Irreverently, especially considering how solemn the occasion seemed to be, I wondered about the servant assigned the task of watering and grooming the thrones. Near the hand not held by Nakoa, a blossom like those in my garland fluttered in some wayward draft, the ruffled petals moving almost like the wings of a butterfly. If only I could snatch my journal from Akamai and take a moment to sketch it.
But no. Far less enjoyable, Chief Tane stepped up before the thrones. He dipped in a bow that barely met the demands of their usual customs, his demeanor polite on the surface but seething beneath. I’d had no opportunity to discuss strategy ahead. If Nakoa wanted me up here playing queen, then he’d have to spend some time filling me in on the politics.
“King Nakoa KauPo,” Tane began in a ringing voice, one he apparently loved the sound of.
“And Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo,” Nakoa corrected, steel in his tone that he’d lacked the day before. I risked a quick glance at him. Though his grip on my hand remained relaxed, even gently protective, his expression had gone as thunderous as I’d ever seen. Enough that I must have flinched, because he turned his head slightly to take my measure, then lightly stroked the hand he held.
Tane had more spine than I, because he added the greeting to me without missing a step, and with no apologetic tones. “What assurance do you bring that . . .”
I began to lose the thread of his remarks, though I picked out that he spoke of me and the dragon. More about tests of the ancestors. Missing islands. Important information for me to understand—and I needed to devote my mind to parsing a strategic response, not verb tense. Having enough of this, I gestured Akamai to my side. Tane paused, puffing in affront, though I’d been subtle in my movement. In Ordnung, such a thing would have caused no offense. Had I misstepped?
I looked to Nakoa, who only watched me with interest. The tamped-volcanic fury there behind his opaque gaze still, but not focused at me.
“Akamai will translate for me,” I told him quietly enough that no one but the three of us could overhear. Not sure how Nakoa would take his secret being revealed, but figuring I’d be better off for laying it on the table. “Via Dasnarian. Subject to your . . . pleasure,” I substituted, not certain of the phrasing for acknowledging his ultimate authority to deny me.
A glimmer of warmth showed in his eyes, the human variety rather than the harder, volcanic kind, and he bent his head close to mine. “You are my pleasure, mlai.” He turned back to Tane and gestured to him to continue. Considering the permission implicit, I beckoned Akamai closer and he began whispering the translation.
Between Tane’s oratorical embellishments—he was making quite the speech—and Akamai’s less than perfectly fluent Dasnarian, this method fell short of ideal, but I got more than I would have otherwise. Tane acknowledged that Nakoa and I had attracted the dragon, but he questioned our ability to keep her from “going wild,” which I took to mean rampaging through the population. Fortunate for me to have a delay on processing that accusation, as I had no idea how to tame or restrain a dragon. Or what one ate. Meat, certainly, but . . . human? Big as she was, wouldn’t she need a lot of food, as in big animals?
Tane went on, citing a long list of trials in Nakoa’s kingdom, reminding me very much of the Aerron ambassador Laurenne’s propensity for waxing on in excruciating detail about her kingdom’s woes. Not that she wasn’t justified, but she seemed to think that repeating the information enough times would produce the result she wanted. Perhaps it had, as Ursula’s first request of Andi had been to send rain to Aerron.
His pet topic seemed to be that some of the islands in the archipelago had not been in contact. Apparently this had happened in their history—with islands sinking into the sea, never heard from again. Messenger birds returned with their missives undelivered. The great satisfaction of finally understanding what they discussed dimmed considerably as I realized what had occurred. Almost certainly the magical barrier had cut off those islands. Something Ursula had specifically told me not to discuss with Nakoa, goddesses take it.
Nakoa, now my lover, if not husband and king. How could I be loyal to both? A headache glimmered to life behind my eyebrows.
It quickly became clear that Tane aimed to undermine Nakoa’s rule by implying that he knew not of his people’s suffering and had not bestirred himself to see their troubles for himself, or done anything to ascertain the fate of these islands, because he’d secluded himself in the palace.
