Thief of Light

by Denise Rossetti

  The snap and recoil of the releasing tension made her buck and writhe. Keening around the hard finger in her mouth, Prue let herself tumble toward the dark. Flashing sparks of light darted across the inside of her eyelids, stars and comets and haloes of lightning. She was dissolving, spinning, losing her grip on consciousness. Gods, this degree of intensity wasn’t possible, she’d never, never—

  Erik caught her, as he’d promised he would, his cheek pressed to hers, his deep voice calling her name, pulling her back into his heat, his solidity and strength. Prue gasped and shook with reaction, tears streaking her cheeks.

  He stiffened, his hips jerking as he poured his life, his essence, into her body. “Love you,” he groaned into her neck. “Love, love you.”

  She pressed back against him, clenching her internal muscles, making it as good for him as she could. For endless, precious seconds, he froze, buried deep, his pulse marching with hers. At last, he relaxed with a shuddering sigh. “Ah, Prue.”

  In the silence, she could hear their breaths rasping together. After a moment, he braced himself on his elbows. “You all right?”

  Prue swallowed. “Not sure.”

  Gently, Erik withdrew and rolled aside. He gazed deep into her eyes, his own shining a deep and vivid blue. Whatever he saw, he seemed to be reassured, because he leaned forward to press his lips against hers. “Back in a minute.” He loosed the last of the silken ropes. “Close your eyes. Rest.”

  Prue did as she was bid, rousing only to murmur a sleepy protest when he removed the plug and made her comfortable with a warm, wet cloth. She sensed movement, water running in the bath chamber. Returning, he patted her dry, then settled beside her, arranging her body to his satisfaction, her head tucked into his shoulder, her palm resting over his heart.

  He curled a lock of her hair around one finger. “You’re a wicked woman, Prue McGuire.”

  “Mmm?”

  “You tipped me over before I was ready. I should beat you.”

  Prue dragged the scent of his skin into her lungs, nuzzling her nose into the pit of his throat. “Not now. In the morning.”

  His fingertips skated over her hip in slow, wobbly circles. “I proved my point,” he said at last, not sounding any too pleased.

  Prue yawned. “Uh-huh.”

  “You did something for me you’ve never done before. Because of the Voice.”

  But she hadn’t. She’d done it because she was a grown woman who knew her own mind. Her decision had already been made when he’d spoken to her in that extraordinary way. Merciful Sister, she had to admit it had been everything she’d dreamed of—a life-altering experience. She hadn’t had the slightest desire to resist, Voice or no Voice, though she could have, she was sure. She should let him know that, stop him taking it all so seriously.

  Prue opened her mouth to tell him, but exhaustion tugged at her in great dark waves, so that all she could manage was, “N-nonsense.”

  The last thing she heard was Erik’s sigh as he stroked her hair.

  31

  A light breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of a world newly washed and the singing class working its way through a series of arpeggios. How lovely, thought Prue, settling her cheek on the pile of papers on her desk. Ah, that was better. Her body felt like well-worked putty, every muscle humming and utterly content. She purred, wriggling a little in the chair, relishing the frisson that ran down her spine to spread over the cheeks of her bottom. Sweet Sister, she still couldn’t quite credit what she’d done—what she’d allowed, trusted Erik to do to her. There was nothing left of Prue McGuire that wasn’t his.

  How had he known? Just enough and no more. Even the tenderness deep within was welcome, her internal tissues still tingling with the memory of ecstasy.

  Erik’s voice rose on the air, his deep bell tones flirting with the silvery timbre of the flute. Prue’s yawn finished with a smile. A love song, and it felt as if he sang it for her alone. It sounded ancient, the words exquisitely simple, describing the singer’s first sight of his beloved’s face. He’d thought the sun rose in her eyes. A tear trickled down and plopped onto a column of figures. Hastily, she sat up to deal with the blot.

  With the movement, a tendril of unease unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Prue banished it, but it sneaked back, bringing a host of whispering brethren. A chill spread over her, until even her fingertips were cold.

