“Not very well. Our ore diggers found you.”
“I was near a mine?” He tilted his head, his face puzzled. “I would have thought they’d bury me near a cemetery.”
That surprised her. “The cemetery isn’t far from the mine. But why bury you?”
“Camouflage. Even if my body was found—which isn’t likely—who would know I wasn’t from here…?”
His voice was drifting, and it worried Ginger. She plumped up his pillow. “I shouldn’t keep you talking. You need rest.”
His tone gentled. “I’ve always time to talk to a pretty girl….”
A flush heated her cheeks. Apparently he had forgotten or didn’t realize he shouldn’t speak that way to a priestess. She didn’t answer as he closed his eyes. His breathing soon deepened into the slower rhythms of sleep.
His forbidden words unsettled Ginger. She didn’t want to enjoy them. She knew it was wrong. But they gave her a tickling sensation in her throat that always came when she was nervous—or full of anticipation. She had little sense of how she appeared to other people; she wasn’t allowed objects of vanity. The elders expected her to be well-groomed and provided her with brushes and soaps, but no cosmetics or mirrors. Although they had never seemed to care with her predecessor, they forbade Ginger to look at herself, which bewildered her, because Elder Tajman and Second Sentinel Spark both stared at her when they thought she didn’t notice.
The only time she saw her reflection was in the fountain, which didn’t offer a clear image. As much as she wanted to please the elders, she couldn’t help chafing at their restrictions. She had been so young when she came to the temple, she had never known what it was like to have a man court her.
Lost in thought, she watched Darz sleep. With his bruises dark and purpled, it was hard to see his full appearance, but she didn’t think he was from this part of the country. People here had intermarried for generations and had similar looks.
Ginger’s grandfather had come from Aronsdale, the country west of Taka Mal. He was the reason she had exotic hair, golden-red instead of black. Her brother called it fire hair. He believed it was why she had dedicated her life to the Dragon-Sun even though she hadn’t come to the temple by her own choice. She never told anyone the temple was her refuge from the dark magic. In Sky Flames, any differences could spur the townsfolk to shun a person. The strange color of her hair was bad enough; she dreaded what people would do if they discovered her night magic.
She sometimes wondered if her grandfather had suspected. She had always been curious about him. He had moved far across the settled lands to marry his lover, her grandmother. People said Ginger was like him. He had died when she was five, and by then, only a few streaks of fire remained in his silver hair. She would never forget his kindly voice or loving nature. He told her that someday she would want to go to Aronsdale. As much as she had adored him, she never understood why he believed such a thing. She had no desire to leave her home and travel to a distant land with too much fog and too many trees.
Eventually, she returned to her suite and brewed a pot of the tea that helped dull Darz’s pain. She carried a tray with the tea and dinner back to his cell and set it on the floor—
A scream shattered the night.
3
The Unseen
Ginger scrambled to her feet and ran out to the main temple.
No one.
Chill air breathed on her neck. She spun around, but saw no one. Turning in a circle, she looked everywhere. Across the temple, a spray of dragon-snaps gleamed on a table in the light of two candles. Shadows otherwise filled the building, and the RayLight Chamber was dark at this hour of the night. Someone could hide behind it, or if they were truly impious, within the chamber.
She folded her arms protectively around herself. That scream had been real. It hadn’t sounded like one of fear or of pain, but something vicious. Inhuman.
“Who’s here?” she called. Her voice trembled.
No answer.
“Don’t go out there,” a harsh voice said behind her.
With a cry, Ginger whirled around. Darz was standing in the entrance of the cell, sagging against the arch, one hand clenched on the door frame and the other crossed over his torso, holding his side where he had sustained the worst stab wounds. His face was pale and drawn.
“You mustn’t get up!” She hurried over to him.
“Stay in the light. I don’t—I can’t—” He groaned and slid down the frame.
Ginger caught him around the waist, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was creeping up on them. “I’ll help you to bed.”
The ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Can’t argue when a beautiful woman says that.”
