by C. Gockel
Oh. She knew she’d hit a sore subject, but Miala couldn’t think of a good way to backpedal without sounding even more tone-deaf. “So you didn’t know your father?”
“No. I was born in a brothel on Mykiel V. Anything else you want to know?”
She shook her head, wishing she had just kept her mouth shut after all, and watched as he refilled his plate. The man definitely could eat when the opportunity presented itself, but she supposed that was just another survival tactic. Might as well eat when the eating’s good, she thought. She wondered who Eryk Thorn’s father had been, and from there tried to imagine what the mercenary must have looked like as a little boy and failed miserably. He was one of those people who seemed to have sprung full-grown into the universe.
The silence between them had grown tense with that one brittle sentence of his. Miala, at a loss but sensing she should say something, commented, “My mother took off when I was six months old, so I only knew one of my parents, too.”
She hadn’t expected sympathy, and she got none. Thorn speared another piece of filet, then chewed it carefully before saying, “That’s not always a bad thing.”
How in the world was she supposed to reply to that? Casually she lifted her wine goblet and made an off-hand gesture before taking a sip. “You never went looking for him?”
He lifted his shoulders, but the dark eyes watching her were careful, measuring, almost as if he had told her these things just to see how she reacted. “I didn’t see the point. Anyway, it turns out he died before I was even born.”
Miala considered his words. She’d always thought if she did get the chance to get off Iradia, then she would do what she could to find out what had happened to her mother. Whether she’d have the courage to confront the woman who had abandoned her so many years ago, she didn’t know, but somehow the notion of at least knowing whether her mother was alive or dead appealed to her.
For the first time she contemplated the notion of just letting it go, of getting on with her life. What difference would it make, after all? Even seeing her mother wouldn’t return all those years Miala had spent without her.
“I guess I can see why you’d feel that way,” she said, after a long pause.
He lifted his glass toward her, as if in salute. “Now you’re getting it.”
Was he mocking her, ever so slightly? Sometimes it was impossible to tell. However, she chose to believe he wasn’t, mostly because she had grown weary of feeling that she was a source of private amusement to him.
“Anyhow,” she went on, wondering whether it was between the ninth and tenth or fourteenth and fifteenth sips of wine that she had begun to feel a little dizzy, “what’s the plan after we leave Iradia?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You’re the one who wanted off-planet.”
I knew that, Miala thought. “Right, then.” Frowning slightly, she gazed at Thorn, realized she was staring at his mouth, and shifted her glance so it appeared she was looking past his shoulder to the age-smudged fresco on the wall behind him. “So how much is my take, anyway?”
“Don’t know for sure. Probably five, six million.”
Blinking, Miala studied his face carefully to see if he was joking, then decided that he probably wasn’t. With a hand that shook just a little, she tore off a piece of bread and put it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Five million units. With that she could go anywhere in the galaxy, do pretty much anything she wanted. But she knew what she should do, what her father would have wanted her to do.
“I need to go to a university. A good one,” she said finally.
He appeared nonplussed. “What for?”
Surprised, she looked at him for a moment, studying his features in the uncertain candlelight as she considered her reply. Going to a university—or maybe one of the GDF’s training academies—was the only ambition of anyone Miala had known who had the slightest bit of gumption. It was the only way to get off Iradia and earn some respectability at the same time. And her father had certainly drummed into her the necessity for a formal education. Her thoughts had run in that path for so long she had never considered any alternative, never believed there could be anything else for her. But obviously Thorn thought differently.
“I’m guessing you never went to college,” she said.
At that he really did give what sounded like a genuine laugh. “You’re guessing right.” He lifted his glass and drank, black eyes watching her closely over the rim of the gaudy cup. “Can’t say I missed it.”
Miala lifted her shoulders. “It’s just what I always thought I’d do. Go to a good university, then work as an analyst somewhere.”
“Sounds safe.”
Those words made her want to cringe. Safe, was that how he thought of her? “Or not,” she said boldly. “I guess with five million units I can do whatever I want, right?”
He was silent for a moment, then replied, “I think your first plan’s a good one.”
Oh, he was impossible. At that moment, Miala thought if someone showed up on the spot and offered her a full scholarship at the university on Eridani, she’d turn it down just to spite Thorn. “I don’t even know whether I can get into a decent school, anyway,” she remarked. “My education here was pretty irregular, and most universities are sort of picky about that kind of thing. Who knows how long it will take to get someone to even look at my transcripts?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, if you flash enough units around,” he said.
She wanted to retort that that wouldn’t make any difference, but Miala knew better than to start another argument. This dinner wasn’t going at all how she had planned. What had happened to the feeling of romance, of possibilities, that she had sensed when she first lit the candles and thought of the man who would soon be joining her in the copper-washed dining chamber?
He’s being Eryk Thorn again, she thought, and rolled her eyes. Really, she would be better off rid of him. He could just drop her off on some nice planet, say Monteverde or even Eridani itself, and she could get her degree and bank her half of Mast’s treasure—thank you very much for your assistance, Master Thorn, have a nice life. If only it were that easy.
