by Deb E Howell
He looked startled to hear her voice.
“Sorry. I followed you.”
He shrugged and turned back to the horse.
“He’s Quaven military, too. We’ve been through a bit together.”
Llew stood beside him and reached out to pat the big gentle head. As she lifted her arm, her hand brushed against Jonas’ bone-handled knife by his waist, and an idea formed in her mind. Old habits and skills switched into action, in particular her keen awareness of exactly where his attention was focused, and absolute control over every muscle in her body.
“He is very beautiful.” Keep patting him. Just keep looking at those lovely horse eyes.
“Aris just doesn’t get it,” said Jonas and Llew tensed. Patience.
“When Braph and I were separated – I was ten, him fifteen – we swapped our most treasured possessions. His was the wooden gryphon. Mine was my knife.” He pulled it from its sheath and held it, leaning his arms on the stall door. Llew cursed silently, then plastered an understanding smile on her face when he looked from the knife to her. “When Aris took me in, he was real pissed. I mean, one of the last Syakara givin’ his knife to a mere Karan?” He laughed, turning back to the blade. “I was a stupid kid. It was mine by birthright, but it should have been Braph’s. He was older. I knew he wanted it. And I loved him so much . . . ” He sneered at his own weakness.
Llew placed a hand on his arm, but didn’t know what to say. Put it back so I can take it. Again. She almost gave up right then. How could she do that to him? She’d already stolen the knife in Cheer and already insulted him, several times. What kind of friend was she?
The kind that would carry his burden for him, that’s what kind.
“There ain’t a day goes by I don’t wish I’d given him somethin’ else.” Jonas swallowed his rising emotion, his lips twisting and his jaw clenching. “If I’d had it, she might’ve had a fightin’ chance. Or maybe it just would’ve played out differently . . . ”
She could tell him it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have known, that if Braph hadn’t had that knife it would have been another one – that one wasn’t designed for killing Syakara, after all. But she knew he didn’t want to hear any of that. He wanted to feel. He wanted to know that his need to protect the knife was justified. She squeezed his arm, hoping it would be enough to let him know she understood.
He looked at her, past her, barely seeming to see her for a while. Then his eyes focused and he smiled his thanks. He slid the knife home and rubbed a hand up and down his horse’s face.
Llew moved swiftly.
Damn! A dress didn’t have all the handy places to put things that a shirt and trousers offered. She bunched the knife into the folds and, holding it securely, backed away from him.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your thinking, then.”
Jonas grunted.
Once she was a few paces out of the stable she ran back to the guest wing, ignoring the startled looks of everyone she passed, with her hand still clasping the side of her dress.
“Llewella?”
Approaching her room, Llew looked up when someone called her name. “Hisham?” The soldier was loitering by her door.
“That’s the one.” He beamed at her, and held out a hand. “Aris sent me to keep an eye on you.”
“Ah.” Llew faltered. Her right hand was still clutching the folds of her skirt around Jonas’ knife. She held out her left hand and he swapped hands to shake it. “Caught my skirt on a nail. Big hole,” she blustered. “Very embarrassing. Must get ready for tonight’s dance.” She backed through her door, smiling at him.
Inside, she clicked the door closed and leaned against it to catch her breath. She freed the knife from the folds of the skirt and held it in front of her. Well, she’d done it. Keeping the knife out of the wrong hands was no longer Jonas’ immediate concern.
A bath had been placed in her room and soon someone would come to fill it with steaming water. The dress she was to wear hung from the door of her wardrobe. She crossed the room and slid the knife under her pillow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Llew pressed the softest, most luxurious towel she had ever touched to her skin, dabbing the water away. Somehow scrubbing didn’t seem appropriate with something so masterfully woven, cleansed and dried.
She crossed the room to her bed and brushed the sheets with her fingers; they were smooth and soft and inviting. She almost wished there wasn’t a ball that evening – she couldn’t wait to curl up and sleep in those blankets.
She jumped at a knock on her door.
“Just a minute,” she called, pulling the towel around her and crossing the room.
“Where is it?” Her heart nearly stopped at Jonas’ hostile tone. She had known he would notice the knife’s absence, and she had known he would know who took it. She had been preparing for this, but still she wasn’t prepared.
“What?”
“You know what. Open the door.”
She secured the towel about her, turned the lock, and skipped out of the door’s sweep as soon as the latch clicked.
“Where is it?” he said, striding into the room.
“You won’t find it and I’m not giving it back to you tonight. So you might as well go to the dance. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Is that what this is about?” He almost laughed. “You want me to go to a dance? You stupid girl.” He started rummaging through her drawers. They were mostly empty, only containing the few items Lord Tovias’ staff had supplied his guests – hair brushes, undergarments, towels.
“You won’t find it.”
He turned to her, eyes narrowed, and then walked to the bed and threw back the blankets. The pillows were flung aside. He growled in frustration and came across to her.
“What did you do with it?” He leaned towards her. She could feel his breath on her skin.
“I said I wasn’t giving it back to you. Let it be my problem tonight,” Llew replied as calmly as possible. “Now I would like to finish drying off. I have a social engagement to prepare for. Please leave.” She pointed toward the door. Her hand barely shook.
