Voyager of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “I just wanted to see the city.” Zara turned back to watching the streets. Facing him felt uncomfortable, as if she’d already betrayed him by not wanting to make their relationship permanent. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could eat at the restaurant.”

  “I think we may do that too often. We should be saving money.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not a better cook.”

  “That wasn’t a criticism, Rowena. I was being practical.”

  “I know. Sorry. I’m a little tired.”

  “It was a long, hot, busy day.” Ransom put his arm around her. She tensed involuntarily, and he let his arm fall. “Something is wrong.”

  “Just…really, it’s nothing.”

  “Nothing you can tell me, you mean.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ransom leaned on the wall beside her. “You think I don’t notice your silences? The times you brush me off with ‘it’s nothing’? I thought we were at least close enough to share our troubles.”

  “We are.”

  “I think you’ve just said we’re not.” Ransom pushed off the wall and went toward the door. “I’d rather not eat just yet. I’m not hungry.” The door squealed shut behind him, leaving Zara with nothing to say and no one to say it to. How had their conversation gone so wrong, so quickly? And then he’d left. It was her fault, she hadn’t known how to speak to him, and now he thought heaven knew what about her. She realized her hands were shaking and squeezed her eyes shut against tears, feeling as if she’d lost something precious. This was just a fight, wasn’t it? Their love was stronger than this, it had to be.

  She wrenched the old door open, descended two flights of stairs, and went down the short hall to knock on Ransom’s door. His rooms were opposite hers, a bed-sitting room and a tiny kitchen the mirror image of hers. It was easier that way, easier than sharing an apartment with bedrooms close together. They’d agreed not to sleep together until…come to think on it, neither of them had said the word ‘marriage’ during that discussion, so what did that mean?

  The door opened. Ransom’s expression went from irritated to concerned. “You’re crying,” he said. “I’m sorry, Rowena, I shouldn’t have been so accusatory—”

  “Can I come in?” She’d thought her few tears were all gone, and wiped her eyes again. She wasn’t going to manipulate him with tears.

  Ransom stood aside and gestured for her to enter. His tiny rooms were as neat as he was, with no clutter of belongings or clothes to make the small place feel smaller. “It’s just that you were right,” she said as he closed the door. “There are some things I don’t want to burden you with.”

  Ransom guided her to sit on the bed, then took a chair and sat opposite her. “Do you think I’m resentful when you ask for my help? I love doing things to ease your burdens. I love you. Don’t deprive me of the gift of showing that love.”

  Tears threatened to fall again. She firmly reminded herself Zara North never cried. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I do love you, you know.”

  He smiled at her, the warm, wonderful smile he saved for her. “Then tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “It can’t possibly be more complicated than reattaching a finger, which is what I did this afternoon while you were gone. The man was so excited I was concerned he might be offering me his firstborn daughter in marriage or something in repayment.”

  “All right, it’s not that complicated.” His mention of marriage had her stomach twisting itself around her other organs, trying to find a way out. “Just…sensitive.”

  “Now I’m frightened. You’re not leaving me for the vegetable seller on the corner, are you? I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “Ransom, be serious.”

  “I am serious. You really have me worried.”

  Zara took a deep breath. “I love you, I want to marry you, and I don’t want to watch you die.”

  Ransom blinked. “I’m not sure what part of that statement to respond to first.”

  “I told you it was sensitive.”

  “I’m not going to die, Rowena.”

  “Someday you will. I know, I said I was willing to take a chance on love, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

  “And you think not marrying me will make that easier?”

  “Yes. No, that’s not—I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a right way to do this. You really want to marry me?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  Ransom sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I mean, is that a serious offer?”

  Zara looked at him, at his handsome face and blond hair, at how his strong chest was visible past the deep V-neck of his sleeveless shirt, and thought of all the things that made her love him that didn’t show on the outside. “I love you,” she said, “and I want to spend my life with you. I just wish I couldn’t see the end so clearly.”

  Ransom rose to kneel in front of her and took hold of her hands. “Sweetheart,” he said, “nobody really sees the end from the beginning. I want to be with you every day, for all the days I have left, and I don’t care how many of them there are. I just don’t want to know that every day you’re wondering if this is the last one.”

  His words sent a chill through her. “I didn’t think I was doing that.”

  “Of course you are. Not that I can blame you. But if you start thinking in terms of the end, you’ll miss out on everything that happens after the beginning. I want to marry you, but only if you’ll let those fears go.”

  “Is marriage really something that should begin with a bargain?”