  Someone wished him ill. Behind her eyelids, she saw Dai’s lithe body bent up like a bow in his agony. Oh gods, prettydeath! Her skin crawled with the presentiment of evil. Erik was a singer, a performer, for the Sister’s sake. Yes, there was power in that tall, athletic physique, but what would he know of violence? Her fingers went white on the ink brush.

  Last night, or rather early this morning, she’d collapsed, asleep the moment he settled beside her. Dimly, she’d been aware of the big body spooned around hers, the heavy arm he threw around her waist. Murmuring her content, she’d snuggled. It seemed only a moment before he was nuzzling her cheek, stroking her breasts, her belly, her buttocks.

  “Sweetheart,” he’d whispered. “It’s dawn. I have to get something from the boarding house and be back before singing class. Kiss me.”

  Without opening her eyes, she rolled over and offered her mouth. He’d taken it as if he owned it. Long, languorous kisses, her hands smoothing over his beautiful shoulders and strong spine, then clinging hard, fingers gripping.

  Panting, he’d forced himself away and she blinked up at him, standing naked and magnificently aroused by the bed. “Fuck, woman, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she asked drowsily. “Mmm.” She raised her arms over her head and stretched, luxuriating in her power. “Where are you going? Come back here.”

  Erik gave a hoarse chuckle. “Godsdammit, if I do I’ll never leave.” He spun on his heel and headed for the bathroom, swearing under his breath.

  Prue turned her face into the pillow, his scent surrounding her. She dozed off.

  When his lips ghosted over her cheek, she murmured her pleasure. “I’ll come for you after singing class,” he murmured, nibbling a trail down the side of her neck. “For our appointment with the Queen’s Money.”

  Not even that could disturb her. “Mmm.” When she reached for him, Erik was gone. It was only later that she realized she’d forgotten to warn him to watch his back.

  She’d gone down to the kitchens for a late breakfast, needing to ground her shaky emotions, wanting the calm of Katrin’s presence, but her daughter had taken one glance and her brow had furrowed. “I heard about the Open Cabal.” Deftly, she removed a tray of rolls from the oven, setting it down on the bench next to a row of others. “Bloody hell, Mam, five hundred credits!”

  “Don’t swear.” It came out automatically.

  “Well, it’s a lot.” Katrin was unrepentant. “It’s not good for your reputation either. Here.” She placed a steaming cup in front of her mother, tipped a couple of rolls onto a pretty plate and opened a bottle of conserve. “Eat something.”

  “Erik said he’d pay. We’ll still arguing about it. And I did see the seelies,” she mumbled through a warm, sweet mouthful.

  “Sister, how wonderful!” Katrin’s face lit up, reminding Prue of the little girl who’d loved fairy tales. “So he was telling the truth, after all?”

  “About that, yes.”

  “People are saying you’re as mad as he is,” came Rose’s voice from the door. She sauntered in, perfectly groomed and ready for the day. “Katrin, Cook’s down at the water stairs in hysterics. Something to do with moldy taters and a cheeky delivery boy.” She waved an elegant hand. “Would you mind?”

  Katrin rolled her eyes. “I’m gone,” she said, whisking out the door.

  Rose found another cup and seated herself opposite Prue. “You’re late for breakfast this morning,” she observed mildly.

  Prue made a noncommittal noise, cursing the heat in her cheeks.

  “Ah,” sai
d Rose. “Thought so.” The shadow of a cheeky grin. “How are you this beautiful morning, my dear?”

  “None of your business.” Prue shifted slightly on the seat, the memories astonishingly vivid.

  Rose chuckled. “That good, huh?” After a short silence, she reached across the table to take Prue’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong, love? I heard about the seelie thing.”

  Prue shook her head. “It’s not that, or at least, that’s not all.” Carefully, she put her cup down. “Someone tried to poison Erik last night.”

  “What? ”

  It took her half an hour to tell the whole tale and another half hour to persuade Rose that going straight to Dai’s bedside would be no help at all.

  “Sister save us, this is awful. Poor Dai. All because I accepted Er ik’s invitation to the queen’s reception.” Drying her eyes, Rose shot Prue a shrewd glance. “How serious is it between you?”

