Seven
No.
Not again.
Yslie backed away from Peroen’s art studio. A memory—a nightmare—superimposed itself over the present. Only this time, it was worse. The memory of Drexlir faded as the reality of Peroen filled her vision. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. Not when she had allowed her feelings deepen to dangerous levels. Not when all she could see was Peroen’s hand cupping Triese’s bare breast.
Yslie choked back a sob, turned and ran. She was going the wrong direction to return to her room, but that hardly mattered. She didn’t need to return to her room. She needed to flee the palace and never look back.
She thought she had prepared herself. After overhearing Triese tell Peroen about her useless magic, then getting a note asking her to switch her portrait time, she had known the prince had changed his mind about wanting her help. She didn’t blame him; Triese had years of experience turning people away from Yslie.
But she hadn’t expected him to drive home his rejection so viciously. He could have told her he no longer wanted her company at the Assembly event. He didn’t have to arrange for her to walk in on... that .
“Yslie!”
Footsteps pounded after her, and she looked for somewhere to hide. She wasn’t familiar with this section of the palace. She reached for the first door she saw. It opened, and she darted inside, slamming the door closed behind her.
“Yslie! It wasn’t what it looked like.” Peroen’s voice cut through the wood of the door.
She leaned back against it, knowing she couldn’t keep him out if he tried to push inside. But Peroen didn’t even turn the knob. He used no force. Instead, he kept talking, and Yslie couldn’t stop herself from listening.
“Triese orchestrated the whole thing, Yslie. I’ll let you—no, I want you to scan my past. You can see for yourself. She used her power. She timed everything so you walked in at the worst possible moment.”
“Her power might have allowed her to time things perfectly,” Yslie said through the door, her voice wobbling, “but that doesn’t change what happened.”
“Nothing happened. She tricked me.”
Yslie made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “What could she have possibly said to trick you into fondling her breast?”
“I wasn’t fondling her. She grabbed my wrist the same instant you opened the door.”
“She was naked, Peroen. And you were standing right next to her.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I got the message. You don’t need to pretend that I wasn’t meant to walk in on that.”
“I’m not pretending, and there was no that .”
Yslie opened her eyes again, noticing for the first time that she appeared to be in a sitting room, not the storeroom she had expected. She kept talking, even as she took in her surroundings. “Why didn’t you just tell me? You didn’t have to switch my portrait session and arrange for me to walk in on you with Triese.”
“What? You think I—” He fell silent.
Yslie moved away from the door while he struggled to find a new explanation. A table in one corner held a beautifully crafted gohtadar . An arched doorway covered by a beaded curtain presumably led to the bedroom. Paintings covered the walls of the room. Beautiful paintings that had the same poignant simplicity as the sketches she had seen.
She was in Peroen’s rooms.
All she wanted was to run away, and she wound up trapping herself in his private quarters.
She stopped in front of a landscape hanging on the wall. The jagged line of a mountain range cut across the canvas below a midnight sky. It was a painting that called to her, whispering that someone else understood her loneliness. It reminded her that Peroen was nothing like Drexlir. She had still been young enough to hope that her life in Garaea didn’t have to be one of isolation when she had cautiously offered him her heart. Young enough to believe his lies when he told her she was all he wanted.
She wasn’t that naive girl any longer. She knew enough of people to recognize the snakes.
And Peroen wasn’t one.
Shock might have fooled her into lumping Peroen into that category, but that wasn’t fair to him. And she wouldn’t let the past taint her future.
Yslie returned to the door and swung it open.
Peroen looked at her, devastation radiating from him in waves. He raised a hand, but halted it in a jerky movement and let it drop back to his side. “You think I planned this all out because I wanted you to walk in on me with Triese?”
Yslie looked at the floor. “She told you about my power. You know how useless I am now.”
“You aren’t useless.” He straightened. “Even if I agreed that seeing the past was useless—which I don’t—you are more than your power.”
“Don’t lie. I heard you agree with Triese last night.”
Peroen reached out again, and this time, he didn’t stop until his fingers brushed the underside of her chin, urging her to look up at him. “I never agreed with Triese. She claimed to agree with me, pretending she had seen my response in the future, but I never would have said anything like that. She lied, Yslie.”
“Then why—?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. Hope and trepidation battled within her.
“I swapped your sessions because I was tired of her arrival cutting short our time together.” His hand was still raised, his fingers resting against her skin. His thumb stroked over the line of her jaw. “I want to spend time with you, Yslie.”
She leaned into his touch ever so slightly. She trusted him, yet she hardly dared to believe him. “No games?”
“No games.” His thumb moved back and forth, then slid higher, not quite touching her lower lip. “May I come in, Yslie?”
The question drew an inelegant sound from her. “I’m fairly certain this is your room.”