Devoting himself to caring for, and then seducing, the tenderfooted foreign witch.
Akamai downplayed that last in his translation, but I caught the intonation well enough. No surprise that my less-than-tough feet elicited bemused contempt. The euphemism Tane used evoked an infant who’d not yet walked on her own, neatly adding the sideways implication that I might not be much more intelligent than that.
There was also a repeated reference to the treasure that prophecy promised the dragon would deliver that had not materialized. If Nakoa were truly a king and if he truly controlled . . . Akamai floundered again. We would have to discuss accurate translating over worrying about offending me. Tane insulted me just fine on his own. It sounded, however, as if he somehow referred to both me and the dragon as one, both needing to be leashed to the service of the people.
Something he implied Nakoa might not be man enough to do.
Much like the volcano, Nakoa silently rumbled beside me. I nearly expected smoke and ash to puff from his ears. Because that gave me cause to laugh, which could be useful at the moment, I let it out, disrupting Tane’s momentum and causing both men—along with the assembly, who’d been whispering in tones of consternation—to focus on me.
Tane wanted to paint me as empty-headed? I’d learned enough from Ami to take advantage of those tricks. Oh, please. Underestimate me again—for entirely the wrong reasons this time. I’d fooled Tane into thinking I could wield a blade. He had no idea where my true weapons lay. But to use them, I needed more knowledge.
“This is so boring.” I pouted at Nakoa, who regarded me with a flicker of incredulity, which also took the edge off his imminent explosion. “Can’t we do something else?” Easy enough to deliberately mangle the words. Inoa, who’d taken a place in the front row of nobles, looked more obviously astonished. The rest of the assembly ate up my performance, murmurs turning to dismay.
Nakoa picked up my hand, kissed it, and stood, waving a hand to dismiss court. “As my queen wishes.”
Tane gaped in utter shock—quite comical, though I concentrated on awarding Nakoa with a besotted smile—then burst into protests that court had only just convened, something Nakoa had severely neglected.
Brushing him off like an annoying insect, Nakoa regally ignored him, along with several other nobles who attempted to snag his attention. He even waved off Inoa, announcing to all that his new queen had been bedridden and deserved more entertainment on her first day out than the dullness of politics.
I almost believed him myself.
With my hand tucked in the crook of his arm, Nakoa led me out of the hall and onto the broad escarpment overlooking the sea, where the celebration had been held. He pointed out sights, comparing them to my beauty, for the benefit of the few onlookers who trailed along. And who finally gave up in baffled resignation when he took me down the steps to the beach, where the sand made for fine—and clearly very private—walking.
“Your feet are not sore?”
“No, the ocean feels good.” The crystalline water lapped around my ankles, cooling the warming soles as we walked well out of anyone’s eavesdropping range.
“What do you wish to know?” Nakoa asked. Not much got past him. Amazing, really, that he already read me so well to know what I’d been about. If I was truly his queen, we’d likely work very well together. Pushing the wistful thought aside, I fluttered my lashes in my best Ami imitation.
“Maybe I was truly bored.”
He snorted out a laugh, turned, and picked me up to kiss me soundly before setting me on my f
eet again. “Tell me another tale.”
24
“You don’t always have to pick me up,” I complained, to cover my unexpected emotional flutter at the kiss—and at his unshakeable faith in me, a woman he barely knew.
“I like to.” He tucked my hand in his arm and resumed our apparent pleasure stroll. “Or you can stand on a chair.”
“I’m not that short,” I muttered in Common Tongue, and he slid me an amused glance. Truly, it made me happy to see the edge off his anger. Perhaps the break was good for both of us. “Can you explain about the dragon? What is Tane’s . . . complaint?” I substituted the Dasnarian word, suspecting Nakoa would know it.
He nodded and pursed his lips, thinking. “I do not wish you to worry. You are new in this place. Still tenderfooted.” He cast me a teasing look at that.
“An infant, yes. I understood. Better to worry me than I not understand court and the . . .”
