Dance of the Gods
Page 59
“Not alone. Don’t, don’t,” Moira said wearily when Blair started to argue. “You’re used to hunting alone, capable of hunting alone. But you don’t know the land here. They will by now. I’ll go with you.”
“You’ve got a point, and a strong one. But no, you’re not the one for this hunt. I’m not saying you’re not capable either. But you’re not the best when it comes to close-in fighting. It’ll have to be Larkin, and I’ll need Cian.”
In a gesture of annoyance, Moira tugged a blossom from a bush. “Now you have the strong point. I feel I’ve done nothing but matters of state since I’ve come home.”
“You’ve got my sympathy. But I think that kind of thing has to be important, too. Statesmen—women—people—they raise armies. You’ve already taken steps to move people out of what’s going to be a war zone. That’s saving lives, Moira.”
“I know it. I do. But…”
“Who’s going to stir up the general population, fire them up into putting their lives on the line? We’ll train them, Moira. But you’ve got to get them to us.”
“You’re right, I know.”
“I’ll get you a vampire—two if I can manage it. You get me people I can teach to kill one. But right now, I’ve got to wash up. A vamp could smell me a half a mile away.”
“I’ll have a bath readied for you, in your chambers.”
“I was thinking I’d just use the river.”
“Are you mad?” Finally, Moira’s face relaxed into a smile. “The river’s freezing this time of year.”
I t was never comfortable for Moira to speak with Cian. Not just because of what he was, as she’d reconciled herself to that. She thought of it, when she thought of him, as a condition; a kind of disease.
At their first meeting he had saved her life, and since had proven himself again and again.
His kind had murdered her mother, and yet he had fought beside her, had risked his life—or more accurately his existence—in doing so.
No, she couldn’t hold what he was against him.
Still there was something inside her, something she couldn’t quite see clearly, or study, or understand. Whatever it was made her uneasy, even nervy around him.
He knew it, or sensed it, she was sure. For he was so much cooler to her than the others. It was so rare that he would spare her a smile, or an easy word.
After the attack on their way to Geall, he’d swooped her up off the ground. His arms were the arms of a man. Flesh and blood, strong and real.
“Hold on,” he’d said. And that was all.
She’d ridden with him to the castle, and his body had been that of a man. Lean and hard. And her heart had been raging for so many reasons, she’d been afraid to touch him.
What had he said to her then, in that sharp, impatient voice of his?
Oh yes: Get a grip on me before you fall on your ass again. I haven’t bitten you yet, have I?
It had made her embarrassed and ashamed, and grateful he couldn’t see the color flame into her cheeks.
Likely he’d have had something cutting to say about her virginal blushes as well.
Now she had to go to him, to ask him for help. It wasn’t something she would pass off to Blair, or Larkin, certainly not to a servant. It was her duty to face him, to speak the words, ask the boon.
She would ask him to leave the castle, the comfort and safety of it, and go out into a strange land to hunt one of his own.
And he would do it, she knew, already she knew he would do it. Not for her—the request of a princess, the favor of a friend. He would do it for the others. For the whole of it.
She went alone. The women who attended her wouldn’t approve, of course, and would consider the idea of their princess alone in a man’s bedchamber unseemly, even shocking.
Such matters were no longer an issue for Moira. What would her ladies think if they knew she’d once fed him blood when he was wounded?
She imagined they would shriek and hide their faces—those who didn’t swoon away. But they would have to look straight on at such things very soon. Or face much worse.
Her shoulders went tight as she stepped to the door of his chamber. But she knocked briskly, then stood to wait.
When he opened the door, the lights from the corridor washed over his face, and plunged the rest into shadow. She saw the faintest flicker of surprise come and go in his eyes as he studied her.
“Well, look at you. I barely recognized you. Your Highness.”
It reminded her she was wearing a dress, and the gold mitre of her office. And remembering, she felt foolishly exposed.
“There were matters of state to attend to. I’m expected to attire myself appropriately.”
“And fetchingly, too.” He leaned lazily on the door. “Is my presence required?”
“Yes. No.” Why did he forever make her clumsy? “May I come in? I would speak with you.”
“By all means.”
She had to brush against him to step inside. The room was like midnight, she thought. Not a single candle lit, nor the fire, and the drapes were pulled tight at the windows.
“The sun’s gone down.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Would you mind if we had some light?” She picked up the tinderbox, fumbling a bit. “I can’t see so well as you in the dark.” The quick flare of light did quite a bit to calm her jumping stomach. “There’s a chill,” she continued, lighting more candles. “Should I light the fire for you?”
“Suit yourself.”
He said nothing while she knelt in front of the hearth, set the turf. But she knew he watched her, and his watching made her hands feel cold and stiff.
“Are you comfortable here?” she began. “The room isn’t so large or grand as you’re used to.”
“And separate enough from the general population so they can be comfortable.”
Stunned, she turned, kneeling still while the turf caught flame at her back. She didn’t flush. Instead her cheeks went very pale. “Oh, but no, I never meant…”
“It’s no matter.” He picked up a glass he’d obviously poured before she’d come in. And now he drank deliberately of the blood with his eyes on hers. “I imagine your people would be put off by some of my daily habits.”
