Anguish softened his button-black eyes. There’s nothing else we can do. You know the chances of finding the serpent priest now are slim, we just don’t have enough time, but if we don’t do this then we ruin any chance we might still have. Even if you could come up with a better plan, there’s no time.
She looked away from him. There has to be a better way to do this. God, what a stupid moment to start second-guessing the battle plan.
Maybe there is, but we don’t know it. All we can do is give it a shot, and get you the hell out if it goes ass-up.
Emma frowned. The way he worded that didn’t thrill her much. Do you know something I don’t?
He withdrew from her mind. She leveled an incredulous stare at him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t believe he would lie to her — he worked so hard to earn her trust — so either he was working up the guts to tell her, or waiting for her to demand he do so. She preferred the former.
The jackals proceeded to herd Emma and the others toward the end of the courtyard, the intimidating pitch-black rectangular opening between the pillars gaping like a sinister mouth. Or maybe that was just Emma’s nerves talking. The entrance to the hall beyond was open to the air— the doors would come later — but feeble twilight couldn’t show them the way. The jackals lit torches, the light on the walls illuminating hieroglyphics, complicated friezes. It revealed two more rows on each side of pillars, all of them brightly painted, all with life-size bas-relief carvings of the big, blocky sarcophagi that Emma recognized from museums and movies, like sentinels along the path through the pyramid. The scent of dust and mold cloyed at her sinuses. There was something sweeter beneath it, sickly, like decaying fruit. The jackal king obviously wasn’t big on housekeeping.
Emma took Fern’s hand, breathing steadily against a rising tide of claustrophobia.
Do you really think this is going to work? Stick to the plan, stay out of the way — do you think they won’t spring something on us? You know how the saying goes — no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.
Fern didn’t answer for a while; they passed through another archway, more pillars this time. The walls were covered in magnificent carvings and paintings, but Emma couldn’t appreciate them.
They’ll never give us a chance to get out of here, Emma sent.
Fern jerked on her hand. Stop it, he sent, mental voice sharp. She looked at him, startled. His face was less human in the low light, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks. His black eyes glittered like stars. You can’t go into this expecting to fail, Emma. And not just for my sake. Besides, has it not occurred to you that there might be a contingency plan?
Brighter light flickered ahead. Contingency plan.
Fern didn’t say anything, not with words — but his thoughts were on Telly, and Red Sun, and Alexi, whose cool presence Emma could almost feel several paces behind.
Fern was right. None of them were lightweights. They had to have fall-back plans, but they weren’t telling her about them.
Why did the thought of Telly or Alexi having a plan B scare her almost as much as the thought of Khai-Kaldun destroying their plan A?
What do you know, Fern? She tugged on his hand. She remembered falling asleep earlier this afternoon to the sound of Fern’s voice, and Telly’s, and they’d been talking about her. What had they said after she finally succumbed to Fern’s hypnotic suggestion?
If you probed my mind, you’d know they haven’t told me anything. I only know that Telly has a way of… An evacuation plan.
No, Fern wasn’t willing to lie to her, but he was choosing his words carefully.
Emma started gathering herself, for she could see a larger rectangle of light spilling out ahead. They had to pull this plan off, they just had to, and she had to focus, because if Khai didn’t believe her —
Emma? Telly’s voice whispered through her head, warm and touchable. Why was his touch so different to Fern’s?
I’m ready, she sent back stiffly.
You can do this. I know you can. Make it good, Emma. He turned to look over his shoulder at her, only his face visible around the bulk of Guillermo’s body. His white teeth flashed and then he disappeared again.
Warmth and light hit her as they came through the entrance, into a ballroom-sized chamber with a central avenue formed of three pillars on each side, these ones bigger and rounder about their circumference than any Emma had yet seen. Incense hung on the air in thick, lazy clouds. At the far wall sat a wide rectangular dais with a central pillar; on either side, on squat stone blocks, stood elaborately carved sarcophagi. The tombs were so big they could have comfortably housed one of the jaguar guards — not that sleeping in a sarcophagus could be all that comfortable in the best of circumstances. They gave Emma the creeps, reminded her of old B-grade horror movies where people were locked up and left to suffocate or starve or be eaten by insects.