  “Why not? We promise to be the strength to each other’s weakness, and what’s that but a different kind of bargain?”

  “I—”

  He knelt up so they were almost face to face. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, “and I want to know if I’ll be kissing my future wife.”

  It felt as if the hot desert wind blew through her, scouring all her fears away. “Yes,” she said. He smiled, and kissed her so tenderly she thought she might burst into tears. When had she become so emotionally fragile? She returned his kiss, threading her fingers through his hair, and he pulled her off the bed so they were both sitting on the floor, her practically in his lap. “I want to marry you soon,” she said between kisses. “I’ve been waiting so long for more than kisses.”

  “As soon as we find someone to officiate,” he said in her ear, nipping it with his teeth and making her moan. “Do you think we could manage it tonight?”

  “Veriboldan ceremonies aren’t complicated. I imagine Arkaixa could do it, if he’s willing to leave the party for a few minutes…oh, do that again.”

  “If I do that again, we might not make it past the door of this apartment.” He kissed her cheek, then helped her stand. “But we’ll also need to be married the Tremontanan way.”

  “I know. And I want you to adopt into my family.”

  Ransom took a step backward. “You do?”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I don’t, but…it’s not every day you get asked to adopt into the royal house of North.”

  “And I’m going to ask Jeffrey to do it.”

  “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

  Zara laid her palm along the curve of his cheek. “I want to be married in my own name this time. We’ll still go by Farrell in public, but—”

  “Ransom North. It sounds good.” He gave her his familiar sardonic smile. “My parents are going to have identical heart attacks when they find out, but they can’t exactly argue about whether or not I love someone. Well, no, they probably will. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m still Zara North. I feel no fear at facing down your parents.”

  “You wouldn’t, would you?” Ransom took her hand. “Let’s go. Or do you want to change into something fancy?”

  “Ransom, the first time
you saw me I smelled like jungle. And you fell in love with me anyway. I don’t care what I’m wearing so long as I’m marrying you.”

  He laughed and kissed her hand. “Then let’s find Arkaixa, and make this another night to remember.”

  ***

  Zara stretched, reveling in the feel of Ransom’s skin against hers. She fumbled for his hand in the darkness and squeezed it. “Are you glad we waited?”

  “If I’d known how good it would be,” he said, his voice unexpectedly deep, “I’d have married you months ago.”

  “It was beautiful. I love you.” She curled up against him and ran her fingers along the line of his collarbone.

  “You’re not…comparing at all?”

  “Of course not. It didn’t even occur to me. We’re the only two people in this bed, Ransom, and that’s always going to be true.”

  “I hope so. There’s no room for anyone else, even if I were inclined that way.” He chuckled. “We should move to a new apartment.”

  “I have a place in mind. We’ll go in the morning.” Zara stretched again and yawned. “I feel so relaxed. I hope you don’t mind that I’m falling asleep.”

  “No…actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

  His voice sounded strange, distant and faint as if he were yards away instead of breathing softly across her forehead. “Can’t it wait for morning?”

  “I thought it could. But now…I had reasons for not bringing it up earlier, but now it comes to it, I’m wondering if they were bad reasons. So if you’re going to hate me, I’d like to know immediately.”

  Zara realized she was breathing more rapidly, in time with her quickened pulse. “It’s bad enough you think I might hate you? Shouldn’t you have told me before we had sex?”

  Ransom’s laugh sounded forced. “It’s not about the thing itself. It’s about not having told you sooner.”

  Zara pushed herself up onto one elbow and felt around until she could turn on the light Device. Ransom covered his eyes against the brightness. “Talk,” she said, not caring that she sounded harsh.

  Ransom lowered his hand. “Zara,” he said, and her heart beat faster, because he only called her by her real name when things were serious. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m always clean-shaven even though I don’t own a razor?”

  That was not a question she’d expected. “Ah…actually, no, I’ve never thought about it, though now you mention it, you did stay clean-shaven the whole time we were in the jungle. I didn’t realize you don’t have a razor. I guess I assumed you don’t grow a heavy beard.”

  “I don’t, but that’s not why. The reason is I keep those follicles suppressed. Not really, but the details are complicated and wouldn’t interest you. Healing is all about manipulating living tissue, and there are all sorts of things healers can do that don’t have anything to do with repairing injuries. It’s why almost all healers become doctors, to understand the consequences of those manipulations.”

  “That’s interesting, but I’m sure it’s not what you are so worried about.”

  Ransom sat up, dislodging the blanket. “What I haven’t told you is that I’m capable of healing much more than gross injury. I can heal very small injuries. Such as…such as the ones caused by aging.”

