The Red Pearl (2 page)

ANTONIA STARED AT THE MAN she’d just rescued. Needless to say, his response was not what she’d expected. She had anticipated his relief, perhaps even his gratitude. But certainly not his scorn.

She lifted her chin, already fed up with his tactless character. Whatever his problem, she hadn’t the time for it. “Well,” she said stiffly, “my apologies for saving your life, sir.”

He tugged at his hair, looking agitated. “You don’t understand. That was
my
map. And now they have it.”

“Oh?” She lifted a pale eyebrow. “In case you failed to notice, that woman had you staring down the barrel of a handheld pistol. If I’d have let her shoot you, they’d still have gotten your map.
And
you’d be dead.”

He only moaned. “Bloody brilliant.”

Appalled with this most ungrateful reception, Antonia hitched her bindle over her shoulder, intending to turn. But his voice shot out behind her: “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Far away from you,” she muttered, climbing up to the road.

He pulled her back. “Uh-uh.” He shook his ochre head. “You’re not going anywhere until you help me get my map back.”

Antonia’s mouth fell ajar. “Excuse me?”

“It’s your fault I’ve lost it; now you’re going to help me find it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

When his expression remained resolute, Antonia laughed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this. I’m going to Elat, see—”

“Fine.” He took her by the wrist. “You can go to Elat
after
you’ve helped me regain my map.”

Antonia stared down at his hand upon hers, then raised an indignant gaze to his face. “Oh, really?”
Did he honestly think he could
make
her go with him?

“Yes, really,” he countered, tightening his hold. “Or else, I am sure the Temple of Azea would be curious to know why one of theirs is traversing the road with a bindle at the break of dawn?” He cocked a red eyebrow.

Antonia felt her cheeks burn. But of course. She still wore her salmon-colored Azean robes embroidered with the phases of the moon. It was the only garb she possessed. She had been concerned solely with fleeing, and hadn’t considered being recognized on the outside as a daughter of the cult. She made a mental note to find new clothing, as soon as she could escape this insufferable lunatic.

The man cackled gently. “Running away, are we?” He released his grip, and Antonia rubbed her wrist, pouting. “Hey, I don’t blame you, sweetheart. I’m an adventurer myself. Robin’s the name. Robin Watkins.” He eyed her. “And, you are…?”

She was uncomfortable with the way he looked at her now, as if only just apprehending that she was, in fact, a woman. Clutching her robes about her, Antonia turned, only to be harassed by his drooling mutt.

The black beast flapped its tail against her leg and made to slurp at her. Antonia pulled back, pulse jumping. One look at those long white fangs, and she wanted the creature nowhere near her.

Robin Watkins grunted, traipsing over to a small tent, in which he’d apparently been camping. He began to dismantle the canvas and gather his sack of belongings. “No point in sticking around, I guess. And seeing as the others have my horse…” He sighed. “It’ll be a hell of a time catching up with them.”

In spite of herself, Antonia was curious. She kneed the relentless dog away. “Who were those people?”

Robin frowned. “My girlfriend, and my best mate.”

Antonia was taken aback.

“Both formerly now, I s’pose,” he muttered darkly, rolling up the canvas. “Who knows how long they’ve been plotting together against me? Should’ve suspected all along they were only after the map.”

“What’s it a map to?” asked Antonia, taking a tentative step forward. The slavering dog was swift at her heels.

Robin only smirked. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” At last, he hitched his rucksack over his shoulders. The sun was wholly up by then, and for the briefest of moments, Antonia appreciated just how brilliantly his reddish hair and beard shone beneath it.

“The map will guide them into Axacola,” he went on. “That much I know. So we need to beat them there, before they can hire somebody to translate the rest—”

“Axacola?”
Antonia interjected, alarmed. “I am not going all the way down there—with
you!”

Robin only fixed her with a staunch look. “Then perhaps that shall give you incentive to help us recover it sooner,” he suggested coolly.

Antonia heaved a flustered sigh. How in the world had she managed to get herself entangled in this mess? She hadn’t escaped the temple just to be forced into some other unwanted bind! Oh,
why
hadn’t she run in the opposite direction when she’d first heard voices? Of all mornings, why had she chosen that one to flee?

“You know,” Robin examined her, “you still haven’t told me your name.”

She clenched her jaw. It was no use lying to him. “Antonia Serafina Korelli.”

“Really?” He blinked. “That’s quite a mouthful. Mind if I call you something for short? Like Toni?”

