King's Man and Thief

by Christie Golden

  The second was the tremendous, unlikely, indeed almost unthinkable act that Pedric was planning to commit during intermission. He kept turning over his decision in his mind, and coming up with plenty of reasons not to pursue such a dire plan of action.

  But every time he decided against it, Lorinda would squeeze his hand, or laugh, or say something startlingly insightful, or simply look up at him with that serene half smile that seemed to be her constant expression and he would know, bone deep, that his plan was the right one.

  During the intermission, alone with the adored and adorable Lorinda, with the exotic scents of night-blooming summer flowers surrounding them, Pedric Dunsan planned to propose.

  Then, faster than he had imagined possible, the first act was over. The Queen's husband lay in a pool of blood, slain by the treachery of the Elf-King. She vowed a terrible revenge, and the lights were suddenly extinguished.

  There was a hushed pause, then the sound of furious clapping. Pedric joined in, though his heart was pounding almost more loudly than the applause. The lights were lit, and the audience rose to their seats to mingle and discuss the play thus far.

  Lorinda's face was blotchy red and her nose and eyes swollen. She glanced up at Pedric, then away. "I'm sure I must look dreadful," she murmured, wiping at her wet face. "It's just—oh, Pedric, I never dreamed that this was what the theater was like! The actors—they had me completely convinced. Especially—what was his name? The one who plays the Elf-King?" The tears had dried, but her face remained red. Pedric gazed down at her, thinking of Marrika's scornful comments about the "playacting" that Pedric so loved, and thought Lorinda even lovelier now than when he had first met her.

  She looked at him expectantly and he gathered his thoughts. "Oh, yes, Kyle Kierdan. He's new to Braedon, but he's just wonderful. He can play anything." He extended his arm. "Would you care to join me for a walk outside? The Garden is lovely this time of the evening, and," he winked conspiratorially, "I can show you how to get through the maze."

  Lorinda's reddened eyes narrowed as she regarded him. Innocent as she was, even she knew that walks in the Garden alone with a man—especially a walk in the maze!— were an invitation to dalliance. For a long moment, Pedric feared that she would refuse him. His heart lurched, and he wondered if she would also refuse his proposal. He realized that he hadn't the slightest idea what he would do with himself if she said no.

  The half smile that melted him returned to her full lips. "Good gracious me, and how many ladies have you taken through the maze, Lord Asakinn?"

  Her voice was warm, teasing. Pedric felt the cold dread seep away and he replied, "Oh, dozens, Milady Vandaris. But most of them have left me to find my own way out."

  Something softened on her face, and when Lorinda spoke her voice was low and throaty with emotion. "I would never abandon you to find your own way out of such a tangle, Pedric." Her hand slipped into his, feather-light, warm.

  Something crashed over Pedric with all the force of a hurricane wave. He began to tremble, felt the blood rush to his face, hands, and elsewhere. It was desire, certainly, but with a tenderness to its edge that he'd never felt before. The room suddenly seemed a whirlwind of humanity, a crowded jungle of people when all he wanted, craved, needed, was for the world to be reduced to himself and Lorinda.

  His own voice betrayed him with a quiver as he replied in what was meant to be a jaunty tone, "Then by all means, my most beautiful Lorinda, let us tackle the maze."

  Lorinda's hand was warm, her soft fingers curling trustingly around his. Pedric steered his way through the throng, out the wide, opened doors and into the Garden. The breeze was soft and cool on his blood-heated face, and when they entered the maze, surrounded on almost all sides by the tall, silent, deep-green shrubbery, he almost broke into a run in his eagerness to get Lorinda into the heart of the confusing labyrinth.

  Then they were there, in Pedric's favorite spot for romantic liaisons, and he halted. It was harder than he thought to turn and face Lorinda, face the possibility that her blood might not be as inflamed as his, her heart as full and aching with unsatisfied want.

  He needn't have worried, for the moment he turned around she was in his arms. She trembled violently, pressing the length of her slender body against his, burying her face in the soft velvet of his doublet.

  Almost fiercely he crushed her to him, his arms encircling her protectively, possessively. He felt her breasts on his chest, felt the heart housed within beating swiftly. Pedric, almost overcome with emotion, laid his cheek on her silky reddish-brown hair, and pressed no further.