But they couldn’t distract her for long from the main attraction. Silk cushions and spotted animal skins tumbled artfully down from the dais onto the paved stone, and Kahotep was artfully arranged across them.
He wore a sheer, finely-woven loincloth, some miracle of folded fabric keeping his package from being exposed. His arms and legs were striped with glittering gold paint, his eyes done in alternating stripes of gold and black Kohl, and his hair was swept back from his face with some kind of clip, leaving the beautiful line of his jaw bare, but letting his hair fall in an inky cascade down his shoulder and back. His neck was completely hidden behind coil after coil of beaded necklace, and the coils got wider and longer so that his chest was draped with gold and ivory and turquoise. The same beads wrapped his forearms from wrist to elbow.
The only thing that marred the spectacle of his beauty was a deep, dark red slash that ran down the length of his face, cleaving the muscle of his cheek in two and disappearing under his chin.
Emma couldn’t know for sure, but she thought she saw the end of that wound peeking out from beneath the edges of the bead necklace — just below his nipple. It wasn’t bleeding, but it hadn’t healed, either. Wounds inflicted by other shapechangers tended to stick around.
Emma remembered to close her mouth a split second before Khai-Khaldun stepped out from behind the pillar of the dais. He didn’t look anywhere near as spiffy — or wounded — as Kahotep. His loincloth was more of a skirt, pleated and belted in gold, and it hung to his ankles — he wore no make-up, but he was covered in chunky gold bracelets and a heavy chest-plate thingie embedded with one black, glittering stone. The stone rested against his chest like a black heart, like an eye that would see right through all Emma’s lies.
Or maybe that was just the fear talking.
She bit down on a scream as Tarik stepped out from behind a pillar to their left. He was no longer dressed in his casual, modern shirt and slacks: now he wore a short pleated kilt of dyed black linen, embroidered in gold, a sheer black kimono-style shirt, and his eyes were ringed with Kohl, turning them to dark, glittering shadows full of menace. He looked at Emma like he was the spider and she was the fly.
She gave him as disdainful a look as she could muster and then resolutely ignored him.
Khai stepped forward, grin breaking out. Emma’s heart sank.
“Welcome to my home,” he said, eyes flashing, tone full of bile. “My nephew,” he drew the word out with a sibilant hiss, “Tells me you have an announcement to make.”
Emma lifted her chin, forcing herself not to look at Telly, or Fern, or Red Sun, or any of the guards. She couldn’t appear to be looking to them for guidance; this was supposed to be her decision. Khai had to believe it. For everyone’s sake, he had to believe.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.” She narrowed her eyes at Khai and stalked forward. It was hard to stalk in sandals and not high-heels, but she gave it her best shot.
Khai’s gaze flicked down the length of her body, his expression unchanging, as though the sight of her did nothing to him. It probably didn’t, and that was just fine by her.
“I present my prince to you as a feast for the senses, and you come before us in…” His lip curled. “That.”
He’s trying to put you off, Fern sent. Don’t let him.
Emma looked down at her outfit as though she’d just noticed she was wearing it: faded black jeans with a hole in the knee, and a tight black tank top with UCLA emblazoned across the front in white. Hair loose, no make-up. She’d had to buy a size too small to prevent the tank’s arm-holes from flashing boob. It was old, comfy, and looked great on her — and she knew it.
She raised her eyes and said, flatly, “Since I figured most of tonight’s activities called for nudity, I didn’t bother with a snazzy outfit.” She glanced briefly at Tarik, but her next comment was definitely for Khai. “At least one of us is wearing a dress.”
Silence, thick enough to carve. Khai stared at her as though she’d gone mad, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Behind Emma, somebody snorted, unable to hold back the laughter, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was. Telly never could resist a good chuckle.