She stepped back as his dog leapt at her again. “Yes, actually, I do mind.”

“How about Nia?”

Antonia wrinkled her nose. “Nia? Goddess, no. What sort of a name is that?”

He squinted in thought. “I know,” he decided. “I’ll call you Annie.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “You may call me whatever you wish, so long as you keep your blasted beast
off of me.”

Robin glanced down at the dog, who was still vying for attention. “Who, Maverick?”

At the sound of its name, the animal perked velvety ears and bounded up to him. Robin patted it. “Mav doesn’t mean any harm. Do you, boy?”

Antonia rolled her eyes as the man continued to coo at the dog and permit it to slobber all over his bearded face. Why people coddle their pets as though they were infant children was beyond her.

Robin had not missed her expression. “What, don’t like dogs, Annie?”

“They are brutal and vile.”

Robin gasped, covering the creature’s ears with his hands. “Don’t listen to her, Maverick. Her judgments reflect her, not you.”

Antonia fidgeted with her bindle, impatient. “Well, seeing as I’ve no intention of traversing all the way to Axacola with you, Mr. Watkins, I should like to get moving to catch up to your friends.”

“Eager, are we?” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Remember, they’ve horses, while we do not. It may be quite a feat to intercept them on foot.” He straightened. “Therefore, we need another means of transport. And I know of only one person who may be able to help.”

Antonia waited.

“My father.”

“Your father?”

Robin walked alongside her, with Maverick trotting in between. “He’s an inventor. If anyone can think of something, it’s him.”

“How far out of the way does he live?”

“He doesn’t,” said Robin. “Live out of the way, that is. He’s just on the other side of the Greyer Woods. Only problem is,” he glanced up, “I have just turned twenty-six years old.”

The young woman’s brow crinkled. The more this fellow spoke, the less sense he seemed to make. “And?” she prompted.

“And,” he answered, “if memory serves, I was a boy of nine during the last
ciqédo
hatching. Not pretty, Annie. There could be thousands of eggs in those woods, and they hatch every seventeen years. You do not want to get caught in the middle of a swarm.”

Antonia had lived her whole life in Innía, but had never ventured as far as the Greyer Woods. “What are ciqédo?”

Their shoes marched in unison along the paved road. “Giant flying insects that suck your blood. And if you’re allergic,” he added lightly, “you’ll faint.”

The notion disturbed Antonia, whose cloistered life had granted her little experience with the elements. “And how do you know if you’re allergic?” she asked, beginning to feel apprehensive.

“You don’t. Not until you’ve been bitten unconscious, anyway.”

She frowned. “Must we go into the woods?”

“If we want to reach my father, aye.”

“But what if the ciqédo are hatching?” Her voice was higher than usual.

Robin shrugged his sturdy shoulders as they wound around the road’s bend. “Then don’t get bit.”

WELL, THIS WAS CERTAINLY UNANTICIPATED.

In fact, had someone alerted him to his upcoming predicament the day before, Robin Watkins would have laughed in their face. Surely, he’d never have believed that Rowena Wildaison, his steady girlfriend of the last six months, and Jules Adams, his best mate since grammar school, would betray him.

How long they’d been scheming against him, he could only guess. Why, had any of Wen’s love been true? If so, when had it turned false? And for how long had Adams’s friendship, too, been a farce?

The man repositioned his rucksack. It’d been a long day carrying it on foot, without the aid of his horse. Not to mention, the afternoon was dragging out for other reasons…namely, the stranger with whom he now traveled.

It was all her damned fault.

All right, the kid thought she was only doing him a favor, saving his life, acting the heroine, and all. No doubt the temple priestesses—from whom she was clearly fleeing—had filled her young mind with all sorts of useless, fanciful mythologies about goddesses and lady warriors.

Then again, Rob wasn’t one to judge a dreamer. After all, had he not spent the better part of his adult life chasing after a boyhood fantasy? Yet now, this Antonia girl, coupled with the dastardly actions of his former friends, had thrown a definite wrench in his plans.

Presently, his unfortunate companion issued a sigh of complaint. “How much longer ‘til we reach the woods?”

Robin snapped his fingers, beckoning his dog, Maverick, who’d darted off in pursuit of a squirrel. “You know, Annie, Elat is a lot farther away than the Greyer Woods.”

She said nothing, only hoisting up her pinkish robes to step over an upturned stone.

He couldn’t stem his curiosity. “What do you seek in Elat, anyway?”

“That is none of your business.”