“May I come in?” he repeated.
Yslie nodded, moving out of the doorway. She missed Peroen’s touch the instant she moved. He stepped into the room and gently closed the door. When he turned back to face her, his expression was serious. He held out his hands. “Look into my past, Yslie. See what really happened with Triese.”
“No. I know you both well enough to trust that if you say it was a trick on her part, then it was. I believe you.” The doubt that had sent her running had been instinctive, but upon reflection, it was entirely misplaced.
He didn’t lower his hands. “You still need to see it for yourself. I don’t want you ever to wonder.” She started to shake her head, but he moved his hands closer. “Please.”
She looked down at his hands, calloused from his instruments and stained with paint. She trusted him, but he was right to think she’d wonder about what exactly had happened. If she didn’t look into his past, there’d always be a sliver of unease—not doubt—over what had happened. Peroen would know, and her discomfort would in turn hurt him.
Yslie didn’t need direct contact. Standing this close, she could easily scan his past. She wrapped her fingers around his anyway.
She plunged into the past, going only far enough to see how Triese had finagled the whole encounter.
Triese stood between two windows, her shoulders back, her chin high. She wore a long length of crimson silk draped over her shoulder, the shape coming solely from the gold belt resting on her hips. Matching bracelets and earrings elevated the deceptively simple outfit. “I don’t think I have the angles right,” she pouted.
Peroen didn’t even glance up from where he was putting away the paints he had used for the session. “We can check them next time. We are out of time today.”
“But it needs to be perfect.”
“We’ll spend the first few minutes next time getting everything right.”
“But I need to practice! If I don’t, I’ll keep shifting and then my portrait will be ruined.”
With obvious reluctance, Peroen looked up from his tools. “Your chin should be a little higher and tilted to the left.”
“How much higher? How far? Show me.”
His jaw clenched, but Peroen wiped his hands on a rag and rose from his stool. He walked over to Triese and nudged her chin.
“Like this?” she asked, lowering it once more when he started to back away.
“I really think it will be easier if we wait until next time.” Peroen didn’t meet Triese’s eyes; he was looking more at the wall over her shoulder. So he didn’t see her hands unclasping the gold belt.
With a single tug, the crimson silk slithered down her body. The doorknob turned, and Triese reached out, ensnaring Peroen’s wrist and pulling his hand against her body. He didn’t notice, his attention turning toward the door. “Yslie.”
Yslie watched herself run away, Peroen shaking off Triese’s grasp and chasing after her. Her power faded, and she stared into Peroen’s eyes. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation, not a single instant Triese’s ploy tempted him.
Her throat was tight, her thoughts too scattered to form a coherent response. Not about what mattered, at least. So, she said the only thing she could. “She posed as a goddess?”
Peroen’s lip twitched. “And Odela mimicked the styles from the oldest portraits of empresses past.”
“What about Sophenie?” Yslie asked, still trying to come to terms with what she had seen.
“She sits on the cushions and reads, ignoring me. She hasn’t even bothered to wear the same outfit for her portrait sessions.” Peroen’s hands turned, changing their grip so that he now held her fingers. “Did you see, Yslie?”
She shuddered, the horror of the past few minutes giving up its last hold on her. “I’m sorry I doubted you for even a moment.”
Peroen shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Triese knew exactly what she was doing.”
Yslie shook her head, even as she agreed. “Of course. She’s done it before. But that time, the man was more than happy to cooperate with her.”
“What?” Peroen scowled, then hauled Yslie against him, wrapping his arms tight around her. “Fire and hell. It’s a wonder you ever let me explain. Whoever he was, he was a fool.”
“According to him, I was the fool for ever believing he’d want me when Triese was an option.”
“Sorry, did I say fool? He was a blistering idiot.” Peroen’s arms contracted, the hug tight enough to make Yslie feel safe and treasured all in one. “You are worth a million times more than Triese. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Yslie.”
“Peroen.” She looked up, his name a request she couldn’t otherwise voice.
His answer was as eloquent. His lips met hers, soft, coaxing. He slipped one hand under her hair and cradled the back of her neck.
Yslie rested her hands on his shoulders and opened her lips, inviting him in. It was a kiss that was an end in and of itself, not a mere stepping-stone to something more. A kiss that said this is enough, even while Peroen’s body, pressed against hers, declared its readiness for more. Desire licked at Yslie, too, but she didn’t want to rush past the wonder that was kissing him.
He suckled her lip, then pressed featherlight kisses to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. His lips slanted over hers once more, the kiss deeper, more demanding, yet still patient. Then he pulled back, just a tiny bit, his hand still at her nape, and pressed his forehead against hers. “Why did you come to Kalitalo, Yslie?”