“What are you going to do with your half?” Miala challenged, feeling reckless.
“Bank it,” he said, imperturbable.
Again it was impossible to know whether he was joking or not. In desperation she said, “Thorn, if you don’t shut up right now and kiss me, I think I’m going to throw this wine goblet at your head.”
He smiled then, a slow, easy smile. “If that’s what’s bothering you—” And he pushed his chair back and stood, going over to her and raising her up out of her own chair.
Much better, Miala thought. When he’s kissing me, I don’t think about how much I’d like to kill him.
And as he continued to kiss her, she realized she didn’t have to think about anything else at all. The universe seemed to compact itself down to the feel of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his body, the taste of the wine on his tongue.
And everything else, she decided, could wait.
9
They walked in silence for a time along a sweeping terrace that hugged the circular main tower of Mast’s compound. Probably it had been constructed by the monks as a platform for stargazing, though Miala doubted that any of the denizens of Mast’s household had wasted much time watching the stars. Hot as the desert was during daylight hours, it was equally chill at night, although the warm sandstone of the building still radiated the heat it had stored up during the day.
Ixtal, the largest of Iradia’s three moons, hung low in the eastern sky, a huge golden orb that cast a glittering track across the desert sands. Miala paused at the curved stone balustrade that edged the terrace, gazing down at the desolate landscape beneath her. She’d had the fancy that perhaps one last look at the world which had been her only home would arouse some feelings of nostalgia, but now she felt nothing but relief that after tomorrow she would never have to see these sand-scour
ed wastes again.
Thorn was quiet, watching her from the shadows. He had held her for some time in the candlelit dining hall, in a prolonged embrace from which she had emerged gasping once again and not quite sure what to do with herself. Luckily, the prosaic interruption of cleaning up after dinner had leveled her head somewhat, although at the time she had wondered why she was even bothering with the dishes or the mess in the kitchen. Certainly it was not out of respect for whichever crime lord or bandit might take over the compound next. Something in her had simply rebelled at leaving the place out of order. She’d spent too many years straightening up after her father, and keeping things tidy was ingrained in her by now.
At least Thorn made no protest when she pulled herself from his embrace, and he had even carried dishes into the kitchen in stoic silence. Once she was finished with the remnants of dinner, he had accompanied her here without protest, although even she wasn’t sure at the time why she had come.
“What do you think’s going on out there?” she asked finally, waving one hand in a general westerly direction, as if to indicate Iradia as a whole.
He turned his head in that direction. The warm golden light of the moon seemed to smooth out the scars and lingering redness that were constant reminders of the injuries he had sustained during the battle at the Malverdine Cliffs. “Fighting. Confusion. People dying.”
“So how does that make it different from any other day?” she retorted.
Thorn allowed himself a small smile. “You sound like me.”
“It’s all this time I’ve been spending in your charming company.”
Her words did not seem to anger him. Instead, he shook his head and stepped toward the balustrade to stand next to her. A chill tendril of desert wind caught in the dark close-cropped strands at his hairline, ruffling them slightly. “They’ve gotten farther this time than they have in the past, but they’ve got to know it can’t last. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sooner than they like, the Gaian Central Council is going to send a whole lot of ships and troops over here to make sure everything gets back to normal. Gaia pulls too much money out of this planet to just let it go.”
“So is it safe to leave? Will they try to stop us?”
“Right now I’m guessing that whatever Gaian forces are still alive probably have more important things to worry about than us.”
Miala shivered slightly, and Thorn dropped a casual arm around her, pulling her closer to him. Stupid of her to have come up here anyway without grabbing a cloak or shawl first, although she had to admit there were worse ways of staying warm than to have Eryk Thorn holding you close. The cold didn’t seem to bother him at all, although his long-sleeved jumpsuit of course was warmer than the thin sleeveless tunic she wore.
“Eridani, or even Monteverde or Nova Angeles,” he went on. “Someplace civilized. That’s the sort of planet you need.”
You need. Not we need. The words grated on her, though Miala tried to tell herself that the mercenary was simply giving her predicament precedence. He’d agreed to help her, and so his concern now was solely for her. She had no doubt that, if left to his own devices, he could fly right through a battle between Gaian and Iradian forces and come out the other side completely unscathed.
“I don’t know anything about any of those planets,” she said flatly, staring out into the empty moonlit desert. It must have been the wind that brought the stinging tears to her eyes.
“Planets are planets,” he replied. “They all have good and bad. Some have more of one than the other.” For a second his eyes narrowed, although whether it was a reaction to a sudden gust of wind or some internal reflection, she wasn’t sure. “This one’s pretty much a dump, though.”
It wasn’t even in her to defend her home world, for she knew he was right. Perhaps someone else could have seen something admirable in the tenacity of the silk harvesters and the other inhabitants who tried to scratch an honest living from this rock, but all Miala could do was wonder why anyone would live here when they had the rest of the galaxy to choose from.