“You’ve got a point, and a strong one. But no, you’re not the one for this hunt. I’m not saying you’re not capable either. But you’re not the best when it comes to close-in fighting. It’ll have to be Larkin, and I’ll need Cian.”
In a gesture of annoyance, Moira tugged a blossom from a bush. “Now you have the strong point. I feel I’ve done nothing but matters of state since I’ve come home.”
“You’ve got my sympathy. But I think that kind of thing has to be important, too. Statesmen—women—people—they raise armies. You’ve already taken steps to move people out of what’s going to be a war zone. That’s saving lives, Moira.”
“I know it. I do. But…”
“Who’s going to stir up the general population, fire them up into putting their lives on the line? We’ll train them, Moira. But you’ve got to get them to us.”
“You’re right, I know.”
“I’ll get you a vampire—two if I can manage it. You get me people I can teach to kill one. But right now, I’ve got to wash up. A vamp could smell me a half a mile away.”
“I’ll have a bath readied for you, in your chambers.”
“I was thinking I’d just use the river.”
“Are you mad?” Finally, Moira’s face relaxed into a smile. “The river’s freezing this time of year.”
I t was never comfortable for Moira to speak with Cian. Not just because of what he was, as she’d reconciled herself to that. She thought of it, when she thought of him, as a condition; a kind of disease.
At their first meeting he had saved her life, and since had proven himself again and again.
His kind had murdered her mother, and yet he had fought beside her, had risked his life—or more accurately his existence—in doing so.
No, she couldn’t hold what he was against him.
Still there was something inside her, something she couldn’t quite see clearly, or study, or understand. Whatever it was made her uneasy, even nervy around him.
He knew it, or sensed it, she was sure. For he was so much cooler to her than the others. It was so rare that he would spare her a smile, or an easy word.
After the attack on their way to Geall, he’d swooped her up off the ground. His arms were the arms of a man. Flesh and blood, strong and real.
“Hold on,” he’d said. And that was all.
She’d ridden with him to the castle, and his body had been that of a man. Lean and hard. And her heart had been raging for so many reasons, she’d been afraid to touch him.
What had he said to her then, in that sharp, impatient voice of his?
Oh yes: Get a grip on me before you fall on your ass again. I haven’t bitten you yet, have I?
It had made her embarrassed and ashamed, and grateful he couldn’t see the color flame into her cheeks.
Likely he’d have had something cutting to say about her virginal blushes as well.
Now she had to go to him, to ask him for help. It wasn’t something she would pass off to Blair, or Larkin, certainly not to a servant. It was her duty to face him, to speak the words, ask the boon.
She would ask him to leave the castle, the comfort and safety of it, and go out into a strange land to hunt one of his own.
And he would do it, she knew, already she knew he would do it. Not for her—the request of a princess, the favor of a friend. He would do it for the others. For the whole of it.
She went alone. The women who attended her wouldn’t approve, of course, and would consider the idea of their princess alone in a man’s bedchamber unseemly, even shocking.
Such matters were no longer an issue for Moira. What would her ladies think if they knew she’d once fed him blood when he was wounded?
She imagined they would shriek and hide their faces—those who didn’t swoon away. But they would have to look straight on at such things very soon. Or face much worse.
Her shoulders went tight as she stepped to the door of his chamber. But she knocked briskly, then stood to wait.
When he opened the door, the lights from the corridor washed over his face, and plunged the rest into shadow. She saw the faintest flicker of surprise come and go in his eyes as he studied her.
“Well, look at you. I barely recognized you. Your Highness.”
It reminded her she was wearing a dress, and the gold mitre of her office. And remembering, she felt foolishly exposed.
“There were matters of state to attend to. I’m expected to attire myself appropriately.”
“And fetchingly, too.” He leaned lazily on the door. “Is my presence required?”
“Yes. No.” Why did he forever make her clumsy? “May I come in? I would speak with you.”
“By all means.”
She had to brush against him to step inside. The room was like midnight, she thought. Not a single candle lit, nor the fire, and the drapes were pulled tight at the windows.
“The sun’s gone down.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Would you mind if we had some light?” She picked up the tinderbox, fumbling a bit. “I can’t see so well as you in the dark.” The quick flare of light did quite a bit to calm her jumping stomach. “There’s a chill,” she continued, lighting more candles. “Should I light the fire for you?”
“Suit yourself.”
He said nothing while she knelt in front of the hearth, set the turf. But she knew he watched her, and his watching made her hands feel cold and stiff.
“Are you comfortable here?” she began. “The room isn’t so large or grand as you’re used to.”
“And separate enough from the general population so they can be comfortable.”
Stunned, she turned, kneeling still while the turf caught flame at her back. She didn’t flush. Instead her cheeks went very pale. “Oh, but no, I never meant…”
“It’s no matter.” He picked up a glass he’d obviously poured before she’d come in. And now he drank deliberately of the blood with his eyes on hers. “I imagine your people would be put off by some of my daily habits.”