Saints above! Again he violated the taboos. If only his forbidden words didn’t sound so sweet. He draped his arm on her shoulders, and his weight almost knocked her over. His muscles were like rock. She tried to ignore how his body felt against hers. She couldn’t let herself notice.
It was only a few steps to his bed, where she eased him down onto his side. “Here you are.”
His eyes drooped. “Don’t put your back to the door.”
She straightened with a jerk, expecting to see a killer or bloody victim in the doorway. But it was empty. The only light came from the candles across the temple, and their dim glow barely reached Darz’s cell.
“I should search the temple,” she said uneasily. “Someone may need help.”
“No!” He pushed up on his elbow. “That scream—it was familiar. Can’t remember—that damn tea fogs my mind.” He fell back as a cough wracked his body, huge and wrenching.
A terrible memory rushed over Ginger, from when she had been ten: her father, coughing violently, trapped in his killing deliriums. He too had kept trying to get out of bed.
He had died soon after.
Darz kept struggling to get up. She sat next to him, saying, “Please, you mustn’t.” Then she grasped his arm.
Darz reacted incredibly fast, throwing her facedown on the bed. He shoved her into the mattress and pinned her as if she were an enemy soldier. Her mind reeled at the illicit contact of his body against hers.
Just as suddenly, and with a mortified oath, he released her. “I’m sorry, Ginger-Sun! Don’t grab me that way! I can’t always control my reflexes.”
Rattled and confused, she rolled over and came up against him. He leaned over her with one hand on either side of her shoulders, and she stared up at his face. They were so close, she could see individual hairs on his chin and the tiny creases in his full lips. He gazed at her as if he were hungry, and his lips parted.
Frantic, she ducked under his arm and sat up.
“Ginger…” His eyes were glazed from the pain-killing herbs. He tried to pull her back down, and the feel of his hand on her arm sent a jolt through her as if she had touched a cat after it rubbed its fur on a carpet.
“You must stop,” she said, her voice shaking. As she wrested her arm away from him, she looked up—
A man stood in the doorway of the cell.
“No!” Ginger jumped off the bed. Darz lurched to his feet and pushed her behind him.
“Move back!” the man said. He had drawn a dagger, and the candlelight from the temple glinted on the long blade. His grizzled face was in shadow, and his husky frame filled the doorway. Tools hung from his digger’s belt—
Digger’s belt?
“Priestess, move back.” He entered the room, turning so his back wasn’t to the doorway. His gaze fixed on Darz. “Make her scream again, you filthy bastard, and when I’m done with you, you’ll wish your would-be killers had finished the job first.”
Now that Ginger could see him better, she recognized the man. It was Tanner, one of the miners who had brought Darz to her. “It wasn’t me who screamed,” she said. “Darz was trying to protect me. He dragged himself out of bed, half dead, to do it.”
“Then who screamed?” Tanner kept his blade drawn. He gave her clothes an odd look, an
d she remembered she had on the tunic and leggings instead of the wrap.
“It was out there.” She motioned toward the main room behind him. “But I didn’t see anyone.”
Tanner lowered his dagger. “Neither did I.”
“Did Harjan tell you to watch the temple?”
“We’ve been taking turns.” With apology, he added, “He says it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Ginger-Sun. But we must guard you.”
She spoke quietly. “I am deeply grateful, Goodman Tanner.” She took a breath. “I need to search the temple.”
“You’re not going out there,” Darz growled.
“He’s right,” Tanner said, grudgingly. “I’ll do the search.” He frowned at Darz. “You’re a soldier, yes?”
“That’s right.” Darz watched him as if he hadn’t decided whether or not the miner was an enemy.
Tanner spoke to Ginger, his voice gentling. “If I leave you here with him, will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Truly.”
Tanner gave Darz a hard look. “It will be safer if she stays here under your guard. But if I find out you even looked at her wrong—” He lifted the dagger.
Darz scowled at him. “I would never harm a priestess.”
“See that you don’t.”