Something about that baby-doll face wearing such a curt expression made him grin in spite of himself. “Oh, come on.”

She twisted her lips, her resolve faltering. “I seek my future,” she admitted, “in the King’s courts.”

“Oh?” Rob heightened his pace alongside her. “And does the court suffer a shortage of priestesses?”

“I am not a priestess,” she snapped. “And I never hope to be. Nay, I should rather voyage across Otlantica with one of the King’s brave knights, and someday see myself wed and content.” At this, she revealed a small smile, although it soon faded. “Priestesses, on the other hand, remain celibate. And they do not leave their temples.”

Ah. So she was a dreamer, like him. “You know,” said Rob, betraying a smirk behind his beard, “I’ve never heard of a knight taking a lady on adventures with him.”

Antonia Korelli’s plump lips puckered with conviction.
“My
knight will.”

They stopped for lunch in a meadow, and the girl extracted two pomegranates from her bindle. “These were ritual offerings to Azea,” she confessed with guilt. “I stole them.”

Forbidden fruit? Rob arched an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked the orb from her palm. Wen and Adams had taken most of his food. He was glad, at any rate, that this young woman had had the foresight to bring any with her. Once they reached his father’s home, he was sure they could stock up on victuals there.

Rob peered into the distance, discerning the mouth of the woods in the valley below. “The good news is, we’ll make it to Greyer soon.” He bit into the pomegranate. “The bad news,” he said through his mouthful, “is that we’ll likely have to spend the night there.”

Antonia swallowed.

“I’ve a tent,” he reminded her, indicating his rucksack.

This did not appear to assuage her. “Just one,” she pointed out. “And I am not sleeping in a tent with
you.”

He sighed, lying back in the grass. Already, he was beginning to wonder whether he oughtn’t to just let the girl go. She made her disdain for him obvious enough. Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to let her off so easily. Not after what had befallen him, with her unwitting assistance. And two heads would serve better than one in regaining his coveted map, wouldn’t they?

After lunch, they resumed the road. Antonia fell silent, though Rob could tell by the way she kept massaging her ankles that she grew weary. “Must I carry you the rest of the way?” he teased.

She shot him an icy look.

By late afternoon, they stared into the entry of the Greyer Woods. His companion squinted through the branches. “Is there a trail?”

Rob shook his head.

“Then how do you know the way through?” She sounded dismayed. “Have you a compass?”

He sighed. Was she serious? “It’s called the
sun.”

Again, those lush lips pouted. Rob waited until she made up her mind, however, and followed him into the forest. They were instantly cooled by the leafy thatch overhead.

The sun descended late, as it did that time of year. But, as Rob predicted, they’d not yet made it halfway through the woods by evening. Presently, Maverick drank from a stream while the girl splashed water onto her face.

“We should stop here,” Rob suggested. “It’s only going to get darker. And I need to build the tent while I can still see.”

Antonia stiffened. “I told you, I am not sharing a tent with you.”

“Then you can sleep outside,” he offered testily, “with the ciqédo eggs. Which may or may not hatch tonight.”

She grumbled incoherently, and he would’ve laughed, had he the patience for her. Alas, after that morning, Rob hadn’t much patience for any woman. He extracted the canvas from his rucksack and began erecting the tent, although it proved to be a rather difficult task alone. Meanwhile, Antonia remained by the stream, posing in some odd stance, eyes closed.

“Annie?”

She opened her eyes.

“What
are
you doing?”

She blinked. “Meditating.”

“Oh, of course.” He rolled his eyes, indicating the canvas and poles. “A little help here, please?”

She sniffed. “Nothing good ever came from helping you, Robin Watkins.” But she headed toward him all the same, and knelt at his side. With his direction, she assisted him in assembling the materials until, by sundown, the tent stood on the stream’s banks.

“Well,” Rob brushed his hands together, “that should do it.”

The girl only surveyed it warily.

He exhaled. “Antonia, look. I’ve no intention of trying to…” But his voice faded at the furious flush of her cheeks. By the gods, what did she think him? What had those priestesses taught her of men? He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll sleep outside,” he offered, more quietly, “if that would make you feel better.”

Her chest heaved somewhat as their eyes met. He realized hers were blue, like his, albeit several shades grayer, deeper. At last, she turned, saying nothing, and bowed her head to enter the shelter.

Rob knelt down to fetch his bedroll. He glanced into the evening sky, his gaze lingering on the leafy treetops. So long as the ciqédo hadn’t hatched yet, he could handle one night outside in the forest.