  Prue hunched her shoulders. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Not good enough. You’re my friend and I love you. But Erik Thorensen?” Rose shrugged. “I like him well enough. No question that he’s handsome. But obviously, I don’t I know him at all.” She leaned forward, all amusement gone. “Do you?”

  How could she answer? On one level, Prue was sure she’d known Erik forever, soul cleaving to soul. On another, he was a mystery, and her bafflement hurt. He seemed so open, but it was all part of the fa çade he presented to the world—and to her.

  “Is he worth all this . . . mess?” persisted Rose. “Does he make you happy?”

  Helplessly, Prue shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions.”

  But she did. He could be worth it. He could make her happy.

  That was the problem.

  Prue shook herself out of her daze. He was here now, safe, his voice rising like a gift woven of air and supple gold. She’d see him soon. Her heart beating uncomfortably hard, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, took her underlip firmly between her teeth and applied herself to the Unearthly Opera’s accounts.

  Half an hour later, she heard the thud of boots on the stairs, two at a time. Carefully, she laid the ink brush on the block and clasped her hands together in her lap to stop the trembling.

  Just for tonight, he’d said in that strange, compelling voice, but she wanted so much more! Clearing her throat, she arranged her features in an expression of friendly welcome.

  A single brisk rap, the door banged back and Erik surged into the room like a whirlwind. “Prue!” Without hesitation, he strode around the desk, plucked her out of the chair and into his arms. Growling happily, he kissed her, taking his time, soft and wet and luxurious.

  Prue tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing close. When he raised his head, he said, “Did you like the song?”

  “I—”

  She got no further, because he picked her up and carried her over to the couch in the sitting room, where he kissed her until they were both breathless. “I sang it for you. Because that’s how it was, the first time I saw you.”

  Prue smacked his shoulder, but lightly. “You’re insatiable.” Ah hell, now she was blushing. “I mean for compliments.”

  His eyes danced. “Of course I am,” he said. “On all counts.” Then he sobered, staring down at her in silence.

  Prue dropped her gaze to the wedge of golden, hair-dusted skin in the collar of his shirt. “What?”

  Erik cleared his throat, his cheeks pink. “You all right? I wasn’t too rough?”

  Unable to think of a response that didn’t betray her utterly, Prue shook her head.

  Erik drew a black velvet bag out of his belt pouch. “I know I said just the night.” He thrust it into her hands. “But—” He broke off to run a hand through his hair, a blond lock flopping back over his forehead. Impatiently, he brushed it out of his eyes. “I wanted you to have a remembrance.”

  “I already have the shawl. Erik, you mustn’t—”

  “Yes, I must.” His jaw set. “I will. Open it, Prue. I don’t want to compel you.”

  As if he could. Prue snorted. The tygre at the table. The issue neither of them had broached from the moment he’d laid her down on the bed in the Bruised Orchid and reached for the hairbrush.

  She untied the bag’s drawstring and upended it. Two bands of gleaming silver tumbled into her lap. Each bracelet was about an inch wide, light, yet sturdy, and chased with a delicate design of touchme flowers interlaced with lover vines.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

  “Here,” murmured Erik. “Let me.” Taking her hand, he slid a bracelet onto her wrist with careful fingers. In fact, it was more like an elegant cuff, because there was no clasp, but set into it at either end were two large, brilliant cut aquamarines.

  He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “The stones are first grade, the same color as your eyes.” His beautiful voice sounded husky. “Give me your other hand.”

  Cuffs.

  Prue snapped out of her daze. “Erik, I can’t accept—”

  “Don’t you like them?”

  “They’re exquisite.” Sadly, Prue caressed the curling lines of a vine with a fingertip.

  Erik rose and took two jerky steps to the window. “Last night,” he said, apparently speaking to the bushes in the garden, “was the most amazing night of my life. It may not have come freely, but nonetheless, you gave me a gift I will always treasure.”

  He turned to face her, his expression carefully neutral, his hands clasped behind his back. “The bracelets are cuffs, to symbolize what we shared, though only you and I will know that. I won’t force you to wear them, Prue, but I’d like it very much if you would.”