“We’ll have to see how far we can even get,” he went on, and he, too, stared out into the desert night, as if unable to meet her eyes. “All those planets are several sectors away, and I’m guessing the Council will be sending as big a peacekeeping force as it can muster. We’ll be dodging GDF ships no matter which direction we go.”
“You’ll figure out something,” Miala replied, and tried to take comfort in the strength of his arm around her, the warmth radiating out from his body like the banked heat of Iradia’s now-absent sun. “I trust you.”
At those words he became still, almost rigid in his silence. She suddenly wondered how long it had been since anyone had said anything like that to Eryk Thorn—or whether anyone ever had. Possibly it had been imprudent of her, but she couldn’t take the words back now, and for some reason she believed them. He could have betrayed her earlier today, and had not. Besides, she’d just spent the larger part of two months looking over her shoulder, not confiding in anyone, always afraid she would be caught before her work here in Mast’s compound was done, and it felt better than she had thought possible to lay some of her burden on Thorn’s very capable shoulders.
Miala wondered if he would protest or demur, but he remained silent, although he did finally turn to look at her. What he saw in her face she couldn’t know, although she was relieved her eyes were now relatively dry. In the uncertain light of the one moon his own face was even more unreadable than ever, but she stared back up at him steadily, willing him to hold her gaze. I believe in you, she prayed that gaze told him. I trust you to get me safely away from here, even if this world is tearing itself apart.
They stood that way for a long moment, until at last he said, “It’s too cold for you out here.” Then he dropped his arm from around her and instead took her hand, leading her back inside the building.
Not sure at first where Thorn was taking her, Miala followed him down the winding staircase. The light was dim in here. A few battery-powered sconces at strategic points gave enough illumination to keep a person from tripping over themselves on the steps, but they did nothing to dispel the shadows that lurked in the corners. Once again she had that sensation of ghostly presences hidden in the darkness, whispers at the very edge of hearing. Miala shivered, glad she would be quit of this place in a few short hours.
It was only when they paused on the landing to the second level that she realized what Thorn intended. Just a few doors down from where they stood was the chamber where he had slept for the past few nights. Miala looked up at him, mouth suddenly dry.
He returned her gaze, his face expressionless as always. “If you don’t want to—”
Oh, but she did, and that was what both frightened and thrilled her at the same time. Somehow she knew that once she followed Eryk Thorn into that chamber, she would have left her old life behind forever, that she would finally have stepped over the shadowy threshold between adolescence and adulthood. Her life had already undergone wrenching changes, but this was different. From this there would be no going back.
“I do,” she replied, marveling at how steady her voice sounded.
One eyebrow lifted, and she thought he looked a little amused, but he said only, “Good.” And then he palmed the lock and led her into his sleeping quarters.
He had left one lamp illuminated in the far corner of the room so it lent a soft wash of light to the chamber, just enough to reveal off-world furnishings that no doubt had been expensive but were the height of bad taste—carved stone touched with silver and gilt paint, window hangings in a particularly excruciating shade of mauve, a gruesome piece of art depicting a group of dancing girls. In short, it was a suite that Mast had probably preserved for his favorites.
“Nice,” Miala commented. “I’m glad I decided to sleep upstairs in the slave girls’ dormitory.”
“Bed’s comfortable at least.”
She was tempted to reply, Prove it, but knew she’d probably fi
nd out for herself soon enough. And he gave her no time to think of an alternative retort, for once again he pulled her against him, his mouth on hers, his hands moving through the free-falling masses of her hair, finding the pressure clasps that closed up the back of her tunic. It fell from her with shocking ease, and suddenly she could feel his fingers moving against her bare skin, sending little shivers all over her body.
At the same time she reached up to pull at the tab to the locking fastener that closed the front of his jumpsuit. It separated to reveal a well-muscled torso, albeit one that showed skin still reddened and scarred by the firefight at the Malverdine Cliffs. But Miala found she didn’t care, instead running her hands over his bare flesh, feeling the hardness of his muscles under the roughened skin.
Then his mouth moved down her neck, brushing over the collarbones, down to her breast, even as his tongue flickered out and made contact with the sensitive skin there. She gasped, shocked that such a delicate touch could bring such waves of pleasure coursing over her body.
Somehow they were then on the bed, his lips still brushing against her breast, as his hand dropped between her legs, stroking. She could no more stifle the cry that escaped her lips at his touch than she could have stopped him at this point, but she had no desire to. Instead she reached out to touch him as well, finding the hardness of him, taking him into her hand as if she had done this a hundred times before. He gasped—maybe he hadn’t been expecting that from her.
After a few moments thus entwined—or perhaps it was a few hours…time seemed to have no meaning as they held one another—he moved on top of her, his mouth finding hers even as she relinquished her hold on him and instead wrapped her arms around his body, feeling the hardened muscles shift under her hands. As Miala shivered from the pleasure his touch had brought her, a tiny frisson of fear trailed its way down her spine. They were so close—so very close. She knew there was no stopping him now, no way to prevent him from taking the next step.