"Damn it. Get your elbow out of my fucking balls."
"Why? Aren't they like my horns? You don't need the fucking things. That's what you said."
"I said they'll grow back. These won't."
"It's not like you'll need 'em where you're headed."
The false wall opened into a space about the same size as the original cupboard. How Mohawk fit his bulky body inside was a mystery. Different instructions opened another false space to the side of the first. It was half the size. Wooden dowels formed a ladder leading upward through a narrow shaft built into the wall. How far up it went was hard to see. Mohawk and Tor struggled to extricate themselves from their tangled heap on the floor.
Mohawk's leg stuck straight up past Tor's ear. One of Tor's legs was curled under the Perithian's body. His other leg was wedged, knee bent, between his body and another wall. Mohawk's elbow dug into the wedged foot as he tried to rise.
With the wall open, the men had room to maneuver. Wynne left them to it. She was surprised to see Ish climbing out of the false bottomed trunk.
"How?" she asked. The trunk had been searched, the false bottom discovered. She raised her finger to stop the answer to her question. "Another false side to a false bottom. You were in the wall, too."
"Next time find your own hiding place." Mohawk brushed the dust and cobwebs from his head."
"That is my hiding place. I didn't expect to find you in it." Tor turned to Alamandria. "You're going to need a new ladder. Lard butt here, broke it."
"You were standing on my shoulders."
"Because you wouldn't move."
"I couldn't move. I was stuck."
"Where are Truca and Posy?" Wynne interrupted the childish argument. "And how did you get here? Yatos had men stationed on the rooftops."
"Only Eegrams have eyes in the back of their heads," Tor explained with a laugh. He turned to Wynne. "I..." he said and stopped. He stared at Wynne and not in a good way. "Go put some clothes on," he ordered before turning to Alamandria. "What did you do to her?"
Alamandria's eyes turned sly. "I did what I could to hide her," she said with a shrug.
"That dress hides nothing," Tor snarled. "There was plenty room in the shaft to hide her. You used her."
Alamandria didn't bother to deny it. "I did what needed to be done. I gave her the tools. Instinct told her how to use them."
"You made her look ridiculous."
"Is that so?" Alamandria's eyes crinkled at the corners.
Wynne saw nothing amusing. Tor was the one man, the only man, she wanted to impress with her exotic new look. Hurt by his reaction, she retaliated.
"If she hadn't, you and Mohawk would have been discovered. You might want to say thank you."
"For what? For displaying your nakedness before a half dec of strange men?"
"I'm not naked," she spit back, "and you're welcome... to go to hell." She whirled away, not thinking about how the move would cause the robe's sides to fan out, but not caring, either. She marched out of the room.
When she heard Tor's footsteps stomping behind her, she ran.
Chapter 21
She'd barely slammed the bathroom door before Tor was pounding on it. Concentrating on the mirror over the sink, Wynne ignored him until he spoke.
"Let me in."
"No."
The knob turned and the door opened a few inches. With triple bolts on their doors, bars on their windows, and secret panels in their walls, Celosians apparently didn't feel the need for locks on their bathroom doors. Wynne didn't move. Her ample rear end had found a use as a doorstop and she was confident Tor wouldn't hit it.
She was right. The door opened about six inches and stopped. "Move your hips and open the damn door, Wynne."
She ignored that, too. She kept her place leaning over the sink and peering into the mirrored panel over it. Some things were better on Earth, mirrored glass being one of them. The ruby colored teardrop in the center of her forehead wouldn't budge, so she started working on one of the smaller gems. Her nails were useless. She rummaged through the pottery crock on the sink's corner and found a thin bladed and sharp edged file. It would make a handy weapon if need be, but all she needed it for was to get the damn things of her face. If she could just slide it in beneath the edge.
"Kushma, don't."
She winced as the file slipped and nicked her skin. Wynne put the file down. Nona was right. Men were like children. You couldn't ignore them. They'd pester you to death. She grabbed the cloth hanging by the sink and dabbed at the drop of blood welling beside the gem. She told herself it was the pain from the tiny wound that caused her tears to well.