  For a moment, she didn’t understand.

  Then she did.

  She found herself pacing the floor without knowing how she got there. “You didn’t tell me,” she breathed. Then she shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it would have made a difference!” Ransom shouted back. “I didn’t want you to know because I would always, always have wondered if you wanted me for myself or because I was the only man in the world you could grow old with! I love you, Zara, and I was afraid—don’t tell me you don’t understand being afraid of losing what you love!”

  “You didn’t trust me.”

  “I’m sorry. I told you I thought they might be bad reasons. I hoped you’d understand anyway.”

  Zara paced more rapidly, trying to outrun the thoughts that swept madly through her brain. “You were—sweet heaven, I can’t—” she said, and then she was crying, huge, painful sobs that wracked her whole body. She could tell Ransom had come to stand next to her, though he didn’t touch her, and she wasn’t ready to go to him for comfort. She covered her face and sobbed without knowing what she was crying for. It hurt, yet she couldn’t stop. Finally she sank to the floor and sat hugging her knees as her tears wound down. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You’re sorry?” Ransom knelt beside her and tentatively put one hand on her shoulder. “I’m the one who did everything wrong.”

  She looked up at him and blinked away the last of her tears. He looked utterly anguished, as if he desperately wanted to comfort her but was afraid of being rejected. It broke her heart. “I love you,” she said, and put her arms around him. “I love you. I’m sorry, I was just overwhelmed.”

  He took her in his arms and cradled her, kissing the top of her head. “Forgive my stupidity and cowardice?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I wish I could say it wouldn’t have mattered, but you’re right, it would have changed how I saw you. It’s just…my greatest fear, and all along you knew it was groundless. It’s dizzying.”

  “Come back to bed, and let’s hold each other,” Ransom said, helping her up, “while you get used to the idea that you’re not the only deathless person around here.”

  She laughed, sniffled, and wiped her eyes. “Not exactly.”

  “No,” Ransom said. Zara snuggled into his arms and sighed happily. “It’s not as efficient as your magic seems to be. I have to consciously direct it, for one, so I’m not as indestructible as you are. I’ll still age more rapidly than you will. Fortunately, you have a bit of a head start on me, old woman. And I don’t intend to start doing it for another five years. I’d like to look a little less like you’re robbing the cradle.”

  “Ah, vanity. It will be your downfall.”

  “Probably. Suppressing my beard growth could be seen as showing off, if anyone knew about it. It’s just easier than shaving.”

  “Is this something all healers know about? Is there some secret underground cabal of ageless men and women?”

  Ransom shifted. “I don’t know. We rarely discuss it, even privately—you understand how unsettling ordinary people would find it. And when we do, it’s conversations about the ethics of it, and the practicalities. That’s also something you understand, outliving everyone you love. I imagine most of us have tried it at one time or another. How many of us have reason to keep it up, I don’t know.”

  “It sounds much more appealing from the outside, I can tell you that.” She thought of Dr. Trevellian, who had died more than twenty years ago…or had he? Suppose he was wandering the world, never staying long in one place, making a living as a traveling healer? If he was ageless, he hadn’t confided in her, even when he knew they had something in common. She hoped he had let himself age naturally.

  “So…are we all right?” Ransom asked.

  “Do you mean, am I going to run naked into the street looking for a divorce? No, my love, I am not. One of the things I know about marriage is that keeping score is the fast way to end one. We’ve each done our share of hurting one another, so I’m not going to hold this against you. But…now would be a good time to tell me any other secrets you’ve kept hidden.”

  “That was the only one. What about you? Anything more than the little matter of being an unkillable former Queen of Tremontane?”

  Zara fell silent. “We’ve never talked about it, because I assumed you knew, but…I’m barren.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “And the truth is, I feel too old to be a mother even if you could fix it. But I don’t like—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I love the woman you are, just as you are.” He trailed his fingers down her bare side, then lower. “And I’d like to show you how much I
love you, if you don’t mind.”

  Zara rolled over to lie atop him. “Mind?” she said. “I positively encourage it.”

  About the Author

  Melissa McShane is the author of many fantasy novels, including the novels of Tremontane, the first of which is Servant of the Crown; The Extraordinaries series, beginning with Burning Bright; The Book of Secrets, first book in The Last Oracle series; and the Convergence trilogy. She lives in the shelter of the mountains out West with her husband, four children and a niece, and two very needy cats. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have. You can visit her at her website www.melissamcshanewrites.com for more information on other books and upcoming releases.

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