“Complaint,” he told me, in both Dasnarian and Nahanaun. “Apologies to you, mlai. This morning was not to be avoided. People needed to see you as queen, now that you truly are.”
Which I wasn’t, but that argument would divert him from the current conversation and wouldn’t convince him anyway, as stubborn about it as he’d been thus far. “I understand.”
“This is difficult to explain, in words you know.”
“Can we ask Akamai to translate?”
He shook his head. “These are things only for you and me. Tane thinks he knows, but he is not wise in this.”
“Or anything.”
Nakoa smiled, stroking my hand. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”
That wasn’t saying much, but I took the compliment in the spirit it was intended.
“This is . . . private. Never tell another, yes?”
Swear to keep the secret—but what if it affected the Thirteen? I’d be honor bound—by an oath of fealty, even if I disregarded everything else—to tell at least Ursula. Of course, I was also honor bound to tell Nakoa about the barrier affecting his kingdom. Nakoa picked up on my hesitation immediately, stopping to take my upper arms so I faced him. “Make your vow.” He used the Dasnarian word for it, all softness and amusement gone. How unerringly he seemed to see through me.
“I owe loyalty to my queen first.”
The words dropped like rocks into the still pond of his waiting silence.
His hands tightened on me slightly, dark gaze severe. “No. To me first. Always this was so. You to me and I to you.”
“Oh, don’t give me that mystical claptrap,” I snapped in Common Tongue, but he’d read me well enough.
He cocked his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Make your vow, mlai.”
Suddenly this had become about much more than just these secrets. I fumed at him, shrugging off his grip and stepping away, all sweet emotional flutters burned to ash in my frustration. I switched to Dasnarian. “Don’t you try to corner me, Nakoa. I’ve had about enough of this. I need this information to make informed choices and you’re the one who stuck me in this situation to begin with. You can’t just command my loyalty.”
He folded his arms, implacable. “Make your vow, mlai,” he repeated, strengthening the command tonality.
Maybe we wouldn’t work so well together. The man possessed zero ability to compromise. Not that remaining as his queen had ever been a viable possibility, but it had been interesting to contemplate. Now he’d just pissed me off—and reminded me of all the very excellent reasons I had to keep him fenced off and not let him affect me so.
I folded my arms in turn. “No.”
“Yes,” he insisted.
I threw up my hands. “Fine. Don’t tell me about the dragon. I’ll find out on my own.” In sizzling frustration I stalked past him, intent on returning to the palace. If there had been information in Annfwn’s library, there would be in this one.
“Dafne.” Nakoa’s voice held a warning, and I ignored him.
He stepped in front of me, not touching me, but making it clear that he’d block my retreat. “Do not run,” he said in a soft voice that nevertheless carried the promise of menace.
“Or what?” I put my hand on my knife. I wouldn’t use it on him—probably—but I felt braver for it, and less intimidated by his scowling bulk.
“Or I will show you.” He growled the words, anger rising also.
“You wish!” I hissed, in a full flood of anger, not even entirely sure why anymore.
“Yes. I wish.” He moved on me and, my courage faltering utterly, I broke and ran. I only made it a few steps before he overtook me, swinging me up in his arms, slinging me over his shoulder, then headed down the beach away from the palace in great, ground-eating strides.
I shrieked in pure fury, pounding at his back with my fists, kicking at him and wrestling against his iron grip. He laughed and patted my rump, infuriating me further, if that were possible, climbing with agile grace over some rocks. I’d never been so angry in my life. I’d read stories where people saw red, and now my vision pulsed with it. Something not helped by my upside-down position. In the distance, the volcano rumbled.
“Put me down!” I yelled, adding every insult I could think of in every language I knew.
“Yes, Dafne mlai.” And he did, setting me on my feet, his face and voice as bland as if he hadn’t just dragged me off literally kicking and screaming.
Beyond infuriated, I punched him in the rock-hard abs. It hurt my hand, but I wasn’t about to show it. I should draw the thrice-damned dagger. Taking a deep breath and a few steps of distance, I tried to calm my unprecedented rage. He’d brought me to a little cove, walled off on three sides by rocks, open to the ocean on the other. I’d have to climb or swim to escape and he’d undoubtedly catch me first.