  Prue met his eyes and made a discovery. “Erik Thorensen,” she said severely, “you’re playing on my sympathy. Don’t you have any principles at all?”

  “When it comes to you?” His smile went awry. “No, none.”

  His face in the mirror. Despair and pain and an odd sort of resignation, as if it wasn’t a question of whether life would kick him in the teeth, but when. Prue’s heart contracted.

  Slowly, she slid on the second bracelet and extended both hands to study the effect. The metal was light against her skin, the merest hint of restraint. Her breath quickened and a pulse pattered between her legs. Why she should feel simultaneously stimulated and comforted, she couldn’t fathom, but the sensation was so unsettling, she spoke before she thought. “You don’t own me, Erik.”

  A brow rose. “No,” he agreed, equably enough, but a small, satisfied smile graced his lips.

  “Walk with me.” Prue tugged at Erik’s arm. Under her fingers, the muscles were so rigid, they felt like sun-warmed iron.

  Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead him away from the offices of the Queen’s Money and into a broad avenue lined with mature purplemist trees. “Useless,” he growled. “Fucking useless.” He stopped to glare back at the building, his face dark with fury. “All he wanted was you, the cunning old bastard.”

  Prue sighed. “I should have expected it. The Money’s been trying to lure me away from Rose for years.”

  “Why were there so many clerks?” asked Erik, pursuing some thought of his own. “Gods, they were in and out the whole time with their ears flapping. Sign this, check that.” His lips twisted. “I couldn’t use the Voice, and without it, he didn’t hear two words of what I had to say.”

  “Voice or no Voice, he wasn’t interested, Erik.” She came to a stop, looking up into his face. “No one in authority is.”

  “The Leaf of Nobility is going to drown. Maybe the whole fucking city.” Erik’s jaw knotted. “I’ll go elsewhere.” He strode off so rapidly, she had to trot to catch up with him.

  “Where?”

  He cast her a narrow glance. “The people. I’ll work the taverns and the markets.” His teeth flashed in a savage grin. “A riot, a rabble. I don’t care. Get enough people in the streets and I’ll have their attention.”

  “The City Guard’s too, I imagine.” />
  “Don’t give a shit. This is too important.” His steps slowed as he took in their surroundings. “Where are we?”

  Prue smiled. “The Sibling Gardens. Come and sit in the shade.”

  Erik stared at the sculpted landscape shimmering before them in the sun, green, peaceful and so elegantly spare that he blinked. Lord’s balls, Caracole was an amazing place! They stood beneath a tall, arched gate constructed of wooden beams lacquered a deep shiny red. At his elbow, Prue had turned her head to gaze at a narrow, graceful bridge spanning a pond, the dark water a mirror for the trees and clouds above. Her lips were curved with pleasure and some of the trouble had left her eyes. Good.

  Erik slipped an arm about her waist and they walked on, planning, past families picnicking on the grass, lovers twined together under the trees.

  “Wait,” said Prue. “I should take notes.” From her belt pouch, she withdrew her notebook and pencil and sat down on a wooden bench. She indicated the formal glade around them, mercifully empty, though he could hear the squeals of happy children from nearby. “This is one of my favorite places.”

  A waterfall sparkled cheerfully through a maze of rocks and into a narrow stream bordered with weeping plants and reedy grasses. The skeins of water arched like thin bridges made of glass, their splashing voices singing a melody he could almost discern. Framed by the brushing fronds of a couple of bending widow’s hair trees, a huge, rectangular block of seastone baked in the sun.

  There was something familiar about the juxtaposition of rocks and water, the dense grove of touchme bushes tinkling as they swayed in the light breeze off the sea. Erik turned to Prue. “Who—?”

  She smiled. “Walker. We need to show him the seelies.” Briskly, she scribbled his name. “Who else?”

  “Sergeant Rhiomard, I suppose. Yachi the guard. Rose, of course.” He shrugged. “You work it out. I don’t know many people here. Prue . . .” He hesitated. “I doubt the seelies will appear on command. They’re wild creatures, not pets. It might backfire, though I guess we can try. Make a list of taverns as well, all the places I can sing.” He hummed the first bar of the “Seelie Song.”