  They stood so for a long time, then Lorinda moved within the circle of his embrace. He let her go—Pedric was ever the gentleman, and the thought of forcing himself on any woman, let alone this one, was abhorrent to him—but she moved away only a little. One small hand lingered on his chest, moving gently, feeling the softness of the velvet and the warmth of him through it. She did not meet his gaze.

  "I knew," she began at last, "that if I became the Blesser of Love, I would share my body with many men, all strangers. I knew this to be a sacred thing, and had I been chosen, I would have gone to such a duty joyfully, in the service of my beloved goddess. But there was part of me that didn't want that, that wanted to—to wait, to—be with one man, and that my body would follow only after my heart had been given first. I think the Blesser sensed this in me, and that was why she selected another."

  Now her lashes lifted, and Pedric gazed into her eyes. They were dark and full of mystery in the moonlight, yet they gleamed like stars. His throat tightened and he knew she must feel his arousal through the thick folds of her gown.

  "No one has ever made me feel like you have, Pedric. The hours away from you are years, and the time spent with you flies as if it were no time at all. I do not... I do not ever wish those times to end." Through the tightness in his throat, he found words. "They don't have to, Lorinda. Not—" all, gods, what would she say? "—not if you marry me."

  She gasped, and jerked away, startled. "Pedric, I —" Even in the dim moonlight he could see color suffuse her cheeks. Suddenly she started laughing. Pedric felt as though she'd tossed icy water on him, and his passion vanished. Oh, what a fool he'd been, what a—

  "That wasn't a ploy for marriage, my love," she said through her mirth. "I would have—I was offering myself without any promises!"

  Part of Pedric, the rakish, devil-may-care bachelor part, figuratively seized him and shook him with an angry, "Are you crazy? You could have had her without a commitment!"

  The other part of the young Lord Asakinn, the part wanted this lovely woman as a life mate, spoke and said, "I wasn't expecting to lie with you until the wedding night, but if you insist—"

  His sally was cut off abruptly by the unexpected but welcomed pressure of her rose-petal lips pressing against his. She was clearly inexperienced, but equally clearly, Lorinda wished to learn this art of the kiss, and Pedric was an able and willing teacher. His hands went up to cup her face, stroking the soft cheeks as his lips brushed, explored. The kiss deepened, and Pedric was only dimly aware that they had moved to the damp grass and Lorinda lay willingly beneath him.

  Sanity returned, definitely not welcomed, but needed. With effort, Pedric broke the kiss and leaned back, catching his breath.

  "Oh, curse it," he swore, "you've got grass stains all over your gown. Your father will have my hide."

  The humor was back in her voice as she replied, "What, and lose such a fine son-in-law?" He gripped her hands tightly, all suavity gone, and asked pleadingly, "You do mean it, then? You will have me? Lorinda, I will love you until the day I die, I swear I will."

  "Pray Love that won't be soon," she admonished. Her face crinkled into a smile. "I will have you, Pedric Dunsan, in as many ways as I can think of."

  Her husky voice and hinted promise were almost unbearable. Pedric had to restrain himself from taking her right then, on the cool earth inside the maze. But that wouldn't be right. He wanted to rom
ance Lorinda, pleasure her, not ravish her like a plowhand a milk-girl. He would wait.

  Besides, there was something else, and that thought forced desire almost, but not completely, from his thoughts. He looked down at her hands, her small, strong hands, hands that with a few innocent touches had aroused him almost to a frenzy. He lifted them and pressed a long, lingering kiss on her fingers.

  "You say yes now, love," he said softly, stroking her hands. "But there are things you don't know about me, things that you must know if we are to have any hope of happiness. I'm .. . I'm not what you think I am."

  "Don't tell me. You're an elf-lord, under an illusion spell, who —"

  "Damn it, Lorinda, this is important!" He regretted the harsh tone at once, seeing its force reflected in her almost imperceptible flinch. "I'm sorry. It's just . . ." and the words came tumbling out. "I'm afraid that once you know, you'll despise me."