“You think this is a joke?” Tarik’s voice was a thin, dangerous growl. Khai said nothing, but his chest and shoulders swelled, shadows chasing across his skin, eyes slanting so hard they were long, cutting crescents of gold.
Emma sighed, thankful nobody else could hear the way her breath wavered. “Oh, loosen up,” she said dismissively, staring Khai right in the eye. “I’ve got good news. I’m accepting.”
Khai cocked his head. Emma stuck her hand out to Kahotep and finally met his eyes.
They were wide, glossy like melted chocolate, lost in those rings of of gold and black paint. The wound that ran down his cheek was angry around the edges, and there was gold powder in it, trails of black. Whoever did his make-up hadn’t been very careful. He stared up at her with a look intense enough to burn, and when he put his hand in hers, his fingers squeezed so hard she heard her knuckles crack.
She gave him her most brilliant smile and pulled him to his feet. He unfolded like a dancer, stepping forward — straight into her arms. His body was like charged marble, rock-hard and singing with tension, and it wasn’t just the wound. He was trying to tell her something, and she’d spent just enough time around shapechangers to know that.
Khai doesn’t believe it, does he? Emma kept her eyes on Kahotep’s face; easier to concentrate that way.
No, sent Telly calmly. I don’t think he does. No judgment, no reprimands, no disappointment. No punishment for not being good enough.
“It is good to see you again, Emma,” Kahotep said softly. The tension began to drain out of his body; he’d given up, the game was over.
But not for her.
She slid her hands up his arms, smearing the body paint, pushing her fingers beneath the edges of the bead necklace where it draped over his shoulders. Hands underneath the heavy layers of beads, she found an open edge of skin. Kahotep gasped.
“Yes,” she said, withdrawing a hand and fisting it in his hair, dislodging the clip so that it clattered to the floor and his hair spilled down across them both. “It is good to see you, too.” She gazed up at him and let everything fall away, every thought, every feeling, all awareness of anyone else until all she could see was his slim, delicate face with its creamy mocha skin, and all she could smell was the heat of him like incense, and all she could think about was the weight of his arms around her. She let it fill her face, her eyes; she let herself pretend that she wanted him and no-one else — and she let herself pretend that could have him.
She dragged his head down and kissed him. Surprise opened his mouth and she swept her tongue along the inside of his lower lip; he groaned, breath shuddering into his lungs, and Emma kissed him harder, deepening it, feeding at his mouth until his arms were crushing her and his teeth bruised her lips, until he matched her blazing heat. She pushed all her frustration, all her naive hopes and guilty dreams into that kiss — and she had a lot of those. It was either cry or lose herself in the drowning, drugging feel of Kahotep’s mouth eating at hers, and she was not going to weep in front of Khai-Khaldun now.
Reeling, Emma gasped and drew back for air, Kahotep’s hooded brown eyes staring up at her as though the answers to the universe were in her face.
Staring up at her?
Emma blinked and looked around. She was on the floor in Kahotep’s lap, with her legs wrapped around his firm waist and his hands gripping way too low on her hips. She focused on him again and tried to look lazy and sated, instead of panicked and horrendously embarrassed.
Fern made a tentative sound in her mind.
…And the Oscar goes to, he sent, deadpan.
She laughed before she could help herself, and turned eyes shining with mirth to Khai-Khaldun. He stared at her, fists by his sides, golden eyes wide, face blank.
Emma thought he might be genuinely surprised.
“I’d get your affairs in order, Khai.” She patted Kahotep’s waist. “This one’s mine.” She untangled herself from Kahotep’s lap with as much grace as she could muster and stood above him, tucking his hair behind his ear. He gazed up at her, eyes brimming with relief and tentative hope. He knew it was an act, a lie, but Emma still couldn’t bear that look in his eye. Facing Khai was easier than facing that.
“What do you mean?” Khai’s voice was deep and brittle, no longer the rolling purr he’d used on her earlier. She smoothed down her tank top.
