Chapter 17 #2
A mocking smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Don’t play coy, I’ve seen that redheaded ruffian treat you like his property,” he said. “But if you think I’m here to procure a piece of warm flesh, think again.” He turned on his heel and walked down the corridor. “Come with me or don’t.”
“Wait!” She followed. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
“Most people are rude,” he said, marching through the net of narrow passages. He navigated the castle with the perfect assurance of a resident rat. “But my lord is not, so watch your tongue.”
They came to a narrow door leading into a sparsely furnished chamber. A bed in a corner, a chest, a desk with a jug of water, a cup, and a leather bag on it. The only clue that someone inhabited it was a fire burning in the fireplace.
“Wait here,” Telani said. “He’ll come when he’s finished with Gospodar Echton.”
When he shut the door behind him, Liana snooped around.
She found a saddlebag filled with clothes beside the chest. It smelled pleasantly of soap and bergamot, but the touch of the fine wool and linen felt too intimate so she refrained from searching it.
Instead, she opened the bag on the desk.
It revealed even less—there were a couple of maps of places she didn’t recognize and a stash of letters and documents.
Liana’s grandfather had taught her to read and write, but the letters were all battle reports and documents written in an impenetrable legal language.
Liana put them back and yawned. It had been a long day.
She didn’t want to sit on the hard, high-backed chair and lying on the bed would be looking for trouble, so she settled on the faded rug in front of the fireplace.
Time trickled slowly, measured only by the crackling of the fire, as the evening slipped into night.
Brano was probably looking for her, if he wasn’t too busy drinking with his men, and would be irritated if she if she wasn’t waiting for him.
Anxiety gripped her for a moment before she realized she didn’t care one bit about what he was doing.
And the prince, did she care about him? She knew the basic facts, like anyone else: the younger son, the military commander and regent after his brother’s death, married to the elusive heiress of Elmar.
People spoke well of him, mostly, even though there had always been a dose of resentment for the court.
The royals were imaginary beings, creatures of luxury and leisure in faraway palaces; hardly anyone Liana knew had ever seen them.
Gospodar Echton didn’t count—he was one of the great lords with royal ancestors somewhere down the line, but he was also a grizzled old bear preoccupied with his horses and hounds and the restless brood of children and grandchildren who drained his coffers.
She wondered what the prince wanted from her.
The whole setup certainly didn’t look like a tryst, and his secretary had denied it—but if it wasn’t that, what was it?
What business could a prince have with a huntswoman?
Curiosity kept Liana stuck to that rug on the floor, even if common sense told her it would be better to slip away and pretend none of this ever happened.
She must have dozed off because the sound of the door opening woke her, followed by light footsteps and someone saying, “Gods, I’ve forgotten you’re here, I’m so sorry.”
She turned and the prince stood a few paces away, unbuckling his sword belt, shaking his head.
He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered and long-legged.
Handsome up close just as he’d been from afar, although she’d seen better looking men.
A different quality attracted Liana: a presence more solid than most people, an acute three-dimensionality that bent the world to him.
Unlike the insecure men she knew, who were obsessed with their image, with other people’s opinions of them, all he projected was a self-contained poise. It pulled her in like a magnet.
“Your Highness.” She rose and bowed her head.
He studied her face. “You’re Darin’s girl, aren’t you? I recognized you immediately, you have his eyes and mouth.”
These were not the words she’d have expected in a million years, and they kicked the air out of her lungs. “I never knew my father,” she said.
“Oh,” the prince said, “of course.”
The news of Captain Darin’s death had reached her the previous summer, and she felt a pang of loss, though it was hard to grieve something she’d never had. His absence had been a constant in her life, unchanged by his death.
“Did you know him well?” she dared to ask.
“Yes. Knew him, liked him, respected him immensely.”
She nodded. It was a strange thought: The Darin the prince had known was not the beardless boy her grandfather and other hunters remembered, but a grown man, with a life she knew nothing about. She wanted to find out more, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask.
“Please sit down.” He offered her the chair, and she almost refused, mortified by the thought that he would remain standing, but then he sat on the heavy wooden chest and she reluctantly accepted.
“Echton tells me you’re a superb hunter and the best scout he has.”
She blushed at this praise, wondering whether he knew about her mother. Very few people did: her grandfather, Gospodar Echton, and—obviously—her father. Had Darin mentioned the Goddess of the Hunt to his prince? Was there something deeper than curiosity in his eyes?
People were intrigued with the touch of the divine when it came neatly packed inside legends, but in reality it frightened them.
Liana had always hidden the more uncanny of her abilities and worked hard to justify her skills.
She stayed in the background, leaving the praise and glory to others, happy that most men’s interest never went further than her looks.
She knew deep inside that if they ever realized Liana could beat them at every challenge, they’d hate her.
More than hate her, actually; they’d find a way to hurt her.
Was the prince interested in her divine blood?
She studied him as he absentmindedly rubbed the golden stubble on his jaw. Dark circles of exhaustion framed his eyes, and he stifled a yawn. He didn’t look like he was fishing for the uncanny.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t demand some kind of divine miracle.
“Oh no, quite the opposite.” He paused, measuring his words. “Your father left no will and gave no instructions, but he told me about you, and I believe it was intentional. I owe it to him to make sure you are all right.”
“All right?” She bit her lip, wondering what Brano, what any of her companions would think about this situation: a prince of the realm checking if she were all right.
She almost laughed at the improbability, but she swallowed it at the last moment.
The prince wasn’t joking. His words were serious, weighted with the power of the royal command.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he clarified. “You have a secure position in Lord Echton’s household, but perhaps you want something better? I can’t offer much, with half the kingdom in flames, but if you want to join my mother’s household or find a noble husband, I can help.”