  "Pedric," she soothed, reaching to touch his face. "Love, it can't be that bad. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

  "I hope not. You don't know how badly I hope not." He paused, gathering his thoughts. How to begin. Lorinda, I'm a thief Lorinda, sometimes things that aren't mine find their ways into my pouch. Lorinda, I'm a criminal.

  They all sounded dreadful.

  He took a deep breath, opened his mouth. He wasn't sure what he would say.

  Whatever it would have been, he never got the chance. Pedric saw Lorinda's eyes widen in horror as she stared at something behind him. He saw her lips start to form words, her hand begin to disentangle itself from his deathgrip on her fingers, lifting as if to point. At that moment Pedric knew a crashing, devastating pain at the base of his skull. Lorinda's face, filled with fear, mutated into a red flash. And then, darkness.

  He awoke alone, to agony. The night had grown chilly, and the dew had risen. He lay, facedown, on the damp earth. For a long, disoriented moment, Pedric wasn't even sure where he was. He tried to lift his head but the movement threatened to make him lose consciousness again, so he simply surrendered to it while his mind began to clear.

  The maze. He was in the maze. Why? With ... with ...

  "Lorinda!" The cry emerged as a barely audible croak. He spasmed, trying to find the wherewithal to rise, but the gesture did now what it had promised to do earlier. Blackness descended again.

  When Pedric woke again, he knew where he was, and the shrieking torment in his head had subsided to the point where it was merely excruciating. He tried to rise a third time, slowly, and his abused body permitted him. Pedric staggered, stumbling into the prickly solidness of the maze wall, and leaned against it.

  "Lorinda!" he cried, louder this time. There was no answer. "Ah, gods, please, no," he murmured, but it was clear what had happened. Someone had set upon them both, had knocked him unconscious and fled with Lorinda. Who? Why?

  One thing was clear. He had to find help. He pressed a hand to the back of his head, hoping to ease the pain with pressure. He hissed through his teeth at the initial sharp pain of contact, and knew the sticky wetness that covered his hand was his own blood. There was an enormous lump that had not been part of Pedric's physiognomy hitherto, and he grimly endured the pain until it began to subside.

  For a dreadful moment, Pedric was still so disoriented he couldn't remember which way he had come. He glanced about frantically, fighting the panic that rose within him and almost reduced him to tears, helpless tears that wouldn't help to find Lorinda. He fought down the hysteria and concentrated. Yes, this way ... and then take a left here ...

  It felt like hours. Several times he had to stop, fight against the gray cloudiness that threatened to reclaim him. He hated these necessary pauses with a brutal intensity. They kept him from getting out, from finding Lorinda.

  At last, he stumbled out and promptly fell without the support of the maze's hedge walls. He hit the ground hard, too dazed with grief and pain even to put his arms out to stop his fall. His breath was knocked out of him and he gasped, his mouth opening and closing as if he were a fish on the deck of a ship. Lorinda, Lorinda... someone help me...

  As if in answer to his unvoiced plea, strong hands were suddenly there, helping him sit up. The movement, gentle though it was intended to be, sent waves of pain through him. Dimly Pedric realized that he had probably broken his nose. The only thing that upset him about this was the fact that the blood pouring down his face kept getting in his mouth, making speech difficult.

  He gazed up at his rescuer and relief flooded him. It was Deveren, who flashed him a reassuring smile before turning and crying, "I've found Pedric!" Turning back to his friend, Deveren said in a softer voice, "Where's Lorinda? What happened? We've been searching for you since Death's hour!"

  "My daughter!" came Vandaris's voice, tense with fear and anger. "What have you done with my—" The big man came into Pedric's view and, seeing the young nobleman's condition, somehow managed to tame his outrage. That's what makes him such a good diplomat, Pedric thought disjointedly. Other footsteps running, other voices shouting. Grayness seeped into Pedric's vision as Damir came up and knelt beside him.

  "Lord Asakinn," said Vandaris, his etiquette not faltering even under this extreme pressure, "what happened to you? Was my daughter with you?"

  Pedric opened his mouth, spat out blood. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He cried out in protest as the gray haze darkened, deepened, and the concerned face of Lorinda's father was replaced by blackness.

