as precisely as I could.

He raised one white-threaded eyebrow at that, registering the formality, then came around to look over my shoulder at my journal. “May I?” he asked, or something close to that, dipping his chin in satisfaction when I handed him the book. He sat in the chair beside me and studied my drawing of the work on the broken wing, making a hmming sound that sounded like interest.

A thought occurred to me and I picked up my pen. “May I?” I tried his question and he handed me the journal, watching as I spread it on my lap and began sketching a dragon in the sky. “Did the dragon do this?” I asked in Common Tongue, tapping the point on it. “Dragon?
Mo'o
?”

Nakoa huffed a sound that might have been a laugh and took the pen and journal, turning to a new page. He frowned a little as he drew, concentrating. Something about that made me itch to touch him, to trace the firm line of his lips as he pursed them. Bare chested as always, he wore none of his usual ornaments, only the simple pleated
kylte
he favored. Short when he stood, it rose even higher on his muscular thighs as he sat, making me wonder what he wore beneath.

If anything.

My face heated at the prurient thought—one completely counter to my resolve to keep our relationship unconsummated—and I made myself look away before he caught me staring. With a grunt of satisfaction, he showed me the page and a surprisingly deft drawing of the volcano as it had been, with a rounded top, and below that, the palace wing unbroken. The drawing next to it showed storm clouds with lightning bolts and people running away from the volcano with smoke billowing. As I looked, Nakoa turned the page back and tapped the dragon I'd drawn.

“
Mo'o
,” he said, and I repeated the word, immensely satisfied that I'd called that one. He nodded in approval and said the word for night, using a downward pitch that seemed to mean unpleasant weather. A stormy night, perhaps.

“I know about the magic storm,” I told him, pointing to the lightning bolts, then repeated his word, pleased when he agreed. I smiled at him and he touched my cheek, happy also that we'd managed a kind of communication. He leaned in to kiss me and I put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“No, Nakoa.”

His initial puzzlement darkened and he asked me a question I couldn't quite parse.

I gestured to the bed inside and to him and me. “No. I will not share my body with you.”

“
Mo'o
.” He used his word and tapped me over my heart, then touched his own chest, keeping it going in a heartbeat rhythm, evoking that three-way synchronization of our hearts.

“I don't understand,” I told him, letting frustration infuse my tone.

With a grimace, he took the journal from me and opened to another new page. He sketched quickly, a bust of a woman with shoulder-length hair and a flower garland around her neck. Me. The likeness was quite good, though odd to see myself through his eyes. He pointed to it and to me. “Dafne.
Mlai
.”

I hadn't heard anyone else use that word and didn't enjoy contemplating the import of it. Giving him a narrow stare, I answered, “Dafne, yes,” and moved to take off the garland.

He shook his head, stopping me, though not irritated. More amused. He flipped back, finding the drawing I'd done of him from the ship's deck. “Nakoa.
Mlai
.” Adding a flower garland to my sketch of him, he gave me a stern smile that barely cracked his brooding visage, then set the book down. Guiding my hands, he had me grasp the flower garland, remove it, and put it over his head. “
Mlai
,” he repeated, then put the garland back on me and waited expectantly.

So it had happened that first evening, when I accepted the garland from him. A mistake of monumental proportions. Nakoa watched me patiently as I rubbed my temples, trying to think how to explain this. Drawings only went so far. “I didn't know,” I finally said, hoping my tone would convey it, tugging at the garland and shaking my head. “My people don't do marriages this way. I can't be your wife.
Ayh mlai
.”

He shrugged, holding his hands palm up, not bothering to argue, clearly indicating that it didn't matter what I knew, that the deed was done.

With a huff of exasperation, I took up the journal and drew Ordnung. “This is where I live. This is my life. Not here.”

He examined the drawing with great interest, tracing the stark lines of Uorsin's fortress with his finger, then gave me that same shrug, tugging at my garland with a slight smile. “
Mlai
.”

I was beginning to hate the sound of that word, particularly when he took the journal and drew two figures entwined together, a much shorter woman and a man. Naked. The blush rose in my face as he added his bed behind them. Behind us. He set the journal aside, satisfied that I'd seen it, then tipped up my chin with one finger, studying my face before I, mortified by my own embarrassment, pushed his hand aside and turned away to face the sea, a graying glint in the darkening evening.