His hard expression faltered at her commanding tone, and his eyes swept down to her bare shoulders and the towel clasped around her. He swallowed, and Llew saw in him the same hunger she’d seen in other men. But in Jonas it was mixed with a nervousness or fear she’d never seen before. Of all people, this man had all the power needed to make her do what she didn’t want to do. But now she did want to. When she’d been with men previously, they’d taken what they wanted. But Jonas wouldn’t take; he would ask. But he looked too scared even to do that.
And suddenly everything she had complained about to Anya fell away. There would be no writhing. Not in a bad way, anyway.
She lifted her chin and relaxed her hold on her towel, revealing the plump curve of a breast pressed up by the hand beneath. He swallowed again, his eyes searching hers. She let the towel slip a little more, flicking her eyes down to direct his gaze, with her breathing becoming shallow and quickening. He looked down, back up, and then stepped close to her, his hands cupping her jaw. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him into her. Their lips pressed together.
In the hall, Hisham cleared his throat.
Jonas kicked the door closed and pressed her back toward the bed, while she pushed open his leather vest and began work on his shirt buttons. With her hands otherwise occupied, the towel fell to the floor. As soon as his shirt came open, she pushed it from his shoulders. Lean though he was, muscles rippled under the skin as he reached to pull her face to his again. Her hands roved his hard back, feeling the little raised patches of skin that she knew were scars. This man kissing her with the same combination of hunger and tenderness that she felt for him had seen combat unlike anything that had happened on the shores of her country. She let her eyes follow the line of his shoulder to his biceps, where he had been injured in Stelt. The wound was knitting well. It would soon join the ranks of the other scars over his body. S
he wished she could fix it for him. She wished she could fix them all.
But then he was pulling back. No. Stop! Don’t stop! Her hands clasped his head and she tried to pull him back to her. He shook his head.
“What– Why?”
“I know Al told you about me, and what I do, what I did, for Aris, for Quaver.” He pried her fingers from the back of his head, the self-loathing settling back in place.
Llew shook her head. “It’s just sex. Aris would never let me have you, anyway. And I know you don’t like me that way. It’s okay. The last boy I slept with sent me to the hangman.” She was talking too much, and it wasn’t working. “It’s only sex.”
Jonas studied her face for several moments.
“I wonder what you were like.”
“When?”
“Before you learned to hate men.”
“I don’t–” Llew’s reply caught in the back of her throat. He was right. Well, maybe not hated them, but she sure as hell didn’t trust them.
He straightened, stepping back from her.
“I don’t hate you.” She gathered his hands in her own. She guided one, then the other to her waist, stepping close to him, tracing the lines of his tattoo with a finger. He took a shuddering breath under her touch and when she looked up at him he was watching her, a sparkle in his eye. Right or wrong, he wanted it, too. He kissed her lips briefly.
“I don’t hate you, either,” he said, pulling back only far enough that his lips tickled hers as he spoke.
He kissed her again, and then descended down her neck, and her fingers found his belt and began work on the buckle until it fell loose. She made short work of his trouser buttons. He hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her the last few feet, placing her gently on the bed. His hand cupped her breast, her hip, pulled a thigh up beside him, as though he wanted to touch her everywhere at the same time but was hindered by a lack of limbs.
She gasped at the thrill that started in her belly and sent aftershocks throughout her being. Her nights with Kynas had led her to believe she was numb, a damaged person. Clearly, that was not so. They barely had to move. Every tremor of his body met with a quiver of her own.
Then Jonas stopped, clinging to her.
“Don’t move.” His breath tickled her ear.
She tensed, listening.
He pulled his head up, watching her with his eyes free of their usual simmering anger. Tasting his breath, her body trembled around him. Jonas cursed and clung to her, his head on her shoulder while he fought to control his own body.
“I said, don’t move.”
“It was your fault.”
His head came up again, an eyebrow raised. She smiled at him, and he laughed and then cursed again as involuntary convulsions took over. Waves of pleasure filled Llew, but she couldn’t stop laughing.
* * *
Llewella rested her head against Jonas’ shoulder and her fingers traced the curving lines of his tattoo. He was watching her, his face grim.
“Why does it make you sad?” she asked, rising up on an elbow and leaning in to kiss his cheek. He frowned again, looking as though he was about to speak, and then he rolled his shoulder out from under her hand to sit on the edge of the bed. She admired the taut, muscular back, and reached out to touch his biceps.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t home when Braph killed them. I was . . . ” His face pinched at the memory. “ . . . getting it finished.”
At a loss for anything to say, she squeezed his arm, trying to give comfort.
A knock came at the door and they both tensed.
“Who is it?” Llew called.
“I am here to help you dress for the ball.” A young woman’s voice came through the door. They relaxed.
“What?” Llew got up, wrapped her towel securely about herself, and went to the door. She opened it just enough to poke her head through.
“I am here to help you dress for the ball,” the girl repeated. She was Llew’s age, brunette, buxom and pretty.
“I don’t need help. The dress buttons up the front.”