It was embarrassing for Ginger to realize Tanner considered a man who could barely stand up better able to protect her than she could herself. Even so. He meant well. And she had no desire to search for someone who screamed like a banshee.
Tanner left them in the cell and crossed the temple to the table with the candles. He lit another for himself, then paced along the wall until he moved out of view. Uncertain what to think, Ginger turned to Darz. He stared at her—and crumpled.
She caught him before he crashed to the floor. He was too heavy for her to hold up, but she managed to change his direction so he fell on the bed. Blood had soaked through the bandages on his chest and into her sleeve.
“Can’t lie down,” he said thickly. “Have to stand guard.”
“I know.” She nudged him onto his back.
“You shouldn’t trust that man. He might be the one who screamed.”
“I’m sure he isn’t.”
“You know him?”
“Not well, but he’s always lived here.” She went to the tray she had left by the wall. It held bandages, plus sticky patches the healer had given her to hold them in place.
“You don’t have to do that,” Darz said.
“It’s no trouble.” Ginger needed to do something or she would pace and worry. She set the tray on the stool and poured pale blue liquid from the glazed pot into a mug. Steam rose from the drink and curled around her cheeks, reminding her of times long ago when she had been sick and her mother brewed sky-wood tea. It could blunt the worst of Darz’s pain.
She sat next to him, taking care to keep space between them. Then she offered the tea. “This will help you.”
“It makes my brain muzzy,” he mumbled. The steam from the mug blurred his haggard face.
“We’ll take care of you,” she soothed.
Although he looked as if he wanted to refuse, he took the mug. He tried bending his head forward to drink, but then he groaned and dropped back on the bed. She barely caught the mug before it splashed hot liquid over them both. Acutely self-conscious, she slid up the bed and turned so she could lift his head into her lap. The more she touched him, the more it unsettled her, but she didn’t see what else to do. His shoulders stiffened against her leg, and she sensed his physical power. He drew her as if she were a moth pulled to the flame of his forbidden masculinity. Holding his head up, she tilted the mug to his mouth. As he drank, his lips moved against the mug, full and sensual.
After a few swallows, Darz let his head fall into her lap and closed his eyes. She had to fight her desire to stroke his hair. Setting the mug on the floor, she told herself she was trembling because of tonight’s events. It was partly true; she balanced on a honed edge of fear. Tanner’s footsteps had receded as he searched, and she could barely hear them. What if it wasn’t him? She was as tense as a drum skin pulled too tight.
Ginger eased Darz’s head onto the bed and moved back to sit at his waist. She peeled the bloodied bandages off his torso. The gashes looked terrible, even closed with the healer’s neat stitches. Blood oozed from several gashes. He grunted as she cleaned and dressed the wounds, but he never complained.
After she finished, he dropped off immediately despite his attempts to stay on guard. Even asleep, he looked barbaric, with his massive size, grizzled black beard, and harsh features.
“You must be a fine warrior,” she said. “Such strength and courage.”
His lips curved upward. “I’m a terror in battle.”
“Oh!” She put her hand on her cheek, mortified. How could a man look and sound as if he were sound asleep and yet be so alert? Perhaps it was a survival mechanism; no enemy soldier would find him defenseless in sleep.
The footsteps were growing louder, and candlelight flickered outside the cell. Ginger stood up, keeping her hands free in case she needed to defend herself. It was Tanner who appeared in the doorway, his face lit from below by the candle, his knife drawn.
“I went through the entire temple,” he said as he came into the cell. “I found nothing.”
“Did it look as if anyone had been here?” Ginger asked. “Anything broken? Signs of a struggle?”
“Not a thing.” He held up his candle and frowned at Darz’s sleeping form. “This building has several exits, though. And windows someone could climb out.”
“Or into.” Ginger shivered in the night’s chill creeping through the stone walls. She felt cold in a way no braziers could ever warm.
Tanner spoke earnestly. “I won’t leave you alone, I swear it. No one will get past me to you.” He lowered the candle so it didn’t shine on her face, she who could never be gazed at too long or with longing. “Please forgive my presumption, Ginger-Sun. But the three of us should stay in here until morning. It would be difficult for me to watch two places at once.” Quickly he added, “I’ll leave the door open.”