If only I had taken Zyr up on his cursed offer, I'd be better equipped to handle this. Able to make my refusal clear without seeming like a flustered girl.

The tense silence spun out between us, Nakoa considering me while I wished desperately that he'd go away and leave me alone. The night might see an end to my virginity after all, and I had no idea how to prevent it.

Well, I had one idea, but didn't know if I could pull it off.

Time to show some strength. Turning to face him, whether my face burned still or not, I leaned closer. He watched me with wary curiosity as I reached out and laid my hand over the bulge of his manhood, the lines and heat of it startling through the thin fabric, totally different from the awkwardness of having to grope Harlan there, but I was grateful now that Ursula had pushed me to do it. I had that much experience at least. Before I lost my nerve—or Nakoa got the wrong idea—I put my other hand on the ruby-hilted dagger. “I'll cut it off,” I told him. Common Tongue, but hopefully the tone and gesture would say it all.

His member moved under my hand, shocking me so that I started to snatch my hand away, but he was quicker, encircling my wrist with his fingers and holding it there. He said something to me, slowly, a curve to his mouth, but my thoughts had scattered too much for me to try to find meaning in the words. The sensual warmth in his voice undid me. Instead of warning him off, I'd only encouraged him.

I wrenched my hand free, belatedly realizing he hadn't resisted, and held it to my chest as if I'd scalded it. Hating feeling like such a fool, I reflexively put my feet down, wanting nothing more than to put distance between me and my miserable failure to show defiance. The shock of bright pain as my feet smacked the ground cleared my head immediately, and I gasped at it, tears pricking my eyes. Nakoa spoke sharply and put his hands on my shoulders to hold me down.
Stupid.

“I know.” I batted at his hands, furious with him and myself. Not caring if he understood me or not. “I forgot, okay? Just, please, leave me alone.” My voice came out ragged with emotion, the agony in my battered feet tearing away what little poise I'd managed.

He let me go. Then bent over and picked up my feet, gently settling them on the cushion Inoa had arranged for me, stroking my calves as he did. I dropped my face into my hand, bracing on one elbow and covering my eyes. I really didn't want to weep again, especially in front of Nakoa.

He stood and went inside. It would be too much to hope that he'd leave, but the reprieve gave me a bit of time to compose myself. Sure enough, he spoke to someone in the other room and, after several minutes, returned with a flagon, two goblets made of colored glass, and my jar of ointment. Setting the things on my table, he filled the glasses and pushed one into my hand. It smelled flowery and fragrant, with a bite to it. So far I'd had fruit juices here, but no wine. He touched his goblet to mine, the glass making a clear chime, and raised it to his lips, ostentatiously waiting for me to drink.

I sipped and the liquid burned smooth and glorious, spreading warmth through my belly. As strong as Jepp's Branlian whiskey and far easier to drink. It would go straight to my already addled head. Getting me drunk could be my dragon king's next plan for seduction. Not that it mattered. We both knew he'd called my bluff and that I wouldn't use my blade against him.

Setting the liquor down, I picked up the glass jar, but he took it from me. He pulled the cork stopper and put it aside, then sniffed. With a sound of approval, he moved his chair next to my footstool, sat, and grasped my ankle, deftly smoothed the cooling lotion on. I sighed for the relief and his gaze flicked up to mine, a slight smile curving his mouth. He had good hands, a touch that continually surprised me with his meticulous care, so at odds with his fearsome visage. Also, he seemed to know even better than Inoa's ladies just how much to put on and to work in. He'd used it on himself, then, for his own injuries, the smile an understanding and sympathetic one.

A group of servants came out, bringing additional torches and lighting them, along with a second table. What new game was this? A game, indeed, it became clear, as they set out a beautifully inlaid piece of stone. Jewel-toned tiles formed spirals that moved out from the center, bisected by concentric lines, making it look much like a spider's web. Small statues of either light blue or deep green and carved in the shape of animals were arranged in a circle at the perimeter.

In the center sat a glittering, faceted dragon. I picked it up and Nakoa watched me, bracing his forearms on his knees, fingers laced together. It was carved from a ruby—a huge one. All the pieces were made from gemstones, it seemed. A flagrant, or casual, display of wealth in just this game. Some of the treasure the Dasnarians sought?