“You are angry,” Nakoa said, sounding not at all bothered by it, but simmering with some of his own.
“You think?” I spat back.
“I understand.”
“But you won’t let me go.”
“I cannot.” His jaw had that determined set to it as he ground out the words. “You will make your vow, mlai. Speak the words your heart already has.”
I wasn’t sure I understood him correctly. My heart had nothing to do with this, despite my uncertain emotions, unstable as the rumbling volcano. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” The quiet words were all the warning I got before his hands were on me, lifting me, then bearing me to the sand.
“Nakoa, thri—”
His mouth closed hot and demanding over mine, cutting off my curse. “No words. Feel.”
I couldn’t fight the flare of desire, the fire he seemed to be able to call up in me faster each time we came together, especially with the morning’s session still warm in my mind. I found myself kissing him back with wild intensity, all of my frustrated fury alchemically transformed into the crazed need to touch him. We rolled over the sand together, nearly frantic with it. I scratched and bit at him, venting all that emotion, and he snarled in return, fastening his mouth on the flesh he revealed with his tearing hands.
“You want me,” he growled against my skin. “Real. No game.”
I dug into him. No denying it. “Yes.”
Sand. Sea. Sky. Nakoa. The images flickered, blending into one. The taste of salt and skin, his hands up my skirt, ripping away the pantalets, and fingers thrusting into me with none of the gentle skill he’d shown the night before. I screamed, an echo of my enraged curses, calling his name and—as if the frenzied urgency escalated my responses that much more—climaxing immediately.
“Yes,” he grated in my ear. “Feel. I am yours. You are mine. First.”
He rolled onto his back, spearing into me in the same movement, gripping me by the waist as he thrust up into me. Then held me there. I thrashed, needing to move, the sensation too exquisite, but he held me still.
“Mine,” he insisted, rocking himself inside me.
I shook my head, biting back the words that sprang to my lips. The
traitorous desire that urged me to say it, too. That I wanted him to be mine alone, this man spread beneath me, wild lightning-streaked hair like an aura around his head on the pale sand, his brooding face tight with an edgier emotion. Desire, yes. Also determination and need. Foolishly, I wanted him to truly want me and for this not to be some sham. Those sloe-eyed ladies couldn’t have him because he belonged to me.
No. No, I couldn’t give him the vow he wanted. His hands moved up to my breasts, the metallic cups long-since lost somewhere in the sand, and I moaned a plea, rocking my hips, the inescapable pleasure rocketing through me.
“Nakoa . . . ,” I gasped, bracing myself on his chest, finding that sweet spot.
“Yes. Yours. Take me, Dafne mlai.”
I dug in my fingers, spearing the tattooed dragon’s scales, and he made a sound, tightening his hands on my breasts, pinching my nipples. Driving me wild. Challenging me with his night-black gaze. I moved on him, finding the rhythm I wanted, raking him with my nails. They’d grown longer in the last week, satisfyingly strong. He arched under me, lifting me with it, piercing me with sweetest pleasure.
I growled. Fierce and predatory, hot-blooded like the dragon. Mine.
“Yes. Say it.” Nakoa met me with his own ferocious demand.
I raised myself on his cock and slammed down, hard enough to make him gasp and arch again, pinching my nipples with a pain that radiated through my mind, obliterating everything else. “Mine,” I said.
“Yours.” In a flash, he rolled me onto my back, taking control of the coupling, slowing the tempo so I became the one to writhe beseechingly. “Mine. Each to each. Me to you, you to me.”
My heart thundered. I was the dragon, the volcano, Nakoa. Each to each. I lost myself in the frenzy of it, now clinging beneath him, thighs clamped around his hips, ankles locked to keep him there, chanting crazed commands to take me under utterly. Then on top of him again, his face contorting as the pleasure rode him hard.
The Pages of the Mind Page 27