  Deveren swore. "We've got to get him to a Healer," he told his brother.

  Damir nodded, his dark eyes on Pedric's slack, ghastly-pale face. "I've sent for one already. I only wish we knew what had happened."

  Deveren thought that was clear enough, and he said so. "They were assaulted!" "I have deduced that, little brother," replied Damir tartly, frowning with irritation. "But by whom?"

  "Your Lordship," interrupted Vandaris, "I grieve for the boy, but at least he is alive and will survive the night." His beautifully resonant voice caught, but he forced himself to continue. "I do not know the same to be true of my little girl."

  Deveren glanced back and forth, from the pudgy, ruddy, yet commanding, visage of Braedon's Head Councilman to the thin, ascetic face of his older brother. He hesitated, then said, "You could find out, Damir." To Vandaris he said, "He's got mind magic. He could read Pedric's last thoughts."

  The keen hawk's gaze of Damir turned upon Deveren. "Not without his consent. There are rules, you know."

  "He'd tell us if he could," protested Deveren. "He —" he glanced over at Vandaris, and directed his words to the councilman. "He loved your daughter, Lord Vandaris. I'm sure that when he regains consciousness he'll thank us for probing his thoughts. Gods alone know when this occurred. Every minute is precious."

  "Dev, I cannot simply—"

  "I'll take the responsibility then," snapped Deveren. "Lord Vandaris, I call upon you to witness: if Pedric Dunsan deems this a violation rather than a blessing, he can blame me. I'll pay whatever he asks."

  "You're that certain?" asked Damir.

  Deveren nodded, his gaze dropping to Pedric's face. Dear gods, he looked dreadful, but Vandaris had the right of it—he would live. Lorinda might even yet be dead.

  "Do it."

  "So be it," acquiesced Damir. He moved closer to Pedric, who lay limply clasped in Deveren's arms. Gently, he brushed aside the blood-clotted hair and placed his long, thin fingers against the youth's temple. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration.

  Deveren watched intently, hardly daring to breathe, his eyes flickering back and forth from Pedric's face to Damir's. He knew that, in reading another's thoughts, the reader would experience everything as if it were happening to him. A slight smile touched Damir's lips. Watching him, Deveren felt like a voyeur. What had happened between Lorinda and Pedric probably had been intimate. Maybe Pedric might be angry with him, in truth. But no, Deveren reasoned, if Pedric truly loved Lorinda—and he was certain that the hitherto feckless young man did—then he would be g
rateful for the intrusion if it helped them find her.

  Now the older man's high brow furrowed, as if distressed. Suddenly he gasped and cried out. The little crowd of guards and concerned citizens that had formed gasped in sympathy. As if he were physically hurled backward, Damir lurched away, severing the contact. Vandaris went to him, steadied him. Damir blinked, then his gaze focused. His voice, when he spoke, was raw with pain.

  "I was —Pedric was—assaulted from behind. He never saw who hit him. He believes they have abducted Lorinda." His eyes found Vandaris's. "Sir, one thing I do know— there was love between them, true and deep. Pedric had asked for Lorinda's hand, and she had consented."

  Vandaris's throat worked. He glanced over at the youth, raised a hand as if to stoke his hair in a fatherly fashion, then clenched his fist. Righteous anger now replaced grief. He stumbled to his feet, and his words were filled with command. All traces of sorrow had been banished from that sonorous voice.

  "Jaranis!" The captain of the guards appeared. One hand had automatically gone to the hilt of his sword, and anger darkened his own face.

  "Aye, sir!"

  Vandaris clapped a commanding hand on the other man's shoulder, walking him away from Pedric, Damir, and Deveren. "I want you to put your best men on this. Someone has kidnapped my daughter. I'm not sure who or why. Be prepared to deal with a ransom situation. As for when, we believe it occurred sometime after intermission . .."

  His voice faded. The crowd began to disperse, urged to do so none too gently by Jaranis's men. Deveren and Damir regarded each other.

  "I'll see what my sources can determine about this," said Damir softly, for Deveren's ears alone. "Good idea," approved Deveren. "I'll get my—" he glanced around, amended what he was about to say "—my people on it too."