“But you will need help with your corset,” the girl said in a friendly, puzzled tone.
“My what?”
“Corset.” The girl lifted the strange looking garment in her hands. “It does up at the back, and is quite difficult to do alone.”
“Right.” Llew had never seen anything like garment the girl held in her hand, but she did know she couldn’t allow her to enter the room right now. “I just need a little time to finish my bath. Could you come back in five minutes?”
“Certainly, ma’am.” The girl gave a small curtsy and left.
Ma’am!
Llew closed the door and turned to see Jonas doing up the last of his shirt buttons. Fully clothed, he paused to look at her, his expression unreadable.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.” He nodded, buckling his belt, and Llew sensed he had been trying to convince himself of that fact since the day his family had died.
“You’re still not getting it back tonight,” Llew reminded him on his way past.
“I know.” He gave her a brief smile and a small kiss on the cheek. “Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.”
He opened the door enough to check that the hall was empty.
“Alvaro asked me, by the way.”
Jonas paused. “Then you’ll go with Alvaro.” He slipped through the door, pulling it behind him.
“I wish I had your job,” said Hisham as the door clicked shut.
* * *
Llew mulled over a misspent afternoon and recalled the sensations she had experienced minutes earlier. Only for minutes, too. She didn’t mind. It had been the most joyous few minutes she could remember. She hugged herself.
Now what? Jonas seemed to have accepted her determination to relieve him of his self-imposed burden. A burden she still lacked a full understanding of, but which she now felt keenly. She had given herself a duty to keep the weapon safe, and she would do it. She straightened out the bed covers and waited for the girl to return.
Soon afterwards, dressed in nothing but a corset and long puffy leggings with scratchy lace at the edges, Llew shooed the girl from her room and pushed the door closed behind her; then she walked to the bath tub, knelt beside it and fished around for the knife. She pulled it from the water and dried it in the towel. She found a long ribbon from a drawer and tied it around the knife and then her waist, and used another shorter ribbon to hold the blade against her thigh. Pulling the dress on was much harder than she had anticipated. The corset restricted her movement so she could barely bend at the waist. Why ladies chose to wear such things she could not imagine.
When she was properly attired, complete with dress-gloves and gleaming shoes, Llew prepared to present herself to the rest of the world. Through the door she could hear the murmurings of her friends in the hallway. They were to arrive together, with Anya following a minute or two behind.
Llew faced the door and gave herself one last pat down to ensure everything was sitting as it should. Her hand paused where she could feel the shape of the knife sitting against her thigh. The blade was already warming to her skin. When she pulled her hand away, the dress returned to its usual shape, completely disguising the weapon. She took one more breath and opened the door.
Cassidy, Alvaro, and Aris loitered restlessly in the hallway, while Jonas leaned against a decorative table with a vase of flowers on top. They all looked up at the sound of her door opening. The warm and discomfiting glow of self-consciousness spread through her as she rustled towards them. Aris quickly scooted over to help her with the door while she gathered up her skirts before they were trapped in it.
“Civilisation suits you, Llew,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows and an appraising smile. Then he leaned in so that no one else would hear. “Whatever you did to get him to put down that knife and come along, thank you. It’s hi
gh time he had some fun.” Llew bit her lip and tried not to blush, wondering if he’d be quite so grateful if he knew the details. Louder, he said, “I’ll see if Anya is ready.” He headed off down the hall.
“How do you do that?” Cassidy was looking at her with mock wonder.
“What?”
“One minute you look like just one of the guys, and the next you come out looking like . . . that.”
“I think he is trying to say that you look beautiful.” Alvaro stepped up to her. “And I would have to agree.”
Llew had to admit that the men all were transformed too. Cassidy and Alvaro wore fancy new suits, waist coats, and brand new shirts, similar to those they had worn that morning but somehow more magnificent. Jonas was attired in black again. The jacket had fine detail around the cuffs and lapels, giving him an exotic appearance. He’d even taken the time to hook his hair back in a pony-tail.
Aris returned down the hall.
“The ladies– sorry, Llew, the other ladies are ready to follow us in a couple of minutes. Shall we go?”
Alvaro presented his elbow and Llew hooked her hand through it, though somewhat reluctantly. She looked at Jonas, who gave sign. The ghost of skin on skin washed over her and she had to look away. She smiled up at Alvaro. Now was not the time to break the news to him; they had a dance to attend.
With a nod from Aris, they made their way to the ballroom.
* * *
The ballroom was spacious and airy, and filled with the same sense of grandeur as the rest of the house. Tonight, though, it was even more spectacular: candles in stunning silver holders along the walls made for a subdued light that gave the room a romantic air. A long table at one end offered nibbles as there was no formal dinner tonight; tonight it was all about dancing.
Lord Tovias greeted them as they entered, embracing Aris warmly and shaking the hands of each of the others. He had an air of anticipation and kept glancing behind them, until he saw Llew.
“My lady.” He took her hand and kissed it as he bowed gracefully. “You honour me with your beauty.”
Flustered, Llew smiled shyly, not knowing what she was meant to do in cases such as this. Alvaro stood by her side, beaming.