Embroidering or bearing children, were these the only options? She reminded herself that the prince didn’t know her and was trying to be generous. Paying a debt to her dead father.
But it wasn’t some indifferent kindness that she saw on his face, nor a tedious obligation. His look was keen and intense, surprisingly warm beneath his steel glaze. A whiff of personal interest lay at the bottom of it. For the first time in her life, she was flattered by a man measuring her up.
No, not flattered. She was intrigued.
“Take me with you,” she said abruptly, the words spilling from her mouth before her brain had the time to check them. “Let me join your retinue.”
His eyebrows shot up. “There’s nothing but war where I go now.
With Echton’s help, we hope to break the siege of Myrit and push the Seragians back towards the coast. It will be months of campaigning, and I’m not even sure we stand a chance.
” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip.
His hands, elegant and long-fingered, were marred with chilblains and callused from fighting.
“I shouldn’t be saying this, please don’t pass it to Echton. ”
“You think we don’t stand a chance?”
He shook his head. “That’s just exhaustion speaking, ignore it. I’ll find a way to outmaneuver them.” He shot her a tired smile. “Mind you, allowing you to join me is no favor. It’s more like a punishment.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. This was no time to be humble. “I’m the deadliest archer you’ll ever see, and I can track and hunt down any animal or human without them ever noticing me. I’m sure I’ll be useful to you.”
“You’re no soldier, though. Would you rather risk your life down south, would you rather risk being caught and tortured by the Seragians or bleeding out slowly on a battlefield than ride through these forests?
Gods know I need every ally I can get, but if your father were alive, he’d be furious with me for dragging you into mortal danger instead of making sure you had a good, peaceful life. ”
Would he understand if she tried to explain it to him?
“This is not a good life,” she said. “This is a small life, secluded and meager. I am twenty-two and I feel all my options here are exhausted. My father went south and I want to follow him, but not to become a lady-in-waiting or someone’s wife.
” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “I couldn’t hold a needle or soothe a child if my life depended on it.
No, I want to go and fight.” She looked into his eyes. “I want to go where you go.”
A long silence followed her words, yet she felt something important had been communicated between them in that small room. All rank had been stripped away for a short instance, all the disparity in power evaporated. Two young people making plans, nothing more.
At last, he nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll tell Echton you’re coming with me.” He rose and she jumped to her feet. “Is that all?”
She wanted to say yes, she opened her mouth, but her voice faltered.
The idea of going back to her quarters, of answering her companions’ questions, of accommodating any mood Brano might choose to burden her with, seemed unbearable.
The world she’d inhabited a couple of hours ago fell to pieces like an old, worn-out shirt, impossible to put back on.
His eyes studied her face while his fingers traced the embroidery on his collar. He seemed so serious and utterly composed, and yet…
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Is it?”
It was risky and rash and downright impudent. He hadn’t given her a single inviting signal, the faintest hint of desire. She could have been embarrassing herself.
Still, they remained looking at each other until he cleared his throat and said, “Am I reading this completely wrong? Because if I am, you’re free to go, and all I’ve promised stands.”
She took one step towards him, then another. She had to lift her head a little to see his face. His body gave off heat and a faint scent of bergamot and leather.
“You’re not reading it wrong,” she said, dizzy with daring. “Also, it has nothing to do with the previous conversation, my plans, or your perceived debt. It just is.”
Liana had never seduced a man before. She never needed to.
It had always been them chasing her, extorting a more or less enthusiastic response.
It dawned on her now that she’d never really wanted any of them.
Not like this, not with this wild urge to shatter his poise, get under that smooth surface and wreak havoc inside, light him up like a bonfire and make him cry out her name.
“It will be outrageously inconvenient,” he said. “And possibly demeaning and ruinous for you.”
She let out a raspy laugh. “I’m not some precious lady; the only reputation I need to protect is tied to the tip of my arrow. I’m free to do what I want, and what I want is this.”
She laid her hands on his shoulders, the sleek wool, the hard bones.
A faint blush colored his cheeks and his breathing quickened as his arms slipped around her waist, drawing her close.
This slow fire of excitement in her stomach, the solid certainty of being in the right place, was new.
Slowly, his lips found hers, an inquisitive brush growing into a kiss, hard and deep.
She pushed her hips against his and closed her eyes.
A wave of icy water washed over her, sharp teeth biting the soft flesh of her mouth, hard hands gripping her body. Liana kicked blindly with all the strength she could muster.
The hands released her and she fell to the cold stone floor of the cell.
“That was a delicious memory,” Morana said. “Shame it never happened.”
The Goddess of Death stood before her, shrouded in silvery light, her long black hair moving although there was no wind to pick it up. She smiled at Liana, her mouth filled with sharp teeth.
“Get away from me,” Liana whispered.
“You should be careful what you wish for.” Morana’s eyes were deep like two wells, the golden glow in them only a faint flicker in an endless night.
“Your past is no more and your future will never arrive. You’re stuck here, helpless and out of your depth, and if you make one more mistake, he’ll die. ”
“Why do you care? You hate him.”
Morana’s laugh was a deep, chilling sound of stones grinding underwater. “As I said, the past is gone. I have no quarrel with him, his slate is clean.”
“You have no reason to help me, to help us.” Liana struggled to rise, but her legs wouldn’t carry her. She landed heavily on the bench.
“You still think Perun will help you?”
“We have a deal,” Liana said.
“Has he ever done you a favor? Has your own mother ever done you a favor? Helped you in any way?”
“I can work with what they’ve given me.”
The goddess laughed again. “When you figure out what they’ve done to you, call me. I’ll be waiting.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Use your brain.” The goddess laid her hand on Liana’s brow. “Wake up.”