"Kushma? A term of endearment of unspecified meaning," she sniffed at the mirror. She purposely avoided his reflection peering through the crack of the open door. "That's not me. I'm very specific and clearly defined. I'm Wynne; quiet, plain, and frumpy."
"You are none of those things."
"Then why is this so wrong?" she cried, stepping back from the mirror to better view her made up image.
Her movement gave Tor the space he needed to push inside. Wynne tried to step away from him, but there was wasn't room to move too far. One look at his angry face told her more room wouldn't have helped. He backed her against the wall and used his foot to close the door. Hands braced over her head, he loomed above her. His eyes took her in slowly from the jewels at her forehead to the deep cut of the robe's neck then moved back up to lock on her own.
"A mordata cosma is an illusion cloaked in fine fabric and jewels. She weaves a web of fantasy to attract the attention of patrons and their gifts. It's ridiculous to think you could ever be that woman."
She didn't need his confirmation. "I'm pretty sure you already made that clear. I am what I am." And it was ridiculous to think she could be anything else.
Tor ran the back of his finger down her face from cheek to chin. "Yes, you are beautiful. Your face is lovely and your body is enticing, but there are thousands of women of every race who can make that claim. What makes you different?" He never took his eyes from hers.
What the hell? Like a car going from zero to sixty in a second, she'd just gone from ridiculous to beautiful. Her mind couldn't keep up. "I have no idea what you're talking about?"
Tor blinked and laughed and kissed her forehead above the faux ruby. "That," he said.
"What?" She was thoroughly confused.
"Your frankness. You can't pretend. You're real. I thought the woman I saw on the Romer II was a different kind of fantasy, a princess in disguise. She, like a mordata cosma, drew people to her, but her web was woven from kindness and caring. She spoke to people. She listened. She was real. The woman who trusted me, tramped beside me, fought beside me, and held her hand out to a young woman, a stranger in need, was real.
"Last night you came to me wearing nothing but someone's castoff shirt. You came without guile or duplicity. You offered me your very luscious body, but you seduced me with your simplicity and honesty. I missed you, you said, and it was in your eyes, the way you looked at me. It reminded me of my mother's eyes."
"Just what every girl is waiting to hear, and in an ancient bathroom no less." Wynne's shoulders slumped. "You remind me of my mother," she mimicked.
Tor laughed again. "Far from it. My mother was tall and broad shouldered and as strong as any man. By the time I knew her, the life we led had washed away whatever softness her body once held. Her skin was permanently darkened by the sun and dried by the wind. The only thing you have in common with my mother is the way I'd sometimes catch her looking at my father and the way it touched his heart. That's why I left home, Wynne. It wasn't just to look for girls. It was to find the girl who'd look at me with the same simplicity and honesty that would touch my heart. That look is real, Kushma, and it's mine, and I won't have you offering the illusion of it to strangers. Nor will I have you share the splendor of your body to feed their fantasies."
The splendor of her body? Holy crapoli! She'd opted for one night of si
nful memories, never believing it could mean anything more to him. Instead, she'd touched his heart. Wynne knew what that meant. Hadn't Roark said the same to Mira?
She'd touched his heart.
Were her feelings that transparent? Could real love come that quickly? Action-packed books and movies were always filled with love like that, and she'd always questioned it. Was it real or only the heightened emotions brought on by danger? Would the heroine feel the same if they'd met while waiting in line for a morning dose of Caramel Macchiatto coffee? She always wondered what happened after 'The End' when things settled into the routine of everyday life.
Mira had fallen in and out of love a half dozen times before the world went to hell and Roark showed up. She had enough experience with false love to know the real thing when she found it. What experience did Wynne have?
She recognized lust. It was hard to miss. With Tor towering over her, her body heated with want for his touch. But lust wasn't love. Love was not being able to imagine a life without that special someone in it. Right now, that was certainly true, but what about the future?