“Well, I assume you’re going to want to make preparations for when I formally accept. For instance, arranging the return of our serpent priest.” She had to remember not to put the words ‘accept’ and ‘pledge’ in the same sentence. Everyone was pretty sure Kahotep had to offer the pledge again in order for her to be able to accept and have it be magically binding, since last night she’d asked for time to think about it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Didn’t want to accept by accident, start something she didn’t intend to finish.
Khai grunted and stepped off the dais. He wore a pair of sandals in some ancient style Emma didn’t recognize, and their wooden soles clacked on the stone. His clawed toenails curved over the edges.
“There are indeed preparations, but these are small matters.” His eyes narrowed, lips peeling back just a little from sharp, white teeth. “I can make all necessary arrangements within the hour.”
Why doesn’t he look happy? Emma kept her face neutral as she sent furiously to Fern. If this didn’t work… I think he bought the act, she added, but he just seems pissed.
To Khai, she said, “No. There’s one small problem.”
Khai arched an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” His voice was black molasses. “Now that I have confidence you won’t be…running off, I have no qualms about handing your serpent back to you. It will be done when the pledge has been made and accepted.”
Yeah right. That was a nice way of describing blackmail. Unfortunately, she couldn’t accuse him of blackmail — not only would he probably eat her up like an appetizer, but she would seem as though she didn’t truly want to accept the pledge.
She pretended to examine her fingernails. “The jaguar king’s first lieutenant is missing.” She flicked her gaze back up at Khai; his face was blank, unreadable. “My people have searched as far as they are able within the confines of your kingdom, and we can’t find him.”
Khai smiled, and it was almost reptilian. “That is unfortunate. Why did you not inform me or one of my people before now?”
Emma frowned at him. “Strangely, we couldn’t find any of your people when we went looking this evening. I guess they must have been busy.” She gave him a shrewd look. “He is our king’s first point of representation here in your kingdom, aside from me. If we’re going to negotiate an alliance, I want him here. My king,” she emphasized, “Would want him here.”
It was Khai’s turn to frown. “Negotiate an alliance? But the pledge itself is an alliance.”
“Yes,” said Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s an alliance between Kahotep
and I. I’d like something a little more solid in place too. For both our kingdoms.”
She watched Khai chew on that. He didn’t seem happy. She got the feeling he’d expected her to lie down and take it like a good little girl without a thought in her head. Yuck. It didn’t matter that they weren’t really going ahead with the pledge; it was still yuck.
He inclined his head, smoothing the stiff point of his braided goatee between his fingers. “So you want an exchange of goods. Of people. You want chattel, and official representation for my kingdom in yours.”
Emma pretended she knew what he meant — she had a vague idea. “We would of course offer the same. The jaguar kingdom is great, but it is fair.” She tried not to laugh as Fern blew a big involuntary raspberry in her mind. “And in the spirit of fairness,” she managed to continue with a straight face, “We’ll go ahead with the pledge if Kal can’t be found. If your people, searching for one lost man in your own kingdom can’t find him, then he must be pretty goddamn lost, right?”
Khai smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed.” He turned away, pacing thoughtfully, eyeing the others as though wondering what they were planning, scheming. Or maybe that was just Emma’s fear talking. She couldn’t tell if this whole thing was going too well, or not well enough at all. At least he hadn’t tried to kill them all outright. He looked at Tarik for a long moment; the royal vizier didn’t look happy with any of it, but he met his king’s eyes, and something must have been resolved in that long look.
“Three hours,” said Khai. He stepped up onto the dais, cocking his head at Emma. “We shall reconvene at midnight. I’ll have my servants show you to your quarters, where you can discuss your own terms of exchange while I send my jackals to find your lieutenant. Then we can negotiate this alliance in full, and commence with the ceremony of the pledge. Acceptable?”
Emma stared at him, trying to look bored, hardly able to believe her ears.
Fern! Is this what we want? Is this good enough?
The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2) Page 30