“It’s all right,” she said, awkward, but grateful for his presence. “We’ll need blankets. These cells get icy.”
He nodded and stepped aside for her. They walked together through the main temple, Tanner holding up his candle so he could scan the area. Wax dripped into its pewter base. Ginger hated leaving Darz alone, and she increased her pace.
“Priestess,” Tanner said. “Where is your wrap? Such a walk is—” He glanced at her body, then quickly looked away.
Ginger flushed and slowed down. She knew what he had meant to say. Unseemly. She wasn’t even sure why people cared about her clothes. The loose tunic came to her knees, and she wore it with heavy leggings; together, they revealed far less of her shape than a wrap. But priestesses had always worn the ceremonial garments. In fact, in earlier centuries, the women who served the dragon had been rigorously secluded in their temples. They were brides of the Dragon-Sun, after all. It was a symbolic distinction; the justices had long ago repealed the laws that forbade a priestess to marry. But the elders adhered rigidly to tradition. No man could woo her; only the elders could choose her husband, and then only after a sign from the Dragon-Sun that he allowed and blessed the union.
Tanner stopped at the entrance of her rooms, his blush visible even in the dim candlelight. Ginger paused, uncertain what to do. It was forbidden for him to enter, of course, but it was even more forbidden for him to let her get killed while he waited outside.
“I’ll just be a moment,” she said. “I’ll leave this door open. You can see from here into my bedroom.”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t be long.”
She ran to her bedroom despite what he had implied about her immodest walk, yanked the covers off her bed, and hurried back out. They returned to the acolyte’s cell and found Darz still asleep. He didn’t look as if he had stirred.
They settl
ed down with as much separation between them as possible, Tanner by the door, Ginger against the cold back wall. She gave him the blanket and wrapped the quilt around herself. Ill at ease, she settled in for an uncomfortable night.
The bright chirps of birds tickled Ginger’s hearing as she awoke. She sat ensconced in the quilt, bleary-eyed. Light with the fresh clarity of dawn sifted into the cell from the temple. Tanner was gone, and Darz was asleep.
After a while, comprehension that she was awake seeped into her mind. Standing up, she stretched her stiff limbs. Tanner had left a note on the tray, saying he and the other miners would watch the temple. She remembered then; he could read and write, and taught children in the village when he wasn’t mining.
Ginger leaned over Darz. Mercifully, no blood stained his bandages, and his forehead felt cool. She had discovered that if she cleaned wounds with water and soap, the Dragon-Sun often spared her patients the killing fevers.
Out in the main temple, with dawn lighting the windows, her fears from last night seemed overblown. She knelt on the lip of the fountain and murmured a blessing to the Dragon-Sun. Then she cupped her hands full of water. Bathing her face, she thought, May your ride through the sky shine today, Ata-TakaMal D’Az.
One of Ginger’s duties as an acolyte had been to memorize titles for the Dragon-Sun. Most formally, he was the Ata-TakaMal D’Az or Dragon-Sun King. The queen of Taka Mal was Ata-Takamal D’or, or Dragon-Sun Princess. The late king of Jazid had been Atajazid D’az, or Shadow Dragon Prince. After the Misted Cliffs had conquered Jazid, some people claimed the Shadow Dragon no longer stalked the land. Ginger wasn’t so optimistic. Jazid’s conquerors knew nothing about the Shadow Dragon and could unknowingly release his dark forces.
Ginger shivered at her thoughts. In her suite, she changed into a red silk wrap and prepared rice for Darz. He was still asleep when she returned to his cell, so she left the bowl on the tray by his bed. She was startled to find her opal under the bandages there. In last night’s excitement, she had forgotten it. She could have eased Darz’s pain with a spell rather than tea, but Tanner might have seen and named her a witch. She had never harmed anyone, but that wouldn’t matter; that she could do spells at all could turn people against her.
The Fire Opal Page 3