It struck her then that there was no future with Tor. He would either be in prison or flying around the galaxy with no real place to call home. Her life was on Earth with children and family who needed her. All she and Tor would ever have was this. It didn't matter if it was a true and lasting love. For the time they were allowed, she would be holding something precious, something she might never find again, something to remember for all of her life.
"Princess?" Tor's soft inquiry as he touched the finger she held in the air, settled it once and for all.
No matter what the future held, she would always know that once upon a time, she was a princess who'd found her prince.
"Wynne?" Tor called again. He waved a hand in front of her face.
"Oh," she said, startled from her thoughts. "Oh, okay, I can agree to that. No more jewelry stuck to my face. No more heavy eye makeup." It was already beginning to clump and burn her eyes and the adhesive itched. "No more see-through robes."
"In front of other men," Tor added.
"In front of anyone," she told him, still dazed by his words. "This isn't my robe."
"Then I guess I'll have to keep you naked."
"I guess so," she agreed, but, because something didn't sound quite right, she blinked up at him. "What did you say?"
He chuckled softly in amusement and ran his knuckle down her cheek. "I said I'll have to keep you naked." His lips touched hers while his hands ran down her side to clutch and lift the fabric.
"Not an option," she said, doing the same to his shirt. "We'd never get rid of Mohawk."
With the click of the opening door, Tor let the fabric fall back into place.
Ish took them both in with a scathing glance. "Alamandria has news."
"Does no one here respect bathroom privacy?" Wynne muttered. Ish snickered, which only made Wynne's frown deepen. "How long were you out there?"
"Long enough to know it was safe to open the door."
Tor dipped his head to the frowning Wynne. "I'll be back."
"Hold on there, Mr. Schwarzenegger. You don't really think I'll be waiting in this bathroom while you go chit-chat about our next move, do you?"
He looked her up and down, eyes focused on the revealing robe. Winged brows rose. "I don't know this Mr. Schwarzenegger, but you agreed."
"Not to be cut out of the loop," Wynne argued.
"I'll handle it, Captain," Ish cut in. "You need to speak with Alamandria."
She captured Wynne's wrist in an iron grip and pulled her across the hall to what was obviously Alamandria's bedroom. No match for the Osana woman's strength, Wynne had no choice but to follow or be dragged. As soon as Ish let go, however, she made a break for the door. Ish caught her and grinned.
"We can waste time playing this game or we can find you something to wear. Your choice."
"Why?" Wynne asked and Ish understood the question.
"Because you used your head when you covered that pack. You used the only weapon you had to protect us. The captain would see that, too, if he could take his mind off that damn robe long enough to think about it."
Wynne tilted her head to the side with what she hoped was a silly come-hither look. "So you do like me."
"Don't push it," Ish warned. She tossed one of Wynne's stolen boots to her and then pulled another from beneath the bed.
Wynne joined in the search. Every drawer and closet had been emptied onto the floor. Tables and lamps were overturned. Sweet smelling oil puddled in one corner. Nothing was left in place. Ish began tossing things from the floor to the bed seemingly at random.
"Don't just stand there. Try those on," she ordered.
"But they aren't mine."
"Neither were the things you wore before," Ish said impatiently. "Alamandria won't mind. Probably won't notice. She's not always at home, you know." She tapped her temple. "Some days are better than others."
"What happened to her?" Wynne found her old trousers, but not her shirt. She settled for a loose fitting tunic that belted at the waist.
"Orax happened. She refused his offer of patronage and he made her pay for it. She had jewels embedded into her skin. They use a solvent and precious metals to do it. Too much solvent and the metals liquefy. He paid someone to throw that shit in her face. The healers did the best they could. They saved her eyes, but no machine is going to fix the rest. She does pretty well here, but it doesn't make up for the life she lost." Ish opened the door and ushered Wynne out.
"And the peacekeepers did nothing."
"Adjutant Yatos did nothing, though he was only a Junior then. Rumor has it he lives in Honarie's boot."
Wynne took that to mean the same as in someone's pocket. "No wonder Tor wasn't happy."
The corners of Ish's mouth pulled straight back in a reptilian grin. "You're learning."
They entered the workroom mid conversation. Tor paused with a frown for Ish and a nod for Wynne, before he caught them up on the news.
"Senator Plincoff's dead. A drunken fall from his balcony."
Ish shook her head in denial. "Not possible."
"In all these years I've never known him to drink to excess," Alamandria added. She was sorting spools of thread while Mohawk rewound bolts of cloth. "It wasn't his balcony either. Senator Riegard was with him and I happen to know Riegard was on Shudish."
"Imperial City?" Ish sounded surprised.
"What's that?" Wynne asked. She picked up a swath of unbolted cloth that felt like finely woven wool and began to fold it.
"A rich man's playground," Ish told her.
"A poor man's heaven," Mohawk said at the same time.
"How do you know, Alamandria? Yatos sounded like the man was at home." Wynne kept thinking of Ish's warning that Alamandria wasn't always 'at home'.
"Yatos wanted us to think that, but he made a mistake. Plincoff might have been at home, but Riegard wasn't. He was at the Heaven's Gate Hotel," the seamstress insisted and then she explained. "His mordata cosma is my client. She was here the other day, angry because he left her behind. He said it was business, but he's been there too long. She was suspicious. I told her to hold her tongue and be grateful he didn't release her. I have two other clients who were recently released from their contracts. That's a dangerous thing for a cosma of a certain age."
"Is that unusual?" Wynne asked. These women were, after all, paid escorts.
"At their age? Yes. One of them, Vida, had been with her patron for half her life. He left her for a Bride." One eye squeezed almost shut not in a wink, but with the derision she carried in her voice. "Where would a man his age find one of those worth even half Vida's value?"
"Wait." Wynne stacked her folded cloth on the growing pile. She thought she knew where this was headed, but wanted to be sure. "Her patron was Godan?"
"It's a lonely life without a woman in it. Sometimes, if things work out," Tor explained, "a mordata cosma will stay with her Godan patron for years,
but since she can't bear his children, the mating is never official."
"Once a man passes a certain stage in life, the mordata cosma feels secure in her position. Brides are matched with younger, more virile men. She will not be replaced by a child-bearer." Alamandria said the word as if it was disgusting.
It wasn't the Bride's fault that she was GCP, but Wynne sympathized with the woman's hostility. If a couple stayed together that long, it had to become more than a business deal. Like the long time wife traded in for a newer, younger model, it would be devastating and for a mordata cosma, there would be no alimony or division of assets unless it was written in the contract. She wondered if that was what happened to Alamandria when Orax made his offer. Did he think she was desperate enough to accept since she was no longer young?
"Where did he find this Bride?" Wynne asked. Her fabric folding slowed, reflecting her caution.
"I contacted her. Vida didn't know, but the other cosma did."
"Her patron went to Shudish, to the Heaven's Gate in Imperial City. He was meeting Riegard." Wynne didn't ask. She didn't need to. She turned to Tor. "This is about the Brides Brigade. We have to save them, Tor."
"Wynne..."
"No, don't say my name like that. Wynne," she mimicked the indulgent tone. "Like you're about to explain something that will tax my poor little brain, like I'm someone who needs to be protected, like I'm someone who doesn't understand danger and death. Where do you think I've spent the last seven years?"
"Hiding, that's where you've been, hiding behind Mira." The thought was immediately overridden by the sound of her grandmother's voice in her head. "You aren't Mira."
Her parents had said those words, too. Wynne had always heard them as a comparison where she failed to meet the standards her sister set. Now, she heard something different. She wasn't Mira. She was Wynne. She had her own brand of strength. It was called stubbornness.
"You're going to Shudish to find your ship, and I pray to God you find Chubo and Nix alive. They're your people. I understand that, Tor, more than you know. What you need to understand is that those Brides are my people. They're women of Earth, and they're being sold to the highest bidders like cattle for breeding. This isn't the Bride Market they signed up for. This isn't an arranged marriage with the hope of happiness. This is slavery, and that goes against every grain of my soul. I won't sit by and let that happen. If you won't help, I'll find someone who will. If I can't find someone who will, I'll go alone."
Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) Page 20